I GOT 20/-

I had a chat with one of my friends today… after a really long time. He is someone I genuinely like, but also someone I genuinely hate! We quarrel more, and more often, than we talk; and we always joke about it. It’s a funny friendship I have with him – but he is a good guy, and I like him.

It is almost after a couple months that we spoke to each other… and within minutes we were arguing about some hypothetical question. But this time the conversation got a little more personal than hypothetical, and things kind of went out of hands.

Eventually we did sort it out, and ended the conversation on a happy note, but – the obsessive, compulsive over thinker that I am – I kept thinking about our conversation for the rest of the day. Like the backdrop of a stage, my mind kept coming back to it again and again, after all the thoughts had vanished from the foreground. I left the house in the same state, and forgot my bike keys inside after I had pulled the door close. Then I realised I had forgotten my wallet as well, and the keys to the house along with it. I checked my pant pockets and found I had about fifty bucks. I decided to take a rickshaw to college.

I met all my classmates on reaching the department… after many days we were all happy and laughing and tension free, now that exams were over. We went to the canteen and decided to rob one of our friends of all her money – she owed us too many a treat and hadn’t given any! We all decided to settle the account.

‘Arre yaar, aaj mere paas sacchi itne paise nahi hai!’ she tried to explain – ‘I got only twenty!’

But we still kept on teasing her and asking her for a treat.

And in that moment I realised – isn’t that about how unreasonable we act sometimes?

We expect time from someone who is busy.

We expect co-operation from the least friendly colleague.

We want love from someone who takes us only as a friend.

We want someone who loves talking to sit quietly and listen to us.

My mom always says – each person gives only that what he has. I used to never understand her when she used to say that – but now I know.

There are so many kinds of people we meet every day – look around and you may find that namuna who is always happy, that person who is always alone, who is always sad, or who is always lost. There was a phase when I used to be always angry. My friends used to say – you lose your temper too quickly now-a-days.

When I look back, I now realise that at that point of time, I was going through a lot of things that I had absolutely no control over. It was like I was being pulled into situations which I wanted to avoid and there was nothing I could do about it – and it made me angry. The fact, or its realisation, that I had no control over what was happening to me and no way to make it right made me angry, and my anger lashed out at people near me.

But do we realise this when we see it happening around us?

We are very quick at jumping to conclusions –

‘Oh she has changed, she is just so moody now-a-days.’

‘I don’t know what’s wrong; he was never like this before.’

But do we ever stop and think “why” this is happening?

A person who is hurt, hurts others.

A person who is angry, lashes out at others.

A person who does not hang out with others is in fact feeling very lonely and outcast himself.

A person who is bitter has someone being bitter to him.

It is almost always like this.

Each person gives only that what he has.

If you see such people around you and if they are someone you know or like or care for, go talk to them; sit down next to them; chat with them; ask them if they want to share what they are going through with you.

Help them.

Genuinely help them.

And help them in a way that suits them – not in a way that you think is right. Don’t help them for your sake – to make you feel good; for that help is no help.

It is not too difficult to pick on someone who is going through a tough time – unless that person is really good at masking his or her true feelings. And even such people break down at some point of time.

No one wants someone who is always rude, or moody, or upset, or fussy, or angry around them – but if that someone is your friend, don’t abandon him, for that only adds to their pain. Talk to him.

Pouring your heart out does not always mean loving the person, being caring, being affectionate and being nice – as much as these feelings, it is also the heart only that is home to feelings like hurt, anger, exertion, disappointment. Don’t choose people by their behaviour towards you, for that is going to change with their state of mind and with the state of affairs in their lives; choose people for the what they are after all these feelings have washed off and faded away… for that is the true nature that lies at the heart of that person.

Every person is capable of some good in life – and no one who is distressed deserves to be abandoned by his friends.

If someone got only twenty, he will give you only twenty. Don’t say – oh he won’t even give me a fifty, I don’t like him. Remember the times he gave you more than you wanted – and be grateful for it, for we may never know when roles reverse and we are on the other side, only hoping and wishing crazy that our friends understand us and support us.

The good and the bad are both you – don’t be ashamed of it.

And always remember – someone who can’t handle your worst, doesn’t deserve your best.

A RACE AGAINST TIME

I came across a bunch of forgotten photo albums while cleaning up my mom’s dressing table today afternoon, and it was such a joyride! Me in specs, big fat round ones, that made my eyes look funny; and sporting clothes reminiscent of times and fashion statements that are ancient now – balloon sleeves, two long pony tails, and a skirt that went below my knees but floated above the ground. Sure I looked like a disaster! But those pictures did manage to bring a smile on my face.

After that, I took out the bag of photo albums from under my bed and went through those pictures too, like I have on so many afternoons before, and like I will on so many more – for I never tire of looking at those pictures. I saw myself growing up through the pictures… a baby, yawning away as Mom kissed my forehead; a toddler, waving to Dad from the floor as he left for office; a kindergarten student, clapping her hands and dancing to the tune of Tu Cheez Badi Hai Mast Mast (yes, I admit, I used to love that song as a kid!); a schoolgirl, cutting the cake on her birthday with all her classmates around her; a teenager, with her best friend on a pajama-party night…

And then somewhere in between I disappeared totally from almost all the pictures… and it was just Mom, Dad, Atya, my sisters and brothers, relatives, my nephew, and everybody else – except me. Everyone laughing, sharing stories, telling jokes, just like always… but I was missing. I caught my head, or my hair in one or two pictures; but that was it.

I didn’t realise it until a tear had fallen on the one of the pictures that I was crying. I looked at all the get-togethers and dinners and parties and functions I had missed – because I was too busy studying for some exam, or completing journals and submissions and assignments. I felt very virtuous at the time – felt like I was being responsible and doing the right thing. Sure my relatives were all always proud of all my achievements, and so was I, I guess.

But looking at those pictures reminded me of times that I had let go by, and that didn’t look like they were going to come back. I miss my cousins, I miss my aunts and uncles, I miss all of them, and all the fun times we used to have together – the PPPJs, the ghost stories, the college affairs (that they used to try and hide from me, cos I was too young n all, but that I did learn about anyway!) and so many other things…

I looked at those pictures and thought – why had I let these moments slip out of hand? Why had I missed that get-together? Why had I opted out of that party?

It wouldn’t have hurt if I had scored a little less on that test.

It certainly would not have harmed if I had not attended college on that Monday.

It would not have mattered if I had reached late for practicals that day.

But I was brought up to be like this – responsible, punctual, dutiful, a good student, a good daughter – and that is how I have lived my life so far.

But do you call this ‘living’?

I do not want to suggest that the above qualities are not virtue – they no doubt are. But are these virtues more important than spending time with your family, or making merry with your friends, or just having a good time?

Just the other day I saw a trailer of some movie, and one of the dialogues hit me stark in my face –

Life mein kabhi kuchh galat kiya?

And I realised – no, maine kabhi life mein kuchh galat nahi kiya tha…

I keep telling Mom – loosen up, let go, ease out, relax, it’s alright if you don’t do one out of a hundred things, it’s ok if you don’t do the laundry today, it’s ok if you don’t cook today, it’s alright if you sleep till late today, it’s fine if the milk spills over before you could take it off the burner… but I wish I had realised the same a few years ago… that it was ok for me to not be punctual all the time, that it was ok for me to bunk my tuitions and go for a movie someday…

We often let virtues get bigger than people…

We give up on family, friends, and relationships even for our careers, for our jobs, for a better life, for money…

But this is not just about that…

This is about not letting virtues define your existence – you did not come in this world to be perfect.

Spend time with your loved ones…

Laugh from the bottom of your heart…

Love like you’ve never been hurt…

Dance like no one’s watching…

And live each day like it’s the last day of your life – you wouldn’t want to be sitting in front of a computer and working, or mugging up chemistry formulas, or making balance sheets if it was the last day of your life, right?

And this is not because ‘kya pata kal ho na ho’… but because it is worth it, creating all those memories… they will run for your rescue in ways least expected, and you shall be grateful to them at some point of time in life…

REGRET

Malvika looked at Hrishab, sitting right beside her on a flight to Delhi. She looked at his face that seemed as usual – calm, serene, composed – but something told her he was everything but that underneath. And she wondered if any man would ever do for her what Hrishab was doing.

One phone call – and everything had changed for her; her course of the next week, and – perhaps – that of her life. But she wished it hadn’t. She so dearly wished it hadn’t.

They got off at the airport and took a taxi and headed straight for the hospital. Malvika was clutching the paper with the address of the hospital tightly in her one hand; in the other she held Hrishab’s hand. Hrishab looked at Malvika. He clearly saw the panic in her eyes, the worry, the care, the affection, the bond – perhaps the love too, or whatever remained of it. For the first time in his life, Hrishab felt scared, threatened, and like something was slipping out of his hands. He looked at this unusual, unconventional girl sitting next to him – for yes, in as many ways as she was mature, she was still a girl. He looked at the girl sitting next to him, who had possessed his heart like no one had ever been able to. And to see all these emotions in her eyes for someone else and not him scared Hrishab. It scared him a lot.

And yet, though he didn’t understand why, he had agreed to fly with Malvika to Delhi – quite against his will, but because he knew she needed him, or would need him as she faced Vikram after all these years. At least he was hoping she would need him.

As they arrived at the hospital, their palms grew wet – but Malvika didn’t know if it was she who was sweating or Hrishab. And that’s the first time she allowed herself to look at Hrishab directly in his eyes. But she couldn’t think of anything to say that would put him to comfort – no reassurance. She just kept staring into those warm brown eyes, and looked away. As the taxi parked in front of the hospital, Malvika let go of Hrishab’s hand.

‘I’ll go inside.’

Hrishab nodded as he pulled out his wallet to pay for the ride. He pulled a single bag out of the trunk and thanked the taxi driver. He turned around and saw Malvika standing at the counter – and was suddenly reminded of the first time he had seen her, ironically in the same dress. There was a sense of intriguing austerity in the way that Malvika carried herself around – something that pulled you toward her, made you want to know her more, but not without knowing you can only get so much closer to her on your own; from thereon, it was her choice, if she let you get any closer or not.

‘Room 109,’ Malvika said, as Hrishab reached her. She took his hand again and they walked to the elevator. But there were far too many people standing to get in. Malvika led them to the stairs and they started climbing them. Hrishab was tired and wanted to protest although it was just one floor, but he took one look at Malvika, and couldn’t. They took the stairs in small quick steps and were soon on the first floor. They looked around. A nurse stopped by.

‘Yes?’

‘Room 109?’

‘First room on your left.’

‘Thank you.’

They started walking toward the room – but suddenly Malvika had slowed down. Hrishab noticed this and slowed down as well. Finally, she stopped a few steps short of the room. Hrishab stopped as well. He waited patiently for Malvika to do something. She turned around and looked at him. He looked at her.

He gave her hand a squeeze and blinked.

She turned left and walked right upto the room.

She could see him inside the room.

He had lost quite some weight – his tall frame looked frail and weak, as he lay on the bed. There was a copy of Wuthering Heights propped open upon his chest. Malvika instantly recognised it as the one she had gifted him, and the one he had mocked her about. She looked at all the tubes going inside his body – carrying God only knows what not. He looked quite okay otherwise. And then Malvika noticed his head.

Those thick black curls that she had locked her fingers into once upon a time were gone. What remained was only the skull cap that she used to tease him about.

A lady sitting next to him looked up from her book at Malvika. She immediately got up and came outside the room.

‘Hello aunty,’ Malvika greeted her, as she put her free hand on the lady’s shoulder. The lady grabbed it and started crying. Malvika looked at Hrishab and then back at the lady.

‘Thank you for coming beta,’ the lady said. ‘He is waiting for you.’

Malvika smiled at the lady, and opened the door, and though she had made no sound, Vikram opened his eyes and looked at her. He smiled.

‘Hi.’

And with that, Malvika let go or Hrishab’s hand and walked into the room, closing the door behind her.

-x-x-

The lady looked at Hrishab, offering him half an awkward smile. Hrishab smiled back.

‘Are you with Malvika?’

‘Yes.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Hrishab.’

She went and sat in one of the chairs placed outside the room. She motioned for Hrishab to join her.

‘I am glad you could come with her. I had been angry and worried when Vikram had called her – angry because he had not done the right thing by disturbing her and her life by making that phone call out of the blue, and with the news that he had; worried because I didn’t know how Malvika would take it.’

‘You knew about your son and Malvika?’

A long pause. A sigh.

‘Yes.’

Another long awkward pause.

‘I’m glad she is not alone,’ the lady said again. Hrishab could not really read the emotion in her voice. But he could make out one thing for sure – the woman was trying to say ‘I’m glad she found someone’ in every way other than directly saying it.

Hrishab steered the lady towards her son.

‘When did you find out?’

‘Eight months back.’

So he had thought a lot before informing Malvika, Hrishab thought.

‘How did you come to know?’

The lady removed her specs and put them into a case before answering him.

‘He threw up blood.’

Hrishab didn’t know what else to say.

‘You must be tired. Shall we go have a cup of coffee?’ the lady offered.

‘Sure, if that is not too much trouble,’ Hrishab said, but only to be polite. As much as a part of him was aching to wrap his lips around a cup of strong, hot coffee, a much bigger part of him was dying to burst into the room and pull Malvika out of it. But he knew he couldn’t do it; and more than that he knew he didn’t have to do it. But when life threatens your love, all logic seems ridiculous.

Hrishab took one look at the door of the room, and walked past it. Resisting himself a glance inside through the small glass window on the door with great difficulty, he followed the woman to the hospital canteen.

-x-x-

Malvika put her purse in one of the chairs inside the room and came and stood by the bed. Vikram closed the book and put it on the side table.

‘I can’t believe you’ve finally come around to reading it,’ Malvika said, in a desperate attempt to make casual conversation.

‘Yeah, I don’t have the kind of time to put it off to any later a date,’ Vikram said, smiling.

Malvika looked pained.

‘Come on, you know me and my sick sense of humour,’ Vikram said, ‘that only you found funny.’

Malvika made a sincere effort to smile.

‘Come sit,’ Vikram said, tucking his blanket underneath himself and making room for Malvika on the bed.

‘No I’m fine,’ she protested. There was hardly enough room on the bed for two.

‘Come on,’ Vikram said and held her hand.

Instantly Malvika went stiff. She inhaled deeply.

She still remembered his touch; and how the calluses on his palms felt. The familiarity had not faded, even over three years.

Vikram noticed it, and let go of her hand immediately.

Malvika sat down next to him. She was careful not to disturb or touch any tubes or needles running into Vikram’s veins.

‘So how are you?’

‘I am fine.’

‘You look beautiful,’ Vikram said.

Malvika looked at Vikram. This was the first time he had called her beautiful. Malvika couldn’t respond to the compliment and only nodded.

‘Was it a good flight till down here?’

‘Yes.’

‘On time too?’

‘Yep.’

Pause.

‘Malvika, thanks for coming.’

‘How could I refuse Vikram?’ Malvika said, as she allowed herself to look at Vikram.

Vikram hung his head – ‘After the way it ended between us, I never thought I would ever see you again. And I wouldn’t have, I guess, if it hadn’t been for my condition. But I couldn’t think of anyone else I wanted to talk to or meet more than you.’

‘What do you mean? What about Dhiraj?’

Vikram paused before answering, surprise evident in his eyes – ‘You still remember Dhiraj?’

‘I remember everything Vikram. It is not so long ago for me to start to forget everything.’

Pause.

‘He is in Auckland now. Got a job.’

‘And…’ Malvika hesitated.

‘Swati?’ Vikram prompted. Malvika only nodded.

‘We are not in touch anymore.’

‘Why? What happened?’

‘We broke up within a few months.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

Vikram didn’t reply.

‘What went wrong?’ Malvika tried again.

‘I really don’t want to talk about it.’

‘Oh ok. I’m sorry I brought it up.’

‘No no, come on. It’s alright, you couldn’t have known.’

Vikram looked at Malvika as she tried to think of something to say to stay away from the most obvious of questions. Vikram could see her struggle inside her head, as she went through all the things she could talk about so as to steer clear from talking about his illness.

‘So you still drive your old Kinetic?’ Vikram asked out of the blue.

‘Of course! I love it! She’s my first love!’ Malvika said, trying to sound cheerful. ‘And I’m sure you still have your Yamaha?’

‘Nah, I sold it.’

‘What? Why!’ Malvika exclaimed, the surprise genuine in her voice.

‘Just. Didn’t feel like driving it anymore.’

‘How are all your crazy friends from college?’

‘I don’t know,’ Vikram answered after thinking for a while.

‘What do you mean “I don’t know”?’

‘I am not in touch with anyone anymore.’

‘Oh my God. Vikram what happened?’

‘I don’t know. Everything just went wrong suddenly, one after the other. First it went kaput between me and Swati. And then just everything went wrong. And then I was diagnosed of cancer, about a week before your birthday. It just all went kind of downhill from there, everything just went out of – Malvika, you’re crying.’

Malvika wiped her tears of her cheeks, but they refuse to stay behind her eyes any longer.

‘You’d called on my birthday. Why didn’t you tell me?’ Malvika said through her tears. And then, neither could tell who initiated it, but they were in each other’s arms and their lips had locked.

Malvika clung onto Vikram’s shirt and kissed him. Vikram kissed her back, holding her in his arms, caressing her and try to calm her down. But Malvika couldn’t stop. She kept on crying. She cried and cried till her throat went dry. ‘Why?’ she kept on asking.

‘I just didn’t,’ was all Vikram had to say in reply.

‘Vikram, don’t you know even by now, what you meant to me?’ Malvika asked sincerely.

‘I do Malvika – and it scares me. I am not worth what you give me.’

Malvika nodded ‘no’.

‘I am not Malvika, even though you think otherwise.’

‘Vikram that’s not even an answer! We were a lot more than just…’ Malvika couldn’t complete her sentence. ‘Vikram you were always special to me, and you will always be! You should’ve told me Vikram! I can’t believe it… all this time, all these years… and you didn’t call me even once! I know we didn’t break up on a healthy note, but still! We meant a lot more to each other…’

‘It was not until I lost you that I realised it Malvika. I just couldn’t bring myself to call you.’

‘Vikram…’

But Malvika could say no more.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door.

Malvika got up and reached for her purse. She pulled out a napkin and went into the bathroom as a nurse came in to check on Vikram.

‘Is there anything you need?’ Malvika heard a female voice above the sound of tap water.

‘No I’m fine, thank you.’ Vikram’s voice. Malvika wiped the water off her face and entered the room again, just as the nurse left. She put her napkin back into the purse and came and sat down beside Vikram again.

‘It feels so nice to see you Malvika. I really mean it.’

‘It is good to see you too Vikram.’

‘I’m sorry it didn’t work out – ’

‘Stop it Vikram. Forget about it.’

Pause.

‘You tell me about yourself! How are you doing?’

‘I am fine. I’m doling ok.’

‘Have you come alone?’

‘No I got someone along with me…’ Malvika answered tentatively.

Vikram looked at her.

‘What’s his name?’ he asked.

‘Hrishab.’

Pause.

‘Would you like to meet him?’

‘I would love to.’

-x-x-

Hrishab was pacing the corridor outside Room 109. It had been almost an hour since Malvika had entered the room. He couldn’t wait any longer. Vikram’s mother had stayed back in the canteen as she bumped into someone she knew, while Hrishab had come back up to the room. Hrishab wondered what Malvika and Vikram were talking about, what they were doing. Sure Vikram had only a few months of life left, but Hrishab had no sympathy for him. Malvika had barely given him the most essential information, but Hrishab had never had to ask; for any person with even an ounce of compassion could tell what a tough time Malvika had had to go through. And then Hrishab could read faces.

He had chosen never to ask Malvika anything after the first and the last time she told him about Vikram, but that does not mean Hrishab did not know what had happened. And he had no sympathy for a guy who could put someone he loved at some point of time at least through something like that. And least of all someone Hrishab now loved more than anyone else. He could and would never forgive Vikram. Ever.

The door to room 109 opened and Malvika stepped outside – one look and Hrishab knew he had made a mistake by agreeing to fly Malvika down to Delhi. A girl like her did not deserve to be put through this turmoil, no matter how much she wanted it.

Malvika walked upto Hrishab. Hrishab stepped toward her and hugged her. He kissed her on the forehead.

‘Are you alright?’ he asked.

‘Yes. I am fine,’ she said while still hugging him back, her head on his chest. She stayed like that for a moment, then looked up at him.

‘Will you come inside and say hi, please?’

‘Why?’

Malvika paused – ‘For me?’

-x-x-

‘Hi.’

‘Hi Hrishab. Thanks for flying Malvika down. I am really grateful. And it’s nice to meet you.’

Malvika looked at the two of them – one too upset to talk, the other too ashamed. She tried to fill in.

‘Hrishab works with Capgemini.’

‘Oh I see.’

‘He will be flying to Texas next week regarding work. He is going to be there for about a month.’

‘Texas is an awesome place.’

Malvika’s phone buzzed. She fished it out of her purse.

‘I’m sorry, I have to take this. Please excuse me,’ she said as she walked out of the room.

Vikram looked at Hrishab.

‘Thanks for coming, really. It means a lot to me.’

‘I did not do it for you.’

‘And you have done it quite unwillingly for her as well, as I can see.’

Hrishab began to say something, but stopped himself. For as much as he could never bring himself to forgive Vikram, he could read the regret on his face, as clear as ink on paper. Only he wished he could tell Vikram everything that he had to do to pull Malvika out of him, to convince her to trust people again, to trust herself again. Only he knew what that girl talking on the phone outside had been through, and how much it had thrown her off track, how deeply it had shook her. Only Hrishab knew how helpless Malvika had sounded when she’d told Hrishab why she wasn’t attracted to him in spite of him being such a great person, why she felt nothing about a guy who would have otherwise made her go weak in the knees, why she was so inert. Vikram didn’t know how horribly Malvika had closed into herself, and how difficult it had been for her to come out of her closet. He didn’t know how much the girl had paid, and only for having loved – selflessly and honestly.

But the regret and remorse on Vikram’s face was unmistakable. And Hrishab couldn’t possibly bring himself to say anything to him.

‘I threw away something that people don’t get even once in their life. I didn’t know what I had when I had it. But I hope you do. And I hope you will take good care of her and cherish her much more than I ever had or ever can.’

Hrishab nodded in reply.

Malvika entered the room as if on cue. She looked at both of them and smiled.

‘We are going to our hotel room now. We will come back in the evening to see you again,’ Malvika said, as they decided to take leave.

‘I’ll let you say goodbye,’ Hrishab said and walked out of the room.

‘So long,’ Malvika said, as she bent down to hug Vikram.

‘Bye. I really missed you all these years. It was so nice to see you,’ Vikram said, as he put his arms around Malvika’s neck and hugged her back.

‘Anything I can bring for you when I come in the evening?’ Malvika asked.

‘Just yourself – it is more than I can ever be grateful for anyway.’

‘Come on Vikram, don’t talk that way.’

‘You still get so disturbed Malvika – its alright. I am ready now.’

‘What do you mean?’

Vikram looked at Malvika, taking some time before he answered. He looked at those eyes that were once full of love for him, and those arms that he’d caressed standing in the balcony of his house. He looked at the locket that still hung around Malvika's neck and that he had never liked but had grown fond of over time. He looked at her, unblinking, drinking in with his eyes the sight of that lovely face, that lovely girl, that girl who loved him, but who he could never love back as much. He looked at her, as if absorbing her so that he could keep her in his memory forever. He tried to remember the Malvika he had known, and it struck him – nothing had changed. She still loved him, at some level. There was a part of her that she had with him, and that he knew would always be only his, till eternity, even though she was with Hrishab now and they were going to get married.

Nothing had changed.

And yet everything had.

‘Nothing,’ he said finally, and Malvika walked out of the door.

-x-x-

Vikram’s mother walked into the room. Vikram kept on staring outside the window. She came in and sat next to him on the bed. She looked at him. But he kept staring out of the window.

‘Are you feeling better?’

But Vikram didn’t say a word.

‘I am glad she came,’ Vikram’s mother said.

Vikram still didn’t respond.

His mother called out to him – ‘Vikram?’

He still didn’t respond.

She got off the bed and walked around to face Vikram. Tears were running down his cheeks. She stretched out a hand to wipe them off, and Vikram collapsed into tears. He hugged his mother and buried his face in her bosom. ‘I wish!’ he cried…

And he never said any more.

BE THIS WAY

You’ll probably never know how much I loved you
But it had rather be this way

You will never know why I gave up on coffee,
or why I cut my hair
You will never know why I now like Metallica,
and where’re all the soft toys gone, that were once there

You’ll probably never know why I learnt to bake a Black-forest cake only cos you liked it
And you’re never going to know why I stopped talking to that boy from my school you had a fight with

You will keep guessing why I took dance lessons,
and why I kept saying – “I’m all old school
and chivalry will always have its charm,
even though you think going Dutch is cool.”

You’ll keep wondering why I gave up on old Hindi movies,
or why I started watching those English action flicks
You’ll never know where all my ear-rings have gone,
and why it now lies unused – my favourite kohl stick

I guess you never knew it was you I meant when I said
“My guy must be tall
and dark and funny and strong and loving and a gentleman”
And you’d mocked – “That’s all?!”
And you’ll probably never know how much I loved you,
and how much I miss your calls

But it had rather be this way any day

A broken heart is easier to handle,
than to handle “I wish I hadn’t met you anyway”

A broken heart is much more easy to handle
than to have you in my life at a price I can hardly pay
and only for you to sometime, someday, without the slightest of notice, just walk away…

MOMENT OF CLARITY

I see so many people around me everyday, always waiting for something – waiting for the lecture to get over, waiting for the person in front of you in the que to finish his transaction, waiting for the traffic-light to turn green, waiting for your turn at the hair-dresser, waiting for the answer that’s gonna change your life, waiting for someone to come around, waiting for the hour to pass… its like our happiness is just out there, in sight. You can see it clearly, in all detail. But you are waiting to reach it; or for it to reach out to you.

Sounds familiar?

So what makes us wait for something in sight but out of reach?

What makes us stop from going after and getting what we want?

I am waiting for my life to change – yeah, pretty big huh? I am waiting to complete my post graduation so that I can pursue something I have been wanting to do all my life – or all along my life so far. But more importantly, I am waiting for that one moment that I am hoping will come in my life soon, when I will know who and what I want to be, what I want to make with my life and my time and my talent and brains – just like I always knew I wanted to study biology in college.

Sometimes you just know things are going to happen.

This relationship’s not going to work.

You’re going to be disappointed by the one person you held so highly.

You are going to get that one chance you were looking for to prove your worth.

You are going to win that competition you have been waiting to participate in.

This is the last time that you are going to see your grandfather.

This is a person who is going to come to mean a lot to you.

It’s like sometimes you can feel something taking control of situations, people around you and turning things about. You feel a presence. You feel it unmistakably, and stronger than you’ve felt anything in your life before.

You look at a house and know it’s the one for you, even if it is ridiculously expensive, or far away from your work place maybe.

You go to buy a puppy, and you just know which one you are going to pick.

We go around blindly through each day, get up, get dressed, have breakfast, work, come home in the evening, have dinner, have a beer maybe, watch TV, maybe call a friend and greet them for their birthday, go to bed, read something for a while, sleep. And the cycle repeats. We have opinions about people around us, about a fashion trend, about a movie star, about a song, about political issues, about the stock market – what is your opinion about yourself? How much do we know ourselves?

We are all living each day of life as it comes; but in reality I think we are all at some level waiting for that one moment that’s going to change that one thing about you or your life that you really badly want to change; or for that one moment when you will know what it is you can do to bring about that change. We all live for that one moment of clarity. It may come to us while we are working in our garden, or when the wind hits your face next time you step out of your house, or when you are playing with your niece. It may come to us quite unexpectedly, or after a great deal of waiting – one, maybe even two years, or much longer even. But there is that moment of clarity that comes in everyone’s life. It is unmistakable, inescapable if it is meant to change you. But more than that, it is something that you cannot miss if you don’t want to let it pass by unnoticed.

I am on the lookout of mine – and I am all armed and as ready as I can be! And I hope you will find yours too.

FOOTPRINTS

Just how many things do we do in life for ourselves purely?

There always has to be that response to our stimulus.

An admirer of a new dress or new hair-cut.

A supporter to your decisions.

We are always looking for something that mirrors us to ourselves all our lives. We want that reflection to be in the form of someone else; and yet we want it to be exactly that – a reflection.

Someone who believes in what you believe in.

Someone who also likes tuna fish, just like you do.

Someone who also loves to dance, just like you do.

Why is it that we relate to something distinct from us only if we have been through a phase, a situation or an experience like that ourselves?

A favourite song.

A favourite movie.

Why is it that we have most experiences in common with our best friend?

We are always looking for that one person who will be a witness to our life on this planet.

Your friend may hate you thinking you always want to control their lives – but they still always consult you before taking any decision.

You know you are a good photographer – and yet it is important to you that people see and appreciate your work and tell you ‘you’re good’ at least once in a while.

I write for myself – but I am nonetheless always waiting for feedback and comments.

Can you for once in your life sing without an audience?

Can you for once cook a great meal just because YOU feel like having great food?

Can you for once read a good book and not share about it with another book-reading friend of yours?

Can you for once go off on a journey to enjoy your own company? Or even go to a movie all alone for that matter?

Can you? And more importantly – would you?

Why is it that we always turn around and look upon our footprints to see if someone is following them?

inspired from "By The River Piedra I Sat Down And Wept" - LOVE

Nancy got up with a sad feeling deep in her heart. How she regretted having to live through this day every year. Every year she would go down the memory lane and visit the same old shack by the sea where she had gone off all on her own for a vacation a few years ago and had met a man who, Nancy was sure since the moment she set her eyes on him, was going to be very important to her and was going to change her life forever. If only she had not spotted that figure on the beach. If only she had not offered the man a glass of wine. If only he had not accepted. If only they had not fallen in love.

But she had spotted that lonely figure on the beach.

She had offered the cold man a glass of wine.

He had accepted.

And they had fallen in love.

It was not something she regretted. Once in your life comes along the kind of love that we are all made to grow up believing in, but that we all learn in our own ways exists only in fairy-tales and dreams and good romantic books and cheesy romantic movies.

But she did regret not asking him to stay when she knew she could have and when she knew he would not have refused.

She regretted having heeded to the higher calling. She had put that man and his life and his path towards a better self, top-most on her list of priorities; and herself and her feelings and her happiness below it – just like she had been brought up to be; just like she had lived all her life.

Her children before her.

Her husband before her.

Her marriage before her.

Her parents, her job, the people around – the world before herself.

And that made her the good mother, the good wife, the good daughter, employee and person that everybody talked about and that everybody wanted everybody else to be – but also that that she did not like, forty years of life, fifteen years of marriage and two children later.

What good is life when you spend it living for others? Every waking moment, every breath, every thought spent on others. Every good deed always done for the betterment of others. Every sacrifice always made for the happiness of others.

And it was a weekend spent not with her husband but with a stranger in a shack many many miles away from her house that had made her think – what had she done in life for herself?

When was the last time she lived, laughed, loved for herself?

That one weekend with the man in the shack by the sea had given Nancy a taste of what life could have been – a man who loved every inch of her body, a man who loved her heart and soul and who wasn’t afraid to show it; a life with a companion who was very different from her, but who complemented her and understood her nonetheless.

And yes, he was a married man, much older to her, with a son only fifteen years younger to Nancy. He was a man with faults, much like her husband; and yet he was so different from her husband.

Nancy regretted not having asked the man to stay when it was time for him to leave. She knew she had had the power to make him wait; she knew he had longed for her to ask him to wait. He had left the decision in Nancy’s hand. And Nancy had again chosen to be the good mother and wife and had let him go, only to come back to an unfaithful husband and a broken marriage that she thought was her responsibility to try and save.

But no relationship works with the efforts of only one individual. It is a give and take.

However, that one weekend spent with that man in the shack by the sea many many miles away from her house had changed Nancy. She had returned to an unfaithful husband and a broken marriage, but without guilt or a false sense of morality. She had returned a changed woman, and she had taken charge of things and had changed her life – which included moving out of the house and life of her husband but along with her son and daughter, shifting base to a new city, making new friends and finding a new job and doing what she had always dreamt of doing; starting a plant nursery. Her daughter understood her; but Nancy would not have minded even if she hadn’t – she would when she grew up a little more. Her son still loved his mother, though he missed his father.

But Nancy was still haunted by the memories of the man she met on this day few years ago.

She was glad he had saved her.

She was glad he had shown her what her life could be, what it ought to be.

She was glad he had happened to her.

But she still regretted not having asked him to wait when she could have.

But she now understood the lines she had read many many years ago…

Love is always new. Regardless of whether we love once, twice or a dozen times in our life, we always face a brand new situation. Love can consign us to hell or to paradise, but it always takes us somewhere. We simply have to accept it because it is what nourishes our existence. If we reject it, we die of hunger, because we lack the courage to stretch out a hand and pluck the fruit from the branches of the tree of life. We have to take love where we find, even if that means hours, days, weeks of disappointment and sadness.

The moment we begin to seek love, love begins to seek us.

And to save us.

inspired from "By The River Piedra I Sat Down And Wept" - THE OLD LADY

Some people always have to be doing battle with someone, sometimes with themselves, battling with their own lives. So they begin to create a kind of play in their head, and they write the script based on their frustration.

Tilo heard the old lady say these lines and realised how much they were true – every word of it was painfully true and relevant to her life. Right from the moment she had been born, all she had been doing was fighting; first as her Mother tried to kill her while she was still in her womb, and then as the people around tried to kill her soul. All she had been doing was fighting – battling to guard her existence; battling to guard her virginity, battling to guard her innocence, battling to exist in a world that was crueller than could be imagined. Every moment a struggle. Every moment a war waged against her one self that wanted to believe in the good in people and her other self that had nothing but eyes that could see the world around her with all its bad and bad.

But when night fell and her Mother had cursed and cursed her and gone off to sleep, Tilo would dare to dream – of a caring Mother, of a clean house, of school; of a normal life and a better world. And it is these few moments every night and the hope they brought that helped Tilo pull through every day.

Until the day she heard the old lady speak – the old lady that she was scared of, but that she loved to hear when she began to speak. The old lady who Tilo saw always in the same clothes and who never smiled. There was something mysterious about the lady. She was not a beggar, and yet people passing her seemed to drop money for her and touch her feet. The lady never touched the money, and never seemed hungry or thirsty. She looked almost ethereal. At some point in the day the lady would start talking – and the stresaaset would go silent; but not because everyone would be listening, but because everyone would just clear the street. They would all disappear, take their children in and go inside their little huts and shut the doors and stay in till dusk. One evening Tilo had wandered off ad returned after the street had cleared and had heard the old lady speak. She had been scared at first and had tried to make her Mother open the door so she could come into the house.

‘Pay for your little excursion! Thousand times I tell you not to wander too far away, but you just don’t listen. The Devil, that’s what you are!’

Tilo had been very scared and had cried and cried till her throat went dry and her eyes and head started to ache. Finally when exhaustion took over and she couldn’t care less if she died or lived, she walked towards the lady and went and sat down in front of her.

The old lady’s eyes were closed, and she appeared as if to be chanting something. She broke out into prose once in a while, and went back to the chanting soon again. But her eyes always remained closed, like she was reciting something from memory. Her slow steady voice almost managed to put Tilo off to sleep when the lady opened her eyes and looked at Tilo. Tilo’s fears returned, but she sat rooted to the pace, stupefied. The old lady kept on looking at her – a constant unblinking stare, and Tilo couldn’t help but stare back into those eyes. How long they sat like that, no one knows. But after quite some time had passed, Tilo felt a hand lift her to her feet rather roughly.

‘Do you want to invoke the wrath of the Devil on the entire village?’

Tilo looked at her Mother, and turned back to look at the old lady. But she was gone.

– x – x –

‘You must take her to him! He is the only one who can save your daughter!’

‘Yes! No one who has ever seen that lady or spoken to her has ever lived to tell about it. But she has. There is something that’s definitely wrong.’

‘Take her to him. He knows just what to do.’

‘He will cure her.’

‘He will save her.’

– x – x –

Several days passed. People continued to drop money at the place where Tilo had seen the old lady sitting, and continued to touch the ground even. But Tilo was confused.

‘Mother, who do they offer the money to, if the old lady is not there anymore?’

But this innocent little question only brought upon another thrashing on Tilo, and she learnt never to ask her Mother about it again.

Several days passed by again. And then several weeks. One day Tilo met the old lady while she had wandered a little too far and away from her house. This time Tilo was not scared of the lady. But the lady, instead of maintaining her distance as always, addressed Tilo directly by her secret name –

‘Janhavi!’

Tilo was so astonished that the old lady knew her secret name that she forgot all her fear and the promise she had made to herself – to treat the old lady as indifferently as she treated her – and curiosity took over and Tilo ended up talking to her. She spent the whole evening talking to the old lady, and the night and it was almost dawn by the time she realised that an entire night had passed by. Tilo felt excited. This was her first night away from her home, and she was still safe and sound.

She had witnessed the good side of the world.

Tilo started meeting the old lady regularly. Her Mother kept on beating her up when she returned home just before sunrise every day.

‘Who is she sending you to?’

‘Who is sending me anywhere Mother?’

Slap.

‘Come on you little witch! Speak up! Where are you hiding all the money?’

‘What money Mother, I don’t understand.’

‘Oh you scoundrel! Just you wait till I get my hands on the money. How long are you going to hide it from me anyway.’

Tilo discussed this with the old lady one evening.

‘Mother keeps asking me funny questions. She keeps demanding money from me. I don’t understand.’

But the old lady just smiled.

One evening Mother caught hold of Tilo just as she was about to slip off to meet the old lady.

‘Not so easy darling. Today you shall go to who I tell you to go to.’

Mother gave Tilo a clean set of clothes to wear. She combed her hair and braided them. Tilo got confused, but was still happy. Her Mother today seemed like the one from the story they told at the school that Tilo liked to listen to secretly. Before mother and daughter stepped out of the house, Tilo hugged her Mother.

‘I love you Mother!’

Little did she know what lay in front of her, what her Mother had planned for her. But in spite of all that she had to go through each day, Tilo’s heart was pure, and it knew only to love.

They reached in front of a big house after some walking. Mother picked Tilo up in her arms and knocked on the front door. A big man answered the door.

‘At last.’

Mother gave Tilo into the arms of the man. The man reached inside his pocket and pulled out a thick wad of money and handed it to Tilo’s mother.

Tilo looked upon the transaction and turned to her mother –

‘So he had the money! But who is this man? Is it Father?’

Mother looked for a moment at Tilo’s face. She realised she was going to burst out crying. She quickly turned on her heel and began to walk away as fast as she could.

Tilo called out to her Mother to wait. Tilo felt really sad – how unfortunate that on the very day that she had seen a side of Mother she didn’t knew existed, Mother had also abandoned her and left her to the mercy of a strange big and scary man. Tilo looked at the man.

‘I am hungry Father.’

The man slapped Tilo across her face. Tilo’s eyes instantly sprouted tears. The man’s hands stung worse than her mother’s ever had.

Tilo kicked and punched and pushed and tried to break free from the man’s hand as he dragged her towards a room in the inside of the house…

– x – x –

‘Mother!’

Tilo called out to her Mother who was sitting by the pot of water that was kept in one corner of their house. Mother turned to look at her daughter.

‘That man was not at all nice Mother. Who was he? Why did you leave me with him Mother?’

Tilo’s mother kept staring at Tilo. Suddenly she came up to her and fell at Tilo’s feet. Tilo got confused.

‘Mother! Why are you touching my feet!’

But just as Tilo touched her mother’s arms in order to lift her up, her mother’s body broke out into a crackling fire. Tilo quickly stepped aside from her Mother, shocked at what she had witnessed. Tilo quickly went to the water-pot and tried to lift it. But she lost balance and the water spilled onto the floor.

The fire died out as mysteriously as it had erupted. Tilo looked around the house, but there was nothing there. No ashes, no sign that only moments ago there had been another individual in the room, as alive and breathing as Tilo. Tilo felt the old lady’s presence and turned around to look at her.

‘What happened? Why didn’t you save Mother like you saved me!’

But the old lady just smiled.

‘I wanted to tell her how you saved me from that man! I wanted to tell her you are not a bad woman!’

‘She wouldn’t believe you Janhavi.’

‘But she would! She was my Mother!’

‘Would you have believed her, if she told you the same?’

Tilo stood still.

‘Everyone has to find me and come to me on their own. No one can be pushed in my direction to seek me. When their hearts seek me out, I shall heed. Till then, I shall wait.’

Tilo did not completely understand what the old lady had said, but she felt a lot calmer anyway.

‘Come.’

Tilo looked at the old lady’s hand, and wondered if she should take it. But somewhere she knew even before she took the hand that the choice had already been made.

Her life had already been changed.

Her path and her destiny were never going to be the same again.

And she was tied to this woman for eternity.

Tilo took the old lady’s hand and they walked out of the house.

GIRLS, GOSSIP AND GET-TOGETHERS

Is it really that easy to spot a person struck by the Cupid’s arrow?

I find it rather amusing how you can just tell when someone around you falls for someone. Even the most composed and expressionless of persons are not able to conceal it.

I happened to meet one of my friends – rather two of them – after more than a month recently. We’d been planning and failing to meet since very many days. And then a chance call right after Trupti had got back from the graha-pravesh of her brother’s new flat, had me and my Tejashree driving to her place.

It was a nice fun-filled evening as we all talked almost simultaneously on three very different topics, gobbling idli-chutney side by side, and yet in perfect co-ordination, and also without losing track of what each one of us was talking about. We poured our hearts out, amidst the sound of spoons and plastic bags as we dug into a packet of fresh Chitale bakhar-vadi and a box of kalakand; we talked about who had been up to what recently, and who was bugging who in class, and how we missed sitting next to each other in lectures. We wished we were all doing the same thing in the same college, somewhere far away from home; or that we were roomies in a hostel just so that we could go to different colleges and do different courses and still not lose contact.

Suddenly someone came up with the idea of clicking pictures.

‘But who will click all three of us together?’

‘Arre timer hai na!’ I said, flaunting my new phone which doubled-up as a camera.

‘4 megapixels?’ Trupti inquired.

‘8!’ I exclaimed.

‘Cool!’

We ran around the flat looking for ideal supports to hold my cell in place so that we could all fit into the frame of the picture – problem being the fact that Tejashree and Trupti are both almost the same height, while I am much taller than both of them. Finally after hunting for almost half an hour we had assembled a tall stool, the box of modem, and a mixer-grinder.

‘Mrunal be careful yaar. Your phone is going to topple and fall,’ Tejashree warned me.

‘Jalla tujha tond!’ I remarked and we broke out into peals of laughter. Meanwhile Trupti was humming a song from a latest Salman Khan flick.

‘Oh my God Trupti! That is such an outrageous song!’ I remarked. ‘You’ve heard it?’ I asked, turning to Tejashree.

‘Ya!’ she replied. Then there was silence for a few moments, and Trupti again began singing the same song all over again –

‘Munni badnam hui, darling tere liye…’

Me – ‘Abe oye jhandu balm! Chup kar na yaar…’

Trupti – ‘Aga mi kay karu? Mala pin lagliye tya ganyachi!’

Tejashree – ‘Nahi nahi asa nahi. Kuna sathi jhandu balm jhaliyes te sang adhi!’

Trupti – ‘Arre no one yaar! There is no one in our class worth becoming jhandu balm for…’

Incidentally they then both turned to look at me.

‘Tu kyu itni hans rahi hai?’

I looked at myself in the mirror. My face was in fact blank. But their remark planted a smile on my face anyway.

‘Mi kuthe hastiye,’ I said grinning ear to ear.

Trupti – ‘Meko lagta hai teko koi mil gaya…’ she then went on to do a step from the song. She spread her hands out like Preity Zinta and Hrithik and started singing ‘Koi mil gayaaaaaa!’

I turned to Teju for refuge – ‘Ae ae! Tuppi cha patent! “Meko teko”! Remember?’

Teju mock laughed and then made a grave face – ‘Vishay badalu nako.’

‘Abe yaar kay tumhi doghi…’ I said, now even blushing a little. ‘Koi nahi hai baba!’

‘Arre I’m not saying you are going around with someone! But someone sure has caught your attention recently, hai na? In fact “hai na” kya, I know it for a fact – its written all over your face!’ Teju said.

‘And since when can you read faces?’ I countered her.

‘Vishay badalu nako!’ Tuppu repeated.

I looked at their anticipating faces. Damn. They were my best friends after all; they deserved to know – even though there wasn’t much to tell. And so I went on and told them about the guy who I had noticed recently.

‘See! I knew it! Right when you walked in through the front door I knew you had news!’

‘Eeks Tuppu! “You had news” kay are…’ I said. ‘It’s hardly anything! For all I know he could not even be interested in me.’

‘Ya. Or for all she knows, he could be gay!’ Teju added.

We all burst out laughing.

‘Ae nahi yaar, aise mat bol,’ I said.

‘Haan yaar Teju, aise mat bol – warna uska dil toot jaega!’ Tuppu added.

I made a serious face.

‘Trupti Naik, are you actually sassing your best friend? Don’t you dare sass me!’

‘Hauuuu! Ghabarle mi! Sorry sorry sorry,’ Tuppu mocked me a little more. ‘But I am honestly glad you are over that looser.’

Aha. The ‘ex’ creeps up.

‘Tuppu, he wasn’t a – ’ I said, defending him as was my habit. Tuppu cut me halfway through.

‘Don’t you dare defend him Mrunal. A guy like that can only be a looser, with all his intellectuality or whatever.’

‘Intellectual looser,’ Teju chirped in.

‘Hey! New term!’ Tuppu said.

‘Yes, we have a new term added to our dictionary now! Intellectual looser – a guy – ’

‘Common Teju, be technical. You are writing a definition.’

‘Oh yes! So; intellectual looser – a male Homo sapiens with above average IQ – ’

‘ – but below average EQ.’ I added. Tejashree and Trupti both turned to look at me. And then both suddenly dived towards me and put their arms around my neck. I smiled, hugging them back.

‘That’s the spirit girl. You’ve been wearing black for far too long now; it’s time to shed it.’

And right after that we clicked many pictures. All on timer. (Apparently the stool plus modem box plus mixer assembly worked just perfectly fine and gave us some really good pictures; or shall I say good memories?) We finished all the idlis and the bakhar-vadis and the kalakand. We stayed at Tuppu’s place till almost quarter to nine. And we had a blast. We all logged into our respective facebook accounts and uploaded the pictures pronto. By the time we reached home there were some comments on them too!

‘I am riding with you after so many days!’ Teju said, as we were driving back home on my Activa. She put her arms around me and hugged me – ‘I miss you yaar!’ she said. I put my hand on hers and replied – ‘I miss you too honey’; and it was not far from the truth. I did miss these two stupid idiotic but absolutely loveable girls from my Bachelors, though I had made new friends in my Masters. I thanked God in my mind – of all the things that had changed in my life over the past year, this had not; and it meant a lot to me.

I am happy.

A DIFFERENT LIFE

I waited as my cousin Sonali fished for the keys to her flat in her purse. I was just dying to drop my bags and enter the shower – the Mumbai climate was already taking its toll on me and my senses; I was going mad! Our college had organised an industrial visit which had brought us to Mumbai. I decided to stay back and spend a day with my cousin while my friends went back with the class. I had been wanting to see my cousin’s place since a long time – since she got married to an IIT Professor in fact. They obviously lived on campus, and from her descriptions, her place sounded like a small bit of heaven on Earth.

She opened the door and we stepped into the place – and I immediately fell in love with it. It was a nice cosy little house that had a very welcoming feel to it. And just as she had mentioned time and again in our chats – it was windy. Very windy.

‘Wow!’ I said, as I heard all the earthen wind chimes around the place resonating in the wind. I remembered her picking them up from Pune before she shifted to Powai. ‘The chimes sound so lovely!’

‘Don’t they?’ Sonali said. I smiled.

‘Okay, I’m making a straight dash for your bathroom now! Where can I dump my stuff?’ I asked.

Sonali showed me to a little bedroom – this one had the wind chime that was shaped like the sun – and helped me with my bags.

‘I’ll make us cold coffee till you have a shower. Thike?’

I gave her the thumbs-up.

About half an hour later we were sitting in her balcony, enjoying cold coffee and chocolate sponge cake and Chitale bakhar-vadi that she loved and that I had got for her from Pune. It was a very different experience. I had never even dreamt I would ever be at Sonali-tai’s place, gobbling, gossiping and doing all girly stuff – we were both not like that. But then, here I was – and I was enjoying it.

‘So how was your visit?’ she asked.

‘Boh-ring!’ I said, munching on the cake. Boy was I hungry!

‘I toh just can’t figure out how you can study so much! That itself is so boh-ring! And hell, you stand first in class and college and all… really, you are disrespecting us all!’ se mocked. Apparently I was the youngest and most studious of all us cousins.

I laughed as I heard Sonali-tai bash me up a little more; though of course in a very sisterly and ‘I’m-proud-of-you-but-this-is-still-too-much’ kind of way. Just then the doorbell rang.

‘Hey! What happened?’ Sonali-tai said as she opened the door for my Sanjay-jiju.

‘Forgot some of my stuff,’ he said.

‘Hi jiju!’ I called out.

‘Oh hi! When did you get here?’

‘Just a while ago. How are you doing?’

‘Running late for a lecture as of now! We’ll catch up over beer and eats in the evening, ok?’ he said, as he headed for the door carrying a file in his hand.

‘Sure!’

He kissed Sonali on her cheek and looked at her, into her eyes. He whispered something softly that made her laugh and hit him playfully. I looked away, just out of respect.

Sonali shut the door and came back where I was sitting. I smiled at her.

‘What?’ she asked.

‘It’s so nice to see you and jiju like this,’ I said.

‘Oh Sanjay is very cool,’ Sonali added.

‘Waise, if I may ask, what happened with that other guy you were dating when you were working for that call centre in Pune?’

‘Oh him – well, it just didn’t work out.’

‘But I thought you were doing really well together…’

‘Yes; but things changed after I started going for the night shifts.’

I kept staring at her, a little at loss.

‘I don’t understand…’

She sighed. ‘It’s very difficult to maintain a relationship when you can’t even see each other. And then night shifts hardly leave you any time to do anything else.’ She paused. ‘It’s like; you just don’t have a social life anymore. No festivals, no get-togethers. You come home and sleep while your world is awake and going about their usual day to day life, and you wake up and go to work when everybody else is sleeping. It’s very frustrating.’

I waited for her to go on.

‘After a while you even stop being used to having people around you. You have issues having a normal conversation with your friends, your parents even sometimes. You become a recluse.’

I tried to imagine a life like that – it was a scary thought. I looked at Sonali-tai and I could see it was difficult for her to share all this. But she still kept going on.

‘I was very depressed for a long time. It’s too much of pressure. People only see the money; and I admit that is what even I looked at for a long time. I wanted to quit well before I actually did, but I kept working looking at the money that I needed to earn at that time. Easy money they say? It’s not easy at all. And then I couldn’t give him enough time either. So he called it quits. Rather we called it quits. He was not willing to wait, and I needed that job at that time.’

I looked at my cousin. She seemed such a different person as she was talking to me.

‘There are certain things that you just have to do in life,’ she went on. ‘Doing a job you don’t like, leaving a guy you don’t want to… No one makes or forces you to do them, but you know you have to do them for your growth, for your development. You need that experience at that point of time and it teaches you a lot of things that you may not learn otherwise. I am glad I kept the job rather than the relationship. Today when I look back, I am happy with the decision I made, cos now I am a little stronger than I was before; I can handle being alone a lot better, it’s helping me work out my relationship with Sanjay too. I am also a lot less judgemental about people who work in call centres. So all in all, I am glad it happened to me.’

EMOTIONAL BAGGAGE

If there is any stalker out there on Facebook, or if any of my friends has been keen enough to observe, s/he would notice the number of people in my network has suddenly gone up. And quite drastically up too.

I was myself quite surprised to learn I now have over a hundred and seventy people in my network. But what was more surprising was many of them were from school.

It is no secret even from my schoolmates I suppose, that for a very long time I had this huge massive grudge against just about every soul from school. People who had made fun of me, people who had betrayed me, who had back-stabbed me, and people who I just plain simple didn’t like. Except for the last category, almost all others were at one point of time my close friends in school. And then things turned sour, and I stopped talking to these people and mixing up with them.

At the time it felt very nice. It felt like I was doing the right thing by not being with people who were intentionally mean, sometimes even arrogant, maybe even selfish. It felt good walking in the opposite direction as the crowd, or rather choosing to do so. It felt amazing to be the rebel.

I don’t remember who it was from my school that I first added on Facebook. But about a few weeks ago I added this girl who was always very nice to me, and who I used to – and still do – genuinely like. The entire school was friends with her, and still is, from what I gather from her Facebook album. Her wrists used to be full on Friendship’s Day every year, and almost everybody in school used to have a band from her tied on their wrists.

I added this girl, and we got talking. And she filled me in on everyone from our batch – who was doing what, where, who was flying off to where, who was switching career lines, and who still asked about me to her, even though only in passing, once in a blue moon. It felt nice to know how much kids from our batch had diversified. She sounded happy to have gotten back in touch with me. And I was happy too.

On a particularly uneventful lazy evening, I was browsing through her photographs – looking at all those familiar faces – and almost immediately all the familiar feelings arose all over again.

Hurt.

Anger.

Bitterness.

Anguish.

I felt raw.

And soon the wave of those feelings got washed over by this immense feeling of tire.

I felt weary. Exhausted.

I recollected how many people it was that I had told this tale to – of being teased in school, of having no or very few friends in school.

And a peculiar realisation hit me out of the blue – the realisation of how long I had carried this baggage with me, and how much it had kept me from enjoying my life.

It’s over six years that I have passed out of school; and six years is a long long time.

For six years I have been constantly hating these people; constantly thinking about how right I was and am and how wrong they were. I have been holding a grudge for so long in my life, and the ones I have the grudge against are not even aware of the fact. They have had their fun, they have had their time treating me the way they wanted, and they have moved on. And even after all these years I am still holding onto things that my peers did at an age when we were all probably not even aware of what is good, what is bad, and what does getting hurt by people mean.

Yes they teased me. But don’t kids do that all the time?

Yes they isolated me and didn’t really let me mix up and play with them. But isn’t that all a part of being kids in a school, a part of growing up?

They have done what they had to, and they have moved on in life.

But I am still there… I am still on that farm-house where everybody was teasing me and I was alone, I am still on that swing where I was crying while everybody else was laughing, I am still there on the first bench at school, having my tiffin alone, I am still at the dining table at someone’s house ignoring the grumbling in my stomach and pretending I am full when I am not just so that my friends don’t tease me, I am still on the sofa in my house watching Dil Chahta Hai and wondering what everybody is doing at the party and if my Mother has been able to lie properly about me not being well. A part of me is still back there, in a place and time and situation that existed ten years ago, and I am keeping memories of that moment fresh within me.

All this pain, this hurt – who for? What for?

Sometimes you need to forgive people not because they deserve a second chance, but more because YOU deserve a second chance; because you deserve to be happy and not be haunted by your past; because you have to grow and move on in life. And that is what I have decided to do.

I still cannot and never will be able to identify with that kind of fun that kids have in that particular age – where you all gang up and corner the not so bright or not so beautiful girl, or the nerdy guy, or the one who is afraid of spiders, or even the one who is very quiet and then tease him/her to your heart’s content and harass the poor child. I seriously cannot understand what kind of pleasure one can derive out of such kind of mockery.

I look back at those times in my life and I look at how I have emerged out of it. And I see what I failed to all these years – so much of who I am now, what I believe in, what I condemn, and who I hang out with has its roots back in what I went through in my childhood and adolescent years. It’s like, it has become difficult for me to imagine what kind of a person would I be now had I not developed or inculcated certain things in me post that trauma; for yes, at that age, it was a trauma in my life. And it really saddens me to see how certain things I inculcated in me back then are affecting my relationships with people now – how I find it so difficult to forgive people; how I always am sorting people’s acts as ‘good’ and ‘bad’, constantly that sorter is turned on and fully active; how because of this some of my friends are afraid to confide in me when they are in doubt; how I find it absolutely impossible to change myself even for the people I really love, people who I would really want to change for.

Yes they were not nice to me, but that doesn’t mean I must carry that baggage with me all through my life, or point at it whenever people don’t like things about me – this is what happened to me, so I am what I am now. We must from time to time try and learn to dispense unnecessary thoughts and memories – and by unnecessary I mean those that are going to do nothing but take away from your peace of mind; for that is what is most important at the end of the day. Just because you forgive someone for having wronged you doesn’t mean that you are agreeing with what the person did; it only means that you are exercising your power to choose just what you are going to let stay with you, and what you are going to let shape you and the person you are. Forgiving does not mean to accept the wrong people did – it only means to choose to overlook it, because you know it is not important, because after all they are only people too, because you know it is never a good idea to live in denial, self-pity or with a grudge, because you need to grow as a person, and because you know you deserve to be happy.

TILL KINGDOM COMES

It is only recently that I have come to fully realise how important it is to do in life just and only that that you truly wish to do; forget the money, forget the job security, forget what is right, what is more logical, forget what everybody is doing, and what your parents wish you do or even what you “think” is right for you. Your inner gut feeling, your instinct will never fail you, and it is it that you must follow, all through your life. If it fails you – think again. try and remember – it must not have been your very first instinct.

I grew up listening to two kinds of people in my home. Mom always tried to bring me up in a balance – yes it is good to do what you want to, but you must also sometimes find a way to do that which is necessary, even if it is not something you particularly enjoy. Dad on the other hand preached about doing what the heart desires. And all my childhood I grew up believing in both the views. It is only now that I realise how far apart the two things are – and which one is it that’s going to be my life-mantra.

Few are the people who get to make a living out of what they most love to do. There are countless things that go into the decision – and enough has already been said about it by everyone around me and around you too, I’m guessing. But what I really want to say is – if you have a choice, make a right one. Make one that’s right for you, not one that’s been “held” right by generations and societies. Society is never there to pull you out of your abyss when you get depressed or suicidal. It is not a wrong thing either I guess. The world was here before me – it doesn’t owe me anything. It has always given me, from my first waking moment. But what’s to be remembered is – just as it doesn’t owe you anything, nothing that came after you in the world is its to take away from you; at least nothing that you are a part in the making or creation of. And you mustn’t let the world take it away from you.

I grew up hearing Dad say things like – be yourself, march to the beat of your own drummer. And I used to smile, amused at his remark. At the time I used to think – how strange is that! Cos I thought how could I be anyone else but me? But now I know just what he meant.

Don’t feel like going to work today? Don’t go. What do you say when the Boss asks? Exactly that – I didn’t feel like coming; maybe fabricate your reply with “and I didn’t want to do a dishonest job”! But there is absolutely nothing wrong in wanting to, or not wanting to do a certain thing once in a while, even if it is something you love to do!

Nothing is more important than your peace of mind, your quiet, your health and your happiness.

And you must not be required to wait till kingdom comes for it.

THE POWER OF THE MIND

An idea once planted in the mind only knows to grow. I have said this in one of my earlier posts, and I am saying it again. Why? Cos that is exactly what has happened with this idea too.

A couple of movies seen in quick succession of each other is enough to make me go into the hyperactive overthinking mode. And that is exactly what has happened over the past couple of weeks.

I saw Inception. Then I saw Inception again. And then I saw Shutter Island. And I thought to myself – Man! I am going to write one good article on what these movies talk about. And I thought I will take some time, go on and do a little bit of homework and then come up with a fantastic article, like what my friend did a few days back. (Yeah Neha, I am talking of you.)

But hell. An idea once planted in the mind only knows to grow. So here I am; sitting in Barista, flaunting my new laptop, and typing away to glory, oblivious to the track playing in the background and the people staring at me and probably wondering why my eyes look so puffy, and why is my hair so messy. To complete the image is a half-eaten black forest pastry next to my laptop on the table. Now if only this headache will at least subside a little and let me think so I can pen down just what I am thinking…

*squeezes her temples hard*

Another reason for wanting to do my homework and then write this article – that is of course before the idea of writing this article grew too big to be ignored – is the fact that, this is a rather vast topic that I wish to write upon. And also the reason that more has already been written, by far more learned men than me on this topic, than can be understood in a lifetime. Men have wasted entire births, trying to grasp a fraction of what the human mind is, how it functions and what it is capable of; for there is infinitely more that it IS capable of doing, rather than NOT.

Is it really that hard to let go of an idea you possess? Or rather an idea that has possessed you?

While you are reading this that I have typed, you are thinking of something too, I guess. Every one of us is at almost every waking moment doing at least some amount of parallel thinking. As you are reading these words I have typed out, you are probably going back on a few incidents of your life, something you saw or read or experienced or felt. And if you aren’t, then me mentioning it must have triggered it. Isn’t it?

I will tell you what I am going through.

I am rethinking of an idea that has very deeply planted itself in my head. What it is, I am not going to tell you. At least I don’t plan to at this moment, maybe by the time I am done writing this article I will have let it slip anyway. But that idea is always in my head – not always conspicuous, but persistent. It is the background of my head, the thought on which other thoughts get piled over as the day proceeds, and the thought that remains when I go to bed at the end of the day; like a stage that may host many plays with different settings, but the basic skeleton remains after the play is over. Or like this headache I have right now that is refusing to go away, though it is not affecting my thought process.

Just think – how many times is a thought process ever involved in our beliefs? We hear something, and even before we are conscious of being in the process of making a decision whether to believe or not believe what we have just heard, we have already arrived at the answer. ‘I don’t believe you.’ Or ‘Yes of course! I believe in it/him/her.’ And then all our lives we just keep looking for things, people, places, friends, that reinforce our idea. ‘See, she believes in it too.’ ‘Ya he said the same.’ ‘Oh no, she is just so different, she doesn’t agree. I don’t like her.’

I saw Inception, and I couldn’t sleep after I got back home. An idea had been planted in my head. And I just kept going at it again and again and again.

Is it really possible to incept someone with a thought?

Is any thought ever entirely new to us?

People create worlds and realities that do not exist, based on their thoughts. A woman lives in a mental institution and thinks that all the doctors, the orderlies, other patients in the institution are all just milkmen, postmen, gardner… just imagine how deeply that idea has gripped her mind – so much so that she has created a world based on it, and that is the only truth in her life. Who are you to convince her otherwise?

Sometimes I say things like – ‘I just know it.’ And I have heard other people around me say similar stuff too. How do I know? How do they know? How do you just KNOW something? And is it really possible to just KNOW, without reason or logic?

We are only beginning to speculate certain things, ideas that our forefathers were not only sure of, but have written books about. The mind travelling outside the body; the secret that the herbs of the Himalayas hold; even biology, human anatomy; stars, planets, galaxies; we are only rediscovering knowledge. Stuff like life and death, rebirth.

I think our ancestors were more open and receptive to ideas. They gave every crazy thought or idea or imagination a chance – this could or could not be true. And I think they have gone far beyond what we, with our technology and with Science, can ever manage to even comprehend. They were the Originals; the only people to have ever been truly Incepted with anything at all – we are only trying to base everything on what we know.

They say we use only a fraction of the brain’s true potential or capacity when we are awake. And the rest, remains to be discovered. The subconscious, dreams, hallucinations, paranoia, extra-sensory perceptions, visions – there is so much more literature about the mind when we are not aware it is working than the waking mind. Even if they maybe only speculations – isn’t it fascinating that there are more of these than of things we are sure of? It’s like the selfish DNA – more of junk heterochromatin than can be understood to exist as compared to functional DNA. Is it all really junk? How do we classify useful and junk? The take of Indian philosophy on it is – it is DNA that we don’t put to use. We always hear of impossible feats that our forefathers and the generations of human beings before them could perform – tales that we call Legends. What happened to these abilities that our ancestors had? How did we lose them? Wouldn’t it be nice if we could travel outside our bodies in today’s world? Imagine – no air fare to visit our over-seas relatives! Did we get so absorbed in things we were inventing that we ignored ourselves and how our bodies worked? Got so absorbed in the silly toys we were making that we just forgot all about what else we are capable of achieving.

I close my eyes and try to look at humans today from an unknown creature’s point of view – an alien if you may – and I wonder, what would we be perceived as? A life form that is constantly analysing its surroundings, its environment and all that is around it; that which it can see, hear, smell, taste or touch. So knowledgable. Such understanding of physics, chemistry, of the world even. And what does this life form know about itself? Nothing. Or nothing MUCH.

We are so caught up by science and technology and machines, so wrapped up in basing our world only on the five senses that we are aware of, that we just never let ourselves to be truly incepted. When I think more deeply about this – I think that we would all probably go mad if we gave every crazy concept to ever possess our mind the chance of being true or not being true. But would it be so bad if ALL of us became mad? Not the connotation of mad that we usually associate with the word.

It is like the story of the city where one fine day everybody who drinks the water of a particular well goes mad. They decide to overthrow the King. A rather worried King then seeks advice of the Queen, who comes up with an amazing solution – ‘Let us drink from the well as well. Then we shall be as mad as they are, and all would be good again.’

That is what has happened with us I think – we have all been drinking from the well. And anybody who doesn’t is not normal – is abnormal. But who are truly abnormal, those who drink from the well or those who refuse to? In fact if we take a look at the word ‘abnormal’ it can be split up as ‘ab’ + ‘normal’ = above normal. Isn’t that a fantastic little joke that those we call abnormal are only above normal, above us?

I guess I have made you think about too many things already. And even if I haven’t, I’m running out of time; also feeling like I am going to catch a cold. I must get out of Barista and back home. But I have not said everything I want to. I am still going to do my homework and come with another one.

Hopefully I will be incepted by something while I am doing my research; and probably you have been too, while reading this article.

Amen.

TO EACH HIS OWN

They say adhyatma, philosophy, spirituality is not everybody’s cup of tea, and that such knowledge comes to you only when you are ready for it, no matter how sincere your efforts, or how long your search.

I always find it amusing – how all these things work. All of us are in fact exposed to spiritual teachings ever since we are kids, but we are somehow not aware of them. Do good and forget. Tit for tat. An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. Karma kar, phal ki asha na kar. Only that we never look at them like that.

But what really amuses me is the way destiny works at large scale – at the level of masses and people of a country, or inhabitants of a city or state, or staff of companies. What is amusing to me is how destiny works during natural disasters, during plane-crashes. We are talking here of hundreds and thousands of people who all happened to be at a particular place and at a particular time. What is it that brought exactly these and no other people there?

Someone may have chosen to fill in for someone at office when the Twin Towers were blasted.

Someone may have dropped out of a family trip that ended up on the beach right when the tsunami hit the beach.

Someone may have missed a flight that went on to end up in a plane-crash.

Just how does destiny work in such situations?

Were all the people who suffered anything during such incidents due with their share of this life?

Or is it exactly that that they were destined for – to have witnessed an accident like that?

We all talk about karma and bhog, and destiny, and how we are constantly bound in the birth and death and rebirth cycle. But things like narrowly escaping a car-accident, or joining a company just weeks before it is going to be dissolved or taken over by some other, or even good things, like an exam getting cancelled right when you thought you were unprepared for it – maybe not the last one, but all the others are life-changing experiences. It takes only a moment to lose your faith, your confidence, all the money you ever earned in your life, or even all the respect – and also only a moment to get it all back sometimes. Moments can make and break people, relationships, and history.

And to think of it, all this is a big chain reaction, a catapult, a cumulative effect. Everything connected to every other thing, all fine-tuned and never without a reason.



I have now turned to writing again, after a long gap, and when I look back at how my past year has been, it is amazing to know how every minute thing has played its role in bringing me to the point in life where I am right now – where I am thinking of taking up my writing more seriously and doing something about it. I was trying to get into some universities abroad for my Masters, but it didn’t work out for the silliest of reasons, then I didn’t get through at my second and third and fourth options, and finally had to settle for my last option. Then an entire year full of misunderstandings and miscommunications, fights, quarrels, discussions, consoling and counselling (more the latter than the former), then the ultra-depression mode, all that negativity around me… so many relations broken, so many friends lost, being failed and betrayed by so many people… and then emerging out of all this; like in the tail of the ugly duckling… emerging scratched and bruised, yes, but with better understanding of myself and of the people around me, of how the world is… then a chance tarot card session with my sister-in-law, a suggestion slipped in by her casually, (write about all this, let it come out of your system, in some form; why writing, cos you are good at it) and here I am, blogging all over again, writing all over again, happy all over again, but consciously aware of how deep the rabbit hole can go. One of my friends who is into palmistry and can also read faces said to me the other day – ‘You are soon going to change what you are doing in life now, and what you then become is going to be the best thing for you. It will change your life, and bring you name and fame.’ I don’t know about the latter, but yes, I have been thinking again about what it is that I want to do in life.

I used to worry myself sick as to why I couldn’t get into those universities abroad, and how come I could have made stupid silly mistakes and what went wrong. It is like, I could feel something was slipping out of my hands; like something had gone horribly wrong, just that I didn’t know what and why. And now when I look back at everything, I am glad I am not outside my country right now, stuck with lab-work in some university, for yes, that is how I feel about it now – I feel like it is a task, a job. I don’t enjoy it anymore… at least not as much as I used to before. And who knows, if this is what I am destined to be – a writer rather than a research person – then it makes perfect sense how everything went wrong and made me take up my last option, how all those people turned, how situations became the way they did. For each of these things has played a role no matter how small or how big, in making me think again.

It is one thing to have the capability or capacity to do something, and another to have the urge to do it. I can become an excellent lawyer. My father says I have all the makings of one – I have ‘all it takes’, in his words. That however, does NOT mean I take up law!

Yes I am someone who is seven out of ten times sure of what she wants. But that also means that when I want to change, I want to change. And people should accept that change just as they accept my decisions. Period.

But wait, I am drifting away from the topic!

Point is – everything happens for a reason. You get exactly that in life which you are destined for, and most of the times, it is what you deserve. In fact, it is almost always what you deserve, only we are not able to make out two plus two is four always. We have our grip so tight on the one ‘two’ in our hand that we fail to see the other ‘two’, which may well be lying right under your nose! We are delivered with exactly that what is meant for us – to each his own. Our share of this life is fixed, and who serves it to us, who become the instrument to deliver us, is fixed too. If I am to be betrayed by my most trustworthy friend, then that is what will happen. Only that will probably put me through a phase that will really change me into something that I ought to be. Just an acquaintance betraying me is not going to have the same effect, and so it won’t happen.

Why we act in a certain way in certain situations may not always be in our grasp. But nothing is without reason. Even co-incidence is nothing but merely the co-occurrence of two incidents…! It is rather fascinating to even try and understand how things take their natural course – for that is exactly what they do… take their natural course! So then what’s in our hands? To do good and forget. Maybe good things don’t always happen to good people – again a matter of destiny – but good always does beget good, and nothing bad will happen to you for a good deed you do.

COBWEBS IN THE CLOSET

It is really amusing how we just can’t get rid of certain things in life no matter how dirty, old or useless they maybe. An old t-shirt, a favourite pair of jeans, an old stamp, your first watch, the first diary, the first thing you bought out of your first salary…

I happened to come across a carry bag in one corner of my drawer today morning while I was looking for something to keep my project papers in. I came across the bag – with a name on it that was at one point very special to me. I looked at the bag that had once carried a beautiful set of pearls for me in a beautiful brown coloured case with a note in it, and with lots of love. I looked again at the name on the bag that was at one point very special to me; and I looked at it with no emotion, no feeling or bonding or attachment.

That is what love does to you sometimes. It exhausts you, depletes you completely of any kind or form of love once it leaves you. And that is what has happened to me.

I still have the pearl set with me. It is far too beautiful for me to give it away to anyone. And it is the only gift that I have ever got that was really a surprise for me. I mean, I knew a gift was coming my way, but I didn’t know it would be what it was. I never knew or thought he was capable of picking up something like that. But he did, and it meant a lot to me. At least back then it did. And I cannot give it away.

But the pearl set remains in its brown case – untouched, unworn and out of sight. I never had the occasion to wear it, though I loved it very much. It is strange, considering the fact that I have had it for more than a year now. One year, so many festivals, so many family functions and get-togethers, and still not one chance good enough for me to want to wear it.

But the pearl set remains. I cannot somehow bear to look at it; for fear of releasing the emotions I have so painfully locked away in some trunk and thrown at the bottom of the sea in my mind – irretrievable. I am just not able to look at the set anymore; at least not without feeling a pang in my chest that refuses to go away for a long long time.

But I have somehow still kept the bag the pearl set came in – with the name on it that was at one point very special to me. I haven’t gotten rid of the bag, though I know I can. Of course I haven’t intentionally kept the bag with me either. But it just has remained with me for a while now. And I don’t really know if I have grown attached to it or what, but throwing it away doesn’t feel right anymore somehow.

And that is how the human mind is – an idea, a feeling, an emotion once planted in the mind only knows to grow. Happiness becomes mirth, boredom becomes frustration, laziness becomes inertia, and sadness becomes melancholy. Although what it is with the bag that makes it impossible for me to throw it out I still don’t know. The name, the person who the bag came from, what he did to me and where I have landed because of him also do not seem to be reasons enough for me to throw it out. I am conscious I have not intentionally kept the bag, as I have the pearl set on the other hand, and the note that came with it, and the coffee bill with a remark in his hand at the back of it, and a picture of ours that my friend had clicked for me.

And yet the bag remains, in one corner of my drawer, with a name on it that was at one point very special to me.

KIN

Pune, 29th July 2010.

It was a horrific site on Senapati Bapat Road as I came back from my project place today – an entire seven storeyed building on fire, just like in the movies. The whole business complex had become a furnace – fire lashing out from all different openings that the building had. The terrace and the last floor of the building were completely wrapped up in a thick black blanket of smoke.

Me and my friend had already seen the smoke from about two kilometres away, and we had tried to find out what it could have been. I dropped my friend off at the bus stop.

‘Tell me what it is if you find out,’ she said, before I drove away. And within a couple of minutes I was staring at the business complex inferno.

All sense was lost to me for a moment. I could hear no sound, see no traffic, and sense nothing as I stared at the flames coming out of the building, threatening to wrap around everything that came in contact with them. I just kept staring at the site, totally numb and speechless. It was only when my hand went to my face to wipe out what I thought were rain drops did I realise I was crying.

I tried to make myself stop. But the tears just kept coming. I drove along the footpath at almost nil speed, staring at the fire. I just couldn’t take my eyes off it. When I reached opposite the building, a whistle blew right in my ears, and my sense returned. There was a huge crowd that had gathered on the streets and was staring at the building. A few traffic policemen were trying to control the traffic and divert it onto appropriate roads, blowing on their whistles time and again. I stopped to the side of the road and parked my bike. My eyes were as if glued to the scene of peril.

‘Tumcha kuni ahe ka aat?’ (Is anyone you know inside that building?) a boy standing next to me asked me. I nodded ‘no’, still looking at the building and the fire brigades parked nearby.

‘Mag ka radtaye tumhi?’ (Then why are you crying?) the girl with the boy asked. That remark somehow made me tear my eyes away from the building and look at the couple.

‘Mhanje?’ (What do you mean?) I asked. And the boy just shrugged. The girl looked at him, and then they both looked at me. I turned my eyes back at the building. They took a couple of pictures and then drove off.

I looked at the building and everything happening around for a few more moments. Something gave my feet momentum and I walked back to my bike. The policemen brandished their lathis at people, trying to get them to move away from the scene. I sat on my bike and drove away from there.

I was still quite in a dazed state as I drove on towards my home. The site of the building on fire, of people standing around and looking, of smoke coming out of the building, the fire brigades parked nearby kept coming back in my head again and again. My ears had somehow gone mute again. All I could see were scenes, like in a silent movie. And then suddenly I heard the girl’s voice ringing in my head –

‘Mag ka radtaye tumhi?’

And then like a record that gets stuck in a gramophone, those words were the only ones ringing in my mind for a while, until they were like a battle cry.

And they made me angry. And frustrated.

‘Mag ka radtaye tumhi?’

I honestly do not know why I started crying when I looked at the building. No one I know, none of my friends or relatives was working in that building. I didn’t even know the different offices that the building housed. And yet the site of that building on fire, on a street I travel by everyday alarmed me, scared me, and made me cry.

Is it so that we must cry only when someone we know is hurt or faces a mishap?

Why have we become so immune to each other’s pain?

I honestly, genuinely felt worried sick for the people in that building. I thought of their families, their relatives, waiting for them to return home from their work. Maybe some had dinner plans; maybe it was someone’s birthday; first day of work for someone; a day of promotion even. Maybe someone had fought with her boyfriend before coming to office that day – would the boyfriend be able to forgive himself for having fought with her? Maybe someone had decided to not go out for lunch with friends because there was extra work that day – would they all be able to see their friend again?

The real cause of the fire is not known yet, it will probably come in the papers tomorrow. But I am guessing that with the rains and all, it must have been a short circuit that must have caused the fire. But short circuits can happen anywhere, right? What if there was one to happen in my college tomorrow? Or one at Dad’s office? Or maybe even in our own home?

And in a worse come scenario – what if I had people like the couple I spoke to around me when my family was in trouble?

The thought sincerely scared me.

Why is it that we have become so immune to the feelings of people around us? What has made us so stone hearted as to not feel anything when we see a whole building on fire, just because no one we know is burning inside? It is a shame if our material things and all the progress we are making is also making us so insusceptible at the same time. I don’t mean to say that we should cry at the slightest of bad news and should go and pay our respect to every family to ever have faced death. But if people have come to a state where they look at a scene like the one I saw today and feel nothing, it is something to worry about indeed.

This brings up a lot of issues to the forefront. On reaching home I learned that all people from the building were rescued and were safe, with no major injuries – it was running on one of the news channels. And still that unsettling feeling had not dissipated from within me. How is it then that terrorists are able to plan the killing of thousands and lakhs of people? We come close to driving over a small kitten or puppy on the road and we screech to a hault. That is our first instinct – to not harm the kitten or puppy. It gets our heartbeats racing and our pulse shooting. Then how is it that people are able to kill someone? What might be the reason to make them the way they are?

I understand that we cannot really put the aam janta and killers, murderers and terrorists in the same balance pan, but looking at all of them as human beings, don’t you agree that as a race, humans are becoming more and more self-absorbed? As long as I am happy, my people are ok, and no one I know is in trouble, I couldn’t care less if a train blew up in Mumbai, or if a Tsunami left scores of people homeless, or if a building in my city caught fire. How did we get to this point?

This is not an issue that you play the “blame-game” with. This is more something to think and reflect on. We see an accident, and all we do is look upon the people with our arms crossed across our chests. We look at the mother trying to calm her child and find her keys and other belongings while the minor who dashed into her speeds away. We neither offer the poor girl water or first-aid, nor do we note down the number of the vehicle the minor kid was driving. We are no help, just a bunch of on-lookers. Imagine a case of reverse – how much would we curse the spectators just standing around doing nothing? I know people who have become paralysed for the rest of their lives, lost an arm or leg, or even their eye-sight or speech because of not getting help in time. Why do we run away from an accident when it has been our fault? Why are we so scared of the police? Why aren’t we responsible enough to take blame of some wrong we have done, and at least try and make amends?

It is all about me, and my pain, and my suffering, and my family, and my friends, and my happiness, and my comfort, and my benefit – me, my I. I want this. I want that. I was cheated. I was hurt. I am disappointed. People have failed me. When will we come out of the ‘I’ and look at the ‘we’? Ask yourself this – when was the last time you helped someone out, genuinely and only because you wanted to help him/her out? When was the last time you did something for someone without thinking ‘Now I can ask him/her for a favour sometime’?

I do not know what it is that is taking our attention so perfectly away from each other and the people around us, so much so that no one matters to us much anymore. I do not know what is making the human race the way it is. But if we all do our part of thinking, I am sure we can come up with ways to change this – for this is a change definitely required.

Everyone, each and every single person on this planet, is capable of doing good karma – from convicts to the innocent. And it doesn’t matter whether you believe in luck, fate, destiny and stuff like that or you don’t; good always begets good, what goes around comes around, and good things do happen to good people.