Her Adventures with Mismatched Socks

She was meticulous, organised and obsessive about perfection. She was diagnosed by her friends as a specimen with a mild case of OCD. She refused and claimed to be healthily obsessed. It was just her fond love for symmetry and unblemished perfection.

Accepting the unsymetry wasn’t tough, but it made her nervous. One day, she decided to brave it, and she wore two different socks to work. Grey on the left and black on the right. Since she wore ballerinas, they were pretty much visible. 

She glanced at her feet every now and then, but then the day went by without anyone pointing her flaw out. Rather, no one noticed it at all. There was this vague feeling in her head of being watched, scrutinized and judged for her mismatched pair, when everyone around her were busy feeling the same about their mismatch and living in their own heads.

It was impossible for her not to think of the mismatched pair the entire day, but it was not that difficult to accept the mismatch either. It was as simple as that. Acceptance.

She chased the perfect symmetry in life so furiously, that she had missed seeing the beauty in the other powerful but ignored things. Like: Her mother’s love. Her mother silently listening to things she wasn’t speaking out loud. Her accomplishments. Her aging parents. Her own self.

If accepting this unsymmetrical mismatch could, if not silence, tone down the restless voice in her head and let her get going the entire day, why not the same with the mismatched unsymetry in herself?

This was her first step towards being a little adventurous, in her own little way.


My Dance with Perfection


Who would have thought it would sound like music to my ears some day? It is, believe me when the pursuit of perfection is in focus.

My obsession with perfection is never ending. It is and always will be a never ending challenge. And this journey of mine in pursuit of perfection would be easier and faster by letting myself get flawed again and again. This would mean letting go of my ego of having a perfect record for everything. This would also mean of letting go of my fear of failure, which would taint my existing, carefully built perfection.


Because I have come to understand, there is no ultimate perfection. Its always going to be a never ending journey. A beautiful journey with purpose. And my mistakes would be my steps to climb up the ladder, closer and closer to perfection.

Mistakes are beautiful. Letting yourself make mistakes would mean you are ready to put yourself out there to take risks and take stands.

I had an epiphany today.  When I made mistake, I realized, by default there always is going to be two outcomes out of those mistakes:
1. People would always be amused/laugh at me.
2. I will realize how passionate I am to learn something.

The first point is what stops most of us “perfectionist hunters” from making mistakes. But then again, who cares what people think? Be happy that you were able to make someone laugh and make their day through your mistakes. Not just that, by being open to making mistakes, you would have opened millions of doors of constant learning.

Mistakes should never be allowed to dishearten us from our pursuit of our own perfection. Never, ever let go, if its worth having it. Just need to stay positive and keep pursuing it, fighting for it and never look back.

Mistakes are after all nothing but experience. And like C.S. Lewis said, “Experience: that is the most brutal of teachers. But you learn, my God do you learn!”

A Fling with the Past

Sometimes, probably, it is fun to spoil something very perfect. It seems almost perfect and absolutely right to spoil it. If it is too perfect, the adventure is dead. If it is too perfect, it is very comfortable.

No one likes to be thrown out of a something that is constant. It shakes their whole being of existence at that moment. It is like throwing someone out of their home. Probably. It is painful. But if it is perfect, there is no room for infinite.

There is nothing as perfect. There is something as almost perfect. When it is almost perfect, there is this pull to keep on chasing perfection. I am repeating.

Did I make sense?

This logic is mixed with emotion. This logic is a consolation.
Thus, the improper links.

Random Thoughts of an Exhausted Mind

There is a difference. Exhausted mind. Exhausted body.

 I should note down my thoughts. I have stopped doing that. The randomness of my thoughts is surprising me. Sometimes they are so beautiful and so fast, that it seems waste few hours later when I can’t even remember what I was thinking about.

 I hate the beginnings. I hate goodbyes. In between is the best time in any relation.

Today while walking down the road, facing the wind trying to blow me away and the vehicles that loved my legs, I realized what my dream is, is nothing but my passion. I wouldn’t know how passionate I am about my dream if I don’t even taste it. Let me lick it, let it tingle my tongue. Then there will be a big bite, the tingle will linger forever. That is my probability 1.
1 for hope
0 for failure
One risk I’ve to take.
Fear of failure, I’ve to face.

I love infinity.
I love numbers.
I love metaphors.
I love words.
I love puns.
I love oxymoron.
I love the word free.
I love freedom.
I love symmetry.
I love silence.
I love making people uncomfortable. Nice people.
I love sound. I love sight.
I love senses.
I love Batman.
I love Sherlock Holmes.
I love so many things.

Squirm sounds like worm.
Squeeze sounds squeeezy.

Secrets are beautiful. A hint about it and it creates an air of mystery. Decipher it. Find out what is hidden beneath all those lines.

The pursuit of perfect happiness. With a person. With self. One ignorable flaw discovered and it breaks the  beauty of perception of what seems to be perfect. For a person obsessed with perfection and only perfection it is tough to settle for anything. Just anything. A reminder to self: that flaw is the path to perfection. Perfection is untouchable-ly near.
Yea I created that word.

Secrets are intertwined with truth and lies. That makes it even more mysterious. How much does truth matter? How much does a lie matter? To keep a person motivated when she’s dying, tell her she is not dying? Lie. How much did it help her when she eventually heard what is happening to her? Truth eventually finds its way. Digs and digs and slaps you in your face.

How much can another human be trusted?

Sometimes it is fun to watch other person underestimate me. I like watching them get uncomfortable again when I decide to show how ignorant they are.

Being in control. At times it feels so powerful. Knowing when to be in control. Even more powerful.
I like the power.

Life is all about choices. Everything is about choices.
I chose to share my randomness with you today.

Why were prime number called as prime numbers? Who made all those rules about numbers?
Prime numbers are special. Just special. I am going to use them and make my secrets even more difficult for you to dig.

Decipher me.
I dare you.

It is so easy to fall in love with fictional characters.
It is so easy to fall in love with a voice of a face I have never seen.

The word beautiful is itself so beautiful.
Like the word free.

I should leave. I’ve to get stressed at office tomorrow, again.
I’m a grown up now. I work.


Good & The Best

Good boosts confidence: The spine erect, balancing the head right where it should be. Good makes me feel I am wise, a bit more experienced than yesterday. There are millions of truth spilling out of you*, ignoring all the flaws. Because to you only good matters, from where you claim you learnt. I’m wise to you. I can do anything according to you.

The Best can see the real mess. You# can throw me back in the dumpster feeling. Because you are the truth, the harsh “in my face” truth. You show me where I flaw. You keep me from being stagnant. You take me one step closer to perfection. You patiently wait till I logically reach to this conclusion of your observation, not caring how much it might have stung, not caring how strongly I deny that being my character. You wait. I learn. I move forward. And you knew this is how exactly I’ll react and act in the end.

That is how you two unknowingly keep my balance right, where I don’t fall too deep in the either side of the rope.

Yappy New Year!!

That corporate world with a noose around your neck (read: tie) and pins below your heels (read: heels), where you are asked to tone down the “real” you to be a “better” you even before you get to know the “real” you. Just when I thought I am discovering myself, some ugly hidden, ignored masks I was asked to pretend and paste a smile on my face. Where I’m to swallow any disgust I feel. Where I am to pretend to be polite till it is imprinted in the basic root of my character.
I feel so grown up.
In a way, it is good. Perhaps this will bring more balance, emotionally. Stop feeling remorse after every outburst because there will be none. Perhaps better personality. The sassy-ness will probably go down a bit, yea. But will probably metamorphose into a quieter and an elegant person .
I am suddenly so grown up. 😀
The best thing about dealing with anything new is giving in to it, completely. The faster the better. Soaking in it completely. And that’s how Poda Land seems so beautiful ignoring the roads and the pollution. It’s the place where all the autowalas imagine themselves to be riding a Hayabusa. Where the skin glows. Where the people are smarter. Where the women ride  bicycle with an umbrella in one hand. Where the winters are like the summers of Bangalore. 🙂
Probably this is how it is when it comes to lurve. The faster you give in, the lesser the resistance. Lesser the resistance, the more you can enjoy it.
Life is beautiful. So damn beautiful. 🙂
Yappy yappy beginning in this new new year. Where I slept off exhausted on mumma’s lap.
How sweeet, no? 😛
And a very Happy New Year to you 🙂

That place with Invisible Cameras

It’s there anywhere and everywhere, those cameras.  Those people who watch, who observe your every move: both elegant and embarrassing; who listen to everything you utter sitting behind the wall or as an invisible face behind your table, are lurking around everywhere. They talk, they report, they create an image of you which will be imprinted in their memories forever until they really take time out of their precious life to get to know you  or until you move to a completely new set of place with a minute difference of different brands of cameras.
Where curtsy has to be imbibed into every cell of your body for the survival requirements even if it seems unreal and is repelled by every atom of your body.
Why? To preserve an image. 
Where the definition of you which is forever incomplete has to be masked using a poker face and swallowed in. Where a smile has to be forced out. 
Why? To preserve an image. 
Where you have to prove you are right by manipulating if required when you are on the verge to be proven wrong.  Because the image has to be superior. 
Because it is your image.
All this, only if you really care and obsesses about written off permanently in pages. And if you want to be as great and famous as Shakespeare.
Where you have to do things against your will because you will be judged into a permanent identity of immortality. Because you feel you are being watched.
Because you are being watched, with those invisible cameras.

When you get more than you wish for

It is wonderful how we keep evolving. One of the most beautiful thing: evolving.

Back in late teens, when there was this fairy tale idea about love, when the mind was forever confused, where you said yes to a person/something just because that person wanted you to, or your best friend did a soul searching crap. Where the mind was so unsure of saying yes to what you actually wanted but instead ended up saying yes to things which were sugar coated and unreal, to things which seemed to right to the third person not you. Staying in something because the other was sure that it will work even when you kicked inside to get out of it. But, you stayed.

Evolution brings out the ugliness of that sugar coated love.

Independent mind.

You know, the best thing about flights? Take off.

It slowly steers towards the runway. A powerful wooshing sound and then it runs with such powerful force that you are pushed back on your seat. That energy is mind blowing. It bubbles something inside that red pumping thingy inside my chest, which I tag as euphoria. This is exactly how evolution feels. From dependence to one independent mind.

Where I say no because I didn’t want it. Where I say yes, because I honestly wanted it. Where I decide without crappy unasked advices. Where I choose what I want to believe in and what to discard. Where I do not ask if I should or shouldn’t to those sugar coated jackasses when I want to do something and instead I just do it. Where I only say things when I mean it and do not see the need to sugar coat it. Where I despise reasons and no more scared about what you’ll think when I say that. Where I refuse to give explanations unless necessary. Where I make my decisions.

Independent mind.

I am obsessed with the whole independence idea.

It is the best thing that ever happened to me. More than I wish for part: My baggage – Chennai. But hey, I am out of a box! Probably I’m romanticizing with this idea because I imagine I feel suffocation. Part of evolution: getting out of comfort zone.

She warned me again when I visited her recently. She discarded many of my ideas. Her reason: None. I’ll learn in time. (She is awesome!)

And then, the most wonderful thing happened. When coming back home via flight, starting from take off to in flight mode I realized life is just the same as from that Point A period to Point B period: There is that powerful force, energy full of excitement, you’ll climb higher and higher. The elevation will be bit uncomfortable, past fading away, some a bit painful. Then comes the cloud of forgotten fading memories and then finally the stable flight with slight turbulence now and then. Depending on clouds.

It’s wings were my wings.

That made me look forward to everything.

Whats with those couples? Trying to hook single people every time! Every boy I am with is my guy? Kya yaar? Arey, I do not want your misery! I am euphoric! Very very euphoric! Single hood is THE best thing ever happened to me! This is where the independent mind started. Iyam very very free. That last one was like a fucking cage where I had to sing like that emperor’s nightingale. Why do you want to mess with me ya!? I’ll tell you when I find a real man. Man I say, “Man”. Not one of those crying, PMSing, complaining, sensitive, going and crying to mama/girlfraand (when I upset them :D) boys. Booyaaaiss.

My Image of Perfection

She is everything I had decided to be before a certain period: She is independent, free, strong. She has her own apartment. She is a single mother with two kids. She has an awesome job. Drives her car herself around, no driver. She has the respect she deserves in her world of profession and friend circle. One time owned a small company of her own. There is lots more to her awesomeness which I refrain adding here.

She is my image of perfection.

And perfection comes with a price, always. All the struggles, slogging, frustrations, the downs with every up, the attacks to be borne alone with no shoulder support. And she has her own story.

I thought I was immature for wanting all this before I get bound. When I saw she had it, loved it, enjoyed it, I felt sound.

She warned me. I understood.
She talked about harsh realities. I understood again.
She talked about destiny and fate. I disagreed. I didn’t understand. I didn’t feel like voicing it out at that moment, because right then it was one of the most wonderful moment: getting to know.

A bittersweet life, I don’t seem to mind to have now.
Then again I’m young and headstrong. I might get all of it with much more. Including everything I blocked.

Amazing feeling to see my image in a real woman. And that it is not just an image of fantasy.

Simple Pleasures

There’s always some once upon a time in every lazy bum’s land.
I started loving the whole process of making tea. Different types, with intuitive precision to obtain perfection.
From ginger lemon grass tea to simple black tea lemon flavored.

Making one elaichi tea to perfection, only to realize dad loved it but he doesn’t like the elaichi flavor. He said yes to it because I showed interest.
boo hoo ha ha ha. 🙂 😦

For me, I would love Barista or CCD serve me my favorite iced teas 🙂