Blue bottles

Can anyone be so perfect for you that the thought of being with them doesn’t strike you? Can someone be so wrong but all you can think of is laughing with them over a hookah?

Two people sat opposite each other, smiling absently. Their minds elsewhere. And bodies right there, billowing with the familiar strains of Something Old. A circle of people separated and joined them with each laughing and drinking at the fringe of Something New.

Jokes breezed around. Looks passed around. But these two sat divorced from the moment. Oblivious to everything but the string of shimmering awareness that stretched between the two. There would be dreams later but that moment existed with both in flesh and bubbling blood.

Can someone wrong make you feel thirteen again? Can someone right make you feel thirty?

They looked at each other and looked away. A smile lit both their faces. And a little jolt passed through them. There would be a culmination. Lay ter. But for now began something both had done before. Knew the consequences of. The cards had been laid. Something both had been burnt at. But that didn’t matter anymore. It was time to wing it with Something Borrowed from the past and it’s follies.

A circle of friends and others that moved with jocularity and human rhythm. A moment of friendly banter and obtuse reality.

They sat, hearts thudding, minds whirling, faces composed. The thread shimmered on. Then the laughter stopped and glasses placed back on coasters, empty. Finally it was time to leave. Chairs scrapped back and graceful lifting of bottoms to conclude a scene. They got up too. Reluctant and slow. In love and despair. time for Goodbyes. Hugs and kisses exchanged. A brief moment to hold the other in each other’s arms and smell Homecoming. Their eyes lingered on as they left each other. A billion instincts swished back and forth between them. Truth and Sensiblity. Lies and Stupidity. Strains of Jazz swelled their hearts. They looked on and felt even as they walked away from each other. Away from themselves in the arms of Something Blue.

I’m still waiting.

I’m in a beautiful world. Have fantabulous friends. In great shape. Have the coolest man do crazy stuff for me. Family, nevah bettah…

But beneath it all there seems to be an underlying sense of doom. I hate it when i analyse things to death. Hate it when a cold ball of congealed disquiet settles in the pits of your forlorn heart. I just wanna be home. Home to warmth and Love. To fiter coffee and endless baths. To being surrounded by my beloved books. To watching Friends at 4 am. And being asked by Dad why I was up so late….

To endless shopping. To clean rooms and food I don’t have to pay for. To the Dharmendar dances and poufy jokes. And Estha and Rahel. Et tu….

To divine gossip. And missing Pune. Missing Faasos and funtoons. And hostelites. Neha, DD, Bhupati and kkji…

Back home…

And hugs and kisses. To being treated like a princess. And feeling like one. To talks on the Lawn. Looking into the purple eyeballs of my smiling dog. Meeting old crushes. And still liking them. A little…

Old friends. New friends. Endless calling. Endless garbled outpourings of a not-so-teenage drama queen.

Buying a John Mayer CD. Listening to it in the dead of the night looking over at the hazy, midnight blue sky. Walking barefoot.

Hmmm….

Absence does make the heart grow fonder (and the fart louder). And they lived happily ever after….

A refreshing month, fellow amigos. A lovely spiritual journey into pages of sense and sensiblity. OK. Too much Richard Bach. I don’t really like the guy, you know. Any way I’m here for a review, so here goes…

LOLITA…A book by Vladmir Nabokov

“Disturbing, hysterically funny, uncomfortably erotic and heartbreakingly sad.”
Read it.

Brevity speaks of brilliance.

It is never to late to be what you might have been.

George Eliot

I love George Elliot. Fantastic lady!