Metaphor For A Metaphor

Metaphor: it has defined much in life. It has complicated things and yet simplified so much. Metaphor is what I hide behind when im too cowardly to be in your face and one such night, I tweeted about my love for Metaphor.
Metaphor became the soul of conversation that night. Metaphor was the flavour of that night and metaphor came screaming back to me. He made me choke up with emotion and made me poetic. And here is a poem I ended up tweeting:

Metaphor is an empty perfume bottle I remember you by,
Metaphor is a supressed old flame…
Metaphor is an old T-shirt I hold dear,
Metaphor is the warmth when Ur here.
Metaphor: that’s all I have…

Metaphor is that teardrop that fell,
Telling my heart to bid you farewell.
Metaphor is that batting eyelid,
It captures the memory before it spills…

And then, magically, the poem became interactive.

@ashumhatre: Metaphor is that stain on the old shirt, metaphor is our relationship and its dust. Metaphors : That’s all we had! 😉

And the sweetest  replies came from @baxiabhishek:
I’ll be the jeans to that tee, i’ll be there where calls thee. 🙂
I’ll be the tissue to wipe the tear, you called me, so i’m here.

This entire metaphor talk made me think. We don’t hide behind metaphors. We use them to enhance what we have to say. Being obvious isn’t very charming, now is it?
Metaphor gives us the license to beat around the bush and it connects two things perfectly well. There’s nothing clever about metaphor. Metaphor is just natural…

And while I’m on metaphor:
Metaphor is a friend that tells,
All, in due time, will be well.
Metaphor is a friend, who understands,
What is hidden behind your metaphors so grand.
Metaphor is a friend who knows,
Exactly how a metaphor grows…

This one’s for all you metaphor tweeters: @baxiabhishek @ashumhatre @unitechy @mriganayanika @fossiloflife @menonhari @archisM @avgs @ideasmithy @simplymalyalee @aalaap (who’s too straight-froward to use metaphor, we understand!)


Magic 8 ball

When you’re stuck in traffic or at a doctor’s waiting room, time just refuses to pass. It is at such times that I get tempted to play games on me mobile. The latest app on my iPhone is the magic ball app. Any question, a slight shake and voilà! The app has an answer. It’s perfect for a girl like me. Don’t believe me, ask my best friend. Pannu should I wear the white top or the maroon one? Does the maroon make me look fat? Should I eat an ice cream? Or maybe I want that jalebi?
She patiently hears me out but am sure that she will love the magic 8 ball for reducing her question load. So I started:
Me: am I going to be a rocking writer?
Ball: signs point to yes
Me: will I make a lot of money
Ball: better not to tell you now
Me: am I going to end up living abroad
Ball: reply hazy try later
Me: then am I going to be in India?
Ball: it is decidedly so
Me: are you confusing me?
Ball: maybe
Me: go to hell!
Ball: most likely
Me: do you even know where hell is?
Ball: my sources say no
Me: you are an idiot!
Ball: signs point to yes
Me: I rock
Ball: definitely
Me: ok I am done
Ball: reply hazy try later
So there, I am asking questions, arguing and spendib my free time with a stupid application on my phone. It sounds like a relationship, no?

‘Taxi’ trauma

Bombay, Mumbai or whatever name you address this city by, is constantly on the run. Floods, blasts, strikes have failed to bring the city to a standstill. Everyone is trying to get someplace and they want to get there fast! I am not talking figuratively, nope, I mean literally. Life is all about catching the bus, train or a cab and beating the traffic. Time my friend, is priceless. And yet you spend so much of it just traveling around the city.
Every city has a peculiar cab driver. The New York cabbie is shrewd and the London cabbie is full of wisdom. Welcome to Mumbai, our cabbies are rude, full of unnecessary wisdom, have an attitude and they are doing you a huge favour by taking you from pt. A to pt. B. It doesn’t matter that he didn’t know the way, it doesn’t matter that the jerky ride killed your back and it doesn’t matter that the cab almost hit almost 10-15 pedestrians, 25-30 cars. What matters is that he got you there and you are intact (oh thank God).

So why am I writing his? Well because, I am angered by their arrogance, dishonesty and lack of integrity. I want to relieve myself of the anger, or I might just end up being the serial taximan killer.

I work in an area full of swanky offices and parking is an issue. My relationship with BEST buses is another story altogether. So, I hold on to my dear life and make a run for the nearest taxi. I happily chat with Sneha on the phone or read the papers and voilà, I am at work!
Cut to the evenings. I get out of the office, aching to go home in time to watch friends. I flail my arms at every cab but all are taken. A few empty ones slow down for just a minute, I ask then if they’d oblige and take me to Dadar. They shake their head, give me a sad look and zoom off!
Yes, they refuse to take me where I want to go!
This is a day when the rain isn’t threatening to drench me and believe me, its a happy situation. When it rains, the traffic is worse and I am flailing my non-umbrella wielding arm to stop any cab I see. I see a lot of them empty, but with their doors locked and windows rolled up. They refuse to take any of the passengers, gape at drenched women in a vulgar manner and make their way out.
Some of the ones forcibly opened, claim they are running out of gas. But happily accept a fare for Andheri after you curse and get out. This has happened to me not once but about 10 times and I don’t know how to get some authority to punish them for such unprofessional behaviour!

Now, today there’s a brand new reason I’m pissed with the men in balck and yellow. It’s their job to take me to my destination and their job profile requires them to know the friggin’ roads! But fine, I’m ready to show them the way but the dude must ask! He takes a turn he does not need to, takes me on an extra long ride! When I argued with him, he said that I was mistaken and that his way was the right way. Okay whacko! On reacing the destination i can’t believe that the meter reads almost twice the amount I usually pay. I ask for the tariff card. He merrily shows me the October 2000 card which is the wrong one. A brand new tarriff card has come into being from 2007 and acording to that card the price I need to pay is 10 bucks lesser. I am irrtated. I am convinced he has tampered with the meter. Consumers forget to ask them questions and these guys try and make that extra buck by cheating them.

“Why do so much natak (drama) for 10 rupees?” He shamelessly asks me. How do I explain this stupid man that it’s not a question of those 10 extra rupees but that of integrity. I want to ask these questions even if it means 10  minutes of my precious time is wasted. There are a number of times my female friends have had horrifying experiences on account of their taxi drivers. Some have even been sexually harassed. If all of us bother asking, maybe they will start behaving themselves.

Memories and more

I’ve decided to write down memories as they come. Because I’m scared I might lose them someday. There are memories about people, memories about places, memories about everything and anything. I have even decided to put down all the random ideas that come to my head. Reason: I think I forget them and I truly believe that they’re rocking (of course, they rock because they are MY ideas!) Also, I genuinely believe that when I am older and I look at my ideas and memories, it may give me a chance to know myself better. Let me start by explaining how I realized writing it all down is a good idea.

Flashback 2001: A hot summer afternoon in April. A girl is frantically making notes as she speaks on the phone.

“So you know someone who can do the interview or what? What’s the name? Okay, number? You sure this girl is good na?”

She picks up her cell-phone and dials another number. “Hello, is that X? Oh hi I got your number from Y. See there’s this rocking opportunity. Have you heard of Akashvani’s YuvaBharati? Ok they want two students to interview this publisher about his college days. Are you interested? No??!! Okay!”

She calls another number. “She is NOT interested! I mean, I would jump at such an opportunity!”

“I can’t do that, na. How weird will it sound, me interviewing my dad. Nah! Give me someone!”

“What’s the name you said? Rohan? Okay!”

“Hello, could I speak to Rohan?”

The voice on the phone- “Just a minute.”

After about a minute a gasping voice- “Hello, let me catch my breath! Who’s this?”

And with those words she met a soul just as excited as her. They’d meet almost every day, and would think out loud. They dreamed big and truly believed that they could rule the world one day!

They planned to colour each others’ hair, cook and eat grand meals, open an ad agency of their own and of course, there was a book in the pipeline too!

They studied hard to get into a mass media course at the college of their choice. While doing so they shared their literary, music and film interests and matured beyond their years. They shared happiness and pain, agonies and joys. It was a friendship meant to last for life.

Back to the future:

I used to write a weird journal of sorts back then, which I had stashed behind a couple of unused books and all that. Recently, while clearing out some clutter, I came across this book. I smiled, I cried, I sighed! It was just the best thing to read ever. I couldn’t believe that I was that girl. I was so naïve and yet so ambitious.

There was so much I wanted to learn and there was so much that the friendship with Rohan taught me. Right then it was all about the fun, but today when I look back, I realize that if it wasn’t for that relationship, I wouldn’t be what I am today. There are so many people, who contribute to our growth as an individual, who enrich our lives and we never even realize it.

That’s why I am going to write about them. That’s the least I can do to appreciate them…