Some days are like these.

Some days are like these...
Making sense that makes no sense.
Tired now..waiting to let go
Almost on the brink,so much pretence.
Its sinking in,what i dont want to feel
closing my eyes,to shut out whats real.
gasping for breath,to keep the pace
am running alone,losing the race.
taken too much in...am choking now
Time spent in vain,am breaking now.
Some days are like these, pain and despair.
crushed like a flower..beyond repair.
Pain is over,numbed to the core.
cant believe,i was normal before.
past killed the present,no future seen
wondering to myself..where have i been??
some days are like these...facts in your face
lost out to myself, desolation and disgrace.

Two Heart-shaped Balloons

Certain incidents don’t just remain in your head. They keep hammerring your head like a migraine.
When I was in Delhi, my friends and me used to walk from the bus stop to where we stayed. In the hot sun, after a long day and dreading what awaited us as lunch, we trudged slowly going over the incidents that happened that day, our monetary condition, cracking sad jokes, singing aloud (yes, we used to do that sometimes even jiving to it on the street) or generally silently mulling over something on our own.
On one such hot and very normal afternoon, my friend and me (we were only two that day and I don’t remember why) were walking home discussing the usual-our lunch of course, but that’s another story which I promise not to regale u with. We had to walk through these lanes for about ten minutes and in one of those lanes a construction was in progress.Lots of laborers toiling under the sun: women who were hardly yet women but already with a load on their heads (the bricks), on their waist (their children) and on their hearts (their life) and children happily playing in the hot burning sand which to us, literally radiated heat. As we neared the place, we saw three women (I could have sworn they were younger to us) and five to six children: various heights and ages but none more than age five. They were what seemed to be haggling with a balloon seller. You see these balloon fellows often, who sell this heart shaped red balloons (now an object of amusement after a recent hit movie) the price of each balloon, a steep ten rupees per balloon. It was not even a gas balloon. The negotiations had obviously failed and the balloon seller was moving on. The children just stood there, staring longingly at the balloons while their mothers were trying to cheer up the younger ones (and themselves too). What came over me and my friend that day, I don’t know still. I can assure you I am no Good Samaritan. And when it comes to money, it’s not a question of choice but reality: all of us were perpetually broke!! One of the things we were actually discussing at that point was our financial state and the fact that it wasn’t even the second week of the month.

But just looking at those children we just instantly scrounged in our bags, found two ten rupee notes. Looking at each other and recognizing all the signs of madness, we silently said “what the hell!!” We bought two balloons from the guy, admonishing him for the prices at the same time. The children were still looking at us and their mothers turned away to get back to their work. It was then that we stopped them and gave the two youngest looking kids one balloon each. They awkwardly took the string in their hands( almost as if their holding it may burst the balloon) with the elder ones telling them to be careful and the others clamoring around them. It was then that I looked at one of the mothers who looked particularly young. She had a baby in her arms and was the one whom I saw consoling one of the younger ones when the balloon fellow had walked away. I asked her if she wanted a balloon too, not sure what I would do if she said yes.
She gave me a strange look and walked away. I still remember her face. Did we make her happy or did we just rub it in a little more? Did it all seem fake to her? Why did I do something like that in the first place?? My head hurts a little sometimes.

What it takes to be me.

Basically more than being named Aravinda. Or more correctly bearing the weight of being named V.Aravinda.Over the years, many have questioned, pondered and finally given up over my explanations for the V and my name in general. So when I have my own blog, it’s only logical that I make one last attempt at an explanation. For those who have already gone through this, please go ahead and take up your most boring subject book or call up that weirdo u have been trying to avoid for years. I promise that will be more interesting. And for those who are still reading, wondering where this is leading up to, I can assure, nowhere. Period.

So I was talking about my initials.V.A to be precise. Nothing weird there you say. Even I agree. Actually the confusion starts when people start asking me what my surname is. It is Iyer if u must know. Then why aren’t u called Aravinda Iyer, you ask?? Sigh.
The point is that my name just adds to this confusion. People cant make out which part is my name and which is not (honest! people have actually asked me if my name was V!!)Totally not the fault of an infant who couldn’t be bothered as to what tag this world associated with her as long she they changed her diapers and let her gurgle and spew saliva non stop.
People also ask me if I am somehow related to The Aurobindo ashram in Pondicherry. If I was I would have been named bindo or bindu or something. Guys!!!Puhleez!!!Then because I am a south Indian where its customary to add an ‘a’ to your name at the end, so that the name Arvind( a guys name typically) would become Aravind and probably Aravinda as well ,just adds to my woes.
Standard question:” Isn’t Aravinda a guys name?”
Standard answer: My parents weren’t too sure what they were getting so they chose a name that suited (or so they thought) whatever it would be.
But no, people still won’t be satisfied. They always have questions. They’ll get back to the V. where does it fit in all this mess anyways? Oh well, I started it in the first place, might as well finish it(optimistic ain’t I?). If you must know, it dates back to the tradition amongst us South Indians to prefix the first letter of our father’s name, to our name. So my dad’s name is Varadarajan (news, u can never use) and so I prefix a V to my name (which as you now know even if you dint want to) is Aravinda. Voila!! What I (and sadly even you) get is, V.Aravinda. Yippee! I did it. Bring on the champagne .No wait, there’s still something I don’t understand, you say. Damn you party poopers!! Now what, I say?? You obviously haven’t understood a word (did u happen to drink my champagne by any chance! waiter!!) When u ask me: So is your name V.Aravinda Iyer???Mercy on my soul and Champagne to the ghoul!!

Ok you morons! One last and very desperate try. When you use Iyer you don’t use the damn V and vice versa. So its either V.Aravinda or Aravinda Iyer.Clear enough? Now can we have the Champagne please, my mouth is tasting like sandpaper even though I can see that it has barely scraped the surface of whatever it is that u keep encased, inside that thing on your shoulders, you call a head. Ya bring it on you say. Lets celebrate!! That confounds me. Wait!! You really got it? I mean really? No more questions?? Of course you say, what’s in a name anyways. Bravo!! You guys are not so dumb after all, I see hope for the world.
Champagne finally here. Raise a toast? Be my guest. Cheers to V.Aravinda or Aravinda Iyer. Sounds ok till now. Phew!! So I am in the process of sitting down on the couch and taking a deep breath when this obviously drunk guy (drunk on my champagne??hey,how much are you guys guzzling!!!Waiter!!) walks upto me and says: “Mate, that was good!!(He pretends he’s talking about the sermon, but I know it’s the champagne) Just one little thingy that cropped up in my head. May I ask??”. What harm can a drunken guy and his obviously nonsensical question make, I tell myself.”Go Ahead”. So he says: “If you are Aravinda Iyer, or V.Aravinda, then why do you call yourself Aravinda Rajan?? “. I put my glass down. Life is cruel. I wish I had no name. I can understand now why everyone’s prayers are not answered. With so many names for him, God must be really at a loss.
Anyway s, party’s over. I get up. “Waiter, check please.” “Cash or card??”
“Card”, I say. He gets the cheque, and I hand my card over thinking how lucky pets were. They were always, Junior or Snoopy or Candy or something. No surnames. No initials. No point asking for god’s help. He must be busy figuring his own names out.
The waiter comes back. Now what!!!He looks a bit confused. “Madam, resembles you but it says on this card, Aravinda Varadarajan!!“ He obviously was hearing the sermon but not listening. I close my eyes. It's all my fault.They got the money right?? why do they care what the damn card says. Nosy waiters.I am feeling a tad murderous now. Did I hear someone say, “What’s in a name??”No point thinking, in what name the verdict or bail will be. Just no point.

PS: All characters and mentioned above (except the one who’s name however you pronounce it has letters similar to ‘A-R-A-V-I-N-D-A’ somewhere in it) are fictitious.All incidents involving champagne are fictitious too( i dont earn that much: atleast not now). Resemblance to any person living is intentional and highly sympathized with.