Tailor Made Love

You must know that I am hard to please when it comes to love. I wont be happy with a one-size-fits all kind of love, I seek a tailor-made exclusive outfit for myself. I am a piece of velvet, which when you stroke the right way is smooth to touch, but if you brush the other way, you would only find me rough. I come in not one colour, but a myriad of colours- bits of hyperactive jumpy orange, disproportionate reds of uncontrollable love and passion, spread across a massive purple of dreams and ambitions, greens of laziness and self doubt, lovely pinks of innocent candid memories, blues of brokenness and even browns of being aloof and heartless at times. When you choose the fabric print, I wont go with the polka dots of compliments regularly spaced in a background of fancy dinners, or the typical stripes of small talks about day to day life, or even the checkered confinement of your taking charge of my well-being and safety, I want the pattern to be haphazard and random, where you let me experiment with different designs of experiences, relationships and emotions. Dont make it too well-fitting, because it may jut out the flab of insecurities I want to hide and might also suffocate me- let it have enough room to accommodate my need to be alone at times. Remember to keep it padded to cover my fears, give it deep pockets on both sides, where I could stuff all my secrets, dreams and desires and also run a zip on one side of the dress, which would take time and effort to open my bare skin of incessant talks. You would also need to finely darn some holes from the tattered past. If you choose to keep the sleeves, remember that I tend to carry my heart out there. Stitch it all together with the thread of your love and involvement and carefully embroider the word love right in the centre for the world to see, but again, not in the mechanized font type but in your own handwriting of care. Add little shiny sequins of happy-sad moments of your life and embellish me with your thoughts and memories. And in the end, tuck it all with a practical belt which has enough holes to keep space for uncertainties. I promise to you, I wont keep it locked up in my wardrobe only to wear for a special occasion, I would wear it every day, day in and day out, so much that it would become my second skin and it will be next to impossible to strip me off from the layer of you and the comfort you clothe me in.

Roots of Desire

He says she ruined him and broke his heart But his heart was already cracked when they met She only planted her passion in those crevices, And he gave it sunlight and watered it wet. This was enough for her to grow even in barren land, She flourished and grew all over him like wild grass, Her roots clutched his heart and spread all over like veins and nerves Invading his farms of rationality, cordoned territories she trespassed Who could you blame if she didn’t flower in spring, For what else could grow on stony land, but wild creepers, The harsh seasons only made the wilderness drier, Taking everything with her, she left with a wildfire. Now the land has been cemented and sealed, Getting huge investments for business deals from real-estate, The same heart which bled from the pricks of the shoot-thorns, Now is hammered down with blunt nails, holding picture frames. He waits for it to turn into a graveyard soon, Where bolted caskets, trapping death, will be buried beneath, It will still house more emotions, by the grieving visitors, Who would bring back to him the wild creepers, in decorated wreaths.

4 Point Something

Warning- Slightly sarcastic, partly true, here is the most demotivating, yet slightly liberating post for you. Usually you would come across posts listing the things you should do before turning so and so age. This post may or may not (because I am not too confident about my influence on people) make you excessively laid back- I shall not take any responsibility for your dysfunctional behaviour. Frankly, you should not get influenced by me, if I were among the first humans to evolve, while all others would have been busy discovering fire, making solid shelter and weapons/tools, I would have been that Neanderthal who slept on a tree not bothering if a tiger hunted me down. I would have gone extinct long back, with my resistance to evolve refusing the idea of Darwinism. So it is all an idea- I have not conducted any tests on its practicality- quack quack (see image below- after reading the post) One of my closest friends once told me, “We live in an illusion of hurry” and frankly it was the revelation of the ultimate truth for me! We humans, first invent the concept of time and then continuously chase/race it all our lives. Since I am turning 26 in a couple of weeks, here is my tiny list of things you needn’t necessarily have done before turning my age. 1. Get married and have kids- Yes, the regular, the usual. I know the biological clocks are ticking and probably getting married and having kids is the right thing to do. To suggest not doing so, may be as wrong an advice as a 15year old me would give for not needing to study further and have a college degree. But at this point, I feel there’s no hurry, I cant desperately rush into falling in love with someone (and I cant imagine spending the rest of my life with a person otherwise) just because my baby-carrying capacity might be reducing with age. My mom had me when she was 39 and I turned out to be fine (well, almost). And there is no shortage of people in the world. I think the world can do pretty well if some of us don’t reproduce. 2. Have your financial life sorted and save 1/3rd of your salary- At 25, you have lived just 1/3rd of your life and worked for 1/10th of your work-life. Unless you plan to retire by 40, why waste the prime age of your life saving for a tired exhausted self, 15years from now. And if you have it all by 30, what will you do with all the earnings post-30? 3. Know your passion, have an active hobby- If you are as distracted as me, you would do well in short term projects but suck at things which require persistence and dedication. And to be a master at something, you really need persistence. If you are really good at something- Kudos to you. I don’t mind being the average jill of all trades, or even jill of few trades. They look really good in a matrimonial profile or if you pursue alternative careers but if you are stuck in a corporate life, making “serious” money, your skills will fade with time and you will be the same as the boring guy who didn’t dance/sing/write/create/read and probably he will be better than you because he focussed all his boring energies in his serious career while you were distracted by your “hobbies”. 4. Make your time memorable with small moments- I know friends who continuously seek to make small gatherings memorable but frankly that gets me more restless- to be chasing memories. It is okay to have no interesting response to “whats up”/”how was your weekend” if you are content and at peace “wasting” your time doing nothing, locked up alone in your room. As long as it doesn’t ride you up with guilt, you are fine doing nothing at all. It is so relaxing to not be taxed up about not doing anything- you have attained nirvana. You have attained the highest level in Maslow’s hierarchy! So stay in your blanket, don’t do anything productive while the world rushes into it. Once they are done with it, they will probably end up comforting their tired selves in a warm cozy blanket- and guess what, you are already there! PS- On a serious note, the only two advice a to-be 26year old has for you is: 1. Stay healthy, you have got only your body and mind that would remain with you- make them last. Because if you live like there is no tomorrow, you will love it so much, you would want to have two more tomorrows. So keep that in account when you live today and let your body sustain it. And a happy body and mind does help a lot in keeping one at peace. 2. You can do whatever you want with your life as long as it doesnt hurt someone else. A clear conscience= happy mind! Even your judgements about how someone else is living their life isnt required, it is in the end, their life, they can choose to waste it.

Grooming and Feminism

There was this one time in college, when I had put a facepack on and one of my feminist friends ridiculed me for doing it. Other than feeling embarrassed, I considered it anti feminist to be told what I needed to do as a girl to uplift myself. If she were a true feminist, she should have let me indulge in my pleasures, celebrate my femininity without worrying about what the world thinks about it. I still stand by it that one is free to whatever he/she pleases but aren’t some of these thrust down on us by the world as bare necessities? I mean, of this huge world population of 7 billion, isn’t it surprising that one entire gender goes one extra mile beyond looking presentable and removes hair from their hands/legs/eyebrows/armpits/upper lips while it isn’t as popular among males. If it represented basic cleanliness, the entire human kind should have done it and if it not, why is it particularly trending in one specific gender. Yes there is still a personal choice and you are free to exercise it but talk about ratios. It is definitely more trending among girls than boys. Why is nail polish, lipstick and makeup female-specific. I wouldn’t have said why don’t men wear bras, they don’t have boobs, but men have lips and nails yet it is an activity more popular in women. You can even call it a privilege because I know some of my guy friends who really want to apply make up in public but cant do so- why is the privilege only reserved for women? On one side, it is a shameful thing to do by men yet so popular in the other gender that men get repelled by unshaven legs. It may still be your personal choice to not do it, I am not talking about you specifically, I do it, but why do women as an entire lot consider this necessary. Nobody forced me to do it, but I started doing it when I saw all my girl-friends doing it. When I found it too cumbersome to get my hands and legs hairfree, a guy actually commented that it seems like I haven’t shaved in a while. And for some reason, I felt embarrassed, like I was supposed to. I should have just glanced at his legs and said pretty much like you. When was the last time you shaved it? Grooming has been accepted almost like a norm, a sea-wave by girls and guys want it so; they like hairless girls, because it is more common to see hairless girls that a hairy girl stands out. It is more like it is expected out of girls and at the same time, expected from guys to not do it. You may or may not do it but the fact still remains that the ratio of those doing it is way more in women than guys. Guys don’t bikini wax their balls, they might shave, so can we. Why do we bother to go for bikini wax? Again, you can call it privilege but how I see it is that when during evolution, women looked after the offspring and men took over the physical work, we evolved to have lesser strength because it wasn’t needn’t anymore. Like how if you continuously work out, you build your muscles, the males evolved to have more physical strength than women. And since in that age, where there was not much of brainy work required, they gradually got considered the better gender and we the lesser ones had to please them by dolling up fancy for them. But now we are evolving, we are doing the same work guys do, we need to give ourselves an equal chance without having the gender difference as a bias. If you are weak, don’t accept it is because you are a female; you are just a weaker person from others. Only then, generations later we could be equally strong, if the popular belief about our biological setup that males are physically stronger is true. We need to challenge our biological frames to evolve. Giraffes didn’t stop at their limitations of smaller necks when the trees kept growing. If it is true now, challenge it to change the dynamics in future. I am not giving a solution- I don’t have one. In this sea wave, it is very easy to get carried away by the flow and as a drop you can’t expect the sea to follow you just because you think it is the right direction. You cant change the sea waves to change direction but if you want to stay put, you just have to sink in your feet deeper in the sand. You can dress up as much you want, be a doll, be a tsunami- take the world by charge and start a new fashion trend! I, for myself have chosen to not care about shaving or threading if I don’t want to. If a guy can live and manage with unthreaded eyebrows and hairy armpits, so can I. If that’s too unattractive for the world with a majority of gracefully trimmed girls, the world isn’t ready for me yet. If you are a drop like me, join in, we can a make a small puddle of hairy girls at the shore. And yes, that doesn’t mean, I would be betraying myself I do wax or thread. I am just relieving myself from the idea that I have to do it as a societal necessity neither am I obligated to not shave for feminist confirmation.

Misplaced Heart

My heart is the tamed cattle of the farm, Reared and domesticated for ages. Lulled to monotony, while it grazes unarmed, Supposedly free yet bound by invisible cages. It is bred and milked till the time it could, The comfort provided is only a barter for its worth, As long as it reaps, it stays half-alive for good, Until one day it is slaughtered down to dirt. But your memories take my half-dead heart to the wild, Strolling with uncertainty on which its life hangs, Not knowing when you would spring up from behind, Attack and tear it down, as per your moody hunger pangs. I don’t know which is worse and which better, Being unpredictably hunted or being perennially tamed, The fate of heart decided by those, to whom it doesn’t matter, Only because it lies lower to them in the food chain. But if given an option, I would choose the woods that keep the wilderness lush, Where atleast for a while, with no boundaries I could freely stray, For one is most alive, fighting for survival with an adrenaline rush And if my heart is nimble enough, it could escape and run away.

Monday mornings got better

Even the alarm sounds shriller on a Monday morning. The snooze button is only a depressing reminder that no matter how much you stall, you still have to lift your lazy bones and get to work. Work. The same monotonous work you do endlessly for your employer so that some business thrives. Some people are exceptionally motivated to work for others. I am not one of them, especially not on Mondays or in the mornings. I am the sulky one. Trading off taking a shower for 5more minutes of sleep only helps me in manifesting my gloomy mood outright to the world. The swollen eyes and the dishevelled hair match the frown on my face perfectly. Sigh. The first day of the week already starts with my being late. I grumpily pick my car keys and drag my feet to the car. Even though the distance from my home to office is only 7kms, it takes me 30minutes to reach; 40 on a Monday. It is as if, the Monday monster specially employs people to jam the roads to make your mornings dreadful. And as if jamming the road wasn’t enough to entertain him, he ensures that jockeys in every radio station lose their sense of music on Mondays to play the most dreadfully drab music. I switch through the radio channels only to find three channels playing ads and one playing the song from the times of dinosaurs. I snap and switch off the radio. Anyway, no music could have made my mood any better. Just when I switch off the radio button, the traffic signal also turns from green to red, when I almost reach the junction. “Well played, Monday monster”, I think, “you are on fire! I hope you burn.” The countdown ticker shows another 180 seconds before the signal turns green again. I roll my eyes and at the same time a red Beetle rolls down next to me. It is blaring with loud music and mind you, not the sane kind of music, the girl in the car is pleasing herself to Britney Spears. I almost cough out a smirk as her music system declares that it did it again. I roll my eyes again and try to steal a side glance at her. From the corner of my eyes, I first spot her hands on the steering wheel, sporting a bottle green nail polish. I pronounce her to be a stupid attention seeker right there. More careful glances make me notice that contrary to her funky nail polish, she is actually wearing formals. I then take a deep breath and dare to completely turn my head and have a proper look at her. What I see makes me laugh. The girl not older than 22, in the middle of an absorbing traffic, is lost! Lost in her own world, singing along to the music with a set of 16M colourful expressions. I amused myself to her funny expressions, as she mouthed the words, “I am not that innocent” with the girlish air of importance and then rolled her head around at Oh Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah! I almost lost track of the 180 seconds until the car behind me honked to remind me that the signal had turned green. For a while, I was transported to the front most line of audience for a Britney Spears concert. Or maybe, though uninvited, openly welcome into a innocent girls imaginative heart, who was right there fantasising herself to be the mean girl, playing with someone’s heart ‘again’. Maybe, it wasn’t new to her, maybe that’s why she was so comfortably unaware that she had audience. Maybe she was used to stealing peoples heart at traffic signals and the song just perfectly summarising it for her while she enjoyed losing another game. As I drove ahead, I quickly opened my youtube app and searched for the same song. How silly of me, to consider just 5minutes back that there could be no song that could lift my spirits. I find the song and plug in my speakers to my phone. “Oops I did it again!” The rest of my way, I also sing along the song stupidly and visualise my newly found Britney Spears emoting her feelings into it. I did like considering the idea that we were more than just friends! I smile sheepishly as the dreads of the Monday monster lift away from me. Monday morning just got better. “Oops I did it again!”

Subway with Cheese

They say no great story started with a salad. I would disagree, owing to personal experience. It all started with starting a healthy diet and going to subway for my lunch from office. As I stood there in the veggie section, mulling over what I veggies I wanted in my sub, adjacent to me, in the non-veg section stood a guy (in formals, so I inferred he belonged to the same office-going crowd searching for a healthy meal for lunch) with his id-card hanging around his neck. The subway guy came up to me and asked for my preference of bread. Right when I said, honey-oat, the office-going labelled guy pronounced the same preference, honey-oats. I smiled to myself, weighing the odds of choosing the same bread when there were 6options on the table. The sub-guys split one foot into halves for the two of us, while I giggled myself to the idea that we are literally sharing the same loaf (and in my head while I said it, I mispronounced loaf as love!) After the cheese was added and toasted (and chicken slices were put in his), to my astonishment, we responded in same manner for our veggies preferences as well. All veggies- except jalapenos. By then I got a little too wary and waited for him to complete his order to ensure he wasn’t just mimicing my order. Bad decision, I must say, because now it seemed as if I were mimicing his. So after he ordered his sub to have more onions,capsicum and olives, I , to save some grace, didn’t mention to my sub-guy that I also needed more onions and olives and merely pointed at the capsicum to be added more. Since his non-veg sub took more time to prepare, we were back at the same point of choosing our sauces at the same time. Again, almost unbelievably, both of us chorussed “southwest” as if it was scripted. I looked at him with my eyebrows raised as high as I could. Having been amused himself, he gave me a dimpled smirk and asked, “Honey Mustard?” and I nodded and while looking at him told my sub-guy to add sweet onion and he replied saying “lots of it. And also mint mayo.” Perfect! Perfect! The geeky side within me was trying to find the probability of the orders being exactly the same while I looked at him with a squeamish nervous smile. I guess the odds were unnaturally rare, because as soon as our subs were packed and sent for billing, going by the similarity of our orders, the billing person asked if we were together. I just looked at him, smiled and said, “maybe we should be!”. He took the cue positively and responded, “Oh yes! We are!” And that was just the beginning of our full-course meal! P.s. – sorry for the cheesiness, I just like my sub with extra cheese!

11 things only my bharatmatrimony alliances will understand

I thought I would make the title interesting, as listicles are quite a trend these days. No post gets attention, unless it has been numbered (more random the number, more popular) Anyway, I am in the season (s01e10) of passively groom searching with my parents through bharatmatrimony and this is to subtly tell my parents why it is not working out. so here is a letter to all the prospective grooms who have connected to me through bharatmatrimony (bm- thats the suffix i save their contacts with). Dear Prospective Grooms, I don’t want to sound arrogant, but here is a quick guideline into ‘making it work’ at least into a conversation with me: Use your resources properly- You have been given my email id and my whatsapp contact number. Use them wisely. If you choose to connect to me over mail, realise that mail is not a live experience and also that it doesn’t have a word limit. So instead of just saying, hi we should catch up, it would catch my attention more if you could give a brief about yourself (and not your matrimony brief). If you choose to connect with me on whatsapp, since live-chat option is available, wait for me to respond before getting into story telling mode of who you are. In any circumstances, don’t call me before making me comfortable with a friendly chat first. Be long-term, not short term- I don’t like to discuss day-to-day events or my weekend plans, because trust me my life is boring and I wouldn’t have a better response than “nothing much. Work” or for weekends probably an outing with friends. These questions lead nowhere. I would prefer you knowing me life-to-life rather than day-to-day. Only when you know particular traits about me, would I be able to open about my day-to-day quirks as well. Don’t assume- specially at such an early stage. I wouldn’t appreciate you calling me a ‘hindikaari’ (hindi-wali) just because I have saved my dads contact as papaji on my phone. Ask questions- better than making a statement of your assumption, you could say it better by asking ‘so are you this and this’. This would also enable be to open up and talk about me better as per my understading of myself. Don’t be too regional with me- probably my weakness, but I am not too good at being a typical tamilian. So I get uncomfortable when you suddenly expect me to be one and carry conversations, that too over texts in tamil. I wont be able to do it. Yes, I can exchange a line or two once in a while in tamil but not more than that. I am genuinely sorry for my limitations. Having said so, I cant live without curd-rice. Show interest in my hobbies- if I share a picture of something I might have made recently, don’t ignore it entirely or leave it with a customary “nice” comment. You can even fake interest by asking how and when I made it. That is it. Or better, mention you arent too much into such stuff, so unable to comment. Honesty is appreciated. Don’t seem too rigid with your expectations- although it might suit to have a vegetarian partner, and yes I am a vegetarian but I wouldn’t want to that to be a criterion to marry me. Or the fact that I belong to the same community as yours. I don’t believe that it is best to marry in your same community as that’s the best match possible in terms of lifestyle. I will surely be a misfit then, even if I were typically tambrahm. Because I believe more in personality-connect irrespective of where you belong from- regional belonging it is not a case of iphone-android compatiblity for me. Don’t talk to my parents to know me- you have to marry me not my parents. it only seems like a pressure building exercise. Connect with me, they have already shared my details with you. If I like you, then go ahead and chat with my parents as much as you want. Don’t go over-board with big words/jargons/metaphors- we are trying to have a friendly discussion here to know each other, not impressing an interviewer during a gd session. Take it easy. Extend conversations- if I ask you a question, give a detailed reply if possible and if you ask a question I am responding to, instead of just replying “nice” and “good” you can mention your opinion on it, some anecdote similar to it. Otherwise again the conversation ends prematurely and gives an impression that you lack interest in talking further. If that is the case, I get confused when you message again with a hi sometime later. I don’t know how to respond to it. Take the hint- if we arent able to hit it off at all, lets not prolong the conversations and call it off already. Just act mature and tell your parents it didn’t work out. Don’t go back complaining to my parents that I don’t respond to your texts. It feels like I am back in primary school again. You harly had any of my interest, now you are scaring me from the entire institution of arranged marriage. All the best. Because it is a task knowing and pleasing me.

Noted

My childhood sweetheart you were, You gave me my first innocent nervous jitters. And when we sat next to each other in class, We passed each other cute secret letters. For that reason, my class notes were always half-taken, While yours were promptly complete, And when the teacher would erase the chalkboard, You would pass me your notebook under the seat. I would quickly try to copy your words, And you would smile and wait for me. But even you had to match the pace of the teacher, So I would return back the notebook, hurriedly. My notes always remained half-finished, And I always tried catch up with you, In anxiety, my notes were full of mistakes But you would wait for me, I knew. I don’t remember when you turned the page, And went far ahead from where I was, I became a lost forgotten chapter And this time I waited for you; on one side on a never-ending pause. My pages are now torn and ragged, And like always, half the story from it is lost, But it still has a dried rose petal from old times, And blurred words of love among teardrops spots. You nomore believe in the bedtime story that I was You might never trace your way back to the fairyland I wish I could scream to bring you back, But my soft tattered pages would crumble in your hands, If only I were a fresh page from your story, I would sink deep inside you like a papercut Ooze out the blood from within you, And absorb it my diary before you slam it shut. Perhaps my notes would always remain unfinished You may never come back, in all likelihood But didn’t you say that you would wait for me, I really thought you would.

Thought for Food

You say I am fat, but you are surely mistaken, These are food souvenirs from the times of fun and glee. All the cheese, chocolate, soda and bacon, Saved like memories in a diary, in my arms, thighs and belly. I know I cant hold on to the time, so I hold on to that time’s food, Engraved tattoos of reminiscence, now they define me, Little vague for some, and for some little understood, I have saved them all, all in loving memory. The protrude of my hips, is from the chineese noodles from my college canteen And my bulky arms save the French fries I had on my first date in McD The countless popcorn and pepsi I had with every movie that I have seen Are the reason for the increasing width of my legs above my knee, And even though the engagement ring gets tighter every day, My swollen fingers embrace the fancy dinners with my husband and family And my favourite fast food, pani poori, pav bhaji and chole Lie right beside my smile, even if my bloated cheeks make me look funny. So I guess, you now stand corrected, that I am in fact not overweight, Just overflowing with love that cant be contained just within my heart only Encompassing the spirit throughout, I am sentimental, romantic and passionate, Anything and everything else, other than being bulky fat or portly

Brittle Mirror heart

Mirror, Mirror of the heart, Rosy and desirable at the start Holds a fancy image of love, Reflection of a divine feeling from above. And when it breaks, it breaks into millions Vulnerable and weak like victimised civilians They scatter and hide in dark corners of deserted alleys Doubtful and scared to confide even to a faithful pally. And the fancy image held together in the start Is reflected separately in bits by each piece apart. What it once held, a perfect smile, curved like the crescent moon, Now lies curtailed on the floor, completely strewn. Some broken pieces, the civilians, are forever lost, Never there to rebuild the empire after the draught. The shattered ones left, build their own weapons and arms And cut deep into the feet on those who trespass their farms.

Winter Special

Bundled up and packed from head to toe, In layers of wool, to ward off the cold and snow, Her hair came curling down like satin ribbon, And her eyes gleamed like golden sparkles in the sun. I knew she was sent from someplace blissful, Made with sheer care by many elves, singing the Christmas Carol I knew she was a loadful of sweetness with the kick of Vodka She was my christmas gift, the best one from Secret Santa

Perfect Crime

A dramatically dark poem! 7 missed calls, none returned Family and friends all concerned No reply to the messages sent to her No updates on facebook nor on twitter No recent photos or a fancy check-in, Three days ago on whatsapp she was last seen She was also offline, for the first time, on gtalk And in March was the last post on her blog It seemed she had dissappeared without a warning None of her accounts were found when tried browsing It seemed as though she had committed social media suicide No suicide note, no suspects and no reasons identified. Little was known, it was a cold-blooded murder, a conspiracy She endured several repeated brutal blows on her bruised identity Constant torture, constant pain and uncountable miseries She succumbed later that day to many internal injuries.

Date A Girl Who Dances

Date a dancer, not just for the thrill involved in watching her dance. Date her for the grace, for the myriad of expressions, for the flexibilty, for the balance, for the confidence, for the liveliness and for so much more. Date her for the colourful variety she would bring in your life, one time she would be the belly dancer and the other time she would have a performance for female infoeticide. She would be flexible in adjusting to your likes, just the way she blends her body postures in rhythm to the music beats. The same way she could transform her expressions and dancing style according to the music. Date her, because she would know that it takes time and effort to make something beautiful, to make it perfect. She would always be open to ideas as she knows there is always more than one way of going about things, just the way there can be so many different steps that could be perfect for a particular beat. Date her, because she would know that it is not just the song that would make a performance a hit. She would put in her best to make it a success. You would know she is a dancer if she is on the dance floor right from the time the music starts till the time she is the only one on the floor, insisting the DJ to play just one more song. You could recognise her in the crowd, if even a crowded bus, she is in a blissful state, with earphones plugged. If you look closely, you would find her struggling from swaying in the music and forcing herself to keep a straight face, fighting the expressions that she pictures go perfect for the song. You might still catch her tapping her feet and slightly shaking in a rhythmic manner. You would know she is a dancer, because even while standing in a crowded bus, she would hold the seat in a way different from others, with poise and she would seem comfortable even with one one hand twisted behind holding the seat, while her legs are literally on top of one another because of lack of space. She would never feel conscious or uncomfortable if you fix your eyes on her, in fact she might not even register it. If at all she does, she would not shy away from making an eye contact because she is used to looking in the eyes of the audience and smiling graciously. When you meet her, she would talk with you animatedly, her eyes moving in all corners and her hand gestures speaking more than she would. But try not to strike a conversation on dance moves. Technicality is a buzz killer, one needs to enjoy and live the dance than focus on where the hands and legs go. Rather share your music with her or better, show her a silly dance move. She would love to act goofy and dance silly for fun. If you dance too, challenge her with your moves and see her match your steps. Take her for a long drive and play groovy music and see her eyes gleam instantly. If the music cant be played out loud, leave her to herself, her ipod would come out and she would lose herself in her music. Do not distrurb, she loves being in this world, she would be grateful to you for this. Date a girl who dances, because she gives importance to small things too. She knows the importance of timing for a rhythmic flow and would never go off-beat. She knows the importance of finishing her moves before starting a new one and would never keep you hanging. She would be well balanced and even if she loses her temper, she knows the right way to fix it and it just a good song away. She would fix things, while smiling without panicking just the way she would when she forgets a dance-step in between a performance but has to go on. Even if she messes up badly, she would let it go. If she likes you back, she probably finds you interesting, challenging and lively, something she could work on to bring out something beautiful. If you find the girl who dances, indulge in the beautiful harmony she brings and make sure to symphony never ends.