The Trinity and Me

So they say again...with awesome shocks on their face, "There are three?" Sorry, they don’t say… they ask. As if trying to fathom the madness, or perverseness of me. "Yes." I reply with a smile that actually means: It is none of your business, but yes, I am that well looked after.

Another evening, another exposure, another memory to launch me into endless giggles–just the awesome shock on their faces. Well, the men, they elicit a different reaction ranging from raucous laughter of disbelief, to obviously masked lecherous conversations, which I suspect are decent inquiries for indecent invitations to join the fun.

Most women though, they turn red. There are a few who do have the nerve to move to my side of the dance floor, or occupy the chair opposite me at the dinner table. Well, they almost never digest this fact well. I guess it stems out of social conditioning of an extremely elevated and puritanical type, or merely because they don’t have the nerve to visit those cobwebbed caverns and unleash the demons shackled to the stony walls.

Their minds are filled with light so bright that it blinds. It refuses to recognize forms and shapes. It turns fuzzy. And when exposed to such bright light for indefinitely long periods of time you unleash a faux blindness, which presumably they don’t recognize because the whiteness of the light is still imprinted in their memories. This is a dangerous light indeed!

Coming back to me. What do I have three of?

Could it be houses… nah that’s too lame and normal. How about the feminine endowment in the anterior of the human body… but then that would be monstrous, really monstrous. And it would be a little repulsive to me as well. Or how about dogs… not quite, but we’re getting close.

There is no requirement for three, convention doesn’t allow this. On the other hand if asked to look carefully you will notice that the men of a particular tribe are/were allowed to take more than one... the upper limit was five, if I recollect correctly. Then, if you were bestowed with a chunk of gold on your head encrusted with a few rubies, or diamonds, or sapphires for that matter, you would notice that you could keep as many of these as you’d like.

But mind you, this was largely confined to the breed of those who call themselves men.

Yes I have three of them –husbands, if you may…

Unrequited Love

She sipped her second last sip of espresso her lips gently savouring its strong bitter taste. She began to set her lucid cup down on the table when the yellow glint of sunlight hit the remnant brew. It transmuted into a glorious, almost amber brown. Amber... Whiskey...Honey...all things sweet to her mind ... his eyes.

The gentlest, kindest and most beautiful brown eyes in the world. She hadnt fallen in love with him till she peeked into those labyrinths... and yes she slipped away. She was lost.

Losing control is good sometimes, but its really scary. Everything and everyone around you yearns for that- control. And to give it up or have it snatched from you unwillingly; that scares you.

It scared her of course and she was in fact with someone else. How then could she lose herself. No matter how dark or slippery, it was her duty to stick on and stay.

But she searched for the same shades of brown in his eyes and she couldnt find it. She groped for the same quiver his touch had induced, and couldnt feel it. She wanted to laugh with the same abandon she had laughed with him at the coffee table, but all she managed was a half hearted sound that sounded more like an anguished cry. Why?

Can you be true to two loves; or does one actually eat into the other? The answer is: It does. And no mater how hard you try, the fabric of what you try to hold onto by clinging and clawing... frays into something you desire to hold no longer because it is degenerate.

So she left with all the courage she could muster and walked into the sunlight, and she smelt the heady concoction; the synergised smell that coffee and cigarettes had created. Her mind began to race with ideas, plans, happiness, words, sentences and excitement.
"So," she had said, "how are you?"
"Happy," he answered, "there is big news I have to tell you though. I met someone"

Is there a feeling worse than having a millstone round your neck and hurtling to the depths of the ocean at speeds that outdo the very limit of imagination?
Well... yes, there is and she bore witness to every drop in depth she went through. There was a smile though, a smile she thought masked the velocity of her falling.

Just then her bare shoulder felt the warmth of flesh. "Bill Madam" said the uniformed waiter at the bistro. She paid and left, stepping out into the warmth of the same sun with only that for company.

It is the strong who walk alone...the weak need their crutches.

What Work!!!

So what does it take to get you to the very end of your tether???
Maybe it’s the dawning of realization that this isn’t really the place you're supposed to be in.
Or maybe the frustration of having no work at all.

Okay this is about work. Im finally ranting about work in public... and the tone of this rant varies from soft desolation to medium boredom to loud... extremely loud frustration.

I work as an instructional designer or ID as they call it.

Its not that I don’t like the place I work in… I really do (genial smile)… its fun! I mean the atmosphere is really cool, the people are nice…I can walk in and out of the office as and when I feel like... Its just that Im feeling a little left out..
If you ask why, then I respond by shouting my loudest shout.
I don’t have anything to do here I sit in this clinical cubicle absorbing myself with absolutely nothing.
Do you realize what this feels like?
Yeah I know your saying…well what are you complaining about? blah blabber blah... But its really frustrating… yeah!!! how long can you surf the internet and come up with things to amuse yourself…
How long can you glance onto other peoples monitors come up with ideas for their animations and be all happy about helping them... It doesn’t really get attributed to you. I want to come up with stuff for my own stories…
That my friend… isn’t happening
So I end up on the bench (swivel chair) in a cubicle with artificial lights and artificial air because they don’t open the windows…
I need to be activated…. something that isn’t really happening and its bugging…
So I end up sitting here all day reading Rushdie…who I’m in love with anyway.

My hyperactive imagination conjures weird things in my head.
Maybe just maybe im gonna be fired and maybe just maybe Tushy doesnt want to tell me because he thinks I will cry and may be just maybe they are waiting for me to get so bored that I resign anwalk away. And now Im just tempted to do so.

And why am I complaining to you.. torturing you my poor reader (if you exist) I hope you come across this, tushy, because you really ought to. ( And I don’t have the balls to confront you really... for some stupid reason.) Excuse: I’m not a confrontatational person I’m an escapist…