Cut, open and dry

I cut myself up yesterday while opening a can of sweet corn. It was small cut but it bled for a while. I tried sealing the wound with a kitchen towel and when all else failed, I had to run it under tap water. The rush of water caused more pain than before. Funny how it hurt more the further my finger was from the tap, and the closer it was to the mouth of the tap, the less it hurt. The deeper we go, the more it hurts. The analogy of the two processes- an open cut and love is uncanny. Morbid? Yes... But well then...

The Reluctant Loner

She sat alone reading “The Reluctant Fundamentalist” and enjoying her solitude. The life had come to a standstill in the quaint cafe and the world seemed to soak positive energy all around. The setting was perfect, the absence of human company, the cinnamon-maple toasts, the smell of fresh cakes, the nice cuppa earl grey tea and the intriguing book. She explored the pages with increasing interest till three men ascended upon the landing and started conversing in the cafe mistaking it to be a noisy pub. She recognised one of them as someone she had one debated against and lost to at a national debate. Strange how we remember defeats far more easily than our victories. The exit of the men left her to herself again and she could once again be numb in her reading, but she chose to step out for a smoke instead. She felt a hand on her shoulder which startled her. The man just stared at her for no apparent reason and when she asked as to what she had invited his pat; he smiled in amusement and said “to the loss of your recently bought book”. He handed her the book she had been reading, flashed the whites again and waited, probably for an apology or a word of thanks. What he got instead was an offer to smoke with her... She noticed his light brown eyes and the peaky nose more closely than she had before. He seemed to always replace what she had lost. The losses were the crevices in the heart which were being slowly filled back in.

Re-visiting the by-gones

We got off the flight and I nearly kissed everything in sight, including the dilapidated Bombay cabs. The beautifully sordid city has been the last love for the longest time in passing. The sea mist hits you the moment you step into the city, the city which exists in conflict with modernity, while at war with the history, yet sublime in its being. It finds that converging line between the past and the new and stays wonderfully on it. The 7 days spent there were a much needed break from the increasingly boring Dilli. The sights, smells and the tastes of Bombay always make me nostalgic about the one year spent there- the fish stink in Colaba, Karan’s clammy flat, Hard Rock, old friends, old office, they all make me miss the place as if I had left it ages ago. It hasn’t even been a year yet and I cry for the city. One night after I was done with my social calls, I just took the cab around the south on my own- the “town” as its called- went to Muchhad’s for paan, walked around Marine Drive, gaped at my old office from below (it stands 17 floors high), took a tonga ride in Colaba and had strawberries and cream at “Batchelors”. Even made a trip to Churchgate in the morning to look at people queuing up for shared-cabs. Aaaaaah. The city that takes everyone in and makes them its own.

Walking on broken glass

I woke up early today. Unable to sleep and unable to dream, I found myself taking a walk in the park downstairs. I would have imagined it to be full of morning walkers and old couples but it lay solemn, almost deserted. The lack of humanity comforted me no end. The sophomoric behaviour on display by certain people in the fairly recent past had piqued me immensely. From that were borne my own follies and guilt. The putrid thoughts needed instant cleansing; they needed to be scrubbed and rubbed out of the mind and leave it as it were before the invasion. "Snow" is playing in my head and on my i-pod. It has more meaning to me now than ever before.

__

"Deep beneath the cover of another perfect wonder
Where it's so white as snow
Privately divided by a world so undecided
And there's no where to go
In between the cover of another perfect wonder
Where it's so white as snow
Running through a field where all my tracks will
Be concealed and there's no where to go"

Chaotic Fulfillment

Her palace of illusions had been witnessing bouts of reality. She washed her head of all the mess and set off towards her chaotic fulfilment. All the others had come away unbidden, but Shoe had found a way in. A “sue” in the beginning and a “shoe” in the end. Oh and a “darn” in the middle. The messy long name, which sounded perfect. Perfectly stupid, perfectly sweet, perfectly perfect and perfectly adorable man... She had been talking about an ambulance a while ago and it seemed to have arrived, at least the time stood still and the wounds were being sealed, whether they would heal forever or not. Help came from the most unexpected quarter and it lingers in the air above. The heart actually jumped with joy than nag with worry and confusion. She felt like she was falling and this time the feeling of falling was eerily more assuring than scary.

The blue maqbara

So here we are contemplating new twists, turns and hopefully pleasant ends. Negotiating happiness with life has become the order of the manor. What else would you rather negotiate? I was driving by the blue maqbara again and wondering who lay there, or if anyone lay there at all. The spirit must be anything but lonely with thousands of cars crossing it by every day and night. A strange roundabout it had come to be. A strange afterlife to have... It led to - Humayun’s tomb, Hazrat Nizamuddin’s Dargah, the Lodhi Road with its gardens and India Gate. All places where either others were buried or commemorated. The blue tomb is one of the prettiest, it looks stark in the orange dusk light. The nomad in me yearned not to love the city yet, not to grow roots, to move on. But the transition had started already. I loved the old monuments and the lovely food, I had made peace with the errant drivers, the annoying fellow north Indians, the pesky rickshaw-wallahs and the lack of sea. I am not a convert yet, from being the Bombay-loving-self but Delhi exuded a romance which Bombay may never be able to exude in its money-making rat race.

Yeh Dilli hai mere yaar, bus ishq mohabbat pyaar....

Thank you Arpit!

So in the middle of my whining tirade, a friend cheered me up... This is what he wrote:

U know they built the great wall of China to stop RB from entering..
They failed miserably.
RB can set ants on fire. With a magnifying glass. At night.
RB did in fact built Rome in a day..
RB can judge a book by its cover.
RB once kicked a horse in the chin. Its descendants today are known as giraffes.
RB Doesn't wear a watch. She decides what time is it.
RB's Pulse is measured on the Richter scale..
RB had to stop washing clothes in the ocean.. The tsunami's were killing people.. She just said oops.
RB cannot be found through google. U simply cannot find her. She finds you.
RB can watch an episode of 60 mins in just 22 seconds..
RB can sneeze with her eyes open..
RB doesn't own a house. She walks into random houses.. And people just move..
RB can smell, what the rock is cooking.. Coz the rock is her personal chef.
RB can divide anything by zero..
RB had counted to infinity. Twice.
RB doesn't go on the Internet. She has every Internet site stored in her memory. She refreshes web pages by blinking.
RB uses pepper spray to spice up her steaks.
RB is the sweetest friend of the fuRBall. Period.

He tells me these are popular over the net, but anyways.... A BIG AWWWWWW.... Thanks ARPIT, you are the sweetest :-)

Bangla Sahib and the urge to leave

The little girl was dressed in red overalls and a white tee. She couldn’t have been over 3 years of age. Her mother tried to keep her steady, but she bowed down three times in succession, to allow her forehead to gently touch the marble step which lay before the holy book. The golden bandana on her head, rode up, revealing several brown curly strands of hair. I watched her, perplexed and fixed, admiring the sweet soul of a child and her simplicity. Zing’s eyes were still closed in prayer and concentration, prayers which were being recited in a language that she didn’t understand, but brought to both of us, the calm and the peace that we needed. Before going to pray, I had just rushed out of my office, all my books, my snaps, my files tucked under my arm, my laptop packed, determined not to return. I don’t remember when was the last time I did something this impulsive. This time the impulse was strong and honest. The wish never to return was more resolute than ever. One can work for human rights all they want, but there is no compromising one’s honour, integrity and self-respect. I want to be like that little girl, keep my faith and bow, but carefully, and avoid hitting the marble too hard. How possible is that?

Heartless Dilli

Zing and I were out midnight cruising and came across this huge road block, cars lined up bumper to bumper at Lajpat before the Defence Colony flyover. Two massive Metro construction trucks had slowed down the traffic. Suddenly the sound of an emergency siren boomeranged through the stretch and an AIIMS ambulance came buzzing by. We pulled over to the left to allow the metro truck to park on the left, so that traffic stuck behind it could be eased out. Others just kept at their positions without budging for the man in need of emergency medical care. The Camry in front of the ambulance did not give space for 10 whole exhilarating minutes. Those 10 minutes could have been a life saver, someone may have lost one of his family last night, those 10 minutes could have eased someone’s physical agony. It is at times like this, that one feels helpless, disheartened and still amazed at the lack of humanity in those who walk among us. Delhi doesn’t fail to surprise one; where indolence and apathy are concerned, Delhi-ites win hands down.

Big Fish

Its one of my favourite movies- it has everything... magic, love, mystery, loss and happiness... I had found my “Big Fish” and it did not even need a wedding ring as bait (reference to the movie “big fish”). It just took my heart as bait and clung on to it for a long time, without caring for it.

She mended the broken fences with fresh white paint and nails, but there is only so much that cosmetic corrections can do. The fences are important; they decide for us who to keep out and who to let in. They act like a moat around our castle, the ditsy fall into the water, unable to climb up to the land and the strong come through, riding the water. The broken fences and the dry moats symbolise a guard down, a wish for death and the inability to recover. The big fish left an impact like none others, the guard down had begin inflicting slow mind numbing poison into her soul. The impact, that would last forever.

Empty pipe

Standing on the edge of the cliff, she smoked the ginger pipe and blew clouds at the dark sky. The wind blew her hair back and the moon stared at her tear ridden face. She stood awhile, counting stars, blowing more smoke at the vacuum, at the vacuum in her heart and the vacuum in the dark. She wondered what the next step would feel like, a cold sharp fall or a warm trickling relief from the pains of the world. Tough call? She stepped away from the edge, the pipe burning its last. Either she can refill it or throw it away forever.

Too little love and too much pain

She walked down the stone laid path
Battered and shattered from the wrath
Leaving and forgetting the painful wall
Where once stood the heartland mall
Insane and inane and loved and hated
She walked on understated and unabated
She went up and down the grimy way
Too much to hear and little to say
Same old story over and over again
Too little love and too much pain...

Chemistree

For her, physics and chemistry were as different as chalk and cheese. Physics was always less intriguing and easier to comprehend that the stupid chemistry. But when she grew up, chemistry mattered more than the physics of it, always. The feelings and emotions and the reactions that we can’t categorise, understand and control. So when she was faced with dilemma, she always opted for something complicated and irrepressible; Chemistry. The ultimate ZJNGGG, the bells in the head, the violins in the background, the string quartet, the red roses, and the flowing gondolas lit with lanterns, all the things wonderful, which are so tough to find, tougher to maintain and the toughest to keep forever. The heart only gets what it wants, when it stops desiring it... And that is the biggest paradox of life.

If wishes were wings...

There I was, out of Delhi again, lifting the colossal writing block from my mind. The lights passed me by at an alarming pace and I held on to my dear little electronic diary, typing out gibberish yet again. It took 24 hours and a series of pathetic jokes to mend the broken glass, the glass that could be patched up and hand blown into consistency once again. The train was taking me back to the rajdhani, the city I had accepted as home, the way a nomad looks lovingly at his current settlement, aware that the bliss is short lived. The fog and the dark faded the beautiful greens outside and I got goosebumps, I remembered the long winding bus journeys to grandma’s farms. The paddy soaked till knee, the peacocks performing their monsoon mating dance, the rains splashing the arid land, the farmers in frenzy, toiling away, the beautiful red verandah of her house and the place I took my first steps in, spoke my first words in. The steps and words witnessed only by the two people who aren’t alive to tale my childhood tales anymore. The memories only cherished by those who are better off in another world. The stories of ghosts told in the light of an ancient lantern, the stories of how I could stand on my grandfather’s hand in a perfect balance. I miss them, both, terribly. I have also been wishing for something for myself for a while. The universe is supposed to conspire to bring to you what your heart truly desires, so where is the thing I want the most? That Coelho is a liar for sure.

Road Block...

There is a very thin line between passion and stupidity. She blocked the world out, people spoke all around her, in loud voices, but all she heard was the blare of guitar and drums in her ears. To block the world out, sometimes, is the easiest and the most convenient thing to do. There were gaps in her conversation; her mind was where her body wasn’t. The chinks in the armour show only when you go to war. The wounds were easy to make, the chinks were clear and obvious, she was at the enemy’s mercy. The enemy had been closing on her for a while and all her strength could not save her from the impending eventuality. She lifted her slight head to look at what lay ahead. A couple of vintage postcards which defined who she was, and photographs of those she loved deeply. They smiled silently back and gave her a quiet strength. She will mend the chinks, bandage the wounds and smile... Smile through your misery as the only thing which is constant, is pain...

Ah another one

So the new year has come and I am still wallowing in the last one. Wondering what was right, what was wrong, made some pretty good decisions, some rather nasty ones, like the rest of you... So maybe we are all industrial clones with problems, happiness and trouble, maybe we are a part of a manic inter-galactic game where we are mere pawns in the hands of others. Or a reality show for those whom belongs extreme boredom- where our daily lives become a-la- "The Truman Show". Well, chin up and smile at the new year and lets all keep our fingers crossed!

"I'm looking for love," gushes Carrie, "real love, ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can't-live-without-each-other love. And I don't think that love is here in this expensive suite in this lovely hotel in Paris."

Carrie (Bradshaw- Sex and the City) found this love at 38! Wow, that’s a long long bloody wait. I love the line though.

Faith

I have been contemplating for some time now about posting about my religious views. I recall a friend saying that it’s nice that I am "religious' when she saw me visiting a Gurudwara on Lohri. So i started to wonder out of the blue, in the shower, today. Am I? What constitutes religious? Praying, thinking of god, doing namaskar or bowing your head at every passing temple (happens an awful lot in India you know), cleanliness, or just doing your deeds and hence your karma? The holy man at whatever place of worship is, he does it for a living, like I advocate and doctors medicate. So what makes him give up his life in devotion? Is it his passion or is it his faith? Clergymen/pandits/maulvis have rape cases against them too...is that religious?

On most mornings I wake up with a small little prayer. I just look up when I want to say something to "God". It’s been months since I have entered the mandir at my house. So what am I? I even try bribing him in my talks, like if you do this I will feed so many of “your” people, or help them or do "your" deeds. Get it? I like to think of myself as religious but not in the conventional sense of it. I would not waste money over lavish extensive ceremonies in the month of shravans (got something to do with our agrarian roots?). I would rather build a school in my native land when I amass enough. And if I still have more to spare...give it away at charities...food schemes… destitute homes, lunch at prisons. I think that is religion. Serving people, hence god.

My faith however does make me question Him every once in a while. When I hear of a 5 year old girl raped, see hungry children on the road, read of the mentally challenged chained to beds.... I wonder, does He do this too? Then why do I go back to Him asking Him to redeem all these people of their pain and suffering.

And I do not even want to start on extremists, because they are just warped people with the most warped version of politicised religion. Blind being led by the nose...forcing simple unsuspecting people like you and me into either victims or reactionaries, driving educated members of our society into the fascists' street. Some react by denouncing their faith or the outwardly expression of it at least to escape being attacked at the cost of religion while some wear it with pride and defiance.

But go ahead and pray for I know he listens to some of us. Thankfully, I am one of the lucky few. No complains Big Man. I may crib once in a while but I am essentially happy.

SC

He looked like a sunflower he told me. He bought me 61 roses one day, my favourite- assorted red, white and yellow. The one that was extra was red, for what it signified. He left them on my door step with two chilly peppers- one red and one yellow, with a scribbling on them- “I have the hots for you”. It made me smile and blush. I knew who they were from. They were from the eternal romantic, the man who is a fabulous artist, a brilliant singer, a poet and probably the best player with/of words. He had taught me about my microcosm. He used to make me feel giddy and stupid, pretty and ugly, smart and dumb all at once. He made me feel like a woman and a girl. He saw me twirl in a hippy skirt once and told me, “I want to own you when you do that”. He bought me a watermelon the first time he met me (a la “Satte pe Satta”) and looked like a jehadi straight out of a terror video (my roommate totally freaked out!). He sang “Last kiss”, with Ravi on the guitar and would have made E. Vedder go green. I still have the recording. He gave me a beautiful sketch once, fought with me and took the sketch back :-) That man is sitting in some obscure corner of Shillong/Poona. Lost in time... Lost due to my disinterest... Lost in translation... Lost due to misunderstandings... Lost due to 7 years spent in the vacuum between us... Lost because sometimes we make good choices, mostly we make silly ones and later sit and wonder why. So when they say in the movies and the countless annoying forwards that “when you care for someone let them know”, heed to them and heed well, lest you are the kind of person who likes carrying guilt and regret all over the world. SC, you owe me a painting still...

Like water for Chocolate

Love came and went... Or did it? We talk about falling in and out of love as if it were a joke. Like it’s vapour, condensed one minute and evaporated the next. Like it’s time-less yet time-bound. Like it will lapse into pages of history and remain only there, not to live forever in our hearts. My music player tells me how stupid love is. I think not. I think it’s beautiful but is that all that I have- a random thought? I don’t remember the feeling. At all. The teenage rush, the pink blush, the high and the low, the wrenching, the tears of joy. A part of me feels dead to the word “love”. I thought love was in the streets of Paris, the gondolas of Venice, in the London-Eye, on a train to Rome... But that is a blur now. Like a bad print of a silent black and white movie with moving images that are barely discernible.

My shampoo bottle says, Ques. “Which food induces the feeling of falling in love”, Ans. “Chocolate”. I am sitting with a big bar of chocolate, hoping to be hit soon...

Tattered and lost

It’s generally our own we have a tough time impressing. They think we never do enough, or worse that we don’t even try. It’s the world outside of our protected/protective microcosm, which appreciates our sense of being or intellect in general. The microcosm survives on their collective efforts but the single cells never truly integrate. As critical as we all are of our families or closest friends, we love them, mostly to bits and never understand why they can’t just accept us for who we are, and accept our follies, shortcomings and our failure to live up to their expectations.

One drowns in thoughts everyday and yet comes out alive, sometimes bouncing sunshine off to others, sometimes deeply grey and different. I lose myself in my books, in my random scribbling, in my social life, in my thoughts. I lost my beloved 7 year old hand-made paper jute wrapped tattered notebook that I have written so frequently about. It’s like losing a limb, for the ardent scribbler in me who mostly doesn’t transform those hand-written notes into the fluidity of MS Word. I will have to find a new world of thoughts to drown in....