The Selfish Tag

I.have.been.tagged. Scarlett loves talking about herself, Scarlett loves to hear herself talk (mostly because when she starts talking about herself, there isn’t any other audience).  So here are 8 completely random things about me. Why 8, you ask? Probably because it is as good a random number as any.

Thanks to Asuph (tears of gratitude drip down on to the keyboard as I type this) for tagging me and for including some of other fav. bloggers on this list too (my missing soul sister Sal for instance). So here goes, well you asked.

  1.  I remember all sorts of trivia that people tend to forget. I can, for instance, tell you on what day of the week DD used to air its hit soaps. I know Nukkad was on Mondays and Khaandaan on Wednesdays and Intezaar on Fridays. I cannot forget this stuff. Even if I try. I can also remember lyrics and poetry and short stories that I havent revisited in the last decade. And oh, I always remember what someone wore to a party 2 years ago. _Again_, I cannot seem to forget this stuff. My brain hoards all the small stuff.
  2.   I cry at the movies. Every single time. I sniff more than I sob though. I have a friend who threatens to disown me everytime I do this. She also stares at me in the dark if I dont sniff enough and pokes me to ensure that I am awake. I cry while watching soaps and while listening to music. I have never once cried while reading a book though I have been depressed for weeks after reading some books. I have cringed at some of own writings, if that counts.
  3. I am one of the most talkative people that I know. To the point where if I stop for breath or to eat at a party, people comment that I am quiet. I also have bizzare conversations with people. A lady in a supermarket queue once asked me if I could write a love song for her (OUT OF THE BLUE, I swear) and I did. Another client of mine once told me that he secretely hated all of mankind. Again, OUT OF THE BLUE, I swear.
  4. I have an obsessesion for earrings. I own about 75 pairs of earrings. And I buy clothes and earrings compulsively. There are clothes in my closet and earrings in my drawer that I have never worn. But I keep my mistakes, I dont throw them out 😛
  5. I was a painfully, shy teenager and a ridiculously, shy kid. Most people who have known me recently do not believe that.  I can talk in public or emcee at public gatherings or act on stage without missing a beat, I still however feel uncomfortable around complete strangers or asking someone where a certain aisle is, in a supermarket. Yes, I am weird. 🙂
  6. I have a phobia of dogs. My hands and feet go wet and clammy and I feel faint if I see one. I have been known on occasion to step out on to a busy road to merely avoid a dog on a leash.
  7. I laugh very, very easily. The simplest thing makes me laugh. I am also reminded of something funny during the most inoppurtune of times and I end up having to stifle my laughter while everyone looks at me like I am a fruitcake. I have excused myself from board meetings to have a good laugh (by myself) in the corridor while everyone else just waited for a semblance of order to return.
  8. I often dream of entire pages of text and visualize characters and stories and fantastic characterization and really good poetry when I am asleep. I wake up the next day, tired and grumpy and with a complete amnesia of the brilliant ideas that I had dreamt of. No, I am not going to get up to write them down. I love my sleep as much as I love my books. Which is very, very much.

Ha. Bet you didnt know all that about me. Aint I ever so interesting? So here is what I need to do next.  I tag

IW my dearest brother, Priya, Altoid,  Dips the bestest friend, Chets, LL, and anyone else at SL that wishes to do this tag.

 Please, pretty please, take up the tag if you have the time, people .  No compulsion though 🙂



Here is the tag description, that one is supposed to put with the tag post:

1. Each player starts with 8 random facts/habits about themselves.
2. People who are tagged, write a blog post about their own 8 random things, and post these rules.
3. At the end of your post you need to tag 8 people and include their names. Don’t forget to leave them a comment and tell them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.
4. If you fail to do this within eight hours, you will not reach Third Series or attain your most precious goals for at least two more lifetimes. (what does it mean?)



A One Way Ticket

I see Joanne walk up the steep incline of the road even as the bus gets to the bus stop. She waves frantically and attempts to push her walker faster but it is a hard walk and there is a chilly winter wind racing down the streets and she couldnt really move any faster even if she tried. Perhaps there is a pattern: spring and promises and youth, autumn for the seasons of change, summer for memories that come alive on sultry nights, and winter and old age tied together like the last two people on the dance floor that were left without dance partners.

The bus has to wait for her while she makes her way to the doors. She struggles with her footing and attempts to get in before the doors have fully opened and before the driver can get down to help her. The walker gets caught in the doors and she flinches audibly as her fingers graze the side of the walker’s handle-bars. She gets in to find her usual seat occupied. The bus is running late and the driver pulls off from the kerb even before Joanne settles down. She nearly loses her balance and tumbles on to the nearest seat, red faced and visibly upset. She fumbles with her wallet and looks around for someone to buy and swipe her ticket for her. Her eyes settle on me even as I walk over to get her ticket for her. I get her her ticket and swipe it and hand her back the change. Her arthritic fingers struggle to open and a coin starts to roll away down the aisle with a dull,clinking sound. She tries to get to it before I can and her head hits the walker again.

It takes me five minutes to gather the courage to look at her and when I do, I look away immdediately. Her wrinkled face is puckered together and two large tears are streaming down her cheeks. She runs a nervous hand through her thinning, windswept hair and stares out of the window. All this time, the tears make their way through the crevices of her time-lined face. All this time, people get off and on the bus and new destinations are being punched in.

As I pass her by to get to the door, she catches sight of me and she whispers a thank you. I ask her if she needs help getting off the bus and she shakes her head. “It was not always this bad, you know”, she mouths even as she scans the list of upcoming stops. I desperately want to believe her then, and I want to see Joanne as someone who could sprint behind a bus to catch it, as someone who was not always struggling with the fear of being left behind. That winter and old limbs were not always a part of her equation. That the man whose wedding ring she wears on her finger because he is no longer around to wear it himself, would be hurt to see her like this.

It is when I get down that I realize that she has bought herself a one way ticket. And the journey is all uphill from here. And she doesn’t even know when she plans to get off. And there is a chance that she has already passed the best sights of her journey.