Springtime...

Life is all about surprising oneself...and love has so many new definitions. Becoming single at the age of 24 has made me something I wasn't ...I date men, fall in traps knowingly - all the way knowing that it would end in a few months or days. What I'm writing is super controversial, but understand readers.. that it's all out of this sheer warmth a person has who stays away from family and needs to share love. Also, I'm glad I get good people.

Like lately, (I'm rubbing my hands before writing this) I have found this awesome man...a real one true to his roots, who even after being with the love of his life has been infatuated with me. Not that I'm encouraging...It came naturally and we'd be friends forever...but its a bottomless pit for me and I'm gonna fall deep down some day.
Life as a post modernist where each person has his own value system, I have my own set of rules, and the rules are least politically correct! I'll be straight on the face- I believe that if this world is deemed to come to an end tomorrow, we would want to kiss every mortal soul we've loved and longed for!

And so, since the end of my relationship, I live on this ever lasting free stage, its whimsical,interesting, experimental and satisfying. Now if anyone's thought of this life as "casual", i beg to differ...for I hate the word casual, the worst use of it as "casual sex". I would never do it, its demeaning to the soul. Youth is practically seeking emotional acknowledgement through one night stands - men and women in the hospitality industry to be counted amongst the forerunners. I'd be perceived as a traditionalist in such a crowd...a "simple" girl as they say.

To find the man I would want to spend a life with, I might be dancing around, watching movies, dining out, going on drives , coming back to my room with the realization that the right man is just round the corner...but the best part about it is that i never come back with a regret, I love myself for this for I can look into my eyes each day and smile. Now this happens when you're true to your own rules, and my rules are sweepingly changing, yet limiting for my own good. For who loves to justify? not me!


Coming back to my current best buddy for whom this post is dedicated-

It is spring, And the ledger is opened again.
From the abyss where they were frozen,
those days suddenly return, those days
that passed away from your lips, that died
with all our kisses, unaccounted. - Faiz Ahmad Faiz - Translation by Agha Shahid Ali.

Last aficionado

He left me that brown scarf…
Carelessly I had snatched it from him, and made it mine,
His pet seized, not a shred of despair broadcasted – “it just looks so robust on you!,” he said.

The conscious took stage, and the parting approached,
It dawned upon us conversely, that this wasn’t a petite departure…
It was the final, the cult, a perpetual goodbye.

“And so, who was to guard the scarf?,” I asked.
He hesitated, hushed me to take advantage over it.
I wavered, for it smelled of him – the risk of its emotional bondage I had predicted.
But there was no flipside,
and just like that, he withdrew to where I would never call him my own…
Now, the scarf lies in my wardrobe…brown with greys and shades of white,
Persistently uttering in hushed undertones – “I want to retreat to the same neck, that of my precious beholder, for I find no warmth here…”

Detached

It’s weird what distance does to the warmest of souls. Me for instance… my father complains that I have become detached from home. “How else are u supposed to bear with long distances?” - I ask him. And I hate to admit it, but my town doesn’t give me many opportunities. But its haunting me nowadays – that while I’m busy living my youth, my parents are getting older. In the last 6 years, I’ve witnessed my mother’s eyesight going weaker, she developed sacrolitis tuberculosis, cannot walk for more than 500 metres… my dad developing back ache (he is one tough man…he looks bad when weak)…

And now its time for my brother to move on too… He has his own interests, aspirations…would move on to a big city. It’s a known secret amongst family and friends that my parents don’t exactly love each other. I haven’t seen them kissing (I wish I had), never saw their doors latched, never saw them hugging, they never wanted privacy, they never talked, never travelled alone, never saw into each others eyes, never held hands, never walked together, never wanted to see the same television channel, never shared any interests… now that’s where my worries begin. They simply can’t be with each other alone! Old age would surely force them to live through it all collectively, but… I know how agitated they would feel in the absence of a third party (always acting as an anaesthesia). I remember hearing them fight and putting on my headphones to stop the noise, I remember my brother do the same when he grew up. I so didn’t want bhai to go through all of this hoping against hope that they would fall in love as time passes by…but they never did.

I feel like an advocate between them, but for whom do I advocate…and nobody dares to be the judge! How do I solve all this? Is it even my business? Yes it is – no its not …huh…

And that is why I need to study, really study–make it my second nature to know literature to the core. That is the only way to become a superb lecturer some day. Nonetheless, I don’t want to leave my passion for journalism. The profession freaks out old folks…but mannn those fashionistas, those fake smiles, those hidden intentions, rushed interviews, colleague tittle-tattle, girlfriend scandals, perks, drives, champagne, celebrities – I loved it till I lived it! And I want to live it again…I hope they let me.

Assimilating my life and my family life is a charge I need to embark on charily.
Things won’t be straight ever but I need to clear the stairway to move out and take in some air…

What's wrong in here?

I bared my vulnerability and idiocy again. I don’t care if I sound like a sadist twice in a row and I really don’t care about the imperfectness of my language tonight. I mean, this is unfair. Every time I unbolt myself to swing to a different tune, the tune stops playing altogether. I’m not creating suspense here, obviously I’m heart broken! Men are escapists, aren’t they? Or are stupid flings just supposed to work this way? Or am I an idiot who thinks too much? Gosh, I have no idea. I just know that I felt that terrible pain and soreness in my heart today and I hated the feeling, I love to sleep and it ruins my sleep. I despise the fact that I literally feel rejected sometimes. What’s wrong with me? I’m not good enough or what!

Anyways so, I’ve been exercising like crazy since the last 10 days and am quite conscious about my wellbeing. However, people just want to pounce on you and tell you that you look imperfect. In this sense, some of my friends like Vandana, Esha, Ankita, Vijay, Kamal, My mom, Ishan baby and ofcource Sumit makes me feel fine. I don’t feel irregular with such people. Sumit loves me so much in that sense. I mean he’s not strict on me, yet resolute to help me when I want it. He finds me beautiful, the way I am and doesn’t fret staying for a lifetime with me. It’s so comforting to know that there is at least someone who’s fine with what I have and what I don’t possess. However, my relationship did not survive because of me and my practicalities of mind. I think I would soon skip those blockages in my head and be happy.

Nevertheless, I wish I could be perceived non-judgmentally to people I want to. I wish I could blind them off my imperfections, which don’t even pose a threat to my unconditional attachment towards them… I wish it was a success story this time. But then, men are escapists, aren’t they? Or maybe I anticipate for the wrong blokes…

Break of the Heart...ahem

I have been terribly heart broken since quite some weeks now. It feels like a bruise which needs to be tended to partly every day, each hour. Every time the thought of him throwing me away like that comes, I shrink in disgust for myself. One realisation which has dawned over me after this incident is that a person can still recuperate from a bad relationship or a friendship, but a smashed self respect is not easy to deal with. When such a think happens, one needs to be still, talk to oneself and act as a self calmer. I am telling myself that I’m not this person, that other’s have had worse experiences and that I will emerge as a more self respecting, worthy woman.

Also, the term ‘ending on a good note’ is not a myth. Its just that many people are not able to achieve it because of situational half heartedness or simple hard heatedness. I don’t want to grow cold as I grow older. The process of self evaluation only concludes towards a more evolved person. And that is exactly one needs to do… the warmth should increase, not decrease with bad occurrences.

And so, I pray from all my heart that he, who left me stranded, should not be meted out with the same behaviour from elsewhere as that would make him hate life further. I want this man to be content, happy and loved. He should be nourished the way I would have nourished him, he should receive as many forehead kisses I dreamt to give him and should be stopped from wavering, the way I would have stopped him…

In the meanwhile, I am taking care…..

http://www.cultureunplugged.com/documentary/watch-online/filmedia/play/492/Girl-Star-Ruby-the-Beautician/Tnc9PStP

Interesting story!

THE UNFORGETTABLE SUNDAY

Last Sunday, earth to me felt like mercury. While I was perspiring like a pig, I and my friend had enough reasons to curse our lives as ‘mere students’. After haggling with several auto wallahs at Connaught place, we finally got a good bargain for our destination-South Extension.

My friend, Hrishant, is an ambitious boy with social and humanist philosophy towards work. “I have a dream to start a school in Shimla”, he said with a twinkle in his eye. Almost immediately I spurted out a query, “Why don’t you put up a school in some rural area where the underprivileged don’t have access to education, have no transport facilities to reach the town?” Without delay, he answered back, “My school’s name would be ‘SOKA’ which means ‘value creation’ in Japanese. I truly believe in the power of creating value out of education. Starting a school at ‘such places’ is next to impossible. Where would I get the capital from? How can I expect to provide a decent education when the source of income is nil! I can imagine my school having numerous societies such as the cultural society, the music society and so on……” The auto wallah was waiting for the traffic signal to go green and the heavy black smoke coming out of the DTC bus standing next to us had left me in no mood to communicate further.

Just then, a girl of age nine to ten came to sell packets of fancy pencils to us. It was such an ironical situation that both of us just could not face the little girl. The child almost fell on Hrishant’s feet and begged for the can of coke in his hand. He gave the can to her and looked the other way. For a while, I forgot the honking of the horns and the detestable smoke. All I could hear was the ringing bell of a school, children shouting and rejoicing and the voice of the street girl begging at the same time. Both voices colliding in my mind, instantly brought me back to the extreme reality. I don’t even remember the girl’s face because I just could not keep my eyes off the pencils in her hand. Pencils, which are tools of learning for a child, had instead become her source of income! We were both ashamed of the situation and the future headmaster had nothing more to say……..