Tuesday, December 13, 2011
It started with a journey in the middle of the night. A night, so terribly cold that my entire body had gone numb. I seriously thought I could die (No Really !) Travelling in a tempo traveller without a heater is not THAT a good idea after all. And after eight hours of journey on the Delhi Jaipur Highway, I made it. I was finally at Ajmer, a city which mesmerized me with its small alleys, kachori stalls, women selling colourful bangles off the streets and architecture which takes you several century back. Be it broken beams, elaborate gateways or monuments , you cannot help but gape at those pristine structures which stand as a testimony to times, old and new. And yes, there was a man peeing away to glory, facing one of the gateways. (:/) How disgusting.
Anyway,Ajmer Sharif. My first visit to an Islamic or should I say Sufi Shrine. The roads leading up to the Dargah were filled with people wearing skull caps and with children and handicapped men seeking for alms. There were shops on both sides selling clothes, shoes, sweets and what not.I made my way to the shrine touching the silver walls and the beautiful engravings which were truly a treat to the eyes. As we stood in line in the premises to enter the main building, there were religious guards coming up ordering women to cover their heads completely. After standing under the desert sun for over half an hour with people about cribbing shafts of hair, I thought it might not be my day after all. And then I saw him.
The last time I looked in that direction there were men and women with huge brooms cleaning the open space in front of the dargah. But now, there were a host of people sitting with harmoniums, dhols all ready to sing. And amongst them sat he, eyes dreamy, with ruffled hair peeping out from underneath his skull cap. The next time I saw him was after coming out of the Dargah. He was clapping his hands , singing loudly following the lead of the main singer. And almost immediately I knew that he could not sing. His voice was so out of tune that I almost smiled as I turned to look at him. To my surprise, he was looking straight at me without even bothering to blink. Meanwhile, several members of the group I came with apparently got lost so I took the extra time out for shamelessly gawking at handsome stranger who continued to stare at me off and on.
He stood up once. Looking brusque yet vulnerable. And boy he was tall. AND considering the typical girl I am, I couldn't hep but notice that his peach color kurta happened to seamlessly fit his muscular self. What I could not understand was that even when I feigned a smile , he continued to look at me, expressionless. The writer in me was intrigued. I thought, - "There must be a story behind such a young man being in a Dargah trying to serve the Lord while most people his age dream of conquering the world entire." As I left the premises, I could feel his eyes, following me. I looked back for the last time, and walked out, with the sound of music getting drowned by the cacophony of the urban squalor.
Prior to this experience, I had a certain discord with God. But now I felt as if he exists. Primarily because it is always easier to relate when you find someone closer to your age group completely surrendering himself in the presence of almighty. True, his benign self can't be restricted to some supposed shrine, as he resides in every individual who is in search of new things, places and a new self. But for someone like me, who is a dreamer, who gets lost in bright daylight, who is often found to stare at strangers for inspiration finding or at least looking out for GOD was certainly not on my to do lists. But now I feel it should. For he is the God of small things,of fond memories, incessant cravings, of greed, lust, passion, hunger, strife and such varied emotions which makes life so special. No wonder every religious book in the world talks about the same thing. "To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never, to forget."
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Mom - I still don't understand what do you see in that guy.
Daughter - I don't either .
Mom - Now what do you mean by that.
Daughter - He calls me retarded ...
Mom - What ? Retarded ? And you still ?
Daughter - Yes Mother, I still like him.
Mom - Why May I ask ?
Daughter - Erm, because he is uncouth and he is improper. He is unlike other guys. When we go to some place he grabs his seat even before I have reached mine. He eats with his mouth full. Because he keeps on talking endlessly. Because in spite of all that he is still cares about me, and I can see that.
Mom - How ? I don't understand.
Daughter- I do mother. I just feel protected in his presence.
Mom- And you like this guy.
Daughter - Yes. I like the fact that he often falls down while dashing towards a table, playing , " Lets see who gets there first." I like the fact that I have to bend across the table to wipe that extra mayo off is lips. I love it when we walk down the road , making fun of each other instead of being too mushy or cheesy about it all the time. We aren't all that practical but it feels nice to be with each other. He tickles me , I pull his hair . We wrestle we fight. But at the end of the day, he plants a kiss on my forehead saying, - " Gosh. Life wouldn't have been LIFE without you.
Mom - You are clearly infatuated with this guy. What makes you think he is not using you ?
Daughter - What makes you think he is ? I think, I might have been using him because in all my life , I have never been this happy. I have used him to ensure myself, to hope that someday he will come, take me in his arms and tell me how much he loves me.I used him Ma, to be poetic in the most mundane of circumstances thinking of the life we may have together. I have used the moments I have spent with him to reaffirm on the fact that if it does not work out between us, I will have plenty of memories to live by.
Mom - How can you be so philosophic about everything ?
Daughter - What about you and dad Mom ? You both have been the most pragmatic of people knowing exactly what you wanted from each other. But destiny had something else in store for you. I haven't seen my father in ten years but that does not deter my spirit from trying to find love. It is not the duration it is those funny, fragile, embarrassing and sensitive moments which makes life so special.I have and I will continue to believe, one day , some day , It will be my day. My day of falling in love, irrevocably without bothering what the future lay in store for us.
Meanwhile the mother gets up from her seat, turn on the other side trying desperately to hide her tears mumbling the words,-" We weren't all that practical you know." , wondering how quick her little girl has grown up.
Friday, November 18, 2011
Delli..Delhi..Kya Batau Apke baarey mein ? It has been just one week. And I already love the place. Yeah, I lost my purse the first day and got a virtual thrashing but that does not deter my spirit one bit. According to my friends, there are certain (read : frequent and reoccurring) moments when I "zone-out" into a world of my own, even when I am a part of a loud and boisterous crowd. In Delhi, I think I am always zoned out (No wonder I lost my purse :/). It is almost like I am gliding through a sea of people whose aspirations and dreams just like my own.
So what are my observations ? The energy of the city is mind boggling . The people are very responsible when it comes to keeping the city neat and clean . There is no pretense . And if you are used to hearing or telling lies about yourself, this is not your place to be because although Delhi is supposedly plastic and materialistic, people here are straight forward and on your face. If they dislike you , YOU will come to know of it before anyone else. Sometimes vocally, sometimes through their actions. Yes, their English is terribly out of place but that is only because they would rather fine tune their mother tongue than trying to master a foreign language. "Here" becomes "Hair" but hardly anyone makes a gender error which a Bengali like me often succumbs to.
It is very different from the place I belong to. People hardly indulge in small talks, they are very focused about what they want from whom. Call them thorough professionals or workaholics , people here (irrespective of what they do) know how to get the work done. Any way for someone like me who blatantly refuses to adopt to any form of change, I really like being here. You can't expect someone here to come and have a talk on Ray's films or something but in their own way their are passionate and work hard towards things they believe in. Once you have been here you can't blame a person for owning a SUV or the child who chases you at Connaught Place for a penny or two. As they say to each his own. I am yet to explore most parts of the city. But boy does gol gappe and Kathi Rolls taste like heaven :D . Anyway will be coming up with more (hopefully) posts about the capital of India . And yes, this might not be the best literary piece of mine but it always feels good to write about something which may have affected you in ways more than one.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
"The truth is, I often like women. I like their unconventionality. I like their completeness. I like their anonymity."
Anonymity. I think I am in love with the word. Also, I am extremely fascinated by the idea of going somewhere and getting lost. I often wonder, what would it be like to be someone whose existence is unaffected by anything happening around him/ her? What would it be like to fall asleep on a sandy beach in the middle of night without having your mother/father/spouse interrupting your peace of mind? I am not trying to misconstrue their affection or concern but imagine even if it is for a day, what would it be like to spend a day all by yourself, without a care in the world?
Something kind of cute happened as I sat here typing this post. A junior sitting on the computer right behind mine got a couple of roses from "Anonymous". No this does not happen everyday whilst we are working in the computer lab. You see our college fest in on so, I mean I hope you get the drift ;). The guy was taken aback and thought of it as a cruel joke or something but on being explained I saw his lips part into a broad smile. I think the person who gifted him the roses was also smiling in her/his mind on being able to share his/her feelings with the given person. It is surprising how such small gestures can make our day, It is surprising how anonymity in spite of its vagueness can help a person truly feel special.
Anonymity, when you think about it, makes you feel out of the ordinary because there are always certain things which you wouldn't try doing otherwise. Somehow, it makes you live in the present without bothering about what the future might entail. And that in itself is remarkable. I came to the lab to research about an upcoming assignment but instead I ended up blabbering about something which apparently "shouldn't matter" to a Media and Communications student who is supposed to be "objective" and not ramble about anything and everything. But, I for one, live and bask in the glory of seemingly trivial moments which makes me think and write like crazy. And Anonymity was something which I wanted to talk about today. But it will continue to remain a leitmotif in my future posts as I am not done with my rambling yet :D. Baaiiiii :)
Monday, October 10, 2011
"Der lagi lekin
Maine ab hai
Jeena seekh liya
Jaise bhi ho din
Maine ab hai
Jeena seekh liya"
Siddhartha sat on a chair outside the emergency ward, fiddling with just about anything within his reach. He glimpsed through magazines, tried solving the crossword, ran his hands through his unkempt hair and tapped his feet till the nurse finally told him to shut up. He walked up and down the staircase, left to right of the corridor but every inch of movement, reminded him of last night. Of the fact that, an innocent girl was out there fighting for her life ONLY because his supremely callous and vile self. Only because of his self imposed authority over an individual whose lone fault was to like him. Only because he never really intended to reciprocate her feelings, or anyone else's for that matter.
The doctor came out of the room, looking exhausted. Siddhartha rushed towards him, teary eyed.
" Doctor ho-w how how is she now? How is she?"
" I am sorry." the doctor replied in a matter of fact way.
" What? No. Please.No."
" We saved her."
"Good lord! You nearly killed me there..."
"Her legs. both. Had to be amputated. I am sorry."
"Whaa.."- Siddhartha gasped.
He fell back on the chair disconcerted, vehemently shaking his head.
"This..this..cant happen..Ah!! Ahhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa." An excruciating pain caught him off guard and made him shiver in fear and anguish.
Roshni lay on the bed, tossing from one side to another. She was coming back to senses finally,after been kept under sedatives for four days . Her body was weak, the pain was unbearable. She opened her eyes to be greeted with a fractured limb. She tried moving her legs. After several attempts she realized she could not feel them. She moved her good arm over her posterior self. Her eyes widened with disbelief."
A nurse came in.
"Good you are back to your senses. There is a visitor for you."
"Nurse, where, where are my legs?" - croaked Roshni.
" Oh, they didn't tell you..did they?"
"Tell me whaa--t??"
"Your legs had to be amputated."
"Huh? what? No..Please No...It was my mistake.I shouldn't have. I shouldn't have gone. I can't, I can't lose my legs. No..No..No..Please."
"Stay calm. You have a visitor."
" I lost my...I" - Roshni voice croaked. She realized she could speak no more. Her parents. What would she tell them ? ..
The door opened with a screeching sound. Roshni lay on the bed without any movement.
The voice.That voice.It was him. "Him" . What would, what could she possibly tell someone who has literally crippled her for the rest of her life?"
"Roshni. I am sorry. If there is anything..."
Siddhartha could see Roshni's face clearly in the dimly lit room. He could see the utter despair with which she tried to hide her tears. He could feel the presence of her amputated legs lost under the white sheets trying to find their way. A way to not depend on another mortal for the rest of their lives. The room was uncannily silent. No one said a word.
Siddhartha did not try to hold her hand. That was a right he could never earn in this lifetime, at least. He could hear Roshni's muffled sobs, sitting on a couch about a meter away.
"If there is anything..." - he started of from where he left.
"I said, Leave, L-E-A-V-E, Leave. Please Leave."
Roshni turned her head, a stream of tears ticked down her cheeks as she realized that a juvenile crush had almost cost her life. She could never risk falling in love again. She has to make the best of whatever she has left now. Life doesn't give much of a choice to a seventeen year old, Does it?
Siddhartha stood outside the Emergency ward looking at the frail silhouette trying to adjust itself on the hospital bed. Sleep wouldn't come easy, neither for her, nor for him. Because for the first in his life he wasn't condescending to the opposite sex. For the first time in his life, he was ready to risk everything, his job, his career, his weekend booze parties at the cost of staying in a Government hospital to see Roshni recover fast and get discharged as soon as possible. It wasn't pity and he knew that. It was something else. Her memories will continue to haunt her and forgiveness will never come easy. But for the first time, he wanted to try even at the cost of appearing stupid and insensitive. May be someday,she will truly forgive him. And to wake up to that day would be Siddhartha's dream in life. Not to buy a Porsche, a Ferrari or own a pent house. Forgiveness was all he wanted.
"I will write to you
when the time is right
I will explain
what I can't
when I can,
talk to you.
It won't be long
or take long
or feel wrong
It won't be rude
or angsty or real
but it will
be the truth
I will write
and I won't,
pass it on
- Rishi Razdaan
P.S - This story is a continuation of something I written a while ago. I write this especially at the insistence of a particular friend who was too eager to know what happens next.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
"It is lovely, when I forget all birthdays, including my own, to find that somebody remembers me."- Ellen Glasgow
So it is my birthday again. But for some reason the very fact that I am turning nineteen refuses to delight me. I dream of acheiving great heights, of falling in love, of getting drunk and throwing up on a stranger but at the same time I dont want to grow up. Why? I don't know.
Living in a new city (not so new any more) has its own advantages. For one it is your chance to start all over. No one will be judgemental, no one will tell you what is good for you and whats not. No one will ask about that teacher who humiliated you on your last school day, no one will laugh or smirk at you because you stutter while you speak. No one. But as you start adujusting in the same place it brings back memories of the past.
Your trying to build an image. Lets call it self improvement. And you would obviously want people to like you for the fact that you are jovial, adorable and have two left foot. Guess what they already do. What they don't know is that inside the same person lies a soul which for different reasons is slowing withering away. They think its a "mood swing", but you obviously know better. And then comes your birthday.
Golly jee!! A day to make merry and rejoice your own existence. But what if you are not so proud of it? Your newly made friends expect to adorn your face with chocolate cake which they lovingly baked/bought for you while you attend the calls of your near and dear ones. But what if no one calls? It is the stroke of midnight and your phone doesn't ring, not for a single time. Oh cmon your parents are getting old. They will definitely wish you in the morning. Your brother? Darn! He must have been really busy with his work. The few friends you had?? They will TEXT you, anytime soon. And right at that momment you realize, its not your birthday, it is your existence you are scared of. You are petrified that one day people will just forget that there was a girl named "Amrita" or Semma or Riya or whatever. You will just cease to exist.
Call me paranoid but I live in fear of that day. I don't know whether it is the case with other people as well. Even when I don't tell anyone about it, I invariably start expecting certain things from people whom I love,and I fear that they might not feel the same way. That fear is what drives me, that fear is what makes me cry behind closed doors. I am insecure and I fear that this feeling of losing people won't ever go. That is why my birthday, somehow, doesn't cheer me up. But I hope it will someday. Till then, let me end with this:
"In the midst of winter, I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer."- Albert Camus
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
What can we take on trust
in this uncertain life? Happiness, greatness,
pride - nothing is secure, nothing keeps.
I tried desperately not to look at him. I tried to hide my tears. I failed, miserably. Somehow I felt that he will come by, console me, and give me a tight hug. Nothing happened. Nothing ever did. My mind was hounded by sudden flashbacks. His funny yet sensitive face was all I could see when I closed my eyes. As I walked back in the rain, all I could imagine was that he will come running like a bollywood hero, grab me, and make my pain vanish into thin air.
“What was I thinking?”- I wondered. What was I thinking when I became friends with him. What was I thinking when I let him open my hair, cup my face and plant a gentle kiss on my lips? What did he ever do to deserve any of that? What was I thinking when I lied to my mother about an assignment when all I did was get drunk in his filthy apartment and run around stark naked while he videotaped my antics on his expensive camera phone? What was I thinking?
I am a debutante porn star, what a joke! I am sure every guy in this college has the damned video which might later assist him in making sweet love to himself. Why God, why me? I shouted. A bisexual replied from somewhere, -“ ooooo…..babbbyy….fuck thy lord…fuck him…fuck him.” I looked around, disgruntled. Not a single person wanted to talk to me. I am the scandalous whore. And Vikram? Oh, that bastard has a new chick sucking his cock now.
I am not a princess after all. And there obviously isn’t any man who would have the balls to like me, cause I have already “given my flower” to someone whose presence has shaken the core of my very existence. To hell with everything. I close my eyes, again. I am in a missionary school where my principal faints after I utter a rather commonplace expletive.
“Don’t let the devil get the better of you my child.”- She says after coming back to her senses.
I replied nonchalantly, -“Guess what sister, He already did.”
Monday, September 12, 2011
"I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day. "
I was standing in front of the lift with a bunch of Juniors and a senior. It seemed as if the boisterous lot were taking the seniors "case". Reason being he was dating one of their classmate who coincidentally (Read: To my horror) was also part of the same group. I don't know what was so funny that the girl kept falling on the guy at the interval of every micro second. I was appalled and amused at the same time when the girl decided to show her friends the love bite (er!) she had assiduously gifted her boyfriend with. The poor guy was so embarrassed that I could almost sympathize with the fella. Later in the lift(where the guy had chose not to enter) I wondered what is all this fuss about anyway?
Is it okay to act pricey just because you are teenager whose hormones wreck havoc every time you meet anyone of the opposite sex? Where exactly does the fun part end and commitment come in? I know that I have absolutely no right to comment about other people's relationships and the choices they make but there is this jittery feeling inside me which somehow I can't do away with. I am not anti sex or physical love or whatever they call it these days but somehow flaunting "it" doesn't go down too well with me. I mean since when did love become a commodity, a status symbol, a cult which would make you the next "in" thing in your immediate surrounding.
I know that you are wondering as to why I think so much. May be because I find it difficult to let go . May be I am too old fashioned, too prejudiced and I am being highly unreasonable when I start judging people on such grounds. I am in a moral quandary and I know that. I don't expect the society to change for me, but I hope certain things do change, for the better. Who decides what is better? You, Me all of Us. Again, I am not against infatuated teenagers eagerly waiting to profess their unconditional affection, I am just saying that love deserves something better. Henry Ellis had once said,- "All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on." But then when do you hold on and when should you let go??
Monday, July 18, 2011
It is amazing how little I know you
It is amazing how you make me laugh
It is amazing how you inevitably lit up my day
Whenever I see you,
It is amazing how every word you say makes me turn pink
Like a little girl,
It is amazing how little I know you
It is amazing how I have grown to love every bit of you
I am not quite poetic but it has been such a long time since I have felt my heart fluttering like a twelve year old. I do realize the fact that I am no more in a missionary school where falling in love is the most precocious sin one could ever commit, but somehow I am unable to contain myself and be in terms with my old self, who would laugh at such situations in front of people and would possibly try to comfort oneself behind close doors. Yeah! I have never been the kinds who could go to someone and say,-"Believe it or not, I like you and I hope you would someday like me as much as I do." Nay, That has never been me.
But today, the eighteen year old me feels as if the Gods are conspiring against me. Yes, I am shit scared. And the worst part is, I don't know what to do about it. I can't get the person out of my mind. And for the first time, I feel I need to do something about it. Now,I don't know what "Something" implies but yes, at times I am at such close proximity with him (Two floors ya! Samjha Karo), that I might just blurt out the truth and make an absolute fool of myself. Trust me, there is a high chance of that happening!
My friends are bewildered because in the one year they have known me, I have never behaved this insanely. I have never danced in the rains, I have never liked anyone without questioning myself,-"What if he never likes me back?." Yes, that question still lingers in my mind, but I have to stop bothering and start giving life a chance. I wouldn't do something absolutely irrational but I somehow feel, I am done justifying myself and I guess I have to think afresh and start anew, for the person who never fails to bring a smile on my face :)
"In your absence my Heart goes stronger, In your presence I fall in Love again."
I guess I know the meaning of this quote now :)
P.S- For all the inquisitive souls who are dying to know who the person is, Samjhne waale ko isharahi kaafi hota hai! (LOL) :D
Anyway I don't remember the last time I had been so happy.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
“Love is patient; love is kind
and envies no one.
Love is never boastful, nor conceited, nor rude;
never selfish, not quick to take offense.
There is nothing love cannot face;
there is no limit to its faith,
its hope, and endurance.
In a word, there are three things
that last forever: faith, hope, and love;
but the greatest of them all is love.”
All she knew was that she had never been this excited in her life.For her it was nothing short of a dream coming true. I mean who gets the chance to meet her childhood crush six years after she had first set her eyes on him?She stood in the shower, unable to stay still. For a profound yet erotic moment she could feel his arms closing around her petite self. She could imagine him kissing her gently on her neck and then....
"Roshni,will you be out already??"
"Yes Mom, YES."
As Roshni changed her evening attire for about a millionth time she wondered what would it be like when she finally gets to meet Sid. Will she be able to speak anything? Was there any possibility that she could faint or worse still, throw up because of not eating anything out of sheer excitement? Without much ado, she looked into the mirror for the umpteenth time, and walked out of the room her feet still shaking out of nervousness. She wondered for the first time in her life of having known Siddhartha, -" Is it Okay to build castles in the air? To fight for and have conviction in a person she has met only once and knows very, very little about??"
Sid(as his friends called him)is a marine engineer by profession. His work made him travel, a lot, but somewhere down the line, he lost himself. And meeting Roshni was just like another futile attempt of getting back at life. It was but obvious that he did not like her even remotely enough to bump into her on a social networking site subtly demand an urgent meetup (it would not be apt to call it a "date"). In reality Sid had detested the sight of Roshni from the moment he had first seen her. She seemed quiet yet oddly intimidating for some reason. She stared at him without a care in the world and that made him uncomfortable as ever. As a fourteen year old she tried to contact him numerous times, but he had never felt the same. Her untimely calls embarrassed seventeen year old Sid, especially when he was with his friends.She was not his "type" he claimed and promptly told her the same. Roshni vowed never to fall in Love again, but when the same person decided to drop her a friend request, her old feelings came back to her and her happiness knew no bounds.
Roshni arrived at the given location with her heart beating like a thousand times faster than usual. She felt scared, ecstatic,nostalgic all at the same time. Siddhartha was not there. She waited for what seemed liked eternity to find a bunch of hooligans getting down an auto and approaching her. She chanted in her mind-"God please let Sid not be one of them, Please, Please.."
"Roshni are you?"- one of them asked her. The similarity he had with Sid, was ridiculous.
"Oh. Hello I am Siddhartha. You laaabhhh me. Don't you?"
It was like all her dreams for the day came crashing down and merged into oblivion. "No, NO, I must get out of here before something else happened."- Roshni murmured to herself.
"Excuse me, I need to go."
"Itni jaldi kaha jaogi? Meri chhaammackchallo." said Sid smacking his lips in a dirty fashion.
"Leave me alone.", around this time the other guys too had surrounded her.
"Suna nehi Munni ko jane do.."
" LEAVE ME ALONE." - Roshni shouted.
"But you laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaabbbbbbbbbbbbbhh me."
"Just let go. JUST LET GO."
This time surprisingly everyone had relented and Roshni started walking towards the direction she had come from, with tears in her eyes. She has almost reached when she looked back and unable to contain herself any longer she did something she yelled-
"Yes I loved you. As if that is going to matter anyway. You don't like me, BIG DEAL. But you have absolutely no right to hurt someone for loving you without reason or expectation. As far as I am concerned, I am tired of putting my self respect at stake time and again for an insensitive wretch like you. It will hard but yes Mr Siddhartha I AM DONE, I AM DONE being in love with you....."
What followed next was a distant wail and a screeching sound of a vehemently speeding vehicle. Siddhartha look back to find Roshni lying in pool of blood, severely injured. Ignoring his friends advice of fleeing the place, he rushed towards her and helplessly called her name, as though it would help in anyway. "It is my fault. All my fault. MY DAMNED FAULT. Please Roshni wake up, I promise not to hurt anyone again..Please, Please." Within moments the wary Sid was transformed into someone his old self could never identify with. He stood in the middle of the road, shouting for a cab to take her to the Hospital. In the meantime, Roshni was fast receding towards the other world, where she hoped life would be a little less painful...
This is the first part of a story which has been hovering in my mind for quite some time. Let me know whether I should proceed with the same.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
“And here it starts.”
It was my first time at a red light area. I did not really know what to expect. For a brief moment I was blinded. Blinded by the look of dingy alleys and the smell of a concoction of sweat and cheap perfume. It was early evening and the lane had just started filling up. I spotted about a dozen of women wearing clothes which clung onto their bodies unnecessarily. The excess powder on their round faces had already started wearing off due to the humid weather. I saw a boy who rather casually went inside one of the buildings with a young girl by his side. I felt my fingers clench as a sudden stiffness caught hold of my entire body like an epileptic fit. The children roamed around in the streets, their bodies filled with dirt and their feet sore. I was shocked to find a young boy of seven uttering profanities just like a priest chanting mantras in a temple. There was water flowing all over the place which made me recollect the supposedly simple fact that every young girl in the area was supposed to follow her mother’s footsteps and had to undergo training for it, where such huge amounts of water found its purpose. The buildings were dilapidated and structured in a strange fashion. Every house was connected to the other in some extremely clandestine and dangerous manner. I went inside such a building with a little kid who most graciously agreed to guide me. I found broken bottle of inexpensive liquor, drunken men strewing the unclean floors while the rest of the tenants were smoking ‘bidis’ as their ‘gharwali’ continued with her household chores. I finally reached the terrace and after panting heavily for a few moments, I looked up at the sky. It somehow appeared condescending, as if it were looking down on the people of this place. The other multi- storied buildings were visible but were located far away from my present location. Somehow it alluded me to a more meaningful metaphor, because at the end of it all these buildings are representative of people like us who never really bother about taking a closer look at such sensitive issues.
Yesterday was different. A little darker may be. I loved the children. Some of their names are written in my notebook. I will always remember them. I hope they remember me too. I hope I was not just another stranger in their lives with a desperate attempt to sympathize with them.
Monday, May 16, 2011
The day started with a terrible chest pain. No silly, I wasn't dying already. As it turns out I was suffering from a terrible digestion problem because of which I had to rush to the loo about a zillion times before I could finally leave home for my internship.It was almost a two hour journey. And due to my present disposition making a change wasn't something which was on my mind back then. Instead I just hoped that I did not have to rush into the bathroom immediately after entering the NGO. And as luck would have it, I entered my first workplace brimming with confidence and a smile because I knew how lucky I have been to receive such an opportunity in the firstplace.
My NGO's name is Sanlaap which means -'Dialogue' in Bengali. It works for the welfare of women in trafficking and their children (mostly young girls). My internship coordinator is this young woman barely 5-6 years elder to me and because of this may be, I was quite at ease with her as there was no pretense or any inhibition from either side. Since I had wanted to work for their Child Protection Program, she helped me glimpse through a few booklets and sign a couple of sheets. And then the interrogation began (Well you don't exactly call it that but I was unable to hold myself from even asking her the silliest query that bothered my inexperienced mind.)She answered patiently and by the orientation/briefing session I was dumb founded by the sheer vulnerability of the issue.
Quite unlike the West, Prostitution in India or in the south Asian countries is not a profession. It is more often than not a form of bonded labor which is inflicted on young girls (as young as 5-6 years.)These girls are either sold off by relatives, friends, a close confidante and at times by their own parents for just a handful of money. These girls are then smuggled into the country (mostly from Bangadesh, Nepal and Bhutan ) or abducted from their native village and taken to either of the three cities i.e Bombay, Delhi or Kolkata.What must be remembered in this regard is that prostitution happens everywhere starting from hotels to massage parlours and so on. But the most popular brothels are in the three major cosmopolitans in this country and have been functioning quite smoothly for many decades together.
Needless to say that these poor souls succumb to the most excruciating of all pains (both physical and mental) where they are forced to have sexual intercourse with strangers ranging from 3-4 to as many as 30 to 40 per day. In most cases, they are not allowed more than one shower every week and one meal per day. So a bright mind is eventually reduced to nothing but a mere tool in the hand of some useless chap who could not even stand up to answer back his wife. When the girls refuse alcohol, drugs or something like anal sex, they are beaten and burnt with cigarette stubs till they finally give up on anything they could have ever believed in.If the girls become pregnant they are made to skip or run with a container filled with hot starch water on their head. When they trip and fall (which they obviously do), they are beaten up till they again start and continue with the process. So they is no medical intervention which aids in their abortion. These women often encounter with a miscarriage and if by chance the baby happens to survive and is a girl, the infant is immediately separated from her mother so that she can put under a rigorous training schedule as soon as possible.
And what might this training be like? Ok, sample this. When a piece of thermocol is immersed in water it swells up. Why am I you telling you this? Because a young girl of five years is made to insert that piece of thermocol into her vagina and sit for seven to eight hours so that her vagina grows in size. And this is because virgins are in great demand because supposedly having sex with them helps you from getting rid of AIDS.
I can't possibly describe what I felt while hearing such horrendous stories and what I feel now while writing them down. The entire purpose of womanhood feels defeated when certain people decide that the only they can prove their manliness is by stabbing someone to death just because she refused to indulge in oral sex.
My NGO rescues these girls in the harshest of situations. If any of their plans are leaked, the sex traders also change their path within moments in order to avoid a raid.Even if it is a distance of 1km, the traders change hands ten times so that it becomes almost impossible to trace them. And even when girls are rescued they have a tendency to run away because obviously they can't bring themselves to trust anyone ever again.
Now that is a whole of information which has been fed into you in one day, in less than two hours time. You'd probably be having nightmares trying to accept these facts. And when this happens, try and think about those people who have to live like this for their entire life. Try and think about that young girl of your age who is a mother of a five year old. You would be thankful for even the smallest chocolate that you father ever got you (when you wanted a big teddy bear) because you can't dream of a life otherwise. A life where you don't get one square meal a day, a life where you opinions matter no more.
Today, was just a start and hopefully I will keep updating my blog from time to time about this cause. An honest revelation: I never felt this helpless and I would only pray that in the long run I get to work more and more with such troubled souls because I believe that it is always good to have people listen to you especially when you feel that you probably don't deserve to live anymore. I guess when sorrow is shared, the pain does not seem overpowering enough to shake the your core of existence.
Once you choose hope, anything's possible. ~Christopher Reeve
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.
Martin Luther King, Jr
Heartbreaks are hard, especially when you are in the eleventh standard trying to cope with academics and being unpopular in class. Back then falling in "love" (read: having a boyfriend) was like the most "in" thing on this earth. But sadly, for me it has been one of those pain staking experiences which has altered the course of my life, forever. Now when I think about it, I feel foolish but then again it got me one step closer to finally experience 'that thing called love'.
Today Love is so much more than a feeling,an emotion. Its about experiences. Its about togetherness and sharing. It is in fighting for a bowl of maggi at midnight.It is in staring at some random guy and without him making him realize that you are nuts about him. Love is about helping a blind person cross the street or even feeding a stray dog. Precisely Love for me is platonic and philosophical. It is something which makes me think of incidents, events which might not have bothered me otherwise.
When I see people 'dating' (I hate this word bdw) I wonder what kind of relationship I would possibly be considering the fact that I am possibly the laziest and sleepiest creature around. I know it is a silly thing to ponder about in this supposedly pragmatic world where nobody has time for anybody. So before I become a veteran journalist (who does not believe in advertorials :/) here it is a tiny weenie dedication to the person I will meet sometime in the future and fall madly in Love with.
“To whomever it may concern”
I hope I meet you when you are looking resplendent in a black and white tuxedo. (Okay! You don’t have to wear a tuxedo but please don’t wear anything orange or some combination like red and blue/ yellow and green.) I ramble a lot but I know when I will meet you (even for the first time) I will be silent and will barely look into your eyes. For one crazy moment I might look at you so please don’t anything remotely disgusting (like digging your nose for e.g.) because I might throw up on you even before you realize.
Even if I start speaking, I will talk crap so please bear with me. If I cry (emotions you see), don’t offer me a tissue (:/) instead try and be a little more supportive and kind because that will help you understand me better. If you are taking me out somewhere, we should go to someplace where we can talk to our hearts content and if it is a restaurant; the waiters need to be well behaved! (Just kidding, we can go to a dhaba for all I care till I get to spend my time with you.) We need not be spick and span because it will be our imperfection which would make us so special.
If you feel that there is something about me which you are unable to cope up with, don’t go and complain to your Momma! Come and approach me directly (I am not your boss for Christ’s sake.) As an adult I feel rather naïve, writing a thing like this but I know someday we will read this over chai and samosa (although they are not my favourite snacks) and have a hearty laugh (: D) about it.
Since we haven’t met, let me tell you something. I often find myself staring at the stars wondering whether you are in your terrace doing the same thing. When the wind blows across my face, I feel as if that same wind blows past you too. When my umbrella decides to misbehave during heavy rains, I wonder if even you are walking down the street, all drenched with a broken umbrella in one hand. Like I said, I tend to romanticize things a lot, but when it comes to you, I find it rather difficult to explain ‘logically’ what I experience.
Anyway, I don’t care if I meet you tomorrow or at the age of 80 because it is Love we are talking about here! A simple word with complex dimensions. So it hardly matters. Right?
I am too bad at making dramatic endings (: )). So let me keep it lucid and short. You don’t need to cook for me, gift me flowers (what a waste of money, you can get me a book though : P) etc to make me feel wanted. Just be by my side, trust me your presence is enough to compensate for the every tangible thing in this world. If you like someone else (It is okay, baba!) let me know because your happiness would be everything for me. OK cliche alert. I must end this now before you die of boredom eh? So here it is:
"I choose to love you in silence, for in silence I receive no rejection. I choose to love you in loneliness, for there no one owns you but me. I choose to hold you in my dreams, for in my dreams you have no end. That is what you are to me; in all honesty, it's hard to believe that I will never love somebody the same way I loved you!"
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Okay! So I am finally home.Undoubtedly I am happy, elated, overjoyed and all the possible synonyms you could have for the same word but sadly I feel I don't belong here anymore.Obviously these are my roots and I am proud of my culture and everything but having said that there is this slight glitch which makes me miss Pune at times. And it does not really stop at just reminiscing about a place, I end up comparing both the regions which is definitely not right on my part.
I mean whenever anything about Bengal was discussed or screened in class I found myself jumping on my seat so much so that my friends concluded that I suffered from OCD. And now when I am finally back, I don't feel that excitement and that thrill. I do get decent food and time with my parents but something definitely feels amiss.Ok! Now I feel I am complaining too much.I mean people are starving to death and I am only bothered about which place I like better(:/)
Anyways, that at least got me back to blogging. I have been trying to complete a story for a long time but after the first paragraph I just can't take the story forward. I guess a couple suggestions will help.
'She sat on the floor of her one bed room apartment lighting that one last cigarette which had been provocatively peeking out from a Malboro pack. “So you also managed to lure me, just like the rest of them. “- She said. It was difficult to understand from her smile whether she was still talking about cigarettes or the innumerable guys she had “supposedly” fallen in love with time and time again. It shouldn’t have happened this way because for her love was supposed to be a divine experience rather than an amorous desire. Because whenever she thought of love she visualized herself sitting under a shack, having coffee with the man she loves. Her story needs to be told because not everything we dream of falls into place and also because the very feeling of affection is synonymous with pain.'
Hoping my next post would not take 'this' long....:)
Sunday, April 3, 2011
My last post was more than a fortnight back.Its not that I stopped writing or something, but yes I barely got time out for myself.And when I did, I inevitably fell asleep.This post is about a certain conversation I had with a precocious lad a few day ago(and some other things too).
The thing is that I barely get angry, and when I do,it surpasses all reasoning. It has been quite sometime when I got offended by someone's comment.But this time I was like-"To hell with you man, I mean who are you anyways?" It was not the first time someone passed a comment on my "physical attributes", but nevertheless it was offending enough to catch me off guard and shock me out of my wits.
It started with a causal 'ping' on facebook but this bugger of a person took no time to shift the topic to my recent profile picture stating how "different" I was looking in it. Mind you, here different means ugly, gross and not presentable. He subtly(Read: Cunningly) indicated on how I look older and fatter even when I said that such things don't bother me (Trust me they don't). However he kept on insisting, and I could not decipher as to why he was so interested in my plight(if there were any i.e).On asking him, he replied-"Don't you want a husband, and a progeny?". Reluctantly, I answered "Yes." and it was during this time I realized that nothing has really changed.
The Guy might look like a pig but the girl has to be no less than a Scarlett Johanson. Women might work, they might lead Multinational Companies but they must be attractive at the same time.If that is the reason why most Indians get married, I'd rather say unmarried my entire life.It seems that love has no existence without physical attributes. It makes me wonder how shallow we have become as people.
Coming back to college life, We are flooded with assignments. I can't remember the last time, I went out and did something different.I love my college but last minute work is something I just can't handle.This is going to be one of my shortest posts but unfortunately there is a lot
on my mind, and I don't know what to type and what not to. We have got a new puppy, but I haven't been home for four months now.Oh, my internship got confirmed so that's something good right? I seem quite delusional, so let there be an end to this conversation. Hope, this month ends soon and I get to go back home, till then I promise to cope with life better. Guess Once you choose hope, anything's possible.
Monday, March 14, 2011
The experience of watching a well made film is almost like having a juvenile crush. A good movie lifts you off your feet, inspires you and evokes emotions even from the dingiest corner of your soul. However I faced a dichotomy this time as I had to choose between two movies I desperately wanted to see. Black Swan and The king's Speech. But as luck would I have it, I ended up watching Black swan twice in the theater.What I went through during those few hours aroused certain questions in my mind, questions which I have been afraid of asking myself because I was not quite sure what their answers might be.
Nina Sayers is a ballet dancer and an obedient daughter. She comes across a sincere and honest person, yet her life is mundane and dry restricting her to the boundaries of workplace and home.Although she gets the role of the Swan Queen,things hardly turn out, the way she wants them to.The efficacy with which she dances as the White Swan is beyond compare, but she falters every time the Black Swan comes into being.Also,the way sexuality is treated in this movie is sublunary and on your face. Vincent Cassel, as the lascivious dance coach advices Nina to "touch herself" before she tries to engage her engage her audience.And as she begins her search for herself, she gets further lost in the complexities of life.The otherwise fragile and petite Nina, gets jealous,feels desired and slams the door on her mother's face, something she could not even dream of doing, a few weeks back.Unable to take any more strain, she starts inflicting pain on herself in a desire to be the most perfect dancer, the world has ever seen.
The very fact that Darren Aronofsky could even thinking of taking something as pristine and beautiful as ballet and transforming it into a psychological thriller, makes him one of the most talented people around.There are not many dialogues in the movie, but Portman's movements make the journey worthwhile.
Nina's director always told her to be a little less perfect as sometimes it was more important to let go. She wanted to prove that she could play her part perfectly without compromising on anything. In the end, Nina did dance the Swan lake with efficacy and grace but she had to let go of the person she had always been. She had finally achieved what she had ever wanted to, but the price to pay was too much.
After watching the movie, I wondered-"Did I also have a Nina Sayers in me?".My condition is not half as dramatic as hers, but even then did I have any deep dark desires which are waiting to break through? Honestly, I don't know and I am not too curious either.It is just that when you are used to being a certain person, you tend to ignore a facet of your personality which is best when left unexplored. At times I feel I just think too much. I mean I can't begin to tell you how guilty I felt when I had about 2 ml of Vodka at a friend's birthday. It does not matter I know, but I still feel accountable as my Mom does not know about it yet. Do I have to tell her everything?Yes,I do.
Anyways, The movie is brilliant. Do watch it IN THE THEATERS, if you haven't watched it yet.Quoting a reviewer-"I am glad Aronofsky is able to do what he does. His brutal and uncompromising style is definitely not for everyone, and it's not box office gold, but for those viewers who connect with what he's doing, the experience is truly something special. "
Monday, March 7, 2011
“Where we love is home, home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.”
They met each other in college. Their friendship did not take much time to blossom into love. They were the stereotypes of their class. They were not okay with it but they did not mind it either. Love is such a vast feeling; however the possibilities of falling in love are very few. You either have to be childhood friends or meet in college. And in that way every couple, some way or the other was a typecast, but in each other’s eyes, they couldn’t probably be more perfect.
Similar was the situation with David and Manvi. If anyone saw them separately, they could have never believed that “people” who are just so different can possibly be going out together. David was half English. Manvi was a Punjabi, although she did not look like one. They had a height difference of almost one foot, which made them look like brother and sister. Manvi’s hair was mousy in colour, her cheeks were pale and she had long exceeded her ideal weight by ten full pounds. As far as David is concerned, he was PERFECT by all modern standards. When asked about Manvi he would proudly rattle off in his broken hindi-“Laila ko Majnu ki Aakhon Se Dekho.”(See Laila through Majnu’s eyes, only then can you appreciate her real beauty). Like the everlasting tale of Laila and Majnu, TIME again stood testament to witness a Love so pristine and pure, that it was tempted to challenge two lovers once again. In 21st Century, where “Move on” seems to be the IT word, Can the power of true LOVE ever survive? Can it outshine the troubles that lie on its path and emerge as a Winner? Time had to see, so did David and Manvi who had already promised each other a lifetime of togetherness.
David was in office one day, when he gets a call from Soumya, One of Manvi’s closest friends. He was surprised to hear that she had fainted in her work place and had to be carried back home immediately. He rushed to her apartment to find his otherwise jovial better half,looking weak and extremely tired.
“What happened, baby?”
“Ah..Ummm…we..ll…nothing really, I am fine”
“No you are not; I will take to the doctor, first thing tomorrow morning”
“Please don’t do that. It is just that I did not sleep properly last night…you know na how much I hate having tablets. Give me another chance, please?”
“Chance? It is your health for God’s sake”
“Okay! But this is the last time, and I mean it.”
“That’s like my baby”-said Manvi as she pulled him close and planted a kiss on his cheek.
The next morning Manvi vomited blood and hit her head on the wash-basin, after which collapsed on the bathroom floor. The next time she opened her eyes, she was in the hospital surrounded by dozens of bouquets from friends and relatives.
“What am I, a terminally ill patient or something?”- She said on finding David sitting by her side.
“Ha, nice one, Now please be a good girl and rest, while I go talk to the doctor.”
“Rest, what rest? I can’t even remember the last time I was awake, Please don’t leave me here.”
“I will be back, I promise”-said David as he left the room.
Little did he know that what he was about to hear would change his life, FOREVER.
David rushed into the washroom, crying out loud in disbelief. Why did this happen to her? ‘Her’ of all people? Someone who would not even hurt a mosquito, why? Why? WHY?
Manvi had been diagnosed with Cervical Cancer. She was in her second stage. Chemo-therapy would help but it could not guarantee her recovery. Her condition was delicate and a decision had to be taken, fast, very fast.
When informed about her present condition, Manvi could not help but laugh.
“Me, Cancer? Impossible”
“Everything, will be fine please cooperate”
“Fine? I am Fine? The doctor does not know anything!”
Without saying anything else, David hugged her tight. With moments Manvi melted in his arms, crying out loud, unable to register any of the recent happenings. For all she new, this could not be happening to her, not now at least.
A week later, Manvi’s treatment began. For a girl who despised medicines and syringes, chemo therapy was something way out of her league. Twice a week, she was made to succumb to the most excruciating pain but after some time she had become obvious to all bodily activities. What made her weep was David, who stood outside the operation hall, watching her helplessly without make an effort to wipe his tears effortlessly flowing down his cheek. Time also stood beside them, thinking that this was just a passing phase, and David would soon grow tired of this and
just resign to his fate.
But David did not give up, he stood by Manvi giving her as much support as he could. After six sessions of therapy, Manvi had lost incredible amount of weight and she was nearly bald. She felt that she could take no more, but for David’s sake she did not say a word. She wanted to get married, have kids, but everything seemed impossible right now.
Four months and ten sessions later, Manvi was reduced to a mere vegetable, unable to respond to almost anything happening near her. But that night was different, that night she felt uncannily strong. She felt capable of doing almost anything, and she knew what she wanted more than anything else in the world.
“How are you feeling, honey?”-David asked as he entered the room.
“Make Love to me.”
“Have you gone insane or something? What about your no sex before marriage rule?”
“Please. Do as I say, Make love to me, please.”
“You are too weak; please don’t make me do this.”
“Ok, fine, go then, Leave me alone.”- said Manvi as she turned her head to the other side.
David looked at her intently, he wondered why she had such a sudden demand, but he knew he could do anything to get that smile back on her face. He turned her face towards him, and kissed her gently as he slid into her bed, under the same blanket. She kissed him back as he undressed her. He caressed her body tenderly as he made love to her, trying to be as careful as possible. That night, they slept in each other’s arms without worrying about lay in the future. It was the present that mattered; it was all they ever had.
Manvi had died that night; just a few hours after David fulfilled her last wish. She had written a note to him saying-“If I were a bird, you made me fly,
If I was a human, you gifted me the entire sky. (Ya, I know I am not entirely poetic but so what?)
Thank You for being there for me. I am finally convinced that you love me, much more than I ever did. Sorry for making your life such a mess, and forgive me for leaving early.
David stood next to the burning pyre, lost in his thoughts, thinking about a world where he would be again united with the love of his life. TIME stood next to him, crying out loud. But David could not hear it, nor could the people around him.
Friday, March 4, 2011
What do you do when you realize that people from London, St Louis and Florida check out your blog in a span of two days??Jump with joy may be??Well, I do much more!I ACTUALLY make it my facebook status and go around informing random people about it.So much so even a friend would ignore me in college, afraid(read:terrified) to be meted with a news which she has heard for about a zillion times by now. Yeah, that does me make a very emotional person. I am overjoyed by anything remotely happy and even a chick flick can make me cry.
Some people have told me that my articles are becoming a little far-fetched.Quoting a person who had commented on my last piece saying that-"It just didnt feel lyk coming frm the heart...more a tool to showcase ur empathy towards prostitution".I don't feel the need to justify myself but I would definitely like to make a point.See, the fact is if I don't feel strongly about something, I would not write about it in the first place.Also, writing a straight forward, essay type article would come easily to me, but sadly I don't find it challenging or a creatively engaging process.
Personally, I have always believed trying touch a person's heart rather than implanting a certain perception in his mind.It is because of this I write the way I do.I would be lying if I said, I write for myself.I write because I get inspired by the strangest of things.I write because I want to share my ideas with people all over the world.Also, I don't post quite often because I need to be convinced myself that I can execute an idea to the best of my abilities.That does make things complex but I am used to it. For me writing is an art, something which needs it own time and space. However I take criticisms positively and hope I am able to add on to the lives of people who take their time out to go through my blog/mails.
Some say I am a deep thinker,that I find comparisons between the most unlikeliest of things.I don't deny any of it because I believe in the fact that you do not need to be a Shobhaa De to attract attention.People like her are very fortunate as the masses have a certain attachment towards a popular figure more than anybody else.Socialites like her should take special care to ensure that whatever they write gives a sense of direction to her readers rather than confusing them.But sadly,hardly Indian writers/columnists write anything remotely positive about the society or the nation.
I have been asked by numerous people that why do I maintain a blog?They feel that a common man's blog is supposed to wither away into oblivion as I would be no match to, say a Chetan Bhagat or a Arundhati Roy.Even Amitabh Bacchan did not become a star overnight.Hence, If I am so apprehensive about the outcome, I would never do justice to whatever profession I take up.
Anyways,I feel I have just said too much now.And yes, if you have a passion for something nothing else matters. I will continue to write, no matter how cliched or "subversive" I seem to be.Lastly quoting Jack Dann-"For me, writing is exploration; and most of the time, I'm surprised where the journey takes me."
P.s-I love my blog.It is just too awesome.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
"Naya Maal hai, Chalega?
She stood in front of him without a care in the world.She was fourteen, she looked twenty. Time had made had brave but not enough to comprehend or prepare herself for what was coming next.
He entered the room, drunk and fed up with his life. He was thirty, single and jobless.Luckily,his father still earned enough to accommodate his opulent lifestyle.It was not that he did not try to cope up, but he never tried enough.He was not egoistic neither was he courageous enough to say "sorry". He wanted to settle down but the prospect of getting married scared him.So, once again he was standing in a place where he visits often.The only place which sets him free,where he can still feel overwhelmingly powerful.
The door closed with a bang.She felt a sudden shiver run down her spine.She undressed and turned back standing face to face with the stranger who had just entered the room.
He stared at her with a blank expression on his face.Her face was soiled and she seemed like a child in front of his 6'4'' frame.A cheap cotton brassiere clung on to her young bosom as she approached him with steadied grace.She was instructed that the customer might be shy, hence she should always be the one who initiates the process.The service must be such that he comes back wanting for more.
He looks down at her as she unbuttons his shirt.He picks her up in his arms effortlessly and kisses on her lips.A hundred things occurred in Mira's mind then, but the only thing she could later recollect was that kiss which instantaneously transformed her from a young girl to a woman.He carried her back to the bed and removed the last piece of garment covering her body.Instead of a promiscuous one night stand,what awaited him was a vulnerable soul ready to succumb to the plight of her destiny.He wondered whether he was pondering too much.A voice ringed in his head-"C'mon Man, she is a whore, just do it.Whats there to think about?"
He unzipped his trousers and within moments his male hardness penetrated her body tearing it apart by the sheer intensity of his sexual desire.Tears flowed down her eyes but she was too shocked to react.She held him tight and closed her eyes unable to bear the pain.In spite of that she continued to be victimized till she could not feel herself anymore.She grew numb and cold with every passing second.
Vikram had never experienced such satisfaction in his life.He felt as if he had attained salvation.He let go of her for the first time after what seemed like eternity.Her feeble hands brushed past his shoulders and fell on the bed as effortlessly as the rest of her body.She lay unconscious on the bed, bleeding internally.
Mira was fast asleep on her hospital bed unaware of the conversation going on in the same room.
"How is she now, Doctor?"-Vikram asked.
"She is fine...BUT"
"BUT sterile, she can never conceive after this incident."
"Viiikkkrraaam"-someone called from behind.
"Who is unwell?"- he asked concerned.
He looked back at the Mira.He knew he would never forget her.And he knew for a fact that at least in this lifetime "Sonagachi" would cease to exist for him....slowly but steadily it will be a name he can no more identify with...
"No one is.I just came for a few tests.That is all."
"Let us go then?"
"Sure,LET US GO."
This week I have completed one year of blogging.A lot has changed since the first time I had started writing but that passion still remains intact.This May,I will be going for my first internship.My options are already decided but my MOM still does not know that I want to work for one of the biggest red light Area in Asia.She will never agree, and I will never back down.
When I think about young girls being sold off and dragged into the world of prostitution, I feel extremely helpless and lucky at the same time.Lucky because my life seems heaven in comparison to theirs, helpless because those girls deserve a life just like mine,if not better.
This post was just an attempt to perceive the situation and write about it.Lastly, I would like to end with a quote-"Prostitution will always lead into a moral quagmire in democratic societies with capitalist economies; it invades the terrain of intimate sexual relations yet beckons for regulation. A society's response to prostitution goes to the core of how it chooses between the rights of some persons and the protection of others."
Monday, February 7, 2011
Inspired from reality and a movie I had recently seen.
Words are failing me,so is my mind.I am confused and dazed.Time passes by but somehow I am unable to react.My mind is clouded by the thoughts of a person who made me question my very existence.I lie on my bed, staring at the ceiling for hours unable to comprehend my feelings for someone whom I can never have a life with,at least in this life time.
He is nothing like the kind of person I could possibly be interested in.He is uncouth and smokes like a chimney.He cracks a joke in the most inappropriate situation but still manages to make everyone laugh.He hates dogs and he hates children.He dislikes nearly everything I could associate myself with.Yet, when we talked it was as though nothing could ever go wrong.Time was reduced to mere nothingness as we sat for hours near the airport watching planes take off while sipping on our hot coffee.I wanted him to know how happy I felt in his presence,I wanted to care for him,to be there for him.Things progressed and we became close friends but I was too scared to let him know about my feelings.Too apprehensive that things might not turn out the way I wished.Still I was quite optimistic till my friend came up to me and said that he has been going out with someone else.Within an instant my world came crashing down and I had absolutely no clue what to do next.
What does it take to love someone truly?What does it take to love someone in spite of knowing that he can never reciprocate your feelings?Nothing really.I feel drowned by my own emotions feeling entirely helpless about my current disposition.I feel terribly guilty because what I did clearly defies any logic or explanation.I have decided not to let go of myself like this,ever.I can't tell my friends because I don't want sympathy,I don't want someone telling me-"You will be fine."Because I know I won't, for a very long time.I am writing to you because I had no one else to approach.Please get back to me soon.
Remember your Guardian angel and best friend whom you fondly call-"Mother"??She has been there for you even before you were born.She loved you unconditionally no matter what you did,what you said.My point in saying that, is WE women have a tremendous capability of showering affection irrespective of what the other person feels or does.
Is Reciprocation the only reward for true love?Can you possibly STOP liking someone just because he happens to like someone else?NO you can't,you just CAN'T.
Honestly, even marriages can crumble down, so this just might not be the "final" relationship of his life,you know. I am not telling you to wait for him till eternity,I am just telling you to give life another chance(with this guy or with someone else.)Don't ignore your friend and try to maintain your relationship with him just as before.You need to have the conviction to go there in front of him and accept him for who he is than what he can become.
Love does not make you feel guilty but strengthens your inner self.If you truly and passionately love this person you have to be patient and wait.Who knows by then, someone else may come and steal your heart away.Cheesy but yes,Life is unpredictable and that is the beauty of it.Lastly,“May the love hidden deep inside your heart find the love waiting in your dreams. May the laughter that you find in your tomorrow wipe away the pain you find in your yesterdays.”
Waiting for your reply,
Love and best wishes,
Thursday, February 3, 2011
It has been almost a month since I had posted something on my blog.My last post received unexpected comments, hence this time I wanted to pen down something which would bring me back my reader's adulation.Then one day I heard my professor speak in class,-"You always have a choice and so do people around you.If they dislike what you write they should not visit your blog.Write for yourself and not for others".Reality stuck me hard after I heard him speak this way.I knew he was right,yet I was having difficulty in admitting it.
My little head was bombarded with questions galore."Why was I so keen on pleasing people?","How does someone Else's opinion matter more than mine?"...I can write shit and be happy for all I care.I mean every time I keep telling people how to happy about small things when I myself cant be happy with the things I do. At times, I come across really fancy writers who have a vocabulary larger than the thesaurus. It makes me wonder-"Why am I all that simple?".
My knowledge about plainer stuff like current affairs,music and movies also remote considering the fact that I am a media student and I should know who "Guy Richie" and "A Raja" is. OK, I Do know who they are but NOT enough to be a Hermione and answer a certain Professor Snape.Hardly makes sense,I know but in the rat race of life I feel as if I have lost myself and may be this post is a way to get back to being who I was.
The other day I was talking to this FTII fellow telling him how much I loved writing and how I want my proses to inspire people around me.Later when I was thinking about this conversation I felt as a precocious teenager who had just realized how stupid she is.To inspire or remotely touch people's lives one needs to be compassionate and kind,so how does a girl who barely has time for her family inspire people to love one another. How does a person who is often thankless and rude to her friends preach mercy and forgiveness.I was and I am not any Mother Teresa but at times I feel as if I have terribly wronged people who have forgiven me without any condition or clause.
I am not perfect and I can never be one but I can at least be humane in my approach towards life.I,Me,Us,WE all have a choice to care or not to care,to be or not to be, to cry or not to cry, to forgive or hate someone without knowing what we would have done in their place.Thereby I promise to be a better person or at least try to be one for the sake of myself and the people continue to love me relentlessly.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
And there he stood unaffected by the noise around him….And there he was oblivious to anything that happened near him. I was touched by the intensity in his eyes. For some reason I could not stop looking at him. His mere presence made me curious and conscious of my own self. He was tall, lean and excruciatingly pale. Light brown beard spread generously across his face adding to his intriguing personality. I had never seen him talking to anyone which made me wonder-“Is he always this quiet?”…
The crowd grew wilder but he still stood there without any hint of expression on his face. I moved towards him with evident awkwardness. I was a waitress, so maybe I chance of approaching him without anyone noticing. My hand trembled as I moved towards him. “What would I say?”-asked my mind…”Do your JOB”- answer my brain. “Would he even respond”-I wondered as I finally went and asked if he would want a drink.
“NO, Thank You, I don’t drink” his voice was almost inaudible.
“Oh you don’t?”-I was louder than my meeker self and I hated myself for that.
“DO you have a problem with that?”- He asked with his brown eyes flickering for a moment and dying down once again.
“Ah…I..Ummm…Nahh..Nooo...NO Sir, Why should, Why should I have a problem, Excuse me Sir” and I left as my face flushed with embarrassment.
I felt too humiliated to even look at him after that. I constantly reminded myself of how my landlady would kick me out if I did not pay the rent and with that note I had almost forgotten about that man. IT was one in the night when I finally got off work and I decided to walk back home since a waitress cannot demand a lift back home.
And then it happened. For quite some time before that I heard a group of guys on a jeep behind me passing snide comments. I ignored them and kept walking. The very next moment I was lying on the ground with a man over me. I heard a bottle crack next to him as he held my shivering self. His grasp became tighter as I sat up .I realized that I was attacked with an acid bottle and it was the man from the party who had saved me and had bore the brunt of it all.
Being the daughter of a nurse I thought that it would be better to take him back home and treat him there. He barely spoke through the journey and sat calmly as if nothing had happened. On reaching home I got everything in place and asked him to remove his shirt so that I could treat the wound better. As he undressed, I could not help but stare at his magnificent structure. He was just so PERFECT…I shamelessly wondered what would it be like to have him hold me in his arms once again. And then I began treating him, but still no movement. His entire back was burnt but it looked as if his purpose in life was much greater than the ordinary pains and joys which haunted us day in and out.
After applying the first aid I asked him whether he would like something to eat. He nodded his head grimly to indicate that he was not hungry. I asked him to rest and left the room. I had a disturbed sleep that night and woke up rather early to find that he had left already with a note saying-“Thank You for yesterday”.
I was distracted the entire day and had terrible premonitions .The next morning I found his picture on the front page of a newspaper saying-“Terrorist killed in police encounter.” I sat on the bed with a heavy thud; I felt t as if I had lost a part of me. It was a very difficult moment considering the fact that he was a stranger who made me feel things I had given up on a long ago…………
“What thhhhe…”- my roommate had just poured a bucket of old water on me.
“Wake up Maam…you are already late for college”
“Yeah right”….I said sleepily as I got ready to be lost in the monotony of daily life, completely forgetting about the dream I had seen last night.