Him...

"I would rather live my life as if there is a god and die to find out there isn't, than live my life as if there isn't and die to find out there is." — Albert Camus

Parallel Lines...

"Walking away is not my tag-line...a style statement...its an acceptance of the absurd life we live..."

"Which is precisely my idea of your escapist handling of things...you walk away from it all...or you live for today...indulge and splurge...or you choose to sit on a pile of melancholy and grudges...claiming to have moved one...an enlightened soul..."

"That's your perception...the one you're trying to force on my life...One need not act all the time...one cannot know it all...who knows what is right, what is wrong?...the important thing is not to be judgemental..."

"By which you imply that I am being hasty, judgemental and critical?...Demanding, Rigid...and the lot...?But I don't see how your liberal living and free thinking is bringing any happiness to anyone you know...apart from your great self of course..."

"Lets not turn ourselves into Gods...sitting on high thrones...allocating happiness.What's a standard happiness anyway?...In the end, we will all live and die...How can one talk for all? We will have to live alone...gathering our own experiences..."

"And so you sit back on your bed...?Abandon all the stupid lot...them all?...except of course those faithful bottles in your room...the crumpled clothes denoting all thats absurd...? Walking away is indeed not a fancy tag-line...its a wise way of life."

Birthday...Another One...

November...the word makes me happy. There must be very few souls in the world who are so much in love with their birth-month. Come to think of it, its a mad fascination...narcissisitic, un-called for...absolutely! But, I love the sound of "November"! Makes me as gleeful as a "hurray!" :P

Birthday..important...very much!!! So the smell of the new kurti and those anticipated, much-awaited calls..that quick, ceremonious, early-morning encounter in the temple with Gods...those messages of 'long-lost-but-never-lost' friends, the smell of cream and choclate on palms all day...those surprises unrolling warmly and the happy tiredness of having smiled and been the 'good-girl' all day! :)

Gifts, friends, treats...
An older, wiser soul? I wish!! :)

Dim...

This blue pain is benumbing,
The one I often recall to wipe grief.
I have stiched those days into
That gray coat I put on at dusk.
Night falls on my skin
Bringing flakes of a sad lost dream
So I surrender one more time
To that orange nostalgia
Tracing it in the Sun by my window,
Till you come to me
With your boat towards the promised horizon.

Over-the-top! ;)

I can frequently be the dazed, dumb, moody type you see. Too much attention embarrasses me. If you smile at me all the time, I might feel like pressing the magical button and opening the umbrella on myself. Not that it means I do not wish to acknowledge, like, attach myself to people who, lets say, are fond of me. Or, I do not care for people and their affection in my own way...It only means, the knowledge of being liked, unconditionally, good and bad, day and night, unsettles me...

Like too many items on a ricketty lorry!;)

Misgivings...

If blogging is addictive, not-blogging is even more so...Its a new phase this one, when I simply do not have words at my disposal, forget about the right ones. Not just a writer's block I think, but a phase of numbness, passivity of the mind as a human being. Indifference, like a bad cold, is infectious...and it lasts longer. Simply living life, from day-to-day gets to you, the routine of breathing in and out tires the system. For once, people do not matter to me that much...some hang around the scene, like the set, indispensable characters of an old novel, others come and go depending on prevailing winds and whims.

I only wish for some calm now, the kind that comes from entering one's damp cocoon...Time can keep moving...

Crashing Down

Intolerable pauses,
Unimpressive Metaphysics,
Six unanswered messages,
A couple of ignored calls.
That dry conversation,
Those weak words turning into flakes.
Wriness- cold and certain,
Predictable cynicism,
Fresh-grown smirks.
That slight whiff of contempt,
All those assurances
Etched in white on white...
And Condescension, Whim, Stubborness?
Please do not forget them.
Them All...
They are Ours.
Only Ours,
Forever.

Yellow Hibiscus

And then I found you,
Yellow Hibiscus.
That very yellow...the assuring one.
Not pale, not too bright.
Just that calm,
Just that sensitive enough.
I love your vulnerability,
Your not-smelling smell,
Moves me.
Gives me a little hope,
That you won't smile,
That you won't frown,
That you won't want,
That you won't command,
You will last neutrally
Just that long,
Yellow Hibiscus...

Candid...

People are frank sometimes and I appreciate that. A friend recently remarked, how bland the personal side of my virtual life appeared to him. He was referring to my relationship status of course on social networking sites, taking it as a measure of what he presumed, the "colourless" personal life I had. I smiled an unconvincing smile, and ended up laughing at myself as one belonging to "the old school" ;)

On second and third thoughts today, his remark appeared to me as a reflection of the sensational personal lives people wish to lead these days, with "fun" relationships. Different people, different choices, different attitudes. Ackowledged.

Let me be frank too. Its not the old school-whool. The concept of "relationships" bamboozles me totally yaar! Whats all this hubbub about relationships anyway? I believe in love! :) Idealistic, simplistic, generalized, hasty, sweeping as it might sound. But I do not understand these compulsory columns to be filled in...with a sensational use of relationships that end up dying after their short short short expiry dates...People make-up, break-up, lament, lose, and don't even cry! ;) They don't hum songs thinking of each other, nor do they get nostalgic in busy offices!....Won't do...at all!

It should touch you, move you, change you, build you, and last...last longer than anything you've ever experienced in your brisk Life! :)...Not that "committed" relationship! I am talking of Love! ;)

Wake Up...

There are memories standing

In a crooked line behind you,

And there are moments waiting outside

Your door...

Knocking and giggling.

Let them in. Them All.

Look at those rays of gold

That stretch on your window,

Call them in too.

Bend them into a crown,

Or, wear them as your little Halo...

Why should that unsure hand support?

Go, get yourself that iridescent dress,

That Rainbow...

Wait no more for uncertain clouds

To shed those warm, clear tears...

Go out bare feet

And wash your precious Self,

The happy rains are here.

Bitterness is sad, pathetic but sometimes, inevitable. For a creative person, its like poison. It kills the artist in you, depriving you of the tranquility you so badly need for synchronizing your thoughts. For the cheerful and dreamy human being its a sad reminder of the thorns which one needs to fall on in life and how! But for the wise soul, its another opportunity to assess the world around and drain out the bitter potions that deter one's growth as a happy, complete, satisfied individual.

P.S.- And here you have a new preacher in the making! ;)

Life this way...

These are impromptu days of an impromptu life. Packing, unpacking, moving, walking, eating, travelling...impromptu and continuous. The air is light and the clouds sensitive. They burst on you sometimes here, or they weep on alternate days. The Sun is clear yet benign. When I walk the wide roads amidst the green foliage, I sense a harmony around me. I am on my own. It startles me sometimes. Sometimes, I smile at the serenity of independent living. Bonds are nascent and unclear. A cup of coffee together, a session of book-reading in the library, a meal in the cafetaria, and you have mates. Or, a walk by oneself, an afternoon without people, a book to sleep on and you discover yourself.

After a long time today, I walked hand-in-hand through the heavy traffic and rain, ate pastries and had nariyal-paani, took delight in discovering places...like school children on an excursion. Came back smiling at the Sun-set and waving at the ink-smudged sky that promised fresh rains :)

Eager and Enlightened! ;-)

Home is where Amma is...

Independence comes...

I went out to the nearby Gaffar market today, only to be amused by the strange scene there. Packed with policemen and haunted by sniffer dogs, it looked different, of course. Its New Delhi’s way of preparing for Independence Day. Whose independence?... is too loaded a question to be taken up by mortal me. But, Independence Day it is, finally, one more time.

Present in the capital for the first time in the run-up to D-Day, I see the dizziness around me. Even on “normal” days, Delhi is especially aware of your benign presence. Enter into a metro station and you have the security people waiting for you…not arms folded…but arms open indeed…ladies to ladies, gents to gents ;)

Sometimes, I feel sorry for the Prime Minister. Not that he is a figure of pity all the time…but..but..but…As though the controversy on de-linking terror wasn’t enough, he has to bear the sultry weather here, read out a speech on the 15th, and prepare for more answers later in the parliament.

Coming back to Independence Day, can I write about Calcutta one more time? Haan? Yes, I can!...we have this thing for music there…of course everyone knows that...On “patriotic” days, we wake up to the tune of “Aamra korbo joi..” (Bangla version of We shall overcome…)..full-blast on the locality’s loudspeaker…unending, uninterrupted patriotism, dripping from the stereos all day. Time to take out green, saffron, white sarees and of course the flowers in the hair…sing a tune or two as part of the local cultural group…and carry home flowers, pamphlets and sweets to spread more independence...sometimes, even to the extent of ten-twelve boxes of mishti, if your dad is a big-shot at lokaal klub...;)

I remember having sung innumerable tunes with my mates on the harmonium, egged not so much by the fervor of patriotism within me, but more as a silly little girl, overwhelmed by the enthusiastic crowd, parents and family, the stage, the décor, the flowers, the loudspeakers and of course our harmonium sir!...Thankfully, I grew up…

Coming back to Delhi…I am itching to visit Purana Quila, Lal Quila, Qutub Minar, Jama Masjid etc etc. I know I still sound like a tourist…but can’t be helped! You see…I have to see!...The Capital...Its more like counting heartbeats here….the city gearing up for the 15th…not a beat less, not a beat more…the soldiers march on to the sound of the drum…independence…here it comes….

Epiphanies...

To brush aside those
Unclear dreams that hung hopefully
All night by the pillow,
And type, merely type
One’s breath out
All day…

To stare at the blank walls
Of coffee shops on Sundays,
To find in them a mate
That cannot speak.
To memorize smells of
Favorite trees
To sit tight-lipped
And recall the touch
Of a distant breeze…

Can you determine?
Can you think?
No soul, no heart
Not even a hand for you.
Just a whim
Like those
Cigarette smoke and rings…

The desire to parcel
Life off in glass bottles,
Across oceans, across streams…
Disown pain, weakness, bitterness, spite
For that drip-drop-drip happiness
Incidentally, a taste you may not like…

Book-marked

Cause And Effect-

The best often die by their own hand
just to get away,
and those left behind
can never quite understand
why anybody
would ever want to
get away
from
them

Charles Bukowski

Sway With Me-

sway with me, everything sad --
madmen in stone houses
without doors,
lepers steaming love and song
frogs trying to figure
the sky;
sway with me, sad things --
fingers split on a forge
old age like breakfast shell
used books, used people
used flowers, used love
I need you
I need you
I need you:
it has run away
like a horse or a dog,
dead or lost
or unforgiving.

Charles Bukowski

Finally it rained! ;)

Quarter to nine in the night

A rocket-fast rickshaw

One possessed rickshawala

Clouds and heavy drizzle

The wide wide Pusa road

A zillion speed breakers

Half-a-zillion pot-holes

Two cups of boiling tea...

A plate of hot noodles

Three samosas

A Dhokla

Chutney of course

Two crazy girls

And a grand feast on the rickshaw!

Gone with the...scissors...

For all the water she sprayed on my finely combed hair, my ears had become unusually warm. Even crimson…no red. I felt strange sitting wrapped in a white plastic sheet. It was finally my moment of reckoning after good ten months or so. I saw her gearing up with the scissors now. An uneasy smile broke on my lips, as my eyes met hers in the mirror. ‘Don’t chop a lot of the length.’- I made a last minute plea…well almost. Swish, swash, swish…and the first long lock fell into my lap. For once, I reverently admired the strand that was mine…and something welled up in my throat. She was going about dexterously, feverishly with the scissors. I closed my eyes and felt the warmth of the huge light over me. Too late…too late...

The spell broke with the hot blast of the dryer on my face. Over and out. I looked hard in the mirror finally. Not bad. Interesting. Can I say…good? I was almost pleased.

And then, as I walked out, I saw those many strands lying abandoned on the floor. Poor souls. Brown and fine. I touched my hair…recalling their smell and their touch. Gone… :(

Embers...

Those embers aglow,

Uncertain, Unsure...

There...just about it.

That sad hostility,

Mocking that confusion the other feels...

No lessons learnt,

None left to teach.

Why does it happen this way?

I wonder...

Annihilating together,

Perishing asunder...

Lets begin again,

Set them properly to fire,

Or put out that whimsicality,

Their half-stitched, orangish attire....

Gifts

Take a little hope tonight
And keep it in your fist
Till I open it
The next time.

We could sit and talk for a while,
Leaving the Sun to rise and set
A hundred times,
Smile and think of floating memories
Of happy days,
Of happy hours,
Of Journeys of thousand miles…

Draw for me a new sunset then,
With rays everlasting, truthful, fragile…
I will carry for you my bag of moist colors
To weave that promised, new sunrise…

Fragments

The wind that blew through the heart of the sky
Breaking the clouds into a dozen
Anonymous pattern…
Tells me to let go
And trace the scattered pieces of Life
Wherever they lie…
To just keep a handful of Time
And live uncounted days
Like eternity’s happy embrace…
Here it is…life…always.
There…it never was.
To breathe was never enough,
The rest I am incapable of….

Songs...

Stepping into the cool, bright metro, I instantly felt happy…very. Like good old days back home. Lucky day…I found my head-set and a seat…and in came Ronan Keating, Darren Hayes, Lionel Richie, singing those tunes into my ears after many many months. I started smiling to myself…when the guy opposite to me returned my smile, I realized people were indeed getting ideas. I switched to day-dreaming and reminiscing…wondering what the caller tune must be…now…scolding myself for that last bit…going back, back, back in time, till I came down to that Roja song…and then another unreasonable smile. And then a kid tugged my shoulder…

The train was empty. Thankfully, Dilshad Garden was the last station…

Each Morning...

Each morning, the soul feels heavy, with the burden of what I didn't do yesterday…the incessant dripping of Time and the continuous loss of all belief…its Life in painful circles, tied down with misgivings...whose is the onus?…I ask you, ask myself and the blank, thin crack I notice in the opposite wall…do I need to say?..I am not merely an option, a choice, a name?…I am a heart and a human being…I should have been at least a feeling…as you are…much much more...I know my 'self' and I almost love it with all its flaws...Its just that at times, I type, type, type, and this stupid feeling does not recede...I walk out into the dawn…and seek another numbness in the bare, green, long grass…

Dilli-Willi

It’s a colorful city…Dilli…but different, very different from my Calcutta. There is literally too much of color here…one wakes up to the howling of car alarms…and sees multiple of them lined up and glistening in the sun…so very different from the coconut trees and rickshaws that greeted Calcutta mornings…as always, I love some things, and I hate some…no middles please…

I love the wide, wide roads, the chat and paneer tikka, the green, lush parks with the Dhillon and Bindra aunties in chiffon salwars and Reebok shoes…the slim, slim maidens with baby clips and i-pods intact…markets full of lovely earrings, shoes, bags..(err…here I go! )...all very colorful indeed…to the extent of a slight overdose…

But the breeze here hardly picks up…like the mad gust in Calcutta…there are hardly any road-side golgappa shops…rickshaws aren’t that great either…and there are of course no Calcutta-mark Mishti Doi and Rassagolla available...These are testing times I say!

Chopra Aunty is great! I love her temper and her jhappis...The only problem is her Tommy (Tommy dear, I have been with many sweet pets…but you’re the rowdiest of all Tommies I have ever seen…)...her son comes a close second…read my blog you…(did anyone say moron?)…and see how I can’t stand you for some reason…

I have just about begun loving this independence…the impromptu cooking of French-fries at 2 a.m., the rounds of carom all night, the discussions, agony-aunt sessions, confessions till dawn, learning up the varieties of mangoes and buying them after haggling too!...not to forget Chopra Aunty’s recipes of Butter Chicken and Dahi Chicken, which, by-the-way, I don’t need being a veggie…

I am of course the same…though I did land up here thinking I was a naayika straight out of a Sarat Chandra novel…going to live stoically, quietly, in self-exile…but some things never change…so here I go…jabbering again…working, shopping…cooking….of course putting up with neighbors in florescent-orange night-gowns…and Chopra Aunty’s recipes and lo!...I hear our dear, ol’ Tommy barking again…

Misgivings...

And I wonder where Life’s headed…
A blank question I often exchange
With my soul
That nearly chokes itself
At the sound of those tainted songs…

What else will matter
Here on…?
When it all blew away steadily
And the carcasses of memory
Now stand as dead paperweights?

How do others smile?
All the time?
Heal and hurt by turns
And still survive?

How does one empty
The obstinate mind?
How does one relieve
The burdened soul?
When Life questions you each day…
When barrenness greets each breath
Like never before.

They stand now….darkly…
Those happy, belated days
Like the blueprints of what crumbled
And died…
Were we always weak?
Or were they unreal days?

Let me pretend to live on…
Let me pull up the curtains
And bring in the light…
But I see the sorrows hanging
All over the walls…

They speak of the unalterable
Unchangeable defects in my Life…

Senti...Sigh...Sigh...

I have been like a pensive, wandering bird these days... simply breathing in the air, letting my wings spread...too numb to think of those I bade goodbye to...of things I had folded up and locked in my nest...

Your call made my day! Your voice took me back to my old skin...those days...the bustling city of colorful buses, the campus, the bridge, the green grass, the umbrellas, the corridors...I could smell the air of the canteen again...our trips and misadventures...tales of sorrows, jealousies, misunderstandings and heart-breaks...old love and old wounds :)

When will I be back? The only thing you wanted to know...so do I...

I feel the way you feel...I feel the pull of our happy bond...the days of vanilla skies and fresh dreams...the happy happy group of dreamy souls...the maddening urge to pour my heart to you all...and to listen to your little/not-so-little stories, tales, joys, anxities...

This is for you my bestest, caring friends...and my dear Alahomora...I see we are in the canteen again...or lets say...City Center? ;)

Do I need to say how I miss... all the time?

Love...

Ponder:

"Quietism is the attitude of people who say, “let others do what I cannot do.” The doctrine I am presenting before you is precisely the opposite of this, since it declares that there is no reality except in action. It goes further, indeed, and adds, “Man is nothing else but what he purposes, he exists only in so far as he realises himself, he is therefore nothing else but the sum of his actions, nothing else but what his life is.” Hence we can well understand why some people are horrified by our teaching. For many have but one resource to sustain them in their misery, and that is to think, “Circumstances have been against me, I was worthy to be something much better than I have been. I admit I have never had a great love or a great friendship; but that is because I never met a man or a woman who were worthy of it; if I have not written any very good books, it is because I had not the leisure to do so; or, if I have had no children to whom I could devote myself it is because I did not find the man I could have lived with. So there remains within me a wide range of abilities, inclinations and potentialities, unused but perfectly viable, which endow me with a worthiness that could never be inferred from the mere history of my actions.” But in reality and for the existentialist, there is no love apart from the deeds of love; no potentiality of love other than that which is manifested in loving; there is no genius other than that which is expressed in works of art. The genius of Proust is the totality of the works of Proust; the genius of Racine is the series of his tragedies, outside of which there is nothing. Why should we attribute to Racine the capacity to write yet another tragedy when that is precisely what he did not write? In life, a man commits himself, draws his own portrait and there is nothing but that portrait. No doubt this thought may seem comfortless to one who has not made a success of his life. On the other hand, it puts everyone in a position to understand that reality alone is reliable; that dreams, expectations and hopes serve to define a man only as deceptive dreams, abortive hopes, expectations unfulfilled; that is to say, they define him negatively, not positively. Nevertheless, when one says, “You are nothing else but what you live,” it does not imply that an artist is to be judged solely by his works of art, for a thousand other things contribute no less to his definition as a man. What we mean to say is that a man is no other than a series of undertakings, that he is the sum, the organisation, the set of relations that constitute these undertakings..."

- Jean-Paul Sartre (1946)

Red and Yellow

I dreamt of the fountain today.
The fountain we were watching...
Red and Yellow,
Red and Yellow....
Were they symbolic?
The Lights?
Did they show me your colour and mine?
Red and Yellow
Washed down the fountain,
Or was it up and away that things went?
Things that buried our yesterdays,
Tainted the tomorrows.
I sat alone by the fountain today...
Clean and healthy it stood
Dancing at me,
Mocking at me,
Laughing at me,
The white of its calmness in tact...
The water safe in its furrow.
I know, I know
We took with us the Red and the Yellow,
The today, the tomorrow,
Burnt, scathed, scarred
Aplenty,
I now hoard the orange sorrow.

Here...

That which was there yesterday has changed...

You can ask me, but can I tell...

May be its just the new,yellow air, or the unfamiliar smell of eucalyptus.

May be its my heart again, or the senses feeling a little perplexed.

The faces, the rooms, the lanes and the noise...

They add up to something I cannot call mine.

Only your words remain, your voice and your name

To take things along...things I need to call

My Life.

I follow you Ashar! ;)

But I'm afraid the picture isn't very nice! :(

Adrift...

The audacity of your weak attempt,

The feebleness of the YOU in you…

I can clap hands, I can shout, I can walk out, I can laugh aloud,

At you...

And at myself.

My boat is adrift.

Thanks to the radio silence you supplied

On that weak weak day…

(Your patent analogy of Pearl Harbor mocks me.)

The dark signal that broke something….

That anchor for sure, and a lot of other things I presume...

A heart or half was also dashed I think….

The perversity of circumstances we say,

Or, lets call it of character.

The equivocator in you, the fool in me?

The generous waves call out

Time to abandon that shabby cloak

The stained abode

And drift away from agony…

To a sadder, clearer shore…

MOvie-thon!

The last five days...I have seen about a dozen movies...like a woman possessed...after work, at night, on weekly offf, all through Sunday....whenever I could....! God knows when will I get a T.V. and a dvd player again!! Here's a precious peep... ;)

99- first time

Sliding Doors- first again

27 Dresses- first time

The Secret Window- second…

Notting Hill- (second...I think so…Hugh Grant….rest don’t’ quite rem…)

Hitch- second

Forrest Gump- (200th)

Monalisa Smile- err…third…

Oceans Eleven- 2nd

Jerry Maguire- 5th time I guess

The Departed- 2nd..don’t know why I saw though!

Alex and Emma (200th show!)


P.S. - My deepest prayers…may I always have movies around me!! :)

Beginning...

I can do miracles I know,
I need not run with others
I can make it being slow.

I can count on myself
All the time
There’s no balm
That my own hands cannot provide.

No joy, no pleasures,
No hopes that need to be denied
Only some milestones waiting
Till Life is again on my side.

I prepare again to dream
I will not trudge
I wish to fly this time.

I will tell tyrant Time…
The decisions I make now.
Epiphanies I provide…

I can hear them calling aloud
My Happiness of yore…
Desires that are there again
Winds of change waiting to blow…

Just this night to pass
Just this narrow road
And then the wide wide path
Of a new Sun, new morrow.

I will join you Life,
I will embrace you too…
I call out to you World…
I will build my home anew….

Rescued?

A ride in a big, white, Whiteliner through the bypass has always done wonders to me. Somehow, I had always half-feared, half-wanted, to fall asleep in these buses and be driven to a far-off tourist spot…Digha or Ranchi or anywhere…I boarded one that day...feeling low…and soon began enjoying the ride through the rain-washed stretches of the V. I. P. Road…I felt that the rain, clouds, trees, bus and even the driver were being extra kind to me…So perfect and refreshing it all felt… Staring out of the bleary window…I felt a pair of eyes glued to me. A well-dressed, middle-aged man sitting on an adjacent seat was looking at me…Nothing out-of-the-world about it I thought. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the numbness of the chilling, uncontrollable air-conditioner….I could still sense his attention in my direction…half-an-hour…and I was in snooze-land, when I felt someone standing right in front of me. It was the same, sturdy, somber-looking man with thick glasses. Before I could expect anything, he placed a laminated piece of post-card on my bag and got down from the bus.

Still bleary-eyed, I saw him outside the window, waving a bye to me…What for? I turned to the post-card. Three Gurus lined-up…one after another…in sacred...pass-port size photos…Swami Vivekananda, Sri Ram Chandra Paramhans, and Baba Lokenath…or so I later identified these bearded/unbearded,/turbaned men to be…

I did not know what symbolic meaning lay ahead of me…what journey…what revelation…the whole day I kept waiting for something strange…bizarre…new….to happen to me… in the market, on the road, in the bus, at work, in the library, home, kitchen….anywhere!...and bed-time came too!...Nothing happened…


And I am still waiting….;-)

Heart of the Matter

I can’t emote in the same manner for everyone. I am not always ready with a set intonation in my voice. It varies from a smile to a laughter, from a neutral ‘hi’ to a warm ‘hello’. I don’t have the same set lines for all. That is how I am programmed. I am frequently short of the right phrases. No striking lines, sighs, winsome sentimentalism. Sometimes, I can be downright boring and extremely plain.

Perhaps the sweetness of renaming people into pet-versions is also missing in me. I take you as ‘YOU’. I do not want your meek, weak, fragile version. Nor do I give you mine to carry. May be that does not provide the right amount of angst. It might even dangerously bring in some happiness that is so unsettling to that nature. A happiness that is ever so plain, non-euphoric. Yet it remains unpalatable, uncomfortable. It’s the vague, irresponsible, ‘pain game’ that should prevail…

Of course, I have always cherished being there. I can love in my own way. Through the seasons of pain. However, I do not want fragility and gloom as conditions for giving my affection and support. I will give them always. Just like that. They have always been there. Without the right lines. Without the histrionics. And perhaps that makes them invisible, unnoticed, unacknowledged, insignificant. It is not gift-wrapped. It cannot be…like the Sunshine that just intruded in your room- unnoticed, unasked and unwanted.

Dear friend, you say people bring about painful circumstances for people…uncaring and slightly self-centred perhaps…so you pay…No. I chose, wanted, shared, went through…My judgment, my choices, my foresight or the lack of it….Self-critique, Accountability, Lessons. Yes, they will do the work for me. Always.

Even the empowering ink couldn't make the finger taller!:(

Alone...

After a failed stint with a pet gold fish and our coup that liberated their birds, our neighbors brought in two rabbits. Sweet, round and self-indulgent. They were placed strategically in a sty-cum-kennel-cum-house-cum-rabbit-inn…that was kept in the common passage of the fourth floor. I noticed them…obviously. One thin, a bit quiet and calmer fellow…the other healthier, chirpier, more agile. I grabbed the opportunity and got familiar with them….No prizes for guessing that the healthier one and I got along….birds (?) of the same feather etcetera… etcetera….

Not that my life began to revolve around them…but they became an integral part of the scene outside my flat. So while climbing the stairs, I would imagine them jumping across their shelter with ears standing up…and I would tap my shoes and see them go round and round in a tizzy….a fond ceremony it became….I could feel they anticipated my antics each time I was around….

But more than me, they were busy with each other….the fatter one burnt his calories by chasing the thinner one…I sometimes felt it mumbled to the other about each passer-by….Didn’t they get bored in there…of each other…of chasing round-and-round…of talking?...What garrulous…lost…busy souls! They went on and on and on in each other’s company….Phew!


And one day, as I came up…there was just the thin one there….sleeping, I thought. May be, the other one was hiding behind…may be it was freshening up somewhere…may be it was eating out…may be it was snoozing...may be. But, I soon came to know it was dead. And a closer look at the thin one made me realize it was shell-shocked. I tapped my feet…clapped unceasingly…made a dozen faces…antics… all that I could think of… it just didn’t move.

I came home…I will not say my life was shattered….but I felt a strange discomfort …an unrest…a heaviness…time and again I would put myself in the shoes of that lonely rabbit and try feeling the difference in its life. I couldn’t even do that…I didn’t want to be in its shoes. It was too scary. It was overwhelmingly sad. What will it do now? Where will it go? Whom will it talk to? There were too many bad, empty, painful questions. So, I let it be.

We have an understanding again…I don’t tap...it doesn’t respond.

The Right Card....

I feel like the most important person in the country presently. Yes, elections are precisely the reason…no...not a party ticket…I got my voter’s ID Card done! And getting it made was no less an ordeal than campaigning for any big-shot, small-shot party-warty or neta.

One sultry afternoon I landed at a dingy sarkari make-shift office in far-flung part of Calcutta. Even as I approached some Babus enjoying a bidi-adda session in their chairs, I could see their expressions change. It was the most heinous crime I could have committed, arriving at three when they were supposed to call it a day at five! “Heavy late!..heavy late!”…two of them mumbled….

“Ei Baba!...Photo nei?” one of the five officers gasped…looking at my Id form….The job of putting the photo there was optional, I tried to explain… "So Bhat?”- another replied, if they don’t see my face, how would they locate me in the area list? But wasn’t I in front of them already?...I exclaimed, exasperated. Surely I was being logical??

It had been some 7-8 minutes already in that dingy, hot den…and I could feel the drop of sweat tricking down my cheek, as the portable fans were turned exclusively in the direction of the babus. No more formalities. I pulled a chair and sat down. And soon paid the price. They handed me down about 10 sets of voter lists of separate blocks of the municipality, and asked me to hunt my name out…written obviously in chaste Bangla! Me poor soul….having bid Banlga bye-bye in the 8th standard…tried conjuring mental images of the bangla alphabets that would form my name and began my mad hunt through those maddening papers….ten…fifteen….twenty…thirty minutes and I saw my name written in all glory!

“Here”. I stood up, handing the paper, trying to sound as pissed, miffed, caustic, sullen as possible… "where?” one of them accosted me as I tried leaving….Oh yes…I was forgetting to get my photo clicked for the card. There stood a reed-thin photographer in a pink shirt with the saddest looking digital camera in the world!...Already out of patience, I wanted him to simply go through the motions…but, but, but…. “Your hair…madam…” he pointed out to the few misguided strands…”your complexion”…he pointed to the drops on my forehead…trying to do a Mona Lisa… “its perfect!”- I almost stamped my feet…and then the blinding flash came down…and I left….

I saw my ghost finally when my card was handed out a fortnight later. But, but, but…I got it done people!

Truth

Being great is easy, being generous is easy, being scapegoat-ish is easy, and being a martyr is easiest….It saves a lot. A lot of truth, a lot of pain, a lot of bitterness. But being honest is becoming increasingly difficult. Why don’t people open up and walk the road I wonder? Me included. Me even more so. Shedding the burden is not easy you see. One gets used to the acting. One cannot give it up. It’s the other skin, the role, the mould, the part, the other identity. One lives it out each day hoping someone will notice the blood that oozes, the sweat that screams out, the anguish that pricks. No one does. And you keep dragging it- inside out….outside in….and the days are passing by.

Farther Away...

One loses to a number of causes….one ages for different reasons…one dies through multiple symptoms. You wake up one morning and realize you have lost those cells that carried those few drops of love in your system…

How weird it sounds…unreal, ‘out-of-the-world’ kind… Yes it does. But I promise you its true. You can look into the mirror and see those fine wrinkles, those dark patches under your gray eyes, a witness to the toil you do…a toil you no more have a reason for… that’s death. Silent and growing.

The dreams have abandoned your sleepy brain as you simply notice the dirty sheet you wake up on and that clock that pushes you towards oblivion. The scariest part is to lose those important words. They are naked now…barren…single-colored…eliciting no response. He doesn’t clap, doesn’t laugh, doesn’t notice. And you move just an inch closer to death.

It all passes by you each day. You begin to wonder how you lived in those belated days, when the breath came easy and the smile reappeared often. It makes you bitter. The falsity of the effort grows. The purpose of the talk fades away. And you clutch that finality. The finality of standing on the nadir. You can clap.

Weekly Off!

Initially, the idea of getting a weekly off pained me. No Happy Saturdays for me then? Sulk…sulk…sigh…sigh….life seemed bleak and miserable…Sunday is not a fun-day actually…one just oils the machinery for the grind that follows through the week…what bad luck, what misfortune! How it tortured me to see people waking up late on Saturdays, enjoying a lazy meal and catching up a flick or two…and then I had my revenge! ;)

Suddenly on a hot Tuesday morning, they would spot me snug and happy in bed till ten!...I would stroll deliberately in front of them with a cup of lazy tea. “My chutti you see…” and they would give me red, hostile looks and move on…the peace, the contentment that I felt….to see them rush out of home in a mad dizzy, crib about the heat and dust outside and return late tired. And then I would narrate my grand account of merriment on a comfortable day. The books I read, the movies I saw, the impromptu meal I rustled up, the unplanned, multiple naps I caught…blah and blah and blah…it of coursed irritated them, some even threatened to kill me…but there was no taking away my sense of victory! How I look forward to my weekly offs now…just hold my temper and work on bleary Saturdays…and wait for the manna dew that lands in my plate on a Windy Wednesday, Tangy Thursday or Filmy Friday! :)

Holiday home…its a battlefield! ;)

Passing By...

At Dawn...

Her eyes opened to the patter of raindrops outside the window. The room was unnaturally dark for that hour…one of those Calcutta days when the dawn imitates the dusk. She couldn’t bring herself to leave the bed. The clean white blanket won her heart all over again and she hid her face deep into it. It was indeed the hour of contemplation; the early morning breeze, dampened by the rain outside, invited reflection. The calm of the violet dawn and the twitter of unprepared birds moved her soul.

Staring at the ceiling, her mind traveled back to the events of the last week. She could now think of it as a whirlwind that had culminated in the storm last night. And now this placid morn. How far they had traveled from each other, in a matter of days. Years had crumbled into nothing. Simply nothing. One of those swaying, powerful stretches of time that take away memories and emotions, feelings and sentiments, foresight and forgiveness. It was a battlefield all the way. They had turned themselves into brainless warriors feeding on false pride and reasons. Nothing could hold them back then. They had geared up to carry it far…just a little behind the Greeks and Trojans. She sighed deeply, closed her eyes and murmured to her battered soul-“it would be fine; she was right”…and then the soul betrayed her. Her pillow was briskly dampened by those heavy drops that gushed down from her eyes. She felt bitter. Not with the world, not with him, not with them. It was simply a heavy, self-critical heart. And she despised her tears. To come out that early! At dawn…

She got up and walked to the balcony. It stood deserted and dark. She had abandoned it these days. There was no need to hide in its corner and scribble. Letters weren’t needed anymore, songs never sung. It had been weeks since she had peeped into the nest it its roof, or been in company of the lazy cat. Its all gone. She told herself. The best and the sweetest part of my life. I have cut it off. If only she could say these without the watery response from her eyes, without that sinking feeling in her heart. She knew she would be fine then. That was indeed the sign. Pitying her melodramatic soul, she tried to scrub the sentiments out of her face. The mirror stood over the washbasin. And for once, she couldn’t smile.

“I will be back.” - She said to it and sat down to write.

I would give anything to live an untroubled life. No decision, no confrontations, no ripples, no breaks, no shudders, no waves. To simply say a friendly ‘hello’ to the atoms of life that pass by me each day. Indecision would then be my mate. Inaction my shelter. They would not allow me translate thoughts into moves. And I would be spared of the rod of pain and accountability.

But why should I fear the rod? Why should I get it anyway? Am I that weak? That helpless? That cowardly? I suddenly feel moved and firm. Time to decide then? Well, yes. How does one do that? One who can bunch the same number of pros and cons? I know the loss I know the gain. And I am never prepared for the pain. So why budge, why change, why choose, why decide? Why not let those atoms just touch you mildly and pass by, into the unknown future. Swim on…day to day…will you meek soul?

No. Because, sometimes, the random, berserk atoms hit you hard, catch you off-guard, break your bones and scratch your muscles too. They bend you down, tie you up, blind your view. The omnipresent salt is rubbed in too, as you try swimming across the sea of life and agony. Poor, inconsolable you.

Spare yourself, love yourself, stay afloat, challenge the sea. Drink in the salt; pour it out. Wipe your eyes, face the Sun. But do decide. Decide to live life in your own, stubborn, gritty way. Tame the vicissitudes.

Relief...

I have begun cleaning up…

I am wiping it then….

I know it…

I can see the algae surrounding me…

All the green, oozing wilderness….I created

My achievement, my wealth…

They don’t let me breathe and dream.

The other day I woke up

When my dreams were suffocated

I caught the dampness in my palms….

My achievement, my wealth…

My web, my illusion…

Its not a call for help…

Its not a sigh of loneliness…

Its not the white flag…

My achievement, my wealth…

The treacherous greenness

Worse than the simplicity of death…

Keep away, stay apart…

The cowardice of the blind day…

Inhale…problems, greasy smoke, stares, remarks, mistakes, errors, jealousy, spite, competition, frustration, failure…
Exhale…sigh, bitterness, words, inhibition, tears, complaints, noise, crash, soot, smirk, gasp, venom…
Desire to hide…I need an ostrich neck…
Clipped wings…dry legs…dry eyes…
Sometimes the ridiculous isn’t ridiculous enough…
And you aren’t dead till you die…

I am sure I am learning each day...

-

-

-

I am not sure it helps...

-

-

-

I am sure I will carry on.

Folding Up...

Each day Time teaches me an old lesson
Withered and unclear on the white paper
Of the diary…

Will my moonstruck talk please?
I ask you…
Let no answer drop from your lips…

There are gestures of pain
Woven into our life and love
That tell me to take heed…

They say take your heart too.
The one that is stale and hardened now
Hide it in your small fist…

But do not move your soul more than an inch.
Warm it near the logs one more time
Its the needle touch of the iceberg tip…

There are these thoughts...there are these sentiments...and there are these steady set of feelings...some coloured hopes and some sepia-toned expectations. 'Tantalizing' is not the term, 'unfulfilled' sounds too strong..."unhappy" is inappropriate and "unsure" is not quite that too...Its this wierd sense of hesitancy,numbness, apprehension...like that ticklish sensation in your tummy...that stops you right at the last tumbling minute...depriving you of the adventure-ride...that you so dearly want...a warming of those thin ears and that mild restlessness of the soft-beating heart... you know you act really dumb!

"When you have once seen the glow of happiness on the face of a beloved person, you know that a man can have no vocation but to awaken that light on the faces surrounding him. In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer."

- Albert Camus (1913-1960)

Shadows...

There are voices standing outside my dilapidated door,
Abuzz with those same million sooty questions.

They chase me through the labyrinthine ways
Of my own dreams, demanding those hidden cloistered answers.

The last time that I had seen that face near the brown broken wall
I had promised it those answers I left folded in your trunk.

Now come back to me with them and save me from their eerie shadows
Those that have taken their abode under my weak window.

The damp walls of my rooms cannot parch their thirsty throats.
They want those names- mine and yours.

Shrewd promises of last summer prop their mutilated heads again,
And Spring comes lamely with its bag of false yellow hopes.

Come and tell them, it wasn’t my plan to mislead-
It was the wicked woman Destiny that led us on the wrong road…

Help me unpack my heavy bags of bricks and memories
Let us give them back to the hungry red river of yore.

Save me from surrendering on this rusty dead journey
The shadows are indeed dark and wise; you leave me again…stranded on the road.

Midas had a touch that turned everything into gold. I have a touch that disappears the thing. I say this and you will not believe. But I know...know it too well. It will vanish, the moment I touch it, call it mine. Its called the "Vanishing Touch".

Essay on My Family :) :

My name is ... I have one elder sister and one younger brother. My father is a teacher and my mother is a housewife. I love my parents very much. I also love my siblings. My sister and I love to read storybooks, while my brother and I often play cricket, badminton and football. My brother has often broken windowpanes, showpieces and cricket bats. My sister only breaks my head, eats it actually. My brother loves to eat and my sister loves to sleep. I love to talk. My dad loves to teach and my mom loves to cook. Every year we go out for summer vacations. We meet our cousins and often have picnics. My family also celebrates different festivals like Diwali and Holi. Diwali means rangoli and clothes to me, holidays to my sister and more food to my brother. It means a lot of expenditure to my father. My brother studies in a big school. He is always late and never finds his tie. My father also goes to his school but never wears a tie. My sister makes tasty parathas but eats a lot of them too. I don’t eat much, not food. I love to be with my sister in a joint in College Street. We often eat dosas there and discuss our future plans. We also go for movies, without informing people at home. My brother often finds out and goes about spreading it. My mother knows we do not go for buying books there, but she never complains. I also like her for the way she makes her bun. I always try doing my hair that way, but it will have to grow longer. I like the tea I get after coming home and love to stuff my pockets with dry fruits from my brother’s tiffin-box. My brother often pretends to sleep and overhears us sister talk. We then shut him out and he sulks around the house. But, my Mother knows how to cheer him up and comes with a plate of fried potato.

My sister has been away for three years now; my brother will be out to a new city too. I cannot miss them enough here, so I will go away too.

TIME

Everything heals...with time. Which is good or bad? Good, becuase you have to live...bad, because you thought you would hold on longer. Does that surprise you? Startle I mean? No...it only makes me restless for sometime and then I lie back and accept the blatant truth...that they mutter all the time...till it reeks from books, pages, mouths and so many channels...Time is the GREATEST healer...To TIME I give it!

A Meeting.

There was more to the effervescent smile that afternoon, as they settled in their typically unsettled manner at the coffee table. She smiled more warmly than ever. He was amused like never before. That’s why he called her an interesting specimen.

She was nervous, darkly intelligent and mildly sullen. Yes, that was the flavor of her temper, well almost. Pauses and perfunctory questions took their usual place as the two wearied each other out. The coffee, the TV. set, the boisterous moms, the noisy children, something should have rescued them.

Was there anything else to put on the table? Who wanted? Who cared?

She fidgeted a little more than she had…six...right…six months back. The ears turned scarlet for sure and the poised smile stuck. Her hair of course had grown longer…So what? He knew better….

Probably, she was meeting his glances more frequently this time, making him expectant of some unexpected adventure, the thrill he sought everywhere. He was still to decide on what to wear…his familiar chuckle or the grin.

“Okay…I need to this time around….”
“Hmm…yeah...sure…what?” He waited intelligently.

Her cup was empty, her eyes full with their decided whiteness…big and unwavering. He knew she would not be inhibited for once. The small hands threw the dark hair back, making way for her words:

“I choose to breathe easy….”
“I choose to walk away…”

The skirt swept the chair like a dream. She was out of his sight…yes…forever.

I hope its a *NEW* year!