where do we go now?

I’ve realised that I end up taking stock only at the end of the year when it hits me that I need to change the dates on letters and posts yet again. Just when one gets used to writing 2014, it changes to 15. And so on.

2014 was maddening for me. In good ways and in some very, very bad ways. The beginning of the year was not too great and it went on to become horrific for my family and I when we lost my cousin and his wife on Malaysia Airlines jet MH370. I worked on auto-pilot that month till I was packed off by my mother to Beijing to help with my cousin’s two little boys.

Last night a missing aircraft was found in the Java Sea, which brought back memories of MH370 all over again. I’ve had to accept now that we will never know what happened to my two family members on the flight, along with 237 others. It wasn’t so much the incident itself that pushed me over the edge. It was humanity itself. People, their reactions, their inability to leave it alone instead of pondering the million things which could have happened, it all got to me. And while many people (including ones who barely knew me) were surprisingly thoughtful, many were also surprisingly callous.

The world seems to have moved on, but I don’t think my family ever will. Each time we look at my nephews or hear about their nightmares, their fears or them missing their parents, we will be reminded about what happened, or in this case what could have happened.

While the first half of the year seems to have been dominated by this, the second half brought more changes. The shift to a new city, a new part of the country, was something inevitable that I’d been putting off for a couple of years. The capital always seemed a daunting place, especially to someone from a relatively placid south Indian city.

Delhi has so far been everything that people warned me about, but other things as well. Yes, it’s aggressive and loud, it’s callous, ruthless, does everything it can to make you stronger. But it also has options like no other city. It’s hard to be lazy in Delhi. I’d planned a long break, but somehow, even without really pushing myself to find work, I’d got three job offers within three weeks of moving. And all in a new field (after I’d decided the media didn’t do it for me anymore).

The city always has something going on, and for everyone. For someone who doesn’t like noise and big crowds, even Chennai didn’t have too many options sometimes. But the capital is full of old buildings, beautiful monuments, large green parks, and I’ve found book stores to roam in when I’m bored. Dance performances, rock shows, talks and lectures, you name it and Delhi has it. If I feel like going out, I know I can. And yes, you have the large groups of teenagers and couples everywhere, but it’s not unusual to see some lone rangers doing things on their own. For every action here, there *is* an equal and opposite reaction.

It may not be home yet, it may not have a beach or endless options for a cup of good filter coffee, but I’ve noticed a few things not relating to just the aggressive gun-toting Haryanvis and Punjabis here. While Chennai was placid and laid-back, I’ve realised people there are too inert sometimes. If a boy had arbitrarily reached out for a girl from behind and grabbed her at a party in Delhi, it would not go easily dismissed. Whereas I’ve seen the very same thing happen in Chennai in front of a large group (everyone pretended it didn’t happen, including her male best friend and even me). Peoples’ sense of their own rights is very acute here in Delhi. Women’s safety is a big issue, and hence made a hue and cry about. I find changes in my own behaviour in less than two months here. Even jokes made about women are not as easy to forget as before. In a country full of culture, rich in history, people seem to have forgotten about equality and respect. Not just for the opposite gender, but for humans in general. In that sense Delhi is a lot more accepting of different types of people than Chennai.

If I am likely to stand up for myself or another woman in my hometown, no doubt I will now be classified as a pushy Delhi-ite. But in the capital, I would just be normal. And while I was part of a small group in the ‘unmarried girl in late 20s’ section in my hometown, here I’m just a girl, or a woman, depending on who’s looking. The tendency to colour outside of the lines is much more common in this city, which is something I can definitely get used to.

The year has also taught me a little more about myself. Like all other years, I suppose. It has brought me some surprising friendships and bonds, and has allowed me to let go of some surprisingly unhappy friendships too.

I can’t say I have any regrets. Maybe I could have been more patient with a few people, but I’ve become more attentive to time – whom I give it to, and why.

For the first time perhaps, I have no idea where the next year will take me. Physically, I will be in the same city. But emotionally and mentally, I’m completely unprepared for what’s coming. I’ve seen many people come and go, but only this year did I realise just how everything can change in an instant. With a single phone call or text, lives and paths can be altered forever.

I know I’m tough enough to handle whatever is coming. I just hope I’m accepting enough to manage the joys as well, without asking too many questions or wondering how it could turn to ashes in the future.

'hindsight is 20/20' - thank you, 2013

I was at work a couple of nights ago, when my boss comes up to us jaded folk on the city news desk. And he said, "Write a year-ender piece!" to nobody in particular. I tried avoiding his eyes, and looked to the other people on the desk. I wondered if they thought the same thing I was thinking – that this year hasn’t really been a ‘professional’ year for me. I won’t say it’s been unproductive or pointless or any of that. It’s been great in many ways. And while it’s been pretty public in some ways, it’s also been excessively private (as I am wont to be).

This year has been extreme. The first six months were the total opposite of the last six months. And while I do not regret the first six months, I hope I don’t have to go through that combination of things again. A couple of them, sure. All factors put together? Well, I’m fairly certain I’ll never allow it to happen again, and I hope the powers-that-be agree with me.

To say it’s been an enlightening year would be a terrible understatement. I have learnt so much about myself, life, people and so on. In some ways, I have shocked myself and broken some rules. But I'd expected that since, like I’d mentioned, it’s been a year of extremes.

Before I began writing this, I read my ‘year-ender’ from 2011. Then too I was in a good place, but just beginning a journey that year that ended for me this year. The juxtaposition of the younger, more hopeful me back then, with who I am now has helped. I’ve realised that on occasion I've also begun saying things that make me sound like an old woman. Especially to a younger friend of mine who sometimes reminds me of myself when I was younger. All in all, I feel wiser at the end of this year. Far wiser. And happier than I think I’ve been in a while. It’s a bittersweet happiness sometimes; one that comes from a couple of scars and all that drama. But it’s no worse than I’ve already been through in my life.

I found myself telling a close friend that this has been a wonderful year. That every day, I am grateful for the thing that happened mid-June which drove me to another place in my life. I was not exaggerating. It sounds dramatic, and I may have used up my quota of clichés this year. But they’re all true. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, every cloud has a silver lining, oh and my favourite -- everything happens for a reason, and it will all make sense later. Some of these are terribly corny, especially when I say them out loud. But, well. *shrug*

2013 also made me realise one of the biggest cliches in the world rings true for me – that even if we have a plan and it goes awry, it’s usually for a bloody good reason. Even if it makes no sense why some people get away with wreaking havoc thoughtlessly in others’ lives, it’s again for a damn good reason. And that there’s no point caring about other people’s lives if they don't care for yours. People have joked about revenge with me. One asked me if something I did someway through the year was to spite someone who had hurt me. [Of course, this was from a male friend and they can be pretty dense, no matter how much they love me :)] I don't want revenge. I want world peace! Alright, that might be a bit hard. But I'd like to not hate people and also like not to be hated.

There are a lot of ‘I’s in this year-ender. I'm used to noting how many 'I's are there in my writing, scaling down on the subjectivity and all that. But I've spent too much time not thinking about myself earlier. And maybe, the things I’ve been shown and the epiphanies that have happened will all be shared with a friend along the way.

I'm not making any resolutions for 2014. I probably won't stick to them. And I'm seriously lacking in faith in humanity anyway. But I'll try this -- I'll try not to judge people. Or hate them for things they might to. Even if it hurts me. What's another little scar. I'll be bloody fine. =) Some tears, some laughter, it's all just part of a life of one human -- a little speck in the universe.

And if something really bothers me.. well there is always the pool of caramel that I wake up to each morning, which solves most problems anyway. My Labrador's eyes.

a word with january

Dear January,

The last few times we’ve been together, I’ve been bracing myself for upcoming changes – travel, work, studies. It’s always been logical, practical, rational and well thought out. As I am prone to be.

This time, I’m still in the middle of a big change, things expand and contract constantly around me and within me. Every single day. Which is not a bad thing. If you’d told me last year exactly what situation I would be in the next time we were together, I may have been a little worried. But this can be pretty fun.

I’m not asking you for much, January. I’d just like a little calm, from myself mostly. I can’t always be perfectly rational and unfeeling. The two voices in my head are still at loggerheads, almost everyday. Please make them stop. I know it’s been four months, and my formula hasn’t worked. What can I say? I’m not always right about myself. So let it go this time. And give me a little bit of peace so I can enjoy myself some more. I’m not going to be here for very long. My ass will return to the motherland and fall into a bucket of other people’s words and others’ needs and feelings and advice and love all over again. Which will be lovely, yes, but what about me? Anyhow, point being, please calm the voices in my head a little bit, and give me some respite so I can write and live and feel and drink and make merry in general. I’m tired of being rational. In this case, it doesn’t appear as though I have much of a choice anyway, whether I like it or not. So a little of your magic would be appreciated.

If you’d like me to be logical, I want two things from you – a job, and more writing.

Otherwise, I’m fine, Jan. I’ve managed your coldness before, I think I can do it again (no, I’m not challenging you. Jaipur is a lot warmer than Scotland.) I’m glad I am where I am. It’s lovely. Most people are lovely, the ones who are not, I can handle because I’ve handled far worse. This is child’s play.

The trees don’t have any leaves on them now, but your cousin October was beautiful. I’ve never seen an autumn before. I should have probably taken more pictures, but I was too preoccupied trying to memorise those images and freeze them forever, rather than uploading them onto Facebook.

Sometimes on a clear day, like this morning, I can see the water, far away and cold I’m sure, but it makes me grin like an idiot everytime. And the skies – they’re surreal. Why is Scottish blue so much nicer than Indian blue? Not that I’m complaining.

Cider. Thank you for all the cider. And mulled wine. It’s heaven. No, really. Oh wait, is that the sound of you laughing? I’ve never heard you laughing before, I wasn’t sure. It’s a nice sound, you should do that more often. See, you’re not as cold as people claim you are. I knew we had things in common.

All those pretty dogs on the streets, those endless shelves of books I can pick up and read when I want, the colours of the fruits and vegetables, the smelly blue-veined cheese... I love those too. Thanks for helping me cook. Though I’m not half bad, if I may say so myself.

Right. Thanks for the esoteric bunch of friends I’ve managed to make. They’re really lovely. Normal people are so boring. These ones are as off their rocker as Ma and I are. Sometimes it really does feel like a home away from home. I know, how shockered are you right now?

So yes, I’m quite alright, Jan. Just a wee bit of help in the aforementioned departments of logic vs emotions, me against the rest of the world, etc etc and so on, would be most appreciated.

Your sister February isn’t so bad either, I’m sure I’ll be in good hands in another few weeks too. But I’d rather start working on my sanity with you if you don’t mind. Time and tide sure as hell aren’t going to wait for me.

Hmm, I think that’s all I really wanted to say. Thanks in advance for all the feasts and merry-making, the reunions with the esoteric ones, the writing I will be doing and reading, hopefully the job I will be getting, the clarity and peace I will be finding more of.

See you soon. Yes, sooner than I know, so you say. But next January seems quite far away. I hope things change, and some things don’t, for the better. In other words, even if I’m pining next year, I sure hope you have a damn good reason for making me pine-y and whine-y all over again. I mean, honestly, wouldn’t you be sick of it by next year?

Wait, is that you laughing again? Oh right, I maybe pining for Scotland next January, not sunshine and sambar. Shit.

past forward

It is time once again for those narcissistic reflections of the time that has passed – to say “oh, how time flies!” and such. But it hasn’t really flown this year.

It’s been an introspective year, with many, many changes. Not the hop-from-one-job-back-into-another or hop-from-one-department-into-another sort of changes that my life has been centred around the last few years.

I’m now in a new country, which is why I haven’t posted anything decent in a long time. Then again, I’m not sure any of this was decent. And for a change I don’t mean this in a self-deprecating way.

If I had to pick a word to describe 2011, it might be “discomfort”. Not in the gastric or throbbing head sort of way. But for a person who isn’t comfortable moving away from stability and comfort, I’ve done a lot of changing this year. Much arguing with the voices in my head, tussles with logic against emotion, reasoning things out, trying to be patient with others and myself, and I must admit, a lot of fucking growth.

The first few months of the year were boring, normal and I thought it was all going well. Then I did something horrific, which made a very good friend’s life hell for a while. He was nice enough to forgive me, and sometimes I still am unforgiving towards myself (but what’s new) but at least I know not to get too cocky now.

Many rules have been broken. A year or two ago, if I’d broken one of my commandments, well, *gasp*, *shock* and all that. I’ve been amused to step outside myself and watch in moments. Some changes haven’t gone down well with the people I love most either, which has been very hard. Hence the tussles with the voices in my head and whatnot. I can’t say all is well, but I know I’ll figure it out at some point.

Uncomfortable, yes. And a year of extremes – extreme lows because I have been disappointed in myself a couple of times, or in people whom I value the most because I’ve seen new colours in them, but also A NEW COUNTRY. For God’s sake. It’s hellishly cold, but I’ve been told I’m handling it decently for someone in the tropics, one who is used to antibiotics at that.

A friend gifted me a diary this year, one which asks you a different question each day, for the whole year. The supremely exciting part is that it leaves space for five different years so maybe I can actually see the growth next year, or some memories at least. I’ve made some very happy memories this year, maybe because it feels like I fought for them.

One question I found a couple of days back was “when was the last time you were truly happy” and my first thought was, ‘whoa, not for ages’. I thought again and I realised I’m happy everytime I walk on a bridge near my house. No matter how rushed I am or how grey the clouds are, or how different from home, it makes me happy. A person who has negativity flowing through her blood.

It’s been a strange year. I don’t know what to make of it. I’ve had some miserable moments – pining for warm sambar/rasam, idli, my dog’s fur, a friend’s hug, the mother’s TLC when I was ill – but I’m actually very happy as well.

Strangely, I am more myself here than I was at home before I left. There was some turmoil and disapproval, many complicated things running around in my head for a while before I left, while I was trying to keep a dozen people happy and answer all their questions. Though I was happy through that too. (I know, you’re thinking “curiouser and curiouser”.) Eccentric, wonderful friends, independence, doing things for myself on my own much to my mother’s joy I’m sure... if I had a couple of the age-old friends over, the dog and the mother, and plenty of south Indian food, I’d be set forever. Oh yes, and my car. Though walking around here can be lovely when the wind is not blowing a hole in your brain or freezing your nose and digits off.

I’m not sure what I want from 2012. Answers. Many of them. Sometimes I dread returning because I know I have to handle things like a job, a cranky boss, wondering what to do about a boy, handling a mother who misses me, and such mundane things.

I suppose I could do without idli-sambar/Labrador/mother for a while more if it means not having any responsibilities beyond looking after myself. If it were only that easy.

Then again, ease didn’t make great artists I suppose. So no wonder being so uncomfortable and in such alien territory (in more ways than you can imagine) is leading to many growth spurts. And me surprising myself time and time again. In a good way.

Hopefully 2012 will not herald the end of the world as we know it. Sure there’ll be death, there always is – of some habits, some relationships, some people – but that happens all the time. I just hope no more polar bears die (no, seriously, that’s awful). Sometimes I wish I could tell the people I love, listen, there are polar bears dying, relax about the INR dropping or you not getting enough sex or having a bad boss, at least we won’t starve to death or have to eat a furry cute cub. Uhm. I assume that would not go down well. Especially with the mother.

Anyhow, here’s to a good year – I use a shadowy word on purpose because I’m not even sure of what exactly I want because I don’t know which voice in my head to trust sometimes. I wonder when they will come to a compromise. If there is discomfort for any of us, let there be plenty of alcohol and sex all around, but less babies. We’re emitting enough carbon as it is. *chinks glass of mulled wine*. Happy 2012 and end of the world, everyone! Don’t worry, I’m sure the Mayans just ran out of leaves or stones to draw calendars on.

breathe

how many times do i have to tell them -- don't dress up for a boy, dress up for yourself!
especially if that boy isn't even worth your time.

humans are confounding. running after sex when you're young, shifting to thoughts of marriage when you're older, then it becomes trying to find a long-term partner plus good sex; not to forget people you aren't romantically linked with... friends. friends who stop talking to you, friends who accuse you of stealing, friends who claim you stop spending time with them when you're interested in a member of the opposite sex, and then there's family -- aging parents, siblings who go away and you miss, or siblings who are at home and you cannot stop fighting with.

it sounds exhausting, doesn't it? dealing with all these people and not going completely bonkers. and then handling them and wondering if you handled them the right way...? which is why i love my Labrador. it's so simple with her. it's just unadulterated love. no expectations. which is impossible from humans.

it's my "alone" phase again, apparently.

when you're around too many people, too much of the time, and you lose sight of yourself... well, it's a little scary. i've been ridiculously social the last few weeks. and i think i know why -- it wasn't a very good reason. it wasn't even for myself. it's as if i am jumping from the frying pan to another hot, steaming vessel, or even right into the fire.

so when i am handing out well-meaning advice to the girlfriends i love, it smarts a bit, it is tiresome. because i know what we go through as women -- over-analysis, expectations, standards [yes, we're picky about people we want to date or take off our clothes for], heart over mind, then mind trying to win over heart, careful weighing, talking, crying, waxing, texting, indulging... it's bloody exhausting when i see what we put ourselves through.

relationships are bloody tiring. i wish everyone was my Labrador. or bluepapercranes. who is like a human Labrador with almost non-existent expectations.

*big bloody sigh*

(anti) love

I am reading a book called Into The Wild now. And it is very inspiring. And impractical. I don’t see myself giving up everything, burning my money, and living among the trees. Yet, I somehow come across as [and enjoy coming across as] a nature lover, animal lover, whatnot. Slightly hypocritical no?

I wish I had the balls to do something like Chris McCandless. bluepapercranes and I were discussing this yesterday, and [literally and figuratively] we really don’t have the balls. She took a jump into a field that she loves - teaching kids for almost no money - which does not involve hours bent over a computer, her eyes tearing up, head throbbing, back withering. Now she wanders around barefoot in classrooms, giggling, hiding her tattoo from the kids, singing songs and teaching them grammar.

Love is a bit strange. It involves so much courage. Something I don’t think I have anymore. I had it once, not-so-long ago... but now I’m bitter and cynical almost to the very core of my being. I’m not saying I don’t love. Fortunately or unfortunately, I do. And very passionately at that. But I just don’t have the courage to believe in such love anymore.

I love writing. But I won’t give up my paid job at what is now a sad excuse for a weekend newspaper, and I won’t just plunge into it. And I’m not taking any chances with my life. I don’t think I have the balls.

Robert Lee Brewer said to write either a love poem or an anti love poem yesterday. I’m not in the mood for whiney poetry anymore [see below; also bluepapercranes may just kill me], but Brewer’s prompts do tend to bring out some writing from me. I just don’t know which side I am on this post - love, or anti love. I guess both. I believe in it, but it hurts too much to take chances anymore. [please don’t ask me if I’m talking about a boy!] I’m just going to go with the flow, and see what happens :)

what if..

What if my family were all ordinary people..
Would I be ordinary, pleased by ordinariness and hence a happier person?
Would they not have been afflicted with air crashes, strange fatal diseases and suffering?

What if I let go of my mother when I was younger..
Would I have met someone in a strange city and been ‘normal’, i.e., had a couple of relationships by now?
Would I have stayed away from the people who loved me, made me love them, and then hurt me?
Would I have been smarter?

What if I had never been let down..
Would I be less suspicious, less cynical?

What if we were always happy people..
Would there be no hunger, poverty, over-population because of our selfishness?

What if we were not alone..
Would the other inhabitants of our spaces be our friends or foes?

What if I had not missed that flight to Sydney..
Would I have met my mentor or potential life partner in the check-in line?
What would I have done with the 300 dollars I would not have spent on another air ticket?

What if he hadn’t gotten on that flight..
Would he have picked other life partners for his children?
Would my sister and I even be here today?
Would we have curly hair, and me, a face like his which reminds my mother of him everyday?

What if I could forgive people, go easier on them..
Would that make me at peace with myself?
Would that lead them to hurt others or me again?

What if our lives were all written out..
Do our choices matter and do we make them?
Do we even matter at all or is it all for someone else’s supercalifragilistic plan?

What if none of us were really here, and we’re all imagining that our pain or happiness or ambition is the most important thing in the world?

--
prompted by: deep

mercenary winters

winter in Delhi was almost too much to handle. I only survived because I knew I would be leaving. Chennai has spoilt me, kept my body and heart warm too long. maybe a few years in a mercenary place like Delhi would do me good.

I end this year determined for a big change this coming year. my hometown is warm, but it's also comparatively sedentary, not big on change. I could live here forever, work at the same place forever, have the same routines till I die. I don't intend to. I'll come back, obviously. it *is* home, after all. well, I intend to at least. but it's time for a break, some mercenary cold, and a big change in routine. I deserve it for slacking off so much in the last year or two.

here's to change! *clinks beer mug/whiskey glass*

the end

it's the end of another year and I find I haven't learn a lot of new things. especially with regard to human beings. they baffle me. truly. especially boys. I'm pretty sure they can't wrap their brain cells around us women either, but hell, why create heterosexuals then?!? I honestly think life would be so much simpler if I could just marry/hook up with one of my female best friends. meh.

but. bright side of the coin. I just returned from holiday, a good holiday despite the strange behaviour of the opposite sex [well, not all of them, poor things.. just the one] and hope I'm ready to tackle a new year. there's so much to be done, I was afraid just listing them out while I was on holiday. but I have to do it all, no compromises. well, maybe a few compromises on what *other* people want me to do.

hopefully, next year this time, I will be freezing my rear end off in a far colder place where I will be studying. the good thing in those places [no, not hot firang men] is CENTRAL HEATING. a concept which is alien even in our country's capital maybe. but yes, central heating coupled with a delicious firang men would not be bad either. though I'm not crossing my fingers or holding my breath given my history with men till date. confounding, they are.

this year has been ordinary and boring only because I made it that way. I should have written more. in every way. creatively, at work, to people, for people, for myself more than anything else. maybe I should resolve to write more this coming year. 2011. the year of the pen. or keyboard in most cases. and hopefully, not the year of the wedding. although it certainly already looks that way. four of my friends are getting married by the time I turn a resounding 24 [ouch].

here's to me writing more, being a little less confounded by some men [boys, really], for my family to be happy [considering the emotional tsunamis there seem to have been in the last year or so], and for my friends and I to figure out what we're looking for, and to try and find it as well.

oh yes. that was another discovery I made while travelling. I don't know if I want to be a journalist anymore. thanks Niira Radia and co for disillusioning me even further. I also met a very inspiring man this year. the fact that I considered a profession in saving the environment has nothing to do with the fact that he's hot [he's not, really] but just that he's so damn inspiring and hell bent on saving it that he puts people to shame. and by people, I mean the rest of humanity, aside from the Jane Goodall sort.

so if journalism is out and writing and the environment is in, how the hell do I go about it?

wow. who cares about confounding men now! :D

on moving on

I'm terrible.

Death is a fact of life. Oui? And everyone must get used to it. Somehow, when people around me have to handle things when people die... I find I am not sympathetic, so much as resigned. I sympathise, yes. In some sort of strange way. I found myself telling a friend today, "Time helps. It's the only thing that does." Erm. Gee, thanks. That's really a mood-booster.

The poor soul sent me a smiley and said thanks.

This is an improved version of me. It used to be, hmm yes, so people die. Deal with it, man. And I would think to myself, life is short, the longer you cry over the inevitable, the less time you'll actually have to live it.

And that cliched thing about the one who has passed on wanting zin** family to stop grieving and get on with their lives.. that is also true. To an extent. It's probably also good that one cries as much as possible for a while so that a) you just get it all out and move towards moving ahead, and b) maybe so that the one who has gone can feel glad [in a weird, narcissistic way] that people won't forget zin** forever.

I can say all this because I've seen several people close to me die, during my childhood and formative years. It affected me, I admit. And still, when/if someone close to me passes away today, I'm sure I would not be able to behave with such rationality.

One can try though. One can certainly try.

----
**zin: a word made up by author; a gender-neutral pronoun to use instead of him/her.

---
Note to imagined person reading this: I unofficially vowed never to get into too many personal rant-y/opinion pieces a la a lot of other blogs. Not because I disrespect that, but because I simply dislike talking too much about myself or my own views... but I thought it better to write something [even if personal and insignificant to the existence of most, if not all, people] rather than not write anything at all. Sigh. Some fiction/non-fiction will come soon. I vow!!

let's not talk

I have learnt it’s always better to keep things to yourself. Never mind if it weighs you down, never mind that you cry alone, never mind that you see people proclaiming their bowel movements on the internet and in office but you keep mum about most of your life. It’s the simplest, and best, thing to do. And these days with the effing internet, you never know when someone is going to put something up in a secret entry on a blog, or make a vague reference on a status message or god knows what.

I like keeping my secrets well, secret. No, I don’t have issues. It doesn’t mean I don’t love my friends and family, or that I don’t trust them, or that I’m weighed down by my private thoughts etc. It just means I like sorting out stuff on my own. It’s easier. When I want opinions, I ask. That itself, sadly, finds me in not very pleasant situations, albeit only sometimes.

I need my friends and family. I love them to pieces. So like I said, when I'm in supremely dire straits, I will seek help. I'm always afraid though, that if I do, people will be too busy with their life to give me a hand. And may go crazy helping me and supplying me with constant pearls of wisdom -- and may ask me to break down all my walls in their enthusiasm to help. My walls are a part of who I am. There’s a reason they’re there. It’s warped logic, but it *is* logic. I don’t think I’ll ever meet that one fictitious person supposed to break down all of a person’s walls with one look or kiss. If I do, I’ll probably laugh my ass of instead of doing any tiring labour work.

I like putting up a brave exterior even when I feel like a dark cloud about to spew thunder and endless water on an unsuspecting planet. And I like writing about it, or sweating it out at dance/on a treadmill, crying my eyes over it behind a firmly locked door much to my Labrador’s consternation, and annoying people by not telling them what’s going on. I like trying to work it out on my own. I think I’m fairly intelligent and logical, and when I’m not feeling so, I may ask for a second opinion, one that is rational. But it’s difficult to explain, and too close to my heart to be analysed by ones that do not know all the workings of my mind and thus my life. And really, I can handle it. I always have and have been through the very worst on my own.

So really, make what you want of me. If you think I’m a certain way because of you, sorry to disappoint, but that’s not true. It’s because of my own past and the way I've constructed myself. If I get drunk and cry, I’m sorry, it doesn't mean I'm weak or dying to talk; it's the alcohol. If I don’t say much when you’re pouring your heart out, I’m sorry. But I do listen well and damn, I analyse well. I’m sorry I annoy you with “I don’t wanna talk about it”; I really don't.

Sorry for it all, but I doubt it’s going to change, so let's try and deal with it.

remember me

I think I can now fathom those statements made in my BA English classes about art, specifically theatre, leading to catharsis in the audience. And now I appreciate art a little bit more. Or rather I’m reminded why I love some forms of art – music, movies, whatever.

I saw this movie which made me cry. Not small sympathetic or empathetic tears, but the way I strangely, and without explanation, broke down in school near the evening tiffin after I read the Harry Potter book in which Sirius Black dies and Potter loses his godfather.

Losing a biological parent and never having a replacement is not something one can simply ignore. Usually you can. But sometimes – only sometimes if you’re a tough nut – you are reminded of it. Or rather, it is pointed out to you that you are different from others in this regard, that you have feelings you forgot existed [or maybe never knew existed]. And you wonder: will they ever go away; will I ever forgive that parent for inflicting xyz on the other, remaining parent, on my sibling; will I ever forgive him for not leaving me a normal kid, for leaving me with daddy issues the size of the Arctic, forever?

And then one remembers – everything happens for the best. [this is something one can only appreciate in hindsight.]

Life is always so strange, so bloody unpredictable. We try to predict it by getting our palms read, by reading our horoscopes, by making plans for the future, charting out things we want to do, by creating bubbles around ourselves and only letting a few things inside, by visiting psychologists, or we try to avoid it by eating our favourite pizza, by getting drunk, by popping a Valium and sleeping for 15 hours…. But we can’t escape life, or its unpredictability and seeming callousness towards us.

It’s always there. Always changing. It’s always gonna trip us, make us realize we have feelings we didn’t know about, make us cry for joy, want to freeze a moment, help someone cross the road, scratch someone’s eyes out, and so many other things I don’t even know about.

I don’t know what I’m saying or trying to get at. I’m not saying I believe in fate or destiny. It’s hard to believe in anything or anyone these days. But I’m beginning to believe that if something hurts us, it’s for a reason.

We’ll figure out the godforsaken reason later, sometimes never if we don’t keep our eyes open… but if we wait long enough, there’s always a reason for every shitty incident in our life, every crappy person we meet – we maybe blind to the reason or logic [if you can call it that]. But it’s there somewhere.

I don’t know if there’s ever just one obvious reason – but it’s like forgetting something. Suddenly one day when you stop thinking, racking your brains to remember what it is, it comes back to you. And you smile. For the first time that whole day, a genuine smile. For yourself, not for anyone else. And you feel happy. And if you can’t think of anyone you can share the forgotten thought with, someone who’ll understand its significance or randomness, it doesn’t mean you’re friendless, lonely and will die alone. It probably means you just need a moment alone to be grateful on your own – remind yourself you exist for yourself. Not for others.

It’s easy to forget that sometimes, that it’s alright to be alone once in a way even in the age of Facebook and microblogging. At some point, even I forgot.

**I realise Gandhi Jayanti is a strange day to remember I should live for myself but I hope Gandhi gets what I mean. I still intend on helping helpless little animals [I’m not a people person] but humans, well, never mind. No offense, Gandhi.

to study or not to study

It's ridiculous. The average fees for a taught Masters programme in England for a resident or European student is not more than 3,000 pounds. And the fees for the same course for an international student is 11,000 pounds. Given our exchange rate, that's like buying an Audi Q5. At least I can show off an Audi Q5 and have men and women alike fall at my feet. But that doesn't change the fact that I will be applying to universities in the UK for a highly expensive Masters degree at some point [hopefully when the exchange rate is not too high].

Why, though? I know my reasons [some may call them excuses]. Since my chosen topic has no takers in India, there really aren't any Masters programmes in it. I've come across one three-month course but I doubt that's even a certificate course. Sigh. And some people like my editor-in-chief even asked me "But why would you want to study Creative Writing??"

Why, indeed. Because I'd rather not do a media and communications course and waste my time and mother's hard-earned money? And because I'm the sort that believes you aren't always born with everything -- if you're born with a talent, maybe you could try nurturing it and sharpening your skills a little. And oh god, I'm bored of working everyday. Honestly. I know my job is interesting to a lot of people, and it is to me as well, on most days at least. But who needs an expensive Masters in the nuances of journalism and communication when all it takes is a) a pretty face [for television], b) ability to aggressively hunt down stories, c) ability to get people to talk even when they don't want to, and preferably say things that you want them to say so it fits with your story, d) time management skills, e) excellent contacts, or the charm and intelligence to make new ones if you're a beginner, and f) ability to keep boss and [maybe, if needed] colleagues happy.

Yes, that's a little harsh but it's mostly true. What else do you need to know... writing skills? *guffaw* That's what sub-editors and editors are for. Hmm, what else. Ethics? What's that? No, really. The journalists I know with ethics kind of have it instilled in them during the course of their childhood. If they don't have it... well, they don't. And those are the ones more suited for television. [Having worked in television, I think I can say that without a moment's doubt].

Coming back to a postgraduate degree. No point in doing it in this field honestly. And I've always dreamed of working at my own pace, in my own space, and simply writing. No news briefs and whatnot. [no offense to news briefs - they're wondrous in comparison to hunting down pointless sound bytes for idiotic stories on security threats which exist only in the minds of executive editors at TV news stations]

I want to write. Sigh. You may say one does not need to study that. Well I *want* to study that. [No no, that was not said a la child throwing a tantrum in supermarket demanding ice-cream]. I honestly would rather study something I'm enamoured with and would want to pursue, than something pointless like, say oh I dunno... anthropological media and communications studies.

Which brings me back to - why are Indian students willing to pay so much to study HR and the like, and why are universities abroad charging so much from people from supposed developing nations? Colonial hangover, much?

amazing

so the Sunday Scribblings prompt for this week is to honour someone I think is amazing. one part of me thought, nah I can't do them justice. there was another part which didn't know what the definition of 'amazing' was because I realised I know a lot of fabulous people. finally, it occurred to me that not one of them is a heterosexual male.

I'm wondering when that will change and who it'll be.

the joke

... that is the "media" today (ah so we used the wrong picture. so what?)

... that is "professionalism" today (read extended whisper conversations/g talk conversations at any office)

... that is "nature" today (extensive global warming and volcanoes erupting in ICE-land)

... that is the "economy" today (extensive global warming and we worry about airlines' losses)

... that is "priesthood" today (masses of abortions, mothers paid for their silence and children molested)

... that is "politics" today (a rally undertaken for price rise and the media pays no heed, but says it disrupted traffic. what about price rise?)

... that is today's "politician" (shashi tharoor. enough said)

... that is "humanity" today (buying a pedigree boxer, sterilising him and throwing him on the streets, to the mercy of speedy traffic, because the procedure went wrong)

... that is "love" today (where do I begin: valentine's day? no, wait: fighting or making up over text messages. or even sexting, which I now learn is sex over text messages)

... that is "marriage" today (pretending you did not marry someone earlier, so you can marry an unsuccessful but notorious tennis star)

... that is "domestic help" today (a maid who raises your bp, talks back to you, and anyway you can sweep your house better than she can)

... that is "writing" today (a three-word poem. come on!)

... that is "office politics" today (you, z, have slept with x and y, who are friends, but broke up with both so they began the "we hate z" club)

... that is "saving tigers" today (putting them in reserves and being paid off by locals so they can bring on the poaching)

... that is "sports" today (IPL. enough said. no, wait. 20-20 cricket. you disagree? go on. let it rip)

... that is a "friend" today (she is on your facebook and you can't stand her guts [read, you both slept with the same guy and she's jealous of you because she thinks he ended it with her because he's into you, not literally, but the truth is he's just an ass] but everytime you remove her from your friends list, she adds you again, or contacts you because she wants publicity for said "boyfriends" professional ventures. oh yes, she works for him now)

... that is "family" today (they love you because you're worth 1,500 crores)

... that is "entertainment" today (watching anorexic models squealing on television because someone chopped off their hair while they slept or asked them to get ready for a marionette shoot and they don't know what that means)

... that is "blogging" today (rants like these. yes, this is a rant. was i so subtle that you didn't realise? i'm sure. [yes, sarcasm.])

blogger's note: is not mad at the reader [if there are any] so please refrain from feeling offended. is just having another fabulous day at office.

time after time

We are approaching the end of a cataclysmic decade. And i have a feeling the next one will leave us as dazed as this one did. Perhaps. Weirdly, this decade seems to have everything except a name. What should I call it… The 2Ks? You could look at it like a series of catastrophes – terror attacks, tsunamis, our democracy beginning to run under a Mario Puzo-esqe family. But there’s also been good stuff, though it doesn’t come to mind immediately! And so stuff from the ages gone by have gotten old and wrinkled and are becoming quaint. Take Friends for instance. Or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I remember drooling over Angel, watching him creep about in the darkness on Star World. And now it’s Twilight. Bye bye MJ, hello Jay-Z; so long Princess Di, greetings Mrs Bruni-Sarkozy?

We are in an age when things pretty much fly past us without us even realising. Then we wake up and we’re 25 or 35 or 50 or 70 and think, Christopher Columbus, where the hell did all the years go? (yes, there are people who say Christopher Columbus; come home and meet my witty grandaunt.) But even if it whizzed by, the first decade of the millennium will be one my generation will remember.

9/11, the exodus to countries like America and Australia, and now the exodus from those countries back to the “Far East”, iPods, ahem George Bush, Harry Potter, swine flu and SARS, Facebook and Twitter and Blackberry… the list is endless. I remember saying a quick thank you as we counted down the last few seconds of the previous millennium. I haven’t the faintest idea what I thanked the powers-that-be for but I foggily remember Nancy Drew making the list. This time, it has to be for all the lessons I’ve learnt in the past decade; for growing up and not turning into the crazy-ass kid who is a drug abuser and skids smoothly out of jail every few months because his daddy owns an MNC or runs a political party. I turned out fairly normal, even though the world around me was pretty insane. And it is insane for everybody now, regardless of their backgrounds.

Happy 2Kteens, everybody (clinks beer mug) and see you soon, hopefully!

tonight i can write...

Insomnia.

It's horrible.

Restlessness.

Even worse.

Combine both and you have a recipe for disaster.

While my mother is away and my sister and dog are snoring across the hall, I sit and waste time, looking at the minutes pass me by. Precious minutes wasted. I cannot write. I'm too tired. I think. Far too much. And I worry even more. I wonder, do we ever live in the present or are we always stuck in the past or looking to the future?

I can't even read because I'm too sleepy to focus. And the two or three friends I have left in the universe are deeply sleeping. I'm thinking about a Pablo Neruda poem I heard in school and came across again a few weeks ago. I wish I could write like that. And I will keep wishing.
If you haven't read any of Neruda's work, life is incomplete. I think even if you've never been in love, if you read Neruda's work, you'll find out about love and loss. Sigh.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example,'The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.'

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.
Her voide. Her bright body. Her inifinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my sould is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.