Friday, January 31, 2014

bricks and stones

Call me a racist
Because I have a religious symbol for a tattoo
Call me cruel
Because I will not bring the stray home
Call me stubborn
Because I do not want to look at things your way
Call me any name
Because it is not going to matter
As I am, what I am              
And my reasons are my own

My heart has bled
My back has bent
My eyes have dried out
So dear friendly advisor
Owner of saccharine tongue
Time for you to go

Because I am, what I am

And my reasons are my own

Thursday, September 19, 2013

writing for one person. me.

the problem with having a hobby that is also your profession is that somewhere down the lane, you stop thinking of it as a hobby and it becomes work.

words used to be my best friends
now they are colleagues.
temperamental and moody
sometimes stuffy
sometimes nice
sometimes good for a gossip
sometimes ready for a joke
always there for the client
but never just there
for me
and i feel abandoned.


Thursday, September 12, 2013

wise mouth, shut up please

it is nice sometimes
to not hear a voice
that says wise things

it is nicer still
if the voice is yours
and it perennially got you in trouble
because of its apparent lack of connect
with the working part of your brain

it is even nicer
because you really do not like how your feet taste.

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

The what ifs

Life is full of yes-es and no-es
and a few what-ifs

The yes-es have their own stories
The no-es, their own endings
But the what-ifs,
they are like undigested food
stuck to the craw
arising occasionally
as acid burps.

Monday, July 01, 2013

here we are again, doing what we do best - talking to oneself

when there is absolutely diddly to do
the mind works in strange ways

there are dialogues being exchanged
that are waiting to be made into stories
there are memories flashing by
waiting to be spoken about
there are conversations happening
between people who need to be in touch

when there is absolutely diddly to do
the mind works...
but the lazy body,
the lazy body finds a comfortable couch
and browses through mindless thrash
avoiding the to-dos
and the really should have already been dones
while wallowing in the fugue
created by having diddly to do.



Wednesday, April 03, 2013

Split wide open


For the first 16 years of my life, my mother put in a lot of effort (albeit with a lot of moaning and swearing) in braiding my hair into two neat long plaits. Every single morning she would appear magically by my side with the paraphernalia for war against curls, knots and stubborn daughter. The ruckus that followed would usually send my dad to dive behind his newspaper and the brother to spout caustic comments. The disinterest in the plaits was a front, because hey, I had the longest pigtails in town and I was very proud of them.

Then, I grew up and college beckoned. It was time to wave goodbye to pigtails and there was only one way around the problem … the hair had to go. So, one bright summer day, I gathered my savings and went and got a solid length of my hair chopped off. This did not mean I went and got a mushroom cut or anything because:
a.      I lacked the guts (proprietary mothers are VERY scary creatures)
b.      As mentioned earlier, I was secretly quite fond of my plait

Through early morning camps and mad college schedules, my hair maintained its health and never gave me much trouble. This was primarily because I never ventured beyond the staid yet sturdy plait, but was also because my lifestyle then, was pretty much all about 3 very important things – me, me and me. I was reasonably religious about my hair care routine – massages, washes and the occasional trim. My hair grew at a respectable rate and most days, we had a happy ending.

Then came the era of what I like to call temporary insanity.


The colouring, the moving cities and the total lack of ‘me’ time lead to major hair loss. Long plaits were a thing of the past. I thought I would end up going bald. Was even contemplating tattoo designs for my bald pate when Dove saved people who know me from a fate scarierthan bald witch meets Godzilla.
 
So now that the hair fall had stopped, I was beginning to have dreams of regaining my rightful title of the local healthy plait contest winner, when horror struck. I had split ends. Horrible, ugly curse that made the ends of my hair look like a much abused broom.
Not. Happening. At. All.


Thankfully, there is a Keratin God and I suspect she goes by the name Dove.

The new Dove Split End Rescue System with 1/4th moisturising milk claims to bring the split ends together and give up to 4x less split-ends.

Directions to use the Dove Split End Rescue Shampoo:
• Apply to wet hair, lather and rinse. In case of contact with eyes, rinse thoroughly.
• And be logical and follow it with New Dove Split End Rescue Conditioner (apply to wet hair, rinse thoroughly)

I have been using it for over 2 weeks now and I am slowly beginning to see the revival of my hair. It makes me feel all warm and nice to think I would soon be able to go back to what suits me best – a long, healthy plait…(uhm, just don’t tell my mother I said this though)

Go on and get yourself the new DoveSplit End Rescue System, long hair or short… healthy hair matters.