It had been raining all day. But that couldn’t stop the traffic bustling at break neck speed in the dead of the night. It had been like any other night, every other night. And there she slept on the couch, in their living room. Curled up like a puppy in the cold, her nightdress shining in the dim light of the TV. That is the way it is every night, she would wait, to have dinner with him. And every night, she would doze off in the couch itself, with the TV glaring at her, loud and bright...On some nights, she would sleepwalk to her room (yeah, it was always ‘her’ room and ‘his’ room, they wanted to live like individuals even after tying that knot, a year ago.); and sometimes she would spent the whole night on that couch itself.
Today, she had decided that she would talk to him, yeah, discuss their relationship that was going down the drain. See, you need to put in voluntary efforts to keep your marriage running. Our good old love, doesn’t work these days. But even then she couldn’t put up till he came back, tired like a child, she was.
He tip-toed into the house, saw her fast asleep. The clock said 5 minutes to 1. 1 in the morning!
He didn’t want to wake his wife up. He felt pity for her; she was sleeping like an orphan! He picked her up and took her to ‘her’ room. Lay her on the bed, covered her with the quilt, and was about to leave, when he heard her, “When did you come?” he turned back to find a sleepy girl, rubbing the sleep off her eyes, and trying to get out of bed. “I will just warm up your dinner, gimme a minute. You go and change.” “No, not hungry, gotta catch some sleep…, goodnight!”
This was another part of the daily story, he would dine out, forgetting that someone could be waiting at home, to sit across the dining table together once in a month and revive the dying emotion they called love.
‘This was too much! She was waiting to talk! And look at the way this man, was avoiding it all.’ she thought. “You aren’t hungry, but I am.”, she yelled back at him. Taken aback by this kind of an unexpected outburst from his always-so-calm-n-composed-better half, he walked back to her, sat beside her. “Why haven’t you eaten anything? When did I ask you to wait?” he whispered.
‘This man deserves to be kicked out of my heart, look at his guts, man, I am hungry, get me food first, you ungrateful idiot!’ she thought.
He read her mind, ‘There, she is fuming, the pressure that had been building for months, whistles off tonight.’ “Wait a sec, sweetheart, I will get you the stuff in a minute!”
‘Sweetheart? My foot! I am too old for you flirtatious tricks my dear husband! I am your wife, I know you only too well!’ today, she would give him a piece of her mind. Years ago, in college, the way things worked, when they were friends, friends too shy of each other. She had always loved him. Was unaware of his feelings though. She took the utmost amount of care to see that he wouldn’t get to know of her undying love and crap! A girl should never tear her heart open. She had her mind all set, to do away with him as another silly yet serious crush, she was so sure, he wouldn’t reciprocate. But one day, it took him a truckload of guts to put aside his ego and tell her that he wanted her, as a pre-requisite for his life ahead! Too much in love, to wait and listen to the rebuke of wailing parents, they married despite the differences that arose…And here they were, in this two bedroom apartment crammed up in some collapsing metro in India, with jobs in MNCs, drawing decent salaries, and not in love. The ‘Workaholic-moneyed’ !
He returned with the stuff..grr..dinner! Placed it on her lap, as she kept staring into his eyes, as her eyes shone with tears. Once upon a time, he had fallen for these eyes! Unbelievable! He tried to enliven a sleeping sentiment in his heart, tried to feel their love. But to no avail. “Do I cook so awful, that you have to eat out every other night?” He kept mum. Stoically put a morsel in her mouth. Chewing it slowly, she asked him again “Why? Answer me? Do you even remember when we had talked properly, the last time? I leave this place, before you are up, and you come back to find me asleep. Is this the life we had promised each other?” Tears rolled down her eyes. He kept feeding her. “What’s wrong with us? Why can’t we live to be happy? Content? Like my parents do? I will be moving out in a month or two, and god knows when will we get to live together again, why are you doing this to me?”
And when he was done with feeding this unruly girl, he moved out into the kitchen. She wiped her tears, and called out his name, one last time, loud enough to wake the neighbors, clinching her fist like an irritated kid.
After five minutes, when he returned to her room to switch off the lights, he found her already dreaming. Food had quietened the hungry kid. He noticed the way she had changed in a year, she had grown a lot thinner, he remembered the way she died to shed weight earlier. Girls generally gain after marriage; his wife had contradicted all theories. This city and pollution had given her than tan also. She was no gorgeous beauty men run after, but her eyes! Man! When she closed them, they looked like two leaves put to sleep. And in the midst of all this lovelesness , it dawned on him that he still couldn’t do without this pre-requisite for his life…
And he hurried to bed. He wouldn’t budge from a bed before an eight-hour sleep he knew!
~she~
Beauty!
She witnessed beauty, today morning…
Her face, her own face…
Shining with oil, and the sweat of the last night’s warmth
Tip of her nose glowing like gold
Eyes, almond like…
Smeared with the kajal gone astray
Eyeballs lost deep in thought, remembrance…
resembling two pools of black!
Hair, coiled, long…
Twirled up, covering the sides of the face…
Tresses caressing her lips…
Lips, thirsty, dried up, yet inviting
She licked them up and kept staring at the mirror…
While someone gazed out of it…incessantly
Sleepy, yet beautiful…
A face lustrous, with the remnants of dreams of the night bygone…
Blushing with all the love showered!
She witnessed beauty, today morning…
Her face, her own face…
Shining with oil, and the sweat of the last night’s warmth
Tip of her nose glowing like gold
Eyes, almond like…
Smeared with the kajal gone astray
Eyeballs lost deep in thought, remembrance…
resembling two pools of black!
Hair, coiled, long…
Twirled up, covering the sides of the face…
Tresses caressing her lips…
Lips, thirsty, dried up, yet inviting
She licked them up and kept staring at the mirror…
While someone gazed out of it…incessantly
Sleepy, yet beautiful…
A face lustrous, with the remnants of dreams of the night bygone…
Blushing with all the love showered!
untitled01
Once is enough in love,
One touch,
One kiss,
One whisper,
One confession,
One meeting, when I can see eyefuls of you,
And cage you for the rest of my life
It’s unfortunates like me,
Who can’t afford it more than once
Because, every time you talk to me,
It gives me fuel for a few more days,
Fuel to live…and replenishes the fire
That’s glowing the walls of my heart,
With my love for you…
Every moment I spend with you,
Is one that I want to live another hundred times over…
And i can't let my eyes meet yours,
I am afraid you would see the love pouring out...
Love-that flows in my blood…
Love – that’s unsaid,
I could never open my mouth to say ‘I love you’,
Because every time I breathed,
It was ‘I love you,’ left unsaid,
Only you didn’t pay heed
An idiot that you are
Stupid!
One touch,
One kiss,
One whisper,
One confession,
One meeting, when I can see eyefuls of you,
And cage you for the rest of my life
It’s unfortunates like me,
Who can’t afford it more than once
Because, every time you talk to me,
It gives me fuel for a few more days,
Fuel to live…and replenishes the fire
That’s glowing the walls of my heart,
With my love for you…
Every moment I spend with you,
Is one that I want to live another hundred times over…
And i can't let my eyes meet yours,
I am afraid you would see the love pouring out...
Love-that flows in my blood…
Love – that’s unsaid,
I could never open my mouth to say ‘I love you’,
Because every time I breathed,
It was ‘I love you,’ left unsaid,
Only you didn’t pay heed
An idiot that you are
Stupid!
on death
Death is a tragedy that diminishes everything else. Every time I witness death from close quarters, my life should become dearer to me. I should count my blessings, thank god for how safe and cozy I am, away from the hold of death.
But the fact is, none of us can be far from death. Death is more close to us, than we are to ourselves. It can happen anytime, anywhere. And it is the suddenness and the brutality of death that hurts. The inability to digest the fact that someone would never get up again, someone would become a non-existent entity from now on, that someone would remain just a memory, makes me feel sick.
And when you can mourn death properly? You can feel a lump in your throat, a weight on your heart, tears frozen in the corners of your eyes, and yet not cry. The state of shock doesn’t leave you, and you cannot grieve, the sorrow thrusts the walls of your heart, shouting to be shown a way out, but you can’t help it. You can’t cry, so you cage the pain within. It’s more than horrible…
You beg for someone who could help you cry, who could help you release the anguish…and let the shock not overshadow the profound sense of loss that death creates, and the void that it leaves behind…
But the fact is, none of us can be far from death. Death is more close to us, than we are to ourselves. It can happen anytime, anywhere. And it is the suddenness and the brutality of death that hurts. The inability to digest the fact that someone would never get up again, someone would become a non-existent entity from now on, that someone would remain just a memory, makes me feel sick.
And when you can mourn death properly? You can feel a lump in your throat, a weight on your heart, tears frozen in the corners of your eyes, and yet not cry. The state of shock doesn’t leave you, and you cannot grieve, the sorrow thrusts the walls of your heart, shouting to be shown a way out, but you can’t help it. You can’t cry, so you cage the pain within. It’s more than horrible…
You beg for someone who could help you cry, who could help you release the anguish…and let the shock not overshadow the profound sense of loss that death creates, and the void that it leaves behind…
anniversary
today, my blog completes a year...exactly 365 days ago, i had grown emotional enough to pen down a poem for someone special. i published it. no one read it. and then after, i blogged about everything i felt strongly for,...n lemme tell you, blogging feels good...doesn't it?
couch tomato
May be it’s a little more than unusual, but I don’t watch the television. Not at all. The latest craze, talent hunt contests, make me feel sick. It is a childhood syndrome, I can’t take in failure. (Doesn’t in any way imply that I don’t fail. In fact failing is a part of life now.) I can’t see people loosing it out there on the dais, weeping and crying back to their home towns. It makes me shaky. Makes me go loose. I can’t take the sorrow of the fellow who gets thrown out of the contest. It goes beyond my comprehension, why the judges behave the way they do, ruthless, indecorous and cold. Don’t they understand that the person, who loses, wants their consolation more than the rebuke? Who doesn’t want to win? Every one does. I can’t help but loathe the way Anu Malik behaved with the contestants, in the sole episode of Indian idol which my pals (who are nuts about the series) dragged me watch. Uncivilized, “ape”ly, I would say.
And about winners, people who ascend all the way to the throne, I get a complex from them. Why? Because, I don’t sing well. I cant shake a leg like them. Because I can’t drive the crowd crazy like them. Why can’t I? So I hate this talent hunt stuff altogether. You know what, earlier on in life, I hated looking up the papers, the next day after results of any examination were declared. That vision of spectacled, toppers ogling at me from that newsprint made me sick. And tutorials claiming responsibility for their success! Sick man!
And I am sure non of you watch the Saas-bahu crap. Do you? So wouldn’t talk about them here. But one thingie. A tiny nothing about me. Loved kutumb when I was a kid. I loved the way they hated their way to love. You fight the person, you know you can’t live without. I had day dreams about Pratham and Gauri. What could be better, they are a real life man n wife now!
And about winners, people who ascend all the way to the throne, I get a complex from them. Why? Because, I don’t sing well. I cant shake a leg like them. Because I can’t drive the crowd crazy like them. Why can’t I? So I hate this talent hunt stuff altogether. You know what, earlier on in life, I hated looking up the papers, the next day after results of any examination were declared. That vision of spectacled, toppers ogling at me from that newsprint made me sick. And tutorials claiming responsibility for their success! Sick man!
And I am sure non of you watch the Saas-bahu crap. Do you? So wouldn’t talk about them here. But one thingie. A tiny nothing about me. Loved kutumb when I was a kid. I loved the way they hated their way to love. You fight the person, you know you can’t live without. I had day dreams about Pratham and Gauri. What could be better, they are a real life man n wife now!News channels? Mushrooming around! How many of them actually do make sense? Every
shitty new thing is always breaking news. Damn! Don’t make an issue out of everything. But yeah, I love sting operations, no matter whose privacy they intrude. I remember having confessed about wanting to become a journalist, much to the pleasure of the fellow who happened to take my interview some day. And one day, I will become one, after I have truck loads of money, for the rest of my life. Yeah! I know I can’t kick out all the filth from this country, at least as a journalist; I can expose some of the dirt.
What do I like about the invention of Baird? I like sensible documentaries, by sensible people. And at times, staring at nature(well almost my first love…grr…), via NGC. And watching a serial called Arohan…every time it’s shown and re-shown on DD National, another serial, in which they hated their way to love :P.
shitty new thing is always breaking news. Damn! Don’t make an issue out of everything. But yeah, I love sting operations, no matter whose privacy they intrude. I remember having confessed about wanting to become a journalist, much to the pleasure of the fellow who happened to take my interview some day. And one day, I will become one, after I have truck loads of money, for the rest of my life. Yeah! I know I can’t kick out all the filth from this country, at least as a journalist; I can expose some of the dirt.What do I like about the invention of Baird? I like sensible documentaries, by sensible people. And at times, staring at nature(well almost my first love…grr…), via NGC. And watching a serial called Arohan…every time it’s shown and re-shown on DD National, another serial, in which they hated their way to love :P.
sea and me
These waves, they have seen everything. Man crawling on his knees. And wars and bloodshed. Even Asoka and Akbar. And dissolved the ashes of the dead, who chose to be cremated beside the sea. They have been beating these sands for an unknown number of centuries. God knows how many. Zillions of windy evenings like this one. Creamy tides follow one another. Waves, each wave, coming closer to me than the previous, violent and virile. And distant lights, of trawlers, light up the horizon. And I try to feel the fear, of the fisherman, at deep sea, playing life and death with these dark waters. And the agony of the wife waiting, at home. The full moon, which was looking like some white ball floating in mid sea, rises, higher and higher. And there is this different kind of a pleasure that I derive by letting the wind play with my hair, and entangle it as much as it can.
I am staring into the dark, deeper and deeper onto myself. Gradually I forget, where I am, the purpose, the grudges I have about life… there are no lights and the entire beach is dark. Thanks to the municipality that has not paid up the bills of the electricity department.
And then I look at this couple. Yeah, they look like one. The girl, is in a all new red sari, with golden zari work on it.(Imagine! Tucking that entire garment up to your knees and kicking around in the water) And she is all drenched in gold. (lemme show all I have to the sea…) and they are holding hands and talking. Or may be just looking at each other.
And then there are these vendors, selling everything you would like to commemorate your trip with. God knows how much they earn. Many of them know English too. But then there are kids amongst them also. (Street urchins being my specialty).
And I can’t imagine, staying here, for more than a day. Wonder why my parents want to live here, when they are old. The air has more salt than I can bear, and the heat! The sweat! The breeze that blows 24*7 doesn’t suffice.
Staring and staring, my mind moves on to the more complex things in life…
I am staring into the dark, deeper and deeper onto myself. Gradually I forget, where I am, the purpose, the grudges I have about life… there are no lights and the entire beach is dark. Thanks to the municipality that has not paid up the bills of the electricity department.
And then I look at this couple. Yeah, they look like one. The girl, is in a all new red sari, with golden zari work on it.(Imagine! Tucking that entire garment up to your knees and kicking around in the water) And she is all drenched in gold. (lemme show all I have to the sea…) and they are holding hands and talking. Or may be just looking at each other.
And then there are these vendors, selling everything you would like to commemorate your trip with. God knows how much they earn. Many of them know English too. But then there are kids amongst them also. (Street urchins being my specialty).
And I can’t imagine, staying here, for more than a day. Wonder why my parents want to live here, when they are old. The air has more salt than I can bear, and the heat! The sweat! The breeze that blows 24*7 doesn’t suffice.
Staring and staring, my mind moves on to the more complex things in life…
tiny nothings///
so deep are the scars on my heart, that i can't give joy a tight hug when he is right at my door, mumbling ," knock knock! take me in!". and i think happiness is but an illusion. a mirage that will give dissapear into the sands the moment i show him the way into my heart.
on my life...
Now, as I was slicing onions for mamma’s chilly chicken, I was thinking. If my life were a river, I was thinking how it had meandered through. Some day back in school, I used to be weak at studies. That was way back in forth standard. I remember, I was new to this city and this new school I had joined made life worse. The traffic, the pollution made me feel nauseous everyday in the school bus. How we used to be packed, like sardines…sweating and stinking.
I had no friends, and to worsen it a big communication problem with the kids in the class.
One such fateful day, my English teacher had announced to the class that she would be taking a test the next day. I don’t know how, I never slept off in the class like I do now, but somehow I didn’t get to know of it. The next day, I saw kids tearing off sheets from their class work copies, to write the test. I didn’t know what was happening around me. I felt like crying, a test in the next few minutes, and was unaware of the damned chapter’s name. she took the test and I scored a 9 on 25. My eyes went blank. Felt as if, that was THE END!
How would I reveal this to mamma? What face would I show her? As I got down from the (zoo-like) school bus of ours, the first thing I blurted out was my humbling 9 on 25. And I had my set of excuses ready, “I didn’t know of the test”, “I don’t like the teacher”, I wantta change the school”, “next test I would try and score passable marks”. And I was taken off my feet with the way she reacted. She said it was alright. Though I don’t remember clearly, may be she had kissed me also…I forgot the ordeal I had undergone at school. Even today, my parents surprise me by the way they react to certain things I do. The way they feel contradicts my expectations.
And from then on, seven years in that school, and things changed for me. I grew so attached to it, that I shed endless streams of tears in my farewell. I would be away from school, and besides everything else, I wouldn’t be able see my crush. I had one in 8th standard. (When did you have yours?)Ohhw! Painful! My first love would go down the drain, and he wouldn’t even know…
And I have changed leaps and bound after that. From being a silent nine year old girl, who sat pushed to the corner, to the nineteen year old one, who gets to hear the maximum number of comments in the class. And to not having crushes anymore, I am an old woman now. I have outgrown so many things, in life.
At the end of it all( lemme remind you that I was chopping onions at the beginning) , I find out that I am chopping capsicum now. And that the onions had given me a mild, cold
I had no friends, and to worsen it a big communication problem with the kids in the class.
One such fateful day, my English teacher had announced to the class that she would be taking a test the next day. I don’t know how, I never slept off in the class like I do now, but somehow I didn’t get to know of it. The next day, I saw kids tearing off sheets from their class work copies, to write the test. I didn’t know what was happening around me. I felt like crying, a test in the next few minutes, and was unaware of the damned chapter’s name. she took the test and I scored a 9 on 25. My eyes went blank. Felt as if, that was THE END!
How would I reveal this to mamma? What face would I show her? As I got down from the (zoo-like) school bus of ours, the first thing I blurted out was my humbling 9 on 25. And I had my set of excuses ready, “I didn’t know of the test”, “I don’t like the teacher”, I wantta change the school”, “next test I would try and score passable marks”. And I was taken off my feet with the way she reacted. She said it was alright. Though I don’t remember clearly, may be she had kissed me also…I forgot the ordeal I had undergone at school. Even today, my parents surprise me by the way they react to certain things I do. The way they feel contradicts my expectations.
And from then on, seven years in that school, and things changed for me. I grew so attached to it, that I shed endless streams of tears in my farewell. I would be away from school, and besides everything else, I wouldn’t be able see my crush. I had one in 8th standard. (When did you have yours?)Ohhw! Painful! My first love would go down the drain, and he wouldn’t even know…
And I have changed leaps and bound after that. From being a silent nine year old girl, who sat pushed to the corner, to the nineteen year old one, who gets to hear the maximum number of comments in the class. And to not having crushes anymore, I am an old woman now. I have outgrown so many things, in life.
At the end of it all( lemme remind you that I was chopping onions at the beginning) , I find out that I am chopping capsicum now. And that the onions had given me a mild, cold
with time...
I can see the wrinkles. No one else can. It’s not my face that has wrinkled, my mind has.
I will just give one instance. My eyes can sense less color these days. It’s rare that they find anything pleasing. Earlier I had typical feminine eyes, I was crazy about dresses. I was obsessed about them. And now, I walk through the malls like a zombie. I can’t make myself to like anything, anywhere.
Recently I went out shoe-shopping with papa. I went to some 20 odd shops. I liked none. From one shop to another, time refused to pass by. In and out of those air-conditioned rooms, into those sweaty, dusty lanes, I dragged my body along. Every half-hour passed by, more sluggishly than the previous one.
I was feeling more frustrated than usual. I wanted something. Anything that could please my eyes, my tongue. Gupchup wala!!! It was like a rescue ship for the marooned me. It was then that I felt relieved, the sour and hot as if enlivened my taste buds and all my senses along with it. I got into the last shop of the evening-got the first pair of shoes that could engage my eyes for more than 20 seconds. And got done with it. Ha!
I will just give one instance. My eyes can sense less color these days. It’s rare that they find anything pleasing. Earlier I had typical feminine eyes, I was crazy about dresses. I was obsessed about them. And now, I walk through the malls like a zombie. I can’t make myself to like anything, anywhere.
Recently I went out shoe-shopping with papa. I went to some 20 odd shops. I liked none. From one shop to another, time refused to pass by. In and out of those air-conditioned rooms, into those sweaty, dusty lanes, I dragged my body along. Every half-hour passed by, more sluggishly than the previous one.
I was feeling more frustrated than usual. I wanted something. Anything that could please my eyes, my tongue. Gupchup wala!!! It was like a rescue ship for the marooned me. It was then that I felt relieved, the sour and hot as if enlivened my taste buds and all my senses along with it. I got into the last shop of the evening-got the first pair of shoes that could engage my eyes for more than 20 seconds. And got done with it. Ha!
of earhones and novels...
It’s a hot Saturday morning here. (Yeah, mornings are anything but hot. Every day I get up cursing the sun for having burnt up one half of my face. Changing sides and getting back to sleep doesn’t exactly work out. And of mornings and afternoons, the lesser I reveal, the better.)Anyway, where was I? It’s a hot Saturday morning. And I come to realize that I have eaten up almost a month of the two and a half month summer vacation. And I know that my semester results are going to be out on Monday that is the day after tomorrow. I really really want to spend these last hours of my life in peace.
And lemme tell you what I am up to. I listen to FM all day long. FM, forgot2tellya, is the latest craze in my city. Wherever you go, you will find people tuning into the three radio stations that opened simultaneously a few weeks ago. So most of the time of the day, when I am home, with earphones plugged in, I would be peeping into a novel, and sitting right in front of the AC (as if it’s a TV or something. but AC is like GOD for me these days). And all the bloody time, I try think of anything but results.
lovelorn
Last night was a long one. I slept for the longest time in weeks, and gradually dissipated all my fatigue to the darkness. And now I realize why I didn’t get up for so long. Because I was dreaming of my love. Of my love having come to the place where I live. And he meeting the guy next door. I saw him first, and it took some time to sink in that it was him indeed. And of me freezing that moment. And then recognizing those same eyes, that hair standing like that of a porcupine, and of course those long legs and he almost towering over the rest of the world. All the same as I had imagined. The same thing that had been disturbing my thoughts relentlessly for years was now standing right in my front, eclipsing the rest of the world from my sight. And I stared into his eyes like a lost, innocent child who had found a parent after a day’s long search.
But then, my vision went blank. As he smiled at me. Indifferently. And then it occurred to me that he was smiling at the walls, so brashly whitewashed and all cracked up at places. Was he blind? And dumb? And deaf? He never felt the call of my love? I was a part of the crowd for him. A limb all that furniture in that room. It was then exactly that I froze. Everything in me froze. Even the tears in my eyes, waiting to ooze out any moment did. I went limp with helplessness. And got up.
But then, my vision went blank. As he smiled at me. Indifferently. And then it occurred to me that he was smiling at the walls, so brashly whitewashed and all cracked up at places. Was he blind? And dumb? And deaf? He never felt the call of my love? I was a part of the crowd for him. A limb all that furniture in that room. It was then exactly that I froze. Everything in me froze. Even the tears in my eyes, waiting to ooze out any moment did. I went limp with helplessness. And got up.
quota?
Every time I think about the quota thing, I end up a little more frustrated. I belong to some upper caste. And somehow I am safe. I mean, at least I wouldn’t be unemployed, in near future. But there are many, who, have been underprivileged by birth, and have been born as NON- STs STs and now OBCs.
My tryst with quota began when I got admitted into engineering. I was frustrated with the branch I was allotted, in my college. May be it was parental pressure, peer pressure, or simply the want to get a better pay-package, by studying a (so called) better branch…and blah blah! And I saw, many people, who had ranks way below me, had been given better branches than mine. Just because, they had surnames that came under scheduled castes and tribes? Many of them belonged to the same city as I do. I had almost grown up with them. They went to the same tuitions that I went to. They stayed in houses like mine. Their parents owned cars. Then tell me how are they underprivileged? Did they deserve a quota?
I remember, I had cried my eyes out, for hours. On the phone, talking to mum, I didn’t even know how to vent my frustration. It was like biting my own pillow.
Even today, the poor of our country are sinking down the infinite abyss of poverty. Why? Because, we would never think about anything else that vote-bank hungry, ugly, cheap, sectarian politics. Politicians- shit on your face!
Whatever statistics say, whatever that slugging growth of GDP says, I don’t give a damn! And lastly, if I could, I would have dragged Arjun singh by his collar… ( heard me grinding my teeth?)
My tryst with quota began when I got admitted into engineering. I was frustrated with the branch I was allotted, in my college. May be it was parental pressure, peer pressure, or simply the want to get a better pay-package, by studying a (so called) better branch…and blah blah! And I saw, many people, who had ranks way below me, had been given better branches than mine. Just because, they had surnames that came under scheduled castes and tribes? Many of them belonged to the same city as I do. I had almost grown up with them. They went to the same tuitions that I went to. They stayed in houses like mine. Their parents owned cars. Then tell me how are they underprivileged? Did they deserve a quota?
I remember, I had cried my eyes out, for hours. On the phone, talking to mum, I didn’t even know how to vent my frustration. It was like biting my own pillow.
Even today, the poor of our country are sinking down the infinite abyss of poverty. Why? Because, we would never think about anything else that vote-bank hungry, ugly, cheap, sectarian politics. Politicians- shit on your face!
Whatever statistics say, whatever that slugging growth of GDP says, I don’t give a damn! And lastly, if I could, I would have dragged Arjun singh by his collar… ( heard me grinding my teeth?)
xpress urself
Heard about that Baroda university case, haven’t you?
Well! I have nothing much to say but about all that happened:
*it’s a shame to that university (came to know that it is nationally recognized for fine arts and blah blah!
*it’s a shame to Narendra Modi and his baseless hindutva…
*it’s a shame to that VC (fellow called Manoj Soni) who was made the VC at a mere age of 40( not that I’m saying you cannot have a young VC), by Modi-the great, just because he’d authored some bloody book: Third Space on the Gujarat carnage of 2002 with a staunch hindutva tilt.
*a shame to that unscrupulous group of VHP activists (that MOB to be precise!!!!) who claiming to be the moral brigade of a free n thinkin’ India vandalized the premises of an educational institution.
*a shame to the media which cashes on such incidents.
For god’s sake, can we leave the artist alone, and let him express himself. Who’s asking you to agree with him? At least, let him have his say…
Well! I have nothing much to say but about all that happened:
*it’s a shame to that university (came to know that it is nationally recognized for fine arts and blah blah!
*it’s a shame to Narendra Modi and his baseless hindutva…
*it’s a shame to that VC (fellow called Manoj Soni) who was made the VC at a mere age of 40( not that I’m saying you cannot have a young VC), by Modi-the great, just because he’d authored some bloody book: Third Space on the Gujarat carnage of 2002 with a staunch hindutva tilt.
*a shame to that unscrupulous group of VHP activists (that MOB to be precise!!!!) who claiming to be the moral brigade of a free n thinkin’ India vandalized the premises of an educational institution.*a shame to the media which cashes on such incidents.
For god’s sake, can we leave the artist alone, and let him express himself. Who’s asking you to agree with him? At least, let him have his say…
confessions of a girl
Hello, i am also a human being. i can also have a crush. i can also get infatuated to people. aren't you? why is everyone taken aback, when i happen to talk about these things in the normal flow of the conversation i generally have with people.i can sense that hiccup and i am told" it's good to hear a girl tell that". Goodness gracious, where am i? Which century do peeople live in? Gawd!How i wish i could whistle like you guys do...
holiday blues
the semester exams are the hardest time in the entire semester. literally, i would find no time to breathe. As our holidays start the very day the sems get over, i knit plans from the blue, for my holidays. We guys get a two and a half months as summer vacation.{enviable naah!} this i know, is the last proper summer vacation of my life. next year, i would be training somewhere. I dunno where.and the next year, i would be stepping into the 'real' world. i would hopefully live a life of my own. forget that. So where was i?
Yeah, i was talking about the grand plans that i make for the holidays. i plan to read, read, anything and everythings.{last time i had almost done that, i was do damn drowned in fiction, that, it made me sick}...Khushwant Singh's obsession with *** {u know what} and Shobha De' s compassion for monotonous page 3, particularly responisble...
Anyways, i also plan to watch movies. But my dream of finding that dream- CD wallah in my locality, who keeps good CDs of my-type movies, will never materilaise...
i plan out long solitary rides, at some break neck speed in these highways. i plan to observe the way my city has grown. but, i just can't do that...mum's return time rules are more stringent than that of my hostel... :(
i plan evening walks but find no companion...ehhhhhwww!
i plan not to gain any holiday weight, i plan out yoga and stuff. plans, remain plans for ever, particularly these ones. Also going back with the same err... figure i came with, is beyond my domain. Mum'z fault again :P
i try not to lose my temper on my kid brother, who no longer is a kid :D, i think i have been able to do this...
what els? let's see what things look like, i l keep you guys well informed...take carezzzz
Yeah, i was talking about the grand plans that i make for the holidays. i plan to read, read, anything and everythings.{last time i had almost done that, i was do damn drowned in fiction, that, it made me sick}...Khushwant Singh's obsession with *** {u know what} and Shobha De' s compassion for monotonous page 3, particularly responisble...
Anyways, i also plan to watch movies. But my dream of finding that dream- CD wallah in my locality, who keeps good CDs of my-type movies, will never materilaise...
i plan out long solitary rides, at some break neck speed in these highways. i plan to observe the way my city has grown. but, i just can't do that...mum's return time rules are more stringent than that of my hostel... :(
i plan evening walks but find no companion...ehhhhhwww!
i plan not to gain any holiday weight, i plan out yoga and stuff. plans, remain plans for ever, particularly these ones. Also going back with the same err... figure i came with, is beyond my domain. Mum'z fault again :P
i try not to lose my temper on my kid brother, who no longer is a kid :D, i think i have been able to do this...
what els? let's see what things look like, i l keep you guys well informed...take carezzzz
the rag picker
Today while I was walking my way back from the institute, I saw a child. Someone whose resemblance matched that of the rag picker of my thoughts. I don’t know how old she was. Anyways she is starved enough to look half of her age.
Dark. She had hair that hadn’t been oiled for years. Stunted and small. She wore a green skirt which was too long for her. She walked with a gait that told me that she had never held anyone’s hands. Her tiny feet had no chappals. The road I knew was burning with the afternoon heat. May be that is why they were hurrying away. They- my rag picker and her mentor. She had a man who walked beside her. He hurried her along the way a shepherd leads his sheep.
I tried to keep pace with them. And then they halted. She wanted to see the children of the well-off do karate. That amused her.
Those kids had everything she had always wanted-clothes, food, comfort, love, a future. She didn’t even have a present. She lived on the streets—like an animal.
I waited for her to turn her face. I wanted to see her eyes, pale and small…I wanted to read her mind.
But as I walked away other thoughts meandered into my mind…
xxx
My heart doesn’t beat like it did
Tears have stagnated
Emotions are deep asleep
I have become so stoical
I have forgotten to fly
I am myself
Always alone
I am almost dead
before death
i might die in a few minutes. i am having a terrible heartache. if this is a real one, my heart might succumb. and then i was thinking the way i will be burnt. and then of the way, i will be gradually be wiped out of people's memories. of the things that are exclusively mine, like my cell phone, my computer, my bed, and many things alike, what would happen to them? there are many things that would die along with me. things that smell like me, things that have so much of me within them. people would fear my ghost. and who knows this is the last time i am blogging...
on love...
We ended up discussing on what love is. Su, Kasby, Annie, n I.
Su’s and Kasby’s view:
That person has to care for you right from the beginning (without you having any feelings for him). And then when you realize the extra attention he gives you, you begin to reciprocate. An understanding takes birth. And then you begin to trust him. Then love. And then you commit. Then marry. This is when you suppose that love is a two-sided machine. You can’t love someone, who doesn’t love you.
Annie’s and my view:
Love is something more instinctive. An inner call. It is something right from beginning. Neither a process, nor something, which has a thousand intermediate states. It’s a one-sided affair. and irrespective of the other person's feelings. Love is passion. And it’s reasonless. It’s not about commitment and marriage. People can definitely more than once, twice, thrice and so on... It’s not a once and for all kinda affair. And also that love is a rare human feeling that can't be explained. Wotcha tinkin'?
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