It's about time!

"I don't like this place." The lush August greenery could not keep my mind off the fact that I would be away from my comfort zone for four years.
"You'll be alright, come on." said Ma, with a slight tinge of hesitation in her usually sure voice.

Everything draws to a close- hostel life, mess food, friendship and enmity, and another life phase. Four years too many, which surprisingly passed away in a blinking moment. The learning process has been tremendous, the debacles even greater. I can't quantify the things I've gained here, but everything put together, the journey has been enlightening.

I have to thank a few people, lash out at some. I have been extremely lucky to have met some of the finest people in my life hitherto, each capable of scaling great heights in his or her own way. I have lost out on some wonderful people as well, and to them my best always.

Gain and loss are the two sides of the same coin- inextricably connected so as to keep you buoyed at all times. I have gained tremendously in these four years, and lost even more. There's always a hint of sorrow in every achievement. Give me a moment to reminisce about theses four years.

Closures are easy for some, and immensely irksome for others. You can put things behind you and move to a different place with ease, and then you can always be a man of marginal status. I am caught somewhere in the transition, desperately trying to hold on to R for inane reasons.

There were a lot of milestones that I wanted to achieve in these four years, and almost everywhere, I have left the task incomplete. Since we're in the series of lasts, this post will go on the list as 'the last post on my blog.' A hundred I wanted it to be, but we never get what we want in life. Compromises galore.

As I woke up this morning and looked out of my balcony, everything seemed strange. The facade of the hostel, the trees in the garden and the dew on the grass blades. I've been bid adieu, whether I like it or not. I'll carry everything with me, everyone for all the good and the bad. This fabric of woven moments would perhaps be the richest I'll ever have. To say goodbye is enervating, and to leave unspoken even worse. That's the destiny of every page in the book of life, it withers with time. Crumbles, flying off in the gentle breeze.

100 days of.. um, A 100 days

The song- a French rendition Quelqu'un M'a Dit- always takes me to a different world. 500 Days of Summer may not be such a 'wow'ing movie as it is made out to be, but it tells you of a summer fling, a short lived romance. And then, there's Autumn. Another story, another season. Life, after all, does go on.

A 100 days left at Roorkee. That's a third and a li'l less of a year, and a li'l over three months. There was a time when 100 used to inspire awe- a great feat. Today, 100 holds a whole new meaning. It is a number I fear and also eagerly await. A 100 can never be enough to say the things I should, it is also far too long to keep mum about things I feel about.

I will be gone in a 100 days. And in some ways, it's time I did. The trees on the path between the CC and the Electronics department have aged with me, and are now biding me adieu. Nesci has been replaced by Lipton, and RJB is just not the same anymore. R feels a li'l strange now, and makes me realise that the only permanence in life is change.

They say 100 is number of festivities and celebrations. Give a moment to myself, for the reverie can wait. Time, on the other hand, doesn't.

Lingua Franca

There is something about Punjabi songs. The beats, they say, make up for the most atrocious lyrics. For others, a lot of times, raw carnality lights their fire (pun intended, of course). A lot of them don't understand what is being said, but oh! The way them groove to the tune. Fantastic!

Having stayed in the north of the country for a long time now, I can muster the courage to recognize some words. And also, a few phrases which would make any denizen of the Punjab to shame. But then again, I try!

I am proud to say that there was a time when I was multilingual. Five languages, with proficiency, made for a good conversationalist anywhere in the world. And then, yours truly lost touch. Sometimes when I listen to a song a francais, I feel terrible that I can understand words in singularity. And then, there was a time when I loathed myself for not understanding what chokher bali meant when I used to think that Bangla is pretty simple.

Language, after all, gives a sense of who you are, where you belong to, and what you stand for. It makes you communicate with the people you want to, and shuts out the unwarranted junta. Language is a powerful tool, and also the most hurtful. A very few times, things need to be said in a particular way so as to have the desired effect. At other times, verbiage does the trick.

So the next time you speak or listen to someone, put some intent. Be careful of the words, and wary of the pauses. After all, one has to be mindful of the language.

On a cold January evening

"Why can't I be a part of the crowd?"
"Because you are different. And did anyone blame you for being different?"
"No..
I have a lot of expectations from myself."
"We all do, and more often than not, we tend to aggrieve no one else but us. You want to sit down?"
"..."
"I was never a part of them. And they would have wished for me not to be here. But I am, and because it happens this way, let's do something good?"
"Hmm"
"I am me only in front of a few people. Finger numbers. Does that make me less social? No. Does that make me cringe from inside? It used to, not now."
"Can I ask you something?"
"Erm, yeah."
"How can you be so frank with everyone? Open, if I can call it?"
"Because sometimes in the layers of conceit and camouflage, you tend to lose the opportunity to speak what you always wanted to. And a lot of times, time is not by your side."
"I have always detested being this way. But I can't help it now."
"You don't need help."
"But.."
"You have made me see your potential. And you are good."
"But I make most of the mistakes as well, right?"
"And that is a good thing, innit? Perhaps, you are bound to learn the hard way. Nothing wrong with that."
"I want to be a part."
And you are."
"No..
I fought with a friend. It's a special day tomorrow. And I don't know how to make it alright?"
"Call. You have the number? Give it to me."
"No"
"Give it, I promise I won't stalk."
"I won't be able to say anything"
"Don't worry, you will"
"But, I can't. I'll stay silent."
"Trust me?"
"..."
(away)"Hey! So, I have someone who wants to talk to you for sometime now. It's time you did too."
"Hello. Hmm. Um. Yeah. Thik hai.."
(away)"All well? Yeah, alright. Sure, I'll do that."
"What happened?"
"Nothing. Go back, now."
"No.. I need to.."
"Now."
"Oh! Okay..


Thank you."
"Anytime."

The figure disappeared in the dark cold night. A small speck in the background of all hopes and aspirations. Looking around to see where each one of us figures in the fabric, something obscured the vision. And all that could be seen was molten glass. Fluid, stinging and warm.

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.