Sometimes I wonder why people who are so good at penning their emotions would want to remain anon.
Maybe, that's precisely why.
Nonetheless, here's another anon marvel. Savor it.

In the placid calm of the numbed emotions,

amidst sadness, confusion and tear,

in the agony of a void search

I lurched directionless,

waiting for the destined moment

when the droplets of love

would thaw my frozen soul

and the clarity beneath it would unfold.

Now as the necessity of your existence unveils,

the impervious facade gives way,

and overwhelmed tears seek exit,

a soothing warmth trickles down my soul,

an acceptance seeps through my core,

an elusive solace grips me,

the eternal dilemma fades.

Questions lose urgency,

answers lose relevance.

Only belief upholds.

I bow down and let go

of my fears, doubts and apprehensions.

When my senses unite

in the absolute silence of my being,

I hear you.

As the tranquility of togetherness

peeks into my inner sanctum,

nestled in your warm thoughts,

I surrender myself to you.

A quick detour from 'to-be-continued' post.
Just landed in Delhi. Fog with near-zero visibility. A slight chill in the air. But good enough to make you want to go to Humayun's Tomb for a walk and not reach out for your quilt. Nice enough to make you feel like shirking work and hopping on to a 'Delhi darshan' bus and hop-stop at all those places you've wanted to see but never got around to.
Before I change my mind (which is as far away in time as the next traffic jam on the roads of Delhi) , I love this city. With a lot of conditions, of course (as is the case with everything with me, no?) Delhi in winter. Delhi sans its pseudo-inhabitants. Delhi of Siri Fort and Kamani auditorium. Delhi of Indian Habitat and Pandara Market. Delhi of un-crowded Chandni Chowk and Parantha-wali gali.(Oxymoron, says you. Perspective, says me). Delhi of Lajpat Nagar and Sarojini Nagar. And my most favorite, Delhi of H-Block Market, Sarita Vihar. A Barista. A game of Scrabble. A piping hot, Hot Chocolate and a bunch of friends. I love Delhi.
PS: Let me share with you the just-discovered joy of having a data-card (antique for IT superkids; latest discovery for ancient moi). I am writing this en route to destination of Annual Ritual of Slaughter (read: Annual Goals & Plan meeting with boss), while in the cab. I'm loving it. Only time will tell how much I'll put it to use, though. Ta da.

A good week of work. A better weekend of fun.
Part One.
The year seems to have started on a good note. I actually woke up, looking forward to going to work, all days of the last two weeks! Surely 2009 is a good year – this doesn’t happen to me usually.
Last week was great – got some work done. Started a few new things, closed a few old ones. Monday and Tuesday went past in an all-employee meeting that deserves a whole new paragraph. : )
New people, old friends, a few broken bones (not mine, thankfully) and a lot of dancing.
This was the first time I was in one of those conference/off-site/come-ye-all type of ‘work’ gatherings, where the number of women was more than 1% of the total population! Now I’m not the touch-me-not variety, but if you’ve been part of sales conferences and junta get-togethers you’ll know what I mean. Picture this: 40 men on a cruise. Almost all of them, getting drunk and dancing away to sleazy (for me, atleast) dance numbers and hard core (not Hard Kaur – she’s too hip) Punju tracks (aside: the worst is where there’s a bunch of these guys doing the ‘sapera’ - snake charmer and ‘saanp’ – the snake, of course, jig to EVERY bloody track! Gives me the creeps, seriously!) You’re the ‘single female travail-er’ – in which case one of the two things could happen to you, depending on a.) how you look, or b.) how you network, or c.) how much you care. You could either get totally alienated or get all the (un) wanted attention and cringe and want to wither or slither away. Thankfully, and I desperately cross my fingers as I say this, the bunch of people I’ve been working with for the last few years are the most easy-to-get-along-with and fun while not being too overbearing. Basically, be and let be types.

Nonetheless, coming back on track, this was the first time there were about 10 women in all and after the initial ‘oh-no. this is not my kind of music’ pretense, all of us hit the dance floor. Well, actually, you can’t avoid that if you’re either being dragged onto the floor by one of the girls or are hiding, quite unsuccessfully, behind the foliage to only hear your name being called out, rather unceremoniously, almost akin to the roll call at suicide-squad practice, on the PAS (or whatever that thing a DJ uses is called!). So finally it was about 8 or 9 of us dancing away, totally oblivious of the world. Tracks ranging from the near classic ‘gur naal ishq mitha’ (which I think means love’s sweeter than jaggery.. Delhi girls to help please) to the uber new ‘my desi girl’. Being the multi-linguistic bunch that we are, even Telugu and Tamil hits weren’t spared. Not that I cared. It was euphoria at its newest best. Never ever have I been so uncaring of my surroundings and just let myself go. I remember one of my good friends telling me that I’m always so ‘in control’ of myself and that I should let go once in a while. (Well, his recommendation was experiencing a liquor-induced high. Only, the medium I chose was quite different). Don’t want to write more about it and limit the feeling to a mere expression. In all, a great (albeit back breaking, thanks to jumping in stilettos) night followed by a surprising morning where a couple of people asked me if I was still hung over?! I guess everyone who’s used to seeing the ‘oh. I don’t dance’ me, thought the plausible explanation for my aberrational behaviour was booze. Pity. These lowly mortals. Someone went as far as telling me how to get rid of a hang over. ‘Drink lots of water’ the wise man recommended.

I stifled a curse, metamorphosis-ed it into a smile and said, ‘I don’t drink.’

(To be continued...)

Questions that are a result of serious & curious thought.
Are you:

• A feminist - if you like reading chick-lit (but, categorically, don't appreciate the title to the genre but are forced to use it for lack of a better expression) but believe in women's rights and equality of the sexes and other 'feminist stuff' (well, almost, except when you need to indulge in physical labor or other such hardships and mundane activities)
• A kid - if you are half way to mid-life crisis (umm.. a little over it, actually) but get excited about the 'small stuff', enjoy every moment you can, laugh without a care, sulk without a reason, forget you've had a fight and remember it AFTER you've started talking to the said individual again!
• A wimp - if you don't see the point in indulging in petty fights for trivial reasons (but, overriding factor - all this AT WORK), let someone walk away with all the credit for work you've done (but let it be coz it doesn't matter to you - work got done. Period).
• A saint - if you think you're all this and are not bothered with doing something about it.
• A patient of schizophrenia- if you're all of the above?