Soar

One fine day you will wake up,
From a slumber you’ve long wanted to wake up from,

To run away from the place where you don’t belong,
To run away from darkness,
To run away from the unhappy.

One day you’ll just want to let go,
And breathe,
Just for once.

And when that day comes,
Let go.

Break all the chains and fly,
Fly and soar.

And live,
Just for once.

REVIEW: Bizarre – The Salon ★★★★★

It was around 7 years back that I first met Riddhi, after a friend came back home with a lovely haircut. Since then, I have let no one else cut my hair. And why would I?

I have seen people getting messy haircuts, and then dealing with it for 6 more months, to get it all right again. We all know how much that mane matters, don’t we?

Not even once have I come home disappointed and neither have any of my friends (the madames and monsieurs both) who I have recommended Riddhi to. I mean, you guys have seen the pictures right? Nah? Okay, here’s one from last month. She’s gorgeous, eh? I know.

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What’s more enduring is the fact that nothing has changed in the last so many years. Even as she became a salon owner herself (Bizarre The Salon), she still greets each one of her clients with the same warmth. It’s almost like chatting with one of your girlfriends, discussing your hair problems, and getting lots and lots of tips from her.

In short, if you want the best haircut/makeup, be it for your 16th birthday, an important date, or for your wedding (luckily, she’s doing mine, phew!), Riddhi is the person to go to, and Bizarre is the place to be. And don’t worry if you can’t get hold of Riddhi anytime, the rest of her team is also wonderfully trained, and will take care of you just as well.

I wish Riddhi and team lots and lots of success as The Bizarre turns all of 3, in 3 days.

And hey, don’t forget to like their page for some really exciting offers. Here: Bizarre The Salon.

Rains

I just came across an essay I wrote as a child. It says “India is a beautiful country. It has three seasons. The rainy season is the best season. I love to row paper boats and get drenched with my friends. Mom yells at me every time I do so. I think she also wants to row boats.”

Hardly did I know then, that this is indeed going to turn out to be the best season. The drizzles. The pour. The chai. The roar. The garma garam bhajiyas. The children in galiyas. I still love it all. There’s no drenching or rowing the boats though.

I have always written my best poems, clicked the best pictures, read the best books (last year: The God of Small Things), and enjoyed my best meals during the rains. Trust me, there is nothing better than the pithla bhakri atop Sinhgad.

And as I write this, I have  “To Kill a Mocking Bird” in one hand, and a hot cup of tea in the other. And the view is something like this:

Earlier this morning it was this:

Jealous eh? Good, that’s all I wanted to accomplish with this post.

Sweet and Sour

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I love you when you’re here,
I love you when you’re not,
I love you in heaps and bunches,
I love you, I love you a lot.

I love you when we agree,
I love you when we don’t,
You always think I’ll get mad,
But baby, no I wont.

I love you when we are close,
I love you when we are far,
My love for you knows no bounds,
No limits, no boundary, no bar.

Love you when I am alone,
I love you in the crowd,
Love you in the silence,
I love you when it’s loud.

I love you when awake,
I love you while I sleep,
My love is high like skies,
My love is sea-like deep.

I love you ‘coz we’re perfect,
I even love our flaws,
I love how it is today,
And even how it was.

I love you not for anything else,
But the man that you are,
I love you for all the sweetness,
And even the little bit of sour.

A Little Less Loved

Mom and Me

Lonely, lost, I walk this path,
It’s full of darkness.
A little less loved is how I feel,
Lesser loved and sightless.

Wake up in the morning,
And I look at your tea cup.
Suddenly I’m reminded you’re gone,
And how there is little less of love.

I wander through the day,
Deserted and clueless.
Can’t figure out how to live, or breathe,
Blinded by the darkness.

In the evening, I come back to a house,
Which I once had called a home,
I wander through the walls that scream,
They scream that I’m alone.

Somehow I gather the courage,
To walk up to your room.
Everything still looks the same,
I can smell your perfume.

The smiles you smiled, the laughs you laughed,
In the house, they still echo,
The mirror has held your reflection,
Not wanting to let go.

Many words unsaid,
So many things were left undone,
The memories come back to me,
They come back one by one.

In the night, I lay in bed,
Counting the promises to keep,
Your smiling face, I miss, I miss,
So I cry myself to sleep.

I cry, I weep, I break, I scream,
Million times a day.
I search, I cry, I fall, I try,
But I cannot find my way.

So, blinded I just keep on going,
Lost in the darkness.
Coz a little less loved is what I am,
Lesser loved and motherless.

Am I Being Too Much of a Liberal?

Today, as I sit and read about Mahatma Phule, and all the work he did to eradicate the orthodox thoughts from the society, I cannot help but laugh that after years of struggle of these social reformers, here I am still struggling, and still fighting it.

I live in one of the most reputed areas of Pune, which is home to the majority of high class population of the city. Imagine my disappointment when I was told I cannot talk to my own friends in the vicinity of my apartment, that I would have to go outside and greet those who have come to see me.

So here we are, today’s youth, even the good of the lot who are struggling to make the city a better place, having to fight such ridicules. And what is worse is that instead of raising a voice against it, my fellows choose to apologize for their “immoral behavior”.

I understand we come from a country which has the highest regard for its morals. So yes, question me if I walk out in public in a revealing outfit, object, if I am standing there kissing someone, but if I have to answer someone even if I wish to talk to my friends, that’s certainly something that I am not going to agree to. Because the next thing I know is I am not even supposed to be seen with my own husband in public.

Really, is it just me who thinks that it is absolutely ridiculous that something like this be happening today?

Am I being too much of a liberal?

Happy Birthday, Mummy!

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Dearest dearest Mom,

Wishing you a very happy 45th birthday. I know that you must have had a blast wherever you are, and I hope that you are in a much better place today.

It has almost been a year now that we lost you, and trust me there hasn’t gone by a single day when I haven’t thought about you or missed you. We all miss you, every single day, and we will for the rest of our lives.

I still remember what an amazing birthday party we had for you last year, with everyone you love, around you. The cake, with lots of roses, and an intricate icing, I remember it too. I had chosen it very carefully for you.

I baked a cake for you today, and I celebrated it with the people I love. I told everyone about how wonderful a person you were. We all called each other, Dad, aunty, me, and everyone, and spoke fondly about you. I hope you were watching us, and smiling at us.

I miss you and love you a lot Mummy. Every day, and every single moment I wish you were around me, even if it was just so I could lay my head in your lap just once more. If I could feel the touch of your hand on my head, and feel the heaven around me just once more.
Happy Birthday once again.

Love you,
Pau.