What is it about a hot shower that washes your tears away? The allure of a clean slate? Or the promise of sins soaped away? I feel every drop of water that splashed against my worn and calloused skin, my skin that has felt so much; my feet that took me places I’ve only dreamt of, my hands that have held on to anchors, my face where I’ve felt your kiss a thousand times and the scar that is still tender from yesterday.
I stand here beneath this rain and surrender myself in your hands. Oh if only the Gods could hear me now! Wash away my sins, I cry. Wash away every trace of him. I don’t want memories. Remove the stain of his presence from my skin. I scrub and scrub in the hope that I can peel a fresh layer of skin, pure and untouched. As the water falls on my face I feel it mingle with my tears and there is no difference. I cry like a thunderstorm.
I scratch the surface in the hopes of tearing away every vestige. But how do I remove your presence from below, where most of the damage is done? No amount of tears will erase your remnants from my heart. The times I’ve wept for you, for me, for you to stop and for me to stop loving you. I knew you were destructive but I kept coming back. I knew you weren’t good for me, although you knew me like no ever had. How could I turn away from that? How could I turn away from knowing that you were my one shot at happiness?
But I had to. I now stand here helpless and weak doing the only thing I can do now, which is to erase you, for my heart, from my life and from my soul, the place where I thought you would always have a home.
I finally see the blood seep through the lines on my skin and I know that I have reached the edge. Beyond this, I can only hope but my poor heart listens to no reason.
There are are some days that are perfect. It’s a bright sunny day out. There is a heat wave(!) and you are sitting in a perfectly cooled cafe with a perfectly cooled mint iced coffee, reading a book you are completely engrossed in. You are one with character and you can actually feel the..
“Are you Palestinian Mozlim?”
“Umm, no. I’m Indian Muslim.”
Puzzled look. “Ohhh. Indian?!”
“Are you from the part of India that is near Pakistan?”
“No. I’m from the south, Chennai.”
“I know many Braaahmins from there. So what do I see when I visit India?”
Yeah, I just want to get back to my book. It’s very hard for me to get “in the zone” when I read a book. Although I love to read, I am constantly distracted (thanks again to technology for my short attention span). I need to be comfortable enough, have a good reading snack, the light should be just right, etc. And it annoys me to no end when people want to make conversation thereby interrupting me.
Interruption, whether I’m reading, writing or even thinking, muddles up my line of thought. I’m sure most people feel that way so why would you interrupt some one who is completely smitten by her book. Okay fine, I interrupt my husband every now and then when he is reading but I married him. I have every right to demand his attention. You, however, are a stranger. The one my mother warned me about when she said “Don’t talk to strangers”. You have no right to drag me away from my book and force me in to having a conversation.
I wanted to tell him thanks for the attempt at conversation, good sir but I need to get back to my book. How can I say that without sounding rude? What is the polite way of telling someone, especially a stranger, to leave you the heck alone when you are in the midst of doing something?
“I don’t think it would have all got me quite so down if just once in a while- just once in a while- there was at least some polite little perfunctory implication that knowledge should lead to wisdom, and that if it doesn’t, it’s just a disgusting waste of time!”
Caffeine has found its way in to a big part of my life. I need my cup of hot java every morning. Without aforementioned cup of java I go crazy. At first I brushed away the caffeine withdrawal symptoms as an every day head ache. No coffee in the morning makes me cranky throughout the day and talking translates to a rock band playing in my head. I feel like I’m carrying the entire world on my already large forehead and you better turn the volume down on the radio lest I punch you.
I grew up in a largely ginger tea drinking family. Coffee was present but did not have a big following. A cup every morning or so was not a big deal. But ginger tea was popular. A cup every evening, a cup with some vadai, a cup if there are guests, a cup if you’re sick and a cup if the guests decide to stay a little longer.
Six months of living here and tea has taken a backseat. I’ve started craving coffee like I’m on crack (I’m not). Coffee with banana chocolate cherry bread from Peets and I’m the happiest girl in the world, a little extra caffeinated, but still happy in my delicious cloud.
I like the baristas at our local Peets too. There is this one girl who fascinates me. She has streaks of green in her hair. I’d love to get my hair colored in a myriad of colors. but unfortunately for me I will talk the talk but will chicken out when it comes to actually doing it.
I’ve been nursing this post for way too long. I’m just going to hit ‘ publish’ now.
I love Spring. Gentle breeze, pleasant weather and chirping birds, enough to make me feel like I’m in a Disney movie. It makes me much happier than the gloomy winter. My life and moods seem to revolve around the changing weather. If it’s a dark day Zarine is gloomy. If it’s a bright day then depending on PMS Zarine is either gloomy or high on caffeine.
I bought a box of Parle Cheeslings last time we were at the Indian store. I love Cheeselings. They remind me of my childhood which seems like it happened a lifetime ago. Cheeselings and Frooti were everything that basically summed up my childhood. Ooh, and Corn Puffs too. Not any fancy kind of corn puffs but the real cheap one that was extremely spicy and was just labelled Corn Puffs. God, I’d kill for one of those right now.
I think I have one food to represent every phase of my life. Right now I would like some good pani puri to represent this phase but I am yet to find a place in the Bay Area that really sells me on their pani puri. So please, readers, if you live in the Bay Area tell me where I can go to get my fix. Living on an absence of Shri Mithai in my life is not doing me any good!
My experiences in grocery shopping was limited to driving my mother to the store and later, pushing around the cart while she did the shopping. After moving out (and being married) I have to do my own grocery shopping. Living in the Bay Area it isn’t hard to find an Indian store. You’ve just got to follow the saree clad Aunty and she will lead you right to it.
I love the store we go to. They always play old Lata Mangeshkar and Mohammed Rafi songs. My mum listens to these songs endlessly when she cooks. So now every time I’m at the store I feel like she is next to me shouting at me for picking up the wrong tomato . The only veggies I know how to make reasonably enough are okra and potato, and the staple of any Indian kitchen onions and tomatoes. So I made them for a few weeks oblivious to the fact that there were other vegetables in the world.
One fine day we were sick of okra and potatoes. Jay was being spontaneous and picked out a random vegetable. We didn’t know what it was called. So we did a Google image search (thanks technology!) and found that it was Bottle Gourd. Another Google search later we figured out what we could do with it. And thus lunch was made.
As a novice in the kitchen, I would be right where I started if it wasn’t for technology. But I have now surpassed my own expectations. While I’m not yet a wizard in the kitchen, I can cook a tasty meal to survive. I have to give credit where credit is due and I thank all the amazing food bloggers who help me make dinner. If it weren’t for you, this household would just be a Maggi fest all day everyday. So thank you Nags from cookingandme, The Pioneer Woman and Haathi from Hungry and Excited for doing what you do.