The story of lightness.

This is the story of a girl who remembers being upset ever since she began making memories. In an attempt to deny herself of the melancholy that ate her up, she built a world where she believed in something unique. She wanted to fight her demons with something that was alpervasive. She wanted to fight but she had no way of knowing if her make belief could be true someday.

The clock kept reminding her of the seconds slipping away. She couldn’t wait much longer for what was about to happen. Then again, she could not do anything but wait. The decision was drastic, yet it had a sense of planned precision which she took pride in. It was the kind of decision that would only make sense to those who’ve been through something similar. But who has? Who has ever felt that they were made of light?

The sliver of blood flowing from her wrist oozed with a gentle grace, reminding her of the dance lessons she went to with her mother, every Sunday. The mudras and the expressions,  the sound of the tabla, the shower of the ghungroo and the walk back home that was usually filled with mango ice cream dripping on her frock. Mango was her favourite fruit and her favourite colour. Nani used to seal baby mangoes in jars and keep them in the sun while they turned into pickle. “Would we turn tasty too, in the sun?” She always thought Kalu kaka needed pickling. Why else would he fight with Ma for a few rupees every morning when she sat down at the door for the day’s bazaar? The door had a tiny step. Every lakshmi puja, Ma and nani used to soak rice powder in water for her to draw the tiny Goddess feet. It brings good good luck, shona. She would trace the foot steps of the goddess till the Pujo room where it always smelled of incense and rose petals. There were two hibiscus flowers and a few dozen Nayantaras scattered, waiting to be kept at the feets of the Hindu Gods that Nani worshipped, by her. Nayantara. That’s how she got her name.

Every evening after drinking her warm milk from the special copper glass, she would sit at the verandah and count cars. Some days she would wait till five hundred. Five hundred cars passing by, with more than five hundred people. Each with a new story, with a tiny glimpse of a girl sitting at an inconsequential verandah. Five hundred vehicles heading toward five hundred destinations, all in the matter of one evening, while little Nayantara sat under the opalescent moonlight that sieved through the grilled extension of the floor above. Light had enchanted her ever since she had learnt to move. The sifting of light through the spaces between her fingers in the dead of the afternoon, while all the adults slept (sleep, or else how will you study, shona?), the resilient entrance of the street lamps’ light at night, after everyone else was busy with dreams and the darkness that awaited beyond closed eyes, kept her awake. She stayed up conjuring patterns on her skin. Skin that metamorphosed from fair to dark because of light. Skin, that changed with time and age. Skin, that bore the only acknowledgement to being a receptacle for the light that existed in her world. Skin, that carried a surface for light to paint on. Skin, which a dozen men would trace, but none as sensual as light itself caressing her.

The dance lessons gradually became and impediment. How will you go abroad to Bablu Mama if you don’t study, shona? So the sound of dance made way for books, and in books, she found the science of light. With each new formula she understood how it traveled and where it came from. With each new paragraph she unravelled more than she ever had, and yet none of the books could tell her why she fascinated the entity rather than the logic. None of the books in Dadu’s library had the questions she wanted to be asked and didn’t know the words for. Was she really made of light?

As she delved deeper into the physics of it, she grew accustomed to the night. And the light of the night. The sun in its reflected glory. The sun, when it was beautiful. The sun, when you could look at it directly and talk. She felt like a moth trapped in a kaleidoscope; there was just one light yet so many places it came to her from. It confused her. It gnawed at her from within, asking to be let out. She was bursting at the seams. Ma could never empathise with her. How can light be destroying you from within, shona? But it was! A ball of light, as beautiful as it would look from afar, was a burning lava of heat, an intensely packed pouch of energy that could not be contained any longer within the frail body of Nayantara. She needed to know if she was made of light. She had to know. And it had to be let out. There was no other way. It had to be done. The very weapon she had chosen to fight had let her down.

As the blood pooled by her side, she saw the reflection of a reflection. She noticed the gentle bulge of the body and trace of sharpness bordering at the verge of just becoming a blur. She saw the moon shining off her blood, and smiled. She felt light. She felt the light.
Ma opened the door to the verandah where she lay. Drink some tea, shona.

“Ma? Save me..”
The light reflected off the fear she saw in her mother’s eyes. What have you done, Nayantara? Why..wh..why?

“Ma, we are made of light!”

Indeed she was made of light. She saw it in her mother’s eyes when she danced at the age of three. She saw it in her nani’s love when she arranged the flowers before pujo. She felt in her baba’s voice on the first day of school. She saw it in the blood that was reflected on the moon that night.. No wonder she liked the moon more, it could see her rather than the other way round. The light she sent off was the light she saw.

She was the light that she was drawn to.

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Light in all her glory. (Pictures clicked by, yours truly)

The X-YZ of things.

I am bitter and not feeling very bright at the moment, so pardon the hatred. This is almost exclusively for a particular set of people in the world and that is, surprise surprise, the ex. It could be an ex boyfriend or a girlfriend or heck, even a friend. It is human tendency to do two of the things that I will write about here, post an ‘end’ to the said relationship.
First, you would want to claw back to the person (assuming that you re the one who was dumped, obviously)
Second, you would bad mouth that person or, listen to others talk bull about them.

Let’s go serially:
The clawing back phenomenon is very common. Obviously, they were an important part of your life and without them it feels empty and you want to fill their void only with their presence. Everything that you would have taken for granted suddenly becomes about them. I read a comic strip on Facebook a while back which went something like this-
Person A-“Yes! I am finally over her. I can live now”
Friend- “Great! Hey, want some water?”
A- “OMG SHE LOVED WATER :'(”

Yes I know It would look better with the comic strip, but I can not seem to find it. Blah.

Anyway, the point is, the feeling is normal. You would do everything in you power to get them to like you again. It is not your fault. It happened to me too when I was dumped, long long ago. I was heart-broken and sad and whatnot. At one point in time, I assumed that person to be someone without whom I would not be able to live, but look at me now; living and all. Ha!
But there are some of you who take this to a whole new level. Don’t play the sympathy card with their friend(s). Yes, the sad part is ‘you still love them’ despite the fact that they ‘mutilated’ your heart and stomped on it, repeatedly. Don’t do that. It isn’t healthy, not for your ego or for the friendship. Just because they took the call of ending the relationship does not mean they aren’t hurting. It does not mean they have a stone cold heart.

The usual protocol after a break up is to not talk for a couple of months, preferably years. Maintain it. Only because a person was your everynight-phone-companion, does not mean they will remain so for life. While dating, people say a lot of things
– I will always love you
– I will watch our grandchildren grow old with you
– Let’s go to switzerland
– Buy a dog
-Laser tag is a sad sport
Making lists is fun (…but I digress)

But don’t hold it against them when the break up does happen. I mean seriously, are you new to the dating world? People say things. It doesn’t mean they did not mean it while they said it! So don’t play the sympathy card. Don’t try to rope in all of their friends on to your side. Remember, a break up always has two people involved. The one to call it quits may have started the process earlier but they need their friends too.

break_up_by_LNePrZ

The second:
And if you DO end up playing the fool by pretending to be the one who is the victim, like they announced war on your tiny heart, grow up. The first rule to move on is accepting the fact that you need to. Pretending to be ‘fine’ and acting ‘cool’ is not helping anyone.
Also, learn to differentiate between those who really want your good and those who just want to laugh at you behind your back while you grieve. Let me tell you my story. Long back, when I broke up with this guy, I was in regular contact with one of his friends. After the break up, the guy had only sad, sad things to tell me about the said boy. He filled me in with snippets of false news that made me pity my ex. The friend told me all about his grades in school (they were low) and  spats with teachers (thee were many), popularity (hated by all class mates) and simultaneously, the friend kept praising himself (high grades, and I assumed he was a teacher’s pet and student of the year). At that age, the three criteria that were mentioned to me were important aspects of a student’s life, the fact that a boy once dated was flunking grades disturbed me. Two months later I came to know how the friend was really trying to make me fall for him. Every word that he uttered about the ex was a tweaked version of the truth, a lie actually.

^the moral there is don’t believe everything people have to say. Also, don’t go on spreading rumours and make the poor -ex an anomaly to the social structure. Respect the privacy. Understand the dynamics of the people. By telling everyone that you love them despite the horrendous way they treated you and describing how you JUST know they never loved you, makes them the bad person . What have they actually done? Broken up with you and not spoken? THAT is the crime you are holding them responsible for and therefore that makes them heartless? Then yes, maybe they’re guilty in YOUR court of law. I have done it myself too, when I was new to this world. But now, I have matured. And I hope you do too.

Da-flopp 2. Why Dabangg 2 is a fail.

I recently watched a Salman Khan starrer called Dabangg-2. It is a sequel to a much better, funnier and politically correct movie called *surprise surprise* Dabangg. Dabangg primarily means something that is well, dabangg…i.e, super duper fantabulously studly and awesome to the power infinity. And the first movie did deliver, be it the item number (munni badnaam hui) or the ‘chhedi singh’ dialogue. The sequel was a pale after taste as compared to the first movie, which released way back in 2010.

But I am not remotely as upset as I am with the content of the film, as I am with two particular dialogues:
i) In a particular scene, the nephew of the badman (Chunni, thats the nephew’s name) calls out to and slurrs the protagonist (Chulbul Pandey). In reply, Pandeyji, as he is ‘lovingly’ referred to, replies with a sexist statement that made my blood boil and almost made me vandalise Inox property. What was it?

Arre chunni kop bolo ki naam jaisa hai waisa kaam kare. Ladkiyo ka naam hai toh unhi ki tarah ghar pe baithkar bacche paida kare aur unka dekhbhal kare.

Which in translation would mean something like- Since his name, Chunni, is that of a girls, he should sit at home and take care of children and deliver more babies (when possible; lets add humour to life)
And that statement of his did not create any uproar of the kind I was hoping for. The multiplex erupted with laughter and the general mentality of the masses irked me. And these are the very people who would participate in Peace Walks and protest against Rapes, when they get a chance. This level of hypocrisy is unacceptable. Besides, this level of tolerance is stupid. Just because a superstar says something sexist, it does not make the statement any less (or more, let us also be fair) horrendous. What scares me is that the girls too found the statement funny. I mean, HELLO?! Women are not present in this world for reproduction only and are certainly not here to make sandwiches for their male counterparts! Grow up, people and Mr. Salman Khan, GROW UP! Just to make a few bucks, please do not cover yourself in this muck, because trust me if I ever end up meeting you I will question you very sternly on this subject. You owe me an apology, you also owe your girlfriend an apology and you owe everyone an apology!

ii) In a scene where this random girl was getting married to a boy, Gaenda (another nephew of the badman) goes up to the bride and asks her to stop the marriage. Chulbul Pandey comes in at that precise moment to prevent a chaos and asks Gaenda to leave the damsel alone. Ganeda’s reply?

Door hatt jao nahi toh main yaha Jalianwalla bagh bana ke chorunga

Which in english would roughly be- Move aside or else I will fire so many bullets that there will be a second Jallianwallah Bagh massacre here.
SERIOUSLY? Is that what cinema in India has come down to? Not even two month after the terrible, bone-chilling shoot out at Connecticut, the makers of this stupid film choose to come out with this dialogue? Do they even know how many people were brutally murdered at Jallianwallah Bagh that day? Are they aware of how it feels to lose ones entire family in one go? This sort of insensitive comment on a national (perhaps international) level was made, censored and released, viewed and NOT ONE MEDIA PERSONNEL POINTED IT OUT? If this is not hypocrisy, then what is? How can a ‘super star’ be allowed to get away with this? What if Ramdev baba had said it; then I am sure there would be a series of news episodes dedicated to maligning the public figure, but because this film was made and it was ‘based on fictional events and characters’, we forgive all of it? What a sham this country and its people is turning into. We dont even realise when we agree to things that should, in an ideal world, hurt our sentiments deeply.

I request you to please share this post, not out of any personal greed but out of a feeling of   irksomeness and apathy towards the people who thought these dialogues would be funny. Now, I dont remember the exact dialogues word by word but I have tried to quote them as accurately as possible and I have not, in a ny way, changed what tey originally meant in the movie. How can people like the producers and writers of this film have the courage to release a film with not one but TWO insensitive dialogues? Apologise NOW!

Dabangg? Not so much.

Dabangg? Not so much.

Memoirs of a Memory with a Song.

Don’t you just detest it when a perfectly brilliant song is ruined because some jack-ass halfway around the globe decided to make a memory with you precisely when that song was playing and then BAM! three months later he isn’t there and the perfectly brilliant song is pooped. Yknow, there are categories of songs- the mediocre, the good and then, there are the brilliant.

The mediocre are the ones which find their way into your playlist because
– someone gave them to you via bluetooth
-a dude shared his playlist with you to get you to listen to grunge rock
-a break up
-PMS
-by mistake
-really sad sitcoms which make you think ‘wow that song is brilliant’ and then you download it and listen to it on repeat for 567 hours and then, by the end of it you are ready to puke.
-initially a brilliant track which slips to the mediocre because of *surprise surprise* the MEMORIES.

The good ones are good primarily because they are cult classics, I mean, Pink Floyd will never become mediocre because a d-bag decided to ruin it for you. NO! You always come back to life after Pink Floyd, literally. And then is John Mayer and Coldplay and ABBA (and ronan keating). And Death Cab For Cutie (at least some of their songs. I don’t know why they decided to sing for Twilight- the Meet me on the equinox). Some songs never die. I mean, yeah whatever some guy might ruin one or two of those ‘classic’ songs but forgive them. They know not what it means to dance to ‘I will follow you into the dark’. Word of advice, limit these classics to those you know will NOT let you down. Ever. EVER. Like best friends or parents or children. That way, no one can ruin good songs for you. 🙂

^that is a really cute rendition of I Have A Dream, ABBA. Watch it :’)

Then come the brilliant ones. These are comprised mainly by The biggies themselves, each of us have our personal favourites and I wont name mine but you would which songs figure in your list of brilliant, wouldn’t you? The ones which you always listen to, anytime all the time. Like I could listen to Fix You for-evvvver and never get tired of it and I would not let anyone ruin that song for me. No one is allowed to dedicate it to me. No one is allowed to expect it from me. This is MY song. and will remain so because it is too precious for me. The words are too personal. If this song is dedicated to me by someone I love and then he breaks my heart (or whatever) then these very words will prick me and make me bleed. So I wont let anyone burst my bubble. And if you really love me, you wont dedicate this to me.
You could, however, dedicate a ‘Baara maheene mein baara tareeko se’ to me because that song is already hopeless. It means all that you want a love song to and then too it doesn’t stand a chance of getting ruined with a memory because the song already is at the lowest level of music. Seriously. LOWEST.

^Don’t watch this if you aren’t ‘READY’

Now, it isn’t just sad memories that attach themselves to songs. there are songs to which you have joys and birthdays related to. There are songs which make you smile no matter what. there are those songs to which you danced on your first night stay or the song you sang to your BFF after the epic fight or a song you dedicated to your mom on mother’s day. Some songs become good from the mediocre scale because of the memories so never underestimate those underdogs, you!

^Like this one, that I’d love to sing- fights or no fights, we are stuck with each other Pie. Oh, Happy Birthday! 😀

But getting back to the sad stuff (because sad things always appeal more, sadists we are),
I missed out one more category of songs. they are the happy songs which mean nothing. Or sad ones, the blues, which say absolutely nothing to you. Yknow, the kind to which you were introduced to because someone dedicated them to you. The conversation goes like:
Random person who knows you- ‘Hey, this is a nice song and I, in my right senses dedicate this absolutely nonchalant piece of music to you!’
You- ‘Oh, alright gracious man/woman/person, I shall listen to it right away’
And then you and that person become really good friends, lovers, pals, siblings, online facebook open relationship partners, whatever, and slowly you drift away BUT the song still remains on your iPod/Walkman/Really awesome phone like SGIII. And while you’re on a long journey the song begins to play and you remember that friendship (or affair) and just…smile. No bitterness, no joy either but just a memory that does not affect your emotion.
Like, right now, I am listening to ‘Addicted’ by Enrique. No, don’t judge me it is a really nice song okay, whatever. And  this song has become rotten by all the so-called dedication but still it has managed to remain on my playlist and I have no memory associated with it whatsoever. None!

So, lesson to be learnt is just one:

Nothing fixes a thing so intensely in the memory as the wish to forget it.

Don’t fight the memories and don’t fight the world from making them for you. If some guy, in his mushy weakness dedicates ‘Perfect two’ by Auburn to you, just smile and listen to the song. And then, remember the song. Memories are a part of life. We wouldn’t stay up at night if it wasnt for those wretched memories and future-planning. Happy or sad, songs and memories are intricate and you can’t argue over the fact that a little bit of heartache makes the songs even more beautiful, ’cause lets face it- even though you categorise them as mediocre because of the sourness attached to them, they are still there on your playlist, aren’t they?

Let life play itself out. 🙂

A final treat for you-

-entangle.

Is the world big enough?

How big is the world? How big does it have to be to matter? To me, the world with all its gazillion people, is already too big to be ignored and Fortunately or unfortunately, the world does matter to me. It is officially, too big to be ignored. I cannot possibly understand how anyone could say ‘I do not give a shit’, because whoever says so LIES. Everybody lies. The world is too big and you are too small. The world doesn’t give a shit about you not giving a shit, if that makes sense.

It definitely means something to me if someone is hesitant, not unwilling but hesitant, to let me into their world. I am nineteen and there are high chances of me having met you after the better part of you has been nurtured, wired and programmed to behave in a certain manner. And that is perfectly fine. Even I have my tantrums and setbacks, I have my thoughts in a twisted concocted manner which are sometimes far beyond what people expect off me. But we are two different people and differences are welcome as long as we decide to work upon them and turn them into something that would unite us. Okay, no that isn’t possible I know. But we could at least try, right?

the world is big enough to matter. And I am old enough to matter as well. So if you want me in your life you might as well tighten your belts, pull up your socks and do all the other wardrobe stuff and bloody well make me feel a part of it. Words, they are stronger than texts and actions, they are stronger than words. And hugs? They are the strongest! Take the first step and for once, don’t make me give you the surprise. For once, make me feel like the lady. Make me feel less like the man in charge and more like the damsel to be rescued (no, i am not in distress). If you’re my friend then send me an essay about us. If you like me then tell me. If you don’t, then might as well say that and end the facade. ANd friend, if an essay is too much, then just make a plan to meet up with me.

You are a but a tiny speck in the world, but hell, without you the world, my world is incomplete. So you better feel like yours is incomplete sans me.

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– Love & extremely tangled!

Who the f* am I?

This is not one of those revelation kinda posts. This is genuinely, me asking myself- Who the fuck am I?
I am not asking this with the intention of discovering  myself. I know who I am, but who am I to people? I was talking to a friend of mine, asking her what kind of girlfriend she is. Weird question, I know, but then, I often catch myself thinking about these absurdities in my head. So what kind of girlfriend am I?

Now I just feel bored with this topic so I am going to stop writing a long post.
In a nutshell I suck at being in love and I am a terrible girlfriend. The moment I see something serious happening I feel claustrophobic and I run. Run so far away that the partner starts detesting me. Good way too shoo ’em unwanted ones, eh?
Although, in my defense, I have not really been in any mature, adult relationship so I wouldn’t know. I would like to, though.

Sigh.
These are the times I wish I hadn’t broken up with someone.

Anyway,
Till I’m glad-der.
xoxo

THERE IS NO PICTURE ON THIS POST. Hmph.

Bolted doors of the sleepless nights.

I just finished watching Iti Mrinalini. And there isn’t one happy even in that movie. Don’t misunderstand me, it is a beautiful ‘chhobi but I cannot understand how there can be so much sadness, sorrow, melancholy in one person’s life.

I mean, how much can one person take? Is there any sorrow that we cannot overcome? Is there any loss we cannot forget? Is there any void that cannot be replaced? Does ‘loss’ mean anything, really?
Nothing that we lose is irreplaceable. You’re here, right now. Tomorrow is a new day; you may not exist. How many people will miss you? Yes, there will be tears, yes there will be a few days where people are stunned, shocked, PTSD-ing. But what after that?

Life.Goes.On.

To paraphrase from the Film ( and I am taking huge creative liberties here , while paraphrasing)
We merely believe that we control our fate. That we are superhumans who can write destiny, who control the future, who manipulate the truth. We don’t. All that we do is play as a pawn in the larger scheme of things. Everything is planned. Everything is pre decided. We’re an illusion of our own creation.We are not who we want to be; we are who we had to be.

I have not really been through any such terrible event in life which would force me to re-think my life. I hope that’s a good thing. I have had a the usual heart break warfare and the family melodrama, but isn’t all that what constitutes life and, well, growing up? I like those parts as much as I like the parts with ice cream and candies in them. If there is no bad, then how would I know what’s good eh! I missed studying in a college in Calcutta by one rank. ONE. It’s a hard loss, but there is nothing so miserable about it. And that’s the closest example I can get out of mu life, right now..till now.

So what IS miserable? In relative terms, nothing is. Every sorrow, every tear, every frown is only justified in extremely personal and completely individualistic terms. My sorrow is mine, not yours so don’t pretend to empathise. You cannot. The world is full of problems- no drinking water, global warming, Mamta Banerjee [ 😛 ] so I don’t hold my problems in prime importance. Someone told me that the sorrow in the world never reduces the pain, instead it increases the magnitude. I disagree. Pain is pain to only the one/ ones who’re feeling it. And by ‘feeling’ I mean truly going through it all. Trust me, none of us want to go through the no-drinking-water sorta pain. We;re all oh! so delicate. We’re not meant to feel that kinda loss or lack. We’re delicate. Our sorrow isn’t what someone else will be able to fathom just like we wont understand anyone else’s. So do me a favour- the next time someone says ‘I am sad’, just sit next to that person and wait for him/ her to calm down. You do NOT know what is going on so stfu!

We all ‘move on’. We all ‘get over it’. Everyone is born with that inbuilt mechanism to cope with loss. Every orphan grows. Every mother can survive. Every family re-builds their roots…it’s just with reluctance, that everyone carries on. And that reluctance to carry on, to live, to forgive or forget is what ultimately makes us human.

To live, is human.
To love, is human.
Everyone lives, perfectly.
Everyone can love, in their own flawed way.

Life is an absolute. It is singular.

You will be wronged, this world is a bitch.. but never forget the love that you get.

-stay tangled.
xoxo

 

Feel; un-feel.

there are times in your life where you wish. just wish.

and right now, i am sad. yes, sad and upset and i need to vent. i look forward to moments where i can look at someone, point my fingers and say ‘ha! gotcha fuckface’ but now that i have that time, that moment, i just wanna close my eyes and wish it never really happened. i am supposed to feel elated, overjoyed, surpassed with smiles and tears together. but i dont. i just feel vacant and hollow. it’s like someone put their hands inside me and ripped my soul off my body. and is dangling that very lifeless soul in front of me.

now that i know how measured life can get, and to know that i was right about those, er, measurements, i should feel blessed that i have the most precise knowledge about how much to anticipate. but no! i feel cursed. cursed because i know i wished upon this. no wonder they say ‘be careful what you wish for, you might just get it’
(my bff just called and i ignored her call. something is wrong with me)
anyway, i feel morose. tears are brimming up to that final edge but this is the first time i have been able to blink them back. i have finally conquered the art of gulping sorrow and pretending to be happy. well, not really. i still suck at pretending. nevertheless, i mastered something. i should feel proud, right? I DO NOT. i want to hug myself and doggy and sleep. i want a boy who understands me. and i want to feed laxatives to my ex.

i feel vengeful and mortified to be feeling this way. my head is splitting, as if i have a hundred hangovers simultaneously. i don’t like to feel this way. and i feel guilty. and helpless. (i normally feel helpless when a lot of work is due- like studies or lab work and the deadline is around, but i guess life isn’t simple once you turn 19 cuz yes, i have academics pending but wth i am in college!). then WHY am i feeling all this.

trust me. i’d give an arm and a leg to keep my mum from flying to pune tonight. i would give my enitre body to erase the last few days and just write them myself. but these reasons are not why i am feeling this way. these reasons aren’t reason enough.
…or are they?