I really like this cover as opposed to the design we're seeing on our bookshelves.

It's dark and not childish like the sketches we're seeing. It's got this doom-ish feeling to it and it's alluring. What is the medallion? The design isn't anything that's been mentioned before.

Harry Potter and the Unbreakable Pact

The wand arm reach of the boy from Surrey really came home to me when traveling by the BST or BEST (I never quite got that). The gentleman next to me stared right into my pages and without a moment’s hesitation asked me if this was the last book.
Now so many people ask me if I stood in lines and trampled people to get the book that I realized I am a fan.
My newly discovered reputation is suffering since I have to claim that I do not own The Deathly Hallows. Nein. Nyet. No. Fortunately for me my affairs of the heart have been singularly untouched by hype.

Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone

It’s so lovely to unexpectedly find someone who grabs your attention and entangles you without you even drawing breath. Much before Harry got famous, in early 1997, Mrs. H found this book somewhere and got him home. We were moving house then and the beginning was as secret as I could have wished. I was supposed to help carry dusty cartons and carefully unveil pieces from their bubble wrap. But instead I thought I’d read one story of this new book. (I thought they were short stories of magic with the same characters) (Kind of like Pink Whistle). But of course it was so much more. Before I knew it, I was knee deep in still-packed cartons and reading in secret. A pile of boxes gave me cover as I read on and on. My heart beat didn’t drop once. If not the story then Mrs. H suddenly appearing gave enough impetus to push me into this relationship.
It is my most atmospheric start.

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

No… I have not made a mistake. It’s just that our relationship jumped a stage. I read this part next and this is probably the only time in a relationship that I jumped a base. (Snigger. My parallels are so amateur that I’m entertained). Emotionally I like intensity before I like softness and Harry really entrapped me with this one. It had it all – anger, loss, hurt, coming into own, passion and happiness. With this one I knew that it would last.

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

This was the comfort zone of the psychological relationship chart. We’d hit the high notes of intimacy, passion and comfort and now the former two were on a down swing. I enjoyed the company but wasn’t dazzled by the depths. This is when relatives and friends help a relationship - when their words help cement things. Mars and Paris really loved The Chamber of Secrets. Paris goes far enough to say it’s her favourite. Hmm. I went back and read it. For me this book was a work of ‘not enough of the good stuff’. I love the Parselmouth angle and it wasn’t used enough. I love the main plot with the diary and it wasn’t used enough. I was filled but not content. Then I read it again and enjoyed the delicacy. The economy of revealing enough and leaving you wanting. I was no longer in the comfort zone rather raring for more. Who would have thought prosaic Mars and woman of few words Paris could put a zing in for me?!

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

Then there was this one. The fourth installment is my favourite. No question. I chewed my lip dry. I was left stunned. I laughed. I marveled at the intricacies. I hated it having to end. And I was so respectful of the forethought that this book revealed. Everything tied up and made sense. It was like being given the key to attraction. Like someone telling you… these are the reasons you love me… and finding that even knowing the reasons doesn’t lessen it. But good things can’t last and the next one proved it.

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

If I could wipe out the memory of this one I would. I felt that we had different motivations and were growing apart. Harry had become embroiled in his quest for silver screen fame. I wanted him to stick to his roots. This period in our ten years gave us nothing. No joy, no highs, a litany of let downs and the death of what was to me one of the most hopeful aspects of our relationship. Even THE REVELATION by Dumbledore did nothing to save it.

Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince

I didn’t wait for him this time. I was curious but felt detached. We’d grown apart and I figured if he had anything to say to me anymore I’d hear it. I feel little pitter patters in my central towards the left region when I think of how sweetly he returned to himself. He threw off the shackles of stardom and seemed to have realized that to win his girl back he’d have to woo her. A little wickedness, a little humour, a lot of kissing and the undercurrent of the earlier darkness. To me this book is more “return of the Kid” than about Snape and his bezoar remedies.

Which leaves me with: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
There was a tension inside me and a tightly leashed excitement. This was our moment, our grand finale and I’ve always liked to know how things are going to be. I was too scared to leap in and it matters that we go raging. I’m sure lovers, writers, film critics, venture capitalists, entrepreneurs, politicians, sportspersons and readers around the world will agree with me - There is nothing worse than a bad ending.
I heave a sigh of relief and wait in anticipation for this weekend. I mean to give us uninterrupted time.

picture courtesy: http://www.flickr.com/

Abyssinian Maid

My thoughts mid-air are never confessional and my thoughts anywhere are never short. I have no clue why they come or where from. I don't think they are thoughts. I saw these things. Or i would like to. Some visions are really difficult to pen. They disappear as lightly as the steal in.

The blue and silver propeller from my window looked like a fantastical beast. Even this high up the sun was soft and light as it flowed through the mist-like clouds draped over the whirring creature.
A mountain of white came up and the beast charged in. The enemy scattered and clung on. The beast roared out victorious. But on the gleaming wing from the smoky white an iguana leaped like a feather and solidified nonchalantly before my very eyes.
It pulsed crudely gloating like filth that has subjugated beauty.

-----

The tall man worked day and night, through dreams and light, while eating and running and talking and crawling on knees through mud and sweating in forges, with not a moments rest, he mixed and measured, went back through time to Salem, returned with ingredients, alloyed and experimented, lit fires and burnt his creation, threw curved steel and shine pieces away and started anew.
The man woke with a jolt from his dream. Phaeton had whispered to him the lost method. He was just in time. That day the sun didn’t creep up on him but blazed into the sky in a single moment. The man was ready with his instruments. He mixed the Salem blood with water and it turned from the red of heat to obsidian. The angry sun sizzled as the man splintered his carbon hard shiners and mixed them in the black blood. The mixture fumed. The sun tried to stop its light but Phaeton would not pull his carriage back. So it stayed there and glowered. The man shut his eyes and his passion burned through till he had a liquid heat pouring out of his heart. The man collected the flow careful not to leave a drop behind. He looked wonderingly at the gold liquid. Outside of his body it didn’t lose heat but burnt hotter and hotter as it met the black mixture that was a result of the gold’s existence.
The man took his bubbling potion and poured it in to the hearth. Strangely it cooled and simmered waiting for the man’s touch. He let it simmer then poured it into the mold. With a rush the essence took on its body. The man left it for a moment and went outside. He looked at the sun and was pleased to see it burn brighter. A yellow ray lashed out to finish him but he leaped aside and chuckled.
He took his instrument out of the mold and hammered at it. Then with a flourish he threw it and caught it. Threw it and caught it. He laughed with sheer pleasure. He plunged it in vats of its ingredients to cool and harden and cool till it was no color and seemed to darken and glint all at once.
The man took out a scabbard and cloaked his life’s work. He picked up a pack and started out. He walked for days. His brown skin glistened and his long legs ate the earth. He stopped neither for food nor water.
Then he climbed atop a mountain and the tall man removed his weapon and held it comfortably in his palm, fingers clasping its hard made beauty. With his caress it glinted just once and then waited patiently for the final moment. The man held, swung his arm back and with a flick of his wrist cast it away. It flew and soared and cut the wind. The man saw it leave and become a speck taking a circuitous path till it was engulfed by the flaming sun.
He waited. One second. And another. Moments passed. He kept looking. His amber eyes blazed as they caught a flicker. And it came flying back having touched the sun, saluted it, taunted it… his diamond hard, obsidian black, witch blood, eternal water boomerang came flying back straight to his hand. Cold as the moment it left. The tall man laughed and fell to his knees before the sun. Phaeton pulled away and the sun disappeared as quickly as it had come.

Section II: Who Said to Whom

There are times when you just want to go back to simpler days; when the biggest challenge was evading your chemistry teacher’s eye in case she asked a question.
There are times when you walk around Cesspool with squelching dirt oozing in and out of your toe nails and wind tangling your ready-for-office hair and you leave your empty house only to go back in the evening. On such days you might be reading a biography and you think – what would mine read?
And thump. That was a metaphorical pole.
Most biographies tell one entire episode of a person’s life. It begins, it goes somewhere and it ends. They have this thing called an ending.
Biographers are smart creatures – they pick aspects of a life that have a story curve, an arc that goes somewhere.
I am the master of beginnings. The characters populating my tale are winsome, arrogant, loving, bitter, straight, hard, restless, crushing, baffling, intimidating, dull, enigmatic, schizophrenic, suffering, cheerful, alone, lonely, lost, hopeful, cynical, pretending to be cynical, fake, dreaming, irish, apart, focused, content, forgiving, resentful, scared, bored, sad, free, ahead of their time, behind, hurt, strong, busy, living. My story is not mine without them but it goes nowhere even with them. They have their own arc to build. I have the nails and hammer but don't seem to have the wood. I have the dialogues but not the screenplay.
So I hug the pole and think of the lines I’ll never forget. Some of those lines were stories that I thought would end and some are stories that can never end.
And there’s just a little twinge while thinking of both.

You know I love you right? I love you. I always have and I always will.
- boy to girl

What will I do without you?
- brother to sister

is there a manual that comes with you?
- guy to girl

You’re a mountain you know. Only it’s lost in mist.
- friend to friend

Will you marry me?
- man to girl.

Maasi! chiya.
- niece to aunt

The Mighty Heart

Fed Ex won the Wimbledon in a too-close-for-comfort match equaling Borg’s 5 straight strawberries with crème trophies.
Ferrari and Kimi are racing again.
I’m a little like Veronica Lodge – I like my winners. But if truth be told I like people who like winning more. There’s something so honest about a man who wants to win- Like a woman who shamelessly enjoys compliments or a child who likes getting dirty.
I got up early one morning (only because I had to) and took Cykie for a walk (only because I had to). I’m a strong girl. (I hate how that makes me sound like the Hulk’s sister). But I am and I took our St. Bernard size Alsatian for a walk. Maybe with my limbs still slack and warm this wasn’t the brightest idea. I think researchers should spend valuable time studying the wake up time of a 19 year old vs. that of an 8*7 year old dog.
Anyway, so there we go – down hill and up dale. Big dog pulling sleepy mistress. Tug.
Cykie don’t.
Gambol. Gambol. Come race me.
Sigh. I hate good cheer in the mornings even from a too-big-to-be-so-silly dog.
He turns back on his lead and grins. Then he goes around me wrapping me in his chain so I’ll trip. Ha ha. He thinks it’s funny. I don’t.
Whack.
Don’t you give me that melted brown look. You just tried to kill me. Okay so you didn’t mean to but stupidity is no excuse in a criminal court. (Is it Aldair?)
He slumps along now. Just trying to make me feel bad. I’m not sure if he’s a dog or a man. I’ll show him. I jauntily ignore him. I’m a woman.
He’s a dog. He doesn’t sulk too long. Gambol Gambol.
At this time in the morning I wish he was a man.
The wind is really blowing. Fresh and cool and I’m coming awake. Against my will, I’m caught up in his excitement. Fine, let’s run. (Besides it’s downhill for a stretch).
So we run, run, wind in our hair and fur, faster and faster on our 2 feet and four paws, lungs filling and tongue flapping (all mine and his respectively). When I come to a grinding halt. Too late. Ah crap.
The momentum helps the big mutt. Before I can even shout a command ( I like to believe it would have stopped him), he has yanked himself off and is lion-like prancing straight at 4 dogs who had the audacity to bark at him while he was on a lead.
Not anymore. But they weigh the odds. Their four to his one. He doesn’t think at all. I can almost see the gleeful burst in his pea sized brain – Fight. Game. Fun.
It’s too early in the morning for such frenetic energy bursting through my heart I think. Fear. Oh god. Mars is too far away at home. I wouldn’t be able to get him in time.
So I do the only thing I can. I scream.
Cykie no. Stop. Come back.
It’s all clogging my heart and throat. The four dogs round on him. Oh god, my beauty. Snarling dogs are truly scary. Scarier than lions and tigers who have the good sense to stick to jungles.
Uhh… wait a second… one dog has run off. (I wasn’t completely useless; I helped my team by picking up a rock and hurling it) But the alpha male didn’t need help. He had one villain pinned under his front paw while he snarled and bit the other two. Then he released the first one and mauled the next. It was like watching a lion on National Geographic. Stunningly beautiful in motion. All the more so with the blood lust upon him. Just the desire to win and fight. Then he posed over the dogs like Schumi on the top step of the podium. Pure pleasure and energy at the win.
The larger army turned and ran. My hero came back. He has the brains to looks contrite.
He’s intact and I’m too impressed to be angry.
I don’t know about the rest of mankind but I’m definitely descended from a caveman and his clubbed on the head mate.

picture courtesy: http://www.flickr.com/

p.s. - can anyone (read Mars, Titania, Salvatore) supply me with a running pic of Cykie?

How About That?

A week ago the blue moon came calling. Sky and I got in touch with our silly, faith-is-everything portions and got prepared for a lot of wishing.

"Ack.. we don’t have white. "

Sky rummages, "No white?"
No white.
Pink ?
check
Green ?
check
Yellow ?
check
Red ?
check
Blue ?
check
Sky is amused, "you have enough colored candles to start a shop...But no white?"
I'm forlorn, "No white." I grin suddenly at the irony... white stands for completeness.

I logic-ify with my basic science and think to myself... all colors together make white anyway.
Satisfied with that bit of sense, i turn back to darken the room and cast an eye out. Damn Cesspool. No chance of actually seeing the moon. We espy the glow and are satisfied. We begin lighting our colored candles minus the white.
“wait wait… should we be sky clad do you think, for most effect?” I anxiously ask.
Sky looks perplexed.
“umm… naked I mean.. I read it on this site. It helps to have no barriers and stuff.”
Sky looks at me. Lopsided smile appears. I suddenly realize that I’m asking a girl who’s rather comfortable in her skin to shed her clothes. The same does not apply to me. I’m the girl who leaps from the dressing room straight to the swimming pool if she can.
I clear my throat, “maybe not. We’ll do just fine with the candles.”
So the little ceremony starts. The candles all lit, we sit and wish. Yellow for our families, pink for love, red for career, green for prosperity and blue for health.
You can wish on the blue moon and you get your wishes. Not a bad bargain once in three years I’m thinking. I shake my head to concentrate on my wishes. My earnestness seems to run out faster. I peek at Sky. She’s still transported fish eyed on her thoughts. (Only those who know Sky can truly appreciate that one).
I shut my eyes tight and re-run on my wishes. I peek again. Still fish eyed.
Hmm… time to take matters into my own hands.
I catch hold of the yellow candle and I say, “So do you want to make some kind of ritual? The powers that be like some formality even if you make it up.”
The fish eye opens completely and focuses on me. We clasp the yellow candle and wish for every family person we can think of… please give Mr. and Mrs. H a happy old age free of the cares they’ve had, please give Sky’s dad better health and mother rest, please give Piper and Philip independence; Myrine true happiness; let Titania find happiness outside of work too; let Mars and Paris have everything they ever want, Paris’ mother and sisters, Sky’s cousins, aunt and uncles, any blood that mattered and since there was no candle colour for friends, we wished for Harry and Sytar and Gaia and Alanis and Katharine and Salvatore and Aldair and Quinn and Smith and well everyone.

Then the blue for health – badima’s diabetes and Elvis’ back and Leo Tio’s general insomnia.
On the red we wished for Sky’s film and for me to have some focus.
The green for our mental and physical and worldly prosperity.

And then the pink. We wished for love. As an Elvis song puts it:

Blue Moon, you saw me standing alone,

Without a dream in my heart,

Without a love of my own,

Blue moon, you knew just what I was there for,

You heard me saying a prayer for,

Someone I could care for.

And then we sat in the glow of the candles and chatted and remembered and sang songs and said passages from Wuthering Heights and wished everyone was there and then we said enough coz there are only so many wishes the moon can answer even on a good night.

Just 3 days later Sky got engaged out of the blue.

picture courtesy: http://www.flickr.com/