Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Or maybe it's something like brass.
It has all the value in the world, people buy brass vessels thinking one day brass might get more valuable than gold, it even looks like gold, and we will all live a rich life. But what happens to brass is, after a few years of considerable usage, it changes its color a little. It gets darker. And then, it doesn't look like gold anymore.
Everything that belongs has its way to the tunnel of "believe" posters and neon lights of "you can" that hurts the eye. All that is required is for the tunnel to end and brightness to stare.
Monday, November 2, 2009
The newspaper that i read everyday, since 3 years now.
Of course the paper has not changed a bit but my temperament surely has .
I will say I am an emotional reader and things that evoke my emotion usually stick to me and eat me sometimes.The newspaper being a essential part of my morning exercise it affected me throughout the day of course.
Today's paper was 02-11-09
We'll be more aggressive,Raj warns north Indians(headline)
In Ratnagiri,another Singur in the making
We'll retaliate next time, PC tells Pak
TRAIN HITS TRUCK,14 DIE (side bar)
Separated at birth
Breast cancer stalks city's urban women
Three engineering students from Bengal drown in Pur
(adjacent to that)
SRK wants to perform at the Games opening
I don't know about you but these lines are just meant to damage your head rather than inform you about anything. The main purpose of the paper is drowned by the stereotype headlines that subliminally induce fear and pessimism onto the mind of the readers.
The cafe carries pounds of worthless emotions too.
They have Candice Pinto giving advice on relationships there! You have to check the pictures they put there(of Candice Pinto). They had Kim Sharma doing the job before(seriously).
But after every fiber of my rage is expressed the solid part in the bird dropping has " Rachana Dubey" written on it.
"Rachana Dubey" is the most pathetic writer.
Hindustan Times is lowering itself .
I mean apart from being a Pro congress,Pessimist, badly edited newspaper which will give you a subscription for 196 rs a year has come up with articles promoting "Himesh Reshamiya, Emran Hashni , Adhyayan Suman ,Mimoh Chakraborty and Harman Baweja" under the headline "WHAT THEY GOT THAT I AINT GOT! "
I think you need some introspection. You also need to see your own face if you tell me that "they" asked me to write it. I think you are too shallow. I am done diving in this muck. Fuck you, I had enough.
I tried tagging all of you but the limit has been surpassed.
Friday, October 23, 2009
9: 43 am.
"You think you can heal people?"
"I touch them, and they heal."
"Alright. Who was the last person you healed?"
"I found a boy crying on the road the other day, I touched him. He stopped crying. He healed."
"He stopped crying? Okay. So have you ever healed a wound?"
"Yes. I have. I must have. I'm sure."
"So tell me Anvesha, tell me about you. What do you think? What do you like? What do you don't like? go on... tell me."
"I don't like you."
14th June, 2009.
9: 30 am.
"You mentioned a friend the last time. Sonya. Who is she? Are you close with her?"
"She's the reason I'm here. She's my best friend. She means everything to me. She lives with me."
"She lives with you? Your parents allow friends to stay over?"
"Yess, yes. They do. They like her too."
" Are you lying Anvesha? "
" I told you I don't like you."
"So your friend, Sonya, does she know you can heal people?"
"Yes, I have healed her. Her parents were abusive. Her father drinks a lot. She was very depressed, so I healed her. Now she's happy with me, at home."
" So healing is like power to you?"
" I think I can see power. I can feel it. And I don't like talking about it, its very personal.
I came here for different reasons. I just need some therapy not some godliness advice. Sonya thought i should get therapy. not even me. So why don't you talk about other things and we can move along"
" But you told me about your power"
" So? I didn't give you a right to talk about it."
21st June, 2009
9: 56 am.
"What? I told you I don't want to talk about it."
"You threw a plant at your teacher and you say you "quit" college?"
" She said I was wrong about everything! She said genetics isn't my field. How can she say that? I live for this. I live for this research."
"yes. It's my baby. And she asked me to shut up about it."
" So you quit?"
"How will you pursue your research then?"
"I'll join a library, I can do this on my own."
27th June, 2009
9: 47 am.
"...so I found this person online and I'm so excited about doing this project with him. He understands everything. I've never been so happy before!"
" hmmm. I see. So this guy? where does he live?"
" Here in Mumbai. He's a little older than me. Someone whom I sketched in my head when I was small to be my boyfriend! He's perfect. So perfect."
" How can you be sure?"
" You know what? You're a pathetic loser!" Anvesha reaches out to the pen stand.
"I hate you!"
She throws it at her.
"I hate feeling excited about telling you anything!"
She grabs her hand.
" You're nothing. You're not important!"
"So that was sudden. You were happy a moment before. Why this sudden rage?"
" I don't know. It happens sometimes. Maybe its your face."
"yes. I have a lot of freckles. Do you not like freckles?"
" I hate freckles. I hate looking at them. I hate those dots and those shapes. You're ugly."
"Maybe. You don't know that."
" I do know that. I do know that."
"yes, weekly, two hours has made you know that."
"No. I knew it when I saw you. You remind me of my mother. That face, that firm voice. I hate it."
"You hate your mothers voice?"
"I hate you."
4th July, 2009
9: 35 am.
"I think I need your help. I don't know...but I feel my husbands cheating on me. I cant get over this...", she sobs.
" So? Why do you need my help?"
" You can heal me! please heal me!", she screams.
" I don't think so. It's your problem, you handle it"
"But! You help people don't you?", she chokes.
"Okay. Fine. Give me your hand."
Anvesha closes her eyes when she holds her.
" I don't feel anything. I don't feel healed."
" I cant heal you then."
" I don't know."
She stops sobbing.
" You couldn't heal me?"
"I DON'T KNOW! I DON'T FUCKING KNOW!!!"
"I hate you!"
11th July, 2009
"Husband's still cheating on you?", Anvesha snorts in some confused emotion.
"I don't know. I haven't confronted him yet."
"Yeah. Maybe. You quit too. You're a loser too."
"NO! I'm not. Okay? I'm not a loser. I don't know why I quit."
"Are you on meds?"
"Yes, the doc says I got some bipolar shit or something. I wasn't listening. Mom gives me some tabs to eat in the night."
"Okay. Do you take them regularly?"
"Yeah. Whatever. Don't you speak to my mother like everyday?"
" Hah, no. You think am that interested in your life?"
"Yeah. Whatever. Don't you ask about me everyday?"
" I don't like you".
17th July, 2009
9: 32 am.
" How's Sonya?"
" She's fine. She's been busy."
"Things. I don't know. She just lives with me, what am I supposed to know everything?"
"Why so worked up?"
"Am not. She's just not been around."
"Is she scared of you?"
"Why should she be?"
" You have a tendency to yell and throw things? Maybe that's why?"
"No. It's not a tendency. It's involuntary. No one understands it."
"Do you think the bipolar might be a reason?"
"Why don't you ask her?"
"She says she doesn't know"
"When did you ask her?"
"Yeah. Now", she hesitated.
"She isn't here."
"My mom told me you left your husband."
" She did?"
"Yes. I'm sorry I couldn't heal you."
" Your mom told me you joined class again."
" Yes. I'm glad i could help you."
"I don't like you."
"You know where Sonya goes?"
"NO! and I don't want to know!"
24th July, 2009
9: 40 am.
" She's gone. Her clothes. Her everything. She's gone!", Anvesha yelled when she entered the room.
"You know why?"
"You know why? You're intelligent enough right?"
"I'm crying. I'm crying dammit! I don't cry!"
" I know. This must have really hurt you. Is this some sort of an epiphany? Your eyes look wide."
" She never existed!"
" Or maybe a revelation!"
"Shit. Fuck. No! What is happening. I read about bipolar. Shit. No!"
" Your mom told me you learn things when you see it front of your eyes. You believe in science."
"Isn't it true?"
"Yes. Maybe,why are you asking me this?"
" Just wanted to know."
Anvesha had stopped crying.
"What was i talking about?"
" I have no idea."
"Okay. Alright. What else now? Are we finished? Feels like I've been here since long"
" Yeah. Sure."
"I have researched quite a lot you know."
" Oh good. With that internet friend?"
" What internet friend?"
" I might be mistaken. Sorry. Your college mate then?"
"Yeah. This friend in college is helping me."
"I do understand things when seen. It's like facts. I believe in facts. Science is facts."
"Facts can be quite deceptive sometimes."
" Facts are real. Deception is emotional"
"I'm not married. I don't have a husband."
31st July, 2009
"This might be our last-
"I like you."
Monday, August 10, 2009
She kept looking at him sideways, but still not talking. She lowered her guard a little. Went to the bathroom, cried till she thought her lungs would pop out. Why was it so hard? He clearly loved her.
She sat down at his knees, looked into his eyes. They accused her of hurting him. Making him miserable, making him vulnerable. Why did she have to do this? She clearly loved him.
She made coffee for both of them . He lighted up.
they sat in silence, staring at the baggage. she had impulsively decided to move out. tired of the everyday mess.
she couldn't think of not living with him anymore. For the first time, surprisingly, the thought scared her. Not waking up next to his head locking somewhere on her body was scary. Really really scary. She held his hand and he didn't push it away. He tightened the hold that relieved some sort of a knot inside her.
He held her to his body. Stubbed the cigarette and made her comfortable.
They both knew it was going to be hard.
He was now holding her too tight. too much for comfort. She felt suffocated. She held him apart and he looked straight into her eyes. he wanted to know if she was the one. but she wouldn't look him in the eye. something was breaking in both their dreams.
each didn't know what was it. Why they fought so much, why they wanted to sleep on different beds everytime they had an argument.
this was like a routine.
She made her mind.
She called the security up and asked him to take her bags away in the car. She washed the coffee mug she had used and stashed it down her carry bag. He glared at her with serious loathing this time, but then he let go. She pecked him on the cheek and closed the door behind her when she left.
He dialed her number. "She didn't find out. I thought she would, but she didn't. She left though."
She dialed his number. "I left. But he doesn't know and I didn't tell him. I thought he would, but he didn't."
Sunday, July 26, 2009
My mom just snorted and left the room.
Now I don't generally have the patience to read the entire newspaper, but today I was in the mood. I wanted to sit with my dad with chai and upma and discuss things. I wanted to know what he thought, I wanted to know what I thought.
so I was raking through the pages today eagerly waiting to read things that would interest me, shock me, amuse me, make me laugh, make me skeptical. And yes, it all happened. It is this excitement I go through everytime I analyze stories, read the names of the authors just thinking how pleased they would feel, if someone very far away, in an over sized t-shirt and shorts sipping hot tea said their name out aloud in acknowledgment to an either gripping or deceiving piece of news they gathered the courage to write.
I made myself comfortable to read a very weak and naive contribution to the recent reality shows on TV. It talked about how this politician had issues with people being open and honest and how boys liked seeing infamously-famous TV stars or whatever they call themselves today, bathing on screen because they cant do nothing else, but bathe in public.
It talked about how the Indian masses find truth intimidating but severely western, how one is now not ashamed to abuse on national TV anymore, how one wants to get married in a reality television programme. Such justice to drama I've never witnessed before.
Very seemingly funny the article was. Really.
Voyeurs, that's what we are claims the article. I agree, I say.
Such issues I read about today. Sigh.
The Indian Howard Roark, the BMM syllabus, the obituaries, the matrimony sections, MNS rapists, my horoscope that said that a sense of well-being shall soon prevail, an article about how lie detectors work and how they aren't accurate, how cricket has now completed 100 years, and all that.
Then I skim through the pages again looking for something that I might have missed and I find this exceedingly small article to its worth that was titled "give and grow". It was about Indians coming together and extending help and charity in any freaking way possible. And how we should check out a site to "ask for more details".
I don't usually sit with an eye of screening every article with such concentration (and I call myself a reader) but , how they expect people to be aware and participate in "giving a glass of water" with such amazingly small space provision is what I wonder.
Apparently the bifurcation of how sexual are you and what can you be called hits the front page that says that I'm actually a "bi-curious". what difference does it make? I don't know.
In one of those matrimonial ads, a boy claims to be a teetotaler. I had no idea what that meant. Thanks to him now I know what a teetotaler is.
(for people who still don't- person who refrains from drinking intoxicating beverages)
Every ad says that their girls come from respectable families. EVERY ad. I wonder how many actually expect a "yes, our daughter lost her virginity when she was 15 and drinks heavily when upset".
This was the papers. This was ALL just the papers. Reality television shows awaits me now.
I was telling my dad in the morning of how I was hungry to watch a play desperately. How I wanted to see live drama. Rakhi ka svayamwar wasn't satisfying enough.
But now I think I'm full. Sunday morning drama at its best.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
I may be numberless, I may be innocent
I may know many things, I may be ignorant
Or I could ride with kings and conquer many lands
Or win this world at cards and let it slip my hands
I could be cannon food, destroyed a thousand times
Reborn as fortunes child to judge anothers crimes
Or wear this pilgrims cloak, or be a common thief
Ive kept this single faith, I have but one belief
I still love you
I still want you
A thousand times the mysteries unfold themselves
Like galaxies in my head
On and on the mysteries unwind themselves
Eternities still unsaid
til you love me
Saturday, July 11, 2009
He tried bending to get a glimpse of her but then it would have been too obvious if he moved too much. And he just wanted to observe her, without her knowing that he was looking at her.
The train suddenly started gaining speed and he realized he had to get off at the next station. He strapped his kitos on and stood up. He turned to find her legs moving, out of sight. He knew she would get off too. He smiled to himself.
As the train slowed it started raining. Really really hard. The rush of the wind and the tiny droplets left a haze on his spectacles. They were decorative but he still loved wearing them, it was the frame his father used.
He quickly took them off and hooked them onto his shirt and got pushed his way out automatically from the train.
There she was.
Her hair was wet and she walked with such grace that he couldn't believe how beautiful she looked. She was definitely waiting for someone. She was wearing a lucknowi kurta with surma under her eyes and folded pants.
He walked towards the exit and didn't look back. She was the most beautiful Indian woman he had ever seen his entire life.
The rain now dripping down his face he thought of walking down till home. It was such a beautiful weather. He imagined her face as how it looked sideways. How her face didn't have a crease when she smiled. How her toes were talking for her.
" Boss, Shiv mandir kaha aaya?", asked a man from under the umbrella. He came back to his surroundings, answered the man with the funny hair and kept walking. Today he remembered not to forget the mitti she had asked him to get for the plants. It's just amazing how the house feels with fresh plants and the mitti ki sugand.
He figured Mona was coming home too today. So he bought a packet of gulkhand for her.
He reached home when he found a note on the door.
"Will be half an hour late today. Picking up Mona today and coming. Hope you don't forget the mitti, hope it rains too :)"
Damn! He had just remembered not to forget. He went back to the society's garden figuring that stealing from there would be faster and searched for the watchman in the pour. the watchman walked with a plastic bag as if he knew why he had come.
" madam ne bola tha, aap yehi se mitti lekar jaoge"
He couldn't help smiling. He saw up towards the sky while the watchman filled the bag, thinking of the first time he had met her. It was raining then. He looked back down with water in his eyes.
It took him a moment to see clearly when the gate to the society's entrance opened.
A rickshaw came in with its plastic rain protectors not really protecting the woman sitting inside.
Her legs were a milky white. His wife was home.
She wore a lucknowi kurta and surma under her eyes with folded pants.
He ran towards her, gave her a hug while she paid the rickshawala, thus embarrassing the aunty's sitting nearby holding umbrellas while their children threw mud at each other. He slapped Mona on the back for the stupid opps and batts they still played while she got out and turned towards his wife again smiling his impish smile.
"So... I saw the most beautiful Indian woman ever in the train today..."
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Saturday, July 4, 2009
"I made Maggi then and made it the way he does. It was brilliant..."
"Maybe they should invent something different for the rains."
"you know I figured that singing really is not my thing. not at all. psssh."
"They said gay sex was all okay now. Wise I say. It's just so annoying that we want to fight all the time. "
"I wanted to kill that bitch of a person today you know. I don't even want to take names. Irritating people are at times..."
" I figured I should've left from there."
"That boy is just very lecherous and uncivilized"
"If he ever makes me feel like that again, I will kill him."
"Actually, I did kill him. Why lie to you?"
"So then, this bhajiwala wouldn't budge only! 45 rupees for french beans?!"
"I met Mom at home then. I knew she would be home."
"On my way here, I splashed water at me......"
She looked up again. It started drizzling for an answer maybe.
She didnt move from the spot she was sitting. It was comforting.
The Sky always listens.
Friday, July 3, 2009
"Agla Station, Kandivli"
"Next station, Kandivli"
This is when I regained consciousness of my surroundings. This lady was trying to get in between me and this other lady near the door to well, get wet. It was raining very faintly and I was wondering back to what I was thinking about. I'd lost track from Andheri to Kandivli. I think its very unwise to do that in a train. Really. You just never know. Today I saw two movies, White and Red. It just made me realize what emotions and relationships mean to some people. How easy it is to hurt, to love, to cheat, to feel guilty. And how hard it is to get over it.
I wish I had such transparent eyes. That says everything, but nothing. They are just actors and it still puts that effect on me.
I made Maggi for me when I came back, had some tea. But the stupid headache wouldn't go. It's weird when it gets all needy and clingy. The need to hug. The need for someone to say that they love you no matter what. The loneliness just gets you I guess sometimes. Even though there is no question for you to feel that way.
It's so hypocritical, that I wanted to be left alone but still wanted some reassurance, something that I could hold onto. Plus, I didn't want doobies help. It's not good for such feeling of sadness really.
So I'm just here. Home. Feeling really pathetic. And I have no idea why.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Kiss me out of the bearded barley
Nightly, beside the green, green grass
Swing, swing, swing the spinning step
You wear those shoes and I will wear that dress.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Anyhow. It really somehow wasn't a good morning for me.
It's just raining and I'm really liking that. I wet my feet and legs while I was sitting on the window just going blank. As if nothing mattered now, nothing seemed troublesome. But then I started crying. I have no idea why. It was more like a reflex.
'Last kiss' was playing in the background and maybe just my profound thoughts were suddenly now talking to me.
lines I write:
I always thought that this could be,
that we could make it rain,
and feel so free
why can I hear my heart beat now?
why am I so afraid?
wish you would stop asking how.
song I like:
Make me an angel
That flies from montgomery
Make me a poster
Of an old rodeo
Just give me one thing
That I can hold on to
To believe in this living
Is just a hard way to go
It's amazing how clear the sky is when it rains.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
My parents have always been very supportive of me being enthusiastic that way, but they would still put on limitations on a lot of things. For instance, my mother thought I was too young to read Anne frank's diary and she made me keep the book down at the store! But I, the owner of the entire hardy boys' collection, told her indignantly ( a word I learned in the papers today),
" Mom, Cmon, I can relate to Anne, she is like me, just a tad bit older who speaks better english!"
But Mom wouldn't hear any of it and now I have to keep reading Enid Blyton.
My mother always speaks of my childhood, of how I fell here and how I hit my head there. She once told me about my name, "Aaina", she kept this name for me because she thought I was her reflection. "Aaina" means the mirror in Hindi by the way. I thought this was quite true. We had the same nose, same hair texture, we even had the same smile. Plus she also keeps a diary. I wonder what she writes. Maybe about dad. If yes, then we shall have that in common too!
I've rambled too much and went off track I guess. My watermelon dress. Yes. Why it holds significance here is because I'm too old for it. I'm getting a little too conscious about how pink my room is, how well my curtains look, and how many stuffed toys are lying around in every corner. I wish i could tell my parents to change things for me now. I'm eight. I'm old and I'm a girl. I have needs. It's very funny sometimes that's why, when my Mom thinks that I need to be supervised for everything I do. From playing on the PC to watching TV. It seems very foolish now. Meh.
Not that I completely amuse myself with being old and wise. I liked being a kid. It was pampering enough. So now what I do is, I empty my drawers and remove my half a watermelon dress and surrender it to my mother. She wont take it well. But I think I should take a pair of scissors too. I don't really mind keeping the watermelon to look at, after twenty years.
Monday, June 8, 2009
I have a few lines to write..
the moons shines in the background,
my sister sleeps next to me
without a sound.
I hopelessly make this poem up
this is a little tough
I think about you
and all the times we've shared
It's lonely without you,
and I still feel sad.
the way you looked at me,
the way you smiled at me,
told me that you cared.
And now you're gone,
its been a year today,
but it feels like you're here,
as if it was yesterday.
It's still hard to believe,
I'm like a child who writes this grief
I wish you could come back,
like the rains coming back.
I will love you like always,
now and everyday.
however juvenile the poem seems to be,
its what I feel and what I believe.
I miss you.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
I hope you're not lonely, without me.
When you want more than you have, you think you need...
and when you think more then you want, your thoughts begin to bleed.
I think I need to find a bigger place...
cause when you have more than you think, you need more space
Have no fear
For when I'm alone
I'll be better off than I was before
I've got this light
I'll be around to grow
Who I was before
I cannot recall
Long nights allow me to feel...
I'm falling...I am falling
The lights go out
Let me feel
I am falling safely to the ground
I'll take this soul that's inside me now
Like a brand new friend
I'll forever know
I've got this light
And the will to show
I will always be better than before
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Where you know where you're going.
Headed someplace you know you will be resented. It's as simple as that.
There isnt a guide, there isnt a map, there isnt a future. There is just you and reality and illusion. (Richard Bach provides such insight I tell you. It's fortunate.)
Pleasure and pain both recieve each other well. Whether its a game, sex, a conversation, a relationship. We hurt because we apparently love. Pleasure and pain. Why is it so hard to listen to someone who is happy or sad? Mere jealousy? Or plain ignorance?
"The mark of your ignorance is the depth of your belief in injustice and tragedy. What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly."
This makes absolute sense. It's like the wheel of fortitude suddenly spinning in your direction with gratitude. The fortitude of a person to hold on to both pain and pleasure in thier lives is respectable for the fact of having emotion for the unknown or the very known. It's fundamentally human to depend on some figure for both these emotions. Fear to undergo it, is obvious ignorance of the same.
If you pick up the large black hat and there's no rabbit popping out of it, well, then, I guess you have seen what we explicitly call, reality.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
If heaven and hell decide
That they both are satisfied
Illuminate the no's on their vacancy signs
If there's no one beside you
When your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark
Friday, May 22, 2009
but I guess the series seem better in my head. surprisingly, I scored quite a decent shot at my sem 2 attempt. The family seems happy.
i was wondering about this whole "so..er..what next?" phase. The internet seems even more wider and resourceful now of which I have not much knowledge about otherwise. And yes, I am going through a readers block phase. I cant read for nuts after a few pages. Or maybe I'm reading a little too late in the night that I don't have the endurance of going through one more of Jeeves' ideas and Wooster's foolishness. Wodehouse is brilliant stuff, but I think I should direct my reading skills to something other than Jeeves stories. So I shifted to finally start reading catch 22. :)
I cant believe how uncomfortable I'm right now.
Monday, May 18, 2009
fixing all that went wrong.
It's true when they say,
there's always the fight to belong.
It went on for a long time,
with failure and the shine.
Better it is to realize,
running back is living a lie.
Maybe its not the failure,
just the old friendship with prejudice.
And now, its right.
Closure brings light,
nothing can stay unfair.
It's a jigsaw puzzle,
laid down for now.
Awaiting our first drizzle,
it just fits right somehow.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Subodh was sowing a few seeds in the backyard of the garden when the usual irritating bullies came running towards him with big balloons and water-shooters. There were still a good old 6 days left for holi but the usual "celebrations" of urine-filled balloons, smashed eggs and oil paint water-shooters had started with a new vigour and enthusiasm in those 15 year old teenagers. They never left Subodh alone at any times thus sadistically enjoying this opportunity of bullying him. They were hurling abuses at him when he tried to escape their pleasurable act and tracked him down near the building elavator, splashing him with eggs and and only eggs this time. Him being a twelve year old was even more funny for the big boys to tease him for having a name of a middle-aged man. He wasnt any Rocky, Sid or Rahul. He was named Subodh by his extremely cautious, concerned and conservative family. Not just the parents, but the entire family.
He cleared his face from the egg getting scared to death about going home now because he was a pure brahmin vegetarian who hadn't even touched an egg in his life. His Mom was going to kill him. He went home to find his mom in her room changing. He ran to the bathroom cursing himself for not knocking the door before he had entered her room. Why was she changing with the door open anyway?
He had a bath and used fragrant soaps to get the smell off him and came out of the bathroom with a towel on. His mom heard him coming out and entered his room with a scared expression on her face.
"Weren't you supposed to be planting and watering in the garden?" she asked a little sternly.
"Those boys came after me again so I ran back home"
"when did you come?"
"10 minutes back"
"why didnt you call me?"
"er...amma..i thought you maybe busy, and i wanted to have a bath..."
She eyed him carefully though he could see that she looked tired and hurt. He thought she might just cry any second. She left the room without saying anything else and Subodh knew there was something wrong.
He was coming back from school a few days later when he thought about his life. how everybody made fun of him and his glasses, said that he was a grown up jerk. He couldn't understand why wasn't he like the others? why did he not feel aroused looking at girls like the other boys? why didnt his family go on vacations? why didnt his parents go out like the others? why?
He had a half day and his mom had still packed a tiny lunch for him. Maybe she had forgotten that it was half day in school. he thought about his mother and how much she was lonely without daddy. daddy always came late and slept in the guest room. Amma would sleep way before in the bedroom next to his without even saying goodnight to him. his childhood with his parents was a blur. They hardly interacted and his Amma was the only verbal communication he had at home.
The door was open and Subodh wondered if dadi had come, because she usually kept the door open for more ventilation whenever she came. He went inside and was about to call for Amma when he heard a few voices.
" You live across our house, we have to be more careful"
"why cant you just come clean with your husband about us. its not just about the sex! you dont share a marriage with him Neeta, its just a liability because of that boy!"
"Don't say that. I gave birth to him! However he is, I cant do this to him!" his Amma cried.
"But don't you need to have your desires fulfilled? you haven't slept with your husband after subodh's birth!"
"we don't share that anymore, he hates me for bringing subodh in this life, you know that"
"it's not your fault that he is like that! its his 20th birthday tomorrow! and that boy still thinks he is 12!
"you should go, I think I left the door open"
Subodh heard them coming towards the door and he ran away from that house, that pain, that humiliation, that bondage.
He was choking every time he thought about his Amma sleeping with the neighbor. this couldn't happen. It was all because of him. Is this why he was so taller to the other guys? what was going on? he was sitting on the rocks near the sea shore his eyes burning with hate and anger towards him. he started climbing the rocks towards the edge. he had seen this in the movies. he was scared of doing this. he thought of changing his mind, but he couldn't stop walking. His eyes were filled with tears and the sun was scorching down his body. All he could see was black spots ahead of him.
And then he slipped.
His Amma was at that moment sitting on the window sill sucking on a cigarette looking at subodh's picture. She was feeling the pain. That dizziness. It could happen any moment. The bottle said "hazardous" with a skull on the top. She started choking on the cigarette. All that was left now, was froth in her mouth and her disdain.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
It seemed as if it was just yesterday that I was speaking to her about the train that passed our village in the wee hours of the morning. I had made my mind, I knew where I was going and for what. It must have not even crossed my mind that what I believed and knew about Mumbai was probably just self assurance or maybe even self mockery. I always told my sister, “Mumbai is a city of over brimming dreams” and she always smiled at my usual shred of wisdom. She adored me like no other elder sister would, her eyes shining with pride when I read the bhagvad gita in the yatras, or composed a poem of my own. She believed in me and her naïve innocence made things very much easy for me. She was the only one who took care of me and the only one woman that I’ve known to be so strong and virtuous at the same time.
I made my way into the dense fog of the premature morning, trying to push my thoughts of fear and anxiety away in the darkness. This night was my night, where I could think of my own, relive my memories with my sister, understand a language of my own where I thought and proceeded with no guidance further. I thought of him, the silver bearded man, who respected my thirst for words and taught me the language I could now speak and write. He never acclaimed any happiness with my writings. I once wrote a poem about love and loneliness for which I received a passive response and a nod. His belief was my strength, my pride, my loneliness.
I stopped in between to sit at the lake where I used to often come and read. I liked the silence that prevailed, the beauty of the moss covered lake. I saw the moon from there for the last time, shivering, but yet counting the constellation once again to see if were right on track. I believed that looking at the direction of the pole star gave a direction of the way ahead. I swallowed the darkness and looked back to the ground and started walking again on my way.
I reached an hour before the train was scheduled to come. It was a chilly night and all I had were clothes that could cover me from sheer nudity. I sat down at the battered station looking out for some tea stall or some sign of human movement when I saw a man with a shawl draped over him, smoking a beedi. But I loved the smell of smoke. Our village did not approve of women wearing even salwar kameez, so the sight of a teenage girl puffing a beedi was one big sin. But to make myself feel better in the cold, I had smuggled beedi’s a couple of times to my lake spot and puffed a few drags while I read in silence. Envying the old man, I checked my tattered bag for some water. Gulping down some of it felt good after the long walk from the village. I remembered old times with the anticipation of something new and wondered how I would ever be able to survive in a city like Mumbai.
Yes, I was heading to Mumbai, the city of over brimming dreams, to change my name and make a name. I believed I was strong enough to encounter all that took place in Mumbai; I had read some stories in the local newspaper about it. They wrote about the books they provided, the stars that lived in Bandra and Juhu. I didn’t know these places, but they made me surrender my village and my destiny. The clouds were today seen in clear shapes in such darkness because of the moonlight and I figured Revathi would have loved to be here, sitting with me, counting the stars. Revathi was my classmate, my neighbor, my conscience. All she said when I was leaving today evening when I’d been to her house to say my goodbyes were, “Take care of you, it’s a scary world out there”. She gave me no emotional drama like my sister, just a few words of general concern.
I sat there with my eyes in the direction of the tracks, not knowing where the train would come from. What made me do this is a good question. I was learning very less with no competition in the village that made me lose my concentration and sincerity towards my subject, my love. I needed human involvement in my dreams, my world and all I could think of when I wanted to go to a proper college was, Mumbai. I was eighteen years old with a frail body of meek weakness but a strong voice and a power that I myself was astonished of. I was simple with my clothes as I had no male species to entertain and believed in wearing two plaits to avoid any hair on the eyes while I read. Nothing is more annoying then your own features disturbing your moment of solitude happiness. I had no plan, no future sketched. Just a map of Mumbai borrowed from a traveler ages back that I’d kept with utmost care and made sure that I ironed the sheet before leaving. I surprisingly had a lot of money with my savings from teaching, cleaning and baby sitting. It was revolting for the villagers to be paying a teenager, a girl, for chores she should perform as “duties”. But I demanded and I received.
It scared me to think of accommodation, but I had known of the Colaba slums and had decided to find solace there. People in Mumbai couldn’t be that bad, I hoped. But I didn’t need help… just some time and a blanket. This was my only requirement.
I swallowed some air, I was hungry. But I decided to stay put till the train arrived. I made a decision that I knew I couldn’t and wouldn’t regret. It was a feeling of freedom, of finding one self within, of determination and confidence that made me do what I was doing. The only difference was it wasn’t any other dream, it was reality. Like air, feelings, thoughts.
So that’s why I remembered my assurance to my sister when I saw the gleaming yellow light of the train from a distance, “It’s my endurance to surface this reality that’ll help me survive in the over brimming city of dreams”.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
"Did you know they also published written material!",exclaimed Tammana sarcastically flipping through a magazine when I walked in.
" Why do you buy them then?" I asked.
She didnt answer. "How was your day? Damn, you're leaving water all over, I just cleaned up!"
"Sorry, I just felt like walking today. Tamu, can i talk to you for a second?"
"yeah, just a minute. fuck! these shoes are for 26 grands! can you believe it?"
I just looked at her staring into that page with so much attention that she hadn't noticed me hesitating. she always did this to herself. Bought those stupid magazines, hair curlers, self-help books...claiming that they were cheap and well there's got to be something to do after coming home. And then she lived in denial. Every time i thought about it I asked myself of how like her was I. But I loved her. She was my friend.
"Are we going to talk about it or not?"
"What? NO. i cant. It's still fresh."
"I think it's better if we leave it for now."
"no tamu, we have to talk about this one day or the other. so why not now? I'm sick of keeping it in me."
"In you? were you high that day?"
"No, babe. I was completely alright."
"hey, I just dropped by to give tamu her post."
"oh thanks, I'll give it to her when she comes."
"thanks. when is she coming today? I couldn't reach her cell."
"mostly by eight and it's just 5 now."
"ah. you mind getting some water for me?"
"no of course not, come in na", I said with a smile.
My heart was racing. Why was he always so intriguing? Damn. And I know he wants it too.
"so anniversary tomorrow?", I asked.
"oh. yeah, she told you? she couldn't stop talking about it last night. it just seems so foolish"
"foolish? it means a lot to her...but..yeah. it IS kinda foolish." I hate it when I resolved to conformity around him.
He came towards me to keep the glass back near the sink. Somehow, I didn't move. He still came closer.
Shit. I've known tamu for years. how can i do this...how...he was kissing me. and that trail was left behind.
"If only I hadn't come then, would you have told me?"
"that's it. Now I have closure."
Saturday, March 21, 2009
i'm providing a picture of the mindblasting loo.
now sejal wasn't there, this is a pic taken way back. but its THE loo!!!
watching confessions with ash and a tub of caramel popcorn was good stuff for today. sej you shud've been there too. really. the movie is way different from the book, but yet a good watch.
immense boredom is making me write right now, so i dont really have much to write right now.
i used 'write right now', thrice. heeh.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
There was this intuition, there definitely was the feeling. Bewildered of how things were now fitting in like a finished puzzle where you could see the cracks where they joined, she was now convinced. she had seen it coming. And now it wasn't scary anymore. It had to happen someday. Maybe now was the time. she had seen it both ways.
The woman was practically sobbing in her body, looking so dazed and scared. she was not afraid of what she was going to do maybe, just the thought of what would happen later. Is it going to be all black? will there be white? it was time. she had gone through a lot. the marks on her body showed. it was now or never. she leaned ahead, and someone grabbed her from the back and pulled her sari to get hold of her. she screamed," let me do this, leave me alone!"
The train was gaining speed somehow and she couldn't stand on her feet properly.
there was a crowd and then it was all gone. Now there were tears and explanations. this was one way.
It was him. He was on his way to college. To give a stupid exam. And he was late because he was late. he had had no food, just some milk before leaving. Milk always calmed him down. he took out his bike and raced the accelerator to notion that he was leaving, to his mother. She understood and came running outside to wish him luck. But he was gone. He was speeding his way through the highway thinking of banking solutions. Damn that truck. He could've gone miles ahead compared with that stupid pace. He honked a few times to have the truck driver glaring at him in the rear view mirror. He was now desperate. 15 minutes late and now more, was too much. He turned the handle to the right and accelerated more. He zoomed into the way ahead.
It was the most gruesome thing the truck driver had ever seen.
This, the other way.
It was this insane feeling that took her to this different world. She was getting stabbed in the stomach. It was a mutilating stab. There was a lot of screaming. So screechy that her body was writhing. She got up with sweat all over her. It was coming. Either it happens or it doesn't. But it's sure coming.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
she was walking home after a long tiring day, kajal spread in the corner of her eyes, her hair tied up messily, while her walk looked lethargic but yet graceful. all she could think of was whether she was going to do it or not. He did mean a lot to her. but was it even real? And this was the only way out. it had been long enough. she decided to tell him the next day.
" is it alright if we involve aunty in this? she could come with you till you get settled"
"no mom, I'm old enough to take care of myself"
"this is not a trip you're going to rashee, its education, and its important. do you understand?"
maybe she could start by saying, "well, you know you're anyway always so preoccupied that you wont even notice that I'm gone."
"maybe we could take this long distance"
" its for the best"
"you never loved me anyway"
if it were such a loose relationship why would she even give an explanation. maybe somewhere he cared about her? maybe somewhere it did mean something. it was confusing. maybe it was just an embarrassment.
Her FB account now said that she was thinking. why even tell the world? attention? conveying? comments? what was it? she didnt know. but she just wanted something. some feeling.
it had been a busy week. she had to decide fast.
everything would be way much simpler and uncomplicated. she flipped a coin. took the best of three. pretended to not see it when it said she had to go.
is it easy to leave things? to give them up so hastily. is it just a moment of rightness? a fleeting thought of belonging.
"I don't know how to say this. but i was considering leaving. we spoke about it. maybe next week. what do you think?"
"Does it even matter?"
the train was to leave in the afternoon and she was ready. that was the last that she spoke to him. he'd smiled sadly when she left. he knew he would miss her. but somethings just happen when they have to happen. and it wasn't time yet. maybe she was the one. the imperfection was perfect.
she looked back when she walked away from him. he knew she would. he clicked the picture.
it still the remains the most beautiful picture he'd ever taken.
Friday, March 6, 2009
however chaotic things get its always the minute things that hover on the surface, making you feel sick in the stomach. its not even thinking too much into anything, anyone. its just a feeling. where you want to grab someone you love and weep all day long for absolutely no reason at all.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
or mistake it to delusion.
a disarray of belief,
just to bring an ounce of relief.
it could be what it is,
it could be as it is.
but is there measure?
is there conclusion?
the haziness of it all confides,
that illusion could be a device.
not that sanity is at price,
just a feeling with unwanted prejudice.
it conceives purity of belonging,
with sheer acceptance of surroundings,
but still brings a question to avoid,
sinking in this void..
a world of infamous explanations,
it's a wonder how we rely on expectations.
and to darken the room,
isn't any much different.
Friday, February 27, 2009
even in the darkness,
the cool breeze and the furnace..
it seemed like the night of "could-Be's"
the air of passion and pleasantries..
he sleeps besides me,
clutching my arm..
the smoke now setting up a charm.
it's like it was meant to be.
the ash drops with a silent glee..
it just seems right
to have him sleep so peacefully.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
There was surprisingly Eric Clapton on the CD making it a little meant to be.
Not that I despise his sexual frequencies that got him laid every other night, it's just that his priorities were a little disturbed. the crying disturbed me at first coz well, c'mon, it wasn't ET that was departing, just same lame monotonous romantic jerk dying. popcorn seemed important that afternoon in the cozy hall. not that I don't like the boast about his night-of-three-times-the-first-time. It's just way too sexually prude to announce that to your two-week old girlfriend. and so it begins. 5 weeks was way too much anyway, plus a little disinterest heads the male orgasms to sniff other options.
Bleak that the chances seemed of me getting into a fight and demanding an explanation, and well if it wasn't meant to be then why deprive oneself from sheer gratitude and well, a bit of sadistic pleasure? Dramatization always helped my source of explanation that proves extremely beneficial right now. and well, the jerk had to learn a lesson. So pop goes the weasel and here comes the rehearsal. the stage is set, the lines are read. Now all it requires is the act and the introduction of the sleazy jackass.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
whatever we see, we conceive,
was somewhere beyond,
something only we could crayon.
we made this reality,
we gave our love,
powering an intensity,
with our own thoughts and actions,
and now this serendipity
of finding ourselves within each other
giving us everything like no other,
is dangling between opportunities and will,
i just wish we knew
that is this luck or reality?
a flow of hedonism?
will it always remain, "passion meeting surrealism"?
Saturday, February 21, 2009
having had an almost non-food day, its very likely that nothing good is going to turn out at the end of the day either. i don't even recollect doing anything offensive or repulsive that instead of a hug you get a bloody angry response.
I'm telling you, boys are just mean. and we should definitely throw rocks at them. i thank ashmita to have come up with such a brilliant plan ages ago, coz it really helps right now.
i mean even after trying, it just doesn't work.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Nothing is surreal, everything has a meaning.
everything is real, anything and everything.
when I woke up today morning,
I knew I'd seen a beautiful dream,
but its surreality awakened my reality.
I ought to have cherished it, it seemed welcoming.
and I did.
this brings me back to world.
to have this feeling of reality sinking,
is something extraordinary.
an experience that knows you.
an experience that secures you.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
a new way of communication..
but do we interpret it correctly?
or just a dart in the sky?
emotions make it way difficult amazingly,
but do we even emote as time goes by?
we make it sound so simple and wonderful..
that we forget how hard it is in realizing it.
enough said is better than unsaid..
just some thoughts that don't change when said..
Saturday, February 14, 2009
it's just way over the sleeve
it's hard to find what you want than what you need..
maybe it's the cold,
maybe it's the air,
or maybe it's just the need..
the readiness of celebration
the anticipation of the participation..
not wondering if it's even real,
just the joy of this deal.
but then i still stick with maybe
that it could possibly be.
aakhon ka hai dhokha
aisa tera pyar..
tera emosanal atyachar..
Friday, February 13, 2009
it's just amusing as how stupid things can get at times. i mean i don't know or care whether it was anything to do with today being Friday the 13th or that someone really wishes i wallow till dawn or that tomorrow is valentines day, i don't know. its just ugh!
nehow. so my dad made kadhi with ajma today thinking that it was jeera and i dunno why i just shared that bit of information. it was good kadhi though.
my sister is gone for a good 10 days and now the room is empty and well boring. a lot of alone time though. it helps sure. but i miss her. she is chaotic and all yelly. i like that. :)
i saw welcome to sajjanpur today. :) naaice movie. did not lift up my spirits though. rock version of emosanal atyachar sure did later.
And when we meet
Which I'm sure we will
all that was there
Will be there still
I'll let it pass
And hold my tongue.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
i made this collage kinda thing the other day of just random pics and it really turned out to be quite naaice. :)
random girl in the train was talking about my-guy-doesnt-care-about-me issue today, very very loudly. her claim was that she called him loads of times and sent him huge emails, but he never replied since two weeks (apparently he lives somewhere very far) and that he has a new girlfriend maybe and that he was the hottest guy she ever slept with. well, looking at her i thought well, yes
- he may have been the hottest guy she ever dated
- he already has a girlfriend who for sure is two weeks old.
- he's already slept with her
- wake up blondie!!
- i could eavesdrop on someone's conversation without thier knowledge
- i can go blank for 10 whole minutes
- i kinda like jumbo king now somehow
- there is no word such as "somewhy"
- I'm very cranky when sick
- i dont know how to sing
- i suck at crosswords
- i love the song "aakhon mein jiske" by rock on.
- i dun like being called sammy.
- i dont know what to write here, i just like 10 points.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
with crumbs keeping it alive.
I know the dealings with ourselves,
are things where we never lied.
Posing for that picture'
I knew you'd realize
there's so much more to reality;
that stagnancy is something we despise.
Belonging to that frame,
I know I made a good picture.
That I wondered what you captured?
Reality or the stagnancy?
I wondered how much you love me.
I wondered how much you know me.
Whether you realized...
the reality was incomplete,
without the stagnancy being materialized.
Yesterday I came up with something that I orginally believe in, that people come and go, feelings come and go, but you still remain what you are. And you cant be sure of yourself or your feelings for another unless your through with yourself and know, well, you. And its very unlikely that one wouldnt know themselves. even if you arent sure of what you are, you still know what you believe in and what not. Im just discovering myself. Its draining things out of me that arent needed with very new things that are bewildering me. absolutely. i dunno how much more am i going to know, discover. but it's interesting. very very interesting.
P.S also i just had a hair cut. :)
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Waiting and anticipating..
following the cliche..
restlessness overwhelming my thoughts
I wonder incredulously..
and then comes change in suit armor
I allow myself to breathe
knowing that he'll find me
I bring myself to irony
wishing there would be, destiny.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
and that it twinkles..
i wonder what they say
the million emotions,
the many actions that they convey..
there was power, there was compassion..
emoting an age for a reaction...
that passion of rage and love
ablaze to meet its desire..
and now that they surrender..
to the one that reflects themselves to another..
the stare could stay along, if destined together.
Monday, January 12, 2009
this is not how I wanted it to be
The waves, the sun, the sea
it's all disappeared, it's all gone..
We made a beautiful picture,
we had an amazing smile..
It just wasn't meant to be
i can hear you, i know you..
this is not how i wanted it to be..
.....kuch pass hai...
kuch ajnabee ehsaas hai..
shayad yeh pyar hai..
pyar hai shayad....
Monday, January 5, 2009
Heaven from Hell,
blue skies from pain.
Can you tell a green field
from a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?
And did they get you to trade
your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange
a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?
How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl,
year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have you found?
The same old fears.
Wish you were here.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
The last day of this year, was one tragedy. Hell lot of things happened. And I dont even wish to recall it.
I guess it wasn't one of my best days. Things have changed, so have people.
Its just been very vague and very dense. I know this is absolutely irritating. But I cant help it.
I'm sorry but I cant. I know I wasnt sincere either in all this time, but I did love, I did care.
It just doesnt seem right anymore.