Conversations with Me

Why the dolour, Murphy asks.
I'm hard at work on a million tasks.
Try some more, he says, just focus,
while I perform some hocus pocus.

Your mumbo jumbo, I tell him
and all your crazy vigour and vim,
and all the ideas with which you're toying
are a waste of time, and quite annoying.

He takes offence, walks away in a huff;
pouts, looks mournful, tries acting tough.
Then he yields helplessly to habit -
starts loping around like a li'l jackrabbit.

You waste time yourself, he says with a smirk.
At least I never ignore my work.
My laws, they're sensible and terse -
and look at you, writing rubbish verse!

Your antics, I say, with increasing asperity
are nothing but heirlooms for lame posterity.
You have such a way of goofing up -
causing unwarranted slips 'twixt lip and cup.

And your prose, he goes on, unheeding;
now, that's hardly worth any reading.
Beg pard'n- he twirls daintily on his toes -
you're boring, stupid and verbose.

That'll be all. And I firmly rise.
He looks up with innocent eyes -
Did I do somethin' to tick you off?
Oh yes, I say, I've had enough.

You'll miss me, he insists, as I shove him out.
Oh no I won't, I hear me shout.
Why don't you get lost in the wilderness ,
and spare me all the extra stress?

I return to spinning random tales,
but the Muses elude me. When all else fails,
I stare in dismay at my efforts...
he's right - and this is rubbish verse.

I hear a chuckle, and an illusion crack.
Dear old Murphy is, obviously, back.
Go write tosh. He's warm, indulgent.
I'll render the rambling redundant.

Hmm. I see.

For those who refuse to believe what they are going to read now, I have documentary proof. Wire INR 60 into my account so that I can scan the cards in and send you a soft copy. As of this moment, I am broke.

Where were we?

Glasses. Thank you.

I have been wearing glasses for eight years now. When the telltale headaches and blurred vision first began in tenth grade, the prescription read: Left -1.25, Right -1.5 --- 6/6. Over these last eight years, those figures on the prescriptions have varied, rising and falling and staying constant till, two years ago, when I went for my annual eye check-up, the optician gave me a pair of glasses with a power of -0.5 in the left lens and -0.75 in the right. And because my employers were footing my medical bills [;)], I went ahead and requested anti-reflective coating as well. Hey, don't judge me...I was also spending 10 hours a day in front of a computer screen working for them!

Ask any constant user of vision correction glasses and he will tell you that it's always a good idea to head to the optician's when your head begins spinning if you so much as read the label on a bottle of shampoo. It has been happening to me for some time now, so I figured a visit to the neighborhood optical store was in order. I went this afternoon.

The optometrist examined me and my glasses and declared that the right lens of the specs needed changing from -0.75 to -0.5. "The power in the right lens has fallen", he added for good measure. "And this anti-reflective coating needs reinforcing. We'll have it done by the evening. It will cost you 1,650 only."

Gulp.

"Unless it is an emergency", my father's words rang in my head, "always get a second opinion on any medical issue, especially when you're away from home and the family physician."

"Right. Thanks", I said, picking up my things. "I'll be back later."

I fled the store and wondered what I should do next. It made sense to get a second opinion on the change in the power of my lenses, especially because the wrong glasses can do damage that goes beyond splitting headaches. So I headed to another optician further down the road.

This one emerged from behind his gigantic machine and gave me a grim look.

"The power in both lenses has risen by 0.25", he announced. That wasn't all. "Your left eye is beginning to show signs of defect in cylindrical vision. You already need spherical correction, obviously."

Uh, what?

Now, I do have a vague idea what cylindrical and spherical is. And it shouldn't surprise me that my eyes are beginning to show more signs of defect. As my grandmum declared when I first obtained glasses, it is surprising I didn't need them earlier. Defective vision runs in the family. Apparently, the last person known to have perfect vision all his life was my grandmum's great grand-dad.

"Two thousand four hundred", this man declared with grim satisfaction. "If you want new frames, those will be charged for separately."

Thank you. I said I would be back in the evening if I decided to place an order.

Stepping out, I spotted a third optician's signboard about fifteen stores down the road. In for a penny, in for a pound, I thought as I hiked down. Might as well have him telling me something else needed changing.

"These spectacles you currently use will do just fine", the doctor said, switching the machine off. "Your vision is exactly what it was when you got those made. However", he lingered, eyeing my glasses, "it's been a while for that anti-reflective coating. I suggest you get it replaced."

"Twelve hundred", the clerk totted it all up.

"Thanks. I'll be back in case I need to place an order", I said. Paid the fifty bucks for the testing and escaped.

And that's how I decided that I'm sticking with my current pair of glasses. If three opticians have three entirely different opinions on the state of my eyes, I guess it's safe to assume that these old things will live yet. An hour of traipsing through Kamla Nagar, 190 in testing bills and a headache that had nothing to do with my vision...kind of a costly reminder that it's time I stopped being too lazy to fetch my glasses and put them on when I sit down to use my computer or read myself to sleep.

The finale to the adventure came when I was telling my sister the story. "Hmm", she remarked, "Given that those three exhausted all the options among themselves, I wonder what a fourth optician would have said. You want to visit the big store at Hudson Lines?"

A Love Note - and a Confession

Hi,

So I guess it's time I came clean. I thought this last year and a half had put enough distance between us for me to be able to look at you objectively, for what you are, and smile formally and walk past you. I couldn't do it. One look at you and I knew I was a goner - like I'd always been with you. You'd known all along - right from that moment we'd parted...right from the moment, in fact, that we first met. I'd been the one pretending it was all over. Oh, who was I trying to fool anyway? You know, now, that you're my weakness, so I might as well tell you the truth.

Do you remember how it all began? I do, like it was yesterday. It was something new, just like my new job and new flat. Everything began together. I still remember walking into Barista on my third day at work, just before I left for home. That's when I first saw you. I remember hesitating before I walked up to you...

All I remember after that is how I sought you out whenever I could. On a good day when I felt sunny, on Mondays when the thought of the week stretching ahead left me blue, when I was confirmed after probation, every time I was low or exhausted or simply irritated with a boss who could do little else but find fault, you were the one I sought out. I'd come running into the coffeeshop and find you there, waiting. And I would smile. In you, I found something to smile for, something to cherish and dream about most of my waking hours. I found myself losing myself in your nature - such a beautiful blend of opposites. Crusty and business-like on the outside, you sometimes had me fooled even when I thought I'd got to know you reasonably well...but all doubts vanished when we sat under the stars and whiled away time before I had to go home. That was when I was reassured by how sweet and soft you have always been inside. You've always been nutty - but then it's who you are, and I wouldn't change anything about you for the world.

Which is why it was so difficult to say goodbye when I resigned after I was accepted into this school. I remember my eyes misting over as I beheld you one last time, allowed myself those last few minutes of happiness, that last delighted smile. We could meet again if I chose to...but I chose to end it there. The Barista outside the office was where it all began, and that was where it would all end. It made sense, I thought. It had been going on far too long. You had become an addiction...and you know how my defences are about addictions.

So I don't know why I stepped into the Barista on Bungalow Road this evening on a whim. It's been a year and a half, like I said, and I thought I'd gotten over you. I wasn't even expecting you there (although, on second thoughts, why shouldn't you be?). But there you were, sweet and warm and waiting, like always. That was it - there was no turning back. I stood at the door, transfixed, and I knew in a moment of epiphany that I had only been harbouring needless illusions all this time. I never really got over you. I don't think I can. So I walked up to where you were, and my eyes must have given me away, because the man behind the counter smiled politely and said, "Good evening, Ma'am. Would you like a brownie?"

Mr. Fudgee the Brownie, I love you. I always will.

Yours, always,

Crossworder

P.S.: I wish Barista had named you something else, though.

Alliterating with Abandon

Alliteration is always an attempt to address

the many maddening molehills my meandering mind meets

I try till I'm tired and terribly tormented

but I'm no Shakespeare or Wordsworth or Keats!

Fear of failing to fashion fine verse

Inhibits ideas imbalanced, immature.

"Priya and perfect poetry? Please!"

- a voice in my head, unhelpful, insecure.

Doodle or die, I determinedly decide

Sense and symmetry can surely be seived

from the folds of my feelings, fraught with fragility...

Tougher tasks I have, with more success, achieved!

So I sit and scribble in studious silence

putting planks of poetry into place,

building bridges between the bees in my bonnet

and the (saner) rest of the human race.

:) :)

Q.

Is there anyone out there who feels the way I do about cellphones? Anyone who, like me, would trade their phone for a fishing rod at the first opportunity? Anyone wishing the "Mobile Number" field on all application forms didn't have that darned asterisk next to it?

Tell me!

Roommates!

"Are you asleep?"
"Uh huh."
"I'm hungry."
.
.
.
"I'm hungry."
"Gfndsmfdltmslp."
"What?"
"Go find yourself some food. I want to sleep."
"Aww...I wanted some Maggi."
"Good. We haven't any. Go look for some. You can borrow my saucepan."
"Do you think he'll reply to my email?"
"Who will?"
"Priya! Please!"
"How am I to know? Ask him."
"I can't. We've had a fight."
"Hmm."
"What time do you plan to wake up tomorrow?"
"Six. Six-thirty, at the latest. If you let me sleep, that is."
"Wake me up too, please. I have a paper I need to finish."
Silence.
"I said, wake me up."
"Right."
"Why doesn't he call me back?"
"Tell you what, give me his number. I'll talk to him and tell you why."
"You're doing nothing of the sort!"
" 'night, then."
"Can I switch the light on?"
"You won't if I ask you not to?"
"Did I tell you what D did today? She..."
"No!"
"But I can't sleep!"
"Well, I want to."
"Maybe I should begin that paper now."
"Good idea."
"Do you have anything I can eat?"
"Do you think I do?"
"Will you cook Maggi if I find some? Please, please! I hate standing out there in the cold."
"G, I'm not even hungry."
"You're mean."
"You're annoying."
"I'm not."
"Oh yes you are."
"I said I'm not."
"Of course you are."
"Well, I'm off to sleep. Good night."

Huh?? Good night?
And insomnia changes places.

I'm lovin' it! Or am I?

This may be the result of living bang opposite a McDonald's outlet. I know for sure, for instance, that I shall never be able to eat a burger or fries again. Every time I step out of the building - or even into the balcony or on the terrace, I can FEEL burgers and fries all around me. The aroma wafts around. Everywhere. All the time. And my olfactory nerves (and my taste buds with them) are beginning to protest. It used to be good fun walking by McDonald's when we came to Kamla Nagar. Going in for a quick bite was even better fun. And when I want some time to myself, I like looking at the outlet and the surrounding area from my balcony. I've even got to know a few things - the delivery van that brings the raw material in every morning arrives exactly at nine, rain or shine. The takeaway window is unmanned between five and seven. Other trifling things that you'd notice if you were, deliberately, not thinking of anything else. But I now know what my friends, who volunteered to look after the food at the BDC or the Christmas party back in College, felt. After hours of slicing and serving cake, and orange juice and sandwiches, they'd actually refuse to have any. I remember one friend telling me they'd spent the afternoon "practically WADING in cake". "Do you REALLY think I want to even look at it any more??" She claimed the aroma of cake and juice made her sick. I laughed. Having spent the afternoon looking after children with half a dozen other people, I didn't know - how could I? - that an atmosphere, as it were, of food can actually put you off it!

Now, I know.

And, as I said, I'm glad the world is not one big McDonald's. I'm glad that people, places, circumstances... everything that makes up our world, are (or should this be "is"?) so different everywhere. Maybe it is good to have this lack of uniformity and standardization, these little imperfections. Wherever in the world you find a McDonald's, you know that the french fries are exactly the length they would be in an outlet in the other hemisphere; the burgers are grilled to exactly the same degree in every restaurant; the chocolate on your McSwirl will taste the same whether you are in Rome, Islamabad, Pune or Brunei (do they have one there? I'm sure they do. Or do they?). The only variations made will be those that are necessary - those necessitated by religious beliefs or local tastes. Even the raw material is exactly the same - largely, at least. A particular variety. There's security in that knowledge (and, of course, impeccable strategy), and that is good. But I'm still glad the powers that be didn't make the world one big McDonald's. And no, this hasn't anything to do with the fact that I won't be able to eat at one for a long, long time to come. Honest!