Ouch!

Off late, a lot of my posts seem to be touching some nerves that weren't meant to be touched..

And hence, the sudden drop in comments. Complete silence has befallen this little, insignificant molecule on cyberspace. Ideally, my most recent posts would have invited a lot of comments and views given their content. But nope, this time around, its added insult to injury or so it seems. It doesn't seem to matter that most of it is fiction mixed with some reality and vice versa about random tales I have heard about people in a different universe. The offended choose to insist that it is indeed ALL about them. Its funny how different people, complete strangers to each other, are all absolutely convinced that each of these posts is entirely about the one complaining. And none of the self proclaimed "victims" of my malice are even aware of the others' existence...

Jeez, talk about being ridden with guilt and insecurity.. But mostly, talk about being self occupied.

Sigh. People. Moments such as these make me think of Somerset Maugham and all his wisdom and insight about people. Of course, I lack all literary prowess and thats why he was Maugham and I'm just me.

Hidden treasure

Its changed me. And its an ongoing process. This treasure inside me.

I hate sparrows. Always have. They make this constant,irritating chitter and they nibble on everything in your balcony.But for the last 4 days I have been watching this mother sparrow and its young one on our terrace. The li'l one can't fly yet, it just keeps hopping all over the place while the mother comes and feeds it every now and then. Something about that baby sparrow exudes restlessness. It seems to bother its mother more than most baby sparrows do. I say so with confidence because I have often watched sparrows in the past as they chew away and destroy our plants and return undeterred no matter how much you try to frighten them and hence, my resultant hatred. But this particular one seems rather disinterested in nibbling or the usual activities. All its been doing is distressing its mother. Its very evident. The mother has been as facilitating as she possibly can but I suppose she could take it no more when she finally decided to abandon her young one yesterday. She never returned. And all of yesterday the tiny little deserted bird has been hopping and chittering without ceasing. But all of this "was". This morning I found it dead on my balcony. Dead from fatigue, dead from abandonment. Ordinarily, the sight of a dead sparrow would have given me much joy but not today. It has depressed and scared me no end. To know that the cold, uncaring heart of a mother is enough to kill a young,tender soul. And then there was the movie "Grand Canyon" last night where Claire has sleepless nights after she discovers a deserted baby under the bushes.

Its difficult to explain really. I can relate to Claire. Things distress her. The state of the world and the depravity, the nonchalance. And yet that baby renews her hope even as it gives her something more to worry about. Like Rob Thomas sang, "All night Hearing voices telling me That I should get some sleep Because tomorrow might be good for something. I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell I know, right now you can't tell. But stay awhile and maybe then you'll see A different side of me."

But yet, amidst all of this conflict in my head and heart, that treasure, that little bundle inside me right now gives me this peace and sweeps over me with inexplicable love and anticipation.

Yes, my child to be, you are already changing me, confusing me, exhilirating me, distressing me, all at the same time. My already mangled head, for the 1st time, is looking forward to every part of this new conflict.

Because I love you already and love understands no reason.

Revised Edition

Someone I hold in very high esteem has given me some advice. Turns out, I have mentioned my age far too many times across various posts in this blog. It seems like I'm trying to almost rub it in? Well, I did that because I believe that understanding something in the context of age adds a whole new dimension to the experience. A 9 year old's response to witnessing a murder would be very different from that of a 32 year old. Nonethless, I have decided not to mention my age anymore.
While I was going through each one of my posts to figure out how many times I've made mention of my age, I happened to read "Mutant", posted on Friday, November 23, 2007. And I realised that I need to make a few very significant changes to my views expressed there. I could have edited that post itself but that wouldn't do justice to the fact that I really believed those things when I wrote them but have changed my mind since. A garish eye opener in the time that has elapsed between November 23,2007 and now.
Following are the revisions in my views:
1. The women are not necessarily stifled and suffocated. If anything, they have more opportunities here than anywhere else to express their "skills" and "talents". On most days its bordering on cabaret performances.
2. 85% love the fact that they are living the life of a page 3 wannabe. I had overlooked the fact that most women everywhere, by nature, would give anything for so much glamour.
3. 95% don't mind that all things formal translate into a saree.
4. They also love that the partying, socialisng and things begining and ending with the letter "A" are neverending. Its the ideal place for cut throat competion while you get also get to look drop dead gorgeous at the same time.
5. The ass licking will never end because the lickers love the ass.
6. They will all crib all the time about how much they hate it. But make no mistake, its all a superbly executed act. They love doing all of the above and if possible, will create more "avenues" for healthy interaction or was it cut throat competion or perhaps outlet for projection or whatever.
7. You must watch and guard yourself at all times from them. Its a gruelling, ruthless race and we all know what the prize is.
8. I'm digging my own grave by saying all of this.

So, as I learnt, I'm a misfit and I'm probably the only one who feels suffocated and stifled. But I was born here and I will probably die here. The sound of the bugle in the wee hours of the morning and the mangled mahindra jeeps and the spirit of the selfless jawan is what will keep me here. That's what brought me here in the 1st place.

I know I sound like an absolute hypocrite.

P.S. The only thing I seemed to have judged correctly back then was the fact that it is indeed, nothing short of a feudal set up. Only difference being, the peasants in this case adore tilling the land round the clock. The fruit, oh well, we all know what it is.

Stuck

I miss my room in that red building. I miss it in winter. I miss all those autumns and winters on weekends where the whole place would be empty and I would run down to catch that last plate of breakfast before I would come back up and have a hot, hot shower before 9 am. I miss walking down that beautiful boulevard with that glorious winter sun in my face with that last hint of fog before it completely disappears at 11 am. I miss meeting her on that crowded bench and just talking. I miss watching and imitating those giggly, mindless women that walk past us. I miss watching movies with her. Walking around aimlessly in Sector 18. Those chicken rolls just outside the gate. Dancing to the horrid bollywood music playing in the background as we would walk down that slope of sector 18. I miss socially embarassing her. I miss those getaways to that pastry shop next door as that lady would waltz in and ask the guy behind the counter for her favourite chocolate MOUSE. I miss laughing our heads off as we try not to choke on our truffle cake.
I miss her. I miss those winters from that red building.

And I also miss you and how we were when I was a part of that red buliding. That one glorious winter and spring. I miss your messages on my phone on those cold mornings under my quilt. I miss that 1st coffe with you down the road past the two red lights. I miss holding you as we thundered through traffic on your machine everyday. I miss how you smelled for the 1st time when I sat behind you and tried to keep from freezing. I miss the endless cups of tea we had at that little run down tea stall. I miss being the 1st and probably last girl to ever dine at Shambu's dhaba. I miss how Shambu always knew that you would ask for an extra "makkhan ki tikiya". I miss feeling extra cold with you everyday when we would cross that particular stretch on Ridge Road. I miss you wearing your windcheater the other way round so I could shove my hands in and feel warm as we rode on your bike.

I miss me in that red building in winters. I miss waking up and washing buckets full of clothes for hours. I miss watching One Tree Hill on my 14" telly. I miss walking down to Gole Market to buy toiletries. I miss walking down there for a haircut. I miss Sunday Mornings where I would run up and down the stairs for breakfast and then hope to get hold of that last bit of hot water for a shower. I miss doing all of that in a tearing rush to make it to church just seconds before 9 am. Oh I miss those services of DBF. I miss their worship. I miss the discipline and order there. I miss haggling with the autowalas over 5 bucks. I miss buying chappals from Janpath. I miss just being alone, with myself as I meander through countless bookshops with a cup of hot chocolate in my hand.

And then I miss that other world. I miss waking up and seeing the entire valley from my corridor. I miss the cackle of those geese. I miss listening to the Lohit River gushing past the bedroom window. I miss all those faces. I miss saying "Tagra Raho" and meaning it. I miss that little tin church. I miss their beautiful soulful Mizo voices as we would sing our hearts out. I miss those services that had no order. I miss that I was one of them. I miss that feeling that overwhelmed me when I finally knew where I was from and that this was home. I miss my people. I miss the convoy we travelled in. I miss the incessant rain. I miss that they loved me and I loved them back so effortlessly.

I miss that both these worlds, of the red building and my roots by that river in the opposite side of the country co-existed. I miss it so much. All the time. Everytime I lie awake in bed.

I have been everywhere and nowhere until these two worlds happened to me. I have had wonderful, glorious times everywhere but they all seem unreal after these two worlds came and swept me away.
I never knew that fond memories could be so painful until now. As my heart quietly moans to be in those two worlds again, it has to learn to accept that it can never be.



And then she, from that bench, said, "Hard to understand how a part of us can just live and carry on,actually thrive on the fact that somewhere,somehow we are stuck!! stuck on to things that make the present just fade away sumtimes...stuck on to things which just come alive when everything else seems so dead...stuck on to things which give us wings when others just pass us by...stuck on.....Painful as it is....i live by the sound of that laughter.....laughter that just echoes in my ears...i live by the memories so alive in my head...sometimes i fear they may spill out into real characters....i live because i know that someday we'll be sitting here again..just to start off from where we had left..not once feeling the absence of time gone by..so i choose to be stuck to this world in my head..i choose to bring it to life...i choose for now to let the tears fall.i choose to live and relive what we share.....i choose to be stuck.....as i sit on that bench..................now alone..

I wonder what you , with your turned around wind cheater and they, from the river, will say.

EVOLUTION

Most people I know are convinced. And also determined, to make me admit that I am rebellious at all times. That hostility and resistance are what primarily characterise me. I don't argue with them or try to make them see the truth about how they're completely wrong about me. Maybe I should. Somehow I don't feel the need to.

Today is one of those days I felt I should do some justice to myself and set the record straight with the world just for the sake of doing it. And, since 'for the sake of it" is the key phrase here, I chose this insignificant blogspace.

I am small. Undoubtedly, unmistakably. That's the 1st thing you would notice about me. I look like a teenager and as a teenager I looked like a child. This, I have been reminded of all through my growing years by my friends, my peers and almost anyone I interacted with. Sometimes it was because they felt affection owing to my miniature size, sometimes out of sheer surprise..like an exclamation, "Oh, you're such a tiny li'l thing". But a lot of times, reminders were just cruel jibes.

Of the many schools I have been in, the one that supposedly educated me in my 3rd grade had to be the most horrifying and significant, both at the same time. It was there that I was bullied to no end. Every moment was replete with absolute submission and humiliation by these 3 girls who were my classmates. The ring leader was a gargantuan daughter of an obscure teacher, where the latter had no dealings whatsoever with the 3rd grade. But the fact that she was a teacher was enough to instill absolute fear and demand complete allegiance to the next of kin. We shall refer to the bully queen as the G- Woman as an ode to her "gargantuan" size. And no, G-Woman wasnt just seemingly massive in relation to me. She was larger than life by any reasonable standard of measurement. She took advantage of my pixie proportions and made me do everything from picking up her left over crumbs to cleaning her muddy shoes with my hankerchief to always making me the thief in every game who everyone else chases to pound. No, it wasn't even remotely amusing then, though it is now. The slightest hint of resistance would promptly earn me a tight slap or have me go home with a completey ripped shirt. As you would have gathered, on more occassions than one, I would go back in tears, narrating my tales of woe to my mother and grandmother, whose house we were living in at that time.

At first, my tears were met with oodles of sympathy and lots of cajoling. After a few days, my mother couldn't take it any longer. She threatened me. This is what I was offered:

A. I was to sort out my fights at school itself. I was to stand up to G-Woman and fight back and take no more nonsense.

B. If I failed at option A, then I was to dry my tears before I returned home and never whine again. If I ever came back home and cried about being pickled by G-Woman and her gangstas, I would be awarded double the inflictions at home by my mother.

Wow, that had to be the most cruel thing a wee girl could possibly hear from her own mother. At that time it crushed me. But in due course, it achieved what my mother had intended. It changed my life. No, I didn't turn into spiderkid or one of the power puff girls the next day who went back and wham bammed G-Woman and the Monsters. I was still tiny and still very vulnerable. I continued gettin bullied and and would wipe my tears before getting back home. But in a while, I taught myself to be smarter and elusive and stay out of G-Woman's sight till I reached a point where I could just refuse to listen to her. Ha! No, I didnt reach a point where I could actually give her a flat big NO. We got posted out and changed schools again before that dramatic, historical moment could grace the 3rd grade. When I reached my new school, I had changed. I was always on my guard. I bullied the bullies before they could bully me. And I soon learnt and saw the wonderful truth that size had nothing to do with power or intimidation. With the passing years, I went from active aggressive to being Robin Hood of the bullied, downtrodden lot. Do you get the picture? I was the crusader who would protect and stand up for the losers in school. The evolution kept getting more and more pronounced till one fine day at 15 I stopped and said, No More. I was tired. But more than that, I didn't need all that anymore. It really was one fine day. Just like that. I was sure that I was secure and fully functional and deep inside I wasnt too fond of company. Maybe that's what got me into trouble in the 1st place. My size and the fact that I was aloof is what increased my vulnerability as that 3rd grader. I realised it after 8 years. But now, I was fine. I had arrived and I was happy and at peace. I went back to my pre 3rd grade self. Loving my own company and restricting my sociability to being an aqcuaintance to most people.

I had evolved into being what I was always meant to be. A recluse. No, I'm not a rebel and neither am I hostile. I just love to be on my own. I don't want the limelight. The so called crusader or rebellious monster in me awakens only when the world tries to tinker with me and tries to tell me what I ought to be doing. I have no complaints if I'm a mere shadow, a silhouette in my immediate universe. All I have ever wanted is to be just left alone. And I have had to change myself completely in those 8 years to just achieve that. Its such a paradox. To be alone, I've had to take on the world. Those small, local worlds which are, to us, the whole of this planet. I have come a long way since then.

Most of you must be quite disappointed at the seeming incoherence of this tale. Perhaps it is. Incoherent, frivolous and just plain bland.

But to me, its my evolution and my identity.

Just to let you know, conditions DO apply here to me being a recluse. Whenever fingered or disturbed, the Loch Ness Monster will most certainly emerge.

This was suppossed to be an entire chapter in my imaginary book which, I would like to believe, will be a reality some day. Damn, I shouldn't have written this blog.