Dancing- next to singing, dancing was the other activity I dreaded (heart and soul).. for the life of me blood on the dance floor always seemed like someone who succumbed to the humiliation of having actually performed a jig in front of all those watchers... Which brings me to the classic hierarchy of the Disco Groups..
People in Discoes can ideally be classified into three different groups - the Suave (the graceful, slithe bunch who look like they own the floor), the Sad (people who think they can dance but cannot see that other people are ogling at how odd they look shuffling about..) and finally the Sober (people who'll be silent bystanders till they consume too much alcohol and then- all hell breaks loose on the dance floor.. while the sad evoke pity- the sober are true-blooded entertainers.. in the blink of an eye and a flash of the strobe light they'll be on top of a table dancing with what more than one author would call "gay abandon".. without them the dance floor would be the sole haunting grounds for the suave.. the sad get inspired by these revellers and put on their best act... the swagger and potency displayed by the Sad in vain attempts to impress the ladies is worth its weight in gold purely for the guffaws and roll-on-the-floor laughter it produces..
For most part of my life I deemed myself a Sad.. My rare visits to dance floors have nearly never seen me rise from the seated position (with the last sip remaining in the glass- a valid excuse to evade the possibility of actually having to shake a leg), no matter how strong the beat or how great the music... my friends have tried in vain to make me swing but just the sight of my suave companions executing a one-two with casual ease used to send my pulse racing and palms sweating (indications of failure even before the disappointing attempts).. No amount of tutoring or pep talks from my engineering gang ever had an impact on this assessment save to reiterate it when they showed me some steps.. No! it was enevr gona work.. I was, am and will always be one of those shy and incredibly self-conscious people who groove in the sanctity of their rooms, locked away form the privy eyes of the world, lost in the music, till a loud knock forces them to alter that state...
Having been a bookworm for most part fo my life, physical activity has never appealed as a valid passtime, particularly those that involve coordination (video games, sports etc..) So I'd have remained untill I crossed the hallowed threshold towards my post graduation degree.. The world seems a much larger place when you live away from home amidst a brand new tribe of professionals with varied degrees of work experience, all eager to get acquainted and in hot pursuit of management education.. the breed of wanna-be MBAs.. Into this motley bunch I made my lone forage scraping myself a social distinction among these achievers who had a much better idea of what this degree was going to do for their career than I ever did.. Luckily my literary proclivity proved a saving grace and I carved a niche as a poet with rapier wit.. It did wonders to my confidence, I, hitherto someone who was considered barely worth noticing suddenly in the thick of a debate on what the topic of my next composition should be, flooded with congratulatory messages and heartfelt envy by others who possessed not my knack in words.. I doubt if I ever thanked those populace properly but what few words they had to spare went straight to my head (and my heart.. ).. Suddenly I was no longer an CAT application or a roll number I was Someone and the revelation hasn't worn off its welcome still..
Coming back to the issue at hand- MBA courses are famous for the all night parties and mine was no less.. with 100 wannabe managers prowling the campus the parties gained a benchmark for the best music, lights and dancing!!! I was looking forward to entertainment (MBAs with a couple of exceptions, all belong to Sober category..) And on the first occassion I jumped to the dance floor thanks to the anonymity afforded by the inebrieted crowd shuffling away to the music pelted by the huge speakers... I didn't think I'd get noticed in the throng so I let myslef go.. It was simlar to dancing in the confines of mine room- or so I thought... After deancing all night (the last song was at 3:45 am!!) interspersed with a couple of drunks getting out of hand, fresh air breaks and cold water rinses, I made it back to my room with sore feet and aching body parts but a strong joie de vivre.. i never have slept more contently..
The next day proved a surprise of sorts when some half a dozen classmates stopped by to say how well I danced.. I was elated!! Moi- a good dancer... I would've grounded their comments on the fact they were drunk but then compliments don't come that easy.. Now I know the secret to great dancing- Drinks on the House!!! So now, after my confidence booster-shots and compliment-doses, whenever I put on my dancing shoes, I forget about the dance floor hierarchies and who's watching and instead just listen to the music play and let myself just goooo.... after all isn't that what its all about?????
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Teddy Temptations
Ever seen a symphony in satin and artificial fur- embedded with softest cotton with black or brown beady eyes and triangular nose… its called a teddy bear.. The essence of childhood and its ephemeral spirit can be captured by this one object and preserved for time immemorial in its satin folds…
For the uninitiated, a teddy bear is a stuffed toy with two semi-circular ears without padding, a soft oblong head with close-set shiny eyes that seem to peer into your soul with the innocence often reflected in the smiles of infants- a genial expression of innocuous curiosity coupled with pinchable furry cheeks… a triangular nose set below the eyes with a sewed-on smile.. A bow in the head or at the neck might not be an uncommon sight- mostly colored red.. A well-rounded stomach extension follows the head in a pear shaped arrangement with paws attached for forearms and legs (normally in sitting position).. Open armed with enough space to squeeze in a hug from any creature..
All my childhood I’ve hankered (rather unsuccessfully, I may add) for a teddy.. a nice plump big teddy.. My mothers chief gripe, in those days, was that it would get dirty and she would be the one who had to clean it.. I finally had to settle with a white stuffed animal which bore close resemblance to a sheep.. it was hard but furry- white fur; but somehow it missed on the essential huggability quotient that all teddy’s adhere to and thus was never played with much… (This became yet another reason for why I was refused any more stuffed animals L )…
Finally at the age of 18 (no kidding!!) I found my true love… a brown tiny teddy with a green cap and green vest… hazel eyes and cupid like grin.. My father, after 11 long years of pleading finally relented… :D).. I hugged it, kissed it, squeezed the stuffing out of it.. It lay by my pillow with its contented expression- my salve for a ruinous day and my close confidant.. the feel of a soft plump furry cheek against my skin, a paw to hold at night while analyzing my unfulfilled wishes, a serene companion to my often wavering moods, a listener who would not judge me for my actions but accept me for what I was.. He was all this and more, but alas.. The picture wasn’t quite complete.. my mother, being the stickler to cleanliness that she is, threw him (it was a him.. all my teddies are “he’s” without exception..) into the washing machine… and he came out smelling like detergent with his insides still wet.. his stitches gave way too and cotton balefully glared at me from the gaps… he has now been relegated to a post at the top of the refrigerator to gaze upon me with those liquid brown eyes and watch me grow…
What makes teddies so incurably attractive?? The fact that look for no more than you can give, even a simple look at one will dispel your qualms and fears.. They ask for nothing but that you be yourself- treat them as you’d like (in all my life I’ve never come across a being who would willfully hurt a teddy bear!!).. love them or not they still treat you all the same- the same patient eyes peer out, the same sweet smile greets you, the very same paws draw around you for the hug.. What more can one ask??? No secret is too small; no matter is too tall- they’ll listen till you have nothing more to say and still they’ll stick around to make sure you’re okay; a hug or two just to be sure.. A better friend is rather hard to find..
I’ve had loads of teddies- a pink one from engineering, a panda during my MBA, a huge puppy for my birthday, another brown one form dad, a Garfield one for my birthday… they’re all sitting in a cardboard box- waiting for me.. To reclaim my childhood.. Every time I dust them it takes nearly all of my will power to put them away.. Or rather I have not yet found in me the strength to do as I please (I have found enough to buy teddy bears without parental supervision though J ).. Perhaps someday on a rainy night, I’d take these silent soul mates of mine and hold a tea party; warding away the chilliness and warming the heart and soul.. Perchance in my next birth, at least, I’d be fashioned as a hand crafted teddy with almond eyes and creamy skin with a blue bow around my neck… the perfect companion for a girl with plenty of imagination, oodles lots of heartaches and a ready hug…
For the uninitiated, a teddy bear is a stuffed toy with two semi-circular ears without padding, a soft oblong head with close-set shiny eyes that seem to peer into your soul with the innocence often reflected in the smiles of infants- a genial expression of innocuous curiosity coupled with pinchable furry cheeks… a triangular nose set below the eyes with a sewed-on smile.. A bow in the head or at the neck might not be an uncommon sight- mostly colored red.. A well-rounded stomach extension follows the head in a pear shaped arrangement with paws attached for forearms and legs (normally in sitting position).. Open armed with enough space to squeeze in a hug from any creature..
All my childhood I’ve hankered (rather unsuccessfully, I may add) for a teddy.. a nice plump big teddy.. My mothers chief gripe, in those days, was that it would get dirty and she would be the one who had to clean it.. I finally had to settle with a white stuffed animal which bore close resemblance to a sheep.. it was hard but furry- white fur; but somehow it missed on the essential huggability quotient that all teddy’s adhere to and thus was never played with much… (This became yet another reason for why I was refused any more stuffed animals L )…
Finally at the age of 18 (no kidding!!) I found my true love… a brown tiny teddy with a green cap and green vest… hazel eyes and cupid like grin.. My father, after 11 long years of pleading finally relented… :D).. I hugged it, kissed it, squeezed the stuffing out of it.. It lay by my pillow with its contented expression- my salve for a ruinous day and my close confidant.. the feel of a soft plump furry cheek against my skin, a paw to hold at night while analyzing my unfulfilled wishes, a serene companion to my often wavering moods, a listener who would not judge me for my actions but accept me for what I was.. He was all this and more, but alas.. The picture wasn’t quite complete.. my mother, being the stickler to cleanliness that she is, threw him (it was a him.. all my teddies are “he’s” without exception..) into the washing machine… and he came out smelling like detergent with his insides still wet.. his stitches gave way too and cotton balefully glared at me from the gaps… he has now been relegated to a post at the top of the refrigerator to gaze upon me with those liquid brown eyes and watch me grow…
What makes teddies so incurably attractive?? The fact that look for no more than you can give, even a simple look at one will dispel your qualms and fears.. They ask for nothing but that you be yourself- treat them as you’d like (in all my life I’ve never come across a being who would willfully hurt a teddy bear!!).. love them or not they still treat you all the same- the same patient eyes peer out, the same sweet smile greets you, the very same paws draw around you for the hug.. What more can one ask??? No secret is too small; no matter is too tall- they’ll listen till you have nothing more to say and still they’ll stick around to make sure you’re okay; a hug or two just to be sure.. A better friend is rather hard to find..
I’ve had loads of teddies- a pink one from engineering, a panda during my MBA, a huge puppy for my birthday, another brown one form dad, a Garfield one for my birthday… they’re all sitting in a cardboard box- waiting for me.. To reclaim my childhood.. Every time I dust them it takes nearly all of my will power to put them away.. Or rather I have not yet found in me the strength to do as I please (I have found enough to buy teddy bears without parental supervision though J ).. Perhaps someday on a rainy night, I’d take these silent soul mates of mine and hold a tea party; warding away the chilliness and warming the heart and soul.. Perchance in my next birth, at least, I’d be fashioned as a hand crafted teddy with almond eyes and creamy skin with a blue bow around my neck… the perfect companion for a girl with plenty of imagination, oodles lots of heartaches and a ready hug…
School Day Blues…
This morning while patiently waiting for my erratically timed transportation to work, I espied a girl in pigtails wearing a traditional blue and white uniform, peering through thick rimmed lenses in a rickety auto- in a vain attempt to cram more for her test (or so I presume).. from a brown-covered notebook with a blue label… I felt a wave of regret wash through me- that never again can I ever have those back to school blues…
The Back to school phenomenon is deeply rooted within each child states that whatever needs to be done of schoolwork during the holidays be pushed till the eleventh hour giving the maximum stress to parents and making them also rue the opening of the next term… basically it starts with the holiday homework.. one day before its due- the child whines to the mother saying I don’t have a pencil.. A frantic search for pencil, pen and other assorted stationery creates a spring-cleaning kind of atmosphere with the harried mother, who fears nothing more than that the delay or shabbiness of the child’s work be impinged with her qualifications as a mother…
The father enters later, sometime in the evening and the mother pours her tale out to his ears while he devotes his entire focus on the coffee she’s brought him.. the truant youngster is called and reprimanded and asked why his things were missing.. he balefully shows his completed assignment before dropping the next bomb- his school bag had a tear at the end of the previous term- he’d told them both but they never listened.. the parents can’t wait for tomorrow to come.. An inspection of the aforementioned article reveals a gaping hole the size of a fist (nature can only do so much, our little scamp had to manage the rest.. )
They check the time before speeding off to the nearest shop and what follows is the classic marketing drive of the shopkeeper.. he’ll show the most economical buys to the parents while quietly diverting the kid to the backroom where the more expensive and funky designs are stored.. you all know what happens next- a big drama with the dad trying to sell logic to a child while the child who knows psychiatry just wails mumbling incoherently about how dad promised to buy it last time and that the old bag has been around for ever so long and even his birthday gift was not that great.. ultimately with a splitting headache and a lighter wallet and a visibly content ward…
Just as they are settling down for dinner- the triumphant dad asks, “so you’re all set for school then eh?” (in the usual swagger that the man of the house knows how to handle the situation), and the reply, “ well, now I just need the notebooks, color pencils and brown cover, labels and eraser, and maybe even a sharpener”… what follows is an earth-shattering scream and a patriarch with an open mouth gagging over the dinner table.. after a hasty dinner, the family is bundled into the car and driven at top speed in order to get to the store just minutes before the shutters being pulled down.. the scenario unfolds with the dad alternating between pleading and threatening the shopkeeper, the mother scolding the kid in hushed tones with the eternal ,”if this ever happens again….”
After an hour or so the family finds themselves back at home, labels, notebooks, and all.. now the kid retires to bed for tomorrow is a big day- he excitedly yaks on about his groupies and their capers over the summer, mutters dark doings of the hated teacher and eager to gain the appreciation of his friends over the latest model of schoolbag (liable to be torn that very day).. the mother and father spend a candlelit evening together- wrapping the notebooks in the brown cover with labels for each subject (color-coded and label positioned for some at the top right, other at the center and for some a diagonal placement- as dictated by the one slumbering away in bed..)
The next morning sees an enthusiastic youngster with a bag bulging with notebooks and his holiday homework clutched in his hand being shepherded by two puffy eyed adults through the gateway for his impending education… they have taken a secret pledge to never again postpone such work till the last but we know best, another term another struggle of the adult versus the pint sized devils who wish to give their guardians a taste of school- the way they see it- A culmination of last minute effort and cramming in order to solve an educational issue in a vain attempt to decrease the learning curve, accentuated by experience and immune to the same… welcome back to School…
The Back to school phenomenon is deeply rooted within each child states that whatever needs to be done of schoolwork during the holidays be pushed till the eleventh hour giving the maximum stress to parents and making them also rue the opening of the next term… basically it starts with the holiday homework.. one day before its due- the child whines to the mother saying I don’t have a pencil.. A frantic search for pencil, pen and other assorted stationery creates a spring-cleaning kind of atmosphere with the harried mother, who fears nothing more than that the delay or shabbiness of the child’s work be impinged with her qualifications as a mother…
The father enters later, sometime in the evening and the mother pours her tale out to his ears while he devotes his entire focus on the coffee she’s brought him.. the truant youngster is called and reprimanded and asked why his things were missing.. he balefully shows his completed assignment before dropping the next bomb- his school bag had a tear at the end of the previous term- he’d told them both but they never listened.. the parents can’t wait for tomorrow to come.. An inspection of the aforementioned article reveals a gaping hole the size of a fist (nature can only do so much, our little scamp had to manage the rest.. )
They check the time before speeding off to the nearest shop and what follows is the classic marketing drive of the shopkeeper.. he’ll show the most economical buys to the parents while quietly diverting the kid to the backroom where the more expensive and funky designs are stored.. you all know what happens next- a big drama with the dad trying to sell logic to a child while the child who knows psychiatry just wails mumbling incoherently about how dad promised to buy it last time and that the old bag has been around for ever so long and even his birthday gift was not that great.. ultimately with a splitting headache and a lighter wallet and a visibly content ward…
Just as they are settling down for dinner- the triumphant dad asks, “so you’re all set for school then eh?” (in the usual swagger that the man of the house knows how to handle the situation), and the reply, “ well, now I just need the notebooks, color pencils and brown cover, labels and eraser, and maybe even a sharpener”… what follows is an earth-shattering scream and a patriarch with an open mouth gagging over the dinner table.. after a hasty dinner, the family is bundled into the car and driven at top speed in order to get to the store just minutes before the shutters being pulled down.. the scenario unfolds with the dad alternating between pleading and threatening the shopkeeper, the mother scolding the kid in hushed tones with the eternal ,”if this ever happens again….”
After an hour or so the family finds themselves back at home, labels, notebooks, and all.. now the kid retires to bed for tomorrow is a big day- he excitedly yaks on about his groupies and their capers over the summer, mutters dark doings of the hated teacher and eager to gain the appreciation of his friends over the latest model of schoolbag (liable to be torn that very day).. the mother and father spend a candlelit evening together- wrapping the notebooks in the brown cover with labels for each subject (color-coded and label positioned for some at the top right, other at the center and for some a diagonal placement- as dictated by the one slumbering away in bed..)
The next morning sees an enthusiastic youngster with a bag bulging with notebooks and his holiday homework clutched in his hand being shepherded by two puffy eyed adults through the gateway for his impending education… they have taken a secret pledge to never again postpone such work till the last but we know best, another term another struggle of the adult versus the pint sized devils who wish to give their guardians a taste of school- the way they see it- A culmination of last minute effort and cramming in order to solve an educational issue in a vain attempt to decrease the learning curve, accentuated by experience and immune to the same… welcome back to School…
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Moony-Eyed
Every night as I pass the hallowed gates of my workplace towards the sanctum of mine home, a chance glance reveals her highness- the moon.. satellite and all of course (with due respect for the science enthusiasts) but my love for her (i simply cannot condone the notion that it could be male.... :P) stems from her soft glow and comforting hue.. she's neither white- that means she's not a conformist or peace-lover who stands only by their ideals or believe the world can be perfect.. She' not off-white; which in turn indicates she does not condone laziness and untidiness either.. Not Grey for sure- she's not half-bad and that she comes out in the pitch dark- she's one gutsy dame.. Everyday she changes her shape- curves and all; her face is broken out at times and sometimes she veils herself in a cloud covering her moonbeams in the soft folds of mist..
Her glow is not harsh like the sun's, but is warm and comforting.. it won't protect you from the cold but at the same time it feeds your soul with sustenance that leaves you craving for beauty and its like.. It almost makes up for everything that went wrong during the day.. a break from the harsh climes and sunlight haze- a refreshing break in the hushed undertones of muted Sunshine.. she is like a beacon- a symbol of faith and hope in a charcoal sky.. a smooth marble chiseled as an everlasting signet of the brave and noble in whose realm doubt and despair are yet to be invoked.. As the moonbeams embrace the sleeping world in their simmering radiance of contentment and acceptance- of the darkness surrounding them, and yet shine through the shadows not with the fierce, hot-blooded glory that many epics hitherto stand testimony to; but instead reflect a softer state of bravery- of courage and finesse as two threads woven through the eye of a single needle- laminating a masterful tapestry lined with hope and threaded through grace- an evocation of the oft unnoticed brave deeds that we turn a blind eye, a deaf ear and a dumb tongue to...
And once in a while she has a bad day and refuses to come out at all... That's whats soo human about her... But the very next day, she realises her folly, finds it in her to overcome her pride and step out again for another night- roaming alone in dark lonely skies, espied by a mortal eye or two... suffusing the darkness with her trinkets and spools of moonbeams... never looking back but just onward and away till the muted colors of dawn drive her away... Into the misty nightlife eclipsing the other side of the world...
My heart's pledged to her... and none can take her place...
Her glow is not harsh like the sun's, but is warm and comforting.. it won't protect you from the cold but at the same time it feeds your soul with sustenance that leaves you craving for beauty and its like.. It almost makes up for everything that went wrong during the day.. a break from the harsh climes and sunlight haze- a refreshing break in the hushed undertones of muted Sunshine.. she is like a beacon- a symbol of faith and hope in a charcoal sky.. a smooth marble chiseled as an everlasting signet of the brave and noble in whose realm doubt and despair are yet to be invoked.. As the moonbeams embrace the sleeping world in their simmering radiance of contentment and acceptance- of the darkness surrounding them, and yet shine through the shadows not with the fierce, hot-blooded glory that many epics hitherto stand testimony to; but instead reflect a softer state of bravery- of courage and finesse as two threads woven through the eye of a single needle- laminating a masterful tapestry lined with hope and threaded through grace- an evocation of the oft unnoticed brave deeds that we turn a blind eye, a deaf ear and a dumb tongue to...
And once in a while she has a bad day and refuses to come out at all... That's whats soo human about her... But the very next day, she realises her folly, finds it in her to overcome her pride and step out again for another night- roaming alone in dark lonely skies, espied by a mortal eye or two... suffusing the darkness with her trinkets and spools of moonbeams... never looking back but just onward and away till the muted colors of dawn drive her away... Into the misty nightlife eclipsing the other side of the world...
My heart's pledged to her... and none can take her place...
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