Aj's world

The wisdom peel

A J — Mon, 29 Nov 2010 12:34:02 +0000

The paint had chipped, not once, but many a times.

My skillful hands had, time and again, patched it; each time making sure I don’t make it look like a patch. It was hard work but I couldn’t care less. After all I considered myself a proud painter and my patch work must not look patchy, I insisted.

21st November it was today. I took my palette, mixed the crimson and blood red to, yet again, match that perfect shade.

The bristles soaked the paint and were eager to do their job. My hands: steady as usual. And as I sat to fill it, I stopped. This time it was without the horror. Another patch was on the verge of eruption. Yet, I stepped back. And smiled.

Everything ages, I realized. How gracefully… is our choice. I could, forever, fill the patches but would it retain the original emotions then? May be, no! But won’t people remark upon the bald spot? Yes, I guess.

I walked to my dressing table and emptied my dye mixture into the sink. Finally…I was ready to age.

Child Birth

A J — Sun, 29 Aug 2010 07:03:35 +0000

Painted this on the 29th August 2010. It’s called Child Birth

If you want to read my interpretation and the formation of this painting… scroll down.
Else, feel free to judge it your way :=)
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The interpretation and making of this painting...

I started off with painting this dark green curve. It indicated the ever present fertility that a mother’s womb has.

The yellow is the child who is ready to enter the world. The child has been thriving on the mother’s fertile inside, and the depletion of this resource is shown with a light green.

On the top and bottom are the dark blue, representing the unknown cosmos. On top, there are white spots on the dark blue, indicating two things: the first is the starry dreams that the parents have had while the child is being born. It also indicates those other lives that, if successfully merged with the egg, would have resulted in new lives.

The dark blue at the bottom indicates the uncertainity that both the child and parent have. The child does not know what it is in for, and the parent does not know whether the child is male or female, how will he/she shape up and what will their future hold.

Something blocked? Time to see around.

A J — Fri, 02 Jul 2010 07:15:29 +0000

It’s been almost a month since my dear phone has been lying with the repair shop. The last time I went to pick it up, all looked good, except a response delay in the phone. In simple terms, every time I would click on a function like read sms or stuff, the phone would take a few seconds more to respond. So I asked them to update my phone’s software and when they did, the whole darn phone fell back into a mess well. Chalo! No hassles. I pardoned them for that.

In the mean time I borrowed a phone from my teacher; a Samsung phone.
If I (ever) termed my phone slow, then heaven knows this phone is like a grandfather tortoise before my current phone. And since I have no choice, I am carrying on with this one. The whole month I have been grumbling about it, everyday, every minute.

I was on a vacation and when I resumed my work, came to know that the company has issued a diktat that we cannot use Gmail and Yahoo mail. There is only one mail service we are allowed to use. We are supposed to add all other mail accounts into that one email service and pull the mails into it.

All are bugged with the same and me likewise. However since I was missing my Gmail a bit too much, I decided to pull the other mails in too.

The Gmails downloaded into my inbox and instead of a frown, I had a smile on my face.
Reading those earlier mails, I got nostalgic. I read some of the mails I had received previously and it was a pleasant experience indeed. Loved it. In fact I also found a piece I had written way back and had lost it due to Rediff’s server crash (remember iLand?).

Realised that at times things happen for a special reason. When faced with situations such, its best to simply go with the flow. The corresponding advantage in the current disadvantage automatically pops up. And with that, I have decided to be nice to my dear (current) phone. Better smiles than cribs I say.

Stop molesting that child will ya?

A J — Fri, 09 Apr 2010 05:27:44 +0000

No don’t think you don’t need to read this.
If you have ever interacted with a child, then you are a culprit too.
Read on. You must.
Girl. Boy. Man. Woman… irrespective.

Gayu had invited us for a get together. I was super excited to meet the girls and especially Uditi, Gayu’s lil one. Udu, as we fondly call her, looked more like a recluse to the three of us. In fact only to us! With all others she was super-friendly, cheerful and fun. We, I inclusive, tried stunt like giving her a sweet hug, a peck and everything possible to woo her.But whew! The girl wouldn’t budge.This was since the past 1.5 years.

Tring! The bell rang.

Gayu opened the door and greeted me and the girls with her trademark “Hhiieeeeeee” and the warmest bear hug.
Though I love the hugs, I was focused on my modus operandi: Udu.

I had decided I’m going to make her mine today (chuckle chuckle).

We comforted our aching tendons and puffing breath by seating ourselves on the sofa.

Out came my girl Udu.

Our eyes met, but lady was in no mood to beckon.
I decided to use my usual: grab her, hug her style, till something struck.

For once, I decided to treat her like a human being and not like a little doll with flesh and blood.

Her privacy, her choice, I realised, must be respected.
I got myself busy with hogging and enjoying the music.
Udu went on my ignore list. But not for long…

Children are my weakness and I go weak on my knees with their lightest smiles.

I decided to approach Udu, the way I would approach a stranger, with the intent of course to befriend her.

I wanted ice and asked Udu where I could get it. Hearing a “big guy” ask her for help, Udu was very excited and gleefully accompanied me to the kitchen to show me where the ice was. Gayu, her mom, intervened, but I politely requested her to not. A bonding session was in progress. Then I asked her where the garbage bin was and she was more than happy to guide me to it.

Then, gently, I put my charm to work. We played ice tattoo ice tattoo, in which Udu and I would tattoo each other with ice and pretend as if the shock (the frost sire!) was too much to handle. It went on for long, very long, till in the end I had to leave behind a sad, teary-eyed Udu asking me not to go. Gayu and her hubby were SURPRISED at this, for they said Udu had NEVER asked anyone to stay like this! I had won Udu. She was mine. Battle won.

And you know how? My charms apart (forgive the immodest me), it was the fact that I gave the child, the right to her privacy.
I would never approach a stranger (boy/girl) irrespective and hug/kiss/grab him or her just cause I like them.

I’d rather approach with caution, express my liking with the first move, and then give the other person enough time to wake up to my desire and mingle. Then why not give the same space to children rather than just pounce on them because they belong to someone you know. Won’t that be like molesting the child? Think. Think about it.

Give children the space, the time. If you really care for them, don’t impose yourself upon them. Instead, approach and wait.
Be patient. Soon they will come to you and even if they don’t respect it.

Don’t molest the child. They have their choices too.

Brown, Sinful brown

A J — Thu, 18 Feb 2010 09:23:50 +0000

Brown,
Sinful brown,
the Dusk that you are,
a Folly of the creator,
for he was Partial,
when thou he moulded,
Pleases him thou beyond reason,
Pierces me with desires unquenched,
Tormentor,
thou being roots Sins in me,
as Desires of caress,
of Fondle,
of Feel,
let me free Thoughts,
let me free Nature,
but alas…
for every Dawn,

that lets me thou forget,
the Dusk follows,
with its Enveloping,
telling,
that a latitude apart are thou,
as I foolishly try,
to touch the brown,
mistakening it,
for the dermis of your creation.

Marriage, before and after

A J — Mon, 25 Jan 2010 07:19:28 +0000

- Note: The cartoon is not done by me. The words are mine :=)

Why I hate myself

A J — Tue, 15 Dec 2009 09:27:49 +0000

1 ) Why are you still searching

2 )      for reasons that I

3 )      should HATE myself???

4 )      Very Bad

5 )      Very Very Bad

6 )      Very Very Very Bad

7 )      Very Very Very Very Bad

8 )      Now just

9 )      STOP

10 )   IT

He he… a lesson in self appreciation :=)

PS: Pressing the left button of your mouse, move it over that empty space above.

I danced the dance

A J — Mon, 23 Nov 2009 10:54:41 +0000

I hadn’t heard that song before. Never.

It just started off.The lyrics to me did not make any sense then. The beats did.
It set my foot thumping.
The thumps got louder.

I got up and my feet began to tap the dance floor.

Fast. Faster.

I broke into a jig.

My hands swayed and my body began to groove.
Oh… ah… this was fun.

Every muscle danced to the rhythm. The song was at it’s catchy best.

And that’s when I spotted her… my partner… standing in the corner, smiling at me.

Gracefully, I skid on the floor and held out my hand to her.
She was waiting and gladly accepted my offer.

I pulled her towards me, my arms on her waist; her’s on my shoulder.

I coiled her in me and then just unwound her.
A lift followed.
The dance just flowed.
Cartwheels, summersaults… the moves were unbelievable.

I never knew I could dance so well and hidden were her moves too, until now.

Every muscle in my body was burning to fuel my moves, and I was unstoppable.

I had never danced like this before. Never.
The song went on. I danced like there was no tomorrow.

So what if I was sitting in the bus.

So what if the music played on the radio.

So what if the dance floor was in my mind.

So what if my moves were my imagination.

So what if my beautiful partner was my creation.

I had danced the best dance of my life.

Yeh to mera beta he hai

A J — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 06:59:47 +0000

This thought has often crossed my mind, but a good debate with my loved one yesterday triggered this post.

I remember seeing this one episode of Farah Khan's show "Tere mere beech mein" where the guests were Bipasha Basu and Shilpa Shetty. After a wonderful conversation, the topic swayed to how the girls were supporting their family. Each lady's parents were gleaming with joy, proudly announcing how their babes were like the "boys of the family". "Yeh toh mere beti nahee, beta hai, they cooed, much to the joy of the girls. They were so proud to receive that compliment, and I was perplexed.

Perplexed because I wondered, if a guy's parents had ever said, "yeh toh mere ghar ke beti jaise hai", would I have accepted it as a compliment? May be no! Never!

For a man to be "like a girl" is like one of the biggest insults. So why this fascination among women to be "like men" or even "better than them?" Are women not wonderful blessed beings as themselves that they need to tread their existence in the pursuit of being a better being? Why can't the ladies accept the fact that as humans, they are powerhouses in themselves? Men are men, and women, women. They can never be equal. They were never meant to be ya, else why would Lord create the distinction?

In the mad rush to prove themselves, I have seen many women lose out on the true charm they were born with. They have turned so manly in their approach. Sigh, I wish women recognised their own selves better (and of course, sooner please).

Why I LOVE Kamaal R. Khan

A J — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 06:05:33 +0000

Kamaal Rashid Khan
No sorry.
KRK Sir as I address him.

Ufff what a personality man!
Hai maar daala!!!

But why on earth am I raving about KRK?

Chalo, flashback! Flashback! Flashback!

You see, me and Mom are like the best of friends.

And friends hai toh, a lil tiffs also happen.

Because of some small arguments, Mom and I were not in our normally comfortable frequency of talking. And whatever attempts I made were somehow falling to deaf ears. This happened on the first days of Diwali.

Ok fine! I decided.

Let's keep things the way they are. In a few days all shall be fine.

Instead, the discomfort grew. And we both are not used to this.

But nothing seemed to thaw the ice-cold vibes (ok I exaggerate. Not so cold.)

But yesterday night, as we sat to watch another episode of Big Boss Season 3, Kamal Sir resorted to his obscene behaviour best. A bottle was flung and lots of abuses hurled. Mom mine got bugged.

"How can Big Boss tolerate this? He should be put to jail (the Big Boss jail she meant)".

This was my perfect chance I thought. "Arey sachee Ma. The poor Bakhtiyar was punished for such a small mistake and this guy! Nonsense!!!".

Our hurls at Kamal went on and on.

And by the end of it, the ice had melted and we were at our warmest best.

Ah, felt so GOOD.

They called TV, the idiot box.

But thanks to this Idiot, I got my friend back.

And as for KRK Sir, Pranam to you.

Thanks to this idiot too, I got my friend back.

Long live KRK Sir (Sorry, I can't say the same about his movies).

You may watch the drama here: Kamaal at his best