mea culpa

A Lot Like Love

2011-06-15T11:48:00.000-07:00

Is it strange that everytime I come back home from Lucknow, I feel homesick? That I replay the arrival scenes and everything that follows over and over again in my head, yet when I reach the time of departure, my mind recoils from the memory? That no matter how much time I spend sniggering and bickering with my family, I know in my gut it is never going to be enough? This, in a nutshell, sums up the joys and sorrows of belonging to the kind of people that I, well, belong to.
I know there are happy families everywhere. I also know of that sage saying that happiness everywhere is the same, it is pain that varies individually. Yet, for the life of me, I cannot bring myself to believe that our happiness is not singular or distinctive or incomparable. How I can't stop smiling, so much so that my jaws hurt, whenever I'm in the vicinity of the people I love so much has to account for something, isn't it? Or the fact that our hugs are like boomerangs, they keep coming back to us, certainly bears some testimony to the immense recess of powerful sentiment from which we keep drawing buckets-full of adoration for each other.
There's so much history we have experienced, so many common threads of stories woven around the many years of shared existence. While everything else around me is getting hazier by the day, these long-forgotten trivial affairs cling to my poor heart with all their might. Remember Swati, that oh-so-fiery dinner in Faizabad a million years ago; and our fascination with Santa Clause and Christmas; the numerous card games during summer afternoons; somu's teeth and mintal's hair; rishu's laughter and vasu's golden freckles; bhai's drooling on the pillow and kaku da's break dance; didu's endless instructions and your endearing silence? Any amount of new memories I make wouldn't be able to compete with these absolute first ones, simply because my heart is full.
I remember when bhabh called me to wish me birthday for the first time. I had never felt so important in my whole life. The way I feel around you bhabh, I'm sure aapse kuch purana hai zaroor. And now there is the newest addition to the numbers - I look forward to making the same memories with you boudi.

I'm in my happy place now.

Love

2010-12-27T22:18:00.000-08:00

Believe me if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly today,
Were to change by tomorrow and fleet in my arms,
Like fairy gifts fading away!
Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will.
And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart,
Would entwine itself verdantly still.
It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear,
That the fervor and faith of a soul may be known,
To which time will but make thee more dear!
Oh the heart that has truly loved never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close,
As the sunflower turns to her god when he sets
The same look which she turned when he rose!

Byron

2010-11-10T03:17:00.001-08:00

Thus much and more, and yet thou lov'st me not,
And never wilt, Love dwells not in our will..
Nor can I blame thee, though it be my lot,
To strongly, wrongly, vainly, love thee still.

My Mommy Bestest!!

2010-08-30T10:10:00.000-07:00

You can see it in our eyes,
In tender hugs and long good-byes,
A love that only moms and daughters know.

You can see it in our smiles,
Through passing years and changing styles,
A friendship that continually seems to grow.

You can see it in our life,
The joy that both of us derive,
In just knowing that the other one is there...

To care and to understand,
Lend an ear or hold a hand,
And to celebrate the memories we share.

Little Wisdoms

2010-06-25T08:35:00.000-07:00

Did you say it?
"I love you".
"I don't ever want to live without you".
"You changed my life".
Did you say it?
Make a plan. Decide a goal. Work toward it.. But every now and then, look around. Drink it in..
'Cause this it.
It might all be gone tomorrow.

You're my boy-band song!

2010-03-18T08:56:00.000-07:00

Ever been a boy-band fan? No? Who’re you kidding? Remember the late 90s, when Backstreet Boys used to mean everything to all young girls, and most young boys. I, for one, discovered their magic in the year 1998, when I was of that impressionable age of 11. The chiseled, freshly scrubbed looks of five young men were enough to throw my poor heart in a state of paranoia every time I caught a video on the television. That was also the year when my musical education was further enhanced so as to include the existence of Westlife, a five member (all boys again) pop group. Then, to make matters worse, along came Blue- another band comprising of four extremely good looking English boys( doesn’t the accent just kill you!). Lo and behold! It was “raining men”. It would be utter falsehood if I say that I didn’t think at that time that I was hooked, booked and cooked for life and that I’d always be the biggest fan there was of Nick Carter. 12 years down the line, I’ve clearly outgrown all their music. As my profile would tell you, I swear by Hip-hop music now, and occasionally a good draught of Jazz helps keep me sane. But, having said that, I’d also like to state for the record that whenever I do hear any of those songs from that time and place, admittedly accidentally, my past life just flashes before me- and the reminiscences are not bad at all!! It makes me understand who I used to be, how I’ve changed, it’s kinda like a barometer of then and now. I have good memories of the time, and I have two BSB songs on my all-time-favourites playlist!!

But this post, is not about what I’ve said above. This post is about my friends, and while I was thinking about what to write for them, I couldn’t think of a better analogy. I’m sure fifteen years hence, the memory of each one of ‘em is going to be as refreshing as the experience of listening to a forgotten favourite- not one bit less important because it has been replaced by newer stuff.

Shikha- You are brave. You are beautiful. I wish we had started talking sooner. That joke about being “girlfriends”, I’ve sincerely started believing in it!! You are, dearest, the “Queen of my heart”.

Vineeta- My partner-in-crime. My soul-mate when it comes to musical preferences. A great friend. We simply need to jam together Ann Thomas!! Lately I’ve taken to ‘gossiping’ with her and am amazed how enjoyable it has turned out to be. It’s “Us against the world”, homie!!

Shubhra and Rohini- I couldn’t bring myself to writing about the two of you separately, joined at the hip as you both are. You guys! Such talent I say! It was great to know you on such a personal level Shubhi, and Rohini- a little more confidence and assuredness would take you places. “No place that far”, for both of you.

Manesvi- Big eyes. Flambouyance. Over excitement. Foodie. Many things describe you. Add another to the list- “Larger than Life”.

Swati- How many men have said that to you already, I do not know, but I’d like to think I’m the first among the women. You are gorgeous. And you know it. And that’s what brings in all the confidence. I can well imagine the string of compliments that are yet to come, “When you’re looking like that”.

Gauri- Superwoman, tell us where you’re hiding all the kryptonite!! You never tire, do you? Well, one of these days I swear I’ll discover your secret and do a huge favour to mankind. Till then.. World, Gauri Dewan is passing.. ”All Rise”.

To be continued….

2010-02-11T23:53:00.000-08:00

I have an aunt who, whenever she poured anything for you, would say: “Say when”. My aunt would say, “Say when,” and of course, I never did.
We don’t say “when” because there’s something about the possibility of more. More tequila. More love. More anything. More is better.

There’s something to be said about a glass half full. About knowing when to say “when.” I think it’s a floating line. A barometer of need and desire. It’s entirely up to the individual… and depends on what’s being poured. Sometimes, all we want is a taste. Other times, there’s no such thing as enough. The glass is bottomless.
And all we want… is more.

I'm sorry

2010-01-04T07:40:00.000-08:00

As human beings we can’t undo our mistakes. And we rarely forgive ourselves for them. But it’s a hazard of the trade. But as human beings, we can also try to do better.., to be better.., to right our wrong. Even when it feels irreversible.
Of course, 'I’m sorry', doesn’t always cut it, maybe because we use it so many different ways. As a weapon, as an excuse.

But when we are really sorry, when we use it right, when we mean it, when actions speak what words never can..
When we get it right.., 'I’m sorry' is perfect.
When we get it right.., 'I’m sorry' is redemption.

Se7en things people don't know about me :)

2010-01-02T09:17:00.000-08:00

Saurabh tagged me.. But Netika tagged him..and I don't know who tagged her..so who should I be thanking?? :)
Thank you Saurabh. This is the first tag I'm doing here, and it came from you so that makes it doubly special!!

1. I have a fair bit of knowledge about music. I mean I can throw words like Baroque Music and Counterpoints and Sonatas and Cantatas around like nobody's business that could make people's heads spin. I've been trained in Indian classical music as well. But (sheepish grin already) hip- hop would remain my musical preference. There! I've said it!!
( I hereby swear eternal love to the likes of MC Hammer, the Beastie Boys, Soulja Boy, the Black Eyed Peas and Chris Brown!! )

2. I consume books like...I can't even think of an analogy right now. Anyhow, books are like my brand of heroin (okay, I picked that up from 'Twilight'- but see..that proves the point). And if some of you think that that revelation doesn't qualify, here's another. I have read 'The Mill on the Floss' eleven times. Yes, I have. And it's not even my favourite book- it's just one of the many. And it's HUGE!!
( Those of you who haven't read that book, please make time at some point in your life )

3. I like men who are *dancers, *singers, *musicians, *sportspersons ( that's the general order of preference ). But kindly don't assume that if you are any of the above you get to be a dumbass and it wouldn't matter. Please, being sensible helps- you more than me!
( And WHATEVER you do, don't be a chauvinist. Big turn-off. Huge )

4. I talk to myself. Yeah, you can laugh now. But seriously, I do and I find it therapeutic. How many times have you heard the expression (or said it yourself), 'there was this thought at the back of my head.' I just give voice to this thought. It helps me put things in perspective, consider things which seem lesser but are not. And at other times, I just try to be a friend to myself. So, yes, I talk to myself. Why not?
( you might want to try it :P )

5. Rishabh is my best friend. I've laughed with him, poured my heart out to him, cried with him, cried for him, cried because of him , taken walks and drives with him, held hands with him, sat through concerts with him, kissed him, written letters to him, lost him, found him, lost him again, missed him and loved him.
( If you are wondering what this outburst has to do with this tag, it's actually me telling you not only about things in my life but also people )

6. I am a complete family person. It also helps that I have a wonderful family. Days with all my beautiful people of the world make me believe. In everything.
( It's my secret wish that in my next birth all my family and I should be born ants/bees so we could live together :) )

7. I love hard. I hate harder.

I don't know who to tag. Saurabh's taken all my names already. grrrr..

The Wrist-band

2009-12-23T08:09:00.000-08:00

I was made for him..by a roadside vendor of knick knacks.
He asked him- What did he want the beads in the band to spell..?
Basketball, he said..and began to pick the beads himself.
I liked him instantly.
I wouldn’t be exaggerating if I said he lived to play the game- and did I mention he was good, oh he was brilliant!! All those practice sessions in and out of the school gym- when sweat used to pour down his arm like branches of a river, leaving me all wet and dirty and smelly- it grossed me out at first till I understood his immense love and passion for basketball- after that, well it grossed me still but I learned to grin and bear it.
I learnt a lot of things.
I learnt how to flaunt myself on his left wrist every game night- that band of black that flashed every time he leaped for a jump shot, every time he slammed a dunk. I also learned how to blend with the cuffs of his dinner jacket at school formals. In time, he stopped wearing his watch altogether. I was the only accessory he needed. Almost everyone in town knew him. Those who didn’t know him, knew of him, and those ignorant few who didn’t know him at all- were educated thus- “He’s the boy with the black band”- they used to say. It was as though people had no memory of a time when I hadn’t existed- we were inseparable. I was a part of him- not disunited for even a second with his body heat- I raced along as his pulse raced mad beneath me- that first kiss in the backseat of a car after a win, the first brawl, the first breakup-
I saw it all..I was there.
That night he won a game for his team again- it was becoming routine. Celebrations, booze, hooking up with cheerleaders- it looked like a regular affair-except that it wasn’t. I heard the violent screeching of tyres on gravel as he walked home after the party, the sudden impact, the shattering of glass, the crunch of bone-
I heard it all..I was there.
The doctors said he couldn’t play anymore, hell they said he couldn’t walk anymore.
He…he said nothing..
He just ripped me off his wrist and aimed for the trash can in the corner of the room..
Did I mention his three pointer had always been faultless.
Needless to say where I ended up.
Basketball was over.
So was I.

Thanksgiving

2009-09-12T00:26:00.000-07:00

(For all the important men in my life)
See the clouds rolling in; oh does it look like rain?
Thunder and light, song and dance of the Gods’ pain.
Rain on the rusty tin roof, it pours on this heart of mine,
and then I take the storms I feel, to him each time.
I know he has breathed under his own relentless flood,
sunken so long the water now flows in his blood.
But he can still walk away from what broods overhead,
and never in his storm are his words left unsaid.
Never in his storm have I ever felt alone,
His storm ends, so that I come home.
It's for me that he pushes away his own rain.
So that I may find my heartbeat again.
For the sake of my tears he smiles every day,
how he eases distance when worlds go a different way.
And he never wanders when my stars fall through,
he picks up the pieces and builds them anew.
Not even in his storm is his work quite done,
And even in his storm he hands me the Sun.
I love him more deeply with each passing day,
And with his hand in mine the clouds roll away.

I didn't know..

2009-09-06T10:06:00.000-07:00

Something happened today. An extraordinary example of life's unkindness. A friend is at the receiving end of life's wrath. And that reminded me of the time when I was in the same place. No details- that would make this post too unpleasant and too personal. I'd only reveal this much that I lost a close friend to death and a myriad other things happened to make me lose faith in happiness altogether. And today was like all that choking feeling coming back over me as I saw through a looking-glass. Here's something that I wrote in the wake of my memory of the past and my sensibility of the present.

I didn't know then, that people staring at me were simply trying to understand the fear my eyes betrayed.

I didn't know then, that wisdom was the opposite of love.

I didn't know then, that the last time with him was a test, and I was asking myself whether I had passed it or failed..

I didn't know then, that I would never know.

I didn't know then, that it was possible to love people for the reassuring incandescence of their smiles alone.

I didn't know then, that all my strength was going to be born in those moments.

I didn't know then, that the world would enfold my life within its nightmares- gently but completely.

I didn't know then, that to forget, all I had to do was close my eyes.

I didn't know then, that sorrow could be like a span of night sky.

I didn't know then, that it was impossible to shun someone you truly loved.

I didn't know then, that I was drowning in a sorrow that had no stars, no laughter and no sleep.

I didn't know then, that happiness comes back again, like persistent waves of a glittering sea.

My Little Life

2009-08-27T09:00:00.000-07:00

Perfect rose-coloured strokes in the evening sky, always, always, make me happy- and a little sad. Twilight is the time of reflection they say- a suspended moment between a smile and a tear, a song and a sigh, the day and the dark. This evening, while I exist for a fleeting lastingness in this thankful recess, I shall try and count my own blessings.

The way Papa has been saying "all the best" every morning, every day as I leave for school/college for as long back as I can remember. I used to find it funny earlier, as I foolishly associated it with regular 'exam-time' niceties. But I have lately realized that it is his way of saying that he wants my day to turn out good, that any random day could transform into a tiresome and trying collection of hours that could catch me unawares and test me- but the one constant thing that would stay with me, is his morning-wish..

The way Maa calls me up whenever it's getting late and I haven't reached home from college. I used to think that only Maa did it- owing to the excessive degree of paranoia she suffers from- but I have discovered it is a 'Mum-thing'. It is part of their endless daily ritual of caring for and fussing over their 'forever little' dumplings, which thankfully, they never tire of.

The way Di snaps at me one moment and kisses me the next, the way she lets me smother her with kisses(which are sometimes wet-a kind she definitely hates), the way she cracks up at my silly antics(that incredulous look on her face is to die for). And most of all how she looks when she sleeps while I get ready in the morning..Indescribable..

The way Gurri, Bobo, Angel, Sheefu, Rhea, Birdie and Namy can lift up my abyssmaly low spirits as soon as I see their happy faces. The insane hindi poems, cheap songs, chinese take-outs, eclairs and coffee bite breaks, choco-chip muffins, trips to haunted house and 4-D movies, Jaane Bhi Do Yaaron movie-sittings, bitching about a certain Ms K, reminiscing about camping days and a little studying every now and then- it is enough to say that I love them to death. And the ride back home on G's death-machine can be a life-altering experience for anyone :)

Hearing Somu's naughty voice on the phone, writing a testimonial for meetu, wondering about where Swati gets her post ideas from, re-reading letters that Nani wrote in her own hand, talking to Nana about the Second World War, looking at pictures of bhai-bhabhi that seem to be radiating love and warmth, laughing with kaku da when he laughs at the way I laugh :), baby photos of rishu and vasu, remembering rakhi last year and house-warming this year.. *blows kisses to all and sundry*

Orange candy, night shirts with cartoon prints, pens with perfumed inks, blue orchids, one thousand roads to walk, one million books to read, one billion songs to sing, colourful bangles, black and white polka dotted dresses, poetry, sketches, frooti, chips and gossip, the way Appu says 'sorry' in his cute baby voice, CorelDRAW and conversation sessions with Devika, following blogs, not blinking while reading Lefty's posts, fighting with Aayush, dreams of London, Roshni, Amar and Harvard stories, thinking so hard that it interferes with sleep, beautiful bed-sheets, picassa foto-links, g-talk conversations with Dampu..

Ah, sunshine may fade

From the heavens above,

Yet, no twilight have we

To the day of our love.

This too shall pass..

2009-08-24T05:53:00.000-07:00

Winter must be cold for those with no warm memories,
and we've already missed the spring.
All that remains is forgotten promises of merrier time,
with the seasons of bittersweet joy that they bring.

A hello here and a goodbye there,
and the burden of years between- did it last a century, or just a flicker of an eyelash.
The sullen wind cries, my heart's fit to break,
and the sands stop flowing in the hour-glass.

There must be something between us, even if it's only an ocean,
you are the rock I am breaking myself against- and everytime I come back as new.
Really, is no mountain high enough, no valley low enough, no river wide enough-
to keep me from getting to you?

(This is not an entirely original thing. As people would notice, it draws a lot from a lot of places.. But the idea couldn't have come alive had even a single word been omitted from or added to this piece.. It also solves a purpose for me- provided it is read by a certain pair of eyes..)

11:30 Paharganj

2009-08-10T23:18:00.000-07:00

This is a script I wrote for my Media Appreciation class.. The title was thrown at us and it was totally our call what we chose to do with it.. Well, this is what I did with it.. Now YOU deal with it ;)
p.s. Paharganj is a crazy crowded locality in Delhi, close to Connaught Place. Though it is better known as one of the entrances to the New Delhi Railway Station, the other being Ajmeri Gate.

R- It’s a weird assignment, if you ask me.
I- Well, since no-one has asked you, why don’t you drop it already?
R- No, but seriously! 11:30 Paharganj? What sense does that title make?
I- Absolute sense, perfect sense, no sense at all-how does that matter?
R- But it does! I mean, why 11:30, and why Paharganj?
I- Because 11:30 works just as well as 10:30 or 12:30..and Paharganj.. I dunno- maybe there’s some history there, or maybe not.. Personally, I think 11:30 Paharganj sounds appealing and impressive.
R- Paharganj makes you think of train stations for God’s sake!
I- What’s so wrong with them, I would like to know!
R- I dunno- train stations are so..so run-of-the-mill you know, so routine. Why couldn’t it have been 11:30 Palam, or 11:30 IGI?? Airports are so much more interesting- nothing ever happens at a train station..
I- That’s your pseudo-bourgeois upbringing talking. What happened to the film-enthusiast inside of you? Where’s your movie sense yaar? Remember "DDLJ"- the film climaxes on a train station-with Shahrukh fighting all those villainous young men and Kajol running the bloody length of the platform to join him- it’s a cult sequence in Bollywood!!
R- I thought you hated Shahrukh?
I- I’ve realized hate is too strong a word- hate leaves no room for an outside chance…but we digress…
R- Yeah, so coming back- I can’t say I’m convinced- 11:30 Paharganj is too vague for my imagination.
I- You’ve been a science student all your life, I can understand this obsessive need for definitiveness. You are designed to feel a little dissatisfied.
R- Maybe. So how do you explain it? The obscurity of the whole thing.. and how are you going to weave sense around it all?
I- I think the obscurity is the USP here.. like you said that the title makes you think trains and train stations- me too- and I have been trying to explore that avenue.. and because everything is so vague it is upto you how you negotiate the various permutations and combinations- the title is subject to individual interpretation- we don’t have to do it the clichéd way- we don’t have to construct a common story with a hero and villain and a bag of cash with a railway station as the backdrop- my story could be you and me, taking the metro to North Campus, talking about my assignment and what it means to both of us.
R- That way it might have some potential I can see..
I- Which is exactly why this angle intrigues me so much.. I mean- I’ve never ever thought of it like this before but listen to this- what do films in particular show us- how do they create train stations and by extension trains for us- not merely as sets or props which are there only as background- but almost like characters in the plot with a significant role to play. Like how easily trains and stations become metaphors for coming and going and that little time and space in between- or how stations are used as places where conflict is resolved.
R- Hmm..remember "My Best Friend’s Wedding"? That long overdue confrontation between Julia Roberts and Dermot Mulroney- confession of love and realization that love is lost- yeah, that happens in a train station..
I- Exactly, and "Before Sunrise"? How two strangers meet on a train, talk, feel connected, spend time together and promise to meet again at the same station where they are separating.. I’ve always thought that the anticipation and adrenaline has much to do with being in a place that is essentially suspended- neither here nor there..
R- But isn’t this getting a little philosophical? Like reading too much into things?
I- Yeah, it’s a scattered thought, which is why it makes so much sense.. I mean isn’t all cinema, good cinema a way to convey ideology?
R- Umm..that way you’d have to rope in books as well..you know..like literature?
I- Interesting idea.
R- Like "Harry Potter" for instance. In the last book- how Harry thinks that that in-between-place lodged in the middle of life and death is King’s Cross station- from where one could either move ‘on’ or go back and face one’s demons.
I- Excellent example.. I admit I hadn’t thought of that.
R- And what about recent examples from Bollywood. "Jab We Met" remember?? How Kareena says- It feels like something is going wrong..It feels..
I- ..feels like I’m missing a train!! Yeah!
R- I’m starting to get the drift of it now..
I- Yeah, you’re getting warmed up!
R- Any other interesting angles?
I- There’s one. We were talking about watching "Dolls" in class the other day.. that Japanese movie.. so about that- there is this certain hierarchy in all love relationships in the movie. Like there is this dominant partner and a subservient partner- and it seems that the latter has little to contribute to the love- but in the end it is the dominant partners who realize that for their life to have any meaning they must reconcile with the people they have abandoned..This idea in a strange way operates here as well…
R- Umm..I think I know where you are going- like how between trains and train stations, the former could be the dominant partners because they are more proactive and much action takes place there, I’m thinking "North By Northwest", but they always have to come back to stations because they are the actual binding factors between crisis and catharsis, tragedy and resolution.
I- My thoughts exactly!
R- Okay, I grant you- it’s a great perspective- very thought provoking..
I- It’s something, isn’t it? And imagine, what are the odds of movie-like stuff happening to real-like people- You and I, talking about 11:30 Paharganj and other banal things- in this sparsely occupied metro compartment. Think of the romantic possibility of it all!!
R- That might be a bit far-fetched for me you know!
I- Well, as Cary Grant says in “North By Northwest”- “Sorry Love, I’m sentimental!!"

Happy Birthday!

2009-08-09T11:10:00.000-07:00

My blog turned a year-old today. It is quite unbelievable for me as I wasn't tracking my days or anything. While fiddling with the settings here I just chanced upon the date when I had posted my first thoughts. And lo! and behold! There came the realization! This past year has seen me starting off extremely enthused about this entire blogging business, then sadly getting tied up with the many banalities of existence- hence not being able to fulfil my duties and promises as a regular for an awfully long period, and then snapping back out of my vegetative state(thankfully!). I'd like to say that in this short time I have come across an insane amount of talent and have been bowled over by the creativity present here(I am sorry Saurabh if it sounds like I have borrowed verbatim from your recent post! Whatcha gonna do? It's all true!!). The multitudinous perspectives and the ways people employ to convey them effectively is truly remarkable. I daresay I have some people here whom I already think of as friends and I welcome in advance all the friendships-to-be.

The time is come, the stage is set,

The pen is fit to flow,

My memories are here, my wonder there,

One year is ready to go.

So many days, so many nights,

and yet they seem but few,

when I think back, the numerous thoughts,

those threads you and I did sew.

Countless expressions and multiple views,

your womb has nurtured them all,

you've borne periods of ecstasy, urgency too,

and tantrums both big and small.

So goodbye year, you have been great,

and honest, eventful and true,

It is with pleasure and a little pain,

That I bid thee, a final adieu.

Do You?

2009-08-08T03:23:00.000-07:00

Do you smile when you sometimes hear birds chirping in the wee hours of morning? Do you sing in the shower? Do you sigh when you see happy endings in movies? Do you tip-toe to the refrigerator at one in the night and eat ice-cream straight from the bowl? Do you hum along when you hear an old song you love? Do you keep a special person's picture in your wallet? Do you love talking with somebody late into the night? Do you blow kisses to people across a room? Do you dance like no one is watching? Do you adore rain drops on your skin? Do you feel bliss laying down in a sleepy-drunk state after a tiring day's work? Do you light up when friends turn up to give you surprises? Do you remember your favourite poem by heart? Do you feel nice when someone thanks you? Do you return a smile a stranger passes you? Do you like holding hands while crossing roads? Do you wish you could share a beautiful view with someone? Do you stare at the sunset , or a cascade of rain? Do you like to feel the wind in your face? Do you put your head in your mother's lap so she would ruffle your hair? Do you feel awe when you see cloud formations in the sky? Do you shout your lungs out on a roller-coaster ride? Do you laugh along when you see a baby laughing? Do you dig Tom and Jerry? Do you give a hug all you've got? Do you appreciate the small things in life? Life's small happinesses? Do You?

A System of Terror

2009-08-01T07:05:00.000-07:00

The thing about terrorism as a nexus is that it works so perfectly. This couldnt have been made more believable to me had I failed to watch this brilliant series on NatGeo called Jailed Abroad. The program was in the format of a re-production of the 1994 kidnappings of Western Backpackers in India by a Kashmiri separatist group led by a man called Omar Saeed Sheikh. Apparently he picked up four tourists: two britons, one australian-english and an american and held them captive in the hope that their countries would exercise diplomatic and political pressure on India for their release and he could bargain for the acquittal of fellow mujahideens serving sentence in Indian prisons. The australian-englishman, Rhys Patridge, was held for the longest time, approximately a month. Interestingly, Saeed's plans went awry and the police managed to capture him. All this while, the Taliban were keeping track and realized Saeed's inherent promise. They had him released in lieu of the 180 passengers of the hijacked Indian Airlines flight 814 in 1999. After his release, understandably, he became a devout apostle of the al-Quaeda doctrine and allegedly donated huge amounts of money to Mohammad Atta, the egyptian-islamic terrorist, who was the principal player at the root of the attack on the World Trade Center. Inarguably though, Saeed is best known for his role in the kidnapping and murder of the Wall Street Journal reporter Daniel Pearl. Which brings me back to where I started from- though I did follow the Daniel Pearl episode closely, while watching this program it didnt strike me even once that this guy was the same Omar Saeed Sheikh. And when they finally mentioned this I just went so completely numb for a while, like it was some kind of horrific and brutal example of things coming a full circle. It was utterly unimaginable that someone who was once apprehended as early as '94 in his most nascent days was freed and then came back to haunt the world's imagination in such a big way; being a major financial aid for september 11/determinant of an act of horror inflicted upon a non-combatant.

This history of a young rebel's initiation into the supreme configuration of terrorism left me in no doubts about the level of precision that is exercised while taking new blood into the various outfits. The religious ideology that is diligently fed into their minds. The intense discipline that must be followed to graduate to a further, more important level, which means discipline of the mind, more than anything else. And the mutation of their psychological make-up- so that whatever vehement measures a task demands- they may be taken. Be it the taking of some one else's life or the sacrifice of one's own. And this, more than anything else, inspires the real, perpetual and persistent fear in me.

December Girl

2009-07-27T02:21:00.000-07:00

Winter is my birth season. It had to be. Nothing else would have worked for me, I am sure of it. I simply couldn't have been born in summer- wouldn't have survived the blazing, puncturing heat; nor spring- too wishful for my taste. Rains could've actually done the trick except in India they are too temperamental, and autumn- do we really have that season here or is it just another thing we conveniently borrowed from the west and then forgot to return? Anyway, so you see, point proven.

I love winters. Other than the obvious reason cited above it is genuinely a time of the year I eagerly await. If one were to ask what was it I liked best about winters, I would be found fumbling for words, and that would be saying something about me as I do not find myself in similar predicaments often( to cut a long story short, I am a talker). But this shouldn't be understood to mean that I don't have enough things to say, on the contrary, I have too much and simply wouldn't know where to begin and when to end. What do I like best? The onset of the season when the days become pleasant and the nights pleasantly chilly. When the Sun seems like a blessed presence warming our faces and our backs. The chill evenings and warm cups of tea and coffee with friends. Cosy hugs which last forever. Rubbing hands of each-other to keep them warm. Solitary book-reading rituals against a window with sunlight streaming in. Encroaching a warmed blanket. Sticking cold toes amidst warm ones. Hot water baths. Foggy mornings. Blowing fake smoke rings in the air. The pleasure of a brisk sunny walk. Breakfast of the richest variety that Mother cooks. Not having to bother about electricity woes. Sporting colorful pullovers and mufflers knitted by grandmothers. Laughing at red Rudolf noses of people due to incessant sneezing..

If you stop to think about it, winters give us the opportunity to cling to each other more, hold on to each other for that much longer. To be able to feel in actuality all the compassion and tenderness that is inherently encased in a human touch, literally and figuratively, is what endears me to the season. Beneath the inclement weather and numbing sensations there is immense scope for warmth. Not just a feeling of it internally, but the uninhibited, unreserved exhibition of the same. Isn't that a wonderfully wonderful thing?

Winter is my birth season. It had to be. :)

C for College

2009-07-10T02:18:00.000-07:00

Chatter, cheer, color, contrast, cafe, cats, corridoor, confusion, cell-phone, courtship, culture, cigarette, classes, catharsis, country-music, colonialism, co-education?, condescension, Columbia, Coleridge, chaos, cahoots, camaraderie, campus...c'est la vie. This is life - or something like it.

This is my tribute to that phenomenal institution called Lady Shri Ram College For Women (don't miss that), which has been the cause of much pride and perturbation, turmoil and trepidation, emotion and excitation, and has filled every nook and cranny of 365*3 number of days with remembrances which refuse to age with time and consciousness that, mercifully, is ageless. When time spent inside campus seemed to fly by and that spent outside it seemed to drag on- I knew that something was going majorly wrong within my system. I couldnt have enough of sauntering in the sun-lit corridoors, lazying around in the lawns, snuggling back to the warm womb of the library, gazing at the notorious owl which lived in the trees overlooking room 27, consuming the excellent food at our in-house cafe graciously offering some of it to the omnipresent cat, spending quality time with friends while bunking classes, watching movies, shopping and attending lectures(in that order), spiritedly absorbing the wise words of much loved professors/spiritedly indulging in illicit day-dreaming et al. Only I know of the terror that was gnawing at my innards as I walked past the front gates, fingering nervously the rows of assorted flowers which lined the periphery of the front lawns on my first day. And only I know how slowly, with each passing day, that nasty feeling dissipated and filled that empty space inside me with something I still can't put a finger to. Perhaps it was relief, or hope, or joy, or excitement- of finally finding one's place under the sun. Perhaps it was all this..and more. The kindness in the teachers, their willingness to go beyond known limits to help students with whatever was causing them agitation, their selfless devotion to their noble vocation- has made me wonder why people always tried to alienate me from expecting a good life at college. All those stories about how one is on one's own, college is the true test before one launches into real life and things like that. Because for me college has meant that there'll be help available whenever and however you need it- not dressed up formally and impersonally, but in flesh-and-blood, alongwith a welcoming smile and kind words, it has meant that differences shall not be ridiculed but embraced, it has meant that the biggest mistakes will be forgiven and the littlest success will be celebrated, it has meant that with every breath and every step something in me is growing- not with the fanfare of epiphany but with ignorance and arrogance slowly gathering their things and walking away in the middle of the night. And most of all, it has meant that no matter if I travel to the other end of the world, no matter how small or big I make in life, the singular connect of familiarity, friendships and fusion that I found behind those walls and beneath that roof, would stay alive in a hallowed corner of my heart for as long as I live and after.

"When envious time, with unrelenting hand, Dissolves the union of some little band, Memory still loves to hover o'er the place, And all our pleasures and our pains retrace."

For Friends

2009-07-09T08:45:00.000-07:00

(Dedicated to soul-brothers and soul-sisters.)

You lent me yours when I ran out of crayon,
And held my hand while crossing dark hallways,
And though those days have passed, yes they’re gone,
I remember your smile-kissed young face, always.
Always, when I’m feeling the blues,
And life seems too tough to bear,
I recall your paintings, with their splash of hues,
You gave me each December, every year.
How, with you around, sunlight always looked too bright,
And how can I forget, dearest, our gazing together at the star-filled night.
All the dreams, hopes, wishes-on-stars and the moon-shine,
Dare I ever let go these wonderful memories I consider all mine?
Friend- you are a pint of beer that tastes like starry skies,
And you, with your eccentricities, are the pineapple of my crazy eyes.
So, promise me, you’ll still be my friend, even if I turn enemy,
And you’ll be something..someone…who’ll always..just be.
Swear that you’ll mean for me, a journey that never ends,
God, where would we be in this world,
If it wouldn’t be for friends.

Read on..

2009-07-07T11:19:00.000-07:00

The single most defining threshold of my life was when utter appreciation and abject reverence for books came to me, luckily it came very early on. This is something that makes me most proud and immensely humble, strangely at the same time- that the power, pleasure and perspicaciousness of books is mine to absorb and instill. That this knowledge is mine to keep, it cannot be taken away, it is indestructible. And it can be summoned in the hour of need, dug out from the deepest recesses of one's heart and soul. So i tell everyone- nothing, nobody can prove to be a better mentor, guide, companion, friend than a good book. You want answers? books will give you those...

(On demand and perpetual insistence from a lot of kind friends, i am happy to share a sort of review of one of my all-time-favourite books.)

It is said about To Kill a Mockingbird, that after reading the book, and knowing that it is Harper Lee’s only written work, one wishes she had published other books as well. This 1961 Pulitzer Prize winning novel, arguably, is one of the best accounts of the hysteria that racial hatred and prejudices could brew in Southern America prior to the Civil Rights era. Told through the eyes of eight year old Jean Louise Finch, better known as Scout, the story weaves the innocence and conflicts which constitute growing up, coming to terms with one’s own fears and reservations, of childish exploits, summers of freedom, town legends, loved/hated relatives, and confrontations with the class structure of Maycomb (their home county) in school; with the larger plot of the racial undercurrent in the community beneath the veneer of normalcy. Scout and Jem are children being brought up in the backyards and lanes of quaint Alabama in the 1930s. Their father, Atticus Finch, a widower, is a well-respected lawyer as well as Congressional representative for the region and has raised the kids with the help of a black nurse/cook, Calpurnia. Atticus is about to take on a case of a black man accused (falsely) of raping a white woman, and that is sure to stress the town and his own family and uncover both the prejudice and the dignity of the people of Maycomb.
The first section of the book builds only the background and character and is an introduction to the Southern way of living- which is extremely relaxed, bordering on being apathetic. The action commences once Atticus is drawn into the trial, it affects the children in many ways, they begin taking insults on account of their father and the tension rises. The already existing class
and race divide in the story becomes more pronounced, and Atticus’ quiet insistence and fortitude regarding the issue of basic worth of a human life becomes more pertinent and poignant. The end of the book ties back to one of the first sub-plots and hints at the town’s return to something approaching the ordinary. The closure gets more personal, closer to home and thus doesn’t feel as significant. It might seem like a bit of a letdown after the extreme emotional value of the trial. But if one would just stay with it, one would quickly realize that Lee has a point to make. In the last few lines, she juxtaposes the desire for action with the inherent humility of humanity by incorporating scenes which, if less grand than the courtroom scenes, have as much profundity.
Inspite of the main plot being highly political, negotiating the stark difference in perspectives determined by the colour of one’s skin, the book manages to not transform into an angry diatribe. Instead it is a story about seeing people as flawed creatures and yet trying to understand them. It is a book about taking small risks in order for things to change. And most importantly it is a book about great personal strength and honour. It tells the reader that things cannot possibly be expected to change overnight. People cannot be expected to rid themselves of deeply entrenched beliefs. But it still tells one to keep hoping, accepting the good and helping to deal with the bad. Lee portrays a heart-warming picture of a widower trying to raise children who are idealistic like him, but who also are capable of standing up for themselves if need be.
It is a book with immense appeal and efficacy, especially in our world of today, when we have a man of African descent holding the office of the President of the United States of America. It reminds one of Martin Luther King, Jr’s theory of the slow moral arc of the universe- which is an appreciation of small gains, the gradual pace which humans take to change, and the dignity which lies in trying for change.
But even if one had to disregard the deeper moral point, this is essentially good story-telling and deserves all the fame it merits, because (taken from the plot synopsis of the Warner books publication) To Kill A Mockingbird takes readers to the roots of human behavior-to innocence and experience, kindness and cruelty, love and hatred, humor and pathos.
Highly Recommended.

My Debt

2009-07-07T08:37:00.000-07:00

I open up to you,
like I open up to the sun,
and bask in its shower of warm rays.
I am sun-kissed by your love,
your heat intensifies,
and my petals begin to wilt.
They are overwhelmed,
having never known,
such scorching heat.
My petals wither away.
I stand stem-strong and naked,
in your sweltering heat,
as your rays heal the bruises,
that my petals once covered.

blues

2009-07-07T08:20:00.000-07:00

I am not proud of this.. this poem is really depressing, I wrote it at an extremely low point in my life.. the only reason I am sharing this is because i think it would prove to be a cathartic and by extension therapeutic exercise..

thinking moments, under a brooding grey sky,

bittersweet memories, the promise and its breaking.

the song of love is long dead and gone by,

tell me what is harder- living life or its taking.

your look is not tender, your touch has turned cold,

so i secret we met, my questions, my fears.

but i shall wait for time to grow old,

and i'll see you again, through silence and tears.

just to be me

2009-07-07T08:15:00.000-07:00

The sun is setting on a lonely day
The colours are splitting the perfect way
You're strolling home as you see this too
And I watch from a window thinking of you
From this day on, I'll look forever
That magical sunset, our memories together
To help me through when my life gets tough
And when I feel that I've had enough
The sun you see, makes me think of you
The miracle of it, the wonder too
I see you both everyday as you know
To stop seeing either, I'd have to say no
The bright colours shine from within my heart
The colours of a sunset, a special part
Of a day in my life I wish you could see
Just what's it like, just to be me.

Remembrance

2008-09-29T11:25:00.000-07:00

Swati's post gave me a lot of confidence..was shying away from sharing this..but not anymore..Nani- wherever you are- this is for you..with love.

i can hear the soft rustle of your crisp cotton saree,
the primitive glasses lay untouched, abandoned.
the velvety softness of those calloused hands- raised in
perpetual blessing- frozen in my memory.

the mild lavender fragrance that once flowed from your skin-
greets me in my night-time walks now.
the wind carries your smell.

the thought of your kind embrace is as warm as sunshine,
the sound of your quick-step still rings true.
your voice as you devotedly chanted prayers still wakes me
at the break of dawn.
i imagine your shadow- leaning over the kitchen stove, and hear the mirthful laugh.
i smile at the way you innocently worried- and the plans you had for us, your delight at our achievements, your love for music.
and i wonder...wonder where the fortitude came from.

i comb your silver-white hair in my dreams,
and see your always bright eyes brimming with care.
i miss your handwritten letters, your precious intelligence
and simply your presence.

but this is what i do- brave my heart into the promise of a new day-
knowing that i still have you.

boys will be boys

2008-09-19T23:13:00.000-07:00

charming grins, annoying antics, come-hither looks, desperate entreaties, matter-of-fact tones, low-rise jeans, chest-hair, pick-up lines, bear-hugs, gossip, long drives, stolen stares, offhand compliments, bad habits, towels on the bed, stinking socks, four-letter words, perpetual flirting, soccer matches, shopping pangs, orchids on birthdays, late night calls, mean humour, dancing handicap, set-wet zataks, flowery shirts, cheesy caller tunes, pierced eyebrows, sports bars, persian belly-dancers, Man-U tees, rakhi gifts, chocolates, pinstriped suits, elegant ties, stubbles, colognes, fairness creams, squash and scrabble, glasses-to-contacts transition, hukka, beer, hangover, corner seats in movie halls, hard rock and head banging, guitars, whistles, eve-teasing, "why so serious" creed, trekking holidays, uncommon photographs, size 13 shoes, adorable messages, heated debates, meaningful conversations, fussin' and cussin', red roses, witticism, taciturnity, weird proposals, picture postcards, insensitivity, big-fights, unexpected visits, sudden departures, endless sorrys, three words-said too much-not quite enough.

God in a cotton saree

2008-09-19T03:58:00.000-07:00

Thank you Ma’am Geeta Chandran, for being the cause of evolution of this idea. For the abatement of the many men and few women who might think that this is a quintessesntially feminist piece of writing, can i just say that it is not. It is mere articulation of the multitudinous thoughts inside me that have been itching to be expessed since i read Ms. Chandran’s article in Times Life. The idea of imagining God draped in nine yards of (probably)silk is somehow magnificently powerful and enabling, and am talking exclusively for myself. One might argue that God is neither male nor female, God is spirit, God has no physical body, so on and so forth. And that is why it is sacriligeous to assign a specific gender to this supreme, omnipresent being. But this is easier said than done, as going by the way a human mind works- it almost always needs a singularity to associate with. It looks for traits, peculiarities and distinctions-even more so in matters of faith. So God would necessarily have to belong to either of the sexes,for it to just work better. Thus God has no physical body, granted, nonetheless you may refer to him as male, and by the same logic referring to God as female is exactly as valid. Which makes perfect sense to me, understandably so, and somehow is the cause of an immensely exhilarating feeling. Because picturing God as a woman connotes picturing God as possessing a womb, as a woman in labour, as a nursing mother, as a mother comforting a child, as also an independent, formidable and precocious female. God would be the Great Mother, who gave birth to all life in the universe, the fertile vessel of sexuality and creativity regarded as both sacred and central. Also, being a mother, the values she would espouse would be nurture, co-operation and an acute reverence for life as against the dominant and arguably male concept of warring. God would be the epitome of beauty, elegance, forbearance, and all the attributes associated with the feminine. God would be Eve, but unlike the carefully projected image of hers in popular culture, she would be the one who displayed the first signs of human will and rationale, when Adam couldn't fathom the courage to defy what was supposedly autocratic divine ruling. She would be the one who convinced Adam to eat the fruit of knowledge- which wasn’t such a bad thing after all, since it opened numerous windows of futures and destinies even if it did close the door to Heaven and the Garden of Eden for man. God would be the mother earth, bearing the weight of countless generations of man, animal and plant life, knowing that her duty was to assist in the growth, but also reminding us from time to time that we must not make the mistake of taking her for granted, as she is capable of destruction as well as creation. All these images of this lovely, awe-inspiring, overwhelmingly consuming presence of the sacred feminine establish in me a renewed belief in the larger cosmic plan..and the sheer prospect of envisaging the Creator, adorned in a stunning, flowing fabric, sporting long, raven-black hair..now what a vision that would be!

a good turn

2008-09-12T10:59:00.000-07:00

the behavioural science session on friday was great..no kidding..i think it was a much needed exercise for the class to shed its inhibitions collectively..and begin to recognize that we are a single entity..standing in front of the lot with whom one is going to share the better part of her/his next two years and making a genuine effort to connect with the larger sensibility of the class worked wonders for us..the most fun part was the bit where you got to give your feedbacks to the one person concerned..that way it was assured that the exchange wasnt unbalanced and the flow of interaction remained undeterred..of course it became quite sporty and a tad bit tomfoolerish when people began narrating uninhibitedly about their successful or not so successful love lives but in the end it added to the festivity and wiped out the last scrapes of formality which were looming...(to be continued)

serendipity

2008-09-11T00:59:00.000-07:00

last night was most interesting. no, none of my strange dreams this time but a really absorbing conversation with someone i barely knew, only having met twice before- the first time was funny and the second was a disaster.. and guess what, our talk lasted from eleven in the night to fifteen to five in the morning..when i had this unjust preconception about the person being....well lets just say...intractable..the talk began very innocently and i was determined not to let it get personal initially, but you know how it goes- sometimes even the best of intentions....anyhow. so yes it did get personal, and it was a catharsis i needed i think..the sense of getting rid of that excess baggage, or probably not losing it altogether but a part of it, through the help of someone who can have a brutally, mercilessly objective perspective on things really helps you formulate your own idiosyncrasies as well..also one needs to realize that no two people are the same..and its neither good nor bad, its just plain and simple difference. and the sooner one learns to respect this fundamental and all-pervasive characteristic in humans the better..we all secretly or not so secretly hate or learn to hate this thing called a difference of opinion..what we fail to consider and contemplate is the kind of unbearable monotony which would exist if there were no contradictions and contentions..and differing in thoughts, contrary to popular belief, does not mean that harmony cannot be achieved..all one needs to do is exercise a certain amount of tolerance and not be totally and adamantly dismissive of another's standpoint..so thats what i tried hard to do, patient and non-judgemental listening..though there were still a lot of things i couldnt bring myself to nod my head to, it was such a revelation nonetheless..that another individual can be as passionate and unyeilding about his/her singular belief structure as one is about one's own..and we never once stop to think that the same logic applies to both..if you dont/wont/cant let go off your ideologies, its unfair in fact absurd to have that sort of an expectation of someone else..a lot is still in my head but its kind of hard to put all that in words..some other time maybe.

9/11

2008-09-11T00:32:00.000-07:00

if i knew it would be the last time that i see you walk out the door, i would give you a hug and a kiss, and call you back for one more.
if i knew it would be the last time, i could spare an extra minute, to stop and say "i love you", instead of assuming you would know i do.
just in case today is all i get, i would like to say how much i love you, and hope we never forget.
tomorrow is not promised to anyone, young or old alike, and today may be the last chance you get, to hold your loved one tight.
so if you're waiting for tomorrow, why not do it today? for if tomorrow never comes, you'll surely regret the day.
that you didn't take that extra time, for a smile, a hug or a kiss, and you were too busy to grant someone what turned out to be their one last wish.
so hold your loved one's close today, and whisper in their ear, tell them how much you love them and that you'll always hold them dear.
take time to say "i'm sorry", "please forgive me", "thank you", or "it's okay". and if tomorrow never comes, you'll have no regrets about today.
courtsey- sacred space. The TOI

my spectre

2008-09-09T21:13:00.000-07:00

lately i have been dreaming the weirdest of dreams...much like imran khan's in Jaane tu...i mean the content is undeniably different, but they are as incongruous and peculiar, perhaps more so..try imagining this- i find myself in this utterly bewildering place..stark and stunningly white..foggy..chilly..like there are mountains all around me but i cant see them..and i am looking for something or someone in that hostile environment..and there is this terror lurking, like sometimes in the middle of the night when you get up for a glass of water, and you're standing in front of the refrigerator and drinking and suddenly you have this inexplicably terrible feeling that someone is standing behind you and you cant move for trepidation, cant turn around, your breath is caught in your throat, absolutely can't swallow, things like that...despite the fact that this is a dream, practically chimerical and phantasmal, i can't bring myself to believe that whatever am in pursuit of, whatever is my crusade here, is something that has no bearing on my life and existence in actuality..do whatever i may i always end up thinking that it is supremely critical for me to attain that abstraction and doing so would change the course of my life altogether..

rebirth

2008-09-08T05:59:00.000-07:00

in a certain sense it is...virtually i have been born again..i have a new name, a new identity and hopefully will have a brand new family as well as friends- my fellow bloggers..my business here is totally and completely personal indulgence..i belong to the species that thinks expression of the most banal of thoughts happens to be their birthright..and therefore i take off from this place hoping that whatever i feel a compulsive need to share, would be accepted- if it merits condescension and chastisement, then thats what it ought to receive..but if it merits the opposite, then it would be acknowledged..
au revoir.