On the way home

Sitting at the edge of her bed, flipping through the pages of her book, she felt a sense of déjà vu. And this wasn’t just one of those times when the moment felt strangely familiar, even though it had never happened for real. It was those times when it actually had. Unfortunately.

She went back a year in time, like how they show in movies, with the scene turning into varying shades of gray.

She was sitting on her bed, the same way she was sitting now, reading ‘The Kite Runner’ and trying to focus on an otherwise beautiful book. And she would have found it beautiful too, if only her mind would let her focus on the writings on the page. But the words were getting blurry and doing a little dance, making it extremely difficult to concentrate. Her eyes were glazing over and she knew it had nothing to do with the book she was reading. It was something entirely different.

And with that confession that silly smile made its appearance on her face. Again. For the hundredth time that night.

She was beginning to feel stupid. Smiling like that all by herself. But she couldn’t help it. Nothing she did could wipe that smile off. And she was ok with that.

Her thoughts went to the day’s events. She wanted to skip all the mundane regular unimportant stuff and get to the part that had her smiling like a fool. But she liked to go over the entire day, hour by hour, until she reached her favourite part.

And so she did.

The day had begun like any other day. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing special that would give her a hint of how it would end. She was in an ok mood and was getting ready to go to work.

She reached the office to find that there wasn’t much to do at the moment so she went about checking her mails. Bills. Mutual funds. Bank statements. More bills. Wow, she thought. The only people who care to write to you are those who want to get money out of you.

She was about to log out of her account when she saw a mail from one of her friends-Sean, also her colleague here at work. She turned around in her seat and saw him typing away at his desk. Funny that he should be mailing her when he sat just a few feet away from her. Or maybe it was work related.

She opened the mail and read the only sentence he’d written: “let’s go for beer later, ‘cuz I’m fed up with work.”

Always been a guy of few words when it came to writing, she mused.

“Yeah sure,” she replied back to his mail and logged out.

She went about doing her work for the rest of the morning, had her lunch at the cafeteria with a bunch of her friends, which also included Sean. He cribbed about how annoying everyone was and how people just did what they were told, without any inputs or initiatives from their side. He complained of how people didn’t care about what they did as long as they were being paid at the end of the month. He worried that people were getting even more selfish with each passing day and that no one cared about others anymore.

She smiled to herself. This discussion was typical of Sean. He’d always been a person who worked with great passion and love for what he did. He loved being out on the field, interacting with people from different walks of life. Being with them, talking to them, hearing their problems and finding a way to help them- that was Sean. Making himself useful was the only way Sean was happy, and spreading a smile everywhere he went, especially with children, was the highlight of his day.

Even here at work, he tried to do the same thing, even though some of his methods weren’t quite in agreement with the top management. His ideas were too radical or unconventional for them to swallow. But Sean fought to get his way, and more often than not, he succeeded. Because they knew he had the ability to prove himself right. And he almost always did.

Back in her room, still struggling to read, she was getting restless. She wanted to skip to the good part now.

After lunch was over they all went back to their work, which had taken on its usual pace, gathering momentum as the day progressed. They didn’t really have the leisure to sit and chat now and everyone was hurrying up with their own stuff, wanting to get it over with, and without any interest.

She paused in her work for a while to take a quick bathroom break. On her way she sneaked a look at Sean’s desk and saw him busy with a video game. Again she had to smile. This was typical too. While everyone went one way, Sean went the other. He took his breaks whenever he wanted because it depended on his moods. Sometimes he’d sit at his desk working for 3-4 hours at a stretch, not wanting to lose his flow. And when he took a break, it was while others were typing away at full speed. It made him look like he was wasting time or wasn’t working hard enough. But that wasn’t true.

He saw her spying on him and flashed a smile. “Hey there sweetheart. Ready to go?”

‘Sweetheart’. Sure. That was the other thing about Sean and her. They were the closest friends. They’d known each other for over a year now and there was a certain comfort level they shared that allowed them to flirt with each other like this. Harmless flirting. It was never serious. “Have you seen the chicks around here?” he would ask her, even though it was a rhetoric question for him. “They’re either married, have boyfriends or are ugly. You’re the only semi-pretty woman here who ain’t married. And I’m hot. So you should consider yourself lucky,” and he would wink at her. She would reply with a smirk and tell him that he was way too modest.

It never went beyond friendship for both of them, they’d never even thought of it. Besides, there was nothing more than friendship that they were looking for from each other. He had his priorities and she had her reasons. They were ok with where they were and had no issues that it wasn’t going anywhere serious. Its how they wanted it to be. Without any complications. “Once people start dating it just kills the fun,” he’d always say. And she agreed with him.

Anyway, moving forward.

She was packing up and getting ready to leave office. Sean came up behind her and whispered furiously, “if you don’t hurry up I’ll either kill you or somebody else for sure!”

She grinned and picked up her bag. “Let’s go.”

She stood at the gate and waited for him to get his car. When he drove by the gate, she got in and had barely closed the door when he sped off. She fumbled with her seatbelt and asked him what was wrong. He simply shook his head and continued to stare at the road ahead, only stopping to glare at passing cars if they over took from the left or to honk at those in his way. She knew he was pissed but she waited for him to calm down.

They got to his favourite club and took his usual seat. He nodded at the girl behind the reception desk and at the guy who came to take their order. He was a regular at this place and everyone knew him. Actually people knew him wherever he went; he was quite a known figure that way.

They placed their order, and got talking. She was doing most of the talking initially, knowing that sooner or later he would burst and tell her what was wrong.

Skip, skip, skip to later.

They’d finished their beers and were back in the car. He said he’d drop her home. But before that he wanted to take her somewhere.

There was this place somewhere on the outskirts, a bridge that over looked the only river that passed through the city. It was supposed to be a beautiful sight this time of the year (winter), with a thick layer of mist over the waters and dim lights showing through. With a chilly wind blowing over the river, it was amazing. That’s what Sean said.

He was shocked that she hadn’t seen the place ever, inspite of having grown up in the same city. “You have to see it!” he’d insisted in the club. And he told her he’d take her there.

So there they were, driving off through a place that was as remote as any place could be. The roads got narrower and winding, and the winds got chillier.

“You’re sure this is where it is?” she asked him uncertainly.

“Yes. Just wait till we get there.”

When they reached their destination, he parked just before the bridge and they got out. They walked towards the narrow concrete bridge, right till the middle and then looked beyond.

It was, indeed beautiful.

He asked her to bend over the ledge. He wanted to show her the little fish that swam on the surface. Even with the fog, he said you could see tiny specs of gold in the water.

“No, I’m not looking down. I’m scared of heights,” she said.

“C’mon,” he said, holding her arm. “I’ll catch you if you fall. Now get over here.”

She tried to run away but he held on to her and took her towards the railing. Still terribly scared of looking down, she closed her eyes and bent forward.

“Do you see it?” he asked eagerly.

“Mmmhmmm”, she mumbled.

They stood there in silence for a while, taking in the scene. It was getting colder and they walked back to his car.

“I’m so tired,” he sighed as he got into the car. “Wish I didn’t have to drive.”

“Well, if I knew how to drive, I would,” she offered.

“You don’t know how to drive?” he asked as though it was a huge flaw. “Let me teach you!”

She looked at him as though he was crazy. “Yeah right.”

“No seriously. I will. Hold on till when we get to a broader stretch of the road and a little more light. Then I’ll teach you,” he told her enthusiastically.

She seemed uncertain about the idea, but his excitement was contagious. “Ok,” she agreed with a grin.

When they got to a safer place, he stopped the car and asked her to get out and come to the driver’s seat. He shifted over to the other side and she got in. She closed the door and looked at him. “Ok. Now what?”

He told her to put her feet onto the brakes and accelerator and hold the steering wheel in a 10 and 2 position, like that on a clock. Then he looked around as though trying to figure how he was going to teach her how to drive, while sitting on the passenger seat, giving out instructions without actually being in control of the car.

“Hmmm. Ok this is not going to work. Hold on. Get out for a second,” and saying so he pushed the driver’s seat backwards to make more room in the front. He stared at the seat for a moment and then climbed on to it. He adjusted himself towards the rear end of the seat and said,” Ok now come in.”

She looked at him and at the seat. “On the same seat? With you on it? Where am I going to sit then? There isn’t enough room for both of us.”

He seemed to think otherwise and told her to get in. She tried to get into the car, head first. That didn’t really work out. Then she tried going in backwards. Not the best way either, but somehow she managed to sit on the seat, still unsure of how she was going to drive.

He told her to move her feet so he could fit his in near the brakes. That meant she had nowhere to keep her own. After a lot of struggling she sat cross-legged on the seat, not knowing what to do. In doing so she accidentally elbowed him in the stomach and he let out a yelp.

She turned her face around and saw his face contorted in pain. She knew it wasn’t funny, but she burst out laughing at the hilariousness of the situation.

“Shut up, this isn’t funny,” he croaked, and tried not smile. But he eventually did. And both of them doubled over with laughter, in whatever little space they had.

She turned her face to him again, wanting to say sorry amidst the giggles. And out of no where, without any warning, he brought his face an inch closer and kissed her.

It was a soft gentle kiss. And it was over before she realized what had happened. She looked into his eyes, and smiled.

He grinned in his boyish way and said,” Boy. It’ll be awkward at work tomorrow, won’t it?”

The moment had passed.

They drove back home, talking all the while. But not about what had happened.

Back on her bed, she was smiling again. She loved what had happened that day and couldn’t shake off the feeling that came along with the memory. It didn’t mean much, she guessed. But she couldn’t wait for tomorrow so she could see him at work and decide for sure if it would be awkward.


Fast forwarding to the present, she thought about that day a year ago and even now, it brought a smile to her face. Only this time it was accompanied by tears rolling down her cheeks. Everything was different now.

That day after she and Sean had briefly kissed, she’d seen him at work. She’d waved at him from her desk but he hadn’t waved back. Maybe he hadn’t seen her. She mailed him, but no reply. All that day he hadn’t said a word to her. Even when the day had ended, there was nothing.

And so it was, the next day, the day after that, the week and the whole of that year. He never spoke to her after that day in the car. No explanations, no reasons- nothing. Every time she approached him he would make up an excuse about being busy, or simply refuse to talk.

She didn’t know what had happened, or why he wouldn’t talk to her. All she knew was that whatever they had had was over.

She cried softly, the tears smudging the writing on her book. Even after all this time, it still hurt. She missed him. But he’d never know. He was just a memory now. And she hoped that someday soon it would fade away, just like their friendship had.

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Dedicated to every person who has ever been a part of Alien Arts

posted on Friday, 22 October 2010 at 12:12


Last night as Kushan and me were driving back home, we were talking about the experience we'd just had. We'd, as he put it, " just walked out of the premier of our second film." And the feeling was unbelievable. Thanks to friends like Samir and Shweta, I have been fortunate enough to feel like a star every time one of their films is out. And there's no words to describe the overwhelming emotions that run through each and everyone of my co-stars. And in every case, my friends. If it hadn't been for these two people, I would never have been part of the filmi world. And knowing me I would have never got the chance either. But with every film that Samir and Shweta come out, the experience is incredible. The hours of planning, shooting, meeting up for rehearsals..the hard work is worth it. Because once the movie is finally made, there are premiers planned at Samir's place with fabulous food and great fun. And the most important part is the feeling of love for us on their part. Its beautiful. I mean the movie could have been shared through a pen-drive in a classroom. But they make it a big deal and plan get-togethers and make personalized copies of the movies with little notes tagged in each case. Its amazing. They make us feel like celebrities. I love you both, Samir and Shweta. I'm incredibly lucky to have known you. And i speak for everyone as I say this.



Thank you. And all the best in every one of your endeavours.



Love always,

Nish.

How I got to be a Writer

For a long time now I’ve been meaning to write a post that, had I titled it, would read- “how I began writing” or some such autobiographical title. I want to write about my love for writing, my experiences so far, the good, the bad and the downright ugly.

But believe it or not, this is my fifth attempt at writing this post. Everyday I sit to write, I type a couple of lame, half hearted sentences and I stop. If I want to sound all writer-ish, I could label it as ‘writer’s block’. But I’m not sure if that’s what it is. It’s funny though- the fact that I can write my way out of anything, but I simply can’t write even one paragraph about how much I love writing.

I want to go back in time and figure out when I discovered my ‘talent’ (as some call it) to write. And even though I can’t remember the beginning of this journey, I do remember that I loved writing even before I realized that I’m pretty good at it.

It began, I guess, when I was in school. English had always been my favourite subject. I would read my English text book even before school term began. And I always dreamt that one day I would write one of those stories in that book. And not to say that I didn’t try. I’d tried my hand at writing a book when I was somewhere in the 6th or 7th grade. A couple of my friends and me were writing a combined book that resembled some of our favourite books at that time- the Sweet Valley Series, the Baby Sitters Club Series and the likes. I’m sure you could imagine what it was like at that time. Three girls huddled together on the school playground, talking in hushed tones discussing how to introduce ‘Lisa’s’ boyfriend in the next chapter, or whose parents should get divorced to add to the plot.



That book never got further than chapter 3, and that too only because all three of us were assigned to write one chapter each.

But even though the dream to become a writer didn’t materialize back then, I didn’t cease to dream. I told myself that I just had to wait until I got better and the urge to write was so overpowering that words would flow out of my head and onto the paper with absolute ease.

After that childhood attempt at being a great writer, I moved on to writing more serious things for the school magazine or for the endless public speaking competitions. I still remember the thrill and the pride I felt when my article first appeared in the school mag. And that feeling I got on seeing my name in print made me decide that I want to become a writer.

I initially confused my want to write with becoming a journalist. Somehow I thought that only journalists could write and be recognized for the same.

So I went on to be trained as a journalistic writer. In graduation I began writing news reports, news scripts and the likes. I wasn’t that great at it, but it always read like a report. And somehow it didn’t make me happy.

But then there were classes where we could write about a given topic in just about any way we chose to. We could write in any style. No rules, no formats and no defined structure. I wrote to my heart’s content in those classes and that’s when it hit me that I was so in love with writing and that I wanted to do just that all my life long. And it was during that time that I wrote one of my best pieces about the sea. Something that amazed people and showed them that I was good. And from that day onwards, there was no stopping me.

Even though I’d always kept a diary when I was younger and would scribble notes to myself anywhere I went, I now kept a book and a pen with me to put my thoughts into words. And I realized that I loved the feeling of a new thought taking shape in my book.

I don’t know how good I am at this, but I know that I’m not bad. I write to express and not to judge my self or my writing skills. When people tell me that I write well, I often wonder if it’s true. Because I never know whether it’s a good piece or not. For me, if my words feel good, if they take me to a different world, if they flow in a rhythm, like music, if I’m happy at the end of the piece, if my thoughts and my personality and my life reflects in what I’ve written, then that’s all I want.

I’m not always inspired to write. There are times when I have to try over and over to get something written (like this post) and still not get to the end. The writer in me doesn’t always take over. And that’s when I really struggle. I remember writing for the college journal. I had to do a piece on our trip to the Dangs. And I sat at my desk for so many days to write something that gave justice to the people of the place. But it just didn’t come. And then one night, out of no where, it hit me like a tidal wave and I sat for two hours straight in the night and wrote an 8 page long article that got great reviews.






Another time that I wrote solely on inspiration was my piece on Mumbai. I was sitting at a cross in some place in Mumbai in the early hours of the morning, listening to Iktara (a song from the Bollywood movie ‘Wake Up Sid’) and watching a bunch of guys playing volleyball and another man training his dog on the football grounds. And it just came to me. Word after word, emotions at their peak, feelings so over powering that they just didn’t stop coming. I had no paper or pen with me at that point of time. And so I kept my words running in my head all through the day, adding more thoughts, new ideas, and more people into what had begun as a simple travel piece. I spent the entire day in Mumbai with my head bursting. And when I finally got back home to Baroda, I sat down and poured everything into my book. I wrote like a maniac, like there was no tomorrow. And the result was fabulous, if I say so myself. It was an incredible piece of writing and so was the feeling when I finished.



And the most recent thing that I wrote was about a friend and his work, during a media law lecture, sitting in the last bench. One hour and 10 pages later (I can’t write short stuff) I looked at my work and I couldn’t wait to show him.

So this is what I’m talking about. I can only write when I want to, only when my heart wants to (I know it sounds cheesy, but it’s true). Like right now. After several attempts to write this, I finally did so today.

I can’t see myself not writing ever. You know how a man feels lost if his sight is taken away from him? That’s how I would feel if my writing was taken away from me. (I know that this wasn’t a very good example, but I’m hoping you get the point.)

In the months of May, June and July 2010, I had my articles printed in the Times of India, some with my by-line. And I absolutely loved it.

But last month, I got my first magazine by-line in India Today’s supplementary Simply Gujarati, and I just can’t describe the feeling of seeing my name in ink. I want to do that everyday and feel that way every day of my life.

I’ve realized that I’ve written 3 full pages in MS Word and now I need to stop. I’m glad that I got my writing streak back, and I hope to write something good really soon.

No man's Land: the Ayodhya verdict

After much contemplation and amidst tight security, the Ayodhya verdict was finally announced by the Allahabad High Court on September 30, 2010 as the people of India waited with bated breath. With the majority agreeing on the decision that the 2.7 acre land will be split into 3 parts and distributed to all teh parties in dispute: the Ram Lalla idol to Ram, Nirmohi Akhara gets Sita Rasoi and Ram Chabutara, Sunni Waqf Board gets the rest.


Before the verdict was declared, the streets bore a deserted look as people preferred to stay indoors anticipating trouble. The verdict was on everyone's mind and every household was talking about the same thing. It was one of those few times when all of India concentrated on just one issue. Opinions differed to a large extent, as was expected. But speaking to those around, I got the feeling that more than deciding which religious party should win possession of the disputed land, people were more interested in getting it over with. The verdict had been postponed and shifted and delayed for way too long, with no solid results. Even if you see now, it's no ones' victory. No one won or lost. This seems like quite a fair verdict. But this also means that those not satisfied with the judgment can still appeal to the Supreme Court.


Most people I spoke to were of the opinion that instead of fighting over what was and whose land it is or whether a temple or mosque should be built, why can the land not be used for the good of everyone? Build a school or a hospital or a playground or an orphanage or old age home. Something that people can actually use for productive purposes. If the parties are so concerned about religion and God and His sentiments, then shouldn't they follow the principles, teachings and ideologies of their religion and concentrate on Humanity first?


If it were up to the people I'm pretty sure that a sensible decision would have been made. Not to say that the current verdict is not sensible. It was a much expected judgment and the judges have given a decision as best as they could.

Maybe this fight will never end. Maybe not everyone wants an end.

Untitled

This post is dedicated to Rushabh Gandhi, from his perspective.



" As I stood in the crowded room, I could hear the constant chatter around me. I didn’t have to eavesdrop to know what people were talking about. There was just one thing that was on their minds. It was her, no doubt about it. She was the center of attention this evening and she deserved it. She had come a long way. And no one knew that better than me. And my best friends.

I still remember the day, years ago, when we met at our usual place to talk about her. It had been something that had been on our minds for a very long time. But she had taken her own time to materialize even in our heads. But lately, she was all we could think or talk about. We all wanted her very badly, but we also knew that it wouldn’t be easy. Bringing her into this world would mean a lot of changes in our lives. Taking care of her would be a huge responsibility and we didn’t know if we were ready to give up so much for her. We had our own inhibitions, and it scared us. I won’t lie about it. We were young guys- of about 17-18. You couldn’t expect us to be mature and responsible at that age. Even for her.

But then, she was a dream that we had had together, and we wanted to bring her to life. We loved her even before she had existed; only because she had been a part of our lives way before she became a reality. There was nothing that would stop us from getting her.

So our minds were set. We were ready to give up our time and childish ways for her. There wasn’t anything we wanted more from life. Just her.

After a lot of contemplation, discussions, fights, and hardships- she was finally born. And she was a beauty. Nothing compared to what we felt when we saw her for the first time. She was our little girl, and we were incredibly proud of her. She was still uncertain of what she was doing there, with these unsure boys crowding around her.

But no matter how scared we might have seemed, we couldn’t have been happier. She was here! Finally! And nothing could stop us now. Seeing her for the first time-looking as beautiful as she did- brought back all our excitement. This was it! She was with us at long last and we’d take care of her with all our being.

Things were difficult at first. Not many people understood the reason why she was here. They were unsure about her intentions and her existence. She was too young, and this made people doubt her. Our families found it hard to understand why their sons had suddenly chosen to grow up so fast and take care of another responsibility, when they themselves were just kids.

But we didn’t let this put us down. We knew why she was here and that was all we needed. We wanted her like we’ve never wanted anyone before.

We kept working. We put in everything we had and could, to help her grow. We had dreamt of her for so long that now that she was here, we knew exactly what we wanted.

As time went by, she grew up to be everything we had thought of and more. People began to take notice of her wherever she went. They had to stop and take a second look. She had the power to make people think about her, and without even trying. She didn’t persuade people or convince them to notice her. They just did. Because of who she was.

And it did wonders for us as well. We weren’t just boys trying our hand at something new. We were mature men (in some way) and people took us seriously. Because of her.

Years passed and she moved out of our home and stepped into the real world. She had made a place for herself, with help from all of us, and many more people who eventually joined in to take care of her.

She’d spread her wings far and wide, and traveled to places we had never thought of. Everyone knew about her and it brought them closer to her and to us. They all wanted to be a part of her life and this just reminded us, with each passing day, that our dreams for her were becoming a reality right before our eyes.

She had come so far. It was unbelievable. It felt surreal. And yet, sitting here in this room, I knew it was real. I looked around me, and people turned to me and smiled. They were proud of me. Of all of us. Of her. The people who were in this room were all important people: family, friends and each and every person who had helped us bring her this far.

I saw people gathering around the center table. A cake stood there, untouched. The icing on the cake had just two words written on it- Happy Birthday.

She had turned five today. Five years old. Our baby was growing up, and it was an amazing feeling. My eyes welled up with unexplainable joy and I watched a man pick up the knife to cut the cake.

I felt my heart swell with immense pride. The man was the former President of India, Dr. A P J Abdul Kalam, and he was here just for her.

I was out of words. I couldn’t feel anything more. She was all I had ever wanted. And more.

Happy Birthday Yuva Unstoppable… "

A Day to Remember

11th September 2010 will be a day to remember for the Faculty of Journalism and Communication, MSU. 28 senior and junior students made history as they featured in the Divya Bhaskar Anniversary edition dated 12th September 2010. While many might not cherish this day, I for one, will never forget it.

Having heard of the printing process of newspapers for years, I had never actually been witness to one. And frankly I wasn't quite thrilled about the idea.

On 11th Sep, we were invited to Divya Bhaskar Press to be a part of their 6th year anniversary celebrations. Seated at the conference table, we heard the Dy Editor Mr. Vishwajit Parekh declare that the anniversary edition of the paper would be brought out with the combined efforts of the students of FJC as well as the Divya Bhaskar team. We were the guest editors of the day and we were thrilled.

Leaving aside the fact that we weren't as involved in the process as we had thought, the printing process was the highlight of the trip.

As we were taken into the printing area, the massive machinery that covered almost the entire floor took us by surprise. Expensive and highly advanced technology was being used for an 'item' that we don't even think twice about. We pick up the papers in the morning, read it and keep it aside. And that's where the journey of the newspaper ends and no one even thinks about how it got to their doorstep in the first place.


As we watched the numerous plates being made and inserted into the printing press, we saw countless rolls of newsprint all around.

Finally the moment that most of us had been waiting for arrived.

We heard the machines roll into action..the newsprint sliding from one corner of the room to the other like a conveyor belt..the clicking of some buttons..the groan of machines..the chatter of the men in the room..all of this slowly at first..but as moments passed, the action multiplied 10 folds..the noise got louder..the orders became more hurried and frantic..we watched in rapt attention as the first newspaper fell onto the conveyor belt with a soft thud..and then, before our eyes, it began to happen..it was nothing short of a miracle...we held our breath as newspapers began to fall onto the belt with increasing speed...we watched the colours change..watched as paper after paper was being produced in a fashion that is unlike anything I had ever seen..Our hearts beat in unison..like the machines around us..

It was unbelievable..like a baby being born..having seen what the day's paper would look like on the computer screen just a few hours ago, seeing it in 'flesh' was a completely different feeling. I held the warm paper between my fingers and couldn't shake off that feeling of awe and amazement..

We walked out of the press at 1:30 am, still unsteady yet overcome by the entire experience. As we stood talking, a man came along on his bicycle, carrying the last tea container of the day.He stopped near us and poured us all a cup of tea each. And I couldn't help smiling..

With my latest cup of tea and my earliest copy of the newspaper, I walked out of the Divya Bhaskar premises.

Success is counted Sweetest

Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne'er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need.

Not one of all the purple Host
Who took the Flag to-day
Can tell the definition,
So clear, of Victory,

As he, defeated, dying,
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Break, agonized and clear.

-- Emily Dickinson


One of the truest things I've ever read..When I first read the poem, it struck me as something which people crib about most of the times-failure. But as I read it over and over, it brought home what Dickinson was trying so hard, yet so simply to say. I remember having goosebumps the first time I understood the depth and agony of the lines..N it will continue to haunt me..It's one of my favourite poems.

Freedom with a change

As the day dawned not-so-bright and cloudy, I looked out of my balcony to see if anything was new. It all looked the same: same streets, same rain, same people and the same life. Somehow I thought the feeling would have been different. Why? Today is 15th August- India’s Independence Day. And today, we celebrate our 63rd year of freedom. And maybe I had assumed that the feeling of being free would hit me in the face, as though a mighty wave of liberty would break upon my balcony and drench me in a feeling so overwhelming, it would be impossible to ignore. I thought that the birds would fly from every direction proclaiming the news that India was finally free.

But we’ve been free for 63 full years. How much of that time has truly affected us? Can we even tell the difference? Does it matter to us that there were millions of people who had struggled with their lives and their beings to grant us this day today?

Somehow, we are never satisfied. Inspite of all the things that our nation has achieved, we still want more. We still choose to over-look all the great and glorious things that have happened and brood over the short comings.

I may not have been in the midst of the fight for freedom, so if you ask me I might not be able to compare India of then and now. I know that there are countless things that India is yet to tackle. Millions of problems that are yet to be solved. And hundreds of questions that have yet to be answered.

But sometimes I feel that if we’d rather focus on the progress India has made, I think we’ll realize that we’re much better off than we think we are.

And I’m not talking about big things that may or may not change the world. I’m talking about simple things that have undergone a transformation and we may not even realize it.

A month ago I remember visiting a few roadside children with a passion for studying, and who loved going to school. They never missed a single day. I know that people around the country complain that child labour is still rampant, but there has also been a tremendous rise in the number of school going children. Even if they have to work in the rest of the day, school is still a priority. You will meet a kid raggedly dressed who will come up to you and surprise you with a “how are you madam?” You will find kids on street corners and roadside stalls pouring over their books with an interest that was missing over a decade ago. This is change.

A couple of weeks back I visited the Baroda Cricket Association and I met a group of young girls who played cricket as a full time career, while some of them balanced school alongside it. This is a sport that was essentially termed as a “gentleman’s game” and today these girls not just play the sport but are good at it. They have played at various state and national levels, one of them even coaches a girls’ team, one of them was selected to attend a camp in Bangalore- the only girl from the city to be chosen, and many others who have achieved incredible success and fame through the game. These girls come from modest and conservative family backgrounds and to think of women playing cricket years back would have got a million tongues wagging in disapproval. This is change.

I think of the people around me whom I’ve gotten to know in the past year, and the list makes me proud. These are people who, at such a young age, have taken up the task of making the world better. Of using the limited resources that they possess and putting it to use for the good of mankind. I see them teaching children to read and write, I see them helping the old to make themselves independent and encouraging them to use their years of experience and wisdom to good use, I see them helping out the poor and downtrodden, enabling them to see a life they must have only dreamed about, I see them bringing the women out of their homes and engaging them in work that they love and excel at, I see them caring about this earth even more than our leaders do, taking up the responsibility of making the world a better, greener and cleaner place to live in. I’m proud of these people. I may not have joined the bandwagon yet, but I know that the work they do is exceptional and truly remarkable. You don’t need to have power or money or be a leader to make the country better, you simply need a heart. This is change.

I can think of so many things that make me feel that India has truly come a long way since gaining independence. We might be lagging behind in some areas, but I think we’ve done well so far. I’m proud of who we are as a nation, no matter what everyone says. Even though I may have not done anything to make India who she is, but I know that there are so many people who have given her this pride and beauty and I love them all.

Happy Independence Day, India!

Jaan ne ka Haq (We have the Right to Know)

The following song has been written and performed by Vinay Mahajan and Charul Mahajan on the Right to Information. Vinay is Post Grad Agricultural Engineer and Charul is an architect. In 1992 both of them quit their lucrative jobs and set up a NGO called "Loknaad" (People 's Voice) and since then they completely devoted their life for raising voice for Peoples Rights.

mere sapnon ka janne ka huk re
kyun sadiyon se toot rahe hai
inhe sajne ka naam nahin

mere haathon ko yeh janne ka huk re
kyun barson se khali pade re
inhein aaj bhi kaam nahin

mere pairon ko yeh janne ka huk re
kyon gaon gaon chalna pade re
kyon bus ka nishan nahin

meri bhukh ko yeh janne ka huk re
kyon godamon mein sadte hain daane
mujhe mutthi bhar dhan nahin

meri budhi maa ko janne ka huk re
kyon goli nahi sui davakhane
patti tanke ka saman nahi

mere kheton ko janne ka huk re
kyon baandh bane re bade bade
toh bhi faslon mein nahin

mere jungalon ko janne ka huk re
kahan daliyan woh patte tane mitti
kyon jharno ka naam nahin

meri nadiyon ko janne ka huk re
kyon zeher milaye karkhane
jaise nadiyon mein jaan nahin

mere gaon ko yeh jaan ne ka huk re
kyon bijli na sadke na pani
khuli ration ki dukan nahin

mere voton ko yeh jaan ne ka huk re
kyon ek din bade bade vaade
fir panch saal kaam nahin

mere raam ko janne ka huk re
rehman ko yeh jannne ka huk re
kyon khoon bahe re sadkon pe
kya sab insaan nahi

meri zindagi ko jeene ka hak re
ab hak ke bina bhi kya jeena
yeh jeene ke samaan nahin



Translation into English


My dreams have a right to know
why they have been shattering for
like they do not want to get fulfill

My hands have the right to know
why they have been empty for years
they till today do not have a job

My legs have the right to know
why they walk from village to village
why there is no trace of a bus

My hunger has the right to know
why are food grains rotting in the go-downs
I don-t even have a handful of grain.

My old mother has the right to know
why are there no medicines in the clinics
why there are no bandages or stitching aid.

My fields have the right to know
why are there big dams being built for water,
and still there is no life in my crops.

My woods have a right to know
where are the branches, leaves and earth
why there is no trace of springs.

My rivers have the right to know
why are the factories poisoning the rivers
as though the rivers don't have life.

My villages have the right to know
why there is no electricity, road or water supply
Nor ration shop open

My vote has the right to know
Why one day we hear big promises
And for five years, no work

My god has the right to know
why there is bloodshed on the streets
as though we are not human beings.


My life has a right to know
if my life is worthy of living without promises
is it even equivalent to living.



the video is available on http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oOSq2KtrWY4

Puzzled

There are a few things that have come to my mind in the past few weeks and I've been trying to understand them. I'm going to break it up into parts:








1) You know how the profession of medicine is always targeted when doctors ask for donations, or abort a child or refuse to treat a patient for many reasons like lack of money or a disease like HIV-AIDS or leprosy or give a diagnosis even though they might not be qualified for it? And at times like these they quote the famous Hippocratic Oath, a few line of which I too, am going to use to make a point.

".....I will prescribe regimens for the good of my patients according to my ability and my judgment and never do harm to anyone.
.....If I keep this oath faithfully, may I enjoy my life and practice my art, respected by all men and in all times; but if I swerve from it or violate it, may the reverse be my lot."

So despite this oath, doctors still fail to perform their duties "to the best of their abilities".

Anyway, my point is, is there any such oath that Journalists take? Because there really should be one. Not to say that they'd follow it though, considering the lack of common sense or humanity that some of the journalists today possess.

When the media needs to show a tragedy or something along those lines that depicts bloodshed and violence and injury, isn't there some sort of rule that you shouldn't show or print gory pictures? That showing blood splattered on the streets or a cut off arm of a person doesn't actually prove a point and there are a million and one ways to do it otherwise. Like taking a recent example, page ONE of a popular daily newspaper dated August 3, 2010, has the picture of a man with blood spewing from his leg in an incident of violence in Baramulla district of Srinagar. Or the haunting picture of the child who died in the Bhopal Gas tragedy that now adorns every poster on the streets. Or a recent page One picture of people washing the blood off the roads. Whatever happened to being sensitive towards the feelings of the readers??

And not just print.I was watching the news on a television news channel that featured the recent Leh floods. The correspondent spoke to many survivors of their near death experience. But not only that, they even spoke to survivors who'd lost everything from family to property to cattle. Alright. So maybe its required. But do they really need to be so pushy and so insensitive about it?Do they have to ask a father to describe his son being washed away in the floods before his eyes? Do they need to ask a poor shop keeper how his shop came crumbling down and with it crumbled his life savings and earnings? Why??? Just because you need a story? Do you think the audience cannot fathom the gravity of the situation without watching a family cry over its lost members?






2) As I rejoined the much talked about and always in the news "Facebook", it had barely been a day and my inbox was flooded by, believe it or not, 89 requests!! Now I had no idea I was that popular or that people missed me so much. Feels kinda nice, no doubt. But then I took some time to think about it. Why would people, whom I haven't spoken to in a million and one years, want to add me as a friend...?Even when I was using Facebook earlier, we still never so much as acknowledged each others' presence. Take classmates in school for example...or batch mates even. Yeah, so we shared the same classes. We were in the same school. but we barely spoke(and in some cases Never spoke) unless it was to..well..call out attendance or something. Take seniors or juniors in school or college. Why would they add me?I ain't anything special. Then why? We never hung out together. Or even take distant, and I mean Really really distant relatives whom I have to ask my parents about and even then have no clue who they are. I know I sound terribly rude and gloating with self importance and all, but I truly want to know... Why do people add people on their friends' list if they don't intend to ever keep in touch with them once they're added on the list? Don't get me wrong, but this is something alot of people have wondered and I'm simply voicing their doubts as well.

I did ask a couple of people about their opinion in this matter. And I got a few responses that make sense:

a) because some of them remember the old times and its a case of nostalgia.
b) because they might need your help some day
c) because its a popularity contest for some, greater the number of friends on your list, the more popular you are


Couldn't think of anymore of my own. But who knows what is it about Facebook that makes people go crazy.





3) Some days back somebody said something to me that drove me mad. And not in a good way, definitely. I was told, in a very casual, matter-of-fact way, "Fictional books never taught me anything." And it made my blood boil. I couldn't imagine what made that person even think of such a thing, let alone say it out loud. I think back to all the books I've read since I was a kid and I realize that everything I've learnt in life, other than of course from my parents, has come from books. And I rarely read non-fiction. I couldn't imagine picking up a book and not feeling a thrill as I breathed in its familiar smell. I'd flip through the pages and I could see a whole new world begin to unfold before me. A world that will teach me something I've never known before; of experiences both good and bad, of love lost and found, of life in all its glory and misery, of happiness and gloom, of judgments on life and actions, in favour and against, of seasons that come and go, of times cherished and forgotten, of moments of laughter and tears.

I have learnt to be myself through the lives of those I read about.

They might not be real people, but their emotions are real. What the writer feels is real. And what I've seen through the characters' eyes is real.

I think of Shakespeare, at this point, and I wonder if a man as great as he, would be turning over in his grave at the innocent statement made by my friend...

Glass half full or half empty?

For all the things that happen around me, I have never reacted in the same way. The good, the bad, the ugly: all have evoked varied responses at different points of time. Something that would obviously make me sad, would, in another situation, satisfy me. So there's no way to know if I'm the kind who sees the good side of things or the bad. I don't exactly know if I'm a pessimist or an optimist. The proverbial glass would seem half full at one time, but half empty at another.

Its like, the knowledge that an estranged friend needs me, means different things to me. There were times when the thought would pain me. And I would leave everything and be at his/her side in an instant. I would never stop to even think about what has happened in the past. I'd think of it as an opportunity to make things better and leave behind the things that had once upon a time hurt me. At times like these, I'd be willing to see the glass as half full. I'd be positive about our chances of being friends once again.

But there have also been times when, in a similar situation, I would refuse to see the good in that person. I'd think of it as a ploy or a way for him/her to hurt me again. More like, the situation would make me pessimistic rather than the person. And what makes it worse is that I would actually 'enjoy' the fact that I'm needed. OK, so 'enjoy' is too strong a word. But you get the drift, right? It would make me feel good; that without me the person is miserable. So that would make me a selfish person, right?

Another situation: There was an online writing competition last month. Entries from all over the world were invited for a picture story. I gave it my best shot. It was one of those times when the words simply flowed as though I knew about it all along, like I had been prepared for it since years. I didn't win, though. Somebody else did. Had it been one of those super cynical times of mine, I would have resented the fact that my story wasn't chosen. That my story was just as great as the ones that were selected. But surprisingly, or not, it didn't matter. I didn't mind the fact that I hadn't won. I simply loved the fact that I had been given a chance to write. And the piece, according to me, was one of the best things I have ever written. I put myself in that story and let it flow as naturally as it were happening that very instant. And I was proud with the outcome. I'd proved to myself that, with the right kind of motivation and the perfect mood, I can write really well. And I ain't boasting about this fact, I was just really proud of myself and just as happy. So the glass was most definitely half full for me.

I have never been able to decide for myself which side of life I want to be part of: the one who always sees the silver lining or the one who'd rather notice and brood over the dark clouds. I have been proven wrong many times when I have chosen to see the brighter side of things. I have been thoroughly disappointed by people and by life. I have wanted to give up on happiness altogether because its difficult to hope that something good will always come out of a situation.

So, the fact remains is that I am nowhere close to discovering what sort of person I am. Am I good or am I bad? Am I an optimist or otherwise? Am I right in continuing to see the good in people or am I also right in being aware of the bad that could come out of it? There's no harm in staying alert, right? But there is harm in letting it overrule the good. So...Is the glass half full or half empty?

Slow Dance

This poem was written by a terminally ill young girl in a New York Hospital..


Have you ever
watched
kids



On a merry-go-round?



Or listened to
the
rain



Slapping on the ground?



Ever followed a

butterfly's erratic flight?



Or gazed at the sun into the
fading
night?



You better slow down.



Don't
dance so
fast.



Time is short.



The music
won't
last.



Do you run through each day



On
the
fly?


When you ask How are you?



Do you hear
the
reply?



When the day is done



Do you lie
in your
bed



With the next hundred chores




Running through
your head?



You'd better
slow down



Don't dance so
fast.



Time is
short.



The music won't
last.



Ever told your
child,



We'll do it
tomorrow?



And in your
haste,



Not see
his

sorrow?



Ever lost
touch,



Let a good
friendship die



Cause you
never had time



To call
and say,'Hi'



You'd
better slow down.



Don't dance
so fast.



Time
is short.



The music won't
last.



When you run
so fast to get somewhere



You
miss half the fun of getting
there.



When you worry and hurry
through your
day,



It is like an unopened
gift....



Thrown
away.




Life is not a
race.


Do take it
slower



Hear the
music



Before the song is
over.



------------
--------

Meeting Balki

Today for the first time I met a man of the film industry that I will always remember. Not because of who he is, but because of the image he created in my mind. R Balakrishnan (Balki) is the director of movies like Paa and Cheeni Kum, and is also from the world of advertising with adverts like Idea and Tata Tea Jaago Re to his credit.

Before I met him,I assumed he'd be like one of those celebs who throw their weight around, make people wait, whine about little things or simply just don't care. But this man totally proved me wrong.

He walked into the conference room with a smile on his face that was friendly and far from obnoxious. He greeted everyone present in the room casually and without any air of self-importance. He began answering questions of students, one after the other. The questions ranged from Censorship in films to cause related advertising to bollywood element in films to his career as an Ad-man. He heard every question and answered it as thoroughly as he could. He wasn't arrogant nor did he act as though he knew everything. He was humble about his success and modest about his luck. He was honest enough to tell us that alot of his work has come through years and years of experience and there have been times when he, like everyone else, has failed. He was so candid that he didn't feel like a celebrity at all. He patiently answered all the questions from the students and the media. He even allowed students to pose for individual photographs and signed many autographs too, all the while smiling and cracking jokes. HE didnt feel like somebody great even though he was. He spoke politely to everyone, quietly sipping tea and commenting on the rains in the city. He put everybody at ease and no one feared the man who has worked with stalwarts like Amitabh Bachchan and Tabu.

I've never been a celebrity crazy person, but this man made me feel like he was just one of us, and I knew that there might never be another chance of meeting someone of as famous, yet down-to-earth as him. So I felt no shame in taking a picture with him or have him sign my diary.

Thank You Mr. Balki, for this chance.

Road to nowhere

The journey to Delhi was just like before. If you meant the ride, the people, the roads, the sights- everything that really didn't mean a thing to her. On the outside nothing had changed in the journey compared to what it had been last year. But on the inside nothing would ever be the same. She knew that. Maybe he did too. She couldn't tell. But she knew that even if it did bring back memories to him, he didn’t really care. By the look on his face, she could tell that he never had. They’d been surprisingly close for him not to care. They’d been terrifyingly close for her to still not be over him.

She looked outside the window as memories flashed past, with the music blaring from her i-pod trying to block out the thoughts that came with those memories.

She stole a glance to her right. He was just inches away from her. But they could’ve been strangers by the way they were behaving.

How things had gone from lonely to good to great to confusing to complicated to bad and back to lonely- she had no clue.

And yet, every moment they’d spent together was carved in minute detail in her mind. She couldn’t get rid of them as easily as he’d gotten rid of her. She wasn’t as lucky as him to forget everything.

They were still miles away from their destination. But she was looking for reasons to prolong the ride. Because the thought of spending 3 whole days together as though everything was ok, was a little too difficult.

Not that she couldn’t do it though. She’d practiced the smile to unbelievable perfection; and yet believable enough to fool everybody. So much so that she’d even begun to fool him. Because the tiny speck of hope that she held was beginning to disappear. That slight chance that he might even pretend to care was slipping from her fingers with alarming speed.

Not that she had any control over his actions or thoughts or decisions. Far from it.

She wanted to get this trip over with as soon as possible, and with as much invisibility as she could manage. She wanted to get back home to her life where she could pretend he didn’t exist. She didn’t wish him any harm. She just wanted to get away unharmed. And she longed to get away from the city that had brought them closer.

The city outside her window came into focus- the city she had begun to love. Every street had fascinated her. Every monument had seemed to amaze her. Every person on the road held a unique charm with their own story. Even little things like the clear skies and soft gentle breeze seemed different and better. And silly as it may sound, it was because he’d made it seem different.

But as she looked out now, it all looked drab and lifeless. They just stood there, all grey and morose. After being lively and colourful last year, it hit her with an intensity she couldn’t understand. And even though she knew her imagination was getting the worst of her, it was as though everything glared at her and mocked her for her foolishness. That she was stupid enough to let one guy change the world for her. That she could let a few moments spent with him change the way she felt about herself and about life.

Right now, she hated herself for letting him ruin this trip for her. She’d made up her mind to ignore him as much as possible and she had been doing just that over the past month. It wasn’t as difficult as she’d thought. He ignored her just as well and it made things easier.

Then why did she hate the fact that he didn’t speak to her???

They were about to reach their stop. As she got ready to get her bags down, her phone beeped. She paused with her suitcase in one hand and pulled out her phone from her pocket. It was an unknown number. But she knew his number by-heart to recognize it.

She assumed it was one of those group messages that he’d sent which she usually ignored. But she still checked it.

It wasn’t a forwarded message.

He told her he missed her…

Blast from the Past- Sempiternal Scribbles

This has been borrowed from Mehak Siddiqui's blog http://sempiscribbles.blogspot.com/2010/07/blast-from-past.html

I take no credit for the same. I simply liked what she wrote.


Our paths crossed innumerable times,
for months. Yet we never noticed.
You were simply 'that tall guy' to me
until one day, life happened.
Fate happened,
Love happened.
One proper look at you,
and I was hooked.
Addicted.
I NEEDED to know you
and so began my quest
to be a friend to you,
a friend like you'd never had before.
I guess that in itself was an indication,
of the ruination I was stepping into.
You already had enough people;
and I was never much more
than 'just another one' of them.
Except for the fact that I loved you,
more than you can imagine
or will ever comprehend.
More than even I'd imagined.
And unrequited love is like disease
it only causes pain and problems galore.
Yet, we remained friends, good friends.
But I wonder why
I still cry over you
even when the feelings are gone,
more or less.
Why does a song or a movie or a place
automatically remind me of you?
Why do I hang onto your memories
when they trigger nothing but regret?
Why does it pain me
when you befriend pretty girls?
And treat them like princesses
when really, they're utter bitches out to hurt you
and everyone else.
Why do I feel upset
that you never compliment me, ever?
that you don't think I'm as close a friend as I think you are,
that you can notice the smallest niceties in other girls,
but can always find something to make fun of about me.
Why does it surprise you
when I prove I'm smarter than you think.
Why are you so ignorant,
to every quality I possess?
But observant of every fault?
Why aren't you ever keen to meet me
-the way you always meet your other friends?
Why don't you ever call?
Or say that you miss the good old days
when we would talk every single day?
Why don't I matter to you?
Why oh why oh why?
Sigh.
I pray someday you'll realize
the depth of the hurt you caused me
by your indifference and detachment
when my only mistake was to love you
love you deep, love you true.
I hope someday you'll see,
that I ain't as bad,
as you've always perceived me to be.

Once upon a Time

She couldn’t believe it. Maybe she’d heard wrong. There had to be some mistake. He hadn’t said what she thought he’d said. Should she call him back and ask? Just to confirm? Because there was no way he would’ve done this to her. And definitely not over the phone. He couldn’t have been so callous.

And yet, somewhere in the distance she could hear those tiny voices whispering in her head. They were saying things she didn’t want to hear. Because they were wrong! He was wrong! He wasn’t a selfish person, and there was no chance in hell that he’d do something like this to her. Not after everything she’d done for him.

She sat at the edge of the bed in the hotel room, her hand still clutching the phone as if her life depended on it. May be it did. She didn’t want to seem like those desperate needy women who just wouldn’t let go. But she was a needy desperate woman! She needed him! Now, more than ever.

How could he choose to abandon her at this point in her life? How could he abandon her at all? Hadn’t he promised to be with her “through thickness and thin” and “in sickness and in health” till death do them part? What happened to all those vows that he had made, holding her hand, that he’d love her forever.

She glanced at the photo frame she’d brought along with her that stood on the night stand. It was a picture of both of them laughing like a bunch of kids. It was taken a couple of years ago on their trip to North-East India. It had been her gift to him for finally getting the job he’d tried for over six months. They’d gone for a walk with a tour guide in one of the numerous tea gardens in Darjeeling and her foot had slipped on the dew laden grass. He’d caught hold of her wrist as he’d lost his own footing and they’d both tumbled onto the grass. The moment had seemed hilarious at that time and the guide, sensing a ‘Kodak moment’ had taken a picture.

That seemed like two different people in a different life.

The picture only reminded her of one of the few times she’d given up her dreams for him. She’d studied to be a journalist. And she knew she was good at it. It was her life and there was nothing else she wanted to do. But the beginning of their married life had been financially low and she’d taken up a job at a BPO instead. It paid good money. It was as simple as that. When things had begun to look a little better, she’d heard about a magazine in her city that was looking for a fashion writer. She knew that now, with their life back on track, she could take this job. But he’d found another job in a Bigger city he’d said, and after many fights, she’d shifted with him to the new city. It was at that time that she’d surprised him with a week long trip to the north-east with part of the earnings from her previous work.

Once again, when life settled down, she took up another lifeless job just so that they could stay together. But all that time she had still been looking out for her dream job. She’d given so many interviews that she’d lost count. But nothing worked out in his supposedly ‘big city’.

She knew that her constant failure at nailing the perfect job was taking its toll on both of them. But she held on, trying everything she could.

Just when she’d thought things were at their worst, she’d gotten a call from a newspaper in a nearby city that was looking for a daily columnist. She knew she was perfect for it. Even though it meant spending almost six hours traveling everyday, she wanted to do it. She wanted to be happy and she needed it to make their lives happier.

Today had been her interview and she’d decided to spend the night in the city that would give her big break. She’d been so excited that she hadn’t noticed his subdued, almost indifferent, attitude as she’d left the house. She’d reached the press office in time and couldn’t wait till it was over. She knew she’d get this job. She knew this was the answer to their problems. Life would be the fairytale she’d always wanted.

But it hadn’t ended like she’d hoped. She hadn’t got the job. They were looking for someone with experience, not degrees, skills or passion.

She’d called him up just an hour ago to tell him that she hadn’t made it. She wanted to be with him, so he could’ve held her as she’d cried. She wanted him to tell her that everything would be ok.

But instead, he’d told her that it was over between them.

Why?

She wasn’t capable of finding a job that she wanted.

She was slowing him down.

She was becoming way too dependent on him.

She wasn’t hard working or dedicated to her work with the number of jobs she’d switched.

The voices in her head were getting louder now. They eluded any kind of emotional, pitiful or denial thoughts. They were screaming out loud now. They were saying things she should’ve said to him. They were demanding for answers that she couldn’t give but needed them just as much. They were counting off reasons why he had every reason to stay instead of abandoning her at a point in her life when he was all she had.

Tears failed to come. Because despite those uncontrollable voices, she was still in denial.

This moment seemed like something from one of those million Hollywood movies she’d seen. It sounded just as dramatic and over-the-top. She could almost picture herself in a scene. The situation seemed perfect for the movie. She looked like those depressed heroines waiting for the glycerin in their eyes to do its job. She could almost hear the soulful music in the background.

All she wanted to hear, more than anything she’d ever wished for, was for someone to yell “CUT!”

Plum Blossoms

He watched her walk away in silence. He wanted to stop her but he didn’t know why. He knew that she wouldn’t turn around and come back to him. She’d said what she had to say. There was nothing left whatsoever. And he wasn’t sure that he had the courage to hear anything else after that.

He looked down at the table he was sitting at and saw the tea cups that the waitress had placed before them an hour ago. They stood there untouched and forgotten. He’d ordered before she’d come, so he had no idea he’d be sitting there all by himself.

Thank god he’d ordered just one plate of croissant. Atleast that wouldn’t go to waste.

He picked it up and the once moist bread crumbled between his fingers.

Perfect. Even the bread was a metaphor to his life that had crumbled as she’d sat in front of him, sobbing.

Why had she cried, though? If any one had to cry it should’ve been him. He was the one sitting alone at this stupid restaurant getting sympathetic looks from the couples seated at nearby tables.

But even the looks or the tears couldn’t put the pieces together. It still hadn’t registered in his head. He wasn’t ready to believe it. She was gone? Did she leave him or had he dumped her?

There was one sentence she’d kept saying over and over again in her speech that hadn’t made much sense. “It didn’t mean anything.”

What didn’t mean anything? Their four year relationship? Or the fact that she had slept with another guy?

It was somebody from her class, she’d said. Stupid college crowd. He should’ve known better than to date a girl ten years his junior. She was still a kid. This was what kids of her age do. They fool around and don’t need to settle down.

For him, he’d known that she was the one from the day he’d met her. He’d seen her dancing at his best friend’s wedding. He was so in love with her even after all these years. She had been too.

So then what happened? How did she suddenly feel like she needed a change? Something different, new and exciting? Was she lonely when he’d gone away on business for that entire one year? Had that guy comforted her when she was feeling low?

“It didn’t mean anything.”

Then why had she done it, dammit?!

He absent-mindedly toyed with the little pink flowers in the china vase.

He’d decided to meet her today because he’d wanted to ask her something important. He’d wanted to ask her to marry him. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

But they’d never gotten to that part. Oh hell. Now she’d never know.

She’d walked into the restaurant and it seemed as if the whole world around them had ceased to exist. As though they were the only ones there. She’d looked beautiful as always. He’d always thought that he was lucky to find her.

As he’d been talking about his day, she’d seemed a little preoccupied. But he hadn’t given it a thought.

When he’d reached for her hand across the table, she’d suddenly burst into tears.

He was taken aback. Before he could ask her what was wrong she’d started mumbling something about some friend in college. He’d tried to make sense of what she was saying. She must’ve said a lot of things in that one hour. But all he’d heard and understood was that she’d slept with her friend and that “it didn’t mean anything.”

So now what? She was going to be with that guy? And he was supposed to forget about her after this? It was over? Had she stopped loving him? Was he supposed to stop too?

He looked down at the flowers he was playing with. Plum blossoms, he recognized.

On one of their first dates she’d taken him to an art exhibition in her college and she’d fallen in love with a painting of plum blossoms. They were a beautiful pink, and filled the canvas like tiny spots of heaven. She’d told him that someday, they’d go to a place that was filled with pretty flowers like these.

That day had not come. And it never will. With a sudden rush of anger, he felt like crushing the flowers until each petal was beyond recognition. He wanted to destroy everything beautiful and romantic and everything that reminded him of her. He felt like flinging the vase at her.

But she was gone. And he’d probably never see her again.

Just then a waitress came up to him and asked, “Is your friend coming back, sir?”

She wanted to take away the extra cup maybe.

He simply shook his head.

“So it’s just you then?” she asked.

“Yes. Just me,” he replied and he watched silently as the waitress quietly cleared the table and with it, took away all the memories.

The Good Samaritan

This is a parable from the Bible.

A lawyer once, to test Jesus, asked Him what he should do to inherit eternal life. Jesus told him “to love thy neighbour with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind.” The lawyer then asked who his neighbour was.

To this, Jesus answered, “A certain man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and he fell among robbers, who both stripped him and beat him, and departed, leaving him half dead. By chance a certain priest was going down that way. When he saw him, he passed by on the other side. In the same way a Levite also, when he came to the place, and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a certain Samaritan, as he traveled, came where he was. When he saw him, he was moved with compassion, came to him, and bound up his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. He set him on his own animal, and brought him to an inn, and took care of him. On the next day, when he departed, he took out two denarii, and gave them to the host, and said to him, ‘Take care of him. Whatever you spend beyond that, I will repay you when I return.’ Now which of these three do you think seemed to be a neighbor to him who fell among the robbers?” He said, “He who showed mercy on him.” Then Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”

Luke 10:30-37

Today at mass, the priest explained the meaning of this parable. And in doing so, told us what some of the researchers and scholars said with regard to the behaviour of the priest and the Levite. The priest, he explained, assumed that the poor man lying on the road was dead. In those times it was prohibited for priests to enter the Temple after having touched the dead. And so the priest walked away. The Levite was afraid that the man was pretending to be dead and might attack and rob him, and so he too avoided helping the man. It is the Samaritan, considered an outcast at that time, who finally helped the dying man.

It makes me wonder, how easily we make excuses for not looking out for our neighbours. We’re always too busy for them. We always have something better or more important to do. We think we’re too good for charity. That it is the job of social workers and NGOs to help the downtrodden. Just because we’re more fortunate than most, we’re too proud to lend a helping hand.

Don’t we see it all the time? An accident on the road will attract a huge crowd. But how many will try to help the injured? The fear of a police case is greater than the desire to help the needy. You think that there are so many people, somebody or the other will help him. Why should I?

Are we so selfish that we think only about our happiness and comfort and safety? Are we so blind that we look away when we see people who are socially and economically backward? Are we so deaf that we refuse to hear the cried for help and compassion?

And it isn't about the big things in life. Even the tiniest of gestures means a lot to someone who's craving for just a smile or a hug or a kind word. It could be a friend who needs a shoulder to cry on. You might not be able to solve the problems in their lives, but just being there is still a consolation. So let's not ignore those who need us but cannot say so. If there is any way we can bring a smile on their faces, let's do it without thinking what we will gain out of it. It'll pay off someday, when you need it and you cannot find a reason to be happy. So let’s not think, even for a moment, that we’re better than the rest. If God has been gracious enough to bless us with the good things in life, then we must learn to share.