I live in Delhi. Good ol' Nayi Dilli, the city where Mirza Ghalib found inspiration. He must be thanking his stars to not be alive today. Delhi got absolutely fucked by the monsoon today and as is tradition, the drainage system pretty much fell apart. And then, to top it all off, I got stuck in the traffic for four hours.
Yes, count that. F-O-U-R.
I'm not even trying to exaggerate here, I swear to the sweet lord. I left home at 10:23 AM and I reached my office at 2:27 PM. And I ain't talking about Indian Stretchable Time here. Somewhere at the far end of the seven flyovers I must cross to get to office (which is an hour on a normal traffic-y day), a pipe had burst because of the heavy rains. The MCD is anyway perpetually confused about how Delhi functions and the rain sends them into a nervous breakdown.
So yes, I spent four hours inside my car. To top it all off, the car flooded. Yes, it flooded. Water sneaked in from some goddarn where and filled up my darling car till my feet were soaked through and I had no idea where anything was. While I was devising a plan to get rid of it all, the car decides this would a good time to show me how it can skid across the road and almost ram itself into a pedestrian's face.
No, I'm just messing with you. I can barely drive a cycle straight and need a driver and the car was flooded only about 3 inches.
In spite of this obviously scarring experience, I was in a chirpy mood when I got to office. Mostly because nobody else had shown up and I lounged about till 5 while abusing the internet. At which point I figured I should eat something. I power-walked to the market, where I figured I'll get a slightly spicy roll, just for the heck of it. I usually am somewhat sensitive to spice, but since I'm currently dead on the inside, I couldn't care less. Bad idea.
I have a slight cut on my lip from where a grossly negligent parlour-woman slashed through with her thread. My lips usually burn for a bit if I get spice right on them. And today being the precious fucker it was, the chilli sauce hit the cut point blank. The next seven minutes were spent gazing wonderously at my face in the mirror as my lip swelled up to five times it's regular size. And made me look like I was wearing whore-red lipstick. All in all, I'm apparently allergic to chilli sauce.
#Lesson for today: Days like this, be glad you made it back home with your body parts all intact.
9.09.2011
8.24.2011
Ode
To A Dear Friend,
15 years and we're still grinning at each other doing silly happy things.
15 years and we're still giddy with delight at each other's Hello's.
15 years and we're still bickering over whose Mum makes better food.
15 years and we're still sorting out our problems every night, one day at a time.
15 years and we're still make-believing that Wonderland exists.
15 years and we're still friends.
15 years later, I'll look back and let you know that we'll be strong for 15 years more.
15 years and we're still grinning at each other doing silly happy things.
15 years and we're still giddy with delight at each other's Hello's.
15 years and we're still bickering over whose Mum makes better food.
15 years and we're still sorting out our problems every night, one day at a time.
15 years and we're still make-believing that Wonderland exists.
15 years and we're still friends.
15 years later, I'll look back and let you know that we'll be strong for 15 years more.
8.14.2011
Peering back to the past, I chance upon the memory of a girl sitting with her classmates during a psychology class discussing the relevance of the Five Stages of Grief. By and large, everybody agreed that these stages did exist and were subject to change in their order. We also agreed that it was the loss of a loved one or a major tragedy that caused so.
Coming back to the present, there is one slight flaw in this model that we had all missed out on.
It is not simply the loss of someone cherished or a tragedy that accounts for the stages. So many little things, smaller and seemingly inconsequential in nature bring about bigger torments than one would like to give them credit for. One grieves not only for people. One grieves in equal ways for the loss of purpose, of rationality, of direction, of judgement, of self-control, of belief, of faith and of self-identity. But more than all of that, one may grieve for the loss of peace of the mind.
And then comes the grieving. It starts with Denial, of course. One cannot readily accept it all. Then the Bargaining, in this case. Then starts the long cycle of crushing despair. And then, if you're lucky, you'll find Anger. But anger cannot last long and is soon followed by Acceptance. It comes out of nowhere and overwhelms you with a serenity that makes you wonder at the beauty of even something such as loss.
I have found acceptance. Or at least a version of it.
#Lesson for today: Acceptance is a beautiful thing.
Coming back to the present, there is one slight flaw in this model that we had all missed out on.
It is not simply the loss of someone cherished or a tragedy that accounts for the stages. So many little things, smaller and seemingly inconsequential in nature bring about bigger torments than one would like to give them credit for. One grieves not only for people. One grieves in equal ways for the loss of purpose, of rationality, of direction, of judgement, of self-control, of belief, of faith and of self-identity. But more than all of that, one may grieve for the loss of peace of the mind.
And then comes the grieving. It starts with Denial, of course. One cannot readily accept it all. Then the Bargaining, in this case. Then starts the long cycle of crushing despair. And then, if you're lucky, you'll find Anger. But anger cannot last long and is soon followed by Acceptance. It comes out of nowhere and overwhelms you with a serenity that makes you wonder at the beauty of even something such as loss.
I have found acceptance. Or at least a version of it.
#Lesson for today: Acceptance is a beautiful thing.
7.31.2011
For we love personifying.
I was once asked what my blog would be like if it were a person. At the time, I must have laughed and mumbled something about my blog would obviously be like me in person. A few months have passed by since and I have diligently observed you, my dear blog.
The manner in which you encourage me to twist words. Perhaps only to add a slight poetic longing to them. Longing I had long forgotten about. The times when you refuse to let me write and script scathing posts that break more fragments of an ailing heart than they would have healed. The simplicity with which you take in every complaint, rant, fantasy and obsession I have thrown mercilessly at you.
You have been me, at some point in your existence, but that moment has passed. You, darling blog, are different. An entity that exists separate of me somehow. Perhaps it is a symbiotic life that we lead.
You would be tall. I get the feeling of a tall, lanky adolescent boy when I see you. The kinds who secretly wishes to play the Cello but decided to opt for a guitar instead. I see you walking down the street, childhood backpack and book in hand. You too, disdain change with the intensity that I do. It reflects in the ageing of your shoes, the manner in which you have yet not discarded your favourite childhood shirt. The yellow one, that is.
I get the feeling you have long hair. Not the kinds a rebel or a rocker would have. Just naturally long and flowly hair. They go well with your specs and aura of intellect. I wouldn't call you happy but then I wouldn't call you sad either. You've a marvellous ability to be content with the world. Some many even call you a star-child, one whom the fairy dust has been sprinkled upon. Yes, that would be it, for even your friends occasionally call you Peter Pan. You enchant them with your wicked eyes and sudden esoteric humour they have finally started to understand.
Tucked under your ability to get along with the world is another universe in itself. I suppose you hear home calling when you put an ear to the sea-shells. The sound of the sea is your siren call, I can see you travelling among steamers and ferrys. Aah Blog, you would make for a very curious person, I feel. You read. In fact, you devour books. Your love potion would probably smell like fresh ink and a newly opened book. That is where we meet. Somehow, you keep that single-minded worship of the written word a secret. The world has disappointed you on that more than once.
You prefer time to walk by slowly. Speed holds no thrills for you, for you will forever be that thin, lanky teenager who loves the shy girl across the street. And then there is your wild side. You drink, you party and you sing karaoke versions of songs like there never will be a tomorrow. And your smile. Your smile inspired a certain Anna Nalick to write: "But, my God, it's so beautiful when the boy smiles/Wanna hold him/Maybe I'll just sing about it."
And of course, you love Lemons. In all shapes and forms. The smell, the sour taste. If you would know how to cook those delectable mediterranean dishes you dream of, I suppose you would add lemon zest to everything. Yes, your dedication towards all things Lemon (including a certain Lemon Girl) is astounding. Perhaps more so than the fact that you've never heard the song that many believe inspired you.
That is the you I have shown the true me without restraints or fear. The adolescent boy that makes me remember days spent under the cotton tree and dreaming of Wonderland. That is you, Blog.
#Lesson for today: Just.
The manner in which you encourage me to twist words. Perhaps only to add a slight poetic longing to them. Longing I had long forgotten about. The times when you refuse to let me write and script scathing posts that break more fragments of an ailing heart than they would have healed. The simplicity with which you take in every complaint, rant, fantasy and obsession I have thrown mercilessly at you.
You have been me, at some point in your existence, but that moment has passed. You, darling blog, are different. An entity that exists separate of me somehow. Perhaps it is a symbiotic life that we lead.
You would be tall. I get the feeling of a tall, lanky adolescent boy when I see you. The kinds who secretly wishes to play the Cello but decided to opt for a guitar instead. I see you walking down the street, childhood backpack and book in hand. You too, disdain change with the intensity that I do. It reflects in the ageing of your shoes, the manner in which you have yet not discarded your favourite childhood shirt. The yellow one, that is.
I get the feeling you have long hair. Not the kinds a rebel or a rocker would have. Just naturally long and flowly hair. They go well with your specs and aura of intellect. I wouldn't call you happy but then I wouldn't call you sad either. You've a marvellous ability to be content with the world. Some many even call you a star-child, one whom the fairy dust has been sprinkled upon. Yes, that would be it, for even your friends occasionally call you Peter Pan. You enchant them with your wicked eyes and sudden esoteric humour they have finally started to understand.
Tucked under your ability to get along with the world is another universe in itself. I suppose you hear home calling when you put an ear to the sea-shells. The sound of the sea is your siren call, I can see you travelling among steamers and ferrys. Aah Blog, you would make for a very curious person, I feel. You read. In fact, you devour books. Your love potion would probably smell like fresh ink and a newly opened book. That is where we meet. Somehow, you keep that single-minded worship of the written word a secret. The world has disappointed you on that more than once.
You prefer time to walk by slowly. Speed holds no thrills for you, for you will forever be that thin, lanky teenager who loves the shy girl across the street. And then there is your wild side. You drink, you party and you sing karaoke versions of songs like there never will be a tomorrow. And your smile. Your smile inspired a certain Anna Nalick to write: "But, my God, it's so beautiful when the boy smiles/Wanna hold him/Maybe I'll just sing about it."
And of course, you love Lemons. In all shapes and forms. The smell, the sour taste. If you would know how to cook those delectable mediterranean dishes you dream of, I suppose you would add lemon zest to everything. Yes, your dedication towards all things Lemon (including a certain Lemon Girl) is astounding. Perhaps more so than the fact that you've never heard the song that many believe inspired you.
That is the you I have shown the true me without restraints or fear. The adolescent boy that makes me remember days spent under the cotton tree and dreaming of Wonderland. That is you, Blog.
#Lesson for today: Just.
7.17.2011
Of Loneliness
All said and done, life does move on. But it makes you lonely in ways you never quite could have expected.
It isn't the loneliness you know off. Nothing changes in your life and yet it isn't your life any more.
Loneliness is knowing that the metro doors will not open to reveal a face familiar and loved. Or even known, for that matter. It is the daily reminder that your favourite coffee shop no longer is the first choice to spend a leisurely afternoon at. Being lonely is not being able to walk right into the homes you considered almost your own, especially when you need them the most. It is the cold fact that there isn't someone a phone call away who'll stay up till 3 a.m. just because you told them to.
Loneliness is not having reason to celebrate even when you have every single reason to. When you are greeted warmly by a stranger when you get good news instead of people who would have wished most fervently for your happiness. It is quietly smiling to yourself over a plate of cold food while congratulating yourself just a little.
It is an endless cycle of reminding yourself that all your new discoveries are truly your own and you couldn't share them truly if you wanted to. Of noting events, people, places, ideas, feelings on a piece of paper to maybe chance upon weeks later.
It is the slight lump in your throat when you fake a little laughter now and then, while knowing what truly makes you laugh may not be there to cheer you up for a while. Loneliness is a broken conversation and lost threads with no way to preserve them till there is time enough to fix it all.
Loneliness is the heart wrenching paradox of life where you are alone even when you haven't lost the people you pine for. They don't leave you behind, and yet they do. Their memories keep you happy till you remember there won't be any new ones to keep. And it hurts. It can actually make you feel a heart breaking into smaller fragments every single time you get through another day.
Loneliness is harsh, it doesn't go away. Not when you're surrounded by people, not when you block the world out. It stays, it keeps hinting at its ability to make you walk by some of the best days of your life without reminiscing even once.
But before all of this and more than all else, loneliness is a reminder that all of it matters, for now, only to you.
#Lesson for today: http://8tracks.com/mmcgill829/classics
5.24.2011
The heart must have what it wants...
It is not a fall from grace to have given up all pretensions and loved you fully. For now I know that it true when they say that you were borne of my imagination and romanced in it till I was ready to know the flesh-and-bones you. I was predestined to be, to fit the curves of your body like I readily do. Every night, your face is mine to observe and adore in the twinkle of those far away stars and so you creates a night so wonderous that one cannot help but fall in love with the cool detachment of the moonlight and forget how it feels to stand under the warming rays of the morning sun. You are mine against all odds and heartbreaks, especially those we were sure to remember beyond time itself.
I cannot challenge the sweetness of the whispered promises or the passionate surge of tears when I see you cry. Yet some days force me to wonder, they lead my thoughts asunder. Especially when the thunder rolls about and I can disguise my sorrows in admiration for the blinding light. I can only hope the same spectacle is beheld by you, standing a thousand cities away from my heart. Still, how much does distance matter when I hear you sing my weary mind to sleep?
I am thankful for you, mostly when your actions convince me that I have been ensnared in a plot, a conspiracy to make the world beautiful again. What else could have bathed the skies in heart warming hues and colours, when I had all but forgotten what they meant to me. Like today, when walking amongst the flaming rows of Laburnums and Gulmohars, I forget my multitude of heartbreaks and let go of wretched doubtfulness. You were mine to begin with and you will be mine when all has ended.
#Lesson for today: Pick a flower, press it your heart, tell it all your secrets and then walk away.
4.26.2011
Insert heavy sigh..
What I speak to the stars is between their glimmer and me.
What I cast into the night is our secret to keep.
What I cannot say for fear of breaking my own heart,
is for the endless reams of crumpled paper to feel.
What I cast into the night is our secret to keep.
What I cannot say for fear of breaking my own heart,
is for the endless reams of crumpled paper to feel.
4.21.2011
Goodbye, Farewell..
The heat is oppressive and the weather is desultory, making us restless. It doesn't feel like home inside the Studio anymore. Not like the way it used to. Nothing pulls us back to the doors, telling us to stay. It seems like we're lying in wait, to shut those doors and never look back. This is not the way it was supposed to end. No, nobody would have imagined it like this.
These are the last days of our college life. It should have been beautiful, with us reminiscing and becoming nostalgic. We should have been making plans for the future, ways to spend more time together after we've left. Only now we bicker and mourn over the loss of time and precious memories that we could have been creating. Frustration has replaced the tinge of sadness that permeates through our moods at the end of three wonderful years. For we are crying still, only we know it is not love that fuels our tears. The winds of change betray us at every step.
We wanted to step out gracefully, with time slowly fading our memories away. Fate has different plans for us, plans that make us trip and fall on our way out. We have fallen on our faces and never once been picked back up with care. All our fragility has been forgotten, replaced by hard hearts and attitudes. Is this what a farewell truly feels like, as if you weren't even wanted in the first place?
Our time as students has all but left us exhausted, in certain ways. For each other, for the times we shared, we'll do it all over again. At least that is what we say to assure ourselves that we will pick up where we left off. There is one heartstring that knows better, we would not want to go through the last few months again.
#Lesson for today: It's time to leave. Whether we want to or not. I only wish it would have been a fond memory.
These are the last days of our college life. It should have been beautiful, with us reminiscing and becoming nostalgic. We should have been making plans for the future, ways to spend more time together after we've left. Only now we bicker and mourn over the loss of time and precious memories that we could have been creating. Frustration has replaced the tinge of sadness that permeates through our moods at the end of three wonderful years. For we are crying still, only we know it is not love that fuels our tears. The winds of change betray us at every step.
We wanted to step out gracefully, with time slowly fading our memories away. Fate has different plans for us, plans that make us trip and fall on our way out. We have fallen on our faces and never once been picked back up with care. All our fragility has been forgotten, replaced by hard hearts and attitudes. Is this what a farewell truly feels like, as if you weren't even wanted in the first place?
Our time as students has all but left us exhausted, in certain ways. For each other, for the times we shared, we'll do it all over again. At least that is what we say to assure ourselves that we will pick up where we left off. There is one heartstring that knows better, we would not want to go through the last few months again.
#Lesson for today: It's time to leave. Whether we want to or not. I only wish it would have been a fond memory.
3.27.2011
3.02.2011
Looking at the descriptive entries about my classmates and their achievements in the college, I feel relieved I did not nominate myself for any award.
I pity the girl who would have to work up my citation. If left in my hands, it would read something like,
"Lemon Girl is mostly fat, existential, retarded and profound about it. College has never held any special appeal for her, apart from the canteen samosas. She can be found looking rather concerned at her growing waist-line in the makeup room or being injured by tripods. Lemon Girl has a number of other interests that shall remain undescribed for fear of her abandoning them temporarily. She is known to emulate a certain TV character quite well and is the epitome of the kind of person your mother always wanted you to be. Only not so much."
#Lesson for today: I believe I saved myself a lot of ridicule. :D
I pity the girl who would have to work up my citation. If left in my hands, it would read something like,
"Lemon Girl is mostly fat, existential, retarded and profound about it. College has never held any special appeal for her, apart from the canteen samosas. She can be found looking rather concerned at her growing waist-line in the makeup room or being injured by tripods. Lemon Girl has a number of other interests that shall remain undescribed for fear of her abandoning them temporarily. She is known to emulate a certain TV character quite well and is the epitome of the kind of person your mother always wanted you to be. Only not so much."
#Lesson for today: I believe I saved myself a lot of ridicule. :D
2.12.2011
Dear Lemon Boi
Dear Lemon Boi,
I love you.
Always
How do I not love him?
From the moment I wake up, he is on my mind and in my thoughts. Wishing him morning is now a priority when I wake up. Talking to him all day long makes time slow down and speed up without notice. The sun is brighter, even for the girl who doesn't like sunshine so much. There is a permanent smile on my face and my heart. His face is just perfect. Just perfect, I tell you. With him, the love flows naturally. It asserts itself in the face of many objections on my part.
His voice sounds poetic to me. Especially when he sings, you know. He is the perfect size for a bear hug.
More than all of that, he is sort of the character that I would have found lurking in a novel somewhere. The kinds that my mind and heart both rapidly lend themselves to. He is my 42, the one who gives me perspective. He knows how to calm me down in my hyper-paranoid state. Just right now, he was talking in a silly punjabi sort of accent to cheer me up.
Why would I ever want to stop loving him?
I love you.
Always
How do I not love him?
From the moment I wake up, he is on my mind and in my thoughts. Wishing him morning is now a priority when I wake up. Talking to him all day long makes time slow down and speed up without notice. The sun is brighter, even for the girl who doesn't like sunshine so much. There is a permanent smile on my face and my heart. His face is just perfect. Just perfect, I tell you. With him, the love flows naturally. It asserts itself in the face of many objections on my part.
His voice sounds poetic to me. Especially when he sings, you know. He is the perfect size for a bear hug.
More than all of that, he is sort of the character that I would have found lurking in a novel somewhere. The kinds that my mind and heart both rapidly lend themselves to. He is my 42, the one who gives me perspective. He knows how to calm me down in my hyper-paranoid state. Just right now, he was talking in a silly punjabi sort of accent to cheer me up.
Why would I ever want to stop loving him?
1.09.2011
It's four degrees outside. Which is hardly fair. Ya toh itna cold ho ki snow man ban jaye ya phir naa ho.
Dilli ki sardi mujhe samajh nahi aati.
#Lesson for today: On days when your brain is too clogged up with mucous to have a come-back beyond Pffft, Best-Friend will turn out to be irrefutably correct about all things in general.
Dilli ki sardi mujhe samajh nahi aati.
#Lesson for today: On days when your brain is too clogged up with mucous to have a come-back beyond Pffft, Best-Friend will turn out to be irrefutably correct about all things in general.
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