A note to Self

Dear Me,

You have to realise that there are times when things are not in your hands- concretely. And that impatience is not going to hasten the process of getting 'there', wherever 'that' is. You must not delve too much into something too big. Remember, you are 22. Gargantuan feats are achieved not with much thought, but with a lot of work and action put into it.

You need to know that school is always going to be a place where people were the least judgmental and where in the whole regimented setup, there was a different degree of freedom.

There is no shame in owning the fact that you don't know where things are going and well maybe, you might not know for a long time to come. Never doubt what you believe in because at the end of it, even if you fail, it'll be your mistake to learn from and you'll have no one else to blame.

Give the people you cherish the opportunity to grow in your mind space. Let them go ahead in their lives, and redefine their image in your world according to those changes. Don't hold on to your perception of someone formulated in the ancient past.

It's going to be a new year pretty soon, yeah? And with it, things are going to change. Accept it, and take the next step with pride, and humility.

Yours, always.
You

Incomple..

Of things incomplete, the one that takes me on the most supreme guilt trip- the things unsaid. Closely followed by the the things left incomplete. Maybe the canvas of a mountain, a river and a house with the shining sun undone. Or of a beach, the sea but the palm trees without any fruits.

There are things to be done, journeys to be taken, things to be said- all pending, and waiting for their proper ending. Time, after all, is something which slips out of the crevices and cannot be held.

Of completeness, R will draw to a close- a complete end- in a few months. And as much as I wanted this time to be a reality, I look back and see all the wonderful things that have happened to me in these years. Friends, foes and myself. I have happened to myself.

A close friend left R last year with beautiful songs for everyone. I think I'll leave everyone with the one thing that is the closest to me- my writing. I'll write about the people who have mattered to me- our moments- before the curtain draws. Words, my strength. Words, my own.

A 100, and more!

Delhi turned a 100 this week. That's almost as old as my grandfather and me put together. Experiences of a septuagenarian and the outlook of a 20 something- that, my dear Watson, is Delhi for you. The city which sleeps at the strike of 8 in winters, only to hide in its darkness the rave gatherings of the upper bourgeoisie. It shelters petty thieves, murderers and thugs- which I may add, add to the fabric of this metropolis which does not have a culture of it's own.

Delhi will mug you of your belongings, talk you into sweet nothings and strap you off your dignity. It will make you feel cold and distant, and always an outsider for those who aren't dAlhiwalas. It will also give you immense faith in mankind seeing people of diverse backgrounds coexist in the same space. It'll make you feel at home for this is home to migrants from far and wide. It will give you strength in knowing that two of every three persons is striving for a peaceful and satisfactory existence in the Rajdhani.

Delhi is a city of contradictions, a city you have to make yourself fall in love with. The people aren't the best of the lot, but sure they care when they see someone in distress. Yes, they shouldn't be trusted right away, but we don't laugh at your misery. Garrulous, you quip? Indeed, but at least we speak good of people. Delhi, after all is where dreams may never be realised but it gives you the motivation to dream. To dream big.

To my Delhi which has taught me who I am, and what I can be. To my Delhi which is the worst, but is also the best. To my Delhi, joyous centenary celebrations, meri jaan!

Finally, final.

As it happens, the pages are turned to figure out what happens next. And when you near the end of a much revered book, a sense of loss is always on the cards. Once completed, you feel satiated and in some weird way, very ravenous.

Another page was turned this week, the seventh to be precise. Then there was that first visit to the placement complex. Happy faces, jitters and unavoidable disappointments- a potpourri with a great combination of sense and sight. There seems to be a time for everyone, and for a few, it's already here. Congratulations, much!

For a few of my dear ones, their time is coming. I can see it, the hope of a hopeless optimist. It's just a matter of moments before they will have formally arrived, and that day, I'll be a proud man.

Sometimes I wonder, whether my singularity in this entire milieu was a wise decision. On keen deliberation, I can only come up with one regret. I didn't get an opportunity to wear a suit with a red tie. Oh well, someday. Soon.

Final year is special, and every tick of the clock is a memory. A memory to be etched in the mosaic of life, and to be reflected back on with permeating fondness when you have moved on- for good.

Reflections: marC

3 and a li'l over years at R.
One permanent feature- End term examinations.

I wonder what existence would be like without tests? For a fact, it can't be worse than this. Then again, I really don't have the right to crib- Senior year, after all.

So the last actually begins now. Before you know it, the next ETE will be looming onerously and well, THAT, would be the real closure.

Should I be relieved that it's coming to a close? Or should I be pensive about the ETEs gone by?

There are far more questions that a fool can ask than a wise man can answer.
The irony is that both the fool and the sage are within us- always.

As they rightly say..

Silence, always, is golden.

A silent prayer,
A slip.

A silent cry,
Purgatory.

A silent satiation,
Invaluable.

Words are never enough. Words- balm to the pain, fuel to fire.
Silence, it is said, is golden.

We, the people.

At times, one is compelled to think about us. Humans, as a race. I am no exception to this fad. There was Darwin who proposed the theory of survival of the fittest, and then there are the present day management gurus (?) who move cheese and make us believe that we can win by following a particular regimen. Does it work? Maybe. Works for whom? Don't know.

In my humble opinion, humans are a set of pending experiments in a laboratory.

We were brought out, nay synthesized, for the purpose of study and analysis but somewhere down the line, the worker gave up his job. We were put into the reactor, mixed with the necessary components and left to amalgamate, disintegrate and process. With time, after all the tests and examinations, we were left unattended for the purpose of obtaining results.

And it still happens today.

We face challenges, are confronted by barriers and forced to work against our will. Yet, no one sees the problems we face, the loss we encounter and the pain that we go through. We are all in this test setup, hoping that one day, the results are read and we are put to our rightful place.

We are the lukewarm cup of hot chocolate on a freezing winter night.

Left to stand alone, to be consumed when it's just the right time. Only they forgot, we moved past our perfect moment and now we provide little comfort.

We are the tenuous rays of the setting sun.

Not valued for the light we spread because we are weak, but remembered for the hope we instill before the dark night engulfs the world.

We, humans, are still learning to find our voice- muffled, and oft unheard.

Of sprints and leaps

I remember Junior School Sport's Days with great alacrity. The sack races, the sprints and the march pasts. Every left-right-left resounds in my heart with the same verve as it did a little more than a decade ago. I used to like the relay race, with the baton being hurriedly passed and the go-go-go being yelled as if it was a medical emergency! For one, it was the only thing wherein I wasn't singly blamed in case of a disappointment. But as far as I recall, we used to be good at it- as a team. I wondered why, of all the things in the world, running enticed me then. And maybe somewhere down the line, I found my answer.

Running is inherent to human nature.

You run to catch the train, you run to run away from your fears, and you run in order to achieve what you set out for. Sometimes, it tires you out and you really wonder whether it was worth the effort. More often than not, it isn't.

We are a bunch of sensible people, living in a nonsensical world. And because of this blaring irony, we learn to run. Run to change, run to accept, and run to accede.

It's not life until you've run your part. Don't worry how far you can go, it's never going to be far enough! But run, not because you have to, but because we are humans at the end of the day.

And THAT, is closure.

Once upon a time lived Tom;
And then there was Jerry,
Tom never missed a chance;
To make Jerry dance
To his tune.

One fine morrow;
Jerry had enough,
For he left the show;
And Tom had no role to essay.

Tom's beseech for Jerry's return,
Was met by a cold distant stern.
"For all my misery, I still haven't complained;
To the King of our Kingdom Animilia."

Tom, aghast, stood with a bent;
Patted Jerry and left in silence.
Jerry called out, and wished him well.
And that, folks!, is closure!

Cause and Belief

Idealism is very personal. A sense of right- and wrong- is dependent on how one seems to strike a balance in life. For me, there are no shades of grey. Either you are spartan white, or trojan black. It is rather unfair, and at times I do feel I should give myself the benefit of doubt, but it is an arduous task to change one's perception after so long. No wonder children are the spartan white. They bear no malice, show little displeasure. For children, hurt is expressed in tears and happiness in uncontrollable laughter. How I wish we could be back there, again.

When does one feel wronged? Can you feel cheated by only a person? Isn't the system worthy of blame as well? It is inherent in human nature to take the badgering, not to utter a word in protest.

I'd rather not take on something out of my league. Does it really matter?

Does anything really matter? Does it matter that you may be the most admired person in the room? Or maybe the most despised? No, nothing really matters.

Then why does one feel cheated, humiliated and disrespected when meted with an unfair treatment? What is fair in this not-so-fair community? Some questions do not have answers. And maybe they are best unanswered.

When you see the tallest person in the room walk with a slight bent- hunched, a recent development- you realise life takes it's toll on everyone. And maybe all the teaching of being true to yourself are not actually possible in this non-utopian setup. There are certain values that everyone takes along with them, and many times these values get modified to suit one's convenience. If you are able to modify yourself according to your principles, you are a winner. Respect, unbound!

When does a parent become a child? The transition is very subtle, yet very sudden. The reversal of roles is a beautiful phenomenon of the world- a true example of symbiotic existence. You may lose touch with some, but the bond seldom decapitates. And that is how you take them along- in mind and in heart.

Believe in something, and hold your ground. Live for a cause, and make it happen. You don't want to look back at some point in time, and grimace. A smile of satisfaction goes a long way in making history, and after all, it is his story that we read ever so often.

Of food, and home!

I wonder who coined the term 'Holidays'. Conditioning makes us believe that these 'holy'days give everyone an opportunity to relax, sleep that tad bit longer, do that wee bit less. Sometimes, and I speak on behalf of inherently listless brethren, these vacations seem to pass in a jiffy. Snap, and gone.

Wait, What?! Oh, okay!

Everyone looks forward to breaks- long and short. It is impossible to keep on going, tirelessly and determined, at a stretch beyond a point in time. You need to refuel yourself, maybe gulp down some water and eat some morsels of food, and get back on track. That makes me realise the importance of food. There was a time when people ate to live, and then they lived to eat. Now, people live and don't eat. Fads, tsk.

I used to be a couch-potato. School, food, home, food, television, food, sleep. And Cartoon Network of the yore used to be my favourite. It used to be quite informative as well, you see! In one of those programs, I heard and vividly recall, "The only way to get rid of your broccoli is to eat 'em!" How true!

To be able to vanquish your worst fears, face them. You can take the easier route- skirt the issue, take the simpler path- but where does that lead you? To a bigger version of your fears. That's the irony of existence. You run away from your fears, only to be faced by them yet again, in a more vicious form.

Well, my only fear right now is how to finish the food on my plate. The lady of the house seems to crowd the dishes with servings after another of ghar ka khana, and it seems to be filling me up, and out. If I don't finish this, I wonder what would be in store for me for the next meal. The Last Supper, eh?! You bet ya!

So, I'd rather gobble along now. I have to seek inspiration from Man Vs. Food, and oh boi! Does that bugger have an appetite?! Respect.

Take me home, To the place I belong

School is a vivid recollection, etched delicately in my memories. Times when eating lunch from someone's pack was the set norm and choking on the ambiguity of 'I have my pen, where's the cap?' was a done deal. Beautiful moments, which surprisingly passed in a haste.

There are instances when you wish you could go back and undo the things you did back then. Maybe, you should have wished the most boring teacher on Teacher's Day, and maybe you should have attended the talk on 'Future of Education in India' rather than staying in class and doing, well, nothing. At that time, it seemed inconsequential but a series of 'What if's.. ?' seldom crop up in my mind.

The transition from Sanskriti to R was an undulating one. From a rather informal scenario to a very varied one, it took me time to realise what everything was all about. I recall my initial days here, and if someone asks me how I felt in the freshmen year, a ready reply emerges, 'I was figuring things out.' I still am.

A few months are left now, before I head out again. A quest to a place unknown, a place which might be very different from what I imagine it to be. I do not know if things turn out right in the end, but if they don't, we'll just keep moving.

Prima facie, will I miss R? I want to say No, but that will be a blatant lie. I will remember it for lessons learned, mistakes committed, hurt and invaluable people met. After all, school was also not a joy ride. In hindsight, you tend to forgive- others and yourself. That is what makes us human. The power to accept you faltered, and that no one is omnipotent.

And in this realisation of imperfection, we are all perfect.

September Rains

There's something odd about September rains. Weren't the monsoons just here? They left, didn't they? Oh! But the oppressive heat returned. And so did the craving for a cooler day, a more comfortable week. And so, it rained.

Monsoons make you realise how lush things are. How buoyed the trees feel, how ecstatic the world is. And then, it leaves behind a lull. The monstrous humidity pokes its ugly head at you, and you gasp for a breath of cool air, a wisp of the soft winds. None, whatsoever.

And then you see it, the thunder. The winds blow, conjuring all their strength and making way for the imminent rains. It pours, and the respite. Sometimes, I stand outside and listen to the pitter-patter and there's a rhythm to it. It tells you of the journey of these drops, from far away lands to you, and how it has completed it's destined way. You marvel at Him, for you knew you could not tolerate the heat anymore, and He listened.

It happens with all of us. We have our thresholds, and when things seem to go awry, it always rains. It soothes you, it's a balm for your pain. A panacea of the last resort. Rains, in more ways than one, are a way of reminding you that you are not alone. And that good is always met with good.

I hope it rains frequently, and without delay in the time to come. For not only does it wash away the dust and the grime, but it also gives you a new lease of life. To start things afresh, with renewed verve.

Look, it's raining now!

Idi

It was the last day of Ramadan- the air was thick with festive glee. The children were all over the market place buying their favourite candies, young girls selecting the most beautiful ensemble for the D-day and men purchasing the best meat for the daawat tomorrow. Her house- a one room space in the crammed street- overlooked the market. She looked at the scene outside with great intent, absorbing the happiness and contentment that was being radiated from each and every face that she glanced at.

She remembered her son, and daughter. A tear trickled down her cheek thinking about how she had lost her daughter in the riots. What was her fault? Had she done wrong to anybody? She was a devout Moslim, and had always believed in helping the poor. Today, she missed her terribly. If only she could have her back, if only her life had not turned out the way it did. If only...

Her son had always been a handful. Never the one to listen, he was the one who had to be handled with great care and interest. After his sister's tragic demise, he had become a lot more serious. There was always an intense expression in his eyes, a hardened look. He obeyed everything his mother said, and tried to be the most diligent son, but something was amiss. He started metamorphosing into someone with a purpose, someone who hid his motives from others- probably himself too- so that the world would not know what he was up to. One day, he left home without saying anything to his mother. She thought he would return in sometime. He never did, and it was almost 8 years now.

She was determined that he would return tomorrow. How could he be away from his beloved Ammu for so long? She would make his favourite dishes- Rogan josh, Kesar Biryani, Shahi Qorma and Seviyan. "He will come", she kept repeating to herself. After putting her heart to the preparation of the feast, she was worn out and slept immediately.

---

She woke with a start! Rushing to the door, she flung it open hoping for him to be smiling on the other side. She couldn't recognize who this person was, definitely not her son. He asked for permission to enter as he had something important to talk about. Verifying his credentials, and it turned out he knew her son and his whereabouts, she let him in and offered his a glass of rose water. He drank it with ravenous thirst and asked for some more. She looked longingly at him, hoping that he would be the carrier of a good message. He began talking about how her son had left home to join the extremists in their quest to wreak havoc on society, their plans of a large scale macabre in the town hall on various festivals and their callous behaviour towards the suffering of innocent lives. He was one of them too, but one day something changed- forever. It was Eid, just a day like today, and both of them were walking on the streets, a day off from their mission. They came across a rickety boy, who begged them for some alms. They spoke to the child and asked about his family, and the boy wept silently. As it turned out, he belonged to a well to do setup, but had been orphaned during a blast a few months ago. The two of them froze in their places, because they were the ones who had planned the gruesome act. They felt a burden on their conscience, something they could not live with, and in that moment they decided to flee.

That was 3 years ago, and today both of them were teachers at a Madrassa in the next town. They had taken to teaching young children, who would be the future of the country and transform it into a place of harmony and prosperity.

"Why did he not come back in the past three years?", she asked.
"He tried to, but every time he resolved to return, he remembered the boy and cursed himself for being the culprit for all his miseries. Maybe it was someone like us who killed your daughter, and because of this he could never face you." He fell silent.

Her vision blurred, and she stumbled on her chair. "Take me to him ", she said beseechingly.
"He's here."
She turned around, and there he was. Taller, a lot bonier, but the same softness on his face. The mischief clearly visible in those blue eyes. She rushed, held him with care, and squeezed his arm to confirm his presence. "Where have you been?", that's all she could manage to say before she choked.

---

They ate heartily, shared anecdotes about the past eight years. Her son was back, and he was no longer on the wrong. She remembered her daughter again, and prayed that she be fine in heaven. It was evening now, and it was time for them to leave. As they were departing, he said, "The last time when I left, I did not ask for your permission. Today, I do Ammu. Permit me to leave- only to come back- and pray that I never lose sight of the good."

She blessed him with all her being and prayed silently for his well-being. She thought of the Idi that young ones receive from their elders. God had been very kind on her this day. He had given her the most prized gift- her son.

Random Ramblings

There is inherent goodness in all of us, and that is how the chi flows. The good, the better and the best- I categorize people in that very way. So what if people always doubt you? So what if you are the shade of black in their eyes? If you can eat your square meals a day, and sleep with a spartan conscience, noting else should matter, right?

Sigh. It does.

We are inherently a confused bunch of people. We crave for 'fitting in' and yet try to be unique. The paradox is baffling, and sometimes, there are things that the human mind is never supposed to know. The best way to know yourself is to gauge your responses to various situations. I surprise myself every now and then, and in the process, I evolve.

Time is fluid- it run faster than you can catch up. And in the process of running- huffing and puffing- do snatch a look at yourself, fleetingly if nothing more. You will be surprised to have aged beyond your years. After all, age is just a number and experiences make your existence count.

Ab 'Bus'?

Everyone has a check list, nay a bucket list, for all the things 'checked' and all those which remain hollow circles and squares. Coming home from Roorkee in a shoddy dilapidated Rajasthan Roadways during the wee hours of the morning was not a predominant entry anywhere on that list, but then again, it was a beautiful journey.

The silhouettes of the trees at the far end of the fields, dark stoic figures waiting for the dawn to break, reminded me of the stillness that is life. Time changes- days give way to nights and years to decades- but the being is inherently the same. We all crave for the soothing moonshine, and the comforting rays of the sun. Perspective, or so they say.

To think of all that has flashed by in a span of 3 and a li'l more years was purging in many ways. What if Roorkee never happened? Sometimes I wish it didn't, at others, I can't express my gratitude to the comatose 360 odd acres. The irony that is life.

There are moments when you are weak, and tick-tocks when you can take on the world. No one really likes plain Vanilla ice all throughout, there has to be a change at some point. Variety that is life.

As the skies darken...

My internship is over, for all practical purposes. Nine weeks down, and a week to go, I can comfortably say that this time has made me realise who I am, and what I am meant for. But this is not about me, it is about them. I met, and had the good fortune of interacting with, a bunch of great people here- some I knew since I time I used to be a kid, and some who are a part of my life at R. And to them, this note- the last, for now.

Rahul- Shine, always. You will.
Nitish- Stay this way- you're almost perfect.
Mayank- I couldn't have asked for a better concomitant. Thank you!
Shruti- Keep that smile intact, you must.
Anoop- You are meant for glory, we know it.
Mohit- Hope to see you at the top, soon.

Paarth- Keep in touch. And thank you for being a great friend!
Ankit- I lived my childhood again- the time when we were kids! Thanks, and you have to keep in touch. Always!
Anshul, Sandeep and Abhishek- You guys deserve the best- go get it!

Arpit- For the honesty and commitment, it shows. Don't change! An order, and a request *smiles*
Abhishek- For the warmth and simplicity, thank you for everything! I wish we had more time.
Amiya- For everything unsaid, and things untold. Good luck!
Shubhanshu- Keep the spirit alive, Dada!
Mihir- For all the songs sung together, it was a memorable trip!
Samarth and Chirag- Kick ass and stay cool, always!
Aayush- Apologies for all the jibes, it was all in good humour. Take care of you, and keep in touch!
Kingshuk- You are a great lad, always make things happen. They will!
Abhishek Singh, Gaurav and Ravidutta- Good luck!

Pramodh Rai- Thank you for the warmth, the care and the help. Thank you for listening to me, when I was talking to myself. You are truly revered.
Manan Maheshwari- Go stud go! Be at the top.
Apoorv- Hope we catch up someday, somewhere. I'll be looking forward to it.
Wai Yee, Eric, Daniel and Delwynn- You guys are rockstars! Keep the fire burning inside you (pun totally intended)!
Thank you Dang, Ruohan, Nishank and Ankit! Also, I had a great time at Johor, Ankit.

I guess this is about it, and I also know that I may be missing out on a few wonderful people.

It feels strange saying goodbye. It weighs me down. Yet, I must.
For when you say au revoir, you kindle the hope of chancing upon each other- again!

Money, money, money!

“.. I need to get my cheque liquidated today! I have no clue when I’d get the next one..”
I promptly walked into the Citibank office near work at about 9.25 AM. The chill of the aircon was a welcome change from the humidity outside. I punched in my queuing details- 2003, I was branded. The wait was not long.

9.30 AM

I walked up to the wrong counter, only to be directed towards an adjacent staff. A demure woman, of 25 and not more. A trainee.

“How may I help you, sir?”

“Erm.. so I needed cash. Here’s my cheque.”

“Can, can.” She looked at the cheque hard and long. “Five thousand dollars? Can sign at back?”

“Yes, of course” I scribbled my name at the back with green ink. “Here you go!”

“Thank you. Also Employment Pass can?”

“This for you as well.” I smiled as I passed on my Training Employment Pass to her.

9.50 AM

She was still figuring out her way around the system. Vacillating between the TEP, the computer and my cheque, she was having a tough time figuring out what to do. Trainees, tsk.

“I have a meeting at 10, so could you please hasten the process?” I nudged.

“I am sorry.” She hurried, and consulted her colleagues about something.

She came back pleased, “What denominations do you want?”

“Hmm.. give me twenty 50 dollar bills, ten of 100 dollars, and three one thousands. Can?” I tried my best to make her understand. ‘Sing’lish pleases every local here.

‘Can, can sir!” She was ecstatic.

In the meanwhile, I was looking out on to the streets. SMRT route 970 to Shenton Way. I would miss this lifestyle- very unreal, but every breath is a mixture of hope, despair, aspirations and broken dreams. Every breath is a reality here.

I was interjected in my stream of consciousness, “Here you go, sir.”

“Uh.. oh! Thanks!”

10.05 AM

I was leaving, and not being the one to check whether all the bills are proper, I was about to move on when for some vague reason, I just peeped inside the envelope.

I froze.

I went back to her and inquired, “How much cash have you given me?”

“Five thousand dollars, sir!” She beamed.

“Please check again.”

She was crestfallen. “I am so sorry sir, I.. I..” She giggled. Her colleagues were starting at her, and she was indescribably embarrassed.

“That’s okay. But you must be careful, right? You don’t want to jeopardize your life by passing on thirty 1000 dollar bills instead of three, yah?”

____________________________________________________________________

For about good 5 minutes, I was holding 32,000 Singapore dollars in my hand- and on record, only 5. That's a lot of money, profanely so.

Surprisingly, the packet did not weigh a lot. My conscience did.

Snap!

If you would have asked me 8 weeks ago about how I would spend my time in Singapore, you'd be met with a bright enthusiastic reply with a subtle epidermal wariness. I look out of the glass wall of my apartment- a place I have grown to calling home. I see the same faces in office everyday, the usual pulling a fast one by my boss and the intolerable arrogance of my neighbour. I have become used to wearing a shirt and trousers for the better part of the day, and the leather shoes don't hurt anymore.

Eight weeks- an insignificant interval in the history of man, a major period in my life's history. It was yesterday that I set foot in 1208, and in about a fortnight, my footsteps will vanish from these carpeted floors forever. Is it fleeting- existence? I think not. I believe it is but natural that people come and go- and that footsteps are erased so as to make the path a joy of discovery for someone else. If time stopped, and people remained, wouldn't life become moribund? It flows, and let it.

I have to thank a lot of people, appreciate them for teaching me things and reprimand them for being callous at times. You tend to condone everyone at the fag end, it takes a lot to hold malice in the left corner of your torso. It is this nature of mine, and yours, that makes us human. That proves that coagulation is festering, and thus, move on.

It's a dull Saturday afternoon, and I am still under layers of coverings in bed. I want to get going for the day, but the present is painfully blissful. A fortnight, which I know is going to vanish in a snap.
I am readying my fingers, just hear the sound- will you?

Complaint Corner

And they say that time is fleeting? I see permanence in every moment. As if every tick-tock is a lifetime. As if every beat is complete.

Life is a box of chocolates, Forrest.
But we were never told about the bitter ones. Affinity to dark chocolates is an acquired taste, contrived in most cases. You learn to enjoy it, the seduction of the nubile taste. Essentially, chocolates are not supposed to leave you bitter- quite literally. Then again, exceptions galore. Sigh!

The infantile ebullience of trying your hand at something for the very first time is beyond words. It can be manifested in various forms of emotions- excitement, apprehension, despair, intense happiness et al. No wonder the experimental side in us dies a slow painful death. We become accustomed to our bubble, and disturbing it causes immense discomfort. A 'sigh' moment, yet again.

The rancorous me is on a roll today, I wonder why?! The world isn't a bad place after all. You do see whites in this milieu of greys and blacks. Just focus, my dear Watson, and you shall be blinded by their refulgence.

And oh, I always thought that The Audacity of Hope was a rather fiercely personal pompous statement. Little did I know that the Uncle Sam's Administrator has penned down his views on the very same hyperbole. Must get my hands on it. Now!

It had been a long time...

Since my feet touched the ground.
Since I felt the dew on the grass.
Since I had held a child's gaze- pure and piercing.
Since I jumped with a kid in pure joy.

It had been a long time. And today somehow, I realised, the interim was not that prolonged afterall.

If I could go back..

I would like to revisit the boy playing in the mud during a very heavy downpour.
I'd like to say goodbye to the friend that I promised to meet again in life, sometime.
I would have eaten one more cheesecake, and not worried about my belly!
I might have spoken a li'l longer, overlooked lesser.

Only if I could go back, it would all have been different.

12-08, Somerset Liang Court

The day has subliminally given way to the dusk, and rain drops fall pittering and pattering on the extremely well kept roads. Not a spot of dust, not a speck on my shoe- that's how a fellow Bharatiya would characterise this place. For the good or the bad, when I look out of the west view room of apartment 1208, I see high-rises; some much higher than the others. This funny thing about the multi-stroyed apartment complexes here; they are painted in all possible imaginable colours. Right outside is a mustard yellow 25 storeyed with a grassland green crown. Next to it stands a maroon and blue striped tower.

There is something about this country- not only is everything very well thought of, the people are very obedient as well. Oh! But then there are these ridiculous rules:

Drinking Coke on the street: SG $300 Fine
Jaywalking (Ever heard of Zebra crossings?): SG $1000 Fine
Biking in the underpass: SG $5000 Fine

And then we came up with this;

Viciously abusing a Nepali in chaste khadi boli: Priceless!

Try it sometime.

Grumble

It is said that when it rains, either someone up there is crying out of joy or he needs some serious morale boost. I reckon, and want to believe, that the former reason predominates more often than not.

Looking out at the lush greenery, there's a calmness in the air. As if a parched old man has been given his due after a long time. The trees are buoyed by the magnanimity of the lashing rains, something they were looking forward to the most.

There is something around, a restrained ecstasy in some ways, and it's very difficult to pen it down right now. Maybe you need to sit next to the window and let the rain seep inside you as well to actually express the gamut of emotions teeming within.

Maybe it's an augury of the good times to come. Or maybe, a portent of the storm ahead.

To, Ma

At 12, I never got along with you. Call it my growing years, or your inability to cope with a petulant obese kid- we just could not stay in the same 15 by 20 for more than a few minutes before one of us lost our cool. Why? I guess that is because I started thinking for myself- for the good or the bad- and you were always the one who knew it all.

At 15, I became a li'l indifferent. Not because I cared less, but because I started caring for myself a wee bit more. Yes, you were there and I was too. But I started making a world for myself. A world that you would know little of, a world for me. I wonder why I did that? Aren't our worlds the same? I wish I knew this then, as I do now.

At 18, I left home for the first time. I missed you terribly, and maybe to adjust to the new environs and to stop thinking about home, I started retracting into my shell. I became aloof, less sensitive and maybe rude, again. I was trying to heal myself, and in retrospect, I now know that it was not a good plan.

Today, I know how much you mean to me, and how much I owe to you. I know you are a very strong and opinionated woman, and I am proud of you for that. It is a pleasure, and an honour being your son. There is no other family, and no other mother that could make me who I am today. I think we understand each other more today, and I thank Him for being kind to both of us.

That's a decade for you Ma. A decade wherein I lost myself, and have almost found 'me' again. Thank You! for bearing with this whimsical, rancorous kid.

Yours, always.

The water that flows under the bridge!

I shamelessly copy the status update of a very dear concomitant, from a social networking site. I know the contextual references of our usage is worlds apart, but the sentiments are just the same.

Tomorrow, we bid adieu to the Electrical Engineering junta- the class of 2011. Not that I have very strong emotions attached with all of them, of course some of them have been dear pals for quite sometime now, but it just makes me ponder over a few ineluctable happenings. Something I like to call, the beginning of the lasts.

We head for our last summer break around the mid of May, a rather short time from now. There will be the last packing of 'stuff' to be put in the trunks and stored in the TV room. The last autumn semester late registration to be taken care of, and the last oppressive October heat to be tolerated in my dwelling in the Bhawan.

Does it make me ponderous? Relieved? Or am I stoic? There's still a lot of time to deliberate on THAT, and for now, let me start the journey to the end.

Clubs, Diamonds, Hearts and Spades

He dealt the last hand with stoic ebullience, she shifted in discomfort. It was down to them- finalement, very apt. They had shared an enviable bond, too good to be true.

As he handed out the first card, he remembered the nascent attraction and she remembered the putrefying agony. With the second, he wondered whether things had to be the way they turned out, and all she thought was how to thwart him this one last time- revenge, she agreed, is the purest emotion. With the last pass, he wished to hold on to everything whilst she wanted it to be over, soon.

He smiled as he saw his hand- a dry grin- much to her bewilderment. She had a good set, but was it good enough?
'Maybe he is trying to disconcert me.'
'What if I lose this? I don't want to.'

He read his set, spoke to it with silent words. They admonished him well- to flash in the 1-3-2 sequence. He was sure to win, and the cards chuckled in glee. He had mastered them well, and they had been his faithful companions. The cards had never let him down, and today was going to be another such day.

She evinced her first- the Jack of Hearts and he guffawed to himself.
... Jack of all trades, definitely not the Master of Hearts...
He rolled out the Three of Spades- a faithful servant. Her impetuous sway doled out the Queen of Clubs. He watched in dismay as she perched herself for the win- another opportunity to make him miserable. He displayed his second bill- the Two of Spades- and with that, the colour from her face was drained.

Was this going to be her defeat? She could not see herself crumble in front of him. Suddenly, the air inside the room became moribund- the same stifling she felt 8 years ago with the person on the other side of the table.

She could not take it any longer and decided to end it, once and for all. She was going to finish the game, finish him.
... Don't make me lose...

Suddenly, it was all clear to her. She could not take the risk this time again. The guilt had gnawed at her for a long time, and made her a deliberate insomniac. She rose with a poised elan, held his gaze and spoke in silence;
... I will never concede to you...
As she hurried out of the smoke filled antechamber, her last card flashed on the floor. He picked it up with unassuming care, as if it was a treasure from the past. The card would haunt him for the rest of his numbered days.

It was the King of Diamonds, and he concealed a Five of Spades.

..Shh!..

You possess them, have a bag full of those. They are your Achilles's Heel- they are also your strength. At times your Nemesis, at times your nymph. We all know we have them, yet we try to obfuscate the issue.

Secrets.

They remind us of all the wrong we've done. They are an augury of our remedial course in future. A reason for your fall, a pot of gold to preserve. Secrets when revealed make you unclad- the facade gone, the being stark visible.

You guard them with childish care, they are your true concomitants. The power to be unpredictable lies in the way you treat them, fair.

There is a Master of Secrets. He knows what resides in your being. In him you repose your faith, and to him you are disrobed. He has his way of sweating out your secrets, you do it with nonchalance. And before you know you've spilled the beans, the precarious smile sprouts on his calm countenance. Behold your treasure chest, and let not one know what lies inward. He who knows must be humoured well, for in his hands your future unfolds.

It's about time the secrets were shelved in a corner far far away. Shh! Don't call them upon. Let them rest, if they must. You have many more to make.

VIBGYOR!

Tomorrow, the land will be coloured- hues of scarlet, fuchsia, mustard yellow and indigo blue. There will be the appetizing Malpuas and the scrumptious Dahi vadas. It will be a day to celebrate and a time to make merry.

Colours signify life- existence. They embody emotions and desires. Red- the colour of passion, Black- the colour of knowledge, and Green- the colour of envy. You can converse through colours as well.

Yellow- I feel good today.
White- Nirvana, shall we?
Blue- Calm like the sea.

For instance,

Professor- Grey
Student- White

Or,
Girl- Pink
Boy- Red

Get the drift? Er.. nor do I actually.

So basically the point is that colours make it simple for all of us; to say a whole lot of things that we want to, without overtly stating them.

Imagine life in monotone. Everything black, or white. How would we categorize people, then? Where would the shades of grey go?
We need colours to make life simple. To make it meaningful, and to express ourselves emphatically.

'Nuff said. I reckon I am taking away a lot from the festival of abeer and bhaang!

So, have a great Holi and let the colours flow!

When it rains...

It seldom pours.
And sometimes in the deluge;
The vision blurs.

And I wonder;
Whether it was the rains,
Or was it tempest within.

The Truth Tales!

If life's the fabric, people are the strokes of colour.

If you are someone, be a good one.

Does it matter what you have left with you?

If memories have your past, let joy have your future.

No failure is big enough to make you topple the edge,
Rub your sole and make the precarious edge a broad base.

If it were as we thought, wouldn't 'what if...' lose it's glitter?!

If there is a 'because...' after 'I am happy', you just killed the happiness.

I shall not jump off the cliff, for my soul will fly but the being shall fall.

Dilli Meri Jaan!

I cannot be called a pure breed, true-blood Dilliwala. I have stayed in this megapolis for a decade or so, off and on, and there are quite a few things that I have imbibed in my behaviour, mannerisms and speech which can earn me the coveted (?) tag of being a Dilli ka. For one, I can now behave that I know everyone in the world without overtly faking it.

Haan, haan! Woh toh family friend hain humare. Unke saath toh humesha se uthna-baithna hota hai! Kaam toh batao?!

I can be happy, well mostly outward, and gung-ho about everything at any time of the day.

Arey yaar! Temperature 2 degC ho gaya hai? Koi nai yaar! Dilli ki sardi ka toh.. *shivering*.. jawaab nai hai!

I now know where to get the best butter chicken, what to expect from a sale at a TH store in Karol Bagh and can preempt how much would the rickshaw driver fleece me for a journey to the neighbourhood.

Kya bol rahe ho bhaiya? CP ke liye 60 rupaye? Auto CNG pe chal rahi hai ya ATF pe?


Today, however, standing in front of a glass wall on the 12th floor of a magnificent building overlooking the heart of the city, I realised how much I love this city. With all it's dishonesty and aggression, with it's scalding summers and biting winters, I must confess, looking at Delhi made me realise at that very moment that I could not be at any other place at this point in time. Not that this city is very welcoming to a stranger. No! It's rather very rude to a simpleton. But just the fact that I could see my Dilli through the perspex partition and feel the pulse of the metropolitan throb in sync with mine made me feel very alive.

I have accepted Dilli for what it is, and not what it can be! So what if there are Malmadis and (2G)Bajas in my city? There is hope, and that's what keeps the world going! I don't wish to change the city- for change to be permanent, it should not be sudden.

I looked out at the descending dusk and saw vague images. A few Jessica Lals, a multitude of Nitish Kataras and some Aarushi Talwars.

And I took them all in.

Tide o' Time!

Just yesterday I was packing my sachet and heading out to Bombay, looking forward to some great time gearing up for New Year's. How was I to know that influenza tenatculus would impede the progress of a perfect holiday plan. Oh well! The year ended, and a new 365 has begun. Back to Roorkee at a freezing 2 degC from a cozy 20 something in Bombay did send chills down my spine- quite literally.

The semester started on a sluggish note, as always, with a hope of looking forward to some great good times. Cognizance 2011 is readying itself for a grand show and it feels wonderful to be a part of this mesmerizing fiesta. However, the teeny-weeny complaint that I do have is that time seems to fly past too fast. Before you know it, the night descends and every day flows like water. But I reckon that's why the gurus assert that we should make the most of the 24 at hand. Another check point on the 'to-do' list.

As of now, I want to write a lot. I wish to speak so much. But being in this inertial state, I am compelled to stop. NOW!

I walk down the street.
There is a hole.
I don't see it.
I fall in.
It isn't my fault.
It takes a very long time to get out.

I walk down the same street.
There is still a deep hole.
I pretend not to see it.
I fall in.
I pretend it's still not my fault.
It takes a long time to get out.

I walk down the same street.
There is still the same deep hole.
I see it.
I fall in anyway.
It's a habit.
I get out quicker this time.

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole.
I see it.
I walk around it.
I don't fall in.

I walk down a different street.

-- Portia Nelson