Virtual...or real?

It is strange way things come back to you... I was in Tamasha mood last night...haven't yet been to the theater to watch it, just waiting in fond apprehension - you know that typical feeling of slow and careful handling I had with my newly bought copy of Unaccustomed Earth...

I feel I have kept a sacred part of mine with that monster, whenever I remember that book...actually I often feel angry about my mistakes - like there was absolutely no need to be kind to that wretched guy from school, who frankly was stinking of snobbery - the particular characteristic that defines most of my fellow students from the so called elite institutions and what I have always hated them for. But no, I had to be blind at the wrong time and served me right to be humiliated in the way I was.

Like I have mentioned here probably a 100 times, the only safe person I can involve myself romantically with is my...my...what can I call him without sounding vulnerable? Best friend he's not, at least not anymore, I call him by his name in my mind most of the time, but I don't want to be that obvious. Oh just forget it, let's just call him by the pronouns, he's the only safe "he" in my life, the he who won't retaliate.

So, as I was relaxing with music and the book, last night and then repeat music and some beauty routine this morning, it suddenly came back to me. The song from Dil Kya Kare was playing, pyar kliye char pal kam nahi thhe...since he was already there in my thoughts, I suddenly found myself wondering, when did this movie release? Wasn't I at college then? Most inconsequentially, I remembered laughing about how a guy in the class had been crying buckets on watching Kajol's suffering - but then, I remembered that it had been another Kajol movie, the one with Anil Kapoor, something titled, Hum Aapke Dil Mein Rehtehai...giggles - what all names movies had then...but I loved the songs from this movie too...

But I was not talking about that, I was talking about how memories hit you - from places where they have been lying dormant in your mind all this time...13, 14 years, with you having no idea that they exist...

It was his voice and it was the ambience, that's all I could recognize...we were in one of our regular addas, with several other friends - you see, we were not lovers, so nobody ever shied away from sitting with us, in fact we talked talked and talked, and given his natural charm, one or the other from his regular gang would drop by... seems painful to remember now, when I hardly get to chat...well so we were chatting and he was commenting on the movie. I can still hear him saying every word, not having any idea that they'd get etched somewhere, to be recovered ages later, on a certain 29/11/2015 :)

He was just describing the scene where Ajay would be telling a lie, that her train is delayed. Someone urges Kajol to call up the station and inquire once again. She calls up and obviously gets to know the truth. She looks at Ajay, considers for a while and then comfortably says, the train is delayed by one more hour. He was ecstatic about this scene. None of them say it explicitly to each other, but they don't want to part as yet.

He used to tell movie stories wonderfully well. I have never watched Ijazat, because I have watched it through his story telling. I just don't want to watch the real movie ever - it'd always be through his eyes...

So in safe reassurance I keep romancing him in my mind. He won't stop me or feel irritated...ever...and in my ecstatic state I almost imagined telling aloud, you know I've got a daughter...she's very pretty, looks exactly like her father...I haven't met her though...will probably never be meeting her...but her dad, he absolutely dotes on her you know...

Moist eyes, may be, but don't you pity me, I am really happy with his memories - with every passing day I love him a little more, as memories come undone...

Book:Hangover - Coffee:Medicine :)

I like the smell of coffee - that strong and rejuvenating whiff... And I like old memories. I was watching a debate today on the television - fortunately my family is one of those rare ones which has no patience for mega serials...we mostly watch music, news and sports. So in that debate someone spoke of গান্ধর্বী... 

I like my coffee strong and bitter, slightly bitter, at times that slight twang of bitterness is all that matters, makes a difference, instantly makes you feel better. But it shouldn't be very hot mind you, I categorically don't like steaming hot beverages. Only a hard core coffee fanatic won't call me a nutcase. But tell me, isn't the concept of aftertaste interesting? The aftertaste of a banana for example...having lived in South India for so long, I often feel like having a banana at the end of my meal...don't you feel it has a very distinct aftertaste?

I know I am being delirious. Have been at Career of Evil all night, slept throughout most of the daytime, got a headache, took an untimely bath in the evening just to cure it, and don't really feel any better. 

I still continue reading though, just thought it is absolutely important to write here that I loved reading গান্ধর্বী as a dreamy eyed teenager, and wanted to gift it to the man I'd be marrying, so that he could understand how I feel about a relationship of love... 

Today is indeed a day of rediscovering old memories - found the bottle of Bernard beer - which was a gift from my Czech colleague. Empty, dusty yet so full of the typical feel good factor associated with happy old days. I am happy here trying to live, to get a life that doesn't harm anyone in order to sustain itself... I live for my self-contained life in my own way... 

The wickedly good Robert G ;)

Career of Evil is punchingly, oppressively, filthily, grotesquely evil, right from the word go. There are things that only J K Rowling can attempt to do and pull off successfully. Exciting weekend ahead and enjoying every bit of it. My 28th book since I bought my tab - and what would I ever do if books were not there?

Can ignore the headache and gradual decadence of my mythical 6/6 vision I guess - I read on with watering eyes :)

On the verge of depression...

After a long time I am showing signs of breaking down... I feel like crying, often nowadays, only the tears won't come out...

I don't get any motivation to live on. I can't go on pretending. Badam went missing last Tuesday. I was half hoping that she might come back, half in my mind I knew that she wouldn't. Despite being very athletic (she spent half her time climbing up and walking on the boundary walls) she can't fend for herself or find food. She's always been a very soft hearted person and the Diwali din was too much for her. I guess she felt sick, knew she was going to die and just ran away to spare us the agony, way most dogs would. It is heartbreaking to see Nikhu alone all the time... It is as if I see my future life - makes me feel even more dreadful.

The sociopolitical situation is so grim in this state, and in the country as a whole that I feel like throwing up almost. Why wouldn't we think twice before voting such monsters to power? It is easy to say that I am apolitical or disinterested in politics...the difficult thing is to bring about a change. Why, people can't even talk freely if something happens to bother them or invoke fear in them. No, you must go on chanting that India is the most ideal place to live in. Clap, clap and clap...

I dream of strange things these days - of old lovers calling me up and talking in a broken voice, or me reading their old mails (in case you are curious, I never ever read old mails...had saved them once upon a time thinking I would...but I never do) and thinking of happier days when we'd laugh together (yes, I do remember old days of friendship, appreciation and love)... I even saw in one strange dream that a memorial has been created, probably for Badam, a white cubic structure, where neighbors have left flowers and teddy bears. The other night I dreamed that Badam has suddenly emerged from behind the utensils in the kitchen, she'd been hiding there in fear of the crackers all this while (imagine, what a place to hide from crackers...where a fire is burning almost all the time) - she's thinned down way she used to be when she was a tiny puppy, probably from lack of food, but she's alive alright... Huh, what's in a dream? I feel more choked seeing such dreams, I go on reading like a zombie, go to office like routine work and never quite feel alive.

Badam and Nikhu were like my children. At night I'd see them asleep and silently pray for them. Why are my prayers never fruitful? I just wanted them to live...

It's now over a week - I have kinda accepted that I'd never see her again. Badam sweetheart, I never took a photo when you were resting on the balcony wall, never captured the moment when you'd stand up on your hind legs and hunt a mosquito with your front paws, how do I tell the world of the quaint things you used to do? Forgive your didi that she couldn't give you more time...care for you a little more, and remember to stay very happy wherever you are...

The joy of working...

God only must know why he made me to be such a rebellious being. Office is reopening tomorrow, they all call it the university, but I being the erstwhile corporate girl still prefer calling it the office...but that's neither here nor there. I had promised to dad that I won't be late tomorrow, would be leaving home sharp at 9:30 and here I am, hell bent on staying awake. But I put an alarm as well. I am excited about going back to work. Agatha Christie and everything apart, work has its own charm. Just want to go on working till the time I am alive. Then life wouldn't be that difficult. Ok back to my storybook, thank God the tab is auto set to shutdown at 3 :)
P.S.- Had quite a long conversation with a girl from my previous office and quite enjoyed it (though I checked the phone balance as soon as I disconnected the call...me and my recent tendencies, I have been arguing with the new driver about giving him Puja bonus equivalent to his months of service, to save what? A thousand bucks?)  Nevertheless, you know what? I just had this strange sensation that may be when I'd be very lonely I'd after all have some people to talk to? There are some people who do love me, you know. And they understand me to, despite my whims. This girl had told me, when I was very broken from within during the later half of 2012, "Di, what's happened to you? When you smile it seems a dead girl is smiling...", you see I really didn't expect this kind of wisdom from somebody who knew nothing about what I was going through. So hopefully I'd have people who'd continue to care however passive I become, however much I retreat in my shell. Am I not a hopeful girl?

The despicable aloofness of the social animal

I don't understand the world anymore with my rather constrained view on good and bad, on reality and pretensions. All I can say from where I am, is that this notion that sorrow is something that happens only to them, it'd never happen to me, is the first thing that'd ruin whatever is left of this world. But then my thoughts don't count, I am on the other boat altogether, I don't even have an option to dream about things I want, I am just waiting to lose whatever little borrowed happiness I can find in my otherwise barren life, I'd of course be saying negative things.

So, for a while I tried to do what I despise so much, I showed off to the world that even I can be happy. Boasted of having a blast of a Diwali on Facebook, just as I had mentioned in my last entry, I pretended as best as I could. Don't be mistaken, I indeed had a good Diwali, it'd have been equally good even without my showing off. It gets on your head, how many likes, how many comments one is getting. E.g. I have 271 friends on Facebook, and I get between 20-40 likes to my posts. Luckily for me these are mostly selfless likes, I get these without having to reciprocate the act. Some people are very particular, you like my pictures, then only I shall like your pictures. It's a competition of showing off, Facebook is. Hence it is a novel experiment for me in social science whenever I chose to be active on Facebook.

Today, and I guess for a while to come, the trend would be, Diwali remnants, bhai duj remnants, show off, show off, personal occasions, boast boast, oh my cooking skills, oh the food I ate, oh the movies I watched, wait, wait, of course must throw in some solidarity with France (must do my bit, else people are just waiting to misunderstand me and to call me selfish). Ask these "happiness personified" people to picture getting gunned down in the middle of the road while cruising through their "bed of roses" life, they'd retort, "such things will never happen to us"...I, being the unhappy soul, have time enough to sit and think that perhaps Aylan Kurdi's parents must have thrown a party when their son was born...celebrations would have gone on all night, perhaps Syria was not burning yet? Who'd have thought then that they'd see this day?

I have been heartless myself, bursting all those crackers when Nikhu and Badam were cowering in fear. I didn't make any noise, but the flames alone were terrifying for them. But how could I throw away my crackers for their sake? Need to have my share of fun till it lasts...

My grand parents came to India as refugees. Before it happened, I am sure they never thought it could be a possibility. One aunt of mine, dad's own sister, was lost forever from the camp. Till that time they were rich and powerful landlords who wouldn't have ever thought that any disaster could probably affect them.

Every act of threat and sacrilege scares me. The Ebola epidemic scared me. The lynching of a single person in Dadri, all because of his alleged food habit, repulsed me. My religion forbids me to eat beef, but when I did taste it, I found it ok enough and had no qualms about eating it again. Let alone a bomb attack, I cry for every bit of heinous crime and mindless accident that happens on this earth. You see, I have the time because I don't have a life. They say riots are man made things, terrorism is a man made act. Damn it all, religion itself is a man made concept. Money, power, color of skin all are bloody man made double standards. See where these notions have brought us now. Today someone would kill, tomorrow the same person condemns terrorism. And we are not disgusted, we clap, because these are the leaders we have chosen for ourselves. In fact who has the time to choose a proper leader? One is way too busy with one's own life.

Since I'd probably never be able to give birth to a child, I feel so very protective about the entire world. Live in peace so long as you can live. The world is heating up anyways beyond control. Huh, fight and win over a world with frail and sick children, broken people, which gets destroyed the very next day under nature's wrath. Is that what anybody in their right mind can probably want? I wonder.

And for God's sake when would the world stop being so self-centred and so depressingly pretentious in the name of being social? Nobody needs fake solidarity, if possible think that this might really happen to you as well.

End of romanticism...

I wrote a lot that night, and then for some strange reason, didn't fee like posting it. Didn't feel like deleting it either - just left it as it is and went on to watch a movie. Quite liked the movie (C/o Sir) - I had zero expectations despite having heard good reviews, I just wanted a diversion. More than the movie I loved the RabindraSangeet in it, কতবার ভেবেছিনু আপন ভুলিয়া... Influenced I guess by prayer tunes of carols, it is such a treat to listen to - Tagore I felt, is quite a religion in himself. You can simply follow him and get your desired peace of mind.

After I recovered from the movie, I turned back my attention to the unfinished article. It was lost. Really so. I don't know what sort of a garbage collector like facility (tells you, doesn't it, that once a Java programmer always a Java programmer?) my tab has, and the blogger app is not very efficient anyways, but I didn't mind. I was actually relieved and went to sleep. It was well past 4 in the morning, I was tired.

In my last entry (read last existing/published entry) I had talked about writing our story here. In the last lost one, that was what I was debating with myself. And I felt so tired fighting with myself that I sought a distraction and went for the movie instead. Afterwards, whatever happened, I strongly felt that it's a sign. I was dead against writing it down. However much romantic it might have been, my inner self vehemently protested. If the story is not remembered by the two of us, at the same time, it is as good as nothingness. আমি সেদিনও তাই বলেছিলাম, আজও তাই বলি...

So there's the usual Diwali happiness, though I am rather worried about the puppies - they are already scared of the occasional crackers that are going off, the next 2-3 days are going to be even worse.

Today another dog, who's not exactly my pet, but knows me, (I'm friends with all the four legged beings in the neighborhood) suddenly came to me when I was walking in the road in front of my house, and stood up and put his front paws on my chest. He was scratching me away, as if urging me to do something about the sudden increase of noise. I have never seen him to be so agitated, however much I'd pat on his head and say "good boy, calm down", he won't get down. I wish we wouldn't tamper so much with their world.

Apart from that I wish someone would tell me how to live such a lonely, support less life. Forgive me that I couldn't find any solace anymore in loving you. I still love you, I love you a lot, but how does it matter unless you love me back? Wish I could live in my bubble a little longer...at least Diwali wouldn't have been such a faded affair then :) I shall socialize and be merry and light diyas and burst crackers, all the time knowing in my mind that I couldn't write our story and tell everyone because he doesn't love me back...

Music and memories...

I am listening to songs after a long time. Ever since my car got garaged (that dreaded driver decided to go on leave without informing us, so we finally got a reason to dismiss him, good riddance I must say) - there's no radio (I mean I could always use the radio in the phone or the tab, but I am often too lazy to plug in the earphone - that is supposed to act as the antenna, and then there's this inexplicable preference to the iPod, which is without charge for well over six months now) and thus the only regular music is the program I watch on TV...three days a week.

Then somewhere I got to know about the Tamasha song... Imtiaz Ali, my thought-brother, my favorite onscreen couple, and (probably) the keywords of my life - "if only you'd been there with me", irresistibly deadly combination you see. Hence procuring the song in the dead of the night (the only time when I come alive), finally plugging in the headphones (headphones are far more comfortable than earphones, i.e. if you are listening in and not only using them as antennas). Then followed the usual phenomena of one song leading to another (listening to this emotional marvel by Alka Yagnik, how could I not revisit Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna at least once) and memories smeared on each song gradually dripping in and wrapping me up. Pure blissful joy...

What they so grandly term as intolerance is something I have noticed earlier than many of my fellow citizens, probably because I haven't been that busy with my life. And frankly this intolerance can't be driven out till the time we remain too engrossed with ourselves and too insensitive to others. Insensitivity is such a crime. Even when we pray, what is it that we say? পুত্রাং দেহি ধনং দেহি (give me sons, give me wealth, give me all that I can desire) - just imagine. Sexist and selfish (and may some self-styled army of the prime Hindu God come and kill me for saying this). For God's sake, what's the point of attacking artists only because they belong to a different faith and a hostile neighbor? Don't they know that music is a form of worship practised by all religions unanimously? A mankind so self-consumed cannot probably even understand that.

I have returned to my proletariat existence, sans the car. As I stood yesterday in a very crowded bus stand overlooking the EM Bypass - I felt scared, skeptical, almost felt my vertigo striking back, and fervently prayed for an empty (preferably AC) bus, and inexplicably found someone whispering in my ear... খুচরো পাপ,  খুচরো পাপ...(he used to tell me that my vertigo comes from the several small sins that I must have committed) - ah, can't describe the sudden joy I felt, all thanks to my all encompassing imagination fuelled by the tagged individuals walking up to the stop (it was very near the IT hub you see), what if...he suddenly appears here? Will I never meet him again in life? Not even once, after having finally realized my love for him in its truest sense? And then the practical self chastised me. I became sober. I am not a home breaker... :)... So having realized that, I boarded a non-AC bus, struggled about holding on to a rod for life - as the bus sped on as if there's no tomorrow and the pseudo centrifugal force kept forcing me towards the open door as if...all the time the memories of that very crowded bus flashing in my mind - how does love happen between man and woman, I don't know... I can tell you about a boy and a girl, I shall tell you the story, but not today. Some other time.

As I write here while listening to my favorite songs after ages, and some ugly memories peep in too, of people mistreating me, having completely failed to understand the kind of person I am, I once again feel so safe in confining all my love to my best friend. That is one gentleman who will never misunderstand me about loving him. You see, all that's already over. He's misunderstood me, scolded me and we have realized our actual feelings for each other and chosen to move on from there. There may be anonymity now, but no threat and no hard feelings. In fact there can't be. I wish the world had at least this kind of a harmony. Ego is indeed a very brutal and self destroying stuff, I must say.

Tungsten!

It was a really strange dream…but first things first, I was very restless last night. Hardly did anything fruitful, except lying down on the bed and thinking, oh what’s there left to my life. Having finished The Girl on the Train, I had nothing better to read except The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and frankly, though I was enjoying it quite a lot the previous day, yesterday it seemed just not enough. I went to sleep with a very disturbed mind, in fact so far as I remember, I just dropped into a stupor, it was nowhere as peaceful and happy a deal as sleep after a long day.

The first thing I remember about the dream is, I was enjoying it.  It was raining. I was in a school bus. School bus, yes, but I was not a student, I was all dressed up like a grown up and talking with other adults. All of us were feeling lazy and enjoying the rain from inside the bus, we hardly had a mind to get down from the bus (God help that school!)

And then the students came up to me, in the bus - ma'am will you take today's class? (God helps those who help themselves...) - so I nodded, got down from the bus, dragged myself to the staff room, asked a random lady colleague - "any idea what I am supposed to teach today?" and she replied "tungsten", and I gathered my books and notes and left for the classroom.

It was not much of a surprise that the classroom was that same one as the one where we had our class VII classes in the annexe building. I always liked that classroom. But tungsten? I hardly remember anything about tungsten. And I don't particularly remember that tungsten was any special element that was taught separately to us. Whatever it is, I started teaching tungsten to an apparently sleepy, dreamy class, most of whom were enjoying the magical drizzle, and the rest were still trickling in. Now, that is something I do, I never bar anyone from entering my class, people come in even in the last minute. What's the point in being strict I never understood, if I teach well, people won't really miss my class if they can make it in time, and ahem, if I don't teach well, it is myself I need to correct, not my students...

I forgot to mention one small thing, I heard this song last night in a tv program and loved it...since youtube links are quite quite unreliable (আজ আছে কাল নেই) - it goes like this, "bhai re, rishton ki dagar hai mushkil, aise na milegi manzil, chalna tu sambhal sambhal ke...", there's a rendition by Shubha Mudgal, please look for it...

So students were trickling in, it kept on raining, I kept on lecturing on tungsten (???!!!) - it was slow motion, when he came in...

How on earth he became my student, don't ask me. He used to say (ever so proudly) that he was the topmost ranker in JEE in our entire batch in college. That rank, I am afraid was nothing much exceptional, 1500 something, and then it was his second attempt at cracking the JEE, and he never studied, he never ever attended classes, but well, all those things apart, he couldn't have probably lost that many years, that I could teach him (I am still not sure if I was teaching in a school or college or somewhere else - the students were in uniforms, but even we had an uniform at college, it's a different story that we never wore it). But it was him alright, his specs, his hair falling on his eyes...and...he entered the class, and then for some reason he came up to me, and stood behind me, it was so like him, to be always with me...near me, wherever I went.

My entire life changed while I dreamed on...from anxious edginess to calm, from disappointed dullness to charm...that's all, I can't do more poetry about it all...I just felt terribly protective about him, as if he's my baby, as if, the way he had always protected me when he was with me, I wanted to reciprocate in that dream...

After I got up and was in my senses, as I descended the staircase in a skipping motion, I found myself saying in my mind, so thankful, so so thankful that we live in the same city (I am really not sure about that, but I guess that's true), and I also found myself thanking the great statue of Netaji (please...please don't ask me to explain that...)

God, such a maniac I am, such an "always in my bubble" existence I have, and excuse me, tungsten??? Where on earth that came about, I am still thinking...