For The Last Time

You’ve been with me for seven years. We’ve held each other closer than anything else in the world. I’ve cared for you more than I’ve cared for myself. Or anyone else. I have loved you more than you can imagine. And you have given me such pleasure I can only dream about.

When we first started out, we were hesitant, unsure of how we would survive with each other. We hid our relationship from the world. Except one or two people, no one knew about us. We were careful, we tiptoed around the parents and the well-wishers. We gradually progressed into being much more than a casual fling. We became partners in life’s grand journey. I carried you through some tough times and you did the same to me.

All those days and wonderful nights where you have comforted me and given me pleasure are fresh in my memory. We’ve laughed, cried, drank, sang, danced, played and slept together. We have been each others’ best friends and the worst enemies. We have been each others’ best lovers and the worst dates. I’ve shared some of my most magical moments with you over a better part of the last decade.

And now, it’s time to say goodbye. I have been meaning to write you a love song but I can’t get myself to do it. I still have the occasional urge to kiss you and hold you from time to time, but for our sake, we should part ways. We have the power to seriously debilitate each other if we continue.

I wish you all the best. Thank you for everything.  I will never find a love truer than yours. Ever.

No Smoking

Image Courtesy: Clker.com

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

candlelight dinnerShe wore a very pretty, pink, long-sleeved sweater that hugged her body and showed off her curves quite well. Her jeans were a couple of sizes too small, which was perfect for me, for obvious aesthetic reasons. She walked towards me from across the crowded bar, with a lovely smile on her lips – blood-red lips that broke into an easy smile that wrinkled the corners of her hazel eyes and made her look that much more beautiful. She was a little under 5’10” tall, and easily one of the tallest women in the room.

She moved with a graceful, relaxed-yet-sexy walk, with her brown-streaked curls bouncing up and down with each step she took. She walked over to me, her smile widened as I stood up and hugged her tightly for a couple of seconds, and held out a chair for her. My fingers deliberately brushed her shoulders and her waist as I helped her into her seat, leaving no doubts in her mind what my intentions were.

“A gentleman,” she said. “You guys are hard to find these days.”

Her voice was sweetness personified.The lilting tones put my head into overdrive and even before I could say anything, I felt a stirring in my loins, an almost animalistic urge to pounce on her and take her roughly, right there in the crowded bar.

I smiled my best smile and said, “Then I’m glad you found me.”

We spoke of this and that, made small talk, and flirted quite a bit. I think my best line was, “I wish I knew Braille.” Since it was a blind date,  she got my meaning, and blushed deeply. Her lovely face turned bright crimson when I said it. We ordered a couple of drinks and a bite to eat. I reached my hand over to hers and held it there for a few minutes. She didn’t retract her hand. Instead, she locked her fingers between mine and we sat there, looking into each others’ eyes. Was this love at first sight? Was I really doing this? Meeting this beautiful woman, holding her hand, looking into her eyes and steadily falling in love?

The waiter handed me the bill, and just as I was about to pay, she reached over and snatched the bill away from me.

“I’m paying,” she said with a sweet smile.

I couldn’t react because I had seen something that had sent a shiver down my spine and in an instant, filled my very soul with terror. I wish I hadn’t seen it and I hoped I had imagined it, but I knew it was wishful thinking. I had seen the most terrifying sight that threatened to make me into a sniveling coward.

“Uh,” I said. “Look, I – I have to go. I am running late for a meeting.”

She stared at me coldly, stunned, unable to comprehend. Even before she recovered, I stood up, hastily threw down some money on the table and muttered something about it being my treat, stammered an apology and like a fool, I stumbled out of the bar and ran for my life. I did not take a cab, I did not even bother looking for my bike that I had parked close  by. I ran the three blocks to my house, in full sprint, not looking back. I was scared and I was not going to stop until I reached home.

After what seemed like an eternity, I reached my front door, out of breath and wheezing heavily. I rang the doorbell and almost collapsed into my roommate’s arms. Being one of my closest friends, he was obviously shocked and worried. He helped me into the chair, gave me some water and helped me calm myself down. My kid sister, who was also home, came out of the room and stared at me. I looked a total mess. They asked me what happened and demanded an explanation. They even offered to call the cops, thinking I had been mugged.

“No, don’t call the cops. They won’t be able to do anything,”  I managed to say between deep breaths.

“Nikhil, you’re scaring me,” said my sister. “What happened!?”

I looked into their faces – my sister and my best friend – anxiously looking at me, and waiting for an explanation. So, I told them my story about how I had met the perfect woman, the wonderful time we had had, the drinks and the dinner and the conversations. Then I reached the point of the story where the bill arrived and she had reached out to snatch it from my hand.

“What happened? Why did you run when she took the bill??” asked my roommate.

“Dude,” I said. “She had body hair!”

***

“I Have Mother!”

Or, as it’s rightly said in Hindi, “Mere paas maa hai!” was, still is and will remain the most famous dialog in Bollywood for the next few decades. The 1975 classic Deewar set new standards in Indian cinema and elevated mortal beings into superstardom. Sadly, the ’70s were all that Bollywood could offer in terms of originality, innovation and pleasure. Apart from the occasional gem, a majority of  the movies made in Bollywood today are worthless pieces of stool.

There is one – just one – formula that all Bollywood movies follow nowadays:

A meets B.

Falls in love with B. 

A thinks life is all roses and unicorns. Sings a song or two. 

But, oh no! What’s this? B is in love with C! How unexpected!

A is shattered. Depressed. Sings a song or two.

C, meanwhile, is a jerk and does something inhuman, untrustworthy. 

B loses faith in C. B is depressed. Blames self for misfortune. Sings a song or two.

A swoops in like a knight in shining armor. Consoles B.

B falls in love with A. All is fine, sing a song or two.

Optional (for violence): C and A have a fight. 

If A and C are men, you have a strong romantic movie filled with songs, drama and action. If A and C are women, you have a spicy, romantic chick flick.

Correct me if I’m wrong, but every one of these so-called ‘new and improved’ movies work on these lines. This is the core formula. The unchanging storyline for any movie worth it’s salt to pass inspection. Package the formula with a college theme, a superhero theme, a gangster theme, and just about any goddamn theme – you get one crappy movie after another.

The Bollywood Crap Factory has been churning out disaster after such disaster for the past twenty-odd years. And it’s amazing how people just fall for it each and every time. Either that, or re-hashing successful old movies with more masala and lesser clothes and disgusting lyrics to excite more hapless people.

Unabashed over-the-top acting with too much drama and too many emotions and too many movements of the eyebrows, relying too much on non-Indian folk to add some elements of ‘variance’ or as the producers like to call it, ‘a global touch’ – these are few of the trends that are bound to backfire and implode sooner or later. Actors who engage in silly publicity stunts, those who sell their souls to be on a reality show and those who sell their bodies to get featured in a newspaper – we have all kinds of lunatics in this business.

I crave for the day this ridiculous trend is overturned for something better. Bollywood needs a face-lift. And soon!

Wanted: Full-Time Muse

Job Code: Muse2012

Job Description: A highly reputed writer and blogger based in India is seeking a muse. He is stuck without inspiration to write anything and even ten words take a lot of pain and effort. He is currently willing to pay top dollar for the muse.

Job Requirements: Muse can be either male or female, but the writer prefers a female muse. Males can apply too, and unless you make a very strong case, your application stands a good chance of being rejected. Candidates can be of any age, nationality, race, creed, sexual orientation or religion. The writer is an equal opportunity employer. All women will be considered fairly. Candidates need to have at least a year’s experience in being someone’s muse. References will be needed and a very strict background check will be performed. A very strong command over the English language is a must. Writing skills is a bonus. Ability to resist incessant flirting will be an advantage. Strong knowledge of computers, internet technology and instant messaging.

Duties & Responsibilities: The primary responsibility of the muse will be to adequately inspire the writer to churn out good material for the books and blogs that he is struggling to write. Most of the writer’s material is based on a fictitious super-awesome woman that he’s constantly in love with and the muse should have the ability to take up the role of that character in order to encourage the writer to write. Don’t fear, the writer rarely says or does anything inappropriate. He’s a gentleman and he will treat everyone with equal respect and condescension. This role-playing ability is vital for the job.

Compensation: Competitive.

Position: Full time.

Interested candidates can apply by sending in their resumes and their photographs to writer at mirrorcrackedmuse@gmail.com

If your profile gets selected, you will receive an email from the writer personally, asking you out for dinner. All the best.