Good sex, Great sex

Good sex is better but great sex; a rare.

When the system hangs, a reboot is required. But the moment brain hangs, a good sex is always welcoming. It over rides the mess pool of emotions and starts the system a fresh.

I wish, the good sex was as easily available as the refresh button of my P.C. . How on a click, the brain could be wiped off suspending apps.

Chemically, it is said that having sex enhances release of endorphins which elevate the long depressed mood. May be that’s the reason people hunt for random sex than a meaningful one.

Random sex is free of its baggage but a meaningful is derived with the overageing saga of love.

Matter or not, having sex is always healthy for brain. But in this era of hustle bustle a great sex is seldom luxury.


Swiping right…

Are we gonna un-match even after a right swipe??

We choose a right swipe or left based on few selected images and a short description (if provided). In a selected ten right swipes, the probability of hitting a conversation is less than ten percent.

And even those ten percents fail to be productive.

Recently, I cleared my list of matched probabilities and started afresh. I wonder, why didnt any of them, hit past a week.

I could not resolve until now when I swiped another right.

With every new swipe, I have different expectations and hope. Based on the short description and few images, I try to judge the person and build up my future expectations from the profile. Some times, those expectations crumble in first day itself when the match never gets established.. even if there is a match, I fail to concur that my expectations with the profile are not getting matched.

Concurrently it’s not the profile we need to swipe right, it’s the expectations we need to match. How if in the profiles, we start adding our expectations along with the description we provide? Will that work??? I still need to face. Until then, I will unmatch my swipes till the expectations are co-incidentally matched.

Safety pins

When I was a kid, I have seen my mom carrying a bunch of safety pins in her handbag. She always carried them with her wherever we moved with her. Sometimes she used those pins to fix her saree and sometimes they were used to fix our clothes.

She would fix broken buttons of my shirt with safety pins turning them inside, so that they are not visible from outside.

There were times, when she used them to fix our school bags or school ties. I have seen her panicked out, whenever she ran out of them. They used to have a permanent place in her monthly grocery list.

These days, she doesn’t use safety pins anymore. She has stopped wearing sarees for the ease of life. She thinks that we dont require any more safety pins to fix our lives. It’s our job to find the fixers and enable ourselves.

For those years, when I ran out of her safety pins, I tried to find the fixers for my own ease of life. But I could not find any.

I used alternatives from time to time. But none stuck so far.

In another conversation I asked my mother if there is any alternative for such safety pins. She said, “no matter, what you use, all such measures are temporary.”

Broken bowl and a heart

When I was young, I had a bowl. A beautiful ceramic bowl with exquisite design of violets. It was my favourite bowl. I always loved to eat chilled melons out of it.

The summers are sweltering here. And the chilled water melon brings the relishing respite. Before going to work I used to cut a melon into small cubes and fill them into the white ceramic. By the time, I return from work, the bowl used to be chilled with melons.

I don’t know, if it was the juice of melon or the touch of bowl which brought happiness in those days.

One day, it fall down from the kitchen platform and broke into two pieces. I tried to fix it but nothing worked. I made a phone call to my mother if she could give me a suggestion.

All she said that, broken bowls bring bad omens. Get rid of the old one and buy a new.

I did same. But I could not cherish the new purchase and I stopped eating melons.

I wonder, if the same happens to broken hearts. What if they can’t be repaired, if they can’t be fixed or healed with time.

If a broken heart brings bad omens ???

I asked my mother again, and she said, broken heart casts curse. And a empathic heart bears pain.

Demons of past

There is little darkness in us, no matter how little or large but it’s there. It has a permanent space with in the escapes of mind. It resides in brain, heart, liver or immune cells.

We are fully aware of its existence yet we develop the denial of its patience. Sometimes we keep it hidden in the layers of our mask and sometimes it’s dormant for years till the tigger.

The awakening sets in when we accept our darkness. We make the pact with our demons and turn them into our lifestyle. The deal is simple, you reap the rewards till the demons ask for their share.

The darkness brings more darkness. It creates a current sink for all the happiness residing in us. Eventually we are left with no happiness but the doom and despair.

The first thing, that dark affects is the light of hope. Till we keep it alive, survival is easy. Find that hope within and out. Light is everywhere. It can reach to the clefts of ceiling and in the wooden hearts. Find that light and guard it from the winds of past. What’s past is past. We can’t undo the past. But we can chose the future for better or worse.

Ask and shall be given.

Look back and beseech, love is always there.

Living in a casket

Just yesterday, I was reading this short story ‘third resignation’ by Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s, when I could not stop myself relating to the paralysed man who lived 12 years waiting for his casket.

The day was not over with the haunts of emotional turmoil when I stumped into Guzaarish movie playing on my television set. I was laying in my couch with the old blanket for it’s warmth, wondering if I am living in a similar casket.

For years, I am nomore than this dead heart. I can feel the pain, but other senses have gone numb. I can smell the pain near me as I am hungry for more.

It’s like living in a coffin which is well laid with cushions and well carved mohogany. People see me living in a happy and peaceful place while I can feel the rush of 6 by 3 feet of bound space.

Suffocation numbs my speech. The noise of insane crowd kills my anger and what lefts is a dead me with an amounting pain.

Until today, when I placed my self outside that casket. The space is more, there is ample air to breathe. There is chaos of people loving around me. But deep within I hold this fear. The fear of going back into that coffin.

You know you living in is much better than carrying with.

Perhaps living inside a casket is much easier than living with.

Take a break

Pain is like a leech. It bites you everyday and twice on Sundays. It grows with in and reproduce with simple mitosis turning you into a ghost with exoskeleton.

My friends often find me a good source of their vent outs. I do no have complains for their aggressive outlook towards life, yet it kills me to see that they live a unfulfilled life.

Desires and dreams often become greed and a constant feed for the pain. To fulfil a desire, we often succumb to do the undesired things in life.

Lately, I have been keeping myself busy to umpteen level. I realised that this attitude is costing me my friends. I don’t have time to see them and cherish their presence. They have settled with the fact that I am always busy with no weekends for them.

The source of pain is pain itself .

I work to travel. And I travel to run away from work.

How in the same word, if I settle for less and see if the remedy exists?