A restaurant.

I went to a new joint in town,
They served food and cheer.
They also served me crisps,
With unlimited beer.

I ordered the platter,
The one with everything on it?
It took thirty five minutes,
The time didn’t quite matter.

For as I looked around,
I noticed the decor.
It seemed like a yesterday.
I’d given up on before.

As the beer satiated me,
I thought of how much
This place resembled my life,
Could this be possible such?

On further investigation,
The menu read as follows.
Some meat, some love
Food and then, hollows.

There were salads and dessert,
Also, passion and love.
I chose the platter with all,
All that was above!

Guilty, I looked around.
The walls were my beating heart!
Was I ready to take the plunge?
The realisation hit me like a dart.

I returned my food,
But could I return what I felt?
For I…had ordered,
A plate full of myself!

Lost moments of glory,
Summer love and rainy afternoons.
A tangent of youth and,
A mouthful of macaroons.

And for dessert there was you.
And the evening walk around
The fair in October,
The feelings that abound.

I couldn’t look at the delicacies,
The manager looked worried.
The review on Zomato
Might just turn out hurried.

He gently came up,
Warmly, he asked.
“May I help you, madam?”
As the fleeting emotion passed.

I said I would be leaving,
That I needed to pay my due.
He laughed and looked down,
Said “This is all you!”

I looked quizzically,
And then I noticed them.
The people were my acquaintances,
My people, my friends.

It was all in my head,
I had ordered as my muse.
I think I need a doctor,
Probably Dr. Seuss.

Panicked, I ran.
And I felt a thud on my fist
I banged the wall repeatedly,
Until it turned to mist.

And I walked into a valley,
With a river full of red.
Sweaty, I woke up
With a shaky hand on my bed.

I looked around to make sure,
Yes, it was an imagination.
My memories were dangerous,
My memories were my salvation!

The countdown never ends, will college?

The countdown that I had started on my phone on a widget is on its last 60 days or lesser and I have a feeling that this will never really end. Once college ends, once I finish this final freaking year, I will be a doctor. Yes, I’ll have a year of internship left and my Masters and my PhD, but college does indeed end.

When college for you is a major KLPD like it was for me, one has to be glad. But am I really…glad? Not really. I never liked college but I like what I had to study. I had academic orgasms but the people quotient was a big let down and I had to fake it more than once. The fest is an apology for a fest. The administration only improved in the last two years. I’ve seen things be unfair and ignored. I’ve seen things be fair yet questioned. I’ve seen court cases and arrests. I’ve seen friends turn into strangers. I’ve seen flatmates turning into foes and when I said that the people factor was a let down, I wasn’t exaggerating. I haven’t touched alcohol in more than a year while at college and whilst that is a big yay for my parents, it isn’t for me. They say, no good story starts with roti-sabji and that’s all I had to eat in burdwan.
I’ve transgressed from no salwar kameez to an almirah full of them.

I’ve grown as a person and have been in contact with people who have terrible birth deformities. I’ve touched them, made them take their pills, assisted in operations and heard of one die. It takes a toll on you, cancer. Even if it is someone you haven’t known for more than a month, it shakes you down when he dies after a seemingly successful and radical surgery. I hadn’t assisted that particular case since I am junior but I knew of it.

College has shown me terrible lows. I’ve learned to trust more and have more faith rather than be guarded and expect treatment like that of a queen. It has been humbling. From travelling everywhere in a car to battling it out in the rains in the local town service buses, from never having to think twice before changing clothes to actually cleaning the bathroom myself…

But I’ve seen highs too, like everyone else. The usual impromptu outings, laughing our asses off prior to vivas and crying with my head on the room mate’s shoulder when I screwed them up. There are innumerable moments that I have collected unknowingly.
The ear injury, watching football matches, seeing Chelsea win against Bayern, seeing India win against Pakistan, surprise visits to a friends home for food, staying up all night to concoct a revenge against my roomies jerk ex-boyfriend, going out on photo walks, stealing shoes from the rude landlord and throwing them into a gutter. Ah, we were evil.

Friends came, and friends fell out. It hurts to know that I will walk out of college with a group of friends I can count on a single hand and not more, given that we were once the biggest group in college. But then again, I found a good handful.

The interb year will be a year full of more discoveries. My interest in the subject, what I’m really good at and more unplanned visits.
But this countdown that I’ve started, won’t ever end. It’ll start again  because college for me never really began. I am yet to fail a test. I am yet to get caught doing something that I’m not supposed to. I’m yet to be looked down upon. I’m yet to be reprimanded for not adhering to the rules. College has been… loose. There were no rules. There was nothing to break. Everything was… accepted. I was at home. I had professors who have loved me, thought of me so highly that they referred me to their friends’ son for marriage (oopsie). I’ve been loved and adored and placed on on a pedestal after winning the IDA competition at the National level. The letter of appreciation is still there on the college notice board and I feel surreal each time I see it.
Why? Cause when I had walked into this college it was a little better than a shanty. To have seen it grow from merely a cement structure to a full fledged hospital where I’ve become what I will be. I had never once thought that there would be someone representing this college at a national level. I had never once expected to have been supported with as much gusto as I was. Professors allowed me to take their Thesis reports and not just those from my college but from various colleges in the city. Everyone rooted for me, and when I held that trophy in my hand, everybody suddenly knew that Burdwan Dental College exists. This is probably the first time I’ve publically named my college. I hadn’t yet because I wasn’t really proud of it. But hey, I’ve done enough. Toppers of the university are from here. 😀

Having stepped into a college in capris and keetos and rebuked by the seniors, I will walk out wearing a saree and heels.  A lot has changed in the last four years. From the length of my hair to the girth of my waist haha. Seriously, I’ve become a more grounded person. Could college have been better? Yes. Do I want to redo one bit of it? No.

I’ve had my heart stolen, broken, manhandled, mangled, trampled and then rebuilt again. I’ve had torrid fights and hot tears flowing down my cheeks. I’ve lost my bag, notes and probably a few more things that I don’t even know of yet. I’ve had joyous nights which passed in a haze, I’ve had days which refused to end and evenings which have been beautiful. I’ve had conversations and basically, a college life we all have.

So no, the people weren’t as bad, in hindsight and in conclusion. The mass of them, yes.. but the ones who helped me build the memories, irrespective of whether they’re still my friends or not, were a good bunch. 🙂

A wallflower; under construction.

I just watched The Perks of being a wallflower. And I feel sad, irrevocably sad. I’ve been feeling sad for quite a few days now and this feeling? I feel it only when I’m supposed to be doing something, something important,  but end up not doing it, for whatever reasons. Read the following with the voice in your head, do a mimic of Emma Watson. Make it sound deep. With background music, preferably.. I’d suggest Pearly-Dewdrops’ Drop or maybe a John Mayer song? People go. Some leave. Some linger. Some promise to return, but there is always one person, who you know will return, will keep that promise and will come back. And I miss my person. I miss her terribly. There are moments where I was weak and I need to be strong. In life, sometimes, all you can do is build memories with a person. Go outside with them, sing songs, dance, write, be with them..and then, when that person is away, you hope that those memories are strong enough to make a road to wherever that person is. And then, hope that the road is simple enough to lead you both back to where you belong. But where do two people, lost, swimming in a fish bowl, belong? They belong to one another. And then, you know, just know, that the memories you have are there for good and that all you can do is wait. Wait ror new memories.  Wait for that person to find the road and signal to you, in your own little code, that the way is clear; that she needs you too, she’s had bad days as well, that she’s missed you as pathetically as you’ve missed her. And you smile and look back at the days you wept because you had things to say and couldn’t, because she was happy and you wanted to be happy too but just couldn’t, because inside you wished that she would understand that you need her to ask you specifically- what has been going on, on the other side of that road? But you remember you’re smiling because the road was strong and she signalled. The road, leading to her new world..and you tiptoe into it, holding her hand, with glittering eyes and trembling fingers, and look at her and she smiles back. And you know, just know, that a road apart will not take her away. Your best friend. But till then, all you can do is wait. And hope that the memories build a road strong enough, strong enough to lead you both back. -written on 12.07.2013 @ 11:30pm

 

 

It is hard to let go.

Which sex would you choose?

To talk to about your feelings?
To talk about lizards?
To talk about China?
To discuss your boyfriend?

WHO would be your choice, and I am asking this as a girl to other girls. (boys could answer just for fun) Would you call a girlfriend or choose a boy over the so-called fairer sex (although I couldn’t agree less with this ‘name’)? I would choose my best friend, who is a girl. Then, I would choose someone who’s next to my bestie, and she too is, well, a she. And then, I’d look at a guy to discuss some other things.

I’ve been told that guys ae easier to talk to, less of a hassle and more straightforward, with lesser ego issues. So, maybe that is why most girls end up talking things out with boys, or keeping in touch with guys or even have more guy friends. I too have more male friends than female, but the girl-friends I do have are very dear to me. I keep in touch with them as much (and equally) as compared to the guys.

Something has been disturbing me and I cannot voice it out, ’cause I do not know it yet. As soon as I do, I”ll let you know. What bugs me is how someone, so integral to your life, can vanish one fine day. I mean, you know that person is out there, living breathing and talking to other people, but not with you. It isn’t like they are ignoring you, they reply to your texts and ask you what’s up, but you know that the conversations aren’t and may never be the way they were. Why? Because you see them talk and live, without making you a part of it, involuntarily, with no malice or spite. They just slowly eradicate you from their life and you leave, without protest, and that’s your fault and totally your call.
You leave with a hole in their lives, and that hole stays forever cause no one is replaceable.  They decide not to replace you and you thank god for that, but they find new space for new people and those new people start encroaching on your space.

You tell yourself, that it isn’t a competition and that your importance is important. But the question marks come into your mind, seeds of doubt germinate and you look at them in a way, with a view, that you never have before. Did you slip from being a friend to an aquaintance to just another face in the Facebook friend-list? When they like a picture by the newer people, you ask yourself; would they like yours? And then you see that they don’t and your heart breaks just a little bit more. You ask yourself, is this PMS and then you check your Tracker to see that it isn’t.

It is hard letting go, of friends more than anything and it is even harder to see yourself fade out of their life when there was no problem in the first place, except maybe, they found better interests or hobbies or work or worse, people. And it sucks when they are still on your priority list when you have slipped off of theirs. And sucks even harder when you see what or who you have slipped because of. It sucks the hardest when you know you slipped off to someone who they can flirt with, or talk random BS with. You know you’ve lost, and it wasn’t even a competition.

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‘Coffee this evening?’

Hazy lights, fast cars and the drizzle. That’s all she remembered, that’s all that she cared about, that’s all she should care about. So then, why did her mind keep fleeting back to those hands? She had held them with so much fervour, she had felt so much in those fifteen seconds, she had squeezed them so tightly; like there was no today and like there was no one else as important as him, in that particular moment, that moment where time lost its worth.

Maya knew something had changed. She could recall the songs that played on the radio. She could feel his hair brush across her face. She could smell him; a mixture of alcohol and perspiration. She wanted to know every detail. She needed to every detail.

‘Listen, what if it is all a mistake?’, she asked her sister.
‘Nothing is ever wrong, when you remember how he smelt!’ Sanaya was busy filing her nails, without paying much attention to the apparently vague description Maya had offered.

Maya sank back into her bed and under the blanket. It was cold. Was it cold that night too? She didn’t remember shivering, at least not because of the chill. She shuddered. Who was he? What had he done to her? Was she right in feeling happy or was it a misplaced emotion?

She stared at her cell phone. He had texted over an hour ago, it still remained unopened. The last time she checked, he had sent a virtual kiss. Why?

‘Maya, man just have fun with him. He’s giving you a golden opportunity’ Sanaya retorted suddenly, taking Maya by utter surprise. The phone fell down, switched off. Maya hurried to take it off the ground and switched it on. She opened the message.
Meet me today?
Maya’s fingers trembled. She couldn’t.

She felt her heart reach her mouth. This is not fine. This is not fun. I don’t have fun. How can a relationship be fun when he’s already in a semi-relationship with someone who wasn’t her?

She rushed to the washroom. Cried. Washed her face and returned. Sanaya saw it happen but did not react. Maya silently thanked her for not asking what happened.
‘What is his name?’
‘Let it be.’ Maya didn’t want to take his name, for fear of making it real.
‘Wow. His parents sure loved The Beatles’
‘Shut up!’

Maya laughed and lightened up. She replied to his text message saying she would meet him that evening. In her head, she decided to say everything to him clearly, to his face; that she is the emo kind of girl, the kind of girl who falls for her benifit-buddy, the kind who fucks up friendships cause she falls in love too easily, the kind who needs love.
Sanaya begged her sister to grow up.

He never made it to the evening coffee, she slept through the night. He texted her a few more kisses.

The next week went by with random conversations. She never mentioned to him, what she had planned to. He kept playing the kiss card. She kept falling for him a little more, with each kiss. She went back to that night again..
Glazed eyes, the high of weed, the spilled alcohol, the broken glass and stripped off clothes. She remembered pushing him away, she remembered going closer. She remembered the feel of his hand against her body. She remembered getting up and leaving. And him following. And then, the drive. The shortest drive from one lane to the other. The most beautiful drive with the prettiest lights. 
Maya pinched herself, she went out into the drizzle and stood there till she was wet and till she could feel the shiver again. She looked at her phone. Had he messaged? She kept checking. She kept waiting.

Months passed by. Maya forgot about the night. She took it as an adventure. She was happy that it had happened and glad that it was over. He couldn’t possibly be interested in her, she wasn’t as hot as his fiancé and she wasnt as beautiful as his ex girlfriend. She didn’t even like the same songs, surely they couldn’t be a good match!
But she still waited, without expecting much. She was used to it, by now. The ones she liked never liked her the way she wanted them too. The ones who liked her were never good enough.

Months passed. She got one more virtual kiss. Her heart fluttered. An unknown number. Who is this? Who else, Maya, who else?
A tear rolled down her cheek. Was it a joke? Isn’t he supposed to be married? No he wasn’t. So? She can’t go through it again. Meet me. Okay, she decided.

He made it to the coffee shop this time, with tulips in hand, and lilies. He wasnt sure which she liked. She walked in, hassled, because of the mud and monsoon. He loved the rains. She looked at him, he held her glance. She moved closer. They kissed. This time, she felt it. She felt all of it and everything came rushing back; the night, the touch, the moves, the taste and it was wonderful. It was beautiful and yummy! He had touched her hair that night, he had felt her cheeks.

What happened, no fiancé? Could he not go through with it? She never asked him because she knew she did not want to know the answers. She was happy to be in his arms, she was happy he hadn’t left her. Sanaya was wrong, that kiss was not just fun.

He looked at her and told her just one thing, and the world as she knew it, changed.
‘That was for all the virtual ones I sent to you. Thanks for being such a sport! I never knew girls could keep their emotions away from kisses! Here, see the ring I’m gonna give to her tomorrow.’

That coffee they had together? It was bitter.

A really mediocre post.

I found a dried rose in a really old diary of mine, the one I had in class 10. I can’t recall who it was from, cause I clearly remember not receiving any roses from the boyfriend I had at that time. And besides, I am not a very red rose person. I’m not a rose person at all.

I found a tattered piece of paper with a poem on it. It’s not written by me and it isn’t written by any of my friends but it is a poetry on friendship. And I can’t recollect who’s handwriting that is. (Yes it is handwritten so it had got to be from before the computers over took our pages)

I also found my old book of Idioms. I have my favourite ones dog eared and some are even underlined. And the book right beside it (The Fountainhead) also had similar underlined paragraphs. There was a time when I found idioms beautiful and that made the base for me to appreciate complicated sentences. No, actually, helped me understand the beauty of simplexity.
Simplexity is a word made of complexity and simplicity. There’s also a book by the same name.

It is amazing how I’ve grown and how people around me have come and gone. There once was a person who was important enough for me to have saved the rose he had given to me in a dary and now, I can’t even remember who it is from. There once was a friend who thought me worthy of poetry and now she’s lost to the new memories I’ve created. There was once a time where my mother bought books for idioms and now, she watches me read Rebecca and Shantaram.

Contentment comes from within and the family plays a huge role in it. By family, I don’t just mean parents and siblings but also the few close friends you have. I’m blessed with more than a few such friends apart from the loving family. I mean, my grand father just sent me a text stating how proud he is of having me as his grand daughter, and my mother is coming all the way to Burdwan to see me off for the teeny test I have, not because it is a test but because she has a holiday and she’s free, and my grand mother asks me if I’m pooping alright and another one sends me food from the other side of the street! I have friends who’re there for me no matter what and I have a flatmate who agrees to delay his date to collect something for me from home (a letter for college, beat that).

And who knows, even there people might get shelved into a folder in memory and gather dust until one day, where future me, finds a blog post written about them while rummaging through older ones. Or, I come across a note scribbled on my phone. Or a random message.

Sigh. 🙂

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Post Break-up Syndrome.

The world seems to be collapsing around you while you desperately try holding onto whatever you can lay your hands on- his favourite band, his favourite poem, the book he last dog-eared or the perfume you never really liked. You look around your room and spot his nail cutter on your dressing table or you look at an advertisement you had both laughed at, together, and then it happens- you feel a rush of tears stinging your eyes, your cheeks go warm and you repent your decision of ending things with him.
He wasn’t that bad after all, was he? All he wanted was for you to cut your hair or grow your nails. All you had complained of was him being an hour late sometimes and surely that can be worked out. All the differences and reasons for the ‘premature’ termination of your relationship begin to seem superfluous and frankly, childish. There is nothing a glass of wine and good conversation cannot sort out, is there? This is the Post Break-up Syndrome.  It is characterised by reckless dating, excessive drinking, excessive shopping, stalking your ex boyfriends, a high sugar diet, self-doubt, prolonged sleeping hours, regret, irritation, reading break-up quotations online, understanding song lyrics and most of all, the need to get back.

So, you call your best friend and ask her if the haste made waste, if the dog pooped early, if…okay, I am out of metaphors. Simply put, you ask her if you were wrong. She will not give you advice but hear you out while you figure out your own mess and while talking to her, and in turn talking to yourself, you hear the reasons out loud and you realise that the decision was in fact right. A difficult choice to live with, but a correct one indeed.

So how does one get over a significant other? You can delete his number, block him on facebook and hide the photographs. You can remove his physical presence from your life, you can pretend that he doesn’t exist and all of this will go on perfectly fine till that one day where you suddenly listen to a song you both danced to, or an old message in you inbox that got ignored while you were on a deleting spree or the news of him dating someone else reaches you. The world will be a perfectly rotating spheroid TILL THAT DAY, after which all his ticks and non-sensical habit will make sense. You will see that you’ve grown and have matured enough to accept the mistakes he had made 7 months back and you will ache to get him back but it is too late. He has moved on, probably as painstakingly as you have (or may be not) and he won the break-up game.

But that’s what popular belief says; that the one who dates first is the winner. I do not agree- I believe that the one who ends up happiest is the winner. Yes, there will be hiccups in getting over him (for god’s sake you loved him once upon a fairytale time ago) and you will question the choices you made. Yes, there might be a chance that ending it was a mistake, you probably should have waited a day or two more, maybe just maybe things would have turned around.

And then you will read something. Something so life-changing that you feel happy and light, like cotton. You’re a reader and he was not. You sing in the shower while he just, showered. You asked philosophical questions and answered them with candy-floss analogies while his dream interview is with Smith and Wesson. You looked at the stars, he saw the dark, dark sky. And then, you call your best friend again, to share your epiphany and she calmly makes you understand that two halves make a whole. That, while you focussed on the stars and he looked at their background, while you read all the time, he read the newspaper (and that’s the point where you make a face and disagree- newspaper is not reading duh!).
Then, once your BFF is done explaining to you why opposites attract, you say just a few sentences to her and she knows that you’ve won the argument-

I need a man who knows what poetry is, how beautifully one sentence flows into another. I need a man who carries a handkerchief with him, not to wipe off my tears but to clean the ketchup that I accidentally dropped on his shirt. I need a man who reads out Beethoven to me, instead of making me listen to his symphonies. I need a man who can make me lose an argument. I need a man who shuts me up by kissing me. I need a man who understands my fascination with House. MD. I need a man whose words seem like a song, whose voice makes me tingle. I don’t get that in him, sweetheart. I get a lot of other things, but not these. I can put in a handkerchief in his pocket and make him watch sitcoms but can I make him feel the beauty of Haiku? Can I make him stir his soul like a good book stirs mine? I am incapable, not him.

Till the time you reach an epiphany, the post break-up syndrome continues.

-All the best, I hope this helped. And if it did not, boo hoo, just start to not care and you’ll soon find another jerk who’ll also leave you 🙂

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Why the new year turned out to be happy after all.

The first words that I have said to anyone, be it my domestic help or my best friend, in  the last few days have been- Hey, happy new year! But then, what is truly so amazing about this year, or for any such beginning for that matter? Almost a week into 2013, it is turning out to be exactly like last year, maybe just a little more grown up. So what makes 2013 MY year? How am I going to let this year define my life? This is definitely not going to be a post on my achievements from last year or the mishaps from the past. This is not going to be about how i grow as a person this year or how my life will change because of what I eat.

The new year is really never good. The partying made my back ache and my neck cramp. I danced like a mad-woman and my hair was knotted and tussled. It is even worse for those who follow the drink-puke-pass out-drink cycle the next day, thanks to the hangover. Why o why do they say that the new year is good, or happy? January first, for most people is a haze of aspirin and missed calls.

This New Year party thingumajimmy that we all participate in was the best I have ever had till date but the days that preceded it made it what it was. It wasn’t all sun-shine and stars, trust me; there were tears and waiting in  the sun for your boyfriend to turn up, and there were last-minute panic phone calls to your girlfriends about what to wear and then ultimately looking stunning! Trust me when I say this- I had not expected the new year to be this great. Oh! and there was almost a break-up that was on the cards, but that dint happen thankfully.

My blog has hit 9,000+ hits already and it is not even a year old. I have already typed an application for an award to the Indian Dental Association for topping my college. I did not break up with my boyfriend, and we look so hot together. I have the best pals in the world. My parents just booked another apartment in another city. And life looks sunny! The last month two weeks were probably the most fun two weeks in the history of my life (minus the days in Thailand, of course) but this was so much fun!

My cousin, who is studying the US (so proud) wrote to me about how his friends ‘love’ my blog. Thank you, people. *big shout out*. Oh. And the drummer of ‘p a r i k r a m a’ messaged me himself AND gave me his number. I probably shouldnt be bragging about it but sc-o-o-o-o-reeee! And even better- he praised this blog and I quote ‘Very inspired writing’.

My brother and Mr. Mahajan here made me get my lazy arse back to the laptop and type-type-type. And thanks, to all of you too! Your praises make me write better, lyk rlly mks me wryt bttr. (laugh if you got the joke)

I remember, on Christmas Eve, my friends and I stood in queue (we broke in) and fought really hard to get into the Church and it was totally worth it. I cry every time I step into a Church and that night, while the Priest blessed me in His name, tears flowed down my cheeks and onto my tee and then to my jeans. I was overwhelmed by everything I felt and everything that was blessed unto me and everyone I had met. I cried because I felt blessed more than anything else I felt.

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I remember crying my eyes out when I saw my friends acting like a couple before me. I missed S so much I couldn’t help but cry. I felt like  a limb was being torn away from me. Everytime the couple held hands, a part of me ached. And then we met and there were smiles and tears and jokes and going out and hatred and discoveries and love and all that shizz!

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I remember laughing like a kid while playing Taboo with all my friends then throwing Santa caps in the air, followed by Shisha and then dancing in the winter chill, it was all worth it. Drinking a peg or two of whiskey and the holding on for my dear life while swaying my head to dance numbers for 6 straight hours without rest. I have never dont this and I never exercise so my body was shocked to do that much work with so much attitude in that much time! 😛

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All in all, this year is off to a good start. The praises for my blog and the praises for my photography have made me happy. I found a boyfriend who is an idiot and loves me like one. I found new friends who’re dating my best friends. My best friend finally had her first kiss. I understood how mature we are all becoming and how childish we still are going to be. I love my parents and my grandparents.

Happy New Year to all of you. Continue to de-tangle (or mess it up even further) with me !

Fake this shit!

It has been a while since I last posted here. Have been busy. No, make that- very busy. third year of college started this October and I have finally entered The Clinics. I was super kicked about reaching this particular year, given that I am halfway through undergrad college and that means I am 50% through the ordeal called Barddhaman. and I was pleasantly surprised! I reached Burdwan on 1st and headed to college and waited for 30 minutes to greet my professor (what with all the ‘first impressions’ thing going on so strong these days) and I was informed about the Intra-college Sports tournament that was being organised.
My dad was in the Indian Army and I’ve had a fairly okay exposure to sports. By that, I mean i can move better than most girls and I mean that in the most innocent way possible. So, I signed up for Badminton (given that the other sports were Football and Carrom, neither of which I was sure of playing, I can shoot alright in Football but that’s about it). And I cleared the quarters and then reached the semis. Knocked out and I lost to the final winner so no pride lost.

Anyway, as Clinics duty proceeded in the day, the sports tournament moved forward after college. And I shouted A LOT while cheering for my batch. The usual ‘jeetega bhai jeetega’ and ‘ come ooooonnn!’, blah, and I cheered for the opponents as well O:)
I even wore track pants to college. Oh, and my work in the clinic was basically in the Prosthodontic Dept. and I made removable partial dentures for two patients. One has already been (successfully) delivered and the other is due on Wednesday. There is this fake sense of know-it-all while you are around patients…i say fake, because obviously I don not know it all, I am merely in third year. But you get to actually BE doctor after all the years of playing with plastic stethoscope and toy ambulances and this halo of importance and reverence surrounds you and you just, feel, important.

All the bitterness that was there last year, given the political influence on my baby college, I felt happy that we were all bonding and more importantly talking! Talking too is fake- it gives everyone a fake importance. ‘Oh, we talk’ ‘Oh, he spoke to me’. Just because we talk, it doesn’t mean we’re close. It just allows all of us to carry on with our lives without others feeling left out. People feel they’re close to you because you talk. WOAH! Huge epiphany! We’re all wonderful actors. No really, take a second and sit back. Think about all the times you have pretended to be something/someone you are not IN A DAY. And it is perfectly normal to pretend. We’re taught to perform in a particular manner from the day we learn to understand emotions and that is exactly what all of us do. We all act. we all pretend. We all put up with a farce.

So, how are we making the ones we love know what we really feel. To come to think of it, we need to be real sometimes! Shouldn’t we be able to be ‘who we are’ before the ones we care about at least? As for me, I don’t pretend before the ones I like/love. Strangely, I become even more blatant and point-blank and then I end up hurting them. Shaa.

ANNNNYWAY. There was also a DJ night in college following the Sports tournament which left all of us super-fit doctors with neck cramps and shoulder pain. I couldn’t move out of bed without an Ooooh-aaaah for four days in a row and I enjoyed every bit of that night and those ten days. It is good to be back with college ‘for real’ and even with all the aforementioned pretentious behaviour, I am happy. It is great to have stories to tell and jokes to share twenty years down the line. I hope this stays the way it is, or it may become better. 🙂

-stay loved. stay as true as possible!

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.