Replacement

I saw the tea tree oil
trickling down the side of the bottle
Must be expensive, I thought
And yet, you shrugged it off

The shoe had lost it's crystals
The ones that lined the strap
It was expensive I know
And yet, you pouted in nonchalance

Your silks, jewels and make-up
Lay scattered in different places
A shawl carried a spot of blood too
I was convinced that you'd lost your mind

And while you stood, arms akimbo, brows together
I wondered if I could even clean this mess up
You just asked if people had heard anything
And then went back to all the thinking

I had to find the broom myself; and the mop
I folded your things and arranged them neatly
And without a single slur of thanks or gratitude
You just left the flat, never to return

There I was, sitting on your couch
My hands folded neatly on my lap
I waited till the police came and found me
Sitting next to your lover's corpse

Got a problem?

It's not easy - playing an agony aunt. You have to be prepared almost any time of the day and have the answers ready. Saying, "I am not sure about what to say" doesn't go down very well with those who depend on you for the 'solution'.
I've played this role - for a long time too. I don't remember at which point it started but soon I was bearing secrets that were getting simply too much to handle. Maybe that is why I'm simply incapable of shedding all the extra weight; I mean where are all the secrets going to go?
A couple friend (at least they used to be friends) are going through a rather rough time. In fact, one of them is so rough that I'm surprised the other hasn't sued her for abuse. While I was privy to what was going on initially, circumstances found me an escape route and now I just sit back at nod gravely whenever I hear something from that department. Trust me, for once I am actually happy that I have NOTHING to do with them. An occasional hello at parties that are few and far between are fine by me.
Being friends is a difficult job - you cannot be separated from their problems because you are a part of their lives (if you're close friends that is) and whatever you/they do affects all those involved. Such is the troubles of having close friends.
For many years, I shied away from letting anyone too close. Recently, a young thing who is probably gearing up to make friends with me told me that I must have gone through too much pain as a child, facing betrayals and blah..blah..blah..
Well who hasn't had a few troubles in life? Mine are no exceptions but that hasn't made me Albert Camus' Outsider. I just don't feel like going through the whole circle of having to put up with different pains and then looking for ways to solve them because my 'friends' are simply too lazy or stupid.
I am glad I did that - because now, I have a few friends ( I can't count them on my fingers) whom I've very grateful for. I am glad I have them in my life and don't want to trade them for anything. They do come to me with their problems at time, but I don't feel burdened by them. We often laugh about it, talk about it and look for ways out together - which is absolutely the way I like it.
Sometimes, when I look back and think of all those people I'd truly cared for and how they chose to walk away from my life, I am glad they aren't there any more anyway. It used to be quite a bother - and in the fear of being totally 'friendless' I clung on to them when I would've given my soul to push them over the edge of a really tall building because all they did for the friendship was use my intelligence and pass it off as their own and in the process get on my nerves.
This of course, has passed! Amen.

Facebooking

I am on facebook. Have been on it for a while. Do I enjoy it- well most certainly.
Do I like the fact that I enjoy it? I am not so sure anymore.
One thing - it's addictive. And therefore, it initiates a lot of argument. And that can be annoying.
Secondly, I don't want to get into a food fight, bite vampires and zombies and try to race a non existent car (when in reality I can't even drive). But I do it all. Why? Because I think I must. It's psychosomatic disorder that makes me believe that my life will be incomplete if I don't 'check in to' my facebook account at least twice a day.
If you've taken the trouble to land here and actually read this crap - then you have the liberty to think I'm crazy. Go ahead. No one can stop you.
But you don't know what it's like. I need to know if my vampire is safe, or if someone has crashed my car, or if the growing gift is growing or not.
I also need to know if my friends think I'm better looking than 'X' or if I'm likely to sell my soul for a donut. And of course, I need to know if my friends would rather hang out with me or the girl who I'm not particularly fond of.
So dear friends, life is full of responsibilities.
And before I go hang myself for being so completely inane - let me tell you one thing... Facebook is god's gift to mankind. Here, we can be nice to people we actually hate or be rude to strangers without giving a damn...
Est bien!

The Boy

Many years ago, a time when there were no milestones
For me to record the things I remember in flashes
I met a boy. Rather accidentally I must say

It began with the letters we wrote to each other
Every now and then, on writing paper
Sealed in envelopes. Often coloured

The letters were like life's notes
That I regret losing. But they were cherished
And received with much love and affection

There came a time when I met that boy
Again, purely by chance. And perhaps providence
Had a little bit of a role to play as well

We connected. At least that's what I'd like to think
We didn't meet that often again. But continued writing
And now I realise, it was love

I haven't seen that boy in many many years
So much has changed since then, I'm even afraid
To face him, this way again

He lives in some other country. We see each other
Virtually and that too, so rarely that I can hardly breathe
When a slight hello appears on my screen

I miss that boy. Even though we can't be friends
The way I thought we were. A part of me continues
To regret losing him to the life that he chose

To be funny or not to be funny

One of the most important things I have to learn is to take a joke as well as I can dish it out. I've been told (and that too on more than one occasion) that I have no capacity to laugh at myself. I am not so sure about it though. Being the brunt of a joke and a bad one at that doesn't tickle my funny bone - so I can't laugh.

Coming to the point, I haven't used a public phone in a really long time. And to be honest, I was rather tempted to use one when I saw it right before me.. probably because at that precise moment I had two shiny one rupee coins in my pocket. When you're smoking and idling away, bad things happen to a wicked brain like mine. Am I nasty? Maybe.
So I made that silly call. And played a silly prank on a colleague that I shouldn't even think of playing a prank on, mostly because I have no clue of her capacity to handle in case it got out. Which, of course it did.
Stretching a bad thing too far, I even borrowed a ten rupee note from my friend and exchanged it for more coins and prolonged a conversation that I could've simply cut short while it was good.
I wasn't alone in this... but then again, I was the one who made that call.
So she was upset - terribly upset. And I wasn't around when the thing fell apart. In a way, secretively, I am glad I came in later and apologised.
Many thoughts came to me. "It was just a joke." "Why can't she take a silly prank in her stride?" "C'mon, she can't be crying over something as inane as this!" and such.
As defiant as I may be, I can't deny the tinge of guilt that I felt.
I've been teased - many a times - and to be honest, I can only put up with so much. Being bullied is not something I am used to and sometimes, I do lose my cool and react quite strongly.
It's not about taking a joke well, it's about saying, "So far and no more."
How does one stand being taken for granted? Is that what I did to someone else? Darn!

I am pretty okay with handling bad relationships. I think it comes with experience. Like they say - practice makes perfect?
But then there are some relationships, the ones that are neither here nor there that confuse me completely. And I'm bad with confusion. Earlier, I'd do something rather silly to get over that confusion; mostly indulge in rather flippant relationships to tide over the bad period. But now that I'm hitched... blah blah blah.. and that it should give me a sense of security and I should remain ever faithful.
I thought a good way to get rid of confusion (this time) is to get it out of my system.
I've been married almost five years. And no, contrary to what I declare most of the time, it doesn't feel like a lifetime - at least, not yet.
But I had a life before this. A life, which may not have much consequence to most people but it was a mix of the good and bad, like everyone else's. At least, everyone who's maybe normal. (Like me?)
I've had one really long relationship before that. It was, well, a little bizarre if I can put it that way. It brought me tremendous joy and I did experience sudden rushes of excitement and a more constant sense of happiness most of the time. But then it fell apart. Perhaps it was my fault, I am not entirely sure. Maybe both of us were to blame.

But I'm talking of a life before that. And one that ran in parallel.
A friend, (lover?) confidante, soul mate - someone who's been intrinsic to my life. Well, to be honest, I actually couldn't imagine that I would land up with anyone else. I have never cherished any relationship as much as I do this. In fact, I couldn't really cherish any other because of this one. In the end, well like all fairy tales I've imagined, this one didn't end up happily ever after.
There can be no happily ever after for us. Even if I were single.

He and I had made plans. Of a life together - without the slightest inclination of making it come true. Though deep inside my silly little head, I did want it all. But like they say, "you don't get everything you want."

To be honest, I didn't really want anything from him. And I still don't. In fact, i don't even want the friendship.
But what I also don't want is the way he treats the whole thing.
I don't like being treated as a trivial thing of the past. present. Or the future.
I don't like being told that I'm being 'unfair'.
I don't like being told that we can go back to being 'just friends' when we've crossed that fucking bridge like aeons ago.

I am not even expecting anything... then why the hell am I putting up with his nonchalance? And why the fuck does he take me for granted - after all these years. Or is it because it's been so many years?

I wonder...

never again

Now it is possible to survive without love. You don't need it. One, it doesn't exist. If you're getting bad sex, you'll fall out of love in no time. So, it doesn't exist. Two, it's very pointless, because it really doesn't put food on the table.

So, it doesn't exist. Point made.

Bong ha ha

I was reading this blog (www.thebangaloretorpedo.blogspot.com) today, thanks to my friend Sunayana, and thought it was rather hilarious. I think everyone should read it.
I came across this post on Bengalis, which I found to be the funniest I've read in a long time. And that brings to be the film The Bong Connection. Anjan Dutt tried real hard to get us bengalis to take a joke, to rise above our conceited selves and realise that we too, are as foolish as any other person from any other country or community.
There are at least few hundred million bengalis living in 'Bengal'uru.. They come here with the IT wave and settle down. They wear their Fabindia kurtas, drink scotch, talk sartre and tagore and eat 'machher jhol bhaat'. And they cuss like hell ( I won't say I haven't done it too). They talk about how Bangalore has no culture blah blah blah.
I don't like Bangalore as a city very much, but to be honest, it does surprise me every now and then in a rather pleasant way. I hate the auto rickshaws here, they cheat and they don't want to drive that goddamn thing most of the time. In Calcutta, we don't have an option, the auto guys ply like buses - fixed destination, fixed price.
I love that city, and that's because I was born there. I guess it would be true for any city I was born in. I love Mumbai too, I spent two of my best years in that place.
Why can I not fall in love with Bangalore? I have been here for four years and I still feel like a stranger at times. I sincerely wonder why!

Lies

I often don't know what to say to him. What do you tell someone you've known forever and yet cannot get used to?
What do you tell someone you've loved deeply and then walked out?
What do you say to erase the past in the hope of a fresh start? A start that will never be the way it used to be. A compromised restart.
What can you possibly say when you have so much to say that words fail you?
When is a good time?
When he is asleep? or busy with work? Would a letter do the trick?
What could you possibly do when he's a million miles away from you and time has managed to draw so many lines between the two of you that you have no way of knowing how to get over it.
Would you forget everything and let the memory serve its purpose? Would you allow a sliver of hope enter your mind? What would you look for? A lover? A friend?

Lies work. They are brilliant pieces of stories woven together to create this fantastic epic - of how it wouldn't have worked anyway; that he is totally not the kind of person you should be with. And I've lived that lie... everyday till it didn't make a difference.
And now, after so many years, I've allowed the truth to fade away. Now what I want is him, in some form or the other. It doesn't matter anymore. It cannot. But I would be dishonest if I said it is easy.

rather interesting... or not.

This is the latest comment on my blog and I think I will end this silly debate with this:

"Why am i still working here????Heard about bonded labour miss? Yep, corporate bonded labour in form of a bond signed at time of joining. Something which has a bottomline "leave us before 2 years and we take lacs; its a different story if u get fired though" And yeah miss Ed, u still need to know the ways of tech-corporate world. Would suggest u to do an "inside story" on exploitation by companies like mine which claim to work on lines of TATA code of conduct but flout it openly and use it to their convinience. This I'd say wold be a real journo work.And please do forward this to the HR. Thanks!! "

Yes, I do know of bonded labour.. when you have friends who go with the IT wave, you cant help but witness many fall into the trap of signed bonds. Put it to my ignorance (since I am not as educated or qualified as most and no company really ever wants to hire me, forget the bond!) but are most companies like that? I mean aren't bonds presented to the employee when the accept the offer. Why do people sighn the bonds then?

Dear writer, I am not really that unaware about what goes on in the tech-corporate world.. I do have a few friends and they aren't all journalists you know..
I was with a so-called corporate company for a while before I decided to come back to journalism and I know what went on there. and trust me, there was no blog to even vent out my frustrations...

anyway, I'd really like to put this at rest.. cos i figured one thing out.. We could be arguing on this forum or on the other, no one will do a damn thing about anything because people don't care. And people won't care till someone did something about it without expecting someone else to do it.. When I couldn't change things in my last two companies, I walked out... I was broke but I walked out because I didn't want to be in a set up that took advantage of me... thankfully, i found a job i like.. or else it would've been rather weird..
anyway, I wish you luck. I really hope you don't have to be a bonded labour for long and find your true calling ( i know it sounds a little fuddy duddy!)

And btw, I didnt form opinion on what the TEL guys told me.. It was a feature article and not a journalistic piece. I just wrote what they told me.. if you come and tell me that you have fun at work, I don't know why I should'nt believe you - then, I'd have to mistrust everyone.. What a life that would be!

Fun extended

Wow. First of all I must appreciate your writing/d... Wow. First of all I must appreciate your writing/debating skills to extend a matter to the extent of banning anything and everything. But then isn't that what you've been trained for?? :)

And it is understandable that a newpaper with a small subscriber base is bound to go with the highest bidder(read good money from Elxsi)

Something like in an auction; the novelty goes to the highest bidder.Rather than a journalistic work; it seems to be a marketing campaign with the bottomline of making money.Its seems more like "we pay u; u market us" still better "Pay us; we make you famous"Had it been a project with a journalistic approach; a passage about Elxsi could well be titled as "NO FUN ONLY WORK ???" This article clearly shows that u guys havent done ur home work well to take real inputs from employees; but rather from corporate communications guy(gal - gurmeet in the case) OR you people are all sold out to Elxsi(which seems to be the case)...But surely u ppl could have done up the fotoz better; they looked so staged.Best Regards,"Current" employee of TATA ElxsiName withheld as it could lead to I being fired tomorrow.

WOW! Double WOW! I never thought someone would take the trouble to read my blog... It's such a waste of time.. Anyway someone did.. And I am assuming it's someone who is kind of really mad that his newspaper doesn't come on time. Why don't people stop reading the papers if they are so annoyed with the print media? This I don't get. I can suggest at least one paper that's really good and that's the Hindu. Maybe this gentleman here should read that instead.

He also suggests that Elxsi paid Midday to get that feature done..I think he's a little confused between medianet and Midday. I know both start with 'M' but the similarity ends there.

I think I will forward this 'current employee's' mail to the lovely HR lady of Elxsi who told me that all the employees have a great time at work...

And no, I would hate it if you ever got fired... wouldn't want you to dabble with journalism, I say!

But my question is... why are you still working there if you're not having any fun at all?

Fun identified

I often search for blogs to read and this is what I came across today - http://the100rabh.blogspot.com/2007/08/what-would-you-do-if-traditional.html.
It is, in a way, rather interesting because it discusses an article that I'd written for midday a week or so back. Well, it's more of a feature for our fun@work segment. This gentleman seems to be quite upset about what I'd written, claiming that all the FUN Tata Elxsi claims to be having is absolutely untrue. Of course, he didn't bother to take in to consideration that the information I got, could've just, by chance, have come from them. But that's alright, I am right now just amused that someone can feel so defeated by the fact that some people from his ex company had fun while he didn't! Maybe what Elxsi told me was made up too, but then again, isn't he out of the company already, why should he really care?
Yes, ladies, gentlemen and friends, don't read any news paper. Midday, TOI, Deccan, Hindu, HT, Telegraph, Business Standard or any other kind of paper for any kind of news. What's the point anyway? It's just a bunch of silly people trying to take you all for a ride isn't it. And it doesn't make you richer. It doesn't pay your rent. It doesn't put food on your table or make you look cooler in front of all the men and women you want to impress.
We're just out there to get you - to take you for a ride, because after much consideration we realised that we weren't pretty enough to be on screen, corrupt enough to be a politician or smart enough for any other profession...
How about submitting a petition to ban the media altogether? television lies, print lies, the internet lies, companies lie... I think the only people who don't lie to us are our friends - oh hang on a minute, they lie too.. cos sometimes, and only sometimes, we get on their nerves as well and they don't want to see our faces and the truth doesn't help then.
So technically, everyone and everything should be banned. That would be the ideal life, wouldn't it?
I think I wll go and fill ink now.

El laberinto del fauno (Pan's Labyrinth)

What do I look for in a fantasy? Something so removed from reality that it just becomes real. An extension of my life, my brains. Barring one film, I've never really seen anything that qualifies for that kind of fantasy. Guillermo del Torro's Pan's Labyrinth or El labertino del fauno is a film that can put many fantasy films to sleep.
Forget Harry Potter or any other bizarre unrealistic fantasy stories that's been woven - this film captures the very essence of real meeting unreal.
Set during the post civil war in Spain in 1944, when the rebels were still fighting the fascist troops, Ofelia travels with her pregnant and sick mother Carmen to the country to meet her step father Captain Vidal for the first time.
If you remember Amon Goethe (played by Ralph Fiennes) in Schindler's List, you'd find a terrible similarity between the two characters.
Incapable of any human feelings, Captain Vidal's whole agenda is to clear his area of any rebels and establish the fascist government.
Unable to tolerate the misgivings of this cruel man, Ofelia disappears, into a world of her won, far away from her current life.
She meets a fairy who leads her to a fawn, who tells her that Ofelia was a princess reborn and she must perform three tests to prove her royalty and only then, she can come back to her kingdom where her real father and mother are waiting for her. Ofelia accepts these tasks, and in the midst of war, torture from her step father, death of her mother, she sets out to find her port key from a world that she can't deal with.
Flowing mellifluously between the two scenarios, the beauty of the whole film is that we never know whether it was Ofelia's dream or reality.
Pan's labyrinth is not for children - but for those adults who need to find their world, that is far away from the unbelievable traffic and chase for wealth.

One night at a party

There used to be a time when walking into a few of my favourite nightclubs in Bombay gave me a head rush. I would never be able to control my feet and went straight for the dance floor. It's been a while since something like that happened. And while I still love dancing, the music scene has changed quite a bit and I still continue to like the old favourites.
I'm not much into hip hop or the electro variety and still prefer the old classics, swing and perhaps trance.

Moving to Bangalore had put the nightclub bug in me to sleep. I preferred going to a pub where there was good music and catching up with friends. But sometimes, and only sometimes, I'd miss those crazy nights in Bombay when I've danced alone with a friend watching over me.

Last night, I was at Athena, checking out the party scene as part of my job. And while my friends and I sat on a rather uncomfortable couch with beer, I watched Bangaloreans party like there's no tomorrow.

It's beautiful how people come together under one roof for a night - some known faces, mostly unknown, sharing those few specific hours together as strangers.
Lovers. Friends. Acquaintances. Just for one night.
The next morning is another day, with a new sun that fades away the previous night and most of its memories.

Angela

There you go Angela
Your ashes lie deep
Within the silence
Of the earth’s womb
That has seen many births and many deaths

--- In memory of Angela McCourt of Angela's Ashes

My blood tells a different tale

My blood tells a different tale
It knows no face, no words, no space
It flows free, without commitment
To the dungeons and back

My soul walks a different line
It doesn't understand variations
Just its own course
That could begin and end anywhere

My mind has its own language
It doesn't care for what you speak
It mimes, it sings as it likes
Calls it freedom; as I know it

Pop

Hey. Listen
Just for a little while
Be quiet, and just listen

I don’t need an opinion
No solutions
No help either

All I ask of you
Is silence
And a patient hearing

I am going to speak now
Don’t judge
I beg of you

Don’t tell me anything
What is right or what is not
Just listen if you can

I died today
Slowly but surely
I heard a little pop

That felt like a blast
Inside my head
I am sure I died

It’s a funny feeling
Floating in silence
Around the world

Can u hear me?
My words in your ears
Or are you still talking

Fuck. Things never change
Do they?

Anuja Gupta - When home's no longer a haven

Finding comfort when the home is the last place you feel safe in



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In your memory

One flower
That meant nothing beyond that moment
A flower I don’t even like
Still lies all dried up in my drawer

Any other given time
I’d think it to be corny
Silly to be precise
This time I don’t.

I stand on the balcony
Watching people go by
Incomplete souls with
Their hearts lying elsewhere

Lives for them don’t change;
They’re just looking
For a small port key
To take them to that someplace else

Should I dare to be different?
I haven’t even troubled myself to answer that question
I just go by; like everyone else
Not seeing you works relatively well as a painkiller

There’s so much distance between us that
I cannot even fathom
Covering it in this generation
And after that, you’d just go further away

Your life, your love, your passions
Will take shape in different forms
And I will remain Just a speckle of
Memory that you could do without

I ache to reach out and touch your hair
Have done so many times
I want to put my arms around you
And hide away from everything known

Hold your hand like I have earlier
When I needed reassurance
You let me without reading between the lines
Yet I’ve let my heart break a million times from that touch

You’ve lied to me almost all the times
Even when lying was not required
And I’ve forgiven you
Like I will each time you smile and say goodbye

Redemption

She hadn't taken anything from the house before leaving
There was nothing she could really take
Every precious thing was either stolen or destroyed
Eaten alive by reserved anger and repulsion
But she'd looked anyway.

A piece of paper that had no relevance
A faded old letter that had replaced the bible
In her heart a long time ago, when she was fifteen
A letter that'd given her what she needed - a soul.

The letter lay untouched under the wooden flap
Of her dresser that she hadn't seen in years
Like it had been protecting itself against war
Till she returned, one depressing day
To claim what she'd left behind as a mere pawn.

The trees had started to show signs of age
The leaves were tired and resigned, with
Red soil at their feet resting in peace
And the road seemed to go nowhere
Even though people drove up and down it.

Death had touched this little neighbourhood
Even though no one had died lately
A broken pavement that carried infinite footprints
Sure, it need needed urgent attention
And yet it was happy to remain so and unnoticed.

And as she shut the door of the dilapidated house behind her
She turned back to take that one final look
That concealed more than dreams and memories
Of a childhood she would gladly trade
For a night of sleepless dreams.

A splash of good with a pinch of pain

Her wedding card read, “The beaches of Pondicherry probably have magic and that was where we met…”
Didn’t I know that?
The endless sea bound by brick walls may not be my perfect idea of taking pleasure in nature but that small ‘white’ town definitely made me feel at home. Small shops, tons of places to eat and lots of walking space made it just the thing for a quick getaway. The cookie being my friend’s wedding.
Deep down I don’t know if I like it when the philosophical side of me resurfaces and attempts at a lecture. Trust me; most of those times are depressing!
However the magical sea bound by walls of Pondicherry carries a freshness that I can only absorb deep within my city-rotten cells. I fall in love, I ponder, I even introspect.

I didn’t sit on the beach this time at all – spending a lot of time in the comforts of my air-conditioned room, sleeping off all the wear and tear. Life hasn’t been very generous with me this month and all I could do repair my senses that were slight bruised by it all.
After spending three nights of exuberance and respite it was time for us to head back to Bangalore.
I can’t describe the heat. It was hot everywhere. Behind trees, in shade, in the car… and two thoughts developed – reach quick or return quicker.

Well somewhere down that thought road, I had dozed off and when I woke up – I was dead. Well, at least I thought I was dead.
Our car couldn’t withhold the heat and the front left tyre had exploded and run into a wall.
The seat belts were on so we were safe minus a few minor bruises that will take a while to heal.

But a few things occurred to me in that few seconds. No more taking life for granted.
French lessons have to happen; more poetry has to be written, more films, more food.

We got back to Bangalore almost 10 after the accident; happy to be on this planet and happy to be able to walk with my feet on the ground.

Mine

It was not as dramatic a moment as I’d have liked it to be. Just me alone in the room, smoking and watching the smoke trying to find a way of getting out.
The windows were shut you see.
But it happened anyway. A long lost question answered.
So I draw my travel chart inside my head; hills, forests, rivers and roads that pass through history and even the seas perhaps if I can make the time.

I see a life that is beyond all realities and is perhaps the only truth I know.
Some place where I don’t have to justify myself for wandering around, where I can walk on the honey dewed grass and cry if need be.
I reject all mediocrity unless it’s in nature.
I reject all religion unless it’ in verse.
I reject the mundane.
Your need.
Your truth.
Your reality.
Your world.

What exists is mine. I own it. I live it. Here, I am god.

From one stranger to another

In a very dark corner of my heart, lay a small secret. Packed away quietly for it had no use. And yet, the value of that tiny secret was more than I could ever afford.

Perhaps I had judged too soon when I called him my friend; for I was surely his.
However, there was always this invisible wall that I so desperately wanted to break. I wanted to reach out and tell him that it would be fine. But he wouldn’t let me. He kept this distance that made me nothing less than uncomfortable.
And thus; he remained a shadow in my life. He came alive of course in my dreams.
We have shared some of the weirdest jokes in my head, secrets, gossip and pain – all at the same time.
He has opened up his soul and wept before me as I never judged him. To me he was always a hero; a man who could face life in whatever way required. He was someone who was not afraid to look up and stare the sun in his face.
And yet, he lied.
He lied to me. To his wife. To his girlfriend. To his parents. To his friends.
And I let him lie, not expecting truth even for a moment.
I think I was capable of handling his lies. And that’s why he came to me – even for a brief moment. Perhaps just to hear my voice. I don’t know why. But each phone call was like spending a lifetime with a friend.
Was he my soul mate? No. there was no way it could be.
And yet, from a stranger to another, we were bound together – by an unknown force that required no description.

And in that, lay my peace.

A little too far

Today I walked a little further from my house. I passed the grey old building and saw the same old man sitting on the balcony armchair and smoking his pipe. I saw him crane his neck and take a peep at me. A usual event.
I passed the tree which bore fiery red flowers. I don't know the English name for it.
I, then came to the police station where some of the constables were hanging around and sharing a good laugh. Just the way we did outside college. And for no particular reason, tears welled up in my eyes.
So, I walked by faster so no one would see me.
And from a distance, I saw a familiar figure walking towards me. The pace was as slow as mine. And given that there are very few street lights on that road, a lot was left to hunch.
"Rashi!" I whispered loudly. Almost as if the figure heard my voice, it stopped at a distance and said, "Priyadarshini...."

Nothing more was said for at least another ten seconds; but it felt like hours.

"What are you doing in Bangalore?" she asked.
I live here now. Have been here for almost three years.
"Wow! I have been here for pretty much the same time. And to think we never met."
Yeah. Maybe it wasn't time.
Do you have time for a coffee?
Sure.

So we walked down to Brio - the coffee joint on the roof of Home Stop. It was a weird evening - sultry, unlike Bangalore. There were beads of sweat on both our foreheads and upper lip. It was then that I saw her face.
There were no dark circles on that flawed skin. In fact, it had cleared up quite a bit from the time I remember. She wore a cotton shirt and a pair of faded jeans. Kolhapuris gave away the tired feet.

Are you married? was her first question.
Yeah. I got married about four years back. Moved here soon after. Was in Chennai for about a year and then moved back. What about you?
No. Not married. Actually not married anymore. Was.

I wasn't surprised. People were getting divorced all the time. This was just one of those.

What happened?
Long story Priya. Maybe some other time.

Then she brightened up.
Tell me about you. Any kids?
Nah. Don't want them.
Cool. Working somewhere?
Nothing permanent. Here and there. I write for a living. Waiting for that big break.
Nice.

Silence.
10 seconds.
20.
40.
60.
80.

Maybe we should meet up for lunch or dinner one day. What do you think?
Sounds great. Where are you staying?
Victoria Layout. Rented an apartment.
What are you doing in Bangalore Rashi?
Oh! I teach in a special school. Have been there for almost eight years now.
Wow. That's pretty impressive. I had imagined you to go and become a professional tennis player or something.
Yeah, That would be the day.
The coffee is nice.
Yeah I come here a lot.
You do? Fish, so do I.
Then why didn't we meet before Priya?
Maybe it wasn't time.

Silence.
5 minutes.

Things change don't they? I never imagined you married.
Neither had I.
Is it good for you?
In more ways than not.
Nice. Am happy for you.
Rashi, don't you ever miss the school days? Where did you go away after you left school. I know you moved to Delhi. I even wrote you letters. There were no replies. I just thought you'd disappeared.
I am sorry about that. Was never into writing letters. But I got all of yours. I still have them in fact.
What?!? You do? Why?
I don't know. Back then, you were the only one who wanted to be my friend. Everyone else pretended.
Hmm....

Silence.

I think we should go now. It's getting late.
Come home sometime. We'll catch up.
Sure. Let's. I would love to talk about everything that you've been doing.. All the men in your life - all the broken hearts.
Right, of course!! (Laughter)

We paid for the coffee and left. Walking towards pretty much the same direction for a while we didn't share a single word till the road forked into two.

Good night then Priya. See you soon. It was awesome meeting you.
Tata dear. Hope to see you again - soon.

We parted. I started walking back home and as I approached the old grey house, the old grey man was still sitting on his chair. He craned his neck again and looked down at me. Then a feeble and yet stable hand came up and waved a solemn wave. I waved back - a miniature smile touching my mouth.

And as I got into the lift I realised that Rashi and I didn't exchange numbers. She would leave again. Like the last time.

You

I miss you.
Not in a romantic way,
Or even sexual.

I just miss you.
Maybe it's your voice,
Or your touch.

Can't be too sure.
But you wouldn't care,
As you don't want to.

For you,
Life is a buffet
That you hate.

You see it all
Even want it maybe,
But won't eat.

I miss you.
Maybe love you.
Definitely hate you.

Did you ask your mother about the movie?

Hmm... No

Why?

She won't agree.

But if you don't ask you won't know.

I know she'll say no.

But it's just a movie.

I know. It's stupid.

Should I ask her?

No. She won't agree.

Let me try.

No.... what difference would it make? You'll go away the minute I move away from the mirror.

Something...Nothing

A funny twist
An absurd turn
Sudden breaks
Unending twirls

Oh how curious is this journey

I rebel
I conform
I smile
And cry

All at the same time in this film

You smiled
You kissed
Scoffed
And walked away

All during the same dance

It rains
Tears on a petal
Leaves drink up
Clouds dance

All under one solemn heaven

I could leave
Or stay
If you ask
But you don’t

All in one weird moment of loneliness

The curtain falls
No applause
End of scene

All on one crazy stage

In My Craft Or Sullen Art by Dylan Thomas

I can die a pauper if I can write like that. Today isn't one of the brightest moments of my life. I miss writing like nothing else. Here, they have bought my services and my time... perhaps soon, my life?

Something Dylan wrote.


In my craft or sullen art
Exercised in the still night
When only the moon rages
And the lovers lie abed
With all their griefs in their arms,
I labour by singing light
Not for ambition or bread
Or the strut and trade of charms
On the ivory stages
But for the common wages
Of their most secret heart.
Not for the proud man apart
From the raging moon I write
On these spindrift pages
Nor for the towering dead
With their nightingales and psalms
But for the lovers, their arms
Round the griefs of the ages,
Who pay no praise or wages
Nor heed my craft or art.

My friend is a writer. A good one. So I stole one of the poems he wrote to add lustre to my blog.

The Storm

You lay beside me
In the violence of the storm-drenched night
Your prisoner
I had surrendered when on you I first laid sight

In the dark
I could feel the shimmer of your smooth skin
As it slipped
Open and without any hesitation took me in

And the light
That I could see in the deep black of your eyes
Shone steady
And slowly peeled off my every little disguise

The moisture
On your mouth I remember tasted both salty-sweet
I wanted more
My thirst was so uncontrollably unquenchably deep

My searching lips
Slid across your skin crafting their own little tale
From your secrets
You let me lift every carefully woven veil

You were so soft
As I lifted you whole in the cradle of my arms
You gasped
Before letting me drink of your succulent charms

The storm rose
As outside the war thundered and came to a head
Your hair
Clung to my skin and to our silver-drenched bed

We rode desperate
Buffeted by the raging of the wild, grey flood
You bit into me
And it wasn't long before we both drew blood

Drained of red
You were too exhausted to even try to look pleased
Drained of white
I was turned inside out and brought down to my knees

Years have passed
But your taste still remains on my tongue
On lonely nights
I lie and remember how once we'd become one

And an ache
Rises from within that never truly subsides
For another night
when you were the storm that lived in my eyes

The ache
It's back with a vengeance and crawls on my skin
My door
Is wide open and waiting for you to come right in

------------------Ananda Ray

in anonymous hands

I wish I was someone else
Just for a day when no one's looking
Pretend to be your wife, neighbour or lover
As long as no one knows my name

Not take calls, not visit anyone
One unique moment spent alone
In the darkness of another room
That can never be mine

Buy flowers for another vase
Water their plants if they have
Walk their dog and then
Disappear without a forwarding address

Arrange it for me will you
But don't tell me your name
For a long and wandering day
I'd like to be in anonymous hands

Corruption

Burnt cigarette ends
Smeared lipstick
Stained bed sheets
Desperate bodies.

The phone rings
A soft voice
Pleading and begging
Ruffle of clothes.

The door slammed
Bizarre dreams
The taste of hash
A broken heart.

Dozens of men
Some pregnancy tests
Two abortions
A loveless dream.

The Empty soul
The twisted mind
The beggar in me
Is out for more.

Happy

So he looked up at me and said, "Are you sure he won't find out?"
I was certain. But I saw him fidgeting with the strap of my camera. It was really funny but at that exact moment I didn't like him anymore.
"It doesn't matter anyway," I said. "Let's just get out of here. The drive back is a killer."
"Yes. Yes." He said, looking up at me again.
He got up, picked up his bag and we got out of the room. I did a quick check to see if I'd left anything behind. Vinay (three boyfriends ago) had told me that I loved to leave a trace behind in case someone came looking for me.
Nikhil, the front office manager, smiled his perfectly white smile and said, "It was such a pleasure to have you over this time.”
Pleasure? We were there for exactly three days. Whatever!

Ash didn't say a word to me on our way back. He would stop intermittently at interesting locations so that I could take a few pictures and then twice more on the way for coffee and dinner.

"You shouldn't think so much you know," I told him. "It just makes matters worse."
"You don't understand Rai, I... I've got this funny feeling in my stomach."
"Ah! So now you've fallen in love with me?" I joked.
"Yeah sure, why not? That would be amusing."
Silence.

It was midnight by the time we crossed Taj Fisherman's Cove. Another 30 minutes and I would be home. The roads were empty. A quick shower had bathed the streets and there were some puddles here and there. Nothing serious, just that they looked awfully pretty.
I looked at Ash. He was staring straight at the road, one hand clutched the wheel tightly and the other the gear shift.
“Pull over.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Pull over.”
So he found a truckers’ lay bye and pulled over.
“I can’t leave him, Ash. I love him. Not in the way you think but I do.”
“Good for you, love. I wish you joy.”
“Stop being sarcastic. You’re terrible at it. And I thought there was no commitment here. I mean we are friends and I like you quite a bit. Hell, I like you more than most people I know.”
“Want me to send a ‘thank you’ card when we get back?”
“That’s it. You’re a fucking idiot! Drive on. Let’s just go home.”
“NO. Listen to me this time. I don’t care if you leave him or not. That’s your decision to make.”
“What do you mean it’s just my decision to make?”
“I just don’t want him to know, alright?”

I reached the apartment at almost 1:30 am. Ved was in the library, reading. He heard me come in. “Hey you! Had a good trip? Wow! You look beat. Want me to make some tea?”
I nodded and went straight into the shower.
Then at 2 am, Ved and I sat on those cushy chairs on our verandah and sipped green tea.
“I am sorry I couldn’t come, love. There was just too much work these last few days. But it’s a good thing that we still have two more days left. Let’s make the most of it…”

I want a divorce, Ved. I am in love with another man - a stupid photographer who is five years younger than me. What can I do? It just happened.

“Hey… you with me?”
I came back to the present. “Don’t worry. We’ll spend some time together. It would have been nice if you could also come you know. It was nice. I got some great pictures.”
“Let’s go to bed now. I’ll see your pictures tomorrow.”
Of course going to bed meant sex. Ved and I hadn’t had sex (with each other) for more than four days, I was sure he’d want to; and he did.


Six months later

I was sitting on my terrace… a book in hand, a bottle of wine almost finished, a candle and my favourite rug.
Aditya was in the kitchen, getting the new prawn dish he’s been experimenting with. It smelt heavenly, something that I was never going to tell him.
Each prawn looked beautiful. It had a particular shade of mustard clinging to it like a lover. The smoke from the plate danced to his tune. That’s what I loved most about him. He worshipped food and yet looked like someone who’d weigh everything before he ate it.
Putting the platter next to me, Aditya sat down, cross legged.
“Rai?”
“Hmmm…”
“Do you think we should get married?”
“No.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Why do you think I love you?”
He smiled. Took a piece of that delectable insect with a toothpick and put it in my mouth.
“I saw them today,” he whispered.
“What the…? Seriously? Where?”
“At the parking lot in front of The Ambassador. I was waiting for Junaid to meet me at Jazz by the Bay before the photo shoot.”
Interesting, said my brains. The last one year was definitely more interesting. Asking Ved for a divorce was a matter of two hours, of which, waiting for him to come back from work comprised of one. I didn’t think it would be that simple… in fact, it made me terribly suspicious.
But that’s what I had wanted for sometime and it would have been a mistake to probe further. But I wondered for a while for sure. A man who was so doting could let me go so easy.
Ash was not the reason for me wanting the divorce. I had met Aditya as a party and we realised that it was meant to be. Though we didn’t want to get married – I was tired of being married and single at the same time. We had decided to move in together.

But Ash was definitely the reason for Ved granting me the divorce…
Wasn’t a very happy discovery – I had walked in on them one day when I went back to the apartment to pick up the remaining of my stuff. Take my word for it; watching two men kissing may not be the most pleasant sight. So, we all parted our ways and the happy men were happier and I had nothing to complain. Not that I have a problem with homosexuality…I love gay men; but just not in my bed.

Something else

The chocolate melted in your hands
You stared at it - for long enough
To know the different shapes
Your fingers caused it to make

Different tastes linger on your tongue
And longer in your memory
A day without care and chores
As freedoms slides in

The water boiled just right
Tea leaves adding a pale yellow shade
A wedge of lime - with baring seeds
And golden honey lacing the rim

Its a perfect afternoon you've had
That came after much desire
No chaos, no conversations
Just a table set with the right stuff

A long stemmed pale lily danced
In an even paler vase
As the breeze tricked the drapes
And blew right in the house

Miles Davis painted a picture
Sketches of Spain to be precise
A long drawn lazy afternoon
That came after much desire

A book you picked up last month
From an old second hand store
You didn't know the author, you didn't care
It was just something you wanted to read

The almonds were crushed
And embedded in the chocolate
Bits of it were stuck in your teeth
Making you grin in secret joy

The lace on the table
Dated back a hundred years
Yellow stains were a little apparent
But it was a treasure nevertheless

The afternoon will roll over
Into a boring evening
When the blaring television will tell
Tales of crime and sex in the city

Life will move on the way it does
People will come and go as they do
The chores will return along with the chaos
Giving your nights a different dream

It's that one afternoon you got
After much prayer
That will remain ethereal
And the only object of your affection

Life is twisted.
Turns.
Bends.
Blind corners.
And I lack a little faith.

Darn, a collision is near.

I finally got to hear Avril Quadros' voice. Amidst a launch party of many semi-drunks and an inattentive audience, I heard Avril sing.
I felt as if I was alone... barring her manager John who was really very sweet, and I had a good time trying to figure out his scottish accent in a place where I couldn't hear myself well enough.
She is a bohemian at heart I think. Her eyes burn, she walks with confidence, and yet, she appears vulnerable.
I wonder what she is all about?
My friend's husband Chris plays with her. He is on the strings and quite decent at that. But Avril doesn't need music. She can sing in an empty world and give it melody and music and everything else.
What I found most curious is that she has released her own album in Hindi. Not that there is anything wrong with the language.. but she should be singing jazz.
Bangalore hasn't really given me much... while in Calcutta, music played a HUGE part in my life. An evening at Someplace Else, a band playing old favourites to current hits would make up for everything the city didn't have. Coming to this city, I felt very desolate, as if I was uprooted from something I couldn't let go of..

But that one evening when Avril sang, just for a few hours, I was home.

Fools like me should be lined up and shot.
We don't have a right to exist.
At least not on this planet.

Time stopped for a while. It winked at me and said, “Go do your thing. I will wait.”
And I charged forward, to grab everything in sight.
Memories, photographs, smiles, hatred…just put them all in a bag and run before the clock starts ticking again.
It was the most blissful feeling, and I loved it.
And as I drove away, I smelt the paddy fields in my head. The red earth flaming against the window and of course the incessant rain. I know it will haunt me like the spirit of a dead cat that would simply not leave the house it loved. And that same old song!These are the times I wish I could kill a song. Muffle it with a pillow and squeeze every ounce of breath out of it, or perhaps hang it by a nylon rope that will leave ugly red scars around its neck. I remembered the tiny lanterns tied together with a thick long red ribbon swaying violently against the stormy winds as he sang an obscure song.You were sitting near his feet, eyes dazed in love.I was elsewhere. The end of a cigarette burned red, white, yellow and pink. Ashes flew everywhere. It’s like a horrific painting. But it carries my inner self. Protected with a saffron scarf.
But things have changed. I stole a moment and I got out with what I wanted.
Should I be complaining?
It’s just that sometimes…only sometimes… I wished I could fly away… from the verandah of this dilapidated building.
Then, I would be free.

A bridge not too far

A small news item in a paper about how some residents at Indiranagar protested against a skywalk because it was being used for advertising purposes only really amused me.
I wondered if people actually can stoop so low for a publicity stunt like this... it doesnt even make sense.
A company such as Vantage makes skywalks, lovely gardens (and even maintains them) at their own cost.
Their whole idea is that people should learn to appreciate the city they live.
And at the end of the day what they get is a nutcase thinking that the skywalk is being used for advertising purposes.
A reality check: A skywalk can easily cost up to a crore for construction. An advertising hoarding on it doesn't give the company more than 20,000 rupees a month. Just how much time does it take to let that 20K touch the crore?
Don't people realise that?

Kids, senior citizens, youngsters are dying almost every week just by trying to cross the road.
Some stupid driver thinks he's too smart and runs them over, or the victim itself tries to cross the road exactly when a vehicle in close by. How much time does he save?
Probably a whole lot of it, because after dying he doesn't really need the time allotted to him for anything.

I am a little disgusted.

BOOM!

Some day its all going to end you know...
The last flight of steps will be over,
And you will have come home.

All the fights you wanted to win,
Will fade away in history.
And so will your victories and failures.

No one will ask after you anymore,
Some just might remember
A lost memory or smile here and there.

You won't have time to regress
Or take a few last minute decisions...
So, what have you been doing lately?

I dont want this

I don't want this.
I don't want the dream,
the reality or even the promise.
I dont want any hopes..
first hand or left over.

I don't want this life.
I don't want any love.
I don't want the money.
I don't need the job.
Just let me run free.

I dont want to see.
Or hear, taste
Or even smell...
Just let me lie under
And rot beneath the ground.

remote control dream

I was writing about this to a friend this morning... and then thought, hey, maybe a few more people could find out... hence this post.

One famous news channel - uhmm... lets call it "Born on regular indian network goofup' (B.O.R.I.N.G) - wanted to go around the city and ask people what they think of Bangalore. They also wanted to know people's opinion on what they expect Bangalore to be a few years down the line...
A very aggressive campaign... and conducted in a very slick fashion.
They also want to promote their particular programme on print. So, they pay the newspaper the channel itself belongs it.. and asks for a story.

Story approved.

Therefore, this so called journalist goes to a spot where they are interviewing people and takes a few pictures.
B.O.R.I.N.G had also requested this journo to organise some well known (read: page 3) people of the society who would be willing to come in front of the camera and speak.
Well known people didnt happen.

What happened was about 3-4 smart college kids... who live in the city, hang out here, go to study here, understand what's troubling the city, to come and give their opinion.

But B.O.R.I.N.G doesn't want them... Cos they look young, and they dont look like they live in the city (this is very enlightening actually.. i didn't know that you could look like you lived in a particular city). So the journo interviewed a man who in not from Bangalore (has been here about a year), another girl who was wearing a long Indian print skirt and dangling earrings (that made her look like a local?) and couldn't stop giggling.

This story gave me the bigger picture:

At the end of the day whether a television channel promises truth of a lifetime or not, they are still competing against the TRP ratings of a "Kahaani ghar ghar ki" or whatever soap opera comes on TV.
Therefore, news channels (especially Indian ones and even a few international channels) have to make sure their news readers look better than a Pallavi or Parvati or Pinky or Priyanka on TV.
They have to make sure there is more scoop and gossip than there's on the soap.
They have to make sure that if people watch soap operas, it has to be theirs.

So, what we see is not news...
What we see is the glorified version of a piece of information that could or could not make a difference in our lives... But now that we have seen their dramatised version... a few sleepless nights might occur.

Eventually, that's what they want!

I have walked

I have walked the shadows of my past
And lived through every strife
Some forgotten, some I still carry
Through these dungeons of life.

I have met people aplenty
Fallen in love, cried in shame
Guilt has overtaken me
And left me to hurt again.

It’s been a curious game
Sometimes easy, sometimes weird
Seen the dance through pearls of rain
And traced the melancholy of the birds.

Twisted memories, reckless laughter
Wet kisses and an endless fall
I have woken up to nothing
And yet to find it all.

How bizarre

I have never known such a passionate kiss. It made me weak in the knees and brought some old butterflies back. A kiss that was demanding yet amateur, hungry yet shy; a kiss that blew my mind.
I have never known touch so closely. It broke my heart. It walked straight through by body and pierced it.
I have never known anything like this.

We don’t share a relationship. I have shared the rain with him, a walk with him, pasta with him… I have talked to him incessantly without wondering whether he gets me or not. I have brought back the old me just for one single moment.

Honestly, I cannot explain what we share. I don’t know him and yet I know him completely. I have never found time to discover him and yet, with each passing day he reveals himself.
It’s not love; that I’m certain of.
Maybe just a frantic search for something we can’t have. Or can we?
The question remains.

He will never read this. That’s the beauty of it. He doesn’t have to. He doesn’t need to. He lives in his world of charm and aspirations where I strive to achieve something that I cannot have; a piece of his life for me to have.

My friends think I am a hopeless romantic. For me love is something that walks through my door too many times a day. Not true. I just like being in love, for the shortest of time or longest of moments. And that’s what keeps me going. Slight pain can cause a stir, a touch – a storm.
That’s what I live for… an everlasting shift of emotions to take over me.
That’s what I live for…eternity from the simple joys of life.

I know he will never read this… but someday I hope he knows what I am talking about.

Fakin' it

I hate it when you fake love.
I mean we could be friends
We could have sex
But where did this love come from?

Did I say or do something?
That made you think I loved you?
A whimper, a caress? I just don’t get it.
Then why make me love you?

Then I see the same words
That you share with others.
God fucking knows what else,
It’s quite a depressing thing you know.

Okay, so we did have a good time.
I did kiss you till my head buzzed,
And dreamt of you every single night,
And swore to ‘cherish you forever’ and all that.

You’re ugly, you’re despicable and you’re fat.
There’s nothing to you that I really want.
I wish I could strangle you.
At least, then you can’t fake love.

What’s so special about the way I survive?

What's so special about the way I survive?
It's just a mundane job... from one act to the other.
A fake smile goes a long way, a dollar even further.
A small lie wins me lovers, an empty praise, friends.

I haven’t made many promises, broken even less.
I have lied, I have pretended to love, smile, cry.
I have watered plants, watched them grow.
I have killed them with my hands.

I have lost many thoughts in the sea of words
I have stood before the sun, and drunk its orange poison
I have hidden under the stars when there was nowhere else to go.
I have jumped over the moon and reached a new dimension.

So, what’s so special about the way I survive?

Liberation - Concluding Part

We are the Mukherjees. We lived in a four-story mansion in north Calcutta. Generations before us have been lawyers and doctors and scientists and everyone knew about us. We commanded respect and no son or daughter of the family has done anything to go against the values that have been set aside especially for them, with two brilliant exceptions, of course.
My father is a painter. My grandfather had thrown him out of the house when he voiced his desire to become an artist by profession. Granddad tried reasoning with him in the beginning.
"Why can't you study law and paint on the side, like a hobby? Why do you have to jeopardise what we have built? Why can't you be normal?"
My father, I hear, had kept quiet because he knew that no reason would satisfy his father and left quietly when he was ordered to do so.
With the help of his friends, he found a job as a designer with an advertising agency. There were no computers in those days and artists who could swallow their pride and actually surrender to commercial work were welcomed with open arms. He did pretty well actually. In the next five years, he got in touch with twenty writers, designers, sales people and opened his own advertising agency with an account for a hair oil given to him by a friend who worked for the company. In another year's time, my father and his agency had six major clients and ten other clients who worked with them intermittently. He bought an apartment in south Calcutta and began living there.
Seven years after being thrown out of his house, his father came to him, saw what his son had achieved for himself and begged him to return. My father didn't have any issues on that but he never sold the south Calcutta flat. He knew that property wouldn't be easy to come by later.
He was married to my mother in 1970 when he was 30 and my mother was 19. My father was extremely annoyed that his parents would fix his marriage with someone young enough to be his sister, but they were persistent. My father was told that my mother was extremely good at running a home and would bring about a balance in his otherwise maddening life. I think my father had married ma pretty much reluctantly. I was born after seven years of their marriage. My father wanted my mother to finish her education (which she never did!) and not produce babies within a year of marriage.
I was a rebel child. I wore shorts and rode bicycles. I learnt how to fix the car and climb trees. I learnt how to knit, stitch, cook, paint, dance, sing, swim, play tennis, and ride horses and so on and so forth. My father didn't want another child and so he brought me up to be a boy and a girl at the same time. I was his pride factor. He named me Mrinalini, after his mother as I was supposed to have taken after her. It was my mother who called me Rashmi because she thought my formal name was too long.
I finished my graduation in English literature and continued in Linguistics at the master's level, much to my mother's horror and father's delight. Soon, my mother began to look for eligible bachelors for me and my father would discourage it all the time. I knew that if I wanted to escape the matchmaking acts then I would have to escape quickly. But till then, I was stuck. My degree was another year away. I had fallen in love for the first time when I was 15. He was my neighbour. Aditya played the flute and wrote love poems all the time. We had met during a local celebration and were together from that moment on. I would sneak out on Saturday afternoons when my mother would be asleep and go over to meet him. We would hold hands and talk about the future. It was rather silly, when I think of it now, but there was a major learning that lay underneath it all.
Aditya and I managed to get away on a Sunday (I still don't know how!) and for the first time, we had sex in a farmhouse that belonged to his family. I was eighteen. Sometimes, I wonder what my mother would do if she found out that her precious and eligible daughter was not a virgin anymore. She would probably hang herself. It's a risk I haven't taken yet.
It was after my high school that Aditya went away to Bombay for his graduation. We used to write to each other all the time. The Internet was our best friend. But it lasted only for a few months. The frequency of mails reduced and soon there wasn't much to write about either.
Both of us were busy with new friends and our new lives. College changed everything and I was swept away by all that. I also saw a few other guys casually and slowly began to grow out of my teenage romance. I think Aditya and I stopped corresponding altogether when I was in my second year of college. Later he wrote to me telling me that he was leaving for London to finish his studies in neurology. It didn't hurt me much but it was sad to say good-bye to a part of life you want to cherish forever.
Sometimes, I still wonder. When my mother talks about a 'nice' boy for me, I wonder if she would ever, by chance, of course, fix me up with Aditya. We were neighbours after all. The irony of it would be that I don't think I could accept being with him. Things were different then.

My thoughts were broken when I heard my father's car moving into the driveway. He had returned from his golf match and that meant lunch would be served soon. I looked at the watch and saw it was almost 2. Thinking sure helps time to fly. I ran down and met my father. He looked happy, must have had a good game. Lunch was served at 2:30. I noticed two of my aunts had decided not to stay for lunch.
After lunch, my father came up to me and said, "Can you come to the library after you have helped your mom to clean up?"
I wondered what my father wanted to talk to me about. I was a little scared, to be honest. It wasn't everyday that my father wanted to speak to me in private. After I had helped ma put away the dishes, I went up to the library.
My father was sitting on his favourite armchair with some papers in his hand. He heard me come in, so he looked up and said, "Sit. This is important."
"What is it, baba? Something wrong?"
I was too nervous to ask him anything specific.
"Mrinalini, you are no longer a child. I see you growing up everyday. And each day you make me proud. I don?t know if there is anything else I can expect from a son or a daughter. But there must be something that you would want to do for yourself as well. I have never asked you what you wanted because I wanted you to find it for yourself. I cannot imagine you as just someone's wife three or four years down the line. Therefore, I am going to let you go. I want you to go out into the world and make your place. You don't have to do it the way I did but I am sure you will find some way or the other. I don't want to be like my father who had to throw me out because we didn?t see eye to eye. Whatever happens, I will always see eye to eye with you."
With that my father settled all the papers he had on his lap and gave them to me. Along with that he gave me a key. Tears had welled up in my eyes. I couldn?t see what the papers read, I only wanted to hug my father tight and cry. The papers were a part of the property that he was signing over to me. And the key was to his flat that he had so preciously maintained for so long.

No more words were said. I took everything he gave me and went to my room.
Somewhere in the middle of the night I realized that it was liberation day for me. My father had given me the wings I dreamt for so long but was too afraid to ask for. I could take my first unquestioned step into the world.
I moved out two weeks later. My mother cried like a newborn baby and my father proudly drove me to my new home. He didn?t come up.
At the gate before bidding me farewell, he hugged me and told me, "I never wanted another child because when I saw you the first time, I knew that you were all I wanted."

Liberation - Part I

I heard my mother calling for me as soon as I walked into the house. I responded, sighed and went to my room to take a bath.
It was a Sunday and on Sundays our house was a lunatic asylum. It was always bustling with activity and we barely managed some breathing space. I remember seeing faces of relatives I had never heard of, visited or saw again pouring in every weekend.
My mother often would say that it was my father who attracted our relatives from all over. I never really got around appreciating it much. And the best part of it was that my father disappeared every Sunday morning to play golf before these people came and returned only for lunch.
Living in a city has its disadvantages. One grows up with liberal ideas and it is difficult to understand the mind of someone who cannot imagine that a girl can stay unmarried even at the age of 22. I rarely got involved in these kind of issues which were the usual 'hot topics of discussion' when my aunt seventeen times removed would ask my mother if she was looking for a 'nice' boy for me.
I counted five heads by the time I reached my room. Today was going to be a killer. I probably won't even have time to complete my assignments. Damn, I would have to stay up late again tonight. My bath had to be over in five minutes because I heard my younger cousin coming into the room and knocking on my bathroom door. I told her I would be out in a second, and when I came out, I saw her poking around my jewellery box. "How many times have I told you not to touch my things, Meenu? It?s really annoying, you know." "Sorry didi, I was only looking."
And with that she left me to get dressed.
One of these days, I am going to strangle the girl. And if I cannot muster enough courage, I am going to take her to the terrace and lock her there for a couple of hours. She gets on my nerves all the time.
"R... A... S... H... M... I!"
And I really wish my mom wouldn't holler like that all the time.
"Be there in a minute, ma," I yelled back; serves her right. She has always told me that girls from decent families never shouted. As soon as I went down, my mother called me into the kitchen."You need help or what?" I asked.
I had made her promise last week that she wouldn't make me cook when those annoying aunts and sisters and grand-some-things were around. She had this horrible tendency of using my culinary talents to show off.
"Please dear, just for today. I am making five different dishes. How will I ever cook lunch in time, you tell me?"
"You are making five dishes for breakfast?!? Are you out of your mind? Why can't you make something simple, ma? I just don?t understand you."
"You will understand all of this when you get married. Then you have to keep so many people happy. At that time, one course, even if it's breakfast, will not do."
"I hope you aren?t planning to get me married to the Maharajah of Jaipur." With that I sat down to help her.
"You know, Rashmi, Mrs. Sen was asking about you the other day. She was saying that her nephew who is a software engineer in the US is planning to get married. I told her that you cannot even think of it till you finish your masters, but she said that maybe you people could meet when he comes down for Christmas. What do you think?"
"I think that you better concentrate on your curry if you want to serve these people a decent meal in a decent time. And if you talk about my marriage again, especially with me, I will run away and marry some useless actor from the local city film studio."
"Dear God, what nonsense are you talking about? Your father and I will have no respect left. We will have to hide our faces in shame. What will people think? Mr. Mukherjee?s daughter married a vagabond. Tell me now, Rashmi, are you seeing any boy of that kind?"
"MOTHER... If you want my help, then do something about it. I cannot have you spoil my cooking. And I asked you to give me three onions, not two." That was the end of the conversation.
For the moment, at least.
I knew, of course, that my mother had already pictured me walking hand in hand with a ruffian and romancing near the lakes. God! When will mothers change a bit?
Breakfast was served exactly at 9:30 and went on for an hour. Aunt A had to tell my mom about Uncle C's daughter who didn't do well in her graduation exams and how Grand Uncle D was very unhappy about Aunt F's son who wanted to marry a girl outside their caste. I was, of course, thinking where I could buy some rat poison easily.
Suddenly, Meenu asks this ridiculous question. "Didi, don't you have a boyfriend? Ayesha told me she saw you with a tall boy outside New Empire the other day and you were smiling and talking to each other."
Silence. For ten whole seconds. Then I heard thunder and lightning and then it began to pour.
"Rashmi, what is this that I am hearing? When did you go to New Empire? And who is this boy? Oh my god! What has become of my daughter? Will she never learn? I teach her all this. Give her a good education, let her go out alone, even allow her to wear western clothes. And this is what she does to me?"
Five gallons of tears poured out incessantly.
"When did Ayesha see me, Meenu? Ask her and come back. I never miss classes. So it is almost impossible for me to be standing in front of New Empire. And I don?t have any 'boy friend', Meenu. I am too old to engage myself in such trivialities. And mother, if you cry anymore without knowing the truth, I will have no choice but to stop speaking to you. So please don't force me."
That did shut my mother up. For whatever be her disappointments with me, she knew that I didn't take my education lightly and wouldn't even dream of wasting my time when I had classes to attend. I also kept myself busy with various activities and haven't been involved in romance per se in a long time. What happened before is a different story altogether.

For Adrianne

Dear girl, you have smiled at me for no reason.
And I have smiled back, reading your mind.
You held my large working hands and
Clasped them with your tiny digits,
Giving me faith, hope and courage with each passing day.

With every bit of heartbreak followed an embrace
Acceptance without an explanation.
You let me cry without asking questions
Yet you didn't let my heart bleed dry.

I am not amongst the stars as you were told
Those fairy tales are not for you.
I am everywhere, inside, outside, over and above
The grey skies; watching you, holding you
Showing you a life that will not let you give up.

Unavoidable Circumstances

There is no escape, he whispered.
He crawled out of the bed and trudged to the bathroom. It's going to be a long day today and an even longer night.
She hadn't taken his call. He hadn't wondered why.
It's more like a routine anyway.
Drenched in sweat, sprawled across the bed, she would probably be watching her partner from last night break out of sleep. And she would be wondering if he is the one.
It's the same story from which there is no escape.
He bathed and dressed like every day. Like everyday he took his car out and checked for petrol. And like everyday, he grumbled about the traffic as he drove to work. And like every day, he idled away his time thinking of her.
He imagined her before him, under him, above him.
He thought of the only time she came close to kissing him; the only time he was allowed to touch her.
He thought of the only time his brain exploded when he left her place for the last time.
And like everyday, she lay alone on the bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering if it was the right shade of white. And like every other day, tears were rolling down her face as the man she just had sex with forgot to kiss her goodbye. And her heart broke like fragile china as she knew she would never see him again.
And like everyday, she got up, cleaned up and drowned herself in work.
Memories from a distant past were erased. At least, for the time being.
Two faces. Two names. Same city.
A cringing pain. An unsolicited failure.
A relationship ending because it had no time to begin.
A pathetic illusion from which there is no light.
A song which has no tune or verse.
A life from which there is no escape.

Learning to be domesticated

I have been waiting for a while now
Giving you looks thats not hard to understand,
Wanted to make love while the morning was young
And then the phone rang;
Your mother had dozens of things to say
Some stranger wanted a wrong address
In the meanwhile, the milkman came
With bills i dont really care about.
The rent is due sometime today
The cable guy needs to be paid
My cook needs instructions for breakfast
How does one steal a moment here?
A lot of paperwork to be done
Calls that need to be returned
Its funny when this side of the bargain
Is invisible when you decide for life.

The better deal

A was reading all the mails... she was crying.. quite shamelessly. B was in the next room. God knows what he was thinking.
A came out of the room and told him what she had done...What she didn't do was walk out of his life...
Maybe because they were in a different city. But it was her city.
B sat... no explanations... just some words that appeared to be Hebrew to her.

Where did C come from? And mostly, Why? Why did she know every little detail about their life... Why did she know when A came home, how she behaved etc? Why did she think she could be friends with A at some point of time?
Friendships don't come cheap or free.

There was no more dignity left, no more pride...
And B thought it was okay.. something that would pass over them..
Well, to hell with it. Life is not about dependancy.. It's about working together.. and various other things people tell us all our lives.

A didn't really have a social life. She went to work... worked...Came back home.. mostly late. Sometimes, she would catch a movie with her girlfriend.

Was she ignoring B? She didn't know that. But B wanted more attention... Fair enough..He found that attention from someone else.. Apparently, C managed to give him more time (on the phone and email of course!) even though she had a crazy work schedule and a child and a husband.

Looking for something that is beyond the ordinary explanations of life... That's what A read in one of the e-mails.. not the exact words.. something like that.

So, A and B fought with each other. B wanted to work things out (how do these things work anyway?) and A wanted to kill him.
B promised her stuff. A didn't believe him.. not after this...

Marriages failed every day.... That day, a long, thin, invisible crack appeared in theirs... And like most old houses, it will continue to be there till one of them decide to sell it off and move on.

A needs more answers.. but no one is offering her any because she 'doesn't need to know.' Fair enough, one day B wouldn't need to know either.

From nothing to nothing

I have been waiting a long while for the right moment to start my book. My mind offered many excuses to delay the inevitable.
And then 2 things happened; a friend passed away and I went on a cruise.
Two completely unrelated events changed my life.
I want to talk about the cruise first.
It was arranged by my company and the whole team went from Bombay to Cochin to Goa to Bombay.
We had a lot of fun and learnt a lot about each other on the ship. In a way it was very enlightening.
And then one night, at 2:00 in the morning, I stood on the top most deck of the ship. I looked down and saw the waves break into foam against the ship, I saw the wake that we were leaving behind... and around me the dark, black ocean.
I realised how small we really are against the vastness of the water, how our existence is inconsequential... I realised that we are nothing. This life is nothing... whatever we make of it, or don't make of it, at the end of the day, we are just memories that wait to fade into time.

Coming to my friend:
Anu was my sister's age. Bright, pretty and full of life. That is how everyone described her.
What I noticed only after she died was her passion. She was a journalist and at her memorial, her friends and family put up some of her work on a soft board. I read some of it. It exuded a lot of her will power, strength and love for whatever she ventured into.
And then one fine day, she died.
I learnt that there is no point in waiting for tomorrow.
There is no point in waiting for something to happen.
We have to do everything right now.
That's the key word 'now'.

So, I have started writing again. Am not going to wait for that perfect moment, cos the perfect moment is right here.
Right Now.