Just another incident

Have moved into completely new surroundings, living each day with the carpe-diem motto. Tried forcing myself to write quite a few times in the last three months, but didn't feel anything was interesting enough. Went back home for a couple of days, and had quite a pleasant flight (I usually get nauseated). There was something about the entire journey - that gave me reason to write.

At the airport, boarding was about to begin when I realized I needed a quick bite. The next moment I was holding a tray laden with food (I'll explain my new-found love for food in some other post) trying to balance two handbags alongside and find a place to sit, all at once. There was a four-seater occupied by a girl about my age. Realizing there wasn't an alternative, I had to ask her if I could share her table.

I ate silently, carefully avoiding her gaze lest she decided to smile and begin a conversation. I could feel her eyes looking at me, hoping I would look up. Then suddenly she broke into giggles, and couldn't help but look at her. Must be a college kid, I thought. Thanks to my crappy mood, I wasn't even smiling. Come to think of it, I think I was making her uncomfortable with my demeanor. She quickly started explaining her situation - she was an artist who had just finished a painting exhibition; an the anxiousness of it all had given way to a huge appetite. I don't know why, but suddenly it all made sense. I was suddenly at ease. She excused herself to get a change; in the washroom I bumped into her again, making small talk with the attendant.

As I left behind the fireflies tossed into the Delhi night-sky, I promised myself to write her. That reminds me it is still due. Gotta run, good night!

A Farewell Note

There was something about the way it was said - You'll be moving on. This chapter of your life closes here. You'll begin a new chapter; write about new experiences.

I felt offended at this. It seemed to suggest whatever I wrote was just for the sake of it. Like I did not feel attached to people. And that it'd not make a difference to me since I was the one moving on. After an initial fit of rage, I understood it was said so that I reassure them of my affection.

Just wondering, what is so difficult about moving on? That there will be people left behind, and they would not be moving on? And it'll take some effort on their part to restructure their life without you?

I am amazed at the ease with which people here had included me into their lives, and made me a part of it. I wasn't really looking at friendships, but their attitude was infectious. Within days I found myself feeling one of them. Like I had always been around. People kept confiding in me their stories of love and having lost, and I felt myself hoping that they'd overcome the loss. More so with each passing day.

I have a feeling all this happened because they knew I would leave in a short while. Maybe things would have different if I were to stay longer, without certainty. Maybe it'd be difficult for them then - to see someone every morning and be reminded that they have access to your deepest secrets.

I wonder why things become so dear to you when you know you are going to lose them. Why do we always want people to stay? If I look at it rationally, it is a futile exercise to invest so much emotion in something that you know you'll lose for sure. But that's exactly what we do. And that makes parting even more difficult. The good part is knowing that whenever I look back at it, I will only remember the smiles.

So here's to all the fun and happiness I found here - the late night walks, the morning sunshine and lots of conversations. Will miss you all!

Snigdha

It is very soothing when amidst a vast expanse of heartlessness you find someone who listens. They don't talk or give you any miracle advice, or point out your follies. All they do is listen. And understand. Make life easy. This is in the memory of such a friend.

I had first met her in college. In the dark labyrinth of the floor above the chapel, there she was. Snigdha. For all things nice and beautiful. For peace and love. And comfort. Often I felt like sleeping on the couch in her room. To me, her room held the promise of a world where all the dark fears would be banished by her radiance. 

When I talked to her, hours slipped by. She rarely interrupted, only punctuating the conversation with an occasional nod or a half-smile. Something in her eyes told me she could feel it all. Sometimes I wondered if I could see a drop glistening in her eyes. Sometimes I wondered how could she could see right through me, empathise so much.

In the final year, I was very busy. I let go of the habit of going to the chapel. Or climbing up the stairs to her room. Then one day I did. She wasn't there. Her husband had been fighting cancer, and he couldn't keep it up. She loved him too much. I knew nothing of this. At a time when I was moving on, she must've been struggling. At a time when she listened to me, she must've wanted to talk too. I called at her number after that. I don't why. The phone just kept ringing.

I wonder if she ever thought of me. If during those days she wanted to reach out to me. Or maybe I was just another needy kid. The feeling that I get when I think of her is a strange mix of peace and grief. Of knowing that she was there. And that she'll still be.

Bliss

I was recently having a conversation with a friend about alternate means of getting high (apart from booze, that is). Both of us agreed dancing was one, especially to the tune of loud music. It didn't take me long to figure out another one.

IIT campus is usually brimming with activities, my friend tells me. All you need to do is to be on the lookout. And it is totally worth it - as I discovered last Saturday. A random walk through the premises led me to a live performance by Rekha Bhardwaj. I'm a huge fan of her's, so it was nothing short of a jackpot.

'You seem speechless', my friend remarked post-event. I had just been mumbling in response to his questions. At that moment, I was too much in a state of drunkenness to be able to explain to him that what he had missed was absolute bliss. The performance had begun with invocation to allah (during which the musicians sound-checked), followed by her masterpiece 'Tere Ishq Mein'. The track itself gives me goosebumps each time I listen to it - to witness a live performance by her was altogether a different experience! I could feel the energy to run a thousand miles without pausing once to catch my breath. Or sky-dive from the tallest building. Or just jump in a pool of water (did I tell you I don't know how to swim?) I guess this qualifies for a 'high'.

It wasn't only a factor of her soothing voice or the soulful music. The team was actually enjoying the performance themselves - if you were attentive enough, you could see musicians exchanges glances that said "Isn't she totally great?". At other times you could hear the notes from the drums tease those of the piano.

I think that's where the real magic came from. It connected the audience to the performer. Even among the crowd of hundreds, I could sense a solidarity. I guess that came from the years they must've spend with each other on IIT campus, away from home. I felt special to be a part of such a closely-knit group. In fact at one point I felt I was the solitary audience to the performance. Like there was a strong bond by which I was connected to them, firmly. Right then, nothing else mattered - people laughing and sharing private jokes or those hurrying out towards the end.

Personally, I had no regrets about the missed dinner. Time had paused.

A different world

I've always fancied staying on a huge, sprawling campus. To me, it feels like a world in itself, somewhat cut-off from the rest. That part of it appeals to me for some unknown reason. Unfortunately, I never had the privilege to. Graduation college was okay, but post grad college was disappointing. Had I seen it before applying, I would've definitely reconsidered. It was beautiful, though.

Coming back to the point, this post is not to crib about what I've missed, but to appreciate what I'm experiencing right now. I'm staying on IIT campus for a project, and I'm loving it. It's been two days, and I'm looking ahead to exploring the vast expanse. I like the striking contrast of crudeness and sophistication that the campus has to offer. Buildings with modern infrastructure scattered in an area with desert-like vegetation, peacocks wandering on the roads inhabited by motor vehicles, new-design manually driven rickshaws - all this has the charm of a different world for me.

My room is no less than a heat chamber. Hats off to those who stay in those rooms for four years! Coolers are not an option, considering IIT's issues with water and electricity. But to make up for this are the late-night walks with a few friends I have made there. Even Delhi heat cannot sap the energy that I feel within me, because of the environment. To me, it means peace and solace.

Hoping that this stint energizes me creatively as well!

Oh Calcutta! :)

The second mystery unraveling (refer to earlier post) is the importance of childhood association. Especially when you’re living away from the place you grew up in.

Honestly, I’d never understood the power of these memories. In fact I used to find it quite funny how people could drool over insignificant things such as candies that they used to have, as kids. As if they were stopped being manufactured over time (they actually been, at times). If you ask me, they could taste pretty bad, but it is the sheer excitement of being able to revive a figment from the past. To know it happens is one thing, to experience it - totally different.

Like trying to find familiar faces on a busy street.

In the past couple of weeks, I’ve caught myself staring at people’s faces to the point of embarrassment, trying to find a distantly familiar face, from my childhood days. The list includes a classmate from the 7^th standard, an old caretaker, relatives, friends and even enemies! (Do I need to add here that none of them actually were familiar?) Anyways, I’m digressing here…

Coming back to point, this post is supposed to be about my childhood associations. I discovered them almost accidently, this time around when I went back home. There I was, feeling like a tourist in the place that I’d been in, for over 21 years (don’t you dare get into calculations!). People thought I was cranky, clicking away pictures while riding the hand-held rickshaw. I don’t quite blame them, I would’ve thought the same too. Had I not moved out of that place, into a totally different setting.

I wish I could explain how it feels like, to feel like an alien in your own territory. You’re not sure who disowned who. You who chose to walk away first. And in return, they walked off too. So when you returned, they weren't there! So I didn’t care much when my brother begged me to stop (he was getting too much stares). When I’m getting the second citizen treatment, I might just make the most of it! 

This square will always be very prominently etched in my memory. School was very close, and the hour-long walk back home was the best part of the day. There was just too much to capture, too much to explore. And then, there was the lovely company of equally insane friends! There also was the tram ride. When I was working, I would leave much earlier so that I could take a one. Some people mistakenly think they're slow. Let me correct you. Early in the morning, they're as good as cabs. You're the solitary passenger in the royal car, the fresh morning breeze caresses your face - and you feel no less than the king of the world! And, they're incredibly cheap. 

The amazingly elegant billboard at Girish Park Avenue. Totally awesome. 

I'd love to talk more, but I'm sleepy now. Happy sleeping! :)

Random thoughts: Tea

I'm sitting with a cup of warm tea as I write this, and it is well past midnight. I was never a tea-lover; in fact till last week I could safely claim to hate it. Till I finished reading Chicken Soup for the tea lover's soul.

I've always loved reading the Chicken Soup series. In school and even college, the book had been a source of comfort during difficult times. I can clearly remember the day when I was in a particularly sour mood. I picked up a helping in a bookstore and dropped myself onto a couch. When I finished reading, I felt totally different.

I dunno why  picked this one. The other two of this series, the one for coffee lover's soul and another for chocolate lover's soul would've made more sense. But for some strange reason I was drawn more to this one. It seemed to promise me something unexplored.

As I flipped through pages, I was far from disappointed. The stories were indeed seeped in comfort, woven around the ritual of having afternoon tea. The warmth of a steaming cup of tea seemed to exude from the book. Taste was rarely discussed. What mattered was the memories, smiles and even tears that were part of tea-parties with loved ones. Real people had lost or found something over cups of tea. The loss was of mostly of loneliness or grief. Smiles were found. It was then I felt the need to have some tea myself.

Here I am sitting in front of the computer, trying to articulate my thoughts. The feverishness that I was feeling at the beginning is gone. Left behind is the warmth of the cup that I can now feel within me.

I think I'm ready to fall asleep.

Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind

I recently watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind by Michel Gondry, a really nice and original movie. The name just sounded very familiar and I was trying very hard to figure the reason why, because I haven't seen the movie earlier. Then it struck me - the title's been borrowed from a poem by Alexander Pope.

It's the story of a rather boring guy and a very lively girl who meet each other, get attracted and are on the verge of getting together when they find out that they share a history. Turns out that they were in a relationship. After a bad tussle the girl hired Lacuna Inc. to hire all traces of the memory that she had with the guy. The guy finds out, and decides to get  it done for himself as well in his sleep. However, as the process is on and her memory is being erased, he realizes that he doesn't want to end it all.

The rest of the movie in his head. Actually, it starts like that. This bit is unraveled towards the end. The way the movie constantly shifts in time and space is amazing. The run- as he jumps into each of his memory trying to hold on to her is very touching. My favourite is the one where they sit in the drawing room and he tries to 'hide' her in his childhood memory. At this stage, with a shower in the drawing room there is a beautiful merge into the memory (of rains). However, he isn't successful in doing that and loses her memories, retaining just one tiny fragment in his subconscious. That's how the story comes to a full circle.

I'm not quite going to give away all of it, as usual. You've got to explore it yourself. But I will tell you few of the things that I really liked. The plot is awesome, all the tiny threads have been beautifully set into a piece of embroidery. Everything has its own set of who's, how's and why's. The 'in-his-mind' sequence has been done very well. All the elements are so interconnected  that I bet at least once during the movie you'll feel you're in the middle of a weird dream, trying very hard to wake up.

If you think it is one hopelessly romantic movie, sorry to disappoint you. There's much more to it. Definitely worth a watch, I promise!

Little Gestures

Another, more recent one :)

Three years of college life have taught me more than I can ever pen down. From participating in inter-college fests to raising sponsorships in my college, I was doing it all. Since I was getting the exposure for the first time in my life, I was very excited about it.  Academics were conveniently pushed to the background. Somehow, with all the activity around, I was also learning how to be less and less considerate of people around me. For instance, I would be absent for lectures unnecessarily, and would not bother to inform my teachers about it. Words like thank-you and please, which I took for granted from others, were slowly vanishing from my vocabulary.

This incident happened when we were having the last few classes, before our college life ended. Every student loathes these “extra” classes. I chose to stay away from these, except for the classes of our HOD, whom I completely adored. I would slip out of the class after he finished his lecture, and did not bother to attend a single class of the guest lecturer who was requested to teach us for some time.

That day my friend was urging me to attend the guest faculty’s lectures, as the attendance in her classes was low. My friend thought it was rude of students to walk out on her, more so because she was not from our college. I remember what I had said – “It isn’t solely my responsibility. I cannot sit through the two-hour sessions when I don’t feel like”. Then, our HOD entered.  He talked about the low attendance in the other professor’s class, and suddenly shot questions at me. He asked if I had attended her class. I had not. He remembered that I had attended his last class, which was right before the other one. Damn.

He did not yell at me. He did not insult me or throw me out of the class. He simply said this was not what he was trying to teach us for three years and that there was more to education than mere academics. Suddenly, it hurt. It had not hurt when he had bullied me into apologizing to my teachers a few days earlier. However, it did hurt today. It made me confront myself, rather shockingly. I was forced to face the person me, instead of the girl who actively participated in college activities. I realized that I had stopping making those little gestures of courtesy long ago.

A small incident affected me deep inside for some reason that I am still trying to figure out. I still do not know why I felt the way I did. Probably because it was said in front of the whole class. Probably because it was that particular professor who said that. However, I know that I have learnt the importance of that one single word – courtesy. Thank you sir, for reminding me that learning isn’t only about specific subjects. For teaching me that being a better person counts more than being more accomplished.

That reminds me that I smiled and said a genuine “thank you” to the guard who held the door for me this morning. A second thank you was said silently, to my teacher.

Amélie

Ya ya, I AM that vella (well, useless). I ain't got nothing much to do, so I while away my time blogging, or watching movies. But at least watch decent ones. The latest one is Amelie directed by Jean-Pierre Jeunet, that I saw this afternoon.

Forbidden by crazy parents to socialize, Amelie grew up in solitude. As she grew up, she left her home to work as a waitress. No life, or aspirations. Then one day, the discovery of a small hidden treasure adds spice to her rather bland journey, and changes her life forever.

I wont divulge the story much, it'll take away all the fun. But there is loads about the movie that I liked. First, the brilliant montages. The bold colours - From the blood red bedroom walls to the funfair spirit- save the scene from becoming droopy. And the brilliant special effects - the pumping of her heart and her splashing down on the floor like water (literally!) has been creatively implemented.

The undercurrents of ironies make the context even more richer. Living among cranky parents and later with people with their own eccentricities, Amelie is the odd one out as she is sane. And the interweaving of sensitiveness and insensitivity is also very beautiful.

Andre Tautou with her flawless face delivers a smashing performance. An absolute must watch!