Phoenix speaks...

For love and lovers

2011-11-08T11:10:00.000+05:30

With you I lay on the grass watching clouds sail on, while golden afternoons turned pink. Elephant! I shrieked and pointed. You knotted your brows, pursed your lips and stared hard to let our minds fall in sync. For you to find, I hid in dirty garages, behind dumpsters, on leafy branches. With you, racing, I scraped my knees, elbows and almost all skin visible from my printed cotton frocks.

For you I cheered until my voice was hoarse. For me you brought back medals and trophies. Your sweaty shirt, plopped hair, dirty face, bloody feet and a cocky raised eyebrow. With you I realised my face was chubby and legs too thin. For you I chose what to wear and waited for the cocky raised eyebrow. With you began midnight calls, swollen eyes and mosquito bitten legs the next dawn.

You taught me to run across busy roads and jump down from moving busses. With you I sat at train doors, scattered with fruit peels, nuts and flattened rice, while our hairs tried to fly away with our scalps. We watched tiny specks of lights run past in the darkness as I made up stories about the people living in the light, and you tapped your cigarette away from condescending eyes.

From you I learned patience. For you I learned to give up pieces. With you I dreamed on and with you I believed. In the strokes of your pencil I was beautiful and I watched as your fingers moved while eyes didn’t. Don’t smile, don’t talk, don’t move, you warned. We laughed. Papers were forgotten then.

With you nights dissolved into days. With you sleep wasn’t needed. For you long walks were taken, sometimes through dark winded roads and sometimes through darker more twisted minds. With you stories were exchanged, of unknown yet familiar childhoods, of books and poetry, of love and jazz. Joints were rolled and dreams unfurled. With you guilty pleasures were unabashedly confessed.

For you I still sit waiting at night

For you I still smile and sigh

For our story, yours and mine

still lurks just beyond sight.

2011-09-23T14:14:00.001+05:30

The pain is unbearable at times…most of the time. It feels like trying to lie on a bed of nails, every turn and I bleed all over again. It’s suffocating. Like trying to breathe while someone is pushing me under water…try too hard and water rushes in my lungs making my brain scream. Sometimes there are side effects. Hours of incessant crying, inability to get out of bed, the urge to punch everyone who’s happy, drowning in low self esteem, these all came with the package.

But, then there are the other times. Pain becomes a respite. It is the only feeling that makes me feel alive. It surpasses all dimensions. Time becomes reversible, and reality a myth. I can feel him breathe. I can hear his heart beat. I wake up in the middle of the night and the room still smells of the last cigarette we shared. I share entire conversations with him in my head. I can hear his voice, his laugh, his possessiveness. Pain is welcome then. Pain is enjoyed…relished…loved.

It seems like an era spent with him, and a lifetime lies ahead to walk alone. But am I ever really alone? On a surprisingly cloudy day…or when the auto’s cracked radio belts out long forgotten songs …or when I pull out my diary to find his writings scribbled…or when walking in a crowd, a stranger’s face suddenly looks like his… am I ever alone?

There are times when I try to induce the pain. But means are few. Forgotten pens, posed pictures, a certain ring, chocolate wrappers, café bills that’s all I have left. We played by the rules. Amicable, cordial and mature were the words used. But the rules never stated the after effects. They never warned me that I might not need reminders. That his memories would be like Pandora’s box. You never know what to expect. It may burn you all over again…but you won’t be able to stop yourself from opening it.

I have no control anymore. The pain plays with me like waves. Pulling me in an embrace and then spitting me out onto the cold hard ground. I don’t know when it gets better…or if it ever really does. But right now, he exists only in the pain…and as long as he does, I am ready to be lost in the sea.

office office

2011-02-04T14:02:00.000+05:30

This is a six months update on my office life for all those who’ll bother to read.

When I first walked in, after being treated like a queen at a five star hotel for a week, the first thing that hit me was that the office is purple!!…the tables, the chairs, the wall skirting et all. I too was given a tiny purple corner and no specific work...so as usual I started my favourite sport since I was six – detective me!

It didn’t take long to figure out the purple mystery…out of 45 in the research team, 40 were women! It was my worst nightmare coming true! In my whole life, the only time I went ‘Gandhian’ was when my parents wanted me to attend a girl’s college (one of Kolkata’s best). I went the theatre way…when hunger strikes didn’t work…stern ‘I can’t believe you can even think of making me do this’ gaze, big sad puppy eyes and finally the ‘it’s my life’ fiasco. Anyway, the whole point of this diversion is that – I CAN’T handle too many women! But I was trapped…nothing to do, so I decided to try and be invisible. Everyone reading this probably knows me well and can imagine how horribly I failed. For the others, here goes,

Incident 1: We had just closed a report and so were allowed to out for lunch anywhere and burn office money. Super excited me and some a little less excited others piled into a ‘way out of my dad’s budget’ car- destination DLF Emporio.

Until now, I had blended quite well into invisibility, my stock of new ‘office’ clothes were still holding and the Garihat footpath bag still looked decent. As I cat-waked in with the group, consciously tucking my tummy in and chin up… ‘

May we check your bag maam?’

‘um..sure’ (faking total nonchalance)…

So she did.

While my colleagues waited with impatient tapping of expensive footwear...out came my dirty secrets… a dirty comb with missing tooth, a half eaten 5 star, a sock (no no..not a pair), an army of age old chloromints, lost earrings and lots of loose sugar. (In my defence, I had picked sachets from the last conference… how was I to know that the lost earings would be territorial??)

Needless to say, I was invisible no more

Incident 2: I had finished lunch early (we have a strict 40 minute lunch break...1.41 strikes and say bye bye to a quarter day’s leave), so I decided to be adventurous. Our office is on the first floor of a building owned by the Archeological Survey of India and the ground floor is a pseudo-museum where they basically store the not so fancy fossils. Since nobody ever comes here, there is no security or barrier to entry. So daring little me took a trip. I gazed at the stone utensils, the dug out coins and lost myself in an era of forgotten history classes. Suddenly I realised that I would be late. I hurried out…but the door wouldn’t open! I panicked. Not only was my scanty leave balance at risk but I could very well be stuck here long enough to cook the coins in the utensils! I pressed my weight against the huge glass doors until my breath left moist patches…but it was hopeless. Just when I was about to give up, I saw my boss walk in to go up. I banged my palms against the door to attract attention (not that it was needed...imagine me, nose pressed against glass…get the picture?) So he walked up and let me out. Thank you! I said flashing the best smile I had…You’re welcome, he said…but next time, just try pulling…

As I blushed crimson, I realised I was not only visible now, but under glaring spotlight.

Incident 3: It was another conference, at another fancy five star. I was already late as it was raining so no auto was ready to go by meter, and I would rather walk 20 km than pay 20 extra. Just as I was about to get up in the auto, I tripped and broke one heel of my new cute shoes (that I had so proudly haggled and bought at half price from a man who thought it was his birth right to scan me leg up).

No problem, thought confident little me, I’ll just break the other one. So all the way I pushed and tugged and twisted, but the satanic stupid stiletto didn’t budge. I finally reached the hotel and before I could even get down, a giant man in a black suit came running to help me with a huge umbrella. ‘I can manage’ I said...’It’s my pleasure’ he boomed. So me and giant started walking up the never ending pebbled approach road. Halfway there I realised I was getting soaked, as Mr. Giant was a gentleman and kept his distance. I can run the rest, I said, and started to run. Imagine my horror when he started running after me, with the umbrella, in a perfect suit that was so well ironed that it looked plastic! ‘Madam it’s my job to help you’ said the poor giant. But I was in no mood to listen. I reached the main foyer, breathless, wet and without a heel. So what? Who’ll notice me in this huge fancy place? (I had met John Abraham in this same foyer the last time that I was here). But somehow I felt every eye on me! It was then that I realised that corporate women wear heels for a purpose. It gives a feeling of power. Click..clock..click…clock..kind of like Gabbar in the ‘kitne admi the’ scene. Kind of like dare you cross my path I’ll mash you under these. And here I was walking in a pin drop silent hall, with full attitude going..click..silence…click…silence…

My torment was day long as the entire hotel had wood panel floors to emphasize the click…clocks…afterall, it’s an unsaid rule in my new world…no click clocks meaning no power meaning no card exchange meaning no interview meaning basically you are doomed.

Now that my invisibility plan had failed, I decided to shift gear to plan B…make friends. Now this was more my forte, so I did.

I met M. She’s a hardcore Bengali, loves Rafi songs, political talks, the latest Pulitzer winner, but unfortunately was born into a full blown Punjabi family. Her family thinks she’s abnormal, as she prefers white over hot pink, or wants to read the front page before page 3, or sips cappuccino rather than lassi in huge steel tumblers and the ultimate sin..she prefers amchi Mumbai (where she worked earlier) over saddi dilli!! It’s almost like being a closet gay!

Then, there is S. Typical west Delhi. Pink polka dotted shoes with pink polka dotted bag. She lives almost and hour away from office, reaches on time (9.31 and you lose leaves) but never ever is a hair out of place, or nails not manicured, or lipstick and eyeliner unmatched!! This mystery I couldn’t yet solve. Her life’s aim is to marry someone with a black BMW and leather seats.

There’s N, who has till now never spent a night away from direct family, and R, who is from Kolkata, has been working in Delhi for two years, and makes her poor mother stay with her because she can’t cook! I remember she once told me’ Oh! You can cook! Why didn’t you get married then??’

Of course, there’s my boss, who’s the perfect example of the click clock genre and confidently says ‘I’m a single mom with two kids and a dog’. But then she recently moved to Singapore to open a new branch and we are now led by Mr. H, who is the quietest person I have ever met (he is the star of weakly attempted ‘I’m invisible’ act). He never complains, never takes leave, never says no, never speaks above a whisper, bring lunch in a yellow plastic box and curd in a water bottle. He has a golden temple desktop background. I don’t know if anyone has noticed, but on days when our CEO is on leave, the background changes to a Pink Floyd cover.

I have a new strategy now…compartmentalize. I shut off my mind whenever I want, I have the acumen now to stare at a document for 30 minutes straight while all I’m thinking about is should I cook or order in tonight. I can think up a perfect header for my article while nodding compassionately at S when she cries that the pimple on her cheek makes her nose look big. I have learned to read a one page document and type 10 pages about it, I have learned to call men my dad’s age by their first names and not stammer while doing it, I have learned typical key words to use in a conversation to make it seem that you are actually understanding what the other person is saying when you really don’t have a clue. And I have learned to do million to billion, billion to crore, lakh to crore and dollar to rupee conversions so fast, that it would make my high school math teacher proud!

For her

2010-10-27T12:15:00.001+05:30

Her house was a magical kingdom. Quilts could be turned into caves while me and my brother became lions, even in summer afternoons. Sarees were weaved through rusted door loops, and we would swing till our bums were sore…or the saree tore. There would always be ‘mangsher jhol’ for lunch, and multicouloured pickes. She sat there patiently while I chose my favourite pieces and my brother kept asking for endless ‘alus’. In the afternoons, while she lay reading the latest issue of ‘desh’, we were allowed to make tiny ugly idols by digging out mud from very exquisite flower pots, or pluck bonsai oranges and try to make juice. When our mothers found out, and our cheeks had fingerprints...we could always run to her...hug her and say…’ ma ke boko’. She smelled of talcum powder and keo-karpin hair oil.It was our sanctuary. She was our sanctuary.

On birthdays she gave us twenty, sometimes forty shiny five rupee coins in tiny beaded pouches...we felt we could conquer the world with our treasure. As I grew older I discovered other treasures… her treasures. Old faded copies of Shakespeare, O Henry, Jane Austen and Wordsworth with her pencil scribbled notes on the margins. She sometimes read out to me…entire hardbound novels…mostly Bengali ones which she knew I would never touch otherwise. In a few years I started reading out to her on my occasional visits... my favourite passages, from my favourite books. She loved Gone with the wind.

I lived with her for a few months when I was in college, and in those months I got to know a whole new her. We chatted late into the nights. She picked out matching earrings each night for me to wear the next day. I sang old hindi songs for her and sometimes she recited poetry. I heard reminiscence about her childhood, mom’s childhood and mine. About cooking for her family since she was six while her mother nursed her next, about having just one dress and shivering in the cold when it was washed, about finishing graduation with brilliant marks and then going on to get two master degrees, about running away from home to marry a man 27 years elder, about teaching in two colleges in two shifts and raising three kinds and four sisters…about her struggles and her victories. ‘Your life-story can me made into a film’ I always said…she laughed out loud.

I left the city the next year, and the year after that she came to live with us. I met her on visits home. She sat reading in her room- any book… every book…news papers, magazines, even packets and scribbles on medicine covers. When I went and hugged her, she smiled. Her eyes glittered…she kissed my forehead, but never called out my name. She took long baths, had lunch with us asking stubbornly for very specific items and multicoloured pickles, and then went in for a bath again. She slept with a pink quilt, even in scorching summer afternoons. Sometimes we told her stories that she told us, sometimes I sang old hindi songs for her…she just smiled and stroked my hair and asked me to sing it again. She was suffering from Dymensia.

Yasterday night I flew down to see her one last time. The woman whose life I still believe can be made into a beautiful film.

Love you dida..and always will...

Love

2010-03-21T17:02:00.002+05:30

I love you
Oh! I love your shirt!
I love poetry
I love acting
I love this cake
I love your jokes
hey thanks! love you
I love this weather
I love JNU
I love Kharagpur
I love Walt Disney
I love your smile

I fall in love too fast..and even though most don't turn out the way I would love..I love not regretting.

A letter to you

2009-10-28T11:14:00.002+05:30

It's been a really long time since I wrote to you.I know I have always been selfish in this matter,writing to you only when I am desperate for replies.But tell me honestly is it just me who is selfish?Is just me who does things with certain expectations and gets hurt when these fall flat on the face?

You must be wondering what I am rambling about.You must be confused.But then again.. maybe not.You never are.You always know exactly what to say.. and better still,exactly what not to say.

I on the other hand, go around in circles..rather viscous ones may I add. My mind tangles up like the ball of wool the kitten just played with. I start out at a point,and then spiral down...down...down...untill the point is no longer visible. 'Chronic depression' I used to say... 'melancholy' you whispered.

The truth is that I am tired.... I am tired of creating shadows and then fighting with them.... fighting till I loose...till my body, mind, soul aches...till I fall down alone and disarmed.
You remember all this don't you? Remember how you used to laugh when I fell? How I hated you then..hated you for taking joy in my pain...hatred turned to rage and then to power...I stood up to fight the shadows again.

You knew why you laughed,didn't you?You always knew.Always.

Cry you used to say...'I am not weak' used to be my reply.I still don't cry.But now I know,you don't have to be weak to cry.You have to be strong.Brutally strong.And honest too.I am neither.I escape.
But I am tired...tired of escaping...tired of chasing the darkness...yet afraid to stop....tired of breaking the walls that I toiled so hard to build...tired of yet again stooping down..collecting the pieces and rebuilding...

I am tired.I am sleep deprived.So I write to you.

2009-06-24T15:14:00.003+05:30

The mail arrived three days ago.Well not really a mail..more of a facebook message.Funny that a networking site that I hardly even use would surprise me this way! I knew her when times were different.When I was a foot shorter.. when she had freckles and a pony...when I believed that maybe I could iceskate! When we were both on a different continent...

Eleven years have passed since.Eleven turbulrnt years.Eleven long years.Eleven thousand changes.Eleven million things still the same...

Her mail brought back a whirlwind.. All memories of a life that seems unreal now.Running thorough knee deep snow with her to catch the tram.Tiptoeing myself to reach her height.Hot chocolate and cheese cakes.Pictures plasters with grins.. grins with teeth missing..Chrismas carols.. and me the sheep in the birth of Jesus.Then Goodbye.. promising to be friends still..Back in my country, all the memories of running to the postman to see if he had her letter.On my lucky days,dipping the envelope corner in water and saving the stamp...

But as I said eleven years is a long time.. the frequency of the postman ringing the bell went down.So did my cravings for them.Our lives were too different to be interwined..There were still times that I wrote to her,but answers didn't come.I lost her....Until three days ago.

She said she's going to visit India this summer. Again a pocket of time together on a different continent... eleven years... a different medium...yet the letter arrived..and the smile on my face is still the same.

Bhang Barse....

2009-03-13T14:50:00.002+05:30

I haven't been blogging for an unpardonable long stretch of time.But the truth is that I wanted to write but couldn't decide on what to write about.The void just grew till I could think of nothing at all.But all that was before holi..
Holi this year introduced me to bhang....For all of you who have had it,I guess you already have a picture of what I went through. :) For all those who didn't..read on.. but believe me at your own risk.
My story:
I woke up late on the eventful day and so missed the Bhang served for breakfast.After being coated with colours in my hostel,I left for the 'Jhelum lawns'- the traditional holi grounds of JNU.I met friends..and bhang.There was no dearth of it.I guess I drank a bit too much..and that's all I remember of reality.
What happened after,is a daze..it changes versions in my head if I concentrate too much.I remember staring at some guy..trying to recognise him,realising that I don't know him..yet still staring..and laughing at me for making a fool out of myself.I remember walking towards the faculty houses and discovering that the roads moved on their own.I remember shouting at some senior..then realising that I would get away with it..and laughing at my feat.I remember the world suddenly twirling slower..and me blowing to help it rotate.I remember feeling inhumanly hungry,and then suddenly full again.I remember feeling that I couldn't walk another step..yet not being able to stop somehow...and so laughing.
I don't remember how I came back to my room..or the 12 hours after that.

They say:
I drank more than one and a half litres of bhang.I sat down beneath a tree after that.Then someone came and offered me pakoras..which I devoured instantly.What I didn't realise was that they were 'ganja' pakoras.They claim that I laughed for more than 10 mins continuously for no apparent reason.(Well I had my reasons as I told you before!!).At my favourite Prof's house I ate 6 sweets,continuously telling them that "I can never refuse her".And I screamed at my classmate because he was,"talking too loudly and there may be a warden checking."I laughed at others who were making fools of themselves...just that once I started I couldn't stop.Then when someone asked me to shut up.. I did.And I marched on with a finger on my lips the rest of the way.I went back on my own.Even they don't know how..
I was supposed to call my dad by 10 o clock..my roomie says that I sat staring at my cell from 9...and she couldn't make me realise that I could call my dad then itself..

When I woke up the next day.I couldn't remember a thing,and had a splitting headache!The only proof that I had played holi were the blotches of colours on my hands..and the words of my friends.
So I promised myself never to drink bhang again,since I don't even remember if it was fun or not!!...not till next year atleast ;)

2008-10-22T11:55:00.002+05:30

A new city..some new dreams..new faces..new masks.
The first few days passed in a haze...struggle for a room..basic adjustments..getting pillows,cups,spoons,buckets and other ticky tacky.A dream had suddenly come true..and everything seemed to be falling into places.The sky seemed to be a new shade of blue..the grass greener.
Now the initial ripples are over.i know exactly which shortcut to take to reach my dept.Which canteen serves what cheaper and comparitively more edible.I have been introduced to campus politics..something that is an integral part of JNU culture.
But yet,even though things seem to be quite smooth,somewhere in that new shade of blue,I still look for that familiar hue of grey..in that greener grass I still look for that speck of brown..my roots.

This piece is in no way a clear or good read.so please excuse..I was just feeling very homesick..

2008-07-18T19:34:00.002+05:30

The strings of life are just getting twisted...They are getting tangled up like the windchime you try to starighten out so carefully..yet fail over and over.They are knotting up like the ball of wool your kitten just played with..and shedded to pieces at last.Certain uncertainities and some sureshots are cluttering up my system..clogging me up and I just can't breathe!! It's like those days that you are crying..and don't know why..yet can't stop either. Like you need a hug..but don't know from whom...sometimes anybody will do..and sometimes nobody will do!!!
I see dark clouds...but please someone help me see the silver line....

Him..

2008-06-15T19:00:00.004+05:30

My kid sister is falling in love with him. She's dreaming about him ..talking about him..running off to be alone with him...the whole package..

It seems kind of strange.As if that was me just yesterday! Me and him.I still remember clearly...rushing home from school, sometimes skipping lunch and closing the door of my room, just to be alone with him...Staying awake long past Ma went to sleep..and then sneaking off to him.Tests,exams..I never cared..he was always more important! I remember as we both together stepped into teenage..and journeyed through the days of our lives..his life and mine interwined to form 'ours'. Smilling with him, crying with him, dreaming about him...just as my sister is today.
Just one thing was different...she doesn't have to wait for him like I did...
Waiting had its own charm.Waiting for him to be back..and in the meanwhile..imagining.Turning off my sense organs during boring history periods,and smirking inside..'they don't understand!! I'm a witch!!'... Getting late for school..the peon locking the gate,and me desperately trying 'alohomora'.Craving for a wand when I broke the persian vase..Our world..a lot of mine..a bit of Harry's..

I still go back to him sometimes..times when I'm really low.And even though the butterfly has flown away..there still are some faint traces of colours left on my fingertips...My eternal bit of 'lumous'...

Magic is a powerful word...a powerful world.And my sister is falling in love.
I'm glad. :)

Fact is 'stranger' than fiction ??

2008-06-04T09:30:00.000+05:30

A princess with long golden hair...A wicked stepmother who sends poisoned apples...A witch being pushed into a baking oven by two tiny kids...A mermaid who is reduced to foam because she can't hurt her beloved....A mother who dies to save her son from a certain dark wizard,leaving him a realm of protection and a scar.
Strange stories....my childhood passed as I escaped into these worlds.

A 6 year old girl is pushed into an oven because she, coming from a lower caste dared to cross a road 'owned' by someone from a higher caste.She shrieks and screams as her fleash peels away...nobody comes to her rescue. ..... A certain girl claims that her husband committed suicide,when the whole country knows better...the candles burned and melted..the placards were painted and washed away...'suicide' claimed the woman whom he loved. ..... A 25 year old youth was butchered by his girlfriend and her ex-boyfriend.The duo then burnt the peices,dumped it in a forest..and went out to dinner! .... A 15 year old schoolgirl killed by her father (maybe with consent of her mother too) Her throat was slit open and she was left to bleed to death in her own room....
Stranger facts....unescapable reality.
how long can we wince as we read these news and turn the page?How long can we close our eyes and pretend?How long can we not hear the shouts?Not answer the questions raised? How long can we just shrug....Fact is stranger than fiction?????

Behind a splashed door..

2008-05-06T20:42:00.000+05:30

A layer of splashed water drops cover the mirror in my bathroom.Cold drops penetrate my skin like tiny bullets.The rhythm of water dancing on the floor creates a blanket of soothing sound that envelopes me,muffling the chaotic noises of our house.Tension in my back that I didn't even know existed..oozes out of my pores,and down my body in cascading litte streams.I breathe a mist of scented shampoo and dove soap..a welcome change from the polluted weather outside.

In the shower I'm alone.No younger sister barging into my room unexpectedly,no shrill ringing of the telephone and unwanted voices across,no parents nagging.
The ceramic tiles in my bathroom have perfect co-ordination that transform my shower into a romantic dream.The cubicle changes into a concert hall,as I sing my heart out on a shampoo-bottle microphone.In my shower..I'm free.I can make all my dreams come true.I can be a celebrity..flashing a smile at the camera or a writer..signing out autographed copies of her latest book...

Sometimes,I sit in the shower and cry.My salty tears mingling with the waterdrops upon my face..until even I can no longer tell them apart.I cried when I realise I knew nothing of my exams next week..I cried when S left..I cried when R and I stopped talking once..I cried the inevitable tears after watching 'stepmom' again,for the nth time.And sometimes I cry out of sheer reasonless frustration.Within these walls I can cry..and my tears are washed away,unseen and unknown.

The waterdrops that fall from my showerhead are not normal H2O molecules.They have the magical power to activate my neurons.It amazes me to realise how many of these posts originated in the shower!
This daily ritual lets my mind go free.To catch and reflect thoughts that drift over my mind,before they vanish like the flashes of fireflies.I know I have a tendency to deplete the house supply of water,much to the annoyance of the rest of my family.But my shower is just too inportant for mr to care.It is a pocket of time away from the franctic deadlines,numerous places to be and things to do.It is a chance to reflect and enjoy...a welcome bit of friction to slow down a hectic day.

The water that flows down in spirals beneath my feet and down the drain,cleanses not only my body,but my mind and soul...leaving behind the bare essence....that is me.

Blue

2008-05-06T17:04:00.001+05:30

I'm not just blue.. but very deep blue..whatever that means.And this time it's not reasonless like the bouts I regularly go through..

1. I messed up big time in my University finals.I'm doomed.

2. Now,that my exams are over..I have nothing to do.College is over.

3. I just had a haircut yesterday,which was looking pretty good then..but now I look like a lion with a bushy mane.

4. S left for training yesterday.So there'll just be rare one minute calls now for the whole of two months!(That's for the whole of my post-exam break)Stupid Vodafone roaming costs!!I'm missing him already:(

5. I'm not getting any comments on this blog...BECAUSE I'm not writing anything!! I just can't! (writer's block or whatever it's called)

AND I have no idea why I'm writing all this!! Let me just go and sulk...

At the end of the tunnel....

2008-04-06T18:35:00.000+05:30

I woke up in a very bad mood yesterday.I'm not really sure why...maybe it was because of the dream,which I couldn't clearly remember..or maybe because the dreaded exams were now practically staring right up my nose and I was still unarmed to face it.Or maybe because he hadn't called last night and I had thus waited,staring at my cell till sleep conquered..Whatever it be,I had woken up to be a very grumpy me.

I was supposed to see him yesterday after a long time,and I knew that I won't be seeing him again for an even longer time.I should have been happy,euphoric,as I usually am on such days..but yesterday I wasn't.I wasn't...because I knew I would be meeting him in a stuffed auditorium..among a cluster of unknown faces.I knew there would be lots I would want to tell him,and even more I would want to hear..but I also knew we would never manage.The realisation just made me grumpier.I didn't want to go atall..but I knew I would.

I sulked all morning.Scribbled nonsense in my diary out of sheer vengence.Shooed away the pigeons harmlessly strutting across the roof because I somehow felt they were mocking me by cocking their heads and cooing.What would they know of my helplessness?They could damn well fly to anywhere!! I again decided that I didn't want to go..meeting him after so long,that too for a few minutes would just make me feel worse!...yet still I knew that I would.

I spent all afternoon just sinking into the depths of frustration.Why was he so busy?And the eternal question...'am I not important??' And then finally I got ready.

I had the window seat by the bus.The sky was overcast...the dark sensual clouds covering the city.The wind thrashed around wildly...a wildness that I was feeling within but couldn't emote.I wanted to be with him right then..walking down some godforsaken or rather manforsaken road.I wanted to be with him alone when it rained...running to take refuge under the shed of some tiny shutter-closed shop or maybe sitting in a nameless roadside stall sipping oversweetened tea,laughing at some silly joke.There were so many things I wanted to do.. instead I was sitting in this stupid bus.. heading for that darn auditorum.My eyes watered as the wind stung fiercely..yet I stubbornly kept them open.

It was raining heavily when I reached.Everything was just as I had expected.The place cramped with people.Irritatingly excited people. He just called and said he couldn't manage to meet me before the show.The faces still kept on smiling.I swear I could have screamed.I would have taken a bus back home right then,had a friend not actually grabbed my arm and literally pulled me inside.

I sat down,on a creeking rickety chair...the lights dimmed...the curtains parted.As the play started all that ran through my mind was how irritated I was with him..how as always he was taking me for granted..how... and then I saw him,across rows of bobbing heads.And although it was pitch dark,I felt he was looking straight at me...just like I feel everytime I see him on stage.Minutes ticked by...and I watched..awed..till he disappeard.I was woken from the trance as my cell vibrated..'can you come outside please?' I slipped out ..head ducked..I knew what to say.I had a list...starting from why he hadn't called last night...

I stepped out..blinking as the light stung.There he was,on the empty corridor.I looked up,he looked down..and time stood still.He smiled...his eyes twinkled..he knew he would get away with it again..and he did.The clumsy auditorium faded out...and it all came tumbling down..the cascading desire..the whims of passion..the tender pain...And I suddenly knew,nomatter how many hurdles we had to cross to reach it,nomatter how rare it was,or how short..this moment was ours..this moment was bliss.And it is these moments that help us go on when we are miles apart.

'I have to go in once more to take a bow' he said.....I nodded.We went in...he was on stage again.This time, as the sound of applause vibrated against me..I knew he was looking straight at me.The people around were smiling again...just this time, it wasn't irritating.. it wasn't meaningless..

It was for us.

Adios.....

2008-03-14T23:04:00.000+05:30

Yes.It's over.The official invitation came yesterday... Farewell on monday.
Suddenly it's all coming back...entering as a nervous 17 year old..unknown city.. unknown surroundings.. and then tumbling head along into life. No looking back since..

It's all coming back.. those hours on the college roof..hours of non-stop singing under the grey, dull,unending monotonous sky.. eden and victoria etched on the horizon.The new nicknames.The periods bunked for tea at 'sanju da's' debating over authors,singers and politics..and the inevitable fight over who pays for whom.The cricket matches at maidan and the shameless sledging.The days of walking around esplanade having nothing else to do.The numerous first day first shows (there are 7 theatres within 15 mins walk).The new slangs..and then using them with ease, as if i knew them forever.Finally understanding the meaning of 'flings' (it's still unacceptable to me though).

It's all coming back as if a slow flashback.. B's checking his hair everytime we passed a parked car,bike anything... A's fear of dogs, and the strange coincidence that the dogs always barked at only him. :) Getting kicked out of class for playing hangman in the last bench.Learning to play 29..and the addiction thereafter.Those getting drenched in the rain and roadside pakoras.The dayouts and inevitable crossing the 'come home' deadline..and then running down streets, bumping into people,screaming at the taxi driver to go faster.The laughings till our stomachs hurt and eyes watered.The endless addas on S's roof..till dusk fell over the railingless ancient central kolkata house..seeing eachother in the pale lights of cigaretes and ocassional flashes of matches.Our shadows on the naked bricks..Not a care what lay ahead.
It's all coming back in a sudden flash flood...some misty..some clear as yesterday.A warm clutter of intangible emotions..

Not all that's coming back is good though.The various masks of people...the bitchings and back bitings...brocken promises...the tears and and seeing hearts break..Yet for today,I choose to ignore them.Today I allow cynicsm to lose hands down.

This post is just a honest note of gratitude to Maulana Azad College, to the wonderful people I found... and to the three most topsy turvy yet enchanting years of my life.

Tag 1

2008-02-26T16:08:00.000+05:30

OK.. So here goes my first tag.Well I was tagged by nobody,but found this tag so interesting that just had to do it.

Life Ten Years Ago
My life was pretty different ten years back.Thanks to my Dad,I spent my 10th and 11th Birthdays in Germany and California..So ten years back I was struggling with my lessons at school,trying my best to pass 5th grade in a German medium school.And in between there were trips...trips to places that didn't mean much to me then,but as I look back now,I realise I've been to places at the age of ten that many don't see in their entire life!Life ten years back had taken me to Germany,France,Italy,Switzerland,Netherlands,England and the United States...
As extraordinary as it all sounds,it wasn't all that smooth..There were new schools,new languages to pick up,new cultures to gel into,homesickness....but all that will be in another post.

Life Five Years Ago
High school...the scramble for grades and popularity... the zeal of life and the firm belief in yourself..Five years ago was limitless freedom.Freedom of dreams,thoughts, and hopes soaring high...Our gang...Cycle races.. sleepovers...crushes and giggles...Hrithik mania and Harry Potter.
Class elections and cheering at house matches...Dad's words to be serious and concentrate on studies...listening with a straight face...
Basically five years ago I gave a damn about where life would take me five years later.

Life Tomorrow
Umm.. lets see....

Five Locations I would like to go to
1. Kharagpur.. anyday
2. Kashmir
3. Goa
4. Egypt
5. Hawaii

Five Bad Habits I have
1. Nail biting
2. Mood swings
3. Losing my temper quickly (Specially with people really close to me)
4. Too outspoken
5. Trusting people too easily

Five Things I Will Never Wear
1. False attitude
2. Bodysuits (I'll never have the figure to flaunt)
3. Stilettoes on Kolkata roads
4. Bellybutton rings.Never.
5. Red lipcolour

Something to Achieve By Next Year
A certain degree of stability

Something that Impacted Me Last Year
A new person

What I will Miss About 2007
College

Five things I want to do before I die
1. Go on a cruise ship
2. Write a book
3. Feel self content
4. Have happy realtionships,created not by blood ties,but by heart
5. Go on an unplanned journey with a likeminded person.

Finally done!!.... and I tag Stanley Ipkiss.. and anyone who's interested..

Simply.Sheer.Genius.

2008-01-07T23:34:00.000+05:30

A child.....His family....His friends....His tears... His anger.... His despair....His fears...

His world.... all his.... yet still yours..

A little sweet, a little sour,

A little close, not too far.

A story.. a lot of his.. a bit of yours...A story known...yet unrealised...A story clearly real.. yet magic embedded...

You walk in the hall as you.. and even before you are half way through.. you are him. And as you walk out..the luminescence lingers...the melody haunts ...

Let me in without a shout,

Let me in I have a doubt,

There are more, many more,

Many many many more like me..

It was..

2007-12-13T00:19:00.001+05:30

It was a beautiful campus.

The trees whispered here….they even hummed if you listened closely. You could see the sunshine, as it gracefully stepped on the roads, glittered on the shimmering leaves .At night the moonlight danced on the grass , making the dewdrops shine silver.The air was scented….shiuli , dolanchampa , chhatim ,depending on the season. The roads were painted…..yellow with fallen leaves, red with krihnachura petals and the road to school white with bird droppings.

It was a known campus.

Summers were very hot….printed frocks,afternoon naps that you were forced to take, talcum powder blotches on your neck , watermelon slices and tall glasses of squash.Winters were very cold…. thamma’s sweaters,chattering teeth, smell of mustard oil,ponds,and boroline.Mornings of racing to school on cycles, pretending they were horses. Afternoons of hopscotch, choachuyi , chuburi or reading Enid Bytons traded with friends. Often kittens were found in cupboards, and were fed with dropers. Sometimes you crawled across gardens and picked up ladybugs and keeping them as pets in matchboxes. Evenings of homework and sometimes if you finished early Chitrahar or Om namah shiva.

It was a small campus.

Small,with lots of kakus and kakimas. Small,with one little market .With shopkeepers who knew us by names, and occasionally gave mangobites for free. Small, with reasonless get-togethers. With tiffin boxes being sent over, filled with macherchop or pudding or shemai er payesh and ma making sure that they weren’t sent back empty. Small, with friends coming over to visit if you were down with fever.And mashi’s putting on band-aids if you bruised yourself in the park. Small, with kids riding tricycles on the roads or pulling little toy wagons .Young boys in half pants running with kites or little girls with braids plucking dandelions.

I live in a big city now.

Fast cars, fast life, fast people.A city with malls and multiplexes.A city with pocketmoney and cellphones. A city with tall houses,wide roads and flyovers.A city with parties and KFC’s.

It is a big city…it taught me to survive…. I like it.

It was a small campus…it taught me to live……I loved it.

To Tell A Story...

2007-09-25T18:20:00.000+05:30

I can't remember not loving to read.I can't remember the moment when I realised what was always true...people made the world in books...worlds that I loved!And so I read...in the car,in the bathroom,on my bed,under my favourite tree...At night the charechters floated through my dreams,and by day,they waited,watching,lurking just behind the periphery of my sight...
As surely as I knew that I loved to read,it took a rainy mid-winter afternoon to teach me that I wanted to write too.
I was reading,sitting at the kitchen table set for lunch...ma stood cooking at the stove.I suddenly looked up..her face had the distance and distraction of one just about to cry.
I had seen that face often in recent weeks,my dadu (ma's father)had just died.Whenever she would reach a moment of pause...watching a traffic light remain stubbornly red..hearing silence conquer laughter..some command from within,would draw her face away from us,the present...the world that now to her lacked someone so dear..
I asked her that day what was wrong,and her lips almost smiled..her face almost came back to me as she told me how he would feed her dollops of buttered rice and mashed potatoed,pretending they were eggs of rare birds...how she hid behind curtains and he pretended to search for her...how his skin always felt smooth and cool as she hugged him and slept in scorching afternoons.She told me how dadu had gifted her and her siblings ducks,and the euphoria that she had felt
afterwards.How he had always cared about her petty things that otherwise went unseen...
She told me these,and after she spoke,tears flowed along her cheeks,fell from her chin..and exploded in the hot pan below.She cried,then she smiled,and then she cried again.
I stared at ma,and in the egotism of teenage,I couldn't imagine that she would one day be nomore..and with her would be gone her unuttered thoughts..her unrealised dreams...With her would be gone,her story...
I felt sorry for her,and I grew angry with the thought of myself standing over a stove,having to explain to a child how dollops of rice,games of hide'n'seek and quacking ducks can make a grown up woman cry!!
I resented my books then,and the stories they told of other people's lives...and that resentment fuelled.I believe now that envy taught me why I wanted to write.
I decided that night,as ma's tears fell with the ease of the rain,that I would tell my own stories...I would teach the truest of my thoughts to find expression on pages...
I wanted to realise what it is truely to be human..and some voice within,whispering in tones too quiet to be clear,tells me that writing is my way.....
MISS YOU DADU..
LOVE YOU MA...