Welcome to my world....

Living the past in a moment....

2011-04-19T05:40:00.001-07:00

A freshly brewed morning coffee with cookies and a hearty breakfast follows. The sun is high but so is my spirit. Back in Mumbai and its perfect coz the trip is just for a few days. While driving down the road that I once lived in memories hit the refresh button and all I can think of are the good times I have had in the city that never sleeps.

I pretty much had a similar feeling when I went back to Delhi. The moments were diluted coz of the action at that time in my life but nevertheless it was the same feeling. When one lives a thousand memories in a moment, it is like a moment out of a movie. Hands stretched, breeze in your hair, a moment of complete silence (or a good background score).

It is an amazing feeling when you can look back at the awesome times without a slightest regret of where you are. You are just glad to be here; as you were glad you lived those moments with the people. Mumbai just helped me hit the refresh button and I will admit I needed this. I was a little averse initially coz I thought that I will start to regret the decision of moving back to the city I call home. But I didn’t, and what was great was the fact that I loved every second of my time back in the place where I significantly grew up (I mean mentally). Meeting people after a long time not only made me think of the times I had with them but also made me realize that I like them even more now. Was it the distance? The small shelf life they come with? Or both?

Another day and another evening to go but I have made up my mind on the fact that this was way less than I wanted. I wanted a few days here with all the people I left behind. Some of them I call friends and cherish even more because I found them at a time in life when I had given up hope of making friends for real.

Mumbai left me wanting for more and this is what is awesome….

Being selfish is not vice…

2011-02-22T02:51:00.001-08:00

One of the things that come easily to every human being is being selfish. It is uncanny that the word bears negative connotations. I remember a dialogue from how I met your mother (a sitcom on TV) where Lily (a protagonist on the show) asks Marshal “What is the nice word for selfish?” and he says “Independent”.

My rendezvous with the feeling has been since long. Recently it was on account of an experience that made me feel evil. One of my closest friends’ father was hospitalized on account of a clot in the brain, something my dad had about 4 years back. And he had a miraculous recovery. I was very happy with his recovery and finding him absolutely ok was a relief, but I couldn’t stop myself from thinking- why didn’t my dad have that luck? Why did her dad survive and mine didn’t? And to be very honest I was more upset for myself than I was happy for her. Shear evil by the books right? But I guess I have made peace with it that I am “Independent”.

I guess people relate to things more easily once they make it about themselves. I have to admit that in my case it’s a wee bit much. But we honestly live in a world where hypocrisy=opinionated, ego=self respect, stupid=daring, agnostic=secular idiot=adventurous and yup selfish=independent! As we grow up we get beyond text book definitions and accommodate more meanings to every word. Our dictionary stems out of convenience. I guess convenience drives principles as well now.

I am not defending my impulsive reaction. I know somewhere I have not come in terms with my fathers’ death and mostly I was always selfish. But the “good part” is some of my biggest acts of kindness & friendliness are an outcome of this so called vice. I am nice to people because at the end of the day it makes me happy.

I think of all the power that the human mind has the power to reason is the strongest. It helps us to look at our vices and give them a practical twist. We reason to be accepted not just in others eyes but our own. I guess it helps me conclude that being selfish is really ok, as long as I can reason it.

Shine Through

2011-01-31T03:55:00.000-08:00

I see you hiding behind the shadows, hiding in the shade,

Afraid you’d burn in the light or you’d probably fade.

When I look at you I see the many colors you hide,

That you think don’t exist but I see all of them inside.

I know that you are afraid of getting lost in the crowd,

Afraid of your voice getting drowned in the music so loud.

But amidst all that darkness you’ll see a spotlight,

That will help you shine through, help you fight.

So go on, get on that coveted stage that you love,

Gather all the applause while you stand above.

And when you think of coming down, don’t get scared,

For you made yourself heard, you atleast dared.

I know nothing makes you happier than being there,

And the light that you'll bask in, I'll hold it here.

Don't be afraid even if the light dies on you

My love I know, you will still shine through.

Scrapping the paint....

2010-11-25T23:12:00.000-08:00

Back in Delhi and the two weeks have been faster than life in Mumbai. Clearing the mess at home and getting into the new job seems to be taking a toll on my mind. I complained to myself of not being able to think and look at the mundane things in life with an acute perspective. I thought I lost my wistful lenses and found them as the mess in my home cleared.

As I stood at the doorway watching the ready to paint walls of my room there was interplay of unflattering colors on the wall. The painter had scrapped the old coat for the new paint to last longer. I couldn’t imagine my room was green sometime back or even purple and my mind raced back to the memories associated with each previous coat. I obviously couldn’t remember the details but some thoughts surfaced to make me smile. The house I was trying to fix felt like home.

All of us have several yottabytes of memory from our lives. As we tend to experience more things we “scarp” a part of the memory to accommodate the new one. The unflattering colors may be retained but are hidden with a fresh coat. Good or bad-it is all in the wall.

While “scrapping the paint” we uncover the part of our life we lived and triumphed. Some of us look at it as comfort…I know I do. It is comforting because it is the familiar territory. The criticism, the praise, the smell of the fresh paint has been dealt with. Change sometimes can honestly be a pain in the ass. Sometimes you like things static and it doesn’t bore you to have it that way.

This year has been incredibly twisted. I have had my best and the worst moment the same year. And it’s all a part of the wall (quite literally because of Facebook). When you can’t hold on to things and pray for them to remain static you discover the freedom of choice- to pick the color of your wall.

So with the New Year being right ahead my static self will pick up the paint brush to coat, un-coat.

Love, a certain way…

2010-08-06T00:00:00.000-07:00

A certain summer night beneath the blessed star,
In my mind I held your hand, and walked afar
In the mindless chatter, a comfort I discovered again
And a shelter now I build, in the endless rain
There are so many places I want to see, so many in mind
In the chaos I am consoled when I have your shadows to find
When I think of my life without you, I wasn’t all that bad
Just a certain void that made me think of what I didn’t had
You are like the winter quilt, perhaps a hot coffee too
I would feel the bitter cold, but bearing is easier with you
If I were to write a book, I wouldn’t have your dedicated chapter
But your name in every section would only make the tome matter
With all our flaws intact, together we stand complete
If I was a wiz back then, with you I can reach any feat
In the seemingly endless journey, I savor moments anew
But the ones I savor the most, are the ones with you….

Obituary

2010-06-04T09:16:00.000-07:00

“My daddy strongest!!”, a young girl in an old Complan commercial screamed at the camera and left a lasting impression on my mind. I always saw my dad as someone who was indeed the strongest in a lot of aspects. Even behind his tears I could sense an uncanny strength, strength to suck up to a bad situation and take control. If I inherited something from him, it was the fact that he was a fighter.

The first memory to come to my mind when I think of him is the time when he gave his last 200 bucks to an imposter, who pretended to be a beggar. On my questionable look at his generosity to a potentially undeserving man, his answer was “He must need it very badly to come up with a lie like that” and then he paused and said “Don’t tell your mother”. Despite my higher emotional proximity to my mother, I didn’t tell her. In that moment and to this date I wish I could be half as generous a person as he was.

I was really young and had worn a “Churidar” for the first time with all the works. As is the scenario in most Indian households the elders began to rave about how good I looked in the Indian attire. The obvious successive thought was to start planning my marriage. I remember my father snapping immediately and saying “she will marry whenever she pleases. I see her as economically independent and educated before even thinking of something like this”. Obviously the fact that my relatives were furnishing a bad joke didn’t settle with him. I don’t remember anything else about this day, but my dads’ words still remain in my memory.

My father’s anger was rather infamous in the family, so much so that I shuddered at the thought of studying from him. He had the knack of delivering ‘filmy’ dialogues at the onset of a fight. One of his favorites was “I don’t even expect you to give me water when I grow old and ask for it”. Ironically on the day of his cremation I poured the last drops of water into his mouth. I concluded that indeed God’s sense of timing is sick.

As selfish as I am, I am glad that my father died a happy man because of me (and his family). He was proud of my promotion. My mother says (and I believe her) that after my phone call he couldn’t stop laughing and kept telling my mother that I was HIS daughter. My only regret in life would be not being able to meet him and celebrate.

I loved him by virtue of being my father and I respected him for the man he was. To me, to my mind My daddy will always be the strongest.

Everybody wants to rule the world...

2009-12-08T02:47:00.000-08:00

“The young blood rushed through his veins; in his pensive self he counted his agony and the solutions in the same breath. With his feisty self he clenched his fists and declared- One day…I shall rule the world”

I recon all of us saying this to ourselves or out loud once in our lives, the time when we were on the conquest of our world and sure of ruling it. The restlessness just builds on to you imploring you to walk the path. The path which will eventually declare you a hero in your own right, and even better in everyone else’s as well.

This is the time when someone requires guidance the most. However gusto you have, to walk that way, you need a signboard that points to that direction. I have come across so many people, who have the mix that makes me think this person is going places, what they lack is a direction. It’s like you have the ingredients ready in front of you in the exact amount but you don’t know how to cook.

This thought perhaps comes from my own state of mind these days. It is impossible for this breed to think we are made for the mundane stuff. Such is the surge to make a difference we find ourselves in scores of people who are screaming to be called different. Doesn’t this “similarity” give us an opportunity to unite and make a difference? With such dynamic mindsets it is difficult to attain a state of similar interests, but perhaps that is not even required.

It is quite a sorry state frankly. With oodles of energy and no vent out, the fire just burns out. You are left reminiscing at your once exuberant youth and wonder “I was you a couple of years back”. Yes I met someone who said this and it was pretty scary to find myself lash that sentence to someone who would come for the signboard and find a dead end.

It’s a phase….some tell me you will grow out of it. But do we need to? Should we? Can someone help me and the scores behind me with a sign board?

A figment of the imagination...

2009-12-07T02:06:00.000-08:00

Some things are just too perfect in your head. Some moments are lived so well inside ones’ mind that their existence in life becomes secondary. Needless to say such things happen to people with an extremely powerful imagination. It is like relishing a moment you desire to live, unknown of its occurrence in life, and living it in your head out of insecurity. An insecurity that the moment in its subsistence, so perfect, will never occur in your life. It doesn’t kill the hope though, if not anything it builds on it.

The inspiration of the thoughts comes from various sources, a few tasteful movies, books or nature. But never does it come from someone else’s life because if it would, you can’t live it so well in your head. You always imagine the unbelievable and inimitable for yourself, heck you are the star of the movie. On the other hand, knowing that a moment is about to be lived, you imagine a countless ways of its occurrence but intentionally leave out the details for the experience.

“I have imagined the perfect walk with you by the lake, the moment where something I believed so strongly came true, the slow dances, the smile that I meant with the tear drop, hug that meant ‘I will take care’, your smile that meant ‘you are beautiful’ and the hold of your hand that meant you are the only constant that I seek in my life”

India is middle class....

2009-08-24T02:34:00.000-07:00

I have been brought up without the silver spoons and the caviar. I have had a life that has thrown challenges towards me. If I claim to be open and accepting of the gay culture then I also act like the hypocritical closet homophobe where I will take offence if people think I am gay. If I think of a huge family after marriage with cousins and friends and everyone, I also get scared of the huge commitment that the union holds. If I eat at fancy places, I sit cross legged on the floor and eat with my hands on occasions. If I have a great place to stay I also have a dilapidated locality that surrounds me and doesn’t justify my stand of the good house. Even though I will love the silver spoon and the caviar my taste and comfort will always lie in the home cooked sambar chawal. I have a mind of my own that thinks and frames opinions, and I listen to the society time and again, trying to accommodate the many conflicting thoughts that lead to confusion. This is middle class, I am middle class.

India has pretty much the overtones of the middle class. She had to start from a scratch so she values money. She will be as careful with it as possible. She is proud to be secular and the largest democratic nation, but she recites sagas of riots and blood baths over religion portraying the hypocrisy. She hopes for world peace and is inviting to the idea with her neighbors, but she will still be skeptical of the very idea of it. She will steal with a conscience and she lies and gets caught. She aspires to eat the caviar off the silver spoons because she has seen her peers enjoy that, but you can see her being clumsy at it, almost reckless. Her comfort lies with her land; probably that’s why she never endeavored to capture lands like other countries. With the richness, she has lots of deteriorating aspects she is embarrassed of and can’t justify with the growth projections year on year. If she looks to emulate, she holds her ground. She gives air to thoughts and independence but has mess ups when accommodating everything. India is middle class.

If it were up to me I would still want to be born a middle class and live most of my life as one. Never really have it easy and never give up on trying. Never really compromise and always hope. India- she aspires to inspire, just like the middle class.

The Crowd...

2009-06-22T04:44:00.001-07:00

It was a Sunday afternoon. I walked the scorching streets of Dadar, from the place I live to the station. Behind the dark glares the day seemed to be just like the perfect weather of many Bangalore evenings. And I found myself believing the illusionary vision of the romanticized climate. The streets had few people, I presumed. Today was probably a day for the people to be indoors, a holiday, the heat and the family. Enough reasons already I had stated for the unusual spectacle. The concept of staying home on a holiday rather than go out has ironically been more welcoming than ever to me.

All my reasoning turned out in vain for I saw the scores of unfamiliar faces which was a familiar sight in Mumbai. Still, I didn’t admit to myself that I may have jumped the gun in drawing assumptions; I am pretty good at lying to myself if not others. The moral obligations apart, I still enjoyed the sight of the long queues and the scores of people throwing awkward and stoic glances. I don’t know why I enjoy it. There were people brushing past me with a vengeance for the space I occupied in this scanty city. Someone slapped my ass; I presumed it was the crowds jostle rather than an intention. I wanted to hold on to the thought that unlike the city I love the most (Delhi), this was the place where there was some respect for woman, or perhaps no time for such despicable acts.

I saw huge lines at the ticket counter. One of the counters was closed, so I justified my stand of “relatively less crowd” with the closed counter hence seemingly more people. But as soon as the counter opened I could not decipher how the milieu changed. More uncountable heads swarmed the counter before I could think of shifting and getting my ticket more quickly. The gentleman behind me was active in abusing everyone cutting the line. The lady in front of me joined in unison for the public service. Two men were noting down a number from a half torn notice before the third counter. “Make Rs. 5000 to Rs. 25000 per monthly doing nothing! Enroll and pay just Rs. 750”; ‘poor suckers!’ I wondered and in same line found myself believing some good in the world-what if the poster was genuine? The woman in front of me smiled after her success in procuring her ticket and the man behind me continued to curse the people who had long gone breaking the line and buying the ticket.

The ladies special was a brightly colored compartment. After much deliberation I got into it hoping its not first class, because the penalty for traveling first class without ticket would’ve cost me the entire amount in my wallet. The Marathi threw me off balance when it came to guessing the class, ‘darn regionalism!’ I wondered again. A guy with hair clips came on board at the next station. The clips danced around in his stand like a little girls new polka dotted frock. Only it was colorful this time (I always imagined red). The cheap plastic could not pass off for an expensive looking and cheap buy clip, so I refrained. Woman flocked and got all colors. There was no way to know whether they had paid for the same or not, but I could differentiate from the faces who thought they got a good bargain to the ones who thought they didn’t. The woman (who was in front of me in the line) smiled again with a handful of clips, as I looked on.

Suddenly I was thrown off by the horde that pushed in the next station. A poor old lady barely made it in and a younger woman was screaming at her “tere baap ki train hai jo itna time legi?” There was no remorse with the lack of respect and I sniggered at her curtness. The old lady weakly protested and then sat on the floor of the train, away from the purview of her glare. A child screamed bloody murder as the crowd squished it. He coughed, nearly puked, and cried his eyes out. The only assuring words his mom could give were the station will come soon and they will get off. The thought that came instantly to my mind was I would be able to afford a car and a driver for my child. She looked in my direction and started talking, “he feels disgusted with the crowd, how can one tolerate so much right?” The curt woman looked on with disgust, I smiled sheepishly to her question and the woman before me smiled again. With every smile there was something she said- “Finally got the ticket”, “this is a good bargain”, “what does she think you can possibly say?” Somehow I felt I was right when I interpreted and I felt there was a friendly face among the unfamiliar.

Everyone fought for every inch and the exit was blocked. I threw a question in the air “Is kandiwali the next station?” “Yes dear”, replied the old lady. “But you are standing at the wrong gate” “Just my luck I thought!” and the smile in front of me reiterated my words. I struggled to get past but people were already having their individual fights to get to the door. My bag almost got whisked away, my clothes on the verge of being ripped, thank god for my tied hair else god knows what would’ve been their plight. I don’t know why I still felt amused, though I let out a desperate “Shit!” The curt woman stepped forward, pushed people and screamed “Cant you see people are trying to get out! Move out of the way!” I looked at her and smiled, “Thank you”, it meant

Getting off, the smile never left me. The local has always amused me for the people in flocks I see. Every smile, every face has a story I can concoct and an after thought that reflects a part of my past, present and future. The crowd never ceases to amuse….

If i could feel a prick....

2009-06-17T23:09:00.001-07:00

The beggar in rags calling out to all
Painting a dour portrait to those who see
Some feel pity and some snigger in disgust
I look intently, so I can really feel

I look at the sky and the melting clouds
As blue and wistful as her eyes
People in awe look onto her gliding
I look intently, for I wonder why

If only I could suffer the pain
If only I could feel the love
If only I would dream and devour
If only I could feel a prick

A child smiles and the lady croons
She looks to hold the hand stretched
Shedding a tear that reflects her smile
I look intently and decipher

The rain pelts down in a sudden rush
I hear people laughing, cursing and thanking
I stand beneath the pour and the push
I look intently at the drops that pat

If only I could suffer the pain
If only I could feel the love
If only I would dream and devour
If only I could feel a prick

I walk along the aisle, a step and two
I seem to have gone back for I see
The dance, the songs, the tears, the smile
The scream, the love, the hate

I felt a prick, I felt the prick
And it feels a little distant
Will I ever feel the pain another time?
Will I ever dance in the rain?

The Stage...

2009-06-16T02:28:00.000-07:00

I remember the stage. I remember it very clearly. The top 14 were competing and all of us from my college had qualified, out of hundreds. The day before, was a self doubting session of whether I in particular would make it to the list of finalists. It had taken me a lot of hard work to get close to that place, that stage.

When the final list came out it was no surprise to the people who knew me. It was a pleasant one for me. The next day had its series of confusions and frustrations but when I went on that stage….I was in love.

It was stark dark. I couldn’t see anyone. The judges, the audience, the people I loved, just a light shinning in front of me, almost divine. It blinded me with a lot of comfort. The comfort that made me just be with myself and understand what I was singing. The music and the love for it….

I have sung this song a million times since I started competing in college, to the level that I started being called “Hero” or Mariah Carey (not that it hurt). But that day, that moment, I felt what I haven’t felt about myself in ages. I felt complete.

I have sought that feeling from a lot of things and people in vain over the years. And when I sit back and think of that moment on stage- pitch dark but a light of thousand moons, I feel a rush. It is the same rush that comes as an assurance that I don’t need to search anymore. My conquest begins and ends without much ado. There will be things and people I will always need, but the stage will welcome me with arms that I want to embrace like no other. The arms that make me feel, so full of myself. It is the best feeling.

“Lord knows…dreams are hard to follow
But don’t let anyone…take them away…
Hold on, there will be a tomorrow
In time, you’ll find the way…”

The Monkey and The Crocodile...

2009-05-13T07:07:00.000-07:00

Ever read the Panchatantra tale of the friendship between the monkey and the crocodile? Back then it used to amuse me only on the grounds of the talking animals involved, the rose apples and ofcourse the name of the crocodile- Ugly Mug. I remember that I and my brother used to have a good laugh at that.

The reason that I write about my love for this story now is only because I have understood the moral of it. The monkey, an herbivore befriends a crocodile, its predator. Despite the obvious danger to the monkey, the friendship blossoms until one day out of his wife’s request the crocodile complies to her fancy of having a monkeys heart. The presence of mind of the monkey saves him but the moral remains- “You can’t change the inherent nature of a being”

The crocodile by its very virtue is a predator. The nature had made him a flesh eating being and the monkey one day was nothing but flesh to him. It doesn’t make the crocodile malevolent or the monkey dumb (maybe it makes the monkey a little dumb for being hopeful- I am still battling that perspective), it just transpires to what we call "Mother nature".

The analogy that I draw from this brilliant story is that you come across people who are like the crocodile and the monkey with each other. It takes a lot to accept the inherent nature of a being. To accept it as a part of him/her even though it is at conflicting ends with what you believe in, is a challenge. Generalizing the statement here, for a man it is mostly just about sex but for a woman it is hard to dissociate herself from the mental association to the physical intimacy- SHE mostly calls it making love. It doesn’t make the man a predator (in negative connotations), it just brings forth the fact how nature made him. It can also be like shopping for most women, a futile exercise as coined by most men.

If you are aware of the obvious repercussions of being with someone who is at conflicting ends with not just who you are but what you are, be prepared to escape and accept. The monkey in the end doesn’t shed a tear for the crocodile (however the crocodile does) for he realizes that the crocodile only conformed to how nature made him, what he is.

This post is inspired by my rendezvous with the crocodile. It made me think that each of us is a monkey and a crocodile to someone or the other. Rather than hoping (like the monkey) accept the monkeys and the crocodile as who they are, not what you want them to be…or even better watch from a distance, admire their existence and their contribution to the food chain.

And What is Love...?

2009-05-07T22:43:00.000-07:00

Been through a plethora of romantic movies with over dramatic characters and also the movies which I think resemble my own story, been through texts and quotes and prose and poems that have made me think and reminisce some cherished times but at the end of it what is love…

Love is kind, it doesn’t envy, it doesn’t pride….I forgot the rest of the text because it’s too good to be true. I may come across as a cynic here but I have started to believe love is a mere feeling of wanting companionship. It is a manner in which you associate yourself to a purpose. The purpose could be of pursuit, achievement, coming out stronger or perhaps just a shift from the monotony that you are living through. It is obvious that everyone has his own paradigms when it comes to defining the concept, some say it is fuck up of the mental anatomy while others say love is the best medicine (I heard it was laughter)

I have heard so much about love that I can’t concoct a definition of it from all that I have. It is also region specific. For instance, when I see Indians, I see them using this word more loosely than anyone ever can. “I love you” is more of an “I have now this part of my life figured out, what a relief and let me see what else I can do”. For those of you who have a habit of taking things personally, your definition is the right one and don’t bother to read on (again this is directed to us- Indians). What I gather from the “west” is a different picture. They say it as carefully as they can and it is a big deal. The incongruity here is that in both cases there are screw ups. Is screw up a part of it? The romantics please suffice an answer that is not- it doesn’t matter, what matters is you felt it for someone.

In my experience I have never been in love. I have thought that I am though, every time to maintain the sanctity of what I am feeling. To give the other person some respect as well. But every time I have used this sentence it has pricked a part of me to say it loosely (I am as Indian as Indian can be). From pursuit to wanting a change, it has been all but never the right one.

I guess you don’t need to know what it is. You don’t need to define it anyway, I mean for whom? It is scary to some because it is so personal. Everyone I know wants to know what it is and some arrogant souls believe they know….helps them settle. But you know it is love only when you have the guts to ignore the chaos, the need to figure out things and be patient. Let it settle, and not settle with it. May love find all mankind….

The Shelter

2009-04-08T01:42:00.001-07:00

It was a hot afternoon and it started to rain
Struggling with the patched raincoat, she ran in vain
Beneath the shelter she adjusted her vision
She welcomed the imposed halt amidst her mission

The shelter spilled water, drops fell on the face
Trickling down like a tear drop leaving its trace
She looked up at the thatched roof, a dry brown
Collecting several pools, waiting to come down

She prepared for the predictable downpour, juggling it
Standing enveloped, taking every space, trying to fit
The shelter was a make shift solace, but comfort she sought
Not money for a fancy umbrella she could’ve bought

The rain stopped to pour, the roof did not
The pool of water, her raincoat fought
She looked up the sky, she wore a smile
She saw the rainbow stretch for a whole mile

The Secret

2009-03-03T03:39:00.000-08:00

The morning breakfast discussion in office often brings out the best of the momentary topics, the ones you get amused with and forget. Some preach, some laugh at the mindlessness of the jokes cracked, and some just well plain listen. During one such session today, over a Dosa and a Sambar that would give a south Indian foodie like me extreme facial contractions, they discussed of the “secret”

Apparently there is a document floating in office that outlines a set of things you should do to live with a happy disposition. The word document printed and pinned on the desk of many is called the “Secret”. One of the things in it is the fact how you should let things be. Believe that they will come true or maybe believe in something that will help you settle in your head. The wait and believe and watch concept.

I am not a fan of preachy writings, self help books because I look at ‘helping the world’ with a little skepticism. I would never like to read one and acknowledge the smart ass, but instead write one. So while everyone is a fan of this document I snicker at the very mention of it. Call me high maintenance or more.

It may be contrary to what I typed in above but I always believed that God communicates to me in his way. From a road sign sticker to a driving school name he has had ingenious ways to tell me the next thing in store. Lately I have been literally losing marbles over a lot of things I have no control on. The word patience was not really induced in my dictionary and was taught by his almighty over a series of episodic stickers and break bumpers. So when I was on the path to losing my mind over all things that were being thrown at me to catch and keep, I got to know of the “secret”.

I know the fact that when you wish to listen, everything makes sense. Everything comes as a message from the beyond. So when people kept talking of patience and stories of people making it in life with that gift, the document which read the do’s and don’t of life with the word patience being glorified, my closest friends telling me to let it go and some of them being pissed off at me for not letting it be, I got it (execution is still in the nascent stages). The things which are beyond the control, by their very nature can’t be controlled. When you know there is no amount of effort from your part that is required and just indifference, let it be.
So next time you feel your world is crashing down with questions like why now and why me and what more in your head, pray. He will tell you let it be. Until next time my reader, I am on my way to pin the secret to my wall….

Dancing in the dark....

2009-03-02T02:30:00.000-08:00

She walked on the aisle with the anklet in place
In a blood red dazzling dress and a painted face
The darkness engulfed but she stole the spotlight
She saw the nothingness around but she shone bright

The music echoed her thoughts, her steps went off beat
The anklet shone in the light sliding down her feet
She held out the hand, she assumed a crowd gathered to see
She wondered if someone held the hand, how it would be

She wished for the light to shift focus for a while
So she could see the faces of the darkness smile
She longed for the story that the music behind recited
She kept dancing in the dark with no candles ignited

She started to feel tired, her legs begin to strain
Her heart begin to ache, she felt the shooting pain
She could hear the anklet implore, urging her to dance
Till she could see the face in the dark, or perhaps a glance

She didn’t know how, she didn’t know just how
The music would cease to exist, and she would finally bow
With a thunderous applause welcoming her to the new light
She would know the difference between the day and the night

The tears smudged the paint, her face bled her sorrow
She had believed the palmist, she had believed the tarot
She couldn’t stop to dance, her lips synced the song
Till she fell on the floor, after another hour long

The music played still, a lifeless self began to pant
Upon the floor where she could see her tears land
With the music fading away, the applause came its way
Her misery had become a spectacle, she became the star that day

You Got to do what you Want to do...

2008-12-11T21:03:00.001-08:00

Every morning when I get up I don’t get the motivation to do so. It is as if I can go into a prolonged state of unconsciousness and not care of the outside domain that surrounds the lethargic me. I have a well paying job; I have a good place to live, friends around, people around, the necessary dose of action and drama but yet the motivation is absent, almost as if obsolete

What is it that takes one to get up every morning and look forward to the day with the momentary lapse in between? Someone once told me that you make an effort towards the things you want to do, and that effort doesn’t seem like hard work if you really love it. After all, the things that you love, you make a conscious effort to protect them and nurture them. So the necessary question is do I love the things around me enough to protect them from lethargy and prevent them from jading?

It is not about the people really, I love them all. But since all things are about me, the necessary question that arises here is also about me. Music is something I love. Singing to my hearts content and hearing the praises gives me the greatest high. Until recently I thought I must not love it enough, because I don’t pursue it with gusto, I don’t put in an effort to better the areas I know I am not good at. But something changed. I don’t know if Bombay did it, or being away from the people I love did it, or wanting to focus all my thoughts on one thing did it (because in the course of it I realized that my focus should shift), but here it is on the blog: I feel motivated with music.

I wish for everyone to realize what motivates them. In the course of pursuing it, you may come under the magnifying glass and be diagnosed of being selfish. The fine balance is anyway a distant reality. But today I don’t really care. I shouldn’t and I am motivated enough not to. Maybe I meet my expectations, maybe I don’t, but about time I induce a word called try in my dictionary.

Are you happy?

2008-12-03T23:32:00.000-08:00

Over the years there have been many questions in focus in each of our lives. The answers that we have furnished a couple of years back are mostly in stark contrast to what it is now. Call it the age, call it affluence or influence. Here is a question to my mind that witnessed a set of different answers over the years. It may not be in tandem to what the likes of you would have furnished and judging by the fact that it is a momentary question frankly, it’s hard to generalize it…but here goes

Are you happy?

4 yrs- Yes

7 yrs- Yes, if I get my candy

13 yrs- I wish I had someone else’s life

15 yrs- I wish I was older

21 yrs- Maybe

28 yrs- Maybe not

35 yrs- hmmmmm

45 yrs- What???

55 yrs- Sure….why not….maybe…but why not

70 yrs- it doesn’t matter….

At 25 yrs, 4-12-2008, 1. p.m- I can’t answer this with a single word or a sentence….hence a blog that still leaves this question in the ambiguous state. Let it be….

Simply not just music....

2008-11-26T03:19:00.000-08:00

When all the elements mix up in the perfect proportion one gets the magical essence of what we can call heaven. For me, this effect is ringing in my ears with Rafi, S.D Burman and Majrooh Sultanpuri. And this takes me on a whirlwind ride where I am lost admist the notes and I feel elated with the euphoric feeling his voice evokes.

I was wondering about the stark contrast in terms of the musical eras, the sixties and the seventies were definitely for the die hard romantics, subtle yet articulate. There are so many songs that speak the exact words that one would feel from time to time. The hopeless lover serenading his lover and she can’t help but be coy and sheepishly smile, that’s the image I get. The seventies were more for the ones who looked at other aspects than love, the roti kapda makaan logic. The male was more of a chauvinist, a stark contrast to the blind in love man of the yesteryears who was the more expressive one. Songs were not about wooing the woman in focus and if it was it was demanding in nature, as if it was his right. Not quite like Rafi who would be humble. The 80’s and 90’s I believe was the hopeless era not just for the romantics of my kind but also music (obviously exceptions are always counted out). To put it crudely…it sucked! And most of the current lot continues this legacy. In terms of music and lyrics though, the songs are more about the “we” than the “I”. Nothing wrong in that ideology, except when I listen to a “Aise tho na dekho..” and a “khuda jaane kyo”…I smile at the former and I feel like stretching my arms and dancing at latter, in other words….the feeling is communicated and transpired much better by the former….”Tum hume roko phir bhi hum na ruke…Tum kaho kafir…fir bhi ese jhuken…kadme nazuuke ek sajda ada ho jaye…:)”

My hangover because of the extra shots of songs sung by Rafi is quite evident. There is a song for every mood. Not quite like the usual sentence that we furnish these days, “Words can’t express what I want to communicate to you” doesn’t hold water here. The lyrics were brilliant and music was in tandem, and when you have singers like Mohd. Rafi, Kishore Kumar, Manna Dey, Lata Mangeshkar, Geeta dutt etc etc, you can put the soul in music. To me, listening to Rafi is like my hopeless romantic singing to me- “Mere Mehboob mujhe meri mohabbat ki kasam…”, “jeeya oo..jeeya kuch boldo”, “Ehsan tera hoga mujhpar..”, “dil ka bhawar kare pukar…” (gosh there are too many!), listening to him is like reiterating what I feel “Aaj mausam bada beiman hai…”, “yeh dil na hota bechara…”, “Pukarta chala hun mein…”. The wonderful part is it’s not just his voice; it’s the ambience that all the elements of the song create, make belief but so real. Nothing, no era beats it!....I am in love…:)

It's a funny funny world...

2008-11-18T22:29:00.000-08:00

You sip your morning coffee at your desk
You think of working a lot, while at rest
You get paid for a job undone
While the other slogs his ass with no fun

You feel you are wasted so you work your mind
And the places you see, you can’t say “its mine”
The real in contradiction, mocks at you
And the unreal moments diminish to a few

You start saying “anyway”, to all things you talk
But living it in your mind, it helps you walk
The two minutes of work, make you feel great
And before you realize you hate it, it’s too late

Flirting with the freedom, struggling to take care
Occasions where you feel pampered seem rare
Envy of one’s eye, she exclaims “I wish I had it like you!”
And you are left to answer whether you’d still be you

You have a dream, someone else follows his
You stay put when you know the things you miss
There is so much you want to do, so little you can
Time passes painfully, time slips like sand

Irony underlines your time, irony mimes it well
You may not word it perfect, but you have thoughts to sell
It’s not really a rough ride, but the ride is whirled
You can’t really laugh, but it’s a funny funny world.

Till Death do us apart...

2008-11-14T02:41:00.000-08:00

It is not new that movies and books stimulate a certain thought process, something specific and profound. For me it is just the movies because I don’t read at all, and the movie in question is Almost Famous. There is a particular scene wherein the characters in the movie are flying to the next concert destination and come into rough weather. Almost believing that they won’t be able to make it, each starts to articulate his/her last words quite bluntly, almost to the brink of it being a blasphemy in the book on social conduct.

Now, the thought that followed the hilarious rendition of “What I feel about each of you in this plane where I am dying” was something like this. If we knew that today was the last day of our lives, will we be the same? All of us look forward to change, but a drastic one at it just alters and accentuates everything we do or feel. Specifically in case of being in our death beds, what are the things that we would say…to the world, to our world or to people who just happen to meet the same morbid fate that we are destined to.

When I talk of myself (because this is how it always is), I imagine three situations: one being in the plane, one getting a whole day, with the will to go anywhere and to anyone and one having the world to hear me. First of all I will absolutely make sure I am dying and there is no way I am going to get lucky (?). Because frankly there are so many things I want to owe up to and so many secrets in the closet (the key to which even my closest friends don’t have), that if by chance I survive that fate I will have to kill myself anyway. I will be like the drummer (in almost famous) who screams “I am gay”, and the plane gets past the rough weather that very minute and they survive (I am not saying I am gay here for the record). He wishes the plane would have plunged and killed all of them. It is like someone you really believed in, cheated on you.

Back to the plane. Keeping in mind that this could easily come to the notice of people who I hate and who irritate the crap out of me, I will tell them that instant that they do. I will probably not tell the people I love that I love them because that’s understood (and I have very less time to articulate my thoughts the last time). I will talk of the things that I wanted to do and want to do because sometimes I don’t word quite what I desire. It can be completely contrasting at times. And I will probably say that I don’t care where these people go from here but I want heaven.

In case of a whole day I guess half of it will be spent in indifference. Some part of the first half will be spent in telling the people I love that times up folks and I will invite a selective few to my house to have the last talk (now this is to my friends: please don’t ask me if you are in this list, because my answer to you is going to be I am not dying today). Now what I will say or do with them is subject to just one thing: me dying.

In case I get to address the whole world and they are made to listen to me, I will sing. Just sing and hope I die before the tiredness shows in my voice. I will sing my songs with everyone and just my songs, as well.

The things typed in above are nothing but a rough description of my last day on earth. Maybe my last words will be nothing but I hate yogurt or perhaps something profound like I lived…but whatever they are I don’t know now, because I don’t know if today’s my last day. None of us would be able to answer the above question anyway till they really know. But hypothetically this question just reminds us of our dark secrets and it reminds us of the consequences to live with them when you no longer burry them and instead voice them. How would it be like to live after you say “I am gay”. Death can be quite liberating it seems. For now, today, my secrets remain with me and not for anyone’s ears, till say…death do us apart.

Mi Casa...

2008-09-29T21:54:00.000-07:00

When I buy my house how is going to be...

A two floor small bungalow with open spaces in front of the house.
Ground floor: a kitchen, , drawing room, the extra room, a hall, store room and a closet room with shoes and winter clothes
1st floor: entertainment centre, guest room, master bedroom (all rooms have attached bathrooms)
Favorite room in the house: entertainment centre: no furniture in it, no fans in the room (only AC) and on the roof music notes is stuck. All walls colored a different color and white floor (not pure white). One wall: a huge shelf where all my music CD’s, movie DVD’s and sitcom DVD’s are kept, with few books. There are bean bags and a mattress with a lot of cushions (bright colored). The room has dim and bright lights. On the wall in front of the seating a huge LCD screen TV is present. There is a side table very close to the ground where a laptop (with headphones and charger) is kept, right next to the mattress. The table has an extra shelf where magazines (MAD and some comics from the shelf) are kept. On the third wall on the right there is an acoustic guitar on the wall.
Master bedroom: A big bed with mattresses that soak you in when you fall on them (read extremely fluffy and soft), bright sheets and matching pillow cases (never had that) and two big pillows and two small cushions. Side table with a reading lamp and lots of drawers. One single color of the room that is one of the colors of the entertainment centre (a light mellow color like lime yellow). On the left a long sofa with cushions and on the right a dressing table with a full length mirror. Right next to the mirror a huge closet with clothes and multiple shelves. Bathroom of the master bedroom will be big and have a bath tub. The balcony of the master bedroom will have a single seating swing and few plants.
Drawing room: black wood furniture with square table in the middle. The room will bear a sophisticated look with nice vases and curtains. It will primarily be black and white in color.
Kitchen: obviously ventilated and should have air cupboards and shelves for the gas cylinder and the dustbin. Nothing is kept outside. Labeled containers with the contents specified. Color of the kitchen could be brown (again one of the colors of the entertainment center wall) the rest of the plan in process

This is going to be my house. I see I haven’t planned the other rooms but that will come to mind soon. I need two refrigerators on each floor and the one in the first floor would be stocked with beer . I hope I make enough money to live here. For now I am living it in my head

Reality Bites....

2008-09-29T03:50:00.000-07:00

“The sweet taste of the apple of the Eden,
Oh the vision of the eternal bliss broken
Should I have tasted the fruit that ended the ignorance?
For reality is in stark contrast to the garden where I was born”

Escapism is a critical subject that invites mockery and insult. “You are an escapist” is not really a compliment or a no meaning laden sentence like “You are wearing red today”. We invite the momentary escape, into the world of music, movies, drugs and booze but if it is incessant and a way of life you are in for some serious damnation.

These days it’s just become far easier to seek comfort in the arms of the technologically engineered Garden of Eden. You put on a TV and vent your frustration watching other person’s misery on a reality show, you switch on the computer and chat and mail random people and imagine a perfect Hindi cinema story, you have an iPod, FM, an mp3 etc and you imagine the clouds, the color ringlets, the stars, the all. You got DVD’s, CD’s and movie theaters are now mostly a place to make out or be among the crass crowd and cross out “5 eccentric things I did” from your “things I will do” list. We are so wired in, that the infinitesimally small bytes of reality…ummm well bites!

There are a significant number of people who don’t like the standard things they are given, the one thing that tops the list is a job. Most of us know what we don’t want to do. To the people who tell me that it’s a great feat knowing what you don’t want to do because it is half the battle won, well I call this half the Eden and the other half reality. They don’t balance each other at all. I call this state the Eden because it takes me an ample amount of effort to act, after knowing what I don’t want and I am content with hey I am half way there. Leaving the one thing that I don’t want and pursuing what I want takes a lot of effort. The logics call it weighing the things, the extremist call it cowardice, and I call it being the pendulum.

When you hit a certain age where it is expected out of you to grow out of the fairy tale of a knight in shining armor or the stud in the Porsche 911, reality dawns on you, the reality of being alone. Even God put Adam with Eve (yes the people who screwed it up for us mortals and resort to cheap thrills such as big boss and Monika Bedi’s unfortunate life) because he knew that no matter how much ignorance you are born with, or the indifference that you can beautifully execute, this probably will be something that you wont get over with. The feeling of wanting to have sex…I am kidding…companionship. So you go through the matrimonial. Coms, the “wanted fair tall thin educated” sections of adverts, in the hope of finding the prince charming. Fair and lovely picks up sales this time because they are your key to the dream.

Freezing certain moments in the camera, write what you feel, preserving the birthday cards, the video recordings of moments that felt great etc is something you go back to when you feel like. The time when you took a break from reality for a moment or for a while, and cribbed when it was time to go back. I like Karan Johars idea to make us feel better…kabhi khushi kabhi gum. Makes you appreciate the “Gum” because you believe that it makes you appreciate the “Khushi” more, escapism, illusion...call it all you want.

Holding on to the things that make you happy becomes a desperate attempt to stay wired in. As one grows older this feeling dawns on you even more strongly. You wish that Adam and Eve wouldn’t have screwed it up for you by eating that forbidden fruit (why the hell was it there anyway?) and you type in the words hoping that this idea will turn out to be a brilliant write. Life is structured this way; you have to live your own. Where does the question of escapism arise anyway then? You are after all living…you are just doing it your way.

The momentary lapse of the happily ever after….

2008-09-21T23:29:00.000-07:00

Have you ever felt the need to meet someone you connect at all levels and leave the moment with the happy thought of its existence? No bickering, no awkward silences, no escalated expectations…just a smile on the face. Imagine the first time you held hands, or the time when you coyishly put your hand around the shoulders of the girl you liked. The clumsiness that you portrayed seemed cute to her. The first romantic dance, the ridiculously romantic moment of chasing each other and falling down laughing or perhaps the “being pansy” in the eyes of your friends and saying I love you innumerable times. Sometimes I wish relationships were finite with all such moments collated together.

I for one do not know what love is, I am sure a lot of you will be all ready to jump the gun on my very convenient idea of it, but isn’t it supposed to be this way…convenient? I have been on a movie watching spree this weekend with an overdose of romantic movies that are definitely not clichés. Take for instance, before sunrise…two people meet on a train, feel the obvious spark, roam around a town strange to them (it adds to the romance that the city is Vienna) and talk all night. The movie is primarily about their conversation (extremely interesting) and how they come in terms with the fact that this perhaps is the moment they should go back with and live to cherish, for the rest of their life. They meet 8 yrs after is a different story, but would it be too much of a gamble to let go of the one person you met by chance (or fate for the romantics), just so you can leave it with a smile on the face?

I understand the need to have a fair share of sad moments, more so you appreciate the happy ones. If you keep having the happy ones with someone, you might get bored of that. But I guess you have enough moments of frustration on your platter, to incorporate the same in your love life. It is like the drum roll before the first kiss, it always excites you till you have had it and after the kiss, you crave for more and the more just kills it.

Alright let’s get inspired from another movie, what if you had the power to wipe out the part of the memory with your lover, once it started to deteriorate and start all over with the same person. Keep having the moments without the knowledge of having them again and again. Kind of an escapist attitude isn’t it? But what the hell…the incredible invention of the freedom of thought saves the day for me.

For those who are appalled with every passing paragraph, a question. Would you cherish a moment more when you know it is forever or would you cherish it more if you know it is going to end…someday? Two years of college, a significant amount of school life, a couple of years in your first job or 10 days with the one you love. A happily ever after for me is more of a deterrent, than tears of happiness in my eyes.

So as long as I am not ready for the social (read acceptable) definition of love, the happily ever after, I long for the person who I connect with and who understands the same I do (who said I can’t be greedy) or a memory wipe out clinic and meeting him again with all the firsts….the eternal sunshine of the spotless mind.

The Little Black book

2008-09-05T06:04:00.000-07:00

The mind held a million and the pen strived to word
When the lips sealed to speak and the voice wasn’t heard
In a pocket the words fit, in a pocket they were read
For in the same pocket, the little black book was kept

Every realm of the mind, of the world, his world
The pages turned to unveil, all that was unheard
It looked the size of insignificance but not in real
For all thoughts were in it, all that one would feel

It wasn’t fancy, the book, nor was the writing in it
The grammar and the sentences inside, did not fit
It was too personal a statement, personal a story
Beautiful in many facets and in parts gory

He wouldn’t visit the black book, for it wasn’t to see
It was a vent out of the moments that used to be
In secrecy was it pledged, an unsaid hiding place
His mind was the locker and the key was lost in space

How old did I get?

2008-07-31T22:45:00.000-07:00

A lively discussion over coffee and a wicked brownie yesterday brought this question up….how old are we?

Logically 24...but then when did I start to feel the change? When did the days of throwing tantrums go…or the ones when I sought to be constantly pampered and no one dared to tell me “grow up”. When did I stop looking at cute guys and started getting attracted to the smart ones, when did I start getting offended at men being chivalrous in an obvious way and when did I start to use the sentence “You need to think now” from “You need to chill”

When you qualify for being young, you don’t seek answers for a lot of things and settle for what you get. You know you are getting old when you start to re question everything, scrutinize it for its existence, justify your stand and then spend your time contradicting the justified point. “Old” is associated to being less strong, more lethargic…I guess this is where the energy is spent.

Spending hours on the phone with my boyfriend was a common practice then but now I would feel guilty of doing the same. It would make me think that “Man, do I really not have anything better to do?” Infact the very term, boyfriend, sounds like a sugar coated bubblegum romance threw up on me, and I think I should be more “mature”. Sitting idle in front of my computer since the past two days and doing nothing but whiling my time on Gtalk and listening to music has irritated me to the core. I look for work because I feel wasted. The constant need to make something out of what I call life is always there. I don’t know what I want really, because I am in the process of contradicting the many justified points in my life.

Friends were always there. Our fights were all about who calls and who doesn’t, well most of them. Now its understood if you cant call, if you don’t pick up the phone out of sheer laziness after a days work, if you think that they should understand and you don’t need to explain and if they ask for an explanation you can tell them to grow up and they buy it.

The other day a guy was hitting on me in office, which is a common practice for people “our” age in office. And all I could think was does he not know that he’s much older than I am. He is 29. A Mcdonalds or a Whimpy’s isn’t good enough anymore for a date, if it is, you are either ‘chilled out’ or a ‘cheap skate’. A weekend is more to laze, a silence holds more meanings (because you don’t have to waste the energy on talking), a hug or I love you is a rarity and when said and done, special. A day that would comprise having roadside food, getting sloshed and sitting at marine drive for hours in the rain would be “feeling young”. How old am I? well at least now I know why they say…”You are 24 years OLD”

The Empty Rooms...

2008-07-30T00:01:00.000-07:00

The empty rooms

A hollow room with open doors and the yellow piercing through
A comforting arm it seeks to reflect, searches for something new
The darkness engulfs, the loneliness screams, a silent player amidst
A secret it holds, a question it answers….waiting to unfold the fist

A house for the old, perhaps a playhouse, a dungeon to a killer in rage
Enveloping a thousand stories in the black, a thousand and one mysteries staged
In a fleeting glimpse I see them in motion, moving as fast as the train
A caged thriller beneath the scarlet clouds and wetted by the rain

A whisper in the lurk, an echo resonates, and I hear myself over
Many a life breathes in it, a fly in the web hovers
The leaf crumbles with my step and silence breaks, silence screams
Within the chambers, careful steps and I feel life bleeds

I concoct a tale of the knight in armor, a few horses put in
Imagination runs all directions and the world is set for a spin
A gulp I feel, a lump in the throat and the heart skips a beat
Far into the room I realize it’s time for me to retreat

The empty room calls me back and I turn around to see
The many knights who fought for it, the many kids it set free
And I walk back with a smile on my face and a thought to sell
Silence is golden for I learn; the empty rooms have a lot to tell

We Shall Dance...

2008-07-29T23:59:00.000-07:00

The clouds in the sky drawing a picture
The winds humming our favorite song
With the waves in chorus or perhaps a harmony
We shall dance, all night long

The endless diamond sky, the moon overhead
Shinning and sparkling, mirrored by the blue
Our heaven below and his above
We shall dance, to songs plenty not few

And I will listen to your heart beat closely
And I will look into your deep brown eyes
The me I love, they will reflect
We shall dance and the time will fly

As you will take my hand into yours
My face will bear the tilted sky
A moment so quiet but plenty said
We shall dance, just you and I

The candle may blow out in the wind
The moon hiding behind the black
But the music shall go on forever
We shall dance, the moon will shine back

You orchestrate a choir singing my song
And I word it effortlessly and soon
A starry night will be blessed with it
Someday, we shall dance to our tune….

The third love of my life...

2008-04-28T04:06:00.000-07:00

The saffron colored Jalebis on the sidewalk straight out of the hot oil or the Jamuns that make your mouth go purple and you can’t stop yourself from pointing your tongue to your friends thereafter, the cola bars and Limchus (that’s lemon bars to those who don’t understand the lingo) or the Kulche wala who gives extra Chole if you smile at him (I am not sure if guys get treated the same way). This post is about the third love of my life….roadside food.

To those who are intricately woven into the high end spectrum of luxury, to who the concept of road side food is dirt laden diseased lump of colored goo, this post is an earnest appeal to look beyond the realms of logic. For love in any form is crazy in its inception, what follows it is logic, be it love for a man/woman or food.

I always had this ice cream man in my school (that was before the plush food corner called “Daffy’s” opened up in my equally high-end school and ruined the poor guy’s business) and I remember the innumerable cola bars I had from him and contributed to his sale. After a point monotony sunk in and I shifted to orange bars but I always looked for him after school to have that juicy delight dripping on my clean white uniform and then running after the school bus like a mad woman. Ahh…eternal bliss.

A good day would be to hang out with my equally eccentric friends at a place like Chandni Chowk, have the famous stuffed Parantha dripping ghee and the tall glass of salted Lassi or probably shop till I drop at Lajpath Nagar and have the Masala Ladoo at the junction with a glass of chilled Banta (that’s a drink)….yummmm…

It’s not really always about the taste you see. Sure it is unhygienic but the Indian stomach is made to bare that. I mean if we can eat all the DDT infested vegetables with pulses that have matching colored stones (of the similar size) that click when you eat, then THIS is a luxury you should not miss. The interplay of colors and the carefully orchestrated mix of ingredients with a dash of spices, and the subsequent melting of the food in your mouth, pretty picture?:) I love the fact that most of the road side food is consumed via our (unwashed) hands; it kind of makes it tastier for the mere fact that you are able to exercise all your senses to savor the same. Sense of touch, smell, vision and taste, its amazing how all the senses beautifully fit in to give you a relishing experience.

Apart from the amazing taste of the Pav Bhaji and the 10 bucks worth fruit ice cream of Dariya Gunj or the Sev Puri and Jelly cream of North Campus, it’s the memories they have given me. I somehow find myself in an induced state of stinginess, “chillar-pana” as we crude people call it, while I am eating my Tikki or popping the gol gappas in, that are bigger than my mouth. I would lick the last speck of that cream or the “chutney” and then attack the friend’s plate in between the laughter and innovative abuses. Is it just the taste of the food that makes me love it?

For me the road side food is my extended self. It makes me understand and appreciate the “smaller” things in life that sometimes hold more importance than anything on earth. It keeps me grounded, helps me go back to the “good old days” that our parents keep mentioning. It is a world that has the aroma of a place where I remain the child I was and the child I want to be in touch with.

The Candy Man

2008-03-25T11:57:00.000-07:00

A penny I earned, and the penny I saved,

For every grade I scored, for every promise I made

The candy man would come, at the clock of five

I saw the kids circle him, like bees on a hive

He came with a box full, which rolled around

The children with their riches, went round and round

The reds and oranges, colors of the rainbow

The wind carried music, when the whistle he would blow

I ran to the window side, just to catch a glimpse

He was the answer to all my fancies, and all my whims

The breeze smelt fresh, with the fragrance of honey

I wanted to buy the best sweets with all my money

I was the patient kid and I was Santa’s favorite child

Countless nights without the toys, I never sighed

A penny was all I wanted, to put in my piggy bank

To have that choicest candy about which Billy would yank

I would shake the pink animal, to hear the coins sing

Every time I put in a penny and shook, it would ring

Days passed into weeks, months started to come by

I kept running to the window pane, the candy man I’d eye

I believed in my dream, I believed it so much

To me it was a life, a life I could feel and touch

For I deserved the sugar drops, I was the good girl

The candy man was my pied piper, the candy my world

The day came, I no longer heard the coins ring

And upon breaking the pink animal, a joy it would bring

I ran to the window, this time a little faster

From the yearning little girl, I was now the master

Dawn broke into dusk but I didn’t hear the whistle blow

What took him so long, I did not know

Days also passed by, the wait was now longer

I wanted to cry out loud and stop being the good daughter

I wished to smell the fragrance, wished for the red one

All I did was watch the stars, and then rising of the sun

I assured myself that he was coming, he was just running late

And with hope I sit by the window, and patiently I wait

You...

2008-03-22T00:24:00.000-07:00

For the mouth that speaks, an ear to hear

For the eyes that see, a vision so clear

For the hands that seek, a hand to hold

For the words that lie, the truth being told

For the mind that thinks, thoughts making sense

For the dreams unclear, the magic lens

For the love that’s written, a love true felt

For the words furnished, a heart that melts

For the forever that’s happy, a new beginning

For the life that’s started, the perfect ending

For the myriads that exist, a myriad to follow

For the questions so broad, a solution as narrow

For the music that plays, lyrics arranged well

For every heaven to appreciate, a tamed hell

For the cold winter nights, warm memories few

For the not so perfect me, the perfect you

18-03-2008

2008-03-18T05:07:00.000-07:00

Flashback to a baby just born and I see her crying. The light that she witnesses for the first time pierces through her eyes and she looks for something familiar, someone to hold her like her own. My mom did I presume, because that’s the touch I would recognize anywhere and it gave me a meaning, my existence.

A couple of months down the line there is always a struggle to say the first words, to have the first walk and to smile in the company of the right one’s. I must have done that too, though I started talking so late that my parents feared I was dumb. I was the laughing stock of the house, the kid who never speaks, so my mom says. It was my grandfather who used to say that she will speak making sense and sing beautifully and that was the second most popular joke. Call it his foresight because like all normal children I did speak and like the gifted one’s I sang and I started to associate to things that sounded similar to me.

I was given a name amongst a lot of choices (and I am glad my grandfather picked this one because it was the best among them) and my identity was given a push. Like perhaps a dog may not understand the relevance of Tomy until conditioned into believing it’s his name and he comes running to you happily knowing that he is being called. I was conditioned too and my name gave my existence the exclusivity, that’s what I believe. My nickname made me happier because the sound of it made me feel pampered.

Schooling was an attempt to stand out, academically or otherwise, because my parents in the audience would gleam with happiness saying “There she is”, looking at me on the stage. I was recognized as the good singer and a good orator in school, until a time, it changed after a while. I was also the rebel in school, the naughtiest kid and then the loser on the first bench with no friends. I lived it all to look for the one world that truly reflected me and I found one. I also learnt a lot and it changed the “me” that I was, like the same learned friend puts it “learning is the fastest way to earn self respect”, I did quite a lot of that earning and learnt more about me.

And I am still learning. I learnt something valuable yesterday, that perhaps I am not some of the things that I firmly believed (or voiced) I was. I picked my friends (you can say vice versa too), I was given a family (a wonderful one at that), I was given an environment and I related to the things that got me closer to me. Why then was I choosing something that made me the person I fear being, the one who would compromise on being herself and jeopardize and distort the world that is hers’. One does do that, that’s when it is termed special in my case and such moments last for a special day or perhaps two. My attempt to have someone in my world made me almost distort it. I have done that before and I was too scared to realize it back then. I learnt it after getting “the kick”, but this time I was made to realize by the one friend who played his part perfectly. That was a moment that enlightened me in many ways.

When you talk of individuality, you look for things that define you. It may be your family, your friends, the one you love, to a certain extent, but it is primarily the person they accept you as. You have a twisted world of your own and the people you choose or get are the people of YOUR world, accepting you in your crooked ways. Why then do we accommodate things in our world (or people) so they fit? They can’t make your world any more special for the mere reason that they don’t accept you for the person you are. All my friends are different, I mean they aren’t alike. They represent the varied facets of my world and reflect that for me. I guess that’s why I look for immense space from them and maintain the bond over the years because I want to reflect the multi dimensions from time to time, not always. But over a few days (call it staying alone blues) I saw myself constantly being in touch with one facet of my world, reflecting on it and despite the much required break continuing to do so to the brink of accommodating it. Why? I don’t know. But I am glad I was made to look into other things that would define me, that exist as synonyms in my life. I would always be in touch with that facet as it reflects the “me” that I want to be understood as, but then I have more to me so I should look at the other facets as well.

The reason for this post is perhaps hard to understand because it is something personal but I am adding this last paragraph to put the many above in concise. When you make friends, be with your family or rebel, your reason for doing so is that you value your existence. The things around you mirror you and you like it that way, you end your life when you realize you have accommodated things to such a degree that the mirror image isn’t yours’. If everything boils down to you then why compromise. A friend in “love” with a guy I know makes innumerable efforts to fit into his world (and make him fit into hers), why? If he is the man of your world he will reflect you. I know mine does and I am happy that the things that exist in my world with the people, reflect me. The day it stops to happen my world will lose its meaning.

Preaching is anyone's business....

2008-03-13T08:04:00.000-07:00

The other day I was chatting with a friend on Gtalk, she just had a break up with her boyfriend of three years. I knew I wanted to help but I did not know how, so all I furnished were well constructed grammatically correct feel good sentences, and I was an angel in disguise that day. The reason why this so called help, in my words, invites sarcasm is because anyone can preach, be on the other side and furnish a “things you should do list”, and no matter how much mess you are in yourself, furnish the advice to the needy(?) one. I often get from my friends that “you should be a consultant”, well to the learned one in my life who said that consultant is a badly abused word, I agree with you my friend

Funny being an MBA I have an aversion for all books that preach, 7 effective habits, how to be a good manager, blah and blah and some more blah adorning the best sellers list. No offense to all those who have truly felt that these books have enriched their lives. Maybe you needed to hear the obvious at that time, for your belief faltered. All of us do at one point in time or the other, wanting to hear the obvious, but what is it that makes these books sell and not our friends who state the obvious all the time…”dude you suck!” , “I love you so much”, “this class is so boring”, “get a life!”…get a life…this sentence is the best consultant’s advice to everyone wanting to find answers from everyone but themselves.

It appalls me to see people worshiping other people. You can respect other people but not worship them. At the risk of inviting some pissed off comments on my blog (I know some people personally who would hurl the abuses) how can people worship Puttaparti Sai Baba (I don’t know if I am getting the name right) or all the ammas and babas in town who look at you smiling from a torn down sticker in a bus so crowded that makes you feel “God why can’t I get a chauffeur driven car?”. Just because they show you magic tricks or say “Aum” in a meditative manner and tell you to lead a virtues life? Well hello!!!??...worship all the magicians, the yoga instructor and read the religious books for the best preachings till date. I guess the thought of having our prayers answered the simpler way will even make us worship an ant! Hold religious gatherings, spend millions and be virtuoso by mind and not in deeds.

Does it take a super human to realize that preaching is anyone’s business? Each of us preach the things we hear from the other person and we believe because we agree. My friend did believe she deserved a better guy, the ardent follower of Amma in town believes that he should lead a good life and yes sound business communication skills makes you a good manager. The preacher, the one taking the supposed higher road, wants to believe the things he rendered through the pious incantation. “Everyone deserves to be truly loved and will find love in time”, I wanted to believe that when I preached that. I want to hear all that is obvious sometimes because sometimes stating it makes all the difference. Lines like “You are the best”, “I am so glad you are here” make all the difference and they don’t invite a prayer in their honor, just my smile. It doesn’t make them a consultant or another amma, just human…and human we shall be. So all you ardent followers of Stephen Covey and Baba Kishorilal....Please don't get offended, I was only exercising my right to preach and in turn believe.

Life....is your movie

2008-03-08T12:04:00.000-08:00

The first rays of the sun falling on my face, waking me up from the prolonged welcome state of unconsciousness, and I go about the day. With a song in my ears I walk towards the station to get on the crowded train, reach my destination only to work my ass off on things that probably don’t even matter. I stand at the centre of the crowd cracking mindless jokes and I hear the laughter that makes my day. I fight with someone who matters and cry over it, but a hug makes the whole difference, an insipid sorry perhaps and we are back to playing the role of friends. I have an exam and I cheat and score better than someone who studied and boast about it, despite being socially unacceptable at that time. I hear another friend yanking about her boyfriend and how wonderful he is and I fly into the world of imagination where I rule. Running towards the love of my life in a great outfit among the clouds and falling into his arms. With probably rage against the machine or Judas priest in my ears for the evening, I end the day thinking the numerous stunts that I will have to display to get home. Life…is my movie.

Ever wondered how your monotonous routine of getting up and then lying down again sounds like a great plan, a great direction. Everything centers on you, it is always your family, your friends, your work and your love. In other words you are the star, the undeclared hero of the amazing twisty plot etched out to be a masterpiece. It has the right amount of action and drama and corny sense of romance that will give Karan Johar a run for his money (take Yash Chopra if you want to make it sound classier). The different realms of world that you choose, add the spice. Music, movies and the internet, take your mind through an imaginative journey with background songs without dancers thrown in (you may dance and you choose to be the best at it too). Walking down the road with a song to hear you go into trance, thinking that the characters walking on the road around, who you don’t know, are so insignificant, if it weren’t for your eyes. Life is your movie.

Despite this exclusive role of a lifetime, why do we wish to play different roles? Why do we say “God, Why me?” why not you and if not, then who? Who else can play the hero as good as you do? You fit the role to the tee. You are in good hands after all; you can trust the director here. The people that are thrown in our lives, as whatever, have a role to play too and we get to decide their significance in the plot, or so He might like us to believe. There are some relationships that we make that have a defined scope, a special appearance. They make you feel good (or bad) and solve their purpose. Prolonging them makes the movie boring. There are some supporting characters that can be applauded with an academy, they are just absolutely brilliant! And there is always the hero or the heroine for you, with a supposed “this is the beginning” tagline.

Mould away into a fine actor, a fine tuner, who understands the gravity of his role. Be the excusive star and sometimes the Aamir Khan or Taboo, and play between the frivolous actor and the dramatic one. If it’s a movie, it has its fare share of action, drama and romance. You may never know what part of it may win you the accolades. Trust him and trust yourself, if you have chosen the script that is being directed by the ultimate director, it is bound to be a hit!

"La tristesse durera toujours"

2008-02-13T06:33:00.000-08:00

Beneath the star studded sky, a faint melancholy,
a song of heart or perhaps a mourn.
Happiness enriched, the breeze smiled,
a reflection of the countenance of her.

the silver streams harmonized
the breeze in tandem played
the song of her heart she felt in nature
and everywhere she wandered

For God has his words spread to the ears,
Some mouth the gnomic pronouncement
others feel and mime the pious chant
but she sang to hearts content...

but my dear, your songs fell
on deaf ears filled with noise of the world
I wish I could understand the sighs that
laced the sorrows and eternal bliss

You loved the world dearly
even when they forsook your soul
Your songs exuded the life
that they all frivolously lived

Your love made the mundane come alive
Your songs exemplified passion
Yet I can understand the agony accompanied
For a listener your heart sought

And with the songs you passed away
But in the songs you lived
For life in a different meaning you taught
To me and the world left behind.

Into the blue...

2008-02-13T06:04:00.000-08:00

The deep blue submerges the obscure, the plenty
I stretch forth my hand to dive in and be revived.
Time, comes and goes, and brings with it the nothing,
Washing my feet on the coarse shore...
and i look, stare as far as my eyes reach,
where the cerulean blankets the blue,
interplay of colors and merging within...and i wonder is it life?
Is it life...i look for?
Is it myself?
& i stretch forth my hands to fly into the oblivion,
Where the depth merges with the zenith.
the sylph frees me, or so i think..
but only enmeshes, like a sylphs' hair dancing with the wind.
& I wonder..the oblivion knowing no bounds, curtails my forlorn soul for what reason.
I wish i could dive in, fly...into the blue without certitudes,
for even forlorn to the eyes, I'll have myself.
For standing on the shore only begging, I have lost me.
Do i look for a soul as forlorn or a reviver?
Do i wish for a paint brush to fill colors to the limitless canvas,
or the canvas itself?
But standing, a hope flickers, someone in the far reaches is listening,
to the unsaid, the untold, the undone.