NET: Nonchalant Exercise of Tyranny

While people enjoy their summer travelling or learning new things, we waste ours mugging up old trivia and facts to sit for the summer attempt of NET. NET, a word that sends a chill down a scholar’s spine, is an entrance test that willing candidates must pass, to be able to profess in India. Calling the test “difficult” would simply be misleading the reader. If the absurdity of the whole ordeal was as simple as “difficult” one could deal with it. It is absurd, almost ludicrous.

Often, the night before the test is spent contemplating the foretold misery of the next day. I spent mine questioning the choices I made in life which led to that point. It was simultaneously- soul, identity, confidence and life-crushing. I woke up in despair, did the everyday rituals of brushing, bathing and having breakfast and then finally booked a cab to the centre of this examination, which, much to my dismay, but not surprise, was located in a place in Delhi called Nangloi, completely alien and unfamiliar to me as to most others, I am sure.

The drive was long and when I almost reached, I realised, the street leading to the centre was narrower than the bicycle lanes on highways. I alighted from my cab and began to snake my way through in the scorching Delhi heat. A house was located right opposite, precisely three paces away from the centre. The basement of which was being used to submit our bags and belongings. Unable to fathom the intricacies of this setup, I thoughtlessly submitted my bag, took out my admit card, proof of identification and pen and joined the queue for the security check. The board that holds the NET exam takes their security check very seriously, often preposterously. 

                       


Standing in queue, I spotted a bird on a tree and my eyes started following its trail. My thoughts metamorphosed with the actions of the bird and while I was busy locating the appropriate size of twigs to build a nest, I heard an unpleasant voice near me, “Madame ID card, oh Madame ID card”, bewildered, I emptied my hands into hers. Pointing to my watch, she said, “What is this? You’re not allowed to wear a watch inside the examination hall.” I took off my watch, put it aside and started moving forward when she commanded, “Don’t rush, and untie your hair.” I said, “You can’t be serious.” She looked at me with utter disgust and said, “But I am. Let down your hair.” I untied my long, thigh-length, dense hair on an unbearably hot Delhi morning and moved forward. Two other women sent me to a room for the last step of security check. Confused, and wondering if I was about to enter an exam hall or the Pentagon, I kept on walking and reached a dark room.                                                        

I entered the door to the room which stood ajar. A visibly-angry and insolent woman said, “take off your dupatta.” For a second, I didn’t quite comprehend. I asked, “what?”. Quite used to the ‘what?’ she just responded with a nod. I took off my dupatta, she touched me around my neck, pressed my bosoms, to check for hidden chits or the firmness, I couldn’t tell. By now, quite immune to this crude public humiliation and encroachment of personal space, I left as the next girl entered. My eyes met hers, probably communicated the ridicule that was to follow, and then, awkwardly separated. A couple of moments later, I heard the same command, “take off your dupatta”, the subsequent ‘what?’, possibly the nod, followed by silence and then a deafening smack. Startled, I looked back and saw the woman’s face red with anger and her palm resting on her left cheek, while, the girl bolted out the door with fiery eyes and walked into the examination hall. I turned around, grinned and finally entered the examination hall with an inexplicable sense of sadistic pleasure.

When Shehzaadinama met The Delhi Walla.

So, of late, the best thing that has happened to me was being in the newspaper column, the blog and my favourite Instagram account of thedelhiwalla. I know most of my readers are aware of it but I wanted to let you know, what it really felt like. Months ago, the Delhi walla paid me a visit after a brief interaction between us on Instagram and the meeting was fixed, he was going to show up on a Wednesday at 7:00 PM. I tidied up my generally nicely kept house and was eagerly waiting for him. I didn't really know what the meeting had in store for me but I was definitely very excited.

People who know me, have a fair idea of how good I am with my phone(read Pathetic). I barely ever answer my phone, most often than not it is on silent mode (I know, that's terrible). I hate responding to Whatsapp messages(to the extent that I respond after days of having received the message), I disconnect calls when I am not in the mood to take them, basically, I am the worst. So, I was over cautious that day, I made sure that I am near my phone at all times because Mayank(thedelhiwalla) could call me anytime to ask for directions and I WAS sitting right next to my phone BUT, when he called, I had somehow started thinking about something and despite being right beside my phone I didn't see his call and of course the silent mode was still intact, because I can be careful but don't count on it. I looked at my phone only to realize that I was getting a call from him, I hade five missed calls and three messages and that panicked the shit out of me. 

Mayank, who sounded agitated at first, just for a second(I don't blame him, who wouldn't?) instantly forgot about it smiled and was the gentleman that he is. I apologized, he smiled and we came upstairs. He was curious to know, so I explained to him the living arrangement of my apartment, a student dwelling, he took his moment to take it all in, and said, "just give me a moment to look around. I love entering a new space for the first time.". I asked him if he wanted tea or coffee and he opted for tea. I went out to make it where I met my flatmate and her friend, both busy admiring Mayank and eagerly expressing how dapper and interesting he seemed, being nice enough, they offered to prepare the tea and I went to sit with the most awaited guest in the house. 

To be honest, I had no idea whether he wants to know about my books, my paintings, my literary interests or me. So I waited for him to ask and so he did. He asked me all about my life in Delhi, my life before coming to Delhi, How has it changed? What changed? Where have I been in Delhi? What part I liked more and Why? Why do I choose to live where I do? What books I like? Which are my favourite Shakespeare plays? and why? What do I want to research about?...etc. etc. (It obviously wasn't a rapid fire round, but I wrote it so to give a glimpse of what he asked.) Then he asked me about my room, about the decoration, the lighting(which he thought was "too good"), the quotes(he absolutely loved my board), the view outside, what I see when I look out from my balcony? Etc. 

I told him everything. An hour had passed already. It was so exciting to be interviewed by one of the best columnists of Delhi that I completely forgot(and so did he) to show him my library. I asked if he wanted to look at it and he eagerly agreed. He looked at my library and expressed that he loved it( won't put superlatives in there, although he did seem pretty impressed). Then we talked and talked some more. Then he took out, the much awaited, the elephant in the room, his wand, his amazing Camera. 

Do you know how it would feel if every move of your body was being watched(in a good way) and captured by a wonderful artist and turned into a beautiful picture? That's what it was. He just asked me to be who I am, do what I do at this time of the day, be in my space and forget about being watched or being captured(WHATT???!!!!) how could I? How could I forget about being photographed by THE Mayank Austen Soofi, in my bedroom and act like he is not there, when every ounce of my body wanted to savour each moment and click mental pictures of the same. But, I tried my best. I tried my best to be his muse for those couple of hours, and walk around, read, play with my hair (which by the way, he thought was beautiful). I do it unconsciously while talking, some of you might know. He must have taken hundreds of pictures and if I could, I would ask him for each one of them, get them framed and make my room a shrine, not of me so much as of that day, the experience and the fact that he visited. 

He took twenty minutes to remember everything that he learnt about me, wrote it in his notes and asked questions simultaneously. We had tea, I made him a fruit chaat, my Nani's special recipe, a family heirloom. He asked me about some more things and expressed that he would like to visit again for a couple of more ideas he had in mind and I just smiled and said, "I won't have it otherwise". 

So that's precisely what happened and I just hope reading this would make you happy because writing this did definitely make me very happy. It was a wonderful evening. An evening of my own in a room of my own.

Link to thedelhiwalla's blog: http://www.thedelhiwalla.com/2018/05/09/home-sweet-home-saloni-srivastva-old-gupta-colony/

You can find multiple pictures of my room in there, also the delhi walla's story about me. 

Pondicherry: Let peace find you

February is a great month. I completely love it, it somehow is laden with great experiences. It often brings travel in the package, atleast in my life and I’m sure in yours. The weather is pleasant, the trees are blooming and there is happiness and positivity all around. This year it brought for me a trip to Pondicherry and trust me I can’t thank it enough for this. Pondicherry with its happiness, peace, beaches has taken a permanent spot in my heart.

On the 11th of February we left from Delhi and landed in Chennai(flights taken till Chennai are cheaper). While the plane circled around in the air, I peeped out of the window and saw only darkness of the likes and the stretch that I have never seen before. The fact that I am geographically challenged came handy. After much contemplation and willingness to find out what that was, light from some boats became visible, shocking to my North Indian- uncontemplative of such large water bodies- mind. A chill passed through my body. It was fearful and beautiful at the same time. Almost sublime. The plane landed in Chennai and everything changed. The world I live in is completely different from the one waiting to unfold. I must mention that it was my first time in south india. The land of beauty and nature and peace and everything that one doesn’t get in Delhi. Following a farrago of in’s and outs,cabs and buses, ubers and olas, the decision was made and we finally left for Pondy. As soon as we came out of the airport our first struggle was waiting on us. While planning to go to Pondy no one gave a thought to the language barrier. But getting the cab guy to come around and explaining to him where we stood took almost an hour. Nevertheless we found him and left to be spellbound. The roads in Chennai( atleast the way to Pondy) were as clean as they are here on the day of their inauguration but there was no ribbon cutting or anything. They were just very clean. 

The journey from Chennai to Pondy had its own share of serenity(which btw is also the name of a beach in Pondy). All there was on the sides of the road was water, which could be heard and not seen ofcourse, it was too dark that late in the night. We reached our abode for the next two days at around 2 am, where we found Teresa waiting to welcome us, the lovely care taker of the house we rented on the Frederic Ozanan road. High on happiness and looking forward to what was supposed to unfold in the coming week we slept a sound, dream filled sleep. In the morning we were to explore what Pondy had to offer and to not turn the trip into a treasure hunt, we left home without knowing where to go. We just wanted to be surprised with what the city had to offer. 

Alongside the most tranquil beach I have ever seen (Promenade or commonly known as the rocky beach). We parked our Activas outside what was called Le Cafe and went in for a sumptuous round of French breakfast. The functioning of Le cafe’ was like that of a canteen but it was located in heaven. With Victorian  architecture and iron railings it was located right at the beach. No matter where you sit, you won’t miss the sea view. We sat there for a good while staring at the crests and troughs the waves formed. It had such a calming effect on us that we didn’t realise having spent about two hours there. Soon it became our go to spot. It was open 24*7 and was less than a Km away from White Town, where we were staying. We would go there every night and sit for hours. 

The most interesting fact about Pondy was that inspite of all this beauty and splendour, it was not Jarred by a gamut of selfie taking, willing to tan, tourists. It seemed like whoever visited the city, made it their own and never left. Everybody knew everybody. Old French women came there and sat for hours smiling at everyone and looking at the sea.

There are many amazing “cafes” and places to visit in pondicherry but this post will only address the ones that led to moments of epiphany. Forgive me for this bias but what’s the point of having a blog if you can’t decide what to write. :)

One evening we rode our bikes to Serenity beach which largely differed in temper from Promenade. It was loud and angry it seemed or was it a full moon night, I fail to recall. We went to sit and eat by the waves in a tiny pink and white Cafe that offered delicious sea food. Having placed our order we seated ourselves. I noticed a girl about my age sitting alone on the table next to us. She was petite but exquisite. Her posture on the table with some of her belongings that occupied the chair next to her, an empty cup of green tea, a leather sling bag and a leather journal was all she had on her. She looked like a part of the landscape that lay before us. To be fair, I wanted to paint it, the whole paronama of this ethereal vision. She would rigorously write in her journal and then stare at the waves for a long time and then would write again. She had been sitting since before we came and it seemed like didn’t plan to leave any soon. My inquisitiveness grew and I asked her if she was working on a book? She smiled and said, “ No I am just writing my journal for my grand kids, they must know what I was like while travelling across India.” 

And that thought just stuck in my mind. I genuinely have never given a thought to even my next generation, leave alone the one after. 

One day we travelled for about twenty kilometres for what turned out to be a twenty minute adventure, but those twenty minutes were worth twenty more rounds of those twenty kilometres we had travelled. We took a  boat ride on the Ousteri Lake. I witnessed things I don’t feel capable of putting into words, but I shall try. The twenty minute boat ride was the closest I have ever been to nature, or so it seemed. I didn’t feel earthly anymore. It was like being transported to a land where there is just me amidst nature. The lake was full of lotuses (I had never seen so many lotuses ever in my life) and a very peculiar water growth in the centre of the lake which blossomed pigeons. I am not exaggerating. Each outgrowth formed a resting spot of a pigeon. And as soon as our boat reached about seven feet near them they all flew at the same time. I left a piece of my heart there, a large chunk of emotions and a feeling which I have never had before. 

The experience made me quiet, really quiet, my friends asked me if anything was wrong but all I could say was, “I don’t think anything has ever been right before”. 

Do yourself a favour and visit Pondicherry not for a weekend but a week atleast. There is so much more that I wish to say but I won’t. Somethings are better left unsaid so that one day they can become an experience. All I can say is, no one can take Pondicherry out of me or me out of Pondicherry, we both unhinged together and left a part of ourselves with each other.

When Life Gives you Lemons...

I am 24 years, 5 months and 13 days old today. Yes, that's pretty accurate. No, I am not counting days but I have way too much time. May to July, this part of the year has become the hardest. Why ? because it is constantly making me doubt my abilities. I want to do a PhD, yes, I am one of those who willingly(under no pressure or doom of mediocrity) want to teach what they love. One of those who really, genuinely love their subject and hope to study it and contribute to the scholarship. To all those who are struggling in the same boat as me, I would like to raise a toast and say, "We're all in this together", "just hang in there, comrade" and "It can't be sour for long". This time of the year comes with a gallon of self doubt, perpetual self-loathing, existential crisis, depression, anxiety, agony and every pathetic emotion possible but lets go on fighting because that's what Daenerys would do. Wouldn't she ?

Truthfully, I was fretting way too much about this. I was over burdening myself with unnecessary pressure of working and studying and giving exams and the interviews that followed all at the same time. It left me dejected each night and I woke up unhappy every morning. One day I woke up and decided to let time and things take their course, there isn't much that I can do beyond what I am actually doing. I sat on the edge of my bed, drank a litre of water, opened that wretched door to the balcony and just sat there for a while thinking about absolutely nothing. As opposed to the two months preceding that moment, it felt really...liberating. I decided I am not going to doubt myself or look for plan Bs because my goal and effort is absolutely apt, it's the timing, the bitch, that is ruining things, trust me, that's it. Trust me, it's not us, it's the bitching timing that's not in our court yet. But, it will be, it soon will be and things will fall in place.

Meanwhile I continue to love my own company. I go on for days without feeling the need of communication or any form of interaction with the outside world. My room is my palace, a palace of multiple illusions and delusions, I'm sure, nonetheless, my palace. For instance, today I was with Patrick Jane for a while (that lasted longer than usual), the Mentalist, of course. He is such a delight both to look at and watch (the actor and the character), calm and composed even while spending all his mental and physical energies in trying to avenge his dead wife and child. Even a charlatan like him has his life sorted and his goals on point. I am specifically intrigued by detective fiction, of all kinds. That's what I dig. I want to read it, watch it, feel it, smell it, maybe being a cop's daughter came handy there.

For the rest of my day, I was reading Tolstoy's The Cossacks, a really fine piece of work but unfortunately often shadowed by his two magnum opuses, Anna Karenina and War and Peace. Olenin, the central character of the novel is interestingly crafted, one can find a bit of both Vronsky and Karenin in him, yet, perfectly original. Unlike the other works of Tolstoy this one is a three hour read, a perfect choice for anyone who wants to read more Tolstoy.

This blog doesn't necessarily flow. It might seem like bits of random information put together to make a whole, but, isn't this exactly how a day in our lives is ?

Gripping, Fragmented, Joyful, Sombre, Fascinating, Lemonnyyy....all at once.

Logic behind the picture: Reminder for us to be happy at all times. 

It was worth it !

She is an Aquarian, a water bearer, a water baby. She loves to be one with water. She could watch a river, or a sea forever. Just notice each crest and trough of the wave and try to be one with them. She would often wonder how no two waves were alike. The force, the jump, and the fall of each one was different from the other. She needed no company as long as she had the sea. Often, would forget the real world around it. Belonging to the north region of the country, she didn't get many chances to witness  her soul bearer, the sea. But, this winter, it happened and  for the second time in one year. She met, gazed at, became one and explored the sea, once again.

This time Goa was altogether a different trip. Amidst all the "It doesn't feel like Goa" moments, she stole one experience worth remembering  forever. One of her friends suggested going to Palolem Beach. So, they did. After a 4 hour long drive, there they were; only to find that Palolem was like any other beach in Goa with clearer water and a different colour of sand. The sun was choleric it seemed. It was 35 degrees on a 25th December afternoon, an extremely cold day in the north. No one wished to admit, but they all felt the same, the 4 hour car ride seemed like a waste. But then it happened.

Palolem beach is famous for dolphin watching. That offer was made with the promise of making sure that dolphins will be seen, and they all agreed to go for it. 7  people in a boat, sailing to visit two islands and spot dolphins at dawn amidst the angry waves seemed too far fetched but even the prospect of adventure after a four hour car ride outdid the dullness of sitting and eating at one of the shacks on the beach. Unison was attained and after much effort they embarked upon this water journey.

The tour guide raised his arm and pointed at what he called dolphins in order to ensure the money settled upon. But, each time he pointed they saw nothing but waves. He continued to create the illusion of dolphins swimming in the sea all around their boat and they continued to look around and buy his illusion. Before they knew they were in the middle of the sea at dawn and we're witnessing the sun drowning in the Arabian Sea. In that very moment their boat, the sea, the sun and the sky it all seemed a part of one landscape. The scenery that they had all drawn and coloured together as toddlers, with the mountains and sea and the sun and the little boat, was right there. This time the people in the boat were not stick humans wearing a hat but they themselves, sitting in the boat and sailing  into the infinite.

Did they even spot a dolphin? Who can tell ?

 

Belongingness..

It has been more than five years since she has been living in a city which was not her own. She wasn't born here. She did not grow up here, not as a child at least. She belonged to a city not too far, yet different. She was too young when the transition occurred, willingly and for the better. She never complains about the challenges that she had to face But, can't deny that there were challenges. Challenges elaborate but doable. There wasn't even a choice, to be fair. She had to deal with them and grow.

Does growing up ever end ? She thought as an Eighteen year old. When she turned eighteen she felt like a grown up. So is she even now but that's not it. It is never enough and it shouldn't end. To live a healthy life one should continue to grow with each challenge, with each prospect and with each mistake. Making mistakes is alright too. 

One not so pleasant day at work transformed into a great evening and an even better night. She was at work all day and it was undoubtedly a good one but then came at play the biggest spinster of all, misunderstanding. Life had only then begun to appear a happy one. Work was good, she was happy and wouldn't want anything more. In such a phase of complete bliss even a twig on the path seems like a thorn. She broke down. That, by the way, is the last thing she wanted to do. But, she was not used to this life and the process. It happened, she tried to forget it and she did so but the sullenness remained. She needs to be more sure of her impulsive actions, she thought. But she had always been told, "talk it out, it makes things better". She did, things did get better but not completely. The last thing she wanted to do was to appear like a weakling at this new place. With these myriad of thoughts in her mind she decided to meet him. To get a feeling of homecoming. And they met. 

The sky was blue again, the stars did shine and love did blossom and why wouldn't it? She was in her happy place after all. They dined together, the place was not one of their favourite ones. "Come on, let's go to this new place, you will love it", he said, she pestered for a while but gave in to much of her own surprise and even more to his. They reached this place, otherworldly. It was new, beautiful and did help in bringing her back to life. By the end of their rendezvous, she had completely healed. They called for a cab. And then the magic happened. The most uplifting part of the day was that the cab that came to pick them up had a number plate of her own city. She was so excited. Even before she could properly settle in the cab she asked the driver, "How does your car have this city's number plate?"

The driver responded with his connection to the city. Just that and they resumed talking again, the boy and the girl. The ride back home was relaxing. She realised that she had not been so comfortable and so much at peace in the past whole week. She enjoyed it and wished they could stay in the back seat of a car like this, for longer. But then came his home and he left with a smile that will get him through a couple of days. Soon the cab driver began to talk. He told her all about how he ended up in this business, how in the beginning working with #Uber felt like, "It's raining money". They began talking like there was a connection. A connection that made talking easy.  The connection was none other than being from the same land. Of having shared a certain history with each other, the knowledge of those places back in their city, the names of roads and landmarks. That is what connected them. After having spoken to each other and giving way to her feminist side like always, she advised the driver, "Do make sure your daughter studies well and does all that she wants in her life."

They passed through another lane where she had spent a long time in this city. She showed him with excitement, "this right here is my college." In that very moment she realized how connected she was to her college too. This was definitely a revelation. She did not spend much time here. But again it was part of her identity. She belonged to it and it belonged to her. That's when she connected all the dots. 

She realized, amidst all the being and becoming, sobbing and laughing and all the struggles, she now belonged to her new city too, as much as she did to her own. All these years while trying to live she had created memories and when she reached home, it was not just returning to her rented apartment, it was homecoming.

"You're a little wonder"

What is the ideal of beauty ? Or what is beautiful any way ? How does one know that they are beautiful ? They say, beauty lies in the eyes of a beholder. So, is it about the beholder always ? Women are often expected to be beautiful for men. I am not making a generalized statement but stating a fact. At least that is what society will have you believe. One has to be beautiful to be attractive to the other sex. It's the heart of men which metaphorically often skips a beat when they see an attractive woman pass. Even, vice versa. But, how does it work when two people belonging to the same gender are in question. I am not talking about Homosexuality per say, because I don't think that I know enough in the area to comment but I am definitely talking about the indescribable Laws of Attraction between people of the same sex.

She had taken the road not desired but the one that made most sense. She was admitted to the college she wanted to study in. But she didn't enjoy it. She had continued to stay in the older abode and had to travel distances now. She would go to college feeling older, responsible and eager and come back exhausted, disappointed and in despair. Nothing seemed to be falling in place. She was told that things will be different here from the last place she studied in but she always thought different could mean both good and bad. She was highly optimistic. One afternoon she came home and was told by one of the fellow residents that there was a new girl in their hostel who was doing exactly what she was doing and seemed to be in real need for help or a person to talk to. My poor exhausted young woman thought before getting lost in her room which was a recluse from all the other worldly issues, a little world created by her for her happiness, she must meet this  new person who was more or less sailing in the same boat as her. She was sweaty and dirty and exhausted , she climbed up to the  concerned floor and knocked. She waited for the door to open and meanwhile contemplated the mess which was about to let her inside in the next few seconds.

After a good 15 seconds someone opened the door and what met her eyes was an unbelievable woman. A pretty but wrecked damsel of sorts. She was weepy and teary eyed. Our young woman introduced herself and received what seemed like a nod from the other side. She didn't quite understand  what happened in the last couple of seconds but still she gave her an offer to help in anything she would need help for and went back to her pleasure palace, the little room in the corner that separated her from the world outside. A couple of days later while passing by the new girls floor she thought she must check up on her and she did, hoping that the wonderful girl might still not be crying. Much to her surprise she wasn't. She was extremely elated instead and welcomed her with an apology for the last time. Offered her to sit inside her little abode that separated her from the world outside. These two women living in the same building, that was home to a hundred other women, were trying their best to be alone. Two women from two different parts of the country, two different educational backgrounds and modes of upbringing, wanted the same things from life. Our weepy beautiful girl soon declared that she was happy because she had everything packed and was leaving forever. Yes, you heard me right. The older, more experienced of the two women had given up. She did not want to go through with the torture of what was to follow. She felt like she didn't belong but only till she met our new young woman, who had recently started to feel much older.

They got into talking. Soon, the younger one began telling her the million stories about their university and how it's the most fantastic place to be. After a good 2 hours of talking our little woman had accomplished what she wanted. She had convinced her to stay. If I have not already mentioned, I should. Our little young woman was a passionate soul. Passionate about all little things in life. A thinker, a dreamer, a day dreamer, a lover of poetry, history, literature and all arts. Everything around her according to her was part of a continuously playing movie that centered around her and everyone else that featured in the background were just the filler people who are present on movie sets to show the crowd. Whoever came in contact with her was given a part in the running movie and whoever she didn't know, was well, an extra. So this was one of the many crazy ideas that occupied the mind of our little young woman. She was new to life. It seemed like she had learnt to live only recently. She had evolved from her rotten past experiences with rotten decaying people. Her soul was now much more alive than it ever was and she had recently been aware of her being, her body and embraced what is called the feeling of being in a woman's body. So when our weepy met our little wonder, she was stirred to the very soul to see the presence of so much life inside a little person.

They fell in 'fascination'. Our little wonder fell for the calm and composure of the new friend she had made and the other one fell for the sheer sense of life in the her. They began to spend most of their time together. Without realizing they were much closer than they knew. The older one couldn't help but compliment everything about her younger friend. Her hair, her eyes, her sheer sense of looking at everything differently, to the point where she believed that she knows no other woman as beautiful as her little friend, while,our little one too absorbed in the microcosm that she had created around herself basked in the sudden influx of tremendous love and care from her older friend. They were the happiest two beings possible. They longed to see each other. They visited places together. Stayed up all night, just talking. They danced and laughed together. Their laughter could be heard through the whole, otherwise awfully dull, building.They began to share each other's interests. The young woman began to go to the park to appreciate nature and love trees. Hugging everyone, or every thing, even trees for at least 20 seconds became a must in her way of life, exactly like it was in her new friend's. While, the older beauty began to visit monuments and enjoyed talking and discussing ideas and reading with the new perspective of our young charmer.

All things were great between them until, another object of beauty and love came to share the abode and led to what became an unknown competition between our two joyful buds. They grew insecure, firstly from the pain of being separated from each other and not knowing that. Secondly, from the unsaid, unwanted competition that existed without their knowledge. The third with no intention of ruining what existed and abundant love to offer came in their lives and unknowingly resulted in the remnants of two broken souls, broken friendships and broken lovers. The nights spent in contemplation of life and the conversations still haunt the two but one is too egoistic to communicate and the other two unforgiving to reconsider...

"Aaj Ki raat Bachenge toh Seher Dekhenge... " the songs they sang to each other still remind the two of each other.

Complicated relationships are not just a heterosexual luxury. Female sisterhood is one of the most complex form of relationships because we don't know how to befriend people and leave it at that. We are passionate and we fall in love. The idea of a best friend will never make so much sense in a relationship that doesn't involve women. We either make people our own or never call them friends. Two women can never completely like each other, they say. But they couldn't be more wrong in making that assumption. Two women who used to be great friends and aren't any more is not because they can't like each other for long but because they liked one another to the point of loving. It is nothing less than a broken love affair and most times even worse. One grows up and moves on from unrequited or broken love but a fall out between two girls never stops haunting them. Because somewhere the love sustains, mostly unrecognized and more often willingly neglected and subdued.