the lesser-known positives of drunk dialing:
you wont be complaining about the hangover the next morning.. now you have bigger problems to worry about.
alcohol is known to grow balls on otherwise meek human beings. Well, atleast you are sure you have them now that you have had the courage to make the call and speak the absolute truth, no matter how much shit it gets you into.
it beats the hell out of puking your frustration out or making out with a random person.
if the drunk diallee still answers your call in the morning, you know he/she still cares for you.
the awkward apology the next day and the relief at the forgiveness that's thrown at you.
oh and you sleep better and not just tonight, because your heart is lighter.
Aug 10, 2011
Jul 28, 2011
Lost. And found.
Day was thunder, night was storm
A wounded soul and a heart; torn
Jostling with questions,
Haunted by answers
Lost in confusion.
A stroke of luck
Destiny played its turn
You walked into my life. Again.
But this time, I noticed.
Lost in you.
The surreal rescue;
From that web of shadowy thoughts
From the dark waterfall of gloom
You set me free
Lost in hope.
Walking aimlessly on the street, I smiled again.
Smelling contentment in freshly baked bread
Hearing joy in shrieking children
Watching life play hide and seek around me
Lost. And found.
PS. Thank you. You know who you are.
Jul 10, 2011
Jul 7, 2011
It's funny how in spain...
its a dog's world in Espana. They dress up their dogs... like they dress up their babies.. and flaunt them all over the place... lol... designer sweaters, barrettes, little pigtails.. its cute!
the beautician who waxed my eyebrows... didn't believe it was important to wax her hands? And what takes five minutes in India and involves some basic skills, took half an hour, a whole of wax and then an extremely painful process and cost about ten times what it costs in India.
everything is compact... the flats, the roads, the dogs, the coffee cups, the cars, the washing machines, the television sets, the bars, everything except things I need to be compact for my three month trip - like detergent, jam and dish-washing liquid containers... those they made me buy in bulk!!
they talk at the bar, on the street, at the salon, on the bus, at the coffee place, in the club, on the beach, at the grocery store, on the metro.. anywhere and everywhere.. the Spanish love to talk. And I loved listening to their beautiful, animated chatter that was always full of life.
coffee is the end all and be all of Spanish existence. they drink it all day long, before, in between and after any meal during the day. The coffee menu is flourishing with options for varied, experienced tastes.
they like it slow and sensual. Why rush through the motions when you can stop every moment in time and make a 'fiesta' i.e. celebration out of it. In Spain, they serve your coffee slow so they can chat up with you, they make you wait longer in lines at the bank so you can get to know the person before and after you and the 'donoot' lady will tell you stories of her morning travel so you can enjoy ten seconds of smelling those freshly-baked sweet nothings before you start your day. While the world can accuse the Spanish of being lazy, I accuse them of being pleasure seekers rather than efficiency-obsessed.
food is an occasion in Espana.. they celebrate, bond, laugh, cry, share, ideate and connect over a meal. No wonder I love the place so much. My passion is the country's passion. Lunch is not to be taken lightly. Its a two-hour soiree complete with a beverage (most often alcohol), an appetizer, a main course and dessert. How do you go back to work after that, I don't know. What is the Spanish word for 'courage' again?
Speaking of 'courage', Barcelona is one of the craziest party destinations in the world and now I know why. After intermittent drinking through the day, serious alcohol intake starts up in the evening and multiple bar-hopping adventures ensue. Post that, people walk into clubs at 2 Am and party like rockstars into the morning. Breakfast, coffee and then work? Critics can blame the state of the country's economy on this phenomena if they like. I wouldn't though, I think partying is the fuel to their high performance on the happiness index.
For a person who has been a nomad all her life, I finally belong. I belong to Barcelona. Barcelona belongs to me. Te Amo Espana. and its funny how much :)
the beautician who waxed my eyebrows... didn't believe it was important to wax her hands? And what takes five minutes in India and involves some basic skills, took half an hour, a whole of wax and then an extremely painful process and cost about ten times what it costs in India.
everything is compact... the flats, the roads, the dogs, the coffee cups, the cars, the washing machines, the television sets, the bars, everything except things I need to be compact for my three month trip - like detergent, jam and dish-washing liquid containers... those they made me buy in bulk!!
they talk at the bar, on the street, at the salon, on the bus, at the coffee place, in the club, on the beach, at the grocery store, on the metro.. anywhere and everywhere.. the Spanish love to talk. And I loved listening to their beautiful, animated chatter that was always full of life.
coffee is the end all and be all of Spanish existence. they drink it all day long, before, in between and after any meal during the day. The coffee menu is flourishing with options for varied, experienced tastes.
they like it slow and sensual. Why rush through the motions when you can stop every moment in time and make a 'fiesta' i.e. celebration out of it. In Spain, they serve your coffee slow so they can chat up with you, they make you wait longer in lines at the bank so you can get to know the person before and after you and the 'donoot' lady will tell you stories of her morning travel so you can enjoy ten seconds of smelling those freshly-baked sweet nothings before you start your day. While the world can accuse the Spanish of being lazy, I accuse them of being pleasure seekers rather than efficiency-obsessed.
food is an occasion in Espana.. they celebrate, bond, laugh, cry, share, ideate and connect over a meal. No wonder I love the place so much. My passion is the country's passion. Lunch is not to be taken lightly. Its a two-hour soiree complete with a beverage (most often alcohol), an appetizer, a main course and dessert. How do you go back to work after that, I don't know. What is the Spanish word for 'courage' again?
Speaking of 'courage', Barcelona is one of the craziest party destinations in the world and now I know why. After intermittent drinking through the day, serious alcohol intake starts up in the evening and multiple bar-hopping adventures ensue. Post that, people walk into clubs at 2 Am and party like rockstars into the morning. Breakfast, coffee and then work? Critics can blame the state of the country's economy on this phenomena if they like. I wouldn't though, I think partying is the fuel to their high performance on the happiness index.
For a person who has been a nomad all her life, I finally belong. I belong to Barcelona. Barcelona belongs to me. Te Amo Espana. and its funny how much :)
note
you might be wondering why I am posting old pieces on my blog now? Well, they were sitting as drafts for months, even years. I guess I just sat on them, hoping that I will come back and make them better.. somehow perfect. But, closure is most important today. done.
Jun 14, 2011
that last kiss.
Never again, am I going to feel that tingly, warm graze of his slight beard on my cheeks. Never again, are those familiar brown eyes going to stare longingly into mine as I search for my eternity in them. Never again, will the same set of lips ever lock to create that 60 second hurricane of world-changing, soul-stirring intercourse of love and lust between two individuals. Never again, will I have my last kiss with him again, cos this is it.
You know what is a real tragedy.. when you know that a kiss is the last.
When you know its the last ... the mind is wheeling in so many directions. Flashing between the past, the present and the future of how you got to this moment where you are parting ways with some one who is obviously important in some way, you are unsure of how to remember this. Is it him, is it me, is it both of us, is the world that wouldn't let us be together..... Would the questions just stop for minute and let this sweet moment of surrender to my lust be the answer to my angst. Would the pain part ways with me to let pleasure play its part for this might be my last kiss with him?
You know what is an even bigger tragedy.... when you don't realize that a kiss is the last.
I do that routine two-second peck on the lips just before I leave for the escalator to catch my flight, smile, say our good byes and leave. And as I walk away slowly, fixing my laptop bag strap on my shoulder and check for my boarding pass and turn around to glance back at him, without for a second thinking that this might be the end of it all.
If I knew that this was my last kiss, would I play it differently? Oh what I would give, to rewind to that moment in time. To relive it, and really savor it .... to find a way to somehow make those few seconds last forever. And now the million dollar question: What is the perfect last kiss? Everything just freezes around you , and the only noise around you is two faint heart beats thumping in a confused synchrony. While the voice in your head screams at the top of its lungs in ecstasy, and your lips are shamelessly confessing the same... somehow you can't utter the words ... even to each other.... in the fear that this will all get jinxed and just disappear...
which it did anyway, despite all the precautions I took! :(
So this is an ode to the last kiss, the mother of all kisses... because there isn't going to be another one like this one.
You know what is a real tragedy.. when you know that a kiss is the last.
When you know its the last ... the mind is wheeling in so many directions. Flashing between the past, the present and the future of how you got to this moment where you are parting ways with some one who is obviously important in some way, you are unsure of how to remember this. Is it him, is it me, is it both of us, is the world that wouldn't let us be together..... Would the questions just stop for minute and let this sweet moment of surrender to my lust be the answer to my angst. Would the pain part ways with me to let pleasure play its part for this might be my last kiss with him?
You know what is an even bigger tragedy.... when you don't realize that a kiss is the last.
I do that routine two-second peck on the lips just before I leave for the escalator to catch my flight, smile, say our good byes and leave. And as I walk away slowly, fixing my laptop bag strap on my shoulder and check for my boarding pass and turn around to glance back at him, without for a second thinking that this might be the end of it all.
If I knew that this was my last kiss, would I play it differently? Oh what I would give, to rewind to that moment in time. To relive it, and really savor it .... to find a way to somehow make those few seconds last forever. And now the million dollar question: What is the perfect last kiss? Everything just freezes around you , and the only noise around you is two faint heart beats thumping in a confused synchrony. While the voice in your head screams at the top of its lungs in ecstasy, and your lips are shamelessly confessing the same... somehow you can't utter the words ... even to each other.... in the fear that this will all get jinxed and just disappear...
which it did anyway, despite all the precautions I took! :(
So this is an ode to the last kiss, the mother of all kisses... because there isn't going to be another one like this one.
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