Thursday, October 23, 2014

I will Survive ! - the Corporate Call

At first I was afraid I was petrified
Kept thinking I could never live inside corporate lifestyle
But then I spent so many nights
Thinking how I did so wrong
And I grew strong
And I learned how to get along
And so I am on it
with my mind on race
I just walk in everyday with a glorified smiling face
I have changed that stupid look
I have started to believe
If I had known for just one second I am hurting only me
Go on now go, do what u can do,
Just turn around now
'Cause u don't bother anymore
I was stupid enough to think I am a minion all the time
Do you think I'd crumble
Did you think I'd lay down and die?

Oh no not I. I will survive
Even when I go out out of breath
I know I'll stay alive
I've got so many docs to churn
I've got so many codes to run, yet I'll survive

(A big Heartfelt Thanks to Gloria Gaynor, for giving us something, that can be molded to anyone's frustration!)

Saturday, July 26, 2014

Tuk Tuk

The door opened, and ‘Maa’ peeked out. The ethereal smile, the affection, I knew my first play school was here. I no longer needed my mother, I wanted to be here. I wanted to be cuddled by ‘Maa’, to be fed by her, to play with her, to feel free. I knew within, she would only smile at whatever I did.
My mother cautiously let me go. ‘Maa’ assured her that she can relax, and come back later to pick me. I dreaded the thought of leaving at 5. What if mother doesn't approve? What about weekends? Will I be allowed to sleep-over? So many thoughts raced in my mind , as I watched ‘Maa’ mischievously looking at me, hinting the adventures that lay ahead. I could not wait to get started.
Mother left. ‘Maa’ put me on the couch, and called ‘Tuk Tuk’! Tuk Tuk? what a funny name to address!
And she came. slowly, tottering, round, my Tuk Tuk. She resembled my doll at home. As big as me. She was my Tuk Tuk.
We played everyday, i refused to call her anything but ‘my Tuk Tuk’. We we inseparable. I wanted to give her everything I had, including my most beloved doll. She loved me. She hated me. She could not bear me hugging ‘Maa’. She could not bear to see me taken away by my mother each day.
I wonder if ‘Tuk Tuk’ was ‘Maa’s real daughter, or was she someone else’s. I never cared. I never asked back then. All i wanted and loved was 'my Tuk Tuk’.
I remember the day when my mother was telling ‘Maa’, we got her admitted to the school. She won’t come from next week.
My heart broke for the very first time. I was being pulled away from ‘Maa’ and ‘my Tuk Tuk’. I remember those pearly eyes of Tuk  Tuk when ‘Maa’ told her to bid me goodbye and hug. She seemed to know we may never meet again. She seemed to know, even if we did, our love would be long forgotten.
I lost ‘Tuk Tuk’ at the tender age of 4, an year from I met her. I do not know, if I saw ‘Tuk Tuk’ again. I do not recognize her. Neither does she.

But 'my Tuk Tuk’, you shall always be, my first love...

Sunday, January 19, 2014


I never thought beyond Mumbai, or so did I think. The subtle stilts by Gateway, the Victorian Era architecture left behind, the flora marked by its quintessential placement, the locomotives for the people traveling to ends of the city, daily, breathlessly. To me, it was the perfect place to breathe, live and die. A city I belonged to, a city I grew up in, a city I wanted to forgotten with in future. And that is when Paris happened to me.
La Paris, the city of music, art and love. I may not be an art connoisseur, or a musician, but I am a lover. A lover I never thought I would be. A hope to fall endlessly in love, is something that lingers in our heart, knowingly or unknown to some. And I fell, oh I fell deep, so deep that I rediscover myself every moment I breathe now. The feel to caress, to touch, to experience love, in dimensions untold.
The inexplicable rush of excitement in one's nerves, walking the parisian streets, watching men unfold their chairs in front of their shops, serving bordeaux I have never tasted better before, women laughing gently, and wandering carefree with their men to unfurl the parties of the night. The musette accordion filling your ears and imagination galore. The touch of the Renaissance architecture all across, the Sienne flowing through the hearts, the French delacour (oh yes, people were wonderful). Alas, I don't speak French, else I would have been a lyric in the poetry of France.
Someday, some birth, I want to be a part of this magic, when a Lewis Caroll could pen, "Delilah in Frenchland".