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.

"I Know"

Some things, people and memories in life knock at your door when you are expecting them the least. When you are broken and discarded and living in despair someone just comes along from the most unusual places and changes everything. You don't have to look for that someone anywhere or find them in strangers, when you're destined to meet the right person everything in the world will make sense. Everything will fall in place. You will dress up just right and be at the right place at the right time, and everything shall happen just how it was meant to be and don't overthink, don't spend time thinking what could have happened differently that you thought was terribly wrong, sometimes such wrongs are better than most rights.

She was thinking about all this and making entries in her journal, the brown leather diary with handmade sheets that look ages old and have so much character that every word dropped on the surface of those pages becomes poetry. Every leaf drawn on the sheets becomes art and every moment shared, a memory. This morning she was smiling to herself about every little thing, called everyone she could, of course didn't tell the reason behind that inexplicable happiness and lightness of foot to all but surely talked to everyone who mattered. She wanted to stand on the balcony of her fourth floor apartment and shout it out loud to the world that she was happy. It was that kind of day when she wanted to watch the pigeons on the terrace across hers, wanted to sit by the glass window as it rained and read all the beautiful stories that she could find. She could not contain the abundance of emotions. She wanted to fly high or just touch the sky. It was finally that day.

He was tired from the day's work and exhausted by the travel that he had to make and by the idea that this travel would continue to persist for the next 6 months, to say the least. He was tired but not cranky, like the public transport usually makes him. He was happy in a strange way. He didn't know why is the work, the travel, the weather, not irritating him more. He wondered whether he has grown up or something else. Couldn't really figure out what it was until he reached home and saw the date and time flashing on the TV screen and then he smiled to himself. His body was rejuvenated by a strange sense of happiness. He was surprised that all this while subconsciously he knew . He ate his food and longed to go out to the phone booth to make the desired call. He began to miss her like never before. Began to write a letter but realised he wanted a swifter remedy to aid his urge, a point of contact. He decided to go for the phone call. He waited and waited till it was time. Time to unleash his happy soul and time to hear her voice. He made the call.

She was sitting beside the telephone since an hour waiting to hear him. She had never waited to hear the annoying ring tone of her telephone like she did now. She wanted to forget her self and the world as she waited for it to ring. And it did. She took less than a second to pick it up and said the words he was dying to hear, he reciprocated but that was followed by a satisfying silence. Their voices had reached each other, it had happened. Her voice had touched his soul, had purged the urge to feel her, be near her and this silence was worth everything they owned. She began talking like they would any other day, until suddenly while she was engrossed in narrating the millions of little stories that she had in store to tell him, he stopped and said, "It has been a year". She smiled, and said "I know"

.                  

Life.

Recently I have answered many people regarding the appearance of the next blog post with either, "after exams", "soon", "after dealing with my entrances" or even "I don't know". I have stopped apologizing for my inconstancy. I really have. I have become increasingly shameless, mostly like a wall when it comes to giving answers. I am failing continuously on answering my own question, even at knowing the questions, rather, dreading questioning my own self because I know what might scare me away. My biggest fears are known to me and me alone. I am the one what can make me or break me. It's me who gets to choose. But to choose I need to ask. Like they say, to get an answer one should dare to ask the question. The blog, following all this rant has nothing to do with this. Enjoy.

Those were difficult times for them, even though the question asked to him was not appropriately at the right time but it was asked. Some how being a Hindu and a Muslim in love did come in the picture. They were together the strongest, both knew. But, family ? Who is stronger than them together, pulling you back, giving you the hardest time between what you love the most or what they would serve society on a platter? The one choice children should be granted liberty at making is taken away from them because, of course, a certain Sharma Ji, or Khan Sahab's opinion comes to play. Somehow their opinion becomes all that one has to satisfy. Marriage no longer remains an amorous bond between two people who know they are perfect for each other and will want to spend not this but all lives to follow, together, but it has become a bond carefully measured on the scale of society, caste, religion, complexion, money and every other irrelevant thing that is. Of course the certain "Sharma Ji" and "Khan Sahab" sitting peacefully at home with their own imperfect lives of themselves are better judges.

He is stuck in a labyrinth of responsibilities and why shouldn't he be. He was the eldest son of the family, had finished his education. Now, he must earn and marry and chase around and die doing all this. He ones had dreams of studying more, excelling at what he does, be bigger, marry her, be a great son, a great husband, a father and travel the world with her but now he is given a choice. Options he cannot choose between. One makes him a bad son, the other takes away everything that he has ever wanted in life. One popular but disappointing fact about Indian parents is their continuous emotional blackmailing. I will not apologize for my language because all I am sitting here to do is say the well-known but unsaid. Indian parents do not consider their children as individual people. They consider them their property which of course at the "right" time should be disposed off and paired with a particular property of another exchanger. The possibility of giving the right to choose their own companion is taken away from the children. The same children whom they trust with running the house hold, making and supporting family are somehow considered incapable of making the choice of marrying the right person. This choice is the birth right of their parents. Who were born to take it away from them. Parents without a seconds thought throw, "we have given you this life, an education" etc. in the faces of their children that they have raised them in a certain way and should be reimbursed by claiming ownership on the right of choosing their life partners. The million terms and conditions that are laid down by parents of choosing a partner if considered by the youngsters of India, I bet, no one will ever fall in love. Love will cease to exist.

He was struggling with all this along with some more issues which were further blamed on his blasphemous and socially unacceptable act of loving a girl from a different religion. Love is to be blamed, always. She on the other hand is sitting in her house waiting or hoping that he would come and see her. See her, touch her, and be together. All she wanted was him and peace and her life back and stability reinstated in his life.

Where the sun sets..

"I am a mountain person", she said. "Me too" he replied. With that thought they left for the coast together. They traveled across the nation from north to the centre and then extreme west. Not only did the languages change with each passing state but also the scenery, food, cultures, people, air and most of all their perception. The diversity of our nation was served on a platter to them in one train journey across the country. It was enlightening. While gazing at the Western Ghats passing by with each second, he sighed, "That's what beauty is, what mountains are!" They passed through a dozen tunnels that were transporting them to a completely different land. A country completely theirs yet different and what was to unfold at the end of those tunnels was nothing less than an experience worth the forty hours spent contemplating it.

They reached their destination at dusk. The sheer beauty and simplicity of the railway station made it seem like a movie. Who expects to have a hill alongside a railway platform ? The sheer joy of getting down the train onto a platform so scenic had amazed them enough to not feel the load of luggage on their backs. They were mesmerized. The air was different. The sky seemed painted with a few strokes of red and orange casting its reflection on the larger blue surface. It was out of a canvas, really. To witness something so picturesque had never crossed their mind. The smoke laden air of their city had blurred those images and tainted them with smog forever. 

At night it revealed itself to them. But, barely. It was so dark that it seemed like the night but more. They could hear loud roaring sounds and flashes of dispersing froth. "I am already scared, It doesn't end." She had carefully drawn a horrific picture in her head but what she saw and heard was worse. While sketching the mental image, she had totally forgotten about the noise its movement creates. It was an encapsulating sound that dominated all the human disturbance around. When the waves spoke, they conquered. Gathering herself and facing her fears next morning, she accompanied him to finally meet the long desired, and, there it was. An expanse so limitless that nothing they had ever seen could compare. It just didn't end. They stood right there on the sand and facing the sea for the first time in their lives. There it was, the angry field of gold, reflecting the sun on it's surface.

She was unwilling to step foot on the water that the waves brought with them to the coast. He held her hand and said, "Don't worry, I am here. I will not leave your hand". And they entered the all encompassing waters. Soon the waves started to rise and fall. Some pushed them out and some took them a few feet within into the depth and that is when she befriended the sea without knowing it. She stood there with eyes closed facing the depth of the sea and letting a few waves devour her. Soon she began to dive into them so as to be a part. A part of that whole new world which resided inside the waters, a world unknown to her, beyond her reach.

The sea still scared them at night but they continued to spend hours watching it. As if they wanted to feel the fear. It's strange how something can be so beautiful yet frightening at the same time. They sat there on the sand under the star lit full moon sky witnessing the angry waves, each night thinking about the captivating beauty of nature and the sheer littleness of us humans compared to it. 

On their journey back home, none of them declared their love for the mountains. Each time they closed their eyes they met the sea. Then came a voice from his corner, "You never really part from the sea, it remains with you, always".

Let go.

Growing up brings along many adaptations, additions and of course subtractions from ones life. Whether it is material objects or materially created people. They are friends, family, people who matter, people who mattered, people who once meant the world to you and today refuse to say 'hi' and even those who never cared and probably never will. When one decides to leave, he should. You must not try to stop them or bind them in the clutches of romantic or emotional bondage. Don't even try to make them stay. No don't. Don't try too hard. In the end, you are the only one who is going to regret it. Remember in the end it is always about you. Their sudden absence might create a void in your life. A void difficult to fill with any other. Difficult but not impossible. The most vulnerable positions are of people who matter the most. Of people you depend on. In spite of the independence one would like to claim to possess, there is always one person in everyone's life who is a Watson figure. It is the first number on your speed dial or the first call you make when in crisis. Have you ever thought what would happen when they are gone ? No ? Of course, you have not. That would scare you, probably wont let you sleep at nights. Such is the power of the most vulnerable spot in your life. The person who is your go-to, the one who is always there, the shoulder, the friend, the guardian, the adviser and even the one like your mother when you need just that, might also leave you.

By now we all are aware of the uncertainty of life and it's almost creative ability to surprise us in various ways, to turn a comedy into a tragedy and to do exactly the opposite too. Doesn't that leave us all without a "plan" in the larger sphere of life. If we are so unarmed against this army of black flags and black horses called "destiny" we will assuredly be defeated by it. So, learn to let go. If only we learn to let go of people and relationships that have unwantingly/wantingly created an undoable knot we could help repair ourselves much faster. An amended relationship is never like the one that you used to have. Also, the pain that occurs in there absence is easily bearable when compared with the one that you experience in their presence. You're together and it's still not the same ? Nothing has changed and still everything has? Their absence when felt in their presence is what might kill you. It
will cause immense pain and might break your heart beyond repair.

So keep your guard on. If it is not repairable in the first go, it will never be. This time let them go without the hope of their coming back. Not all those who go are meant to return.

Akhirkaar subha ka har bhula shaam ko ghar wapas nahin aata, kuch log door nikal jaate hain kabhi na wapas aane ke liye.

A step forward..

Their love for each other was all encompassing. They were one but they had a fair share of individual passions that did occupy a large part of their lives. She was devoted to art. All forms of art. He was a slave to poetry and rhetoric. They were both alike, in love and hungry to spend time together but they cautiously devised a "sphere of no interference". They called it so to completely rule out the issues that arise from the demand and inadequate supply of the much talked about "space". Space was very well demarcated yet fluid between them. They were so unerringly comfortable with each other that it seemed that they had always been together. Long enough to have merged together into a single being.

They spent a lot of time together. He told her all about religion and law and philosophy and she introduced him to her arts. She was shocked on the revelations he made about his religion. The misinterpretations and the lack of knowledge that society presents to an individual as a ready dish on a platter is thoroughly misleading, thus, the root cause of a million misconceptions, she thought. She learnt about their practices and the significance of those practices. It was almost as if society had stripped away the intricacies and the simple logic behind rituals and depicted them in a light that was almost horrendous. But, she learnt and understood and liked it. It was almost like an influx of something she always wanted to know. She appreciated and felt attached to the idea of that religion since she was a little girl and finally being so close to someone practicing it seemed almost like she had become what she always wanted to be, a hybrid with as much freedom to practice a religion as the nation promises.

Her involvement with the religion began early in life, when she accompanied her mother to an auspicious and pious religious spot. She loved the air, the music, the smell and everything around. She loved how people had their heads covered as they enter it. As a young girl she loved to play with dupattas. She wanted to wear a dupatta like her mother did and dance around with it. It was nothing more than a piece of cloth, a trend, that she appreciated but nothing less than an obsession. She stood near her cupboard with a myriad of colourful dupattas thinking about old times,"how simple things become complicated as one grows up ?" A pretty, colorful, decorative dupatta is a symbol of purdah, she thought. But, there is no harm in using it if not imposed. Why not wear a dupatta if you like wearing it. Why complicate things by reading too much into their significance. A dupatta doesn't necessarily signify oppression or purdah. She, for one, wore it for beauty and she loved it !

With that thought she picked out the most colorful of her dupattas and wore it around her neck, looked at herself in the mirror and and smiled. She felt beautiful. She decided to take him to the kind of "Art trips" she loved. She wanted to introduce him to that part of her that belonged to a different time, a different age altogether. She met him at the tea stall where they first met. He looked at her and smiled raising one of his brows. He meant, "You look beautiful" and she laughed because she understood. How beautiful is love when it becomes independent of the servitude of speech, when souls and silences become the new language.

P.S.- The pictures are mine, nothing else ! :)

Getting older.

I still remember my second birthday. No, I am not lying, I do. I remember what I wanted the most on my second birthday. Just cake. That's all I wanted. I wanted to stuff my mouth with that colorful creamy sweet dish, a bundle of joy. I have a video tape of my birthday where I am literally jumping from my father's arms onto the cake. But times change and so do priorities. On my third it was about gifts and actually that remained so for many many years. I remember waiting for all people to leave and the party to finish so that I could first sit around the beautifully packed presents and eventually open them. One by one. Diligently. Trying hard not to spoil the wrapping paper in the first few and eventually tearing them apart in excitement. After that it was the dress I guess. All I cared about during my teenage was the dress I wore which was again carefully thought and shopped. I eagerly waited to wear that on my birthday. I felt like a princess, I remember. In college, it was just the party and my friends. Only the amount of  "fun" that we could have. Now, it's nothing. I no longer feel anything. There is no excitement. It's like any other day. In fact it's worse because people who have not even thought about you in years will suddenly call you and say "Happy birthday", You have to call back and all. People for the sake of social formality will write "Happy birthday", even "HBD" on your facebook timeline that will eventually lead to a million notifications. Most of them are doing it so halfheartedly that they don't even put pains enough to spell "H A P P Y  B I R T H D A Y", they just signal or register their presence, like marking themselves present on a class they never wished to attend. What is the point ?

The above mentioned "fun" almost becomes a baggage once you grow up. You're expected to throw a party. Invite people. Treat them with food and hospitality. Soon your birthday becomes a social responsibility. The party almost becomes a pressure. It's like the Indian marriage concept parents believe in. You ate at mine so you ought to call me at your's. No one is no longer interested in what do you want to do for your birthday. 

What if you want to be alone and do nothing and maybe sulk about getting one year older.What if it is like a clock ticking on your head. What if you want to go away and switch your phone off and take a birthday off and maybe spend a couple of days in peace in the mountains (Mountains <3). Or sit in front of a beach, all day doing nothing. Just thinking about what has the last one year added to you or what has changed and how much have you grown. Or maybe you want to set up a plan for your next year. You might want to lock yourself up or shout on the streets. Just do it. Remember, who was bloody born on that day ? You or the innumerable ones who think about you only once in the whole year, on your goddamn birthday ? You, of course. Then live it. Live it like you want to and spend it with the people who you love and who really care for you to be around you on your birthday. Spend it with the ones who you would want to keep in the coming year and in all the years to come. It's your day after all. Make it special.

Desire

Desire. A sensation locating its place somewhere in the middle of conscience and choice. A desire buds through a temptation and then cements itself in the back, front, middle and at times all over the human mind. I know this seems blasphemous, the use of words like desire and temptation that could be read as eternal sins but do we really submit to the conscience or work towards the fulfilment of our desires ? Desire leads to happiness and everyone around the world is in the pursuit of nothing but happiness. Then why not ? Why not let the desires rule out your conscience and strive towards its consummation. At least, this is what they did. The two of them. Who were religiously pursuing each other in the midst of the hustle and bustle of the eighties while the constantly moving chariot of the sun God declared day and night as days passed.

Once they had made room for a kiss, passion flew like waters from an open dam. There was no stopping them, no looking back. Carnal love is not to be damned. Contrary to the popular belief, what it really does is bring two people more and more close to each other and finally binds them with an eternal lot. They didn't care of what the world would say. By "talking", the world did what they are best capable of. Why should they not love and exercise their own best capabilities of loving and kissing and being one. Marriage, people consider, is the sole, legitimate initiator of the exercise of such a passion. A desire for love making. It provides the license but who knows this passion is obligatory or not. Who knows if people involved in the act are only procreating and not loving. Why are the carnal pleasures assumed only to be a recourse to populate an overtly populated world ? Why is this pleasure not an outcome of unrestrained passion where love leads to procreation as a product of love and not a means to an end ?

She had her hands locked around his neck and was looking eagerly into his eyes once they had opened after the spiritual commingling of their lips in a lip lock. He was burning with desire and read the same fire in her eyes. He tightened his grasp a little more around her waist and drew her closer to himself and soon she loosened her locked hands from around his neck and let them fall through his back up to his chest. The signals had been sent and well received. She knew it was time to be swept off her feet and placed on the spongy bed and turn red the white bed sheet. It was a historical moment in her life because it was her first time. Barely had she known that it was his first too. They both swam deep into each other and were both as happy as one can be. They had never been happier or more passionate.

They were both excited but nervous. Nervous but way more excited. They had barely known where exactly to begin because the unavailability of internet had barred a lot of education that we receive today in the modern tech-savvy world. So they just followed the signals their body gave them naturally. They moved from one part to another, from the head till the toes. They were exploring each other like travellers explore new lands and make geography. They were exploring bodies and making art. Art, the form of which was common to all, yet, was different for every couple. The bodies moving slowly to built positions and shapes, only too conscious to avoid hurting the other.

And then suddenly he screamed once, twice and thrice, signalling the completion. He asked her, "did you like it". She blushed and said "of course", barely knowing whether she was done or not. Although it surely was the best thing she had experienced in all her life and wanted more and more.They decided to meet another day, the next perhaps. He left being the happiest man on earth, while she still felt his presence both around and within her. It was a beautiful feeling. They had both explored something afresh. Something only heard till then but now, experienced !

To much of her surprise there were no reds on the bed sheet to mark her chastity. She was astonished and then remembered it couldn't have been so. Was it the swimming pool that had long ago defiled her ? "Then, what is all the fuss really about ?", she thought for a minute. But she was too happy to care. There was a sudden sense of growing up, of becoming a woman. There was a welcome change in her body, or at least she wanted to feel so. She was happy. Very happy. It was worth a million such penetrations. Was something so beautiful kept away from her just because of a wall she had already broken ? She thought. Then again the face of her charming knight took over her imagination and she felt so much more in love. From then on, they were one. Spiritually, emotionally and physically, one.

Something old...

Possession. Not of people but of inanimate things. We all possess a million things since the time we are born up till the time we die. We use, over use, discard and forget. Sometimes buy, never use and then forget. But we never think about what happened to those things or try to dig into their side of the story. This reminds me of the staple autobiography grammar exercises that introduced us to the autobiography of a rupee or a railway platform. Those were like the Johny-Johny's of autobiographies, every one had read them at a certain point in life. They were among the first's to give us an insight into the perspectives of things.

All of us have felt this strange sort of pleasure in unintentionally finding a note in some old book, or even an old book lost for years, a symbolic currency, an old piece of cloth, or a vehicle that we once rode and all those things that were so dear. It some how stimulates immense joy. It is like meeting an old friend that you have been loyal to for long but had to part ways or like a lover that time and space took away from you. It is never about the object that reminds you of an older time, a simpler time and then leads you into an abyss of thought, more thought, a chain of thoughts that begin with the irrelevant thing but soon jumps to How you were then ? What were you doing in life all those years ago ? but about people. People you love or once loved and looking at it reminds you again of how the memories associated with those people are still fresh in your mind and you have completely washed away all the negativity while not even trying to do it. It all comes down to the fact that the times that people generally remember or ever wish to remember are the happy ones. All sad memories are dependent on both time and space and eventually fade. Like Prophet Mohammad said, "reconciliation is the biggest charity" not only to others but to your own selves.

Coming back to the value-less, memory-rich findings. All things that you use from the laptop, to the mobile phone, even to a diary that once was the only "hidden-treasure" you possessed or a pen given by someone you love/d, share a story. They have a story that we share with them. They are constantly a part of our whole. Each used eraser reminds me of a sketch that I once made and clothes well they just remind me that I once did fit in them.  ;) I love the idea of ruins. No wonder the whole world is after antiques which are both historically and culturally loaded. 

The monuments(can't help it) are also the biggest example of the same fact. They remind us of the stories of the ones who owned it and left them for us to make our own stories in them. Have you ever come across a tree that had a very thick bark, thick enough to bar you from being able to hug it ?
I am sure you have. Have you ever thought about all the history that it must have witnessed. In fact it must have seen an undivided India, a tree that is in Pakistan right now could have been planted in India or summers that weren't so hot and winters that didn't lock you inside. Not yet ? Now do, Think about it's memory bank and all the silences that it has maintained. Such is the beauty of old objects and ruins, they are beautiful with all their faded colors and blunt edges. In all their deformities they are still loved an are always dear.

The Woman's body.

"Dude ! Look at those boobs !", "What an Ass ! I could totally do her"

While men talk about a woman like this, they only see the outside. Simply what meets the eye. A"do-able" ass, a pair of boobs and a hole between the legs that is crying aloud to them, "Come fill me in" ! That's precisely how much a woman is objectified every day, everywhere. A woman's body is broken down into parts and sections and exposed to the unrestrained voyeurism of a "band of robbers" willing to grab, cup and defile. How feeble and base is the imagination of these men who think of the woman's body as simple a riddle as this that they can solve it in eleven minutes or so. A woman's body is much more than just that. When men say, "It is impossible to understand a woman", they are only referring to the complexity surfacing on the outside. Unaware of the maze of a gazillion complexities going on the inside.

When a woman says, "I love being in a woman's body!", She means it ten times more than a man will ever understand. The initiation of such a remark is generated somewhere behind the forehead that deserves a thousand years of praise, travels through the eyes that widen, look deep into the eyes of the unaware listener and immediately generate a spark, reaches and comes out through the curves of the lips and twirl of the tongue and is heard through the vibrations that are producing the sound effect. But, is that all ? Of course not ! It goes way deep.

Women are beautiful. A woman's body is a beautiful piece of art. We know. But, so are men. Have we forgotten The Dorian Gray and his enigmatic beauty, or Adonis for that matter ? Women are beautiful, their bodies are aesthetic, true. But there is a lot more than that. The body of a woman is a Byzantine when compared to that of a man's. No this isn't about menstruation or child birth, I am not even beginning to hint on menstruation or any biological process. This is about how women feel about their bodies. All women will agree with the declaration of Tiresias that a woman receives much more "pleasure" in the "act" than a man. Even then we find men lusting them and the act more ! That's similar to the insatiable appetite of those who only know half the pleasure of an experience. In this sense men are like the bourgeoisie, who in their pretentious nobility are only partly aware of how the aristocratic nobility actually "feels".

"Feels". Yes that's precisely what I want to reach. Women feel each and every movement of their body parts a lot more than men. They are always conscious. No there is no science behind this but yes , twenty two years of experience. We are always playing a role. Women are constantly acting it out. We know which side of our personality-rich selves have to be switched on and when. Also, please don't take it as a diabolical trait. Because it's not. Women feel every curve of their bodies and are far too aware while curving it than men will ever think about. Each step they take, each movement of their beautifully carved and kept hands, each toss of their head, stretch of their neck and roll of their eyes is carefully calculated. That's not because women fake it but because they know how to make use of it. It being their carefully carved bodies. If the human body was only a cover for the soul why would the Lord take so much pains in making so many different ones, all beautiful in their own way. We women understand that. And obviously we can't disappoint or waste any of our inbuilt talents. So, we use it.

When a woman walks past, people turn their heads to look at her. They appreciate the body, the walk but never the artist behind presenting it in that manner. Women are not only art but also the artists who exhibit their best forms at all times. An artist who knows her best colours, brushes, lines and curves. We enjoy being our own canvas. Men are surprisingly very naive in assuming that women use makeup, they dress and act in a certain way to receive their compliments. I sympathize with all those men who think like that. They fail to comprehend that the first and only person a woman is pleasing by doing all that is herself. Try telling a woman she is beautiful on a day she knows she is looking horrible. She will like the compliment, love you for saying so, but, at the same time know that you are lying, or are simply too much in love. She will never believe you. NEVER. 

The woman's body is as beautiful as a man's is, at least in it's unkempt bare form. They do complete each other. But, women are equipped with the wonderful art of making it much more artistic and heavenly. It's an inherent trait in our nature. We just can't help being beautiful at all times ! ;)

When breaths meet..

Love. What exactly is love? People complicate it. Define and redefine it. Yet, there is not a single answer to that. But does there have to be an answer ? Why can't it be limited to what one feels and what one experiences. Some things are best left unadulterated by thought. When both your body and soul come in sync to respond to their call. Go for it.

So did they. Not only did their hearts respond but their bodies too were in complete sync. He was everything she ever wished for and she was undoubtedly his imagination come to life. When they were together, the atmosphere carried a magnetic field which made his body respond magically to the air she breathed. He was still making mental images of how her hand would feel on his skin, how would the grip of her fingers hold on to him and how will the imprints of her moist lips leave a mark on his bare skin. He was picturing all this, yet there was no rush. He was contended. Life had finally begun to be nice to him.

She was a lady. And a proper one at that, he thought. The first move had to be his and couldn't decide when would be the right time. The fear of spoiling something so beautiful by coming across as a pervert was hanging like a dagger over his head. They met. Spent the whole day together and then he walked her home. She lived alone in the city. She invited him inside thinking it is the right thing to do. How could she let him go? She had not had enough of his company. She wanted more and maybe something more than just his company. The mere thought shuddered her soul. How unthinking have I become, she thought. They came in and she offered him coffee. He sat anxiously on the sofa while she was in the kitchen thinking about what would happen next. She carried a caffeinated drink, a charged body and her drugged soul on the platter and served them to him. 

Their eyes met, he stood up and before she knew her lips had made way to his. A sudden flux of passion engulfed them both and they were one. He grabbed her waist and his grip on her body immediately erased all scepticisms and unfamiliarity from their minds. They belonged to each other at that very moment and for many more to come. She held him tight close to her and continued to kiss him locking his firm lips with her beautified pink ones. They stopped kissing to only look at each other and laughed. They held each other for about a couple of hours and days passed before they knew. Now she slept thinking of him and woke up each day hoping to hold him and kiss him and touch him and feel him. He was no longer some boy she had met at a tea stall. He was someone she had always known. A part of her being.

Unwilling Enemies

India and Pakistan were two flowers of the same plant. One plucked and planted on a different land, surprisingly enough what grows is nothing but the same plant again. What was the point ?

 I am an Indian. That's my nationality. I am not an Indian only because I was born in the geographical region called India but also because this has been fed to me since I was a child. Everywhere around me be it at home, school, college; the identity of my nation has been fed to my mind. The idea of being an Indian does not come alone. It brings along the idea of being the arch enemies of Pakistan. People always define Pakistan as the other. Be it cricket matches (which, by the way, are no less than wars between the two countries) or politics or even boundaries for that matter. Indo-Pak border is not like any other. It is breathing patriotism, instead of the winds there is patriotism blowing everywhere, with songs, flags and what not, constantly trying really hard to demarcate the region, establish the fact that this is India and that on the other side, a few meters away is Pakistan. I wonder how did we become enemies in about a few months time (not to forget we all got "influenced" like they wanted, so we acted like they wanted) enemies enough to breed the hatred in all generations to come. In spite of all this, I could never recognize Pakistan as the 'other'. Aren't we one ?

Are we not a whole ? The way I see India is never without Pakistan. When I look at the political map of our country and see Pakistan as a different one, all I feel is regret. Regret of having lost something so indispensable and impersonal that I wish we had not.

Think about the places, the monuments, the markets that we will, most probably, never be able to visit. All we will see of Pakistan is what media has to show and what we have watched in films and Zingadi (the channel). Not all of us will be fortunate enough to get a first hand, personal account, telling details of how are the people, the places, the streets, the air, the men ;) in Pakistan. The TRP ratings of Zindagi are enough evidence of the amount of "hatred" Indians have for Pakistanis. The division has not only taken away a piece of land and what it has to offer, but also, a culture all together. While watching Zindagi for the first time, I wondered why do people not talk like that in India, I would have loved to talk like that. That's when it struck me, the loss of a culture all together, It ranges from the clothes they wear, language they speak, the television they produce and every other man made thing possible. But what they couldn't divide and remains immovable is the air we breathe, the rivers that comes through, the mountains we share, the feelings of many others like me in both countries who detest such political demarcations  and everything natural that was beyond their power to divide.

When one stands on a mountain top or maybe looks down from a plane flying high up in the sky, one realizes how feeble, in existent  and irrelevant are these boundaries in the eyes of the creator, who still sees them all as one, a large piece of land he created and nothing more.