Expressions

Bagh> Jobat> Jhabua

2011-11-27T21:02:00.006+05:30

I packed my bags and set out on a journey, alone, not knowing much about the land I was headed to. Doing some research online and zooming into Google maps was the much done effort. From Bombay I took the Duronto express to Indore, a clean over-night train. I was freaked out by a lot of people though about the stretch that Bagh - Jhabua is. They tried their best to convince me not to travel alone to these areas, being a girl. Eventually, I did. A friend's friend came along too.

From Indore, it was a decent ride to Bagh. In a taxi of course. Took us quite some time. Four point five hours precisely. Half the journey was a smooth drive on an expressway, quite bump-free and silent. The second half, on the contrary, was a single lane drive - interesting for the sight of the landscape that it offered. Mostly brown. And against a pretty much monotone background were men wearing bright colorful turbans and white dhotis riding bullock carts, women with matkas of water on their heads and their oh-that-thumka-while-they-walk, animals that were being extremely suicidal (popping in front of our car every now and then) and of course some other cars that were on their way to the same place as us.

Reaching Bagh left me quite surprised actually. I imagined it to be more raw and village like. But that is that. We headed straight to the karkhaana where block printing was happening and the manager of the adda started showing us around without wasting any time. Bunty, as he is called, took us through the river, without the fish pedicure, to see where the printed fabrics were being washed. Got a feel of the village in the first ten minutes itself. On our way back to the adda, we grabbed some chips and cold-drinks (bigde junky shaheri bachhe I guess)! Then began the hunt for the loo and we figured that there was no public toilet in Bagh. The only one there was was broken down recently. Loitering around, lost, we kept asking people where we could find a toilet we could use. Reminded me of my recent trip to Leh which made me experience some of the worst toilets ever. Anyhow, some kind soul asked us if we needed anything and we immediately answered back - Washroom! So we used the loo in his house and thanked him enough.

Two days in Bagh passed by in a jiffy - kept talking to the printers and clicking pictures of them. Second day, particularly, marked a sumptuous lunch at Bunty's house. His wife made a meal less spicy specially for us. Having had that, we went straight for shopping. Bags full of Bagh printed sarees and dupattas, we set out for our next destination - Jobat, where another very helpful worker of the Hast Shilp Vikas Nigam, Mr. Khan, was waiting for us.

He made us meet this really stunning lady who has been doing bead-work for ages. She's really very old and can still thread a needle in low light without wearing a chashma. Astounding! Her daughter-in-law, Jeevan Bala, has been involved in the same craft and is associated with the NIFT cluster program as well. They make absolutely stunning pieces, some subtle, some loud. I bought some to wear myself and some to gift. Am running low on cash already, having shopped in Indore, Bagh and Jobat. I would definitely have to visit an ATM early tomorrow morning, before we see more of Jobat and head to Jhabua.

Right now, we are in this really shady (but clean) hotel called Mangalam where no one else is staying. Infact, the receptionist had to call and ask the manager if he could let 'only girls' take up a room. Some weird hotel policy. Somehow, he agreed and let us have it. It almost feels like a hotel-arrest. All the people we have spoken to today have advised us not to step out after sunset. Thankfully I have the net dongle and a laptop. It feels nice to be connected with the world virtually when you don't have any real connections. Looking forward to tomorrow to witness some more of the lands less seen.

No music, only hills

2010-10-30T13:19:00.011+05:30

This post was long due. Should have happened in July.

We drove from Delhi to Naukuchiatal for 'Music in the hills - 6' (a bi-annual music fest organized by Happily Unmarried). It promised 'to bring together good music, good listeners and great locations' and I can't remember which one of them really happened.

Charged about 14,000 bucks a couple, which isn't small amount at all, we thought we were driving six hours to a music haven in the middle of the hills. We reached late evening to a fungus-smelling damp room in Lake Resort, the venue of the music fest. The blankets were wet. The loo curtain had black patches of fungus. The air was damp. The organizers didn't even bother to get the rooms cleaned/ checked/ fixed before inviting the guests. Agreed, it was pouring there since the last four days, but so what? Where did all the heaters, blowers, room fresheners go all of a sudden?

On repeated reminders, the hosts shifted us to some shady resort for the first night of stay. The second night we chose to upgrade to Club Mahindra, hoping we wouldn't have to pop in more Allegra to stop our sneezing (Apparently, we could hear the couple next door sneezing all evening too, so we weren't the only ones in the shit). The stay at Mahindra was to cost us a couple of grands extra. We decided to go for it, thankfully! That night passed away peacefully, without the sneezing, but hey, wait, there was more the next morning.

It was time to leave. We had breakfast and bid goodbye to the hosts but as soon as we seated ourselves in our grand Verna, a hotel boy came running after us to say - 'Hello? Is your name Sakshi? Is your name Rohit? Sir has asked me to ask you guys to pay the balance 1000 rupees for the change in room.' I was disgusted at this cheapness. We were told to pay the balance at the hotel reception in the first place. Before we could do that, they sent the staff running after us. It wasn't like we were not going to pay them anyway. Gross!

Having worked with the company for six months, I was aghast at their behavior with an ex-internee or her fiancé. We went back to throw the money on their face, only to hear even more cheap and insulting words - 'You ran away with the money'!

There wasn't even any point in telling them who really minted money.

After that, I had absolutely nothing else to say except Fuck off!

And we drove back.

Eye therapy @ Meenakshi's

2010-04-10T23:09:00.009+05:30

The lunch at Solar Kitchen on 8th February changed my life. Chintu introduced me to Meenakshi over lunch, telling me I should go to her for curing my eyes. The next day I was at her place, believing in a natural therapy I had never experienced before. Day one was preliminary check ups, day two some exercises, day four some more and then there were just a few more. Simple exercises that strengthen the muscles, increase the focusing ability of the eye and make you see better. It isn't a joke at all.

9th February: Left eye -5.00, Right eye -6.00
6th April: Left eye -3.00, Right eye -3.5

The numbers shall go further down, provided I don't drink cold water, don't eat ice-creams, exercise regularly and keep a lot of patience.. And also try get up early to see the rising sun ;)

If you want to cure your eyes forever without torturing your eyes with something like an artificial laser surgery, you have to do what Meenakshi tells you. Some of which are universal, applicable to all. The most important, 3 step exercise is:

1) Sun: See the rising sun. Sun energy is great for the eyes. Do not see it with open eyes when it is yellow. Only rising sun is to be seen with open eyes. If you miss the rising sun (if you're a late riser like me) you have to close your eyes and rotate your face, left to right, 180 degrees, chin to shoulder. Yellow sun energy is good with only closed eyes, elsewise it is too harmful.
2) Splash: After the sun exercise, splash water 'into' your eyes to wash them in and out. Also, do this whenever you wash your face. It rinses them of all the dust.
3) Palm: After splashing, rub your palms and put them on your eyes so that the hands cross on the nose. Bend down your head and when you see complete black (when no light seeps in from in between the fingers) close your eyes. Do this for 5-10 minutes. It relaxes the eyes. Palming can be done couple times a day more.

A few things to remember:
1) Do not use the spects when you don't really need them (eating, reading a book, washing clothes etc.)
2) Blink, blink, blink... and blink more.. It strengthens the eye muscles.

Rest she will tell you according to your case.
Ring her at +91 9159792489.

छोटे से एक गाँव में

2010-03-09T17:31:00.002+05:30

शेहरों से मीलों दूर,
छोटे से एक गाँव में,
यूँ अकेले बैठ कर,
मन में एक ख्याल आया -
कि पृथ्वी का भविष्य क्या है?

पेड़ो का निरंतर कटना,
जानवरों का मरना,
प्लास्टिक का बढ़ना,
पेट्रोल का जलना,
मोबाइल पर बात करना,
क्या यही है हमारा भविष्य?

कहाँ गए वोह दिन
जब मम्मी खाना खिलाती थी
और पापा ज़ू घुमाने ले जाते थे?
दोस्त सड़क पर क्रिकेट खेलते थे
और चोटों का बहता खून,
आँखों से टपकते आसूं
पल में बंद हो जाते थे?

अब दुनिया इतनी आगे बढ़,
प्रगति की सीमा पार,
महा प्रलय का जशन मना रही है...

और इसी दुनिया के
छोटे से एक गाँव में
करोड़ों पेड़ो से घिरी,
समुद्र के तट पर बैठी
में सोचती हूँ -

की दस साल में
शायद ये किनारा ना हो...
की शायद इस धरती पर
पैर रखनी की जगह ही ना रहे...
ऊंची ऊंची इमारतें
और ऊंची होती जायें,
कंप्यूटर बढ़ते जायें,
गाड़ियाँ आदमी की संख्या पार कर दें,
पीने का पानी ना मिले,
इन सम्भव्ताओं का कोई अंत नहीं
इसी लिए
छोटे से एक गाँव में
मुट्ठी भर कुछ लोग
निरंतर यही प्रयास कर रहे हैं -

पेड़ लगते,
साइकिल चलते,
पानी बचाते,
खाना उगाते,
मिटटी के घर बनाते
हुए ये लोग,
सारे विश्व के कुकर्मों को सुधार,
धरती को जीवन दान देने की कोशिश
कर रहे हैं...
छोटे से एक गाँव में...

Men

2009-12-05T12:07:00.007+05:30

The kind of men we don't like -

Men who pretend to be supermen.
Men who don't respect women or their work.
Men who think they can read a woman's mind and always fail.
Men who think they're always right.
Men who scratch.
Men who don't smell good always, no matter what.
Men who, for once, haven't made something with their own hands for their girlfriend/ biwi.
Men who can't write a line without spelling mistakes.
Men who don't know how to make a woman feel special.
Men who don't gift.
Men who can't take time off from work.
Men who can't prioritize.
Men who talk while they drive with a justification that they don't get time elsewise.
Men who think they can marry without proposing. Boo!
Men who think they're cool just because they sit in AC offices.
Men who snore loudly, everyday.
Men who make everyday, everyday.
Men who do a nine to five.
Men who are sorry figures.
Men who don't have patience.
Men who don't have Love and Sorry in their vocabulary.
Men who talk too much.
Men who talk too little.
Men who don't like women.
Men who nag.
Men who can't be men.
Men in general.

Tea Time

2009-11-09T19:00:00.001+05:30

Chinhat Charms

2009-10-26T17:57:00.011+05:30

Not very advertised a place, Chinhat is located at the outskirts of Lucknow and is a must visit for all pottery lovers. I have been there a few times to shoot pictures, grab videos and talk to potters but I’m fond of the place for a reason other than that. I have been born and brought up in the same city. There’s an inviting air about the place, a positive energy, a down-to-earth attitude, a charm that casts a spell.

I visited a few traditional potters residing in the area. There were fewer potters at work than usual. I gathered from the ones who were there that monsoon is a dull season for production as there is a problem of drying and storage. I walked, walked and walked; from house to house, passing by several bhattis, areas for drying 'kacche' (leatherhard) pots in the sun, local shops and more potteries without its potters.

Basic and small, the potteries here churn out attractive planters, bowls, tea sets, mugs, vases and dinner sets round the year. The production picks pace around Diwali and most of it gets exported. Terracotta and stoneware clays both are used and usually the pots are left unglazed. Dozens of P.O.P. moulds of bonsai planters and lanterns can be spotted in these tiny households. Slip-casting is a favored technique but that doesn’t mean that the potters leave it at that. They spend ample time in fussy detailing of the pots. Each one is touched up for faults if there are any. It is all so natural that it seems almost effortless at that. The potters work on hand rotated wheels during the day, with natural light blessing their pots, unlike most studio potters who have electricity twenty four - seven to their advantage.

Simply dressed, the men and women potters here equal each other in number (almost) and match in skill. Production happens with collaboration and most importantly they enjoy what they're doing. Extremely approachable, these potters are not insecure about their craft or craftsmanship.

The unglazed pots usually get sold in and around Chinhat or exported whereas most of the glazed pots that are sold in the area are outsourced from Khurja, the ceramics city of India. These are mostly tableware and are glazed in bright colors. Brilliant blues, glorious greens, cheerful yellows and refreshing oranges are the favored colors of the lot. Unique patterns are hand painted too. These are microwave-proof and Mom picked up a few dishes for her kitchen. I bagged a few vases and soap dishes too, but came back with an everlasting memory of the pots still unpossessed.

Pandits @ Kalakaar niwas

2009-09-14T22:36:00.018+05:30

It took me a hundred minutes from campus to hit Bhayander station. Fighting my way in and out of steaming mahila dibbas (of the local trains), I got pushed out where I intended to get off anyway. I took an autorickshaw from the station to Kalakaar niwas but two men jumped in it too. I liked the fact that it was a shared rick unlike other places in the city where one enthrones the auto like a maharaja, but what I did not like was the proximity of one of them. He was the typical touchy sorts (read: shady). I tried to give him looks but when he didn't take the hint I told him explicitly to keep away.

It wasn't too long before I saw a painted metal board reading Pandit ceramic arts at the start of a narrow gully. Dehydrated but relieved, I got off the rick and rushed in to find my way to the people & place I had wanted to visit for so long. The first hint of human habitation of the place was given by a kumbhar who was slipcasting a pot in the aangan. He told me to enter from the front gate. I did so, to be welcomed by a man in spotted white clothes. He was instructing the kumbhars on how to do something they're brilliant at, better.

Panditji didn't speak much but warmly showed around the studio cum home, full of tens of thousands of pots, with his wife Devkiji, clad in a grey cotton sari who didn't talk much either. After a quick chakkar of the three storied niwas which had stocks of their most selling item and USP - Bonzai - I stood at the ground floor staring at a huge kiln which rolled out on wheels to be loaded. Everyone was going about their jobs diligently and I looked on, completely intimidated by the size of the kiln, feeling small. As if someone read my mind right then, I heard a voice from behind me asking 'Big kiln isn't it?' and I turned around to be greeted by Abhay Pandit, Panditji's elder son. He introduced himself and so did I. He spoke at great length explaining minute details of the pots and processes and kept appreciating his 'Pappa's' efforts into building all this up for over forty years. Taking me around to show some of his studio pottery, he introduced me to his wife Khushboo and younger brother Sailesh. While Abhay concentrates on the form of the pot, Khushboo works out the fine detailing that goes on it. Sailesh isn't interested in doing pottery right now.

Khushboo showed some of her absolutely gorgeous pots, stark and confident black strokes achieved by controlled smoke firing (a technique that the couple knew before but perfected in UK recently). Abhay's work is strongly graphic (he has a fine arts background), inspired from absolutely anything in nature. Visual abstraction of landscapes, waves, corals, rocks & sun can be noticed in a lot of his pots. Flipping through some of their catalogs and holding some of the pots to feel them, I was served tea in an astonishing turquoise - choco brown glazed cup. The tea tasted different. I think I drank along with it the sweat, dedication & energy gone into making that one cup, perfect. Sailesh showed a potpourri of pots that were kept in the living room. These included works of renowned Indian and international potters, each one signed & dated.

I was in a completely different zone. A sense of lightness prevailed, like the feeling of being blessed. Hours had passed already. I had consumed quite a great deal of their time and didn't want to bother them more by encroaching on their routine. I left from the Pandits' thanking them for having spared so much time for me; came back without any pictures in the camera (but ofcourse in the brain's memory card) and that was the beauty of it.

A day not wasted @ Kumbharwada

2009-08-24T13:23:00.022+05:30

‘It seems like Hong Kong’, exclaimed Prof. Mohanty seeing the expanse of the 'swine flu clean' expressway on our way to Sion in a fresh-out-of-the-oven-autorickshaw. The autowalla bragged off his new TVS noiseless rick when we told him 'Bhaisaab bohot badhiya auto hai'. It was a smooth joyride. I carried my camera and lots of enthusiasm for my first visit to the place.

We hit Kumbharwada and met Yusuf, a potter who showed us around the place. The first glimpse of an old traditional potter is the one that is still clearly etched in my mind and shall always be. He's been making pots for quite some time now and works on 'chaak', a hand rotated wheel. He makes not dozens but a few hundred pots daily. Sheer delight to see him work at jetspeed. While he does this outside his household, his wife sits in the 'aangan' to make a spout in each of the leatherhard pots he would have made only couple of hours earlier.

Yusuf took us around to show huge kilns, foot kneading, several households that made different types of pots. Dozens, hundreds and thousands of those, each day. Later, he also made us meet his brother Haneef and his father who have a pottery studio of their own. We climbed a flight of totally spooky stairs to get there, but it was all so worth it. A hundred stoneware pots around you, identical, each one picture perfect.

Completely awed by this already, we walked further to Bhimji's studio. Saw very interesting, occasion-specific production of pots including Matkas for kulfi, Diyas for diwali, Ghadaas for puja. We spent some decent amount of time here and decided we wanted to take some pots back with us for the Ceramic studio at IDC. Bhimji agreed and very graciously gave four of his ravishing pots to us. Three fourth the height of me, each one of those pots talked. They talked of the amount of effort gone into making them, the astonishing simplicity about them, the grace with which they stand, tall. While these were being loaded and bound to the cab seat, we grabbed cutting chai. Though it was a lil too sweet, it was good for a starving stomach. Having finished that, we left for coming back to the campus, to unload the pots at the department and see them make magic, as it was in Kumbharwada.

Studio Pottery

2009-07-19T19:24:00.005+05:30

Aur ek cutting chai!

2009-07-05T13:53:00.006+05:30

Posters

2009-04-22T12:57:00.010+05:30

Poster design workshop by Vikas Satwalekar at IDC. Topics:
1) Pensive (Objective: Representation of the word as a visual)
2) Creativity - The art of making the impossible possible.
(Objective: Visual interpretation of the statement)

Go Karting at the HN track: 4 x 2 laps

2009-03-08T12:27:00.015+05:30

Cinderella re-written

2007-06-16T04:43:00.005+05:30

In a town where beautiful women were hard to find, lived a girl named Cinderella whose name reflected the very essence of beauty and brains. Her intellect was unsurpassed in the entire town and her gorgeousness won the admiration of one and all. Born pretty, confident, and smart, she had a style of her own and dressed uniquely; but where there is a rose we often find thorns. Cinderella’s father died, while she was still in her teens, leaving her stranded with two most ungrateful stepsisters and a shrewd stepmother, who made her life miserable.

A young girl who lived her calm childhood in a cozy and comfortable environment in the cabins of her father’s luxurious apartment, was now destined into the dirty kitchen and storage room of her stepmother’s little home. The coziness and comfort faded away into cinders, flames and sparks that almost burnt her skin to black. The glow of the young girl’s face had given way to a woman’s withering wrinkled face.

She was made to clean all the dishes, do all the household work and sweep the floor. She was doomed to do all the hard work of the house. Tired from all this maddening work, whenever she would get time, she would go into her cinder cell and cry away the pain and all her emotional trauma. She cribbed about her birth in such a family but still made the most of what came along her way.

On one of the days to come was announced a grand ballroom dance by the Prince of the Court. It was announced that the lady who is able to match steps with the Prince Charming and who can win his awe would be kissed and proposed for marriage. All the beauties of the town were enthralled by the idea and found the prince to be the most handsome and richest man in the town. Cinderella was also very really keen on going to the ball but her stepsisters didn’t let her and laughed the idea over. Also, they anticipated her to dress them up for the ball. She made them wear the finest clothes and the most expensive jewels and converted those ugly young ladies into sensations. Everyone looked around to see them and their perfectly coordinated clothes.

Sending her stepsisters away, she was brooding over not being able to go to the ball is when her godmother fairy appeared. She asked her why she was weeping. Cinderella couldn’t respond well and her throat was almost choked but she still attempted telling the fairy that she was eager to go and dance with the prince. The godmother was left thinking for sometime, and then she agreed upon granting her this wish. She allowed Cinderella to go to the ball and asked her to get a pumpkin, six mice, a rat and six lizards. The fairy godmother touched them with her magic wand and the pumpkin got converted to a golden coach, the mice became six grey horses, the rat became a coachman with the most massive moustache, and the lizards became six footmen. Then the fairy godmother touched Cinderella with the wand and the tatters that she was always given to wear, rejected by her stepsisters, became a golden dress sparkling with jewels while on her feet was the most beautiful pair of glass slippers ever seen. The fairy also warned her to be back by midnight as all the magic will succumb to reality and she would be back again to her normal self.

That particular day, she transcended the ordinariness and predictability of her up-till-now life. Dressed in the best garment for the evening, she walked confident into the ballroom. All eyes turned to look at this young beauty. Sudden profound silence deafened everyone’s ears. All eyes stuck at her were following her as she made her way through the entrance. One of the attendants came to inform the prince that a princess had arrived outside. He came to attend her and fell in love with her. The shimmer, glamour, glitz and her perfection bowled him over. He asked her in and offered a drink and after sometime he asker her for a dance. She agreed, and all set to dance, gave her hand in his. The couple was the most admired one in the entire ballroom.

The prince couldn’t stop staring at her. He complimented her several times that he had never seen such a beautiful woman for all his life. He found her attractive, smart, talented, intelligent and gorgeous. The time passed away into these beautiful moments of eternal bliss where two souls were being intertwined. Either one could sense the aura of the other, but yes, the clock was sounding chimes for eleven thirty. It was time for her to go back.

She made her way back through the crowd, every step faster than the previous one. She ran outside the ballroom and sat into her coach. Just when the carriage started on its way back, it broke a wheel and the footmen and coach driver were restored. The magic of the fairy had dissolved and there was destruction all around as a consequence of not respecting her command. Cinderella fainted and was again in her torn clothes. The attendant came rushing to see what had happened outside and reported the scene to the prince who hurried out and looked at the girl, only to realize that it was the same young lady he was wooing in the ballroom. Looking at her state now, he goes back inside without saying a word.

The young lady woke up in sometime, only to realize the fact that she was alone in the middle of the road, left pondering over nothing. Suddenly hit by reality, she got up and started walking back alone, understanding the traits of the prince very well. He had just fallen in love with her glamour and glitz and it was just superficial attraction, which faded away with looks. He didn’t love her anymore because she wasn’t beautiful, and she understood it very clearly. With the rustling of the leaves calming her soul, the flowers falling from the trees defining her way, the moonlight faintly highlighting her profile and her fairy godmother giving her hope, she walked alone.

LIVE IN. The next IN thing.

2007-06-16T04:29:00.002+05:30

Change is the only thing that does not change; a cliché but very true. Rapid globalization, technology burst and a multitude of reasons have indeed made the world flat. Walking down the streets of Delhi, this change hits me bluntly on my face. Whether I like it or not, there is no way I can miss it.

This makes me wonder as an educated, free thinking person, born in a free world, how do these changes vary the way I look at the world? Do I still need to wear colored glasses and turn a blind eye to tradition and culture? Do I completely let western influence control my mind and the minds of countless others like me, fed on a staple diet of high speed Internet and Star TV? These questions puzzle me and so do countless others that flash into my mind, when I think about traditions, values and all the other good things that we learnt as kids viz-a-viz the changing scenario today.

One such puzzle is the constant bickering that I hear about live in relationships. A concoction of love and convenience, these relationships allow today’s young professionals to shed inhibitions and a few traditional notions. From long hair to belly button piercing, from short skirts to late nights with friends, there is a certain level of resistance to anything that is new and radical. And rightly so, wasn’t that supposed to be a generation gap, whatever happened to that!

Most couples that decide to take the plunge to move in together face a lot of argument at home. For parents caught in their own values and traditions, it takes a while before they can accept such a phenomenon, based on the western code of life and most feel helpless, as kids usually rebel or end up walking out of the house. Prashant, a freelancing video editor by profession, has been in a live-in for a while and recommends it to others. He strongly feels it’s important to experience a live-in before marriage and his dad is cool about it. But everyone is not. His partner’s parents are not open to the idea and want her to wait to be more financially independent and mature to ‘live-in’ a relationship. The couple does stay independently, and strongly feels that it has taught them good budgeting and a way of living with limited resources.

Vivek, an engineer at an IT company feels the same way and his live-in resulted in a happy marriage. He feels that one needs to be very wise and prudent before choosing the partner they want to move in with and advices that if there are any terms and conditions, those need to be addressed at the outset. According to him a few small things can go a long way in making a live-in a success.

In India, live-in couples are still comparatively rare even in the metros and the trend has not really caught on, especially in the middle and upper middle classes, where marriage is still very much the norm, but live-in relationships do occur among the upper class as an alternative lifestyle. I think this is an idea that people should warm up to. It would be so much better to have a live-in and find out the compatibility level that you and your partner share before moving into the sanctum relationship of marriage. On the other hand, I agree that this is not something that we should do with ten people and keep trying till our hair turns grey, but grant me that. We need to grant this generation that freedom, trust their instincts and their maturity levels and slowly accept this concept as reality and not a crazy adventure.

Finding a way...

2006-07-30T18:13:00.003+05:30

Too many times I’ve held on,

When I needed to push away,

Afraid to say what was on my mind,

Afraid to say what I needed to say.

There’ve been too many times,

That people have tried to see,

There’ve been too many times,

That I’ve wanted to flee.

Too many times I’ve found,

That there’s a struggle deep inside,

Too many times to count,

The tempest in the mind.

I’ve tried just too many times,

Too many times to push it away,

Too many times to hide my feelings,

I have tried finding a way.

Finding a way to live my dreams,

Dreams that have no end,

Finding a way to face it all,

In this world of play pretend.

Finding a corner to cry it away,

Finding a way to endure,

Finding a way to escape,

Finding a way to cure.

Finding a way to end it all,

Finding a way to face,

Finding a way to shirk it,

Finding a way to embrace.

The world as it unfolds...

Taking a trip down the memory lane, I feel a crippling pain. A pain that has no physical connotation but one, that upsets me to the extent that it challenges my mere existence. A pain that takes me back in time. A pain that makes me scratch my brain to answer a million questions that stare at me blatantly in my face, and I wonder if they ever would be answered. These questions amaze me to the depth of my core, make me ponder over and leave me frustrated. Introspection yields no results, and further raises a voice, that yells from within:

Where have we lost the values learnt at school?

Lost like voices in the crowd, withered like the petals in autumn.

Where have we lost our innocence, unadulterated joy and humor?

Where in the dust have we buried our genuineness, selflessness and perseverance?

Have we paid such high price for maturity?

Price to grow up into adults?

The earliest memories of learning such words can be traced back to my early childhood, when in school and at home, I was taught morals, values and ethics, which then I didn’t even know the meanings of. It all boiled down to ‘being good’ to everyone. ‘Being good’, then, meant being kind and polite. Now I startle over the extent of this overpowering ‘kindness’ and ‘politeness’ pouring out of nowhere. Consequently we try to revive a degree of ‘goodness’ because it has already faded away into negligibility. So much evil has poured into lives that it is creating a void within us, which most of us don’t feel, and if do, don’t want to accept. This null is there in our depths but we constantly avoid it.

By ‘we’, I don’t mean you and me, but the global community at large; a group of people who are aspiring to live their dreams every single day of their lives and working towards a goal. This could be extremely subjective and these objectives differ from person to person. Anyone and everyone running on the fast track in this mad race, in order to outshine the other is affected by varying degrees of fakeness, pretence, jealousy and evil. How many of us genuinely feel pleased about someone else performing better than us? How many of us compete with our own selves?

The overall picture is of a degraded community whose idealism even is largely fake. The pretentiousness, the false enthusiasm, the incessant strife over money and power, the all-encompassing agent, the swaggering of the big shots (and their usually utter incompetence to achieve anything they start out to do), the constant fear of losing all this fairy gold and being the nothing they have never ceased to be and malicious tricks; makes the condition even more downtrodden.

Ever noticed how many people wear broad smiles on their faces, that too, the best of them, even though they might be through the deepest of trouble? It is not that I wish to take such an example, but this to me, appeared to be the simplest sign of fakeness. It begins right where we stop being ourselves but exhibit differently from the way we are, by building up this envelope of pretence around us. Ever wondered why a kid never has all this to think about? Free from all emotional trauma, pretentiousness and dual personality projections, a child never ceases to be innocent. Genuine smiles that he always means for expressing joy and a cry for pain is all so real. Nothing is superficial about it.

It is not just once or twice that all of us are left brooding over the pretence and fakeness of people, but everyday, every single day of our lives, we meet such people who feel total nothingness, worthlessness, helplessness and lack of support. They probably never think of shirking these facades and let nothing about them resemble fakeness. Be real, be honest, be yourself. There has never been a need to wear facades to conceal your real self. The human soul has still greater need of the ideal than of the real. It is by the real that we exist and by the ideal that we live.

There is something in every one of us that waits and listens for the sound of the genuine in our selves. It is the only true guide we will ever have. And if we cannot hear it, we will all of our lives spend our days on the ends of strings that somebody else pulls for us, because if we cant realize the genuine, we can never understand the real...

Finding a way…

Into the reality,

To dispel the darkness of the fake,

To understand the pure for its sake.

And live genuinely a life in this world…

The world as it unfolds...

Love letter (truly unbelievable)

2006-07-30T18:11:00.002+05:30

Hey Dude,

You must be wondering what is this e-mail doing in your inbox, incrementing its size by 88 Kilobytes, when we just had a long conversation over phone, that too on my credit, and exchanged few SMSs too. It is just because I want you to know how special you are and what you mean to me. I couldn’t bring it up over phone, and it is high time you know this. I could have said it then but just wanted to write it down because words said might become memories and might get faded away with time but once written, they are always with you, for you to read and feel the beauty of love again.

I know you never would imagine this in your dreams, or rather nightmares. I know you can’t relate me to writing all this and probably don’t even think I am capable of such intense an emotion. I know that you think what a funny little kid I am; one who can’t fall for someone seriously or match someone’s emotional and sentimental love quotient. The happy-go-lucky and carefree attitude that generally people get across of me is just what I superficially seem to be but I guess you have never really known the extent of my thoughts. So don’t get shocked. ‘Unexpected’ should be welcomed. So, welcome me with open arms?

I don’t want this to sound like one of those Laila-Majnu e-mails, because, we both aren’t them and surely wouldn’t want to be either. I am just writing what I feel for you. I remember days when I used to think that you boast a lot, throw attitude and walk in a world of your own. I believed what I heard about you, like what generally happens in budding love stories, and I never wanted you to be in my proximity until one fine day I was formally introduced to you by a friend, and I had a crush on you. That style, that statement and that arrogance; there is no one in the whole goddamn world who could throw it back at me in such an overdose.

Born the only child to my parents, I have grown up into an apparently arrogant and pampered baby. That’s on my face. Isn’t it? Always selective about friends, I generally take my own time to choose one and then is the beginning of a brand new relationship, one that has no scope for any questions. There isn’t scope for any answers either. I wouldn’t let you speak!

I have always been pensive to an extent about getting intimate or drawing margins in a relationship, but you’ve been the most special one. You’ve conveniently taken the direct shortcut to my heart, which beats faster for you with each passing day. It might sound filmy but it’s felt within me and it’s not flimsy.

I don’t know if it is love happening to me, I don’t know why I am afraid to accept because I have never experienced this before. It’s the most wonderful feeling, more beautiful than the most scenic sunsets.

Love

2006-07-30T17:59:00.003+05:30

I lay awake all night,
And stare into the vast sky,
Depression and gloom surround me,
Can I ask you why?

Earlier, when I was awake at night,
I used to think about me and you,
Now I think only about ‘me’,
And things are down and blue.

I think about the moments,
And the wonderful times I’ve spent with you,
More I think, more I realize,
Our love for each other wasn’t true.

How you made smile,
And how you cared for me,
How we understood each other,
And things were happy and glee.

Now the heart doesn’t beat,
To the rhythm of my mind,
There are infinite questions, to which,
Answers I have to find.

The mind wants to scream aloud,
And the spirit wants to cry,
The eyes have become moist,
And ‘we’ is replaced by ‘my’.

I thought, nothing and no one,
Could ever tear us apart,
You would always be…
Inside my heart!

You’ve turned your back on me,
Like the waves retreat from the shore,
You’ve left me standing alone,
It makes me need you more.

You know, you have the power,
To make me weak inside,
No one can live for love,
And die the way I died.

I long for safety,
Of being in your arms,
To snuggle you, to know you,
And to feel your warmth.

There were times you made me laugh,
And when you were a shoulder to cry on,
My belief and faith have been shattered,
And you aren’t the one I can rely on.

When the nights were full of darkness,
But the stars shone above,
I thought I could surely,
Always count on your love.

It started with a smile,
But has ended in a tear,
Everything seems to have lost its meaning,
And you are not here.

It’s the saddest phase in life,
When you get to know,
The person who means the most to you,
Is not for you and you have to let go.

Now I want freedom,
And peace of my mind,
I’m trying too hard to fight,
And leave my memories behind.

The love we had for each other,
Is just fading away with time,
You’ve got your own new world,
And I guess, I’ve got mine.

I want to start a new life,
But I’m always thinking of you,
Its rather absurd, at one time,
To love you and to hate you.

But I still Hope, though I’ve been disappointed,
Because being sad and dejected will help no more,
I Believe, though I’ve been betrayed,
And Love, though I’ve been hurt before.