Aging pangs

How in the world do you age and feel ageless? Oh yeah there’s the spiel, albeit clichéd, about how you are as young as you feel. Yeah I feel young, so young that sometimes I end up making decisions like a 13 year old. But that’s in my head and may be in my heart but definitely not in my physical form!
The weight just piles on easily! You look at a tart, and wham! You’ve just been slammed with a few more inches. And it stays, stuck on you like a tattoo you didn’t want! And then there’s hair that graying, bones that are creaking and lines that are showing!!! I agree there are solutions to all these complaints of mine. The market is flooded with products to battle the bulge, colour your hair and an array of age defying creams. But by the time you get around to deciding which one’s best for you, you’ve already aged another 5 years!
My sister says I shouldn’t feel so bad because now I’m wiser! Ok there’s a thought, but why should wisdom come at the cost of cellulite and wrinkles????

Itchy triceps, bellowing bum

one of the members of the group i belong to asked to pen some lines using this phrase "itchy triceps, bellowing bum' and this what I came up with!!

Itchy triceps, bellowing bum
In my abdomen, there's a strange hum
Had many a chicken crumb
And washed it down with some Jamaican rum

Itchy triceps, bellowing bum
Feeling like the pond scum
Wish I had listened to my mum
And instead had some Senegal rum

Love Change

My love will change him, I said

In time, he’ll be mine, I pled

His heart all battered, bruised

My touch will heal him, I promised

Waking in the night, whispering words trite

In the wax light, poems of love we recite

Love stories of yore, we overwrite

Altering prose, our grammar contrite

Mindless arguments on each other, we implore

On the long walks, we so adore,

Change around the corner, I ignore

Forgetting the vows I made, before

The promises I made, he kept

On my tribulations, he wept

In discerning me he was no longer, inept

Unraveling my scrape while I, slept

Virtue of patience, he taught

To appease me, he wrought

I paused, I pondered, I thought

What afore, had I sought

His love had changed me, I said

Time was ours, I pled

My heart all serene, bare and spread

His touch had healed me instead

The Mean Girl

So the other evening I was surfing channels trying to find something worthwhile to watch on tv. I finally chanced upon the movie ‘The Mean Girls’, the one with the infamous Lindsay Lohan. Now please don’t  judge my choice in movies by this one. So for those who haven’t seen the movie, it’s about the new girl in town trying to fit in and torn between her true self and identifying herself with the ‘plastics’(a term used to identify the popular and perfect girls). It’s just another chick flick so you get the drift…

The movie actually got me thinking about my time in school. I must admit that I did not encounter any issues trying to fit in to a new school. I had no run ins with the plastics. I did my schooling in Chennai, and back then the term ‘Plastic ‘was well, just a material. So, I sat back to think if there were any mean girls in my class, anyone who said horrid things that made me cry or anyone who laughed at my hairstyle or my choice in hair bands or any soul who was nasty just for the sake of being nasty.. Nope, I couldn’t think of one name.

I continued to ponder over this trail of thought for a couple of days after. My thoughts slowly wandered back to me and it suddenly struck me that I had no clue about how I was perceived myself. I jogged my memory through some of the incidents that were still stashed away in the corner of the brain (school was a long time back). I cringed at the thought of many of them. I remember I stole the lead role from my classmate by convincing the teacher that my accent was better than hers, I indulged in gossip, slandering the girls in my very own group and was rather churlish when I realized that I was not as popular as I imagined. The most forgettable of all of them was the one where I complained about a classmate (who was not present that day) in a open forum. This one act I know, will haunt me forever.

I sighed, deeply disconcerted by this revelation that I was probably the ‘plastic’.  I could not even ask myself what I was thinking, because clearly I was not. I was even more rattled because I was not sure where this behavior stemmed from. It was not as though I had some bad childhood or ill tempered parents, I even had my fair share of admirers amongst the boys. For the life of me I could never fathom what led me to be so malicious.

Then I wondered, have those, I wronged back then forgiven me? I know it has been long, and they say time heals but I wonder when they come across my name or remember me, do they think of me as the ‘Mean Girl’?