The change in temperature...

I have always been Gulzar saab's die hard fan.

Woh yaar hai jo khushboo ki tarah,
Jiski jubaan Urdu ki tarah...

The afternoon letter was like me telling myself - you are going to end this madness. End it by speaking the truth, sombrely. Keep your ego and self respect intact.

The night letter was like - what did you think, I'd just let go of my best friend just like that? NO WAY...

And the rise in temperature...warmth seeping in an otherwise hopeless wintry night. I guess this only is life. Holding on to your own self, even when the entire world and your own subconscious attempts to change you...

You know - offlining my blog has made me carefree. I can write the truth and examine it clinically without worrying about it being judged.

Like - all I feel if I ever touch my lips is his lips. He talking slowly to me. You want to know why I am sad? I shall explain - in between kisses.
Kisses? I ask...
You won't stop asking me questions otherwise, no? He says.
And I mumble - but then, there'd be only kisses and no explanations.

What is this? Love? Infatuation? Madness? Disease? Desperation? That years of celibacy has brought about?

But then, take away the kisses. I can manage. Please don't take away this human being who understands me.

Promise to myself

But then, honey, I had promised to myself that I won't hold back. If it makes me look stupid, so be it. We are honest people, aren't we? I would rather not do anything even more stupid, like writing you a mail I don't mean to. I meant the poetry honey. Forgive my childishness if you can.

I know that you might not love me in a way I love you. It's ok - it doesn't take away anything from my love for you. I just had to express myself. Like an ostrich I now want to close my eyes and pretend not to exist. Why is love so humiliating? You really take me back to my childhood, way my niece does. And you know what she tells me? I should kidnap you or marry you but never let you go away...

Here goes my conversation with my niece...though it is quite incomplete without the stickers - and the poetry, I mean his poetry. But how on earth can I breach all kinds of IPR and share it here. My blog might be offline now, it won't be so forever...

Me: OK dude my heart just melted
So even amid so much sickness I pinged you
Please for the love of God read this
She: What?
Me: I don't know who I love more - the chessman or the poet
She: This is heaven
Who
Wrote
This?
Me: Dude I just crushed on him
The chessman idiot
Who else
She: U r a mad person
Me: What?
What did I do now
She: Please please please
Either marry or kidnap chessman
He is one of a kind
Me: Dude relax

You know what? After madness comes sanity. Bossie used to say, mann ki baat bol deni chahiye... So I did. Nobody liked the post. It went unacknowledged. Nobody bothered that my soul mate and I - both grieved, both craved for, even welcomed death, probably for different people, but for undaunted love. And there ended my love story. There's no point aiming for impossibility at this half life period. I cannot kidnap you honey. And I am not marriage material - remember?

For those who believe in magic...

I just died.
And found myself sinking
Deeper in your love.
Pale with frostbite,
From the storm last night -
I sought after warmth...
Though, at this time of the month,
Snow prevails,
And covers up,
The trails of a tender heart,
As it breaks
Into shards.
Each a reflection,
Of the soul mate,
Who can be found, only in death.

In death I find,
Not only you, but me.
The girl I had ceased to be,
The songs I loved as a child,
Goosebumps, a long lost memory,
Light in eyes that had gone blind.
As if, I discover life, indirectly.

Writer's block...

Awww. Now can anyone go on writing a page full of Awww and not be called mad? This man is able to steal back my heart every time I falter.

And I have been faltering. What's the point in loving a person when the relationship can never be a reality? When I cannot even dream about us without prejudices. I fall sick. I start getting negative vibes. I hate the very sight of him. I remove our photo as the display picture of my tab. The very face that I thought I could never ever stop admiring, was causing only irritation, as I gasped for breath.

And then he writes a poetry. It melts my heart. I am like Awww.

I have taken my blog offline. Nobody gets to read it. But there's so much pleasure in admitting that he's a wonderful poet. And the punctuation tells me - he's really worked on it. Awww sweetheart, is the time cruncher really not available? I wish I could hold you and sleep, for every single remaining night of my life.

A dream after ages

I dreamt of Rito after eons it seems. Why did I dream of him? I have no idea. It was such a strange dream over that. After so many years I discover that he lives across my house. And then I painstakingly look at the door to get a glance of him, and never succeed. Then one fine morning, I am even more surprised to notice that there's a door to his house just next to my window. Somehow, with so many days of waiting, I manage to get desperate and enter through the door. He's seated with his family, looking haggard, wearing some blue casual shirt and slacks. I am so angry that I chastise him in front of everyone present. Then I rush out of the room and go to some corner of the road to sulk by myself. It is then that he comes to me, my old friend, in an off white shirt and wheat colored formal trousers, and embraces me to say sorry. I look at the angelic person and melt in him. Way I hold on to him, never to let go...don't even ask me to describe that. The dream was quite like a movie, we two families become friends and live happily ever after.

Speechless now. What. Do. I. Want. From. Life??????

Lost in the web...

I hate being a girl. I have always hated girlishness, if you understand what I mean. So implicitly I hate over excitement. Let things calm down a bit. I shall again take my blog online. Because this chokes me. The fact that nobody would know my story. That I had loved a man. Who said on my birthday that I look beautiful. And he likes my blue saree. And who writes to me saying that I should always stay the same - happy, loving and intimidating at times. Whatever that might mean. And I couldn't reply back. My heart ached, I laughed and cried, before I fell asleep, clutching the flower. Yellow rose means friendship, doesn't it? And I should be happy that I have such a good friend. Then why do I falter in talking to him? Why does my heart break into shreds. And why am I so ashamed of this madness. The fact that I love him. Why do I feel my life will collapse if anybody who knows us gets to know about this?

I shall gradually stop discussing these things in my blog. These entries would get old and get lost amid 100s of blog posts. Our photos would be tucked away safely in some unreachable corner of my hard disk. I shall be able to control my stalking tendencies. It would be then that I would take my blog online again, if I don't die in between. And if I do, my blog remains lost in the web, for good.

Rant...

The fragrance of the rose is maddening. I have never really slept with flowers beside my bed. Though it was a long time wish. Actually, I got a bit mad. I don't know why. I was ok. In the situation that I was in. Yes, I love someone. Yes, he cares for me too, may be in a different way, but definitely cares, more than the rest of the crowd. That was all there was to the story. But then came a moment when my state of mind freaked me out.

I don't know if I can call it paranoia. I felt I must preserve the rose. It is like a milestone. It symbolizes everything I ever believed in. It tells me that there can be a person who's my ditto reflection. In other words, a part of my soul. My true soulmate. Is this what is called mid life crisis? Whatever it be, I need some time to structure and sort this up. I am sure a time will come when I can laugh at this madness. But not now. Right now, this madness is precious.

I look back at my dreams. What were they, exactly?

That he would respond to me in taglines? I don't know if he did. It seemed to me he did. And then I discovered that they are songs. Does that take anything away?

That he would give me a birthday gift? He did. Not well wrapped up, as I had imagined. He gave me a flower and a chocolate in front of everyone.

That I practice chess in secret? That he might have glanced at my mailbox and known that I maintain a draft of the moves in order to learn better? How does it matter if he did or didn't?

And then his photos. And the way he looks at me. My God. Even if all is my imagination then also I must be a really imaginative magician.

The biggest trouble is my mind. How do I hide it from him. And from the world. I can't pretend. I can act very well, but I don't know how to pretend. And it feels as if the world is just waiting to pounce upon me as soon as this secret comes out in the open. Everyone seems to be the enemy of my happiness.See my paranoia?

I have never ever felt this much of a need to take my blog offline. This is something I can't tell anybody. Not my best friend. Not my daughter. They are the only people who know about this person, but I can't discuss him more than that.

I think the problem lies in the fact that I was unusually happy on my birthday. I feel I will never have a happier day. And if ever life throws it my way, an even happier day, I feel I should run away, before everything would get spoiled. I cannot get into a habit of happiness...it doesn't suit me.

But oh, how much, just how very much I want to keep on staying in this mode...

How on earth can I even expect him or anyone else to understand this? When I am rolling my eyes at myself :(

Disclaimer : I love my blog...

These days I just want to hide from the world...so if you ever discover the burial ground of my dreams - do me a favor, don't dig it up...

I might have been stupid but I don't think anything, absolutely anything can completely negate a possibility. Ask me. I had been an extremely conservative girl once. I have broken myself apart but never disowned my desires for the sake of this society and its stupid conventions. This is for you, if you chose to laugh at me.

The incomplete fulfillment...

It is so nicely prepared too, D'bhai...it is supposed to have thorns, but they don't even prick. Is this the way dreams are supposed to come true? Dreams which I have wasted a lifetime on? And it came true at a juncture where I have to waste it off?

It sounds funny but no man ever has given me a flower on my birthday. It is a common custom that men give women flowers, but nobody ever saw me in that light. And this gentleman just walks in and hands me over a rose and a chocolate. He injected truth in the lifeless outlines of my abandoned dreams, abandoned to this extent that I gave up all expectations and bought my own flowers.

For the first time in my life, I am so happy, and so extremely heartbroken. What an ironical situation God has created. I can't express myself tonight. I, the ever verbose me, am at a sheer loss of words...

As of now let me sleep with a heart full of leftover happiness. And togetherness...

This was the song I started this birthday with...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kW9ynOaDJZg

And this, is what I have earned, with this lifetime of faith in love...isn't it beautiful?

Birthday pangs...

I don't love anybody that much. I love my inner peace...said once to me, the man I'm in love with. For a while now, I have known this in my mind that I don't love him because he's like anybody, or fulfills some concepts and ideas in my mind. I love him because he's entirely himself.

I was really really irritated to see a smiling family photo of Anand in my newsfeed. Promptly unfollowed the friend who had liked it. Because you see, it is as much a crime as sycophancy to not take sides. I loathed taking that one glance at the photo. But then thankfully, I didn't want to progress on the self torture. Promptly selected one of the two options - block posts from Anand or unfollow the friend.  However much of a camaraderie we might have shared over all these years, and the incessant laughing aloud, he deserved this and left me with no other choice. I hate weak minded men. And I hate that guy who destroyed my life. He has no right to post a smiling, contended profile pic. Yes, I can be hateful and spiteful. But nothing more. I don't need to be revengeful or nurture the pain in my mind. God will, in good time, take care of his punishment. Anand's. I needn't worry about it. In fact, I enjoyed playing Geet in Jab We Met. Cursed him to my heart's content and felt better. But I needed to punish my friend, for not being my friend, in my own small way.

It's always been a custom that I feel more alive from 17-19 December, than in the entire year. I am even sitting up and not lying down on my bed. Although I am restless, I am making a sincere attempt in finishing up my storybook and attending to some long pending tasks.

The girl emailed again last night. Are we meeting on the 20th? I wrote an official sounding email in response. Check everyone's availability and then decide - lectured on the work we plan to do. In reality, I plan to run away. I don't want to fuel my imagination any more. The girl is one of those little angels (nanhi pari) who God creates to give the devotees a warm and pleasant birthday. But again, what's the point in dreaming impossible dreams? It's not like I can get away from this boring and depressing life? Not entirely, never forever. So what's the point in glorifying one birthday?

Expecto Patronum

Awww - being in love never felt like this before. I think it is the freedom that matters. Because you see, there's nothing above or beyond this love na. There's no expectation. So I am happy even in my solitude.

Today I was getting bored sitting alone in the office. So I just went out for a walk. Nowadays it's become even easier. You need to spend some time with yourself? Stand in the queue of the first working ATM you find. You get not only time for yourself, but money as well! Who can resist this offer in this demonetized time? So I stood there, got my money, did some shopping, felt hungry and ate some snacks. Then, when I came back to the university campus, was walking towards my car, I started imagining him walking towards me wearing his black hooded jacket (because people on the road were wearing black hooded jackets and their faces turned into his)...

And then in my imagination, he suddenly stopped near me and brushed his fingers above my lips, apparently to wipe off the marks from the food I had just eaten (I am a clumsy eater). Awww, I just loved the mere thought of him doing this...my heart melted.

It's not his fault...it's not my fault either. There's a reason behind these imaginations, they are not entirely artificial. On one hand there was a situation when I was forced to express my vulnerability to him. He knows how bad a shape I can get in at times. And then he has this 150 year old soul in himself na. He's really deep at times. So, with all his wisdom he knows that finally, come what may, I am a child at heart. And he can't help loving that child. He was telling me the other day that he has a way with children. Anyone who's liked by children have retained their purity of heart, at least in most cases.

As much as I love my dreams, I dread reality. Someone proposed a picnic. I was like - it's probably better that nothing else happens. What's the point in adding facts to dreams that would never come true. Why did you call us on the 22nd? Why not earlier? They will be busy on the 22nd...
err...ok...I reluctantly agree. Will you write a mail asking them to come earlier. I nod. In my heart of hearts I know that I shall never bring myself up to write that mail. I have been hurt so many times in expecting a birthday wish from the person(s) I loved. Not again, please. Though I am sure that he will wish me on FB - and I want to keep it as minimalistic as that. Because I am at peace with myself in this virtual relationship. I want nothing more that would cause me restlessness...

The imagined reality...

I have realized in the course of the last 30 hours or so - what too much happiness feels like. It doesn't feel the way you expect it to feel like. It is quite equivalent to the effect of too much booze (I have some experience), or drug (I wouldn't know). After a while you just get into a stupor. Perhaps not in every case. Where there's a future to the happiness, you probably go on enjoying...but my happiness was strictly time bound, no? In fact yesterday morning too, I was extremely apprehensive about whether the madness I am doing, well planned insanity that kept me literally going all this while...would be at all worth anything? I mean, I've never been this mad in life. Mad as the hatter would be an understatement. In my dreams also I have been organizing and color-coordinating jewelry and planning makeup. Mehendi covering 75% of both my hands, it is my own marriage or what? Yes, I was that hyper. Let me tell you, being depressed, lazy and crazy at the same time is not easy. It was like, I need to find my bangles and make up box. I found the bangles but didn't find the make up box. Wanted to put some blusher and eye shadow. But that's ok. I must have blushed anyways.

When I was finally ready, and traveling the short distance to the venue, seated in my car, I asked myself - couldn't contain the tension anymore - what if he doesn't get to see me at all? Just visits when I am busy somewhere else, has his dinner and leaves before we meet each other? Even this scary thought couldn't boggle me down. Just relax and remember that you've done your best - I told myself. I took a deep breath and virtually patted myself on the back - best of luck.

Luck couldn't have guessed last evening what actually would happen, it had no clue. When I saw him for the first time - I don't know if my eyes widened - way it usually happens when he manages to surprise me. Impeccably dressed in a black jacket and a white shirt underneath, with crisp collars. He's naturally handsome you know - not like me, who has to put in an effort to look good. So it was not very obvious to me about why he should make an effort. And throughout the evening both of us went on making that effort. Forget me. I would be attracted to the place where they were sitting, like iron to magnet. But he managed to surprise me at least on two occasions. Once when he was going on talking - almost to himself, yes you have been posting images at FB, I saw your mehendi...then quickly caught my eyes and fell silent. I pretended as if I had not heard him. Once upon a time he was liberal about his likes. Now he knows I follow him, and observe his likes, so he's become a little cautious. Last time he goofed up in the office - he said, I think I liked your post, when I immediately retorted - no you didn't, only 3 people liked, you were not one of them - and then I realized that it was not a very safe conversation to have...this time I was like - ah, the sequence continues.

The second time I could actually sense my eyes going wide. We had taken several photos by then, in each of them he had made it a point to stand beside me or behind me. This time the photographer asked us to regroup, so that the photo looks better. And I could hear him commanding his friend - go, stand in the other side. Gentleman wouldn't change his position at any cost. You know that typical feeling of your heart fluttering? The photographer made a strange laughing sound to make us smile. I looked up at his face to see whether he was being mocked at. He has this quaint expression crisis when his photo is being taken. He was standing behind me, he lowered his face to tell me that he got the same doubt. Our faces were so close that my fluttering heart almost took a flight to heaven. This is called living your dreams even when everything is imaginary.

And that's what brings about the stupor. Because nothing actually will change. Both of us are way too intelligent to know that. We are honest people. We are like each other. So we won't even proceed on a path where we cannot stay. Because what is the point in loving someone when the society will rip you apart and force you to hurt each other. I never understood this kinda love. Where you feel like telling the world about your love. I have always been shy and secretive. I have some favorite photos with my exes, once upon a time I had someone's photo as my laptop background too, but that's all past.

And how on earth do you tell the world when you aren't even sure about the fact? Still I didn't stop myself. If she wants, let her live life for a day. I updated my FB with photo after photo. A doubt nudging at the back of my mind all the time. What if it's some other girl he's groomed himself for? I am a girl after all. Over that, terribly bitchy (habits from my lady doggy life you see). I can't update my Whatsapp photo for obvious reasons. I had promised to myself that Nikhu would be my Whatsapp profile pic, laptop background and phone home screen forever. I won't forget my second son ever. As if I have forgotten the first one...

The stupor increases as the mehendi gets darker. They say it's a good omen, a sign of flourishing family life if the mehendi takes a dark shade in your palms. Imagine the futility of it in my context...

I want to set up the photo of the two of us as my tab background. I try to dissuade myself. As much incriminating data as my tab might have, it has a screen lock. I can't let someone guess my secret even without unlocking the phone. Please, I pleaded. Just for a day. But I knew it'd take a lot of resolve to change that ever. And every time I would glance at that pic (because my tab is almost an appendage to my body, when I am at home) - my heart would skip a bit. I shared the photo with my niece. This was her reaction...

Whatever you think, don't assume that I'd post our photo in the blog as well. No. At least not till I get a real photo of only the two of us. Not one cropped from a group photo. If ever that happens...

So what does the blog get, that FB doesn't? My bleeding heart, and this... 

Ever heard of Cinderella breaking up her own party? Go home, you must be tired. It's late. Bye. Goodnight...

And the void in my life ensues again. Magic show is over... 

Hatred and love...

See, I have no sympathy for Tamil people as a race. I have couple of very good friends from the place, but that doesn't change the facts. They are crude, superstitious, sadistic and irrational in general. They are hugely talented, make no mistake about that. But that doesn't make up for their lack of sensitivity and empathy. Ask Arjun Kapoor how he feels about a Tamilian seducing his dad while his mom was dying? Basically they are all actors and have no real feelings in their minds. Everyone mourning for this amma lady must be an actor too. They have been brought up like this. To be fake, to show off. I hate sycophants.

Life's about small triumphs nowadays, because the big ones don't come by. I am so much irritated by pretentious people these days, that I lose my composure and give it back. And these people are surprised. How can someone be like this? So much reckless? Stupid things don't understand that I have nothing to lose in the battle of life. The only thing I want to keep intact when I die is my self-respect. And I can fight tooth and nail for it. Way I play chess. Attacking. Going for draw is not my cup of tea. Win or lose.

He touches a chord. See, the disruption is also in my imagination, like the nearness. Nothing might be true in reality. But when he surprises me by turning up in the office unannounced, coming near me, standing beside me, handing me papers - I can't even show him that I tremble from within. It's such a peace, so much joy. This sense of being in love with someone. And this almost rare feeling of wishing someone well, selflessly. Because you see, he is one person who deserves to be treated like that. Like telling God, please give him my share of happiness too. He's my baby in a way :)

I miss Nikhu all the more when I return from my music classes, rather late at night. Nikhu used to get really upset if I'd venture out anywhere else, once I return home from office in the evening. He'd bite the hem of my dress and throw tantrums, and still unable to stop me, would walk me to the class and wait somewhere nearby. As soon as I would emerge out of the class an hour later and come close enough to him (Nikhu was a bit shortsighted) he'd let out a joyous howl (which was music to my ears) and would happily trot alongside me, until I reached home.

Nikhu, I hate sycophants. But I am your fan. You were really my world. And though you wouldn't share your food with your friends, and would be stupid and stubborn at times (like getting wet in the rain - what finally killed you), you were the model dog in every other respect. You endured a lot in your small life. Being orphaned, losing your siblings, your first two girlfriends. I have seen you go through it all, better than a strong human. And finally to regain your happiness after recovering from each and every blow. I miss you Nikhu, you were my hero, and I shall always love you...I shall always be lonely without you...

Skewed thoughts and screwed up emotions...

I am becoming quite an intelligent chess player and a cry baby, a very puzzling combination. Actually I am saying intelligent but the software might be rubbish and anyways I am still in the casual mode (though this tutor thingy was not helpful at all and I have permanently turned it off). Now I have won once with black as well, it also feels quite nice to be able to draw almost lost games.

But yes. Why am I being a cry baby. Because I long for him to write to me. That time I had stopped thinking if I let it carry on situation will go out of control, but now I wish I hadn't. I really need to talk to him and spend some time with him. Nobody will understand my plight way he will. So it seems. Wish I could speak out.

Being a girl is a lot of trouble. They dream. Impossible dreams. And fight hard. To make them come true.

The second part:
----------------------------

Actually I couldn't post this yesterday. Because a lot was left untold. And I didn't want the entry to look so encrypted. So today I promoted myself to the pro mode though difficulty level is still 1. Surprisingly I am still winning. Almost every game. Am I that good? Or is the software really bad? I don't know. But I have started enjoying chess. Because there's no way I can ever enjoy football, this is my only small tribute to my cutie pie lover boy. Lover boy who sulks and makes my life hell. Yesterday night for example. Everything was just going on fine. But suddenly my tab had no charge. And I had enough sleep. There was no way I could retire as yet. Sensing the imminent danger I started coaxing myself, come let's get a storybook from upstairs, it will take a minute. But no, I was well past that kind of brushing away my real feelings. Big fat teardrops accumulated in no time, and the silent crying went on for an hour. I just wanted to tell him what I have been facing. Not what I feel for him, but what I feel in general. About everything slipping out of my hand. And there being nothing that I can hold on to - in order to live.  And listen to his advice. Which tastes like शहद...so delightfully sweet that I can lap it up. As if he's 20 years older than me.

And then there's the imaginations. Connecting the non-existent dots. That he'd take me to a football match way Dev urged Maya to come with him. And not only that. Plans for decking up during the marriage - probably the only marriage ceremony which we'd ever attend together. Mehendi, maang-tika, heavy jewelry and lehenga. Things I have never done in my life. Because he is the only one on earth who has the heart to find me beautiful. And the tears just won't stop. Because the dreams are so so baseless.

Tonight I'm well insured. Things I have always loved to read. Because I won't be able to bear one more night like the last one.

Sweet...

I am tired of - my imaginations. And my imaginations make me live. What a situation...

Why did God make me like this? So incurably (I love Google Translate when I can't place the word in one language but I know it in another) free-willed? No body else has hold on my time and how I spend it. I know it leads to quarrels, and I am a fearful person these days. I can never forget that the last time grandma spoke to me, I didn't reply in a proper way. I was not having a quarrel with her, but with my parents. But still, she tried to intervene and asked me what's going on, and I told her, why doesn't she speak to my parents instead. Not rude words, but not spoken softly either.That was the last time. I was depressed can't be an excuse. There would be no making amends.

Google Translate does more things. It gave me the word, शहद...I feel this about their dialect, have always felt it. If there was ever a sweet language - it's Bihari Hindi. And when he speaks my language, it is মিছরি...I can't explain that either. Fused and crystallized sugar? I like him to see me in this way, unkempt, angry. See I had told you I'd write some masterpiece you'd love react to - didn't I?

Love, stay in limbo please, between imagination and reality? I can't wholeheartedly love the real you, you know that. And I can't manage entirely with imagination either...

My masterpiece :)

Words I have learnt from him - funny things like throwback and friendzone. However much predictable and "like everyone else" he might be, he's given me new things. I am this girl who's inquisitive by nature. I am not biased, usually, and I don't get influenced easily. But I strongly discriminate between my likes and dislikes. Suppose I like someone, I don't really like the second one and I am neutral to the third. I will read a book recommended by the first and the third, but would wait for other reviews before I go for a book recommended by the second.

There's quora to begin with. Nah, he didn't introduce me to quora. I came across quora while researching dress materials for tropical areas (yeah, having lived in a plateau most of my adult life, the heat and humidity of a tropical city near the sea is torturous). But he definitely encouraged me to write my first answer on quora. No, it didn't go viral, in fact it didn't receive a single upvote...(I am not even sure how this upvote thingy works on quora). In fact I doubt if he has even read my answer. But that's one thing to begin with.

Then there was my second chess win against the CPU. The first time I won, I was extremely bewildered. I got very attacking and switched off the tutor. Day before yesterday when I won for the second time I was very very angry with him. Here he calls himself honest, and yet he freaks out at honesty. I was attacking again. No tutor, once more. I know how to do things on my own. And in no time the CPU gave up. No, I don't love playing chess. But when I win I kinda like that feeling of winning. I take screenshots and feel happy.

The last thing on the list would be (because we won't talk about poetries and neither would we bring in football - which I genuinely feel is that crazy game where 20 people run behind a ball) - how I met your mother. Now, see, I don't like television. I belong to a different era. It's not that I don't watch serials - I used to watch the old Doordarshan serials, both Hindi and Bengali. There was a time when I religiously watched Shaktiman and Om Namah Shivay. I was a mere school going teenager then. Afterwards came Tum Bin Jaoon Kahaan - till the storyline took impossible turns, এক আকাশের নীচে and finally গানের ওপারে...but no, I was never addicted to television series. I did watch 24 - the first season, but when I missed the second season I didn't feel too bad. And Friends? Hello, I hate that false laughter coming from the background. I can laugh without being prompted, thank you very much. But then, this name itself is romance personified, no? So I was kinda "God help me" but not really surprised when I found myself reading up the wiki entry on how I met...Pathetic? I couldn't agree more :( I have often found myself engrossed romantically in thinking about how we met. Do you ever realize, when you meet your person for the first time, about what you are going to experience?

The other day he came to office. We were casually discussing things. I said I have no idea what I would be doing next. "You'd be writing a travel blog...", he prompted. I was surprised. I slowly asked him, "you mean to say that you are suggesting an alternate career for me?" I knew what was going on in the back of his mind. He just wanted to know whether I like traveling (because he doesn't). I assured him that I am also not very fond of traveling, it mostly happened as part of my job, but yes, I enjoyed whatever little I traveled. He once had a strange status, "I don't want to go to any of those 10 counties". Well, I have been to exactly 10 countries incidentally. Nowadays? He dreams. He feels that's the only right thing to do. As if I do anything else. Told you he's my reflection...

I feel strange at times. This was not supposed to be life. I had my own set of tastes and preferences. Beautiful cars, Van Gogh pictures, Algebra books. O Henry stories. Yes, curious choices for a girl, but I had my own world once. Nowadays my world means waiting for the next tragedy to strike, and dreaming these impossible dreams to keep myself aloof during the time in between. I am afraid of posting this entry. There's too much information on him. What if he reads? Huh, my best friend (the lady) doesn't ever care to read it. And I expect he'd ever find time. I know a dream is just a dream. He just keeps me going - not exactly he, আমি আপন মনের মাধুরী মিশায়ে তোমারে করেছি রচনা।

I don't tell anybody, but these days I am too scared of an imminent death. Not only that my body is showing signs of decay, my life itself seems quite directionless. Not that I want to die. But when did I want any of these? Shall I ever create a masterpiece before I am called away? Or will I just stay addicted, in order to ease my pain, while I am here? Which interpretation of my love story would survive?

Old songs and brooding...

The problem in my life is that I have this sane head on my shoulders. I am impossibly analytical. In fact, if truth be told, I am quite an asset if you consider my executional capabilities. I have made this assessment in a very neutral manner - in fact way I am suicidal about my career and reluctant towards finding an alternative, I often reflect that if I stop working then it'd be quite a loss to the offices that require management skills. But that is not why I sat down to write.

I feel like talking about the song "আমি হৃদয়ের কথা বলিতে ব্যাকুল, শুধাইল না কেহ..." from the standpoint of an introvert. Doesn't an introvert need to speak out what she has in her mind? What was my mistake in all this? I was initially doing just a social experiment by being a bit outspoken on FB...who asked him to step in this? And now, this extent of addiction later, he wants us to stay aloof. When I can barely survive without reading the things he reads. And the things he writes sweep me away, yet I can't respond. I am not allowed to be the mad girl, I am supposed to retain this head on my shoulders and not let my heart flutter.

But then, if I think calmly enough, it's all my mistake. I mixed up reality with imagination. I deserve to suffer because I did that. But won't he pardon me for this slip? I wanted to keep this to myself. But look at what's been going on. With every step I thought that this is the worst that could happen this year. And I was mercilessly proven wrong. I know that this only is life, and I am living just to die this slow and excruciatingly lonely death. But I clung to this bubble because I didn't want to die as yet. It was just one or two small instances of expressing myself. I cannot lie. Doesn't he understand this much?

It doesn't help. Eating out, buying expensive dresses, pretending to be on top of the world. Because a world doesn't really exist for me. It is just me behind closed doors, shedding silent tears.

I was happy to have built this bubble with my once upon a time best friend. Then I did that mistake again - of mixing up reality with imagination. And he destroyed my bubble in the most rude way possible...and yesterday, when for some reason he chose to surface on FB again - I realized that I am not attracted to him anymore. I can't love people who have hurt me.

You used to make fun of me and my taglines. You understood they were for you and did nothing. But you made sure about telling me that you've read each and every one of them. And after you got married, both of us stopped writing taglines for gtalk. I still remember things you told me. Not to nurture expectations in my mind...I don't. Not to follow any bliss for too long - I, bossie, have finally realized, I am not supposed to have any bliss, my bliss doesn't lead to peace.

The Demonetization Demons...

On my way to the office, I was keenly observing ATMs today (for survival reasons). Is it normalcy that most ATMs have their shutters down during peak working hours, and others (rather proudly) display a "No Cash" board? ATMs are supposed to be round the clock machines to begin with... How many small shops, (and big shops which wouldn't accept plastic money earlier), cabs, autos and more importantly ambulances have migrated to the electronic system since 9th November? I have a Rs 2000/- note. I give it to my vegetable vendor for the fresh vegetables I have just bought from him (hardly worth Rs 80/-) and demand "change". He glares at me...trying to say - stay hungry, stay foolish :( Ah, till some years back, I used to complain about the BMTC conductors not returning change of 1 or 2 Rupee coins... A PM (you may read as project manager) is supposed to take responsibility if there is any failure in project execution - instead of saying that he has dared to do something, that others before him wouldn't dream of doing. Forget execution, where was the planning? Who am I to say this? I am a common Indian who's suffering, and who has a logical mind that's not easy to influence with emotion/sentiments/drama. I am a project manager myself. I studied management. And I know the software based banking system like the back of my hand. Who are you trying to fool? I miss Raghuram Rajan :( PS - Make defense service compulsory for all Indian citizens, if patriotism has to be mandated (apart from spending money on tall flags). Many countries already have that rule. Don't create soldiers out of the commoners at your own whim, to cover your follies...

Passion and fall...

A song is no song till you sing it...
It's hard to hold a candle in the cold November rain...

You've written this against my tagline...

10 years - of playing that game, and losing everything that I ever believed in...and then this happened...

We would only hold on to let go.
The last leaf...
May be you should fall because that's what rivers do.

Oh, it's just your romanticism. These are just unrelated thoughts from two unconnected minds. Right?

Fall? Where? How much more? Haven't I already sunk deep enough? You inundate me...in dreams, as I fall asleep and as I wake up...

Don't write things so beautiful,
That she falls from grace...
O poet, this girl is such a fool,
Your wordplay gives her stress...

Stress reminds me - (because chess rhymes with stress) - yesterday I watched a beautiful movie on the French channel that dad watches - the man, he plays chess. He teaches the game to his (supposedly) cleaning lady. The lady goes on to win a championship and travels to Paris thereafter. They speak in E4, rook, queen and stuff like that. You should have seen my expressions while watching the movie. Ah, passion. And he thinks nobody ever had a crush on him...

May be I don't count. I am old. Gives me such a heartbreak...

Happiness and otherwise: the toggle mode...

Yes, I finally discovered that happiness has its own language,  but unfortunately I am so busy today that I have no time to write about this. The other day my music teacher, who is also my friend, was telling me that her riyaz is her bliss. I told her that mine is the few lines I manage to write when I feel overwhelmed...that vent of expressing myself is my bliss.

You know why I love him? Because he knows the contradiction in me. So full of life, yet so lifeless. And hopefully, unlike the previous men I met, he doesn't judge.

But all good things come to an end. And in my life, quickly. So however much happy his presence makes me, I can't let it become a habit. And the goosebumps that his thoughts give me - I can't ever dwell on those thoughts.

Finally, this is my life. Burning eyes. Coaxing myself to sleep. A dreamless night. Leading to yet another routine morning.

Sunbeams and uncertainty...

I rather like such situations when I switch off the Internet. I do this usually in the extreme cases. Like, there has been a major goof up or breach of protocol at office (by my seniors or juniors of course - because I can't do any mistake, can I?) - and I write a letter in protest...very angry but citing ample logic in support of my point of view...and it is obvious that if my demands are not complied with, I'd think of the obvious next step - resignation. It's not easy for a workaholic to face such an uncertain situation - I switch off the Internet to relax. Thankfully I have usually got very understanding seniors at office - they value me as a human resource. So when I switch on the Internet next morning, in trepidation, more often than not, a positive response is waiting for me.

But this time it is about love and closure. Because I loved someone, and now I am coming out of that phase. No, not because he has not treated me well, like the inhumans I usually happen to meet. But because I understand the impossibility of the relationship and also because I kind of know, by my strong sense of logic, that he's not interested in me in a way I want. But I can't just let go of my romanticism just like that, or for that matter, my ego. So I try to say a feeble good bye to him and also try to pretend that he's been no one special, I talk like this with almost everyone. Also, in a cryptic way I want to tell him that I am not a person who can hide truth easily, I have been following him and observing him. And then I switch off the Internet.

Good byes are difficult things. I break into tears as I tune in to some favorite songs - and finally the "I like blue" dialogue. My favorite dialogue on earth. I forcibly fall asleep and then wake up a the break of the dawn. My room is getting flooded by sunbeams. I switch on the WiFi dongle. Still I don't have courage enough to switch on the Internet on my phone. I banter a little with my parents, call up Ananya and wish her good morning and then drink a cup of coffee. I concentrate on writing this. The morning vendors are describing their various wares. I have always been in awe of the underprivileged people, mostly because of the sheer amount of effort that they put in to sustain themselves. I am not a morning person - in another half an hour I will start feeling sleepy...and believe me or not, I have a two page to-do list. Why is life so painful yet the sun so warm and comforting?

Memories and bitterness...

Memories are tricky things...you feel you are storing them for future use, often put in a Herculean effort to arrange and organize them (e-memories or otherwise), and yet, you seldom revisit them, because life moves on, and when you do, you simply feel a pang. Like on the night Nikhu passed away, I felt so extremely restless that for the first time in ten years I went to the Gmail label colored pink and named after my bossie. I just read one letter, his last day mail sent to the SG team, which he separately forwarded to me, and one chat log. I couldn't take it anymore. This man loved me. Yet he's nowhere. 

Meanwhile there are different memories too. The ones that go undocumented. When we found Nikhu too weak to move, I was running from pillar to post to save him. My dad was unperturbed. He firmly carried him to our home (Nikhu was a big healthy dog), wrapped him up and made him a bed, asked mom to boil water and fill the hot water bag, and all the time kept talking to Nikhu. I could only hear excerpts while running around. "Will you die, Nikhu? You don't like to live with us anymore? You don't like us anymore?" It was heartbreaking. My dad says that when Kutu died, the day before she had given him a pleading look, trying to say - please take care of my puppies. Dad had cooked for all of them and fed them three square meals a day as long as they lived. While they lived, they were well fed. And happy. 

Nowadays we have nothing better to do than lament. I badly long for a few words of comfort from the man I love. His philosophical mails. I need them. But I can't ask. I have myself closed the channel of communication. Disha does comfort, she's such an angel. But I am just afraid of loving anyone anymore... 

My baby boy...

There goes my poetry skills,
There goes my lisping,
There goes my sugary chirps,
Nikhu baby is sleeping...

He won't be able to wake up ever,
He won't once more be able to sing,
He won't be able to charm back life
In this almost zombie thing...

I lost a son to medicine,
I lost one for the lack of it,
I don't get why the world goes on...
I don't like God a wee small bit.

Bring it on...

Well - I declare war with God. All these days he has given me a terribly painful life. And I have been like - OK, give me all the pain you want - you keep my family safe and healthy. And now - I have stopped being so meek. Bring it on, all good. You are not capable of anything. You are as helpless as I am. You cannot make any difference in my life. Nothing. You can only take away whatever little I have, and You do that.

Nikhu was a part of me. I have lost my son one more time. My immensely handsome son. End of almost two years of motherhood. My baby boy left me all alone...now, frankly, I don't dread anything anymore. Like I said, bring it on...

Warmth...

As I grow older, I learn to seek happiness in the most insignificant things. Like getting up wheezing on an early November day, 6 in the morning, and feeling the chill in the air. Opening up the windows anyway to let the feeble sunlight come in. And then finding the shawl and wrapping it around myself for the first time in the season. Ah! Warmth...comfort and all that signifies the role of wool in winter. Feeding the dog. Dog's being lazy. He won't get up, I only kneel down and lean in to take the biscuit to his mouth. Dad's shaking the shiuli tree. Flowers come down, but not as plentiful as before. They will be offered to my grandma and her Gods.

For the first time in my life I have understood it. Dream but don't put a precondition that it will be fulfilled. In fact be sure that it won't. Still be happy that you are able to dream...

Sanity

Baby, I am going to inject some sanity in you. Because, this, what you are doing to yourself, is harmful. You call it your bubble. But then you start trusting the make believe world. You think of reciprocation. Which is not possible, at least in this case. So, please for the sake of God, forget this. Come out of this madness. Even the booking clerk was more real than this. Rito was more real, he spoke to you and ended the relationship on his own accord.

You have chosen your miseries. You have to live with those. Conformation is not your strong point. You have to bear the consequences of having chosen a life that doesn't conform to the society's norms. But don't even dare to be this kind of a non-conformist. It won't work out and the mess would really weigh on your well-being. Resort to the break up song and break up with your fantasies. Don't bother to delete these recent entries. Let that be your only consolation. If someday he reads them, he'd call you mad and heave a sigh of relief knowing that you broke up with him.

And then I'd get drunk and keep walking on the roads at night. I once called him in the morning. Not morning, 11-ish. He must have been sleeping. That sleepy, grumpy tone of his voice still rings in my mind. And I am asked to differentiate reality from imagination. Reality is that I am depressed - and when I am depressed I stop taking care of me. I haven't taken a decent bath in the last two days, I am not going to the doctor when I know that something is seriously wrong in my system. What more can die within me, after what I have already killed, and I can never bring back? Yes all that is reality, my reality. And his reality is that he is the kind of person who'd be able to love a girl like me. There's no imagination in that.

A girl like me, but not me. That's called irony. Welcome to India :)

The acknowledgement...

I don't know what I am writing and why I am writing. I am just going mad with this "new guy" in my life, and my extreme childishness. God knows what I want to prove. God knows what he wants to prove. I am happy, I am angry, I am lost. And he, apparently, seems to have similar mood swings. Or maybe it's just my imagination. Over that ADHM. My God, KJo, why? What was going on in your mind when you conceptualized the movie? See, I am not calling it good or bad. But KJo and I are virtual thought buddies. It is difficult to see him as confused as I am.

It was in Delhi, on the Saturday when I read my paper. We came back to the hotel dog tired. It is usual that whenever I go to Delhi I am bound to get a toothache. Probably because I eat too much. But that's besides the point. Have I ever mentioned here the broken tooth, the one I broke when I was 17 years old? I refuse to get rid of it till I get married (I already have one tooth plucked out, not another one before my marriage). So I live with that broken tooth, and a subtle threat to my life and well being. So, I could understand that something has got stuck inside the broken inner wall of that tooth, and I was trying to bring that out. Finally I gave up and dozed off. When I woke up, it had come out by itself...through some magic. It was a coriander seed. My first bout of "it's a sign!"

The second bout came at 11:59 pm of 29th October. His mail (last of those philosophical mails) came in and I won my first chess game with the CPU, almost at the same moment. It was uncanny. I got entirely dumbfounded. At times you have to stop yourself from pursuing things that you want to do. I too had to opt out. Who knows how far things would have got? 

What's friendzoning? I don't know. There are so many new terms in use these days. I get to know about most of them from (as usual) things he reads. And at times I am left thinking for hours. He says such strangely mature things at times. How this guy became the person he is? How he developed this thought process? Such original and unbiased thinking. 

Yes, I am in sheer, disastrous, devastating love. Yes, I have our moments and chuckles. Yes, I want to die. Because I recognize him and can't even acknowledge that...

What remained untold...

I will write very queer things today. I am sure. Because I am happy. I have indulged myself with a lot of music, music that I have always loved, and which had, in a very natural course of time, in the past couple of years, got completely erased from my life. You know why? Because the romance itself had vanished from my mind. You know, that trust in love, it got so tampered with...because of the...what do I call them? Monsters?

So, do I have the romance back? I don't know that...

I don't know what's been happening in the past few months. Life's been a whirlwind. A destructive whirlwind that sucks away the life force itself. And in between this, this gentleman...comes from somewhere. In normal circumstances, I would have called myself mad. Open minded or whatever, I am a bit traditional, you see. But, here was my chance of a bubble, that would let me live a little bit longer. It's so unlike me you know. To have such a closed, well-guarded love story. I kind of take pride in telling the world...but who would I tell about this madness? So not a soul knew his identity.

Not that the troubles ended...or the tragedies subsided...and finally, I find myself at my lowest ebb. So who do I decide to talk to? The very person, about whom I have been hiding information from everyone. I never even realized properly the bond that has grown between us meanwhile. I still don't realize it properly. I formalize our communications. I impose silence on myself, that's enough, don't reply back...

And yet he makes me cry. It's really difficult to make me cry these days. The first splash of water on my body, and the first droplets of tear...thanks to just a little bit of imagination, that acts as a filler. Miracles and Magic don't happen without Imagination, you see.

I wanted to write about that too...the dream self of him that I have created in my mind, I really don't find any inhibition with him. You know, the closest thing to a husband I have ever felt someone be. Friend, guide, lover...I repeat, it's not his real self. The dream self, which the FB games say has a soul some 150 years old and blah blah...

So which songs did I listen too...oh, mostly Madan Mohan and Lata ji songs. The morning started with "Jaanam dekhlo mit gayi dooriyan", I had switched off my internet no...I woke up and wanted to hear nothing but this song...

And this evening I had to do office work. I had a deadline. And I am an honest worker, remember? What a way to spend Diwali. But then, it cannot really be a burst crackers and enjoy type of Diwali, right. So on went the exam evaluation, and in parallel, the Madan Mohan tracks. "Jo humne daastaan apni sunayi, aap kyon roye?", "Woh chup rahein to mere dil ke daag jalte hain", "Mai ri, main kase kahun", "Baiyan na dharo, o baalma", "More naina bahaye neer"...

In between were two deviations, but all the same two very favorite songs of mine, "Hum tere pyar sara alam kho baitthe" and "Aaji rooth kar kahan jaiyega"...not to mention our mutual favorite songs, "Koi fariyaad" and "Tu jahaan main wahaan"...

No, I didn't listen to "Kaun tujhe yun pyar karega" aur the KANK songs...yes, "Bulleya", just once...

And finish up with the Veer Zaara songs again, "Do pal" and "Tere liye". Probably, "Mai ri", one more time. I really love that song.

You know, that's the reason I didn't write back to him. Had I started to write, I wouldn't stop. I would tell him about everything, my fondness for these songs, my all other stupid anecdotes, as if I am talking to a friend, a long lost friend. God knows how he'd react. I'd have told him, you know, this song is my favorite - I sing it to myself when I feel really hopeless, you know, when I was a kid, I used to select the least popular yet most lyrically meaningful song from the album and make it my favorite...perhaps I'd also tell him, how I had stood up within the confines of the mosquito net, 2:30 at night, during the last scene of 1942 A Love Story, as the national anthem played. But we can't be that much of a friend na?

See I told you, it's been ages, more than 4 years that I have felt like this...what a zombie I had been, how far removed from my actual self...