Free

Yes, I am free

To roam around

Watch movies

Have a milkshake in the cafe

As long as I come back before

The sun sets

Yes, I am free

To wear whatever I want

Whenever I want

As long as it does not

 Show parts of me

Which make me a woman

Yes, I am free

To learn

As much as I can

About the world and the universe

To get an education

As long as it’s just a hobby

Yes, I am free

To give birth

House it in my womb

And raise a child

As long as it’s a boy

Yes, I am free

To care about someone

Spread joy

Make love

As long as it’s somebody

My parents chose

Yes, I am free

To have a bloody mary

Smoke a cigarette

Dance the night away

As long as I am okay with

Being called a slut.

Shame on my freedom.

Through the glass

Through the glass
I can see you
Your lips curve
Into a smile
Makes me happy
Those sunlight bursts
Enveloping others
Without permission
They ogle
As you prance about
Boisterous
Hard to control
Your hair
Flying About
Wild carefree like you
Those lips of yours
Such words they waste
When you talk about
Myriad things
As you tap your feet
Happily restlessly playfully
Against the earth
Stumbling to catch up
With your frantic pace
But I know
How contrary you are
I can almost imagine
Your heartbeats
Calm languid
No sense of purpose
After all, a child like you
Need know no fear
But then I see
I really see
Below the deceiving kohl
Those sad sad eyes...

Books and a lot more

Hi people !
Some people I know have started this blog. It's called Books And A Lot More.
They are just starting out so there is not much on the blog as of now. But, wait and watch, that's what they promised me...a lot more is going to come.
Also, before I forget, you can also follow them on Facebook here.

Do visit the blog and make me smile. :-)

Satyameva Jayate and why I refuse to glorify it as the next instrument for change

What makes a mother kill her child before it is born, because ‘it’ happens to be a girl?  What makes a father do the same, especially by causing harm to his wife? Why does the mother remain silent and let him get away with it? Who do a set of loving grandparents completely change their feelings when they come to know they have a granddaughter coming on the way?

What is the reason behind so many female foeticides?

Here comes Satyameva Jayate on Star TV. And also on DD.

The producers of the show did catch everybody’s attention through their marketing campaign. You couldn’t ignore Amir Khan staring at you like a big brother at every metro station, at traffic junctions and malls, in the newspaper you read each morning and in the saas bahu serial that you watch every day, unfailingly.

The format of the show was a little different than what I expected. I thought it would be something like what Shahrukh Khan did in Swades. I thought he would tour through urban and rural parts of the country. I thought he would go to those places with no electricity and no TV (obviously, there’s no electricity) and take up some projects, to actually bring change. If not do that, then at least show or bring people who are contributing to society in such a way. But no, wait, that would have been boring, no? Who would get up early on that precious Sunday morning and watch some random person bring change to the lives of people in some distant ugly village, a place which I don’t identify with or give a damn about? You have to make people cry, you know.

And that’s what Satyameva Jayate did at 11 in the morning and for the next one hour. Women recounted their experiences. I am glad they had the courage to walk out of such a horrid life and make a life of their own with their daughters. I am glad that this brought a change in their lives, to make them strong and independent women who care more for their daughter than society.

But the camera shrewdly continued to rest on women of all ages crying silently in the audience. I am not really bothered about that but at the end, when the song starts (which is like an ode to all the girls who were aborted), two-three little girls run into the studio to their mother and Aamir Khan calls them at his side and lovingly pats them. I am sorry but that was overkill!

It is preachy and seems so fake, at times. Do you remember long lectures given by parents when you were a kid? Did they ever get taken seriously? The rich will continue to do the same as they can get away with it. The poor will continue because, well, who gives a damn about what poor people do anyway?

But I did cry while watching the show. I cried because the issue does concern me in some way or the other. I also realized that somehow, it failed to make me hope for change. The show failed to address the main problem behind female foeticide. The belief that a girl will only be a burden to the family. I only saw the same stereotypes. Primarily, as to how women are birth givers. Where was the message that women are capable of a lot more? I wish Aamir Khan would have said something about how women can do well for themselves, if given equal opportunities. They will no longer remain a burden if taught to be independent. But then that also does not appeal to the audience for whom an independent woman is only a threat and a woman having a career is a joke. An independent women will be a bad example. You can’t risk the womenfolk in your home, stepping out of line, no? You are a girl, you have to know first how to cook. Your work is not supposed to be taken seriously. It’s like a hobby. You don’t need to work once you get married. Your husband will provide for you.

If I want to have a daughter, I want her to be in this world so that she can make a difference by setting an example. I want her to be educated, not because she can get an educated husband, but because she can be independent. If someone ill treats her, I hope that she will be strong enough to stand up against that. I want her to be beautiful, not in the way she looks, but her actions. I want her to not take society so seriously, instead do what she believes is right. I want her to be born in a society which does not vilify people, especially women, when they try to be free of some of its restrictive and regressive norms. I don’t want her to be born in a world where women do not have any qualms propagating negative stereotypes against their own sex. And especially, I don’t want her to be born just so that she can marry a man who does not respect her. Or to marry her to some useless man from someplace where there aren’t any girls to marry anymore.

In that case I would rather have a boy. And teach him to respect women. Treat them as equals. Not put him on a pedestal and make him expect all women to do the same.

My facebook status of asking whether anybody else found the show really fake gathered a lot of comments. A lot of people felt that it will help in some small way. Something is better than nothing. A very respected person told me to count my blessings and say thank you to my parents for giving birth to me and not killing me at the start. Well, with all due respect, they were just being normal parents. Should you put people up on a pedestal for giving birth to a girl child? That sounds similar to some sacrifice made by parents. Is it a sacrifice to have a girl?

Yes, something is better than nothing. But not when that something is the same rhetoric that we have been hearing since so many years. Especially when it hasn’t brought any change. I do hope that the show does some good. What I can hope is that a show like Satyameva Jayate will do is the following:. 

1. Probably give courage to some women to take the decision to walk out of a life where she is expected to give birth to a male child. Well, I hope it does. 

2. Clear some myths (for eg, that urban woman abort more than rural women) but then if you read a newspaper, you would have known that anyway. There were no new facts that were shown on TV. They have all been coming in the newspapers. Don’t tell me that people living in rural India don’t read newspapers or have any knowledge. That’s just like saying that female foeticide takes place more in rural areas. They may not know the statistics but I am sure they know the depth of a problem.

3.  Gather money for NGOs.

4. Make Aamir Khan richer by Rs. 3 Crore per episode. Not to forget Star TV and the producers of the show. Also, Aircel who gains Re 1 per sms. (Instead of Rs. 3, wow, how noble!)

Sorry for those who loved Satyamev Jayate and think that it is made with the intention of bringing change. It’s only riding on the current wave, where people are dissatisfied with a lot of things. After so many classes of Media Economics (Prof Panda, are you listening?), I no longer take any show on TV seriously. It’s all good programming/ marketing. People learn how to do such stuff in B schools. (Somehow I think Satyameva Jayate is going to come up as a case study in the next term, just like Kolaveri D, as if that wasn't irritating enough.)

Yes, they are trying to spread the message to everybody through online videos, regional telecasts. But that only means more big bucks. More the audience, more the money paid by advertisers.

Yes, they have said that they don’t intend to pass judgements or blame anybody. But that’s only being diplomatic. It would be a big loss to everybody involved in this show if it got banned for making controversial statements. Remember Fanaa?

Aamir Khan is not the new messiah. That’s what irks me about the show, when people put him up on a pedestal. The show is so ordinary and still it is being hailed as the next instrument of change. The truth is, it still fails to confront the core problem (at least with respect to female foeticide, i do not know what will happen in next episode). 

Satyameva Jayate seemed to me more like a show designed to make you feel guilty and do your ‘bit’ for 

society by watching it. And that’s all you’ll do. Watch.

That hits you hard, no? Kill me now. I know you want to.

PS These would be an interesting read:

1. http://www.afaqs.com/news/story/33959_One-big-show:-Is-that-the-key-to-success?

2. http://www.afaqs.com/news/story/33828_STAR-bets-on-Aamirs-Midas-touch-in-his-TV-debut

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.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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 ! :-|

Something new

Trying something new. Please check out Confessions of a mango person.

Of writers and writing

I do not know what I am writing. But something led me to write something after a long time. This post will probably have no order. Just sentences sprayed across the computer screen randomly.

Some things are very humbling. Especially interviews processes. One day, you think there could be noone more capable or intelligent than you and the next day, you see so many people who believe just the same about themselves, competing with you for the same seat in a good B school. They make you believe the opposite. That you are not as extra ordinary as you think you are. Could anything be more heart breaking than that?

I feel that I spent so much time getting approval from people close to me that I have forgotten about myself. And the irony is that whatever I do, they will never be proud of me. They will smile and say that they are so happy for me but their eyes will tell a different story. They will always say you could have done so much better. In some ways they are right. I never did my best.

Sometimes I feel so bound by things around me. I feep powerless. So hopeless. I often wonder. Is this what I wanted out of life ? And I can never answer yes to that question. Yes, I know I am too young to think about such questions. Only my fears are holding me back. I wrote a poem "Living Dreams" on this sometime back. Has the time come for those dreams to fly ?

A friend of mine says that those people who cannot do anything else worthwhile, they become writers. In a way it is true. But has a different meaning. A writer will always be a writer. No matter how far they may go from their pens (Or laptops, these days!). They will never be able to do anything worthwhile because each would be a half hearted attempt. It's as if the heart knows what it wants but the mind, that is what controls the body after all. But ultimately, the writer will always come back to the pen. It is only when he holds the pen that he feels alive. And extraordinary.

18 Yellow Roses

Some things that make a shitty day feel so good !


-------------------------------
From: XXXX
Sent: Wednesday, January 19, 2011 9:48 AM
To: XXXXX
Subject: Fwd: 18 yellow

This came up yesterday in the FM radio which I tune in to partly
mitigate my commuting woes:

BOBBY DARIN
"18 Yellow Roses"

Eighteen yellow roses came today
Eighteen yellow roses in a pretty bouquet
When the boy came to the door
I didn't know what to say
But, eighteen yellow roses came today.

I opened up the card to see what it said
I couldn't believe my eyes
When I had read
Though you belong to another I love you anyway
Yes, eighteen yellow roses came today.

I never doubted your love for a minute
I always thought that you would be true
But now this box and the flowers in it
I guess there's nothin' left for me to do.

But ask to meet the boy that's done this thing
And find out if he's got plans to buy you a ring
'cause eighteen yellow roses
Will wilt and die one day ...

But... a father's love will never fade away
Will never fade away...

-----------------------
Sent from my Treo(r) smartphone


Please don't print this e-mail unless you really need to.

Valentine’s Day ! Huh, to her, all the days were the same. The radio was playing love songs and every movie channel was either showing “Pretty Woman” or “Sleepless in Seattle”, just like every other Valentine’s Day. They were so nauseating. Yet she would sit through the whole movie and cry every fucking time Richard Gere came for Julia Roberts in his shiny black limo with a bunch of the most freshest roses every seen. Whores in movies always had it good. Limousines, red roses, Gucci and diamonds. What more could any girl want?

She snapped back to reality as she heard a loud burp from her side. He was sitting on the couch too, she remembered. Oh yeah, she had a husband. At times she would forget she had one. She just couldn’t help it.

He reached for her hand and she came closer to him like an automaton, resting her head on his shoulders. “The Biryani you made was really good.”

“I know, I smelled it just now, “she said, making a face.

Laughing, he gathered her in his arms and said, “Have I ever told you I love you?”

“Everyday, on an average, usually three times.”

She enjoyed the silence as he grew still except for his hands that caressed her hair. She was lucky, unlike others. She would never be alone on Valentine’s Day. Too bad, loneliness had different meanings for different people. Her eyes grew sleepy and sleep soon overcame everything that was going on in her mind.

He looked at her sleeping in his lap. She slept like a child, with her mouth open. “I love you,” he whispered, “even though you don’t and I always will.”

He picked up all of her 60 kilos and moved towards the bedroom. Dropping her gently on the bed, he stared at her wistfully for several minutes and then proceeded to his side of the bed. After switching off the table lamp, he covered both of them with a blanket. The nights were still cold. He proceeded to go to sleep but it remained elusive as he pondered over the way of things. Why didn’t she laugh when she was with him? Why did she never look happy? Not the successfully-pretending-to-be-smiling-just-for-the-sake-of-it kinda happy but that happy when everything seemed bright and sunny and yellow. That happy when you just can’t help laughing and smiling at every stupid thing and the smiles reach your eyes. But her eyes were always clouded, even if she smiled sincerely. Why couldn’t she be happy with him? Hope was one thing. Blind hope was another. Maybe she would never love him like he did. Maybe, one day, she would. All he cared about was getting up each morning, and feel her breathing as she lay next to him. She chose him and nobody else. Maybe that was what mattered. He turned towards her sleeping form. He kissed her on the forehead and whispered, “Happy Valentines’ Day, my love.”

He loved her but she didn’t. Did she? She always wondered. What was love anyway? That rush that you feel everyday when you are in love was missing from her life. Once, she had felt it. For someone who had fleeted into her life for a moment and then left everything changed. The grass didn’t seem anymore greener. Roses felt faded. All the flowers in the world looked dull. She failed to appreciate all the gifts of nature, unlike before, when even a dewdrop on a petal made her high.

She had seen him in Vaishali’s family videos the first time. He had been playing that guitar and singing a song she had heard before but never really liked. Why did she like it so much now? She still thought of him sometimes. How could she stop? Can anyone ever stop loving? She would dream because dreams where the only place she could be with him. Sometimes, she dreamt they were quarrelling over the darnest thing. Other times, they would be sitting on a quiet secluded spot somewhere. Away from the rush of life. Of course it would be a beach. It had to be a beach. There was nothing more soothing than that gurgling swishing sound of water, or whatever sound it was that they made. They would be sitting on the soft sand, her hand in his.

And then he would play the same song she had heard him sing the first time. It had actually been a ghazal. She always felt that sad ghazals and guitar chords make a good combination.

Too bad, it had ended before it even started. Her brief brush with romance. Too bad he married someone else. Too bad, she couldn’t love her husband after him. Too bad, she had lost something of herself. Too bad, she just couldn’t make herself reach out for it again. Too too too baad.

She had lived and loved that guy with the guitar. Now, she was done with love. She had settled for life long comfort instead. She felt his gentle snores beside her. She turned towards him and stared long at his face. Then she kissed him on his forehead and snuggled comfortably into his arms as he instinctively moved in his sleep.

Lucky lucky guitar, it got to be in his arm, she thought and sighed.

Trilogy of Unbroken Silence

Since I can't make myself write much these days, here's a poem (actually three) I wrote in the good old days....

Trilogy of Unbroken Silence

1.

I have something to say to you

But I fear that I may not

Be able to say the words aloud

I have something to say to you

But I fear that you have

Hardened your heart against me

I have something to say to you

But I fear that you will

Hear me and not listen

I have something to say to you

But I fear that you will

Tear my heart, bit by bit

I have something to say to you

But I fear that you will

Walk away and never return.

2.

I am sorry

For not loving you

I am sorry

For I broke your heart into pieces

I am sorry

For not being able to trust you

I am sorry

For not telling you what I feel

I am sorry

For I know that one day, I

Will walk away and never return.

3.

Sorry no longer

For the love that I couldn’t give

Because I know now that

Your love was all a lie

Sorry no longer

For breaking your heart

Because I know now that

It’s made of stone

Sorry no longer

For not trusting you

Because I know now that

For you, trust has no meaning

Sorry no longer

For not telling you what I feel

Because I know now that

You never really did listen

Sorry no longer

For walking way, never to return

Because I know now that

You’d never stop me.

Stupid sunglasses !

Siddharth looked at his best friend’s sister looking at herself in the mirror. She was wearing a full-sleeved flowery shirt to prevent her perfect, delicate arms from getting tanned. The black baggy jeans did not show off her shapely legs but she had always liked it that way. And he agreed with her. He didn’t like anyone looking at her.

‘Hey kiddo! You are going somewhere?’, he asked as she went inside.

‘Obviously, can’t you see I am getting ready?’, she replied, coming out from some dark recesses of her home. She smeared a generous amount of sunscreen on her face and neck

He watched her through his brown tinted sunglasses. She seemed to be contemplating lining her eyes with kohl but decided against it as she put down the kohl stick. Now he was sure she wasn’t meeting any boy.

“Where is your brother?”, he asked, breaking the silence.

“I don’t know. Do you think I keep watch on his comings and goings?”

He didn’t say anything. He stood leaning against the door.

She continued, “Why should he tell me where he goes? It’s none of my business, is it? Only he has the right to interrogate me and suspect that I am meeting some boy. Only Mr. ‘high and mighty’ has the right to do whatever he likes.”

She started combing her hair vigorously. He hoped she didn’t pull out all her hair. He liked her hair. He also liked a lot of other things about her. But, that was another matter.

“He could be with that stupid Shivani, you know? She always keeps calling him up and he talks to her as if sugar melts in his mouth. I don’t know what he sees in her. I wish my brother had some brains. And some good taste.”

“Well, for all you know, she could be having a brain and a kind heart underneath her…er…assets.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know what you mean”, she said, rolling her eyes.

In all of two minutes, she had platted her hair into a single braid. She was done getting ready. Now the only thing left was the ritual. The one he had seen every girl of his acquaintance following. She took out a bright, multi-colored dupatta and covered her head with it. Then, with a swift intricate motion that he could never make head or tail of, she had tied the dupatta, covering her face except for the eyes. And then they were soon hidden too by her magenta sunglasses.

“Well, you hang on here. My good-for-nothing brother will soon be back, I hope. Until then, you can gorge on some Gajar ka halwa mother made this morning,” she said as she smiled at him and went out.

Oh, how he loved her! He has never ever felt this way about anyone before. He wondered whether she would ever realize how much he cared for her. Couldn’t she see the love for her in his eyes? He sighed, took off his sunglasses and looked at them in his hands. How could she with these damned sunglasses?

****

Pooja cursed herself for agreeing to meet him on such a hot afternoon. Why did she always agree to whatever he said to do? Maybe it was guilt. Hadn’t it been she who had ended it? Or maybe she loved him still. She ignored that reason. She definitely didn’t want to think about it.

She waited for him in the park. The same bench where they had spent more hot afternoons, like this one. And she was wearing black, of all colors. She had no protection against the heat, except her sunglasses and the dupatta she had wrapped around her head which made her feel more hot. Why had they never met on beautiful sunny days when she, along with the sun, shone brilliantly? Why hadn’t they ever done anything different? Even grey stormy days were better than this. At least it would have been romantic. Maybe she would still be in love with him and nobody would have been hurt. And there never would have been this crazy, never ending guilt.

She looked around, to pass her time. The garden was empty except for some men who came for their daily ritual, their beloved afternoon nap. The swings moved with the hot air that sailed through them. The same swing where she had once sat in his lap and they had kissed for the first time. They had once spent an afternoon reading jokes to each other from a book he had found in the pasti. She looked away. The dull, lifeless grass, the bushes, the flowers and every other stupid thing about this place made her go back and remember. It always seemed to mock her and jeer at her. How she hated this place! When was he going to come and tell his big news, so that she could go away from this hideous place? Ten minutes, she thought, not a minute more was she going to wait in such a suffocating atmosphere.

Why was he late? He usually never came late. Something was wrong. No, he must have got trapped in traffic. She started to ignore the thought that something was wrong but it kept coming back, like a pendulum. Her mind swayed between the two thoughts until finally it decided to feel tense. Why hadn’t he come yet? Why didn’t she have a cell phone, to call him? Maybe he had an accident, maybe he was lying somewhere in a pool of blood and nobody helping him. No, the thought was unbearable.

She closed her eyes, to relax herself.

‘Hey, Pooja, guess what!’ His voice jolted her out of her reverie. She had never been so happy to see him. He was alright. Nothing had happened to him. And she was still in love with him. She smiled brilliantly at him.

‘Whoa, you are sure in a very good mood today! You are going to be even happier when you hear what I have to say! I think I am in love. I just met the most incredible girl today!’ As he said these words, the light suddenly went out in her eyes. He sat next to her, as she uttered words, which seemed hollow and empty to her but seemed to assure him that she was so excited for him. He was so happy that he didn’t see anything else. Not the tears, waiting to drop but held back by some strange anti gravitational force. Not her eyes, which suddenly became so empty, devoid of anything happy or anything sad. He never saw that she still cared. How could he, with these stupid sunglasses?

In love....

I am in love…I love him with all my soul and he knows that I love him too. Today is Valentine’s Day and in a million ways, he told me that he loved me too. When the sun rose and glowed with a magnificent blush on his cheeks, he told me that he loved me. When the wind rushed past me, he said that I meant everything to him. When the dew settled down on the green grass, he said that he would cry if I ever left him. When the Koel started singing, he sang a song to tell me how much he loved me. When the cat meowed, he said that he always wanted to remain in my heart. When I held the rose in my hands and smelled its soft sweet fragrance, he kissed me.

I am in love…in love with life and I am happy because life loves me too.

Living Dreams

Living dreams

In the cages of my mind
There sleeps many a dream
Bound by destiny
Never saying die
I feed them with desire
And large bouts of hope
That they will fly one day
Because dreams live too

In the depths of my heart
Many a dream has been shattered
By the cruel hands of fate
They have been throttled,
Beaten and crushed
But still they survive
I am still alive today
Because some dreams thrive too

At the edge of the abyss
My dreams are standing
Preparing for flight
Filled with excitement
Waiting for their release
From the bondages
Of destiny and fate,
Because dreams can fly too

Plunge

It was a thunderous afternoon and it mirrored the disposition of the Queen of Neverland, as always. The wind hastened to do her bidding, apologizing on its way to the scowling trees that shook and swayed, disgruntled because they were always being pushed around. The loyal waves lashed out on the shores with ferocity equal to none. Who dared disturb their beloved Queen?

The kingdom was in an uproar. The people were in a tizzy. What had happened to their Queen? Had she gone barmy? Didn’t she know that the bad weather upset all the crops? Didn’t she know that the animals could be struck with fever? Wasn’t she aware that if they closed their doors to the weather, they would also close the doors to her heart? Why was she torturing them? Didn’t she care?

Under a wise old Banyan Tree, unshakeable and impenetrable, the elders gathered together, as they did everyday before dusk. But today, they were joined by almost the whole kingdom. The Banyan Tree was a magical tree, like every tree in the kingdom. They all showed their feelings. It would grunt and make fun of the discussions happening under it. It would periodically shake itself and shower the loud and obnoxious wife of the jeweler whose tantrums were famous. But it also cried when the Queen’s mother died. Soft sobs that nobody could hear but were felt by everybody. A lot of things were possible in Neverland.

The self-proclaimed people’s chief sat on a natural pedestal made by the bark of the tree. He was convinced that he was a sensible man and knew what was best for everybody. Although the blood of pirates, vicious and gory but long dead and buried, ran in his crumbling veins, he was blessed with a noble visage which still shone in his old age and helped in enforcing his saint-like status. Everybody looked up to him.
Everybody sat united on the ground in front of him. But it was only an illusion. A person who looked deep would see those subtle boundaries in the midst. They were all divided into cliques. The suffering farmers sat together. The ladies of the court and the scribes sat on the left. Both were united by the love of gossiping. The intellectuals were on another, surrounded by the ‘bureaucrats’. And as usual, the Court Jester was in the middle. Nobody was quite sure which clique he belonged to. He seemed to be a part of every group. He was a clique on his own.

The Chief started speaking and the Tree started humming. It wasn’t perturbed because he knew what was wrong with the Queen. The vines crawling on the Castle’s window had told it. It laughed when the farmers expressed their worry. The traders were angry as their ships couldn’t sail because of the ferocious weather. The cattle breeders were scared that their animals would catch fever. The ladies of the court said that the Queen had gone daft She wasn’t much fun any more. The tree scowled, listening to their talk. They were all so selfish, it thought. All they cared about were themselves.

Everybody was complaining. Except the Court Jester. But then he had failed in his duty, thought the Banyan tree. He was supposed to make her laugh and keep her happy. But then, the poor fellow was in love with the Queen. That was a laugh, since a jester would always be a jester. He could never be king. The tree sighed, pondering over the way of the world. It felt the misery, the pain of unrequited love and the turmoil inside the young man’s heart as he listened to the rants of the people around him. He stared wistfully at the magnificent towers of the Royal Palace, high upon a cliff in the distance. The Towers, encircled by dark grey clouds, had a quiet strength of their own, just like their Mistress. He remembered her bewitching song and her mirth. Her sunny laughter. How she smiled so mysteriously sometimes that he suspected she saw through him. How impatient she became when he didn’t show her the tricks she wanted to see. How she always took care of everybody. How she took care of him. But he had to forget and forget he would. Not even a small flicker of pain was visible on his face. Sometimes, the funniest people had the gloomiest hearts. He looked up towards the Great Towers again, in spite of his renewed vow to suppress his longing, wondering what she was doing.

The Queen was not a plain woman but her beauty would have been rendered inconsequential if it weren’t for those enchanting eyes, which seemed to stare its way down a man’s soul. They stripped a man naked, shed those layers and layers of artifice and laid his soul bare, naked for everyone to see, inspiring ordinary men to become poets. They all were in love with her. There was nothing they couldn’t do for their Queen. Except today when mundane matters like earning a livelihood and feeding their children were in danger of suddenly becoming all encompassing, threatening to take over the carefree life they were living. It made them realize that nothing, not even their Queen, in whose name they sang such sweet sonnets and dedicated their lives, was more important. Everybody was dispensable, the Queen sighed. Clad in dark velvet robes on her grand old bed, her beautiful eyes lay hidden underneath her curls as she clung to an insignificant pillow in the fetal position. In some ways, she felt like an unborn child. There was so much still to see. So much to feel. So much that she couldn’t do. She was going down under that ruthlessly large burden, that invisible but suffocating grey cloud of duty and responsibility. It was threatening to rain down and drown her into such depths that she would never dare come out. She sighed and stood up, wandering over to the window. The wind was still howling and in constant motion. It would never rest as long as she wasn’t calm. A tree, at the edge of the cliff, shook as it faced the wind’s assault. It tried hard to resist. To defeat death and to survive. But it was the unspoken rule of the world. Only the fittest survived. It stood shocked and cried as one of its limbs broke away and fell into the depths. Suddenly, it dawned clear on the Queen what she was going to do.

The Jester felt that something was very very wrong. His being was not at ease and somehow, he a strange restlessness, as if he was going to lose something and not do anything about it. He looked around him. People were becoming slowly still. The din was ceasing to exist. It was if life was slipping into a quiet slumber. Everybody looked perplexed as the rushing wind came to a standstill, bringing a giant vapor of dust to rest. Then, it picked up gentle momentum as it soothed the waves in the ocean, singing a sweet lullaby and bringing them to rest. The grey clouds started shifting, making way for a clear sky. Soon, people started smiling as they realized everything was coming back to normal. Their animals were safe. The crops would not fail. The goods could be sent to another country as the sea was calm again. The Queen was back to herself. They looked at the Great Towers, silently saying their thanks. But wait, why was there no light in the queen’s window? Somebody was moving towards the edge of the cliff. They strained their eyes to see clearly. It seemed as if an angel in flying white robes was standing at the edge.

She stood tall and strong. Her face had strength of purpose and it shone. Yet, she was still afraid of heights. Don’t look down, she warned herself. But her senses betrayed her as she looked down. All she could see was a mist, threatening to swallow her. At that moment, all significant moments of her life flashed past her, as if a film reel was rolling on. She saw a small girl, herself, singing a rhyme as she sat on a swing. The same girl was now hiding behind a great lady, her mother, tall and formidable. A man with a beard was smiling and bending to pick up the girl, to gather her in her arms. The same man, her father, was now staring at her with angry eyes. She was now all grown up, strolling in her garden. The scene shifted as she saw herself being thronged by admirers but her attention was fixed on a quiet young man who watched her from a distance. She stood crying silently as the prince galloped away on a horse, never to come back. The moments changed as she tried to grasp them and keep them safe in her heart. Her parent’s graves stared back at her. The mourners were crying their heart out. Why hadn’t she cried? The Governor was placing the crown on her head. She looked so serious, she had ceased to be a child. But there the memories stopped, bringing her back to the present. She smiled. She had to take a chance. Taking a step further, finally she took the plunge.


The people had finally realized that the angel in white was their Queen. The Jester stood paralyzed as he realized what she was going to do. They watched as she took the plunge. For a moment, there was total silence. Their mouths gaped open as they saw no body fall down. All they saw was a golden halo in the sky, its brilliance lightening up the whole kingdom. It lasted for a moment and then the sky was dark again. The jester laughed loudly, and cried at the same time. His tears wetted the earth and flowers took birth at the same place.

The Queen had become a legend.

Something lost

I found this today in my computer, something I wrote long back, hidden somewhere along with lots of crap that somehow I can't get myself to delete. Ironic, how my mood today is just opposite to that of what i wrote.

I drove all day long

And through the night

To find you amidst

The crown and the neon light

I searched every city, every town

On this highway of life

But you weren’t there

Through the desert of loneliness

Facing the scorching heat

I was searching madly for

Some signs of the marks of your feet

Because you were water

For this thirsty, dying soul

But you weren’t there.

I though I saw you and so I

Stopped and the earth stood still

I wanted to hold on to you

Till I had my heart’s fill

But you had disappeared

You were only an illusion,

A mirage in this desert

I climbed the peaks of success

I thought I’d find you there

The ecstasy of meeting you

Was more than I could bear

But all I found was

Loneliness, more loneliness

Again, you weren’t there

I swam through the

Blue oceans of love

Wishing to find you in

Its frightening depths

But I found only pain

I was so disappointed

For you were not there

I was heartbroken

Bewildered and lost

I couldn’t have what

I desired the most

I cried till my heart ached

Suddenly I heard soothing words

From within my heart

I realized it was you,

Had been with me all along

Blinded by misery

I failed to listen to my heart’s song

Today I feel a new sun

For I have found you, happiness !