Monday, July 21, 2008
Hello and Goodbye
Goodbye
friendships that don't mean much
mechanical days and tired nights
focussing on things that in the long run mean nothing
viewing the world through dark and cynical eyes
bad books and worse music
mourning the past and obsessing over the future
unmindful of the present
agonizing over boys with issues
agonizing over boys, period
monday morning blues and saturday night highs
loss of freedom and spontaneity
planning for the next 1 year or 10
broken dreams and failing courage
giving up and losing out
living incompletely
Hello
living preciously
living passionately
living
(Written on the eve of taking a one month break from work. Star gazing, bonding with friends, rediscovering old loves [er, of the non-human kind], basking in eternal love [yes, of the human kind] and living fearlessly are under-rated professions in my opinion and I look forward to a month of doing them justice)
Thursday, July 10, 2008
All Left Feet
I peep around the door and see a huge room with about 20 couples. Lots of youngsters, but also quite a few grey heads. There is some Latin music playing in the background. The sense of anticipation is so high, I can feel adrenalin shoot through my veins as if I am at the start of an Olympic race. But no, this is something of far less national interest and of far greater personal interest - I am joining a dance class session at the Bangalore Club. My parents recently signed up for this dance class and they cajoled the instructor into letting me try a session out when I was visiting. I haven't been this excited since...er...well....to be honest, since Brian tried to hold my hand in high school (that was the very first of my hand holding experiences and tragically still rates as my all time high) . In my mind I can already see myself gliding across the floor. I can see myself doing twists and little marches and twirls and all the while looking fantastic while staring into my partner's eyes and making great conversation...yes, my mind is a wicked thing and I firmly believe that my power to hallucinate is one of my greater talents.
Alan is our instructor. He's there in track pants and a t-shirt that says - Chicks fall for guys who dance. I like him already. Most others have dressed up for the occasion - not sure of it's a Bangalore thing or a Bangalore Club thing. Since all the women get to dance with all the men (as in you don't just stick to your partner but you shift partners at every step), I can see that care has been taken with creaming hands, painting nails, spraying on the deodorant, then spraying plenty of perfume over it, shaving off the 4 o'clock whiskers and shoes polished to a reflective shine. It is all in all quite a grand affair for a dance class. Even the youngsters are well dressed and non-grungy. How cool is that.
Most of the class has already had a few sessions of Salsa. As the Salsa music comes on, the groups deftly divides itself as efficiently as Moses divided the Red Sea - men on one side, women on the other. This is where everyone re-caps their steps without partners. 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8. More precisely it is 1-2-3-clap-5-6-7-clap. The steps are easy enough to pick up by watching the others. The basic salsa step is a forward backward step. If you can manage to shake your hips and arms along with the footwork, and at the same time miraculously manage to not look like a rabid dog, you then know that you have a bright future in the dance world and you can then work on upping the 'sexy' quotient. For me, the challenge is more on looking 'human' and less on looking 'sexy', a problem I recognise right away. But hey, I am getting into the groove, I am doing the steps right and feeling a wonderful sense of liberation. I am thinking that I should have done this years ago.
And then suddenly it is time to pair up. I am paired with a man who dances like Fred Astaire and smells like the Malboro man - a heady mix of cologne and tobacco which magically transforms the aura around him. The only problem here is my two left feet are no match to his perfectly performing ones. When I bump into him and step over his feet for the second time, he kindly asks me if this is my first time. I start to nod yes, which causes a seconds lack of concentration and my two feet finally trip over each other and I fall flat on my face. The dancing comes to a complete stop, people rush over, my parents (who until then, I thought were kind people) are laughing away in a corner and wondering if they should tell anyone that they are related to me, I sit up far more embarrassed than hurt. It has taken me a mere 6 salsa steps and fifteen minutes to learn that dancing is indeed rocket science and I am the equivalent of a third grade imbecile.
But when you hit rock bottom things can only move up. I stand up to discover that my new partner is a cute young chap who looks extremely nervous at partnering the new girl whose dance moves involve intimate contact of her face iwth the floor. I gather up my fast fading courage and draw my thick skin closer and I start to dance cautiously. Maybe because this boy isn't as good a dancer or maybe because falling is the absolute worst thing that can happen to me, but my initial trepidation and self consciousness evaporate. I start doing the steps right, of course I have to stare at my feet all the while without which my mind goes blank and I cannot remember the next step. Alan keeps telling me that dancing is all about romance and social interaction and staring at my feet means that I am completely ignoring my partner. I smile at him, all the while wanting to grab him by the collar and let him in on the secret that staring at my feet has less to do with being unsocial and more to do with keeping myself upright instead of horizontal on the floor.
Alan moves onto a new step. It involves holding the right leg at right angles to the left one and then moving the left leg behind the right one and moving your body the other way, then twirling and finishing it off with a hair combing action...I wasn't kidding when I said this is rocket science. A few practise rounds of this and those who can dance are looking pretty darn good. Those who cannot dance look like they are on the verge of a grand mal epilepsy attack. My mom has mastered the steps pretty well, her habit of doing things precisely has permeated into her dancing. My dad on the other hand has a non-existant sense of rythmn, he cannot tell his left from his right and no matter how hard he tries, he can only start the first step on the third beat! With all these handicaps, his salsa looks like he is playing tennis on the spot. I suspect that I look like drunk toddler when I dance but by now I am having too good a time to care.
It is a one hour class. I get the chance to dance with all the guys. The tall one who has to bend at his waist to hold my hands. The young one who has to count loudly to keep his feet in time. The aggressive one who insists on showing me all the wrong steps (like I wasn't doing enough of that all on my own). The good looking one whose eyes I look into, never mind that I don't get a single step right with him. The 65 year old who stops to catch his breath after every 3 steps. The cute one who dances so well, the only thing I can do is stop and admire. The corporate one who decides when to start and stop and delegates the job of keeping the beat to me. The Bollywood one who keeps looking at himself in the mirror and (oh horror) keeps pouting.
The dancing class is over too soon. Did I learn to dance over that one hour - probably not. But I did learn that I would love to try it again. I imagine that in a hundred classes or so, I just might learn to be slightly graceful, to not step on too many toes and to smile and keep beat at the same time. But I know that I'll start enjoying the process from the first step.
Alan is our instructor. He's there in track pants and a t-shirt that says - Chicks fall for guys who dance. I like him already. Most others have dressed up for the occasion - not sure of it's a Bangalore thing or a Bangalore Club thing. Since all the women get to dance with all the men (as in you don't just stick to your partner but you shift partners at every step), I can see that care has been taken with creaming hands, painting nails, spraying on the deodorant, then spraying plenty of perfume over it, shaving off the 4 o'clock whiskers and shoes polished to a reflective shine. It is all in all quite a grand affair for a dance class. Even the youngsters are well dressed and non-grungy. How cool is that.
Most of the class has already had a few sessions of Salsa. As the Salsa music comes on, the groups deftly divides itself as efficiently as Moses divided the Red Sea - men on one side, women on the other. This is where everyone re-caps their steps without partners. 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8. More precisely it is 1-2-3-clap-5-6-7-clap. The steps are easy enough to pick up by watching the others. The basic salsa step is a forward backward step. If you can manage to shake your hips and arms along with the footwork, and at the same time miraculously manage to not look like a rabid dog, you then know that you have a bright future in the dance world and you can then work on upping the 'sexy' quotient. For me, the challenge is more on looking 'human' and less on looking 'sexy', a problem I recognise right away. But hey, I am getting into the groove, I am doing the steps right and feeling a wonderful sense of liberation. I am thinking that I should have done this years ago.
And then suddenly it is time to pair up. I am paired with a man who dances like Fred Astaire and smells like the Malboro man - a heady mix of cologne and tobacco which magically transforms the aura around him. The only problem here is my two left feet are no match to his perfectly performing ones. When I bump into him and step over his feet for the second time, he kindly asks me if this is my first time. I start to nod yes, which causes a seconds lack of concentration and my two feet finally trip over each other and I fall flat on my face. The dancing comes to a complete stop, people rush over, my parents (who until then, I thought were kind people) are laughing away in a corner and wondering if they should tell anyone that they are related to me, I sit up far more embarrassed than hurt. It has taken me a mere 6 salsa steps and fifteen minutes to learn that dancing is indeed rocket science and I am the equivalent of a third grade imbecile.
But when you hit rock bottom things can only move up. I stand up to discover that my new partner is a cute young chap who looks extremely nervous at partnering the new girl whose dance moves involve intimate contact of her face iwth the floor. I gather up my fast fading courage and draw my thick skin closer and I start to dance cautiously. Maybe because this boy isn't as good a dancer or maybe because falling is the absolute worst thing that can happen to me, but my initial trepidation and self consciousness evaporate. I start doing the steps right, of course I have to stare at my feet all the while without which my mind goes blank and I cannot remember the next step. Alan keeps telling me that dancing is all about romance and social interaction and staring at my feet means that I am completely ignoring my partner. I smile at him, all the while wanting to grab him by the collar and let him in on the secret that staring at my feet has less to do with being unsocial and more to do with keeping myself upright instead of horizontal on the floor.
Alan moves onto a new step. It involves holding the right leg at right angles to the left one and then moving the left leg behind the right one and moving your body the other way, then twirling and finishing it off with a hair combing action...I wasn't kidding when I said this is rocket science. A few practise rounds of this and those who can dance are looking pretty darn good. Those who cannot dance look like they are on the verge of a grand mal epilepsy attack. My mom has mastered the steps pretty well, her habit of doing things precisely has permeated into her dancing. My dad on the other hand has a non-existant sense of rythmn, he cannot tell his left from his right and no matter how hard he tries, he can only start the first step on the third beat! With all these handicaps, his salsa looks like he is playing tennis on the spot. I suspect that I look like drunk toddler when I dance but by now I am having too good a time to care.
It is a one hour class. I get the chance to dance with all the guys. The tall one who has to bend at his waist to hold my hands. The young one who has to count loudly to keep his feet in time. The aggressive one who insists on showing me all the wrong steps (like I wasn't doing enough of that all on my own). The good looking one whose eyes I look into, never mind that I don't get a single step right with him. The 65 year old who stops to catch his breath after every 3 steps. The cute one who dances so well, the only thing I can do is stop and admire. The corporate one who decides when to start and stop and delegates the job of keeping the beat to me. The Bollywood one who keeps looking at himself in the mirror and (oh horror) keeps pouting.
The dancing class is over too soon. Did I learn to dance over that one hour - probably not. But I did learn that I would love to try it again. I imagine that in a hundred classes or so, I just might learn to be slightly graceful, to not step on too many toes and to smile and keep beat at the same time. But I know that I'll start enjoying the process from the first step.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
We Are Just Good Friends
Some questions are eternal. They serve to eternally perplex and eternally amuse. My favourite quintessential eternal question is - Can a guy and girl be just good friends? It's one of those age old questions, one that has no right answer and yet it begs to be asked every now and then.
Ofcourse the ambiance in which this question is asked determines the quality of the answers you get. Ask it during a mellow evening, 3 beers down and Doors playing in the background, and chances are you'll get to hear some very funny experiences and some very honest opinions. Ask it at a less opportune time (like just before entering a meeting, if you have really bad judgement) and your guaranteed response will be a cold sharp look.
I'm sitting in a bar with a friend, rock music on the side and potato fries in our mouths. This is the perfect setting to delve into shady conversation such as this.
Can a guy and girl be just good friends? I ask her. Her being Priya, an old friend and someone who has just exited her 15th relationship in half as many years. Probably not the most appropriate person to get an opinion on being just good friends with a guy , but hey, she's candid and opinionated and she could be just what I need to get this question answered.
Sheesh ofcourse they can, she replies, all the while trying to make eye contact with the rocker looking fellow sitting on the opposite side of the bar. She continues - The pre-requisite is that each has to be physically repulsive to the other, otherwise there is always the danger that chemistry may creep in through the back door.
This from the girl who is drop dead gorgeous...but then again she can just about spell platonic. Hmmm, maybe she does have a point here.
So does a platonic friendship rely on smelly fungal feet, black teeth with holes in them and 300 gigantic warts? I turn to ask her this but am instead treated to the eye rumba between her and the rocker. I am guessing that those two are not heading up the platonic street any time soon.
I ask this to another friend, Sara. She's petite and bubbly and adorable and has been married for ten years, but not without her share of guy adventures.
Sure a guy and a girl can be friends. But I have found that a guy and I just cannot be good friends, she says ruefully. She puts it down to the fact that she thinks she sends out wrongs signals inadvertently, she is all green lights where reds should be glowing. Hence she has cut men friends out, no men, no complications. And yet despite her best attempts, her stubborn signals must be shining bright for she's is always the one to get hit on when when we go out, she has old boyfriends (and boys who were friends) constantly trying to get back in touch and a series of new men trying to get her number. In her defence, I have to say that the only guy she actually hangs out with a lot is someone who is awfully cute but obviously someone in whom she senses no danger and someone she introduces as 'my best girlfriend'.
I ask a guy I have known for quite sometime now. Can you and a girl be just good friends?
I'm just good friends with you, are'nt I, he asks with a twinkle in his eye. According to him, this is a question for an 18 year old. They are apparently the only ones who should be racked with strange and meaningless questions like this. Once you have crossed 30, you should only worry about the monumental questions like, how can I keep from balding and how can I make it last longer? We giggle together like the old friends that we are.
This question is irrelevant to an 18 years old, I tell him. Most 18 year olds can muster up enough chemistry even with a tea pot.
It's all age related, he insists. Then he elaborates - At 18, every girl you see has potential. At 30, you are probably in a relationship and it becomes easier to be just friends with other girls. At 70, the only friendship that exists is of the platonic type. Chemistry at this age is related to how quickly the aspirin tablet will dissolve in water.
Okay, so here's a new twist to an old tale. Can a guy and a girl be just good friends despite some initial chemistry / attraction? Are'nt there people we all know who were attracted to each other, maybe even went out for a bit before realising that they worked better as friends than as a couple and have stayed great friends ever since?
They probably can be friends even when the attraction exists, my friends says after chewing on the thought for a while. He continues - but as long as there is some amount of attraction, under no circumstances, not even accidently, should she try to look any prettier or touch his hand or kiss his cheek or say she missed him and wear a blouse with the top button undone!
Our final conclusion is that minor attractions can be managed if the girl acts like a bitch, dresses like a nun and keeps a room's distance between them.
It appears that being just good friends is hard work. Either there needs to be replusion of some sort. Or one foot needs to be in the grave. So what about people who really are just good friends? Work colleagues? Gym buddies? Singing in the same choir? Drinking buddies? Movie buddies?
They're probably people who just dont find other people sexually attractive, says Arpana, close friend, confidant and someone who has managed to convert even the most complicated of relationships - her marriage - into a platonic state of two good friends living together as flat-mates. She says that opposite sexes can be great friends, but only if the friendship is not complicated by lust. You can never be friends with a guy you fantasize about. I agree completely. No point playing Scrabble with a guy and pretending to think of a word that starts with an s and ends with a t, which will fetch you 22 points, when all you are dying to do is run your fingers through his hair. Bad bad idea.
So here is the final conclusion from a bunch of been-there-done-that people. As a girl if you want to be good friends with a guy, you need to be terrible looking, mean, married and not in touch with your sexual side. As a guy, if you want to be good friends with a girl, you need to leave your testosterone at home and belch a few times for good measure.
As for me, I do think guys and girls can be just good friends. It's got do with being with the right people, being happy with other aspects of your life, being in a satisfying relationship, having areas of interest with your friends and trust . Have I had strange vibes from guys I thought I was being just friends with? Er, yes, especially in those hormone driven college days, but I moved beyond it or through it depending on how important the friendship was.
But today I am good friends with several guys. Fun, intellegient, talented guys. And I dont look at them as 'guys', I look at them as friends. And we're just good friends. No complications, no issues. And you know what this means right - Either that I am acompletely unattractive pain in the neck or that I'm one of the luckiest girls in this world.
Ofcourse the ambiance in which this question is asked determines the quality of the answers you get. Ask it during a mellow evening, 3 beers down and Doors playing in the background, and chances are you'll get to hear some very funny experiences and some very honest opinions. Ask it at a less opportune time (like just before entering a meeting, if you have really bad judgement) and your guaranteed response will be a cold sharp look.
I'm sitting in a bar with a friend, rock music on the side and potato fries in our mouths. This is the perfect setting to delve into shady conversation such as this.
Can a guy and girl be just good friends? I ask her. Her being Priya, an old friend and someone who has just exited her 15th relationship in half as many years. Probably not the most appropriate person to get an opinion on being just good friends with a guy , but hey, she's candid and opinionated and she could be just what I need to get this question answered.
Sheesh ofcourse they can, she replies, all the while trying to make eye contact with the rocker looking fellow sitting on the opposite side of the bar. She continues - The pre-requisite is that each has to be physically repulsive to the other, otherwise there is always the danger that chemistry may creep in through the back door.
This from the girl who is drop dead gorgeous...but then again she can just about spell platonic. Hmmm, maybe she does have a point here.
So does a platonic friendship rely on smelly fungal feet, black teeth with holes in them and 300 gigantic warts? I turn to ask her this but am instead treated to the eye rumba between her and the rocker. I am guessing that those two are not heading up the platonic street any time soon.
I ask this to another friend, Sara. She's petite and bubbly and adorable and has been married for ten years, but not without her share of guy adventures.
Sure a guy and a girl can be friends. But I have found that a guy and I just cannot be good friends, she says ruefully. She puts it down to the fact that she thinks she sends out wrongs signals inadvertently, she is all green lights where reds should be glowing. Hence she has cut men friends out, no men, no complications. And yet despite her best attempts, her stubborn signals must be shining bright for she's is always the one to get hit on when when we go out, she has old boyfriends (and boys who were friends) constantly trying to get back in touch and a series of new men trying to get her number. In her defence, I have to say that the only guy she actually hangs out with a lot is someone who is awfully cute but obviously someone in whom she senses no danger and someone she introduces as 'my best girlfriend'.
I ask a guy I have known for quite sometime now. Can you and a girl be just good friends?
I'm just good friends with you, are'nt I, he asks with a twinkle in his eye. According to him, this is a question for an 18 year old. They are apparently the only ones who should be racked with strange and meaningless questions like this. Once you have crossed 30, you should only worry about the monumental questions like, how can I keep from balding and how can I make it last longer? We giggle together like the old friends that we are.
This question is irrelevant to an 18 years old, I tell him. Most 18 year olds can muster up enough chemistry even with a tea pot.
It's all age related, he insists. Then he elaborates - At 18, every girl you see has potential. At 30, you are probably in a relationship and it becomes easier to be just friends with other girls. At 70, the only friendship that exists is of the platonic type. Chemistry at this age is related to how quickly the aspirin tablet will dissolve in water.
Okay, so here's a new twist to an old tale. Can a guy and a girl be just good friends despite some initial chemistry / attraction? Are'nt there people we all know who were attracted to each other, maybe even went out for a bit before realising that they worked better as friends than as a couple and have stayed great friends ever since?
They probably can be friends even when the attraction exists, my friends says after chewing on the thought for a while. He continues - but as long as there is some amount of attraction, under no circumstances, not even accidently, should she try to look any prettier or touch his hand or kiss his cheek or say she missed him and wear a blouse with the top button undone!
Our final conclusion is that minor attractions can be managed if the girl acts like a bitch, dresses like a nun and keeps a room's distance between them.
It appears that being just good friends is hard work. Either there needs to be replusion of some sort. Or one foot needs to be in the grave. So what about people who really are just good friends? Work colleagues? Gym buddies? Singing in the same choir? Drinking buddies? Movie buddies?
They're probably people who just dont find other people sexually attractive, says Arpana, close friend, confidant and someone who has managed to convert even the most complicated of relationships - her marriage - into a platonic state of two good friends living together as flat-mates. She says that opposite sexes can be great friends, but only if the friendship is not complicated by lust. You can never be friends with a guy you fantasize about. I agree completely. No point playing Scrabble with a guy and pretending to think of a word that starts with an s and ends with a t, which will fetch you 22 points, when all you are dying to do is run your fingers through his hair. Bad bad idea.
So here is the final conclusion from a bunch of been-there-done-that people. As a girl if you want to be good friends with a guy, you need to be terrible looking, mean, married and not in touch with your sexual side. As a guy, if you want to be good friends with a girl, you need to leave your testosterone at home and belch a few times for good measure.
As for me, I do think guys and girls can be just good friends. It's got do with being with the right people, being happy with other aspects of your life, being in a satisfying relationship, having areas of interest with your friends and trust . Have I had strange vibes from guys I thought I was being just friends with? Er, yes, especially in those hormone driven college days, but I moved beyond it or through it depending on how important the friendship was.
But today I am good friends with several guys. Fun, intellegient, talented guys. And I dont look at them as 'guys', I look at them as friends. And we're just good friends. No complications, no issues. And you know what this means right - Either that I am acompletely unattractive pain in the neck or that I'm one of the luckiest girls in this world.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
the mind vs. destiny
destiny is muscled, sinewy and strong
plowing through best laid plans
unheeding to what the soul wants
erect and unweilding it stands
but my mind has a mind of it's own
more fierce and willful than fate's hand
it knows my heart which destiny ignores
and i know life will always be grand
for as fate pulls and shoves with might
the mind fights tooth and nail
both may be matched in strength and wrath
but my mind will rarely fail
plowing through best laid plans
unheeding to what the soul wants
erect and unweilding it stands
but my mind has a mind of it's own
more fierce and willful than fate's hand
it knows my heart which destiny ignores
and i know life will always be grand
for as fate pulls and shoves with might
the mind fights tooth and nail
both may be matched in strength and wrath
but my mind will rarely fail
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