i LIVE a Lie

I live a lie.

I live and lie. 

I lie and live.

It helps me be. 

All of life.

All of this, 

sense of grief,

the youngness

the youth

the lying down

and the stepping stones

of fibs

create the farce you and I breathe.

Your guilt and my hubris

those nymph twins

pretending

that all of this is...

Smother

You give me the life I live and yet you take it from me

breath by breath, sigh by sigh

When you succeed, perhaps I will leave my anguish behind

as a small token of my gratitude.

You, so smug and triumphant in your make believe of past lifetimes

are mine

through and through.

As your nurturing hands slowly strangle the life out of me, I wonder if you realise

I may not have another to even die in.

Your trying to make me live in dark smoky chambers

stifles me so.

Resent you I do. But then you grudge me no less.

Sacrifice

For wherever you choose to flit my love,
I shall accompany you.
In the dark abyss of my thrashing grey,
I shall let an annoying bird twitter.
I will swim in the tears of welled up eyes
and use the salt
to murder it.
For no one will hear cries in the abyss
and I shall be
with you
in peace...

_ 6/06/2008

Think Think

When I was small I was reprimanded for being thoughtless. I was counseled to think twice before taking steps or saying things and was overall discarded as a child without the potential to think things through. Things have changed now. Somehow. Now I think too much. And that's a bad thing too. My inability to let things be and to take things as they come is proving to be quite a hindrance in me being able to maintain some semblance of mental peace. In fact this inability is making me think a lot more!
It's stupid. I can't remember the last time I was sure.

Shield

Dew made the blanket heavy. She was sleeping next to a grave. Dreaming perhaps. Eyelids heavy with tears made the slumber even more peaceful. It was cold, damp and uncomfortable. It was a curse. She dared not smile, not even in her sleep.

I can't leave this place. I don't want to. I need to be here for him and her and them and everyone. You musn't worry. I'm alright.

We must do something. What? Change it. Change her? Why? She seems adamant...

I must get back to sleep. Please just watch over me. Make sure I don't wake up.

Cover

Water bubbles in the air and dim lights. There's me and someone else. Time flies for it is prudent. Stagnant would be two if I had my way. There is music and it grows louder slowly because it knows I am Scared. I decide to dance and the lights get dimmer until I know it's alright to kick off my shoes. I begin to twirl. Barefoot.

Saturday

So, Shani must have been really pissed off yesterday. It must have sat in one of those diamond shaped boxes on my astrological chart and decided to see how far it could jump to wreck as much as possible in as little time as possible. Not it's fault. I'd probably feel that way too if I had to be part of my chart.

I'm waiting for all of it to hit me. I'm waiting for my little fuzzy wisps of happiness to be whisked away by the looming reality of something that I can't see right now.

I would if I could, I shouldn't and I probably won't be able to even if I tried...

The Fall

Yesterday, I fell off my cliff. The one that everyone has. I scrambled back up though. That is what I do.

REM

I love me. I love me not. I love me. I love me not... As I tossed and turned in my bed last night falling in and out of conscious slumber or dreamlike wakefulness I kept dreaming that I was me and someone else. I held me by the shoulders and tried to convince myself that it was all a dream... it shouldn't have been difficult. I had REM to help me out.

A phone was ringing somewhere in the past. It was deafening because it was an echo. I turned over to pick it up and realised that I couldn't speak. I was staring at myself from the ceiling, my invisible form aglow with the passing of traffic lights shaped like bars from a cage. They melted over me and disappeared and I realised with a shock that I was about to burst with all the light. Maybe this was what unintended Nirvana felt like. My Nirvana would not be peaceful or free. It would mean bliss because after an explosion of light the pieces of me would drift down from the ceiling and fold over me like a blanket. Together and collected again I would at last be free to restrain myself.

The cat and mouse chase would then begin again... He loves me.. he loves me not.. he loves me.... but I love me not.. he loves me (immaterial), I shan't, can't, won't love him not! I will love ME not!

Love

Love...is a race. It's an adrenaline fueled competition. We're kidding ourselves. It's all about us. It's not about the other person. It's all about how good we feel, or how bad. We thus use people as mediums of psychological gratification and then subconsciously pretend that they are the centre of our universe. They're not. We are the centre of our universe. In reality, we don't give a damn about the other person. We give a damn about what will happen to us and the insatiable emptiness if that person steps out of our little dream box and a replacement is slow in coming.

Love is basically a sadistic little game based on ego. You win if yours is bigger! You lose if you're responsible for inflating another's. You should be ashamed of yourself if someone is able to count on you. You are supposed to be proud as can be if someone is driving others crazy because of you. Love exists because not everyone is a hero. Because nowadays there's not enough things going wrong to engage people in sword duels and be done with little bursts of frustration. Today, it's people against people. Weapon against Weapon.

So can love last forever? Yes, and no. It doesn't last if the game's played by the rules. It lasts if the game has elements of cheating, intrigue and stale mates.

The Dream

Once upon a time, when the sky was still azure and not grey and red was simply a colour used to describe poppies, there lived a man on the edge of the world.

He was speaking to me. He told me things that were obvious but had never occurred to me before. He said that my happiness could not be created by someone else. I could be the only one to create it and destroy it. He held a secret in the palm of his hand. As I stared into his eyes, they crinkled into one of those comfortable smiles that I had begun to love. The promise was secured by my putting my hand into his and choosing to walk those miles that had been the distance between us. Now they were simple roads of companionship. It was beautiful. It was a dream. I wanted to wake up and smell the fresh air but not the reality. He told me that I needed to stop looking for approval from others for the means I used to attain my happiness.

I told him I wanted to fly. He asked me if I had tried. I said the ground held me back. He said I was scared of the skies. I took off, circled once and tumbled into his arms. He laughed and held me tight. I was restless, too restless. One's own restlessness becomes too much sometimes. It's almost like a heavy object that one is constantly carrying, but not holding. You can pour it back and forth in some place in your soul. Solitude sometimes, is the only reason a mind gets chances to reflect. I wondered if babies cared. Then I was running. I broke free of his embrace and sprinted towards the sea. I took off right before the waves could get a chance to lap at my feet. I soared out over the blue. He had said I could create happiness. I wanted to do it for him. I wanted to do it for me. I didn't want it for us. So I set out on a fruitless search of happiness for him, which only I could create.

Now, the skies are grey. My wings are covered with tar and red is the colour of blood.

Grey

Entwined in wisps of smoke and foam and breath,

a form with no form with a question?

Definite currents and clandestine lovers taking shade

under the pouring tumult of steam and heat.

Lips brimming with pearls of prayers,

and an upside down umbrella to hold...

The death of Death

Today I have managed to get rid of Death.

First, we took it by its ankles and dragged it till the edge. Then, as it screamed and writhed, we shoved it into a jute sack.

We beat it black and blue with sticks until the muffled whimperings ceased and before pity overcame any of us we threw it into the ravine.

Satisfied of no more Death in the world, we followed the bloody trail of torture back into town.

Our return was a grand affair with drums and pretty girls with baskets of flowers.

We had abolished Death and the whole town was proud of us murderers. No more Death in the world... Perhaps only Murder...

The Battle

A couple of them are sulking in the corner. I try not to be distracted because I'm too busy battling it out with those that are around. There are silver swords made of tears gleaming in the moonlight and they slash right, left and centre. I hop around and try to quieten those that are silently screaming at me with faceless voices. I understand. That is probably why the fight I'm putting up hardly has any heart in it.

Either I was stupid to throw them down the well in the first place, or the stupidity has just begun. There was no need to come down looking for them but a few hours ago that's what I was doing; travelling down the dark cylindrical walls of a well in a rusty metal bucket that hadn't been used in ages.

A few years ago, when I threw them in, they drowned without a splash and it was a clean death. Now, I am wading in murky waters with an algae eating turtle swimming dolefully around. I have to win it. I have to make them come back up to the surface with me because if I don't then we will all die at the bottom of this well in anonimity. They don't want me to win, but if I don't, they will never forgive me for it...

Search

Last night I dreamt of all the people I have loved, miss and will love. There seemed to be a lot and then none at all.

I found my dreams, hopes and wishes at the bottom of the ocean in a wooden box with a padlock on it. I wondered at the superfluous captivity because the water had seeped through the wood and all my belongings were simply a dirty mess mired in a bog of salt.

There was a blue boat on the surface and each bob on the water was a promise of the future to come. The sun's rays beckoned, shimmering and twinkling like a diamond net that one could swim into.

And then I saw me, with one leg firmly tied to an anchor buried deep in the sea bed, trying to repair the box with a few of my last breaths...

I Want...

I want life to be simple. I want to know what I used to know. I also want to not know what I know now. I don't want to be a thinker. I don't want to be the over analytical, crazily practical, boring adult that I have become. I want to be the gorgeous, demented, funny, downright awesome person I thought I'd grow into.  I want to be able to explain myself. I want to be able to not expect. I want to be able to fall asleep with thoughts that won't have anything to do with groceries or cooking or responsibilities. I want to wake up in the mornings to warm, bustling rooms. I don't want to wander around an empty house at 3 in the morning and miss my mother like crazy. I want to forget things at home and have someone call me to tell me I forgot them. I want to come home to chilled glasses of lemonade. I don't want to stand with a bunch of keys in my hand in front of a locked door. I want someone to ask me what I would like to eat. I don't want to have to wrack my brains every evening to come up with a decent meal. I want to understand how I work. I don't want others to figure me out. I want to be ecstatically happy. I want to remember the last time I really laughed. I want to start living...

Ruth

When I left my house this morning, the sky was weeping. I suppose it was silent venting in response to the human prayers, resentments and greed which were being catapulted by the second to the never ending expanse of grey and blue. I'm sure the sky must feel overwhelmed. It must be very strong as well. If I had been the sky, the country below me would have been a swamp.

Outside the colony gates stood a half naked madman. He was drenched from head to toe and was gesticulating wildly with his hands. Poor people have no compassion for men such as this; they can't afford it. When I saw him I didn't feel scared or panicked, I just felt guilty. I felt sorry and ashamed when the guards began to beat him with a stick. Their combined poverty was their best weapon. They couldn't feel the compassion I was feeling simply because they shared the same life with a little bit of sanity. Long after he was subdued they kept on beating him. Then finally one of them said "rehne de, kismet hi kharab hai saale ki". The other guard sullenly stopped and said "humari kaunsi achhi hai?".

As I stepped out of the gate, they saluted and held the madman at bay and all I could do was lower my eyes and walk on, underneath the weeping sky with no umbrella.

Confessions of an Idiot

I was told that anything was possible. My brain turned it around and decided that nothing was impossible. So, I spread my imaginary wings and tried to fly. Obviously, I was doomed. When I leaped off the roof I felt my heart soar. Unfortunately that was the only part of my body that did. As I began to plummet I prayed for a safe landing but it didn't happen. God was busy elsewhere probably helping those who help themselves. So I ended up breaking a leg and it didn't feel all that lucky.

Good things happen to good people, maybe that's where we all go wrong. What if in this universe the evil ones are actually what the concept of good is? So, we proudly embark upon missions of a philanthropic nature but I think we should just all be helping ourselves because "God helps those who help themselves." Of course it's just a saying but why isnt it phrased differently? Why not "help others and God will help you"?

I have a bone to pick with all the non-idiots about this and other things. I'm waiting for the day when I'll get the chance to state a few aspects of my skeptic curiousty and not be written off as an idiot.

I've been told to believe in myself. What we need is belief in others. Individual beliefs are no good. The day it becomes universal I might just be able to fly... and the beliefs of all the idiots and non-idiots combined will be the feathers of my wings and keep me buoyant in the air currents.

Laboured Dreams

Is it necessary for a person to have dreams? Is it so vital to our existence that we must hold onto something intangible to be able to achieve the zenith of the heights that we create for ourselves? What if someone had kept telling us from the moment we could make coherent sense out of language that dreams are just futile thoughts whose base is desire that will eventually bog us down into mediocrity?

Is it so necessary to know what to want and how to go about getting it? Why can't I be told that even if I don't begin to worship a thought or a castle in the air I will still be able to attain what I imagine I deserve?

It's difficult living up to expectations that you never got a chance to create. It's like you came into this world and forces were ready to mould your thoughts and beliefs towards a set direction. Without a dream you were supposed to feel like a fallen leaf from a tree in autumn whose fate hinges upon whimsical gusts of wind.

Why isn't it ok to be clueless and unsure? I feel stifled and foolish. I can't explain the wind's path and yet if I can't seem to be able to predict it then I am nothing but a useless leaf fallen from a tree simply because that's the natural order of things. I wish dreams were the stuff that guts are made of. Not like silly wisps of smoke that vanish the moment it's time to battle with the demons of reality.

A Short Story

The whole road smelt of horse. It was as if the beast had been flogged mercilessly and then dragged the length of the scorching black. Tiny leaves fluttered down from the summer trees and the sky looked down in agony. The boy in the cart heaved a sigh of laziness and began to whip the horse out of sheer boredom.

He was going to be married in a few days. Being poor he was planning on riding the same beast he was mercilessly whipping to the doorstep of his bride. The sun beat down hot as he mournfully thought about his limited prospects. The horse was his only possession. The thin emaciated animal was his upper hand over the other boys and men. He could always be counted upon to get the goods to the market on time because of the horse. He loved the horse after his own fashion. It was not the selfless kind of love. In fact it was convenient love, where sometimes he forgot to feed the horse or never fed it quite enough.

The placid beast plodded along and owner and beast were one in silent contemplation of glum prospects. Then suddenly there was a loud crash. The goods for the market rolled off the cart and scattered in all directions. The horse lay crushed under the cart, it's tongue out and panting. The car swerved wildly around the mess and drove off. The road now smelt of toil, tears, blood and sweat.

The things we say (conversation excerpts)

"I don't know..you know.. I sometimes get the feeling that I'm restless because my soul's so impatient. It wants to hurry through this life because it's so eager to start over."

-To my best friend, on discontentment

"To break a person on the inside all it takes is love and then it's just you incarcerated in those thumping red walls of pain."

-In a shrink session

"I'm everything you're not because I can always sense what it is that you need me to be..when you're in one of your aspiring moods..."

-While talking to a friend

"It's like telling a kid to look for the rainbow, and then spraying him with a hose pipe in the middle of a parched summer to tell him what to anticipate when he goes searching for a pot of gold."

-On aspirations

"Of course.. there's always a better phase, before another wave of turmoil and anguish hits you.. and then everything that came before will always pale in comparison..."

-On our hardships

"It seems far fetched doesn't it? Like someone decided to take a trip to the moon and is stopping at every shiny thing on the way..."

-On distracted ambition

Intrepid Hauteur

I think proud people are brave. I think it takes a lot of courage to decide to forsake what comes easily to you so that you can stand by your best friend: pride. Perspicacious beings are fully aware that the price for being aloof, detached and indifferent will be their lone figure at the end of it all standing by itself on the crutches of hubris. That is why I call them brave. Because they are undaunted by that pathetic image.

I give pride the cachet of "best friend" because I have always felt that pride will never let one down. There may be countless times when a person may relinquish pride to get the better of himself and others, but, you can't trick something that's such an intrinsic part of you. Sooner or later, you realise that you never gain all. One is never able to fill all the spaces with gain acquired from the barter of pride. In all those forsaken niches is where the leftover pride resides. It is then that it begins to work against you. Because you let it down to try and gain something else, sacrificing the dignity of it's solitude for spurious comfort. That is why, when it resurfaces to claim lost ground, you are worse off than before.

Love Letter

Dear You,

I write this to assauge the wounded sensibilities of the demons of my soul. I desire the last word.It has never mattered and it never will. The attempts to salvage will always be futile. It is something I will never regret, although I refuse to cherish it. It has ended in disappointment, yes, but that was never supposed to be your responsibility anyway. In my more lucid moments, I may just look back and smile.

With lots of leftover love,
Me

Happy Birthday To Me

I think it is more important to be content than merely happy. Today on the 15th of June, I feel gratified. I am surrounded by people I love and I am friends with those that care. It has been a gloriously long and lazy life and I've completed two felicitous decades of it today with no regret. I feel blithe.

Metamorphosis

I recently read something on a phenomenon called the ‘quarter-life crisis’. I didn’t know the term existed till yesterday and found that it applied to me perfectly. As my 20th birthday approaches I’ve been feeling like a hamster that’s running on its wheel and suddenly realises that there’s no point; that the cage isn’t getting any bigger and if you topple off the wheel there’s nothing else to do. So you’ve got to keep running but with this nagging feeling in your head that’s bringing out your various diabolic moods.

I started reading Franz Kafka’s Metamorphosis when I was in high school. I remember I picked it up because I found the first line so impressive: As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a monstrous vermin. I wasn’t able to finish reading it but the line stayed with me. And now that I’m about to complete two decades of an unproductive life I want my metamorphosis to be something that’s not associated with the thought of repulsion (I think in the book he turns into a large beetle). I want it to be something else. I’m not sure what right now but I know that if I don’t do something about this mini-crisis I believe I’m experiencing, I will be swept away in a tide of angry emotions and futile tears.

People are selfish. I’ve realised that. I’m selfish too. I’m trying not to be. I’m trying to put other people’s perspective before mine but somehow I’m unable to. With me, it’s becoming a struggle with what I know what’s right and what I feel should be right. Everyone’s different. I think I’ve become more thankful than resentful of people as I’ve grown. I’ve come to appreciate their sense of tolerance towards me and my ideals, and my tempestuous nature and attitude towards most things in life. Their patience is awe-inspiring. Sometimes I become so ashamed of my sulleness when I’m faced with the people I love the most standing by me like rocks in the sea with the water lashing about them in a storm.

My opinions are strong and I’m trying not to judge people on capricious thoughts. Someone once summed me up as a person who can take a push or two but can’t tolerate a shove. I agree. I wouldn’t want it to be different. The thing is, the whole thing is a farce. Restlessness is being poured back and forth in some part of me like someone trying to cool a hot drink. At the same time it’s difficult taking initiatives because the change is scary. Resentment against the past and the present fades away in the face of the insecurity I face when I think of the life to come. My own standards scare me. The tiny modest little part of me, tries to keep me grounded to be able to face the various failures I know are in store. It’s wrong to want nothing. It’s not right to be stupidly brave either.

You’re laughing one minute and crying the next. You’re unsure of most things in life and are wondering whether you could have changed something in the course of the time while you were growing up so that things would have turned out different. You resent being spoon-fed but you subconsciously crave it. You wish that there was someone holding your hand the whole time. It’s like a child at the beach. It wants the adults to be nearby and hold its hand while it tests the water. Once it sees that its only ankle deep it plunges in with no thought. I’m like that child. It’s reverse. I know the sea’s shallow at the edge and I don’t want anyone holding my hand, but I know it gets deeper as I wade forward, and I can’t swim. I want to have my cake and eat it too. I want to be let alone and at the same time I don’t want to let go. I hate the feeling of being unsure. I have grown up to like control. I like some semblance of organisation in my life and I know that once I start to walk forward I will have to leave various aspects of that behind.

I am willing to start the process of metamorphosis. However, I wish I could be sure of knowing that a phoenix will rise out of the ashes of this forsaken security and fly away confident of containing within itself the power of rebirth and healing.

It's late

It's late.
I was just thinking how everything is organised chaos. And we as humans congratulate ourselves on having been able to box that chaos. It's like people on a bus. Or thoughts inside the brain. Grey matter encasing absolute pandemonium inside the cranium. It's worrying to think of all that being unleashed. Maybe someone thought it out prudently. I get an obscure image in my head of various coloured liquids in different vials being stored inside a container. Once they break inside and the liquids overlap there is a churning sea of colours. Of course, the container is closed. The outward appearance is that of calm.

Rule

We are slaves to our beliefs. What we have imbibed and grown up with are our dictators. We tend to use them as bases of judgement, and as guides to our behaviour and to our most intimate actions. The realisation is disconcerting because it comes with the revelation that we can accept this reality but do little to change it. Childhood was better. The beliefs like us were young and easily moulded into convenient companions.

Fathom

He wanted to know why he was so restless and moody. He wanted to know why I was the same but different. Things bogged him down. Things spurred me on. As I looked at his face I realised that mine reflected in his eyes wasn't carrying that same expression. Time lay heavy upon his countenance whereas my aura looked like a water fairy trying to catch wisps of it to entwine in it's hair. Neither one of us had calm.
Inside, I had this fire which roared at all times and needed to be fed to maintain it's fierceness, it's fieryness. His insides were like a lake, deep and clear, into which everything sank without a trace.
I now understand. It is like air and water. Air bubbles in the water always pop. They sink without a trace. And in it's wrath, Fire evaporates.

Will U Do Frandship With Me?

I have accounts on both Orkut and Facebook. However, it’s on Orkut that one is more randomly accessible and therefore approached. Nearly every day I get scraps from random guys asking me to be friends with them in various mutated forms of the English language. It’s usually very entertaining and most of them I keep to read out to my friends over the phone. Some of them go like this:

Hi, Hello. Friends?

Hello, My name is _____ , will you frands?

A SWWETEST HI TO A SWEETET GAL WHO IS EVEN MORE SWEETER THAN MY HI ...

Hi can wanna frnd me. Nice ur photo… (this is one of my favourite ones)

Hello.wnt to do FrAnDsHiP with me?! (the classic)

Today while deleting my scrapbook these scraps made me think about what that word has actually come to mean. I think we all confuse mere acquaintances with friends and are seriously disillusioned with the whole concept of the term. Before I am misconstrued, let me clear that I am fully aware of the psyche behind these scraps and wasn’t expecting a deep nurturing friendship to come out of any of these forced one sided dialogues. The whole emphasis on the word friend just made me start thinking.

When I was young my behavior catered to the then prevalent weird notions of friendship. In my head it meant a system of exchange in which you gave and took accordingly and therefore established a cordial balance with others of your age. This was the uncomplicated age where you didn’t care what people thought so if while playing hopscotch your “friends” didn’t bring chalk to draw the lines when it was their turn you all promptly turned your back on them and successfully ostracized them from the group until appeasement efforts the next day in the form of peace offerings of chalk and pebbles. Friendship meant lending pretty pencils to friends for them to do their homework with. Of course, the friendship was over if it was discovered that the pencil had been sharpened too much.

As we grow older, we begin to realize that friendship is not about pencils or chalk. It’s about you. It’s about how you are as a person and what kind of people bring out the best in you. When you choose to be friends with someone you’re making a choice of making that person a part of your life. That is why close friendships (best friends and the like) are very few and are seldom successful. Friendship evolves into an intricate dancing game with age where you have to sidestep and step into, and around and about the other person.

The childhood version of me in my past would mock me if it saw me now. She would brag about having more friends than it was possible to remember and about how she got invited to more birthdays than was humanely possible to attend and how after school her house would have the door crowded with “friends” begging her to come and play at all the hours of long afternoons.
Somehow, I’m happier now. Sure, all my close friends can be counted using all the fingers of one hand but I’m much more satisfied with what friendship has come to mean at this stage of life. Because we’re all still young, I like how it simply means letting the other person be and helping them being ok with what they are. It simply means conversations, movies, silence, comfort, experiences, endless discussions and the knowledge that there is one person with you who will stand by you through thick and thin.

Yes, I am fairly content with my “Frandships” .

Second Year Ends..

The final exams have begun. Everyone’s stressed but me. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not showing off about my nonchalance. It’s just that I hardly see the point of going nuts over something which will cease to matter in a few months. What works best for me is freaking out in the last 10 hours left before the exam in which I call up all my friends and make them wonder why they’re friends with me in the first place. I remember a senior telling me in first year that these exams are a farce and ever since then I can’t seem to be able to get that thought out of my head. I have good reason to believe it as well, having experienced the system’s flaws first hand. Thankfully for me, they worked out in my favour.

Anyhow, the preparation has begun. This for me usually means sorting out the huge bundle of notes accumulated over the past year and sorting them into piles of the various subjects they belong to. Then about four of the neatest tutorials will be selected from the piles and I will read them and go and give the paper. It’s a very risky business, because sometimes (more often than not) it may happen that the questions I prepare don’t come and then I’m seen sitting in a hot and stuffy classroom, face propped up on elbows, staring around me at the walls for inspiration. I usually manage to come up with something plausible and sometimes, if I’m not too lazy the answer may relate to the question as well!

Usually my classmates and I compete to see who will leave the room first and whoever does waits outside for the rest to join him or her for lunch or a banta and discuss the sad state of affairs (answer sheet) that we have left behind. Needless to say we are unanimous in our very vocal disapproval of the question paper. We never allow ourselves to feel that it may have been our lax nature in preparing for the exam that has left us dissatisfied. No, we always choose to vent (and rightly so) against the system. Sometimes, it even goes onto the way they’ve taught us since childhood (faulty educational techniques) and usually ends with a harmless debate on reservations in which even the SC, ST category friends join in with great gusto. The irony lies in the fact that with or without reservations we hardly match up to the expected standards.

Anyhow, have decided to end this here because of lack of a coherent thought process. Besides, I must get back to pretending to study because how else will I prove to the world that I’m an Indian student. It’s supposed to be second nature for me to sit hunched over my books and slog.

This blog is dedicated to my classmates, the graduating class of B.A. History Honours, 2009. As everyone is saying to me these days (not like it ever helps), best of luck and do well. Cheers!

Wish Upon a Star

I like to think of myself as a dreamer. I have a tendency to get lost in my own world and think for hours on end and dream and imagine and conjure up little fairy tales with real people and real things in my life forming the plot. Ever since I have been a child I remember thinking of something or the other that would glamorize my pretty average life. I still have that. Now of course, it’s a little bit more practical. Now I think about studying, doing well, getting a well paying job, sending my parents on five star cruises, that kind of thing. They’re still huge dreams though. Every time the magnitude of what I want from life hits me and I wonder if it’s ok. I know life isn’t a fairytale. The world is a messed up place because there are numerous people out there who for whatever sadistic satisfaction it gives them like to tell people that nothing is easy, that Santa Claus doesn’t exist, that the tooth fairy is actually just your parents putting money under your pillow and throwing your precious tooth away. The whole exercise is futile. People grow up and eventually find out these things on their own. What’s the point of ruining it for them when they need it the most?

My point is that if life is so hard and difficult to manage, people should just let me see that on my own. I’m not ok with the worldly perceptions ruining my fledgling hopes and dreams because at any given point of time there are people more experienced and wiser than me walking around on the face of this planet. I’m ok with them. They seem to be ok with me. However, I don’t wish to be mollycoddled. I like to believe I’m a person who can work things out for herself. The experiences which have made me believe that about myself are few but still very strong impressions of my childhood.

I couldn’t ride a bicycle. I just couldn’t balance and my mother would come back from work and take me to practice but I just couldn’t keep myself from toppling over. My best friend at that age, a boy from my colony would run alongside me yelling out all the encouraging things children of that age say but I just wouldn’t be able to ride it. It used to bother me that everyone could do it and I couldn’t. Then one day, I remember it was Holi. In the afternoon everyone gathered in the colony to have lunch. My parents stood with a couple of my relatives while I wandered around with my bunch of friends waiting for lunch to start. It was then that I spotted my brother’s bicycle propped up against the park wall. Instinctively, I knew I could do it this time. So I walked over and carefully wheeled it away from any obstacles. My brother’s friends pointed it out to him “woh dekh teri behen teri cycle le ja rahi hai.” He just shrugged went back to playing “kucch nahin hota, use chalani nahin aati.” It was then that I started pedaling and because I’d imagined and dreamed of doing it all along I could do it well and fast and with perfect balance. I still remember my dad’s face when I came and faced him. He was smiling. Out of all the people standing there he was the only one whose face showed that I wasn’t about to bang into any shins. That day I had lunch on my bicycle, with my mother feeding me a few morsels here and there whenever I pedaled close enough. I spent the whole day on that little yellow BMX and it was beautiful. I’ll never forget that bicycle. It was absolutely perfect. I was heartbroken when it was stolen one day and I rode many bicycles after that and owned a couple as well but that was one bicycle which if I could have I would have saved for my kids.

I’m still smiling at that image of me - around 8 years old and wearing one of those frocks (uncomfortable contraptions which I hated but was forced to wear because Indians are very weird when it comes to dressing their children). I taught myself to whistle, to blow chewing gum bubbles and to skip with a skipping rope. I climbed trees, ran faster than any boy in the colony and wasn’t scared of anyone. It was a beautiful childhood. Sure, I didn’t really care about Santa Claus or anything but I think I was able to do all those things because people didn’t bother me or care about me to pay much attention to what I was doing. There was no one telling me I couldn’t so I did.

I never once thought that I would grow up to be a little bit of a cynic myself. I never imagined that when I would look at stars and wish upon them, my focus wouldn’t be that the wish would come true. I would instead be madly hoping that someone would be out there, listening to my wish and at least deliberating upon it if not making it come true.

The thought came to me today when I was sitting on my roof staring at the skies and singing to myself. I realized it doesn’t matter which star you pick to wish to or if you yell your thoughts out to the skies. All that matters is what you wish for and how much you want it. Whether you deserve it or not, is for the stars to decide.

Bye

We recently threw a farewell for our seniors in college. It wasn’t really a grand effort considering we were short of funds and didn’t really have the budget to go overboard with anything. I was put in charge of making the invites, which was funny because I can hardly boast of my artistic skills let alone decorate anything or draw to save my life. Don’t get me wrong. I’m usually bursting with ideas but when the time comes to execute them the end result almost never looks the way it’s supposed to. So, I sort of went mental with pink and silver glitter and handmade paper and the invites looked anything but inviting after I was done with them. However, my seniors are kind and considerate people and whatever fun was made of the invites was thankfully made behind my back.

Not many seniors turned up at the farewell. I was very disappointed. I took it as a personal insult over the invites. Those who did turn up followed the dress code and were a very gracious audience and laughed in all the right places. A classmate of mine and I performed a dance on stage probably for the first and last time in our lives. It was hilarious. We couldn’t stop laughing the whole time. I think we looked retarded after a while, twirling and whirling on stage with big grins pasted on our faces and the expressions having nothing to do with the lyrics of the song. We were applauded none the less for which I was very grateful because personally I think I resemble a grasshopper hopping from one foot to the other when I dance.

The farewell was not actually the time when it hit any of us that it was probably the last time that we’d be interacting with the seniors. Sure, we will see them around exams in April but then they’ll just pass us with worried smiles and we’ll be too busy cramming at the last minute to stop and chat. It was later in the evening, when a bunch of us went out for dinner. Most people couldn’t make it, or had prior engagements and I ended up being the only junior. It was loads of fun. What I would term as clean fun. There was no drinking. One person smoked but that’s because he was trying to take his mind off his hunger because for the longest time none of us could decide where to go. We eventually landed up in Saket, had dhaba style food and later Nirula’s hot chocolate fudge. It was great. Then while I was being dropped back home it struck me that I would not be seeing these faces in college. They wouldn’t be seen hanging around the canteen or hiding from teachers or gloating about mass bunks. They would be out there in the “big bad world” doing post graduation and making careers. I will miss them. They have been a very nice batch. All of them study and know what they’re talking about which isn’t something I can say about my class. Most of them, I noticed yesterday also have an awesome sense of humor and it’s really sad how now we’ll just be mere acquaintances keeping in touch through Facebook or Orkut (for those who find Facebook too confusing to operate). I hope they all end up doing well.

School and Intellectuals

Mahatma Gandhi didn't know what he was doing. He was just an old man who got carried away with the amount of the importance people gave him.

You're stupid.

No really, I think the whole fasting deal for everything was taking things a bit too far. He exploited the masses' faith in him.

You just like using big words.

Whatever dude. I think others who were part of our freedom struggle get lesser importance coz he hogs the limelight.

Oh my god, let it go already. Why do you have such problems with the guy?

I think he's shady that's all.

Hey Ram.

Heheh. Intentionally?

No you're a retard.

You're a turtle.

I'll slap you ok?

Oh crap.. you serious? I'm really scared.

What have you got for lunch?

Saale turtle sudhar ja...

Tell no?

I thought we weren't done with discussing Gandhi.

I've heard he may have been a womaniser.

Hmm. It's interesting how people will change their beliefs for a mere morsel of food.

Tiffin nikaal!!

Jeez! But I win.

No we will co-exist with two different opinions.

Abey o, mera tiffin hai.

But you don't even like food!

I'm hungry.

So what about Gandhi?

Ah chuck it. You wanna go get some sour punk?

I'm telling you he wasn't that bad.

Sure. He wasn't that good either.

Hostess

I was reading Mrs. Dalloway the other day. It’s this book which I haven’t really read but from the blurb I understood that it was a story about a hostess. So, I got inspired and invited some of my friends over for lunch. Actually I just gave them the idea in the canteen during one of our vellapanti sessions in college and they promptly decided to turn up the very next day. Considering I live in a very god forsaken part of Delhi which can be only be reached by crossing the Yamuna which some delusional politicians still like to call a river, I was elated that people were willing to drive over and come to my house. I excitedly planned a menu of kadhai chicken, stir fried vegetables, rice and rotis. Being someone who’s only been cooking for about a year I didn’t want the first lunch I threw to be a complete disaster, so I kept the menu simple. The trick to successful entertaining, which I’ve learnt from my mother lies in the understanding that even if you cook a small variety of dishes all of it has to be scrumptious enough to make people want a second helping.

After everything was finalized K told me she’d be there by morning with Yogi to help me cook. About four people cancelled on me in the morning and it was just as well because I only ended up cooking enough for about 6. I woke up early and by the time I got out of the shower K had already turned up at the gate. I took her to buy groceries while she cribbed the whole way about my being not responsible enough to have gotten the groceries the previous evening.

K had conveniently forgotten to mention that she couldn’t cook. Not like I was banking upon her but the simple task of cutting vegetables seemed to require detailed instruction so after a while I sent her to watch television with Yogi. They both showed their mature sides while fighting for the remote but I was just happy I got space to move around in the kitchen.

I like cooking. I think I was around 13 when I made my first parantha. Cooking takes my mind of things. It's actually sort of yoga unless I’m really tired. In the kitchen I can move around, do my own thing and experiment. Also, I have the sweetest brother, he will eat anything and everything without complaining and that gives me a lot of confidence because I can use him as a guinea pig to try out new things. The feeling I get after a successful cooking session is very satisfying. My culinary skills are not much to boast about. There are better cooks and famous chefs but just looking at a dish turn out the way I had imagined it would makes me very happy with myself. In college I’m the brunt of house-wife at the age of 19 jokes, but I stopped caring long back. It was stupid to get upset about something I like doing and actually enjoy.

Lunch was great. It was great conversation, great food and a bunch of people who get along very well with each other. The best part about the day was that no one gave me a compliment on how good the food was. No one said they wanted to learn it or try it for themselves. Everyone took a second helping.

Auto Rides!

I love auto rides. I associate them with comfort. Yes, despite the fact that autos are noisy and really annoying in the way they always seem to need CNG while I’m travelling in them, I love them. I call them my reflection rides. That’s the time when I settle back and just observe whatever is happening out on the road in front of me. It may seem odd to certain people that I find autos so satisfying but I guess it started when I was in first year and had to take dirty buses to college.

Being a short tempered person who's prone to mood swings, I would be horribly upset at the unfairness of having to travel by public transport while others (siblings, friends) drove to college. By the time I reached college, I would be ready to snap. It wasn't the bus ride itself. It was the people. To begin with, let me clarify that I am not an elitist but yes I do tend to expect a bit of civilized behaviour from my countrymen/women/children while travelling and when I don't get it I find their apathetic mannerlessness unjustifiable on the basis of the lack of education, wealth etc. The blatant disregard for individual space cannot just simply be a direct social and mental consequence of being an insignificant part of a growing population of more than one billion. I would wake up in the mornings dreading going to college because the thought of all those dirty people spitting everywhere, crowding me, puking out of the bus windows would make me cringe. It was the same story when I returned from college. Since it was usually late afternoon or evening by the time I came home I would be exhausted from a long day in college (contrary to popular belief history honours is not a joke) and would also have had a disgusting bus ride weighing heavy on my shoulders. I would come home and collapse into bed only to be woken by numerous people ringing the door bell, telephone rings and calls on my cell phone. I actually reached a point where even if there was no sound around me I wouldn’t be able to sleep because I had begun dreaming of people ringing the door bell.

All this was slowly beginning to take its toll on me and affecting other aspects of my life. I would link this frustration to everything I was doing. And because I was constantly tired I was seldom in a good mood. So then I decided that something had to be done about it as it was making me into a mean and horrible person who lashed out at people simply because she was not able to come to terms with certain obstacles in her life. People would tell me they were small problems in comparison to what other s went through every day. However, the thing was that this was my life and I really didn’t care about the other billion people and whether they went through a rough time or not. I wasn’t used to it and was not going to compromise. I would vent constantly on the phone to my mother who told me to take autos. Obviously, it wasn’t a practical thing to do but I could treat myself to auto rides once or twice a week. I was overjoyed. Every time I was having a bad morning, or woke up late or simply felt low I would take an auto. Even after college sometimes when the day looked super long and I just didn’t feel up to being subjected to travelling in a bus like sheep being trucked off to slaughter I would take an auto home all the way from college. It was amazing what such a small thing did for my mental peace. I was in a good mood the rest of the day and everything I did went well. I ended up cooking meals that even my mother would be proud of, did my assignments, hung out with friends and didn’t fight with my brother. Because of this I fell in love with autos.

Every time I take one I sit back and relax and think all I want. Numerous random thoughts chase each other and there is a lot of time for me to analyse stuff. Autos are also great for observing people undisturbed. You can be safely ensconced in the dim yellow interior while no one on the road realizes that you’re watching them. Also because autos make so much noise and move in a very unstable way the possibility of studying or doing anything productive disappears and therefore that is actually the time which you have all to yourself because thankfully auto walas don’t expect conversation in addition to what one pays them . Autos are great fun in winters. I have had the privilege of taking one more than a few times while Delhi was experiencing a cold wave of temperatures below three degrees. It was in those few times when I realized how people in Siberia must feel.

Looking at the way I’ve written this it won’t be long before they make me the official promoter of autos in Delhi…. Heheheh :P Autos rule!

Random

One day the sun will shine upon us. You and I will stand and bask in its glory and the pain inside us will be transformed by the golden thirst quenching texture of its radiance. Little particles of dust will dance in sheer ecstasy upon being acknowledged by something so beautiful and divine. We will be instilled with strength and force and everything good. It will be like the old times. The spirit will be noble and pure. We will be sure of ourselves and of those around us. We will breathe in the wisdom and the joy of being alive will have no greater meaning than at that one moment when we shall dance with the dust.

Tears

A flood of hot tears is released
and carried with it
a small boat
battered and tossed about
like wet hair being swept back..
Patient carressing of wet tangles
droplets splashing into oblivion.

There will be more boats,
and floods, hotter, maybe
and varying in size boats
will carry
my beloveds away from me.
Retracing of a way back
won't be possible
for the flood will be dry
in just days.

Manasi Chatpalliwar
15/09/2007

I remember failure never used to bother me before. When I was a kid, going to school for me was almost like a ritual. It was something every child my age was doing so since I couldn't sit home and do nothing with my time I had to do it as well. I was never pressurised by my parents to do well. In fact, my parents were the cool kinds who would let me stay home from school whenever I wanted. I was never forced to do my homework and even one day before exams if I was seen playing in our colony park it was never cause for concern. I would return home, have dinner, watch television and then go off to sleep. I was the kind of child that went to school on exam days with the least amount of tension. I had accepted that I was up to no good and no matter how hard I tried I would never get what was being taught to stay in my head.

There was nothing extraordinary about me as a child. There still isn't but I like to think I've improved a little. The best part of this was that my parents were never disappointed in me. They never complained to their friends about how their children didn't study or didn't do their homework etc. They complained about other things; like how I didn't eat enough green vegetables. That used to offend me more than my sad state of affairs in studies which I accepted with no questions.

I am still coming to terms with how there are hardly any similarities between me and that child a decade ago. I never imagined I would grow up to be competitive. I think it was around the time when I was 15 that my grades began to matter to me. It was as if suddenly I had gotten brains and I wanted to prove to people that I could use them. I just didn't want to be average. If there was something that I couldn't do I just couldn't accept it. It never became serious enough for it to be a problem but I have a harder time accepting failure than most people.

Ever since the tenth grade I have been getting good grades. All my friends and teachers always knew I'd end up doing well. Even with history honours. I didn't want it. I still ended up topping first year of college. Somehow my best friend and parents were more elated than I was. There's this nagging fear sometimes. What if all this turns out to be a sheer lucky streak? What will I do when the fact that no hard work is behind those marks becomes apparent?

I just hope that it continues. Studying at the last minute, sometimes just reading through notes in the bus and hoping that that question comes because that's the one that you've atleast read. I don't know how long I can rely on this method. I just seem to be following it subconsciously.

Hmm..its so strange. I think at one point of time I was the stupidest child in my family. I hope the change is a permanent one.

Wishes

I wonder if everyone spends everyday of their life wishing for something. I can't imagine or remember a single day going by without me wishing for something. On my way for college, free time, in class, silent prayers keep working their way around other thoughts. There is one thing I am very consistent in wishing for and the others just seem to come as afterthoughts. Perhaps the superior power im praying to doesn't bother about them because they seem unimportant. But then if I've wished them in the first place they've got to be important isn't it?

I wonder if other people's wishes are influenced by what they see around them as mine so often are. If you really want something can you attract it to yourself simply by intense wishing? I want that to happen sometime. I want to know that something happened because I wished on it with all my might. I wish it would all turn out magnificently.

Past

There are times when you're alone when everything that's been happening washes over you. That's the time when you're so calm and free that you start thinking of a lot of people. Missing them perhaps, or hating them, wondering about them. And that's when you realise that the steps you've taken have brought you along a path where all you can do is this - miss, think and wonder. Even picking up the phone to call is not a feasible option because even if you did finally bring yourself to do it, you know you're at a place where there is nothing left to say. This conclusion then makes you wonder whether you actually want to have something to say. Isn't it a good thing that feelings such as ego and pride have become such a big part of your personality that they're the only things these days helping to keep the loneliness at bay?