Move on?

I have often been told by my friends to move on. 

“You need to let go…she doesn’t really care about you”
“You are wasting your time”
“You would have been dating someone by now had you moved on”

But life being what it has always been - complicated & confusing, I have been unable to take that step forward. I tell my friends that it isn’t as easy as it looks like. Then somebody told me this.

“Moving on is difficult for people who have been in a relationship…not for somebody who was ok with staring at her until she telepathically got the message”.

I couldn’t help but laugh at what was said. For the first time in my life, truth was bitter sweet.

Thing is, I could never really decide what I enjoyed more – Whether to bask in the hope that she will someday come around, or to be lead on in an endless abyss of her pursuit knowing that she will never be yours.

To be honest,I did try my best to move on.

I woke up one fine day, swore to never think about her & put on my best I-don’t-care-about-the-world look. While she did the exact same thing (not to think about me or give a damn), the mere fact that she locked her gaze with mine for an arc second changed it all. I was back to being obsessed with her again. I felt like a man curled up in a dark chamber who is ever happy by the small glimpses of sunlight than the bright meadows outside.

It is never a question of her being the ‘right’ one. In all probability, she isn’t. In majority of the cases, she is perhaps the one biggest mistake you need to make to turn your life upside down. Yet…she is the only person who could fill up that void which you had always hoped to fulfill. You would miss her for the rest of your life even if you had'nt met. You could have all the riches, loads of luck, abundance in adventure & yet your life would fall short if she wasn’t a part of it.

Should I try any harder?
Nah. I think it should happen as it goes.
Life feels perfect with her occasional smiles & millisecond glimpses. Why bother ruin it in haste or move on?

Back to School!

I was walking back to the tube station along with Manny when he suddenly asked, ’So how does it feel like…getting back to school?’.

Honestly, I was unprepared to answer that question. It was something I myself dreaded to ask my conscience.

Doing my masters’ in London happened quite by chance. I never really wanted a postgraduate degree to tell me what to do with my life. But alas, it was the only way I could start over, so here I am. Alone, all by myself & armed with nothing but a fake smile which I am forced to flash for the rest of the day…the same way I started my undergrad 8 years. Only things were different back then.

When I was 18, I never went around asking people if I could add them on facebook or linkedin.
When I was 18, I never had trouble remembering names no matter how weird they got.
When I was 18, my classmates knew I was one of them when they saw me gawking at a girl’s ass, not because I had an opinion to share about the markets.
When I was 18, I had the liberty to punch a guy in his face & could expect the same from him.
I am now 25…a seemingly better man than what I was 8 years ago…but feeling claustrophobic than ever. Growing up to a mature outlook has never been such a pain in the ass.

A great deal of academic institutions give importance to classroom diversity. Apart from the global perspective of classroom participation, there is an underlying (or rather much superficial) motive to let people network across hemispheres. I had a very dear senior of mine who said it would be an experience of a lifetime.

But with so much of emphasis on ‘networking’ & beer weekends, I ask myself ‘How many of them are actually willing take a walk with me instead?’, ‘How many would rather choose to count the stars with me & still not get bored?’ & more importantly ‘How many would be willing to act as my wingman to ask my crush out for dinner?’.
I doubt if there would be any. Why?
Cuz we are supposed to be big boys (& girls)!

Since when did making friends become that difficult? Or am I really making friends out here?
Have I reached a stage where I am diminished to a stage of an asset where people are willing to invest their time subject to ‘returns’?

No wonder people need a software to keep track of who I am & what I do.

I had the courage to admit to Helen that of all the people I had added in facebook in the last few days, fewer actually gave a f*** about me.

She just smiled.
Perhaps she knew what I meant. Perhaps she agreed with me on some level.
I am guessing it is probably the same with each of our friends on facebook.
Looks like we have been trying too hard to diminish ‘genuine’ human interactions.

She is the Third Kind

It was a warm summer evening in the winding streets of Cuffe Parade, Mumbai.
It is filled with old couples going out for a walk whose wrinkles are always full of life. A simple ‘Hi..’ to a Parsi lady in her 80s is invariably bound to earn you a vibrant smile in reply. Sundays are always the same.

Just when I thought it couldn’t get any different, I saw her for the first time.

She was out for a walk, a rather unusual thing for a woman her age who normally prefer to jog.

She was plugged to her Ipod making her oblivious of the world around.

Her smile was peculiar. It was as if someone was whispering something to her she had been waiting to hear all her life. It seemed so everlasting which she refused to take off.

She was dressed in sleeveless top & shorts – All blue from head to toe.
Who could ever relate the colour ‘blue’ to melancholy & depression!
There was so much exuberance when it floated around her.

But her hair…I couldn’t really make out. It looked all smooth & fluid like that of silky hair. Yet her confined pony tail made it look all curly.

There are 2 kinds of women who can charm the daylights out of men at sight - One who allures all those around while radiating her clear-cut glamour & the other who merely hints her beauty leaving people guessing.

She was the third kind - A siren of charisma which left me guessing if she could look any better.
My question was answered when I met her at a party soon after. I was shocked.

There was no sign of grandeur. No more flashy colours. Her perfectly mould slander legs where obscured by her skin tight jeans which looked distinctly normal. Her florescent pink top did not seem enticing whatsoever. But her smile…she wore it like a medallion and flashed it around like an heirloom. She made it look all effortless and rammed the prestige of every single well-dressed woman around her. I couldn’t help but thank god for gifting me with vision.

Like I said, I was curious!
What was it about her hair? Curly or Silky?

I was looking for excuses to talk to her…or rather get close to her. I would try to wait behind her in the buffet queue, crack some lame jokes and laugh out loud leaning forward so I could get to feel her hair or maybe even dance with her hoping to see her whip her hair in rapture. But alas no L.

It was finally time to say good-bye & there was loud music playing.
I knew this was my chance. I took my shot.
I placed my palm on her back, went within an ear-shot to say good-bye while trying to feel her jet black locks of hair. It felt hazy all of a sudden!!

The flavour of shampoo knocked me out.
I took a deep breath of the aroma sucking in every bit of euphoria and lo…she was gone!
It would really take a man of might to shower her neck with kisses while trying to resist her scent of intoxication.

She left me guessing…along with all the other men at the pavilion.

One Last Chance

Dearest Sunshine,

Although it’s been ages since we spoke, I have always found excuses to make sure you lingered in my memories. Neither am I one of the fortunate few to greet you at work every day nor the guy who can be ‘physically’ present to hold the door open for you. Yet, that never stopped my subconscious from manifesting you in my dreams & the world around me. Distances can barely erode away your memories and your physical presence in nothing more than a mere jackpot for my senses. It is a great feeling to know we are still part of the same bio-sphere where the same stars that light up your night sky lull me to sleep every single day. That pretty much keeps me content with what I have in life.

However, I am no Buddhist monk when it comes to your pursuit. Happy with our brief association though, I still have an insatiable thirst to make you mine forever. Not because I wouldn’t be able to live without you but having your around in my life makes it so much more worthwhile.

That said, for the sake of smiles we had shared, I ask of you to grant me the privilege of one last chance to set things right as below –

• Give me another chance to walk down the corridor and greet you for the first time in school. I swear I will try my best to stifle my blush which had me gaping at your bright red ribbons.
•  Give me a chance to thank you for borrowing that pen. I was so obsessed with stealing it away from you so I could keep it as a souvenir.
• Give me a chance to sing for you one last time. I shall try to look you in the eye this time & sing my soul out, instead of doing it through a telecon.
• Give me a chance to make it better on Valentines’ day. You were sceptical & would only accept a single white rose back then. I shall respect your thoughts but fill your lunch bag with a bouquet of bright red roses this time, making my intentions amply clear.
• Give me another chance to fight with you & apologize. I want to enjoy the pleasure of bowing down my loved one.
• Give me another chance to listen to you when you are giving me an earful. I shall hold you close and kiss you instead.
• Give me a chance to gift you another teddy bear for your birthday. I shall dress up as one instead so you can hug me all day long.
• And lastly…give me one last chance to hold your hand while you trip. Come what may, I will never let go this time.

Smothering you with hugs & kisses,
Always yours,
Krishna

Cold Coffee & Beer - II

I pick up my bag from the carousel as I cant wait to rush out of the airport.
I take a glimpse at the baggage tag just to make sure.

' Nombre: Ms.Maria Isabel; Vuelo: Antofagasta - Iquique'.

Iquique had always been my secret hideout whenever reality took its toll on me.
Ever since I passed out of university, my father would try his level best to hand me the reins of his wine business which was a million dollar empire. On the other hand, I couldn't care any less. The only way I could slip away from the monotony was to abscond to Iquique under the pretext of pursuing an internship, which seemed like a promising excuse even for the 14th time.

Iquique was unlike any other metro city. The mineral rich region of the Atacama desert is a home to numerous miners and the seaport is ever a welcome destination for barefoot surfers and anyone who enjoyed an overdose of sunshine.

My cab driver takes me straight to Zofri which is the commercial duty free zone of Iquique.
I step out of the taxi hoping to see a new signboard at 'Den De Miguel', the local bar which could give a tough competition for the Shrieking Shack in Harry Potter.

Despite the dilapidated state of the hangout, this was one place in Iquique I practically lived.
Old man Miguel who runs the place is a bit hard of hearing with his sight so impeccable that he cant tell his coffee from rum. Yet the warmth of his 'fatherly' attitude which doesn't involve pestering me to clean my room brings me so much peace.

I settle down with my beer when I suddenly spot this guy making his way to the bar stool.
He ambled his way across the creaky floor, scratching his petite goatee which I bet, did not enjoy considerable grooming for a long time. His dark skin tone was a clear give away that he was from the warmer tropics adding to the fact that he wore a dirt brown jacket in the peak of summer. He towered as he sat down on the bar stool with his forehead almost touching the overhead lamp which brightly lit his moist skin. The rugged bloke, then cleared his throat, pointing his eyes of innocence at the waitress and ordered in the most benign tone,'Cold Coffee, please'.

Not that I am a big fan of Mills & Boon series where a girl goes head over heels in love with a guy who is invariably portrayed as 'tall,dark and handsome', but I cannot fathom to explain why I felt this jolt of thunder when he shot me that look from the corner of his eye. Not once, not twice but THRICE. He was certainly bad at being discreet, that's for sure. But there isn't a woman I know who wouldn't enjoy the kind of attention he spared.

He left without saying a word though, except for the small talk with Miguel, whom I dragged to a nearby table and interrogated his whereabouts. His name was Shiva or at least that is what he called himself. Seems as though he is a seafarer and his ship is alongside the Iquique bulk loading terminal. His time at Iquique however, was limited and his ship had to depart in a week. My heart sank as I ran out of the bar, looking for him in the local market. No luck. He had disappeared like a poltergeist on a foggy night.

Wait..why am I even doing this?

I come back the next day hoping to slosh down the turbulence in my heart.
Before I could even consider the possibility of searching for his vessel in the port, the wooden floor begins to creak in response to a familiar visitor. Shiva was back.

"OMG..ITS HIM", was something I did not scream. I had to play it cool, you see!

He ordered for the same cold coffee, shot me those very same looks and left precisely the same way as he did.

There was a weird ecstasy in his trickle drops of attention.
The eloquence of his silence conveyed far too many words than any string of cheesy pick up lines.
Waking up to a new dawn had never been so wonderful as I would run to Miguel's and wait for him all day long.

Alas, my insatiable hunger had gotten the best of me. I finally decide to open the Pandora's box.
I walk up to him as he wipes his lips by the edge of his sleeve. I clear my throat to mumble in my best possible tone and the most eloquent of English.

Hii..I see you come here since few days. Where you from?


He looks at me with a gaze any woman would die for.

(To be continued)

Cold Coffee & Beer - I

Pick up slack on spring lines,Shiva - NOW. Vessel all fast 0830 hours!!!
 
My Captain from Syria was steaming like a kettle on the walkie takie.
We were racing against time. The weather couldn't have been better at the seaport of Iquique (Chile), which is otherwise bone-chilling during winters. The Cirrus clouds were just about enough to add a tinge of white in the brightly lit sunny sky.The sheltered waters of the port lay still and calm, tempting any gangster to dump a weighted corpse for the mere pleasure of enjoying the parabolic ripples float across the surface of the water. But even Paradise cannot tempt a seafarer to enjoy its serenity. Not when you have to load 30,000 tonnes of copper ore in less than a week.
 
Once cargo operations commenced, I slogged like a blood hound for the rest of the day, as I saw granules of ore slipping out of the grasp of the colossal grabs which were loading our cargo holds.

It was 1600 hours, when I stepped out of the gangway to go ashore for some fun. The stevedores gave me directions to a local bar which was a prime hangout for seafarers going ashore. It took me barely 10 minutes until I reached an old wooden shack.

Iquique is not the kind of a place where you would find people flauting their Gucci's or girls feeling breathless without a prada. The place had a peace and quiet of its own, with the local folks living their lives as simple as it could get. As I sat on the bar stool and ordered for a cold coffee, I felt this pulsating urge to lock my eyes on the girl across the table as she licked the froth off her lips while sipping on her mug of beer.
Her brunette hair was a perfect blend to the wooden decors in the backdrop. An ebony black t-shirt draped her voluptuous curves as magnificent as the Cordilleras. Her denim skirt was the last piece of jigsaw that completed her persona with her chestnut brown eyes.

I tried not to give her the awkward stare and focused on sipping my coffee. A near impossible feat!

As much as I tried, It was a rather herculean task to walk up to her and offer her a drink. Apart from the excuse of being exceptionally shy, I tried not to ruin the perfect moment of having the pleasure of being glued to her presence. In all probability, this was the first and last time I could be looking at her.

I finish my drink and walk out before taking one last look at her.

I visit the same bar the following day having promised myself to get sloshed until I - WAIT A MINUTE!!!
She was right there. Sitting at the very same spot she was chilling out. With a woman like her, who needs intoxication?

I ordered the same damn cup of Cold Coffee that was sure to keep my eyes wide open. The drill however, wasn't any different. I would look at her from the corner of the eye, just like how Agent Ethan Hunt would do so while tailing a suspect. It felt so fulfilling already!

The same routine continued for the next few days until I asked myself while sipping my coffee, "Is there a chance she is actually waiting for me every single day just to get a glimpse of me?".   
I almost spat my coffee in laughter realizing how crazy a thought it was. Of course I don't mean to say I look obnoxiously ugly, but I am no prince charming either. Besides what are the possibilities of a charming and destructively hot latina to be hung up on an Indian seafarer whose current attire makes him look like a runway prisoner?

I wipe the coffee off my lips when suddenly -

Hii..I see you come here since few days. Where you from?

It was her!!!
I lock my gaze into her eyes as my pupils automatically focus into hers.

(To be continued)

Sleepless in Santiago

Pablo Neruda never had a place in my head. I only have a vague memory of reading his poems in grade 10. FYI he’s a Chilean Poet who...ummm...wrote poems :P!

But this piece of trivia is more than enough to start an hour long gossip with a Chilean who is ever bubbling with warmth.

Chile, a land of pristine beauty sprawled across the west coast of South America, is a traveller’s delight indeed. Mineral rich deserts in the north, fertile farmlands coupled with beaches for tan-maniacs in the centre and an archipelago of virgin lands in the south, is a visual blessing. Your belief in a supreme creator grows tenfold.

Having broken my shoulder, I found myself walking in the lively streets of Valparaiso, the cultural capital of Chile known for its crystal clear beaches and the ever beautiful women who inhabit them. I am not talking about the likes of the girls we drool over in FTV. You begin to perceive womanhood in a different light. Their curves would only seem to be chiselled by the hands of god. Their blood red lips would jinx you to oblivion even before you are held in mesmerism by the allure of their ‘Gracias’.

It was 2130 and being the loner I was, I decided to settle down at the local beach. I stopped to ask somebody for directions when I see this young maiden pushing her bicycle on the sidewalk. Her woollen gloves were a perfect match for her brunette locks with a yellow top, as brilliant as the midnight sun. She gave me directions to the beach and I soon found myself sitting beside her in the invigorating shores of Valparaiso with a couple of stray dogs to give us company. I put my jacket around her, for the sea breeze had begun to tickle our necks. We spotted a colossal gas carrier out at sea, brightly lit as if Cinderella was coming onboard. I pointed at Clean Energy laying afloat at the horizon and told her that was where I belonged. Being a clear night for the better, I introduced to her, some of my faithful companions, who had always come to my aid in the high seas – Betelguese, Bellatrix and Al Nilam of the Orion constellation.

The 2 of us, under the dome of southern declination stars, from completely different walks of life, spoke about the sanity (or insanity) of majestic elephants walking in Indian streets followed by the woes of our personal lives, till the wee hours of midnight.

‘Good bye’, I said as I walked her to her apartment and carried on to my hotel where I was crushed by the claustrophobic walls of my room.

Day break had cracked through my window soon enough.
I set off early to the hospital to bid farewell to the pretty nurses who cared for me especially Paulina the curly molly who could never bear to see as much as her patient’s hair undone and the Nutritionist Maria Isabel who could enslave a man into shackles of allure just by pronouncing her name (Ok I wanted to hit on them 1 last time!).

I go back to my hotel to see my agent waiting for me.
Amigo, I take you Santiago. You fly in 4 hours.

I hop into the car with my luggage. Within minutes we are on the highway with lush greenery and vineyards on either side. I try to catch up on some sleep preparing myself for the long flight.
Flashes of memories tease me to stay back. The vibrancy of Valparaiso had haunted me indeed.
Before I could rest my eye lashes close, my agent shakes me awake.

‘Here you go Amigo. Buen Viaje. Get well soon’

I proceeded to collect my boarding pass that said ‘Santiago-Sao Paulo’.
I spent my last few hours in Santiago - Sleepless, as the aircraft flew across the Andes.