#12: Acrostic

Little by little
Over highs and many lows, like
Violet daffodils and a blue rose
Emerged someone I didn't know, nor
Did you, my dears. For it was

One, born from having borne a
Number of hurts and fears.
Every time you assumed
She wouldn't mind staying behind,

Having her belligerent requests,
Upturned a thousand times.
Raging silently, she goes on,
Thunder brewing inside her.

Till the time you act so
Hideous, it hurts to look at your face, but still you
End up cursing and blaming her,

Moments after she strikes back unafraid.
Over reasoning and fairness you can ride,
Still she would be right, because
Though you are unapologetic for your words, she knows it is only your ego and pride.

***

An acrostic is a form of poem where (usually) the first letter of each line together spells out a word or a message. Go figure. And tell me if I'm wrong here.
 

#5: I choose...

I choose not to remember,
What you did, or didn't,
How you made me feel, or didn't.

I choose not to remember,
When you forgot what I said,
When you forgot what I felt.

I choose not to remember,
All those times of facing
Mockery, bullying, loss of self-esteem.

I choose not to remember,
The faces and names that caused hurt.
That is how I cope, you know.

But I choose to remember,
How, for fleeting moments, you made me forget,
Finding solace and bliss in the ignorance.

***

Read my previous NaPoWriMo poems here:
#2: Forsaken soul
#3: Exhaustion
#4: Night dreamer

#3: Exhaustion

Drooping eyes and sallow face,

Curved-down lips and a grimace,

Heavy steps and a heavy heart,

Dragging self along the path,

White sound ringing in the ears,

A sore comment will downright pierce,

Painful eyes red with tears,

That have stayed there over the years,

Gasping breath and dry mouth,

Snivelling nose, uncouth,

Need a soft bed and soft words,

Need to hear the chirping of birds,

To remove exhaustion.

Src: www.rebeccaanhalt.com

When were you last... ?

When were you last so blissful that no woe could fade away your smile?

When were you last so hardy that no defect could stop that walk of an extra mile?

When were you last so tranquil that no devil could take away your serenity?

When were you last so verbose that no duster could take you to brevity?

You don’t remember, do you?

I’ll tell you.

You were last all those things when you were a child.

But you would remember:

When you were so furious you wanted to make them vanish into nothingness.

When you were so afraid you believed you were really defenseless.

When you were so envious you made your own and others’ lives hell.

When you were so heartbroken you lost awareness of when the tears fell.

You remembered, didn’t you?

Because now you’re an adult.

Now don't feel hopeless. You will remember some day, maybe even be.

Till then, like this stick in the dark, smile and try to be happy.

Killjoy, anyone?

Y'know what I admire mostest about this blog? It never says no to my impulsive experiments. If you're one of those people who're rolling their eyes thinking, 'how can a blog even say no?', then.... I'd only smile at your naivety. :)

I'm in a "very" weird state these past months, more so in the present, with my ever-so-optimistic-self being tested day in and out. I'm persisting, though. For one, I'm so done with studies! Classes are good. Homework? Get-lost! I mean, I can't really make it "get lost" because I'd lose those stupid "marks", but it's such a pain! I totally forgot I have a mid-sem exam tomorrow and remembered just as I sat down to write a blog post. A post from a list of topics I had, which included:

1. Metro Diaries

2. My life in a quirkbox

3. Education is empathy

4. A fictional story using personification

5. Grief and I

But since when have I been writing posts I actually planned? Never! I thought I should simply give in and rant a bit. It's been such a long time since I wrote an angry post. I'm angry, irritated, helpless and sad over a lot of things, mostly about how we're so bound to societal mentality that individualism is looked down on and anyone with a deviant thought is considered mental. It's so irritating that it makes me cry. I mean, why should I act or behave thinking about what people would think? Why? I will not. It's not always about keeping your personal preferences on the side and going with everyone else. What if I don't like it? Why should I do it? Idiots.

If only I looked this cute when angry :|

I'm done with being nice and feeling like a social worker with an MBA degree. I've literally been fighting internally with the conflict between what I personally feel and what we're taught. I've been following even the tiniest of rules like an idiot all my life, and watching everyone else getting it easy even when they're so deviant. I've been feeling like I'm taken for granted just because I hate advertising everything I do or say. I'm tired of keeping everyone first and people are so used to it that they get pissed off when I try doing what "I" want to. It's a pathetic feeling and I hate it.

I'm tired of trying to bring together everyone time and again, not realizing that they might not even want to go back to the awesome-friends-group we were. I'm done with it all. I'm not a socializer, getting people to meet each other and be friends and not being able to meet anyone myself. I'd love to do awesome things for people, but I want some reciprocation myself. Let me be myself, let me make friends as I want, let me talk! I do not care about what the world thinks, this is MY life and you, well wishers, should be happy when I'm happy rather than thinking about what people will say. People are horrible. I'd in fact advise you not to be one of them.

Be it whoever, my trust gets tested (and broken) and I'm scared. No one is ever going to let you do what you really want, be it anything. Career related, friendship related, family related, what-the-hell-ever. 

More than anything, I miss my old life. I miss my grandmom the most in this world, which is just a pathetic place without her. Sorry to say, but no one else can make it as beautiful and comfortable as she made it. And since I am this sad about the state of things, I expect to be understood, even when I know it's idiotic to expect. I also expect not to be judged, to not be the subject of gossip, to not being stared at when I'm not doing anything to you. This is such a ridiculously annoying habit in people. I'm not talking to you, I don't want your interference, can't you just keep your nose to yourself? 

If I keep on going at this topic, I'd write the things I wanted to include in the "Grief and I" post, so I'd stop. But just as a prelude, I'm in a grieving stage, feeling horrible about everything I keep on losing gradually, people included. You'd do well if you don't piss me off about anything and keep away from me. This is so horrible, I actually wanted to write an awesome, kind of funny post about the funny things that happened lately. But then mood killers pop up. -_- I suppose I'd write the awesome things later, once I'm done with stupid tests.

PS- Don't worry. Most of these things are those that can't be helped and I just can't manage this helpless feeling. The past few days have given me light instances to talk about. You never know, I might just not study at all and end up writing a humorous post after this. :P 

PPS- I was so excited about all the books-to-movies this year. Three have passed, one's releasing tomorrow and with everything killjoy, I'd have to wait for months to watch it for when it becomes available online. How sick is that? -_- 

Floating in the depths...

Jan 21: Pre-post scribble: *eyes narrowed down* in my usual you-dare-mess-with-me stare, I look at the laptop's screen but my mind's busy reminding me for the millionth time how futile that will be. Since when did things start happening depending on how you stare at them? Yep, you got it right: Never. -_-

***

Jan 25: I wanted to write today, since after so long the day went awesome-awesome. At least it can be called awesome judging by the quality of life I lead these days. But just when I decided I would write, I did not want to write. I got rude with a best friend, just-like-that. :| I'm sorry dude, even though you said I wasn't rude (see, if it makes you smile wider, this even rhymes :P ).

***

Jan 26: I can't even write more than a small paragraph at a stretch? Seriously, what is wrong with me? To top it all, I feel really pissed off. First, I'm feeling restless, not having written anything but feeling that itch inside to write. If I didn't feel like it, it would have been okay. But I feel like I'd calm down only if I write, ergo, I feel restless (yo bestie, now toh smile :D ). Second, I also feel angry at just living in a place where mental freedom is so hard to find. I mean!!! Why is there so much of stress around? Around useless things? I was fine about other people stressing over things, but now it's affecting me! It's almost as if it's become tangible and jumping out from people and latching onto me, and I do not want stress. I hate it. See? I'm even stressing over the fact I don't like stress. How stressful is that?

Pic credit: Dad

Third, it's taking all amounts of self-control and optimism to survive college. God bless those ikke dukke kids who have a sense of humor and in whose presence I actually feel like laughing. *Take deep breaths* Just two more months. Then, finally, freedom! Although I have to say, college did teach me a lot apart from studies. I'm sure if I survived this, I can survive a lot. 8| 

Fourth, I feel helpless about a lot of things, including the fact that people don't understand people. It's kind of frustrating to see judgments passed through, about anyone, for anything. Why do we even care to comment on people? We never know where they're coming from. And this makes me mad because I used to be indifferent to this attitude, but now, I just find it hugely frustrating. Total piss-off material.

Fifth, we're studying different kinds of personalities in class. Turns out the terms we generally use for disorders are personality types, and each of us possesses some or the other traits and characteristics from them, most probably a mix of some types. Example, I could have some traits of a paranoid, and a schizoid and a narcissist. While it's interesting to study these types, as it definitely makes you more empathetic to people (if of course, you see it that way, instead of just mocking people in class based on characteristics described, like some people in my class do), it's also slightly going to stay in the back of your mind, continuously running like an open-in-the-background-app (err... what metaphors :P).

And it's hard to discuss it with family and friends, just because they might not understand or interpret it the way you do. But it has made me even more open to differences and I am simply wishing for everyone to start feeling like that, so there'll be more understanding and less of judging. 

Sixth, I feel absolutely no inclination to do any assignment. Considering how this is the last sem, you'd think they'd make it easier. But not only are the subjects too boring, the assignments feel like such a ridiculous task thrust upon us and seriously, most of them actually make no sense. The previous trimesters sometimes even seemed remotely interesting, although I hardly liked the assignments unless they offered good learning potential, which the new ones absolutely do not. I've got assignments to submit tomorrow, but I feel irritable just thinking about those. Why couldn't I have done something interesting? 

Seventh, I feel weird too, mostly because I'm feeling more selfish than I've ever been in my life. Not in terms of materialism, but just not feeling enough empathy for those who're sad. It's like I'm so drained myself that I'm barely staying afloat, so logically, that makes sense. How can I worry about the world when I'm feeling irritable and restless myself? Although it's not that much, but things that are disturbing bring in a feeling of restlessness rather than sadness. Not every time, of course. For family and friends, you don't even feel like it's a burden or separate from you. But when it's about the rest of them, right now, I don't want to listen to them.

Eighth, I really wish Mr. Freud wrote his book in an easier-to-read language! I really want to understand and interpret dreams, not that I don't have any idea. And I don't really want to read Mr. Freud's interpretations either, but still. At this moment, any form of understanding is a welcome prospect. My dreams have turned more vivid and more close to real life, so unlike earlier. It's like all those things I don't like, come together to life in an illustrated form. Weird, weird, weird!

Ninth, what I really wanted to write this blogpost on, when I titled it 'floating in the depths' was about how I've always found myself so into things, especially feelings. Till about a year ago when I still had the time (and inclination) for it, I used to look up stuff related to sun signs and feel happy about the awesome things that matched. One of the things I read was about how we tend to think about the deeper mysteries of life more closely than other people. No wonder, since thinking keeps me occupied most of the time. But I have an aversion to thinking about sad stuff. I don't read sad stories (exceptions aside), I don't like sad music, and I feel like hugging sad people. Why is there sadness in the first place? But going through it myself, I also know that time takes care of it when nothing else can. You just need to have patience. O:)

But anyway, I do like things with deep meanings. Hidden meanings. Reading between the lines. Clues that link back to something said previously. I love kids' books and stories so much, simply because when they're about to end, they come up with beautiful interpretations of the whole story and a deeper meaning is brought out. Like a few days ago I watched Madagascar on TV (Escape to Africa) and I couldn't help feeling awed at the underlying theme: they think a lion is not a lion if it can't fight. Alakay (Alex) is a dancing lion who lived in New York and finally found himself back to his parents in the jungle. When his dad Zuba dismisses him because he could not fight, it brought a sense of frustration we know so well. Tight societal norms. And in the end it's Alex's dancing (apart from the lion-ic spirit, of course) that saves them from maniac New Yorkers stranded in the jungle. Same is the case with Heidi, the TV cartoon I absolutely watched full of emotion even as a kid! I read the book recently and saw how it talks so politely about people, even those who're mean with such a sense of fairness that it makes you think about the way you think about people!

Finally, I really want to know. Is there a God up above who takes into account the manners and goodness people have? I've been so full of confidence about good people having the best of all that I turned a blind eye to little things that were unfair to me, even though I do try to be good. I don't really want to lose faith in Him, but it seems like being good has little use. It's like no one expects you to be good and they assume you're just putting up an act. How shattering is that? The chant seem to get it all, and you're a plain loser. It makes me angry, but well, I do believe it matters more to your own conscience. Just that outwardly sometimes you wish you weren't so misunderstood. 

That's all for now! I'm reading okay these days, so that's a nice plus. I'm into the third book of the Vampire Academy series and it's a nice feeling to read about smart-ass vamps and dhampirs. Thank God for books. They make all the difference between getting crazy and sanity!

The Last Message...

**A short story**

July 14, 2013

I spent last night tossing and turning, making Shobha get up twice and bring me some water to deal with my dry throat. And when finally I felt the sun rays sifting through the small square window over my tired face, I got up, dressed for work, hurriedly gulped down breakfast Shobha prepared and left home before any of my sons had woken up. 

The outside looked just like it always did: the familiar smell of old brick and cement coming from age old houses on both sides of the narrow lane. Ours was right in the center of the gali so that it did not matter where you entered from. The distance would be the same. It had rained last night, just like it had been raining the past few nights. The ground had a musty smell about it, and as I carefully stepped over the puddles and muck, dawn gave in to a brighter day. I always believed people gave a lot of importance to everything at face value. It's wrong. If any of the regular folks would see me right now, they would see a 65 year old Badri in his regular white kurta pajama and brown Bata sandals, walking towards the closed down church (now kabootarkhana), to feed the birds and then going towards his shop in Kashmere Gate, working well past retirement. I wonder if they know. I wish they did, but on second thoughts, how does it matter to them? This day is different from the rest and probably for the first time in my life, I feel nervous about going to work. 

I pick up some flowers and agarbatti and reach my shop. I'm in a mixed state of mind when I see I'm not the first one there. I pass a smile at Madia. "I should be surprised to know you feel sentimental about today, but I'm not" I sigh as I add, "It's been a long time". The clerk's eyes displayed the kind of sadness that makes you wish like you never saw it. The kind that sucks out all hope. I did not want to see it. I looked around. Madia had already made the place look clean. A lot cleaner than before, in fact. "Sit down Badri sahib, I'll get tea for you," he said.

I saw the middle aged man disappear from the workroom. Turning to the small mandir, I lighted up the agarbatti and prayed. A little longer today. Lord Krishna's face stared back at me as I reminisced about the past, remembering all these years I sat here, in this office, knowing about lives and families of the people who came to me. I didn't know what my life would be when the day ended, I just knew it would be very different from how it has been in the last 50 years. I had been putting up a brave face all this time, but I always felt too exposed to God when I prayed, like He knew and it did not matter if tears rolled down while praying, because He understood. 

I shuffled across the room and sat down at my old desk. I opened the drawers, unlocked the machine, put my hands together on the worn out table, interlocking my fingers together, looking out the open door towards the morning street activity. I glanced at the round wall clock above my head. 9 a.m. Gautamaditya would be on his way, just like every second Sunday of the month. I breathed out and sat down to wait. 

***

Sept. 27, 1963

"Babaaaa!! Where are you going Baba? It is a Sunday! Won't you be home? Are you going out to eat? Will you please take me along?" Aadi fired these questions in his high pitched eight year old voice, running out barefoot in the verandah of their home. Jagmohan Lal smiled at the dancing boy and said, "Get your chappals and come along." A few minutes later they were walking down the tiny streets shaded with three storey houses in Daryaganj. Walking 4 kilometers with Aadi made him revisit history, for he felt happily obligated to answer the curious kid's curious questions about everything that came their way. It was 9.30 in the morning by the time they reached Somlal's office. They went in through the open door, straight up to the man behind a wooden desk and a machine on top.

"Ah, Jagmohan! Kya sandesa laaye ho?" Somlal started gathering up long thin strips of paper. He looked at Aadi through his wire rimmed glasses as Jagmohan pulled out his folder to take out a piece of paper. Aadi held on to a piece of his Baba's kurta, for he found this place very different, and he could barely contain his questions. Somehow he knew this was Baba's work and so he simply looked at the table and the machine on it. It was rectangular, almost a square, but not quite. Aadi did his maths well. He saw his Baba handing over a paper to the bespectacled man, who started pasting small strips of paper with funny dots and dashes on those long strips. Once done, he carefully inserted those into the machine, which beeped once, twice, thrice as they went in and out. "Do you like it, my first customer of the day?" 

Aadi was brought out of his reverie when he realized the man was looking at him, expecting an answer. "Yes! What happened? What is this?" He was now right next to Somlal, hand hovering over the machine, not sure whether to touch it or not. Somlal gently placed the boy's hand on top of the machine, a little warm from the effort. "This is a telegraph machine. Your Baba just sent a message to your eldest brother in Ranchi, asking him to come home for Diwali." Inspired by Aadi's awestruck expression and glancing towards the door in case he missed any customer, Somlal explained how telegrams were sent. 

***

Sept. 24, 1974

Aadi walked past the Red Fort in a hurry. His heart was thumping loudly, hammering across his chest as he skipped a few paces in the early dawn light. It is too early in the morning, he thought. He stood outside Somlal & Sons. Telegraph Office, the closed shutter making him want to tear up. He paced forward and back on the street, and then sat hunched in front of the office, waiting for someone to show up. 

It was 8.30 a.m. when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Badri, Somlal ji's son in his late twenties was standing there, looking at him worriedly. He got up. "Please Badri, I have to call bhaiya home. Ma is not well and I... she.. she's not well." Aadi handed him a paper with his short and to-the-point message. Badri hurriedly opened the office, made Aadi sit with a cup of tea ordered from the neighbouring dhaba and set to work. He loved the job, but the only thing that kept him from being happy while working was the fact that he would be the first to know bad news. Worse, the one to send the news to people who'd probably tear up just knowing they had a telegram. 

'Come home soon STOP Ma unwell END'

***

Jan 9, 1986

A 31 year old Aadi in an unwashed kurta looked way too enthusiastic than his appearance allowed. But he did not care. Entering the telegraph office, he opened his box of meethai and took out a barfi. "Muh meetha karo Badri! Aaj khushi ka dinn hai" he sang as a delighted Badri filled his mouth with barfi. "What's the good news?" 

"My wife brought a little Laxmi in our home! I have a daughter too now! She gave birth to the baby this morning! I have to send a telegram to bhaiya!"

'God blessed us with a baby girl STOP Come see her STOP We miss you END'

***

Mar 18, 1998

Aadi stood in a queue in Badri's office, the overhead fan not doing much to dry out his sweat. He regretted not going his Baba's way and sending telegrams in the morning. It became crowded at this time. Too many people with too many messages. I wonder how many of these people are sending threats to government officials, how many sending orders. Is there someone like me, waiting to send in a telegram saying I won't be here for a few years? That I'm being transferred and I'll live without my family all these years? I hope not, he thought.

He transcribed his message, sending it across to bhaiya and said a temporary, heart-felt goodbye to Badri. "I'll see you soon, friend. Take care." Badri smiled as he watched Aadi's familiar gait disappear around the corner.

'Transferred to Lucknow for three years STOP Keep checking on family END'

***

June 24, 2004

Walking through the quiet morning streets, Badri felt that familiar feeling of liberation, of being the only survivor in this brutal age when funny (but really not so funny) new developments in the field of technology were keeping people more inside their homes than ever. He did feel sad about a lot of things, his gradually declining number of customers for one. He was pleasantly surprised to see a well dressed Aadi standing outside his unopened office, a big box of sweets in his hand. 

"Good morning Aadi. It's so good to see you! What's the happy occasion?" Badri asked.

Aadi was beaming. "My daughter is a grown up girl now. Uske byah ka sandes bhejna hai. Here, this is an invitation for you" Aadi handed over the box and a card. "Mubarak ho Aadi ji! Half-century ke sath sath beti ka byah!"

'Sudha getting married next month STOP Sent invitation by post STOP Everyone happy END'

***

August 19, 2008

When Badri, in the middle of the process of encoding a message addressed to a government official, looked up and saw Aadi hobbling towards the office in the late monsoon evening, he sensed something was out of place. Aadi was usually the one for morning messages and only came in the afternoons or evenings when it was to send an urgent message. This time however, it didn't seem like he was in any hurry. By the time Badri finished writing and sending the message, Aadi had entered and taken a chair to wait for his turn. He looked absolutely and positively depressed and didn't seem to be in any hurry at all. Badri speedily worked on encoding, decoding messages, the poor machine sputtering as fast as it could. It was getting dark. He walked over to Aadi when the last customer exited, only to shake him and looking at a wrecked man. His face was caked with paths made of dried tears that kept on mixing with fresh ones. 

"It's Sudha," he whispered. "She suffered her third miscarriage. What is she going to do now?" Aadi flopped down on the chair dejectedly. Badri stood with his friend for a long time, just lending him his company. When Aadi got up to leave, he did not stop him. He hated this part of his job. Being the bad-news-breaker. People were scared of Badri's name, for it meant bad news.

'Sad news STOP Sudha miscarried again STOP Your brother Gautamaditya END'

***

July 14, 2013

Madia had brought in tea and for some reason, pakoras for both of us. Like it was supposed to be a party? I bit into the hot stuffed bread-pakora, feeling the heat on my gums, following it with a sip of chai. It was still early morning. Even if it wasn't, it wouldn't have made a difference for I got around 10 customers a day. Gone were the days when Somlal & Sons Telegraph Office was flooded with people of all shapes and sizes, in a hurry to send messages. I had forgotten what it was to be busy, but what would I even do after today? I wouldn't know even this level of busy. It wouldn't be an understatement if I said I was feeling thoroughly angry and equally sad. This wasn't fair, but if I had learned something looking at the thousands of lives I got to know through my messages, it was that life wasn't necessarily fair. And there was little one could do to change it and those who managed to live with that were tagged 'wise men'. 

It was late afternoon when Gautamaditya came in. I tried my usual smile, but all I could manage was a weak imitation. He seemed to understand. There was no paper on him and I wondered if he wished to send a message at all. It was unlike him to come empty handed. "Namaste Badri ji. I just came in to see you. I wondered when I would see you again." He fumbled for words but gave up soon. There was no sense in going circles around the main point. He knew it too, just like I do. Writing telegraphic messages for the past 50 years of my life, I certainly knew what it was to get to the fact of the matter. We were brothers in that same way. Aadi got up and stood over my machine, running his hands over its surface, picking up strips of paper and going through codes. Before I knew it, he started pasting codes on paper, quick and proper. I was shushed down but I was intrigued. Did Aadi know coding? 

After a short while the machine gave a beep. A new kind of a beep, one I rarely heard. An incoming message. Aadi sat down across the desk from me, pulled out enough money for a very long telegraphic message and handed it to me. He then held on to my left hand, just like I did when I delivered news of Sudha's miscarriage. Bewildered, I took out the incoming message. It read:

'I feel sad about telegram vanishing STOP It has been very special and important to me STOP Have shared happiness grief and sadness excitement and news with you and this office STOP You will be missed and I will feel terrible about having to send a message and not coming to you STOP I wanted this message to be the last one STOP Thank you dear friend END'

***

Yes, today marks the last day the telegram survives. 163 years of service and now all thanks to new means of 'faster' and 'effective' communication, it is no more required. I have personally never even seen a telegram. Apologies if there's anything wrong with what I wrote, as far as the technicalities are concerned. I just felt bad about it, not just because I love old stuff, but also because of it's emotional quotient. These things are truly valuable and no technology can make up for it. I guess that's the malady of change.

PS- The telegraph office is actually government owned (BSNL, to be precise), unlike a private office like I made it in the story.

Different sides of survival...

It's a summer day, incredibly hot and I'm in my t-shirt and pajamas, sitting on the cold marble floor of the drawing room, with my back against the sturdy table, cooling off in front of the cooler, loving the way my hair keeps sweeping over my face (unlike normal people who find it irritating). I have the laptop open in front of me and I'm just wondering what to title my new post on the different kinds of kids (seriously. Next post on that!) when I notice our housemaid outside in the verandah. I don't notice her immediately. I mean, I didn't even realize when she passed me, opened the door and started wringing and hanging out the washed clothes on the clothesline. I look outside because she's speaking loudly. There's an old lady at the gate with whom she's talking loudly, in a tone that suggests she's not interested and willing her to go. A hundred emotions flood through me, because let's face it, I've a soft spot for old ladies.

I read books, so I know better: about people, about different kinds of moods and psychology, about how to behave and whom to trust, how not to judge without knowing anything beforehand. People expect me to know all that. But then sometimes, there's something that breaks all rules. A grand exception and you can't think clearly. It's instantaneous. Just like this emotion of irritation, anger, the urge to get up and scold the maid for being so rude, that came flooding into me just within a second. I looked towards my parents and asked them to go have a look immediately. Mom gets up fast (umm.. we all have a soft spot for old ladies) and I reach the door before her. The maid looks at me angrily, complains to mom in a violent whisper, 'Besti kara dete ho meri'. She was apparently, telling her no one's home and asking her to go away, which was akin to a sin!

That lady was still smiling. Standing close to the gate, clutching the bars, she smiled up at us holding two packets of a summer drink powder and a pack of 4 Vivel soaps. She's been here before. Today she's in a plain yellow cotton saree with an off-white cotton sleeveless blouse. Her brown skin hangs loose among the million or so wrinkles all over her body, her cheeks visibly chubby, though drooping, on both sides. Her hair's in a pure white bun, with a few strands hanging loose. I still don't know her story, though I remember the last time she was here, she said she lives somewhere nearby and as she gets bored sitting at home with nothing to do, she thought she might as well go door to door and sell stuff and bring in some more kamaai. The glaring sun doesn't seem to bother her. When people like us run off inside for shade and comfort, there are some like her who're happily going from door to door, contributing to their family for food.

I opened the gate and Mom sent me off to get a glass of water, while she took what she wanted from the lady (those two juice packs and Vivel soaps!). They chatted for a while as she took out more things asking if we use that oil or a particular handwash. What I liked best was her permanent smile, even as she talked. Mom handed her the money and she told her how she's been here three or four times before but we weren't home. I wonder if it was the maid who sent her away, or if she came on the days when both my parents are working. She took out a couple more things from her small yellow zipped bag, held them in one hand, hung the bag on one shoulder and carefully stepped down and out of the gate towards the opposite house, politely asking us to close the door behind her.

***

About a week ago I was in my small bus to the office. I always sit on the window seat, last row. At one of the red lights, lost in thoughts with headphones plugged in, I saw a sad, peculiar scene. There was this u-turn kind of a road, the ones where there's an enclosure with fences around and a roundish footpath around the whole turn. A man in a torn and dirty shirt and pants, with an indifferent expression stood there with one hand on a metre-long pole, his bare foot repeatedly hitting a year old baby. A woman, no older than in her late twenties sat near his feet, her knees held up, just not very close to her chest. Her hair was dirty, an indistinguishable color, just like her saree which clung to her thin body. Her most striking feature were her eyes. She was staring straight ahead, unblinking, and if you'd have glanced at her, you'd think her expression is blank. But the bus stood there for a while and I could see her black eyes shining. With sadness, helplessness and something that said, "I've given up". The baby in a small set of clothes that were visibly inadequate was bawling as the man kept on moving his foot and hitting him on the side. He tried getting up, made it through a fraction and then sat back again, crying, clutching the woman's leg, who sat just staring straight ahead.

Suddenly she looked up and locked eyes with mine and I felt like a filthy thief, an intruder peeping into something personal. It was devastating. With both these instances, I'm not sure I feel pity as much as I feel sad about everything. Is it the matter of choice? I think not. We don't give money to beggars thinking we're only encouraging their business, but I wonder if they really benefit from it? I'm sure they wouldn't be in this business if they had any choice or a shot at something better. They're poor, deprived and taken advantage of. They don't know what home is, they're not sure when they'll have their next meal. I personally despise this 'Survival of the Fittest' theory. I hate the differences we have in the way we live. Everything should be for everyone. Maybe not that practical, but why should some suffer, just because others have better luck?

I wonder if I've really got the right to complain about anything in my life. I had this thing going on in my mind for a while. Whenever I saw someone with less than what I have, I felt guilty about it. I felt guilty about going to malls and purchasing stuff on impulse, or just because I wanted it. I thought about those who don't have a room with electricity, who wore the same set of clothes everyday. What I had seemed like a waste. I was totally conflicted. I asked dad if we should start spending less, because others didn't have it all? Or whether we should do our bit to help and that's it? Dad said that while how I feel about it is good, it will not be a good choice to leave what is there for you to use, just because millions others aren't lucky enough. It's our luck we have these things, they might not be so lucky. There are millions others who have so much more than you. Do they ever stop living life their way and come down a level in their standard of living, because they see you don't have what they do? No. The point is to enjoy what you're being given, while helping others as much as you can. It's mostly luck.

I guess it's true. These might just be the different ways of survival.

PS- Please some good soul, give me a nice strong kick on my head! I've already delayed working on my summer internship project by a week and I'll be officially branded mental if I don't complete it this weekend. I mean, I have to do it by this weekend. I've got like, two weeks before the dreaded college reopens and I haven't even started getting into the holiday feel. I've got some college work to do, catching up with Spanish, making a papier mache flower vase for someone (any ideas??) and of course, read the million pending books on my TBR. Motivate me!

PPS- This is my blog's 101st post. :D I'm not much of a celebratory person, considering how I skipped to even mention my blog's third birthday, which was in May. But still, 101st post. That's loads of writing. :D Yay with me! ;)

Dream a paradise...

Popping open an eye, she saw Mother tangled up in affairs,

Chanced upon the opening, but Mother was fast, shushed her

Slid her back, retreating into the cosy cocoon.

She closed her eyes, and dreamt of a paradise,

Recalled the green-blue glimpse, so away from her reach

Pretty nectared flowers, and bees and winds.

 

Pic from Google

Frowned Mother, That’s rubbish, she said,

“Out there” is wild and wrong and perilous

Home is shelter, home is where you’ll always be.

Gaze dropped to her developing form, too small for the cocoon,

But Mother, she worried, I’m feeling suffocated!

Can I have a go at my paradise?

Don’t be ridiculous, Mother replied, There’s no paradise,

There are falls and hurts and beasts and tides

You’ll suffer in life and then cease to survive.

She closed her eyes, imagined the paradise,

That seemed so perfect, so “for her”

Please Mother? She pleaded. No, came the reply.

And hence she never knew, what it was like,

To live, to learn, to love, to know

For she stopped breathing before any real tide.

Pic from Google

I honestly don’t know what this is. Not a poem, just words strung together to make a story I didn’t know how to write. I hope the message of the story is clear: life is supposed to be lived, to actually do what you want, but can you really? Most of the times, it’s your guardians who do “too much”: worry too much, protect too much, say ‘No’ too much. “Too much” is actually too bad. No one needs to die in a cocoon or to miss out on living like everyone else. The suffocation, the protection is not worth losing out on the thrill and happiness of the freedom. True, there are horrors, but somewhere in between, there is a paradise. Let us find it. And it’s not enough to dream about it.

PS- I could have scheduled this and posted later, but either because I’m loving the new look so much that I want to write, or that I really can’t bear the wait to post what I wrote, for two days later! Now is now is now. Anyway, tell me: did that really make any sense?

PPS- It might have been inspired by Coldplay’s “Paradise”, which I’ve listened to a million times since last night. Yep, I’m not kidding. Not even remotely. 

The light and the heavy!

For a brilliant change there's been so much to write about! So much that I'm confused as to what should I start to write about! :P

Heavy: You know how there are times when you feel like your heart, your brain and your soul are completely going on and on, stretching dangerously in the opposite directions so that you feel like you might burst? An indifferent word, a callous attitude, a carelessly thrown rude remark, is what it takes for that last straw to pop and God save the world! You're gone! Like, literally. Because you know what? No one wants to know what your problem is. Someone rightly said, 'Smile, and the world smiles with you. Weep, and you weep alone'. I get it, but I also support crying when it's needed. You don't need to pretend everything's alright when you don't feel it is. Heck with what the world thinks, stop pretending and do it, say it, all that you think for real. Even if you get to realize you don't mean as much to everyone as you thought you did. You should be happy that the realization came on sooner rather than later!

Light: My new I'll-go-for-a-walk-every-day-regime? Which by the way, has successfully completed two days. I'm quite sure I'll be able to stick to it for some while. I've decided on evening walks, as getting up before 7.20 (minimum time) is oh-not-so-possible. Trust me, I've tried the 'Early to bed, early to rise' thing, but it's always, 'early-or-later-to-bed-you're-not-getting-up-early-enough' for me! :P What can I do, though? Just not a morning person! Besides, there are so many things you can see during those evening minutes of self-imposed-harrowing-walking, things that equally want to make you smile and tear your hair out! I made a list. While walking. That's for another post!

Heavy: Dreams you harbored in yourself, quite deep inside, so deep that you can't take them out without needing surgery, shattered. It isn't as dramatic as it sounds, but it's heartbreaking nevertheless. When you have to face the hard, dumb reality that how you thought things would turn out, actually don't? There are things you desire so madly that you just don't want to hear those words, those that say it isn't possible, that suggest your weakness, your helplessness and  your vulnerability. Just those words would be able to bring you to tears as you stare at the pieces of your dreams fallen apart and lying around like junk. Maybe even stamped upon by some pitying souls. Please God! Not that dream, it's the most important to me. :|

Light, Light and Light!: I'm the kind of a nakli city girl. The one who lives in the supposedly, fastest city and still not being able to roam around on my own. For one, I'm the biggest lost-case when it comes to directions and places. Just-can't-manage! The only road routes I know are the ones from my home to both my colleges and one to my aunt's place, which we happen to frequent. Ask me no more! Hail metro! :P So the other day, Saturday, I suppose, I made a much-needed trip to my library in C.P., after which I was supposed to meet a few friends. As usual the library trip went alright, except for the minor defect of a couple of seconds that I managed to embarrass myself when the security guard refused to let me take my pepper spray inside (hard times call for hard measures. Or something like that) and I stood there looking confused, my face an expression that said 'If you don't allow, I'll use it on you!'. Maybe. After which the guard just utters a 'please?' and I nod and move forward!

So, yeah. As if normal straight roads didn't confuse me anyway, I was asked to come and meet my friends at a KFC restaurant (yay chicken!). Looking more confident than I felt (alone time is tough), I walked up to a couple of autowallas and described my misery (read: asked them to take me to KFC!), one of whom refused, the other one looked at me like I was crazy, the third one saying, 'Paas me hi hai, paidal chale jaao'. Now if that's not embarrassing enough. :| Okay, lazy guy! I'll walk. If only I knew where! I called up a friend and explained my then-current location and while on the phone, walked halfway through, after which I had to hang up. Definitely felt like I was in some alien city, shooting daggers at anyone who dared look (paranoia!) and walking as fast as my legs could manage (definite need for solid exercise!). I was told it's easy and near, and the phone wouldn't be needed. Of course it was! Standing outside a huge KFC (*stomach rumbles*), I call again and thank god I did, because they weren't really at KFC, but in Dominos, which wasn't even visible in my range of vision!

Anyhow, after a few more minutes, they came out and took me. :P I know, I can be pathetic at times, but that's just one of my very few weaknesses, I swear! Meeting at Dominos, no one wanted to order anything, so hiding faces (that was me), we left for the next door Dunkin' Donuts, where we talked about what we wanted to, while tasting a weird looking something-that-was-not-a-donut! Later on a friend P, wished for some hot coffee, so we went into a CCD. Some good looking, posh-looking CCD it was. We were four by that time and when the waiter arrived to take the order, P announced she'll have an espresso and we shook our heads when he looked at us. That's it, we said. He gave a funny look, which I found quite insulting (but you have to ignore certain things in life, so we let it pass). When finally the waiter came and we were waiting quite restlessly (that was me! Not because I wanted coffee, sillies, but because it was getting late!), what he brought down on the table seemed to be a starter or something.

This was it. And that's my hand measuring the cup!

We sat there, staring at it. Waiting for something, it seemed. Quite a while passed before any of us realized that that's going to be it. That's all. The waiter's gone, a couple more glancing at our table with funny looks on their faces. I narrowed my eyes at them and then brought them back to the table again. My eyes, I mean. What we had in front seemed nothing less than a brilliant, not-so-perfectly-timed joke. The espresso was contained in a three inch cup, filled slightly less than half with a deep dark liquid, accompanied by three different kinds of sugar packets. I might be dumb when it comes to having coffee at coffee shops, because the only coffee out-of-home I've ever liked has been at the Cafe at one of my libraries. But even then, this was not what we expected for 70 bucks! After several minutes of analyzing it and let's admit, laughing out loud, especially at P's expression that shrieked "I've been betrayed!" I realized it was fun. We had a good laugh over it and it did reinforce my initial qualms about CCD being hopeless. Oh by the way, just one tiny sip was all it took to know we're not going to touch it again.

More Light!!!: Then there was yesterday, when I was reading a surprisingly good book, that I had this strange, unnerving feeling, the kind of intuitive feeling you get sometimes, so strong that you feel like doing all sorts of things on impulse. Which in my case, was book-shopping! I hadn't been to a bookstore in ages and my friend in office (yeah, we were in on our internship!) suggested Landmark, a whole one floor bookstore, after listening to which I couldn't stop drooling. I decided to stop being a nerd-intern and leave office early for a change. Will you believe it? The impulse was so strong that my convo with my mentor went like this:

Mentor: So, all this is fine. Just complete it soon and show the final thing to me today itself.   

Me: *Looking distressed* Umm.... Actually...

Mentor: What? Can't happen today? I guess you have plenty of time.

Me: No, it's not that. Can I please mail it to you by evening? I actually have to go somewhere today. Soon.

Mentor: Oh, alright. Mail it to me then.

Me: *Dancing inside* Thank you. :)

In short, I checked my bag to see if I did indeed have my card, you know, to be able to make purchases, when I realized I don't even have my purse, let alone the card! I was cash-strapped! My friend kindly suggested I take some from her and return the next day, and that my impulse-feelings had somehow got transferred and she's not going to take no for an answer, and so we went. The bookstore was definitely awesome! So many different categories of books, filled with amazing titles! I smiled at some, went absolutely berserk at some, drooled over some, and then started looking for the book(s) I wanted. Now, the first one I wanted was The Other Side of the Table by Madhumita Mukherjee. I know, Indian, but I was finding it so good that I wanted my own copy, rather than the borrowed one, because it's the kind of book that you'd like reading again and again. Found it soon enough under 'New arrivals', hence no discount. But that's alright. An awesome book is an awesome book. 

I did not find a copy of The Fault in Our Stars by John Green. Again. So then I picked up two Cecelia Aherns, and I admit, totally because of the awesomeness of their covers! I mean, have you even seen the cover for One Hundred Names? I totally picked it up because of the cover! It seemed like a 'must-have'. And then as there was this offer, buy 3 for 2, and my first book wasn't in that category and my friend picked up Safe Haven by Nicholas Sparks from that scheme too, I had to pick one more, which would be free. So I went with The Gift by Cecelia Ahern. Super happy with the loot, we went to make the payment when the cash counter girl swiped the card too hard and it stopped working! :O Just like that! We tried a few times, even in the ATM, but it didn't work. Heart-broken and even more cash-less than we thought we were, we said goodbye to our books and went home empty handed. We haven't lost hope yet, we'll be going there again this week, but still. Also I had to go home by metro, which is when I realized that my bag was closed by one of those stupid plastic locks they put before you enter a department store, so that without a pair of scissors you can't open it. And so I spent 40 minutes daydreaming. No book, no headphones. :P I tell you, there is actually some fault in my stars. :| 

- This was totally random. Why can't I even write something I had planned? -

Also, I still haven't started making the thing I promised to mail my mentor yesterday. Lazy or what?