America, January Blogathon, random

Day 17 – All caught up

Today was the second time in my life I went to the cinemas alone. To be honest, I was always hesitant to go alone. I’m the kind of person that loves to talk while watching a movie. Not in a way that it bugs others but just a quiet commentary whispered in to my partners ear. Annoying, I know but I can’t keep my thoughts to myself. 

The first movie I saw on my own was Wadjda. There were only five other people in the theatre but it didn’t bother me too much. I had my coffee and my Psycho Donut with me. The movie was one of the most brilliant foreign films I’ve seen.

Today I went for August: Osage County. Julia Roberts and Meryl Streep were both amazing. The movie made me cry at least three times. This is the first time I’ve ever cried in a theatre! Some of the scenes were just too heart wrenching. I love a good movie and I love a good cry.

I also realized that I now love to be my own plus one whether it be to a movie or to lunch. I’m pretty good company, you guys.

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Book Mark, Fiction, January Blogathon, Word Pad

Day 16 – Part 2: Farhan

Farhan felt his wife stir beside him. He was a light sleeper and woke up at the slightest sound. Three hours till sunrise and he needed to get all the sleep he could get. Tomorrow, like every other day, was going to be a long one.

***

The sun was up and the smell of dal was in the air. Farhan woke up, kissed the baby and began to do his morning ablutions. He loved his morning showers. That’s the only place he felt safe enough to air his thoughts. Some days he wished the water from the shower would drown him. But ten minutes later he turned it off and stepped out.

The past week was hard on him. He had attended his college reunion and came face to face with bits of his past. He met friends whom he lost contact with, or broken contact with, to be exact. They were talking about Ruhi, about how she was the glue and they all missed her. “But I miss her the most”, thought Farhan.

He hadn’t seen her in four years. People had warned him about tying down a free spirit and he didn’t listen. They were right. Nothing could hold her back, not the love she had for him, not the proposal he offered her. She needed to leave. She was a wild-child and there was nothing more this city could offer her, she said. “I love you, but we’re different Faru. You want the perfect family and I want adventure.”, that’s the last thing she ever said to him.”Maybe one day we will be together”. Farhan nodded but in his heart he knew that it would be the last time he saw those brown eyes.

Bang!

The sounds from the kitchen were louder today. Breakfast consisted of the usual fare. Everything in his life was so systematic – study well, get a good job, have a great love, marry a beautiful girl, car, baby, house. There was no uncertainty with anything. Even Asma made sure to that. She was always perfect in everything she did. But Farhan never noticed her eyes. They said so much without uttering a single word. He was living in his real life fantasy and he never saw how distanced from reality his wife was. He didn’t know the sacrifices she had made. But he made sure to tell her about his past as he wasn’t one for keeping secrets. Asma took it in her stride and never questioned him about it.

He couldn’t help but compare her to his lost dream. Asma had long beautiful, shiny brown hair while Ruhi’s curls were a force to be reckoned with. Asma was always so polite, in fact a little too polite and Ruhi was explicit at the most inappropriate times. He didn’t want to make this comparison. But it suddenly felt like Ruhi was back in his life and had taken control of his thoughts, “But not my heart”, he prayed. He did not want to succumb to the fantasy of what-could-have-been.

As Asma busied herself around the table, Farhan looked at her, for the first time in a long time, with hope. “I can change things around. I just need to want it strong enough.” He got up, drank his last sip of tea, kissed his daughter on her head and was ready to leave. Asma got him his things and he was almost out the door when something held him back. He turned around and looked at Asma.

“Did you forget something?”

“No, I didn’t.”

He gave his perfect wife a peck on the cheek and was off.

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Fiction, January Blogathon, Word Pad

Day 15 – Part 1: Asma

Asma woke up to a crying baby this morning. She was used to the crankiness by now. Naira was eight months old and all the sleepless nights were worth it thought Asma as she got up. Beside her, Farhan was snoring softly. She walked up to the bassinet by the window and picked up her precious little monkey who was now starting wail her head off. Asma took her to the living room and began nursing her child. 

Half hour later when the sun began to rise and her child now asleep in her arms, Asma decided she might as well begin her day. She cooked breakfast and lunch all in an hour. Her husband would be awake any minute now and he would be his restless self. She loved the man she married but the morning was not his finest hour.

With a big sigh she stirred the pot of dal. The kitchen smelled just like her mothers did in the mornings. It had been four years since the accident. Four years since her life had been turned upside down, four years since she lost everything. Four years, and the only thing that remained constant was her mothers dal.

She occasionally flashed back to her pre – Farhan period. She was younger and she was climbing the career ladder like no other. She had her parents by her side and she had Nabeel. Nabeel, that man who stole her heart. She had a perfect, story book life and one day everything came crashing down. The accident, her parents passed away and the she was passed on to her older brothers. They had their own lives and were uncomfortable with the “responsibility”. They didn’t listen to Asma about Nabeel and she was married within six months. She moved to a new city with her new husband and life as she knew it ended.

It took her a long time to get accommodated to this life and still she never felt comfortable in it. Farhan never noticed this. He was a good guy. She loved him adequately. They had a beautiful apartment and a sweet baby. Everything looked great on paper. She had already experienced passion and knew better than to expect that from this marriage. Farhan was always busy, working hard. No time for passion. Weekends were spent shopping, watching TV and playing with the baby. Life was monotonous and Asma was just playing along.

The crying baby jolted Asma to reality. As she ran to attend to her child the cooker whistle went off. So with a child attached to her hip and a ladle in her hand she resigned herself to face the fight with whatever was left within her.

Farhan didn’t say a word at breakfast. Surprise, surprise. Asma was so used to this by now that it didn’t bother her. He washed down his toast with some tea, gathered his things and was almost out the door when suddenly, he caught her eyes.

“Something is different in him today”, thought Asma.

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America, college, Food, January Blogathon, life

Day 12 – Meals

My college used to have the BEST meals. Rice, sambar, kaara kozhambu, rasam, poriyal and one appalam – bliss. My friends and I used to eat in the canteen almost every other day. Some days the cook would be in a good mood and the kaara kozhambu would taste so good. Also, because it was a Muslim university they would serve biriyani every friday. They would run out of it within the first ten minutes of opening but if you did manage to get a plate then you’d know how tasty it was.
Meals is probably the best thing ever although you’d snooze in class after a good lunch. But here all they have for lunch are pasta, pizza and sandwiches. This never bothered me until now when I’m in a university environment and I’m reminded of my college, the canteen and inevitably the meals. And it doesn’t help that my friend is texting me about some drool worthy ‘fish meals’ she had in Manglore.
Sarvana Bhavan needs to have a spot on this campus.

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January Blogathon, life, quotes

Day 11- Falling

Sometimes I wish for falling

Wish for the release

Wish for falling through the air

To give me some relief

Because falling’s not the problem

When I’m falling I’m in peace

Its only when I hit the ground

It causes all the grief

HOW DOES FLORENCE DO IT?

How does she know exactly what goes on in my head?

I used to have an emo phase. I toned it down quite a bit so I wasn’t your usual eye liner wearing, black clothes donning emo. I was smiley and sunshiny on the outside but I was pretty dark inside. Then, I grew up and had something that resembled a life but there were phases when I would revert back to my emo past. It felt good knowing that I could have another personality at arms length when I was tired of being this person that I am. But Florence makes emo look so good that I might consider it my permanent personality. Just got to dye my hair a flaming red and get Gucci to sponsor my clothes.

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