A Mermaid in a Bathtub

I love you! I dont doubt that. I love you from the very first time I spoke to you. I love your voice, your serious sense of humour. Your fingers which seem to play on an invisible piano. The way you tell the truth and nothing but the truth, in your own brave way.

You cast a spell on me. I was a free girl, more free than the thoughts which bind you. I picked up little specks of time on my wings. Everyone wanted a part of my golden smile. Everyone wanted to be cast in that beautiful aura of mine.

And we fell in love! Ah! What joy!

For the first time, I stopped. Like the immovable mountain, you stopped me on my path of free will and infinity. Your beautiful valleys and streams seemed like a new world for me. I played and brought life into your charming world. I became the queen of your heart. I found permanent residence, got an address and a land-line number.

I loved being in love! You brought me all the means of entertainment and I was submerged in the splendid, colourful world. Your love was like a beautiful cocoon.

And so, many years rushed by. My large, infinite sky got limited to your embrace. My will was to decide how to entertain your enchanting guests. My smile was for you and no one else. I was in your possession.

I was like a beautiful mermaid in a bathtub!!

Do not fret, my dearest! I dont love you any less. But the sky is my home. I was like a tiny feather on your eyelash which blew away when the spring breeze beckoned it and left no trace.

Anyone Else But You

This is in response to some of my wellwishers who expressed that my posts seem to be unusually melancholic. It appears that i am deeply troubled about something, some painful love affair perhaps. To them, I say, Thank You Guys! For trying to cheer me up but I am not troubled and I'm definitely not despodent. In fact, I am deeply happy nowadays, more than I ever was probably.

I have not won any lottery nor have I found some hidden gold mine. It's just that, the future has stopped troubling me. I am no longer running behind illusions. Suddenly, whatever I have, seems too precious. And for this realisation, I want to thank You. I guess this deeply fulfilled state made me type some deeply moving posts which alarmed my friends. :D

I am an ordinary girl with reasonable good looks. I am not the smartest, not the bravest, not the most talented. So obviously I have met too many men, several of whom have declared their undying love for me. You were among those suitors too. I, on my part, never found that special someone. I don't know what exactly was I looking for.... a vague idea of a successfull, tall man with a fantastic sense of humour, who would love and support me, come what may. The usual dream man. So, in my own way, I thought I could find that dream man. I always overlooked You. Was it because I took you for granted? Or was it because You did not seem to fulfill any of my so-called criteria? And everytime, I thought I met the Mr Right, Mr Right would do something dreadfully wrong. But You remained there, always catching me when I tripped, picking me up and even swallowing my sharp words. And so, I kept moving from one Mr Right to the other, confused and sometimes hurt, thinking that the next one will be better.

The next ones were never better. When the day was over and I all I needed was a good steady person You always stood besides me. I never had to compete for your attention, I got it for free. I never had to think twice before calling you because it is impossible to disturb you. You saw the best and worst in me which allowed me to stop pretending to be smarter or more in control. I, on my part know You like the back of palm. Yet You always manage to surprise me.

I hope You know what I am talking about.... that You know what I have left unsaid. I hope You know that there never was or will never be anyone like You.

Unforgotten Unquestioned Unanswered

I wish I could tell you the truth, the whole truth. Truth which is not obscured or half-hidden by inhibitions. When I can safely tell u what you mean to me, without the fear of shy coming.

I did not like you the first time we met. I thought you were a boring guy and I had liked your friend instead. It was a good thing that since I didnt have a crush on you, I could forge such a deep friendship with you. But I did not know that the guy I am confiding in is such a gem of a person.

I dont remember when was the first time you touched me, under what circumstance. But I do remember that I once held your shoulder when you were immensely upset, holding you almost man to man. At that time, i did not know that I will soon be trading my best friend and in return get such a super boyfriend.

And then, that fateful afternoon, when your finger lightly brushed on my lips. Your eyes were screaming. Yelling out to me, to hold you, to pull you back to shore. Did you know that every cell of my being wanted to be touched by you and loved in a way only you can?

You had asked me long back that if we were never to meet again, will I live a normal life? I had smiled and replied that yes I will live. I will live but I won't be alive. At that time, did you know the nuance. It was so long ago....but did you know?

Butterfly Love

He stood there like he always did while waiting for her. Absently kicking a pebble, running his hand through his wind swept hair, humming a silent tune. She watched him as he waited for her. She felt unsure. She wanted to walk up to him, link her arm through his, laugh with him, feel the warmth with emanated from him. Yet, something pulled her back. They had been friends for so long. They shared a casual friendship of two people who know each other for many, many years . Which never progressed beyond pals. It remained a friendship between two strangers who had spent long hours passing the football between each other to devise the best way to win against the Other Team. Strangers who had no common friends. Even after 20 years of knowing him, she was clueless about what kind of guy he really was. All that she knew was that, even when she tied her hair into the tiniest pigtails and he spoke with a lisp, he had got involved in a fistfight with class bully when the bully had called her Stupid ( a terrible abuse for a kindergarten kid).

The years coagulated into thick, viscous and unyielding mass moving slowly, each year rolled into the other. She changed cities, professions even partners. Yet, he remained constant. Not a friend in whom she confided her deepest longings and pains. But a pal, as important as the winter sunshine. She had not intruded into his life and neither had he asked her any uncomfortable questions. His girlfriends never irritated her. Although her boyfriends had been constantly suspicious of the platonic relationship.

"Platonic?" she sighed as she asked herself. Because she knew that all her life, in some strange way, she loved him. But this love demanded nothing. No effort, no time, no agonizing analysis of what did he say and what did he actually mean and no heartburns. It gave her an inexplicable fulfillment. Her place in his universe was something which didn't bother her too much. That she loved him was enough for her.

She gathered her jacket and threw her bag on her shoulder. He caught sight of her and waved. She waved back an skipped towards him breaking into a mini sprint. He laughed as she came besides him.

"I got engaged!", he exclaimed.
She knew this was coming. She had anticipated it. Her heart missed a beat in spite of that.
"Won't you introduce me to her? You rascal!"

She linked her arm through his and they hurriedly walked towards the cafe where she saw a pretty little thing waiting for them.

Li'l Miss Sunshine

A little beam of sunshine came into my office. Wearing a bright, yellow dress, a curious smile and bare feet, she entered. The gardener's daughter, the apple of his eye, whose favourite mode of travel is on her father's shoulders.

She arrived unannounced, early in the chilly, autumn morning, before the office was filled with people and their worries and anxieties.

I watched her enter the office, hesitant and curious. Looked around, while the sweeper was busy cleaning the office for another usual day. She clambered one of the chairs, twirled around, picked up the knick-knacks scattered around. The most routine things seemed to amaze her no end. Eyes picking the details with utmost joy.

As the people started coming in, she went away, as quietly as she had come. But she left her sparkle, a few grains of her innocence and a smile on my lips.

Freedom and Nation

Like everyone, I love freedom. I have not met anyone yet who doesn't cherish the utter joy of being free.
The idea of freedom, as I see, differs from person to person, generation to generation. A woman in Delhi may define her freedom by how she dresses or her career and ambition. On the other hand, a woman in a burqa may find a different kind of freedom within the shrouded confines- freedom from dirty gazes, freedom to smile absurdly which no one will be able to see, freedom which comes from anonymity, freedom to maybe even look at that handsome guy standing over there without fear of being detected.

Can there ever be absolute freedom? India freed itself from the Britishers only to find itself in the clutches of dynastic rules of Sonia Gandhi, Rahul Gandhi and Rahul Mahajan. And what was that special atrocity which the British committed which the Mughals and likes of Shiraj Ud-Daula had not committed? The peasants were in utter misery even then as they were under the British. Yet, there was no equivalent of a Gandhi back then. Infact, we worship the Mughals and have important landmarks named after them. Hell! Mughal period is also called 'Golden' in History books.
So, what was the freedom we earned after shaking off the Bristish? Can it ever, in a perverse way, be said, that the British freed us from the atrocities of the weak and backward Mughals? That they brought railways and Universities and transformed Calcutta and Mumbai from tiny villages to bustling metropolis?

The hippies cried out "I want to break Free". Did they really want to break free or did they wanted to be left alone to do what they please? There is an unmistakable difference between the two.

Can we ever be free of the voices screaming in our heads? For, we have to acknowledge the existence of something to oppose it. So if the youth movement of the 60s and 70s said that we believe in no nations, no boundaries, they were indirectly bowing in front of the very rules they wanted to shatter.

Which brings me to the quirky idea of nations and states and boundaries. Isn't a person from Kolkata similar to a person hailing from Dhaka? yet, a Bengali soldier may be more ready to fight for a tiny portion of Kashmir against Pakistan and may not really worry about the person hailing from Dhaka. To the Bengali soldier, Kashmir is as alien, geographically and culturally as Pakistan is. Here the concept of nation comes in. Kashmir and Bengal are parts of the sovereign India.

For a man who lives in a remote corner of the globe, his village is the world. For a global leader, the entire world is not enough for his vision.

Like the decimal number system, the concept of nation is for our convenience. And it is not the only available concept for dividing people. When I say people, I do not mean citizens. I mean you and your neighbour. So if, one day, a national border is drawn such that, it cuts cleanly between yours and your neighbours house, does it result in you both becoming non-neighbours just because the territory of your country ends with you and the next country starts from your neighbours house?

Freedom and nation are products of mans experiments and his defeat. When man is defeated by his own nature to live peacefully with another human being, boundaries are drawn. Boundaries, some which can be seen on maps, some which cannot be seen, like those shadow lines.

Question

Murder, exploitation, holocaust, colonialism, terrorism, jehad, brutality, fanaticism, hate....
So many words clouding our lives.

Has God forgotten us?

The Most Important Man

The most important man in my life is my father.

It is difficult to describe someone I know so closely and yet have an objective view. In several ways, he is rather a typical Probashi Bengali. Brought up in a government quarters setup in a middle class locality called Gol Market. Studying in a school where all boys from that colony studied. Studying at Delhi University from where he earned his bachelor degree in Physics and then subsequently completing his Masters and his Doctorate.

He is characterised by calm and stubborn nature. If he had his way, he'd wear clothes like a colour blind. A bald head, spectacles perched on his nose, comfortable pair of shoes and serene eyes hide his quirky humour stifled in an otherwise joyless world. He loves sports and jokes but he is pathetic in delivering the latter. From him I have inherited my snub nose, small eyes and my tiny pair of hands through my genes. What has seeped through my skin is his unusual humour, his love for sleeping and a weakness for arguments.
But if there is one word to describe him, it would be that he is a scholar.
'Scholar' in English sounds priggish. Yet, there is no other way to sum him up better.

The 60s and 70s were turbulent times. The wars, the constant shortage of food, the fake encouragements of our politicians, the ever-present babudom and red-tapism. Those were strained times and the youth then was full of issues. Shortage of jobs aggravated the situation further. Delhi University then was a simmering with discontent students, just like those in Calcutta, Kerala and othe parts of our country. They wanted equality and justice and social changes. Opposed to them were the older generation with their own psuedo Gandhism, who viewed the students as decadent. Violence erupted everywhere. At that crucial time, my father began his university studies as a science scholar.

I don't think his aim was to do his Doctorate in the first place. I suppose it was destiny which pulled him towards it.

How he obtained his PhD is a full of determination, back breaking work, discouragement from relatives along with a generous handful of plain good humour and glasses of rum, coffee house tea and packets of cigarettes.

Those grim stories are now retold with funny twists. But when he relates the day when he obtained his degree, even now I can feel a part of the elation he must have felt back then, in the packed auditorium at the University convocation, 1st May, 1980. Mrs Gandhi was the most powerful person in India at that time. Even her powerful presence a few inches from my father failed to impress him as much as that scroll of parchment did. Since that day, he has written 'Dr' before his name, in a clever cursive writing.

Much of what I am today, I owe to him. For that, all I can offer him is my gratitude.

Thanks Baba!

A Night of Horror

When did it begin, this nightmare?
Was it her destiny to witness this? Looking around, her eyes flitted over the shards of glass, the upturned coffee table, her books strewn all over the room. Looking down at herself, she saw blood. The tube-light hid nothing.
And there he was, the drunken pig! Snoring, snoring after having wrecked her house, her home, her life. Stealing her joy, her laughter, her soul.

Nothing was left. Really, there was nothing left here.

Her body ached everywhere. Even where he had not physically beaten her. Her entire being hurt. She was past bothering with tears. Tears were for those lucky who had people to wipe them away. She wearily picked herself and stood in front of the cracked mirror. She could see her bruises and bite marks. Her scalp smarted. He must have torn away a hundred...no thousand strands of my hair, she thought stupidly, desperately trying to quantify her pain.

She feebly remembered a time when she had called herself "happily married". Gradually, her joy at having a protective husband turned into despair as he showed his possessive streak. Then followed the quarrels , the slaps and kicks, the bottles of whiskey, the shouts and abuses.
There used to be apologies but even they stopped.
"Did I get habituated to this? I used to be so beautiful, so charming, so..so generous. Now, I have no money to be kind and charitable, no hope in my heart. My mother is dead, all my friends have slipped away. What DO I DO?"

"I'll go mad. I have to escape this insanity". Thoughts rushed into her throbbing head.
"The car keys, yes the car! I'll go away. I'll build on this rubble". She thought wildly.

She stormed outside, started the car and accelerated away into the night.

"Catch a falling star,
Put it in your pocket,
Keep it for a rainy day"
She hummed, her childhood rhyme bringing small comfort. She breathed, "I must breathe", she thought valiantly, "that's what the TV ladies say".
Breath in, breath out.

She knew she'll come back, back to this hell. But not tonight. Tonight she had to flee with the fragments of her sanity left.
"He's not a bad guy, maybe I was the difficult one today. I'll go back tomorrow, when the fuel gets over in this car. I'll hitchhike my way back. Then go to the doctor and say I fell down from stairs. I'll do all that, not now. When I have some more strength, I'll go. Till then just breath, just keep breathing".

A Night of Beauty

Power Off!
But tonight it didnt annoy her. It was a beautiful night. The moon hung lazily n the sky. The blackout allowed her to see the stars pinned up. A slight breeze blew so lightly, playing with her eyelashes. The scent of mogra and tuberose cast a velvet sheen.
Lying in his arms she felt slightly intoxicated with love. He was humming something. A lilting, jaunty tune which she couldnt recognize.
She pointed at some random star. "Do you know what's the name of that star?". Mischief glinted in her eyes.
"That one? That's called Champak Lal. You didnt know?"
"And that one?"
" That's Hanfasretufreg"
"Wha....."
" Ya that's what it's called...by the Pygmies."
"When did you learn their language?"
"While doing my engineering and flunking in Heat and Mass Transfer."
"I didnt know you flunked in Heat and Mass Transfer!!"
"Neither did I"
She giggled at this juvenile banter. "I am 29 and I find these silly things funny", she thought to herself. That made her giggle more.
"I am sure his clients can never imagine that this impossibly proffessional gentleman can ever crack such inane jokes."
"Hey listen, what are u giving me for my birthday?" She asked playfully.
He kissed her lightly. "Anything you want".
"I want Champak Lal, that star over there."
"That's not that difficult"
"It's not?"
"Here, I'll give you right now"
He stretched his arms. He pretented to pluck something out.
He extended his palm toward her. "There you are"
She giggled with delight at this play acting. Then she peered into the upturned palm.
There was something shining brilliantly. Puzzled, she looked closely.
And there it was. A beautiful ring. She picked it up as if it was a dream which will shatter at the merest touch. Sparkle of a star, caught in a diamond.
Slipping it into her finger, she looked at him and said "Yes".

To A, With Love

What was about you, which made me notice you for the first time? A completely ordinary guy with his ordinary ideas. It was when you spoke, stringing words effortlessly, into a beaded delight. You made me laugh loud. That's when I asked your name.

It was what romance books write about. Friendship maturing into love. A nurturing, fulfilling love.

At first, I didnt believe your eyes. Your eyes betrayed you. They told me things which you yourself never uttered. Even to yourself maybe. They brushed my cheeks. They lingered on me, long after you had turned away. They followed me everywhere. They watched me. Your smile remained the same. A twisted expression of amusement, enjoyment and sometimes outright sarcasm.

It happened suddenly when I least expected. A mad torrent of love's declaration which made me halt, made me giddy. Love. The solvent of ego and pain.

I couldn't believe you. I hopped around searching for the non-existing lies in your sincerity. I, so used to the fake and the vulgar. I never found the crack. Perhaps I never will.

And then, one day, you boldly held my hand. Fingers interwoven, filling gaps. At last, I forgave. Forgave the world and it's cruelty. Forgave the mirror for showing me that which make-up didnt hide. Forgave the goverment, the education system, the SC/ST quota, the hitler boss, the foolish computer which took half an hour to boot. I forgave them all. I found my peace.

Science and Morals

Two very disparate incidents made me think along the same lines. One was watching Jurassic Park and other was reading Surely You Are Joking Mr Feynman. Very specifically, listening to that little argument in Jurassic Park, where these guys voiced that they did not support a park of this sort. Playing with nature was a bad idea. One specific place the chaos theory expert says that you all were so obsesses with whether you could do this that you didn't ask whether you should. In the book, there is this chapter where Mr Feynman says that when they finally were able to come up with the workable design of the atomic bomb, all the physicists were euphoric except one who said that this is not good. The same bomb was dropped on Hiroshima which resulted in such catastrophic destruction.

All around us, we are obsessed with faster, bigger( or smaller), better. New inventions, cutting edge technology guarantee better lives. But at what costs? I certainly think that though our modern lives are so much more comfortable with the new gadgets and trim-trams thanks to science and its applications, our inventors should ask the pertinent question whether they should unleash new technologies, whether the current society deserves them. These comfort providers turn into mini-demons in no time what with the fertile yet immature mind of humans.

I am aware that every advancement adversely affects the nature some way or the other. Be it cheaper cars or mass produced PC and its peripherals leading to large tracts of e-waste dumps or mobile technology bringing a sharp decline in sparrows and other birds population. Dams which reduce soil fertility downstream. Deep tube-wells which make areas more prone to earthquake. Plastics, aerosols, air conditioners, dyes you name it.

It is not just science but almost every aspect of what we call knowledge, which has caused havoc. History, when twisted caused Babri Masjid demolition. Experimenting with society and economics caused so many lives ruined in USSR and other communist countries. Experiments with the market caused sub prime crisis which resulted in a dominoe-like global recession.

It's not that advancements and experiments are bad. No! not at all. All that is required is that people take responsibility and that they do not forget morals and ethics.

Horn OK Please

This is dedicated to all those people who cant keep their fingers off their vehicles horns.

One output of this horn will be traditional....paaaiiinnnn...paaaiiiiin, which we normally hear. The other should go to a pair of earplugs, which will produce deathly sounds, whenever the horn is blared. This earplug will be plugged to the drivers ear. So they are just as uncomfortable as the rest of the janta.
Better still, there should be some artificial palm on the steering wheel. When the driver presses the horn, he/she gets one tight slap. The more they press the horn, tighter will be the slap.

This should keep them from disturbing all our peace, needlessly. Cheers!!!

Why do I like Dev D?

Dev D is not a classic, it's not even the best movie i have watched. It's not profound, deeply moving and i can easily tell you 100 movies far superior to Dev D. So what was so unique about this bollywood movie, which is claimed to be a modern take of a classical Devdas?

Im not an expert in technicalities of movies, neither will I pretend. What drew my attention was that, for once, I was not witnessing a Bhartiya Nari.

Movies, in general, like novels have heroes and heriones, people who symbolise the essence and virtue prized by the community. In Bollywood, it reflects into a beautiful, vivacious, lily-white virgins and strong, morally-upright, protective heroes. The ladies are always ready to sacrifice, shadow their men, decorate houses, talk a lot. The gentlemen will fight for a cause, protect the downtrodden, their lady loves honour, love their family.

To meet the new age Paro, who didnt hesitate to bite Dev in fury was a revelation! A Dev, who wanted Paro to send him her unclad photograph, thrashed the idea of the morally-upright hero. To find a 'hero' with double standards and arrogance didnt gel with the conservative ideas, did it? And Paro! I can just go on and on about that character. Her blind devotion to the less than ideal man. Her boldness to fix a place for their "meeting". The shortlived sorrow at being discarded like an old glove. Her ruthless toppling of Dev from the pedestal. The arranged marriage. And dispite all these upheavals, retaining her innocence and maternal instinct.
Modern Chanda had a tougher role to play. This time round, Chanda paled before the fiery Paro.

What impressed me was that, for once, the woman decided not to sacrifice herself. She held the man by his collar and showed him her true worth. Not for her, the Sati and widows white, the gajar ka halwa and the useless tears. She wanted love. If she didnt get it, to hell with it! she gets the next best substitute, money and status. And she is not ashamed of this seemingly selfish deeds. She knows that this is the way the world moves.
It's not enough to just worship the idol of Durga and Lakshmi and Saraswati. Respect for woman, with all her virtues and failings, have to start from home. As for woman, it's time she loved herself, accepted that she can make mistakes, she can earn and can speak for herself. She does not need a man to complete her identity.
As for men, they should cease looking for whores to fill their beds and wives to fill their homes and provide them heirs.

You and Me

With a care and love,
I held my memory thread,
Threading pearls of happiness
Into a necklace.

Each smile of yours,
A pretty, lustrous pearl.
Every gesture, each touch
Adding to my collection.
Your kindness, your love,
Transformed into beautiful pearls.

I wore the necklace with pride
Around my neck, falling to my heart.
Went up to you to show you our creation.
But a cruel wind had blown.
To you, my pearls looked like cheap beads.
My golden, memory thread, a rusted twine.
My small gift worthless, you called.

I let go off my necklace.
My sweet times dripped away to oblivion.

I now watch you, from my empty dream ,
You, hunting for the pearls.
Searching for the lost lustre.
I know the pearls are gone forever,
Your efforts futile.
Instead of those sunshine pearls,
All I have, are tear drops to offer.

My hands are empty,
No necklace around my soft neck.
Looking at you,
You across an immeasurable distance,
Of misunderstandings
With nothing left
Except a lonely me and a lonely you.

A Teacher's Conscience

Being a teacher is no easy task. After four months of teaching 22 yrs old, future engineers the intricacies and complexity of unseen circuits, I have begun to understand my own teachers better.

The superficial difficulties are many. I guess a class is a chore for both the students and the teachers. What a revelation!! But that's is the last thing you would want to show. Apart from that, whatever your own mood is, engaging a class for 60 minutes is something, day after day.

But the main difficulty I faced is deeper. Reaching a balance between justice and compassion. How do you differentiate a good student from bad? Obviously by rewarding the good and punishing the bad. Which means, be harsh to someone who misbehaves and is irregular. At the same time, i do not want the responsibility of, knowingly, spoiling someones career. I dont want to play God.
To judge a student objectively, without bias or prejudice, which they deserve is easier said than done. If a student misbehaves in class and yet has all the answers, how do you treat him/her? A soft spoken guy without any idea what is going on in the class. A hardworking fellow who is unable to perform. A student who treats his/her teacher like shit, but has an impressive knowledge. An answer sheet with atrocious handwriting but perfect answers. What do you do in such cases?

It is easier for people to see everything in black and white. Any shade of grey is a potential danger zone.

A teacher is a mortal as well but to a student, he/she is always a symbol of oppression. To be vulnerable and yet seem invincible is how I see a teacher nowadays.

Inspite of all the problems, I find my rewards, each and every day. When I explain a tricky concept and i see atleast some heads nod ( with comrehension). It was a good day when a student came up to me day before and said a simple Thank you!

Dancing in the Rain

What was that? Fingers peeping out of a car window? When all around, everyone wore a frown and every car was honking as loud as possible, these fingers have decided to dance in the summer rain. Inspite of the water logging, inspite of the traffic which has not moved an inch in the last 15 minutes, inspite of the well.... anger in the air.

He peered to get a better look. Ordinary fingers, no rings, possibly no nail-polish or manicure but what an extraordinary ballet! Fingers peeping out from a half rolled up window.

It was in the way the finger danced with merry abandon amidst the chaos. Water dripping from the tips while the fingers themselves fluttered to a tune unheard before. Sluicing the monsoon wind. Catching the drops of heaven, recklessly wet.

He was sure that the lady with those fingers was perhaps the only face smiling there. The rain had come only for her. He could not see her face but it seemed that he knew all about her. She did not have to behave like those scenes in movies, where the hero falls in love while watching the heroine dance in the rain. She was not really waiting for a Prince Charming.
The sparkle in her eyes had the power to light up a gloomy mood, her touch could soothe a distressed soul. She had a habit of humming a tune, of smiling at strangers. Speaking with a lilt, scattering soft, round words. Throwing back her head for a good laugh.

She was a woman with many tints and hues. For whom, every season brought new joy and discovery. The world was there to make her happy each day. Morning brought her new promises and she gave back her best to the world around her.

Finally the traffic moved. As he accelerated, he was aware of his encounter with an extraordinary woman. A faceless, nameless woman. He took out his phone and after many months, called his sister.

Thinking Too Much

Time and again, I have been accused of thinking too much. This has been said by a number of people. Strangely, most of the people who said this were guys.

I am trying to find out just what made these people say this? IS it true, that I think too much? Or is it that people are uncomfortable with listening to others thoughts? Or does it really have to do with the XY chromosome, which prohibits people to be in tune with others thoughts. In all honesty, I have expressed my thoughts more often to girls and have heard so many girls express their thoughts. In none of those situtations did I ever feel that we must not think so much.

lemme start with what do i think abt most. The primary subject of my thoughts is very obviously me. But this identity does not quite dominate my thoughts when I am conversing with a person. Most of the times, I am acutely tuned to nuances. Of difference in voice, a sudden gesture, a flick here or there ( no wonder i have trouble with internet chats :) ). Even while talking, I notice a lot. And I gather my information in that way ( many times they prove to be correct, sometimes...not ).

My next line of thoughts are generally concerned with Other Person ( first name: Other, Surname: Person). What Other means, what does he/she want and my most important thought..Is everything FAIR! Grrrr.... i wish I could just get away with these thoughts of fairness and equality. It's tough to explain, this strange trait.

I think it stems from my childhood, when I couldn't decide which shoe should I wear first, cos if I wore my right show first, I am being unfair to the left foot and vice versa. And till today, I can never allow any situation to go un-analysed, without a postmortem of which party said/did what, who benefitted and who lost.... and why? And how could the result have been different? All this processing takes time ofcourse. It takes me a lot of time to come to a balanced judgement ( and how unfair... no one asks for this carefully weighed judgement!!. Once I have come to my very delicate balanced analysis, I am at peace, ready to analyse the next situation in queue.

The good thing about this is that, I cannot allow myself to remain angry with one person or situation. I always find a good reason why Other Person said or did this or that. And I am absolutely delighted when I come across with new angles and data to look at the picture more broadly.

Whew! I agree with the people who say that I think too much. My defence, So do a lot of others.

Case closed!!!

Lessons

I am not too sure why i am writing today. I have no real issue or subject. I have this totally tranquil mind now. N yes, i am in thoughtful mood. It helps to think when i am calm.

My life has taken very unexpected twists lately. This phase started from 2008. I changed jobs and came to live in Delhi. then i decided to dump that work and become a lecturer. In my entire life, i had never thought i will ever teach. And lo! I am doing just that and guess what, I am enjoying it.

I met a few people in the course of time and left a lot of people behind. And all along, i learnt some very vital lessons. ( i guess I'm in the mood for sermons today)

The most important thing I learnt was that I should value what I have with me and not keep running behind an elusive mirage. There is no harm in running behind a dream. But at times, I find that we are running in circles and there is no point in running like that. With this lesson i think i must add that I should value time. Opportunity doesn't knock twice. The reason I am still working whereas so many ex-colleagues are out of job is because i went ahead and grabbed the job of a lecturer. If I had waited any longer, I would have been a total zero by now. Not just opportunities, even people dont stick, if you let them slip. We dont meet too many fantastic people in our lives and it's best we enjoy the time we are getting to spend with them rather than be rude and leave them behind.

I always believe that all of us, every one of us, is actually a little baby at heart. We all want lots of affection and gentleness. In our mad rush, we may forget to treat others with the kindness they deserve. We all make mistakes and we all want to be forgiven. It makes sense to forgive others.

The greatest virtue a person can have is courage. Courage to face difficulties and courage to smile when things are not going great. Last December, I was at my lowest. And it was then that I realised that I have huge reservoirs of courage to build something from the rubble around me. I have not built anything yet but I mean to.

I consider myself a feminist. I dont see any reason I should think myself any way inferior to a guy. But, at the same time, I know that girls give too much in a relationship. Just why, I dont know. I have. I have seen countless other women do it as well. It is given a nice name called adjustment. I have seen very strong and opinionated girls take a lot of nonsense from guys. I know where it starts. It starts with a girl and a guy cooing and seeing wonderful rainbows around them. They are different, they know but they love their difference. The guy would adore the girls idiosyncracies. And the girl is delighted that "oh! see! he loves me so muuuuchhh. he says in such a cute way that i shouldn't wear these clothes...i shouldn't mix with my child hood friends ( who are incidentally guys).... i shouldn't take part in the drama cos all guys from the college will hoot and will tarnish my reputation....( blah blah). My boyfriend is sooo concerned abt my reputation and my image. he loves me soooo much". But eventually, in the end, it's just a sublime case of bullying. And just why do girls have to mother their boyfriends, i dont understand. And girls somehow, necessarily have to act silly and helpless, atleast in the initial phase.

I am not too eager to learn lessons from life. That somehow means that I have to go through a lot of hardship. Very honestly, I'd rather live a totally carefree life, without learning any lessons than undergo struggle and learn lessons...and give sermons!

Book review: Such a Long Journey

This book, by Rohington Mistry, is fascinating. I read it many years back and last week, decided to re-read it. Thank God for that!!!

At first, i couldnt quite understand the theme of the novel. The story was captivating but the underlying theme eluded me.

The protagonist is a gentleman called Gustad, a Parsee. He lives in Mumbai, with his wife, two sons and a daughter. He is deeply committed to his family. He works in a bank. The setting is early 1970's, I think, around the time of formation of Bangladesh. There are parts which hint about Refugee Tax and Mukti Bahini.

Every instance, we see the death of innocence, loss of faith and trust, loss of friendship, shattering of dreams. Dreams of a father to see his son study in IIT shattered by a rebellious son. A friend breaking the years of trust. Brother betraying a brother, causing a family to be ruined. Destiny cutting short the life of a loving nephew, leaving his grief stricken aunt to deal with a long life of loneliness and her black magic. The hilarious Casavji's irate complaints to Parvar Deagar to do justice, every single night, when he shouts that the Tata mansion and Mafatlal's etc should suffer just like ordinary men and women do.

Added to this is the clash of ideas and freedom. Clashes everywhere, East Pakistan, West Pakistan, USA and USSR, Indira Gandhi and her diabolic ideas. Each party with very strong justification, strong reason behind their actions. These clashes which cause the rampant destruction of the unarmed and innocent.

Above all this, the most poignant theme was the resilience of the human spirit, which rises above all this. Resilience is a good word here. It's not courage, not bravery but acceptance and ability to move on. Life, such a long journey. Each step, we leave behind people, ideas. We hope to meet the people left behind again. Ya, it's hope, which keeps us alive, i guess!!!

Happy reading!!!!