Restless peace.

This is a year of quiet restlessness. So far. A year where things have been pretty damn good for pretty much everything, and yet have always come accompanied with a fidgety restless discontentment. This is a year where joy has come aplenty, with some grief, but mostly, a lot of detachment. A lot of not feeling strongly enough. A lot of happy calm at the surface. And restlessness. I don't know if this is permanent, transient or non-existent (only in my head!). And disturbingly, the next thought that comes to my mind is, in a very Ravi Shastri-kinda way, I have a feeling that something's got to give here.

Whatever that means.:)

I like wondering every now and then of change. The whats, whys and hows. I like to pick up a lens and see things, places, and most of all myself through it to understand just a little better. You can call it a hobby. Searching for analogies and metaphors is another. One of the changes in me in the last year or two I hate the most is how my words don't flow out of me as much anymore as they could. Writing used to be a lot more effortless, and cathartic to me. It wasn't good writing, but it was brilliant clearing for mess inside my head. It sorta takes away the impact of many good changes. I so badly want to write. I want to write my book. I want to write cricket. I want to write poetry and fiction. I want to dole out crap on the back of my notebook again - not mere doodles. But it doesn't come out. Not enough. What's wrong? I feel joy, lots of peaceful joy, but not soul-stirring teary-eyed happiness like I did, a few moments in life. Is there anything wrong?

Anyway, back to the restlessness. I wonder if I feel it more because I dont write about it enough. I wonder if  it is just quarter-life crisis. I wonder if it's just hormonal over-thinking :) But that's the sort of year it has been. Job satisfaction plummeting - the flaws in people so much more visible. Stress over not knowing the future was less than the confusion over my desire to not even try to know the future. And even now, disquietude. What am I doing with my life? Why have I never done enough crazy whimsical things like others? Am I too "safe"? Am I too boring? What will the new job be like? Am I deliberately not asking hard questions? Have I become too defensive, too non-confrontational. Am I scared of drama? Fatigued? Or is this drama still.

Why isn't peace enough?

And where the f**k are the words?

PS At least, I still have unanswered questions.

Dirty Women

[[Complicated post; part fiction, part real]]

They saw the world from a different angle, the four of them. You could argue they were almost supposed to do that given who they were - they were meant, in a way, to have that unique enlightening view that common-folk of the planet would regard too obnoxious, unrealistic, disgusting, or well, plain dirty. But it went much beyond the call of duty and the hard-coding of genes. M, A, N and S, (henceforth referred as MANS collectively) were all brilliant, one-of-a-kind, delightful women living life wholly, but together they could effortlessly do the undoable and think the unthinkable - together they rose far above the world on the thought-deed matrix. MANS, in one of the most underestimated under-appreciated ways possible, were some of the most precious gems of the world.
Who got lost, but more on that later.

You may ask me why am I narrating this story today. To me MANS symbolised the breaking of conventional barriers and imposed moral obligations. To me MANS represented a continuous wave of delight, freshness and energy conquering the darkness. And each of them had an individual story because of which, and despite which, they became who they were.

M had lived a life where being sick wasn't a choice, it was a destiny. She craved for the confines and safety of the home, but time threw her out in an unkind world that cared only for money and forced her, in one of the more painful ways, to slave for it. A and S together had been the best of friends and the best of enemies all their life, but beneath their complicated relationship was an appreciation of what each had lived through before and after they got to know each other, and a mutual respect for their admirable spirit towards life. The devil lies in the details, but it would be fair to say A had experience bearing the vagaries of the weather of life, and that made her someone you could count on to step up in difficult situations even while being charming in her beautiful delicate feminine ways. When A was around, a smile was never far. S on the other hand, had grown in a wilderness where so-called modern civilization was largely absent, and a sudden transportation to this other far more complicated world had intimidated the little chirpy kid in her so much it was now only intermittently visible. Time continually moistened her eyes till she hardened her heart and by the time I met her she had learnt to be indifferent to most things around her and preferred to live in her own constructed world of incomplete moments and solitary walks. N I knew the least about - the vastness of her heart concealed a lot I could probably never imagine, and the rest was brushed aside in a warm omni-present smile. She was the most productive on most occassions, metaphorically speaking, showing a depth of perspective only S could occassionally match.
Four people so different yet connected not only by circumstance that put them in a battle together, but by a mind that refused to be numbed and by the refusal of the world to accept them for who they'd been made to become.

Again, why I am I going on and on about this story and these four complicated people. I don't know. These four were thrown together under strange circumstances, a time of crisis, but very soon I saw them discover each other and what they had in common. I saw them smile, despite their differences, their pains and despite the challenge the world threw at them. I saw the world crig and cringe because they were women, they weren't supposed to be "good", they weren't supposed to be bold and vocal, and because they weren't supposed to be "different" from the world. But they were. And that makes me admire them. And love them all. They had a lesson for the world - be true to who you are, and what you feel. They won, and it gave me a hope to fight on. Maybe that's why I'm sharing this today.

It was painful to watch them move away, but such was life - there are no happily ever after. A was snatched away by yet another cruel twist in her life, but then, there was other people and places that she had to spread her magic on. S grew to be more indifferent, more detached to the world and one day decided to just quit. M and N persevered some more, but eventually they all were back alone, fighting alone with the world, trying not to conform, being themselves. It was tragic, to say the least, but such is life.

People move on. But some of them teach us many important things. Even dirty women.

The party

The party was on at full strength. Most people had settled into smaller groups of their own, chatting, dancing, joking, exchanging gossip, or just happily getting drunk. The lights had dimmed down a little; the alcohol had intensified its effect. It was easy to get lost in the crowd.

At one dark corner was Diya, madly gyrating to the rhythm. She had never drunk so much before, but, well, tonight was something else. Every single serene, smiling soul she saw in that room enraged her. She had lost both count and control, and gave in to the pulsating music and the adrenaline inside her. A couple of guys tried to come too close for comfort, but indifferent to the world, Diya danced on in full public glare. Tonight it did not matter.

The opposite corner was equally dark, but much more silent. The music was only the throbbing beats in the air here and the noise mostly chuckles of smiling people and semi-filled glasses. Pavani moved from group to group, making small talk, laughing at a witty remark, listening to a few tales and a few whines, until she finally settled on one corner seat alone, waring half a smile. All evening she'd had this one glass of margarita in her hand, but tonight she did not want to drink. She was bored, she was lonely and she just didn't fit in among the groups of people she was surrounded by. Someone loitered over and tried to flirt with her. She politely focused his attention on something else. And the party went on.

It was a strange party in a lot of ways. It was full of adults behaving in the most juvenile of manner. Diya and Pavani weren't the only souls with their minds lost in the din; many of them had forgotten carrying their souls tonight, and were busy maneuvering the evening to fit their own stories.

From where Pavani was sitting, she could see Diya clearly several scores of feet away. She longed for the carefree expression Diya carried on her face, for the sexiness of her uninhibited moves, for her ability to enjoy those moments. A wave of emotion threatened to choke her, and she decided to slip away from the party. Once outside, she slipped a text to the only friend who might wonder where she disappeared a couple of hours later when the party would end, and decided to walk. It wasn't so late in the night, but the road was fairly empty. A couple of cabs slowed down checking with her if she wanted a ride, but she was content on walking. She kept asking herself, why she couldn't be happy and enjoy herself like Diya did. There were no easy answers, she walked a mile before settling down at a coffee place window, watching the world happen in silence.

20 minutes later, she saw a cab stop across the street and a girl in white emerged, puking. It was Diya. Immediately, Pavani walked out and helped Diya sit on the pavement. She was crying. Pavani paid off the cab, and helped Diya walk in with her to the nearest bench. Diya was crying inconsolably, and all Pavani could think on was to hold her tight.

"Diya, are you okay?"
"Yeah...thanks. I'm sorry...I.."
....

They talked for more than an hour, and both ended up crying by the end. They'd never exactly been friends at office, each a little intimidated and a lot jealous of the other, but tonight they'd found in each other just what they needed. The world had been harsh to each of them, but intertwined between their fingers as they walked that breezy night, they'd found a soft spot. Broken hearts can sometimes mend each other.

My space v/s Our space?

Arnav's post this morning reminded me of my very own intimacy v/s privacy debate, shreds of which penetrate every relationship I have, and more so in recent times, and the crux of which invaded my relationship with my parents probably before I learnt to define these words. I love my parents, without doubt, and they've loved me so unconditionally I don't even want to think about it lest it gives me guilt pangs. But my relationship with them has always been confined to strict limits and lines which I drew and kept since and for forever, I think.

As a child I was one of those who have the bane of growing too soon for their age thrust upon their shoulders by destiny, and though most people wouldn't believe it, I was more of less really quiet. Talkative in friends, but quiet. Both my parents work, and I lived in a creche since I was about four months old, and till the time I was old enough to take care of myself and my younger brother in the absence of my parents. During those 11-12 years, though I don't remember the first few of those at all except my dad teaching me alphabet and poetry and me ruining the whole house's walls with a pen in hand and some such shredded memories, I became comfortable in a life in a shell around myself sufficiently enough that I never needed to step out of it.

Now, for the last five years I've been living outside home, and my fortnightly visits are essentially about a lot of sleep, food, TV and a little banter and during the week I almost never call up home, and my mom calls every 4-5 days. I argue almost endlessly with my mom at times, sometimes bordering on rudeness but mostly playfully. I'm not interested in any of the stuff going on at home so half the time I'm not even listening, and I'm absolutely not interested in divulging more than a minimum amount of what I do here even if they ask. And as a result of this, my parents know very little of the person I've become in all these years. They know I'm opinionated and rebellious but my mom was shocked a few days back when there was a hint of sensitivity (which is all her domain in my home) in something I did. They don't know most of my friends, they don't think I do anything other than studying and a little bit of extra work here and never step out of hostel after 9pm, they don't know I write much except a couple of articles or poems they might have seen sometimes, and they don't know what goes in my head at any given point of time. Now you can call it tragic, but that's just the way I've liked it to be, all these years.

Except today, reading Arnav's post made me realize I've never gone to them with a problem, at least never ever with a personal/emotional problem, and I never try calling home if I'm lonely, or down. The one time I screwed up a course horribly and psyched out completely over it, I eventually cried out to them and they were immediate comfort. I don't even tell them if I'm ill because they worry, not even when I want someone to worry. I've become so used to the independence that I can't really live at home for too long, though it's become better in the last one year. In fact there was a time I used to be outright stifled, because at my home I can't wake up late, can't talk on phone, can't go anywhere (not that I've any friends there) and can't even just keep to myself and my novel for too long. My brother, I can still talk to him sometimes, and I often regret not being around for him, but that's primarily because I'm protective of him.
Otherwise, I'm just so sadly, fiercely independent I feel sorry.

And contrast it with the other relationships I have. 2.5 years ago I actually opened up to people to let them come close enough, and trusted them enough so they mattered a lot in my life, and since then more or less I've looked at them for support when I needed it, approached them with problems and found the few I could relax enough with to just be myself to them. That period's almost past now, but in them, during those years and with those people, I craved for intimacy, and doted love a bit too much so it became intrusion in their privacy.

I juggled around this thin line between the urge of being there for them all the time and still allowing them the space they so fiercely protected so much that I probably pissed them off too many times. I just don't have the absolute answer of maintaining this balance, so I kept getting pained in their pain which I wasn't allowed to share, and in my pain which I so strongly wanted comfort for, till I just gave up.

And hence the eternal debate found a new question as well. When we, the funny, erratic, baffling humans can't really ever get to understand and adjust to ourselves and our own uncertainties and eccentricities, how could we ever live with and adjust to somebody else's uncertainties and eccentricities, at any measure of close-distance?

Reminds me of the Calvin quote: Why did evolution give us something like a sense of humour? Because if we couldn't laugh at things that didn't make sense, we wouldn't be able to react to most part of life.

Murder

How do you kill a kiddo? Simple...tell her, no yell to her, in her face till she's convinced, that all her dreams of her perfect fairy-tale world are false and illusory.

Show her the gruesome reality, the absence of faith, the farcical "forevers", the shallowness of love, the need to be selfish and then put the balm of practicality on it. And voila, you have a slightly hurt slightly shocked slightly jittery much grown up dreamless new member of your society, one who never again dreams of selfless compassion, the good of sharing and the Prince Charming.

You do this everyday, don't you?

...and then it rained

The air was still. The heat didn't burn, but stifled with its humidity. I looked around. Everything seemed lifeless, inanimate. There was no movement, no noise. I began to walk.

Long walks have a cathartic quality; the mind races randomly in different directions, with different thoughts forming, colliding, bouncing, dying every instant. I like thinking nothing. After a while it put me in such a calm mood I began to hum a tune, an old favorite, as I walked. A cloud from nowhere drifted towards the sun's face.

And slowly I re-learnt several things I had forgotten, or overlooked. And slowly I realized, analyzed, rejected and accepted facts I should never have forgotten, or overlooked. A little breeze began to flow. A flight of pigeons were being noisy. Somehow, as I looked at them, the following lines came to mind: It's your problem. Above all, I just want to be happy now. I just want to fly free. I can survive, hopefully, so can you.

It was unconnected, I know. The breeze had turned into a wind. We are who we are, and where we are, because of the choices we make, and choose not to make, as we move along. I realized my choices, and understood they didn't match with all my expectations and needs, but they were consistent with the most important ones of those.

Some limits we don't set, because we can't. Some limits we never push away, because they keep us safe in bounds. And the rest of them, we just keep pushing at to test ourselves, and they keep shifting, we keep winning, we keep trying. I knew, if and when it gets difficult, I wouldn't quit. And you will fly. Finally, I smiled.

Some times, things trivial for most of the world are everything for somebody. With the thunder the things that meant the most to me shone at me in their apparent insignificance.

And then it rained. :-)

Change-VI

Adapting to change is easier said than done. The more difficult part is when change is unanticipated, subtle and steady or unadjusted for. People change with time, and times change themselves. That makes it a lot of variables to handle calculations of and not make an error. And that is when you encounter the fact you always knew anyways, that life is not about calculations, and cannot be lived that way.
I live on a "feeling" and a faith, and it works most of the time. Sometimes, it backfires. Sometimes, the faith is blind. On the whole, still, perhaps, it's a gamble worth taking, but boy o' boy when you wake up and realise how much Ground Zero differs from expectations, that is one rude wake up call.
This summers, or just before it started, I counted a handful of people that really mattered, and that I thought I could rely on. One of them was really close while distant, but seems to have been lost now in preoximity. Unrecognisably lost. Why didn't I think of this change?
Another fought and left for a lot of time, all the time making me cry and grieve and finally when he returned, neither him nor me perhaps are the same for each other any more. We are not the same friends, perhaps can never be. Why didn't I think of this change?
A third, a really important third, is there, yet not there. The times between us have changed so much that something very important somwhere is gradually disappearing, despite our trying for it not to happen. I knew this would happen, I knew we would try, but I didn't think time wouldn't even allow us to try hard enough. And something within would change. Why didn't I think of this change?
A fourth has retreated from being an overwhelming part of my existence to an equally caring yet latent periphery, despite no change in coordinates, except inside maybe. I thought times here were keeping constant, but now I wonder why didn't I think of this change?
One more left, and with that person the change on the whole is only anticipated/nice, but even forseeably it won't last too much. Maybe it would suck even more then, because of current niceties. I shouldn't maybe have let the current niceties happen. Oh God,why didn't I think of this change?

Okay, I guess it's impossible for anyone to think of everything beforehand. Not everything's in my control, though some of this is blatantly foolish on my part. Yes, times have changed. Yes, you and you and you are not here, and wouldn't be, any more.

Change happens, kiddo. Just deal with it.

Smile. Come what may.

What Women Want-II

The one super-simple thing about women than men don't understand, and continue to call them (girlfriends, moms, sisters )infinitely impossibly complicated (which may or may not be true) is this:

Guys, when you don't understand what she says what she says or doesn't, or what she does and why, when she looks at you with eyes of expectation of something you can't figure out what, or with a silence you can't interpret (or one those thousand situations), don't fret too much, just look at her and tell her you love her, and say it like you mean it. More importantly, say it like she feels you mean it. And for that to happen, better mean it. Don't ask me what would repeating something so 'obvious' help? Just do it and watch the change. She knows anyway that it's hard for you to really understand the issue, but to calm her down to that knowledge, she needs to be convinced of your trust/sincerity/commitment. Try it.

Girls, what say?

F.R.I.E.N.D.S.

NEVER TRUST ANYONE

Other than the Half-Truths...

Perhaps nothing's sweeter than the sleep a few mins before one has to wake up...

Somehow, it's much easier to wake up bang in the middle of the night/morning, say around 4, when one has been sleeping for a few hours, and then suddenly, one wakes up-fully alert- for no apparent reason at all. And then, it becomes so painfully difficult to go back to sleep. So for hours one lies in the darkness, thinking rubbish, waiting for sleep to arrive, fully possessing the agonising knowledge that the same missing sleep is sure to refuse to leave you a few hours later when you HAVE to get up! :(

Anyway, there's only one thing I like about these "breaks"....One gets time to think on what one likes!

Though sadly, the few of the consequences of those thought processes and sleeplessness that I did put on this blog in recent times have led to me being labelled over-excited, pervert, and so so many things..(Click the title for example!) But, chalta hai! I'll write whatever I feel like, but yeah, nothing's gone really wrong or abnormal with me puh-leeease..

But I'm what I'm...so even if nobody can figure that out, that remains the truth...actually, only half the truth! I was just wondering, thanx to Vibhor (who I guess has become a pro at food-for-thought-exchanges!!), a conversation with whom prompted me into the "thought mood", that aren't MOST things we believe to be true, are actually half-truths...because, a lot many times, something is always missing. What I mean is, is "truth" a function of perspective? And before I get to my favourite theory of "Everything is relative", this aspect of "perspectives" and the hidden halves of truths intrigue me. Like in the previous post, the fact that bothers u most as a reader is what the half-truth was(and everyone neglected the PAIN in the post...god! Sex sells!!:D ) Life is a half-truth...even lies are semi-true, for sake of the moment and the purpose, they're true...

It's a grey world...blacks and whites scare me now. And what's amazing is we all know this, but inspite of that we often conveniently label PEOPLE as black or white, and equally conveniently develop our "truths" about them...only half the truths.

We look at an individual, and no wonder how much we get to know him, most of the times, it's only half the truth. We look at a house, and it speaks something to us, but it conceals more. We read books, watch movies, and absorb some of it as the creator wants, and some of it as we interprete, but does that define the ultimate of art. Ok I've spoken enough crap, but in the end, EVERYTHING to me is suddenly appearing as one thing- only half a truth, at max.
THE CONCEPT OF TRUTH IS A FARCE!

Ok, and before people crucify me for a serious shit post again which nobody can understand, here's more food for thought ...
# Days and nights, that literally define and decide existence for us, are transient and temporary, and differ at different places even at the same time. They're not the truth.
# Desire is but a manifestation of our stubbornness, or ego. We never know what we REALLY want, but still pursue desires all our life..setting our own parameters, our own truths. They're not truths.
# Everyone holds, forms and 'suffers' from opinions. They dictate lives to huge extents, but thet're not truths.
# Relationships, emotions, the "forever" feelings-love, friendship, repect etc- none of these are permanent. They continuously change and evolve in meaning and character. Emotions often become antagonistic to themselves. They're the pillars of our lives, but not truths.
# If you're reading this line, you might have read everything above this. but if you claim yes, just ask yourself, is that THE TRUTH?

Having said that, I'm NOT saying that all this is a plain lie...it's just incomplete, it's just, half the truth!


Life is a battlefield of half-truths!

A Little Truth....

People make mistakes. They're allowed to. We're allowed to. We're human.
Forgiveness is greater than revenge.

Many people are afraid of losing face. When we make a mistake, we look around to find a scapegoat to point the finger at. We should always remember that when we point one finger at a person, the other four fingers are pointing at ourselves.

You can never have everyone praise you, nor will everyone condemn you. Never in the past, not at present, and never will be in the future.

It is not easy to change.And it's foolish to expect people to change. Only because 'we' believe they're foolish the way they are. It would be less painful to change ourselves and lower our expectations.

Everything we do and believe is at som level a manifestation of our love and hatred for ourselves. "I" is the most dangerous word.

Life resides not in a momentary anger, and the insignificant pain we feel.There's a lot of pain around ur, and a lot of happiness too, Life resides in the rare moment we see that pain, and 'know' how trivial the I is.

Life lives in the tiny feeble hands of the three year old who helps his grandfather cross the road.