Of hypersonic moods

And No, it's not a condom ad.

I'm wondering, what you call people whose moods change faster than you can say Geronimo..

It's fashionable to talk depth, quality over quantity, of knowledge and reasoning, character and endurance. Our mothers were most content to talk bout the new saree shop in town, the latest gossip on love marriages and divorce and the current price of onions (though mine would talk politics that bored everyone to death except an eccentric uncle) and about their immediate neighbors.( I likes!)

We women have come a long way since and it hasn't really been that long you know. Now its blase' to talk like a 'behenji' and so you will find the twenties, thrities and forties somethings talking Paolo Coelho, The Secret, Desperate Housewives, Sex in the City....(wannabe :P )
blah!

There is this stress that the modern, educated, real woman possess qualities that not only make her a playmate ( Hugh Hefner likes!) also someone who can play Scrabble decently and lose of course, but not too badly. She should be well groomed and definitely be able to make 'intelligent' conversation, not of the kandha batata variety.

Basically, the shift from traditional homemaker/welfare worker to modern woman with 'depth'.

Is it true that when you are deep and have an intelligent thought process that you are able to rally, fend, deflect and skillfully disassemble minor irritants that come your way... you see, because you are 'deep', you are above, beyond and elevated from the mundane, commonplace and unnecessary?

I guess I'm kandha batata variety.

When it isn't enough that you are a poet

I'm not good at tributes -

Am posting a poem that I love, that has touched me deeply.. a poem of genius.. for the heart that remained lonely... no matter what.
Of brilliance left to wane and of the many many stories yet untold, this is for FM.

This is FM.

I make sounds that are not my sounds,
gestures that are not my gestures,
speak words that are not my own.

Sometimes I pretend we are both
someone else, two someones with
more beauty and sweeter breath and
less story.

Mostly I must pretend he is someone
who sees me as me,
not as some fantasy he likes to
pretend I am,
just as I am pretending him;
pretending us.

I dont know; maybe this is
what I am, maybe this is the
man I love or am destined to
love. And maybe when I purr at
him that I love him, I am me,
and I am a loving woman, loving a
reflection of myself, loving myself.

At times I want to melt into me,
the me that is beyond this body
and this brain that thinks too
much, beyond this drowning and
this drama.

In this animal act we re enact
I can at times dissolve into a
pool of me, here and not here,
play acting that what I want is
this silly friction and pounding
when all I really want is
the bliss and the peace of me
reflected in the other who thinks
he loves someone who thinks she
is me.

I am old but not that old,
I am young but not that young
I guess I am as fragile and
innocent as a ravished child.

What do I want?
I want him to be the "the one",
but what is it that would make
him "the one" or "the one", him.
And why cannot our relationship be
infused with so much tenderness as
to be terribly, terribly serious, a
profound meditation and a repasting
all in one.

But I hold on to him and
sigh with relief, relax into shudders
of comfort at long last,
relax into the arms and of this
wanting for our relationship
to be deep, but its really just
about eating and copulating
like my latest career move or
which movie should we get
tomorrow night.

But how deep do I want my
relationship to get? I guess that would
depend on what deep relationship means
Do I have to know his pain
of youthful dreams destroyed or
deferred, his guilt?

Does he have to know
the vibrant vacillation of my confusion?
His memories, my inhibitions,
his stark existence, my approvals,

Do I have to know? Does he
have to bear it?

Why, oh why is a relationship to
me more significant, or more
desirable, or more adventurous,or less fun, or more intimate, or
more erotic than any other?

.........And why is erotic a bad word?

And so I learn.. everyday

It's amazing, life is really. Just when you think you may have seen it all, experienced it, risen with it, fallen and been beaten... life turns around to tell you that, 'you ain't learned anything yet'.

If I could rewind and return
repress and reassemble
re group and re align
I would....

The confidences
the laughter
the simple joy in being
the unaffected wonder...

People are just being themselves, the world rarely revolves around us does it. I would love to believe that we are so attuned to the people around us that we absorb energies, get rejuvenated by a warm spirit, bogged down by a troubled soul. Not as a philanthropic gesture or a self praising egoistic trip but rather as being true to what we really are, caring warm souls.

'Soul' - have been told that use the word so much that I should now say 'sole'.

Befitting really 'cos Sole is what this really is.

Sole is the wanderer
who seeks to play the role
Of that immense wonder
he believes is yonder

Lone and all alone
the path to atone
Acts of faith and trust
so easily gone to rust

What lies ahead is a false mirage
of broken cars in a rundown garage
Search in another for your own soul
And all you find that its but Sole