For the abject should always remain where they belong!

What do you expect the stars of a super-hit, multiple award winning, billion dollar grosser Hollywood movie with 10 Oscar nominations to be paid as remuneration for their year-long work? I bet any number you throw would be a few orders of magnitude higher than what the child stars of the much-hyped Slumdog Millionaire made (or for that matter even the other Indian actors). Celebritydom or not, Boyle thinks it befits his stars to forever stay consigned to the slums. Once a slumdog, forever a slumdog. Somebody else can take care of becoming the millionaire part.

It's not about narrowing the blame on a few individuals. The rule of exploiting the exploited seems to be universal, for why else would a brutal shameless attack on women in pub by self-proclaimed moral guardians of the society aka goons prompt national leaders, state Chief Ministers and women's right activists to promise to take an action against the immoral pub culture and PDA, and lecture women about what they are expected to do.
Equality, free democracy, justice, anyone?

Interlude-III

The fog was too dense, the night too pensive. Sounds, lights and souls had dimmed in the silence of the all pervasive haze. The grass was moist, the trees like silent guardians of a sleeping, shivering neighborhood. For all she knew, Riya was the only person on the street in that ungodly hour. But she was enjoying the walk, streaming through the fog. Her love for winters increased manifold on nights like these when the freshness of moist night air on her face allowed her not only to escape the suffocating insides of her home but also to, for a while, feel herself protected by the layer of fog inside which she had disappeared from the eyes of the rest of the world, inside which she was free to be herself.

And Riya was happy tonight, even though she did not understand fully the euphoria in her body. She started reflecting upon the events of the past few days. Every brief conversation with her new friend, every stolen moment of eye-contact had been the high point of those days. She'd met Tamas, and felt for him something she'd never felt for anyone before. More importantly, she felt as if now, with him a part of her life, she'd never ever feel lonely again and that maybe, she could forget her past and live happily afterall, maybe she could open herself to someone again. To him. She asked herself if she was falling in love again. Just as she had that thought though, she began to rationalise to herself if she really liked him, and if she could really see herself with him minus the romanticization of reactions created by chemicals in her head. Was she really worth him? Was he worthy of her soul? Was the understanding and affection she feel between them something true and permanent?

Questions like these kept her mind racing, and soon she got exhausted and decided to get back home. As she lay on her bed, then, wanting to get some sleep before the hectic day tomorrow, one final thought occupied her mind. She knew somehow, that the rationalization wasn't going to make a difference to her, that the idea of Tamas gave her a kind of satisfaction and elation that nothing else gave, that she trusted him, and her hope that they can make a life together. She had been through relationships before, but something in her told her it wasn't the same this time, that with Tamas this love and understanding she felt was so complete, so mutual, that she would never be back in the darkness again. That maybe, she could stop being afraid.

She tried to dismiss her overwhelmed emotions for the night since she wanted to make all decisions only with a fresh mind, in the morning. Still, till her last awake moment, she could not dismiss the image of Tamas from her eyes. And when she woke up, no decisions were required to be made, for that image had exploited the interlude of her few hours of sleep to permanently establish itself in ever inch of her existence, as faith, as truth, as trust, as love.

Interlude-II

I loved her once, but that doesn't mean a lot anymore. She was a part of my life, yes, but it was so long ago I do not even clearly recall what it was like having her around, or what she was like herself. Yet when I saw her today in the shopping mall, 200 feets and 12 years disappeared in a second. My eyes fogged up with the haze of bits and pieces of memory. I didn't even realize when I lost her in the crowd of the mall. Just like the way, I guess, I lost her 12 years ago in the crowd of life.

Memory is a crazy thing. Most of the times, we choose to remember truth just the way we want it. In the remembering, we tell our mind a story that it records; in the telling of the truth lies the tale selectively entrenched in our brain we call the truth and thereafter. Even more incredible than how some parts are conveniently and completely erased, or never recorded, in the memory, is how some things, some tiny bits from here or there, are just impossible to forget and associate themselves permanently with our idea of ourselves.

I never understood what went wrong with my marriage with Riya. We were so deeply in love, so happy with each other, we couldn't wait to get married. But only a year or so later, an unbreachable silence started living in our house. I can't even remember how it started, but I distinctly remember how I despised having to talk to her, having to touch her. And when she asked for a divorce, I felt relieved. I knew she had said it in a fit of rage and frustration, but I was keen not to allow her to take her words back. My guilt did not allow me to say anything, my greed did not allow me to get away with her words. But most of all it was my love for her that made me so desperate to set her free. Hurt, but free.

That's my story. I know it's not all true, it's not even complete, but I made peace with it all these years. But today, that one smiling look on her face as she bought soft toys for the little girl in pink holding her hand makes me doubt my belief in my truth.

It's so long ago I don't think I can remember the whats whys and whens of all the things that happened back then, but for the first time in twelve years, I'm suddenly haunted by a question that I have a sneaking suspiscion was hidden under the covers all this time. Why did I not take her in my arms and forgive her?

Maybe this interlude of a dozen years would have been different, happier. Or maybe not.

Cancer of the soul

"Saab aap ye samajh lijiye, aapki soul ko cancer ho gaya hai!"
"Itna bura to nahi hai yar"
"Hai, ab main kuch nahi kar sakta...badalwa lo warna kaam nahi chalega!"

(Translation: (sic)
"Sir, you need to understand that your soul has got cancer!"
"It can't be that bad!"
"It is, and there's nothing I can do about it...you need to get a new one else things can't work..")

That conversation, overheard, was enough to stop me in my stride and turn back to find out more about the prophetic diagnosis of a cancerous soul on the roadside. Although in the next thirty seconds it was clear that the conversation was centered around the worn out sole of a terribly battered shoe that the helpless cobbler did not want to repair, I had an inkling I would have found a diagnosis of a cancerous soul fairly credible, in these times.

I am not a statistic

The one good thing that came out of a super-weird conversation with the guy from TIME (no, he's not cute, by far) I mentioned in the previous post was that I realized being dumb and defensive and watching people jump from one hasty conclusion to another is amusing timepass. Towards the end of that convoluted inconsequential conversation was an exchange of dialogue I'd probably remember for some time.

Me: You don't know me. Your judgements mean nothing.
Him: But you're not letting me know you.
Me: That's right, I wanted it this way. That's the mood I'm in this evening.
Him: See, all judgement is experiential, and statistics show...
Me: I'm not a statistic. Do you have any more questions?
Him: No.
Me: Neither do I. Thank you for your time.

Felt good.

Maa da laadla bigad gaya!

I'm slightly cranky today. No real reason. Part cold-induced nausea, part PMS, part silly-as-hell lab (of the one and only this sem) course and the rest aiven hi. As such thoughts in my head are colliding like a million multi-colour crazy-balls (the ones that bounce super-extra, or used to when I was in class 5) in a 10ft by 10ft room (not that my head is that big, not that thoughts are coloured). That, apart from increasing the intensity of my yet-mild headache, makes me vomit mostly unconnected thoughts (and the body is making me vomit even more gross and ugly things that looked fine before I ate them since yesterday). So here, let the blog handle the dirt. :D :D

So, you know, in the fluke of the year, I sorta cracked CAT and landed up with calls for IIM interviews which I'm almost convinced I'm gonna skip unless I'm too bored (these kinda things should be transferable though: I would gladly give them to someone who actually studied and actually wanted to go to an IIM). Anyway, the gossip here is not the rather undeserved glory of that event, but the after-effects. A couple of gentleman from T.I.M.E. have been calling me everyday since Friday with some question or the other, and despite my showing little interest in their specially tailored programs et al, one of them has persisted with 3 calls a day. This evening he told me he wants to meet me tomorrow at the IIT cafeteria. So I thought, what the heck, let's humor him (and maybe he's cute). :P

From my window I can see hot (ok, relatively speaking) girls of my hostel dance on item numbers around the fire of Lohri. And I can hear a huddled bunch right next in the corridor right next to my window discussing how their boyfriends (and one girl's brother) bigad gaye hain over time. The conversation is obviously helped by the song (in the title of the post) being played once every 6 minutes or so by whoever is handling the music. I bet she has emotions on this one! So I have actually, of two kinds. One is memories from my recent Chandigarh trip. In a Chemical Engg conference, the cultural evenings at Panjab university were shockingly colourful, and the one I attended had Shankar Sahni, the singer of the said song among others, performing with his troupe of scantily clad girls and gymnast boys gyrating around him, and the crowd going mad. Even the profs were salivating staring at the girls. The second emotion is related to the bigade hue boys in my life (best friend, boyfriend, bro), but that makes me crankier. Guys you know, they can never get hints. Not even the most direct ones. :|

My best friend can't decide the heads and tails of life and programs his brain to think weird crap incessantly (and doesnt get me icecream!), yet claims all his happiness anyway lies in his ability to access his laptop from anywhere. And if I tell my guy why cant he be consistently loving and nice, he says I've been spoilt by Rahul Dravid's influence. They are silly and painful and spoilt, but cute they are still. :P

A-Satyam

Heaps have been written about the shocking satya of Satyam, one of India's IT giants, and as the govt welcomes yet another mind-boggling crisis to salvage and regulate India Inc on its already unenviable palate and people everywhere wonder as to what next, all this talk about Satyam being India's Enron somehow makes me wonder if we're "aping the West", in particular the US, a bit too much. We found a Bollywood to rival their Hollywood, a 26/11 to match 9/11, a Satyam to match Enron. As the list keeps growing, I fear (really really fear) soon we will find a Bush.

Dispensable

Sometimes you want to laugh
at yourself
for being so foolish, so naive
so as to believe.
And wish.
To want is one thing,
it's probably human
to want fervently is forgivable too
but to want so much that
you're ready
to give yourself up
is foolish. And silly.
You can hope
that you'd be needed
just the way you need
and loved the way you love.
You can hope, but you can't
expect not to be disappointed
more often than not.
You can hope otherwise, but you are
still utterly dispensable
more often than not
to everyone.
Just like everyone is, to you.
Almost.
Sometimes you want to laugh
at yourself
for being so foolish, so naive
so as to believe
that you are
the center of your universe.

Interlude

Tamas was going through one of those phases, where he wanted a break - a temporary reprieve of sorts - from the need to struggle to maintain the balance between the needs of the different roles and people in his life. Everybody, once in a while, wishes for an interlude like that, where one could rest and leave things on auto-pilot, only to return rejuvenated and flush life with a fresh energy. Although they'd been married only a few months, Riya recognized the symptoms and Tamas's needs quite early. In the 2 yrs she had known him, she had understood enough to have no second thoughts about putting all her faith in Tamas; she had known they'd make a good life together ever since she fell in love with him. And they made a good couple indeed, loving, caring and understanding each other quite effortlessly. So when Tamas showed a certain degree of withdrawal, as if he wanted to stay within himself, comfortably, to reflect and refresh, Riya immediately created a lot of free space for him, thinking it was only about a few days.

Beneath the calm of the surface, often a lot of dynamic processes are hidden, and not always do they point towards inner turbulence and restrained chaos. A lot of times, they're just the churning wheels of change, and sometimes, they form the feedback response of a system trying to maintain its stability in changed conditions. Riya and Tamas's marriage started resembling a system like that, as Riya picked silence and her books to compliment Tamas's solitude and stopped discussing most personal and household decisions with Tamas, still maintaining her sweet, loving self to him. Tamas was glad that finally there was something he could take for granted and was secretly grateful to Riya for making sure his world was in order. Riya started to miss him even when they lived in the same home, but she did not know if it was a good time to talk openly with Tamas about it, who seemed inclined to be quiet, and looked happy anyway. Riya waited, even as few days became few weeks and few months.

Three months passed. Riya felt extremely lonely and could not share it with anyone. She kept waiting for Tamas to become his normal self again, but it just didnt happen. She tried talking to him a few times, straining to hear if he'd hint at anything bothering him, but he wouldn't budge. He was nice to her, but so distant she started worrying if his warmth, cheerfulness and care had disappeared for good. Once when she started telling him about her horrible day at work, he got so irritated and angry that she immediately changed the topic. It was completely unlike him to not listen patiently to anything she had to say. Something had to be wrong. And Riya wondered what she could do.

Why can it be a dangerous idea to thank your life when it makes you happy?

Not because mostly it suddenly realises its mistake, says a quick thank you to you for reminding abut her slip-up, and goes back to normal in a jiffy.
But because sometimes, it even takes a refund back.

To more beginnings...

2008, for the most part, wasn't a year to remember too fondly, not just for the world economy and for India, but even for me (as if that matters). Still, indulged in the customary nostalgia and retrospection reserved for this time of the year, I cannot help feeling that the last year brought a lot of us a lot farther than where we started from a year ago, and while the change has been more for the worse than for the better, it's been an enriching experience, and a test of character. This I say as much for myself (with somewhat conviction) as for India and the world (with some element of generalization). Lots of people have hailed 2008 as the year of Change, what with Obama's victory and the Finance industry earthquakes, but I suspect change is not in the stormy winds, but in the air itself, felt stronger sometimes than at others, but always there.

Philosophy apart, my 2008 was gloomier than most other years and had fewer crests and troughs too, but that is partly the fault of getting older. At some level, I had already had too much of college life 6 months back, and it's been more or less of a drag since. A lazy quest for purpose. The high points of the year were the stint with the Placement cell at the beginning, the three days of TRYST'08, the feeling of relief when March '08 ended, the daily momos-fanta evenings of a dreary summer, getting a job, and a handful of precious moments of feeling loved, for a change. The low points, there's no point counting.

What I expect out of 2009 isn't a lot different, either. At least for the first half, after which I'd be a part of another rat race to be kept occupied with. Till then, it's a jobless very lonely existence I can drift into with some peace, albeit I hope to find a few things I want to do, since now is the time to do just that. I wanna write more, much much more, for one. I'm thinking joining gym/dance classes could be fun too, for I can actually meet real people and it will help me reduce a few inches and a few kgs. So that's two wishes, but if I be honest, they're both half-hearted wishes, more from the mind than the heart. So I don't know if I'd keep them. There's a third, I really want to stop expecting some of the things I do and get rid of my pangs of insecurity and neediness. They're 100% despicable, although temporary. That's what I wanna do, so I can maybe just love myself and stop searching for it in cold corners of hearts I do not belong in (or in those where I exist but am so utterly dispensable).

Ha, stupid to start the year with a whine, no. You know, I'm enjoying the chilly winters of Delhi extensively. It's already so foggy even inside the hostel, and a walk outside make my cheeks turn pink. And talking aloud to myself in the fog feels like a dream (even with my voice).
Life, at some levels, feels like a dream too. Sleep is good. And then we can wake up and enjoy more beginnings, right? Happy new year everyone!!!