Etched

It's that time again. To leave it all behind. To shake off the everyday, the expected. Move on, move forward. Lessons learnt, experiences in my suitcase, memories that will stir up in the wind, bad aftertastes washed away, palette cleansed. Yes its that time again. The one I look forward to everytime. That moment that time that month that gets me the most excited. But not this time. It doesn't feel right. It feels downright sick. The feet, they feel heavy. Not all that went past was pleasant or pretty. Heck, a whole lot of it was plain horrible and traumatic. And that's why, this time, more than ever before, should be the happiest most awaited move..to greater glories and brighter suns. But I'll trade those million bright suns in a second, if I could dig nails into my feet and ensure that I cannot move, will not move. The thunderstorms have been dark, they've been loud, they've been on most days, destructive. But I'd still much rather stay. There were these warriors, they came and went in large groups at regular intervals. They knew us not too well and we loved them from a distance. They'll never know how they changed us, levitated us, affected us. Conversations were brief, interactions always had to be hasty. The bridges from aquainted to personalised probably were never crossed. Time was never enough. And yet they were always the sun on our cloudy days, the moon on our darkest nights. They didn't know it. Of course they didn't. Even we didn't know it..that it was them. They who healed us, touched us and gave us a reason to love a time which was otherwise rife with only trivialities and inane ambitions. They saved us. Without intending to. It's the same feeling you get when you stand atop a cliff that overlooks the endless expanse of the sea. You can't dive in. You can't swim across the breadth of the entire sea even if you wanted to. So you stand, silently and watch. You experience its mightiness, its power by merely looking at the horizon and the sun that sets on it. Each time the waves lash against the rocks, each time you feel the salty sprays against your cheek, each time the wind digs cavities in your soul, you know you've been changed. Embers that will never die, have been lit in your being. Yes that's what these warriors were, they were the sea. Transforming us, overwhelming us, etched on our hearts, our minds our very existence, without ever intending to. From a distance. Endless, seamless. They're gone now. This time will never return. Youth wanes. What awaits us is seemingly bigger brighter happier. But we want none of it. This is where we want to be. Clinging on hopelessly to the memories of this ghost town. To the unspoken truth that has re engineered our identities.We don't want to move on. We want to weep and lament about a time that will never return no matter what we do. It can't return. So we choose to remain paralysed. Stuck. Rendered incapable of moving forward. Etched. I can hear it..the sound..of our breaking hearts. These tears, they will never die.I know we will remain haunted for all of life.

I hope they know who they are. Thank you, from the bottom of our hearts.

Oasis

Lost in the wilderness. Oh the great wild. The snare of the dark. The wrath of the unknown. Those creatures that lurk behind the great big oaks. The moonless night. The stars that won’t shine. Where is this. Where am I. The glade up at that distance. Searching, hoping, desperate crawls. Oh this wild, this merciless wilderness. Of people of life of unfelt emotions untouched souls. Dispassionate passions and passionate lies, thirsts that cannot be quenched and the hunger that cannot be satiated for it doesn’t exist. That gentle brook that once was of sweetened waters and caressing soils of luminescent pebbles. That wooden bridge that ran across. That hand that dipped in and felt the tingle. The hand that pulled away and dried itself on the pants. Those toes of the leper that needed the healing waters of the stream. That wooden bridge that was washed away cause it rained no more. Those empty eyes and deafened ears. The cold numb heart with embers that won’t die. That racing pulse that feels no pain. Battered spirits that will not crumble. Cherished hearts that will never bloom. The secrets hidden under that sleeve. The brazen truths that can never be seen. Oh the snare of the wild, those creatures, those demons of the oaks. That magical brook all parched cause it rained too much. Two souls that were found at two separate ends. The distance across the universe. Trapped in the same wilderness, oh so dark. All that was needed was that little wooden bridge that was washed away cause it rained no more across the magical brook all parched cause it rained too much.

Be

The lights are out, sound their sleep, happy dreams, content snores, let them be let them be. He looks at them he shuts the door, he wants to run, it cannot be it cannot be. The love they give, the joy that's make believe, the glee in their laughs and the delight on their faces, he cannot feel cannot feel. The food its great, the air its clean, the birds that chirp, the leaves that rustle, the rain that falls, the embraces of love, he cannot taste, he cannot feel, he cannot hear he cannot see cannot see. The love that is real, the home that is perfect, the goodness that they are, he cannot bear cannot bear. The life that he chose, the truth that he rejected, now he cannot flee cannot flee. We love you they say, we need you they cry, they are real he knows they are pure he knows so now he is here he is here. Every giggle every laugh oh so hollow oh so hollow, his eyes so distant, his soul so parched, his heart so grieved, his breath so laboured, this is now this is forever. He is here and will never be. That was there where it was ought to be but it can never be never be. I am here you are here we are here but I am there. Never here always there but there can never be never be. Let me be let me be.

The silhouette.

She gasps and then she asks her not to take her back..She pleads, she implores but an exit finds she none.She leads her by the hand with the faintest of whisper, a lure that cannot be resisted.The spokes of the wheel that turn to a blur.Knees that bend with the swift, smooth run.Scrawny trees and drizzles that wet the tip of her nose.The sidewalk.That mirage in the distance that was a real lake.The stream ahead that was a parched pit. The sun that always set too early and rose never on time.The smile that cast a spell and the pimple that remained.The bags that got lighter and the books that felt heavier. The giggles in the wallet and the burnt photographs.Of tears that never fell and joys that lasted longer.A time that never existed and hence was never remembered. The calls that never ended and the phone that never rang.Those high heels that were oh so cute and the sneakers that gave her back some rest.The chocolates that never melted and the peanuts that rolled off the table. The tap on the cheek and the kiss she never wanted.The love that they made and the sex that was mourning. Some laughs they got louder and the gaze that drifted longer. The street that got closer and the bridge that went farther.The silhouette that captivated and tormented.

Come home now

Come home now. We wont fight anymore. Not tonight, no.Tonight's just you and me and us. We'll forget about the things we've said and done to each other that has left our souls just a little perforated. We'll forget how there are times the hate and anger is enough to kill and to destroy. Tonight we'll only talk about the good times we've had, the laughs we've shared, the times that we tickled each other pink. When just one thought of you was enough to keep me up all night or make me believe I could fly or crush a mountain.Where just the possibility of not having you for life was enough to make me stop breathing. When being with you was the only thing in the universe that made perfect sense. Tonight will be about those nights. No, tonight we wont fight. We wont think of all and everything that has gone wrong. About how the very concept of a "us" is the most impossible, far fetched thing which refuses to show its faintest glimmer even on the farthest horizon. No, not tonight. Tonight you will come home to me. There will be love and tenderness and all that is pure and true. Come home tonight. And tomorrow, at the break of a new dawn, we'll bring out our guns again ready to ride our battleships and annihilate each other.

2010

I wish this new year has more listening and less asserting. More trusting and less doubting. More people to love and fewer to hate. More of rum and less of coke. More of patience and less of anger. More singing and less yelling. More to give and less to take. All to give and nothing to take. A desire to love but not one to be loved. The desire to appreciate in the midst of criticism. A passion for life and a loathing for self debasement. A willingness to embrace all trials and shun all cynicism. The strength to hold on and to let go. To be able to argue without offending. To recognise the difference between changing the world and changing oneself. To realise that only the latter is possible not the former. More saving less spending. More spending less hoarding. More sleep and fewer late nights. More rejoicing at the slightest thing and lesser whining at the greatest displeasures. More of tipsy and less of drunk. More kissing and less shrugging.

All of this and some more.

I am going to be happy because I have decided to be happy.

No one but me controls that.

Her and She

Just another day, like all others, where her main agenda was to irk people, rub them the wrong way, push their buttons, whilst making her seeming nonchalance undeniably clear, stand out, look down on mankind, rejoice occassionally, exude disdain usually; amongst more ordinary things like consuming a very unusual and very potent concoction of fish,milk,cider followed by a pint or more of whisky and gin all in an ample span of about 20 minutes?? Yes, yes 20 minutes is more than enough for the body to process and co-operate with foods and poisons otherwise meant to react violently. Aaah, then followed happy buzzed feelings...not the usual disdain but little sensations of euphoria accompanied by flying pigs and levitating mice. An hour later, the flying pigs and levitating mice were joined in their merriment by bouncing chairs and tables and co workers who seemed to be swimming on the ceiling without much effort...Oh I suppose she was always too caught up being contemptous and so somehow missed out on how delightful these nincompoops called humans actually were...Oh my gosh, the world is actually so, so , so......... buoyant?? Nice....or no wait..what was that feeling suddenly...umm the buoyancy was becoming very physiologically personal all of a sudden....there, there its bubbling bubbling bubbling anddddddd its all OUT......on the floor, on the sides, on top, and on the other her...the rescuer..is now drowing too...in what is usually called.....puke? Eeeewww....not so happy and fairy tale like anymore...not for the one trying to rescue anyway who'd never seen or "felt" so much vomit ever before..Oh grosss...eeeeek...She hates her hates her hates her....this stupid sick drunk girl who by the way, seemed to be still having a ball with the levitating mice and was completely oblivious it was not really flying pigs but herself floating on her own puke.....oh for the joys of inebriation......sigh.
The absolute disgust of the rescuer for the rescuee for some inexplicable reason, in a matter of mere days mutated into a relationship that is beyond cosmic. She and she today stand inseperable, intertwined, divinely bound across time and space. Yes, it was the puke...that seemigly putrid liquid gunk which was actually cement. So drink up cause pigs can fly and mice can levitate if you really want them to. You never know where you find your lost twin.

Becky and Ben

Dear Becky,

You are a wonderful person. Beautiful. Flawless. Perfect in every way. The past 8 years have been the most memorable years of my life. You have loved me like no other, cherished me, uplifted me and been with me through everything. Seen me through my highest and my lowest. You have managed to replace every shade of grey with the most delighful hues. You have given me all my dreams and then turned them into reality. Only you could have turned every impediment into stepping stones. Oh Becky, I doubt if there is anyone out there who is as passionate, as determined, as phenomenal as you. Yes Becky, phenomenal is what you are. There is nothing that Becky Lewis can't conquer. I must be, no, I am the most fortunate man alive to have you choose me. And be with me and love me all these years. But there is just one problem Becky; I don't love you. Truth is I never have. I have just been telling myself that I do all these years. But I suppose in every man's life comes a time when he can no longer lie to himself. And I suppose that time for me has come. I don't love you. The very thought of another moment with you makes me want to hang myself. Because it would be better to die than live this suffocating, asphyxiated existence that life with you has translated itself into. Your perfection, your passion, your determination and your support, all of it, is stifling. You are stifling Becky. You smother me. Your love is exactly what a dispassionate, tepid, shallow man like me needs.But its exactly what I don't want. I don't want your love Becky. I don't want you. I'd much rather live an insignificant, meaningless, aimless life without you than spend another moment of this madness mired in words like love, support and encouragement. I am aware that in another year from now, 2 at the most, I would be living a life no more meaningful and exciting than the guy with the newspaper kiosk 2 blocks from where I'm writing this letter. I will have no dreams, no rainbows to chase. Nothing and no one to stir me, fuel me, motivate me. And that's exactly what I want Becky. Dear Becky, you have given me everything and more. I just ask you for one last favour. Please leave me alone. Go away. As far as you can. Disappear. Die if possible.

Forgive the brutal candour.

Thank you but no thank you.

Ben.

Today

Today is a hot day.Well, not really. Just a side effect, I suppose, of the fact that Cafergot almost killed me. So, today I know what staring death in its face literally feels like and that a lot worse than that feeling is when that stare lasts as long as 45 minutes. Today I know that I will not be able to deliver on my promise of "THE" book. Ever. Well, not ever but definitely not by the New Year. Today I know that even though that book is the furthest thing from being "much awaited", it is most certainly one of the most important things to me and even though my failure to deliver by the scheduled time is inconsequential to the world and will fail to stir even a single leaf, it is of immense consequence to me. I also know that this major failure (in my eyes) does not make me a lesser person.
Today I know that the neurosis, for all practical purposes, is gone, is healed, has ceased to torment. Not because of some great drug or therapy but mostly because of my acceptance of it. Today I know that the moment I chose to live with it harmoniously( like people do with the extra hair sticking out of their ears), it ceased to torment me and we became friends. Today I'm happy because I have learnt that there is absolutely no need for me to try and improve upon my below-average people skills. Today I know that though A claims to love me unconditionally, it is actually B who loves me unconditionally without ever having made such a claim. Today I know that are exactly 2 people in the world who see any hope of "the" book ever becoming a reality. Today I know that the hope and faith of just 2 people is not enough motivation for me. Today I know that you have to 1st believe in yourself before you can expect anyone else to. Today I know that I can count on my fingertips......the number of people I love who love me back in equal measure. And the fingertips don't include both hands. Today I know that it is highly unlikely that I will ever put on weight before I hit menopause. I know that I could be wrong about that but that too is highly unlikely. Today I know that I will never be able to figure out why it is that everyone I ever knew or know was under the impression that I would either become a rockstar or an activist. Today I know that I lack all degree of determination and passion for most things in life. Today I finally feel that there is nothing wrong with that. Today I know that things and people that are out of the realm of my control no longer upset me or cause me anxiety. Today I also know that 99% of all things and all humans and everything else between heaven and earth are out of that realm. Today I know that I'm crazy about my husband without thought or agenda or expectations. Today I know that the mere possibilty of the fact that someday my mamma wont be around is enough to make me want to die. Today I know that the colour white suits me far more than black. Today I know that my entire sanity hinges on 3 people. And that I can never reveal the names of those 3 people. Not even to them. Today I know that you can have more than one best friend. Today I know that even though my existence has been nomadic since conception, there is no place I love and yearn for more than North East India. Today I know that there is no community, class or category of people anywhere in the world that I belong to (barring geographical and socio-economic of course). Today I know that my crystal ball is intact and infallible. And that I still am the beholder of all the tickers in my universe. I also know that you have no idea what that means. Today I know that even though I thought I have great potential for drug dependance, the truth is I don't. I just learnt that myself. Today I am thankful for the first time for the gift. The gift that I always resented and thought was a curse. The gift of the ability. The ability to maintain 2 parallel conversations. One with the person in front of me and the other with myself in my own head. All at the same time. Without any effort or confusion. Today I am thankful for that because today I know that it doesn't mean I'm insane. It just makes me super cool like those characters in sci-fi movies. Today I know that I'm happy and very content. Today I know I am my greatest friend. Today I know that I don't like people who gloat about their international travel experiences. I also know that Indians do that more than anyone else. The gloating, that is. Today I feel beautiful. Today, I am writing after a really long time. Today, I am proud that I'm thick skinned. I'm proud that I dont care that most people find me arrogant, self obsessed and unfriendly. Today I know that I'm none of those things. I'm also proud to be a self proclaimed misanthrope. Today I know that my misanthropy is their fault, not mine.Today, I know that I'm an awful writer. Today I know that though I'm not much good at most things, it doesn't bother me anymore. Today I know that I'm unique in my own weird, out of place way. Today I know that I will never try to change myself or be who others want me to be. Today I know that I will always be what I already am and have always been. Today I love myself.

.............

And then she says to me, "Hush, listen..you know how this works, don't you!..."

Oblivion by Bernice Raj

Each passing day
Shift I back and forth
'normalcy' to the absurd
Questions to the answers
Crowd to the alone

 

Details,do i care?
Yes..should I?
But no audience
No judgement,no applause,
No scope for repair

 

Pretence,the facade
Illusions,make belief
Cease for a moment
Breathe! Breathe!
Here..Put this on
Fits with the speech

 

Torpid,Decaying
Slowly fading
Yet....

The charm remains
I'm 'known' by you
You 'Know' me

Oblivion
Do i care?

 

I Bid thee...

'unknown'
I Bid thee farewell!

 

 

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.

The Doubtful Narcissist..."Was"

There are days I write well and then there are days I sound like one of those awful eassay writing enthusiasts.

But I love writing. I don't know if I'm any good. But I do know that I'm not bad and am reasonably interesting. Most people have encouraged me. Except Mike Andy (name changed to protect privacy). Yes, he writes very well and works for a leading tabloid and has, on more than one occassion asked me to give up the whole thing and admit to myself that I'm quite lousy with the pen. No, I don't hate him for that. No resentment whatsoever. On the contrary, I'm afraid that he may be the only one who's right and all the others, wrong. You see, I don't like bad writers. I firmly believe they should just stop and move on. My fear is I'm one of them and living in denial.

So, for a while I considered just putting an end to the whole lie and stop this obsessed relationship with writing. Only emails.

I'm trying and not succeeding. I can't stop. However, it has taught me a few things. For one, my writing is worth something only when I'm in an intense state of mind and when I feel a heightened sense of emotions. When my mind is a calm and placid place, I'm no good. I'm worthless. Not just with the writing. A satiated and complacent mind to me is a mediocre mind and if I accept living as a candidate of mediocrity, I render myself useless in every sense of the word.

This, in turn, has made me realise that my love for writing has nothing to do with my possession or lack of any literary prowess. Its got everything to do with me, the recluse, trying to escape from being bonded by that mediocrity and in the process, having found a real friend in the pen.

It's a fair deal I think. I won't, like I never have, try and sell you my ideas, my dilemmas, my conflicts, my demons; in other words, my bad writing. I'm beginning to get quite convinced that I am a misanthrope and a happy one at that. My writing, regardless of how good or bad, is probably one of my only tools to continue escaping the clutches of the mediocre mind I so dread. In other words, deem myself worthwhile. So, No, I'm not quite prepared to seperate myself from writing yet.

Mutant

A few things have changed since my previous blog...I'm no longer 22..I'm 23 now and I married the love of my life... now with that, a lot changed...

I felt like myself after a long time yesterday. Just being wild, getting dirty and going on a wild goose chase. Yes, I do that most of the time but that's where the difference was yesterday. It was all done PUBLICLY. That's the whole damn point. And without any dress code or of conduct which is becoming of a "lady wife".

The social life as an Army Officer's wife is cruelly stifling and suffocating. I or rather, you, have to do everything that you don't want to and you can't do anything you want. For what?
I don't get it. Just don't. And I don't want to either.

I don't know but perhaps I'm a hypocrite too. I call myself one because I know for a fact that I definitely would frown upon a loud, brazen fauji lady. In other words, anyone who's uninhibited. I wouldn't though, if she were married to a civilian. So then if I'm allowing my behaviour and conduct to be "controlled", I'm doing exactly what I wish for others to do as well. But that's what confuses me. Because you see, it's precisely what my whole crib is about. Why are we governed by a different set of rules as women in civvie street? Why must there be any rules to begin with.. All we did was marry these officers, not enlist ourselves in the Army.
It's such a gross contradiction. Life in the Army is defined and pervaded with adventure, exploration and spontaneity among other things. And yet, those are the very pleasures that an army officer's wife is so strictly forbidden from indulging in.
While I call the social life stifling and suffocating, it also happens to be exhausting at the same time. The events and parties never end. And they will never end so long as the insecurities of the senior officer's wives (in the guise of whims) exist, which we all know will probably exist beyond the end of the world. Its mind numbing how while you are suppossedly partying and socialising, you are literally on a leash of all kinds.Its almost a robotic existence, even if I may say so at the cost of sounding extremely dramatic.Just drape your Saree; all other civilised attire is out of bounds for social purposes, smile at everyone, take a bow, lick some ass and call it GRACE and REGIMENTATION.

I'm not prepared to play this hideous game.It's almost like being a Page 3 wannabe. It's far too ridiculous for my pride and dignity. I just wanted to be my man's wife and that's all I am ready for.

Yesterday was one of those rare days of me being myself and actually loving the Army after a long time. Sitting in that noisy, mangled mass of metal called the Mahindra Jeep and riding aimlessly on endless expanses of sand, dust and gravel in search of a dam. The destination which definitely didn't justify the pain and rigour of the journey was FUN all the way, for the simple reason that, for a change, we did something we wanted to and not something we had to. The experience, HENCE, was pleasurable regardless of whatever it entailed.
Yesterday was the Army I fell in love with as a kid.

The Who in the Me

Its time to say goodbye yet again. The umpteenth time in my life. It’s always been this way. The only thing constant in my 22 years of existence has been the adieu. Schooled in ten different cantonments, moving onto someplace new is something I always looked forward to. The end of each tenure; that was always the highlight in my otherwise low key upbringing. Newer pastures to roam, new horizons to explore. Every time.

I was proud to be a nomad, a vagabond with no roots and no place to call my “childhood home”. I still am proud of it. This, however, seemed to worry my father quite a bit. Of course, there was nothing he could do about it given the fact that my so called “rootlessness” (I don’t’ think that’s really a word) was all owing to his being in the Indian Army’s Infantry. He wondered and tried hard to make me feel one with our great North East and take pride in the fact that I was Assamese and that ours was the only part of India that the Mughals could never invade. Yes, I took pride in this fact which was of historical reckoning. Did it make me feel that I was indeed a child of the impenetrable, wild, nonchalant and yet superbly passionate soil of North East? No, not quite.

I could never fathom how or why I was expected to feel a sense of belonging to North East or any other place for that matter when right from the time that I was conceived, I have never been in a place or a community long enough to find any sort of permanent footing. Yes, I have developed into a fully functioning human being and evolved into a secure and “thinking” individual but no, I don’t belong anywhere. There was no place to call home. Until now.

I found home. I found my people and I love them and they love me. A kind of love that needed no reasons, no explanations and no time to evolve. It was just there.
I landed up in my North East. By default, like every other time. 4 months is all I have spent here. The shortest. Ironic. There are places I have been in for 7 years and yet it never, not for a moment, made me feel like anything other than the nomad that I always felt like. And now, 4 months. That’s all it took to realize where I come from.

For someone who always awaited “the posting order” with bated breath, my heart is broken. For someone who never could comprehend the tears that farewells bring to most people, my eyes have been welling up every day at the slightest sound of someone speaking in Mizo.
Yes, I have felt pain on separating from loved ones every once in a while and yes, I have cried on a few lonely nights when I missed a friend or two while reminiscing about the old glories. But I have never felt the kind of crippling, spirit numbing pain that I did when WE my long lost people, sang together in church one last time. “ What a friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear….”, we sang and I could faintly relate to the pain one goes through at the death of a loved one while with the quiet reassurance of peace and promise. And then we sang, “God be with you till we meet again! Till we meet—till we meet--! Till we meet at Jesus’ feet…”. Yes, we sang those words and I was no longer relating to pain.I was already dead.

There was no mistaking it. From the moment I set foot on my soil and smiled at them, I had every answer to why I am the way I am. Defiant. Quirky. Fiercely Loyal. Randomly nonchalant. Inexplicably wild and yet more tamed than the most domesticated. I know exactly why. Because I am from here. Right here, right this moment I know I am home. Even though, the nomad is moving on again. My mother always called me a “wild, wild angel”, one of her favourite tracks by the English Glam Rock band Smokie who found success in the 1970’s. She was right.I know now why I am a wild wild angel. It is because I belong here. The blood of the land runs through my veins. I am them and therefore, I am.

The Assam Regiment. 82 Mtn Bde. All its jawans and their families. THAT is my definition of North East. And THEY are what this land and my roots is all about for me. And they are all that signifies North East and home.
Tagra Raho.

The Monk, Chaang and the Hypocrite

I have been trying to quit drinking for quite some time now. For 12 years.

I am 22. I had my 1st beer at 10. It wasn't intentional. We had a "local fete" in the colony where we lived. I won the RAFFIL..is that how it's spelt? It was a beer bottle. A big 650 ml Sandpiper bottle. I lived alone at the time with my mother. My dad,in the army, being an infantry officer was away as usual. And strangely, he was and is a teetotaler. And yes, for an army officer to be a teetotaler is almost absurd if not abnormal. But he was. Nevertheless, I decided to give him the beer bottle as a 'Father's day' gift. So I did. He was touched but didn't really know what to do with it. He felt the pressure to drink it or at least try. I was looking up at him all starry eyed..I still do. A few very disgusted sips and he asked me to help him with it. Well, it was supposed to be a few sips but I, ended up finishing the whole thing. I thought I would throw up but I did manage to finish that entire 650 ml of sandpiper. Well, actually 500 ml if we are to assume that my dad managed to consume at least 250 ml of that ochre liquid which both, smelled and tasted, like urine. No,I haven't tasted piss but I have a feeling it would taste like beer if one were to try it. Maybe that's why Morarji Desai willingly drank his own piss for the sake of everlasting youth.
Few months later, Captain BS Negi (now colonel), one of my dad's favourite comrades from the days of fighting militancy in J&K, introduced me to Old Monk...I never saw myself as a girl who would "drink". This brilliant human being whom I, Indian as I am, chose to call Negi "uncle" even though he is not related to us in any way, used to come for the regular "call ons" and "regimental parties" to our house and I would watch in awe as he would guzzle peg after peg of "neat" rum, sometimes an entire bottle, in just about 2 hours. He had a reputation of being the only one who could hold down an entire bottle of Old Monk and you wouldn't even realise that he had anything to drink at all. Well anyway, amidst all that noise and chaos of partying, he noticed the curiosity in me..as to how he "managed". So he gave me my 1st rum..with water of course. And that was it. Within a couple of years I found myself wacking rum at every 'fauji' party. I was a kid and I wasn't even allowed into the bar but I managed somehow. I tried everything I could get my hands on but nothing, I believed, came even remotely close to the Monk.
My dad had and still does, a rather well stocked bar at home for his guests. He is a good host. Never drinks with them but that doesn't stop him for catering for special liquor from all over the world, to appease the specific tastes of his guests. I was 12. Being a girl, it wasn't possible for me to walk upto a liquor store and buy some. Moreover at 12 I looked 8. I had wild friends. Wild is to put it mildly. But strangely,none of them cared for alcohol. So then my only hope was to whisk some from the bar. I say whisk because I don't want to admit that I actually stole it. I realised that if I "whisked" rum from the bottles in the bar and replaced it with gin, my dad would never find out because the quantity would look the same. So that's what I did. He doesn't know till today. And never will. I realise now, the guests who were served that gin diluted rum must be wondering why it was always in our house that the Monk tatsed not so monk like.
In college, I would carry rum in my bag. Drink all the way to college while I walked the distance in winter. And no, no one ever found out. It was an all girl's college and they all thought I was on homeopathic medication and hence smelt weird. And yes, my rum was ALWAYS neat. The great Negi was my role model after all. I had to live upto it.
I even went carolling on Christmas with rum in my rucksack. And for the record, I am a very serious and devout Christian.
But in all those years, I was never happy about my addiction. I never got caught. I knew how to hold my drink and knew exactly how to just shut up and be a recluse whenever I did get tipsy. Each year I would promise that this would be the end. But it never was. There is one thing that gets me sozzled dangerously. Whisky. So I choose not to EVER drink it. Its easy since I detest it anyway.
I give up drinking every 6 months. Then I take it up again. I honestly believe that its something I can do without. It burns a hole in your pocket when consumed outside and it makes you fat and attracts attention for all the wrong reasons. So I decided never to drink ever again. And it wasn't difficult. Then I discovered something else....
I was trekking up a mountain with my dad in 2006 in Arunachal Pradesh in the North East of India. I love trekking so I willingly went up 8 kms just to visit a Buddhist village which happens to be under our Infantry Brigade..I'm glad I did because in the dark, dingy kitchen of the village headman's Buddhist home, was nectar..White...looked exactly like milk. Boiling in a pot. They offered me a taste. I took it gladly since I love milk. The 1st sip and I realised it was not milk. If you were to ever wonder what paradise would taste like if it were edible, then this would be it. They call it chaang and to me it tasted like champagne mixed with vodka. I don't know how many I had in the 10 mins that I was in that kitchen. Perhaps 2 glasses. Its been over a year now and I can't get it out of my head. And no they won't give you the recipe and if they do, its never the real recipe. Its closely guarded against us outsiders....
I am a forlorn soul now. Like in shitty movies when they meet their soulmates on a train or a flight and they know that THIS IS IT...but then they part ways and never see each other again and they keep wondering for the rest of their lives "what if"...that's what has happened to Chaang and me.

And now I confess that I have no bloody clue why I wrote this. I really don't. It's out of sleep deprivation and incessant reminders from my beloved mother that I'm a useless piece of turd..of course, expressed in more polite and civil a fashion.
I assure you that the other posts on this blog are more meaningful.
God bless you while I writhe in pain that Chaang and I shall never be one.......
By the way, I am a hypocrite. I don't like people who drink and I choose to judge them.

RAIN

...The Background...
I was inspired to write this after watching the movie "Monster's Ball", the movie which got Halle Berry her 1st Oscar. Its the last scene of the movie that made me write this. Just a muse, an inspiration. It, however , has nothing to do with the characters of that movie. Just that it made me reflect upon, how, complete strangers can heal each other because they have one common thread that ties them together...that of unspoken human pain..

Let me know why you think I chose to call it 'Rain'.

RAIN

She wakes up early this morning
to spring clean her house.
Old trunks and boxes.
Memories untouched for years,
buried under the debris;
now sift through the dust laden air.
The old rag doll with buttons for eyes,
those lifeless eyes tell the tale of...
a lost childhood
of innocence robbed and desecrated.
A child violated..not caressed
Abused and not loved
Rejected and not cherished.
...............

Across the road lives he
Photographs on the wall....
of the family lost forever..
Echos of the blood curdling screams
ring clear, still.
..................

She and he.
Two seperate lives.
Strangers till yesterday
Brought together now
By the pain
Those years between then and now
Of...
dignity striving to be found again
faith to be restored again.
They needn't share the pain...
of the yester years that haunts still......
Their souls are connected now

She looks at him today
"We'll be okay", he says
She smiles and looks away...at the horizon
Comfort
And hope..
dawns on them this morning.