Something about being spinsterish, I guess

3:48, shows the office clock and with a blank page in front of me, I am feeling all Bridget Jonesy. Have this huge temptation to write about everything that happens in the glass-walled cubicles of the office. Unfortunately there is no attractive male-boss to chat with. Have a strict no-no code when it comes to office-flirting. Come to think of it, I seem to follow the code everywhere. Not that I have a lot of choice in the matter.

Yesterday I was talking to a friend who told me I give the ‘impossible’ impression. In a way that makes men stay miles away from me. Wonder how I do that? Or rather wonder how I should undo it! Come on, I smile, I nod, I pat! I am a cheerful fella. Why would anyone think I am this unreachable, unfriendly snob? I have a feeling it’s got something to do with the whole spinster-image people have. You see spinsters in general are considered pretty unfriendly, who have a bad opinion about the whole world and everyone they meet. I reluctantly admit it may be the case most of the times. And I hope every day I don’t become one of those no matter how spinsterish I am!

So I was pleasantly surprised when a 20-year-old kid hit on me recently. Poor fella musta been desperate for company hitting on a woman nearing middle age. I am guessing it is only to those who know me I seem unreachable. Well, time to break a few codes in that case. And then again, I seem as schoolgirlish as I was 10 years ago when I slipped out of school – the whole going-tongue-tied business, you know. (At this point the author realizes the entry has gone too far without making any point. And it is not likely she’d make one with what’s left to write. So she is abruptly closing this post here. Nice aint it, when you don’t have an editor to tell you how not to write something?)

A thing for architects

I was watching this movie 500 days of summer with fancy pal Jim.

Me: Jim I like this Gordon guy and you know what I just realized?

Jim: It’s unfair that a fella like him should get a gorgeous girl like that?

Me: No. I just realized I have a thing for architects.

Jim: You do?

Me: Gordon here acts as an architect you see. Then I liked Ted Mosby and what is he?

Jim: An architect?

Me: Yes! You see the connection here?

Jim: Hard to miss Cris when you put it like that.

Me: But there is a problem.

Jim: What?

Me: I wouldn’t understand much of what architects say.

Jim: Ah but you don’t understand much of what anyone says anyway.

Me: Ah yea, there is that.

Seas and stars n all that

I wouldn’t have thought the sea waves at Shanghumugham could sprinkle water so far away. For I was at this sand hill way far, watching the orange sun and the tiny crescent of a moon play hide and seek – when one appears, the other hides under the clouds. But when I licked my lips I could taste salt. Yum!

I planned to walk cause the breeze seemed unwilling at first to …

“Oh lord would you stop already?” fancy pal Jim raised his sleepy head.

“What?”

“All this stuff about breezy seas and starry nights. Haven’t you been writing too much about all that already!”

“But it’s fun stuff. You should listen to the lazy breeze slowly get up from the north… err south… err ahem, a faraway point and bring their tiny little… err”

“Asses?”

“Jim! Language! This is a universal blog, I don’t wanna certify it with an 18 plus!”

“Right! And what about the north south wind? Oh wait, it was a far away point rite? How romantic, how poetic!”

“A minor vocab handicap”

“Of course. And the salt part of it was?”

“The description. Ye always describe every taste and smell and sight when… err when…”

“You try to be Mills and Boons?”

“I wasn’t! Argh! I had some serious stuff coming up. But now cause you interrupted, no one will ever know how good that was going to be”

“Let me help you out here Cris. Inject some more waves, some music, some twilight darkness, a few couples walking hither and thither holding hands, while you slip into a world of imagination…”

“Ok ok I get the picture. Hmm maybe I was overdoing it a wee bit”

“Wee bit?! Cris, you forgot what an unmushy world was like!”

“That bad?”

“That bad”

“Okay then! No more mush!”

“No more”

“No more lovey dovey cushy tushy stuff”

“No Sir”

“No sun or moon or stars or sky”

“No breeze either”

“No beaches, no buses”

“No… err why buses?”

“You like them?”

“Very friendly beings if you ask me. Keep honking and hopping all the time.”

“Creative little things aren’t they?”

“Creative, yes. Little, not. But ye they are the best”

“Hail buses!”

“Hail buses!”

“From now on we write about buses. And bus stops. And bus bays. And bus conductors”

“Err we?”

“Of course Jim, we love ‘em”

“Oh we do, but writing – you do. I will do the sulking.”

“Oh really? In that case I am bringing back the seas and skies and trees and all!”

“You will, will ya?”

“Yes I will. Unless you agree to do half the writing.”

“Half?”

“Half. 50 per cent. One by two.”

“Woah considering your number of words, that’s long!”

“Yep”

“Emm Cris”

“Yes Jim?”

“Maybe the nature thing is not so bad after all. Ol’ Wordsworth did it, didn’t he?”

“Sure did.”

“And people love Wordy”

“Oh yes they do”

“Maybe the universe is not all that bad then. I mean what harm could a few waves and tiny bits of sand do?”

“As I said, creative little beings those things are.”

“Friendly too.”

“Oh yea, very.”

At the price of a postage stamp

(From a letter to a friend)

You know what I liked about ‘Wake up Sid’? The part where they exchange emails cause she didn’t have a phone. You know what I like about ‘You’ve got mail’? Well, all of it. It’s simply so beautiful to sit on your bed with a huge letter pad and pen down your life’s silly everydays. Even typing in your tiny laptop, lazily sipping coffee, and smiling at the stuff you think about as you sit to write. And the joy of waiting a reply… nay I’m not going to attempt to describe it. I know it’s visually playing in your mind right now.

It’s different when you write to a far-away friend. The distance somehow sweetens the whole episode… from the moment untidy ink marks spurt out of your leaky pen, to the words diving out of the flimsy nib, to the final signature and dotted endings, to the clumsy folding of the paper and crumbling of an old yellow envelope, to the long trip from one red box to another (I know this is now how it works :D), till it knocks on your door and touches your hand. Sigh, I say letters are the biggest travelers of this world… where do they not go to? What corner of the world have they not touched? Wish I could pour myself into these white pages and hide behind these blue words. With them, I could travel around and see the world… at the price of a postage stamp!