of stories

She seems confused. She talks about women, then talks about adventure. She’s seduced people, almost cheated on her boyfriend, been in a live-in relationship, by her own admission. What kind of person puts stuff like that on the internet? I don’t get personal blogging anyway. Why not just stick to a topic and blog about that? What does it matter whether you tell your story or not? Who cares?

She’s talking incessantly about me, without even knowing that she’s talking about me. To her I’m Anawnimiss, the ‘ridiculously shameless blogger’.

It was amusing at first, to listen to someone I know talk about my blog without realizing it’s mine. But then words started to sting. And yet I was quiet for the longest time, nodding my head, which is so unlike me.

I wanted to tell her that my story matters. Every story matters, because stories never belong to any one person. There are hundreds of people, women and men, just like me, with stories just like mine. They are traveling, dancing, getting married, having children, yearning for change, just like me. There are women who are just like me, looking for answers, looking for love, and for independence. There’s a common thread in all our stories that binds us all in a sort of fabric that keeps us warm.

Instead, I say: I don’t know, maybe sharing gives her strength.

Yeah right. What is she, Batman? Let her come out in the open and declare her real identity. Then I’ll see how much strength she really has to tell the truth.

Okay, she didn’t really say Batman, but you know what I mean.

But she’s right, you know. I really ought to come out in the open some day. And you know what, I’d like to see the look on her face when I do.

of flaws

She’s so… spunky, he’s saying. Obviously they’re talking about you.

I’ve always wanted to be with a woman like that. Driven. Independent. Confident. Sexy. She walks into a room and turns heads. She’s the hottest woman and the coolest friend rolled into one. You know what I mean?

You’re inching closer. You don’t want him to know you’re eavesdropping. She’s the kind of woman that makes you always want to hold on to, he says. You smile. You believe him.

Well, almost. You know he loves you, but always? You’ve never liked the idea of always. You know either of you can’t be absolutely loyal. It’s not in you. Both of you like being loved too much for your own good.

Also, he likes to be needed. All men do. You don’t know how long it’ll be before he realizes that you’re too driven. Too independent. Soon he will see that you can find your way around the world even without him; you don’t need a man to give you safety or money or happiness.

You know his reverence will eventually turn into resentment and that’s why the whole concept of always is so fucking flawed.


of an old book

They say that women fall in love with a man only once they get to know him. I’ve thought long and hard and can’t seem to remember a time I fell in love like that.

I choose my men rather like I choose my books. I want the cover to attract me and call out to me, look attractive. I need to feel drawn to it, regardless of what type of book it is. I’m impulsive. It’s usually a split second decision for me. But I’m also shallow, and I wouldn’t be caught dead with a book with an ugly cover. I never look beyond the cover the first time.

Once I’m alone with the book, I can’t wait to discover it, page by page. As I read, I’m aching to run my hands over the spine, making sure it’s there. Continue reading of an old book

Wedding Chronicles – Day 4

My highly opinionated mom thinks I’m a freak, too “modern” for my own good, trying too hard to run away from tradition. And trust me, I’m not even that outspoken about my views. I know we will end up having ugly fights long discussions if I start  talking.

Mom doesn’t know it yet, but Mister is two steps ahead of me. Sometimes I feel that he is far more progressive than I am, and that he should’ve been born in the U.S. He is opinionated and REALLY vocal about it. He will NOT back down in arguments discussions.

So imagine how much I was dreading the journey back. Mister and my mom on the same damn train, making me wonder if I should jump out before or after the discussion began. At the same time, I was really curious to see who would win in the clash of the titans. So I stayed. Alert.

It started soon enough. Continue reading Wedding Chronicles – Day 4

of little ironies

You know how when you’re little you want your wedding to be just perfect; how you imagine yourself in a bright red saree with a gold border, gold jewelry that is just the right size, hair done up in a neat little bouffant, and makeup that makes you look radiant; how you just know your family and friends are going to fawn over you as you get mehendi applied to your palms; and how much you want the photographs to be beautiful and candid at the same time? You know how you play that gooey-as-hell Kabhi Kabhi song again and again in your head, picturing yourself and your dreamboat in the sequence instead of Amitabh and his ugly consort?

I don’t. Continue reading of little ironies