me, my thoughts n my world

Musings on a gloomy Saturday morning

2015-11-07T21:17:00.000+05:30

How many people (and we are not counting kids) would ever have had a crackers & ice cream breakfast? My wackiness is soaring new heights.

May be on a brighter day, I would have taken the pain to prepare something remotely healthy for myself on a Saturday morning, but after a breathless week of work , sickness and two consecutive zombie nights, I am just glad I am still alive. Breakfast can wait.

Besides, the mornings are simply meh. Not today’s but 90% of them.

I miss my mornings back home. Does the saying about getting up on the wrong side of the bed also apply to getting up on the wrong side of the world? If not, then the sun is definitely a guy with split up personality. Even before the clock ticks 5 in India, the sun walks in, in his royal vermillion robe, spreading his arms in the quintessential SRK manner, to declare that he is going to rule for the next 13 hours. And even though you hate his burning rage for most part of his reign, its hard not to be swept away in love, the only time you can look straight into his intense eyes, when he is at his handsome best.

Here, however the story is starkly different. On the best of days, like a guy who was out all night and is scared of his wife’s wrath, he tiptoes in at 7 or beyond. Hangover is written all over him and his assorted attire in shades of grey. All the while he gives you that sinking feeling of another depressing day ahead. Who would want to wake up with a smile for such a guy and make him a sumptuous breakfast? He doesn’t deserve any better than the leftovers from the previous night? Crackers and ice Cream sound perfectly normal. Don’t they..

It rained yesterday night, between the time I walked in from office and I went out for a stroll post dinner. As crazy as it sounds, monsoon happens to be my favourite season, mud, mess & mayhem included. I can spend hours just sitting by the window, watching it pour outside. If rain was a person, she would be a lot like me.

I didn’t miss not witnessing her yesterday. She doesn’t have a season dedicated to her here. She swings by every once in a while, unnoticed and sadly unwanted. She doesn’t bring goodies here like she does back home. Seeds don’t hold her hand to break ground, leaves don’t wait for her to emerge in their slush green finery. Rather she spells doom, bringing down the cherished bloom in spring and the golden foliage in autumn. Neither does she hum, sing, scream or cry..she just talks in measured words, equally spaced & spell checked. And her sweet fragrance, that augurs her arrival and stays back long after she has left, filling the air and the earth, mesmerizing every living soul, well here she doesn’t wear it at all.

I wish her away, as heartbreaking as it is. Doesn’t it happen in life too? When a person we have known and cherished suddenly changes for the worst, not remotely resembling their formal selves, don’t we suddenly grow cold, almost like strangers. It feels easier to live with their happy memories instead.

Bidding Adieu..

2015-06-01T09:09:00.003+05:30

The sun is setting on my last evening here, in the house that had eventually become home. I am sitting alone in an almost bare apartment, tired from the uncountable trips to the trash bin downstairs. For the past two days I have been busy throwing away stuff that I had painstakingly collected one piece at a time in the last six months. My hands are bruised and I am soaked in sweat. But there’s a bigger turmoil going inside, one that I can’t quite articulate.

Its time to go home, back to the two people I love most. No matter how grave the underlying reasons are, I should be happy. I am, but in a hidden corner of my heart, an unexplained pain is lurking. I am going to miss this place, this house, the first rays of sun that used to greet me every morning, the smiling moon that put me to sleep every night. I am going to miss the friends and family I made here.

Looking back, it feels like yesterday that I landed here, alone and naive, bang in the middle of the proverbial winter. Every day I have taken one more step on the bumpy trail, learning and unlearning things, pulling myself up when things were unfavourable, dragging myself when I felt like quitting. Behind all those happy glowing pictures on facebook, lies a story less than extraordinary, blotted with worries, sickness, and inconveniences. I wonder why then, my happiness at this moment is incomplete.

As crazy as it might sound, sometimes places become more than places. Sometimes they get a voice, like a living person.

This place has given me the euphoria of witnessing my first snowfall and the horror of going hypothermic at the same time. When I had no one to talk to, the empty roads listened patiently to my silence. I have walked through lanes and by lanes, past tiny streams neatly hidden away from the hustle & bustle of the city. I have seen the city change colours, from stark white to gorgeous pink and serene green... and every sight has been just as breathtaking as the previous one. This city reminds me of my childhood dreams, the houses, the lawns, the flowers. No matter where I fix my gaze, I can never have enough of its beauty.

When I first came, I didn’t even know how to cross a road here. I couldn’t operate the GPS and would be scared to venture out, in the fear of getting lost. I was intimidated that one had to do everything on his own, even the physically daunting tasks. And being a girl didn’t buy me any concessions. I used to hate the queues and how slowly they move, i hated the rules and how stringent people were about them. But this city taught me the virtue of patience. I learnt to be self reliant, to find out solutions instead of quitting. If u asked me now, i could perhaps tell u the routes and rates memorized. For someone who doesn’t have a car in the US, I am living like a free bird.:)

But the biggest treasure I have found here is love, boundless love from people, strangers and friends alike. I always thought, i was shy and awkward. I could never make friends easily. I didn’t even try to.

When i saw strangers smiling at me for no reason, i thought it was strange. More so cz I mostly flaunt a serious morose expression. But i wanted to be like them, smiling and greeting, holding doors for others, showing little gestures which collectively form a very warm impression. I have no clue how far I have changed for the better, but the love I have received has more than compensated for the bitterness few others have caused. N now that i am leaving, i see their sad faces, holding their farewell gifts in my hand and i wish i had cared more.

I didn’t know i would return this soon, nothing in my life confirms to a plan. Likewise I donot know if I would ever come back.

But I am taking along an ocean of wealth, not to be measured in dollars.

They say Virginia is for lovers, i would say Virginia stands for love, to and for everyone, even the lonely hearts. I am happy I am going home, but i finally figured I am sad cz i am going to miss my second home. Bidding Adieus is always so hard.

ILNYC - Part II

2015-04-18T18:28:00.001+05:30

As promised, I am back.

In one day, I walked as much as my feet would bear & absorbed as much as my eyes would behold. I had half a day more and a million options to choose from. We had only covered few of the attractions and many more were still waiting to be explored. We could have gone to the ‘Statue of Liberty’ or climbed the ‘Empire State’ or better still, we could have spent the whole day posing and clicking at Madam Tussauds. But I had seen and admired the Glitzy New York as the world knows it, this time I wanted to get a glimpse of the real one, the ‘Newyork of New Yorkers’.

We began roaming, aimlessly, without a checklist in hand. We crossed one avenue after the next, passing by designer stores interspersed with an equal number of non descript local shops. People walked around in relaxed steps, devoid of the urgency I had sensed the previous night. It was sunny and it was windy, sometimes either and sometimes both. It is funny how at one moment you will cling to your jacket and at the very next, be compelled to take it off. But I guess thats how New York is.. unpredictable!

Spring had just taken baby steps, but the chairs were all out on the streets..more people sitting outside than inside cafes and bars, claiming their share of the divided sunshine. Small multicoloured flowers were in full bloom too.. New York has a very robust public transportation. There’s subway and buses and I suppose trams too. And not one kind of bus but as many kinds as there possibly can be, double deckers, open roofed double deckers, one sided seating buses, hop in hop off tour buses so on and so forth.

We came to this place called the Bryant park, which is a small park tucked right inside the heart of the city, yet strangely hidden by the towering high-rises surrounding it. Right outside the New York library, it is actually a reading park but one can just about sit idle and still feel rejuvenated. I am sure New York hides many more such little treasures, scattered along its geography, waiting to be discovered on a treasure hunt. Like these madly popular food trucks, called halal meat trucks, where one can get all kinds of Asian and Mediterranean junk at throw away prices. Most of these are operated by South Asians. Luckily for me, the guy behind the counter at the truck I ordered my fish kati rolls from, was bangladeshi, and he made sure he made his rolls extra spicy when he heard me speaking in his mother tongue.

WE resumed walking, and made our way from the 7^th to the 1^st avenue. By then clouds had begun accumulating and with the constant wind blowing, the temperatures began to dip. The view of the water front that awaited us on the 1^st avenue has perhaps not made it to any of the ‘Attractions of New York’ list. I didn’t find them on any of the brochures, and may be that’s all the more why it was special, because I had discovered it. A little ahead was a ferry terminal and we bought tickets to wall street. Little did I know 6 dollars would buy me one of the most amazing experiences of my life.

As the sun peeped in and out of the thick blanket of clouds, it turned the water silvery to golden and back. That is all i remember of the ride, for I was so lost in the moment, I couldn’t bring back a souvenir, even the memories are blurred. Time had stood still but the clock was ticking away fast. All good things must come to an end and what better place to bid adieu than the viewing point of ‘Statue of Liberty’.

I feel New York is so loved, because it has something for everyone. The dazzling Neon lights to amaze the kids, the beautiful parks for the lovers, hot brands for the shopaholics and a rocking nightlife for the upwardly mobile. And then in contrasting measures, it also gives you serenity, to mourn your melancholy or celebrate your company. You can get lost, or you can be found, you can drift away or arrive at your destination. New York doesn’t judge you for your colour or race, not even for the depth of your pocket. It lets you be, it just doesn’t leave you alone.

There’s so much more I want to see and feel, I hope to go back again someday. But for now this is as close as I could get to fulfilling a dream, one wish checked on a non existing bucket list.

I truly loved New York, I always will!

ILNYC part I

2015-04-18T02:44:00.000+05:30

It must have been a good decade ago that this Karan johar movie got released. Apart from the typical NRI culture, tear jerker dialogues and a ‘love triangle’ between a dying hero, a damsel in distress and an impossibly understanding friend, the movie also happened to feature ‘The city of New York’. Each frame, chosen with care and diligence, has since grown iconic, and the City that was initially chosen to play the unsuspecting backdrop, quietly emerged to become the fourth protagonist.

Like many around, I fell in love with it at the very first sight. It was exceedingly beautiful but the fact that it was halfway across the world from my home rendered it a charm that only dreams can have. Who could have imagined then that one day I would indeed set foot on the city of dreams.

Luckily, I have a colleague from New York who visits there every weekend. So I made a hasty plan, stuffed my backpack and hitch-hiked with her after work on a rainy Friday, a couple of weeks ago. We drove through three states, for five hours before finally reaching New Jersey where my friends having flown down from other places were already waiting for me.

New York is actually a collection of five islands, and the one that I or most of us are familiar with is the vertical Manhattan. It is home to the tallest skyscrapers, the most gorgeous of parks, the biggest brands on the 5^th Avenue, the Times Square and the Wall Street. My journey however started with the New York Penn station which is a central station connecting the Subway/Metro, the Amtrak and the New Jersey transit trains. The Penn station caught me by surprise. With its old structure, Asian smells and shoving crowds, for a while I felt transported back to Kolkata, to my nearby DumDum metro. the station is built over multiple levels and has signs all over. It made no sense to me and if left alone, I am sure I would have cried my way out or through it. For a while I wondered, if the tag of ‘city of dreams’ is just another carefully constructed image. But the moment I made it to an exit, I landed in another world.

I do not recall the name of that street, as I don’t for the rest of the landmarks I visited over the next day and half, but it had few very tall buildings. There was this one particular building in steel grey, which was so tall that I had to strain my neck 60 degrees back to look at the sky and as I did I saw the building shake left and right. I was scared out of my wits and it took me few seconds to realize that the cottony clouds had pulled out a trick on my poor eyes. My next stop was the central park, which was neither green nor dressed up in the fall colours, yet every bit as gorgeous. And because the sun was out after a long winter and the spring was crawling in, people were out in hordes…people with pets, with kids, in couples, in groups, alone, white people, black people and everyone in between. Funnily I recognized a couple of frames exactly as I had seen them in the movie and I felt goosebumps at realizing I was actually there.

From there we walked across the city, cutting across streets and avenues, halting only to take pictures which would soon become memories. On our way we traversed many of the famous attractions before ending up in Brooklyn, hopping over the Brooklyn bridge. We made our way through the wall street, around the Empire state building , to the Trinity church and around the new World trade center.

The East river that flows under the Brooklyn bridge and four more bridges separates Manhattan from Brooklyn. There is a gorgeous promenade in Brooklyn on the river front from where you can see the ‘Statue of Liberty’ as a tiny spot on the extreme left, the Brooklyn bridge on the right and the Manhattan skyline in front. One can sit there for hours, watching the golden sky turn progressively purple and then a stark black, a stream of sparkling lights replacing blue bars of manmade wonders. Its often breezy there, drifting leaves and fluttering skirts and ferries sailing amidst rolling waves. Time stops, or you feel so, like a silent spectator in a 3D movie, frame after frame unfolding before you, each one prettier than the before.

I would have perhaps spent the rest of the day there had my friends not dragged me to the Times Square, which they said is a must see after dark. It is a neighborhood in Manhattan adorned with dazzling billboards and advertisements, which is located at the crossroads of Broadway and Seventh Avenue. This is where the annual ritual of ball drop happens every new year’s eve when a time ball located on the roof of One Times Square, descends 141 feet in 60 seconds. At first sight, the ambience feels forced and mechanical but the place has an infectious vibe and the more time you spend there, the more it envelopes you. On any given night, Times Square is choc a bloc with tourists and locals alike, clicking pictures with clowns and men dressed as cartoon characters, not to forget genial cops and horse carriages…

You must have gauged from the length of my post, the length of my day. Physically I was tired down to the bones, but my spirit was still raring to go. I still had half a day left and I have to come back again to tell what’s more is in store. Till then Hasta la vista.

I will hold your hand..

2015-04-02T10:02:00.001+05:30

Without being too specific, (as I am supposed to keep official details off the social network) I would just say, one of these days I was asked to mentor a woman, a new joiner to the project. Even before she was introduced to me, she had already been labelled a hopeless under performer & I guess the only reason I was called in was to seal their presumptions with supporting statistics.

This girl, who is in fact older to me comes from another side of the world. The first thing I noticed about her was how often she would break into a giggle. Yet, there was something unnerving about her, she appeared nervous and unmindful. There’s no denying that her work was a mess, and I guess she knew it just as well. I would later come to know that she was laid off by her previous employer and feared the same here.

No one likes the weak. At least I have grown up seeing so. Schools and colleges have entrance exams to pick up the best brains, so do companies. Everyone wants the cream, while the residue is conveniently drained out.

I didn’t like it then, when I was a consistent topper and I don’t like it now when I am a so called ‘habitual mediocre’. They have set parameters and I know no matter how hard I work, I wouldn’t satisfy their standards or match up to their star performers.

Let’s keep aside my story, but in general how many people do you encounter who tell you what is right with you. Isn’t it much easier to point out the flaws instead? Have you ever come across a college advertisement that reads “ We work on weak students to turn them into rank holders”. Have any of you ever worked with a manager, who has willing selected underperformers and created a success story? I guess everyone wants a quick fix, a readily polished diamond that they can set in their ‘pièce de résistance’.

The girl didn’t require an affirmation to what was obvious; she needed help to express what wasn’t. She needed a second chance, like we all do. We all need someone to tell us what is right with us. We are repeatedly told what others are doing better than us; we need someone to tell us what we can do better than the rest of the world.

And he who can do that is a ‘Leader’, a ‘Mentor’ or a ‘Saviour’. Anyone can take a bunch of winners and write a success story, but not everyone can pick a bunch of losers and create a success of their collective stories.

I have silently taken it upon myself to push her or pull her till she doesn’t stumble any more. And she is not the first, I have done this before. I will not her blame her drowsiness upon her lazy bones; I would rather find out that she travels 6 hours every day. I will not label her work as trash, I would hold her hand and show her whatever little I have learnt so far. I will throw in encouraging words whenever I can, they come free, but who knows they might transform her life.

I will try to become the teacher I craved for, or the lead I never had. I will not tell her that she is good for nothing, like someone once told me. I will tell her , ‘everyone is worthy of a second chance, pass on the ladder when you climb up.’

People

2015-02-08T07:59:00.005+05:30

February has just kicked in. Thankfully, January has taken along all traces of snow, leaving tiny green twigs to peek out from beneath the wrinkled brown branches. Its still cold, but definitely not as dark as before. Inch by inch, sunlight is streaming in my world too.

Those who have read my previous post would know, I had almost come to believe, I am the only living person here. I mean there are spotless houses and clean streets, and hordes of cars, but I couldn’t sight those inhabiting them. The ghostly silence had grown so intimidating that I wondered if and when I would witness bedlam again.

Then office started (thankfully!) and I was for the first time, since coming to the US, breathing and living amongst Real people, people with varied features, nationalities, ethnicities and languages. From a blank white sheet, I transitioned into a ‘rainbow zone’ overnight.

As kids we grow up with certain stereotypes in our minds. Fuelled sometimes by hearsay, sometimes by media, we typecast cultures, categorize races. And the older we grow, the stronger they become. Much to my own embarrassment, I had always thought of the American society as a sum of dysfunctional families where people don’t believe in marriages, kids are thrown out of homes the day they turn 18 and no one cares about the old and ailing.

I would have perhaps taken this notion to grave, had I not experienced the reality first hand. My first encounter was with a real estate agent, a lady in her early fifties, who was helping me find an apartment. Unfortunately the deal didn’t work out, nevertheless I emerged wiser. The way she acted and the things she spoke, she was no less protective than my own aunt in India. It mattered to her that I was a girl and from a faraway country. The little details she considered while searching for a place, had even escaped my own worried mind.

The more I mingle with people, the more I realize how wrong I had been. Strange as it may sound, here people marry much younger, even before they finish college. Some who don’t do, do stay with their parents or grandparents if they are in the same city. People here love kids, and indeed it is a kid friendly nation. Any grocery store I visit, I find men & women playfully carrying adorable kids in perambulators or over trolleys, not a sign of irritation marring their faces. Where are the wild parties. As soon as the clock hits 5, people rush to be home with spouses, kids and pets. Talking of pets, everyone seems to have one or more here and from the way they stroll around with the little animals even in the dead of winter, speaks volume about their care & concern.

I had a similarly distorted notion about Pakistanis. What with cross border violence and never-ending regressive politics, there were the ‘perennial’ enemies. I grew up with scary images of them in my mind till I accidentally stumbled upon some of their soaps aired by an Indian channel. Its just an LOC that separates us, rest, our sensibilities, our emotions and even our problems are alike. I am infact so touched by few of these stories and their potrayals that if I ever have to, I would anyday rate theirs over ours.

Living alone in a foreign land, I have begun to look beyond the labels. I get so few opportunities, that I make it a point to forge new friendships whenever I can. So whether its the Hindi speaking Jamaican lady at the cafeteria, the black lady who drives the bus I take to office every morning, the Salvadorian kid who speaks only Spanish, which I then translate using a English-Spanish translator or a Bangaleshi neighbour, I greet them everyday. Sometimes they share stories too which i love to hear. Each day I break more walls. Each day I straighten out few tangled knots. Each day I learn afresh

“A human being is a human being, colour, race, region not withstanding”

A month it is!!

2015-01-15T09:50:00.001+05:30

Its a month....

I have successfully survived past thirty one days of hardship, thirty days of melancholy away from mom, dad and friends, Thirty days of numbing cold, tiring documentations, gloomy days, lack-lustre festivals, bankruptcy & depression.
Yes, I have survived the first thirty days of this ordeal.

Little did I know before setting foot on the Emirates flight to Washington DC via Dubai that the rosy picture people paint of the US is just that... A rosy picture! A well guarded secret.
Agree, some people have it easier than others, but there's no denying that every one goes through this cultural shock, albeit of varying degrees and for varying durations.
The petty things we take for granted back home, so petty that they don't even register in our conscious minds are the ones that hit us the hardest in the first few days here.

I remember, how I would complain about the mindless crowd. In India, especially in a metro like Kolkata or Mumbai, you cannot take two steps without bumping into someone. There isn't a slice of earth or sky that you can claim as yours. Wherever you go, a swarm of people appear to
either follow through or tag along. How I would wish for a solitary existence, crave for a moment away from the never ending ruckus. And one day when my wish was suddenly granted, all I wanted was to run away.

I hear all sorts of noises here,.. cars zooming past, planes taking off, fire brigades blowing sirens, the hiss of rain, the rustling of leaves, people shovelling snow... but there are no voices..it doesn't matter if its English or native Spanish or chinese or mandarin, I just want to hear real people talk for a change.
And its not just the absence of voices, but the absence of people in general that bothers me. If you manage to take a walk on a cold afternoon, you'd have to be really lucky to sight another man. Worse still are festivals like Xmas or the new years eve. It feels more like a mass strike, what with shops shut, no decorations, closed offices and people all holed up inside houses.
As funny as human psychology is, I have started missing the same cacophony, that I used to hate with all my heart.
Back home I used to crave for a park for walking or jogging. But all I had were dusty concrete or potholed pitch, honking cars or illegal hawkers. Here, I have miles and miles of clean, landscaped footpath. I can stroll, walk, jog, run or simply stand and gaze at the natural beauty around. But I dread walking, something that I have never done in my life before. well except the summer days when the mercury would easily touch 43* c. Walking in the cold, with or without the snow is torturous.

I have plenty to complain about if I wish to. Between good and bad experiences, the scale for now is heavily tilted towards the later. Life is tough here, especially for someone who is new and alone. A lot of things don't make sense and you can not anticipate the way people are going to react.
Having said that, everything can't be wrong about the big American dream, just like despite a million flaws, India is still my beloved home, my soil, my root.

I feel, it all boil downs to the grass being always greener on the other side. Those who crib about things in india when they stay there, crib about their very absence when they are abroad. I unfortunately belong to the clan.

So of all the small and big lessons I continue to gather with each passing day, this one will perhaps be pinned at the top of my mind.
"No land is perfect, not even the one, established by popular folklore. Like beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, acceptance resides in the heart of the traveller.
Instead of complaining about every stumble for the rest of my stay, I choose to learn, embrace & cherish the good, bad and the ugly experiences. Hopefully when I am back home, I would be more appreciative of the the things I have grown up loathing.

An ode to the doctor

2014-03-15T17:34:00.002+05:30

I can't believe I am back on my blog to write about a doctor. No I wasnt born with a
prejudice against them, but in the last 6 years I have encountered enough demons in white, to hold a pretty picture of them in my heart. I have met them all..the 'foreign-educated-patient-killers',the 'ruthless-ATM-machines',the 'I-am-demi-God', the 'real-life-saviour', in short the good, bad and ugly. But this is an ode to a man who belongs to a different class all together.

Its amazing how you sometimes meet random people who change the course of your entire life. Sometimes we spend an entire lifetime with someone without being understood, sometimes, however, it takes only a few minutes for someone to read your heart inside out.

I went to him 5 months ago with a few medical issues and a bag full of apprehensions, but the 55+ old man with salt n pepper hair and super glowing skin won me over with his warmth.He diagnosed my problems, those that were obvious from the reports and even those that most people have no clue about. I still remember he told me " y r u so gloomy my child, do u realize how beautiful u look when u smile?'.'U have got just one life, live it for yourself, b bright'. He asked many out of context questions which surprisingly I found more relevant than any of those that i am used to being asked by doctors. I gave him honest answers. When I was ready to leave, he rose from his chair and pinched my cheecks. :)

Three months later I went again and this time more depressed than the first instance, partly due to the side effects of the medicines and partly because of the circumstances.
This time we spoke about movies, he asked me why didn't i go out and enjoy. Many people tell me the same, but for some reason I get pissed off because I feel they are judging me, Dr. Zoha though actually got me thinking. he asked to come back in march but this time I had to have a smile.

Today I went for my third appointment. I was careful to appear cheerful. Ridiculous as it might sound, I remembered the promise I had made to him last time and didnt want to faulter on that. Fact is in the past few months I have seen more lows than ups but somehow I pushed myself into being happy, moment by moment, day upon day. We chatted for long and he complemented me on my new found glow.WE chatted silly, like I always do with him.And then he asked 'So whats the reason for ur glow, Got a boyfriend?'. I smiled and replied ' Someone told me I have only one life.'

Dr. zoha would never read this, he is a busy man and not connected to me on social networking sites. But I want to tell him, he has treated me well, treated me inside out. Wish there were more people like him, who sprinkle happiness around. Wish there were more doctors like him, who treated humans, not a budle of flesh and blood.

Thank you doctor, you know you are my favourite and some day I will take you and your entire family out on a movie date.

A walk by chance

2014-01-11T20:04:00.000+05:30

I generally don't walk by these lanes, not on normal days for sure. That brings me to think, the day didn't start on a normal note. In fact it all began yesterday evening, when I bruised my ankle in a freak accident.
So in the morning dad dragged me along to get a Tetvac injection (ouch!!!) and as a result I missed going to the gym. On any other day, I would have gladly lapped up the opportunity of rolling in my bed for an extra hour. Today however, hounded by the thoughts of piling up extra calories at a team lunch planned later for the day, I decided to walk to office from the bus-stop instead of taking the usual auto ride.
I am so glad I did... for this is what i found..

As I walked down that one mile stretch, I stopped every few minutes to capture something or the other. Nothing extraordinary ; things like a bougainvillea bush, a transient sheath of translucent mist, long deserted roads and golden streaks of sunlight spilling in mystically through the leaves. Things that go unnoticed otherwise when the auto zooms past.
When I was the last time I did something as simple as stand for a moment and inhale the fresh morning air, or just look around, not at the screen of my smart phone but around at the sky, trees or the roads.
I sighed deeply, feeling happy and sad at the same time.

A lot of beauty is hidden in the seemingly routine surroundings, but we act too busy to notice. Tranquility after all is not as unattainable, as we have made it seem. We only need to stop for a while and look at the right places.

Its all about u..

2014-01-09T21:25:00.003+05:30

I have taken liberty to write my own version (English) of my favourite song (Hindi)..

Its all about u

You aren't mine, but I haven’t lost you either

Even in your absence, y do I feel you everywhere

U bring in the first rays of light for me

and U r on my mind even in the depth of nights.

you are all that i see , when i open my eyes,

and i feel u right here, wrapped in my arms,

How did it happen?

that there’s nothing mine, left in me anymore

When I talk, it invariably ends at u..

and you have filled in even my loneliest of nights

I wonder how,

everything I had , has suddenly turned yours

No matter which way I head, it leads me to u

and even amidst deafening noise, I feel at peace

u have left me intoxicated..girl

half a promise sometimes, or a little more perhaps

but I wanna make it up to u, a token of trust

Our lives are intertwined,

held by a bond so strong, that it can neither be broken, nor abandoned

I owe u my life,

For I AM, because you are

and u have shown me not just the ways, but the destinations as well

You aren't mine, but I havent lost you either

Even in your absence, y do I feel you everywhere

Its all about u, only u

Phata poster Nikla 'REVIEW'

2013-09-22T22:19:00.000+05:30

I am not much of a movie buff but I was waiting for this one eagerly. For one, being a Shahid kapoor admirer, I was part of the PPNH journey since its inception. Secondly, I really loved the songs & the funny trailers. But when the reviews started pouring in, I was in fact a little disappointed. People were bashing the entire crew & cast as if it was the worst movie ever made on the face of bollywood.

The movie takes some time to grow on you, may be because I had a preconceived notion after watching the promos. Its not a modern tale of a ‘mistaken cop’. Its a vintage story of an innocent boy from a small town who dreams of being an actor, but circumstances cause him to be mistaken as a cop.

The beginning of the movie reminds me of an earlier time when the child mother bond was actually very strong, when there was innocence in people and their thoughts were simple. The first half is sweet, funny, smooth and the camera rolls through a series of connected events that keep u laughing and laughing. In the second half though, the plot gets messy and u wonder where it is all leading. But then in recent times, except for Hera Phery, all other comedies have ended in a similarly mad sequence of events. Agreed, it could have been cleaner, in fact, it could have been a different second half altogether. But then it was meant to be a mindless laugh riot.

Having said that, no one can take away from the performances, of all the veterans and especially Shahid. Someone who has excelled in serious roles all through his career, has taken a giant leap towards becoming a versatile actor. However easy it may seem, those action sequences were hard enough to crack. And he did it with as much ease n elan as he made us laugh n cry n dance n drool. All the songs were beautifully choreographed n shot... and everyone would agree with me on that count.

On a parting note, I must say, I went in for a mindless breezy comic relief from my mundane life and i got it in abundance. If you are hell bent on comparison, lets set the parameters right. Lets compare it with 100 cr+ grossers in the same genre and then see where it stands (starring bigger stars, having adult content, raw plots n more). If you are weighing a ‘PPNH’ against a ‘Lunch box’, you would rather lean back on a kaminey or JWM.

A bejewelled thief - Lootera

2013-07-20T18:58:00.003+05:30

I am not a first-day first-show kind of a person, not a weekender, fortnighter or even a monthly-movie goer (there’s only ever an exception when it comes to my favourite heroes and I am not going to name them here, for I would so not want a deluge of sarcastic comments here :P). Coming back to the crux, since I am neither a fan of Sonakshi nor Ranveer and I haven’t even watched Vikramaditya Motawane’s much acclaimed Udaan, it is solely because of the reviews (by friends and my favourite celebrities) that I went for a show of ‘Lootera’.

But even then, I don’t pick up my pen unless I am so driven that articulation of my feelings becomes a need. And boy! I am overwhelmed.

I read ‘The last leaf’ years ago in school. It is one of the very few stories that have leapt out of curriculum to occupy a permanent corner in my heart. But in all these years I hadn’t imagined that it could be retold more beautifully. Well, I was naive. Lootera is a heart-warming tale, written like poetry and shot like a painting... its like a glass of warm golden vintage vine, which mesmerizes all your senses before quenching your thirst. Throughout the first half, I marveled at the craftsmanship of the director, thinking about my own writings, feeling hopeless and hopeful at the same time.

But the greatness of the movie lies in the fact, that I couldn’t objectify it for long. I didn’t realize, when I stopped picking up the nuances of the story, and instead got engrossed in Pakhi and Varun, their smiles, their feelings, their love, loss & pain. On and off, I saw my reflections in Pakhi. I don’t think anyone could have been there and done that better than her. And Ranveer, well he just didn’t paint a masterpiece of a leaf, but of a character as well.

Standing ovation to the entire cast and crew of Lootera.... In the crowd of mediocre blockbusters, once in a while someone creates magic. Lootera might not run to packed houses (half the hall was empty today), but it will linger in my memory (and hopefully in that of few more people like me) and make me feel alive, as a writer and as a woman.

Four years and fifty shades

2013-06-29T13:07:00.002+05:30

Some dates in the calender are a little less ordinary than the rest. Today, for instance is one such date.

Four years ago, on this day a naive little girl walked through the gates of Cognizant Pune with bittersweet thoughts and loads of dreams. She thought life could only get better from there.
Today when I look back, I smile....I smile at her naivety.
Its been a long journey. A journey that taught me more than what most people learn in their entire life time. I had many firsts... and many lasts too. I saw the cheerful bright hues and the depressing dark tinges, all the fifty shades of life. I didn't just survive the winters to welcome the springs, but lived through the summers and danced through the rains as well. I met new people and discovered new faces of old people. Some grew good friends, some well-wishing-acquaintances , a few fair-weather-friends and the rest became known strangers.
But most importantly, the last four years brought me face to face with myself. Today when she walks down the road, I still see a plump little girl walking.
But this is not all that I see... I see a strong woman who has consistently fought back the nasty punches of life...I see a girl who has retained a heart in a mechanical world.....a see a vulnerable child, who hopes against hope, cries when they shatter and wakes up the next day with a new hope.....I see a typical bitchy shopaholic gossipmonger :P. Yes, I see them, all fifty of my shades.

I should thank all the people who have been part of this roller coaster ride. Even though it hasn't been a bed of roses, I would not have it any other way. Cheers!!

My daddy strongest

2013-06-16T21:07:00.001+05:30

I am a simple girl, one in the maddening crowd, like you ,her and them,

But daddy says, I am his pride…..strongest and prettiest.

Are all daddies like mine?

May be, may be not, but mine is surely the best.

When I was a kid, he was my playmate

And he would turn a storyteller when I cribbed going to bed.

Patiently he would sit through with an animated face

As I would blabber gibberish hours on end.

He made me collages, and paper mashe toys,

And he would work just as hard on each of my rehearsals

He cut his needs so that I could get mine

And he was the happiest one when I brought home a prize

Dad is still at his best even after so many years

He understands the words in my silence, the pain in my arrogance

He cracks jokes at the most tragic moments

He walks miles searching for my medicines

He still lends a patient ear to my bitter sweet nonsense

We are still partners in crime,

While stealing chocolates from the fridge

He is still my best cook, my wish , his command.

But beyond this and more, he is my hero,

because he has taught me life’s biggest lessons

A saturday afternoon revelation

2013-05-25T19:19:00.000+05:30

This Saturday afternoon I was taking a much cherished siesta when the doorbell rang loud. Irritated on being awakened unceremoniously, I walked up to the door, rubbing my eyes.

“Madam I am from Kutchina, have come to service your kitchen chimney.” A young guy, neatly dressed in a formal blue shirt and black trousers, carrying a black side bag spoke up.

“Of all times, you have to come on a weekend afternoon.” My irritation had now spread all over my face. Reluctantly I let him in.

Thankfully dad was at home and he volunteered to oversee the servicing while I retreated to my room and closed the door behind me. My sleep was already disturbed so I decided instead to switch on my laptop and check the recent updates on my FB page. Soon, the pungent smell of kerosene spread everywhere and I began to feel suffocated. Further irritated, I rose up and opened the windows and door for some much needed ventilation.

Voices started flowing in from the kitchen.

‘Oh dad is back at it’ I thought gingerly and bit my lips.

My father is a school teacher and like every other profession, his too has its own set of occupational hazards. He strikes conversations with strangers at ease, so much so that it gives an impression that he has known the person for years. He gets too emotional, gives away too much personal information and asks too many questions, even bordering on the personal side. While I know he is a typically sweet not-so-old man, wanting to know about people and share their miseries, it does get a little embarrassing at times. Many take him as ‘Intrusive’.

Today was no different. He was asking the boy about his home, education, work and pay.

I was silently hoping him to stop when something else drew my attention. The boy was sharing his story as earnestly as my dad was listening.

A Commerce graduate, the boy works for a private Indian company which sells kitchen appliances. He does a door to door servicing throughout the day ,throughout the year, rain or sun, summer or winter. And for one hour of back breaking labour, he gets only Rs 10, or 0.18 dollars. As it is, he needs to travel from one end of the city to the other, and his company doesn’t even reimburse all his travel expenses.

When dad offered him some sweets and sarbat, he got a little emotional and revealed more.

He is the only earning member in his family and after sending home few thousand rupees every month, he hardly has anything left for himself. On most evenings, when he is exhausted after a hard days work, he has to think twice even to buy a cuppa of chai (a cup of tea) from a road side stall.

Initially he was a little shy, but when dad insisted, he ate like a man starved for days. As I was now standing close to the door, leaving my lappy and host of online friends back on the bed, I noticed immense gratitude on the boy’s face.

I felt sad. Very sad...I remembered the words I had spoken to him when he had rung the bell and wished I could gulp them back.

Most of the times we are so cocooned up in our lives and its never ending problems that we neither have the time nor the compassion to look out of the window. There is a whole world out there, comprising of people who don’t have one tenth of what we have. And at times like these, when I am forced to look out, my problems suddenly start looking trivial.

I am sure, many of you, who have read this far would ask in silence, ‘what difference can I make?’

The problem is we are too structured and we always think big. We learn how to present ourselves in a certain way and in the bargain lose touch with our humanity.

I don’t know, but I believe those who truly want to, are making a difference in their parts of the world. May be if I wished fervently, I could get a way too. May be I will try. For starters, I won’t frown when somebody comes for servicing on a Saturday afternoon next time. Someone’s livelihood is way more important than my afternoon siesta. Neither would I silently hope that my father stops asking such questions to perfect strangers. Thank god for such intrusion, the hapless boy could return home with a full stomach and a full heart.

Crossroads Part II

2012-09-28T19:51:00.001+05:30

*Honk...*Honk

“Ridz...Ridz...” Sid was shaking my hand...

“Oh yeah” I replied, still lost in thoughts. I looked past Sid to see that it had turned dark outside. Gosh! When you are lost in thoughts..time just flies by..

“Where have you been? We are almost there. 15 more minutes. I kept on blabbering the whole way and you didn’t listen to anything. What were you thinking?”

“Umm nothing..” I looked flustered. Sid must have understood for he didn’t probe further. But it did affect him coz even though he didn’t speak anything I noticed a small frown forming on his face.

We soon reached the resort where Sid had made the bookings. They were offering a package which included some sightseeing and night outs along with the food and stay. It looked luxurious with big lawns and an impressive architecture.

Sid asked me to go with the staff and check the room while he completed the check in formalities. It was a beautiful suite with soft creamy drapery and wooden flooring. But the best part was the view from the balcony... a breezy moonlit night and the sea whispering to the sky. Wow!!!

“Sir has chosen the best suite mam. Hope you enjoy your stay.”

I sometimes wondered, why did Sid take so much pain to make me happy. What did he get out of all this?

As I was just settling down, I heard voices. Something struck me and my heart started pounding heavily. Yes it was Sid’s voice but there was someone else too. It sounded so familiar that I ran out to see who it was. And when I did, my jaws dropped. I stood there frozen...The same face, the same smile, the seductive voice...Armaan..my face went pale. I couldn’t move my eyes off him.

They came closer, all three of them..Armaan, Sid and a girl. “Hey Ridz, this is Armaan and his wife. They are also on vacation here.” Armaan now moved up his face to look at me, and even he was tongue tied, shocked and surprised. Sid was perplexed to see us transfixed. He had joined Sanjeevani only after Armaan had left. So he didn’t know him by face. He had only heard his name, but how on earth was he to imagine that this was the guy who had turned me into a living stone and our marriage into a private joke. But I guess he gauged it. Even in my absentmindedness I noticed an immediate transformation in his body language.

“I guess my wife is a bit tired so we would take some rest” he said and shut the door.

*******************************************************************************

Now that we were alone, I didn’t know what to say or how to react. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. The wounds I had nursed for so long suddenly lay open, bleeding and hurting like hell.

“He is the one, isn’t he?” Sid asked, in a serious tone, more serious than I had ever seen him before. I don’t know what any other husband in this world would have done but Sid just came close, patted softly on my back and said “I know you are upset. If you want to go back, just let me know. And if you want to stay, I am with you. Be a lil strong Riddhima..his wife is with him.”

I still couldn’t utter anything. To have my past spring up so unexpectedly, was too hard for me to swallow. I was not prepared for this.

“I know it’s hard Riddhima, it’s always hard to come face to face with your love under these circumstances.”

I don’t know how insane it sounds but I was badly in need of a support. I hugged Sid and broke into tears, never realizing how hard it must be for him. Was I using him as a sponge to soak away my own sorrows?

We had a sombre dinner. Actually I don’t even remember what was there on menu for Sid had ordered something and he fed me and tucked me into bed. If I wanted, I could have returned that very night. But something stopped me. Something sinful. I wanted to know Shilpa, I wanted to know what she had in her to deserve Armaan that I didn’t.

The next morning we went out on the sand. It was the private beach of the resort and they had arranged for some games. Even though I was with Sid, my eyes were searching for them. And there they were, Armaan and Shilpa. As soon as we walked closer to them, Shilpa waved out to us. Sid looked at me and waved back.

“HI Siddhant, I couldn’t talk to your lovely wife yesterday. She looked a little tired yesterday. Are you ok now?” she said hurriedly as Armaan sat blank and expressionless, looking out at the sea.

“Yes, I am good. My husband took pretty good care of me .” I added intentionally.

She signalled us to sit there. Sid was a little uncomfortable initially but he followed once he saw me settling down. Eventually they got talking..Shilpa and Sid. At a first glance Shilpa seemed a nice cherubic girl, bubbly and restless. She jelled well with Sid. They were talking animatedly and laughing. I wondered if her husband had ever told her about his past. I wondered, if she knew everything, could she still behave as non chalantly as she did now. And then suddenly it struck me. Sid knew everything, still he acted so nicely. Why was he so nice...why did he go out of his way to make my life easier.

Armaan excused himself and went inside. We three remained there, almost the whole day. We had our lunch on the beach..the two of them chatting and I was mostly quiet. I could see that there was hardly any bond between Armaan and his wife. Both were two different personalities, at best thrown in together.

It was evening when Sid said he wanted to go back to the suite for a bath. I was now left alone with Shilpa.

“You are a lucky girl, your husband loves you like crazy. He knows almost every small detail about you. “

I smiled. I was amazed. I was amazed that I had sat with them the whole day and yet I didn’t know what conversation they have had. Their words only entered my ears but were lost before they could reach my mind. And then I was amazed at how this lady could understand in a day that Sid loved me. To be honest even I had seen glimpses of his romantic side, in bits and pieces. But he had never crossed the line I marked for him. Actually I never tried to get into his mind and find out the reason behind his concern . Partly because I was too selfish and partly because I was scared to confront the truth.

“Why? Even you are lucky. I am sure even your husband loves you a lot.” I said.

“I don’t knw. He is a mystery to me. He never really opens up. I knw I should not be telling all this to u but I am not happy. I donno what can I do to bring him to senses.” She was almost reduced to tears and once she regained her composure, she left, completely dejected.

I sat alone for some time until Sid returned. He sat next to me and I leaned on his shoulder.

“They are not happy Sid. Why did he marry her then. He could have convinced his parents couldn’t he.” Sid was silent. “Am I that bad a girl Sid who will break a family ? Would I not have taken care of his family? Why did he leave me” I started sobbing. Sid stroked my back and ran his fingers through my hair, let me know through his actions that he was right there with me through all this and more.

*********************************************************************************

I don’t remember anything beyond that moment. For, the next time I opened my eyes I was in our suite. Sid must have carried me back to the hotel. But where was he. I called out but there was no reply. I rang up his cell and it came as switched off. I changed and walked out towards the beach. I saw fellow tourists there, even Armaan and Shilpa but Sid was nowhere to be found. I asked Shilpa if she had seen Sid but she also answered in negative. I came back to the hotel and enquired at the reception, but even they had no clue. I was getting worried. I ran through the incidents of the previous night and I felt guilty.

Even if we were friends and we had an understanding between us, he was my husband at the end of the day. How could I talk to him about another man in such a way. Where was he? Where did he go? As the hours passed by, my panic grew. There was still no trace of him. By now the hotel staff had got involved, police was called and everyone was tensed. Armaan and Shilpa too were worried.

My mind was playing havoc. It kept on going back to the past and replaying moments between us. I realized I was so lost in my own sorrows to actually try and empathise with Sid. I was not just insensitive but extremely self centred. Leave alone wife, I was not even good enough to be a friend. I had taken him for granted so much that I was blind to his presence. But now his absence bothered me. I felt so melancholic...so lost without him. And surprisingly at this moment, I wished for nothing more than to get him back.

It was getting dark. I was growing crazier by the minute... .

Suddenly I heard a ruckus and looked up to see Sid surrounded by the resort staff and police. His hair was dishevelled and his clothes were smudged with dirt. There were cuts and bruises all over his face and hands . He was looking scared and drained out. I just couldn’t control myself. Right at that moment I ran upto him. In the middle of the crowd that had gathered, I hugged him tightly and stayed there for a long time holding him.

Sid was taken aback. He had never seen me so overwhelmed with emotions..not atleast for him.

“Where were you?” I broke down

“I was strolling on the beach last night when a couple of hooligans on a bike abducted me. They took away all my money and belongings. They beat me up and took me to some remote place and dumped me. I was unconscious. Some locals rescued me and they brought me here.” He took a pause. “Ridz we must give them something as a token, they saved my life.”

*******************************************************************************

Later that night, when I was dressing Sid’s wounds in the privacy of our suite Sid asked “Why were you so scared Riddhima?”

“I thought even you have left me Sid, especially after all that I said last night.”

“ I will never leave you Ridz, not until you yourself ask me to .”

“Why Sid? Why did you promise and why do you die a silent death everyday trying to live upto your promises. Why did you marry me. You were aware that I loved someone else. You knew I couldn’t give you the happy life you so deserved. Why every time I falter, you go out of your way to support me?”

He was silent for quite a while. Then he gently pushed me back and stoop up. He walked towards the balcony and stared blankly across the moonlit horizon.

“I married you not just because you were my friend, but because I loved you. I loved you the day I saw you first, cringing in your bed in the psychiatric ward and I loved you every day thereafter. You are right, I was fully aware of the pain you bore inside. How could I not. How could I not feel the pain of an incomplete love when my own love was incomplete? It is excruciating painful to see your wife, your love writhing in pain for someone else, but I figured it was more difficult to wake up in another continent, knowing that you are married to a man who doesn’t understand you, who insults you for your past & forces you to accept your present. I couldn’t picture yourself like that. I just couldn’t.”

Silence....except for the lashing of the waves...

“At least I am with you. I know you are safe....So what if I stay next door? Yours is still the first face I see in the morning and the last I see before retiring everyday. So what if we don’t share intimate moments, I am still your confidante. I can still make you smile. I have no complaints against you, ya may be a little with God.”

I didn’t speak out a single word, not then not afterwards. I stayed close to Sid the whole night. While he slept peacefully, I sat next to him, awake, revisiting my life.

I had always thought Sid to be an immature boy, full of fun and frolic. But i realized it today that I was grossly mistaken. The depth of his love was much deeper than my own, coz he always knew he had nothing to look forward to and yet he kept on loving me..every day, selflessly, sacrificing his own dreams, his own pleasures.

*********************************************************************************

Next morning when Sid woke up, he had a warm breakfast waiting for him. He was back to his jolly self again..smiling and cracking jokes.

“Hey wifey..wassup?”

“Sid will you give me something if I ask for it?”

“U bet i will. But never asked.” There was a twinkle in his eyes. He could sense a change in me and a change for the better.

“When i was a girl, I always dreamt of a wedding in a church wearing a flowing white gown. Will you do the honours?”

“Ya why not, I will love to.” Sid didn’t quite understand the gravity of my request.

“Not the kind we had last time Sid, a real wedding with real vows.”

You should have seen the expression on his face. A perfect blend of estacy and shock. Poor guy, I had troubled him so much. And stupid me....my prince charming was always next door and I didn’t even knock his bedroom door.

“By the way, you have a special priviledge. You can kiss the bride before the marriage coz u are already married to her.” I smiled and drew him closer.

P.S. Thanks Armaan for coming back, for had you not, I would have never found Sid, my love n my life.

Crossroads Part I

2012-09-28T15:37:00.004+05:30

“Riddhima, I have done the bookings and there have been no mess ups this time.” Sid told me with a wide grin.”We will start tomorrow at 10 am. Make sure to wrap up all your work by today. I don’t want any phone calls or emergency cases for the next four days.”

“Yeah I will wrap up everything.”

“You deserve a break bigtime dear. Life is so stressful here in Mumbai. In any case you like Goa and I to just love it. Sun , sand and babes.”

“Babes???!!!” I gave Sid a mock frown.

“What to do, my wifey doesn’t flirt with me so i am compelled to consider other options.” And he laughed out.

That is Sid for you. Sid aka Siddhant Modi, my husband. A doctor by profession but a boy at heart, jolly, funny, immature, sweet and a hell lot caring. He keeps on finding out newer ways to make me happy and this short trip to Goa is also one of them. We are very good friends and there is hardly anything that we don’t share with each other except.....

*********************************************************************************

We could have easily taken a flight to Goa. But Sid would not settle for it. He is simply obsessed with his car. He hardly gets a chance to go for a really long drive and now that he had the opportunity, he would not let it go at any cost. Even if it meant wasting 12 hours for a journey that could be covered in three.

Well may be if i had prodded him a little, he would have relented. But honestly speaking, I didn’t have the heart to do it. There is hardly anything Sid does for the sake of his own happiness and I didn’t want to snatch away even these few hours of easy fun from him.

I myself didn’t mind the drive through such picturesque locales beneath the dark monsoon sky. But the only thing i didn’t like about it was the plenty of idle time I got. Sid was engrossed in driving, occasionally humming to the soft romantic numbers playing in the car. I on the other hand had nothing much to do, except peep out of the window, listen to the songs and think! And thinking is something i detest to the core. Actually I am scared, scared of my own thoughts and of the dark alleys where they lead me to.

This is the reason why I keep myself so busy, 9 to 9 six days a week and then emergency calls anywhere, anytime. By the time I reach home, I have only as much energy left in me to grab a quick bite and crash into my bed. In fact Sid and I mostly meet each other in the locker room of Sanjeevani . Even at home, if Sid ever has a light day, he prepares dinner and we have a so called dinner date and then retire to our own rooms. Sid is sweet isn’t he.

I guess my second last statement must have confused you. What is this with separate rooms. We are supposed to be a married couple, sharing our bed and sharing our lives. Well that we are, for the rest of the world, a happily married handsome pair of lovebirds. But within the walls of Sid’s 2BHK pent house, the picture is slightly different.

*********************************************************************************

I loved him and I loved him more than anyone or anything...no I am not talking about Sid...I loved Armaan. We were together in college during our masters and we joined Sanjeevani on the same date. For four years , I loved him with all my heart. We were supposed to get married but his family didn’t accept me and he chose to move on..well yes, just like that. He moved on, he left Sanjeevani and he got married to a girl named Shilpa. For more than a year, I tried hopelessly to reach out to him. Initially the calls went unanswered and then the number ceased to exist. He moved out of the apartment which he had rented in Mumbai and neither his friends nor his colleagues had any idea about his whereabouts. I tried to contact his family but they were not in the mood to entertain me.

I couldn’t move on. I refused to step out of the make belief world that we had built together. I clung on to every place & everything that was in any way a part of his memories. I never stopped believing that he would come back..rather.. I never started believing that he could even think of leaving me forever. And i would have continued clinging on to my beliefs had I not seen his wedding card. The day one of my MS friends called me to inform about Armaan’s marriage, was the last day I ever tried searching for him. I wish it was as easy to cleanse my heart and mind of his memories.

There were worse days to come. I became so vulnerable that my colleagues put me on antidepressant drugs. From one of the most capable doctors, I was reduced to a typical case of mental depression. Bed number 9, room 405 became my address for close to 2 months.

And then Sid joined Sanjeevani. He carried himself as a happy go lucky college boy, making friends with doctors and patients alike. Initially, I hated him. When he came along with my other colleagues for a regular check up or an informal visit, I used to get irritated. His optimism and his humour both seemed forced to me and I don’t know why but I always felt that he was to sympathise with me. But eventually his genuineness touched me and we became very good friends.

I recovered slowly and even though the wounds , deep in my heart never really healed, I got better and better at camouflaging them. I was back treating patients at Sanjeevani, facing life as it came to me.

Two years passed by and my parents who were growing old started bugging me to get married. They were right. I had no one to wait for. The man I had loved was married to someone else. He didn’t care to turn back and find out what happened to me. Still it was unthinkable for me to get married. I couldn’t have loved anyone else. Plus marriage meant a lot of compromises and new responsibilities. How could I have lived a life based on lies, compromised for a stranger and chocked myself with responsibilities that were nothing but burden on me.

It was heading nowhere when Sid stepped in and expressed his willingness to marry me. I was shell-shocked. He knew it well that I was still trapped in my past. Why would any guy in his full senses choose to make his life a living hell. I asked him many times but he never told me. All he ever said was “Riddhima don’t worry, I will not expect you to go out of your way to do anything for me. I m fully aware of your past and you can rest assured that I will never try to drag you out of that. We are very good friends and we should remain that way. You can lead a completely independent life even after you marry me. The only thing that will change is your address.”

“But the world would know we are as normal as any other couple. That way your parents will be happy and so will be mine.” He had added.

Though it all seemed so strange, I didn’t ask anything further. Everything went well..just like any other marriage . Lots of music fun and food. But somehow the whole marriage thing didn’t sink in well with me. I didn’t feel like I was experiencing a life changing event and to be honest it didn’t change my life. True to what Sid had promised, the only thing that changed in my life was my address. Even there I had a separate room. If you ask me we were more of flatmates than spouses. It was fine with me but I felt sorry for Sid as he didn’t deserve this. He deserved a life full of love..something that I could never give him.

My Barfi story

2012-09-22T19:35:00.003+05:30

Yesterday I watched Barfi for the first time. (I am sure i am going to, again and again). A lot of hype has been building up around it for some time now. It doesn’t come as a surprise given its A lister starcast and one genius of a director. But once the movie hit the theatres, the Barfi fever just went viral. I am not so much of a movie buff, but all those overwhelming reviews from friends and strangers, on net and in papers compelled me to give it a try. And trust me, I am glad I did.

This movie is made so delicately and is filled with so many vow moments that everybody who has loved it has something to come back for. I personally loved the plot, the intense acting, the unique mode of direction & the locations. I was captivated to find such a warm story woven through the folds of my own kolkata. This is the city I have grown up in and it makes me nostalgic to see such a lyrical potrayal.

But Barfi ended up being much more than just a ‘brilliant movie’. In bits and pieces , I saw a reflection of my own life in it...the life that goes beyond three hours..the life I breathe in.

“Love can be blind, mute, deaf, crippled or retarded...but it still finds a way to stand by, hold your hand & touch your soul.” If thats what Anurag Basu set out to show through his masterpiece, then i too have a Barfi story to share.

This story is about two sweethearts who met in an art college, fell in love , married and stayed happily ever after. But there’s only one glitch in this perfect story...the girl was sick when they first met, and she progressively fell more sick with time. And then came a day when her kidneys stopped functioning and she was put permanently on dialysis. But their love didn't die, if anything it only grew stronger to a point when one became the shadow of the other.Theirs is a story that doesn’t have either a damsel or a rich handsome guy...its about two ordinary people from humble backgrounds, living and loving each other through sickness and in health,...through need and in wealth...till death does them apart.

If you are wondering whose story it is....well I am lucky to be born to them!!

To tell you the truth, a three hour movie would never tell you how difficult it is to actually live with someone who is terminally ill. You are always on a red alert mode, lest some emergency occurs. You are awake for nights on end, nursing her, scared at every upset and heartbroken at every sight of her pain stricken face. You cry out of helplessness, when inspite of all you efforts she only gets worse but then you wash your face before entering her room and crack a silly joke to make her laugh. No matter how deep the love, beyond a point something just snaps off. You start getting irritated and wonder whether you were born just to be someone’s life support.

But I guess just like Barfi, my dad is an aberration. His love for my mom is as lucid as Barfi’s was for Jhilmil. There’s never a sign of disgust or irritation on his face. Everything he does, every moment he lives is in some way linked to his wife. Feeding her, dressing her, nursing her, he does everything, everyday and always with a smile. May be because he doesn’t consider it an unfortunate responcibility. For him it is a fortunate opportunity to serve the one he loves most.

Many liked Barfi because it was an unusual love story, imperfect yet beautiful, fragile yet concrete. But believe me, most perfect love stories are born in unfortunate, broken circumstances. There are people who love truly. Its not just a story....its a truth....one that surrounds me..

Thanks Anurag, you just reminded me to appreciate the true essence of love once more.

Undefeated

2012-08-13T22:45:00.001+05:30

I will not perish like a nobody

Not yet, not ever.

I will not be a name scribbled on sand

Now here, and then gone forever.

My face will not be a piece in a collage

My voice will never get lost in a chorus

I will rise no matter how many odds u stack

The more you darken the room, the more I will shine through that

Don’t write me off for what i m today

Coz I swear, you will have to look up to me someday

I am unique, respect me

I am hope and i will win

And when i finally say goodbye

I will leave behind a legacy

For i have resolved to turn poison to medicine

Have I Come too far ?

2012-06-30T21:24:00.001+05:30

As I stare out of the branded glass panels

From the cosy confines of my plush office

On the third floor of the city’s most luxurious address

On this beautiful sunny afternoon

I see a different world.

Young lovers lost in their own world,

Holding hands, laughing and whispering sweet nothings

Little kids, dragging their parents or being dragged by them

Crying or laughing, animated in their expressions

I see groups of young giggling girls

Carrying loads of shopping bags

Which i am sure would be heavier than their slender frames

Old wrinkled faces, walking with a stick

Yet wearing their best smiles

And i search myself in them.

I don’t belong to any of them

I am here, secured in the life i built for myself

Busy and rich, ‘Successful ‘ could be the adjective

Was it all worth it, I ask myself

The parents I didn’t have the time to care for

The friends I never appreciated

The wife I lost to someone else

The child i never saw growing up

The hours i spent working on Christmas nights

Amongst deserted cubicles

The years of easy fun I spent in meetings and demos

I wonder, did i pay a price too high

To win this mindless race

Have i come too far to deserve a second chance

To see a new sunrise , even as i near sunset

To shatter these branded panels and breather afresh

To pick up the precious moments i lost on my way

Castle on my grave

2012-06-08T23:07:00.003+05:30

You want to build ur castle on my grave?

Thats your master plan!

How come I never saw it coming,

How could I be so dumb

You stabbed me a zillion times

Hiding under the hood of the dark night

You dragged me to my grave

Wasted and defunct

And today you stand smiling in broad daylight

On the same spot you killed me once

Building the castle of dreams

For your new sweetheart!

You think I didnot see your ugly face that night

I so wish I had not

But the scars of betrayal on your face

Were shining even in the dead of the night

And you were stinking of a rotten conscience

But you must know

That castles built on someone’s grave dont last long

It will crumble like a pack of cards

And crush you all along.

you too will lie here, bleeding until death

and this castle of yours will oneday b your grave.

My notebook

2012-05-28T14:22:00.001+05:30

I share a very special relationship with the notebook and it goes back a long way. I‘ve never had too many friends in my life and at times there were none. Even at home, I had no siblings. To fill up this void, I befriended notebooks. I would sit quietly for hours scribbling. Sometimes I would sketch cartoons, at others I would write down sweet and simple incidents of innocent childhood. I also had my patent games. Sometimes I would pose to be a teacher and my notebook would transform into an attendance register, sometimes I would be a government employee and my notebook became the omnipresent file. With time I grew up & I guess so did my unique friendship.

As it happens, life got more and more complicated over time. And the more it did , the more I was drawn back to the notebook. I started writing diaries, poems and experiences. I poured my heart out, penning down my deepest feelings. Often when I am restless or sad, I write incessantly till I calm down. Its not always about me, but in one way or the other these are people or circumstances which shape me every day. At times when I am baffled with unanswered questions, I throw them at my notebook, knowing very well that there won’t be replies. At times, that makes me think harder and come up with my own answers.

Through love and heartbreak, through humiliation and fame, through success and failure, friends have come and left, but my notebook has stayed loyal. Though it was always a one way conversation, I had something which would patiently hear me out. Its no wonder then, that some of my life’s most heartbreaking confessions lie safe in the confines of my dear notebook.

Its strange that when I go through my old diaries, I know a new me. I relive the moments I have left behind. Its almost like pressing a rewind button. Sometimes it motivates me, sometimes it saddens me, but it almost always amazes me. Looking back I wonder, how different a person I would have grown into without this friend of mine. I surely owe a lot to my best friend “My Notebook”.

I couldn’t hate you

2012-05-06T10:44:00.002+05:30

I couldn’t hate you for what you did to me

May b I should have

I am no more the little princess

Lost in my perfect world

Its more of a gnawing skeleton

that you have left behind

voices crowd my head

dawn to dusk, asking me thousand questions

whose answers, I believe, only u must have

there’s no peace even in the depth of nights

ur thoughts torment me

like a thousand needles piercing at once

I wander in unknown alleys

i desperately seek respite

but every face that I cross by

only reminds me of u and ur smiles

shards of memories are strewn all around

they cut through my nascent skin

the moment I try to move on

at times I scream like a woman gone mad

At tyms I cry like a child thrown out

But nothing moves you

Nothing causes you to once turn back

But wait…. the game’s not yet over

You have seen the weaker me

And you have pushed her around

But the heart that knows to bleed for love

Can also turn lethal at times

You shall pay for every fallen tear

You will repent for every wound, dear

I pity u…not for what awaits

But for what u have turned ur back at

I couldn’t hate you for what you did to me

May b I should have…

May b I will…

Had you not stepped in

2012-05-04T18:29:00.004+05:30

Wonder wat life wud be……. Had u not stepped in….
Holding my hand….in urs…showing how to walk…
In ur eyes… I see my world…coming back to life
Looking back …doesn’t scare me any more…
As each day moves…..i move closer to u…
N u dive deeper in my heart….
The more I knw u….the more I
Wonder wat life wud be……. Had u not stepped in….

Every moment wid u is warm…Even bruises don’t hurt….
Hardships can’t pierce through….ur caring wrap…
Eyes may be wet…..but u still make me smile…
Wid u….losing is a task…cz u wont let me….
Ur thoughts light up…..even the darker nights….
Ur words…..put to rest my restless mind..
Sometimes I cant help but
Wonder wat life wud be……. Had u not stepped in….

I knw I can make it….if u stand by…
Falling down wont deter me cz I knw u’ll pull me up…
I knw u will be there…..opening the door..
Holding me tight , hiding me in ur arms….
I wont be lost on cold November nights….
N I am glad I told u…..cz
Wonder wat life wud be……. Had u not stepped in….

A night touched by love

2012-04-28T06:56:00.002+05:30

It’s a windy night….

As the wind gushes past.. the curtains swing wild….

Throwing down whatever obstructs its path…..

The windchyme rings…wildly at times…

Its gentle hum almost becoming shrill screams

Its cold….but not chilling……

As clouds give way to a feathery drizzle….

as I panic to shut down the windows…

the lights go off…and I freeze with fear…

the wind tortures me… the drizzle drenches me…

yet I stand still… feeling almost dead…

someone tiptoes close to me….

And I feel his reassuring familiar touch….

Turning back I hug him tight……..

the fear in me slowly draining down…

the frantic pace of my heart slows down….

Life rushes back in my frozen veins…

He pulls me back, closer to him…

Letting the curtains swing , letting the windchyme scream…

Slowly he walks back taking me along…

To the recognizable warmth of my bedroom….

As I lie down he stays close…

As if he knws how much I need him now…

Like a child I bury my face in his lap…

And even in the darkness I see him smile…

Caressing my hair, he tells me a story…..

That of a princess and a knight in a distant country….

I don’t recall wat happened to them…

For I might have fallen asleep some where down the lane…

As I open my eyes…to the golden sunrays…

I seek him, searching everywhere….

All around there are signs of the wind bygone…

Only there are none to show , he had come…

As reality soaks in… I fall down teary eyed…

How cud he come? He was long gone….

Taking his last breath holding my arm….

Knowing well tht he cant return…

Yet every time, wen I stand frozen…

Alone and shattered, helpless half awake…..

He tiptoes close….he comes… I know..

U wont believe….u need not.. if u don’t..

Love calls him… from wherever he stays…

The love that was and will alwes be there…

The love that I breathe, that flows in my vein…

The love that has stayed as his only remain…

Love will keep calling him…

The love that knows neither life nor death…