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Kaamathin kaadhal

En iduppin sadhai madippil maraindhu kondu veliye vara marukkirai…

Vandhu paar satru mele.. andha sooriyanum vekka pattu karaindhu pogum alavil endan maarbu unaku nizhal kodukkum..

Vaaa…vandhuvidu… ennidam…

Un aganda tholgalai paarthu en kangal mattum alla, en kaalgalum virindhana.

Un kai viralgal en maarbin naduve aadai pola meya.. …un kangalo en kaalgalin naduve ulla udhattai dhan saapida thudithadhu….

…veyyilin veppaithai vida, un aanmayin veppam ennai koluzthiyadhu… Anaithida vendam… ennai anaithu kol…

Viriyattum en kaalgal… Malarattum adhan idaye ulla penmai… Un kai viralgal andha…. Poovinai parithida yaengiyadhu…

Thaen vazhindu odiyadhu… Thaenai arundhinai…. Poo malarandhu konde poga.. Un aanmayin neelathai yen viralgalil unarden…

Vekkam parandhadhu..

Dhegam silirthadhu…

En mel udhatai kadithai nee… sirupillaiai pol.. yen maarbin mulaikaambai kuzhandai pola patrikondaai..

En udhadu un aanmayai pambinai pol kothi thindradhu… pambin thol urivadhai pola un aanmaiyin thol urindhadhai kanden..

en udadhugal verthana.. Ennai tharaiyin meedhu thalli vittu, un aanmaganai ennul irakkinai..

Innum vegam vendum endren..

perasai enaku..alavukkadandha thaagam..

En vaayai moodinai.. Indha eduthuklol endraai..

Rocket vegathayum minjivittai nee..

En kaalgal kaatrile parandhana…

En poovum vazhi vittadhu..

Thaenum vazgindhadhu.. enadhalla.. unadhu..

Paruga aasai endren..

Eduthukol endru yen udhatin meeedhu vaari vazhanginai..

Vallal allava nee…

Kaadhal odhungi kondu kaamthirku thalai vanangi vazhi vittadhu….

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The virgin prostitute 

Thousand an hour, she said.
What all services will you offer because that is quite expensive? He asked.

All the ones your wife didn’t offer you. she replied.

He was quiet and visibly angry but bowed his head down and agreed to pay.

This way. She said as she walked past buildings on her left.

She was well built. Tall. Curvy. Long curly brown hair. Nude lip gloss. Purple eye shadow. Wearing a long black dress with high neckline.

You look toned down for a prostitute. He said.

She kept walking without giving a ear. She walked inside a well lit building in one of the side roads.

He walked fast to avoid being seen.

No. The last time I took this room, I didn’t enjoy it much. She said returning the key to the receptionist.

What kind of a view do you want? Sea facing? Corner room? Trees around?. She asked.

I don’t know. I mean. Anything is fine. I mean, anything is ok. He said in a fluttering tone.

She opened the room. Switched on the air conditioning.

Do you want me to leave the lights on? She asked as she removed her footwear.

Err.. yeah. Sure. Why not. He replied with a sense of guilt and fear.

So, first time I’m guessing. She said.

Yeah. How did you find out? Because I have my dress on? He replied.

No, because I have my dress on! She replied.

So, what brings you to me? Or rather, who brings you here? She asked with a cheeky smile.

Look, I’m a happy man alright. Don’t you conclude my married life is sad. She is a beautiful woman. Loving, respectful, caring. So don’t you say anything nasty. He replied.

Ten minutes down. But you are free to continue talking that while I take a quick bath and a follow it with a nap. Wake me up when you are done. She replied.

He kept quiet and removed his shirt and shoes.

She removed her dress and her black and purple blended lingerie shone against the light of the moon that drew graffiti on the walls.

Beautiful bosom that was gripped together by a bra. Her curves were roads that led to destinations in the far away galaxy.

Her eyes smeared with kohl on the lower lashes and purple eye shadow on the upper. She had fuller lips.  Lips that were meant to kiss. Bite. Suck. All of that.

A sexy small paunch that was flab and fab. A bottom that was as round as button. A button that you would want to pin on the wall and stitch your manhood with it.

Her legs were pillars. Pillars that would keep a palace stand erect. Pillars that will be used to build the King’s courtesan rooms.

She came close to him. He froze. Rightly so. He was speechless. Speechless looking at her. She shone brighter than the moon. She was the sun the night needed.

Her confidence shattered his ego. He wasn’t used to women like her. Most women he met were just women.

Are you ready? Is there anything you want me to do in particular? Role play? She asked.

I don’t know. Why don’t we talk for a while. He said.

Well look mister, you are no Richard Gere and I’m no Julia Roberts. You don’t look like you have too much money. And I want money. I got another 30 minutes. She said.

Can I extend the time? There are rules for that? He asked.

She smiled and sat next to him and put her hands around his arms. How many hours do you want me for? She asked.

Two? Hmmm.. no make it three. Four. Ok lets freeze four. He replied.

That would be 5000 she said laughing.

1000 for an hour will make it four thousand right? He replied.

Extending time during the time increases the charge. She replied.

Well ok then. Five thousand it is. He said as he removed his trousers and sat by the window to light a cigarette.

So what brings you here? U haven’t answered that yet. She replied.

That is none of your business. You do your job and I pay you. He replied puffing away the cigarette.

Fair enough. Whenever you are ready. She said as she got naked and sat on the bed reading a book.

You read books? He asked.

Why? A well read prostitute scares you? She asked.

No, i just didn’t think..

Just didn’t think what? That prostitutes are dumb women who are born to fuck? She asked interrupting him.

Ok so tell me, why were you pushed into this? He asked.

Pushed? I wasn’t pushed. I chose this as my profession. There is no sympathy story to tell you. No poor family. No financial issues. None of it. I chose this. With full heart, soul and body of course. I love my job. She replied.

He was silent for a while.

Why did you choose this of all the things? He asked.

Why not? Why did you choose accounting? She asked.

Because I’m good with numbers and hey don’t compare both. Don’t take my profession down with yours. He replied.

Down? What’s down about mine mister? Ok tell me this , she asked as pulled the chair next to him .

She was too beautiful. He was willing to let accounting take a back seat. But then his ego came in the way.

Well you are a prostitute. Need I say more? You sell your body for money. He replied.

She smiled. As she ran her fingers between her breasts. 

He couldn’t look directly. Like the Sun was sitting there next to him.

Darling.. She started to talk. 

I love sex. I don’t crib after a long day. When I’m tired, I rest. I choose who and when and how much. I don’t cheat during the time I have sex with someone. I’m focused 100% on the job. I don’t put another prostitute down to get my job done. In short, I don’t do all that you do. I only sell my body. You, well you sell your soul. She said as she put her legs on the table in front of them.  

He gulped a glass of water and stared blank for the next few minutes not knowing how to respond to that. 

Sorry. Didn’t mean to cut you off. I wanted to get the cliche off the table. Well..  we have three more hours and can we please start? She replied. 

You do know that you are a very beautiful intimidating woman right? He asked.

Yes. I have been told that several times. She replied as she put her left leg on his thigh. 

Right. That’s that. So before we start.. I’m quite intrigued to know… are you always in the mood for sex? I mean what if you arent and you have a customer? He asked running his hands on her ankle.

Well, I don’t think about sex all the time. Like right now I’m least interested in sex. All I want to do is sleep coz you are boring as fuck. She replied teasing his inner thighs with her toes.

He could feel the hard on. He felt the blood rush to his head. The ones below and above. His ego couldn’t hide his erection. Her breasts danced to the tunes of the wind that blew across the open window. They swayed as she moved around. She was naked. Both in body and mind.  So confident. So beautiful. Unabashedly herself. It gave him a hard on in his mind. 

Okay.. either you’re gay or I’m not the kind of woman you want. Oh no. Wait. I think it’s the former. It certainly is. Just so you know, I don’t charge to be friends with people ok. She replied. 

I’m not gay. Look he is as tall as this building. He said removing the towel and showing his manhood standing tall.

Well. Let’s grow him a bit more then. Shall we. She said.

Wait. What’s your name? He asked.

What’s in a name? said Shakespeare back then. 

A prostitute speaking shakespeare. That’s a first. He smirked.

Yapping customer. That’s a first. She replied smiling wide. 

You are beautiful Viola. Well I’m just going to call you that. He said.

Well sire, you can call me what you may but this Viola doesn’t have twelve nights to spare. U better hurry up. She replied.

She came closer. Spread his legs. Sat on him face to face. She initiated the smooch. He followed. His hands played violin on her breasts. Her moans kept the night alive. Her hands went down his hip and she stood up and dragged him to the bed.

So this is your standard move ? He asked as he was pushed to the bed. 

No you gave in pretty easily. She said as she climbed on him. 

You are beautiful. He said as he ran his fingers through her hair.

I have better things your fingers can run through she said as she took them and put them inside her. 

He watched her moan. He watched her lead him. He watched her glide like a dream.

What are you looking at? Fuck me. She said.

No. I want to make love to you. And I want to do it slowly. He replied.

She got up and wrapped a towel around and sat next to him and looked into his eyes. Do that to your wife. I don’t have time for love. This isn’t the place for love. She replied.

You have nothing but love Viola. I see that in your.. 

Woah wait wait wait… dude I don’t have time for your poetry sessions. You have another thirty minutes. You want a fuck or not? She asked.

But… He started.

No buts. I have got only big butts. Look here sire. I don’t want to have these emotional talks. I don’t engage in such talks with my customers. I have work ethics.

He laughed out loud hearing her say that.

What are you laughing at? In my work, ethics is sex and only sex. I don’t intend to do anything else. She replied. 

Look Mr. Whatever your name is, my body is for sale. Not my soul. That’s the only thing that I have kept as a virgin. Don’t finger that. Your time is up. You need to leave. She replied. 

He didn’t say a word. He got down from the bed. Dressed up. Washed his face and lit a cigarette. So what now? Another customer? He asked.

Well..  tonight is going to be just me. No more customers. She replied.

Then let me stay. I’ll pay you for the night. He replied.

No. I don’t want you. I don’t want you here again. Not with me. There are plenty of women down the street. She replied as she sat by the window. 

But I want only Viola. My virgin Viola. He replied.

I’m danger. Move away. She opened the door for him to leave. He took his bag and left the room. 

She closed the room. Went by the window and gazed at the sky.

There was a knock at the door. She opened it. It was him. 

Oh it’s you again. Did you leave something? She asked.

I forgot to pay you. Here is your fee. He said handing over the money. 

She looked at him. Took the money and folded it and kept inside his shirt pocket. 

Viola doesn’t charge the Duke. She replied with a smile.

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Pregnant with your love…

You’ve gained weight off late. Blame it on me for the holiday season. I kept feeding you warm blueberry muffin and dark chocolate shake from the old madras baking company. Look at you. All fluffy in love. 

I’m going to be honest here honey. You’re becoming a baggage. Heavier than last night. You’re growing inch by inch. Flesh by flesh. I feel it. ‘oh you’ve got the glow’ people said looking at me. How did they know that I’m infact  ‘pregnant with your love?’.

I should have aborted you the day I let you inside me. I shouldn’t have come this far. I shouldn’t have let you grow inside.

But… kaadhal yaarai vittadhu nanba? 

I should have cut you off the minute I laid my eyes on u. I knew this moment will come. This moment here. Now. Making me all pregnant with your love. 

‘Un kannil kanden, en magalin thagappanai.’

You suffocate me from inside baby. And I do that in return during those times I bleed from below. These little games that we play. Oh you poor little desperate thing. 

‘Oru moochil eruvarum uyir vaazhgirom. Unadha illai enadha endru teriyavillai.’

You remember that morning when we shared a laugh by the balcony? Or or.. those long nights when my hormones were in their peak and ..and then you fingered me from inside to help me get those stubborn orgasms out. Oh! What a joy it was to cum into you. 

‘Un viralgal en narambugalai vaasithane! Illayaraja en rathathil ooriyadhai Unarnden mudhal muraiyaaga…’

I want to let you go. I really do. But baby, once I do that, the world will make you hers. You will become one among them. Them as in the humans… and once you be that, you’ll let go of me. That’s the curse the race is born with. To let go. You will let go of this darkness that we share within. To let go the occasional sunsets and twilights playing graffiti on my bones. 

Satru nimirndhu paarthu sooriyanai iravil kaikul pidithu rusikiraai nee.’

‘I like that girl’ you said during one of the poetry events I went to. Damn! How did you see through me?! I knew I shouldn’t have worn my saree below the navel. 

‘Iduppin idukkul veliye oru pennai paarka terinda unaku, satru nimirndhu en idhayathin idukkil ennai paarka teriya villaiye’. 

Fine. I shall let you go. It’s time. I know its getting a bit too much now. You and I. This hide and seek game that we are playing. Should stop. Iam pushing hard. The sleepless nights and the nausea symptoms when I see another man. Men who are better than u. In all ways. Yet I throw up. Don’t know if it’s because of you or me. Those mid day binge eating. More chocolates. More wine. More OCB paper. More orgasms. Yet I crave for your finger. I craved for more of everything. 

‘mudhal muraiyaaga garbathai manathil sumandha pennaga ennai aakiyadharku, kodi nandrigal nanbane.’

Its time. There. Go. You’re out. Go fly now. The world is yours. 

‘Parandhu chel nanbane. Kaadhalane. Vaanam engum un vannathai thoovi chel’

May you fall in love over and over again. 

May you lose love over and over again. 

May you find love over and over again. 

No matter how many times you find your The one. You’ll always remain heartless. For baby, I’m still ‘Pregnant with your love’.

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PERIODic flushes. 

​You. Yes, you. Curled up under the sheets in an old cotton shorts and a black bra and tackling the first day of periods. As the blood that didn’t find its worth inside your body flows down to find its place of warmth to settle down between your legs, you find life in hot chocolate and an old movie that makes love look and feel right. As the first sip of hot chocolate twirls through your throat and tingles the clit of your throat, your eyes close a little. Drowning in the pain of your uterus shrinking, you grab a book from the pile on the floor. You lazily turn pages like that’s a job meant for the strong, you try hard to focus. You feel the blood dropping on the landing pad. you wonder, why. Why is this a monthly ritual that you need to endure. you don’t have an option. you either endure this or get pregnant. Thankfully the one above had enough knowledge on biology to not make both occur at the same time. You close the book. Beyond 3 pages, things blurred. the book and your mind. you get up and stand in front of the dressing mirror. Messed up hair. face folded like dirty laundry. Body smelling of blood. Blood that didn’t feel very welcomed inside. Blood that you expelled because you were quite full to the brim. Blood that reminded you that you should be doing that to some humans too. expel them. push them. it shrinks the heart just like the uterus. it does. but its good. it cleanses you just like what blood does. you look at yourself. amused at how something as simple as periods leads you to think of life changing decisions of kicking people out of your system. you take a comb and mess your hair a bit more. apply a deformed kohl to your eyes. some matte maroon on your lips that were burnt crisp with the hot chocolate that you sipped. You go back between the sheets. wrapping yourself with warm fresh cotton on you. the evening sun plays hide and seek. just like your mood. you go back to the movie that you paused. the old classic one that reinstalls faith in love and all that jazz. you smile. you cry. the maroon matte makes its first impression on the ivory mug that is still left with last few drops of hot chocolate. you taste a bit of the animal tested product along with cocoa. you snug with the book as the movie dialogues play the perfect voice over for the page on why the protagonist wants to win back his ex. your mind rewinds and replays your past to you. that guy who left you for that girl. that girl who stepped down from the best friend position. you smile. you cry. you wipe the tears. finish the last drops of hot maroon animal tested chocolate. go to the restroom. change your pad. come back to curl up in the sheets in an old cotton shorts with blotches of blood stuck on it and black bra again.

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Sandwitching it!

Why layer a passionate truthful lust with non existent unfaithful love?

Man 1. {Majority}

SEX is a bad thing. Very very bad. So bad that I cannot want it just like that, but I need to sandwich it with layers of affection, love and impress the other person so much that the actual intent isn’t seen at all.  So this girl is insanely good looking and {& single} is friendly to everyone. Gets an instant hard on. I need to make out with her. But I don’t have that intellectual capability to match with hers. But she is hot and I need to sleep with her. I can’t tell her that because obviously that makes me a BAS**RD. So let do this. Let me put out another me to her. Let me ask her out nicely. Let me be a gentleman. Let me impress her with all emotions and feelings that I have no intention of taking forward with her. <first meeting over coffee happens. Plus a dinner on another day. plus a movie some other day. Kiss, hugs, smooch, first base ends.  Introduces to friends. second base. House party. third base ends. Makes out>. ok, she was good. very good. but the intent is still the same. Have another time. <Third base repeats with climax>. The girl tells her entire group of friends of how amazing this guy is. How very caring and concerned he is. He immediately is the talk of the college/workplace .ladies WhatsApp groups. He is the winner.

The man who made up a non existent love and affection to have sex. he is the hero. yes.

Man 2. {Minority}

Sees this girl who is insanely look good looking and {& single} is friendly to everyone.  Gets an instant hard on. I need to make out with her. Let me tell her that. Approaches the girl. Tells her he wants to make out with her and that he finds her very attractive. The girl is furious. Very furious. Swears at him. How could you talk to a girl like this? Don’t you have decency. <no meeting happens of course>. he is the villain. In ladies WhatsApp groups and fb post rants. He is the bad guy. The guy who wants to have sex. Sex is bad. very very bad.

The man who was honest about wanting to make out. He is the baddie. Yes.

Moral.

The point I wanted to highlight to those men {majority}, is sex isn’t bad. Wanting ONLY that from someone does not make you a bad person. (Provided it is mutual when taken forward). What actually will make you a bad person is having just that in mind and portraying to not want it and fake a never existent emotion/feeling. DON’T do that. BUT, having said that, even if you are being straight forward to her, if she says no, it means NO. NO means NO. Not maybe. NOT later. And girls, wake up! Being mushy mushy isn’t what will make a man to be one. Don’t be carried away just because someone is a smooth talker and praises you. There is so much more to know before you decide. Such an irony, isn’t? The majority {men} is liked by the women and then they end up being hurt, broken and look for second chances and then the minority {men} are out there who try to be them and end up being blamed for the majority. And as a result, some shift to being the majority and some end up being just who they are waiting for a girl to be broken by a {majority} man.

Another point is, if a man wants just sex from you, it does not make you any lesser. It does not mean you are desperate. If you think so, then you are putting yourself down and putting that beautiful body of yours down.By agreeing to want to have just a physical relationship {by your will} does not make you emotionally incapable. If you genuinely feel only physically attracted to someone and not emotionally, be only that. Don’t question your ethics and morals and torture your mind. You are far more ethical than those {women} who take men for granted and fool them emotionally. If a man wants just sex, you can choose to walk away from him/her if you dont feel the same way. But don’t put yourself down in your mind because someone wants to make out with you and not love {for the sides/sake of it} you. It does not make u any less. What makes you less is having those feelings, burying it and being someone else you aren’t.

BE YOU. YOU are beautiful.

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Sexuality or the lack of it. 

I was at a cafe, choosing the most quaint looking spot as usual. I glanced the surrounding. Ordered my hazelnut cappuccino and took to writing a piece on illusioned relationships . I observed how he made my coffee. Half heartedly. He had a long day, or that’s the excuse his eyes gave away as he handed out my cuppa. A girl with short hair, sans makeup but so charming that I bit my tongue. She sat next to my table.

‘What could she be.’ My thoughts wavered. ‘Short hair and minimalism, must be a lesbian.’ My short sighted brain worked it all out. I hit myself for literally tearing a girl (a stranger) open and judging her sexuality based on her hair cut. I struck illusioned relationships and wrote sexuality below it.

From the days of asking someone their sexuality, we have come to a time to decide it for them based on how they look and behave. How convenient and selfless of us. *pats back with a brick*. We are constantly stripping and ripping the person in front of us… in our mind. There are some who strike a huge cord that the tenth second of seeing them, we are already picturing how good we will be together in bed. Some who we try so hard to strike even a hello to begin with. Sexuality plays a huge role. You like it or not. Accept it or not.

‘Are you a lesbian?’ someone asked me when I commented on how aesthetically appealing Parvathy Menon is. The same person asked me ‘Are you a bisexual?’ when I commented on how unabashedly attracted I was to the male lead of the film. My mind started to think ‘Should I actually be putting my sexuality on the table to even comment about my liking towards a fellow human being who lives in the same planet as I do?’.

Why should someone reveal who they are to you? Why should someone even be boxed into a sexual preference? We all go through phases in life. Phases that lasts days, months or even years. Phases of being aversive to the opposite gender. Blame the nasty break up and the social media stalking. Phases of loving your own gender much much more. Blame that friend who set unreasonably high standards of being nice and understanding. Phases of being asexual and not having the need towards either of the gender. Well, blame the evolution of mankind.

What’s all this hoohah about sexual identity? We are in 2016, and we are still at a time where we are coming to terms with gender identity. Lets not rush here. Take it slow. We have time until 4016. *Well that was sarcasm if you didn’t get it*. I might be a homosexual today and asexual tomorrow and straight the day after. Sexuality is in the mind more than the body. Its not about getting up one fine day and declaring to the world that we have finally figured out who we are. Its not. Why should I figure out my sexuality? Who are you to tell me I belong to only a particular tribe. What is the need to come out of the closet because you want to make sure you tag me to be just that? My closet is big and diverse. I may come out if it feeling differently. Hasn’t the world been changing the way we think and see? Isn’t the society a bigger reason and almost directly responsible for me to change my sexual preferences? I might be a lesbian but damn that guy saved me from getting into a mess. Iam so mentally attracted to him. He gives me emotional orgasms. Why am I pressurised to declare my sexual preferences? Isn’t that way too personal? Isn’t that way too much for you to ask and know? If I like you in some way, then I like you. If I don’t, then I don’t. It is that simple. You needn’t sip your pint or the bloody Mary and decipher my sexual anatomy. There are so many out there who are still figuring out who they are and most of them are forced to tick a box and stick to it simply because you think that’s how it should work. They are forced to stick to one even before figuring it out themselves. They can neither come out of it because hey that means they have been wearing a mask nor can they continue to live this life of closed doors. Because of the doors closed by you, they end up opening the one that leads them to an end. Sexuality isn’t a must have thay one needs to constantly swear by the book of truths to adhere to. It changes at times and it is absolutely OK. Do not start to question your morals and ethics based on this. We are all humans. Our minds arent made to think only in one direction all the time.

Do yourself a favour and stop dissecting what people are and what their body parts crave for. It does not matter to you. It is none of your business. Their sexual preferences are not going to change their characterisation as a human. Be free and set them free.

Be who you think you are at that given moment. Don’t let your sexuality ruin your decisions of anything in life. You don’t need to force yourself to belong to a L G B T Q A S. If someone asks you what your sexuality is, just tell them to F O.

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It is OK not to blog.

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The times when you stare at the empty pages of the journal and pray that it magically fills up. Those days when your passion towards writing is tested by a mind that feels more empty than a classroom after school hours. “Why am I getting this right?” “I’m a writer. I’m not supposed to feel empty” “Shouldn’t I have topics to write about all the time?” and then you take out that journal and force a word into it and then stare it like it’s going to fill up the rest by itself.

I don’t know what you call this. Some say it’s the writer’s block. Some say it’s a phase. Some say so many things. Honestly, I don’t know what it is. One minute your brain has a million things to pen about and the next it’s as blank as a newly bought A4 sheet paper. There are days when your libido for writing is so high that you write almost about anything. The moist chocolate cake that was served during last night dinner. The creepy spider crawling up your kitchen window pane. The guy ogling that you at work place. The guy you are ogling at during your waiting time at the queue in KFC. The weather that showed some mercy by showering upon. The mundane coffee that starts your day. Almost everything and anything that is no little or no significance.

Then there are days when the world is going through cathartic changes and you see it but don’t feel a thing. There is a mass shootout on an entire community. There are pseudo feminists claiming equality. A woman raped and thrown to the gutter. Trump is the new orange. Issues that are of a larger magnitude. You see it happening. You know you have something to say. You quickly open the laptop, go to MS word and then nothing! Your friends expect that you write something but you are usually the one who has something to write about. You are almost made to feel it’s your responsibility to pen down your thoughts on issues that are happening around you.

But in reality, that’s not how it works, does it? There are days and at times weeks that go by and your subscribers do not receive a new blog notification from you. “Will they unfollow me?” “What is the good frequency to blog to be called a good blogger?” “Maybe I’ll take an old post, change few things and repost” “But no, what if that makes me a stale blogger” “maybe I should try other forms of blogging” “Should I write about the outfit I wore last night at dinner?” “Yes, that’s awesome let me do it” You frantically open your blog page and start off “Last night was great. I wore this…” and you are stuck. You go through your fellow fashion bloggers page but you don’t quite get that flow and style of writing and realise you aren’t cut out for it and go back to staring into infinity for some inspiration.

As bloggers, we are made to think and feel we need to write about something or the other all the time. Each of us have our strengths. We play on it. Work on it. Experiment on it. Some bloggers are great in writing on finance and numbers. Some write on beauty and fashion. Some write mindless things to call it a blog or maybe it is a blog. I don’t know. Some write emotionally. We are all different. WE aren’t connected by thoughts because we are bloggers. If I sit with someone who blogs on economy, he/she wouldn’t engage in a conversation with me for more than a minute but would find greater interest in talking to a non blogger with a similar interest. At times, it so happens that, connect of thoughts with a non blogger is far more intense than someone who blogs. Bloggers as a community is more on the love of writing and how blogging can help you financially and help better your writing.

I think it’s perfectly ok to go through days or weeks that have gone by without a word written on paper but infinite pages written in the mind. At times, it’s okay to not publish your thoughts as blog. All your writings need not be a blog. Some can be too precious to stay in your journal. When there is a rough day, its way nicer to flip pages in your notebook and read them instead of opening up WordPress or blogger.com. Write for yourself at times. The world need not know. Let it be your little secret that you have written for yourself to read. The precious rare thoughts that are priceless to be become a blog post in your community group. Let it stay with you. This isn’t a writer’s block. It is a bloggers block. You are still sub consciously writing all the time. Some find their way to a blog and some stay in your mind but the ones that find space in your personal journal to stay there are the most precious ones. They are who you are. They are your ugly mirrors. They are what you call yourself to be. At times, they are the ones you are afraid to call yourself to the world.

Start writing….! Its okay not to blog about it 🙂

 

 

 

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Horse riding.

I have fancied horse riding since my times in the cradle .
The feeling of spreading the legs between the rustic saddle.

The soft velvet that brushes my innermost core.
As my knees find the soft spot, I bend them well until my soul gets sore.

Like an eagle with its wings touching the infinity sky.
I look at you with hunger as my lips below start to cry.

Don’t be shy. Don’t ask me why, coz baby I hate to pry.
My shiny tall stallion, brace yourself for the ride is going to leave you with a scar.

The snow clad peaks give way as I embrace myself to worship the Thor.
Look at the road ahead as I ride on you like a warrior who has won the war.

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Jaw dropped

With warm amber finding it’s way through the window panes.
I lay like an old rugged picker who sleeps on the lonely lanes.
Clothes torn and shades of crimson oozing from my lower lip.
Who’s going to win this battle of the sexes below my hip.

Your fingers made of fine molten copper and drops of ambered tody.
I lay still as they find their way through the Everest escapades of my body.
The night is young unlike me for ill take my own time to cum.
As you devour every inch of me, it feels like Christmas and me, a cake made of rum and plum.

The bottles on the table is empty and I sense that you’re thirsty.
I have something better to serve as the spread got  better when I turned thirty.
I push you down like a hammer hitting the nail of a broken chair.
As the curtains to my show opens, the smell of something old fills the air.

I was taught to feed the hungry but this is just an act of parody.
I start to see stars on the ceiling, the moans awakened the their innermost feeling.
As I watch you go back to your teething days, you chew in so many different ways.
Like a well made dessert that hits the spot, oh shut up for a while now when I serve you something hot.

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Battling mid-life crisis.

The constant pressure of having to cope up with middle-aged crisis, the “Oh you’re approaching mid thirties, how has life treated you?” from a supposedly younger by age friend, the “Madam, the anti-aging rack is on the far left” by the sales woman in Health and Glow, the “If not now, then when?” question regarding marriage from the parents. The “Women lose all the good eggs by 30, you must plan a baby” from a mother of two. The “You’re becoming old, you need to think about buying a house” from a colleague who is spending 70% of his salary in EMI and the rest in trying to live a life, the “What are you doing in life? You need to aim that AVP position by next year” from a cousin sitting in a far away land trying to cope up with dollars and pounds.

All of the above sounds familiar no? Probably you’ve been put through much worse. This Mid-life crisis suddenly looks too scary. The term that sounded all swag and cool to approach has now become phobic. Whenever you need to tell people “I’m in my thirties” sounds more like sixties. From nowhere, you see too many young people around you. People who you think are far cooler and livelier than you. You try so hard to fit in every way. You enter a clothing store and the young brands do not attract you anymore. Mind drags you to the long kurtas and midnight PJ’s but the heart keeps mumbling “try that ginger outfit” “Fuchsia is your color. Go for it”

The uncontrollable need to look young is more than ever. Even more than when you thought you was young. The times during you mid twenties when you thought its cooler to say you’re thirty and now with thirty looking like a long lost friend who dropped you years ago, you are left up in the air like a hot air balloon wandering without a sense of direction. You are expected to dress in a certain way, talk in a certain way and behave in a certain way. A way that would make you look and feel like the older person in a group or family. “You should be the responsible one. Your sister looks up to you” the mother says. “You should have a check on your cholesterol and BP. Go for regular checkups” says the colleague who did all of that with the free master checkup from work when he turned 35.

The times when you comb your hair in front of the mirror and more worried about finding a silver or two than worrying in getting the fishtail right. The times when we restlessly surf for anti wrinkle creams just to be sure that we do not reach to a point of being suggested the use of one. The times when we are supposed to be the responsible adult by advising the younger gen on being well mannered and career oriented. The times when we have to get our act together and look poised as a mother to the well behaved child. The times when having to reach forty becomes the biggest hindrance in getting to forty one. Times when you need to try so hard to not look who you are. The times when our favourite formal brand trousers do not fit our greedy hip anymore and we are in a dilemma whether to buy the next size or to go back home and start running for life.

In between all this, we also need to take time once a while to check if we are doing okay. If life is supposed to be this way. If we are traveling in the same path that we devised for ourselves a decade ago. Wondering where we lost all of it. Looking at the long gone crush and thinking if life would have been the same if he/she was around. If the marriage is going as planned. Should I continue being married. If the kids are doing good. If being single is going to be okay and not considered that you aren’t worthy for a relationship. If the promotion will happen this year. If buying a house is going to help in reducing my tax numbers. If having an alone lunch is creepy. If having lesser people to deal with makes you non-socializable. If saying NO will be considered rude.  If you are still a desirable catch for a twenty something guy. If having an affair will make you feel low on yourself. If being aimless at this age would be considered a loser.

So much pressure from the society to “live it”, Right? So much pressure to accept the fact that we are aging. Enough said on this on advertisements, media, blogs, and what more? So much said that, it feels like we are aging faster than the normal rate at which it should be heading at. The younger ones telling us that “you the older gen. Trends are changing” and the older ones telling us “You are the next gen and our lives were different” making you hang somewhere in the middle and wondering which ‘gen’ are we really in. It’s the neither here nor there sort of a thing.

But what is it that ‘we’, the mid-life crisis actually go through? Ever wondered? Between the chaotic next gen that is trying so hard to just there and the over analyzing older gen that is pulling us faster than a magnet, where do we belong? Or should we really belong anywhere? When the ‘trending now’ does not seem to resonate with what is trending in our mind. When the mid forties seem like the last level of temple run, we want to get there but then we are struggling so hard to survive the current level. The need for finding our foot in the one square foot mad mad world.

Be known this, if mid thirties is mid life than we are happy about having another thirty five to go. The fact that we are only half there is exciting and the adrenaline rush that there is another half that is waiting for us is even more exciting. We are finding our way. We aren’t there quite yet. No we aren’t. To those twenty something reading this, please don’t believe when people say mid-life crisis is scary. It is not. It sounds old. Throw it away through the window. When we say ‘we have been there’ we literally mean it.

We have grown in and out of relationships, its okay if you’re struggling hard to pay your bills, but please know that we are on the same page. The bills never change, the struggle never changes. It’s only the amount on the bill that is different. When you get where I’m now, I’ll leave notes for you to know that your journey will be different. You may handle this better than what I did or you may fall into pieces like I did. Either way, we have been there. Our view points on many things will differ from you, but it does not make us old, it only makes us slightly more experienced and bruised.

We still like vodka with chilly. We still party until four am. We still wear faded jeans. We still love showing off the new clothes. We still love all that you love. But, we like bigger things in life. We know what’s needed and what’s wanted and we know the difference between the both. We know all men ultimately want sex and women want it more. We know that there are some silvers peeping in to say hi but we will choose to show it off coz’ baby that’s the in thing at our age. We know we aren’t trending as much as you are, but we will watch what you are going to do.

We will watch you with hope and love.

We will watch you grow into being who we are.

We will watch you like a freshly seeded plant finding its roots to stay grounded.