Plus 1!

She was there when I uttered my first gibberish.
She was there when I had my first fall.
She taught me words, and the beauty of letters.
She made me touch sounds, and how to articulate every syllable.
She instilled in me emotions, and to express myself.
She taught me how to value people, and how to let go if that's the best option.

As you turn another year in life, here's wishing you love and joy unbound.

Happy Birthday, Ma!

Gimme 5!

It takes a 100 folks to make you feel alive.
It takes a few people to make you feel warm.
It takes a handful to make you believe you're not far from home.

The Line of Control?!

I have always harboured outrageous dreams. Deputy Chairman of the Planning Commission maybe? Or what about the Numero Uno of the World Bank? But a defunct 'Secretary, Cinema Club IIT Roorkee' was not on the list of my sky-rocketing ambitions. Yes, I did know that they blindly picked the biggest ghissu in the 360 acre vicinity, and after 26 long months in The Palace of Illusions I don't mind staking claim to the title (*sigh*), but the associated 'responsibility' did give me the creeps from the zeroth hour.

Then there were a few who saw me 'there'. To them, my friends, I apologise. Your foresightedness was a li'l too fantastic this time around. Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown and I wish not to stress my bird-brain with more junk. Oh, and for those who are interested, I loathe 'Microprocessors and Peripheral Devices'- the main culprit of my miseries. I will live to see the downfall of Intel. Well, not really. You never know.

So as I look forward to being a part of Kissa Gaddi Ka- 2010, it is with a sense of complacency that I admit that things will be no different from the ones previously witnessed. The onus of screening a film for the Roorkee junta lies with me, and I wish to deliver.

In the meanwhile, let me check the hard-disk drives of the people around me. Fishing for films, Je suis!

Platform No. Fate

Railway stations intrigue me. They always have. At a platform, one can see a plethora of people showcasing a variety of feelings. A train pulls over, and then there are separations, a li'l whine and a li'l melancholy. There's also hope. Excitement about the travel and the eagerness to reach the port of call.

So what makes a railway station so disparate? Is it the congregation of people belonging to the entire spectrum of the society in one place? Or is it the gamut of varied emotions that one can see on everyone's face that makes the place an entertaining one?

Just yesterday, I took my 22nd (or was it the 23rd?) train ride back home. Much to the dismay of my 'local guradian' (!), I shall be giving her extremely important class on Time Delay Simulations a miss on Monday (yey!). And whilst I was waiting for the C-3 coach to arrive on platform 3, I looked around. There was a veiled mother trying to placate her toddler that the 'gaadi' would come anytime now. Fact of the matter: it was running 5 hours late. Then there were the quintessential Indian Youth of today- you know what I mean... The garish shades, the embroidered jeans, the slick oiled hair- waiting for the ride of a lifetime. Where else than at a Railway station?

I reached the New Delhi Railway station a li'l past 11 PM, and as expected, there were hugs warmly exchanged between passengers and their reunited families. There were also some thoroughly disoriented blokes who didn't know what had struck them at this odd hour. I think Delhi does that to you if you have no acquaintance in this big, bad city. After all, the 'common('s) wealth' gets drained in a jiffy here. Need I explain more?

So as I comfortably perched on my ride back home, I couldn't tear my eyes away from the railway station. I wonder now, whether it was the hustle-bustle of the junta or was it my new found respect for the transient pit-stop in everyone's life.

Pack-it full of Sunshine!

9 weeks too many? I guess not.

It feels like yesterday when I carried that 90 pounds of luggage up those stairs to D II/70, and here I am today, packing the same stuff back into the 20 cubic feet odd space. Of course, in between the two events, much water has flown.

I have now 'successfully completed the internship at Accenture Services Pvt. Ltd.' with the certificate lying on the table in front of me. Oh boi! What a time that was. I have no qualms in admitting that I hate the corporate jargon. It's cheesy and very unnerving. I did manage to 'connect' with a few colleagues, some of who will be more than mere acquaintances to me in the years to come.

I went for the 'romp in the wild wild west' too. Ten days of unadulterated fun, a lot of walking, and unending shopping culminated in a very happy me! Sometimes I wish we had better weather here in India. That would make all the difference. Believe you me! And yes of course, the chocolates, and the cheese and the sparkling water. *Dreaming*

Then was the much awaited 'family function and reunion'. The usual gossips of, "Her daughter is so dark! Who will ever marry her?" and "Oh my! How tall have you become. I didn't expect you to shoot up so much since the last time I saw in 1999!" Am I supposed to stunt my growth for 11 years? And the icing on the cake was, "When are you getting married?" And this interrogation was met by all of us, the 29 year old to the 16 year old cousins.

I came back and have ever since been gorging on the best cuisine in the world. The Macher Jhol and the Bhuna Mutton still linger and titillate my palette as I reminisce about it. I have been sleeping like a hibernating bear! And trust me, it takes a musical retreat for my mum to wake me up these days. I wonder what I dream about! Nothing specific, I guess. Or maybe something very pertinent.

So as I gather my belongings - the 8 Luxor Pilot pens, the 4 Classmate registers, the clothes, and my new novels - I cannot but leave without the vast reservoir of my experiences over these 60-70 odd days! I wish I could pack my bed, my TV, my couch, and most of all home.

For now, it's back to Roorkee sans further ado.

My boy!

She walked down the flight of stairs with an elan. Every eye in the room scanned her thoroughly. There were some furtive glances, and then there were some awestruck stares. It was not everyday that Natalie made an appearance at an evening of dance and merriment. The satin white complimented the radiant peach of her skin, the pearls added to the aura around her. She was the object of envy for all women in the ballroom, and the object of lust for the gentlemen.

Natalie was in her late twenties, a widow. Her husband was a liquor baron, and had left her enough to last a lifetime, twice over. She was a philanthropist- An orphanage named after her husband, an old age home and a hospital, Natalie made it a point to be a good Jew. She would pray twice a day, and give alms to the poor on Shabbat. Her family was her priority and having no children of her own, she loved her nephew Jeremy, a six year old menace, immensely. Jeremy was the centre of Natalie's existence. His every demand was met at once. If Jeremy bruised himself, she would feel the pain. Every li'l pout of his tugged at her heart. She saw her world in those button-eyes, the plump cheeks and those pudgy hands.

'Natalie, I want a horse.' Jeremy.
'But you are much too small, love. How can you ride such a large beast?!' Her.
'I am strong. I am big boy.' Him.
' (laughing) Of course you are, my big boy...' Natalie.

And so they played with each other. She read out bedtime stories to him, took him to the zoo and taught him the basic 'R's. He learned how to swim with her, he rode Esteem - his stallion- with her. The two were inseparable. Before she knew it, Jeremy bloomed into a fine young lad ready to go to military school. It was a painful moment of separation for the two. She couldn't leave those hands, the same pudgy digits she'd caressed for 16 long years. He embraced her petite frame.

'I will be back. You have been more than a mother to me, Natalie. I won't leave you.' Those were the parting words from Jeremy to her.

...

She looks out of the window to the vast expanse of her estate. That tender voice, distant yet warm echoes in her ears. She hasn't heard Jeremy in 11 years now. He's supposed to spend the summer with her this year. Tomorrow he'll be home, to his home. She has asked Hilda to roast the Turkey for him, supple and juicy. And beetroot juice, his favourite. She asks Keller to tidy his room- his sword just above his bed. Esteem is long gone, only to be replaced by Thunder- his son.

'Tomorrow, your rightful owner will take charge of you Thunder. You will see what a rider my boy is.' She beamed.

'Poor Ms. Blightner. She's never been the same.' Hilda.
'She loved Jeremy more than anything in the world, Hilda. What a lad! And to die in Afghanistan?! Tragic, indeed.' Keller.

They both shook there heads in pity as Natalie attended to her business cheerfully.

'Stock-Home' Syndrome

She was walking down the alley, having wrapped up her morning shift at the Deli. Abusive customers, juvenile delinquents, sleazy tramps- all of them were frequent visitors to her downtown convenience store. Today had been a particularly rough day for her. Having been insensitively insulted by her boss, she was just beginning to start out her day when 3 boys in their late teens came to the store and fled, taking with them goods worth 37 Pounds 74. The business-lady 'Treasure' was not kind to her as well. Hurling very vivid abuses, Treasure did not leave anything to imagination for the on-lookers on the street.

Recounting all the happenings of the day, she unintentionally took the wrong turn, only to be confronted by a dead end. Putting aside the horrid experiences of the morn, she turned around to get back on the right track, when suddenly she was grabbed by her hands and made to bend over by the force of a Beretta. Shocked, she could not see who her captor was. 'Move', the captor said. If anything she knew, it was that her captor was a woman, not more than her age and definitely very strong. Without a word, they started moving down the oft frequented main avenue, and much to her surprise, there was no one on the roads. They walked down a familiar path, and before she could figure out the happenings, they were at her apartment. Her captor must have surely known everything about her. 'Who is she? What does she want?', she thought.

'Sit! And don't try to act smart.', the captor bellowed. 'What have I done to you? Who are you?', she mumbled. She had seen this face before. Was it at the Deli? Was it at the church? She'd been a good Catholic, except for last Sunday's mass when she had peed in the holy premises. 'How can you not remember what you've done to me? Don't you remember who I am? You brought misery into my life. I used to be a free soul. A happy person, but you! You ruined it all for me!'. She was nonplussed. She had never spoken to this woman before because she remembered people well. She was someone from her past, but who exactly was she?! 'I need something... Get me a Scotch and Soda!'. She complied, remembering how she enjoyed the poison with Eric, her husband of 13 years who left her for a 'younger, more attractive' woman. She moved to the other room. Suddenly, she remembered. She had a mobile. She called the cops. 'Please stay on the line. Our operators will be with you shortly. Thank you for calling County Police'. 'You thought you'd get away with this?!' *thud* That's the last she remembered.

She opened her bruised eyes, heavily. 'You really don't remember anything, do you? Okay, lemme remind you what you've done Emma!'. Emma? That's what her Aunt Hilda used to call her. Only her friends knew that! 'You have made me a terrible woman. You took away my husband from me. My child died at a tender age because of you. You have been a reckless bitch! How can you not remember anything?' Blank. She stared out of the window, trying to remember her own son, whom she'd lost due to adenocarcenoma. The captor had tied her to the bed, and went on narrating her story. Eight pegs down, and almost 3 hours later, the captor could not hold more. She passed out. Panic eased, she had some time. She needed to do something. Of all the things she'd learned, keeping a Swiss knife under her pillow topped the list. She slowly cut her way through the ropes, slashing her palm in the process. Free! She needed to run, get help. She was about to hit her captor with the lamp, when suddenly she realised who she was! It all came flooding back to her. She could not believe her eyes. It was the same familiar face- the high cheekbones, a mole on the lower lip. She was just as beautiful as she'd seen her last. With all her energy, she put her captor on the sofa. Sitting beside her, she could not but feel disgusted at herself for all the pains the woman had gone through. She knew that she was solely responsible for the circumstances. If only there was a way to be good again...

She was making her favourite supper. A 2001 bottle of sparkling water was by the bedside, just in case the 'captor' demanded some. She knew what she'd have to do. Apologise to the lady. Beg her for forgiveness. Of course she would understand her own misery. They both had similar lives, and similar griefs. *Tring Tring* 'Hello?'. 'Evening Ma'am, I am calling from the County Police. I am officer Sheffield. We got a call from your number a few hours ago. Sorry for the delay, but we've been very busy today with the Premier's visit this afternoon. How can I help you?'. 'Oh! Well.. that was.. nothing actually. I had a li'l bit of an issue, which got sorted on it's own...'. 'Sure, Ma'am? I can come up if you want...'. 'That won't be necessary officer. Thanks anyway. Good evening.'

Hanging up, she looked at the captor again. Ironically, the captor had been kept captive by the unforgiving life for many years now. She smiled. She knew what was in store for her. She had developed a strong bond with the woman in bed. Emma's heart went out to her. As she walked towards the bed, Emma sat down and slowly whispered into the lady's ears,'I know who you are, Emma. I always knew it was you. I told them I could talk to you whenever I wanted to, and they! They called me Schizophrenic!'

She laughed.