He said: “Life has become a boring routine”
She Said: “You are enjoying it”
not a question, not a speculation, just a statement.
He said: “Life has become a boring routine”
She Said: “You are enjoying it”
not a question, not a speculation, just a statement.
Some years back this post would have gone to pure pursuits, but now not sure if anyone even remembers my other blog [the anyone includes me too :)], hence the post goes in here.
I was recently reading a post about married male friend by ideasmithy over at xxfactor. Two topics really caught my attention.
Firstly Social groups today, and what can be termed acceptable when it comes to flirting or physicality in groups.
Secondly the post about married men looking out, cheating, flirting in social groups.
I want to blog about the first topic sometime, but today its turn to look at married men. Lets generalize the discussion, and consider committed men in general. Defining a committed man is as difficult as defining a gentleman these days, so let me begin with my definition of committed man. “A man who is in a steady relationship, either married or unmarried, where in the above mentioned relationship has been acknowledged by both the parties involved”.
When it comes to cheating, people first talk about sexual adultery, the idea of a committed man or woman having a physical relationship, has been criticized and talked about for years together, and it remains the biggest concern of all men and women out there. The lesser evil, but very much seeking the above, is the flirting. From, a long time now I can’t really define flirting, nor make out what constitutes it. I was never able to make out if and when a girl flirted with me, or what behavior of me was perceived as flirting by people in my social circle, flirting and inappropriate “touches” have been the next big offence in the list of cheating.
I feel that, somewhere, under the shadow of the two above described star offences, the real and more dangerous form of cheating gets swept under. To me, what I call “mental adultery”, is a by far the biggest offence. I would be lying, that it would be easy to accept a spouse/girl friend who has strayed physically, in fact I am not even sure if I will be able to get past such an act, however I feel I would be hurt the most by an act of mental adultery.
Long before I was in a relationship, I had thought a lot about the adultery depicted in media, and the instances we get to hear from people around us. Almost 99.99% of those belong to the first two offences I mentioned earlier.
Has anyone of you heard complaining of cheating such as,
I saw my husband have this really close and thought provoking conversation with a girl friend of his, and I felt cheated?,
He shared his deepest of fears with a friend, when I was here all ears for him?,
He was having this long drinks session with his close girl friend, talking hours about his ambitions and his views on life, when I was sitting right there, and completely ignored when it comes to discussion of serious issues?,
My wife wants to discuss her emotional feeling with her girl friend rather than open up to me?.
He consulted two of his closest girl friends before taking a major decision in life, when I felt cheated?.
Everytime he reads a book, he goes calls up this friend of his, and talks for hours discussing their views on it?,
I can go on and list thousands of instances, where one of the persons in a relationship can feel cheated. When this happens day after day, months after months, wouldn’t this become a bigger form of adultery?
When my partner chooses someone else to share her mind with, and lets me share only her body, probably that would be end of my relationship. I may consider forgiving my partner if she endulged in flirting in a social group, but I would have a tough time sharing my wife’s intimate moments in mind with someone else.
Don’t get me wrong here. I am talking about committed people having an activity partner or a discussion partner outside marriage. In fact it is very healthy to have one, and not just be tied to each other mentally. Just like there is a line for physicality, I assume there is a line for emotional relationship as well. People need to know when to stop.
I am really curious to know about the other man/woman who has been a part of such a mental adultery, and their views on this. I have a feeling, that a very high percentage of people wouldn’t even know that they were the third wheel, as most of these are not even taken as serious offence, and the usual guards which are set for so called immoral relations are off for this kind of an adultery. I have wondered many a times if I have every been such a third wheel, but have not been able to identify much. I would be really interested to know views from my fellow bloggers who have had such an experience, where they have felt that they are “other woman/man” in a mental adultery.
In today’s world, bloggers are discussing about cheating, magazines have issues dedicated to cheating and the other woman/man, movies being made about the “pati patni or who”, I seriously wish to read, hear, and see more on the mental adultery.
Rehabs seem to be the in-thing amongst the commoners these days. Everyone is trying to amend their flaws, become the better individuals which they dream to be. Smoking, drinking, drugs, sex, you name an addiction there’s a rehab center, waiting to take you in, rip you off some money, and supposedly send you back as a better individual. Anyhow lets leave the rehabs out, this post is supposed to deal with addiction.
We get addicted to simplest of the things, may be it’s the morning cup of coffee, the side of the bed we sleep in, the soap we use, the table we chose in a restaurant. You name a field; we can spot the addiction there.
Over last 11 months, my wife has become one such addiction, one which creeps slowly behind your back, and then before you realize, you are locked for eternity. Over last few days my wife has decided to grant some freedom to me, and explore her own in her parents place for a couple of weeks. Within hours of her departure I realized the small addictions which I have got myself into, unknowingly [I swear ;)].
When I am sleepy, and there is no chatter around, or her hair poking my nose as she curls up besides me, makes me wonder how was I ever sleeping before her.
When I wake up in the middle of the night sometimes and not get sleep for a while, instinctively my hands search for hers to hold.
There is no fun taking a shower, without having anyone to prevent me going first.
My lunch boxes are missing that extra something that goes over and above the usual stuff, the salads, the pickles, chocolates, and fruits, how the hell did I get addicted to snack boxes she packs for me.
As soon as I get into my evening ride home, the phone automatically dials her, asking what time is she coming home, I still call her, out of practice and wonder, shouldn’t I be having all the real fun which I am supposed to.
I seem to have got addicted to listening to the long list of complaints about work, traffic, how tired she is, how her back hurts. Without my evening dose of complaints from her, my problems seem to worry me, more than hers.
The evening calls from work, is no fun, with no one checking, when they are going to end, or is it possible for me to mute them and go for dinner.
Again as I check my work emails late in the night, I kind of turn back to see no one in the bed scolding me for working late at night.
There are many things I have gotten addicted to over course of time, but nothing as strong as the warm breath of my wife on my neck.
With every disappointment,
little falls the enthusiasm,
with every bit of which,
I begin to care a bit less.
less I care, less I get attached,
Just when ‘I’ think, ‘I’ can’t love less.
‘You’ eat into it.
One keeps reading how the old age creeps into people’s life, you are just chugging along a mid life, and suddenly one day, you look at the mirror and feel, “What happened to me, when did I turn into this, was I in some sort of a trance through this metamorphosis”.
Nope!. No, I didnt turn into an 80 year old overnight. Just had a similar feeling about having slept through a metamorphosis.
Let me come back to the metamorphasis in a bit.
A silent tilt of head, followed by a ‘been there, done that’ closed eye nod. It’s as though I have learnt a new language of the guys waiting in front of trial room, patiently waiting, as their partners try on a pile of clothes, one after the other, come out briefly to gather the opinion, gaze upon themselves in the mirror for a royal sway, before getting back into the trial room.
Being in a not so famililar area adds its own set of anxiousness into the frey. “What the hell is he doing in our area?”, “doesn’t he have better things to do?”, “cheap skate”, no wonder my mind iterates through possible thoughts on women going in and out of the trial room on seeing me in front of it.
I should be getting l a nobel prize for observation, for the next statement I am going to make. If not a nobel prize may be a simple “I pity you” pitcher of Kingfisher beer would be just fine too. Anyways, have you ever wondered who on earth designs the floor space in these cloths shops, and what on earth makes them put the lingerie and the inner-wear section right next to the woman’s trial room?, Every time one’s waiting in front of it, he is invariably staring into walls and walls of things one would sneak inside a brown bag before taking home. Embarrassment is such a funny thing when it happens to others isn’t it.
I wish we had more couple friendly trial room, may be a some place which has like a secret passage into a room where, your partner tries the clothes on, and you get to check your email, blog a post, order a pizza, or may be sneak in a drink.
Just when you are trying to multiply 278 by 342 and hoping that you are extremely bad at maths, so that you wouldn’t have to think of another passtime, a cruel thought kind of creeps into your mind. You suddenly realize you have never been caught in a woman’s section, especially waiting for your partner. Suddenly your picture flashes in front of you, the single guy wearing printed Tee’s which says all possible nonsense, is still wearing nonsense, but there’s a hand bag holding onto your hand, and a bottle of water which fails to fit into your jeans, so has to be carried around, probably a second mobile fitted into your jeans, and a hair clip hugging your jean pocket. You just hope the clothes shop gets magically transported into a land of strangers making it impossible for someone who can recognize to be in the same world.
You know the feeling one gets as the board examinations progress, and closer we are to the last one, more enthusiastic one gets in anticipation of the end, finally on the day of the final day of the examinations you sport a huge grin?, well it is sort of the same grin which one can find on each of us waiting outside, when the final garment is being tried on. The last step before the freedom.
As I was writing these posts, my mind kept warning me of the possible consequences, as bubbles does loitre around the hallways of virtual rambling once in a way. I guess its age to take chances isn’t it
I did leave out the most important part of metamorphosis. After a stinct as a holder, dreamer, mathematician, standing sleeper, when one gets to sip that one sip of beverage, holding hands of their partner, looking into her eyes, with an occasional wink and a hearty giggle thrown in. Ah who cares about the trial room, Trial room, where’s that.
With those fluttering eyelids,
When you look deep into my eyes;
Pulling me closer, with your slender arms,
When you puff sweet breaths onto my neck;
With eyes full of anticipation,
When you ask me,
“Why do you like me?”
I can’t help but slide into blankness.
I wish, I had a reason,
This weekend has been really relaxing, physically I mean. Good food, good sleep, right amount of television. It was just the way I needed it, relaxing. Apart from all this, its been a very special weekend, one which I might not forget for a long time, its when you you are relaxed and not thinking much is when thoughts strike you, and realizations hit upon you. Some realizations make a weekend really special. Sometimes all it takes it a writing pad you pick up to make a list of groceries you want to buy, words just flow.
I had this strange dream last night, that I am on a vacation with my granny. All through the vacation she does not get food of her choice and she is kind of disappointed. On the last day, on our way back we spot the right restaurant when the bus stops for a bathroom break. We both get in, and its like a self service place and for some reason he does not sell us food. This is the point where I woke up, and have been trying to make sense out of this dream all day and needless to say I have no clue.
Random Friday Nights:
There are some days where you make stupid expenditure, you just spend the money and feel like a total retard and seriously begin to doubt if you can get drunk without alcohol. Friday night, was one such for me.
Have you ever wondered why we attach gender to adjectives, why is she a “beautiful” and he a ‘handsome”, why isn’t he a “pretty”, and why isn’t she a “hunk”?. Well if you wonder why I am talking about sexes today its all because, its odd when “I” cannot be “smitten”.
Last couple of weekends I have had something which I haven’t had in a long time, A hearty argument with a friend. Well if you wonder how can an argument be hearty, you got to listen to us argue and fight. I have a friend, whom I have known since tenth grade, we met at a class we took together, then we did our under grad in the same college, and then we did our grad college together. [P.S S if you are reading this, you know whom I am talking about]. Probably I will never meet a person ever in my life whom I can argue with, so much as I do with P, and at the end of it still be happy about the experience, there has hardly ever been a winner, its never been a tie either. Its simple, its not fought to be won, its just a high adrenaline, exchange of views at top of our voices almost making the phone lines redundant. We have had almost 2 hour phone calls back to back, over last couple of weeks, discussing patterns of Indian behavior abroad, problems when people marry young, alternate theories to evolution, and the latest “is astrology a science”. If you think I am opinionated, wait till you meet my friend P. Anyways the point is, this is probably one thing I miss a lot from my college days. Having a hearty argument, with a friend, who does not give up what he believes in, and does not mind being questioned and cross questioned every single sentence, of course we cant forget the questioning is always both the ways.
One of the disadvantages of being only in platonic relations for all your adult life, is that, you don’t really have control on what you talk about. You can talk about who you think is hot without having to think for second. When you a special friend asks you, whats on your mind and what are you going to blog about today, telling her that, I think I will blog about how stunning Shruthi Hassan is, that too instinctively, is probably not a good idea. If you think that was worse, trying to defend your choice of word ‘stunning’ by using how talented she is as a singer, is probably the worst :).
I finished reading Persepolis2. I had heard so much about the series, may be thats the reason the book failed to impress me, I felt it was just ok, nothing special. Even though this was my first graphic novel, and I liked the idea of a graphic novel, the book was not impressive at all.
I stood there in my balcony, looking at the blue sky, welcoming the day after a night of heavy rainfall. There is something about a cloudless sky, its shiny and sparky, like a cleanly wiped slate, but it seems to appear like its missing something, as though its lonely, it wants to be occupied, be accompanied by anything, be it a cloud, an airplane, or like many days, a stray cloud.
I looked at the patterns, these clouds made on the blue sky. They are mesmerizing, and intriguing. The things we see in those patterns, the faces that come up, the thoughts they inspire in you, and the flavor they add to the bland cup of coffee in your hand, just fascinating.
I tend to be believe, there has to be a brush which stroked them this way, I am sure, there are people out there who stroke these patterns, if not many atleast a few, who must have enjoyed every bit of their art, because it shows. It is like that obvious difference in the taste, which you cannot point to, when you eat a meal cooked by a happy chef, and then one by a person who wanted it, to taste right and do his job. Looking at these patterns makes me believe; they never make them, but actually create them. You cannot prepare people to create, you can always train people to make things, but never to create. I believe people who paint these patterns, are the ones who create them, every single day, and just don’t make them. The art of giving us, the audience, the joy, isn’t a sport for them to play, compete and succeed rather it’s their love for creation, and for things they do.
The human mind is so much similar to the blue sky, the shiny sparky slate, right after a dreadful relationship, a horrible friendship, a stressful assignment, or for that matter a plain horrible day. But when we wake up from it, and tend to look at the beautiful patterns, left in us, by those great men, who find their joy in leaving us with these treasures, memories, emotions and feelings, it makes me wonder, would these patterns ever be the what they are to us today, if people who stroked them as a sport. As a skill which is governed by rules, something they have been taught, they have practiced and they want to succeed in.
I have always wanted my emotions to be passionate, be it happiness, rage, sadness, excitement or anything for that matter. Moderate isn’t good enough for me, and I want to see the passion in people. If you hate me, hate me fully, do not just frown behind my back, or sabotage me. Just kill me, shoot me down is what I would say. I would imagine, my relationships to be one such affair too, full of burning passion, a high by which I can remember them, a tag for the moments of intimacy shared.
I wonder, if relations and emotions become a sport, where people play fairly, adhering to the proper rules, preparing themselves for the good and bad that comes out of it, anticipating the moves of the other person, and coming up with counter tackles. would those twinkles still twinkle?
The supreme power who makes us do, things we do, or lets just refer to pure randomness which governs our actions in life, and assume the randomness personified, is sitting up there smiling at the moves which we make, thinking its our free will. The joy he derives in messing around with us, giving us these moments of happiness and grief, a mixture of emotions, which turn out to be a pure bliss, both for him, and us, in retrospect. Would these moments be bliss, if he played us in a sport?, if he stuck to his rules, and took the most rational decision in order to win, every creation he makes. Would these moments be bliss.?
This is a proof for the biggest defeat for a poet, when he needs to write prose to explain his poem. This thought had been in my mind from the day I posted the poem here. I just thought may be you guys would like to read what I really meant the poem to be.
Some relationships end in an accident, and some begin with one.
Wait, may be not accident..more like incident..
po-teh-to, po-tah-to does it really matter?.
Worse are those relationships, which end up becoming one.
Guys look whose there on my blog pure pursuits..checkout the insider’s view.