Answer the following questions correctly:

They say to know what one really wants, or loves, all one has to do, is listen to the heart. The heart knows exactly what it wants, and what can make you happy.

However, when you talk about the heart, what you really mean is your mind. It’s the mind that knows, or rather, some part of the mind. But the mind does know. It always has an answer.

But sometimes, in fact most of the times, for most of us, the mind has no answer to the question – “what do I want?” What do I really want? What do I want to do most, at this moment, right now?


In between telling us what we Have to do, what we Need to do and what we Should do – our mind seems to have lost the capacity to answer this question.

Perhaps it doesn’t even understand this question really. The word ‘want’ bamboozles it, particularly when prefixed with the word ‘really’. It’s not used to that word. It’s always been about need, and have, and should. ‘Want’ throws it off track. Or rather, it just assumes the words to be another variant of Should or Must or Have and answers accordingly. Haha.

It takes a while, for the mind to be able to tell us what we want, right here, right now. It takes a lot of practice, a lot of trial and error, before the mind understands we really mean it, when we ask it what we ‘want’. But it of course, once it gets that, it’s never wrong.


He watched her intently as she moved.

She moved with a grace and fluidity that he knew only she could possess. Grace combined with a reckless abandon, scorning everything and everyone else. Almost as if she would recognize no reality, except the one she created right now with her every move. As if space and time were just a function of her body movement, to be accepted only in relation to how she moved. As if the world around her collapsed and coalesced, thanks to her body. As if her body created a reality of its own, out of thin air. He stood rooted at the spot, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to tear his eyes away. Unable to feel anything apart from what she made him feel.

She, of lithe sinews and velvety skin, of tiny bones and tinier lips. Her body moved effortlessly, almost unconsciously, as though it wasn’t hers at all, as though it never belonged to anyone, but was just an entity being driven by – Desire – he thought – His desire. He found it impossible to watch her move independently of his sight. It were his eyes that caused every pull, every contortion, every twitch of her muscles. His eyes choreographed her. So that every movement she made belonged to him. He felt a slight curve on the ends of his lips as he thought of this.

How he wished to pull that delicate, determined frame into his body and that mouth into his. A mouth that was a window to a mind. A mind that had held him captive in amazement, in wonder at the thoughts it echoed. Thoughts held by no one but just a woman meant for him, uttered by none but her, belonging to no one else but her, and when they spoke, to him. It was her mind, her being, that he was most attracted to, always, except now, when she was dancing.

But her dance too was a function of her mind, just like her words, just like verything else she was or did. He wished he could take her away with him. Take her to a place where no one else could see her, hear her or be with her. So that everything she was or did would be his alone.

He wanted to possess her. In the way one possesses the ground beneath one’s feet at any given point of time. She arched her back and threw her head back to a lilt in the music. He inhaled. It was too late. She already possessed him. With every movement her body made, every word out of her mouth, every inch of her being. He had no choice. And all he could do was hold on – to anything, everything – she threw his way.

When did it come to this? God, When?

Who was she? Just a person. Just a normal person. Talking to him, sharing his meals, dancing on his verandah, ruining his life.

Move, he told himself. Getaway from here. Now.

He didn’t. He just stood there watching. After a while the music stopped. Her body relaxed. She became still. She breathed deeply a few times, looking into the distance. She knew he was watching. She let him. She stood still so that he could take in all of her, without interrupting him with her eyes. But of course, she chose how much he got. After a while she turned to face him and gave a slight smile of acknowledgment, of amusement, of innocence.

What he felt could have shattered the ground beneath their feet.




4 girls are seated randomly around a television screen. Two are lying on the floor – one on her stomach, with the hands propping her head up, and the other on her back, with a pillow supporting her head. Another is propped on a sofa, and the fourth sitting on the floor. All four are intently watching the movie ‘Batman Begins’


We watch the last scenes of Batman Begins, where the character of Rachel Dawes refuses a relationship with Bruce Wayne until such time that Gotham no longer needs a batman. Movie ends.



I don’t understand why she refuses Bruce Wayne. He is Batman. Batman, for chrissakes!


Maybe she just wanted a normal boyfriend. Imagine Rachel Dawes sharing an intimate moment with Bruce when suddenly that damned bat symbol show up in the sky. Her date will be flying off rooftops before she knows it.


Come on! Bruce Wayne slash Batman is the ultimate symbol of what a man can be. I just don’t understand why she would not want to be with a man like that. This ending makes no sense whatsoever.


As she turns around to face GIRL LYING ON HER BACK


What are you? Some kind of hero-worshipper?


As she looks out the window



The Stuff Desire is made of…. part 1

“Why don’t you just tell me”, she asked.

She watched him keenly, as if he were the only thing that occupied her consciousness. She watched his hands as they moved over the dishes, cleaning each one, briskly and efficiently. He stood erect, always. And yet he seemed easy and relaxed. His eyes never left his hands, and yet she knew he was watching her. He knew she was watching him too. She knew that he knew. She liked making him conscious like that. She enjoyed, knowing that her eyes could take his focus away from what he was doing at the time. It gave her a violent sort of pleasure, knowing that he had to fight in order to get his mind to focus on what it was doing. That she should be a distraction.

She watched him. She watched his eyes intent upon the task at hand. The ease with which his hands performed a task. His lips were drawn in tightly, like they always were when he was working. However, they seemed to have been pulled in tighter than usual today. As if he was unsure of what they’d do if he left them open. Or if he knew all too well what they’d do, and was avoiding that.

She could see his neck over his shirt collar. Because his head was bent down, she could see more of it now than usual. How much ‘more’ skin should one be able to see, in order to call another naked, she thought. Would an extra inch of neck suffice? His legs were planted firmly. He’d been standing for a while, but he didn’t move. His legs never shifted weight. They were resolute in their stand, as if against all odds. Her eyes moved upwards from his legs, to his torso, his shoulders, his neck, his lips and his eyes, before she took in all of him.

“Why don’t you just tell me”, she asked, in a flat tone. Devoid of any implications, or ulterior motives.

“Tell you what?” he replied, eyes still glued to his tasks. Mind tearing itself between her and his will to not give his consciousness up to her.

“Tell me that you want to fuck me”

Price Theory of Love

Everything one wants has a price, that one must pay.

The intensity of your want is determined by what you will be willing to pay for it. And in that sense, this price ‘sets’ or determines the value you want has for you. It is a corollary, actually — how much you’re willing to pay will determine how much you want and consequentially how much you want will determine what you are willing to pay for it.

This price, itself, need not cause any pain or grief. It is quite natural and is in fact how it is.

This means I do not (cannot) regret the FACT of HAVING to pay a price. It is a normal and acceptable part of deserving to want.

However, just because it is a ‘normal’ and ‘acceptable’ part of wanting, it is NOT inconsequential or something that one can afford to ignore.I cannot (will not) allow myself to forget that I DID pay a price.It is THIS price that has brought the value that I associate with my want.

When you forget the price, you begin to ignore, ignore the value — value of your want. The want becomes inconsequential, and eventually, non-contextual, i.e. you have no reason anymore to justify the want.

This is why is is so hard to lose someone you love. Because love, demands the highest price of all values.

Hurting. Healing. Hurting.

I feel numb.

It’s not supposed to be like this. When something hurts you, you are supposed to take that something away from yourself, so that you can heal your wounds. IF you don’t then the wound never heals; you just become numb.

I feel numb.

Though the object of the hurt is nowhere close. I’m still numb. How do I know this? Because I don’t believe I can be this ‘normal’ given my characteristics and the situation I’m in right now. If I am, then the only way that’s possible is by being numb. Denial. There is no hurt, because there is no object of hurt. It never existed at all. I’m just making it all up in my head.

Or possibly I haven’t healed yet. Yes, that’s it. It’s still an open wound. So going anywhere close to the object of the hurt is going to cause further pain or require fortified numbing.

But, But, the object of the hurt will always hurt. Even after I have healed completely. Then it will be a new wound. Then it becomes a redundant cycle of getting hurting and healing. I’ve read that the capacity to heal diminishes upon repeated injury-healing. One just becomes numb. Back to square one.

Spontaneous Re-generation is the need of the hour.

I don’t want to be numb. I don’t want to hurt either. Lemme know if you’ve figured that one out.

What is the difference between not acknowledging pain and becoming numb? Where is the fucking line? When something heals it doesn’t mean that it will not hurt again. It very well can, by the same object too. Fall 10 times and it will still hurt the 11th. How does that stop? Remove the object forever. Don’t fall in the first place.

The will always be other objects. How many does one remove? How many graves/mountains does one avoid?

Chuck it. Just let it go. The will be more objects after this. Each of them will cause wounds. Each of them will heal. Then there will be new wounds. Heck, then even the old object can be welcomed back. Wounds are wounds. They all cause pain.

I hope the part about capacity of healing diminishing is just a joke. I keep coming back to spontaneous re-generation. Fall 10 times and it will still hurt the 11th. You just learn to get up faster. Wait a minute, is that healing faster or numbing faster?

Maybe it’s not about the object. It’s ME. How does that matter? The answer still remains the same. Stay away from the object of the hurt. STAY AWAY.

Healed wounds are still sensitive you know, even more so.

“I know it’s hard to keep an open heart,

When even friends seem out to harm you;

But if you could heal a broken heart,

Wouldn’t time be out charm you?”

I do hope he’s right.

It’s really hard to go on like this. No point to hurting, healing and then hurting again.

I still feel numb. When does the anesthesia wear off, Doctor?

Ownership. Hurt. Love.

I did something silly today. I missed dance class. Just cuz she said “What are you doing here? Your application has not been approved yet. I told you I’ll call you.” Well, no, she didn’t — tell me that or call me.

It’s my class dammit! I’ve been coming here for the past 6 months. Even when I’m not in the studio, I’m still at the studio. Unless I really make an effort, my life goes only from Tuesday to Friday to Sunday, and I have barely any recollection of what I did on the days in between cause I’m living on dance-time. It doesn’t matter how bad things are; it doesn’t matter that I have barely no cash; that I wanted to make a career out of something I was told I’m not good at; that there’s absolutely nothing that would make me WANT to miss class — nothing. And she stands right at the door, doesn’t let me come in — ‘cuz they weren’t able to open my .docx application — as if I’m going to violate the sacred protocol by stepping into the studio.

I respect protocol. There has to be a method for managing things, and some rules and regulations have to be in place. What upset me was her first sentence. “How did you come?”. like I’m some fucking stranger on the road who’s trying to milk the academy of all the free classes she can get. Had I not submitted the application, I would have understood that I’m not allowed to attend class. But I submitted the application. She knew what was written in it. I asked her if getting a seat in that batch (that’s what my application is about) would be difficult. She said it would happen. So I’m thinking the application is a formality — a formal document they can use. They didn’t inform me they couldn’t open it. I have paid my fees for the classes I’m attending/asking permission to attend. They still need an application. I don’t understand the logic entirely, so I dont understand what purpose my application serves, but if it’s protocol, I’ll adhere to it. I’m no one to tell them how to run their things. But darn it, after all this, after knowing the issue, after I’ve done what I’m supposed to do, I still can’t attend class because they couldn’t open the file and it hasn’t been approved yet.

And then she makes calls and ‘tries’ to get me side-permission to take class. An exception for me since I came ALL THE WAY. I didn’t ask for a favour. If I had wanted that, I would have walked into class with that application in my hand and asked her to ‘adjust’. No, I follow rules. So I don’t want to attend class today. I will write that application again, since there is no point in sending a file they cannot open again. And when it has been approved by everyone, I will attend class. That’s what I did.

I felt like shit. Standing outside my studio, my class. Yes, mine. It’s not just a studio, you know. And it’s not just a class. It’s this place, that’s mine. And to have her ask me what I’m doing there. Oh god, how that hurt. How. After I gave her the application, she said Oh, but I told you you could attend class. (She actually told me “Take a pen and paper and write an application now and then you can attend class” while she was on the phone with someone at the office) Thanks, but I’d already made up my mind. You see, I’m a stubborn bitch. I will do things entirely your way. I made up my mind with the first sentence that came out of your mouth.

No, I don’t blame her. She can do what she has to and say what she wants to. She isn’t responsible for how I feel. That is a fact. But I felt like shit. That’s also a fact. There’s no causal relationship here. Simple facts.

And this is not supposed to be that kind of a place. This is not a place where you’re not allowed in 5 mins early or allowed to stay back five minutes late. This is a place where I can ask my teacher not to play a song just cause I broke up with my boyfriend and this song reminds me of him. This is a place where my teacher will sit at 10 in the night on a footpath and hold me while I cry buckets over some silly shit. God, how i love it. I don’t think I really knew before today.

I gave up on people long ago….

Companionship is dear…

There is only one important question – and it begins with Why?

The object of your affection is a reflection of yourself. There is a mirror in my stranger.

We see everything through a lens. Which is really okay – problem is we can’t see the lens and hence we often have no idea it exists, or what it does to what we’re viewing.

I have found what I was searching for, and it will remain with me forever.