Monday, December 20, 2010
Friday, November 5, 2010
Monday, October 11, 2010
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
There was Emily Wayne who liked candies. She already had a box of dark chocolate. It was good. Very good, in fact. But after a while, she got bored of it. That is about the time when she came across another box of dark chocolate. This one is different from the previous one because it has rum filling and spices in it. Much later she was gifted milk chocolate. Oh god, the pleasure and agony of them all! Which one must she choose?
So she went chose the first thing that was accessible. The milk chocolate. So God got angry with her and punished her for being greedy and made her fat!!
End of story.
Quoting Amardeep Singh Hunjan: "Someone truly said, 'I don't want to leave a place where I'm having a good time for a place where I "expect" to have a better time' "
Truer words haven't been spoken.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
I sit in a grey room. With tall walls. Walls so tall, that I can’t feel the ceiling. But I know it exists. I look outside the window, with intricate vine-like designs, when I see a vision of a long neck. It seems almost vulnerable. I don’t know why, considering it belongs to a guy who seems to have a bull-neck. Then I get images of him. Of what we might do, were we in the same place. I can feel this music playing in the background – Fadeaway, Porcupine Tree – when I’m haunted by flashes of his picture in my mind.
* * *
We walk along the sea shore. Hand-in-hand. Feeling the electro-magnetic current passing between us. When two people are attracted to each other, there is always a flow of such currents between the two individuals. It gets stronger with each passing moment. It is this electro-magnetic vibration that leads to telepathy between the two individuals. They read the meaning of life, deeply in each others’ eyes, for whatever a fleeting moment. To feel a sense of the soul’s satisfaction, if only for that pause of a moment in eternity’s now.
We sit on a rock, as the waves wash against our feet, watching the sun set. It is a lonely spot, with swooping sea gulls for company. I sit behind and above him, while he rests between my legs as I get these images of him and me. Of how vulnerable he is. I found that so attractive once upon a time, to only start thinking otherwise. I remember the music we’ve played together. Or at least the memory of the music that plays in my head every time I see him. That quiet, passive observation with which I’d like to gaze at him in a crowded room, with bustling activities, as I gaze at him, I’m like the eye of a storm or a calm oasis. Then we have a connection, when everything else stops for us, as time slows down to finally falter and stop moving. We have only us. A connection of our eyes. The pull of the gaze is strong and palpable as we feel a thread pulling us together in a hypnotic rush. But we resist the urge, increasing the headiness of the feeling, before we finally open our senses to the world outside, the bustling activities, as we leave the calm oasis – our space – to enter the busy world outside with its whirlwind activities.
* * *
Friday, March 19, 2010
The importance of going slow is never emphasized too much in our lives. I am a slow person. I have been so since I was a child. Somewhere I still have retained those qualities. I have, of course, learnt to “speeden” things up. But I am still much slower compared to a lot of other people in my life.
I don’t think I have ever “cursed” myself or felt bad about being slow. In fact, somewhere it has always been my sub-conscious desire to be slow. Things feel so much better when it is done slowly. Food digests better when you chew it thoroughly, take your time and eat it slow. You savour it much better and land up over eating much lesser.
There is nothing as luxurious as a long, languorous and a slow bath. It is like you have all the time in the world to engage in an activity that you really enjoy doing. The refreshing and satisfied feeling one gets after having one of such luxurious baths is quite incomparable.
Slow, melodious music can be so soothing. A slow book allows you time to dwell on all the finer, sentimental aspects of day-to-day, mundane activities. It brings out the special side of everything that we tend to take for granted or overlook in our rushed lives. A slow growth.
And of course slow love-making… Can there be anything as wondrous as that? You take the time to drink in every special aspect of your lover’s skin, his/her expressions, their tiny mannerisms, the mole they have in an area that may not see much sunlight. The touch you feel from their skin. The way they taste, smell, feel... Their warmth. Those slow, long, languorous kisses. The thing that makes you lose sense of time and place. Can you feel that any other way than when going slow?
One other experience that is incomparable is excreting slooooowly. Wow, the experience that is. Take your time when in the loo. It is even better if you’re naked, you’re in the loo – it is a hot summers day and there is a bucket of pleasantly chill water next to you. You’re hot and humid inside, pouring a mug full of the chill water on your head, feeling completely the way the water moves over your body as you slowly excrete. My, my – such incomparable pleasure!
I’m sorry the above paragraph might be slightly unpalatable to some. But one must not shy from all sorts of experiences in life. If we just let our senses take over and slow things down, the high one feels is very different. A lot of beautiful and things worth having happen slowly or take time to make. If we can just learn to stop being impatient and just sink in and enjoy the process, things are so much better.
The depth of understanding you get of a person when you know them slowly, is an experience all by itself. It helps you remember a lot of special memories and trust easier (oh, it is sooo important!)
So, if you’re slow, don’t feel bad about it. Celebrate it instead! And if you have a tendency to do things quickly or expect things to be done quickly, then unhook, look around and go slow because…the quick can be tripped up by the quiescent.
Friday, January 1, 2010
I’d like to know
That deep, dark chocolate
Side of you.
Let me have a lick -
A taste, that’d
Drive me wild.
The scent of your
Such an intoxication.
Down through the dangerous lane
Of your dark imagination.
Guide me through areas,
Feel my love,
My special form of love.
Just for you.
I don’t know how to start this. But it is one of the most exquisite feelings that I’ve felt in a long time. I know all of us have our special little fetishes. The very things that make us go vroom vroom vrrrroooom!! This is something I’ve never played. In fact, there is nothing special about a thumb fight. It is something that we play as kids, to show off the skills of our digits. But then it is strange how the very games we play as kids – the innocent, fun things – take on a different hue when you’re playing it as a much older version of you. A much older version of you, with all the necessary sexual awareness; an equally playful and experimental partner; a tiny bit of alcohol, or loads of it in your system (depends on the physical capacity/BMI); mutual sexual attraction; some privacy (or at least some alone-time together, if not anything else); and the mental tease. Aah, the pleasure of it all. So sinful. So, so sinful.
It is about the way the thumbs move against each other. A teasing caress. A replication of a sexual dance that can otherwise be done by the two individuals. But this is done at a table, and with a person you don’t know very well. Almost the only thing you’re sure about the person is the mutual sexual tension that seems to be sparkling between the two. And then, there are the looks across the table. Very, very suggestive looks, every time the fingers do something naughty. Naughty in the heads of the two. The anticipation of what might be. But not reaching it as such. So, so sinful. Also, such an art!
Then again there is the fight-for-control form of expression of physical attraction. It is a truly different high, having to fight for the love that you want to feel. Oh yes. It kills. But it is this very death that increases the allure of the final submission to the senses. The feeling of having a sexual predator. The intoxication of being chased. This goes well with a saying I came across a long while back, about the nature of men and women in romantic relationships – “A man desires a woman. A woman desires a man’s desire for the woman”. When I think of it now, I feel truer words have not been spoken.