Manhattan

“Chapter 1.

He adored New York City. He idolized it all out of proportion...no, make that: he - he romanticized it all out of proportion. Yes. To him, no matter what the season was, this was still a town that existed in black and white and pulsated to the great tunes of George Gershwin.'

Uh, no let me start this over.

'Chapter 1.
He was too romantic about Manhattan, as he was about everything else. He thrived on the hustle bustle of the crowds and the traffic. To him, New York meant beautiful women and street-smart guys who seemed to know all the angles...'.

Ah, corny, too corny for my taste. Can we ... can we try and make it more profound?

'Chapter 1.
He adored New York City. For him, it was a metaphor for the decay of contemporary culture. The same lack of individual integrity that caused so many people to take the easy way out was rapidly turning the town of his dreams in...'

No, that's a little bit too preachy. I mean, you know, let's face it, I want to sell some books here.

'Chapter 1.
He adored New York City, although to him it was a metaphor for the decay of contemporary culture. How hard it was to exist in a society desensitized by drugs, loud music, television, crime, garbage...'

Too angry, I don't want to be angry.

'Chapter 1.
He was as tough and romantic as the city he loved. Behind his black-rimmed glasses was the coiled sexual power of a jungle cat.'

I love this.

'New York was his town, and it always would be.”

― Woody Allen, Manhattan

The Love Calculator

(Written on: 29th April, 2013)

The other day, I came across this Facebook App that claimed to find out how much my boyfriend/crush (or whatever) loves me. No, it doesn't shock me. The internet is so full of random harebrained crap that I'm probably immune to it all by now; or most of it at least. But I am appalled at the number of people who actually buy into this shit.

It reminded me of those love percentages we used to calculate as kids. (I was a total sucker for those. Oh come on, don't judge me. We all were.) 

A completely ridiculous game of numbers involving some seemingly complex calculations. (I used to feel like this great mathematician at work as I fervently calculated all my friends' love percentages with the kind of enthusiasm that would put Einstein to shame) 

Of course, they never worked, but the excitement to find out each others' love percentages never diminished. Somewhere in the middle of all those complex equations, I grew up.

What I realized, was that love was more complex than any of these calculations. So complex, that people want to stay in denial. What exactly makes them choose to rely on some ludicrous Application to make themselves believe what they want to believe anyway? Are they just that stupid? Maybe, maybe not.

Maybe, they're just... lonely. Lonely in the relationship. The comfort of staying in denial and ignorance. The comfort of believing the App that only reflects nothing but what they want for to happen. The comfort is so tempting and so inviting to them, that it supersedes all logic. Reality is uncertain. Who likes uncertainties? The thought of facing reality is so... bleak and unappealing!

So, instead of walking up to their crush or boyfriend (again, or whatever) and finding out things for themselves, all you do is hear what you want to hear. From the love calculator. Convenient. Comforting. Reassuring. And way better than facing reality and having your make believe lovey dovey dream world shattered. Reminds me of Meghna from the movie Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na. 

But how long do you live in your sweet little fantasy? And how healthy is it?

People already in a relationship who seek solace in these App results, are the ones who are insecure. They kind that are lonely in their relationship. WHY else would a person depend on an App to tell them how much their lover loves them?!

Wouldn't they just go up to their lovers and ask them? Or even better, the secure ones wouldn't even feel the need to ask. They'd already know!

The insecure ones are the ones who don't want to face the truth. 

But before you join the bandwagon of denial and find your own solace in the results of a love calculator, ask yourself: The Love Calculator has a reset button. Does your relationship have one?

A few months ago, my childhood friend (the one I used to calculate those love percentages with) showed me this Game/App she had on her cell phone that calculated love percentages. It calculated your compatibility depending on the number of letters in your name. (or something of that sort)

After much persuasion (okay no, I admit, I did not need any persuasion whatsoever. Did I mention I was a sucker for those?) I typed my name first followed by his. It came to 78%.

We both frowned.

"No, there's something wrong. Let's try again." my friend cajoled.

This time, I typed his name first and then typed mine. It came to 96%.

And we, despite our wise, grown-up selves, giggled and squealed like those two school girls we were again.

The calculator had shown me what I wanted to see.

And I admit, for that moment, just that one teeny-tiny moment, I too was guilty of measuring love in numbers.

Dedicated to: Priyanka... The childhood best friend.

Treasure Hunt

Look what I found

A box full of hope

A treasure so rare

Buried deep in myself

Where was it

When I needed it the most?

If only I had searched back then

Instead of despair

I could have found my strength

I always won those treasure hunts

How did I not discover this one?

Never mind, I’ll put it back

I’ll save it in my secret stash

I have there faith and happiness

Hope I will add to the assortment

Someday all of it I’ll need

Till then I’ll just hoard

And pacify my greed. 

Haunted

House of guilt

Haunted,

By the mistakes

Of my past

Walls of denial

Can’t hold off

These ghosts

Of all the wrong choices

That I made

I lock all the doors and windows to my soul

But they still seem to find a way

To enter into my head

The bed of defiance that I sleep on

Creaks with the weight of my remorse

Spirits of misjudgments

Haunt even now.

This Means W. A. R.

She had her non-manicured claws

On that pretty chiffon scarf

She looked at it

With lustful eyes

The thing that I wanted the most

And the one I’d never let her buy

I walk over to her, swiftly and with purpose

With a sly smile

I whisper meaningfully in her ear

“I don’t mean to be offensive or curt

But if you touch it, you’ll get hurt

Leave it honey and just walk away

I saw it first, it has my name”

In the glory of her smugness she basks

She raises an eyebrow. “Or what?” She asks.

Eyes narrow, nostrils flare

Balled up fists and murderous glares

My hair’s just done, and my shoes are new

My nails are freshly painted in blue

Some of them shiver and others scoff

As I say the most clichéd dialog

How many times have you heard that before?
“Hold my purse, this is war.”

Two

Exchange sweet nothings
Create a world of our own
Discover things unheard
Venture into the unknown
But let it be just
The two of us
I admit I'm a loner
But I'm hardly alone

Scars

Wrapped up emotions deep buried

Shoved away carefully in a dark niche

The shame still haunts

The humiliation still daunts

They were wounds of the past

They stung and burned

You bandaged them and covered them up

Wiped the tears off

And faced the world

But they left a scar

A wretched scab

An eternal reminder

Of the shameful past

They looked like they healed

But one scratch on the surface

Was all that it took

One scratch on the surface

And the wound was fresh again

Emotions came surging back

Back from their dark alcove

They brought the pain along with them

The mind replayed it all over again

The hurt. The tears.

You cringed.

Shame came first;

Hurt came next

But then came the moment

Of cold numbness

As the anaesthesia of acceptance

Slowly worked its way in

You saw yourself more clearly

As light entered the wound
Now the scars stand as a souvenir

A testimony to the struggle

The struggle to forgive;

The struggle to accept the past

The struggle to renew the hope

And the struggle to let go

The scars stand firm

A reminder that it was real

A reminder that you healed

A reminder that despite all the odds

You're still here; you survived.