The Parting Gift ( Part 4 )

She woke up feeling restless in her bed. Her legs were aching and her hands felt like lead. Her head hurt and she told to herself bitterly, "There you go! Again such a great start to my day".
This was the way her days started lately. She would wake up feeling miserable. Every day. Every single day since the past few months. However, she was a tough lassie. She was the kind who would not give a damn. The kind who would look at the upside of things.Though, this once, it was becoming difficult for her. 

Chitra got down the bed and walked to the mirror to look at herself. She was apprehensive of looking at what met her eye. She was barely 20 and her skin had started losing its glow. She did not have those rosy cheeks she was once so proud of. But she still had her smile. She flashed it across her pretty face and her big Bengali eyes curled upwards very graciously. She let loose her hair and saw the locks of her hair slowly reach down. She took her hair from one side and tucked it behind her other shoulder and looked at her neck. She ran her hand down her neck and shoulder and wondered if she was pretty. She looked at herself and wondered if any guy would ever love her. 

She had been with a guy once and that 'jackass', as she liked to call him, had ruthlessly broken her heart, stomped on it, and left her alone to gather the pieces of what was left of her. Not that she was a sad wreckage or debris, but her heart ached in the most loneliest of times. She cried for three days, and the fourth day she did not give a fuck. She was that girl. Not that she did not flinch when old memories came up, but then,"retrospection was for morons", she told herself to keep going.

But today it was strange. She did not know what was going on in her body, why she kept growing so weak, why her skin didn't glaze any longer... It was driving her crazy. So many tests, and medicines, then again some more tests and more medicines. She never really bothered to know what was up with her, but now she was getting restless. 

 However, these were the things she admitted feeling. What about all those things she felt but did not agree to feel? What about her parents? What about the divorce? What about the fact that she hadn't spoken to her father in years, not even met him despite all the efforts he had made to make it up to her? 

"You never get to make up a broken marriage Baba. I'll never forgive you". These were the last words she had told her father many years ago, when he had come to meet her. 

But she had. She had forgiven him years ago. She just did not want to admit it. But why? 
She did not know. Maybe because forgiving a father who walked out of years of marriage seemed like a very un-cool thing to do. Maybe because books and movies and friends had told her that she did the right thing by not forgiving.

But then why did she forgive him at all? Maybe because, she had realized what many people fail to. That forgiveness is easy. At least easier than hate. Forgiveness must be extended to a father who had loved her. To a father who had been trying so so hard to mend things with his baby girl. Maybe she did not want to do both the things, the forgiving, and the admitting. So she continued to be that grumpy girl who never ever talked to her father. 

She brushed these thoughts away as she took a heavy breath and sat down at the edge of the bed. She felt tired from all the standing and she hated it. She was tired and angry at God. Very angry. Her wrists were tired from all the writing she had to do in her class. Her eyes were tired from all the drooping in the lectures. Her back hurt when she sat up for long. But what hurt the  most were her eyes, too tired from holding behind her tears that had been wanting an out. She was hoping for a miracle. Her miracle. That one miracle that would change her life. 

Little did she know that the next few months would bring a change in everything. How she looked at her father. How her mother looked at him. But what none of them knew was that all this came at a cost none of them were willing to pay. 

The Parting Gift ( Part 3)

They were sitting at the table by the window. He looked out and he could see raindrops trickle along the glass looking like random tears. The raindrops played with the lights of the cars, shining at places and then glowing very bright before they trickled down and could not be seen anymore.

He could not make himself look at her. It ached him. He felt like he was staring at the biggest mistake of his life. He knew he broke her. He just did not want to look the wreckage in the eye. 

However Asha seemed indifferent. She was looking at his shirt and noticed that he had tried to iron it and had failed miserably. It had the creases at the wrong places, the cuffs were badly done too. However when Arush cleared his throat, her thoughts shifted back to why they were there that evening and her heart sunk. Chitra , my little baby girl. She thought to herself. They had been to the doctor and he seemed worried by the results. Chitra had been getting a lot of tests done on herself. The results weren't pleasing any one. Her WBC counts had increased alarmingly. The doctor wanted to meet the parents before any decision was taken. She was immersed in her thoughts and didn't even realize what Arush and Viren had been talking about. All she cared now was that her baby wasn't okay. 

There was a sudden shuffling of feet and when Asha looked around, she saw that both of them had got up. She turned to Arush to ask what happened. 

"We're going to meet the doctor now. Come."

She walked behind them as they walked to the car. It still drizzled a little. She sat down in the backseat and started thinking about the articles she had been reading over the Internet. Increased WBCs were not a good news and she was trying to prepare herself for some pretty hard stuff to deal with.All this while she hadn't said anything. But now she chose to. 

"When will the other reports come, Arush?"

"They must have come by now, we'll pick them up first and then meet the doctor."

"Hmmm."

Their car smoothly stopped at the entry to the hospital. She and Arush got down.

"You both move to the lobby, I'll park and come", said Viren.

She kept on walking till she reached the help desk. She was so preoccupied that she quite involuntarily went up and asked the lady who was noting something down at the help desk. "Excuse me, from where should  I find the reports to a test we did early this morning?"

"Ma'am, take a left turn from straight ahead. You'll see the pathology labs. There at the desk, you may ask for the reports."

Asha turned away quietly without a word. She walked as told and found herself standing at the desk.
"I'm here for the reports of the blood tests of Chitra Ganguly."

The person at the desk shuffled through a few brown envelopes and handed her out one with a lot of cold indifference. That man there, with those envelopes , had so many stories sitting at his desk. The story about the father who has cancer, the story about the grandmother who'll live a few more days. The story of the son who needs and Appendectomy, and the story of the teenage girl who was unaware of her Leukocytosis.

The Parting Gift (Part 2)

He took some time disconnect the call.

The thought of having to meet Asha consumed his anxiety in a very sudden way.  Two years it had been. Two years it had been. Two long years.

He parked his car in the garage and quietly unlocked the door to his apartment. As he reached the table, he slid his car keys across it. They scratched the glass and 
landed on the cold marble with a heavy clank. That disturbed him. IT jolted him back to his anxious self. Strangely enough , this time the anxiety pulled him elsewhere. It pulled him to a part of his wife he had chosen to keep. It was a mere piece of paper he had torn from her diary the day she left. She used to write well, he thought ,and this was his favorite.


" I'll tell you how it feels, a heartbreak. 

It can be the melodramatic heartbreak. Every one can read it off your eyes. Where it feels like heavy metals have been melted hot and poured into your blood. Left to ruthlessly run around every inch of your body, reminding you of stories you want to forget. Hurting every time you choose to blink or move your feet. Or every time you breathe in and breath out. Or every time  you tell your pillow a story about yet another teardrop. 

Otherwise it can be a silent one. The one where no one knows what happened and no one has a clue. The one where the heart broke a little everyday. One part at a time. The one where you outgrew one tear with the next in silence of those nights. The one where your eyes have no story to tell anymore. You become unaware. So unaware, that even your hands didn't know which way to shuffle when you got accustomed to the eerie sadness.

And I'll tell you what is dangerous. 
The un-preparedness of not knowing in which way your heart shall choose to break. "

Every time he read it, he felt a twitch in his heart. But this time, a tremor crossed his hand as he folded back the paper. It had grown crumpled by now. The creases had their own little stories. They knew his favorite lines, because they were the ones where his fists clenched tighter onto the page.

He wondered why he chose to walk away. What came back in answer was not what he wanted to hear about himself. So he chose to look away and not listen. He had stopped asking himself questions he was too afraid to know the answers to.

The Parting Gift (Part 1)

"Sorry Sir, but Chitra asked specifically to not let you meet her. I'm afraid you'll have to go back again.", said the man at the apartment lobby.

Thanking him, Viren said a goodbye and left.

It had been three years since he had met her. This was another of his efforts to reach out to her. Another of his efforts gone in vain. She never took any of his calls. Never called him back. Never. The last time they had spoken was on her birthday 2 years back. It had been a curt conversation. Her voice had seemed as sweet as it could.He imagined her wearing her birthday dress, with those feather earrings he had sent her. He was sure though, she would have never worn them in real. Yet his thoughts were a kind of a sanctuary where he could think of his daughter in any way he wanted to. He wanted to imagine her like that little girl who used to wear that pink frock and used to give it a swirl and see how big the swirl went. That was a picture he always drew in his mind. And then the way she used to---

Suddenly a shrill ringtone pierced his ears, and gatecrashed into his train of thought. 

'Arush'. The phone screen said. He did not know whether to take that call or not. Their past conversations had never really ended well. Not that he expected them to, after all, he was his ex-wife's elder brother.

Nevertheless, his calls were never without a good reason, so he took the call anyway.

"Hello".

" Arush here. Are you free? I need to talk to you."

" Yes sure, go ahead." 

He realized he was nervous and his hands were beginning to sweat a little.

"Well, the thing is we went to the doctor again today. He has asked us to get some tests done. Look, you know I'm not fond of you, okay? But here it's about Chitra. She has lost a lot of weight recently and her mother and I have really been worried. You know Chitra won't agree to meet you, but then, you still are her father. So there are things you need to know about her life. Asha won't call you, so as her brother, here I am breaking the news to you. Chitra has tested positive for a few tests. This worries the doctor. Doctor says her WBC count is going up at a steady rate, and that is not good. So we were wondering if you could meet us--"

"Us?"

"Me and Asha, tonight. There are things we need to discuss."

One Stormy Night

With everybody huffing and puffing about the cyclone Phailin, insignificant and puny creations of Mother Earth like me feel really ignored and unimportant. So a ‘sparkly-eyed-bibliophile’ me decided to put my time to good use and I was all set to start reading a new novel.

God chose to unleash his fury on me in a much subtle way: by mysteriously evaporating the novel from where I had kept it. It simple VANISHED! After a treasure hunt and nerve wrecking few minutes of ‘Where could it go’ I deciding to let it be and not to prod the landslide prone bookshelf this night. I then thought to console myself with something else to do.

So now a crestfallen me stood in front of my old cupboard and pulled it open. This was a sanctuary. School memories, the scent of those old books, those question papers piled up and lying ignored in a dusty corner, those crayon boxes, and then my eyes suddenly caught the sight of a yellow bag.  This yellow bag triggered a few neurons up there but I could not really explain why my eyes lit up at its sight.

So with a curious frown I reached out for it.

It was a sunflower print yellow bag that I did not knew held a sea of emotions. Inside it I found the following things:  

1.  A fancy card I had started to make for Srishti Saraogi but could never finish it, owning to the lazy sloth I was.

2. A New Year card by my Dada.

3. Friendship day cards by Ankita Soumya and Srija Choudhary . Two and one in number, respectively.

4.  A ‘Welcome Back’ card by Vaibhav, Debashish, Richa, Zoya, Diksha, Shruti, Rohit and Sudarshan.

5.  A ‘Merry Christmas and Happy New Year’ card by Shrini.

6. A six page long ballad I had written in class 9, about a drug addict who successfully sees it through rehab.

7.  Valentine’s day cards by Srija and Ankita.

8. A ‘ I will miss you a lot’ and 2 ‘happy birthday’ cards by Shrishti.

9. A fluorescent star that glows in the dark. On one side of it, a message by Shrishti.

10.  A Cartoon Network Birthday Blast card that had come to me by post.

And lastly..

11. An ‘Autograph book’.

This 11^th item was the most intriguing one in terms of ironies.

It had those usual fields like address, birthday, aim in life, etc.

But the field that set my laughter off was ‘Best friend’. Everyone, but a few, had this annoying and typical-to-that-age habit of mentioning ‘YOU’ as a best friend, simply because it was YOU’s autograph book. It did not matter how hateful girls can be of each other, they really know how to fake it well. Lies flood the paper at alarmingly high rates as things like ‘You are the sweetest person on this planet’ are spurt out in the shackles of social protocol back in school.

However, a few people clearly have stood the test of time. One of them being Pallavi. She wrote:

“Best Friends: Nikita, U, Anu”.

Ask her today and she still will give you these names.

It is funny what a few couple of years can do to you. Half of the then ‘Best friends’ don’t even talk. They might not even know where they are. And the irony lies not there, but in the fact that when today I look back at this pile of memories I still see shadows of people, friends and relationships struggling and trapped in time and space rather than the people they are now.

You may not know any of these people I am writing about. You may have not met them. But you know them. You all had these friends back in school. These friends, who were in some way responsible for who you are today. In good ways and bad, time changes all of us.

You are not the same person you were a moment back. All these people you meet and befriend, they twist your soul in a weird and funny way, and that part of your soul can never un-twist itself back.

Friendship is a very powerful emotion. Know how to keep friends. You may not like it always, but that clever man up there has a weird way of completing our lives.

So yes, I did not start reading a novel, but I guess I am done with today’s quota of soul seeking. 

I am jolted back to reality as the cold rain slaps against the glass windows of my room. I decide I must wind up now.

So

as I put back these cards into that yellow bag, I wonder if a few years later when I again open this treasure trove someday, will I still feel the same thing I feel right now? Or will I be someone else, trodden upon by tides of time, and made into someone entirely new? Whatever it shall be, today I know I have had good people, friends and memories in the past. No tide of time, no matter how strong will wash that away. Ever.

Little Pieces of an Indian

"Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake."

These words of Tagore, still manage to send a shiver down the back of my neck, for it reminds me of one of the most imporatnt words in my life.

Freedom. 

Freedom of what I choose think and of what I choose to become.The freedom to be the kind of person I'd want people to remember me by. The little pieces of an Indian I'd like them to find, when they choose to break me open.

The orthodox Indian.

The educated Indian.

The old-school Indian.

The 'Chaar log kya kahenge' Indian.

The 'I hate politics so much that I never bothered to find out why I hate it' Indian.

The greedy Indian.

The needy Indian.

The free thinking Indian.

The 'Khaap panchayat ke neeyamo ke anusaar' Indian.

The 'Sab chalta hai' Indian.

The cricket-crazy Indian.

The panipuri loving Indian.

The movie buff Indian.

The traveler Indian.

The religious Indian.

The hypocrite Indian.

The scholar Indian.

The 'Mere baap ka kya jaata hai' Indian.

The non-believer Indian.

The criticizing Indian.

The 'Ladka-Ladki kabhi dost nahi ho sakte' Indian.

The corrupt Indian.

The 'deshbhakti geet on ringtone, yet a pornographer' Indian.

The struggling Indian.

The rapist Indian.

The fighter Indian.

The 'chai-waale uncle' Indian.

The foodie Indian.

The 'Kal kar lenge' Indian.

The happy-go-lucky Indian.

The 'Aur thoda discount milega' Indian.

The 'Rickshaw-waale bhaiya' Indian.

The activist Indian.

The homeless Indian.

The leftist, rightist, communist, socialist, and 'God-knows-what-type'-ist Indian.

The filthy rich Indian.

The tired Indian.

The 'I still feel strongly about the freedom fighters' Indian.

The young Indian.

The old, dying Indian.

We could be any, many, or 'none of the above' Indian. But what binds us together is the thread of history and belonging. We are united and divided, subsequently by the same social fiber of freedom and independence.

And ironical it may seem but freedom comes with helplessness. The helplessness that comes with having the freedom and right to but not being able to. While in the 67th year of independence, someone like me is writing about what she thinks of freedom, there are so many unlike me who still struggle to have two square meals a day. I sometimes wonder, what good is all this after all? All this writing things and putting up pictures on social networking sites about independence and freedom? And after quite sometime, I can reason out some feeble bits of it here and there. I realize, it is important. It's important for people like me and you to talk, read and write about the things we feel about. It's important that the ideas of freedom in my mind can reach out to yours. It stokes them and keeps them from dying. The notions and beliefs of freedom and joy that I have build up over years of education, good upbringing, good books, and good music are my own little treasure trove. For me, the right to vote, the right to information is a big big deal. Things have changed for the better. At least now there are more like me. There are more people who do give a damn. Things are changing. For as long as there is one person who keeps the fire alive, it is worth the call. We are worth all what happened 67 years ago. We have a Google doodle to our name this independence day, for Christ's sake! That's quite something!

While we might not be a good picture of a country that hits the 67th year free from the British rule, I still say we are doing it right. 

We are a diverse nation. We Indians can be a little of this and a lot of that. But we are trying to keep things going.And my freedom is worth every bit of everything. Always had been, and always will be.

Happy Independence Day, all. Jai Hind!

Not Being Okay

I sit down at the study. Paper on the table and pen in hand.A wall staring at my face.I wait for a while and try to write something.Nothing comes for a while, and then suddenly...these words that I had scribbled months back, creep back from some eerie corner of my mind.

"Lost in time, lost in space.Losing my mind in different ways".

And then like a sudden bout, my mind is covered in a haze of emotions fighting and wanting an out.All I can do is pen down a tiny speck of what seems to be going on up there.

When you let go someone, it's not exactly like your world ceases to exist. Things are the same after a few days. The sunsets are still beautiful. It still is fun to hang out with friends and to bunk a class. You still will like music. You'll still want to look good. You still will enjoy the wind on your face. You'd still feel about Harry Potter the same way you used to. Good food will still entice you like before. The petrichor will be as good as ever. The sunny winter mornings will still make your heart skip a beat. You'll still feel happy over your achievements, and when you put a smile on someone's face, there still will be the warmth you feel.
However, you'll feel differently when you are quiet. Different. Not sad. You'll feel things you have never felt before. Like that irksome knot in your throat while you suddenly remember something, or that time when that song reminds you of them, and you realize that you have grown over the phase where you'd change the song. These days, you'd rather listen to it and let it pass. You'd feel a strange kind of tranquility and peace you'd seem to have made with yourself.
It'll come back at times. That restlessness. You will tend to find yourself thinking about the 'What Ifs'. There wouldn't be much you could do or feel about those things. One moment you'll be fine and the next moment you'll want to lose your mind. But that's how it goes, not being okay and yet, being okay.

A beautiful mind

Nature has always been one of the things that has captured my mind and heart alike. I find peace looking at a tiny ant wobble it's way through dirt and pebbles. I'd rather be alone and quiet looking at a sunset rather than finding reasons to be with loud and noisy people and would rather go out on a night time stroll and find myself under dimly lit skies than be at a place with shiny lights and loud music. Nature has all the answers to all the questions that might have ever crossed your mind. Nature has all to tell about love, sacrifice, anger, pity, jealousy, order, chaos, change and constants. We simply need to look closely and ask the correct questions.When a pandemonium of thoughts keeps interrupting my so-called sanity like the buzzing of a radio set to static, I look around for things that ease it. 

There is nothing in science that nature knows not of. The sound of a cricket buzzing at night, the sound of waves hitting the shore, the morning sky painted red, the silent nights and the starry skies have been what had inspired us humans to understand these miracles around us. It's for nature that we are curious. It's taught us all that we know. 

I often wonder about symmetry in nature. It's everywhere. There always are two sides of a coin, there always is a black for every white, a yes for every no, a life for every death, a warmth for every cold,and a truth for every lie.Yet, we talk very less about the random.What about the randomness in the leaking of water from a tap? Or the suddenness in the thoughts that cross our mind? What governs that? Isn't chaos the other side of the coin to orderliness? So what if all those things that you write off as a random thought, might not be so random after all! I mean,c'mon!Look at the stars, had no one told you about constellations in the 4th grade, wouldn't that have been random too? What about the northern lights? It definitely has more to it than cosmic rays interfering with atmosphere and all that science I had read in some textbook and don't remember  much of (no wonder it has happily leaked out of my memory).But what I do know and always will remember is that it is beautiful and ethereal. For me,it'll always be that way, even if our understanding of it improves with years to come.

 I think it's sad about how we wait for books to validate what we think. It appalls me why thinking is not free and encouraged. Give a kid a text book and he'll memorize axioms and theorems. But leave that kid to himself out in the open, and the kid will know about the things he read. I hope more people in the education 'system' (or should I say, the lack of it) think about the 'doing and seeing' part of things.

We complain that 'his grades aren't that good'. Yet is that what we seek from the youth? Good grades? If Sir Newton hadn't been there under that tree, god knows what on earth  most of us would have been doing right now? What if Benjamin Franklin didn't go bat crap crazy and flew that kite in the storm. We all have a beautiful mind. We need to keep rekindling the flames at times.Let nature inspire you,for it is the best teacher. 

Let us learn not to strangulate dreams and hopes in the name of science and knowledge. Let us have what it takes to look into the eyes of a child sitting in class and looking out of the window, and see more than an inattentive lad.He could have simmering ideas and dreams, he could have all it takes, and he could be what he most certainly doesn't seem to be.Let us learn to accept a beautiful mind as it is,for that is what nature is, unadulterated and pristine.Let us have it in us to realize that art is as important as science.Let us have in us what takes to appreciate the moonlit night sky, the waterfalls, the sand dunes, the riverbeds and the butterflies, for a thing of beauty will always be a joy forever.

Of dreams and broken hearts

"When your heart breaks or your dreams hit the floor and crash, you must remember and accept that it will hurt a lot. You probably won't be able to get a grip immediately.There will be teary eyes and it will be difficult to fall asleep at nights.There will be day after day when you'll realize you are not getting any better.But then after all that while...after all the tears you could have cried and all the thoughts that might have crossed your mind,you will come of age.You'll realize that you had done every thing you could. You had pushed yourself as far as you could go.The only next step possible is to take a few steps back.And no matter how impossible it might seem today,some day, maybe weeks or months later will come a day, when it won't hurt as much as it does today.

Your life might not be what you thought it would be. Maybe you won't have all that you wanted to have.But what's the purpose to life if all our dreams came true.Success and failure never came without each other.Just the way we celebrate our joy, we must also learn to take defeat with a straight face.It's not cowardly to accept you were wrong.Neither does it make you less of a person if you end up in a mess sometimes. What is important is the part where you decide to brush the dirt off your knees and get up to walk again.

It's not like you fall out of love or it's not like you stop wanting something to happen.It all stays there somewhere in your heart. All that love never went away anywhere.All your dreams don't just die.You just learnt to console itself.



Even after all this happens, there will be days or moments when you'll want to let it go. When it will not be worth all the holding up you are trying to do.Those tiny moments here and there will make you the person you are going to become.We all have dreams, big and small.Most of them don't come true in the beginning.Most of them end up making you realize that each of those dreams were necessary. Those dreams taught you that in order to become a better person, one has to have a few dreams that didn't come true. And those broken dreams will keep stoking your soul from inside.They will keep stoking you till the day you are ready to dream again.Till they day you are not scared anymore to work for those dreams to come true.Till they day you realize that if you want it to happen, all you got to do is work to make it happen.


We humans are creatures who were made to endure the tough.We were wired this way.No matter how difficult we think it is, but there always is hope. There always is some place where you can start over again.And there's no guarantee that your heart won't break after that.No guarantee that all of your dreams will come true henceforth.But you'll still have it in you.No matter what people tell you and no matter what you read in some novel, repair is easy.The best gift we people have is our dreams.We need to protect them and fight for them.Because our dreams are what make us up and break us down at the same time.We need to keep dreaming and the only reason I can say that my heart has never been broken is because I have a wild heart and wild hearts...they just don't break."

Those Rimmed Glasses

She was sitting alone in our balcony,watching the sun set and leave the sky smeared in a vermilion hue.I went up to her holding out a cup of tea.I don't understand how some people like red tea.For me, tea has always been that sweet and refreshing drink, with a healthy amount of milk in it.She looked at me with her kind eyes.She had really kind eyes, you know.But I could see them getting tired.Her hands had started to shake a bit those days,and she liked to sleep more often.

I didn't like to think to myself that she was getting older.From the first time I remember her,she always had grey hair and always wore those rimmed glasses.But her hands were becoming more wrinkly and she was not getting any better as the days passed.She used to cook me up fantastic Indian lunches, my favorite being the porridge and fish fry.I saw her cook and I saw how much people enjoyed it. Someday, I wanted to be able to cook like her.I still try,though with lesser success, I must say.

For a person born and brought up in Bihar, she struggled too much with her Hindi than expected.She always messed up the gender and tenses.As a result, I often became the boy who wanted to buy the frock with the most number of frills on it, and my father became the lady who always wore a nice tie to work.

I grew up in the same building with my grand parents.It had it's own perks.I used to park myself on that sofa of theirs whenever I felt like. Angry. Hungry. Sad. Happy. Didn't matter much.She always made me feel better with her gaze. Draped in her soft saree, she matched every picture I could ever draw, of a grandmother.

There were many times she fell ill.It became more frequent. I was staring at my grandmother slowly ebbing away.Things changed a lot when grandfather passed away.She kept ill usually.She moved in with us,to our apartment.I got to spend more time with her.I was trying to make up for the times I was too busy to go see her,when I was busy growing up.It felt good,to watch her sit in those summer afternoons.Her hair,now almost silver, flew along with the sway of the ceiling fan.She told stories,lots of them.She made sure I had good memories to remember her by.I do remember her that way.But I don't miss her.I know she watches over me.Sends me an extra bag of will from above,whenever I need it.

It was four-thirty in the morning.We had stayed up all night.She was on her way to the hospital,and I was staring at the bed in my room, where she used to steal a nap every afternoon.Then it all hit my suddenly,my heart skipped a beat and I closed my eyes and said "Goodbye".A few minutes later the doorbell rang.It was father,saying she was no more.I clearly remember staring at her ice-cold body.Funnily,her hair still flew the same way it used to.Beside her, in a black box, were kept those rimmed glasses.

Even today, when I climb down the stairs and have made sure no one is watching,I stretch out my hand near the door, hoping that she would hold it and plant a kiss, like she used to back in those days.In those days, when she wore those rimmed glasses.

Monotony and the Mind

When its midnight and the world's all hush,

a bunch of thoughts just crossed my mind.

I look around to see this rush 

only realizing I've been left behind.

Those same old mornings, 

and the same old nights.

Those same old streets 

that greet my sight.

It seeps into me, with every day

this monotony I try to keep at bay.
These empty people and the things they say

are way so empty anyway.

These cog wheels of eternal time 

move with the melodies of machines

crushing things of joy in its wake

never to look back it seems.

But next morning i'll wake up and find

the monotony is all in my mind.

I'll paint this world in my way

every minute of every day.

I'll smile through the shadows

and dance through the rains

holding on to my things of joy

and letting go of my pains.

For I know out there are people few

who make my world so brand new.

I know it's easier said than done,

but not now.. . once that I've begun.

5 reasons why people should date

I read somewhere that " Love can happen at the first sight, but it is always better to take a second look".

Well, what could be more true?

One of the most overlooked mass tragedies our society has been witnessing in my opinion, is the rate at which relationships tend to fall out. Let me not talk about relationships between the fabled  'step mother-tortured kid', 'mentally rabid kid-helpless parents', or the 'snobby self centered  brats-old needful parents' relationships.Let me talk about a relationship we all seem to be able to relate to easily, that between lovers.

The first thing that appalls me is why the concept of dating is virtually nonexistent  in our current social setup.I mean the normal protocol that seems to be rampant is:
Guy approaches girl ( or in very few cases, the other way round ), then girls says a yes or she says a no ( both done either immediately or after a long and unending 'friend-zoning' ).And then sadly, either it is too soon, or it is too late.

Not that I am advocating against the magic spontaneous decisions can bring into your life, but I am of the belief that, if not sure, then PLEASE date. After putting myself through a lot of empirical experiments,which I must admit didn't end in up in my favor, I have found these 5 simple reasons why dating is essential to ensure a sustaining,healthy relationship:

1. The biggest out- and- out advantage it gives is that, THE DOUCHES GET FILTERED.If your 'douche-alarm' goes off, run my friend, run for life!
No dating a douche = a happy life. Simple.

2. Remember, even if a non-douche, you are not obliged to fall for every other nice person who asks you out. Don't put yourself through that. Simply, bow out politely and try not to leave any emotional or collateral damage  behind.

3. Dating helps you get comfortable, or uncomfortable with time, whatever may be the case. You can find out things that connect you and things  which you can readily agree to disagree about. 

4. People can pretend. Spending a bit of time together, you can save yourself the trouble of  getting trapped with a guy who has the ADD , read attention deficit disorder, or with a girl who threatens you to cut herself open if you decide otherwise. These things can get really messy and grave. 

5. And of course, the best thing about dating is that you can find that magic of love. You can realize how much you want the person and how madly in love you are, or even a subtle advantage can be, that you may develop love with the time.

It may cost you a bit of time, and a bit of emotional investment as well, but I think, it keeps  you happy in the long run. I hope dating is something we do, before we decide the colors of curtains in the drawing room.

Sincerely,
A pro-dating chick.

What I'm made up of

I am made up of skepticism and  belief at the same time.
Torn between notions of love, joy, loss,and solitude.
Somewhere in friendship, in education, in literature, in music, in good stuff to read, in silent nights, in cold winters, in the thuds of the curtains flapping against the wall, in the sound of my guitar, in the rustling of leaves in the middle of the night,  in the feel of the cool breeze play with my hair left open to dance around, in those tales about putting up a fight, in Van Gogh's Starry Night, and in the suicide note of Curt Kobain, I see myself. Right there.Trapped and never wanting to get out.

That Kaleidoscope

In the broken kaleidoscope of songs long-forgotten, I sometimes hear your voice float around.Like it has entered my life somehow, but isn't ready to leave.

They seem to be calling me to some place,where I think i must have been to in my dreams.Somewhere close to the home of my limitless heart.

I wake up suddenly and find my mind fluttering in a haze of things I could not say.Trapped in a limbo inside the mind of a person in whose shoes I could never be.

I feel like I was on a highway to peace, but suddenly my car broke down,and there is no one around I can call out for help.

Your face, a distant memory now still manages to seem so vivid at nights,when I'm quarreling myself to sleep.There must be something that I have left unfinished.Something that I could not say, Something that you did not hear. Something that didn't fall into place.

I'm scared to admit the things I feel, scared to call out your name. What if you don't answer back, this time over again? Sometimes I want to torch up my love, set every thing aflame and wait till my heart gets charred by the smoke... The smoke of all that my fiery love had to offer.

All those times when my composure starts to tear at its seams,all the hell that I'd kept well tucked-up, breaks lose somehow.And then a hundred vivid illusions begin to cloud my senses.And it scares me like a child who lost her father on a busy street.

When the tiredness of the barren heart,that's long forgotten love, when it seeps into my soul,I suddenly realise I lost something I didn't even know I wanted so bad, all along.Somewhere between the heartaches,when my luck outran my love, I realise I did all that I could.

Then out of nowhere, that bout of love suddenly hits me like a dose of dope,knocking my senses out. And all the things that I could not say,just flash through my mind like little specs of different hues and colors.

Then all ceases to exist.Silence scales the miles in between, and there's nothing left for me to feel.All ceases and just that yearning remains.That part of me that wished to be loved, will soon now fade away.And then you'll find what's left of me, in that broken kaleidoscope.

The Big Gang Theory

“God gave us our relatives; thank God we can choose our friends.”

                                                                                                      -Ethel Watts Mumford

Well, I must bestow my gratitude on Mr. Mumford here. For he has summed up an irony of a lifetime in one precise and crisp sentence.
The faintest of memories that have remained from my childhood are those where I remember being a Cuddle-bag for the entire set of relatives or those where I remember making my first friends. I remember my little hands digging into dirt to pull out small pebbles and building a spaceship with them (No wonder I wanted to be an astronaut, but alas! 'Growing up' got in the way)... I remember tugging at my Baba's shirt, going round and round in circles with puppy eyes focused stubbornly at his face, till he finally agreed to take me out to meet my first 'boy-friend'... Funny I put it in quotes, but truth is I didn't use to make a lot of girl-friends back then. I guess girls didn't like me because I was very bossy. Very very bossy.

Contrary to most girls my age, I liked baking in the sun in the Ranchi summer heat, wearing my decently long hair plastered to my scalp with oil and made into tight plaits and playing cricket! They comprise my fondest memories I must say.

They were my 'wolf-pack' you could say... and of course like every other girl I too had that one friend I could not do without. This friend of mine was a legacy passed on. We were 'her father and my father were good friends, so we are good friends' friends.

But as time would have it, my hair grew longer, the boys metamorphosed into little tykes and my cricket went for a very long, never to end 'time-out', and I finally started making friends with girls, though I can clearly say ,they weren't fond of me. And I missed out on the best emotion my childhood could have had, for I never really had a good, true friend.

Since then however, a lot of things have changed. Maybe that's because I had chosen to change as well.

By now, the importance of friends has somehow now reached a new, sacred height. The kind where you can re-schedule tickets to be there for her birthday, the kind where he stays up all night talking just because you are scared, the kind where they simply go on a mad spending spree along with you, just because you are depressed, the kind where even if you meet after no matter how many years, it always feels like yesterday when you used to make houses with building blocks, and just yesterday when you guys used to discuss about 'that' guy at class, and so many more things.

I may not be old enough to pass a judgment about my life that I have had, or rather have been having, but I sure have realized a few things. Not all friends will still grow up to be friends. Not all of them will miss you. Very few of them will stay in touch. And the foremost of all, you too will learn and want to let go off a few friendships here and there. There will be fights, letting downs, 'sorry's, and other things you wish that weren't there. But they will be.

However, out of every ten friends, there shall be at least one who will be 'your person', the one who will know what to say when, and when to shut up and let you mourn, the one who'll take care of you. So no matter how many friends you have, I am sure we have found that set of 'our people'.

And I consider myself very lucky, because I have managed to have my own 'big gang' and have formulated what I like to call my ‘Big Gang Theory’:

“Make friends. A lot of friends. Have friends who are normal, weird, funny, not-so-funny, chilled out, paranoid, geeky, dorky, 'jugaadu', 'fattu', hot, cool, amazing, impossible to understand, well more kinds if possible. Have a big big gang. And somewhere among this Big Gang of friends you'll find a set of people who will stand out. Who will be 'your people' someday and some point in your life... and no matter how unlikely it may seem to people around you, a few of them will be your friends no matter what."

This Big Gang theory is my survival theory. We sustain, support, insult, hold-up, stand up for, make fun of, and be there for each other. This Big Gang Theory is the story of my own little universe. And hell yeah, my universe is expanding!

First Flight

Well, so finally i have something that I can call a blog of my own.
'The Broken Clock' is my attempt to stop the 'mad-race' clock for a few minutes, to take a bit of time-out to see the things,situations,dreams,and realities of our life with a different perspective.
The simple things in life are often the ones we end up making a mess of, the things that should be said are the ones we keep gulping down our throats.Not because we don't want to. But because it's hard and we are scared.We are scared of not living our dreams,scared that our efforts won't be appreciated,scared of not being loved back.Scared of this and scared of that.
But for what? The only thing that inhibitions brought along ever, is more inhibitions.The more we feed our fears and doubts, the more they grow.
So, I'd be the girl who likes to take her share of time to figure things out. I'd be the girl who tries to hold the book at a distance, to see what's written more clearly.I'd be the girl who likes to play when the risks run high, the girl who  apologizes when she's sorry, is indifferent when she's not, the one who calls up when she misses you and likes to keep things simple, the one who 'spits it out', and also the one who can be a real whiner at times, with her being vocal about almost anything and everything.
But above all, I'd be the girl who likes looking at a broken clock for sometime.For, looking at it somehow is comforting.It's good to let yourself know that it's okay not to be in a hurry all the time.

Right now what i feel like one of those tiny swallows, perched at the edge of a wall, waiting for their first flight, just like I wait for mine as I am about the hit 'publish' to my first ever blog post.
Feels great, eh!