The Namesake

I was bored. And a tad frustrated with myself for being so utterly useless. The New Year hadn’t brought anything new to my life. It was the same. Silver Oak 1 to SH1 and back again with the occasional trip to the city. I would sit mindlessly in class, not really listening to the professor. One professor went and the other came in. It really didn’t matter who was standing in front of the class. Sometimes, I would start reading to get rid of this strange mood that seemed to have set in. Somehow, I haven’t finished it yet. I forget how many times I have re-issued the book. Things weren't really going my way, both on the personal and professional front.

As usual, I was cribbing to Dennis, about how useless I am. Sarah was thankfully asleep; otherwise she would have been the unlucky victim. It was 6 15 pm and I wanted to go out. MICA campus seemed to suffocate me all of a sudden. Spontaneously, Dennis and I decided to take a walk to the lake in Shela village. Somehow I had always imagined myself sitting at the steps that lead to the lake, breathing in some fresh air and just enjoying the tranquillity, ever since that first time I had come in a rickshaw to MICA with my suitcases filled with clothes and my heart filled with hope.

We started walking to the lake and he got a phone call. It feels nice, I wondered to myself. To just breathe in some different air, even though it was all the same everywhere. I felt a little better, although the restlessness was still there. I knew it wouldn’t leave so soon. It had become an old friend. The kind who keeps fleeting in and out of your life, periodically. With me lost in a philosophical dialogue with myself and Dennis talking to a friend on the phone, we never realised when we reached the lake. I quickly went down the steps. I was eager. I wanted to tick this off my list of things to do as soon as possible. As I stood with Dennis on the last step, I realised how foolish I am. I was disappointed. It didn’t really feel great. The lake was dirty. And it smelled.

Dennis laughed at me, mocking me as usual. I guess, some things don’t really turn out to be so great when you finally get them.

We started back to the campus and we met three cute little girls on the way, walking in the same direction. At first, they looked at me and smiled. There was so much innocence. When I gave them a smile too, they started giggling. Dennis started talking to them and took a picture with his phone. That set off another big round of giggles.

“Jo aene photo lidho apado!” (See, he took our picture)

I spoke to the little girl in gujarati. Asked her name.

‘”Rehana,” she answered with a big smile. “Nargis,” the other one replied, not wanting to be left out. The other girl had run to her uncle and was walking ahead with him. Perhaps, she was shy.

I complimented them on their names.

“Tamara naam ketla sundar che!”, I said. (Your names are so beautiful!)

Then, Rehana asked me something.

“Tamaru naam su che?” (What is your name?)

When I answered, she said, “Mari ben nu pan ej che! Tamari jetli motti che!” (My sister also has the same name. She’s as big as you!)

“Oh, su kare che ae?” I enquired politely. (Oh, what does she do?)

Meanwhile Dennis was walking with us, trying to make head and tail out of this conversation.

“Ae kaam karva jay” she said proudly. (She goes to work.)

I asked her what work she does. “Ae vaasan kare”, she replied. (She washes utensils)

The girls had reached their destination but we hadn’t. We bade farewell to them as they turned to their right into the courtyard of a house.

Dennis asked me about what we talked about. I explained to him how I have a namesake and the work that she does. Dennis, as usual, said in his mocking tone, “Imagine, here are you, studying in a good school, completing your post graduation and there she is, a girl with the same name, almost the same age, earning her bread and butter by washing utensils.”

I was silent for a while. Didn’t I know that too? How lucky I was to have this opportunity! But the restlessness still wouldn’t go.

During the rest of the so called return journey to the MICA campus, I continued cribbing.

New Actor on the block

As part of Idea Generation workshop, we had to make an advertisement for a social issue. Sarah (my roomie) was making one on drug abuse and she shot a scene with me in it. Later she realized that the story wasn't making any sense. It was funny how we were brainstorming as to how to fit a new story with the scene that we had already shot (Yeah, we are kinda lazy that way! :-P).

To tell you the truth, I felt invigorated. I remembered my school/undergrad days when I used to be far more active.

Anyway, here's the final video, on domestic abuse (mental abuse in this case):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AadEhCiOX1o

Credits:

Direction/Story/Concept -Sarah Banerjee

Actors- Shaili Desai, Dennis Daniel

Illusion and Disillusionment

Disillusionment is a dangerous thing. But that point has to come, when you stop believing, in a relationship, a friendship, a system, or maybe just the world in general. And then, it feels such a waste. Especially that part of you which you invested in it. And you feel like such a fool. Everything suddenly seems so utterly pointless. All you feel like doing is to say 'go to hell' to everybody, whoever it may be, a stranger or a friend.

What am I saying? I do not know. Or why am I saying all this? Who cares? I don't care. It's almost 5:30 in the morning. I should sleep. Good Night !

A dialogue

An ode to lost loves, both real and imaginary....

HE:

Let me be the moon again.

It is only under my moon light

That your beauty will shine

SHE:

Pretty words, that's all they are!
Why say things you do not mean?
I'll not worry though,
I've heard them all my life!

HE:

That I know,

All your life you’ve waited,

That also I know,

Do not you realize?

SHE:

I only realize

That shallow is your soul,

You look at me and smile at another

HE:

My eyes are only for you

The rest of the world can take whatever they want

SHE: Including your heart?

Haven’t you given it away enough?

What is left for me?

HE:

I have been unhappy enough!

You can have all the broken pieces,

And mend them again

Until you have it whole

SHE:

A second-hand heart?

I deserve more.

HE:

Love can never be second-hand

SHE:

I do not want love.

Neither do I want to love.

HE:

Yet, you love me.

SHE:

I can only laugh,

You don’t love me,

But expect me to love you?

HE:

Maybe in time wounds will heal

SHE:

I suppose I can wait,

I have waited so much

What harm would a little more do?

HE:

Come to me, then!

SHE:

Come, I will only when I am ready

Hurt I have been, again and again

Still, ready I am now, though

HE:

Now, my smiles are also for you and you alone.

SHE:

I can only hope.

HE:

You doubt me.

SHE:

Hah, I know my doubts are true.

Your sadness is just an illusion

I do not know

why I cling to you

HE:

Once, I loved you.

Twice, I have failed you

Thrice, I beg of you

Do whatever you want with me

Just, don't bring me to my knees
they are soft, not used to hard stones.

SHE:

Hurt you, I cannot

You are after all my moon

How will I shine,

If there’s a hole in you?

HE:

Is that all you care about?

You shining?

SHE:

Smile, I can

That’s how I answer you.

HE:

I must know,

What do you love about me?

SHE:

I love the fact

that you are always so warm.

HE:

Sigh, I must

Is that all?

Now, I must walk away.

A final goodbye, I must say

SHE:

I shall only smile again,

Had I not known?

Should I have told him?

What warmth meant to me

Perhaps he would have stayed then.

It rains a lot more now

although you can't see the raindrops
but it's still raining all the same
too bad, that now,

Neither do I have his umbrella,

Nor his fire.

Killjoy

It was a good morning. I was sitting on a chair in the balcony soaking in some fresh Vitamin D. This chair was my favorite, among all the others in the house. I had fallen in love with it at the Saturday Chor Bazaar near Bhagaltalao. It reminded me of some great times. Grandma used to sit in a chair just like this one. I sipped my tea as I stared at the newspaper in my hand.

TWO YEAR OLD MISSING IN THE CITY

I had only started reading when he called out to me to fetch his towel. Why couldn’t the bastard do his own work? He always forgets to take the towel! But I was a demure, dutiful wife. My six month pregnant body got up clumsily as I rested a hand on the arm of the chair to balance myself. It was always a struggle.

I hate the way he shouts at me when I ‘inadvertently’ add some extra sugar in his tea sometimes. As if his stomach will mysteriously deflate by avoiding sugar. I hate it when he snores at night. It makes me restless and I think bad things. I hate the way he brushes me off when I hold his hand in public. Why am I not allowed to do that when he wants to fuck? I hate how he always forgets my birthday when even the doodhwallah remembers and gives me an extra milk packet on that day. I hate it that he always cuts me off when I try to give a suggestion. I feel like killing him sometimes. But he has every right to live. It’s a man’s world out there.

Sometimes I have bad dreams. They look so real. The room looks like it has been empty from some time. Why is it occupied now? I see a small girl, scruffily dressed, cowering in the corner. “You have no right to live!” yells a dark old man with a stick in his hands. The little girl cries and prays to god. I don’t even know who she is. Though she always looked familiar. But doesn’t she know there is no God? There is no God. Only Irony.

I wish I could kill her too. Relieve her of the misery of it all. But she’s a dream. Just a dream.

I do not know when my mind got twisted. But I realize it has. I should have known. My old man would have laughed if he’d known. But we had a complicated relationship. And my mother? She was so dead. How could she have known? I could say that I didn’t want to do the horrible things that I thought about. But it would be a lie. Because I wanted to. And then I saw her. She looked just like her. That girl in the dream.

She was dressed in a white fluffy dress with a crown on her head. So wise so young, they say do never live long. It was probably her birthday. To die on the day you were born two or maybe three years ago. Ah, what a tragedy! I so loved tragedies. Maybe that’s why Shakespeare had a special place in my heart.

But you can’t blame me. I did try to control myself. I took up all sorts of things to avoid it but everything I did led me to her. And I killed her. The wrong baby. I thought the urge would stop. But it didn’t. What a waste.

What's gone and what's past help

Should be past grief.

I break away from these thoughts as Nikhil slams the door, leaving without saying a word to me. He’s angry with me. And perhaps a little scared. I inadvertently told him what I felt like doing, though in a lighter vein. It was my mistake. What did he know about me? I would have to suffer long silences till he was back to normal. If I managed to control myself for another day. Generally, I took this disease of mine one day at a time.

But something tells me today is the day. I want it to be today. I seem to be remembering too much Shakespeare, for one.

*****

I had only wanted to go to the Supermarket to buy some Rajma. Truly. I swear! Nikhil loves Rajma. I was hoping to pacify him by making some for Dinner, you see. But mysteriously, it seemed like the steering wheel had led the car and me onto the highway. And now it had turned left onto a narrow kutccha road. I hated the fact that I seemed to have lost all control of myself. I parked the car in the field. The scenery looked like one of the few good dreams that I had sometimes. It seemed just a perfect setting for my second and last murder. Or was it the third and the last murder? Actually, it was all second, third and the last, all rolled onto one. Ugh, so much technicality at such a time!

I took the knife out of the front compartment and waited in the car. Should I kill her inside the car? The car would be spoilt. Hah, I’d want to see his face when he sees his beloved velvet seat covers spoiled by blood and human insides. But no, that would make him sad. Sadly, I loved him. Bastard though he is. Lord, what fools these mortals be!

I marveled at myself. I was so unemotional about this all. But then I had been the same when I killed the little girl. I had thrown up afterwards. But I think it had been my pregnancy talking. I looked at myself in the rearview mirror. Did my eyes show fear? I had researched all the ways to kill the child inside me. But to insert something inside me seemed so cruel. I guess this was the easy way. Or else the urge would never cease.

O happy dagger!

This is thy sheath; there rust, and let me die.

Hah, I was no Juliet. In a tiny stroke, I cut a vein on my wrist. I waited for the blood to flow. He was going to be so angry. He would never get to see Aditi or Aditya. But I was sure it was Aditi. I was such a killjoy!

Was I laughing? Or was I crying? I could feel the hotness of the blood now.

To sleep, perchance to dream-

ay, there's the rub

That was not something to worry about. I waited for the blackness to appear once and for all. Black had always been the color in my life. I tried to paint it red. But I forgot that Black can never be masked with any other color, as much as you try. It was always all pervading.

All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players;

They have their exits and their entrances…

This...was my exit.

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After a long time, something from my pen ! But please don't ask me where this came from. I do not know myself.

P.S. All the bold lines are by Shakespeare, not mine !

P.P.S I think I overdid the Shakespeare ! :-|