Only if…
I try and not look back at the mistakes I’ve made along the way. I think I gain some insight from it, but as a forward-looking person, I try to forget what had happened then. But this one incident keeps coming back to haunt me. It wasn’t a life-changing incident by any means, but in a very subtle way I realized what I really wanted. I trusted my instinct.
There it was, the block painting, staring at me – waiting to be sold. A work of art, drawn by her tender hands, and illuminating creativity. I can still feel what I felt then – the intense desire to buy it. I guess, we were friends then, albeit “chat friends.” But the moment I saw that painting, a subtle realization of my love for her creped in. I ignored, wistfully.
I wanted to own her creation; the painting wasn’t meant for me, nor it was meant for anyone else (I hope). But it felt like it was destined to be mine; the desire to make something that belonged to her my own was intense – an emotion so strong that I can still feel it.
But then, I did nothing. I didn’t have money to buy it, but I know that I could have pulled some strings. A decision, to this day, some 8 years later, still haunts me. I keep on going back to that day, regretting not buying it. And I look at the empty wall in my room and I wonder how beautiful the painting would have looked hanging there.
Only if I could change that decision……only if….
If Tomorrow Comes – Sidney Sheldon
After much debate between “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo” and a Sidney Sheldon book, I made my first Kindle purchase, “If Tomorrow Comes” by Sidney Sheldon. I had read his ‘Master of the Game’ about a year ago and I hardly put it down before I finished it. His writing is simple, powerful with sincere thoughts of his characters, and his plots are intriguing.
The first part of ‘If Tomorrow Comes’ was vaguely familiar because the Bollywood movie ‘Ek Hasina Thi’ seemed to be loosely based on it. It took away the anticipation of what would come next. And then there was the development of Tracey Whitney from an intelligent computer operator, who now has a criminal record, to a beautiful, smart, elegant con artist who duped the rich and the famous. At times it felt like there was repetitive sequence of robbery, although it did develop her character as a more daring, challenge-seeking woman.
The relationship between Tracy Whitney and Jeff Stevens is well developed and is a fun read. The later half of the book, although predictable, is interesting and you feel the urge to see it to the end. I hardly got a chance to put the book (or more precisely, my Kindle) down.
As a whole, I wasn’t as impressed as I was after reading the ‘Master of the Game’, but nonetheless, although late, I’ve come to admire Sidney Sheldon as one of the best crime thriller writer. Given that he has sold more than 400 million copies, that should come as no surprise to anyone.
Maybe, I will try and read some of his other works during the winter break, after I get done with heaps of class-work that haunts me every night.
Rating: 3.5/5
The ‘haircut talk’
I dread the ‘haircut talk.’ It’s always the same thing – the beautiful/gloomy weather, the weekends, or their pets. I am not a talker, and, sometimes, I seriously don’t give a fuck about their pets and their plans for the upcoming weekend. I love to close my eyes and let the buzzing machine put me to sleep. Alas! it doesn’t work that way. They need to strike up a conversation and even though I don’t want to talk, I eventually have to give in to their persistent questions, their prying nature. And when I do, I always end up with the same topic: my lady.
Maybe I never get a haircut in my own town. I let them know where I’m from and what I’m doing here and their prying nature sets in. Or maybe I love to talk about her with other people — I let them pry. I could just pretend to go to school there, talk about some other things, but I just can’t. I have to tell them that I was there to see my baby.
Today was no different. I told the hair dresser how long I’d been in a relationship for , and she asks me about my future plans, when I plan on marrying my girlfriend of eight years, and how I am going to propose to the beautiful lady. I guess, she was amused to know that we’ve been dating for so long but not engaged yet. And I told her I never really thought about all those things, and how marriage would ruin everything (I had to say something); she agreed, albeit hesitantly.
I know for a fact that the next time I go in for a haircut, I will end up talking about my sweetheart again. And they’ll ask the same questions and I’ll have the same answers. Maybe, someday, the topic will change. And even though I’ll be talking with the same smile, the same passion and the same love , I will, hopefully, be referring to my lady as my gorgeous wife.
Elusive words
It feels like I have forgotten how to write. The words don’t come easily anymore; few years back, I thought I could play with it, but now I realize it plays me. Oh elusive words, let my magic turn you on once again!!
The death of a legend…
Steve Jobs passed away the day before yesterday. Somehow, it felt like I lost someone my own. But seeing the immense response from people, all the varied news articles on papers, the spotlight he receives on cable news, the mourning pictures from around the world and the condolences of millions, I’ve come to realize how he inspired an entire generation to think differently. In his passing, he became a legend, a myth.
And through that I’ve understood the possibilities of life, the fruits of hard work and the power one has not only over oneself but an entire world. Steve P. Jobs had a humble beginning; he was put up for adoption even before his birth. Raised in a working middle class family, dropping out of college (but still dropping in for courses he loved, which most people forget), and following his dreams he managed to change the way we look at technology. A true visionary.
May there be more people like him. Rest in peace, Mr. Jobs.
The Times They Are A-Changing – Bob Dylan
Come gather ’round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You’ll be drenched to the bone.
If your time to you
Is worth savin’
Then you better start swimmin’
Or you’ll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin’.
Come writers and critics
Who prophesied with your pen
And keep your eyes wide
The chance won’t come again
And don’t speak too soon
For the wheel’s still in spin
And there’s no telling’ who
That it’s naming’.
For the loser now
Will be later to win
For the times they are a-changin’.
Come senators, congressmen
Please heed the call
Don’t stand in the doorway
Don’t block up the hall
For he that gets hurt
Will be he who has stalled
There’s a battle outside raging’.
It’ll soon shake your windows
And rattle your walls
For the times they are a-changin’.
Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don’t criticize
What you can’t understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is
Rapidly agin’.
Please get out of the new one
If you can’t lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin’.
The line it is drawn
The curse it is cast
The slow one now
Will later be fast
As the present now
Will later be past
The order is
Rapidly fading’.
And the first one now
Will later be last
For the times they are a-changin’.
Yesterday
I could read you, I said.
Through the transparent light,
I even see the scars I put on you.
Meddling in the past of flowers,
Or I must say the gloomy spring, unfolds in front?
Not another hour must pass by,
And I hear you scream from the ugly lands.
No man can ever forget the sweetness of that cold.
The warmth of the summery curves,
Rested above my sturdy chest.
I see you, and I close my eyes for eternity.
Discomfort in your own skin,
you try to build a new suit, and I draw for you.
Colors re-appear, and smells permeate through the pores.
Yet you are stuck with your old coat,
nothing left to spend.
One last time you would stand, not alone.
Before long, I shall be gone, leaving no trace behind.
Would you wave with a withered face and fragile hands?
I want to remember you, unaffected.
I will call you from afar, maybe once.
And I shall send you a postcard.
Expect not another letter from me onwards.
Deception
I saw a lone star somewhere far
I bathe in its light but it has a scar
I sowed the seed of dishonesty
While I appreciated the beauty
Of my troubled mind
You were kind, tender, and surreal
I would for once give up and surrender
Then I wonder if you’d still take me back
Now I have mingled with another pack
Your voice disappeared in discordance
Now nowhere I fully belong
Neither here nor there is my true home
My own shackles chained my feet
For me to live a life of guilt and deceit
I want you to call me one last time
I am no perfect and I cant set things right
Although I played a wrong card for you
I know I picked the rough plateau to rest
And a colorful deception was my design too
But believe me, it is only a speckle of the past!
