Sempiternal Scribbles

A Forgotten Nostalgia

2012-01-31T19:02:00.001+05:30

Don't you ever listen to songs that have my name in them?
Don't they make you think of me and how I used to be?
Your friend.
Or something close to that.

Don't random situations ever remind you
of things I used to say or do.
Things that annoyed you, or made you frown.
Things that destroyed everything we had,
piece by piece, till a point of no return.

Perhaps we were never destined to be friends;
there was too much imbalance in our equation to permit that.
An imbalance of love and passion and expectation and hope.
Standing in our way like a monster too intense.
Too crazy, too possessive, too destructive, too wild.
It devoured whatever little we had,
and yet stood hungry for more, it's appetite whetted.
I did not want to give it more fodder,
for a monster as a pet is an exhausting thing.
And so I withdrew, with whatever strength I could muster.
I let you go.
And proverbially waited, to see if you would come back.
You didn't.
To see if you were really mine.
You aren't.

Yet I can't help but wonder,
Was I really that easily replaceable?
Or forgettable?
Doesn't anything remind you of me anymore?
Have I really become just an insignificant memory,
A fast-fading figment of your colorful past?
Don't you ever think of the days we would talk so much,
Sharing secrets, fears, dreams, whatnot.
Sharing our lives.
Honestly, don't you ever listen to songs that have my name in them?
Don't they make you think of me and how I used to be?
Your Friend.

MEHAK teri, aajati hai kabhi kabhi....

The Fiery Road

2012-01-29T14:40:00.002+05:30

Agneepath.

Go watch it.

That's all I have to say.

And listen to THIS song, it deserves a lot more fame than stupid over-rated Chikni Chameli:

Vruksh ho bade bhale,ho ghane ho bhale,

Ek Patra chhah bhi mang mat, mang mat, mang mat,

Agnipath, Agnipath Agnipath;

Tu na thamega kabhi tu na mudega kabhi tu na rukega kabhi,

Kar shapath, Kar shapath, Kar shapath,

Agnipath, Agnipath, Agnipath.Ye Mahan Drushya hain,

Chal raha Manushya hain,Ashru, Sweth, Rakta se Latpat Latpat Latpat..

Agnipath, Agnipath, Agnipath.

There may be huge, warm and shady trees all around,

Don't even ask the shade of a single leaf.

Walk on the Path of Fire, Walk on the Path of Fire.

You will not stop, You will not turn, You will not halt.

Take this oath, take this oath, take this oath.

The Oath of Fire, the Oath of Fire, the Oath of Fire. This is a great situation.

Man Walks. Tears, Sweat and Blood, they swathe him, they swathe him.

Walk on the Path of Fire, Walk on the Path of Fire

Forgetting someone....

2012-01-13T23:29:00.002+05:30

…is like forgetting an embarrassing moment, the harder you try,the stronger the memory clings on. You need to somehow reach a stage where youconsciously give up trying and the process then automatically accelerates. Mostof the time, getting into such a state of mind occurs only when you get so busyand involved in other things (and/or other people) that the constant ache ofmissing the person you wish to forget kind of gets lost somewhere in all theother thoughts and feelings you experience.

Of course, they may creep up in your mind every now andthen, out of the blue, but if you simply push their memory away gently, it willdefinitely start to fade. You may miss them from time to time with the sameintensity that you have always felt, but you will also be able to observe andexamine this feeling from an external point of view, and hence control orbanish it quickly. It will not overwhelm you the way it used to once. You willnot feel sad, a little nostalgic perhaps, but you will finally accept that lifegoes on and very few of the people we meet actually walk along with us all theway.

New Year, New Thoughts, New Pursuits

2012-01-08T15:15:00.001+05:30

So I haven't wished you all a happy new year yet. Well, here goes: Happy New Year and I hope you are truly happy. :)
I am back in my hostel room in Hyderabad after a wonderful long break in which I did nothing substantial except put on a bit of weight (which I am sure to lose soon enough with all the walking around I do here.)
I already miss home and its comforts but hostel is cool too in a way. I love the way my room smells here - something reminiscent of a hotel room near the beach - fresh with a hint of stale cigarette smoke and a mix of deodorant and body lotion all combined into one delicious indescribable smell.
These days, my Facebook news feed is full of people getting committed, engaged or married. It's somewhat exhausting to witness and stirs up an avalanche of questions in my mind. I really wonder whether I will ever marry. When I think about it practically, considering my personality, ambitions and values, I feel I'd be much better off single, but when I listen to my heart, a voice somewhere inside says that I would perhaps die of loneliness if I opted not to. I always used to think that I like being alone, but it is only after experiencing alone-ness that I realize there is nothing romantic about it. In fact, it is kind of maddening, having a silence press in all around you as you go about the daily routine of work and rest and entertainment. Things are always more bearable or more enjoyable when you have someone to share them with; But what if that someone hurts you or lets you down or just plain irritates? What happens then? What do you do - accept the emptiness of being alone or compromise your feelings for the sake of some companionship?
I don't really know whether I am making sense here but I think seeing people my age and younger than me getting married or trying to get married is messing with my head. It's raising all these questions that I don't want to confront and don't know how to confront either.
Marriage is just a social norm that apparently 'sanctifies' the act of sex. I have always been doubtful about it, despite seeing lots and lots of happy couples around me, but now I wonder if my doubts are just an extreme form of cynicism designed to cover up my fears rather than defend my life's ambitions. I wonder if perhaps I am missing the big picture and excessively focusing on little details that maybe don't matter as much as I think they do. Perhaps I'm just dogmatic and over-feminist in my ideals and need to open up a bit to the whole hoopla surrounding the big M and all that follows after.
Anyways, I guess what will be will be, like the Spanish say: Que sera sera... Did I tell you I am learning Spanish this semester? It's something I've wanted to do for a long time (yes, from much before Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara came out and infused everyone with a Spanish obsession) and I'm glad I'm finally getting around to it.
Speaking of the movie, here is my favorite song from it:

Untitled

2011-12-21T14:44:00.001+05:30

Someday we will meet again,

Like the flowers meet spring after a particularly harshwinter;

Like the sunshine meets sea after a particularly hot day;

Like we humans meet dust after a life fully lived;

Like the birds meet ground after a long haul flight;

Like the hero meets his love at the climax of a good romance;

Like dreams meet reality after years of toil.

And that will be the day, my friend, that I will tell youhow

Not a night has passed since the day I saw you first,

That I haven’t thought of you

for better or for worse.

Tujhe cheen loon ya chodh doon

Tujhe maang loon ya modh doon

Iss lamhe..kya kar jaaoon

Iss lamhe… kya kar doon mein

Jo mujhe chain mile

Aaraam mile

Aur ho aur ho

Saans ka shor ho

Aanch ki ore badhe

Aur ho aur ho

Saans ka shor ho

Taap bhi aur chade

Aur ho aur ho

Aur mile

Hum aur bhi jal jaaye

Tujhe pehli baar mein

Milta hoon… Har dafaa

Meri bebaasi… ka bayaan hai

Bus chal raha na iss ghadi.

And courageous are those who do NOT take revenge...

2011-12-12T12:06:00.001+05:30

When all has been said and done,

Does it really matter who was right and who was wrong?

Must you avenge every pain you have been putthrough?

Or is there possibly something more useful you could do?

Granted that vengeance may be natural and easy to seek,

But it is only immediate satisfaction meant for the weak

The strong are those who can find a way to forgive,

They are the ones who eventually find a better life to live.

The lines above are inspired from the movie Troy which I watched last night for the first time. It managed to do something that very few movies these days succeed in: it made me THINK. I found the dialogues and the acting brilliant, and can't understand why I never made an effort to see it earlier. If you have not seen it, you MUST do so ASAP. And if you are female, there is the added bonus of three super hot actors as the male leads - I felt like my eyes were popping out admiring all their machismo and rugged charm! My favorite is Orlando Bloom who plays Paris. Of course, it's another matter altogether that I think his character was downright dumb to kick off a long and bloody war for the sake of just one beautiful woman. Seriously, what is WRONG with men?!

Success is the sweetest revenge?

2011-12-07T14:06:00.001+05:30

"Sometimes, I think I'm able to achieve success better when I look at it as a way to get back at the world that's hurt me, to show it what I'm capable of." she said.

"Do you really mean 'the world' or just one person?" her head asked.

She smiled knowingly: "It's the same thing when that one person means the world to me."

What's sweet and makes me smile?

2011-12-01T14:37:00.001+05:30

A lot of things, like chocolates, ice-creams, gulab jamuns, etc etc, but at the moment I'm talking of a laddu. Or at least someone who calls himself Laddu in the blogosphere.
A fellow blogger and one of my bestest (I know such a word doesn't exist!) friends. It's Laddu's birthday today and this post is dedicated to him.
For being the most avid and loyal reader of everything I write. For being my greatest critic and my most honest fan. And most importantly for being what he is - just a really nice person who unfortunately doesn't realize it most of the time.
Our friendship sparked off by a post I had written last year about Valentine's Day and how crappy it is. He liked it, so he sent me an email as feedback rather than leaving a comment. I, of course love receiving emails from people who read my blog, so replied as soon as I saw it. And that was it. One mail followed another and we found ourselves becoming friends.
Some people may frown upon this kind of friendship but I don't think we need to explain it to anyone. Others feel that these kind of situations often lead to romantic involvement but we scoff at that too because we know we're the best of friends and will always remain just that.
He is perhaps the one person who knows everything about me, someone I can be point-blank frank with, and the one person who would never hurt me, even unintentionally. I'm lucky to have a friend like him. :)

So today, Laddu, I wish you get everything you deserve and desire. And may God bless you with abundant happiness, love, and a little bit of self-confidence. You are a smart, talented, incredibly decent guy (though I know you will snicker sarcastically at this) and I wish you a really, really Happy Birthday!

Just like you make others smile, may YOU keep smiling too. Now and always. :)

Oh, and PLEASE, don't go to sleep before midnight when it's supposed to be your BIRTHDAY, at least! :P

Homecoming

2011-11-24T14:22:00.001+05:30

So my blog seems to be dying.
But it's not, of course.
It is a part of me, and although parts of one's being can often die, my blog is not.
Not yet, at least. It is just resting more than usual.
Just like I am - at home.
Have you ever wondered what constitutes 'home'?
Is it the place you were born? Or lived all your life? The place where your parents stay? Or the place you feel happiest and most at ease?
Home can perhaps hold different meanings for different people.
And if you're like me and have moved home a lot, the definition can cease to hold the intrinsic value that it is assumed to.

Anyways, for the time being, home to me means Ahmedabad, the place I was born in but grew up away from. The city that is markedly bustling, noisy, industrial, yet has a distinct small-town pace and feel to it. The haven which taught me to love but not how to stop.

Home is the independent bungalow with pale-lilac walls that stands in a green but dusty neighbourhood, it is the bedroom with the many windows and bright lights where I sit reading or writing late into the night.

It is the sound of pressure cooker whistles going off in our own and neighbours' kitchens every evening, and the racket that's stirred up by the boisterous kids playing gully cricket or badminton or chor-police out on the narrow streets.

It is the periodic call of the Muezzins from the many nearby mosques, five times a day, and the yells of the mothers urging their kids to stop playing and attend prayers instead.

It is the sound of the television screening the same old hackneyed serials the nation is hooked to or the radio belting out the latest crass song from another unimaginative offering from Bollywood.

It is the smell of incense that hangs thick in the air, mingling with the flavors that emanate from the delicious somethings sizzling on the gas cooker in the forever-warm kitchen. And it is the din and buzz of two-wheelers and auto rickshaws and hawkers who come vending their wares door-to-door, day in day out.

It is the listless lethargy that refuses to leave no matter how much I try to focus on constructive tasks, and the solid, peaceful slumber that overcomes the minute I close my eyes every night, even though I am hardly tired.

It is a state of utter relaxation, of complete comfort, of freedom from even the most routine concerns. Home, it is heaven. Or something very much like it.

When I see their happy faces smiling back at me

I know there's no greater feeling than the love of family.

Where can you go? When the world don't treat you right?

The answer is home. That's the one place that you find...

7th Heaven....

Blowing Out the Candles

2011-11-16T17:40:00.001+05:30

Do you know where the tradition of blowing candles on your birthday came from?

Apparently, from the early Greeks, who used to place lit candles on cakes to make them glow like the moon. The cake was then taken to the temple of Artemis, goddess of Moon. Some scholars say that candles were placed on the cake because people believe that the smoke of the candle carried their wishes and prayers to Gods who lived in the skies. Others believe that the custom originated in Germany where people used to place a large candle in the centre of the cake to symbolize ‘the light of life’. It is believed that blowing out all candles in one breath means the wish will come true and the person will enjoy good luck in the coming year. (-from Wikipedia)

Today is my birthday and I think I have officially reached an age where I don’t want to announce to the world how old I am. (though I’m still in early twenties, thank god!) This birthday, I feel like I have everything I want. So I just asked God to maintain the status quo. For the time being, at least, because as we all know, things eventually do change, no matter what. I feel so content to be studying something I’m really enjoying, to have wonderful friends (old and new) and a feeling that all my dreams are going to come true! I feel the past year has been my most productive in a while. I worked a lot, had a lot of fun too, learned a lot and grew as a person. but I want this coming year to be even more fruitful. I have a LOT in mind that I want to accomplish and I guess the only thing I can ask God today is to give me the capability and resources to meet my goals. And of course the love and support of all the great people I’m blessed with.

Today was definitely one of my best birthdays ever. It started with cake-cutting at midnight with friends and classmates, followed by a trip to a place nearby where we had bread omelet and chai. We returned and tried to study but gave up, and my two friends gifted me a watch (because I lost my old one, remember?) - how sweet is that?!

And today morning, two other friends who are day scholars (they don't live in the hostel) gave me a real surprise by coming to wish me, with DELICIOUS chocolate pastry and the best gift I can ever receive - a BOOK. (The Winner Stands Alone by Paulo Coelho - which I've been wanting to read foreverrrrr!) Excuse those extra 'r's, I'm just so excited and so happy!!

As I've said above, my only wish to God is that he maintains the status quo in my life, and along with that, there is a friend of mine who's facing a bit of a serious problem, so all I hope for is that he can somehow resolve that.

Until next time, cheers to the world and Happy Birthday to me!

November Rain

2011-11-03T18:21:00.002+05:30

We sit perched upon the rocks: two girls, one tall, the other not so much. The sky overhead is a uniform gray, and the lake before us, a rippling sheet of steel.
The little drops of early morning drizzle tickle my skin as they fall in a steady stream, and the wind is cold on my cheeks and nose and finger tips.
We talk of life and love, exchanging stories, experiences, thoughts. And the cameras we had brought along - to have something to do - lie forgotten as a new friendship blossoms.
Perhaps this strange weather marks a beginning of sorts: November rain, something I'm going to remember.

"...Till it's gone"

2011-11-02T23:35:00.000+05:30

How do material objects come to hold emotional value?

I have never really contemplated this much, until today, when I lost a very prized possession.

My one and only 'daily-wear' watch which I'd had for so long that I don't remember exactly when I bought it.

It was either in the year 2000 or 2003, when I had come to India on a holiday and my grandma came along with my mother and I when we went shopping.

It was one of the first ones I tried and I loved it instantly. It had roman numerals on an oval face lined in silver and a dainty black strap that looked nice on my slender, snow-white wrist. In the years of owning it, not a single scratch had appeared on the watch face, and I'd only had to get the strap replaced recently because the original one wore out.

It was not a very expensive watch, but then, it wasn't exactly cheap either. Moreover, I'd worn it almost every day for so many years, so some kind of strange intimate relationship seems to have formed between us without me even realizing. I never felt particularly attached to it, or took any extra care of it, but now that it's gone, I just wish I'd been more careful and not lost it. I remember taking it off to fiddle with it like I often do, but today, I guess I was just somewhat absent minded and dropped it somewhere. Worse, I didn't even realize it was gone until perhaps an hour later.

I don't have another watch with me at hostel - somehow, I'd never anticipated needing an extra one - I'd come to rely so much on that single piece of jewellery, thinking it would be always be the only thing I would wear on my left hand. And I'm the kind of person who feels insecure when I can't check the time at periodic intervals. Of course, there's always my cell phone but I'm much too used to checking my wrist. And it's sad to know that now, for days, perhaps weeks to come, I'm going to unconsciously check for the time and not find it.

I could of course just get another watch, but I don't want one. I just want my old one back, though of course I'm never going to find it. I hate to think of it lying somewhere, abandoned, unnoticed, lost. Sigh.

A few months ago, I'd lost another piece of special jewellery - a bracelet of purple stones which my dad had brought from Cyprus. It was the most beautiful bracelet I owned and I only wore it on special occasions until one day, when I was packing to move to Hyderabad, I just couldn't find it anywhere. Losing that was not as painful, perhaps because I have a slight bit of hope that I'll find it somewhere in the house. But losing my watch is like losing a teeny bit of myself. I know it's not that big a deal - it's just a simple accessory that can be replaced easily - but like I already said, some kind of emotional bond seems to have formed between us which I just can't fathom.

It makes me think of how this is perhaps true of our relationships with people too. Sometimes, bonds form which we have no idea about until they are broken or lost and can never be regained. And although it is hard at first, we eventually learn to accept and live with it. It's as if a small phase of life or a chapter in our story comes to an end and we simply have to move ahead for there is no other option. Perhaps we lose people and things because we are simply meant to, for reasons unknown. Each one of them are eventually replaced by others and all that remains of them is a memory, sometimes bitter, sometimes sweet.

Once. Again.

2011-11-01T20:57:00.001+05:30

*The 'she' in the post below does NOT refer to me!

It had been so long since she'd felt like this.
Like she was flying, as cliched as that sounds.
Funny how she was ignoring the danger she knew all too well could - and would - come with soaring at this height and this speed and in this manner.
A manner of pure, blinding, unadulterated exhilaration.

It was all so familiar: the flutter in her tummy when he walked past, the way her heart always skipped a beat when she set eyes on him, a million times a day; the smile that never left her face as she thought of him and talked about him - in that awe-struck (or love-struck?) way. It was all just so familiar. The anticipation, the hesitation, the frustration, the giddiness, the ups and downs her mind reeled in as he began to occupy its crevices, creeping into her thoughts every minute of every day.

She knew where she was headed, she knew it so well. This was just the high before the fall. And when the fall would eventually come, it wasn't going to be a pretty sight. Not at all. She wanted to stop, to hit the brakes on the hurtling roller-coaster ride her heart had set off on. But it was already too late; she had lost all control, and that too, willingly. As if she actually wanted to experience the whole damn thing all over again. And all she could tell herself now was one line from a song she had recently heard:

Dil, sambhal ja zara...
phir mohabbat karne chala hai tu.

Take care, dear heart,

you're about to love again.

Addictions

2011-10-29T21:03:00.001+05:30

Seeing your name in print. Hearing your voice on the radio. Being told you've been read; being told you've been heard. Being appreciated.

Walking onto stage to perform and seeing a packed house look up at you. Hearing giggles or sighs or sniffles as you play your part to perfection. Being recognised as a performer.

The moment of captivated silence that follows your rendition of a piece of poetry or a song, and the thunderous applause that follows.

That feeling of being possessed by the music as you dance in perfect sync to it, as if hypnotized. And the mesmerized gazes that follow your every move.

The image of the finished painting, your latest masterpiece, simply perfect, with not a brush stroke out of place.

Addictions, all. The creative and performing arts. They are like drugs. The more you engage in them, the greater the addiction. For both the activity itself and the adulation it wins.

No wonder artists are slightly neurotic.

No?

The Important Things

2011-10-15T22:49:00.000+05:30

When you fail, the important thing is that you tried.

When you lose, the important thing is that you participated.

When someone leaves your life for whatever reason, the important thing is the time that you did spend together.

When you are rejected, the important thing is that you put yourself out there.

When the person you love the most ignores you, the important thing is that perhaps they are happier without you.

When a close friend decides to spend their birthday with other friends, the important thing is that they are having a good time.

When you feel upset about growing apart from people who meant the world to you, the important thing is that perhaps your life is better this way.

And when the important things all seem too hard to accept and appreciate, the REALLY important thing is to remember that life is supposed to be hard.

It wouldn't be half as much fun otherwise.

Random. Untitled. Strange.

2011-10-10T22:11:00.000+05:30

Paper boats floating in the ocean.
Footprints on wet sand.
Names written with fingers on dust.
A song from childhood only vaguely remembered now.
Words lurking in your heart that never make it to your lips.
Desires quashed even before they fully take form.

Fragile things, aren't they?

Just like people.
And the bonds they form.
Nothing lasts forever,
Except perhaps the wish that if only, it could have. . .

Whatever Happened to Good Old Fashioned Love?

2011-10-07T23:13:00.003+05:30

I have a ton of work to do but I haven't blogged in ages and simply can't resist it anymore. So here goes:

I watched Mausam about two weeks back (I think).
And I was really disappointed.
Because it could have been SO MUCH better with the right kind of editing!
It was just a drag and a bit pathetic. Made me laugh. In a not very nice way. :P
But Shahid Kapur was of course adorable in it. I just didn't like his moustached look that much. Who said IAF officers need moustaches? He would have looked SO MUCH cuter in that uniform sans the moustache!
Anyways, believe it or not, I actually found ONE positive review of the movie somewhere on the web. All the major critics just completely trashed it but this one review was talking about how Mausam depicts the old-fashioned kind of love-story, the one that's full of waiting and yearning and undying faith in the power of love.

I can almost imagine the smirk on your face as you read this. I know, I know, that all that stuff about love is just filmy crap that we've become too used to but honestly, don't you think that kind of love can still exist?
Somehow, I am compelled to think it does.
And almost everyone I know tells me I live in a fairy tale if I can have such romantic notions in the 21st Century.
In fact, a few days ago, we had a guest lecturer who talked of a certain species of crane (the bird) who mate for life. That is, they pick one partner and stick together till death. He went on to comment that in humans of course, that kind of love only happened in the times of our grandparents. So apparently, there is no concept of 'together forever' in today's world. Love is transient. It comes and goes and everyone is 'cool' with that. Those who are not, are silly romantic idiots like me.
Another discussion with friends some days back was about how the whole 'point' of a romantic relationship these days is the physical intimacy involved. Nobody wants to date someone if there's no physical stuff on offer. Somehow, I refuse to believe that, and again, I am told I live in a world of fairy tales, or have dropped out of a Hindi movie and have no sense of the real world. :P
Perhaps it is true, and I have some growing up or waking up to do as yet (which is bad considering that I am chronologically older than the friends who tell me all these wisecracks) but then, I don't think there's anything wrong with being a bit idealistic until something trumps those ideas or notions. Yes, I may be surrounded by proof that love of the Hindi movie kind does NOT seem to exist in the world today, but I won't give up hope just yet that maybe, in some rare circumstances, if one is patient enough, it CAN come along. After all, that's the beauty of life. You never know just what might happen.

So even if Mausam is a terribly overstretched movie that I don't recommend to anyone, I do think it made a slight bit of a point when it comes to matters of the heart. :P

On a parting note, there was this killer dialogue which the critics tore up to bits but which I kind of liked:
"Love is like the sun. It may set but the fire is never extinguished." :)

Until next time, please try to see the positive in every movie you watch, even if it is as intolerable as Mausam. :P

Kabhi Haan, Kabhi Naa

2011-09-18T21:23:00.000+05:30

I think that is the name of some movie but this post is not about that.

This post is about confused people. Confused lovers, actually. 'On and off' relationships as they are called. Sometimes sweethearts, sometimes strangers, and only they know which stage they are in at any given point of time.

I have witnessed it happening in a few friends' lives and I feel amazed by how they handle the whole uncertainty about their so-called 'relationship'. They seem to get so used to breaking up and patching up over and over again that it becomes a routine and really doesn't matter.

There's a whole drama of repeatedly deleting and re-adding each other on their Facebook lists, as if that makes any difference. And a melodrama about finally making it work 'this time around'.

Paulo Coelho writes in one of his books: "Everything that happens once can never happen again. But everything that happens twice will surely happen a third time." I think this has a lot of truth in it, and would like to add that anything which happens thrice keeps happening over and over again. Which is the case with 'on and off' relationships. If someone can ditch you thrice, I really don't know how you can give the person a fourth chance to once again dump you. It seems like sheer stupidity.

But then again, perhaps love is supposed to be stupid. Perhaps I am no one to judge how many times people delete and add the same person on their Facebook lists and their lives. Perhaps they just have a lot of time to spare for the ridiculous exercise! And perhaps there is even an element of fun in the whole 'kabhi haan, kabhi naa' (sometimes yes, sometimes no) game which I am totally overlooking. After all, life is an adventure, and perhaps there's nothing like the excitement of not knowing when someone is going to walk out/walk back into your world! Besides, when you are in the 'off' stage, you are always free to flirt and hook up with other people, which kind of gives you the best of both worlds - casual flings AND commitment. Talk about having your cake and eating it too, right? :P

Blah, Whatever!

Why do people change?

2011-09-17T22:08:00.000+05:30

When I was in sixth grade, I had a best friend who suddenly decided one day that she didn't want to talk with me anymore. She apparently had a problem with the fact that I shared everything about our friendship with my mom. Like for example, if we had a fight, I would talk to my mom about it. Before you judge that, let me remind you that I was just eleven years old. It's normal for eleven-year-olds to confide everything in their parents, right? At least it was at that time.

Recently, another friend decided that he doesn't want to talk with me anymore because - well, probably because we are too different and don't understand each other at all.

In both cases, that is, right now and all those years ago, I felt hurt in quite the same way. I don't think it is right for friendships to end arbitrarily, even if they are formed arbitrarily in the first place. Yet so many times, they do. Because people change.

Most of my school friends today live in a completely different world from mine; they are into partying and drinking and casual relationships, all the things that scare me and I have vowed to stay away from. Plus, we are on separate continents so have no common frame of reference I guess.

Yet I still miss them so many times. Random events remind me of different people I have known and sometimes, it is just out of the blue that I think of them.

Because even though they have changed and time has changed and life has changed, what we shared once upon a time can never change. It is all fixed in frozen snatches of memory that come back to make me smile ever so often.

Having arrived in a new city just over a month ago, I am still in the process of making new friends. And every time that my new friends and I share fun/interesting moments together, I remind myself to enjoy the experience as much as I can for there's surely going to come a day when I will look back and miss it all.
Recognizing the fact that people change has sensitized me to the importance of cherishing every moment you spend with them.

Before I came to Hyderabad, I was really looking forward to it because I have a friend here whom I wanted to spend more time with. Six weeks since arriving, I have only met the friend twice so far. This would ordinarily have upset me but I have learned not to mind too much. Perhaps they are busy, or perhaps they are too much in love with their significant other to make time for me. Of all the reasons why people change, the worst is when it happens because of love. When someone gets a boyfriend/girlfriend, why do they tend to neglect their friends? It is something I will never understand, and something I will never personally do if I ever get into a relationship.

Love and friendship are two separate things, but sometimes they overlap so much that it becomes difficult to decipher which to give more importance to. In the quest of making romantic love blossom, it is perhaps normal to somewhat forget the people you share another kind of bond with - your friends. I don't think love should change anyone to such an extent but have seen it happen innumerable times. Suddenly, all the talks of always being there for each other are forgotten because you are only there for the person you love.

And then a day comes when the boyfriend/girlfriend leaves you and you suddenly notice your friends again. And the beautiful part is that they are still there, to lend a shoulder or an ear.

Because friendship is not fragile like love.

At least, it's not supposed to be, in my opinion.

Yet often it is. Again, because people change.

Magic Moments

2011-09-11T22:55:00.001+05:30

Life is full of them, don't you think?

That anxious minute when you search for your name on the acceptance list of your dream university and actually find it there, the whole length of it, so you're sure it's really you and no namesake.
That bubbling build up of excitement as you pack your bags to leave for another city, where you will live your dream, far away from everything familiar.
That bittersweet, tear-choked moment of farewell, when you hug the people who mean the world to you, knowing it's going to be a while before you see them again.
That satisfied feeling of closure when you bid adieu to the people you know you're definitely not going to be seeing again, 'coz they're so not worth your time anymore.
That jolt of energy when your flight takes off for the unknown city, and you see your hometown sprawled below you, getting further and further away.
That skipped heartbeat when the plane at last touches down at your destination, and you anticipate stepping out into a whole new life.
That surge of pride when you first walk into a prestigious campus, knowing you have worked so hard to get here, been so patient, so resilient.
That burst of inspiration you feel when you sit in your first class, enjoying it like no other class in your life, and you once again thank God for helping you make it here.
That rush of joy you feel every time you make a new friend in a land of unfamiliar faces.
That happiness that spreads within you whenever you find like-minded people. People who share your views, have experienced what you have, agree to the silly things you say, and don't pass judgement even if they don't.
That anticipation of attending a party with people you barely know - the drama of planning what to wear, how to do your hair, and whether to paint your nails or not.
That precise point of time when you let go off your inhibitions and let the music take over you, drowning all your thoughts and feelings and objectives, taking you to a nirvana that only music can bring.
That precarious moment when a guy asks you for a dance, for the first time in your life, and you accept, without thinking - almost on autopilot, suddenly feeling prettier than you usually believe.
That fluttery feminine feeling you get when you twirl around to the music and find yourself happier than you have been in a long, long time.
That high that creeps over you as you relate to people and feel the beginnings of a friendship forming, friendships you know are going to last a lifetime.

Perhaps our every day is sprinkled with magic moments. But we are usually too preoccupied to notice. After all, magic is perceived impossible, and it takes a lot to notice something impossible, doesn't it?

The Fab Tab

2011-09-11T15:48:00.002+05:30

Big enough to be useful, Thin enough to be light. The Samsung Galaxy Tab 750Is something you won't let out of your sight.
It's sleek yet ultra strong,so you need not handle with extreme careIt will always be your companion, Immune to wear and tear.
High speed that will help you wrap up work in a jiffy Smooth operation that will make your life so easy. Visual effects that will leave you speechlessAnd HD Sound that is simply the best.
The Tab will have you entertained, no matter where you are. There's an app for almost anything, age, sex, interests no bar!
With so much packed in one, the fab Tab's a real treasure. It would enhance life no bound, whether used for work or pleasure!

*This post has been published for the IndiBlogger Samsung Mobilers Contest. Please visit http://www.samsung.com/global/microsite/galaxytab/10.1/index.html to read more about the amazing Samsung Galaxy Tab 750.

And click HERE to read my previous post about the launch of the Galaxy Tab 750.

Bruises

2011-09-05T20:51:00.000+05:30

They need not necessarily be black or blue or purple or ugly shades of yellow and green. They need not be visible at all. In fact, perhaps the kind that hurt the most are the unseen ones, the ones that mar your heart and mind and soul and other places deep down inside which even you don't know much about. The ones that can be caused by a vast range of situations: By betrayal from a loved one, or the loss of someone special. By a friend walking away from you or a trusted one letting you down. By unspeakable evils like abuse or blackmail. By facing rejection or bearing dejection. So many reasons to feel bruised, in this world, aren't there? And they knock the very life out of you, don't they? Or at least sap you of something essential, like your joie de vivre, which leaks out discretely, dissolved in that sacred fluid they call 'tears'.
Yes, they take a lot from you, the bruises. Leaving only a dull, echoing emptiness. Or something close to that.
Even if the bruises serve as reminders of all that you have survived or teach you important lessons of life, they still hurt, right?

And you think to yourself every minute of every day, surely 'there's a better place than this emptiness?'
Well, no. There isn't.
'Coz death is not an option for the brave at heart.
And if you've been given the gift of life, you better be brave at heart, my dear. No matter how vast the emptiness, how severe the pain, or how ugly the bruises. Love them for they are evidence that you have loved.
And don't you know, that to love is to live?
Take care.

Tune mere jaana, kabhi nahi jaana
Ishq mera, dard mera
Aashiq tera
bheed main khoya rehta hai.
Jaane jahan
pucho to itna kehta hai
'And I feel so lonely...
There's a better place than this emptiness'

*By the way, for those of you who don't know, the whole tragic 'story' about Rohan Rathore was fake. I just like the song these days, that's why I structured a post around it.

Nothing Left to Say

2011-09-02T16:47:00.001+05:30

Do we all have certain people in our lives, who after a certain point, are neither friend nor foe? People we have nothing in common with yet can't really let go off either.

People who have damaged us so frequently and so irreversibly that we will never trust them again yet not forget them either.

People we have been close to, or so we thought, only to realize that we hardly mean anything at all to them.

People we care for but can never count on in our own times of need.

People who never understand us or always misunderstand no matter how we try to explain?

People who we want nothing to do with yet can't shun for they continue to mean so much to us?

People we want to say so much to yet don't because it wouldn't make any difference at all.

People we want to start over with yet won't because our own ego ends up being humiliated every time we try.

People we wish we could hate yet continue to love despite the nasty ways in which they treat us.

People whose pain brings us sadistic pleasure just because they have hurt us over and over again, albeit unintentionally.

People who have lied to us and let us down and bestowed upon us horrible memories that still bring tears in the middle of the night when we can't sleep.

People we feel we should not have known for they were never meant to be ours.

People we should discard from our lives but who somehow remain an inseparable part of it.

Yes, perhaps we all have such people around.

People we have nothing left to say to.

Except perhaps a silent, inconspicuous 'Goodbye'.

Music to my Ears

2011-08-30T18:54:00.004+05:30

As part of the program I am studying, I have a course on Radio Production, in which we learn all about sound. The classes so far have been fascinating, and moved me to think about sounds in ways I never have before. Hence, this post on the sounds that make me tick and those that make me sick:

I love the sound of voices, as long as they are not high-pitched or screaming. I like the different tones and nuances of them, the way they roll and halt and change, and how none is quite like another, ever, though they may be similar. I really listen to people, face-to-face or on the phone, I love noticing all the subtleties that make their voice truly theirs, the rise and fall, the pauses, the cadences, the rhythms and undulations, the connotations, the intonations. Oh yes, I love voices, especially husky male ones, naturally. :P

The only voices I can't stand are loud ones, or malicious, gossipy ones. I like voices with texture.

Next, I like the sound of water, whether it is the quiet drip-drop of a faulty tap or the gush and rush of a mighty river. I like the sound of the sea, calm or stormy, but mostly the exact sound you get when you hold a seashell to your ear. I don’t like the sound of flushing toilets though.

I like the sound of music. Who doesn’t? As long as it’s not noise, I like it, no matter what the language, what the meaning. I like the sound of many devotional songs of many religions. They are strangely uplifting and soothing all at once. I don’t like processions though, religious or marital ones. I cannot stand the crass beats of Munni Badnam Hui or Sheela ki Jawani or any such rubbish.

I like the sound of bangles clinking, metal ones and glass ones. i like the sound of anklets as long as it is not in some creepy horror film. I don’t like the sound of wind chimes, it irritates me somehow. So does the sound of wind, passing or being passed. :P

I don’t like squeaky plasticky or squeeshy rubbery sounds. I plug my ears when someone lets the air out of a balloon. I hate firecrackers especially those earsplitting bombs or Christmas crackers being pulled. They ruin festivities. I do like the gentle sizzling crackle of taramandal if that's what its called) though.

I don’t like vrooming automobiles or blaring horns, I do like the rhythmic chug chug chug of trains and the headache-inducing drone of airplanes though. I like the faint sound of pencil or pen against paper but can’t stand chalk on blackboard. Worst is nails on blackboard of course. I love the tap dance of fingers on a keyboard, be it a computer keyboard or a musical one.

I like scissors cutting through crisp paper or straight thrugh fine cloth. I don’t like industrial sounds, obviously.

I like the sound of concrete grinding under my feet, and of course, the crunch of dried leaves and twigs. I don’t like noisy or shuffling footsteps. I hate it when people drag their feet while walking.

I love the distinct calls of birds but feel scared of most animal cries. I like how sounds have such variety, and I love how my ears can pick it all up.

How about you? Ever thought about what sounds you like?

The Girl who Ate Alone

2011-08-27T16:06:00.006+05:30

*-Inspired a little bit from various sources.

She took the plate of noodles and settled at an empty seat on an almost full table. The din of conversation around her was both comforting and depressing. It alienated her, leaving her free to withdraw into her cocoon and not have to make useless small talk with anyone, and yet the thoughts she had within the cocoon were not exactly good for her spirits.

If life was a movie, this would be the ideal moment for The Hero to emerge. He would appear in all perfection, out of nowhere, swagger to her table and ask whether he could sit opposite her. She would oblige, uninterested, and focus on her food, while he would observe her and then start the mandatory 'introductions' conversation that often leads nowhere. Only that this time, magically, it would. One thing would lead to another and they would exchange numbers before parting. And the rest, of course, 'would be history'.

But she had been through this routine of eating alone enough times to know that no hero was about to swoop into HER life and play the knight in shining armor to the damsel in eternal distress. No, all she had was her less-than-protective cocoon of thoughts and memories and feelings and ideas.

She thought of HIM again, and found herself once more longing for his company. He, the one whom she had moved mountains to be with, or at least, moved country. Only to realize he was least interested in being with her. He hadn't met her even once in the month since she had arrived in this unfamiliar land, and she had grown tired of calling him and hearing the never-ending stream of useless excuses he put forth.

How could she have been so stupid to up and leave everything that was familiar to her - to ditch her very life - for the sake of a lingering hope of finding love at last. She had been so sure that he was the one for her - that if only she was close to him, things would magically fall in place - that she had completely overlooked the other possibility - the more real possibility of him breaking her heart.

She mouthed the food, not tasting anything, just chewing and swallowing for necessity's sake. It amazed her how, no matter what happened, there were always day-to-day things one just had to keep doing: eat and sleep and wake up and brush teeth and hair and use the bathroom and bathe and clothe and go to work.

And as long as one could do all these, they could automatically say 'fine' when someone asked the simple yet complex question: 'How are you?'.

Because as long as one is going about life, it doesn't matter how dead they feel inside. Or how alone or cold or sad. The girl who ate alone had realized this a long time ago. Which is how she convinced herself that no matter how much she hated the new country that had beckoned her with love, she was still 'fine'. And always would be.

Kaanch pe chalna aanch mein jalna

Jitne bhi dard hai maaye seh na sake yeh jindari

Teriyan judaaiyan aggey dukh saare chhote
Teriyan judaaiyan aggey gham saare khote
Pal pal hote mere dil de hai totey
Mainda toh hai, rab kho gaya

&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/center&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;

Campus Lights

2011-08-23T19:55:00.004+05:30

Campus lights are bright, but few. At certain points, they glare blindingly into my eyes, while at others, I am left struggling in the dark, treading carefully to avoid stepping in a puddle or stumbling on a rough patch on the road.

Often, the campus lights, or at least the hostel lights, are out. There are frequent power cuts, "load shedding" they call it. And the mosquitoes are notorious, especially during these 'dark' hours. I sometimes feel like I'm living in a forest; the campus is so akin to one. No external noise of traffic, vendors, anything, just a silence that gets heavier at night, punctuated only by the sounds of dogs and insects and people living their lives: strands of music here and there, often in some Southern language that means nothing to me; the sound of clothes being washed, or someone chattering on the phone at the top of their voice, again in some unfamiliar language.

Throughout the day, there is no need for lights. There is the sun, which gets almost as hot as it did in Ahmedabad. Whoever told me Hyderabad is not hot at this time of the year was lying or delusional. :P

But at night, it's lovely and cool. And light is needed. More so to lift my spirits which seem to sink as the day comes to an end. As darkness takes over the world, there is an internal darkness that takes over me. Sad thoughts, negative feelings, homesickness, nostalgia, regrets, desperate prayers, they all come together to make me feel like a lone warrior fighting against insurmountable enemies. I long for old friends and open conversations, for television and oft read books, for home-cooked food and familiar voices.

I try to read class notes or do something constructive but don't get very far before Facebook draws me in. And slowly, the hours slip by before I eventually fall asleep.

When I wake up the next morning, spirits are revived once again, because the sun is out and I have interesting classes to attend and people to talk to. Yet it's just a matter of time before the campus lights come on once again, lighting up the external world but extinguishing my internal joy.

Campus lights are bright. But few.

Aye kaash, kaash yun hota....har shaam, saath tu hota....

Chup chaap, dil na yun rota...har shaam, saath tu hota....

Do I Really Not Like the Rain Anymore?

2011-08-21T22:51:00.003+05:30

Something is wrong.
It's raining.
And I hate it.
I hate how everything is cold and wet and smelly.
I hate how my washed clothes refuse to dry.
I do not want to write poetry about the rain. Or stories. Or anything.
Something has changed within me. I was scrolling through my blog and I noticed how I haven't written proper stories in ages. I used to write nice ones, I think. Now, I am just uninspired.
But at the same time, I am thrilled to have more followers. That means what I've written is not completely trashy. 111 seems like an auspicious number. So thank you all, dear readers, for appreciating me so much, sometimes, even when I don't deserve it.
These days, I feel like I'm living a dream. Because I'm where I've wanted to be for a long time, yet something is amiss. I am not as enthusiastic as would be expected. I procrastinate. A lot.
I watch movies on YouTube. I watch random videos. I download songs. I lie in bed and listen to the songs over and over again with my mind going blank. I look at random people's Facebook profiles and photos. I explore Google +, the latest social network which I had planned to never join but then had to for academic reasons. I read the newspaper online. I update my Facebook status a bit too often. I even open the Chats folder on Gmail and read old conversations which make me feel nostalgic and teary. I do everything but write, even though all I want to do is write. Does that make any sense?
Perhaps.
At the moment, my mind is clouded with one major problem. If only that gets resolved, I will be more relaxed. Or perhaps I won't. I will find something else to worry about, like my mother's health. I have a knack for worrying about things I have no control over. Perhaps that's why I don't like the rain anymore. It just makes me worry about walking on wet roads, catching a cold, clothes not drying, etc, etc. Stupid, pointless worries.
I worry I am turning into a worrywart. Or perhaps I always have been one. I need to calm down, to stop fretting over niggling little things. I need to watch a nice movie and spend time with a good friend. I need to live a bit.

And in time, I am sure I will grow to love the rain once more.

The Bend in the Road

2011-08-18T16:43:00.006+05:30

It can appear all of a sudden, catching you unaware and jolting you into a sense of frantic panic as you quickly figure out how to survive the unfamiliar path it veers you onto.

Or, it can approach gradually, giving you plenty of time to anticipate what it will bring and plan accordingly.

But whichever way it occurs, the bend in the road is always exciting and terrifying all at once. It adds that crucial element of adventure to life.

The most recent bend in the road for me has been the decision to study in another city, another state, and in a country that is my own yet intimidates me quite a lot. If anyone had told me five years back that I would one day live in a hostel in a Southern Indian city, I would have laughed out loud at the preposterous idea. It is just not something I ever imagined myself wanting or having to do. Yet here I am, quite enjoying the experience and learning new things everyday. Well, at least almost every day. (Does washing clothes count as learning something new? It's an art, really. Or a science. Or whatever. It sure takes some skill though, I can tell you. :P )

Last night, I experienced something weird. I couldn't sleep till 3.30 a.m. (that was the last time I remember seeing on my cell phone.) Although I have suffered a bit of insomnia for quite some time now, it has never been so severe before. I was tired, physically, mentally, and emotionally, and direly wanted to drop off to peaceful slumber but just could not. So I got out of bed and went on a bit of a night time stroll through the hostel. The halls were somewhat eerily silent, with all room doors closed, either from inside or outside, and I felt a bit like I was haunting the place or something. A cool breeze was blowing in from the open-air quadrangle the building is built around, so I perched onto the low boundary wall and thought of many things.

I thought of home, where my family members would be deep in slumber, after having had a delicious dinner and watching prime time television. My stomach grumbled as I remembered the awful rice I had had hours ago.

I thought of someone I love, or think I do, and wondered why he hadn't answered my phone call hours ago. I had really needed to speak to him; I wouldn't ring him otherwise, but he hadn't gotten back. He would be asleep too, right then, dreaming of pretty girls and hot dates perhaps, far away from the world in which thoughts of him keep me awake till ungodly hours.

I thought of relationships and how very complicated they are at times, and at other times, meaningless. I pondered over how so many people are casual about 'love' and don't find it difficult to move on from one person to another. It makes me uncomfortable, this transient nature of love in today's world. Call me old fashioned but somehow, I don't understand casual dating. Or flirting. It seems superficial to me. Superficiality is equal to lies in some ways, and there is nothing I hate as much as I hate lies.

I thought of the friend who had lied to me, albeit about a small thing, and whom I had confronted just before trying to fall asleep. We had fixed things so smoothly, with him explaining and me accepting the explanation without any bitterness. Why can't all friendships be that way? You have a problem, you say it out loud, and it gets solved almost right away because the other person cares to respect your point of view and your feelings. Why don't some friendships have the capacity to withstand problems? Why do they deteriorate and eventually snap?

What do we gain from falling out with people who initially mean so much to us?
Just experiences, I guess. And lessons. Lessons of what it takes to be a 'social' being, as we all are.
At a seminar I attended yesterday, a Ghanaian professor shared an interesting proverb:

"If you want to go fast, go alone. But if you want to go far, go with others."

And even though at times, the bend in the road is bound to separate you from them, I am sure it never really isolates you.

(Don't worry, even I don't know what this post is trying to say.)

What Happens When a Heart Breaks?

2011-08-17T23:28:00.007+05:30

What happens when sunshine turns into rain?
When a source of joy turns into sorrow?
When you run from unbearable pain towards what seems like respite, only to collide head-on with the same kind of pain again?
What happens then, what do you do?
It's like you've jumped from the proverbial frying pan into the blazing fire that will burn you to death.
Only that it won't. Death won't come. The fire will not grant you that luxury, it will torture you in every worst way possible. It will sap the life out of you, and destroy that special quality you once had in abundance - the ability to love. It will make you cynical and skeptical and breed a hatred for the opposite sex who always seem to end up behaving just the same. They all ALWAYS break your heart.
And yet you are told to be patient, to wait, to not blame all men for the faults of the few who have wronged you. You are told to continue believing in that elusive word full of promise: "someday". -"Someday, someone will walk into your life and make you realize why it never worked out with anyone else."

Yeah Right!
By the time that "someday' comes, I'm afraid I may not have a heart left. 'Coz every time it breaks, I don't know what happens to the pieces.
Do you?
Do you know when a heart breaks, where do the pieces go?
Perhaps they die. Gracelessly, without even having the honor of a proper burial.

It's unrequited love that should die. Not bits of hearts. :(

Hyderabad Diaries - 2

2011-08-14T11:44:00.006+05:30

It's happened.

I have 'adjusted'.

To hostel life, to the campus, to Hyderabad.

I very near love this place now. It took less than two weeks. :)

I have learned SO MUCH since coming here. All little things which we don't usually think about much but which are nonetheless important.

I have learned how to use bathrooms that are not spotlessly clean. :P

I have learned to fall asleep with lights on, people talking, music playing, anything.

I have learned to wash my own clothes, and to plan what I wear so I can wash in batches without problems like colors running into each other.

I have learned to cross the road on my own. Granted, the road was not that busy so it doesn't matter as much but still, I had never crossed a four lane road on my own before. :)

I have learned to take care of myself. When I miss breakfast, I make sure I eat something, even if it is only biscuits. When the food at the hostel mess is decent, I tuck in without complaint. I'm making my taste buds slowly adapt to spices and chilies.

I have learned to not expect things from people. I don't need anyone to accompany me to eat or go to class or go anywhere at all. I am learning to manage on my own, no matter how apprehensive or lonely I feel at first.

I have learned to open up. I strike conversations with random strangers who I find are alone like me. It has been quite helpful in finding out lesser known facts about the campus and city.

I have learned to ask for help without hesitation. I went to open a bank account and could not have done it without asking three different people how exactly to go about it.

I have learned to be candid. I talk openly about the fact that I can't see very well so that people can help me when required.

I have learned to be independent yet friendly, free yet cautious, unrestrained yet responsible.

I have grown. :)

For those interested, here is a public link to my Facebook album comprising a few pictures of the campus. I will update it periodically as I click more photos:

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150337223335490.394766.513405489&l=2914b43b93&type=1

I never win any prizes...

2011-08-09T14:00:00.003+05:30

Yet, I don't give up trying.

So here goes: I'm sure you've all heard of the Samsung Galaxy Tab which is of course the 'coolest' (for lack of a better word) gadget around at the moment. So why not check out the live webcast of the Galaxy Tab launch? Here is the link:

And then await my blog post about the Tab.

Oh, and pray that I win. :P

'Coz I could do with some cheering up right now, you know. And what better way to make me smile than helping me win something as awesome as this.

That's all. Thank you.

Hyderabad Diaries - 1

2011-08-08T23:16:00.003+05:30

Ever since I came here last Tuesday, I have felt terribly lonely and homesick.

Everything, from the in-campus roads to the languages being spoken around me are unfamiliar.

I don't have classes yet so there is not much to do the whole day. The city is far away so it is not feasible to go 'exploring'. I am anyways tired of exploring this campus itself, it is so BIG.

But today, things got a leeetle better. I skipped messy 'mess' food and went to the canteen for some 'proper' dinner, that is, roti and chicken.

I ran into two second year students there, who're quite nice. We chatted as I ate and one of them bought tea for us all.

Then, as I walked back to the hostel, I ran into a few classmates so talked with them.

For the first time since I've arrived, I felt like I belong.

For the first night since being here, I don't feel like going back home.

For the first time, I feel like maybe HCU isn't that bad after all.

HCU is Hyderabad Central University, by the way, where I'm studying. Or will be studying, at least, as soon as classes start sometime soon!

Hostel

2011-08-06T14:23:00.000+05:30

That’s the name of a horror movie.
But that’s not the hostel I’m talking about.
I’m talking of The Hostel I am living in.
Which seemed close to a horror movie at first but then turned out to be ‘all right’, I guess.

What made it so horrific?

Well, the thing is, this room I’m in is meant for two people. There are two bed, two closets, and two desks. But ‘due to shortage of accomadation’, the (stupid) university admin decided to house three students per room.

Which is kind of a disaster. At least that’s what I thought at first. The evening that I moved in, I was so shocked, upset, confused, angry, and depressed, that my immediate thought was to re-pack whatever little I had unpacked and head straight back home with my dad who came to drop me. but fortunately, good sense prevailed and instead of speed-dialing my parents like a little kid, I called one of my best friends, the one I knew would provide just the support I needed right then.

Now this friend likes to call me a cry baby and i usually tell him off for it but at that moment I just proved it right by bursting into tears at the sound of his familiar voice and lapsing into my sob story.

He managed to calm me down, which I knew he would. And I decided to do the only thing one can do when stuck in an unavoidable crisis: to think from a different perspective. To try and appreciate something about the horror movie.

To start with, I’m sure we’ve all heard of roommates from hell. Well, thankfully, mine are the complete opposite, They seem like angels from heaven: they’re friendly, nice, mature, and extremely cooperative. Touch wood. We’ve managed to work out a way to share closet space and although I sleep on a mattress on the floor, I have decided not to mind.

What I do mind is how my feet hurt from all the walking I have been doing. The campus is big, really big, spread over 2000 acres of land, so there's a lot of walking involved to get from one spot to another. Most people have a bicycle but I don't even know how to ride one. :(

And the worst part is the food. I am already beginning to be sick of rice due to the sheer surplus of it that we are offered. The dal and subzi are just too spicy for me.

About the most interesting experience I've had so far is meeting two German girls who've chosen to stay at the hostel meant for Indian students rather than the special international students' hostel. They told me they like it, which I just can't comprehend because I sort of hate it, to be honest, and have been missing home a lot.

It's funny, sometimes you want something so badly and you get it, but then you don't want it anymore.

As said George Bernard Shaw: "There are two tragedies in life. One is not to get your heart's desire. The other is to get it."

Sigh.

When A Dream Comes True...

2011-07-23T18:58:00.003+05:30

There is a lot more than dreaming involved.

There are demigods in the form of parents who support and advice and guide and make sure that everything goes as smoothly as it can.

There are angels in the form of friends who encourage and motivate and inspire and bring cheer whenever needed.

There are prayers from a countless caring hearts that combine to form one mighty force.

There are best wishes that, every time they're uttered, send positive signals to the universe.

There is an abundance of love and faith that amalgamates to manifest goodness.

And then, only then, there is the significance of a little bit of hard work meeting a little bit of fate to form a reality that at last lights up the pair of eyes which have been yearning to see their vision accomplished for years on end. And finally, the heart which has suffered much turmoil in trying to realize its deepest desire, experiences an elation it had almost forgotten.

Today, I got admitted to the university I want to attend and all I can think of is how very thankful I am to God and everyone who supported me. I have finally learned the importance of gratitude. I have finally realized that God - and the entire universe - are in favor of those who practice gratitude.

A small dream has today been clinched, but this is just the beginning. Now is when the true test starts - the journey to build the small dream into a bigger vision and realize all the things I know I am meant to. It's in no way going to be easy, but then, nothing that is easy to get is worth it, especially not something as significant as a dream.

For like I said, when a dream comes true, there is a lot more than dreaming involved.

Jis cheez ko paane ki thi ummeed kho chuki,

us cheez ko paake bohot dil ko khushi hui

Salaam zindagi, salaam zindagi....

P.S. I know the song is irrelevant but I derive a different meaning from the lyrics than depicted in the video.

The Beauty of Facebook

2011-07-20T21:45:00.008+05:30

I don't know what made me do it.

Okay, maybe I do.

I was writing a story.

About the past.

A past in which he featured, albeit unknowingly, unconsciously.

And prone as I am to distractions whenever writing something tricky, I decided to log on to Facebook, just for a moment, to see whether a friend had replied to my message.

She hadn't, but that didn't even matter. For I found the cursor moving straight to the search box at the top of the screen and typing out a name. HIS name. An attractive foreign name, which I haven't even bothered to change in the story. Somehow, no other name can fit. It has to be his real one or no story at all.

He was easy enough to find. I knew he would be. We have two mutual friends, people I never talk to but don't take off from my list either.

And by some great stroke of luck (or fate?) his profile pictures album was accessible by me. His current picture made me catch my breath. There he was, partially silhouetted against the Toronto skyline, gazing into the distance. An artistic photo, captivating.

There were forty more pictures, a few of which are clever cartoons, and one is of a sports star. But most are of him (thank god):

Him reading a book (Moonraker by Ian Fleming) with a cup of beverage sitting beside him, his left hand raised to his forehead, eyebrows knit in concentration. It's hard to tell whether it's a natural or deliberate pose. Him in a checked shirt, shorts, and aviators, striding down the street, unsmiling, in a very model-esque manner. Him sitting very business-like on an office chair, left hand at the forehead again. Him with a glass of beer in hand, griining at the camera. Him showing off a bottle of beer, which is captioned as being his favorite brand in the world; him pouring out the beer into a glass. Him in a suit, him in a jacket, him with a small white dog and a book in his hand again. This time it is a cloth-bound volume with no name on it, but according to the caption it is his favorite novel, Nineteen Eighty Four by George Orwell. Him playing pool. his face set in concentration as he aims with the cue; him in fancy dress, dressed up like an old man, him in a tux, raising a glass full of something dark (wine?) to the camera, him doing up his tie and posing at the same time, him simply looking away at an angle; him with dark shades on, him with a cigarette between his lips and a dangerous look in his eyes, him posing in front of a building for what is obviously a professional photograph since it has a watermark on it; him lying on his bed, reclining on a sofa, leaning against a wall, perched atop a tree, lying with the white dog beside him again, him in his life, with not the vaguest inkling that a silly girl halfway across the world is scrolling through his photos, wide-eyed, heart-hammering, and a smile playing at her lips as she remembers what it was like -living across the hall from him.

I'd crushed on him the minute I'd set eyes on him, before he'd even spoken a word. I found out his name from other people's conversations, because I was just too shy to approach him on my own. We only ever met in the elevator sometimes, exchanged courteous smiles and nothing else. And then there was the time when he dropped by to borrow the vacuum cleaner and I'd answered the door and totally lost my senses for a minute before realising that I was looking stupid just standing there rather than fetching the machine for him. He has the most beautiful face I've ever set eyes on - not ruggedly handsome but gorgeous, and soft, dark hair, and eyes that I remember as being an elusive mix of intense and warm and wondrous and intelligent. And his mouth was the kind of mouth that makes you dream of kisses.

I know for a fact that he didn't even know my name, never mind realize that I was absolutely head-over-heels gaga over him. But somehow that doesn't matter, he remains my most memorable crush ever, perhaps because that's just what it was - a sweet, short-lived crush that never got a chance to explode into anything more serious or hurtful like love or obsession. It was pleasant and heart-warming and will always remain with me as the best feeling I've ever had for anyone. And when I REALLY think of him, I always have Facebook to check him out and happily reminisce about the four months worth of elevator rendez-vous we had back in Toronto.

I've been trying to write a story featuring him for years. It's high time I finally get down to completing it. Perhaps now I can include real details like the name of his favorite beer and the fact that he loves Nineteen Eighty Four by George Orwell. Perhaps I can even include the pretty girl who has commented on every single one of his pictures, complimenting him but receiving no acknowledgment in return, although he has replied to other people's comments. I wonder who she is and how she knows him. Perhaps she has a crush on him too. He's definitely the kind of guy who would have girls vying for his attention, and he seems to know it too.

I always fall for this particular species of boys.

And I always end up just writing stories about them and nothing else. :P

Sigh.

Gratitude

2011-07-17T11:17:00.006+05:30

Yesterday was a GREAT day.

I met a special friend after a long, long time because she now lives abroad.

Our group of four friends went to watch Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara. As the title suggests, the movie's about living life to the fullest and 'cherishing every moment' and all that, but I think there have been plenty of movies which drive home the point better so I didn't like ZNMD all that much. It was somewhat slow-moving and seemed like a visual documentary on Spain.

I did like the lyrics to the songs though, and also certain pieces of poetry which one of the characters periodically comes up with throughout the movie. Here is the only one of the lot I could find online:

Dilon mein tum apni betaabiyan leke chal rahe ho, toh zinda ho tum
Nazar mein khwaabon ki bijliyan leke chal rahe ho, toh zinda ho tum
Hawa ke jhokon ke jaise aazad rehna seekho
Tum ek dariya ke jaise lehron mein behna seekho
Har ek lamhe se tum milo khole apni baahein
Har ek pal ek naya samaa dekhe yeh nigaahein
Jo apni aankhon mein hayraniyan leke chal rahe ho, toh zinda ho tum
Dilon mein tum apni betaabiyan leke chal rahe ho, toh zinda ho tum

Roughly translated:

If your heart is full of anxieties, then you're alive

If your vision is alight with dreams, then you're alive

You must learn to be free like the gusts of wind.

You must learn to flow in waves like the sea.

Embrace each moment with open arms

Let your gaze find something new to cherish all the time

If your eyes are burdened with wonder, then you're alive,

If your heart is full of anxieties, then you're alive

Beautiful, isn't it?

Speaking of movies, have you seen one called Happythankyoumoreplease? Yes, that's one word with no spaces. I downloaded it some time back mainly because the lead actor is the guy who plays Ted in How I Met your Mother and I find him super cute. So the movie proposes this idea about giving thanks for every little happiness and following it up with asking for 'more, please.' Every time you're happy, say 'thank you, more please'. To whom do you say this to? Well, God, I suppose, or whatever it is that you believe in.

So last night, since I was sooooo happy after the brilliant day I had, I kept chanting 'thank you, more please' as a way of gratitude to God. And the more I said it, the more things I found to be thankful for.

Indeed, zindagi na milegi dobara (you only have one life) so be happy and say 'thank you, more please'.

The Photograph(er)

2011-07-03T19:39:00.005+05:30

Her Point of View

The day I got my DSLR camera was perhaps the happiest day of my life. I’d always been into photography and longed for a professional camera for years, and finally, there it was in my hands, solid as a brick, just begging me to get started click, click, clicking.
I told all my friends I would be photographing them – I thought it would be a nice thing to do considering how they always appreciated my skills, but at the spur of the moment, I did something stupid and even promised HIM a picture. By him I mean my stalker. Not literally a stalker, but something very close to that considering that he’d been in love with me for five years despite me trying EVERYTHING to drive home the point that I was quite simply not interested. I guess you can say he was a friend, a bit of a clingy one though, someone I didn’t really like to associate with too much in case he got the wrong ideas.
He didn’t ask me for a picture but somehow I offered to click him. Maybe I felt sorry that he didn’t usually have any nice profile pictures on Facebook. Some part of me just felt like doing him a favour, I suppose. The thing is, like I said, I didn’t really associate too much with the guy, so there were very few chances when I could have fulfilled my promise. What’s more is that although I was confident of my skills, inside I wasn’t too sure whether clicking him would be a good idea. What if I couldn’t make him look good? Or worse, what if he took my innocent gesture as a sign that I fancied him or something? He was anyways weird, I didn’t need him jumping to conclusions and becoming even clingier than he already was. So I guess just as unconsciously as I had promised him the photo, I avoided having my camera with me whenever I knew he would be around. I did have it once or twice, but fortunately, he never asked me to click him then.

His Point of View

When I first set eyes on HER five years ago, I lost everything. My heart, my head, my common sense, and in an indirect way, my self respect too. It was not because she had the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen, though that did play a major role in pushing up my heartbeat, but no, the real reason I fell for her was the way she treated other people. I had always thought pretty girls were snooty and/or bitchy, but she proved all such assumptions wrong. She was the kindest, warmest person I had ever met, with a friendly smile and an even friendlier voice. When most other girls pretended I didn’t exist, She let me be her friend. She would listen to me talk and ask my opinions and even joke around with me sometimes. She was the sunshine of my life. She was also very smart, which is why it didn’t take her long to figure out that I fancied her. When she found out, I was sure she wouldn’t want anything to do with me anymore, but to my utter shock – and pleasure – she was cool with it and didn’t treat me any different. I loved her even more for that.
But one day, things changed. She changed. Being an avid photographer, she was over the moon when she finally got her own DSLR camera. When she first told me about it, I didn’t even know what a DSLR was and had to Google the term. I was happy to see her so happy but at the same time, I couldn’t help noticing a slight transformation take place in her personality. The girl I had always thought to be most down-to-earth was turning into a bit of a show-off. All she ever talked about anymore were her photos: who and what she had clicked and the nice things people had said about her skills. Her Facebook profile was flooded with appreciation. It made me smile but I worried that it was all going to her head a bit too much; it was apparent in her behaviour. She hardly talked to me much anymore. Granted we were both busy in our own lives but we had never before gone for weeks without exchanging so much as a ‘hi’. We were drifting apart, I could sense it. And it depressed me.
I guess that’s why I was so upset when she seemed to forget something that she had promised me. As non-photogenic as I was, I was looking forward to her clicking my picture. After years of people telling me I looked rubbish in photos, I had sort of unconsciously put my trust in this brilliant girl I loved, trust that perhaps she could prove my own doubts wrong and show me that I could have a nice photograph if the photographer was good enough. And SHE was better than good; she was the best as far as I was concerned.
I would run into her now and then, with her camera slung on her shoulder, but I could never work up the nerve to ask whether she would click me. I always thought that since she was the one who had made the promise, she should be the one to fulfill it.
And so I waited in silence, occasionally feeling bad when I would see her photograph her other friends, the ones who didn’t even need professional cameras to make them look good. I wondered whether she would ever remember what she had told me. It wasn’t fair.

Her Point of View

'What?'
That was the only word that came to mind when I heard the news.
It couldn’t be.
No way.
He could not be…
No, I couldn’t bring myself to think that word. It was too terrible, too sudden, too unbelievable. Young people did not just drop dead one day. How could he have…
‘Because he was ill, you fool,’ a small voice in my head said. ‘He was suffering since years and you didn’t even notice.’
But how could I have noticed? He never said a word about it, no hint, nothing. He had always seemed to be just another normal young person. How was I to know he had cancer?
And to think of how I treated him… this sounds sick to say but if only I’d known, I’m sure I would have been nicer to him. I didn’t even click his photograph when I KNEW how much it meant to him. God, how could I have been so nasty? And that too, to someone who loved me. I had always thought his whole ‘love’ thing was a bit blown out of proportion but I can’t now, after he’s left me a diary full of stuff he’s written about me. His brother gave it to me today. After the funeral. And it made me cry like nothing else ever has.
I can’t believe I laughed about him behind his back, and that I never did a single nice thing for him all his life. The only thing I can find comfort in is what I managed to do before the burial: I photographed him. I don’t know how I did it but I knew I had to. I asked permission from his family; I explained to them that it was something which meant a lot to him, and although his brother was dead against it, his parents gave in. perhaps only to stop me pleading with them.
He was lying there in the casket, all suited up, with his hair neatly in place, looking almost handsome, and more peaceful than I had ever seen him. I stared at him for what seemed liked an eternity, my eyes welling up with tears of shame and remorse, and finally, at long last, I fulfilled my promise.
It turned out to be a hauntingly beautiful picture. I posted it to his Facebook profile and it’s got over 100 likes. I guess my stalker is a lot more liked and popular in death than he ever was in life. Which sounds kind of terrible but isn’t really.
Because with the photo was my long drawn-out and overdue apology to him. I think that’s what people really liked: that I publicly apologized for how badly I had privately treated him.
Sometimes, things we believe to be ‘no big deal’ turn out to be much bigger than we can handle. A promise, or giving someone our word, is one of them.

*The image is from www.photographybebastocapture.blogspot.com

A Special Dedication

2011-06-30T22:14:00.004+05:30

I rarely write posts about real people. Of course, I mention them in passing all the time but a full-fledged dedication is something only three people so far have been lucky enough to acquire. One of them loved it, one didn’t care and the other didn’t notice. This time, however, I’ve picked someone who I know will notice, sooner or later, because she ALWAYS reads my blog. She is one of my best friends from school, someone I’ve known since the eighth grade and still get along with in a unique, special way.

Today is her birthday. And although I can’t be with her or even call her, I want to make her day by writing this post. I know it’ll mean something to her even though she will probably read it several days later,

When I first met my friend, I didn’t like her at all. She seemed crazy and talked way too much than I considered normal. But as usually seems to happen with people I initially don’t like, she went on to become an integral part of my life. She helped me open up, come out of the shell of low self-esteem I had been cowering under since a young age, and blossom into a friendly, witty, and sharp person.

She is beautiful (as opposed to just pretty), smart (as opposed to just intelligent), sweet, sensitive, caring, and both sensible and crazy at the same time. She is one of the few people who has her priorities sorted and hasn’t let university life in a foreign country change the person that she is. She has her values and her principles firmly in place, and although she loves to have a laugh, she’s always known where to draw the line. She is also a gifted artist and a good writer.

At first, I always saw her as the kind of girl I could never be friends with: she is popular and fun and gets a lot of attention from the opposite sex, whereas I am just quiet and plain and mostly unnoticed. But once she had me talking, I couldn’t seem to hold myself back and we grew to be inseparable. We did have our fair share of fights and fall outs, and I often used to lose my mind when she made it a habit of doing things that irritated me, but in the end, I could never resist joining into her gleeful laughter and just letting go.

Thanks to her, and our two other best friends, the later years of my school life were full of funny moments and happy memories. I remember meeting her first thing in the morning and walking around the school as we talked about homework and what we’d had for breakfast that day. I always had the usual stuff – cereals and toast - whereas she experimented with things like popcorn and coke or samosas. She would sometimes make samosas herself and bring them for us to taste. They were quite delicious. I remember how the Principal would often tell her off for her shoes being too high-heeled or her trousers being too flared or her tie being improperly fastened and it made no difference at all to her. She’s never been one to follow too many rules. And that's something I've imbibed from her. :P

I remember her heavy pencil-case full of gel pens in every color which she would use to draw patterns on the corners of my notebooks as we sat in class, and I remember our chats about boys as we worked in the Chemistry lab, or rather she worked while I just watched because I was useless at handling all that apparatus. I remember eating hot chips (French fries) at the canteen, which she sprinkled with a bit too much salt and lots of ketchup and vinegar. I remember how her nostrils would flare whenever she tried to lie, and the fancy, sexy bun she fastened her long hair in. I remember how she would talk in funny accents to make me laugh and how she was always a sport, no matter what horrible new pranks people (read: boys) would play on her.

I remember her getting into embarrassing situations and then laughing like crazy about them, and I remember how she enriched my vocabulary with the choicest of swear words. I remember us cursing the Chemistry teacher who wouldn’t give us the marks we deserved, and secretly imitating the Biology teacher who had a problem with pronunciations. Most of all, I remember the time she threw her shoe at someone but it went and hit a school prefect instead and she ended up with detention. The memory still makes me laugh out loud all these years later.

I haven’t seen my friend ever since I left Kenya, almost six years ago, and we've only spoken on the phone a couple of times, but yet I don’t think anything’s changed between us. I still feel she’s someone I can count on no matter what situation I’m in. The distance does make it a lot harder to keep up with each other’s lives but I think inside, we both know that nothing can change what we have as long as we don’t allow it to. She is still the sweet, loving, carefree, uninhibited, impulsive yet sensible person that I knew her as, and I pray to God that he makes her every birthday super special and blesses her with all the joy and success she deserves. And hopefully, one day, we’ll meet again and it’ll be just like the good old days…except that it’ll be better.

Of Boy Flicks and Bitchy Chicks

2011-06-27T17:24:00.004+05:30

Three young bachelors living together, a solid friendship or ‘bro-hood’ as it is called these days, and a somewhat fresh, urban story that will instantly draw you in and eventually make you cry almost as much as it makes you laugh. Pyar ka Panchnama is a movie most young people will enjoy, especially if you are a guy between 20 and 25 years of age.

What I liked most about the film is the dialog especially that of the first half, which although littered with profanities, is very ‘real’ and perfectly captures the lingo of today’s urban India.

I found the lead actors all excellent, especially my personal favorite, Kartik, who stole my heart with his truly adorable depiction of the love-struck Rajat aka Rajjo.

Isn't he just too cute? Sigh. :)

Then there’s the sweet, albeit swear-word-spewing Nishant aka Liquid who falls into the terrible trap of loving a girl who’s already in a long distance relationship. And the seeming ‘leader’ of the trio is Vikrant, the strong, silent type who appears to be most experienced when it comes to romance and girls.

The second half of the movie does begin to drag at times, and I think the ending could have been better, but I really applaud the writer and director for experimenting with something new and doing it so well. I usually like ‘boy flicks’ for their comic quotient but Pyar ka Panchnama has a nice emotional ring to it too. Oh, and the music ‘rocks’ for lack of a better word. :P

Then, we have the female leads. Three quintessential ‘hot’ chicks who each portray the kind of characters that we want to believe are over the top but can’t, since we’ve all heard of or personally encountered (shudder!) someone like them in real life.

One is a manipulative control freak who never runs out of things to unnecessarily fight about. The other is a smooth operator who can charm any guy into doing exactly what she wants, and the last is a confused damsel who can’t decide which guy she really prefers of the many that adore her.

So the story begins with our (super cute) guys living a routine kind of life until they each fall in love and learn the hard way that sometimes, hot chicks are a lot more trouble than they are worth. Throughout the movie, our sympathy (and empathy) rests firmly with the boys who all get most terribly used and abused by the girls, but I can’t help saying that when similar things happen in real life, I feel that guys are usually asking for it. You fall for the hot bitches and then blame ALL girls when you end up hurt. Not fair, is it?

Believe it or not, there ARE (pretty) girls out there who don’t:
∙ Argue at the drop of a hat
∙ Use tears to win an argument,
∙ Yak, yak, yak without ever pausing to listen
∙ Love to shop for things like curtains, cutlery and furniture. Yawn.
∙ Constantly pester you about where you are, what you are doing, etc etc
∙ Nag you to spend more time with them
∙ Demand that you quit smoking or drinking or going out with your friends
∙ Never accept their mistakes
∙ Fight for the remote or disturb you when all you want to do is watch some sport
∙ Manipulate you into doing things you don’t want to
∙ Use physical intimacy to get you to agree to things
∙ Ditch you just when you start dreaming of a future together.
∙ Ditch you just because you’re not as rich as some other guy who fancies them OR
∙ Any other such nasty thing.

But most of the time, such sensible girls aren’t extraordinarily ‘hot’ or slim and sexy, so you don’t notice them or choose to ignore them if you do. You like to have them as ‘friends’ rather than girlfriends and don’t think twice about hurting them at the expense of the hot bitches whom you do like.

But before this post turns into a rant, let me conclude by saying that after years of having every guy I like prefer some other girl just because she is ‘hotter’, I feel no sympathy when the girl ends up hurting him. He probably deserves it. And next time, he should remember: “if you fall for a bitch, she’s bound to turn you into her pet dog.” :P
Woof woof.

*Please pardon my use of objectionable language in this post. It’s just one of those days when I can’t help it…

*And please DO watch PkP, it’s good fun!

Closure

2011-06-17T10:15:00.002+05:30

I still cannot access any blogs including my own, so I apologize for not acknowledging or replying to comments. I don't know what's happening but I am getting quite impatient with this problem I am facing. Don't know when blogger will fix the bug. If anyone has any ideas about what could possibly be wrong, please let me know.

Anyways...

Closure.

That conclusive feeling of a particular phase in life coming to an end, usually a phase that has caused us emotional strain of some sort. It could be when we finally get to the bottom of something we have been investigating. Or when we at last find something we have been eagerly searching for. It could be the achievement of a goal or the end of a bad relationship. It could be finishing school or quitting a job. Or the passing away of someone after long-drawn-out suffering. It could be leaving a place for somewhere we can make a fresh new start, or simply evicting from our lives those people who add no value to it.

In it's most basic form, perhaps closure is simply letting go. Not because we HAVE to or NEED to, but only because we want to and finally think we CAN. Perhaps 'closure' means finding the courage to end a particular chapter, sometimes without reaching a conclusive ending, and just moving on, trusting that by the time we reach the grand finish, everything will somehow make sense of its own accord.

Because, as they say, "Everything is okay in the end. If it is not okay, then it's not the end."

What's the most amazing thing you ever saw?

2011-06-14T17:17:00.004+05:30

This post is inspired by the Intel advert which goes: 'What's the most amazing thing you ever saw? Was it something big? Or something small? Or maybe something you've not seen yet?'

There's a visual of the Taj Mahal when they ask 'was it something big?' and when I contemplate the question, I have to agree that the most amazing thing I've seen so far in life has to be this mausoleum that makes Agra (and India as a whole) famous around the world.

Close contenders on my list are the Niagara Falls and the over 1800-feet tall CN Tower, both of which are pretty amazing but not quite as much as the Taj I think. I've also seen a Cheetah make the kill in the wild at a game reserve in Kenya but that too doesn't quite make it to being the MOST amazing of all that I've witnessed in my 23 years.

The Taj, which I saw quite recently after years of longing to, has a spell-binding effect unparalleled to all else. For me, it's not the romantic history that makes it amazing but rather the perfection and grandeur with which it has been built. The moment you set your eyes on it for the first time, it holds your gaze almost magnetically. You just want to stand there and drink in all its opulence and splendour and magnificence. Sorry, am I using big flowery words that hold no real meaning? Well, that's the thing, it is precisely such words that begin to hold substantial meaning when used to describe something as awesome as the Taj.

Ever since I came back from my trip, I've been wanting to write about it but I just couldn't because I was so overwhelmed by the depth of all that I could write. I didn't know where to start and what to say because really, no amount of words can convey precisely what you feel when you observe the complex, detailed Mughal architecture, the pristine marble work, the intricate patterns on the interiors, the Arabic calligraphy, or even the impeccably manicured garden. It is, for lack of a better word, perfect. Just perfect.

Yet this gigantic epitome of perfection stands right in the middle of a city that I'm tempted to call a massive pit of filth but will suffice with labeling 'imperfect'. Highly imperfect. There's not a thing about Agra which I found goes well with the breathtaking handsomeness of the Taj Mahal. Why do people call it a 'beautiful' monument? I think its stupendously HANDSOME: proud, elegant, GRAND. It makes you go weak in the knees and evokes a desire to just ditch everything and sink down before it and swoon in eternal admiration and awe. I'm not exaggerating, I would have given anything to have more than a day to look at it properly, to have its million minute details talk to me and tell me their stories and secrets, and the stories and secrets of the thousands of people who crafted them. I would have loved to hang about a bit, with no tour guide to yak on about a history I would much rather prefer reading about than being told about, and no noisy crowds who were far more interested in clicking pictures than just reveling in the centuries worth of heritage the place is drenched in.

One little kid actually threw up right in front of me, right there, INSIDE the Taj Mahal. It was revolting. Granted, it was a blazing hot day outside and he was perhaps dehydrated or sick or whatever, but honestly, why should anyone bring a kid to the Taj when they're not going to understand a fraction of its history? And if you must bring them, could you please protect them from the Indian heat in the summer months? All it takes is a hat or sunscreen and plenty of bottled drinking water. Just please don't let them be sick INSIDE the Taj Mahal.

Guess that just goes to show that even perfect things aren't ever completely free from imperfections. The polluted air of Agra that's causing the structure to turn yellowish is another piece of disturbing evidence. And the apathy of the government towards fixing the problem is the worst of the lot.

I know the country has greater problems to deal with too, but come on, it's the Taj Mahal, our own wonder of the world, full of history and culture and mystique and romance, our signature monument, it DESERVES protection!

If I ever get married, I intend to visit Agra again with my husband. I just hope that by the time that happens, if ever, nothing worse has happened to tarnish the blazing awesomness of my beloved Taj.

After all, it IS the most amazing thing I ever saw :)

The sum of your parts

2011-06-12T14:41:00.004+05:30

Yesterday, I saw a movie called Flipped which kind of made me flip and think about things I don't like to think about these days. But it was a good movie and I enjoyed it. It was recommended by Yoshi who is one of my favorite bloggers: http://anbuxvii.blogspot.com

There was an interesting philosophy one of the characters talks about - about things being greater than the sum of their parts. Like a picture in its entirety is more meaningful or more beautiful than the smaller bits that make it up. It's like that for people too right? Have you ever thought whether you as a whole person have more of an impact than the individual components that make you up? Are you greater than the sum of your parts? Or lesser?

Are there bits about you that stand out but when looked at in totality are not much at all? Or are there things about you that are plain and hardly worth noticing but come together to form a magnificent human being?

The female protagonist in the movie realizes at a certain point that the person she loves, whom she always thought was much greater than the sum of his parts, was indeed lesser. Much lesser. He was just an ordinary boy with dazzling eyes who didn't care about her very much. That made me realize how I too assume that certain people are greater than the sum of their parts when in fact they prove time and again that they are definitely not.

In fact, perhaps most of us are neither greater nor lesser. We are equal to the sum of our parts. We are ordinary.

That is of course until we do something out of the ordinary.

Or extraordinary.

So, what out of the ordinary or extraordinary thing did you do today? Or ever?

Think about it. And do whatever it is that will make you greater. :)

p.s. Blogger is not allowing me to open any blogspot.com pages so I can't reply to comments on previous posts, neither can I read anyone's posts, so I will be back once the problem sorts itself out.

You.

2011-06-11T22:57:00.010+05:30

I wish you simply did what you said.

I wish you hung out with me when you said you would.

I wish you fulfilled the promise you made.

I wish you did something nice for me for a change.

I wish you would call me for no reason, just for a chat.

I wish you would listen to me. And understand.

I wish you thought I was pretty. And smart.

I wish you liked me half as much as I love you.

Then, perhaps, I wouldn't wish for you to hurt.

Perhaps I wouldn't take a sick, sadistic pleasure in your pain.

Perhaps I wouldn't want all the bad things in the world to happen to you.

Perhaps I wouldn't feel guilty for all these horrible desires.

Perhaps I would be able to forgive you. Or rather, forgive myself for loving you too much. Or hating.

How I wish.

A time to be strong, a time to be stubborn.

2011-06-08T10:48:00.010+05:30

Some things are not worth having if it doesn't take a bit of a struggle to acquire them. Don't you think so? Don't difficulties on the path towards a dream make us value the dream even more than we ordinarily would?

Yet, no matter what the difficulties, the support of people we are close to makes the going a little easier. What is excruciating is when these very people try to dissuade us, to convince us that what we want is impossible and that we would be better off doing what they think is right for us. Perhaps they have our best interests at heart, perhaps they are afraid of how we will survive the path that we have chosen, or are anxious about losing us, but I don't think any reason is a good enough excuse for them to try and puncture our faith rather than share in it and strengthen it.

Ever since I have expressed my desire to pursue a master's degree in another city, the two people who mean the world to me are reacting as if I am a stubborn child who is demanding something unreasonable. Instead of backing my decision and encouraging me, they've left no stone unturned to point out all the troubles or complexities I may face living in a hostel in a new city. More times than I can count, they've succeeded at intimidating me into reconsidering the whole thing and pushing me into a state of utter confusion and conflict for several days. But, with a little bit of help from those blessed beings called friends, I have always come back stronger from these periods of turmoil, more set than before on doing what I want to do. But I don't know how much longer I will be able to take it.

Self-doubt is a problem I have suffered since a young age. It's taken me twenty years to get over, and it's not something I want to fall into again. But how do I stop myself if the people I count on keep reminding me of my limitations and the pitfalls they could entail?

Why don't they understand that I'm thinking of the 'future', not just my own but theirs too? Why don't they see that furthering my education will be a GOOD thing rather than a useless waste of time? Why don't they stop to think that perhaps I have spent a countless sleepless nights mulling over my decision before finalizing it? Why don't they grasp how much this means to me? Why don't they quit telling me to opt for the easier way out and take up a not-so-good course here in Ahmedabad itself? Why don't they for once tell me 'you can do it!'? Don't they know that I am susceptible to weakness inside? Don't they know how badly I yearn to hear words of encouragement rather than an overly exaggerated risk analysis?

I have already had some most cherished dreams crash and shatter all around me. I have tried to pick up the shards only to end up more hurt. Hence, I have found new dreams, and given up short-term gratifications to reach a stage from where I can advance to fulfill these new ambitions. Yet, as I get tantalizingly close to them, the people I love make me want to give it all up. This, like most other things in life, is not very fair. But the good thing - for perhaps there is a good thing in everything - is that I realize how sometimes, the only person you can count on is yourself. You have to be strong enough to see your own plans through and brave enough to handle any negative consequences.

From this point forward, I know that it's entirely up to me to not back down. If I show so much as the slightest sign of weakness, I could lose everything I have worked for and everything I long for. I will have to be invincible as a rock, and no matter what happens, I will not utter a word of complaint. If people want to label my strength as stubbornness, then so be it. I'm ready to do anything, fight any battle, that will lead me towards getting what I want.

For some things are not worth having if it doesn't take a bit of a struggle to acquire them. Don't you think so?

REAL Beauty

2011-05-24T15:15:00.010+05:30

It’s in the curve of my smile, which never leaves my face,
A smile that reaches my eyes to brighten up my gaze.

It’s in the radiance of my skin, devoid of any make-up,
Skin that’s soft and smooth, and never needs a touch-up.

It’s in my soft pink lips that speak a language of their own,
A language sweet and subtle, that takes a seductive tone.

It’s in the sway of my hips which makes the guys swoon,
Hips that have a healthy span, oh yes, curves are a boon.

It’s in the gleam of my eyes, which are full of ambitions,
Ambitions to take the world by storm, realize my noble visions.

It’s in the stride of my step, which always has a spring in it,
A spring of self-assurance, not affected by pessimism one bit.

It’s in the reach of my arms, which lend strong, warm hugs whenever needed,
Hugs to comfort or congratulate or just return some affection heeded.

It’s in the way I walk into a room, and see heads turn my way,
It’s the real beauty in me that makes people care what I have to say.

The men treat me with respect, looking me straight in the eye,
The women ask me relentlessly: ‘where does your secret lie?’

I say it’s in the way I carry myself, despite not being model-thin or gorgeous.
I say it’s in how I stick to the basics, never making a fashion fuss.

It’s in the way I laugh heartily, throwing my head back in mirth,
It’s in the way I love to eat, without obsessing over my girth.

It’s in the arch of my back and the grace of my neck,
It’s in the way I walk tall, confident as heck.

It’s in the click of my heels, and the scent of my hair,
It’s in the way I have so much to give of love and care.

It’s in the way I stand up to any kind of atrocity,
And in the way I spread joy, evoking felicity

I don’t have to shout or cry or jump around,
I command attention, and refuse to be downed.

It’s in the way I strive to make a difference, in this crazy selfish world,
It’s in how I put my words into action and make sure my plans are unfurled

It’s in how I love to get my beauty sleep despite so many things to do,
It’s in how I’m not lonely, even without a ‘baby boo’.

It’s in how I make time for the people who matter,
It’s in how my silence speaks louder than chatter.

It’s in the way I work hard, to live my life my way,
And in how I love to make someone else’s day.

It’s in the way I’m down to earth yet proud of everything I am,
It’s in how I know when to listen, and when to not give a damn.

It’s in how I don’t gossip or bitch or badmouth anyone,
It’s in how I always give second chances to almost everyone.

It’s in how I’m quick to lend a helping hand without waiting to be asked,
It’s in how I forgive and forget, and leave bygones in the past.

It’s in the fact that I don’t indulge in useless material possessions,
It’s in the way I patiently listen to even the most scandalous confessions.

Oh yes, it’s in everything I do, the real beauty in me,
It’s not just on the outside, so some people don’t see.

It’s the way I cover up my body yet flaunt just enough
It’s in my individuality, free of superficial fluff.

So now you know where my real beauty lies,
Oh yes, all conventional norms, it certainly defies.

Are you a woman (or man) of substance? Do you believe in REAL beauty, that's not just skin-deep or obvious or conventional? Well then, check out Yahoo! Real Beauty and connect with like-minded individuals.

The post above is my entry for the Yahoo Dove Real Beauty Contest held on Indiblogger. If you are an Indiblogger and you like my post, kindly promote it here: http://www.indiblogger.in/indipost.php?post=59534 and also click the Facebook 'like' button which you will see at the link.

In Limbo

2011-05-23T17:13:00.003+05:30

Of all the most irksome tasks in the world, I think the worst is ‘waiting’. Waiting for sleep to come at night, waiting for calls that never come, waiting for bad times to pass, waiting in line at shops and banks and offices and everywhere, waiting to have more money, waiting for love to happen, waiting for people to reply to messages, waiting for summer to pass so that my skin, hair and mood can all feel better, waiting for the right moments to put plans in action, waiting to write certain exams, waiting to see what their outcome will be, waiting to pack my bags and set off to do something new, waiting to see whether I have what it takes to make all my dreams come true…

And lately, waiting for that coveted 100^th follower and 100^th ‘like’ on my blog. :P

I may be an action-oriented person but sometimes, there is nothing to do but simply wait.

But what makes waiting slightly bearable are the three best blessings of life: books, movies, music, not necessarily in that order.

I am reading the Harry Potter series backwards, from book no. 7 to book no. 1. I have just started on the fifth one and every time I revisit the words of J.K. Rowling, I find something new to take away. She is just as magical as the fascinating world she's created, I think.

I want to be that kind of writer. I want to be able to weave such wonder and mystery, to make emotions and imaginations come alive at once, and to impart wisdom and sound judgement without being preachy or even realizing it. But to achieve this too, I have to wait... wait for my writing to mature on its own, wait for my own voice and style to take full effect, wait for my brain to snap into overdrive and do something spectacular. Wait for my time to come. :)

True Life Tales - 3

2011-05-17T14:56:00.005+05:30

There was once a girl.

Who deeply loved a boy.

But he was her friend and could never be more. She was all right with that, because at least she got to have him in her life.

Most of their interaction occurred online. They rarely spoke on phone or met in person.

Day in day out, she lived in the hope that he would express interest in meeting and hanging out with her, the way he routinely did with his other friends.

Sometimes she suggested it herself and occasionally she got her wish, but most of the time, plans did not really fall through, for whatever reason.

How she wished she was as valued a friend to him as his other female acquaintances were. How she longed to be asked out to movies or coffee dates or just plain and simple conversations.

On several occasions, she sensed she was about to get lucky, only to realize in a jiffy that she had misunderstood, and then her heart would shatter into pieces. Over and over again, she kept being disappointed, yet never got round to giving up. She persisted to the point of foolishness:

‘Can you do me a little favor?’ he asked one day when they were chatting online.

‘Sure,’ she replied, excited. She liked doing him favors, ridiculous as that sounds.

‘Check the time of the movie, New Moon, playing at Cinemax tomorrow. Check online because the papers don’t have it and I’m online from my phone so can’t access the site.’

‘Okay,’ she replied, with a little thrill of anticipation as her mind raced ahead of her. ‘But why?’

‘I want to go tomorrow, after attending college. Annie and Rhea may be free and they really want to see it.’

‘Oh,’ she replied, as she felt that familiar sensation of her heart plummeting down to her feet and shedding into a countless pieces along the way. Involuntarily, her eyes became moist as she realized he had NOT been thinking of asking her. As always.

‘Yeah, so can you check quickly and tell me?’ was the reply glaring at her from the screen.

She stared for a moment. Then felt herself go mad.

‘No,’ she typed, her fingers trembling slightly. ‘Why don’t you ask the people you want to go with?’

It was a moment before he replied: ‘?’

He followed it up with: ‘What do you mean?’

‘You want me to check movie timings for you yet you never go with me to ANY movie!’ she typed, feeling anger bubble out through her fingers as she pounded the keyboard.

‘So go and ask your friends Annie and Rhea to check. I’m not doing it.’

‘W T F’ he replied. ‘What has that got to do with anything? I’m asking you a simple thing and you’re reacting like I don’t know what. What is your problem?’

‘You. I hate you never bothering to meet me and having so much time for all your other friends.’

‘I always go for movies with Annie and Rhea, okay? If you want to come along, come. And you can pay for my ticket too. :P’

She was disgusted rather than amused by the lame attempt at humor, if that was what it was. It made her angrier still.

‘You don’t care, do you? You never care when I express myself. All you’re interested in is your other friends! Never any time or money for me!’

‘Oh for god’s sake!’ he replied, and she could tell he had lost his temper. ‘It’s my time and my money. I decide how to spend it. You are nobody to tell me what to do.’

‘I’m not telling you what to do. But you like to twist everything I say. So leave it. I’m signing off. Have fun with your precious Annie and Rhea at the movie!’

‘Yeah I will. Go on being jealous. Haha, you make me laugh, child. You seriously need to grow up.’

‘Whatever.’

And she signed off, with angry tears streaming down her face and an urge to smash the computer to bits so she would have an excuse to never log on and face him online again. Why did love hurt so much?

It was three days later that she next faced him, and by a twist of fate, it was in real life rather than online. She and her friend were at the movies – another movie, not New Moon – and by some absurd coincidence, he was there, with his parents, right in the seat beside her. Well, he was going to be in the seat beside her before he suddenly switched with his parents and ended up two seats away.

The recent fight forgotten and thrilled that she had run into him by sheer chance, she instantly text messaged him: ‘Hey, come and sit here, na! I’m right beside you! :D’

‘Nah… I don’t feel like…’ he replied.

Her face fell, but as was characteristic of her, she didn’t give up: ‘Why not? Come on, we hardly meet and it’s such a cool coincidence we’re right next to each other.’

‘No, I don’t want to. Chill.’

One look at the message and she was close to tears all over again. She could not look over at him directly because his parents were right there and it would have seemed odd. Moreover, he didn’t seem to want to introduce her to them even though she knew his mom and dad didn’t have any problem with him having girls as friends. All over again, her heart broke. As if it wasn’t bad enough that he hardly ever met her, when fate itself had given them a chance to meet, he was aloof and didn’t even want to say hello. He had treated her like a stranger when she had always treated him with more love than she'd known she was capable of feeling. Why did love hurt so much? Again, she had no answer.

That night, when she saw him online and exploded at once, letting her hurt get the better of her, demanding to know why she had been treated worse than a foe, he only had one answer:

‘I was pissed about how you acted the other day. All the drama you did when I just asked a simple favor. I was angry and therefore in no mood to speak to you today. Big deal.’

She had had a lot to say in response, to defend herself, and even though she did say it, everything fell on deaf ears. Who was she to feel hurt anyway? She needed to 'grow up'.

It was just the beginning of a friendship going sourer than milk left unboiled in the summer. It was just the beginning of her being ‘punished’ for loving him to a point that it annoyed him. It was just the beginning of years more of humiliation and tears to come. Yes, it was just the beginning for she was stupid and didn't know a lost cause when it was staring her full in the face, threatening to destroy her.

Anger and I

2011-05-15T22:58:00.007+05:30

It boils inside me, simmering just under the surface all the time but rarely making it's presence known to the world. There are too many things that piss me off, I think: stereotypes and sex roles, rules, norms, society, bullies, bitchy people, controversy, crime, evil, injustice, lack of justice, waste, pollution, abuse, and the list goes on and on.

Yes, I am a very angry person. Problem is that I don't quite know WHO exactly to direct this anger towards. Some times, I chastise God for letting the world be a messed up place, but most of the time, I turn the fury onto myself: let it burn me up inside so that nothing is left but cynicism and doubt and a sense of utter weariness.

I think this is because from a young age, I became conditioned to NEVER overtly express my anger. I did throw the usual childish tantrums but was put right straight away. As I grew, I became more and more restrained and thought it inappropriate to shout or scream or do any such thing. To date, I can't really raise my voice at all.

Most people assume I am just a calm person who doesn't like to make an issue out of anything, some perhaps take me to be meek, but a select few have noticed that underneath my collected exterior lies a volcano that has been raging and bubbling for far too long. They correctly predict that the day I eventually snap won't be a pretty day at all. It scares me a lot, how much anger I have bottled up inside me: years and years worth of unsaid words and unexpressed feelings and frustrations and conflicts. I often feel like going to a hilltop and screaming my lungs out. I am pretty sure I would break down into tears after that.

Somehow for me, tears have always been synonymous to anger. Instead of yelling my head off, I dissolve into sobs. It's kind of pathetic, really. But then, crying does make me feel sort of better than yelling would.

I think there is just one person who has truly seen what a total mess I can be when my anger erupts, mixing with other feelings like hurt and loneliness and causing me to say and do the most ridiculous of things. Like a child. Or worse, actually. And that person is also the one I love(d) more than I can ever love anyone. Why do I get angry at people I love? And then sit and cry about it? What is wrong with me, honestly?

It's okay, you don't need to actually answer those questions. I don't think I want to hear any responses. :P

People who inspire me - 1

2011-05-11T22:12:00.000+05:30

I don’t know much about photography but I do know that with a little bit of common sense, creativity, and a fair enough camera, anyone can capture reasonably good pictures of beautiful things, people and scenes.

It is when you shift away from the conventionally ‘beautiful’ that a photographer’s true worth comes to the fore. The test of a photographer lies in how he/she can utilize their skills to make the ordinary look amazing, the mundane look interesting, the uninspiring look captivating, and the self-conscious look completely natural. At least according to what I think.

One person who truly brings this out is Rick Guidotti, a former fashion photographer who, in 1998, ditched the lucrative world of glamour and gorgeous women to establish Positive Exposure – “a highly innovative arts organization working with individuals living with genetic difference.”

Rick sought to highlight to the world that genetic disorders such as Albinism, Hermansky-Pudlak Syndrome, Myotonic Dystrophy, etc, can in fact be ‘beautiful’ and need not damage the self-esteem and confidence of affected individuals.

He has conducted innumerable professional photo-shoots of people with genetic conditions and successfully brought out the beauty and wonder of genetic diversity, in the process trying to address the major problems of social stigmatization that such individuals face.

As a person with albinism myself, I find his work both fascinating and inspiring. Here is my favorite photo from the gallery on display at the Positive Exposure website:

I came across this whole initiative several years ago but somehow never thought of sharing it here. Today, however, I simply had to.

If you have a few minutes, check out the website (www.positiveexposure.org) and the photos on it – they are something you don’t see too often for they bring out ‘the beauty of difference’. Watch the videos too if you can – it is in those that you will catch Rick’s admirable passion and enthusiasm for his work, as well as better understand how and why he set off to integrate his profession with a larger social cause that hardly gets as much attention as it probably should.

Genetic disorders are not diseases; if anything, they are evidence of nature’s marvelous ways. And marvel should never be equal to disgust or ugliness or non-acceptance. Don’t you think so?

The drama will go on. . .

2011-05-05T17:40:00.003+05:30

So he is dead and buried and done with.

Or so they say.

And once again, his face is on every newspaper, television and computer screen.

For a few days or weeks, the world will harp on about 'Operation Geronimo' until it gets something newer and better to talk about.

Terrorism will continue.

So will the supposed war against it.

America will harp on about the 3000 or so civilians it lost on 9/11.

Nobody will really care or mention anything about the many, many, more innocent lives that have been lost in trying to avenge that fateful day.

Bombs will continue to go off in Afghanistan and Iraq and Pakistan.

Innocent people will continue to be massacred.

Politicians, whether it be Gillani or Obama or Singh, will continue to play their politics.

Books will be written about it all.

Movies will be made aplenty.

And life, as is characteristic of it, will go on.

So you might as well switch to the sports channel instead. Believe it or not, even amid all the madness and tragedy we live in today, there are still things to celebrate and enjoy and smile about.

And thank God for that.

Notes to Myself - 4

2011-05-04T14:17:00.003+05:30

A moment is all it takes. A moment of weakness that makes the smile disappear from your eyes and the all too familiar heaviness descend upon your heart, threatening to transform you into THAT girl again, the one you are embarrassed and frightened of being. The girl who couldn't escape her broken-hearted-ness, and saw no meaning in life for a dangerously long time, the one who appeared tragic but was in retrospect just plain stupid.

Yes, a moment is all it takes to be reminded of her, to feel perilously close to her, but moments can be battled. They can be faced head on, looked in the eye, and shooed away bravely. They can be prevented from turning into anything more than what they are - just moments. Moments of weakness that can do no harm as long as you are strong and calm in the truest sense of the word.

Which of course, you surely are. Even if you don't believe so.

Until Next Time,

Your Saving Grace

Notes to Myself - 3

2011-05-02T11:17:00.003+05:30

Can you believe it? How time has changed you? Finally. For the Better.

It doesn't matter anymore, when things don't go as you like. You have learned to trust your life's own game plan.

It doesn't matter anymore, when people you love don't care. You have learned that what goes around comes around and they will surely experience the same too.

You no longer long for things and people who are not meant to be yours at this point in time. You have learned to be content in your loneliness. Your dreams are your best friends, and your conviction about realizing them forms the armor of your unflappable confidence and self esteem.

Your happiness is at last your own, unaffected by the behavior of people you had given undue love and importance to.

And most importantly, at long last, your mind can over-rule your heart in situations where it is necessary. And hence, you are no longer vulnerable to falling to pieces just because your heart is.

Touch wood.

And take care.

Until next time,

Your happy self.

The (My?) Prince

2011-04-28T15:32:00.001+05:30

I have a lot to write about these days but I am just too lazy to actually do it. Blame it on the weather or on IPL or both. The only way I can tolerate these unbearably hot days is by watching non-stop 20-20 cricket throughout the afternoons and evenings. Of course, the fact that I have enough time helps a lot. I still don’t know when and how I became such a die-hard fan of ‘the incredible game’, but I think it’s just a phase that will fade away in its own time. Or maybe it won’t. Maybe I will become a sports journalist. The prospect seems more and more enticing these days. It would be fun to watch different sports, write about them, interview players, etc, etc. Much better than writing about innumerable scams and fake encounters and tragic murder mysteries that the papers are full of these days. I am reading the papers religiously in a bid to arm myself for admission to the master’s program in mass communication which I so want to do. The future is uncertain, as it always is, but the present is pleasant I must say.

My IPL team of choice is the Pune Warriors India. Not because I think it’s the best team but only because it’s led by Yuvraj Singh. :P Last three IPLs, my team of choice was Kings XI Punjab of course for the same reason. Even if my own city/state had an IPL team, I would only support the one which Yuvraj was in. And if he wasn’t playing, I would support the one which my second favorite player, Irfan Pathan, would play in. I know you perhaps have no interest in this entire personal trivia but I’m going to continue anyway. When this season of IPL kicked off, I was out of town so I missed a couple of matches. When I finally got around to watching the contest, beginning with the Pune versus Delhi match, my team, or rather Yuvraj’s team lost. And they have continued to lose since then which worries me that perhaps I am bad luck and the cause of all this misfortune. So I am not going to watch the next match they play just to test this ridiculously superstitious theory (which I am convinced will prove true!)

So why am I harping on about Yuvraj so much? Because I think he is incredibly sexy, of course. Now, I didn’t even like him half as much when he was dating Kim Sharma some years back and I stopped being his fan when there were rumors about him and Deepika Padukone, but the comeback he made in the recent world cup tournament totally stole my heart like never before. The way he hits those sixes, bowls, and even fields, has me all gaga and head over heels in lurve. And I think it’s kind of cool the way he smiles so very rarely. Doesn’t seem very cheerful most of the time but I absolutely adore the aggression and the attitude. And the black uniform of the Pune team only further compliments him! Watching Yuvraj play has added a new item to my bucket list for life – I want to watch a live match in a stadium one day and cheer for him with thousands of other people! Hopefully, I will get around to making that a reality before the end of his career. Until then, I shall continue gazing at the television screen all puppy-eyed whenever he plays. If ever there was a definition of rugged, irresistible manliness, it has to be Yuvraj Singh for me!

Diary of a Trip to Remember - 1(of many more to come)

2011-04-19T10:56:00.003+05:30

I'm back.

Did you miss me?

Never mind, you don't need to answer that. :P

I'm down with the flu. The flu always gets me when summer comes around. I hate summer. Especially the Indian summer. But oh well, I'm in too much of a happy mood to crib!

I had an AWESOME week-long trip to Agra, Faridabad, Saharanpur, and Delhi. Of course, I was completely busy with attending wedding functions but I had a blast anyway. I don't even know where to start telling the tale. I guess the logical beginning is The Train Journey.

Oh my, the train journey!

I traveled in Sleeper Class and what an experience it was.

The first thing I've come to associate with rail travel in India is The Stink. The stench of human excreta and rot and rubbish that emanates from the tracks and saturates the air at the stations. Something really needs to be done about it. :(

Next is the filth and squalor you get to see as the train eases out onto its route - extreme poverty, people living in unspeakable conditions, garbage all around - I know THAT's the real India minus the glitz and glamor and 'next superpower claims', and honestly, it breaks my heart. Why is there such glaring inequality among 'the classes' in India? It's seriously depressing. And maddening.

Speaking of maddening, I must mention my co-passengers in Sleeper Class. Sigh, what do I say. It takes all kinds of people to make a train journey. While going to Agra, it was at the Abu station that all kinds of weirdos jumped onto the train and created chaos - yelling and swearing and acting as uncivilized as they looked. There were some Hindu extremists on it which was kind of funny to observe but pissing off nonetheless. And as if to balance it out, on the way back from Delhi to Ahmedabad, some Muslim extremists boarded from Ajmer. They had no sense of how to talk to co-passengers or behave while traveling - a result of utter lack of education and emancipation in the true sense of the word. I finally understand why Muslims in general have a bad reputation.

And lastly, how can I not mention train toilets. Lol. Enough said, I think. I don't want to comment much on those!

To sum up, after the whole ordeal of rail travel, I feel we are a needy country. There are major reforms and renovations we need before we can even get close to being the projected superpower we are all excited to be. Most needy of all is our populace and polity. And to be truly Indian and talk regionally, I have realized that Gujarat is highly over and above the likes of UP and Haryana when it comes to advancement, cleanliness, safety, and general civility amongst people. I'd never imagined I'd be praising my state one day but after finally having experienced the North a bit, I must say I love the West!

A Dream Realized!

2011-04-03T22:40:00.005+05:30

“Champions are those who can emerge and triumph despite the worst of setbacks,” remarked my Dad rather philosophically.

I was in no mood to reply or even acknowledge the comment because the great Sachin Tendulkar, THE-MAN-who-was-supposed-to-make-India-win-the-world-cup had just been caught out. I was neither upset nor angry; I was just really worried and heartbroken and convinced that everyone’s presumptions about the Men in (Light) Blue lifting the cup had ended up jinxing their chances. Yes, I can be quite superstitious when it comes to Cricket matches. :P So much so that I simply couldn’t bear to continue watching this final showdown. I was convinced that if I stayed in my seat, something much worse would happen like for example, the ferocious-looking Malinga would take a hattrick or Gautam Gambhir would end up injuring himself or something equally bad. I certainly did not want to witness a disaster like that, so I retreated to my room to calm my nerves a bit and make sure that my presence before the T.V. didn’t ‘jinx’ the Indian team any more. Yes, it seems stupid now, but at the spur of the moment, I was just too wrapped up in emotion to think practically.

It was only twenty minutes later that I mustered the courage to return and take a peak at the score. Thankfully, Gautam and Virat were still around and so I gingerly perched onto the sofa once again. And that’s when Dad’s comment came back to mind. Indeed, if they were champions, India would triumph despite the critical setback of losing Sehwag and Sachin so early. I also remembered another comment I had heard someone say several days earlier: ‘individuals don’t win matches; it’s TEAMS who win’. And indeed, TEAM India did win. And HOW!

Of course, it was depressing when Gautam was clean bowled just three runs short of a century (and his expression while leaving the field said it all) and my heart kept popping into my mouth every time Dhoni came close to being run out, but overall, I have never enjoyed and learned so much from a game of cricket. The superstitions did not leave me right till the end though. Every time the commentators would start applauding our batting or complementing our side, I kept saying touch wood and kept my hand pressed to the wooden cabinet beside me, all fingers crossed up and my posture tenser than it would be in the scariest of horror flicks. I couldn’t care less if I got a back ache or whatever; there was no way I was going to relax for even a moment. In my mind, I kept visualizing our side winning and finally managed to block out disturbing images of Murali and Malinga picking up key wickets. And in the end, it all paid off when M S Dhoni knocked all those boundaries and that final SIX which sealed our win.

At last, the champions DID triumph despite the setbacks! And although I did not go partying or even burst a cracker, I couldn’t be more thrilled that the Aussies have finally been thwarted AND that – more importantly – no one, and I mean absolutely no one can label our team ‘inconsistent’ or ‘unable to take the pressure’ anymore. I was so f***ing fed up of all the criticism, all the negativity, and at last, the (super awesome) Men in Blue have given a befitting answer that will be remembered for a long time to come. I think they deserve the cup with every fibre of their beings, and I’m pretty sure I love each and every one of them with every fibre of my being! Top of the list is Dhamakedar DHONI of course! Followed by Yuvraj and Gautam and Virat and Sachin and Zaheer and Raina and EVERYONE. Even Sreesanth! LoL.

Gosh, when did I become such a cricket fanatic?! It’s something to do with living in India, I think. You just can’t stay away from cricket mania! And now, I think I will shut up before I decide to convert my blog into a cricket blog. :P

I can’t resist but mention one last thing though: the look in Dhoni’s eyes when he hit that final six – it was so intense, so sublime, so truly heart-warming, don’t you think? I’m sure I speak for a hell lot of females when I say he made me swoon for him (all over again) after such a brave comeback that saved the team. There’s nothing and no one quite as sexy as an (Indian) sportsman in action, me thinks. :)

Congratulations Team India! Congratulations every Indian fan and supporter! :D

If you are still reading this, might as well let you know that I'm off to attend my cousin's wedding in Faridabad, so will be back to interacting with you all after about eight-ten days. Adios people! Keep smiling!

30th March 2011

2011-03-30T11:11:00.004+05:30

Well, this is it. The BIG day, the BIG match. Blue versus Green, old rivalry reignited like never before. Eleven men on each side carrying the hopes and expectations of the millions they represent. I wonder what it feels like to be M.S Dhoni or Shahid Afridi today. How do they handle the pressure that's already shot through the roof and continues to escalate as the minutes tick by and the semi-final showdown inches closer?

Non-cricket fans, non-Indians, and non-Pakistanis are all aloof, dismissing today's battle as 'just another match', but the billions of hearts that beat for each of the teams know that this is not just any other match. Even if we ignore all the hullabaloo about political leaders uniting to watch the contest and the astronomical ticket charges and advertising tariffs, we can't deny that when India and Pakistan clash in this game that is so dear to both countries, the excitement and anticipation that spills over is simply unmatched to any other.

From the slum-dwellers who will be gathering at 'the nearby house with the television' to the glitterati with VIP tickets at the stadium; from the old couple huddled close to the screen due to failing eyesight, to the far flung students glued to the internet in the absence of a television, all eyes are on those twenty two (eleven a side) men today who can command both insurmountable admiration and despicable wrath depending on how they perform.

The excitement is not just palpable, it is fiery and alive and crackling! No matter what the outcome, today is a day that will be remembered for years to come. For the side that wins, it will mean chests swelling in pride and the heady rush of patriotism igniting both smiles and tears of joy. And for the side that loses, it will be a wound that will sting and ache for generations to come, perhaps even after it has been properly avenged. Today is not just another game of cricket, it is history in the making.

And may the best side win. :)

No, not really. May INDIA win!!!!!! :D

Strange Stuff!

2011-03-28T11:29:00.003+05:30

1. When I had fewer followers, like around 50-60, I received a hell lot more comments than I do now when followers are over 90! Am I doing something wrong, people? Let me know, please, please, pretty please. :)

2. During the day, I am ruthlessly unemotional and cringe at anything sentimental, but as soon as night falls, somehow, all I feel is over-emotional and touchy. I get all nostalgic and/or teary and/or philosophical thinking about the past and about relationships and the 'purpose of life', etc. etc. What is it about the night that turns me into an EMOSONAL FOOL? :P

3. For several weeks now, I have been having truly absurd dreams in which I am back at high school but the people with me are my college friends and classmates. I see myself in the school corridors, the canteen, the grounds, the classrooms, the library, etc, but with me, instead of the people I actually went to school with, are people from college, some whom I hardly even interacted with. I have some or the other dream of this sort every single night. Talk about weird!

4. A while back, I was having this big fight with someone and the more I tried to resolve it the more it aggravated, so I adopted what I call my 'Gandhian' way of cease fire and suddenly began pretending that nothing at all is amiss. I quit harping on about whatever it was we were fighting about and just became my usual sweet self. And just like that, things went back to normal. It's strange how simply letting go of the problem completely resolved it.

Not that I am saying this is what Gandhiji used to do, I'm just calling it a 'Gandhian' way because it is a peaceful way of ending a fight that you know is going nowhere.

5. I complain about not having enough time to do all the stuff I want to do, but the minute I actually have some time, I want to do nothing but sleep and sleep. :P

Full Stop.

2011-03-25T19:17:00.005+05:30

*This post is partially inspired from a post about the Japan earthquake written by fellow blogger, Quaint Murmur

What happens at the end? When not just your home, but your city, your country, your entire existence has been ripped apart by an apocalyptic natural disaster? When you sit amid the ruins, staring at the devastation around you, and not knowing whether you will die of hunger, cold, despair, or sheer loneliness. How can THIS of all things be God’s will? How could He have plotted such catastrophe for the world He so lovingly must have created?

Nothing makes sense to you. Perhaps it never did, this whole ‘life’ thing. Perhaps you never had any purpose after all, despite running after it ever since you can remember. As a child, you ran after fun and games and toys and attention. At school, you wanted good marks, good friends, appreciation. At college, you wanted knowledge, a good education. Following that, a good job, love, marriage, children, grandchildren, an enjoyable retirement, a full circle of life. Instead, you are left with nothing. Not even a single piece of identification like your birth certificate or passport. The circle wasn’t even half complete before it disoriented and scattered into pieces of nothingness, lost in the piles and piles of rubble that surround you now.

Somewhere out there are your loved ones. Alive or dead? You don’t know. In all probability, they too are without any identification linking them to you or proving that they had lived so many years in this place that has come to crumble irreparably. You stare at the sea in the distance, wondering whether another giant wave will come and sweep you away too, like the millions who have already been taken. You wonder whether anything you ever owned is still intact, lying around somewhere, unscathed. Your beloved books, collected and maintained so carefully over the years. Your clothes laden with the fruity-floral scent of your perfume. That favorite pair of dress shoes. Your degree certificate. That birthday card saved up from when you were sixteen. Your secret stash of ‘emergency’ cash at the back of the closet. When emergency actually struck, you had no time or opportunity to grab it before running out the house. You do have your wallet in your packet, wet from the snowfall that is making you shiver, and it is full of credit cards. But what use are the cards when the bank is no more? What use are YOU when your life is no more?

Inadvertently, your mind drifts to that boy you love. Your heart squeezes in angst as you wonder whether he is safe. You don’t know whether to laugh or cry that you are going to die without having told him how you feel. But what difference would it have made anyway? In the end, it seems like nothing makes a difference at all. You think of the friends you had been with just a few hours earlier, laughing and talking with not the vaguest inkling that it was for the last time. The warm pizza you had for dinner has long turned cold in your stomach and it seems like an eternity has passed since you last tasted water. As you look around yourself in the hope of spotting something to eat or drink, your eyes fall on what is obviously the remnant of a laptop. It brings fresh tears to your eyes, that lone, cracked LCD screen peeking out so crudely from the remains of what had once been your home. Your laptop had held your entire life within it: your work, your entertainment, your means of communication, and most importantly your memories – all those gigabytes worth of high resolution photographs that you had so treasured over the years. They are gone forever, as are all the backup CDs. Of course, there is a partial collection on a website online, but what good are websites when in all probability the internet too has collapsed? What good is anything at all when The End is here?

It’s nothing like what you had imagined, right? There is no funeral with flowers and kind eulogies and teary goodbyes. There is just you, waiting for death to come and claim you into its mysterious depths.

That’s the beauty (or ugliness?) of the movie of life. Nothing ever quite turns out the way you expect or want it to, especially not the end. It comes abruptly and when it pleases, and sometimes, like in your case, there is not even a credits sequence that roles.

Sigh.

"Mitra". (Friend.)

2011-03-17T16:54:00.006+05:30

What can I do if I need you so!

Like chips need sauce

And popcorn needs salt.

Like books need words

And whiskey needs malt.

Like fishes need water

And trees need leaves.

Like needles need thread

And the sea needs breeze.

Like darkness needs dawn

And stories need telling.

Like roses need thorns

And business needs selling.

Like pens need ink

And love needs trust.

Like brushes need paint

And chocolate needs nuts.

Like shoes need soles.

And shirts need buttons.

Like music needs lyrics

And summer needs cottons.

Like lips need kisses

And hands need holding.

Like winter needs sunshine

And sleep needs dreaming.

Like vases need flowers

And fire needs air.

Like friendships need time

And children need care.

Oh, what can I do, if I need you so?

Need you so much, I can never let go!

Dil ke taaron mein, kyon hazaaron mein

Dard jaage hain

Humne baandhe jo,reshmi saare

Toote dhaage hain

Birha ko yeh harjaana hai
Humko adaa kar jaana hai
Sirf yaadon ka taana baana hai
Kya chhupaana hai

Haale dil jo ho gaya hai mitra, mitra
Ajnabi kyon ho gaya hai mitra, mitra

Time's running out, time to wake up!

2011-03-16T22:26:00.006+05:30

This post is written for BlogAdda's 'Too Busy to Care Syndrome' contest, held in association with Tata Tea.

'I hate this system!' I cried for the umpteenth time, throwing my bag down and plopping onto the sofa, exhausted.

Another set of college exams had just got over and I was completely drained after an extensive week of reading, cramming, and writing out supplementary after supplementary of stuff I saw no meaning in. I was fed up of the rote-learning that is ingrained into the Indian education system, and felt that it had robbed me of my natural zest for learning and knowledge.

And then I met Rosy, the twelve-year-old who worked as domestic help in my neighbourhood. My mother called her over one day to sweep the bungalow's compound when our regular maid went AWOL, and upon realizing that she was child laborer, I was shocked to say the least. I didn't know to react, for although I was aware of the existence of child labour, I had never witnessed it firsthand before.

Needless to say, I was aghast and told my mother to let Rosy go for she needed to be in school rather than at a housing society, sweeping and mopping and washing with her delicate little hands. But my mum explained that the child's family would never send her to school, and it was better she work and earn for herself rather than sit and home and do nothing. I was not convinced at all, and never will be.

It immensely disturbs and horrifies me that there are millions and millions of young children out there, in India and elsewhere, who work rather than play and are almost always exploited beyond what we can imagine possible. Rosy at least had a good environment to work in and got paid at par with other domestic workers, though I certainly don't think their average wage is an adequate compensation for all the hard work they do. The amount of cheap, overexploited, downtrodden, ignorant, and helpless labour we have in this country perhaps constitutes one of our most despicable societal problems. Children should not work. Period.

But how is this related to my hating the Indian education system, as I mentioned at the start of this post?

Well, it is because young Rosy made me realize that the passion for knowledge and studies is not governed by extraneous factors like the education system or the demands of examinations, but rather from an intrinsic desire to learn and grow.

With bright, intelligent eyes, and a curious, witty demeanour, Rosy asked me innumerable questions about school and college while she went about her work. I told her all that I could about the various different subjects and how exams are taken and all, and she listened most attentively, visibly fascinated at getting a peak into the world of academia that she knew she would never belong to.

Talking to her, I began to appreciate the obvious reality of how very fortunate I am to have attended school at all, and moreover, to have made it all the way to college. I used to spend so much time complaining about not having gone to the foreign university of my choice that I'd forgotten how at the end of the day, its education that matters rather than institution. Immediately, I began focusing more on knowledge rather than 'the system', and regained my love for learning.

Then one day, Rosy asked me whether I would teach her English. I was taken aback and caught off guard. I knew nothing about teaching, and certainly didn't have the patience to make someone learn this super complex language which I happen to be good at. Not wanting to dishearten her, I said I would try as soon as I 'found some time' from my own studies and work.

Unfortunately, that 'time' never came forth. I don't know whether I was indeed busy or I unconsciously on purpose steered clear of the whole challenge that the little girl had thrown my way. She stopped coming to work after a few months, and I fear that her fate was much the same as millions of other young, underprivileged girls in our country - she was probably married off to the first available boy that her parents could find, and could well be pregnant with her own child now. It's disturbing, unsettling, maddening.

And what makes it worse is this terrible guilt I feel for not fulfilling the simple hope she had entrusted in me. I could have at least TRIED to teach her English rather than avoid the entire endeavour. I had a little bit of experience of handling kids from my brief stint in the National Social Service at college and could have used my brain to come up with an effective way of imparting to her at least a little bit of what I know of this language. Yet I didn't on the lame pretext that I didn't have 'time'. I had all the time to be online every night, chatting to my friends, or going to movies on weekends, or just plain relaxing in front of the T.V. but I couldn't find so much as an hour every week to devote to a talented young girl who was capable and willing to LEARN.

Wherever she is today, my prayers are with her, but prayers are not enough. I have to DO something, I have to WAKE UP, I have to 'be the change I wish to see'.

And this change is education. I want to share my knowledge, help the children of my country learn all that they really need to so that they can grow to be self-sufficient and bring about much-needed societal change. It is only with education that we can get rid of unnecessary orthodox rituals and customs and traditions that create problems in the lives of the poor and 'backward'.

Child marriages, dowry deaths, female foeticide and infanticide: grave issues like these will only be resolved through education in the true sense of the word.

And the only step towards 'doing' something for change is to simply 'make' time rather than merely keep trying to 'find' it.

Wake up! Jaago Re!

I am too busy to care, but want to do something. Jaago Re and BlogAdda.com are helping me do my bit for the society.

*I do not own the copyright of the image. It has been taken from www.watblog.com after a Google search.

Notes to Myself - 2

2011-03-13T13:53:00.007+05:30

People have bad memories.

They have even worse negativity biases.

They will inadvertently forget every nice thing you may have done for them; but just as relentlessly remember your every mistake.

They will hold your words against you, and dismiss their own actions which provoked you to say the things you did not mean.

They will not know how to differentiate between things you mean and don't mean, even if they have been your 'friend' for years. They will not understand your point of view, nor care to TRY and understand it. This is when you will awake to the rude shock that even after knowing them so well, they don't seem to know you at all. They have got you all wrong, always have, and always will. For they judge you by what you do and say rather than why you do or say it. They don't see the anger and hurt behind the negative things you are responsible for, and if at all they do, they dismiss it as irrelevant and insignificant.

They sap you of the energy and joie de vivre you were once full of. And make it seem like they are doing you a great favour by being your 'friend'.

And that is when you finally know, it's time to let go, no matter how much it breaks your heart or rips you apart.

You will survive, just like you always have.

Until Next Time,

Your Friend.

*Notes to Myself are randomly written. They are not necessarily a product of real-life experiences.

Just Like That

2011-03-11T21:54:00.002+05:30

I love you just like that.

Like I love high heels. I crave for you yet know that you are not made for me, because I would never be able to walk with you. You are just good to look at and admire and desire, and at times imagine myself with, knowing that in reality, you would just make me trip and fall and hurt myself.

I love you like I love chocolate. You are sweet and tempting but not good for me. You are sometimes dark and bitter, sometimes cold and sometimes hot, alluring in every form, but capable of making me feel terribly sinful and guilty.

I love you like I love the winter. You are cold and somewhat cruel and can suck the life out of me, yet I revel in you. I complain when you are around yet miss you as soon as you are gone. I protect myself from you yet secretly rejoice with you.

I love you like I love peeling the scabs off wounds. It hurts and is somewhat grotesque yet it gives me strange pleasure. It leaves scars but somehow I don't mind. I almost like the scars.

I love you like I love perfection. I strive to attain it knowing full well it is an impossible feat, yet I find reason in the strife and never give up, never.

I love you like I love foreign languages. I don't understand you but like the way you sound and want to know you better, much better. But it would take a long, long time.

I love you like how I love the ocean. You are vast and unpredictable, alternating between being raging and calm. You draw me in yet I am afraid of being swept away in your tide and flung into the unknown. So I keep my distance, merely watching and being soothed by your presence.

I love you like I love old songs. You have a unique charm but yet we don't connect at some level. We belong to different worlds, but that doesn't stop me from loving you.

I love you like I love history and culture. No matter how much I get to know of you, there's still more left. There will still be so much left even if I spend my whole life studying you.

I love you like I love myself. I don't always respect you, I even torment and abuse you, but when it comes down to it, you are everything I have, I am dependent on you. and almost nothing without you.

I love you just like that.

Let the Red Carpet Roll!

2011-03-10T18:06:00.007+05:30

So it's awards season. Or it was, at least. And believe it or not, I won a few too! Blog awards, that is, and though they are just small gestures of appreciation, I am delighted and would like to extend a warm thanks to blog friends Meher and Scribbling Girl for bestowing such honours upon me.

Wow, I sound too over-the-top, I know.

But apart from these awards, I think what makes me happier is that my followers count has crossed ninety! Thank you SO MUCH, all of you readers. Nothing is more rewarding to a writer than having people read and appreciate her/his work. I'm glad you like my blog, and promise to not bore you too much.

Without further ado, here are the 2 awards Meher has given me:

*The Versatile Blogger thing is a surprise because I'm used to being told I'm not versatile and only write sob stories. :P

And here is one from Scribbling Girl:

Both Meher and Scribbling Girl are among my favorite bloggers and you must visit their blogs.

The 'rules' of receiving the awards require that I write 7 random things about myself, and even though I am not one to follow rules most of the time, here goes:

I love wearing my glasses. I don't WANT to wear contacts like most people do (same people who advise me to without me asking for any advice.)

I don't like long online chat sessions. It gets boring.

I want to learn the piano. It's one of my greatest wishes. I often have vivid daydreams about whiling away hours at the piano playing all my favorite songs. I will learn it sometime soon, surely.

I do not like fruit. ANY fruit. Yes, I am weird.

I think I look pretty when I wear green, especially bright green.

I love studying. I would spend my whole life at university if I could. An ancient, super-prestigious one like Oxford or Harvard.

I think girls are generally much more intelligent and sharp than guys. It's just something I've observed to be true.

Celebrating My Gender

2011-03-08T12:14:00.004+05:30

'Look at her, immersed in books all the time and not even knowing how to cook a single sabzi. It's HER fault her in-laws hate her.'

'Look at her, prancing around in her business suit all day and leaving her kids with babysitters. It's HER fault her son is always falling sick from not having a mother to supervise his eating habits.'

'Look at her, always out and about like a free bird. It's HER fault her husband left her. She probably didn't give him any time.'

'Look at her, in her short dresses with plunging necklines. It's HER fault she gets eve-teased.'

'Look at her, not covering her head in front of elders. It's HER fault people gossip about her parents not bringing her up right.

'Look at her smoking and drinking. It's HER fault her husband beats her, she has no shame.'

'Look at her, in her tight-fitting jeans and t-shirt. It's HER fault she was almost raped.'

'Look at her, leaving her long hair open and lining her pretty eyes with kohl, it's HER fault men ogle at her in the street.'

'Look at her, starting a business instead of listening to her husband and looking after the house. It's HER fault her teenage daughter is so rebellious. She sets a bad example as a mother.'

'Look at her, socializing with men so cheaply. It's HER fault one of them used her for sex and left her pregnant.'

These are just a few examples of the kind of things I've heard people say, holding the fairer sex responsible for any bad situation she may be in.

Khaled Hosseini writes in his women-centric book, A Thousand Splendid Suns: "Like a compass needle that points north, a man's accusing finger always finds a woman. Always."

It's even worse when a woman's accusing finger always finds a fellow woman, and I have found this to be rampant in my society, perhaps even in the larger world.

Why, even in Greek mythology, Helen is held responsible for causing the Trojan War, when in fact, wasn't it the men's stupidity (or blind lust) that ignited and sustained the decade-long battle?

On the occasion of International Women's Day, I pray that women across the world will grow to be more untied within our gender. I hope we will quit being our own worst enemies and judging each other on the basis of superficial things like beauty and fashion sense and the ability to land a handsome guy.

After all, we cannot expect men to respect us if we don't even respect ourselves.

Wishing happiness, success, love, safety, and peace of mind (not necessarily in that order) to every person out there with double X chromosomes. Whatever you do and wherever you are, always remember my absolute favorite quote about our gender, which is said by one of my favorite actors (Shahrukh) in one of his best and my favorite Hindi films, Chak De India:

I don't remember it accurately but it was something like:

'Wo ye bhool jaate hai ke agar ladki unhe paida kar sakti hai, to wo kuch bhi kar sakti hai.'

'Guys often forget that if girls are capable of giving birth to them, they are capable of anything at all. '

Go Girl Power!

Prehumous

2011-03-06T21:22:00.005+05:30

When I'm dead and gone, I'll be free at last

from the tensions of the mind and the sorrows of the heart.

Will you mourn my loss, or even feel a little bad?

I think that would make me very strangely glad.

When I'm nothing but dust, scoop me into a tin,

and give it to the one whose heart I couldn't win.

Will he treasure me then, or throw me away?

At least I'll have nothing left to say.

When my words are echoes in the crevices of your ears,

Let the memories flow, resurrect me in your tears.

Will you hear me when I descend in the silence of the night?

I'll be coming to kiss you, soft and light.

And Sometimes. . .

2011-03-04T11:51:00.004+05:30

I know what I want, yet I don't really.

I keep longing for something, yet when I come close to getting it, I feel like turning away and letting it go.

I think of someone all day and wish they would call, and then they do, yet I don't have anything much to say.

I know exactly what makes me feel bad inside, yet I go and do it again and again, day after day, just to torture myself for no reason.

I want to say so much, express so much, yet I don't, because it's easier to keep it to myself.

I crave for love, yet the moment the vaguest prospect of it comes along, I shrink away, overwhelmed by the kind of responsibility it entails.

I say something yet mean another; I do nothing, yet keep wishing to.

I feel lazy yet so tired. I feel strong yet weak, assertive yet meek. I want everything, yet nothing. I feel detached yet so attached. I want to laugh yet can only cry. I am happy yet so sad. I feel blessed yet cursed, grateful yet jealous, satisfied yet discontent, pleased yet spiteful. I make no sense, I know, yet I believe I do.

Don't I?

Dear Spoilt Brat #15826079,

2011-02-26T14:07:00.005+05:30

You have it so easy don't you? With your parents' decades worth of hard-earned money to support you. Wait, was it even hard-earned or did that came easy too, from unscrupulous means and compromised ethics? Well, I'm nobody to judge you, but I do observe you.
You lie in your cushy bed, fiddling with that brand new cellphone that costs more than what some people earn in a lifetime. Exaggerating, am I? No, wake up, look around you. Notice the dire poverty on the other side of town, in the shanties you've only ever seen from a distance yet unconsciously turn a blind eye to? There are people living there too, amid unspeakable filth and squalor. The same people you hire to clean your toilets and scrub your floors, luring them with paltry sums of money that are like spare change in your deep pockets, but seem to be fortunes to those poor underprivileged souls.
You yak into your phone, with people just like you yakking back at the other end. Lunch, movie, dinner; you make plans to enjoy and unwind. You will wear those new jeans, the one you ordered your uncle from America to bring along on his last 'business trip' down to the subcontinent. I wish you would care to check the label sometimes; they're made in India, beleive it or not. Manufactured in pollution-spewing factories that hire people like robots and exploit them in every way, luring them with paltry money, just like you do.
You will sit at your new laptop, the one you've just bought to have a faster computing experience since your old one's too full of movies and photos and music to process up to the mark anymore, and you will surf the internet to decide which new digital camera to purchase. Or ask your dad to purchase for you, rather. You got a 70% on those last exams, you deserve a gift. And that new Nikon with all the fancy features will make you the envy of your clan of friends, namely like-minded rich kids. Moreover, you will impress that guy you have your eye on, he's into all kinds of gadgets and is bound to go gaga over your snazzy new camera that's not even arrived in the Indian market yet. He will ask if he can try it out, and you will gladly agree, striking sexy poses for him to click; photographs which you will then upload on Facebook to receive compliments galore. In the comments, you will accidentally on purpose reveal that HE is the one who captured the shots, and this will make the other girls jealous, and draw more attention to you and your desired guy. You will engage in some public discussions about photography without really knowing what you're saying but sounding super smart because of your unflappable confidence. The same confidence that had helped you flatter and win over that teacher who had then allowed you to cheat on the exams so as to get the 70% and appear 'deserving' of the camera to your parents.
You needn't have gone to all that trouble. You're a rich kid; your parents would buy you anything you want even if you fail the exams or get busted at a rave or take someone's life with that swanky BMW you drive without a license. Your parents are blind to your faults because they can be easily covered up with money, but I wonder how they've come to be deaf to their consciences too?
People say you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth. I don't understand what that means, and I'm sure neither do you, but perhaps those born with spoons, never learn to use their hands. Confused? Yes, I knew you would be but I won't explain. My meaning is implied and it's time you learned to use your brain and 'get' things without having to Google them all the time.
Thank you.

Birthday Boy!

2011-02-25T15:46:00.005+05:30

Happy Birthday to HIM!!

His star sign is Pisces. Mine is Scorpio. Both water signs = Made for each other!

His birth number is 7 (25 --> 2+5=7). So is mine! = Made for each other!

His voice makes me weak in the knees. His eyes are adorable, as is his smile.

And boy, can he dance!

I love Shahid! And here's wishing him the happiest birthday ever even though obviously, he doesn't know me.

To share a bit of an embarrassing secret like I'm so good at doing here, I sometimes imagine that when I'm a famous writer, perhaps Shahid Kapoor will one day read my book and praise it during an interview or something. And who knows, we might even end up meeting sometime! And of course, I would blush and giggle and go absolutely nuts over him.

Yes, I know I am crazy, but hey, I'm allowed to dream! Dream of my dream guy. :P

Here's to many more Ishq Vishks, Chup Chup Kes, Jab we Mets, Kismat Konnections, and Kamineys, and not too many Fidas and Shikhars and Fool and Finals.

Cheers to Shahid!

p.s. how I wish he would not date Priyanka. hmfffff! :(

Notes to Myself - 1

2011-02-23T18:25:00.003+05:30

Conversations are good.
They lighten your heart and clear your head.
You must make it a point to talk more rather than always turn to the written word.
Rest assured that people are always there to listen if only you speak up.

Until next time,

Your alter ego.

Happy 'Homecoming' to me.

2011-02-21T11:23:00.003+05:30

Hot, sticky, scorching summers; messy, mucky, unpredictable rains; harsh winters sucking moisture from my skin; noise everywhere, all the time; deaths of grandparents; financial problems; dreams shattered; confusion, depression, lack of focus; pesky relatives; stupid rules, social norms that make me sick; dizzy free-fall of first love, hitting rock bottom moods; frustration; anxiety; stress; feeling suicidal; listlessness; friendships that save me from gloom; writing; blogging; new dreams; growing up psychologically; silent rebel-in-me being unleashed; being stuck in one place too long with no break; feeling trapped; earning money and realising it can buy me freedom; excitement; plots and plans; more dreams; trying to move on; loving people who don't deserve it; nursing a perpetually broken heart; aching all the time; pretending to be strong; eventually getting strong for real; finding myself; becoming myself; making friends, many many many; lots of movies; lots of books; seeking happiness in the little things; accepting fate but carving destiny.

So much has happened these past five years. Five years of being in India, the 'home' I 'returned' to on 20th February 2006. I've learned to like it, because circumstances can't change but my attitude can. And it has to a great extent.

Movie Recommendation

2011-02-18T23:02:00.007+05:30

I just saw the saddest, most heart-wrenching movie ever: Never Let Me Go. It's a delicate love story with a bit of a science-fiction twist, and never has any film moved me so much. It's easily the most original romance I have ever come across and I'm going to watch it over and over again.

A thought-provoking, hauntingly beautiful tale of friendship, science, and human existence, the movie is based on the novel of the same name by celebrated booker-prize winning author, Kazuo Ishiguro. Never Let Me Go was in fact shortlisted for the booker prize too. I've just downloaded the eBook and can't wait to read it because I'm sure that it will prove even better than the film.

If you download movies, you absolutely MUST get it. Trust me, you won't be disappointed. It's become my top favorite and I have a feeling it will stay so for a long, long time. Kudos to the author for coming up with such a brilliant and one-of-a-kind tale that blends romance and science, truth and fiction, with such utter simplicity and sheer eloquence.

Bad Karma

2011-02-17T13:30:00.008+05:30

My eyes feel heavy, with the weight of unshed tears

They ache and droop, like I haven't slept in years.

My heart's no better, broken again, in your wake

Why do you always do this - my love forsake?

I didn't want much, just sweet words and time,

but you kept me waiting, waiting in line.

So don't blame me now for the bitter things I say,

Have you honestly left me with any other way?

A bundle of prayers and well wishes galore

that's all I had to give you, nothing less or more.

Yet you turned them down and made me cry,

Didn't you hear my voice crack, when I said goodbye?

You never seem to care how your actions hurt me,

When I break down inside, you're never there to see.

But stop scorning my goodness, for better or for worse.

Don't you know a blessing shunned becomes a curse?

Thoughts

2011-02-16T22:07:00.004+05:30

1. Egypt done, now Bahrain. Perhaps its time we Indians too took to the streets, protesting against all the scamsters who have been ripping our country apart for far too long now. They should all be put in slums with no clothes or food or water; that'll teach them a lesson or two. But who would we put in power instead? More scamsters? Perhaps we should elect some of our poorest and most disparate citizens who sure know a thing or two about living economically, spending within their means and surviving in the best way possible with minimum expenditure. An India run TRULY by the people. Amen to that.

2. What is that # sign people are using on FB and IM these days? First it was the *__* thing, then the @s and now #. I'm always last in catching onto all these new fads. Oh well...

3. I wonder whether love can be so sadistic, so grotesque, as to only rejoice in the other person's misery. For it is only when they hurt that they realize how I hurt. There was a time when my happiness lay in theirs, but now, it is when they are sad that I smile, despite feeling sick about it inside. Perhaps it is a sign of my love turning to hate. But no, I cannot hate them, I love them so much. I think I am just bitter and wounded and too wronged. For all I ever wanted was a bit of their time, a bit of their concern, but I got anger and indifference, which has led me to this twisted state.

4. I am beginning to hate Facebook. In fact, I would quit if it weren't such a great tool to promote my writing. Aspiring writers can't afford to be cut off from the virtual world these days, I must build my 'platform' and my 'audience'. Meh.

5. How do people live the same life day-in-day-out? I'm incredibly and most thoroughly bored. I want something new now. I'm going to create a lifestyle wherein every few months, or at least every year, I make some change and do something different. Routine is so not for me. I need adventure! Which is why I'm not really excited for things like marriage. Too much responsibility! I wanna be freeeeeeee..... free as a bird.... la la la la la la la... Okay, time to stop writing now before I begin babbling on and on and scare you away.

Eternal Singledom + Valentine's Day = ??

2011-02-13T17:54:00.009+05:30

= A super cheesy, mushy, amusing, but heartfelt love letter to yet-to-be-found, possibly nonexistent dream guy, of course! --->

My Dear Valentine,

It feels strange writing to you when we haven’t met yet, but there’s still a unique charm in it. For I know, with the certainty of a child, that you are out there, seeking me just as I am seeking you. And since we both want the same thing (each other), surely, the entire universe is conspiring to make us meet when the time is just right. I do hope that such a time comes soon, but I know that patience pays and I shouldn’t try to fight fate, instead let destiny unfold in its own magical way. I know that when you come along to light up my dull, mundane life, you will prove totally worth this arduous wait that I have been enduring so long. Gee, I seem full of farfetched, romantic notions, don’t I? well, that’s just the way I am and I have decided that I won’t change, no matter how much heartbreak I experience along the way. For if I lose faith, I will lose everything.

I had thought that this Valentine’s Day, I would write another cynical/skeptical/sarcastic post about how love is all rubbish and never going to happen for me, but somehow, something changed my mind and so I am here, writing to you in the hope that this letter will generate some positive energy and draw us towards each other soon. I think of you everyday, you know, if not everyday than definitely several times a week, usually just before sleep overcomes me at night as I lay in bed and think of all the million things I want in life and how I will go about achieving them. Your thoughts, believe it or not, give me strength and remarkable inspiration. Sometimes, I think of you fondly, anticipating what you will be like and envisioning the many fun times we will have together. Other times, I am more pessimistic, bitter, contemplating whether you will forever remain a figment of my imagination, a dream and desire that will never materialize. But mostly, I just wonder where you are and what you are doing and – most importantly – whether you are thinking of me too. Perhaps I have lost my mind, but then, what’s love without some madness, eh?

Whenever I miss you, which is almost all the time, I remind myself that true love takes time and effort, that my pining is a good thing, because it means that I will know your value when I finally have you, and so won’t take for you granted or let our relationship get ensnared in the usual childish conflicts of clashing egos and misunderstandings that are so abundant in relationships these days. Now, I am sounding like a wizened old granny, but I know you’ll love this philosophical side of me too. I imagine you too will have such a side so that we can engage in long and complex discussions about life and human existence and everything in-between. I imagine your intellect and wit will be what I will most love about you. It’s so difficult to find a smart, sensible, thinking guy these days.

Another quality I know you will possess is understanding. You will understand why I am the way I am – why I find it difficult to talk but am so expressive with the written word, why I shun social occasions like weddings and funerals and religious meets, why I just like to be and don’t like to explain. And you will be perfectly okay with all this, never expecting or wanting me to change. You will understand that I get edgy when I am trying to focus on something and that I HATE to be disturbed when I’m writing, and you will do your best to give me my space and let me do the things I need to do. Of course, the reverse will be true too, and I will just as much oblige your unique eccentricities, whatever they may be.

I hope you will read my writing and give constructive criticism rather than merely liking or disliking it; and I hope you will only ever give me useful presents like stationery or books rather than pointless jewellery and soft toys. You won’t expect me to cook for you everyday, because that is hideously chauvinistic and completely unfair, though we will cook together routinely, perhaps on weekends, coming up with our own recipes made of rich chocolate and butter and other sinful delights. You won’t want me to be model-thin or wear make-up, but I will certainly take time to dress up for you, because looks DO matter. I will wear nice perfume, something which you like, so that I can literally live up to my name and be the Mehak (fragrance) of your life. You will like Bollywood movies - or at least tolerate them for my sake – and similarly, I will put up with the likes of Terminator and X-Men and Star Trek just for you. We will play video games – especially racing ones and fighting ones – for that is something I have loved since I was a kid. And we will go for long walks in the city or the countryside, just to soak in the world around us and marvel at its vibrancy.

Together, we will more than make up for every lost Valentine’s Day and every single year’s worth of lonely evenings spent at home when the rest of the world seemed to be having a ball, and we will wipe out from each other’s minds and hearts all the sad memories and feelings of rejection and pain and inadequacy that we may have suffered before finding each other. Fitting into each other’s lives and souls like missing pieces of a puzzle finally found, we will find our true meaning and life’s purpose. We will be one, in the most natural way, yet never lose our own individuality. And in so doing, at long last, we will be most beautifully, most supremely, most completely, complete.

----

*I've been trying to reply to comments on the last post but for some reason, Blogger won't let me. Thanks everyone who read and commented. I've once again gotten too busy and fallen behind in blog-reading but will catch up soon. Hope you have a good Valentine's Day. Even if you don't believe in it or don't celebrate it, you simply MUST watch this video:

Title-less.

2011-02-02T21:22:00.002+05:30

And sometimes, I have no words. Just a furious, seething silence, like a volcano brewing. Bubbling, frothing, getting closer and closer to an explosion that will vanquish all and prove triumphant, without a trace of guilt for wrecking unimaginable havoc.

"Don't push me, 'coz I'm on the edge." These are words that sound in my head, remembered from some long-forgotten song, a tune heard in times that are no more, times that will never return.

If only I could say it out loud. Perhaps they would stop then. Perhaps they would understand. Perhaps they would give me a chance. Perhaps they would not compel me to do something drastic, something brash, something dramatic.

Perhaps.

To all parents out there, please emulate these too-true words by Khalil Gibran. Writers always have a point; if only the world understood it.

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Curse of the Creative

2011-01-30T15:07:00.007+05:30

I saw Dhobi Ghat and it's an interesting, creative film, which unfortunately most people won't like. That's because creativity is subjective and something 'different' is not easily accepted in the mainstream. Anyways, here's a story that's been playing in my mind for a bit but got some much-needed definition after watching Dhobi Ghat:

He sat at his easel, engrossed in the story playing out from his fingers and onto the canvas before him: his most ambitious piece of work yet, a sort of magnum opus, a creation he was sure she would love. She who was his muse, his dream, his desire, his beloved.

His heart fluttered as he carefully yet surely blended in the colors, taking time to get the shades just right, to ensure the play of the hues evoked just the right sentiments, portrayed exactly what he wanted to. He didn't usually work with colors; he found them too loud for his liking, he was more comfortable with his black and white and shades of grey, the dark tinges that allowed him to accurately depict his heart's dejection, his mind's depression, his life's devastation. Even in his earlier works for HER, he had used his dull shades, but she had not been pleased. He remembered the time he'd done a portrait of her, highlighting those big, haunting eyes he found so alluring, and her sharp, aquiline nose which set off her beauty; he had worked on it for days, never tiring, not eating or resting much till he had all the perfect touches in place. How excited he had been to unveil it to her, to present his masterpiece to its rightful, most natural owner; he had anticipated her face to light up in surprise and pleasure and pride, yet she had taken one look and spoken five words that had shattered his very soul into a million tiny shards of utter worthlessness: "That looks nothing like me." And she'd gone on to tell him how it made her uncomfortable, to be featured in his art. She'd rather he not do it. Even though she was always willing to feature in OTHER PEOPLE'S art, like that photographer friend of hers who had dedicated entire projects to her. She didn't seem to mind that at all. Then why did she mind our obsessed artist so much, why was she not at all flattered by all the effort he had put into the portrait that apparently 'looked nothing like her'.

But he had not given up, for artists always persevere and never give up hope. They're dreamers through and through, even when the whole world stands against them. She was just one person, he would manage to win her over in no time, he was confident.

"Why do you use so much black?" she always asked him. "Why is all your work so dark and depressing? I don't like it, you should be more versatile."

"Because that's all I know," he had wanted to answer. "Black and white and mixtures of the two, for without you by my side, my love, I can't even think of color, let alone work with it. You are my sunshine and prism, yet you are not MINE, you are only a desire that will never be fulfilled. And so my heart is full of blackness and emptiness and nothingness, which is what my art depicts. Come, give me your hand, and give my love a chance, and then you will see, how my work transforms, from dark to vivid, and dull to vibrant. Why won't you give me just one little chance?"

Instead, he had remained quiet, watched how she glanced over his work unimpressed - her adorable nose pinched in disapproval - and felt his heart breaking inside his chest. When would she ever LIKE something he made?

"I'm holding an exhibition." he had said one day. "Will you come?"

She had looked at him like he had made the most ridiculously out-of-this world suggestion. "An ART exhibition?" she had repeated. "I don't know... it's not really my thing. Give me a pass and I'll come if I feel like."

"Sure," he had mumbled, not bothering to voice how very much it would mean to him. That sort of claim never had much effect on her anyway; it was better he keep quiet lest she felt he was being pushy and decided not to come.

The exhibition was tomorrow, and he was planning to put up this newest piece - this work of COLOR - too. As long as she didn't mind of course; if she would love it so much as to want to keep it to herself, he would totally oblige, he would in fact be quite deliriously pleased. Which is why he'd called her over right then, so that she could come and see it before anyone else, because after all, he HAD made it just for HER. He was planning to name it after her too. Her name roughly translated meant 'Symbolic', and this would be perfect for his first ever colorful creation. After all, it indeed was very symbolic, of his love for her, his devotion of wanting to do something that would truly impress her, awe her, fill her with immense pride for being his muse. She would be arriving any moment, and his heart beat harder and harder as he stepped back to examine the painting once again. It had all the colors he could imagine: aqua and crimson and coral and bisque, and magenta and indigo and teal and lavender. There were more colors than he had ever seen or imagined, and yet, here they were in his work. Just for her. Yes, this time, he had surely done it right. She was bound to be pleased.

He heard footsteps behind him, so quickly turned, his heart speeding up at an alarming rate. There she was, looking as splendid as she always did, so effortlessly. The corners of her mouth twitched up in acknowledgement as she approached him.

"I'm here," she declared, stopping a few paces away from him. "What was it that you needed to show me so urgently?" She pulled out a cigarette from her pocket, stuck it between her lips, and lit up as she waited for him to respond.

He proceeded to show her. And she gazed at the painting long and hard, as if captivated, mesmerized. Or so it seemed. He waited with bated breath as she took long drags and blew out the smoke in purposeful clouds as the clock on a wall somewhere seemed to tick louder and louder.

Finally, she turned back to him, with her mysterious eyes and prominent nose, - not pinched this time - fortunately, and spoke:

"Seen it. Is that all?"

He was dumbfounded. But managed to speak up when she blew a cloud of smoke into his face. "Err, y yeah.. yes, that's all," he spluttered, his voice small. "So what do you think?"

"It's just a riot of colors." She shrugged. "Even I could do that, why don't you ever try to be more versatile?"

And his soul fell apart all over again, for the umpteenth time at her mercy. His heart crashed to the floor and he knew that the work was definitely not symbolic. Deep inside his mind somewhere, he at last accepted the one fact that he always evaded: Nothing he ever did would mean anything to her.

He went over to the easel, dipped a brush in his favorite deep, dark, black, and made a careless swipe across the "riot of colors".

"Indifference."

That's what he would call this supposed magnum opus which had once again, missed the mark, missed by a long shot.

"Oh by the way," she said. "I won't be coming to the exhibit tomorrow, sorry, I've got a shoot with that friend I told you about. . ."

Some people just do not 'get' creativity. That's why it's best to just work for yourself and not aim at pleasing anyone, even if they are your muse or your inspiration, your dream or your desire, your love or your life.

As Paulo Coelho has written in The Alchemist: "When you possess great treasures within you, and try to tell others of them, seldom are you believed."

Same goes for "When you try to SHOW them, seldom are you appreciated."

Break ke Baad

2011-01-28T22:35:00.008+05:30

This is a bit late to write about this movie but I couldn’t watch it earlier so...

It’s a flop movie which was attacked by critics and viewers alike.

But I LIKED it. I’m infamous for enjoying even the crappiest movies as long as they’re sweet love stories. :P

I can’t help it; I get so engrossed in studying the lead characters and putting myself in their place that I don’t mind a slow plot or things being all over the place or common exaggerations and over-the-top coincidences that otherwise ruin the movie.

So right from the super-cute, super-creative opening sequence, I was raring to know what happens Break ke Baad, though of course, it is totally predictable.

For the first time, I felt like Deepika Padukone can actually act. Usually, it’s just her sex appeal that carries a movie but in Break ke Baad, I think she’s acted really well IN ADDITION to looking absolutely drop-dead gorgeous.

I loved her clothes and her hair.

Meh, I want to be Deepika Padukone. Though I wouldn’t want Siddharth Maliya as a boyfriend/fiancé thankyouverymuch.

Wait, on second thought, he IS filthy rich. That wouldn’t be so bad. It would be pretty cool, in fact.

Nah, just kidding. Do you honestly think I’m the kind of girl who goes after rich men? Shame on you. I’m offended.

Anyways, I digress. Coming back to the point, Deepika is hot. Period.

And Imran… oh what do I say about gorgeous Imran. For the second time in his career (the first being in Janne tu…), he plays a character whom I would totally swoon for. To start with, he is supremely cute and I have a thing for cutesy boys. (The macho men are really not my type MOST of the time.) Plus, his character of Abhay comes across as the most sensible, sensitive, caring, loving, mature, and most importantly, committed guy ever. And that’s not all. He can also…wait for it…..

….

COOK! Indian food!

Honestly, why aren’t there any such ideal guys in the real world? And if they’re out there, why aren’t they single and waiting to sweep off my feet?

Speaking of the story, I’m sure you can make out exactly what it is if you’ve seen the promo. And if you haven’t, no big deal. It’s nothing great, just your regular new age Bollywood romance. What makes it special though is the colloquial dialog, which was also criticized by the critics (isn’t that what they’re paid for, all these critical critics!) but seemed refreshing to me.

There’s one part where Deepika’s character Aaliya makes plans to go abroad to study Mass Communication but doesn’t consult anyone beforehand, neither her mother, nor her boyfriend. (I so relate to that; I would do the same if fees and living expenses weren’t an issue in real life :P) And when she drops the bombshell, of course everyone freaks out and Abhay is arguing with her, obviously very hurt, and he tops it off with a punch line in the form of:

“Do logon ke saath communicate nahi kar payi. ‘Mass’ communication karne ja rahi ho!”
“You couldn’t communicate with two people, and you want to do ‘Mass’ communication!”

I was laughing out loud at that, especially because it echoes my own situation. I find it difficult to communicate with people close to me but want to study mass comm and communicate to the world. Irony of sorts, I suppose.

I could relate to Aaliya a lot, the way she frowns at marriage and all things conventional and just wants to fly for her dreams. There’s a part where she describes herself as a kite, which can’t help flying because she loves it so much, and I was nodding in agreement. I’m also impulsive and turn to lies like her, and can let a fit of anger get the better of me. And I found myself envious of her carefree nature, the ease with which she did everything her own way without batting an eyelid. I was even more envious when she flies off to study in Australia with full scholarship and lives on a beautiful cottage on a spectacular island, and has still has money to fly back home and all. If only life could be as simple and sorted as Bollywood portrays it as. Even Abhay flies off to join Aaliya or win her back rather, and just like that, he ends up starting his own restaurant business there and achieving great success. Sometimes, I think movies are to blame for over-glamorizing life abroad and convincing people that they’ll have a dream run as soon as their feet touch foreign land. Why don’t movies show the depressing reality of how tough it actually is? Well, I guess that has an obvious answer – they wouldn’t do as well. Especially since they already flop even with the mega alluring locales and fairytale-like stories.

Man, I am digressing too much today. (As usual. :P)

One thing I totally didn’t get about the movie though is why Aaliya calls her mother by her first name rather than saying ‘mom’ or any of its synonyms. That was weird. I wonder what they were trying to portray through that. There were a few other peculiarities too but on the whole, I connected with the movie and will probably be watching it over and over again. Just to drool over Imran of course.

And to get some motivation from Deepika’s go-getter, ‘I can conquer the world’ attitude. Even though it eventually leads to her mom getting hurt by her actions and saying something which is definitely one of the most stellar dialogs I’ve ever heard:

"Log tumhe isiliye pyar nahi karte kyunki tum special ho, balke tum special ho kyunki duniya main kuch log tumse be inteha pyar karte hai, sometimes despite the way you are."

"People do not love you because you are special, but rather you are special because a few people in this world love you immensely, sometimes despite the way you are."

So true, isn’t it? I was so impressed I thought it must be a quote by someone famous so I Googled it but didn't find anything so hats off to the script writer. I know a few people who definitely need to be reminded of this simple fact. Their sense of self-worth is just a tad too inflated.

Lastly, music of the movie is pretty good too, with this being my favorite song because of its inspiring lyrics:

Barish Hai Khayalon Mein

Sab Dhul Jayega

Roshan Rasta Naya

Ek Khul Jayega

Beh Jayega

Tinka Tinka Kal Ka Silsila

Chalo Mil Jayega

Aur Ek Hasin Kafila

Motherland

2011-01-26T20:47:00.004+05:30

Despite all the million things I complain about, and all the things that piss me off; despite all the heartbreak and turmoil I have faced here; and all the times I just want to run away to foreign lands; despite all the things that are just so WRONG, and all the cynicism and negativity I usually feel, despite not growing up here and at times feeling like a foreigner; despite all of this and more, deep down inside, I love my India, fiercely and irrevocably. And today, instead of writing the cynical post I had originally planned to, I will simply say that I will do my best to make my country better, to fix all the problems, one step at a time, I will 'be the change' I want to see for a better future of better systems, better setups, better people, and better lives. A future I can be proud of.

And no, this is not just talk.

Happy Republic Day, fellow desis. Let that flag fly high and let your spirit and your dreams soar with it.

Jai Hind

A Tragedy of Seasons

2011-01-25T23:54:00.004+05:30

First came spring, when he was nineteen

A long-distance affair, an unlikely pair

She was lively and fun, the party-hopper type,

He was more subdued, didn’t fancy too much hype

Yet they got close, through phone calls and net,

Didn’t make a difference, that they hardly met,

He would sing to her at times, late into the nights

It was the sweetest way, to resolve any fights

Light and breezy, the romance brewed,

Until one day, betrayal spewed.

She found someone else, someone closer to home,

And our hero was ditched, left brooding and alone,

But as they say, everything’s got reason,

For soon came along, another season.

Dazzling and bright, she was the summer sunshine

So sweet, so alluring, like the finest wine.

He was soon intoxicated, high on her love,

She was his angel, his beautiful dove.

Sultry and torrid, there passion was wet fire,

Neither had ever felt, such lustful desire.

So wonderful and warm, she lit up his life,

And he began to dream, of making her his wife.

But alas this too was a passing phase,

For in time their relation, began to haze

She slowly slipped away, like a setting sun,

And in her aftermath, he was bound to burn.

Till at last again, the season changed,

And he found respite, as winter gained.

She was hot and tempting, like a steamy mug of chocolate

And he cozied up to her, over the internet.

They Facebooked and Skyped, sharing tales of heartbreak,

And in so doing, baked their love cake.

She was his comfort and his peace,

Like a blanket of fleece.

He basked in her affection and snuggled up to her care

He’d been through so much, this was only fair

But one fine day, the chocolate cooled,

And our hero realized he was being fooled.

Her warmth proved superficial, as he caught a chill

And so he escaped, before winter could kill.

Anticipating spring once again,

He began to shed, his layers of pain,

But don’t you know, climate change is real now?

And so it rained, and it rained how!

She brought cheer and hope to his tormented heart,

And he prayed to be hers, to never grow apart.

Together they frolicked, reveling in each other,

Completely in sync, they were birds of a feather.

She showered him with praise, and drenched him in joy,

In her fascinating company, he was an innocent little boy

She replenished his soul, and enlightened his mind

He saw her as perfect, so precisely his kind.

But rains are intermittent, don’t you know?

Sooner or later, they’ve got to go.

So again our hero was left high and dry,

But he was so used to it, he didn’t even cry.

For by now he knew, the weather’s play,

Thus let time have its way.

Sure enough another summer slowly emerged,

Her freshness took over, and the past purged

She was unlike anyone he’d known before,

And now he was sure they’d have something more.

Despite differences and distance, they remained committed

She was the only girl so far, his love befitted.

Her soft husky voice, was melody to his ears,

And her pretty face, it rested all his fears.

She was a delicate red rose, whose thorns didn’t prick

To defend and protect her he was oh so quick.

It seemed like this season was finally one to stay,

And their love grew stronger, day by day…

Yet all this time, there’d been another girl too,

The one he didn’t notice, never mind woo,

She’d seen him through it all, all the seasons of his life,

But all she ever got was never-ending strife.

Why is so love so unfair, so incorrigibly mad?

Why is she destined to be eternally sad?

She makes it through the tears, hanging onto his mere presence

To all else she is oblivious, even to his irreverence

With difficulty, she’s accepted, they were never meant to be,

Yet she prays one day, her love he will see.

True Life Tales - 2

2011-01-24T17:28:00.003+05:30

A while back, I had started a new category called 'True Life Tales' but then never got around to writing anything much in it. Maybe I was worried none of you would be particularly interested in random experiences from my life or maybe I couldn't decide what to write about. Either way, seeing as I'm running low on inspiration these days, I thought I'd attempt another true life tale:

We met on Facebook, through a mutual friend. I commented on a 'note' he had written which, because of the mutual friend being tagged in it, appeared in my News Feed and I found interesting. (I love reading people's notes on Facebook since they're practically like blog posts.) And he replied to the comment and added me. He is a writer too, which is perhaps why we got along so well. (He is also of a zodiac sign that complements my sign but ah well, astrology is to be taken with a pinch of salt!) The first time we chatted on Yahoo, it was for three hours straight. I'd never had such a long conversation with a stranger before. And we spoke of everything: books, movies, our experiences, our lives, even sharing some things which we claimed to not discuss much with other friends. Now, before you start forming any inaccurate notions, let me clarify, there was absolutely no element of romance here - we were just two writers who had a lot to discuss and had even crossed each other's paths years before when we'd not known each other.

So a new friendship got started, and how. For those who don't know, I don't really have a lot of guy friends, I tend to be intimidated by the male gender, though things have been improving over the past few years. So it was nice to have him as a friend; and even nicer when we met up once and I got to know him better. I began anticipating more meetings, and was glad to finally have a real-life writer friend rather than an online one. (No offense to all of you who are my online friends, by the way, I value you equally.)

But alas, one meeting was all we ever had. Because just days after it, he joined college and got busy with his life. It had never crossed my mind that that would stop us from talking or further developing the friendship, but sometimes, people get caught up in changed routines and everything else fades in significance. Being an outgoing, friendly person, he obviously made a lot of new friends at college and somewhere along the way, the bond he had formed with me (or so I thought) fizzled out and withered away. We stopped texting, chatting, or even reading each other's writing anymore.

Occasionally, we exchange a mundane message citing vague intentions of meeting up, but I doubt anything will ever come of that. It strikes me as strange, how for a few days, we were so close, and just like that, we drifted apart again. It's been almost two years since we met, though we bump into each other at routine collegian hangouts sometimes. And we still have a couple of mutual friends, though I don't really fancy the idea of meeting him through them. I value that brief time I had him as a friend; I look back upon it with a smile, for I've never experienced anything else like that, and I think it taught me that sometimes, God sends us angels who stay for a while to teach us something, then flutter away to teach us something more. Does that make any sense? It does to me. And I wonder whether he ever thinks of those few days that we talked so much and got to know so much of each other's lives. There is one thing in particular that he said which stands out in my memory, something about the future, and I'm just going to wait and see whether it proves true after all. It would be a miracle if yes, but won't matter if not. For what matters is that we had that friendship and friendship, however brief, is always a blessing.

Flight

2011-01-23T16:43:00.007+05:30

She eyed the packed suitcase, and looked at the ticket in her hand. The moment had arrived, at last. THIS was what she wanted, and finally, she had it. Yet, inside, she was petrified of what was to come. Was she doing the right thing? Did she have enough reason? Reason to want out, to leave like this and ditch the people she loved? Reason to seek a new life where she would live by nobody's rules but her own? Reason to set out on her own, without much of a plan? Reason to not feel at all guilty about it? Her mind reeled....

"You are an adult now," her mother said. "A grown up young girl."

That sounds like an oxymoron, the "grown up young girl" thought.

"You must wear a dupatta to cover your body. It doesn't look good when you go outside without one, it draws the attention of males. You must dress modestly. Make it a habit from now, before tongues start to wag."

In simplified terms, this translated to: "Cover up your boobs; or men will stare and women will gossip and our 'cultured, traditional' society will collectively label you 'disrespectful and modern."

As if she cared a damn, the young girl. The concept of the dupatta seemed to her the stupidest concept ever invented. Were all the men in the world really that jobless and that desperate to be hanging around waiting for a glimpse of her curves? If yes, they'd obviously never heard of porn, which was of course impossible so they probably didn't have access to it, which was not her problem. If no, then why should she bother with the stupid piece of material that slipped and slithered and threatened to fly away in the wind and felt like a strangulation cord around her neck, especially in the summer?

Because she was expected to by her hypocritical, gender-discriminating, sexist, stupid culture and her family and her society. And in this and other pointless demands, lay her reason.

***

"Be back by 6.30. Don't be late, you have to be home before it's dark."

Knowing well the answer she would get, she still dared to ask: "Why?"

"What do you mean why? Because it's not safe, of course. You're a girl, you must be home before sunset. It doesn't look good when you come in late, you know that."

She held back a retort that would turn into an argument that would result in her not being allowed to go at all. It was four o clock already and the curfew would give her barely over an hour to be with her friends whom she hadn't seen for weeks now. When boys in her family went out, they returned even past midnight and no one told them anything for 'boys are boys, after all'.

It was SO not fair. And in that injustice, lay her reason.

***

"What time should we come pick you?"

"Eleven, please don't come earlier. It's no fun then. I only go out on one night every year, it's a college reunion, there will be so many people to catch up with."

"O.k, o.k, but what is that you are wearing?"

"What?"

"Your top is too short. Why don't you wear that kurti your aunt gave you on your birthday? It's such a lovely shade of pink. And will look so decent compared to this thing which doesn't even cover your buttocks!"

"I can't wear a kurti today. It's Executive Night. Besides, I hate pink. And this is my favorite shirt. Let me wear it at least today; it's been lying in my cupboard so long."

"Yes, because they are not worth wearing. So bad they look, showing off your backside like that. All the boys stare at you girls who wear such vulgar things. Don't you feel ashamed? And what nonsense is this Executive Night? As if executives don't wear salwar kameez... wear that black salwar kameez you wore on Diwali two years ago. It's so beautiful and so expensive yet you never wear it. And you look so much slimmer in salwar kameez rather than this pant-shirt which make your hips look so wide."

She fought back tears of frustration and hurt as she tried to block out the voice and focussed on brushing her hair.

"You will tie up your hair, right?" the voice continued, taking a different course now."It will get spoiled by the way you leave it open all the time. And it looks too attractive that way, people will put buri nazar on it. You should tie it up neatly the way your cousin does."

It was a never-ending infringement of personal freedom and space. And in the resultant feeling of suffocation, lay her reason.

***

"Who was that boy?" she was asked as soon as she got into the car.

"A friend, he used to be in my college."

"What was he doing here?"

She mechanically intoned the well-rehearsed excuse she had in mind: "He had come to see the movie too, we ran into him... My friends were getting late so they left, and when he saw me standing alone, he came to ask why. So we were just talking for the past few minutes."

The rebel in her was urging her to stand up for once and blabber out the truth - that she had lied and come to see the movie with him rather than her friends and that she didn't see anything wrong in it. But she resisted the impulse for being honest would cause more damage than good. She would never be allowed out again, even to ACTUALLY see her girl friends, so it was better to sneak around, even if it was such a huge effort - spinning a complex web of deceit just to see the one guy she so genuinely cared about.

She was utterly sick of it. And in that exhaustion, lay her reason.

***

Yes, indeed, she had enough reason.

All it came down to

was her thirst for freedom.

His Kind of Girl

2011-01-17T11:43:00.004+05:30

There was a time when she'd longed
to be that kind of girl.

The kind he calls at 1a.m. to talk with for hours,
joking, laughing, flirting,
enjoying the sound of her voice.

The kind he likes to be photographed with,
and subsequently tagged on Facebook,
receiving a dozen compliments on how good they both look.

The kind that looks just as sexy
in shorts or a saree
Or just as easily stylish in jeans or a suit

The kind he treats as his muse
clicking pictures that enhance their beauty,
showcasing it to the world.

The kind he talks about with a sense of pride,
for they are his best friends,
so pretty, so smart, so prized

The kind he drops off home after a late night out together
Or picks up at train stations and airports
whenever its required.

The kind he buys presents for and makes a point to meet
the kind he shares his birthday with
and gladly claims as 'his'.

Oh, how she'd longed to be that kind
knowing well she'd never make the cut,
and finally years later she just accepted, her eternal place in the rut.

She would always be the other kind,
the kind he called just once a year - on her birthday
Well, at least he remembered that, things could have been worse!

The kind who always asked him for pictures together
not caring of the strange silent looks she got
SHE cherished the memories, to hell with whatever he thought.

The kind he didn't like to acknowledge
on Facebook or elsewhere
the kind that looked the same, no matter how she did her hair.

The kind who had been promised a pretty photo
from his snazzy new camera
but never got any, as expected, for they 'never got a chance', la!

She was the kind who was jealous
of all his other friends,
the insecure psycho who at times seemed dense

She was the self-proclaimed underdog, angry and bitter and low,
for she wasn't the kind that had him,
the kind he'd never let go.

But at last she was okay with it, what did it matter anyway?
She was sure to be someone else's 'kind',
most definitely, some day!

Unplugged but not Uncensored

2011-01-14T21:11:00.004+05:30

This post was going to be 'Unplugged, Uncensored', but for the first time in my blogging life, I forced myself to edit out some censor-worthy elements. (Don't ask why.) Anyways...

I just watched two great movies called Before Sunrise and Before Sunset. Obviosuly, the latter is a sequel to the former. And trust me, if you like intellectual, thought-provoking cinema, you have got to watch these movies. The story is basically about two strangers, a guy and a girl who meet randomly and spend several hours together, talking of random things as they explore a European city, Vienna in the first movie, and Paris in the second. Ah, so romantic! Though, the movie is definitely not a typical romance, mind you.

And I must mention my blog friend, Imroz, who was the one to suggest the movies in the first place. He is a brilliant writer and you MUST check out his blog here: link

Anyways, inspired from the films, I got thinking about what I would talk about if I was ever in such an idealistic situation: alone with a handsome, smart guy in a beautiful European city, conversing about everything under the sun and more. I came up with a monologue of sorts, which may be boring and is extremely self-centric, so you are free to leave halfway if I start to babble too much. Here goes:

“I’m a writer and I like writing about love and relationships, though I’ve never actually been in one myself, a romantic relationship that is. And the only time I was ever in love, it was with someone who didn’t return the feeling, not at all, but still, I feel unrequited love makes you more of an authority on the subject because then you see both the beautiful side and terrible ugly side of the emotion all at once and all on your own. You realize how special it is yet question its validity because it seems to be based on something as fickle as looks. I mean, do looks define what you can mean to someone? That’s kind of depressing. And it makes me so self-conscious, you know?

I mean, right from when I was a child, I’ve known I look ‘different’ from my family and friends and ‘different’ of course is never ‘beautiful’. And I hate it, despite all the philosophical crap about ‘beauty coming from the inside’ and all. I mean, if I’m cross eyed, I’m cross-eyed, and then no one is going to care whether I have a heart of gold or whatever. Not that I actually AM cross-eyed, thank god, but I do have problems with my eyes. You must have noticed. And I hate it when people point out the obvious to me. I hate it when I’m struggling to read something, or leaning close to a computer screen and some absolute idiot asks me why I’m behaving that way. Why do you think, I’m behaving like that? Because I like to pretend I’m blind? God, it’s exhausting, explaining to everyone that I really do have a major problem which can’t even be corrected with glasses.

But then I guess it’s not people’s fault. They are bound to be curious. Sometimes, I think if I was someone else, looking at my own self, I would ask the same questions. In fact, I would perhaps ask even more questions and irritate the hell out of myself. Does that make any sense? Gosh, I’m babbling so much. I guess it’s because I’ve never said all this to anyone even though I’ve wanted to. Most of the time, I’m a very private person. I never say my true thoughts or feelings. I like to maintain a certain element of mystery about myself, it makes me feel less vulnerable to getting hurt. I think when people get to know you too well, they hurt you too much, so I hardly let anyone really know me, you know?

Maybe that’s why I’ve never had a boyfriend, or maybe not. Maybe I just don’t interest anyone, but that’s so sad, right? Sometimes I feel so afraid that I will never meet anyone who loves me and that I’ll end up dying all lonely and depressed. Not that companionship is a must in life. I guess I could be quite happy alone too. I would love to travel the world on my own, and write books, and get really rich. But it would be nicer to have someone to share all that with, don’t you think? Of course, there are downsides to having someone too, like you have to adapt to their faults and you sometimes have to compromise your own happiness, and you have to get over the embarrassment of somebody knowing EVERYTHING about you. Your mannerisms, your quirks, your body, your mind, your secrets, everything. It would kind of freak me out if someone knew me that well. I’m such a bundle of contradictions, aren’t I? I definitely feel that way. Every single day, on one hand I’ll be blissfully happy, but at the same time, inexplicably sad. It’s weird, like I’m bipolar in a way. Do you know what bipolar means? It’s a psychological disorder, manic-depressive mood states….

I studied psychology at college. I don’t know why though. I initially wanted to be a doctor. But I think I would have made a terrible doctor. The sight of suffering and pain totally upset me. I can’t stand it. That’s why I didn’t become a clinical psychologist either; I would never be able to tolerate seeing people who have difficulties much worse than my own. I’m a bit of a softie that way, I guess. Though people never think so. Just because of my detached exterior attitude, they think I’m cold and emotionless inside, and nothing could be further from the truth. On the contrary, I tend to FEEL too much and too many things. I’m always overwhelmed with FEELING, it’s a terrible state to be in. perhaps that’s why I’m a writer. I just need an outlet for all the million things I keep feeling in my heart and can’t express any other way. And the worst part is that I keep craving more feelings, however weird that sounds.

I crave to know what it would feel like to fly, free in the vast sky, with no sound around me except that of the wind. I wonder what it would feel like to live in space, or on another planet, or in another civilization, in history. What if I had been a Jew in Germany? What would that have felt like? Would I have written a diary like Anne Frank and then gone on to be a famous writer posthumously? I wonder what modern famous writers feel like, like my favorite, Paulo Coelho... he writes such brilliant books. I would love to meet him some day, though I don't know what I would say... I would love to meet J.K. Rowling too, and Judy Blume. Gosh, I admire successful writers so much. And I dream every single day that one day, I'll be a huge success too. And I wonder how that would change my life. I wonder if lost friends would suddenly get in touch again, if I became famous, or if anyone would pretend to fall in love with me for my money, the way it happens in movies and books, of course. I think I'm too influenced by movies and books. I think that's irreversibly messed up my mind a bit. I believe too much in idealistic concepts, and when they come crashing down around me, I crash with them. Like love for instance. I think I've stopped believing that love exists now. It just seems superficial to me, the way people have boyfriends and girlfriends and then go on to fool themselves into marriage and end up complaining about all the things that they'd have liked to do if it hadn't been for marriage. I think love is just a deliberate reason created for the purpose of being physically intimate with someone because, ultimately, that's all that anyone wants. And that's all that explains our existence. Which is again kind of depressing. There are too many depressing things in the world, don't you think? Yet, we are meant to ignore them and consider the 'good stuff' and 'enjoy' life for it's 'too short'. I don't think it's too short. Well, most of the time it isn't. When young people tragically die then of course it is short - and depressing - again.

And I hate how uncertain life is. In one moment, so much can change, yet when we most want things to change, they don't. Of course, the uncertainty can also be exciting but most of the time it's just frustrating. Or maybe I'm too much of a negative person and that's why I think like this. Life is all about perspective, after all. My perspective often gets me into trouble, especially with someone I really care about. They never understand me and I never understand them and yet I can't stand the thought of being away from them because that would be excruciating. So we have a million arguments over a million pointless issues and I suppress a million things I want to express to them because I just don't know how to express them and even if I do, they won't understand, and so we just go on that way. And every day, I worry about when things will finally snap and we'll no longer talk to each other because life is bound to put distance between us. It always does that, separates people, makes old friends grow apart, and old memories fade, and even though new friends come along to make new memories with, sometimes it's just not the same anymore. And yet, we can do nothing to bring the past back, or even relive a single moment or take a small step to fix something that was ruined. Once again, so utterly depressing...."

*This post will make a lot more sense if you actually watch the movies - please do, please do, please do!

The First Setback of 2011

2011-01-04T20:53:00.006+05:30

Today is the second working day of the New Year, and unfortunately for me, it's just been one of those days when I hate everyone and everything.

To start with, even though I had lots of work, I overslept and so got into a big rush in the morning which ended up delaying the plan I had set myself so that I only managed to complete a small proportion of what I was supposed to before lunch. To add on, I got a call from an Aunt who has family in Hyderabad and she was supposed to find out about EFLU for me (which is a place I was planning to pursue my master's at). She spent half an hour telling me how Osmania University and the adjacent EFLU are in the grip of the Telangana Movement and the entire environment is negative and very unlikely to change for the better anytime soon. Which of course means I will not in a thousand years be allowed to set foot anywhere near there. So my Hyderabad dreams are more or less crushed before they quite took form. (Okay, they did take a lot of detailed form in my mind's eye, which is perhaps why it hurts so much now. Moral of the story: Never count your chickens before they hatch. Yes, I always knew that but oh heck, whatever.)

It's funny how until yesterday, or actually until today morning, 'Telangana' was a mere word I remembered from the newspapers and didn't think about at all; and now, it has affected my life in a major way even though I am not in the remotest way associated to it. As much as I love my country, I am quite fed up of India and all its ISSUES. And I shall hold back a long stream of cuss words here because cussing is not going to change anything. Telangana, Telangana, it's sounding in my head like a hammer. Telangana. (And just for the record, I mean no offense or insult to anybody here, so please do not lash out at me if you happen to be pro-Telangana or anything.)

Anyways, this one bit of news screwed up the rest of my day because of course, I am not in the best of mental states yet had an insane work load which - incidentally - involves helping other people reach for their dreams (while mine of course, just turn to dust.). Point to ponder: If you help make other people's dreams a reality, does anyone help you with yours? (And 'God' is not an acceptable answer here, mind you. Especially coz I'm not feeling particularly loving towards Him today.) I tell you, it's days like these that make me think I should just give in and get married and resign myself to a life of dissatisfaction and pointlessness, in servitude of some guy who will judge me based on the sole criteria of whether I can look after his home and family and bear him a couple of kids, preferably sons.

Okay, forget I said that. I didn't mean it, obviously, but at times, it's like everything I want and everything I work for is just totally forever out of my reach. I had tears of frustration and defeat in my eyes towards the end of the day, even as I continued editing and proofreading and rechecking draft after draft of the essays I'm working on. It's on days like these that I just want to curl up into a ball and die because nothing else seems worthwhile, even though inside, of course, I know very well that I'm over reacting and being ridiculous.

Maybe it's okay to be ridiculous from time to time. Especially when I have never done anything bad to anyone (okay maybe once I did, but that was because the person really deserved it) yet keep getting stuck in bad situations.

Dear God, please sort out Telangana before March so that I can have enough time to re-convince everyone to let me go study in Hyderabad. If you decide that Hyderabad is not for me, then at least be kind enough to point me to something that IS for me. Something nice abroad, would be fantastic, but I know you never give me what I want, so I won't ask. I made a compromise and gave up my study abroad dreams, so why can't You return the favor and give me Hyderabad at least? Please.

P.S. I know there are other cities in India but I can't find any place I like as much.

Oh well, time to leave things to time.

Here is a poem I wrote yesterday night when I couldn't get to sleep past one a.m.:

Residues

They lurk like dark shadows,

in places no one will find.

Deep within your soul,

in the crevices of your mind.

They are marred memories

and injured thoughts

that ail your heart

like little blood clots.

A familiar face

you should never have known.

Bitter words,

a sarcastic tone.

Repressed feelings,

you couldn't express

So much stuff,

you were afraid to confess.

Misdeeds and mistakes,

they plague us all.

Remember the flight

before the fall?

Dreams and desires,

they turned to mist.

For life's not a movie,

there's no third act twist.

A trove of memories

you long left behind.

Still so sharp,

when your head hits rewinds

Who are those people,

the ones you laughed with?

Were they truly friends,

or some construed myth?

Is that you,

in the fading old picture?

Funny how it's got

its own strange allure

What's it about the past

that always draws you in?

In the battle to forget,

why don't you ever win?

Indeed they stand the test of time,

like scandalous bits of news

They are insurmountable,

these clingy little residues.

p.s. I shouldn't even be writing because I have work to finish off, but my brain is tired now, so instead I will watch The Hangover for the millionth time because it is one movie that always makes me laugh and gosh, I really need to laugh today.

Goodbye 2010, you didn't seem to last very long.

2010-12-31T21:01:00.006+05:30

So, I was supposed to be on a train right now, going to Ajmer, but the trip was called off due to trains running late and some conflict in Rajasthan. I am not particularly inspired to write right now but I always write a new year's post so I thought, heck, why not.

It's not just the end of a year, it's the end of a decade, an era of sorts. I've grown from 13 to 23 (!), finished school, graduated from college, moved country twice, lived on my own in one of the biggest cities in the world, earned a diploma in Creative Writing, gotten published locally and internationally, in print and online, styled my hair from the boring style-lessnesss it hung in for years, let go off childhood grudges, held two jobs, fallen crazily in love,had my heart broken, learned that I am terrible at flirting, and pretty good at writing (:)), grown apart from friends and accepted it, grown closer to some friends even over distances, realized what I really want in life, tried certain things I always wanted to, started writing a book, gone on a somewhat blind date, done something terribly sneaky but funny at the same time, fractured my foot, fainted from a hypoglycemic attack, befriended strangers online and met them in real life, laughed a lot, cried a lot, philosophized a lot, planned a lot, despaired a lot, cried some more, written a lot, often impulsively, fought a lot with someone I love, been really angry, accepted that hurt is a part of life, accepted that some people are liars, realised that everything haappens for a reason, also realised that I like to believe that because it makes me feel better about things that are beyond my control, decided that I will think a lot before I marry someone, decided that I will travel a lot, grown from being a Shahrukh fan girl to an insane Shahid fan girl, from Kuch Kuch Hota Hai to Jab we Met, from 7th Heaven to How I Met Your Mother, from reading Sweet Valley and Sweet Dreams romances to Paulo Coelho, Khaled Hosseini, and Khalil Gibran, from hi5 to Facebook, from a Siemens god-knows-what-model super cheap, featureless,cheesy-looking, mobile-phone, gifted-by-some-uncle to a bought-by-my-own-earned-cash, sleek and sexy yet still affordable Nokia Xpress Music that I love to bits, from an ancient Windows 95 desktop to a Dell laptop that is already kind of old and ailing, from Hotmail to Gmail, from boot-cut to skinny jeans, from Nairobi to Toronto to Ahmedabad, from NRI to desi, from drab to chic, from reserved to friendly, from scribbles to Sempiternal Scribbles.

It's been an eventful ten years.

Or so it seems.

What will 2011 and the next decade bring along?

Perhaps the end of this world as we know it, if ancient predictions and Hollywood are to be believed?

Well, que sera que sera. What will be, will be. For the time being, have yourself an awesome time. :)

And don't forget to leave behind the past and move forward, and reach for your dreams, no matter what anyone else says or does. :)

P.S. I wish I was away on some beach like this, don't you? Ah well, I shall go, when the time is right. Ciao, people.

Three!

2010-12-27T20:38:00.002+05:30

3 years, 208 published posts, 1267 Comments, 79 Followers, 82 Fans, innumerable anonymous readers, and so many friends made! Happy Birthday to Sempiternal Scribbles! Thank YOU who are reading this, for making my blog such a success and making me feel like a true writer. I wanted to write a special post but I am really caught up in work so couldn't.

Plus, I am going on a long overdue getaway over the New Year weekend, before which I have a lot of deadlines to meet. So I'll catch you all on the other side of 2010 people. Stay happy and safe this festive season, and I wish you an absolutely brilliant 2011!

I'll be back with a special birthday-cum-new-year post and will be catching up on pending reading ASAP.

Until next time, Cheers!

A Long Christmas-y Tale of Boy meets Girl

2010-12-24T23:14:00.002+05:30

Once upon a time, not so long ago, as a young boy sat at his desk one wintry evening, browsing the internet, he met a girl. Well, virtually, that is. He came across a profile on a social networking site and was intrigued. Although there was no photo of her, he was not deterred from perusing her page. He found it quite interesting, how she had painstakingly and creatively expressed her personality, her likes and dislikes, her interests and activities. She was from a foreign country but Indian just like him, and she was a writer. Boy, was she a writer! He was more and more impressed as he followed the link to her blog and read all the innumerable things she had penned.

There was nothing to stop him from inviting her to his ‘friend list’, though he didn’t send any personal message with it, instead wanting to see her reaction. Would she turn it down without a second thought like most sensible girls do? Or would she abuse him and create an issue like the hot, snobbish ones do? Or would she indeed accept and proceed to flirting in abundance like the despo ones do? He thought the first option was most likely, considering the mental picture he had built of her from the profile and the blog.

So he was a little bit surprised – pleasantly, of course - when she accepted and left him a message, asking who exactly he was.

He replied with the truth – that he had found her profile interesting and thought it would be nice to talk to her.

She added him to her chat list and that was that.

Though they did not actually chat for months to come. Truth was, the girl didn’t really fancy talking to strangers, especially in cyberspace where of course no one could be trusted. It was the first time she had accepted an unsolicited friend request and didn’t quite know why. Perhaps the boy in question had just seemed more sensible than the usual ones who spoke terrible English, asking her to be their ‘frand’. Or the despo ones who kept re-adding her tirelessly until she finally took to blocking them. Or the stupid ones who bragged and bragged about how truly sexy and awesome they were when the contrary was very apparently true.

THIS boy’s profile for one had some substance. He was a student at a well-known institute of higher education, so obviously he was smart. And there wasn’t a single word of superficial arrogance or self-praise in his personal description. Plus, the girl had not been seeing the best of times, and the prospect of a new, unknown, friend to confide in seemed somewhat comforting.

Then why didn’t she do it? Why didn’t they talk at all for months despite ‘being there’ on each other’s chat lists?

Well, I don’t have the answer to that. Perhaps it was just the way things were supposed to unfold. You know how some things are just meant to unfold in their own way, right?

The important bit is that eventually, they did talk. They talked when one fine day, he was due to take a trip, coincidentally, to the city where she lived, and so he finally messaged her again, breaking the long silence that he had let prevail ever since that ultra brief initial exchange.

And she responded with enthusiasm, giving him her number when he asked for it, and expressing her pleasure at the prospect of meeting up with him when he arrived. Even though inside, she was more unsure than ever before. Maybe she should have talked to him all this time, gotten to know him better, so that it wouldn’t be so intimidating to meet him. What did she even know of him beside his name and educational pursuits? He could be weird, or a pervert, or criminal, or rapist or psycho! What was she thinking agreeing to meet up with him?

***

It was Christmas Eve when he rang. She was surprised to hear his voice. It was a nice voice, husky, deep, yet with child-like undertones. She responded to his small talk as best as she could. It was strange talking to a stranger on the phone, though later she realized she did all the time at work without feeling the least bit awkward. Ah well, professional and personal lives are two very different things after all.

They agreed to meet the next day, at a place she suggested. She deliberately picked somewhere popular which was also very close to her best friend’s house. So in case anything at all went wrong, she would be able to make a quick escape.

As anticipated, on Christmas day, the place was crowded. And he was late, which gave her extra time to emotionally calm and mentally prepare herself. He had been referring to the meeting as a ‘date’ on the phone the previous day. And even though the word made her uncomfortable, she had to admit, it was indeed a ‘date’. Her first one ever, at that. Whoever had heard of a first date with someone you didn’t even know! She was so nervous and so excited (though she didn’t admit the latter to herself) that she was beginning to regret coming and contemplated fleeing before he arrived.

But then he did arrive, before she could do any such thing. And boy, did he arrive. She was totally taken in. Right from the way he was dressed to how he talked a mile a minute and kept her engaged in non-stop conversation, she instantly liked everything about him.

As for him, he thought she was sweet. And innocent and smart, a quintessential ‘nice girl’, just like how he had anticipated her to be.

It was an Xmas to remember, for both of them, albeit without any beautiful white snow or twinkly decorations or exchange of presents, or kisses under mistletoe. In fact, there was no kiss at all, or any such physical contact, it was an Indian first date after all, not one from a Hollywood movie. They simply talked, and he subtly flirted, which made her giggle, like a child, and get embarrassed. She was a young adult, yet why did she behave so juvenile? Perhaps because she had never been flirted with before, so didn’t quite know how to react. Like I said, it was not a Hollywood movie, or a Bollywood one at that: there were no dialogs or directions to guide her. (Or him, but he didn’t seem to need them the way she did.)

So after a memorable rendezvous, it was time to depart, like it always is, eventually. And he was leaving the next day, returning to his city, so it was almost as if they were bidding adieu before they had even said hello properly. At least, that’s what she thought. She would have liked to have had more time with him, even if it had been SHE with the crazy initial apprehensions. They’d all magically melted away within moments of being in his company, he was just so charismatic, so charming. It made him appear attractive even though he didn’t look particularly handsome in any way. She was the kind of girl who rated personality over looks: something she had learned from her only previous experience in love. But wait a second, why was she even thinking of love? Whoever said anything about love?

Well, this is another one of those things I don’t have an answer to. Perhaps it was just the way things were supposed to unfold. You know how some things are just meant to unfold in their own way, right?

So anyhow, he went to back to where he had come from and she returned to her mundane daily life. But something was different for even though she was still not seeing the best of times, she was strangely happy inside. She kept thinking of things he had said to her and how he had smiled, and the thoughts made her smile too, randomly, appearing somewhat unhinged.

They had several more phone conversations and innumerable online ones. And each time, she would eagerly look forward to the next one. She liked him. And she liked to think of him as her one and only Xmas gift from God Himself. He had brought cheer to her life, unknowingly, unexpectedly, and she would thus always deem him extremely special.

The question was, what would he deem her?

Not much apparently, if the gradually dwindling phone calls were any indication. He was getting more and more focused on his studies and his goals and his own life, in which she didn’t feature in any special way, unfortunately.

She noticed as much, of course, and got upset over it, but never questioned him, for who was she to question him anyway? Just a stranger he had met online and by chance in real life too, once. There were probably innumerable other girls just like her on his friend list, so why on earth would she be exceptional in any way? Why, for all anyone knew, they would probably never even meet again! The thought made her sad, but she pushed it away, like she did all sad thoughts, and instead continued to live in hope…hope that he would perhaps go back to being the boy who had first added her, impressed by her profile and her personality and her writing; the boy who read her blog regularly and inspired her to keep writing, the boy who effortlessly and abundantly made her feel great about the girl she was, the boy she had met one lonely Christmas day a year ago.

Yes, a year has elapsed. And it’s Xmas again, which makes her miss him all the more, as she reminisces of how he came, spread cheer, and left. Just like the festive season.

And as she sits at her computer, one wintry evening, browsing the internet, she comes across a song that says exactly what she’s feeling:

"I don't want a lot for Christmas,
There's just one thing I need.
I don't care about the presents
Underneath the Christmas tree
I just want you for my own
More than you could ever know.
Make my wish come true,
All I want for Christmas is...
You"

Moving On

2010-12-19T22:36:00.012+05:30

My blog creates so much drama in my life sometimes; I really have to be more careful of what I write from now on. I guess a lot of stuff I just say here without a second thought has the potential to get me in awkward situations, even troublesome situations at that, but then, what’s the point of this being my personal space, eh? Maybe I should start another anonymous blog especially for those things which are better said incognito!

Anyhow, for all you lovely people who were interested in knowing what I was referring to in the 'Who Am I?' post, I am thinking of pursuing a Master’s degree in English next year. Why I want to do it is because mainly, I want to get a hot-shot job in the world of media. I would love to write full time for a magazine or newspaper and apparently I can’t do that with the degree I already have (Yes, I suck at career planning, don't I?). Secondly, I think it will be pretty cool to get back to college life for two years AND it will possibly give me time to develop my freelance writing/work on my dream novel. Also, I might move to another city – Hyderabad – because the university I’ve currently narrowed down on is located there.

It’s called the English and Foreign Languages University, formerly known as the Central Institute for English and Foreign Languages. It offers the kind of course I’m looking for without the astronomical fees of the likes of Symbiosis and Times School of Journalism and all the other elite places which I can’t afford in ten years time! So, if YOU happen to have any information at all about EFLU, please, please let me know through a comment or an email because I am on a desperate hunt for more information but haven’t been able to find much as yet. Good stuff, bad stuff, ugly stuff, if you could tell me anything at all about this institute/university or could find out from someone, I will be extremely grateful! Feedback on Hyderabad as a city is welcome too. (Though, please don't be cheeky/silly enough to suggest that I Google it because being the totally tech-savvy Google-fanatic that I am, I have already done it in fifty different ways possible, thank you very much. Okay, maybe not fifty, but you get the idea right?)

Gosh I’m excited by the prospect of living in a hostel though kind of nervous at the same time. Plus, I don’t quite know anyone in Hyderabad which again is exciting and nerve-wracking all at once. Of course, considering how much I whine and complain about my current city, living in a hi-fi metro sure seems appealing! Ah, life is taking such a different course from any I had ever imagined.

Gee, look at me gushing on and on. There was something else I wanted to say in this post which I have very conveniently forgotten now. God, what was it, what is wrong with my memory? Damn.

I really can’t think of it so I guess this is it for the time being. If you like, do let me know the answers to these questions:

Is it a good idea to do a master’s degree? As in, will it be ‘worth it’ as they say?

Do you think Hyderabad is a nice city?

Do you think I am awesome? Oh, of course you don't. I am more than awesome!

Sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me. I will stop blabbering now. By the way, a warm welcome to my few new followers. Thank you for being here and liking my sempiternal (typed) scribbles. Apologies for the total lack of content in this post. With the prospect of Monday morning just a few hours away, my creativity is dead. Oh did I mention, the real reason I want to go back to college is because I am sick of professional life!

Okay, no, not really. Earning money is kind of cool. I just wish I didn't have to work so hard for it. :/

I wonder when will I finally pull a Chetan Bhagat and be able to quit my job for the pure joy of writing novels and, if recent reports are to be believed, get into film-making with the likes of Vishal Bharadwaj! Gosh, I am SO jealous, (surprise, surprise) but for the record, I hope to write better books than him, not that I'm being all prissy and stuck-up, but come on, isn't he WAY too repetitive and stereotypical in his stories? Okay, I shall stop now. I'm again getting into the kind of stuff which should go on an anonymous blog and not one that has so many links to my personal email and social network accounts.

Ciao, people. Wish me luck!

Four Years Later. . .

2010-12-14T20:59:00.007+05:30

I was dressed in colours. Bright colours. Sunshine yellow and lime green and burnt orange and summer-sky-blue all amalgamated in the graphical print of my kurta, which I'd paired with basic jeans. I looked good, I thought, the colours went well with my fair skin. Plus, I had my favorite dangling earrings on and my hair left loose, which added to my confidence.

Yet, watching you from a distance, I was nervous too. It was a strange feeling to be apprehensive and assured all at once. Perhaps it was a sign of how I would go on to always feel strange around you, how you would always evoke in me two polar opposite emotions simultaneously, two extreme intensities at once: ease and tension, peace and conflict, comfort and pain, happiness and sorrow, love and hate, desire and disgust.

My friends egged me on:

"Go on and talk to him."

"Come on, you can do it. You MUST do it!"

"He's all by himself. It's a rare perfect moment. Go!"

"Go, go!"

And I did go. But alas, what would I say? I had no idea yet some unknown force propelled me forward, towards you.

You were wearing black. It really suits you, in my opinion. What happens when colour meets black? It stands out I guess, initially, refusing to blend. But gradually, black takes over. Black always takes over, just like evil, engulfing the colours into its unfathomable depths to become blacker, deeper, darker. It was all symbolic, I suppose, but I was too distracted, preoccupied, crazed to notice. Too engrossed, overwhelmed, possessed by the million thoughts running through my head so fast I couldn't hear any of them, by the rush of blood I could feel coursing through my veins, by the abnormal thumping of my heart, by the way my insides were squiggling, in excitement and fear and something else, longing perhaps.

You looked up as I approached. And you smiled. And that was it: The beginning of the next four years of my life. I was besotted. Completely, utterly, madly, irrevocably, head-over-heels besotted by you, the boy I knew nothing about.

We exchanged pleasantries. And small talk. But it felt like the best, most special, most significant, most memorable, most cherished conversation I had ever had. Never before had I paid so much attention to a voice. Or noticed the minutest details of a pair of eyes. Or liked the look of a rugged, manly hand. Never had I fallen in love like this before. And who knows if I ever will again, in quite the same free-falling, reeling, knock-the-air-out-of-me, exhilarating way?

For four years later...

"You're still on my mind.

Whatever happened to Amelia Earhart?

Who holds the stars up in the sky?

Is true love just once in a lifetime?

Did the captain of the Titanic cry?

Oh, Someday we’ll know

If love can move a mountain
Someday we’ll know

Why the sky is blue

Someday we'll know

Why I wasn't meant for you...

Someday we’ll know

Why Samson loved Dalilah?

One day I'll go

Dancing on the moon

Someday you’ll know

That I was the one for you..."

And it will be too late then. :P