REVERIE

Nothing says 'I Love You' louder than 'I built you a tent!'

2012-01-22T02:35:00.000-08:00

Two parallel opinions, Two relentless dreams

Two Imperfect people, Two unbelievably Imperfect years

No I wouldn't change a thing, but the impossibility of living it again.

for nothing says 'I Love You' louder than 'Look baby, I built you a tent!'

6 REASONS I MISS MY 6 HOUSEMATES

2011-12-26T01:57:00.000-08:00

#6 Everyday is my hall-kitchen cleaning day!

#5 I want to say "10th Jan eve we party because our exams get over and for *emphasis* No other reason!", but for whose benefit? :(

#4 I begin to write my name on the milk carton, I sigh.

#3 What to do with excess Aloe vera face pack, you tell me?

#2 There is no sense of victory attached to sitting on the couch.

#1 The Electrician came and went, and no one said "Bye-bye"!

REASONS I DO NOT MISS MY HOUSEMATES:

#1 I can wash as many clothes as I want and have all the 7 clothes lines to myself.

I'm done washing clothes, now come back ya'all :)

Bombay Bon Jovi, And other such tales

2011-12-23T01:30:00.000-08:00

Mumbai made me appreciate Bon Jovi.
It seems to me that their songs always have their roots in survival and/or being away from someone known/ loved/wanted! They're like a friend who's going through the same thing as you, feeling the same way about it!
As I sit alone in the room that's been home for a month and half, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad... As I listen to Bon Jovi who has given me strength before crossing death-like three lane highways... I know that just as I kept reminding myself throughout, I've only come out of it stronger :)

Nikita's survival Guide to Mumbai :

#5 Do not shout out for a Rickshaw, shout out for the place you want to go.

#4 Stand in a queue not to board the bus in a smooth fashion but to have a moral validation for punching the non-queuer-guy's balls while boarding the bus.

#3For rickshaw commuting: there are 3 routes to anyplace: the short one that'll have a lot of traffic, the lesser traffic one that is longer. And the short one with less traffic that is now popular and will attract enough traffic to take more time than the other 2.

#2 Master the art of holding your breath. Be suspicious of every basket you see. (The connect you're looking for is fish)

#1 Learn to expect rats everywhere. When you meet them, don't say 'boo!'

Change (#5)

2011-12-20T00:19:00.001-08:00

She knew she looked lovely. Her black long skirt with its golden leaf-motif and the red and gold high collar choli created the drastic topped by elegance effect that she was aiming for. ‘It’s classic Meera!’, she expected the newspapers to print.

The floor-based seating and cream upholstery that was used to distinguish such Artsy Dos with Bollywood parties, was rightly present. So were the big round bindis and gi-normous stone neck-pieces.

Meera sat with Lalit, a Pune-based artist who had introduced Ranvir to her.

‘He’s got the Lenovo project till Thursday, after which he’s coming straight to Delhi.’

‘He’d better. I’m losing interest!’

When she laughed her chin and neck were drawn into this swaying movement that Lalit couldn’t hold with his gaze. It was hard to follow, even for the keen, observant eye of the artist. But it was most endearing in its naturalness.

She excused herself to go to the washroom. She stood in front of the mirror and amused herself with her hair− on both shoulders, on one shoulder, entirely at the back. She didn’t want to be here. The thought had been playing on her head the entire evening.

As she entered the room again, she heard a round of enthusiastic but polite claps. It struck her at the same time as someone informed her− this was her award.

She walked up the stage. She took the award from a woman who was smiling too much. She reached for the mike.

‘I thank you all for this award. A dancer with recognition is… a happy dancer!’

There was more clapping. She smiled and hoped they’d stop clapping. She had to talk.

‘This award means a lot to me and has come at a beautiful time in my career. I know there is a lot more to accomplish, but this award tells me I haven’t wasted my years. I can now… well, I intend to now move on from here. I take this opportunity to announce that Dance and I will always be in a relationship, just not a professional one from now on.’

There was silence and then some voices that sounded indignant, some others that sounded excited. But all eyes were on the most graceful walk they’d ever seen.

So much for addiction to change, Meera smiled to herself. I think it’s just the love for dramatic exits.

***

Change (#4)

2011-12-19T23:52:00.001-08:00

She was sitting on the rug that always made her feel like a pet was rubbing itself against her feet. Her beads had spread themselves around her. This afternoon she had decided to work on an exceptionally elaborate headpiece. Just like that bit of thread she was trying to needle, her movements were wanton today. Somehow, they retained their grace!

‘You want juice?’

‘No, thank you, Vidur! Please don’t…’

‘SHE DOESN’T, MAAA!’

‘Hehe… I think she heard you. So, how was your match?’

‘We won. 3 to 1. We knew it, anyway. It was an inter-blocks match− A5 versus A2. Those A2 guys really don’t have much of a game!’

Meera felt a surge of love stream through her. There was nothing in this world that was as absolutely dear to Meera as this boy. When she had asked her widowed Aunt to move in with her, the family had been convinced it was an act of redemption. Generosity is always questioned, she had laughed.

But what an action, really! With one little request she’d put at stake the freedom and detachment that she had yearned and earned. She had suddenly decided to take on the responsibility of a family.

‘Does it hurt?’

‘Not the way I’m sitting. But I have to keep shifting positions to ensure that.’

‘My coach uses this rubber bottle for hot water, for his cramps. I think that helps. His is really funny though, it’s orange with funny sheep all over the…’

His concern touched her. It also brought in a guilt pang. She wasn’t spending enough time with this boy and his mother, the only people she dared to call her own.

***

Change (#3)

2011-12-19T23:48:00.000-08:00

She woke up to the idea of a Hot water bath. She’d pour herself a glass of the Golconda wine that Ranvir had recommended (and text him so!).

She did. Her movements became more seductively fluid; these things always made her feel sexier.

She sank in a little. As she submitted herself to the healing power of the water, the thousand needles piercing her back disappeared one by one.

Her phone rang and she made a sore dash for it. She was clearly disappointed by the “Vinod calling”, but for having made the effort, she decided to take the call.

‘Meera! How are you, boss?’

‘It’s fine, Vinod, I’m fine. Better.’

‘Ah! Good, very good. Chalo, you’re taking rest, I’m happy. Don’t I keep asking you to? These shows, they’ll come and go− with your talent, Meera, they only come− but just a manner of saying! Shows will happen, but your body and health? Always at the top!’

‘Okay, Vinod. Your dog is barking still, it’s slightly irritating…’

‘Oh! A minute, if you’d please…
Sheffy! SHEFFY! Shut up, man!’

She put on some music she’d recently bought from a stall outside one of her own shows. Ranvir had described it as ‘lame porn music’ and that made her laugh once more. However, the realization that he had an opinion on everything was quite irritating.

‘You’re relaxing and no one’s happier than me… but some work related details, they have to be figured out. You know I’d have waited if these could wait!’

‘Ofcourse, Vinod. I’m going to have to ask you to be fast, though. I’m expecting another call.’

She was aware of how rude she was to him. But she was also aware of how he was the ultimate power-handle in this relationship. She got her kick from feeling in control. But she’d eventually be consumed by his decisions for her. They were generally correct.

‘Ah! Obviously! So, I’ll just stick to the point- Bakshi told me about your costume problem and, very honestly, I fully understand… but there are issues, Meera, because these people, they’re big in the design business in Ireland and frankly, their money− we need it.’

‘Vinod! Have you seen it?’

‘Yes, Meera, you wore it for the Pehelgaam show!’

‘Yes! And I can’t wear it again!’

‘Meera, I’m fully aware of your addiction to, you know, change… and I am usually very happy to encourage… but you must…’

‘Whatever, Vinod. I really must go now.’

‘I approach you only because you’re reasonable, Meera. And you only just made me happier by proving me right…’

‘Bye, Vinod.’

She cut the phone. She felt a little woozy and sunk herself deeper into the bath.
Addiction to change? What a stupid, casual thing to say! Vinod really should stop acting like he knew her through and through!

But she knew this was true.

And nothing upset her more than the fact that Vinod should answer the questions that had been bothering her earlier in the evening.
***

Change (#2)

2011-12-19T23:32:00.000-08:00

She removed her sari to get into a charming pair of Piggie-shorts. One by one, with flowing, reasonably dramatic movements she drew the curtains of her room. The bed looked inviting, but she did not want to get in. It was 4 in the evening, her custom rehearsal time. The various implications of this forced rest-thing were now beginning to sink in.

She got into her bed and a rather bad mood. She tossed and turned to remind herself that she didn’t want to be here. And then her wandering mind was caught in its cycle of thoughts: the impending awards ceremony… what she’d wear and what she’d say… Ranvir… how successfully she had lead him one step above the flirting stage… how she’d respond to the congratulatory visit he was bound to make… what Vidur thought of Vir… how Aunty would approve…

It was fascinating how almost any series of reflection found its way to her early days. It started with the memory of leaving home and, depending on her mood, moved forward or backward from there.

But today, she was unable to let go of the thought of leaving home. She had always been the lone fish and everyone knew she wouldn’t stay. So she left.
But why so early or why so late? With what provocation or with what expectation? She couldn’t remember! She couldn’t even recall having spent time deliberating her action.

For someone who had spent 20 minutes selecting her Cornetto flavour last evening, this was odd. But Inconsistency was a fairly consistent trait with her. This thought made her uncomfortable. She decided to get herself something to eat but the effort seemed too much. She didn’t want to call out to Aunty, she was obviously sleeping. And she never asked Vidur to run errands for her, as a rule.

She turned once more. So why had she suddenly left home? Her mind was nauseatingly in control today! Why had she given up the comfort, safety and even that little warmth of home and family, never to return? Had father’s aloofness and distancing suddenly peaked that day? Had mother’s interference reached the next level of intolerance? Had her love for dance pushed its madness barrier, all of a sudden?

Sleep rescued her from her own demons.

***

Change (#1)

2011-12-19T23:26:00.000-08:00

As the children began trickling out of the school gate, Meera kept her bead-box back in her purse. It was a new hobby, this jewelry making. And waiting in the car was the best time for leisure pursuit. She looked at the children; their hair sticking to the back of their sweaty necks, an infernal red glow to their cheeks. Slowly bending, to not hurt her back, she removed a water bottle from the car’s ice-box and kept it ready for Vidur. Living on the other side of the glass, she knew, made the Delhi heat sufferable.

‘Manav’s bus left. Can we take him home?’
‘Whose home?’
‘Can we take him to his home?’
‘Sure.’

Vidur sat in the front. Manav sat beside Meera. He wasn’t shy but the fact that Meera was so disarmingly attractive made him uncomfortable as only a 13 year old boy discovering his sexuality can be. Once he was sure she was busy with the stereo remote, he attempted a glance.

There she sat, his friend’s cousin, the first woman he’d lose his heart to. That she was absolutely beautiful was a fact but what held his gaze was how elaborate her every action was, like every movement she chose to make deserved her special attention. The way her fingers traced the edges of the remote buttons, the way she craned her neck to answer Vidur...

‘What did the Doctor say?’
‘Two days of bed-rest, if I want to attend the awards.’

She bundled up her hair and then suddenly decided to let them all fall back on her back! She had a bandaged lower back, he noticed. He knew she was a dancer so he decided that she had probably hurt herself while practicing. He didn’t ask to clarify. He didn’t want her to look at him.

***

Panchgani in Verse

2009-11-30T07:53:00.000-08:00

“Spirit of Life, in essence and core
Had sapped, worn out, was there no more”

With all its worries and uncertainties, life has a way of taking its toll on you. And before you know it, you are drudging along: working mechanically for dreams that have long lost their sheen! And along the way comes a team of miracle-makers with a mission to revive you, help you rediscover the wonders of life, re-examine yourself, your ways and your goals and well really, just start living again!

“Absolute Purity, Unselfishness, Honesty and Love
Measured myself on the yardstick above
Remorse and shame gnaw at me
Is this really where I intended to be?”

Whenever a dilemma arises, why are values and ethics the first to be negotiated? A simple game of Crossing the Line and the PHUL Family revealed to me that the morals I would always pride myself for having were not as strong as I would have liked them to be. They needed polishing, but mostly practising!

“Planet Earth: my Family awhile
How we served and washed, all with a smile!
‘Stupidity in action’ were tales we shared
We poked and teased while none was spared!”

What is the best way of getting some 25 odd people to open up to each other? Joshi Uncle knew the trick: Get them to recount the stupidest things they have done, to the rest group! Sheepish grins and awkward glances gave way to some of the most hilarious personal accounts ever. And so, a Family was born!
As family members we would serve everybody at some meals and even did the dishes once. What would have been an odious task otherwise, was a much-awaited treat because of the enthusiasm of the group!

“Leading from the bottom is a bid I take
Conviction over convenience is the choice I make
‘Rum Pum Pum’ and I laugh like a child
‘Haryali Haryali’ gets the whole troupe wild!”

A session on Leadership by Mr. Sudhir Gogate really got us thinking. He spoke to us about the need to introspect to discover our real strength, the importance of developing Situational Leadership and the requisite of being a good follower to be a true leader.
Mr. Bhanu Kale raised the potent question: Conviction or Convenience? He angled it from the perspective of social responsibility of media. A feedback round after the session revealed that he had been successful in driving his point home.
The outdoor games session was pure, unadulterated fun. As we held hands with Sir Anupam Siddharth and played ‘follow the monkey’, I laughed like I hadn’t for a very long time! However refined my tastes may become, I realised that it is equally important to be able to open up to the simple joys of life. Laugh, jump, sing, dance, play and be child-like... that could be the answer to half our problems in life!
That night we watched a movie that has the potential to change the life of its viewers: Tuesdays with Morrie. As adorable Morrie, on the verge of dying, taught us the true way of living... my friends and I wept for Morrie’s pain and perhaps for the emotional pangs we felt ourselves. That night we did not rush back to our hostels to get into our warm quilts or share ghost stories or whatever. That night we gave and received ‘Free Hugs’. We knew what Morrie meant by the healing power of love.

“Communion with Nature, and so began the day
On relationships gone sour, we all had our say
Facades, pretences, opinions were shed
Bonds for Life were formed instead”

Nature Walk is a brilliant concept. It compels you to lose control of the moment, fall in sync with the nature and enjoy the freedom of being in the elemental state.
The session on Relationships was an experience I shall cherish for a very long time. One by one, my friends cleared their closets and confronted the ghosts of their past. Suddenly, there was no hiding! Everybody was naked and sought acceptance for who they were. And how we accepted! We hugged, consoled, comforted and cared. But more importantly, we felt for them and cried with them. We proved that our friendship was beyond superficial liking and ‘getting along’, it was about understanding and loving each other for the people we really are.

“Approval, acknowledgement, good will was generously spread
Esteems got a crucial lift, self-worth was liberally fed
And then Soul Curry came along
And they just wouldn’t stop talking about my song!”

Turns out, Appreciating each other and writing one good thing about everyone is the easiest thing to do. So easy that I wonder why we do not do it more often!
The Compliments drive did not quite end there. As a phenomenal Cultural Evening was prepared and presented, I sang my song ‘Let’s be me Tonight” for the first time on stage. Everybody was so kind and effusive about it, I have actually stopped saying “I Can’t Sing!” anymore.

“The Inter-Faith Prayer Meet: the Equaliser definitive
An honest peep within, a promise to give
And as they sang us one last song
What love and memories we packed along!”

We are Hindus, Muslims, Sikhs, Christians, Parsis, Buddhists and Jews. But on the defining morning of 5th of November, we were all just the Children of God, approaching him and seeking his blessings. We had different prayers to offer which, not surprisingly, were essentially the same.
In a concluding session we did a final self-analysis and let the others in on the changes we hoped to work on and the promises we meant to keep. And in their typical fashion, the Asia Plateau team bade us farewell with another magical song. And with all our inhibitions, troubles, worries and fears forgotten, we had enough space to pack in all the love and memories of a lifetime that they gave us.

“Spirit, oh spirit, infusing in the soul
Saturating the senses, making me feel whole
Drench me some more, come cast your charming spell
And then excuse me; I have a story to tell!”

NDA

2009-11-30T07:36:00.000-08:00

For as long as I can remember: Army has been a way of life for us.
I have been brought up in 5 different cities; riding in a ‘1 tonne’ to school, living in gorgeous cantonments, waking to the sound of the bugle and attending refined parties with the “mess-culture” ingrained in me.
And every this once, there would be the “Bravo Squadron Reunion” or some other such occasion when Daddy and his Course-mates would unite and muse over old NDA stories. NDA to me, then, was this distant institute where all these remarkable men were bred and one with great wonderment attached to it. And yet I could never quite understand why they just didn’t get over 3yrs of college; college can only mean so much to you!
So when the opportunity to finally visit the NDA arrived, I couldn’t have been more excited. As we set out on an open Sunday morning, I was probably the last to complain! And bus journey with friends is always fun. An hour of crass singing later, we finally entered the Pashan gate.

Shepherded by Cadets themselves, we made our way through the 18000 sq. ft. area beautifully maintained campus. I gazed in quiet admiration as the stables and the sports fields were pointed to us. I also couldn’t help but notice the obvious pride the Cadet took in introducing us to his way of living. Every building and statue had a story to go with it. They made NDA sound like a different world altogether, with its abundant little traditions, well guarded in-house secrets and distinct culture.
The visit to a Hangar for the Aircrafts for training pilots was a first for a lot of us. You could positively see eyes glow as we went around feeling the sleek aircrafts and marvelling at them. We were then guided to the Auditorium called the Habibullah Hall. A screening was in order!
“National Defence Academy- Pride of the Country” was the documentary we watched. This smoothly led us through the history of the institute, its aim and objectives and modus operandi. We saw what grinding training the cadets had to undergo, in order to achieve the Officer status they coveted. Shots of the Passing Out parade and the regular Drills made it all seem worth the super human effort. The film also highlighted how along with rigorous field training and sports activities, the Cadets also get to pursue an educational degree of choice. How the Cadets managed to go through such bursting schedules every day, for 3yrs, is a question that remains unanswered!
The intramural Museum was an eye-opener. The photographs of NDA alumna who were martyrs or gallantry award achievers, the medals and trophies won by NDA, mementoes and presents received from various countries, models and specimens of weaponry and its evolution through the ages, the artillery strength of India... the immaculately maintained museum is perfect for an exhaustive study of Indian Defence. But more than anything else, I remember talking to a lot of my friends about the patriotic sentiment it aroused in us.
We then walked to the Sudan Block: A 3-Storey, rounded Architectural marvel! This is where some of got busy trying to capture on camera the visual treat that was this building, with is old-school portraits, arched passages, brass door-knobs and spiralling stairways. Others still, chose to hound the gentlemen, who were kind enough to escort us throughout, with questions. We got some very tasteful answers coloured with patriotism and a loyalty for the institute for questions ranging from “Why NDA?” to “Don’t you miss the outside world?”
After a stroll in a park with a number of models of tanks and land cruisers (on which a lot of my friends thought it appropriate to pose!), we proceeded to the mess. I was very surprised to learn that it one of the largest in Asia (It can feed 2100 Cadets at one time!). As soon as we entered, we noticed a circular table in one corner, laid out for one: a single plate, fork, knife, spoon, glass and a solitary rose in a vase. An overwhelming surge of emotion took over, as a beautiful poem explained to us that the table stood as a symbol of solidarity with all those brave-hearts of the Indian Armed Forces who had been captured as Prisoners of War. The touching poem was a fitting tribute. Swords, flags, portraits and paintings decorated the walls of the mess, as also did the menu cards for special meals served by the mess to the dignitaries who visited it.
As we were leaving the Mess, one of the Cadets approached me. I had earlier expressed the wish to visit my father’s hostel. The Cadet told me that he had been asked to accompany me to the Bravo Squadron Building! So while the rest of the group proceeded to the Gol Market, the Cadet, a friend and I walked to the B Block.
The Bravo Squad. is the house of the Gentlemen, the Cadet informed us. “Bravo Can, Bravo Must, Bravo Will!” is the dictum they swear by. A narrow ally on the ground floor led us to the waiting room and the common room which, in my friend’s words, were “too pretty to be in a Boys’ Hostel!”
The walls of the ally proudly displayed the photographs of all the batches that had passed out from this Squadron. Batch of ‘ I earnestly sought. And that is where I saw a black and white photograph of the most important man in my life. Smartly dressed, sitting upright, grinning bashfully... my 20yrs old father!
We made our way to join the others at the Gol Market (named so because of its very conspicuous circular structure). 30 minutes of strolling about, having refreshments and chatting up the cadets later we were ready to head back. We thanked the Officer, the JCOs and the Cadets for their hospitality and said our goodbyes.
Tired and spent we slept through the journey back home. McDonalds stirred us up. So did some very interesting conversations that were initiated because of the NDA. We had our own versions of the tale but unanimously agreed that it was a Sunday well spent!
On a very personal level, this visit meant much more to me than I was willing to believe. It meant a thrilling insight into what it might have felt to be my father at the same stage in life as I stand now. It meant an understanding of why my father’s course-mates meant so much to him (It’s been some 30 odd years and yet my father is well clued in on where and how they are and what is new in their lives!) It meant a realisation of what duty was to him and all the other pass-outs of this great institution. It meant the answer to the ultimate question: “Where is such blood bred, today?”
ANECDOTES:
· As we were about to enter the Mess, a lot of students started to sanitise their hands, hoping perhaps to eat in there. They must have been disappointed and I am sure the aroma of the lunch for the Cadets being prepared did not help their cause!
· As we were about to read the menu cards on the Mess walls, I told my friends that ‘Tipsy Pudding’ was a very Army affair and was bound to be on one of the menu cards. Sure enough it was there, on every alternate card or so!
· One of the cadets called the Gol Market their M.G Road and actually pointed out some astonishing parallels between the two!

I am not a mass-idol cricketer. I am not a Maharashtrian.

2009-11-23T10:44:00.000-08:00

So I assume the MNS will spare me a round.
Maharashtra Navnirman is a noble thought. It actually makes much more sense than Bhartiya Navnirman because it talks of concerted development of a region, a more plausible and therefore feasible concept than national development. If we thought in terms of Assam Navnirman and Haryana Navnirman: we’d we be up and soaring, baby!
And working towards the development of our state would definitely mean competing with the others for attention and resources from Centre. And ensuring that the fruit of our labour is reaped only by the people of our ‘regionality’ would require limiting the access of the people from other states into our own.
That is the propaganda that Shiv Sena and baby-brother MNS advocate.
They do not see that in India we never really think exclusively. We can never really just concern ourselves with what is happening within the state we live in. We think, feel and deal as a nation. We eat Dhokla for breakfast, Biryani for lunch and Dosa for dinner. We do Bhangra on Dandhiya nights and pick tunes from Bangla and Tamil regional music to which we add HINDI lyrics (and Punjabi Dhol Mix by the DJ!). We dance on Ganesh Chaturthi as we eat on Onam. We relish our Pani-puris, Puchkas and Gol-guppas with equal vigour, soon after we flock to theatres to watch a Shivaji or a Bhojpuri Bonanza.
Matrubhoomi, Mathru bhoomiyannu or Matro bhu: We all talk about loving our country as our Motherland. It is a love that is so inherently Indian: enriching, encompassing and elevating, that region, language, culture or other such rudimentary barriers have nothing to do with it.
Living in India is an inspiring experience. If you were to coerce me to stick to my state, seek educational and employment prospects there, conduct my property and land ventures there... you would be slashing my opportunities and odds 1/28 times. As an assertive Indian of hope and vision I cannot let you do that.
I cannot let you limit my potential. I cannot let you divide my country to create expedient sections of people who belong together by the virtue of where they were born and stick together because they must fight for what is promised to them. I cannot let you strike your hardest blow at the very core of India and its essence of ‘Unity in Diversity’.
For, to see what you are doing to my country you must consider what would happen if all the states were to identify with your propaganda.
Maybe they wouldn’t. And then you will be the only ones exploiting the poor, Marathi-speaking common people, convincing them how they suffer not because of your incapacities as a leader but because people from other region are encroaching on what is ‘rightfully’ theirs. Now that is just sad.

Jasmine

2009-11-19T04:50:00.000-08:00

There is something about Jasmine.
She will not say or show it. She will not even imply it. Yet somehow you know, deep inside, she is laughing at you.
How uncomfortable can you be in someone’s presence? I did not know, till she came by. And talking became the most unnatural thing to do. The words in my head... they just writher and die in shame. It doesn’t matter which way I approach and pitch my conversation, I must always end up sounding like an affected weirdo.
And when I’m with my friends, I try so hard to do things she’d notice and, if there is any justice in this world, get impressed by. In all fairness, she does notice. And then she looks amused. Scathingly amused. Know, that there is no harsher form than that.
When she does this, and she does this often, I have this overwhelming urge to strip naked, fall to my knees and beseech to her. Ask her to point and laugh all she wants... but take me! Beg her to accept me.
There is something about Jasmine that I shall never understand. Confession: I sometimes wonder if I really want to know. Like knowing it will put it right there, and I might find out things I’m happier not knowing
There is something about Jasmine that I have made up my mind to never ever find out.

Let's Be Me Tonight

2009-10-22T11:01:00.000-07:00

I have done the lyrics and the composition and so far am the only one doing the singing! My Song, really!!

They sold me a dream

Told my lover was coming

But I just wouldnt believe

And now that you’re here

I wont ever be hurt

for our love is the power to heal

So I’ll only just ask of you this:

Sing my song

Play my game

Blow my love

Feel my spirit

Put my voice on the top of the tree

Sail my thought

In the calm of the sea

Breath my music

Tonight lets be me

They frowned me a scold

every time I spent thinking

of your sweet silent promise to me

But now that you’re here

I wont ever be lonely

And I’ll thank you for setting me free

Now I’ll only just ask of you this:

Sing my song

Play my game

Blow my love

Feel my spirit

Put my voice on the top of the tree

Sail my thought

In the calm of the sea

Breath my music

Tonight lets be me

I have waited long for you

So long I have waited

Your embrace holding on

So much of you stayed back

My soul dancing for you

My tears wouldn’t release you

I was you for a long time to be

So tonight, Oh sweet love, lets be me.

Sore

2009-09-23T22:38:00.000-07:00

So the sky fell down last night

Shrouding worlds that brought me up

Skew reasons I held most precious

Savour abandon, this morning

Spin head, spin mind, spin body

Screaming “Out of Control!”, by noon

Shrill noises speak of splendid pain

Sap me off my spirit, they

Season smarting wounds with bitter love

Spread our evening far into the spring

Supress the urge to kill me, Saviour

Show sorrow if I die, tonight

The Flowerseller

2009-08-20T10:16:00.000-07:00

He has sun-burnt hair... fine, golden and wispy

Dry, wheat-like complexion

Skin too old for his 8 odd years

Puny bone structure

A child’s body

Marked- discernable wounds

Compel you to wonder

How he spent his day

He will not tell you

Ask him and he will thrust

A bouquet of dying flowers

Selling, into your face

And smile the most beautiful smile

That lasts?

Carefree, imprudent, bright

His flowers were yesterday

And now they die

Their beauty: an idea

Born in his mind

Now lost

To the ravages of the sun

Buy them

Take them home

Nurture them, placate them

Spare them the horror

Of witnessing

His life

And knowing

How he spent his day.

my dream

2009-04-28T11:36:00.000-07:00

I have always had the good-fortune of seeing a lot of success stories shaping around me. I have seen people commit themselves to their personal goals with such enviable passion, often wondering: what does it take for a mere desire to become sheer obsession? What drives these people into wanting something so bad, that they enthusiastically give themselves to it? What propels them to willingly bust their asses with utter single-minded devotion?
The reason why I would envy such people is obvious. A wrong choice of subjects put me into the difficult spot for the last 2 years of school: Struggling with science, knowing all the while that I was not cut out for it. In all modesty, I never found the subjects difficult and till the very end all the right people kept telling me that I had it in me, that I could make for a successful engineer.
But just because I COULD do it does not mean I SHOULD!
Then by the most successful method of decision making- the method of elimination- I decided to go in for communication, media and design. The more I started thinking about it, the more it seemed like the thing for me. By now, I’m decidedly convinced that I have found my calling!
And while I am reveling at finally feeling fueled to go for something, I cant help but notice how very unsupportive people can be.
A friend’s mum tried her best to dissuade me. ‘You are so intelligent. Wouldn’t have thought you’d have done it.’
Heavens! It’s not like you just caught me getting stoned or pregnant or something worse!
And then there are all these new people I meet. As soon as they find out I’m just out school, they immediately want to know what I’m up to next. I explain. You are not going to believe how obviously disappointed/ shocked/ sad most of them become! The rest just decide that you must be too dumb for anything else.
I remember when I had to break this news to my mathematics tutor (who I am really close to). I kept dreading his reaction… and well he justified my fears! He was clearly let down when told that one of his ‘star-pupils’ should want get into something so non-academic.
Today when I hesitantly explained my future plans to my grandma, she just came up with a very annoying ‘ae taan koi vi kar sakda hai!’ (anybody can do this!)
Just because anybody CAN do this, doesn’t mean they DO!
My parents? They are scared that I have picked this up on a whim, just like the whole engineering thing. They think that, afraid of all the competition out there, I’m trying to take the easy way out. That something as ‘unconventional’ as this may not have much of a future!
Right now I am so mad at every one of these people and anyone at all who thinks I’m being irrational and taking a stupid ‘risk’ and putting my future at stake! Go get a life, people!
The only signal I’m getting is that you all don’t believe I have it in me to make it big in something I like. You were just hoping I’d end up with a highly paid engineer and have a cozy life.
Well I have bigger plans as you shall see in future! The only difference between you and I is that I don’t believe in compromising. Pretty soon when you see me working so hard with all my heart and soul, you’ll find yourselves wondering: what pushes her so?
The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind…

friends forever?

2009-04-27T06:17:00.000-07:00

All my close friends are busy giving entrance exams, settling in new cities or simply planning for their futures…
It’s really hard to not miss them and not be able to chat them up. Today, in particular, the situation is making me feel down and, if I may say so, lonely.
I must check myself and hold back the urge to round them all up and get them to hear my woes.
Partially because I mustn’t distract them from their own academic pursuits or career-building initiatives.
However, a higher and a more selfish motive must not be forgotten. Now on, these childhood friendships or school-bonding or close-buddies will remain just that… segregated relationships neatly arranged under classifying headings.
Don’t get me wrong! I have no intentions of sidelining or god-forbid forgetting these beautiful people. That is, for all practical purposes, IMPOSSIBLE!
However, given the knowledge that in a matter of a few months we would all be sprinting in such different directions that it would be nothing less than a miracle to have one of them in the same city, let alone same course; I have to detach myself. You know, become less emotionally dependant on them.
I don’t think I can take any more of these… I-desperately-need-to-be-with-him/her/them days anymore.
Yes, we’ve promised to keep in touch. I know I’ll call them. I know we will make a 101 plans to meet that just ‘never seem to work out’. I know I’ll keep strict tabs on their lives (God-sent facebook being my spy-mate). I know I’ll never be able to keep them out of any conversation I have (I told you about this friend of mine…, you won’t believe…). I know they’ll figure in my writing, my stories, my examples, my actions.
In this sense of thinking, I may not ‘detach’ at all. How can I, when I am taking a bit of them with me, everywhere I go? With all our ‘having and sharing and giving and receiving’ (copy write: Joey Tribiani), I have so much of them in me.
Here is the bigger truth: So much of me is them.

THE INDIAN SOLDIER

2009-04-21T12:02:00.000-07:00

Bitu has finally learnt how to cycle. It wouldn’t have taken him so long had he spent time practicing. But did he? Not until I reminded him of Baba’s arrival tomorrow. You should have seen him jump into his shoes and race upto his bicycle then!
Ma, meanwhile, fervently refused to leave the kitchen. Seeing her rigorously stir kaddha milk on the stove for the best part of the past hour, I wondered aloud if she intended to stay in there all day.
“Na, bacchu, only till it is thick enough”,
All day, then.
Heavens! I can anticipate the course of events already. Baba’s bus will reach the bus-stand. Bitu (who will, of course, be waiting there already… what with his timely acquired cycling skills!) will jump into his arms and probably make Baba carry him all the way back home. Ma (who will somehow not be able to refrain herself from looking at the clock every few minutes) will rush to the door, the instant Baba and Bitu arrive, apparently informed by an uncanny premonition.
She will touch his feet, he will hug her. She will engineer an atypical expression to hold back the tears which have patiently waited with her for the past six months. He will help her by telling her how starved he is. This will cheer her up a bit, making her rush to get ‘something to eat’, then ‘something else’, also ‘something more’, followed by ‘something special’. Bitu will by then have delved into Baba’s luggage, in search of his camouflage uniform cap. He will then want to fill in dad on everything he can remember of the past six months, the cap precariously perched on his stupid little head.
And all along, I will not say a word. I am angry with him and he knows that, too.

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

Dearest Baba,
I have been wanting to ask you something for a long time now… do care for Ma, Bitu and me as much as you say you do? All the letters that I faithfully write every two weeks telling you that we are fine, doing okay, missing you: do they mean anything to you? What use are they?
I told you about Amma’s sickness in the previous letter. Not so you could tell me what Pneumonia is all about, how a patient should be treated. Not so you could remind me that I need to take her to doctor saab, that I should look after her. Baba, that was to make you rush back home, to tell you that your family needed you. You stayed there, comfortably numb and conveniently oblivious to your wife’s helplessness…
Baba, does the country need you more than we do?
Ma is okay now.
Vaishali

Dearest Vaishali,
I received your letter. The tone tells me: my daughter is angry. And Baba has some explaining to do. When you told me of Amma’s sickness, I applied for leave immediately. However, given the tense situation here, it did not work out. I did the best I could, trying to keep you going with words which, as it turns out, sounded superficial. I spent sleepless nights too, anxious about you all, trying to place calls that seldom got through. I need not have worried though… my brave little warrior has done a tremendous job of nursing her mother back to health. I want you to know that I am proud of you and given a choice I would not have let you go through all that you had to.
You ended your letter with an important question: “Baba, does the country need you more than we do?” this, my child, is a question I have to deal with everyday. Its answer? Honestly, I don’t know.
As a kid you asked me once, “Baba, fighting is a bad thing. Is it okay to fight for the country?” I still have no answer.
What I do know is: be a BSF jawan, ensure my country and its people’s protection is what I was always meant to do, is what I will always do. I only wish I could, somehow, make you understand ‘why?’
Give my love to Amma and Bitu.
Yours lovingly
Baba

Baba is a reasonable man. How could he end up becoming a soldier? Lets face it: it is not the best paying job around, not even close, seeing how we have to work hard to make ends meet. So there is my Baba, the most reasonable man I know, jeopardizing his life, braving brutal climatic conditions, staying away from the family he ‘loves’… and he can not even answer ‘why?’, If he thought I would reply to this letter, he was remarkably mistaken.
And so here was, angry and all, painfully aware that when the man in question comes over tomorrow, I might just not be able to ignore his gentle, handsome smile.

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

I am the first to wake up. No, not excitement, just an inane coincidence. I decide to take a walk. Something I haven’t done for quite a while now. It is worth it; as the day breaks in, the first few rays of the golden sun make me feel calmer than ever.
Vimala aunty is uncharacteristically out and about at this time. I head towards her and the look on her face tells me everything is not okay. She is holding my hand, clasping on to me real tight. She breaks down… “Vaishali, your Baba… they called… terrorist attack last night, he was shot… on the spot, just a few hours before he was to catch the bus! You must go to your Amma… she does not know.”
She is waiting for me to react. Should I cry? Should I howl and scream? Should I run away? It would be easiest to faint. Should I faint?
I walk back home instead. Zombie-like, numb. Bitu is still sleeping. Ma is in the kitchen. She wants to know if I want to taste the gajrela.
Don’t…
Baba, you know im not really angry, you know I love you still, you know I want to look at you again, you know, right?
I want you to know that I respect you and your choices in life, however unreasonable they may seem to me. You’ve been a wonderful husband, a wonderful Baba, a wonderful human and unlike a lot of people, you’ve been a wonderful countryman.
Know what, Baba? I think I finally understood ‘why?’.
“In memory of all the soldiers who lived and died for the nation”
-Nikita Sarin

GYMMING ALL THE WAY!

2009-04-21T08:26:00.000-07:00

What does a student passing out of high school in India do?
She could go backpacking round the country
She could go meet all her relatives
She could go abroad on a well-deserved vacation
She could pick up a job to get a taste of the ‘real world outside’

In her dreams!!

You see, she must prepare for the college education ahead.
She should study for the innumerable entrance examinations she must give. (As if the fact that she survived high school isn’t much of a qualification!)
She should register for some 20 odd colleges… you gotta keep some backup!

Either way, here’s a new custom that’s picking up…
She absolutely must JOIN A GYM.
It’s insane how everybody I know, irrespective of their shape and size; if they have time to spare… they are out gymming!
Guys to get brawny and big.
Girls to get all svelte and small.

Now hey! I am all for this fitness-fixation. I have a membership too. And what’s more?
I go to the gym EVERYDAY! TWICE!
Which makes me some sort of a specialist on the people who come to the gym, gym practices and ethics, professional instructors and the like. For the benefit of all those who try and peep through the silvered windows that separate this world from theirs, wondering what is behind this façade of blaring music, churning machines and sweaty faces…
Here is the sweeping treatise on the happenings at the gym near you:

THE PEOPLE
The momentous fact to be considered is this: Almost everybody gets the membership, but only the most driven make a regular appearance.
These are the ones who race against time, making the most of there scheduled workouts.
Ones who run to the trainer with every trivial doubt, because they want to get it ‘just right’. (Reminding you of the nerds you thought you left behind in school)
Ones who will ensure that they get a go at every machine installed, whatever be its purpose.

The other kind of people at the gym is the Aunties. Fat ones or fit ones, young ones or old ones: what puts them in one category is the sheer competitiveness with which they rule the gym.
These are the (mostly) women who hover around you till you get intimidated enough to coyly slither away from the machine you are working on, the one that they are eyeing.
The ones who rigidly practice the self-devised method of machine occupation- what I like to call the ‘let-me-know-when-you’re-done-sweetie’ routine. You are standing glumly waiting for Auntie 1 on the treadmill to get down. After an eternity when she finally does, Auntie 2 materializes somehow and lets you that she was already in line!

There has to be a girl or two like me too. You know the one who is brazenly staring at everybody around (especially the cute guys!) as if you all were subjects of some profound study she’s undertaken!

THE FITNESS INSTRUCTOR
As much as we’d like to believe otherwise, he/she makes or breaks the gym. Ultimately, it’s he who decides what music is to be played! Other than that, most of us can pretty much do without him.
Their attire is worthy of dissertation. Mostly you’d find them parading their sculptured bodies in minimum clothing.
But for reasons unknown, our gym instructor is known to wear only thick, full-sleeved track-suits… despite the sweltering Indian summer! I’m guessing it’s a hairy issue! Or maybe he’s just noble enough to not want to demean the other humbler bodies!

GYM TRIVIA
Lots of gymmers like to hum along with whatever’s playing. If she is doing it mechanically, she knows the lyrics. If there are a lot of expressions and tongue-twisting involved, she doesn’t.
With mirrors all around them, some women feel the urge to leave there long tresses down. Forgive them. They are already going through a searing, scorching, sweaty hell!
Guys with dumbbells are a visual delight! Not because they are looking all macho and stuff… it’s more to do with the ridiculous expressions they come up with!

CONCLUSION
Going to the gym is an hour or two of pure, unadulterated fun.
If you’ve been avoiding it so far, you might just want to reconsider!

SHORT and...

2009-04-19T03:38:00.000-07:00

I’ve always thought of myself as too short. And well 5ft 4in isn’t exactly tall, not even by the indulgent Asian standards!

Like this other day, my cousin Vidur(5’9), stated blatantly, “You gotta be like the shortest person in your class”.
“Oh no… we’ve got lots of shorter girls than me!”
“What are you saying… you study with MIDGETS??”
He carried it off dramatically, complete with the incredulous tone and the ‘wide-eyes effect’!

I gather its stuff like this that’s made me so sensitive about my height, or essentially the lack of it.
Heels should help…
Sure! Bloody blistered feet and strained ankles, ready to snap: I can handle that!
‘…If you increase the height of the heel, you're increasing the instability of the foot. In high heels the pelvis tilts forward and increases the curvature of the spine. Your spine tips backwards to correct the balance and this can cause compression to the lumbar sacral junction, which can lead to disc problems…’
Oi Posh Beckham(5’3), if that doesn’t scare you, what will??

So why are we so crazy about me being vertically challenged?
Because tall and skinny is hot and gorgeous and short and petite is at max CUTE! Stupid, eh?
yEEEAh. Im going to prove it.

Jennifer Aniston(5’4), Renee Zellweger(5’3), Hilary Duff (5'1), Hayden Pannettiere (5'1), Sarah Michelle Gellar (5'3), Lucy Lui (5'1), Eva Longoria (5'2), Alyssa Milano (5'2), Kristen Bell (5'1).Avril Lavigne (5'2), Elisha Cuthburt (5'2), Jennifer Love Hewitt (5'2), Ashley Olsen (5'2), Courtney Cox(5’3).

The closer to home bollywood babes: Dia Mirza, Rani Mukherji, Urmila Matonkar, Riya Sen, Minissha Lamba, Amisha Patel… All shorter than me!
He he he he…!
Sure I’d like to be tall.
But then somebody comes along and calls me ‘doll-like’ and… well things change!

Australian blues!

2009-04-16T09:22:00.000-07:00

My brother returned from a trip to Australia, dutifully equipped with a big bunch of memorabilia, knick-knacks he’d picked up in the country to authenticate his visit!
We relatives are a gullible lot. A kangaroo print all over the place and the Australian map outline for ‘the touch’ and we are more than contented! And yet there is the moment of truth, when one’s simple, easy to please ways catch up with one and flood one’s mind with terribly wicked thoughts… questions that one wouldn’t dare to ask in normal times.
You must understand that there is a lot that a harmless ‘Made in China’ label can do.
There was my newly acquired boomerang… kangaroo et al… Australian in its very existence! Glee written all over my face, my fingers assessed the structured curves with gentle strokes. I gave an appropriate exclamation of delight (As much as I like receiving gifts, I love reacting to them!)
And then, as is customary, I turned it around to admire the behind.
That’s where they decide to put the label. Always. Red. Like the devil’s eyes.
Here’s the thing about me: I always check. So I frantically turned the stuffed koala bear around. “Made in China”. Now that I come to think of it… it has Chinese eyebrows and is abnormally short.
The key-chain and pens. “Made in China”.

Now although the world can’t stop saying derogatory stuff about the quality of China-made products (You know they specfically write on all your Apple products: "Designed by Apple in California Assembled in China")… that wouldn’t be my complaint. My pens work. My boomerang returns. My koala looks suitably stupid. I’m happy.

What really bothers me is what I will have to do sooner or later. It’s a mortifying thought but one can’t continue to keep the family in the dark. I must confront the ol’ chap and ask him…
“Bhaiya, Australia gaye the ya China?” (Brother did you go to Australia or China?)

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