I know I have been very vague, and I know my posts have been far from interesting. I have spoken about the confusion that was raging in my head, and the calm that came after I prayed really, really hard. Now, I am neither confused, nor am I calm – I’m absolutely furious.

Let’s take this from the top, shall we?

Sometime ago, I met a guy. After about four or five encounters, we actually spoke once. Somehow, a conversation over text message was struck up, and went on for a few days. (That’s right, the conversation went on for a few DAYS!)

We made it categorically clear to each other that we were both not interested in a relationship – for different reasons. His were prior commitments, and mine were prior heartbreaks. Fair enough. It was a promising friendship nonetheless, because I honest to God enjoyed talking to him.

Then the signals changed dramatically. Of course, I was really taken aback by this, and I honestly second-guessed myself repeatedly. I kept telling myself I was imagining all of this. As an aside, I am not prone to making these assumptions because I have very low self-esteem. Therefore my brain was vehemently arguing against the notion that I was reading too much into too little.

So what’s a girl supposed to do?

Well I don’t know about any other girl, but I ignored the signals. (Remember our respective reasons? Good.) I just wanted to be friends.

The signals continued. I continued ignoring them. I was hoping for a close friend. Never mind that I was starting to like this guy. I am quite capable of putting my own emotions on a very tight leash. Really.

And then what happens?

The messages practically stop. I receive no replies to my messages. I make allowances for busy schedules and commitments; I am second-guessing left right and centre.

Then I get one message at the dead of night: “Good night”. I respond in kind, half asleep. The conversation ends. I figure the next morning, I need to make the first overture. I do. No response. I shrug.

Next night? Another “Good night”. Morning? I send a message. No response. I start to lose my temper.

Same evening, I send a message specifically designed to be a gambit. I know this is a message that he will respond to for sure. If he does, he received the one in the morning, and ignored it. So it’s a sort of test.

He fails. Why? Because 10 seconds after I send the message, I get a response.

I am so through with this guy. I can do without my head being messed up again.

Feelings? What feelings?

Yesterday, I wrote about how confused I was feeling and how it seems to be taking over my life.

This morning, I feel different.

The one thing I was absolutely desperate for yesterday, and I didn’t have, was peace of mind. I wanted to be able to deal with everything that was happening to me with a certain modicum of calm.

So last night, I prayed very hard.

In my lifetime, I have learnt not to pray for absolutes. For instance, I don’t pray for certain events to transpire, nor do I wish for certain things to appear. I merely ask for the strength to deal with what life has in store for me, because I truly believe that God only lets what is our best interest to happen to us. Yesterday I prayed for strength and the ability to achieve peace of mind. (Not for the peace of mind itself – just the ability to achieve it.)

This morning, I woke up after a good night’s rest, experiencing serenity.

My mind isn’t replaying all the text conversations over and over again. I don’t have to fight myself from the brink of starting a SMS conversation, in spite of feeling very pushy. Right now, I figure I have pursued a friendship to the extent I consider seemly. I think the ball is best left in the other person’s court for now, and I feel this without a shred of ego. My only contention is that I have no desire to foist myself on anyone.

As a result, I am now able to look at other aspects of my life with the enthusiasm I used to feel before – without dwelling on certain texts reposing in my inbox.

The calm is very comforting.

When I was in one of my relationships, I used to look back somewhat wistfully at the times when the love/romance/attraction/the-disaster-in-question was first blossoming.

I’m sure everyone knows what I mean. The furtive sidelong looks, the uncertainty of the other’s feelings, and the certainty that there is chemistry although no one wants to admit it just in case it isn’t actually there.

And in my generation, it’s the text message at an odd hour.

The text message has been responsible for ALL my relationships. All. of. them. no. exceptions.

However, I used to discount the uncertainty. That nagging, gnawing worry in the pit of your stomach; the self-disgust when a text message arrives and your heart does a flip-flop. All that I forgot to consider. The terror of putting yourself out there, in case there is humiliation or hurt.

I was so foolish. I want to kick my old self in the head. Hard.

I am experiencing all these feelings again. I have spoken very sternly to myself in the mirror, I informed my reflection that this wasn’t the right time for a relationship. I am not ready to allow myself to be vulnerable again. I may be misreading these signals – there may not be signals at all. Additionally, there are complications on the other side – of which I have been told, but I don’t know how the situation stands. It’s a minefield.

The upshot of my little homily is that I gloss over all the suggestive comments that are made. Ignore, and focus on something else. There – sorted.

Uh. NO.

Because I KNOW I’m not misreading these signals. I KNOW it. I also know that I am keeping a very tight rein on my own feelings because of the complications on the other side. I refuse to put one toe past the line of friendship – and mostly I’ve succeeded. No one can accuse my messages of being anything more than friendly. I even went as far as putting a damper on one particular suggestive remark.

(Never mind that my heart and stomach were performing Olympic level stunts. Let’s not think of that, shall we?)

In addition to this madness, I have been swamped with work. So while half my brain is trying to plan an article, the other half is furiously suggesting I go out for coffee, and finally set the platonic friendship ball rolling. But I am house-bound till the end of the month, because of my work-load.

So essentially I have to live with this for another week at least.

I know this post may not make much sense. There is turmoil raging in my mind at the moment. So if you are confused after reading this, I hope there is comfort in the knowledge that I am infinite times more confused.

Yesterday, I was texting a new acquaintance I’ve made in Goa. And while I put it diplomatically, let’s just say he is the FIRST and ONLY one since I moved here.

(I’m waiting for the sniggering to stop. Done? Good.)

Because I have a job that entails typing, typing and more typing, I am somewhat restricted when it comes to meeting folks. I have no transport, therefore all classes, events and other chances to meet people is to all intents and purposes – not available.

Anyway, I received a text asking me what I was doing. This was part of a larger conversation, so I replied that I was planning an article in my head because there was no electricity at that moment. So, the next obvious question was what my article was about. I replied with: “Android 2.2. Fascinating isn’t it? :-(“

I didn’t receive a reply for half an hour. I was a little surprised, but I figured something came up. (He has the most hectic schedule I have ever heard of. I am in AWE of his endless supply of energy.)

By the time I get a reply, I had already gotten immersed in work. My phone beeped, and I saw this:

“Huh.. what??? It took me 30 mins to figure out what you were saying! Sounds like a Jetsons movie. :-P”

I stared at the tiny mobile screen for half a second before bursting into gales of laughter. I wasn’t laughing AT him, I was just thinking how CUTE the reply was. I mean, seriously? Jetsons? Awww!

After the tears stopped, I sent him a reply apologising for assuming that he knew what I was talking about. And then it struck me, how accustomed I am to speaking with techies or technophiles. Most of my acquaintances would have replied with: “Froyo? Ok.” Or something to that effect.

(Jetsons. So ADORABLE. *chuckles*)

I then realised how refreshing it was to know someone whose expertise lay in a completely different sphere. And he certainly isn’t an idiot, so that wasn’t the reason – just outdoorsy, while this is mainly indoors stuff. And I especially appreciated that it didn’t occur to him to Google it to find out what the hell I was talking about.

It was nice, and for the life of me, I don’t know WHY.

Contrary to the impression my tweets may convey, I really am not against making friends with boys.

(I AM against “fraanship”, but that is a whole different story.)

I believe there is a process for friendship to be established between two people. And more importantly, that process cannot be rushed, nor orchestrated.

Case in point:

A chap added me on Twitter the other day. Fine. Twitter is pretty much a free-for-all situation, and if I wanted to whet every follower, I would protect my tweets. But I want to do no such thing (as I already have a Facebook account with similar rules).

He responded to a few of my tweets, and I replied to him in turn. Also fine. Not someone I wanted to strike up a conversation with, because of the way he responded. I am mostly tongue-in-cheek and quite sarcastic. While I am aware everyone reacts differently, I have a certain reaction I expect in my head, and I usually find the people who I consider friends DO respond in kind. So I know when there is potential for friendship to develop.

This guy started asking me, oh-so-many questions. What do I do, where do I live, what are my interests. ALL valid questions. Yet, I felt like I was being cross-examined. Why? Because it was like a rapid-fire of tweets. I was questioned when my answers were cursory, or I hadn’t been online for a while. I started justifying why I said something or the other. And the trump card this fellow played whenever I started to snap was: “I was just trying to be friendly. If you don’t want that, please tell me honestly.”

Now, I am not rude enough to say, yeah go to hell, I don’t want to be friendly. I was hoping he would back off a little when I didn’t respond to every tweet, but he called me on it saying I was ignoring him. I WAS. But I was trying to hint him away.

Suffice it to say, it did not work. He was impervious to hints, used emotional blackmail and appealed to my sense of right to muscle in on my life. I was honestly choking.

Till I realised that I didn’t OWE him an explanation for anything. I was feeling uncomfortable about his behaviour, and although I couldn’t pinpoint explicit examples, the overall attitude was bothering me. I should stop feeling guilty about being uncomfortable.

So I sent him a message to back off, and blocked the account.

Of course, once I did this, I started second-guessing myself.

Was I being too harsh? He only wanted to be friends. Why was I so put off by him? Don’t all friendships start the same way?

Thankfully for my sanity, I realised that there is a natural progression to all relationships. When two people meet (on Twitter, real life or otherwise) neither can force the other person into a friendship. Yes, the questions were all right, but there is a gradual learning curve about each other, which takes place when both realise they want to share information about themselves. Cross-examining anyone sets up their back.

Like I said, I am not against making friends – but I don’t want to be forced into it.

Yesterday was absolutely the most awesome day in the history of awesome days (for me). Since Father’s Day is on the 20th, I had been racking my brains for the best gift to get for my dad – and yesterday I finally GOT it.

It is not an easy task, believe me, and my father is the sole cause of my firm conviction that men are IMPOSSIBLE to buy for.

It was easier in the past, when I was a kid; the concept of Father’s Day was non-existent. When I was slightly older and in sixth form college, I bought him the standard Hallmark/Archie’s paraphernalia like photo frames and keyrings. Those pall after a while, no matter how happy he pretend to be.

After I started shopping for him, I have gotten lots of stuff regardless of any occasion: ties galore, office shirts in numerous colours, shoes, perfumes, etc. etc. Which essentially makes shopping for an occasion so much harder – because once you buy someone 10 shirts, getting them one really nice shirt pales in comparison.

So my big dilemma was to get him something he really loves. My choices were:

1. Clothes
2. Perfumes
3. A watch
4. Shoes
5. Take him out for a nice dinner

In other words, boring, boring, boring.

I settled on a watch tentatively, and went out shopping with my mom and aunt. We looked at Titan watches (a brand made in India; subsidiary of Tata) which he promptly vetoed when we told him.

Great. I was left with the option of getting him a Fossil watch off the Internet. I’d seen one I liked, but he said he didn’t want another watch. (Please note the careful use of the word ‘another’. He has PLENTY.)

We were looking around, when I spotted an arcade in Panjim which we hadn’t checked out earlier. There we disappeared into a shop which stocked men’s apparel and picked out 4 ties on a whim. (See what I mean?)

After getting out of the shop, I spotted Furtado’s. It was a big music showroom with innumerable instruments displayed.

That’s when I had a brainwave – I would get him a tabla set.

My father has always been into Indian instrumental music, perhaps because his parents were each proficient exponents of musical instruments.

He always wanted to learn how to play the tabla, but never actually bought a set for himself. Yesterday, we went to the music shop and picked out a pair for him.

I have never seen him quite so beside himself with excitement.

Of late, I have been less and less time on Facebook. I find it palled after a while. However, one thing it is great for? Birthday reminders. Because a great big airhead such as myself would make even stupider gaffes than I already do without it.

Case in point: On the 14th, the family and I were out for dinner. When thoughts strike me like thunderbolts, in the following sequence:

1. Oh my God! It’s June!
2. What date is it?!?
3. It’s a Monday!
4. Did I send in that article I was supposed to?
5. What was I thinking about?
6. Oh yeah.
7. It’s a Monday.
8. I’m sure I’ve left my window open, and it’s raining heavily.
9. Oh heavens, it’s the 14th.
10. Today’s is friend’s birthday.
11. I don’t have credit on my phone, and I’m in the middle of dinner.
12. Call her tomorrow and explain.
13. Why is her birthday not saved on my phone?!?
14. If she was on Facebook, this would never have happened!
15. Guilt.

I can be SO random.

Anyway, I returned from dinner only to realize it was too late to call her. So I called her in the afternoon yesterday – very apologetically.

Her response? “Karishma, I swear I’m going to beat you the next time we meet.”

My reaction: “I’m so sorry, I did remember on the 14th, but I had no credit on my phone and I was out and by the time I got back it was really really late. Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry.”

Evidently suppressing strong emotion: “We were roommates in college for two years and you can’t remember my birthday?”

Assuming strong emotion was annoyance: “I’m soooo sorry. I’ll make it up to you!”

Bursts into gales of laughter: “My birthday is on the 14th of JULY not June, you silly girl.”

Ah.

We finish our conversation and promise to talk later. I look up 14th July on my mobile’s calendar to save her birthday.

It was already there.

This month has been quite relaxed, mainly because I haven’t been able to do any work. Try as I might, I couldn’t find the right words for any of my articles, right to the extent that I have deleted all the ones I did because they turned out so rubbish.

However, I feel different today. (Thank God. I was starting to worry.)

I think my lack of flow was because of this new lifestyle regime I am on. In my ongoing effort to lose weight, I have slipped and slid many times over the past few years. Therefore I am hesitant to make a big deal of it. However the upshot of a reduced diet and a whole lot of exercise is that I am constantly sleepy.

And I don’t mean, my-lids-are-heavy sort of sleepy, but more the my-brain-is-trying-to-claw-its-way-out-of-my-head kind of sleepy.

Yeah, it’s no fun.

But luckily I feel different today. I hope to lose weight (note the lack of conviction – I just don’t want to get my hopes up) and I hope the constant throb in the region of my sinuses stops soon.

To work and beyond!

My argument against modern-day astrology is very simple: how can you divide the fortunes of the whole world into just 12 parts? I mean, everyone is different, unique in their own way and has had a life of experiences completely their own.

That being said, I am a firm believer in the simple construct that I do NOT understand everything.

I have experienced a number of miracles, personally, and also heard my mother speak of many more. These are miracles that reaffirm my faith in God, destiny and powers that I cannot understand right now, without a shadow of a doubt.

When I was younger, I read books about eastern philosophy and life after death, till the information started coming out my ears. I devoured books on Tibetan culture, Egyptian mysteries, Hindu philosophy and many more, only to realise that so much of it correlated perfectly with each other. The teachings were based on sound and logical principles. What has corrupted these teachings have been the self-appointed custodians of God and organised religion.

My idea of faith is to love God, understand that I am loved in return, and try and be the best person I can. That isn’t to say I don’t slip up, and I quite frequently rail and rant in front of the picture of Shirdi Baba in my room.

(I know it seems like I’ve lost the plot, but I haven’t.)

In the true Hindu philosophy, logic and learning was never considered heretical. Great saints could predict the future and they were valued for their expertise. And thus, astrology comes back into the picture.

Although I am sceptical about modern-day astrology, I am thoroughly in awe of the true science of foretelling.

When we lived in Dubai, we had a circle of family friends that were mostly spiritually-oriented. We shared anecdotes about experiences, visited holy men together*, etc. etc.

One evening, one couple came home for a cup of tea. She had just spent a few months in India, and had come across patris. Patris usually refer to astrological forecasts made when someone is born. It is based upon the Hindu system, using the date and time of birth to analyze the position of the celestial objects to predict the life of the child. (Like most other things, the true science is practised by very few. The people that now practise are little more than charlatans.)

However she was talking about a different kind of patri. These were not commissioned by the family of the child; they had been written by a rishimunni** centuries ago. And there are two per soul. Not person – SOUL.

The shocks didn’t stop there.

The correct patri, which is written on a leaf, is retrieved through a complicated process involving a thumb impression. (I could go into more details, but this post is already getting completely out of hand.) A packet of corresponding patris is retrieved, and the person who is seeking their patri is asked to verify certain pieces of personal information. Even if one item is not correct, the patri is skipped.

Bear in mind that these are people who don’t know the seekers from Adam.

Once the right leaf is obtained, the guy proceeds to translate it – because it is written in Ancient Tamil. ***

The patri then talks about the past of the person in their current and previous lives, where they are in the present life, why they have come to retrieve their patri, and what their future holds.

Believe me, my mind was blown when I heard this.

She went to tell us how each event narrated in the patri was spot on. Things that no one except her immediate family knew about were written on the ancient leaf.

This was many years ago, and when we returned to India, I promptly forgot all about it. Till one day, my mother was in Hyderabad, and she called up to say there was a patri centre there and she was going.

The whole incident was incredible from start to finish. I won’t go into too many details because much of it was personal. However, the fact remained that the science was way more advanced then, as compared to now.

In my mother’s patri, I was mentioned a few times – for obvious reasons. One of the points was that my mother was concerned about me finding the right partner. The patri said I was going to have a very happy married life.

So far so good.

The clincher, however, was that I was going to get married in my mother’s 60th year. At the time I thought, big deal, that’s ages away.

My mother’s 60th year starts this year on July 27th.

* I know a number of bogus ones have cropped up lately in India. But there are cheap knock-offs because the real thing exists.

** Rishimunni is a Hindu ascetic. Usually renounces worldly life in the quest to attain enlightenment through contemplation.

*** The patris have survived because the Deccan plateau in India is the only tract of land on Earth that have never been under water.

This morning, I set out with my dad to the fruit and vegetable market. It was a peaceful morning in beautiful Panjim, bathed in hot sunlight. I was enjoying the view, while a CD with devotional music played in the background. My dad and I drove in comfortable silence, and my mind wandered.

It all started out with my dad smoothly executing a difficult turn. He really is an exceptional driver, as my mother has said ad infinitum. Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t consider his expert handling to be of very great importance.

I, on the other hand, was truly impressed.

That’s when I started considering the small triumphs that occur in everyday life.

In my everyday existence, my triumphs are writing a good article or figuring out a missing flavour in a dish. I also feel immense pleasure with a blog comment or a favourable response to some work. I love crossing off things on my to-do list, and I love the feeling of having just finished cleaning my room.

I love it when my nail polish remains smooth after I apply it, and when my outfit looks exactly like I imagined it. I love fixing small household items and having them stay fixed. I love mixing essentials oils in a diffuser and having the perfect fragrance permeate my dreams when I sleep.

I love it when my dog welcomes me at the bottom of the staircase every morning, or when she finds that sleeping cuddled into my body is the most comfortable position.

But more than all these small triumphs, I love being able to share it with my family. I can tell my mother all these trivial things, and she understands and partakes of my pleasure too.

I have come to realise that it is the small joys that make for a happy existence, because great happiness comes along once in a while and isn’t usually sustained or sustainable.

What are your small daily triumphs?

May was quite hectic, what with crazy work schedules and family stuff. However, it was fun in a way that April SHOULD have been (birthday month) but wasn’t.

Since I’m not really in the mood to write today, and I do want to stick to my blogging once every two days resolution – I thought I’d make this a “Meet the family” post.

(Note: The girls of our family never photograph well, however hard we try. My father, on the other hand, photographs unfairly well. He looks exactly like the pictures for real, although we look much better in the flesh. So UNFAIR.)

(Trying my hand at emailing a post to the blog for the first time. Fingers crossed this works. This is thanks to the lack of electricity.)

One of my besetting sins is wanting to do something just because someone idiotic has goaded me to revolt. Ordinarily, this would take the form of doing/saying/feeling exactly the opposite as the goad-er. This is especially true of sanctimonious and overly-emotional people; I can’t abide by them. And of course, male chauvinists. (I’ve deliberately left out ‘pigs’ from that title, because I have a lot of respect for all animals – including pigs – and I think it’s insulting to them.)

However, contrary to the impression I seem to be creating, I am not proud of this trait. Really, really not. Therefore I am trying to seal my lips shut in the face of what I considering annoying behaviour, and not retort like a two-year old. I am, honest! I figure that’s the only way people will take my true opinions seriously, as opposed to me constantly swinging from one to the other like a pendulum.

It’s called growth, people. Look at me, I’m maturing.

Anyway, although I have this idiotic tendency, my reaction to male chauvinism is sincere however explosive and reactionary – which brings me to my actual point.

Names are tedious handles in India. They are long and convey oh-too-much information to everyone else. This includes, and is not restricted to, family name, house name, mother’s house name, village name, clan name, and caste.

(I wish I was joking.)

Thankfully for the sake of sanity, the format varies from place to place. However, one factor remains fairly constant – the middle name is usually the father’s name or the husband’s name.

I, born in a foreign country, have two names. My first name and surname – and THAT’S IT. No father’s name, and certainly no husband’s name (Ew). I am happy with my name, as it happens to perfectly symmetrical which appeals to my compulsive side. Plus I never gave it much thought till I came to India in any case.

Then I was told a story by someone who was applying for a job or course or something to that effect. This hapless girl had listed their name minus the obligatory middle name. The official on the receiving end (should have been a kick not a form) remarked sneeringly: “Oh! No middle name? Don’t you have a father?”

Someone kindly the sign the jackass up for elementary biology.

In India that is an insult of no mean stature. It essentially translates to calling someone a bastard.

Yeah.

Of course, when I heard this story, I was FURIOUS. And I was pretty adamant that I would NEVER use a middle name. I really can’t abide male chauvinism – even in tiny, practically non-existent doses.

(See where I was going with the whole contrariness buildup?)

So as a result, all my applications to various communities, clubs, institutions, companies etc. are filled up minus a middle name (which I never had to begin with). So the other day I received a bill in the mail from Tata Indicom, addressed to “K. M. Sundaram”. Evidently Tata Indicom had taken upon themselves to add the middle initial, as my father’s name, Mohan, is mentioned on the form.

The SIM card is registered in my name, so it was obviously meant for me. I think I deserve credit for not flipping out like I was half-inclined to doing. I figured it wasn’t a big deal anyway, and I don’t really care what a bunch of morons at Tata decide to call me anyway.

See? Told you I was growing.

But the funny part was when I gave the bill to my dad to settle. He looked at the bill, took in the name and asked: “What the hell does ‘M’ stand for?”

I adore my non-chauvinistic Indian father.