You and I, as one

Let us walk together, you and I,
on the winter evenings, under the serene sky.
As the hues, orange and purple,
and the sun, feisty red on the colored canvas,
welcome the company of two,
Let us walk, hand in hand,
steps intone, breath as one.

Let us walk, you and I,
On the shores of sand,
with the waves playing hide and seek,
seagulls dancing on the waves,
distant cheers and hoots, a mere whisper,
as we are lost in the world of our dreams,
You and I, as one.

Let us walk, you and I,
together, under the moon,
the caress of breeze, a touch too light,
as the desires ignite a fire,
and passions run deep,
as we embrace each other,
You and I, as one.

Let us whisper, you and I,
the promises of love and,
the whimpers of pleasure,
the words of ideas,
and the dreams of future,
as we hold each other,
You and I, as one.

Queen of my heart

Standing there, in the middle of the room, surrounded by her photos, each picture a memory so powerful, that she had to force herself to look at another one, she looked positively stunned and overwhelmed. She stood there, in the middle of the room, trying to take a breath. As she labored through the breaths, she sat on the floor, her ears reverberating with chaotic words that shouted from all different directions. When she could not hold it in, she got up and ran out, not knowing where, just knowing she had to run out. She collapsed in the back yard, the cool breeze from the nearby fountain refreshing her sweaty face. She sat there, for a long time.

“Can you feel my love?”, a voice startled her from behind. The husky voice, with an authoritative timber in the tone had her heart stopping for a second and then, pounding a mile a minute. “Does it consume you?”, the same voice taunted, with an amused tone. “You cannot escape my love, stop running from me. I will find you, even on the other side.” The promise loud and clear. She got up and ran, the laughter from behind, reaching her ears. “You cannot run, not from me”, it echoed.

She ran for a long time, through the murky routes and the barren farms, practically to the next town before she paused to take a breath. She heard a car behind. She turned, her heart thumping in a suspended cardio work out. HE stepped out of the car with a smirk on his face, as a vision to behold. The power exuberating from him was an enigma to her.
“Told you, you cannot run from me. If I were you, I would get in the car and skip all the unnecessary drama”, he said. Why could she not run from him? How could he find her? She thought she would give another try, to run and not look back and this time to not come on the streets, where his car could follow.
“Don’t”, he commanded, reading the thought in her eyes. She could not move, his command a hypnotic bind on her heart and mind. She fought  to gain control on herself, cursing for turning back and looking at him. He lifted his hands, opening them, inviting her in. His eyes burning with the intensity of a hunter catching the prey.
“Come”, he commanded, an order she could not ignore. Her knees buckled beneath her. She struggled to stand and hold her fort.
“Come”, he ordered this time, his voice a lightning bolt, striking her mercilessly.
“Why is the command so powerful”, she thought. “His love is the power that held her to his heart. His love is the connection that bound them together. His love, wrapped around her, bounding her here, pulling her towards him. She could not escape his love, the overwhelming charisma of his unrelenting demand of her is something she could not run from”, she thought.

She walked towards him, succumbed to his hold on her. She collapsed in his arms, while he pulled her close to his heart and closed her eyes, as she felt the haven she had been running from. This feels right, yet it feels wrong, she thought. She cannot be his alone. She needs to be her own person. She needs to find her own place. She cannot just be his, the very thought is revolting, yet she cannot live without him. How confusing? Why can’t she find her peace by herself? She breathed in his scent, the arrogance in him reaching her veins, the confidence in his love rupturing her system, caressing it in a sensual haze, tormenting her to unbearable fantasies. “You belong to me. This is your place”, he said, hugging her tightly. “You can be anyone in the world, anywhere in the world. But, this is where you belong, to me, in my arms, the queen of my heart, the ruler of my universe. You cannot step down from that throne and leave me alone. I won’t let you do that”, his words an uncompromising promise. “I love you”, he said.

For now, she thought, I will live in his haven, as she hugged him back.

English Vinglish

Sridevi, remember her? With her squeaky voice, she charmed into the hearts of a few die hard movie fans, with her coffee brown eyes, she tormented them into sleepless nights, with her giggle, she warmed the hearts of a few, and with her beauty, she mesmerized a few, causing a lazy halo that cast a virtual curtain of beauty to see life. Yes, that lady, Sridevi, portrayed on the screen, a character that is so common that it relates to almost every woman in a relationship in one phase or the other, of her life. And mine was no exception.

I have not been much of a fan of her, not in her prime and not now, but I have watched her movies and enjoyed the vision of her with my favorite heroes. This movie, did not have the star cast that once would have accompanied her. She is the protagonist of the movie, giving a compelling performance to an appealing script and touching my heart. She plays the role of Shashi, a homemaker, who also sells sweets for occasions.

The simple saree clad bahu has a typical family – in-law, husband, two adorable kids – son and a daughter. She is the object of her husband’s critics at her challenged English, who does not understand her passions and who does not respect her enough to support her through the day-to-day nuances. Her daughter is embarrassed about introducing her to her school friends and teachers because of her lack of English. Her son, however, is an adorable darling, who loves her for being her. Shashi’s sister invites her family to New York for her daughter’s wedding. In the due course of the drama, it is decided that Shashi travels alone and her family will arrive later.

Her initial solo exploration of New York gives a rude awakening, when she could not get herself a cup of coffee. When she tries to talk to her family to get some solace, she is painfully cut off from discussing her issues. She silently vows to learn conversational English and enrolls herself in an English class that promises to teach English in four weeks. She soon becomes a promising student, driven by her necessity to earn the respect that she rightfully deserves from her family.

When her family unites with her in New York, earlier than expected as a surprise, it dampens her pursuit of completing the course. Her niece, Radha, who knows about these classes assists her in her quest to learn English by allowing her to listen to the lectures on the phone. And finally, to add more drama, the course final, that certifies her being eligible to talk in English is on the day of the wedding. She will have to communicate in English for five minutes to pass the test. Since she cannot make it to the course final, her niece invites her professor and fellow students to attend the wedding. And she asks her to toast the bride and the groom. At this point, Shashi’s husband stops her from talking, apologizing that her English is not so good! She takes that as a further challenge to speak up and gives a decent toast to the bride and groom about living together and her two cents on how to surpass the differences that would crop up. Her spirited toast is applauded by the guests and her professor gives her the course-pass certificate and her husband and daughter are shamed at their insensitivity, rendering a happy ending all over!

Sometimes, we are insensitive in our relationships. Be it because we are protective of what is ours or because we do not understand what is important to the other person in the relation. We are blinded by our set of thoughts that the glaringly obvious passion of the person is a blind spot that we rarely check. As we each drive forward in our lives, failing to check the blind spots causes the accidents that are sometimes fatal. And every accident leaves a scar, emotional or physical, major or minor. Being aware of the blind spots and checking them to ensure a smooth drive is very important and this film highlights that.

I liked it.

Imagination

Imagination is such a powerful thing. It fulfills abstractions. It shapes the soft mellows of memory into a distinct canvas, vibrant and lively. It transforms a monotonous day into a splendid one. It takes the insipid journey through days and makes it an adventure to thrive for. And sometimes, it hides in a shell, refuses to come out and bars itself in a cast iron cage, locking from the inside and sits in a dark corner, not talking, not seeing, not thinking, not whispering its musings. It does it like a pesky little kid who is used to getting his way. When the needed attention is lost, it pouts and throws tantrums. Sometimes, those tantrums are heard and sometimes, they are cast aside.

Today, I seem to feel a little void inside me that is frustrating. I have these splendid dreams to shoot across the sky and shine like a star and somewhere along the way, the morbid sequential life took its toll on me. I try to look back on the days to find a semblance of imagination that took me wild by its wind and pushed me to the unchartered waters. I find none. Is it time to change something in life, to feel that inspiration to cut across the tide and stand on the board, surfing the high tide?

Far across from the land, in the distant sea, is a beacon of light, standing against the rough waters, shining proud and tall, giving a ray of hope. Once in a while, survivors embrace that beacon, when the waters threaten to swirl beneath. There, in the far skies, is a ray of light. Its cast like a blessing, embracing the earth below, pushing it into a spotlight. The survivors look through the glass window, staring at the spotlight, braving the turmoil beneath, in the hope of reaching the land, some day, one day. All is not lost, while hope stares back at you. Just like the survivors, I stare at the distant sky, hoping that one day, I will shine like a star, while, today, I brave my fumbles. I imagine fumbling through the journey, but still reaching the destination, smiling at my triumph. But today, I just sit on a rock under the scorching sun, catching my breath and soaking up the sun. The heat is unforgiving, but, I need it.

Glass Orb

 

I see my world as a small glass orb. It is filled with a world that I created, as I like it to be. My world. Every day, I walk out of my house, across the secluded path to the end of the road and step into the concrete island of offices. I work in one of those thousand office floors in that concrete island. When I walk out of the office again, I walk back the secluded path, leaving behind the concrete mass of buildings, into the quiet solitary of my house. The walk a soothing balm to the frenzy of the day. The large front lawn a solace and weekend comfort, in the deserted realm of existence. The sky above is perfect blue, not a single cloud. It turns into a myriad brilliant colors as the sun descends and the night sky, ah, the beauty of it! It is this magnificent magenta color, not black, not purple, but that beautiful shade of magenta. The stars in the night sky are a vision. They glitter like, well, stars, perfect shape and enigmatic sparkles. They sometimes comedown and touch me, while I am asleep. They linger around, lurking in the corner of the room, dancing through the ceiling and finally, in a brilliant dash of playfulness touch me and kiss me. As I open my eyes, they run away, higher and higher, teasing me and daring me to follow and touch, just like my dreams. While awake, they seem elusive and while asleep, they torture me.

I chase, one day, the star that pulled me out of my bed. I chased until I tumbled and cried in agony. The star came and touched me again and pulled me up and just when I tried to hold its hand, it ran away, laughing. I chased and fumbled and continued to chase. My feet tired, my lungs out of breath, my eyes wild with anxiety, I walk down onto the concrete island, hopeless in appearance. I watch a few people on the corner of the street, drinking cigarettes in the middle of the night, frowning at my appearance. Yes, I know that I do not belong to this world, but there it is, the star that shook me and teased me to follow. I run again, in the desperate attempt to get hold of it. I ignore the stares and snarky comments, I ignore the pounding fear in my heart at the sound of the steps behind me, I run and run, at the distancing star. I realize that I am on the other side of the island, the paths more narrow and houses much smaller. I look around, to see where the star hid. I cannot find it and I am stuck on the other side of my glass orb, looking like a distressed damsel. I hear the voices of TV drifting through the middle of the night, I hear the cries of a baby, I hear the midnight traffic buzz and then I see the dark stench corners of the rotten paths. This is a side I never knew existed. It’s my world, it should be beautiful, inside out. Why is the stench so overpowering. Oh, that is right, the stench of disappointment. Where is the darn star, I will wring its neck, if that is the last thing I do tonight, I vow. I hear a lyrical laughter from the corner of the street and I run towards it. This is it, I am close, I am this close to touching it.

“Aaah”, I writhe in pain as my hands burn when I touch the star. My entire body is on fire. I feel the wither in my life, as I continue to hold it, despite its fight. The indignant star is firing on all out mode and I am livid at its audacity, that it teases me in the middle of the night and dares me to catch it and now, it has the gall to cause me this pain! I still hold on to it, hoping that it will relax and then I notice that it is choking on its breath. Oh no, I relax my grip on it, my face contorted with pain. I see it breathing and glaring at me.

“Let go”, it says. “No”, I say.
“I am not your dream. Let go”, it says.
I completely relax my hand, shocked. “But, you are my dream”, I say, bewildered.
“Yes, I was. I don’t want to be anymore. Let go!”, it says.
“I already let you go!”, I scream and I look down. The star is stuck to my hands. Its burning me. It is slowly incinerating my hands and the slow roast is purgatory. I look at them aghast! Why, why did I chase the dream? Was I not better off in my own little world? But then, my conscience asked,” is this not your world too? You can snap out of it. You can let go of it. It’s in your mind. Let your heart go! Give control to your mind. It’s the one that created this world for you. Let go, let go, you little fool, before you burn.”

I could not fathom the ire in its voice nor could I let the star go. I stood there, staring it down, stuck with the enormity of the pain and while the little star, in its agony at my touch is repelling its wily vomit all over me, I stare at it. The beautiful, sensual, teasing star that it was, now the fiery glowing amber livid in its senses, made me reach somewhere deep within me. I hear the voices around, of the people seeing this wonder, their shouts dismal, their dismay ridiculous. Who are they, my conscience snarled. I look at the onlookers, my face contorted in agony, as I realized in shock, the familiar faces. Few marred with concern, few already on their way and few simply amused at my sight.

“Enough of chastisement? Let go, you idiot. I am not standing here to be mocked at. Let go, before you die”, my conscience was screaming.
“How to let go? It’s my dream. This is what I wanted. This is what I chased. This is what I stumbled all over the place for. This is what I walked onto the other side of the world for. I can’t let go”, I wailed. I held on, enduring the pain as it intensified. I looked at the star, twisted in agony, unable to withstand my touch. I realized with shock, I am the one causing this pain. I am the one holding it. I am the one choking it. I am the one causing it to burn like the lava.

“Why could it not jump and go its way? It did run away from me, after it touched me. The bloody thing teased me and now it wants to hold on?”, I thought.
“You blithering fool, I held you, I let you go. Now, you held me. You let me go! This instant”, it shouted, in all its pompousness.
 “Don’t you want to stay with me?”, I ask, my voice ringing with sadness.
“No”, it said. The blunt answer was all it took to let it go.
It jumped and my body, that burned with the touch of the dream felts it’s after burn. Not as fierce, but certainly as painful. The star went its way, rubbing its neck, its legs wary of the path and its light simmered down. It stumbled in its path and fell down, groaning. I rush to it and kneel down.
“Don’t touch me”, it whimpered. Its light toned down and it starts to fade, in front of me. Oh, such a beautiful star. I cannot just watch it. I touch it again, and the fire is back, the pain, the light.
“Oh, for the love of all that is holy, let go! Don’t you realize, you are the lifeline. You let go of the dream and it dies. You hold it, you die. Don’t you have any self-preservation?”, my conscience screamed.
“I cannot let it die!”, I scream back. “Well, you just have to. Do it”, it says. Torn between agony and suffering, I let it go. This time, the star did not even limp or whisper. The light just went out! Its dead. The beautiful star is dead.

I sit there, dejected with the star at my feet. I look up, my conscience heavy and as the realization hit, my eyes filled with tears. The glass orb looks different. Its broken! My orb is broken! The freaking star exploded my orb and shattered it. Stupid, stupid star! I scream.

New York 2012

I wanted to see New York for a long time. So long a time, that it became an all consuming fever. And finally, I did see it. In all its glory and pompousness, the glitz and the glam, the dirt and the shabbiness, it is, as a place with history should be, with a mix of old and new.

When I looked down on the city that called me through my dreams, I was overwhelmed with an emotion that was numbing. This is reality, the expanse of the sky scrapers, the intermittent blue patches of rivers was the aerial view. For a few seconds, all I could do was to look at that expanse and let my heart fill up with a desire so strong that it overruled all the passion I ever felt for anything in life. While the captain announced that we were approaching the runway, I assure you, my heart was beating a mile a minute with the anticipation of a dream come true.

I like skyscrapers. I like cube structures. For me, more than the curves and the ridges, the sharp straight lines of definiteness meant elegance beyond beauty. I am sure that there are other places in the world, that have these amazing structures, but, my introduction to these breath taking buildings was through New York and I have held this dream so near to my heart, that the fulfillment of it, left me tired with the emotional waves running high and low. I did not want to leave that place. I wanted to be lost in the sea of vastness, be a nobody in the land that is filled with proud Newyorkers, cut throat businesses, the lavish markets, the scrumptious delicacies, the inexpensive food stalls, the expensive designers and amidst all this, a heritage that walked along with me on the streets of New York city.

My favorite part of New York is the Rockefeller center and the Times Square. I absolutely loved those places. For a person who is an introvert, who does not enjoy crowd or loud music or incessant traffic, the Rockefeller and Times Square would perhaps be like personal hell. But, I loved them, and it came as a surprise to me too. I realized that the humdrum of the crowd was a soothing balm amidst the chaos of emotions in me. I realized I loved being a loner in that vast expanse of population and still be a part of the crowd that ran from one end to another. I loved being anonymous and still enjoyed the theoretical concept of the group. Times Square on a Saturday evening was a treat to sore eyes, buzzing with people and activity and shoppers from various corners of USA.

The Rockefeller was a treat to my heart that began a slow hum that did not stop until I boarded my return flight. It called to me. I sat on the sixth avenue, watching the people taking snaps, relaxing their legs after a day of tiring walk, the occasional NYPD and the famous yellow taxi cabs. I saw myself being there, visualized myself walking to the office, with Starbucks in one hand, laptop on the shoulder, checking phone, striding forward with the confidence that I belonged in that place, for once not feeling out of place in my own skin, into the giant buildings and up the elevator to the 100th floor of an office and feel like I own the place. I could live there. I could see myself wanting to go to work, to take the long lethargic strolls in the evening before I return to my cardboard box. I could see myself renting a condo or a loft or even a penthouse (shhh… I can dream). I could see myself sitting on a window sill, with a coffee cup, lost in the expanse of the city lights in the late evening. I could almost feel the yearning in me, to make it real. But then, the reality of the flight departure time closing in, sunk in and I walked hurriedly back to the hotel, bidding farewell to the dream and the city. This is a forbidden dream, my heart screamed. Yet, perhaps because it is forbidden, that I yearn to see it become a reality that much more. I do not know. For now, in the aftermath of New York trip, sitting in a forest of trees, passing the lazy and quiet evenings watching a sitcom and staring the expanse of greenery, almost cursing the inactivity of the place, I think back to New York with warmth in my heart.

The statue of liberty was disappointing. For one, it was really small. For other, it was cloudy and I could not take snaps of the skyline I so wanted! I tried a few, but I let myself forget about the snaps and watched the view unfold in front of me and held on to it. This is it, the revelation. This is what it feels like, when every nerve in the body is focused on screaming with joy, while the heart and mind quiet them. I tell you, it was extremely tiring. My legs were killing me, after the long walks, but, the insides were killing me more. This trip made me realize that I need SLR, or at least a wide angle digicam. My good old digicam is seriously outdated! I promised myself that I would go back and watch an opera and sit near the fountain of Rockefeller an entire day. I intend on keeping that promise. I also intend on buying myself a good camera before I go there again!


It’s not all buzz in New York. There are shades of New York that can be disturbing. The consuming stink of the subways, the masses of people on the trains and pathways, the overpowering smell of food, coal, perfume, old age, cynicism, restlessness, cigars, booze – all part of a day-to-day life in a subway can be scary. But it goes to show that beneath the glam and the glitz, beneath all the show biz, New York is just like any other place. The proud natives almost compete with Bengalis for the amount of passion they have for the place. And they are not easy to live it. Forever being an outsider alien in a land of reasoned natives is a difficult life. When I was speaking about my trip to New York, the first question asked of me was, “Were the New Yorkers rude?”. I honestly do not know. I have not met many natives. And with few sentences exchanged with the hoteliers, who are bound to be courteous, I cannot say much. But anyone with self-worth in that place will always be proud of that place. Sometimes pride can be considered rude. I might be blindsided with my admiration, but the city did bounce back from its low and still continued to hold the charm and buzz it is known for.


The three day trip was fantastic and though I saw the most sought out tourist destinations of New York - the cathedral, the Grand central, the Brooklyn Bridge, the Newyork city museum, Central Park..., the day-to-day humdrum is what I liked.  As the ending approached, it was depressing to the extent where I walked alongside my friend in silence, absorbed in my own swarm of thoughts. When I was asked, what did New York mean to me, now that I was here, I was stuck for words, just like I am stuck for words when I have to speak of Rahul Dravid and his farewell to International cricket. I mumbled out saying I love being a nobody, being swallowed into the mass of concrete and people, she teased saying, “People who want to run and hide feel that!”. Perhaps. But then, being nobody meant liberation. That was what I was feeling, the exaltation of being free.  While the familiar shackles are back, each step in New York City, was like my own personal sanctuary that marked a renaissance that I will forever hold dear.

Thanks to Arch, who made this trip possible and enjoyable. I owe you :).

Love Ache

Here is the thing. I am obsessed. With what? Perhaps I have to call it ‘love-ache’. There should be such a term, obviously and there should be a branch in the Medical Sciences to educate about this. There should be students queuing up to take this course. There should be hospitals that sponsor research aid for developing medications based on the stages of this love-ache. Yup, there are stages.
Stage 1 : When an eye meets eye and there is this tingle in the belly.
Stage 2: When the hand meets hand and the slow burn begins in the places until then unknown to human anatomy.
Stage 3: When all seems great and the world looks pretty. Dude, you are on the verge of a precipice so steep, you have no idea IF you will ever land on your bum. Seriously! And for the record, the only way you will land is on your bum and that would be so hard that your breath shall take a short hiatus and you will be left choking and there is nothing you can do to stop it.
Stage 4: When tears start and questions form and the lousy feeling of the difference between night and day is not obvious(duh!), it has turned terminal. Nothing can save you, but yourself. That is when you are hanging onto the precipice peak. Be careful to take any help you get and feel grateful that someone is willing to lend you a hand and pull you up!
Stage 5: When nothing comes to mind and everything seems perfect, but there is no spark for life, dude, you are a goner.
Stage 6: Embracing the afterlife.
Stage 3.5: In between Stage 3 and Stage 4, there is an intermittent stage 3.5 or the love-coma. The love-coma is a dream like state where you are sedated with the happy dreams of prosperity, happiness, promises of more to come in future and essentially one step away from the dreaded after-life. There should be a genetic study done to check if it is possible that the offspring could develop this bug. Since it is not dependent on age, the vaccines should be given as soon and as often as possible to ensure that the probability of love-ache is minimal. Remember, there are no guarantees in science.

There should also be software companies lining to tie-up with universities to do a research and study the genetic engineering behind this ache and produce a software that can assist the doctor and the patient alike to understand the progress. There can be several intermittent stages, ofcourse, that are not always possible for humans to understand or fathom. Every out of bound scenario should have a special case. Care should be taken to understand the symptoms correctly.
- Is the person smiling unnecessarily?
- Is the person laughing intermittently, when no joke is cracked?
- Is the person gazing at the sky with a lost expression mixed with self-satisfaction?
- How many times does the person check his/her mobile?
- Does he/she have a smile when they check the mobile?
- Are you repeating yourself a thousand times before the person responds to you?
- Is the person crying for no apparent reason?
- Is the person locking himself/herself in a room?
- Does the person refuse to be part of the normal world, for the normal world does not exist for him?
- Does the person have a self-branded philosophy that makes little sense? (Yup, it is self-written)
- Is the person reaching out in every conversation?

Ofcourse, this is a developing branch and the list can go on after a thorough research and analysis. The analysts should study the market to understand the boundaries, symptoms and formulate the requirements correctly. And then, an engineer will develop a tool and incorporate it with “scalability” to answer any unforeseen requirements. That tool shall generate a report for the consultant lovelogist (yeah yeah, should find a better name) to form a diagnosis. Also a series of psychometric tests should be conducted to check how the person’s mind is responding to this love-ache and the results should be analyzed by an “expert” consultant, if there is one available, to give a prognosis. Finally, a medication should be suggested for a short term.

Advertisers should start making marketing campaigns about how the love-ache could be cured and what advanced techniques are offered by their treatment facilities over their competitors, misleading the average common-man into believing that this love-ache can be cured at any stage. There should be pharmaceutical companies that promise instant relief for this love ache with their advanced medical formulae. There should be milk powders designed for all alike that will enhance the resistance power of the human biological system to this love ache. Ofcourse, they shall be available in all flavors to appeal to all public.

Oh, like all medical discoveries and advancements, there shall be traumatic consequences of this work-in-progress. The media going frenzy, creating panic in people about the new “ache”, providing all the information required to corrupt the sanctity of a person’s mind. Then there is this online media, the twitterverse going crazy about this new ache, giving information on different places in the world, where the bug is developed and advanced, retweeting statistics about the number of terminal cases of loveache and how different organizations are volunteering their free service to help treat this love ache. How medications from all parts of world find a way into these people’s lives, thanks to the generous contribution of the celebrities and their followers. And facebook has a discussion page dedicated to fight and argue over various medications prescribed. And Google along with a link to the wiki on loveache, offers sponsored results, which laboriously offer mindboggling deals on the cheaper alternatives, only, they don’t work. There would be miraculous stories about how self-belief, determination and yoga has successfully helped a person overcome this ache and survive through the most trying of times. There would be autobiographies by the survivors and movies directed in their names. There would then come a celebrity jumping up and down the Oprah show that he/she has survived the danger and all is well in the world again.

And then, there would be fanatical movements that protest these drugs, saying they are destroying what little of good is left in the world and that if God wanted them to suffer, they had to endure that suffering and go in peace. There would be modern torture in the less civilized nations, applied to people who try to get a cure and there would be oppressed nations that say, men can take the cure and women cannot. There would be women rights association that shall fight to spread awareness of this brutality and the saga goes on.

All the while, people will fall in love, try to take a pill, forget the ache and move on, only to fall into the same pit again. And more stringent medicines will evolve and there would be opposing forces to balance out this evolvement and the saga goes on. SIGH!!!

Hmm… have I lost my mind? Or is it really possible? Any comments?

Barfi

A breath of fresh air over the contemporary, stereotypical melodramas of Bollywood. I don’t like watching a movie for two and half hours, but this movie, with its silent tale and enthralling performances allowed me to sit and be lost in the 1970 setting of Darjeeling and Bengal. The second half of the movie was a bit of a drag, but I am not complaining. The songs were beautiful and Ranbir Kapoor as deaf-mute, with his Charlie Chaplin antics played the role with grace and brilliant passion and Priyanka Chopra as an autistic girl gave a laudable performance. Ileana as the Bengali bahu gave a good performance, but she took my breath away with her simplicity in the saree clad attires. For me, the fulfillment of the love between the unlikely prospects in the film, left me with a warm, fuzzy feeling. But above all, Barfi stole my heart.

Love does not always come in convenient packages, but, to what extent does one want to go, to enjoy and cherish that love? The little things are what makes the relations endearing. The day-to-day nuances and the silly laughs make the hearts warmer. The mundane chores sure impose a lot, particularly in Indian living, where guys are typically born with silver spoon (;)), but, when the guy and girl cherish each other, even that mundane chore becomes a warm memory. As we move through life, the carefree child vanishes from the face of earth. The unbridled laughter that rings so pure in the heart of a child becomes a ritualistic nuance of a grown adult. But this movie, made me see that, despite everything else that goes on, the childish laughter is essential to hold the happiness together. How often do we take time to put that smile on the ones we love? It’s a rhetorical question!

Smile is the only curve that sets a lot of things straight. It is not always easy to smile, but one can surely make an attempt to do it! Barfi made me smile and I thank Anurag Basu for that. We require more films that have a better base than the senseless formula romance. Watch it, if you have not watched it already and let it fill you with the joy of living.

US Open 2012 - Murray vs Djokovic

Djokovic fought bravely. But Murray created history. They rallied like their life depended on it and played such phenomenal tennis that it took my breath away. As records broke tonight, here in NYC, I watched and rooted for Novak Djokovic. Murray stole the crown, but Djokovic still has my heart. Was that a display of tennis? The stroke play by both the players was awesome and the rallies just blew me away. The clock kept ticking, my patience was waning, yet these guys stood there, in the middle of the court and displayed some gritty combats in the middle, challenging and pushing each other to the hilt. Just when it became one-sided, the other pushed and pushed to create an opening and pounced on the slightest chance. Its so heartening to see such quality of sport, where none would give an inch. That is why I love watching sports.

In its chaos, there is discipline that is unnerving. In its victory is a journey that is fascinating. In its heart, one can become a bard of fierce and inspiring tales, that which unite people. The sportsmen are the stalwarts, fighting for the passion they hold within, while the spectators are drawn into that pool of passion. They feel the raw energy of their heroes running through their veins, each heave and breath, a collective effort and the sigh, an exhaust of desperation. While the players battle out their own demons, the spectators watch the triumphs and defeats with as much an emotion as their sporting heroes. The victories their own and defeats their own. Such was the game today, that watching it made me realize the struggle one goes through to reach that little victory, that little inch of clarity and that little inch of peace.

Murray, at last gave Britain a grand slam champion after a few decades. Djokovic lost his battle with his inner self and played some frustrating shots and made his match all the more difficult than it needed to be. Yet, when they were playing their ground strokes, it was easy to forget who I was rooting for. Murray served with inhuman speed and in the last set, he made short work of Djokovic's strain. He persevered till the end and battled for creating history and created it in style. Take a bow Andy Murray!!

As light and dark

Pitch black! Black and black!
There is that glitter, shining and beckoning.
I walk towards it, closing one step in one eon,
Or so it seemed.
I see the flicker and then pop! Dark!
Silence reverberates and darkness seizes me.
I stop and thrash my hands around.
Pitch black!

And slowly, there is the slight flicker.
I set off again, into the pale white yonder.
Slippery soil, this, that which chaffed my feet,
Treading on the pebbles, hurting my feet,
I see the changing shades, the white, the grey,
And the bright yellow sparkle.

I close my eyes and see its shadow.
Walking in the shadows, I close in,
Through the trenches and stenches,
To which that called upon its shine.

I reach it and peer at it closer,
Alas, it’s just a window into the world!
I turn and look back,
the alluring dark stares back.
Hypnotizing and sensual, lustful and charming, it beckons me.
I take a step towards it.
The chilling cold stops me in my track.
I halt and look back,
The sparkling yellow pulls me, warm and welcoming,
I take a step back, into the warmth,
I continue staring into the dark.

The numb finality of the dark beckons,
The burning intensity of the light pulls,
Push and pull of a high tide and a wave,
Alas, I am in the light and I am in the dark.

My dance in the light and shadow, through every day!
My waltz as light and dark.

My premises, my world

Disclaimer: The below thoughts are not intended for any one in particular. The thoughts are what I feel one should uphold. While I am no expert in life, I do form opinions. So the below thoughts are MY opinions on what should be. They are not a biblical research, but a life study of little exposure I have through life.

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I have been thinking, which everyone who read this blog would know, is a very dangerous thing. I was thinking: what would I say, if I have to form a premise for relation, we call love. Everyday, I see friends, family, strangers, all of them wrapped in love and some of them, struggle through it and some of them, just let that be. Below are what I think, I would ask myself, in a relation. I feel it is a continual process and is not done in a day or two or a year. Every day or every few days, one will have to ask themselves these questions, to know and understand what needs to be done. Like all choices, nothing ever is a walk in the park!

My first premise for love - being happy. Does it make you happy? The again, when you are getting to know a stranger, every little revelation is a bliss in the monotonous life. It is like a little drop of personal heaven, because the person let you in, to be a part of little nuances that shaped him or her. Do you make your lover happy? It is important to read beneath the words that are said. Because, most of the time, we say white lies. But the body language betrays those white lies. So, do you understand what is spoken beneath those words. Do you honestly make the person happy? Beneath all the flowery words and chocolaty hearts, is there a genuine warmth in the smiles you get? Does your heart flutter when you see the smile? Is the happiness mutual? Does it spread?

My second premise - friends. Are you both friends? Can you discuss anything under the sun without a thought about your lover's reaction?  Can you share your most embarrassing secret and KNOW that you won't be judged? Can you trust your lover to know when you need silence and when you need babble? Can you share your happiness, knowing that it will be doubled because you shared? Or does it leave you unfulfilled and wanting more? Can you share your sadness, knowing that your love understands all that was unsaid and will hold you through tears? Does your love make you feel like the most important thing in life, and that anything will have to get past him or her to touch you? Can you lie on bed and prattle about sweet nothings and smile and share a laugh? Do your troubles pull you and your lover away or make you stand united and face the trouble?

My third premise - priorities in life. What is the most important thing to you, in life? Do you have a priority list? Are you willing to compromise on few of those priorities, if you go forward in that relation? What are you willing to compromise? If you are willing to compromise, why is it even important? If you are unwilling to compromise, do you think your love can support you and do what all is necessary to ensure that the things important to you are in your reach, at all times? Did you have a heart-to-heart? Are you sure your love would support you, without a semblance of doubt in your heart? Is there an inner voice harbouring its shield? Do you understand what your lover expects of you? If and when you decide to take the next step of sharing your life with your lover, do you understand what it takes to get that relation working? Yes, relation is work. It is not a 8 to 5 job and it does not pay in money. It is a 24 X 7 job and it pays in smiles, tears, despair and anger. Do you think you can handle all that and still sustain your love?

My fourth premise - identity. Are you still you? Love changes people. But there is this centre core that made us who we are - the values that made that someone notice you and cherish you. So, while you are in love and are cherishing the moments in it, are you changing as a person? Do you realize that change? Is that something that is making you happy? Do you think, you can look in a mirror, a few years from now and notice that the person in the mirror is not a husk of you, but still you?

My fifth premise - surprises. How do you handle a surprise thrown at you? How does your lover handle the surprise thrown at him or her? Be it a surprise birthday party or a surprise of life altering events? Can you roll with it? Because, one can never prepare enough for life. It has its way of throwing you off balance and sometimes, that off balance can be nasty truths.

My last premise - miles. Have you seen enough miles of life to formulate your life's ideals? Do you have experience to pick the reins of your life and move through the miles alone, if need be? Yes, it is important to KNOW that you can live life without that seemingly important person in life. Sometimes, you just have to accept that, despite everything, two people can never be compatible enough to smooth all the rough rides of life. But, when you share a bumpy ride with your love, some times, even the best days seem a distant memory. When that happens, can you pick your life and not look back and realize, OUCH, I have been a happy fool!

I do realize, that there is a lot of YOU in the above statements. I personally think that, you are YOU, be it in a relation or alone. Love should be an extension of you. Something that can embrace you in its warmth on a chilly day or walk along side you on a beautiful sunny day or be an umbrella on a rainy day. It should make you feel special. Because, if you are not you, then you are not you. I do not know, how else to put it. Changes are inevitable, as each experience today, shapes our tomorrow. But, being in love, should make that process enriching and easier. Since, for every aspect of life, there are two filters, one you and other, your lover. If it gets tough, it should still be enriching. Else, it is time to think of all the premises and make a choice.

Newbie Swimming

Swimming! Just thinking of it makes me smile. It is so much fun. Despite the fact that it is lethal in one moment of slipped concentration or presence of mind, it is so much fun to float along in the water. My roommate has been extremely helpful in helping me trying to overcome the fear of water and embrace what is natural to the body. The first step was joining in the class and getting into the pool. I had my technique wrong for an hour and was bored easily, as I could do nothing that helped me stay afloat. But, I got into the pool of water. I got into it, period! And that to me has been a phenomenal achievement. The next day, despite the sore shoulder, I went into the pool, flapped my legs and started kicking. It took me most of the hour to get the technique to a decent shape, but I managed to kick once or twice with great gusto. It was a revolution. By the time I came out of the pool, I hardly had the strength to even hold a knife. I managed to glide along the day, with little gusto, but feeling the pride in me of taking another little step of conquering the fear of water. The next day, I gave it a rest. And the next day, I was determined to float in the water. It was fun. I took a breath, I held it, put my head in the water and just relaxed. My feet lifted, while I had the sensation of going down, I held on to the wall and continued to sink below, when all of a sudden, I started floating. As I experienced the feeling of floating, the analytical part kicked in and said, as long as you have air in your body, you will float. Just don’t breathe in and remember to hold the air in. That was a revelation. After trying to float for a few minutes in the water, holding my hand to the wall, I knew I enjoyed floating. I loved it. I did not kick, I did not move my hands, I just held in the breath and voila, I was parallel to the pool. I also noticed, that when I lifted my head over my shoulders, my feet started to go down and when I gulped in another quick breath and put my head under, I could float again. As I went past these simple steps, my confidence grew. My roommate was surprised too! And then, I tried to let go of the wall. That was still a big thing for me! I did. I can float without touching the wall, though since my breathing techniques are little shaky, I still need to stand for my breath. I could not get a stroke correct, my shoulders were tight with tension of letting go of the wall. When my roommate held my hand, I managed to stay afloat. But, despite the fact that I could not swim even for two strokes, I got out of the pool, feeling richer and filled with joy. I floated. Yay!!!

“There are two kinds of fears: rational and irrational- or in simpler terms, fears that make sense and fears that don't.”

I know that my fear for water was and still is irrational, but I still cherished this little step forward to try and over come it.

I want to know

“It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.
It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain!I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it, or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithlessand therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see beauty even when it's not pretty, every day,and if you can source your own life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes!”
It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.”
― Oriah Mountain Dreamer

Thoughts bugging me!!!

Did you ever feel the tingle in your belly, when you wish to share your darkest fear with someone you love? Did you ever feel the disappointment waves when what you see does not meet your expectations? Did you ever feel, the need to shake that someone to show the world around you and ask them to move on? Did you ever feel the urge to run away to an island? Did you ever feel the need to implore to someone, to see your side of the argument, but let your pride decide its not worth it? Did you ever lie to the face of someone you love and felt that, that was the best truth you ever told? Did you every question right and wrong and still choose to do the wrong?

Some days are like this, rutting with emotions so high that the slightest nudge of drama pushes me to tears. When the world crashes on you and pushes you below it, how do you come out on the top? How do you push your way? pebble by pebble, rock by rock, dust by dust? Will that nudging pave a way to light eventually? Does persistence really pay? I honestly don't know. Some days are just a battle between wish and desire. Its so easy to give up, to just let yourself be swallowed by the unimportant and the important, losing way in the straight path, for the road never ends, making you wonder, is this the right path? Is this where you need to go? And then, life happens, as it sprinkles its golden dust, as the hope fairy sparkles for a second and in the hope of another, we move on, forgetting the thought of the right path.

Sometimes, I wonder, if its important to listen to that inner voice, that questions the path and not be succumbed to the flighty hope. But then, just listening to the voice does nothing, right? Paths diverse, challenging you to take a road unwalked. But then I am not Robert Frost, to take the road less travelled and claim that it made all the difference. I am just a somebody in search for some path that leads to my vocation. But where is that vocation? Is it down the path? Is it right next to me? Is it in an alternate path? How would I know? How does one go about searching for meaning in life, when questions lead to more questions and answers are mere mirages?

Healthy dose of questions make life purposeful, but when everything seems a question, is that not an answer in itself? Or is it? I Googled "Questions in life?" and came up to a blog post that said, "50 questions that will free your mind". Honestly, more than free my mind, it pushed me into a frenzy corner, where I hyperventilated! And then I Googled for "feel good thoughts" and realized that nothing can honestly help me, as each one only served me to question myself more and more. So, I sat and got down to what I usually do when I am down. Write and its been ages since I opened myself up. I guess, innately, there is this fear in me, that if I open up, I would only disappoint myself, as has happened so many times in the past, that I fear opening myself up equals disappointment. But today, I decided to shatter the locks holding me back. May be then I would be able to find some closure to what is bugging me.

Get a life!

She was applying an eye liner which made her eyes look alive. She paused for a second and looked at her reflection before applying gloss over her lips. She did that reflexively and unconsciously, the movements ingrained in her as surely as the sun rose over east. She looked at herself in the mirror with no expression on her face and her sardonic face looked back. She put on her shoes and walked out of the house without looking back. She walked long into the light, just drifting, breathing in the gas fumes of the traffic on the streets, her eyes burning in the smoke. She slowed her walk to a stroll and looked from one side to another, gazed at buildings and frowned at the honks.

She entered a park and walked on and on and finally sat on a bench overlooking a lake. She sat there and gazed farther into the light.

Someone came to sit beside her, but she did not turn her eyes to see who it was.
“It’s a beautiful day,” the stranger said. She did not turn her head. After a few minutes the stranger got up and walked away. She got up and walked away too.

She walked back on to the street, towards the direction of her house, her face a mask of serenity. The morning’s intensity was not present in them, yet she looked peaceful and settled.
Someone stopped her and asked, “How is everything?”
“It is as it is”, she responded, sounding somber. He stared at her and went his way. She sighed. “It is not his fault”, she whispered, seemingly to herself. She walked on.
“You look good”, said someone else. She looked like she could eat him alive and responded, “Yeah? So?”, challenge open in her voice.
“Sorry”, he said, his smile fading.
She sighed, “Sorry, I was preoccupied with imaginary hoodlums.”
He walked away. She sighed again.
“It is not his fault”, she whispered, again and continued to walk.

She walked into the house.
“There you are. Where have you been? Why did you walk out like that, without telling anyone? I was sick with worry and your mother...”, the lady saying that looked exasperated.
She looked at the lady and said, "Sorry aunty", her face a mask carved out of stone. She walked into a room and saw a figure asleep. Her face softened and she moved closer to the bed. “I am sorry mom, I had to. This is driving me insane”, she whispered.

Her face was in agony, looking at her mother, when she noticed her aunt beside her.
“You know she would have been worried if she was awake", her aunt said and gave her a hug. She did not hug back. Her hands were fists and her face was mask of stone again. "I will come back in the morning. Take care of her. I have placed food on the table, have it”, she heard her aunt say. She nodded. Her aunt gave her a quick pat on her head, as one would pat a small puppy and left the house.

She walked into the kitchen, opened the covered dish and looked into it and closed her eyes. Slight wetness on her cheeks seemed to annoy her as she furiously wiped the wetness and closed the lid. She took her bath and came back and ate the food. Then she went and sat next to her mother. She looked at her face lovingly and tenderly, her hand stroking her face with gentle pats. And suddenly, the tenderness swept away and her eyes were no longer sardonic, but harsh and filled with anger and she moved away from her mother, looking at her hands with wonder and staring at the shivering hands.

She walked out of the room and sat on the couch in the hallway, seeing the sleeping figure on the bed and just staring into the space. She grabbed a paper from the table next to her and started writing furiously.

Her eyes a cesspool of tears and she wrote, wiping the tears from her cheeks. Then she paused and looked down. She sighed and crumpled the paper and threw it out of the window onto the street. She sat quietly, visibly shaken and fell asleep on the couch.

Someone picked out the paper from the road and read it out loud:
I cannot. I cannot be angry. I cannot. It’s no one’s fault. It IS no one’s fault. I hate holding onto my life, holding for something, anything, a hope. I fear that the time has come, to let go. Yet, I fear that I cannot. I have to focus on something, anything. I have to get out and get away, from this madness. I cannot admit to this weakness that is growing inside of me. I have to be strong. I have to see the storm through. I need a life.

That someone looked up and shouted: “Well, get a life!” and moved on.

And I will...

I have been rather quiet. Rather unusual, when I seem to have a zillion thoughts running through me. Most of the time I end up writing, when I am stuck in a phase of life, but this time it seems like I am being a passive observer to the point where nothing seems to emit a reaction that would trigger some vitality through me.

Things important or unimportant ceased any meaning. Relations loving or hurting ceased any meaning. Friends present or absent ceased existing in the vicinity. I like to think I am being a saint, with no emotions or feelings, yet, I seem to be perturbed by the slightest trigger and have to constantly remind myself that it is not anyone’s fault that life sometimes is daunting. I would rather I could move on through this phase and leap through to another.

Relationships are a boon and a bane to life, I think. Some are fragile to the extent that they break at the slightest pull away. Some are strong but wither through the wear and tear of the pull. Some are stagnant that they make no progress either by pulling away or moving together. Yet, these relations seem important in life. What good are they if they haul you over coals? What good are they if they hurl you over fire? What good are they if they frost your life? What good are they if they suffocate you? I do not honestly know. I sometimes truly believe that being alone in a cave would cure my madness more than anything and sometimes I believe that living through them and enduring the rough patches makes me stronger. I am sure that either of the options is of least help.

I want to think of a time where there are no complex thoughts running in my head. I am having a hard time coming to a specific time frame of my life, even though I am not old, to think I have lived an awful lot of years to not remember the best of my life. I desperately want to hope that the best of my life is yet to come, but, I keep wondering if there is no comfort period that I want to reminisce about. It is alarming to not have a cushion to fall back on, when I cannot move forward. The shackles that hold me are more in my mind, perhaps.

I wish I could cast aside my notions of life, my dreams and accept life as it comes. I wish I do not have to battle my inner self all the time and move forward towards the life I want to live. I wish I could let go of all the reins I seem to hold and move away, carefree and into pastures of my choosing. Yet, there is this small voice inside of me that says, the pain I go through is a reminder that I care and love and those are not bad things. Yet, there is a selfish corner that says, shit happens, let go and move into oblivion. Yeah, oblivion seems a way forward, except it isn’t! I battle myself, yet again, to find a way from the rut I seem to land myself in and the more I think on these lines the more depressing it looks. Yet, I still stand to fight through the murk and keep fighting to claw my way forward. I might not alter fate or destiny, but I sure can fight tooth and nail, if it means I get to take a step forward. And I will.