How to Deal with Memories

It winked at me, innocently, nestled as it was amongst the tic-tacs, Mars bars and odds and ends that supermarkets seem to think are the most likely last minute additions to a basket full of groceries. It had a dark glossy background, with a sliver of green, a line that ran along, meandering without course or so it seemed, until you refocused, and saw that it made, when viewed from a particular angle, an artistically abridged version of the number 5. A pack of gum. But not any pack of gum. Sometimes, the memories hit you with a force that seems unwarranted. How many times had I seen that very pack, in the glove box of a car, shoved into a laptop bag, wrinkled in the front pocket of a pair of faded jeans? More than I could remember. But it isn’t the number of times that matter. All it takes is a trigger, and you’re back right where you started.

Of Endings

For the longest time, I’ve been terrible at endings. I’ve been the sort that grows to keep just a little left over – whether in a jar or in a person, on the off chance that I may need it – in the murky mists of what constitutes the future. And so, my life has been full of endings, and I have lived it with the perfect combination of consistent fear and comfort – that there still remains just a little bit, should the need arise.

Who am I?

What is it that we look for in a relationship? Do we look for companionship? Love? Physical fulfillment? Security? Do we look for someone to share life's joys and sorrows with? For most of us, it's probably a combination of all the above. But somehow, even the most evolved of us, tend to forget the bigger picture, and even a single reason seems hard to remember, when the rigors of everyday life take their toll.


In the state I am right now, single, and not really to ready to mingle, solitary is alone, but not lonely.


It's wistful, but not yearning.


And it's healing, but still a little sore. 

The Significance of Smell

I’m fastidious about all things olfactory. Coffee shops make me happy with strong smells of my favourite brew, Christmas brings with it spicy scents of baking and plum pudding, and winter in general, my favourite season by far, smells more divine than the first rain. Call it what you will, there’s just no getting around it. I may be afflicted with a year long cold, to the extent that I feel almost incomplete if I can breathe freely and don’t need a tissue, but for all those who get my drift – there’s nothing like smell to make your head turn. Nothing at all.

Vanilla? No thanks.

So last weekend, I did something both noble and extraordinarily stupid. Let me explain. On Friday, as per The Plan, I got onto a bus headed for Bombay, to meet up with my ex boyfriend whose best friend I now am, to spend some time shopping for his wedding, now less than 3 weeks away. Since the foolishness is plain for everyone to see, let's talk about the nobility.

What Makes you Happy?

16/10/10

Actually, sorry, but this is about what makes me happy. It's a particularly difficult question to answer, and surprisingly, it doesn't change on a daily basis. It's not even something particularly abstract – like sunny days for instance. In fact, sunny days don't make me happy, they make me uncomfortable and hot, and grumpy. It isn't even rainy days – they're wet and squelchy and odd, as though they can't make up their minds whether to be hot or cold, and the humidity doesn't do good things to my temper. Sweat, I do not like. But you can see where I'm going with this, it's winter days. But that's still too abstract. So a few days back, I gave it a good think. What makes me happy?

Relationship Advice. Seriously?

The irony never ceases to amaze me. People, coming to me, for relationship advice. I mean seriously, does track record mean nothing? But perhaps failure makes you better able to understand a subject, in a bizarre offshoot of practice makes perfect. Perhaps, in the years to come, I'll stop repeating mistakes, and make some new ones. Ah, well, there's always hope.