The difficulties...

So, having nothing else left for me to do, I got started on Cometh the Hour, but very gradually and cautiously. You see, office was extremely hectic today. Office that happened after about a week and a half of hiatus. I couldn't get any time to find out other stop gap solutions. There's even more work to do, for at least two more days I'd remain almost buried in work. But what work is there at home after you've had dinner and retired for the day. So I stealthily opened the book. It feels like eating something dry and hard with an already parched throat. I keep feeling restless in between and looking for water - aka sad songs. That the characters are familiar enough helps, that some of them happen to have fairy tale love stories doesn't help. In between I arrange my things a bit, maintain and update the to do list. I keep forgetting things, or perhaps I'm too much unmindful and troubled. The perfectionist in me keeps me going...although the world seems a painful dark empty place. I get bouts of desire, to live, only to be forced to return to my apparent zombie-ism.

A book, I'm trying to read a book for God's sake, my favorite past time, something that has kept me alive all these days. Who knew even that could be this difficult. This is what happens to you when your favorite person doesn't bother to stay in your life, even virtually...

Pointless to fight, tooth and nail, for mere consumer rights, in such a state of mind. But the fighter in me hasn't learnt to give up without a good enough combat. I end up writing bitter, stern mails to the authorities. They'd probably laugh and toss those in the bin. Doesn't really matter. Even if they happen to entertain my complaints, it won't really give me any satisfaction. A zombie doesn't react or feel happiness. Similarly, I'm just reading the book for the story to end. I don't feel any excitement or apprehension about the plot. I, who usually takes pleasure in becoming a part of the anecdote. This is no way of reading a book...neither is this any way of living a life, mind you. It feels that June has come early this year. I'm mourning...as if...or maybe simply yearning to die?

Folklores and routine life...

From the almost dead state that my last entry reflected, I was quite surprised to find myself enjoying the match today. You know, way Poirot used to wrap himself up properly before venturing out in the cold, I also try to think of protective measures - that'd supposedly prevent me from going into that state of apparent blackness. The key is to keep myself occupied for the entire duration that I stay awake.

So I make tea, chat with some relative over the phone, prepare some snacks for lunch, watch Sixth Sense, some other relatives visit us, I prepare yet another dish for dinner, and then sit down to watch the match. My heart swells up for Yuvi, the fighter that he is...and on seeing Virat Kohli I feel I am witnessing a real tiger walking on the pitch and letting out steam before he'd be removing all existence of the opponent in the next few moments. After the winning stroke from my dear Dhoni bhaiya, I bow down to the sheer determination of Kohli, way I have never done in all these years of cricket watching. Not for Sachin, not for Dada, not even for Rahul Dravid...this kiddo is something else. I am wondering how his ex would be feeling right now? Mixed feelings? Thoughts of a probable patch up? Because way this guy is playing these days, even if 90% is because of the typical son of India mindset (it used to do wonders in the pre-independence era, nowadays you find it rather rarely, it is ingrained in all Indians, just stays suppressed because of the time we are living in...), 10% is definitely, definitely a broken and confused heart going crazy.

Cricket is a game that creates folklores, something you can tell the next generation and teach them about staying put at the time of crisis. Last time I enjoyed cricket to this extent was 2011, the world cup that happened when I was in Prague. Enjoying the game one more time kinda tells me that I am returning to normalcy. My love stories, and particularly my desperation to make them successful, gets me to a rather abnormal state. In a way I too have that tigress spirit na, I too hate losing a game.

More shelter for the night in some of my favorite songs, I am still not able to read a book you see, it's a strange situation. You have to live without breathing, sounds absurd right? I am living without books comes quite close...

He's not there, he's not been there for the last decade or so, yet his words have never stopped echoing in my ears. He'd told me once that my son would be devoted to me, I'd be his world. I wish I had that son, who I'd give that son of India training. Well, dreams are not included in the safety routine, so I put down my pen for the day (hypothetically - I know I'm typing with the tip of my index finger of the right hand - and over that, using a lot of predictions from SwiftKey :P...pen is just a prototype)

Helplessness like never before...

Having watched Zodiac, the next in line is Sixth Sense. But I guess I am not that much of a brave girl anymore. I am actually not even much of a fighter anymore. When I shouted at the management of the departmental store today, I had the distinct feeling that I am taking out my frustration on them. Zodiac I could watch, murders are in the living domain at least, I'd rather not venture out to the supernatural at night. So probably I shall watch it tomorrow in the day time, with people and commotion giving me company. More than ever before I am having that rushing against time feeling...holding on to sand feeling - things are not in my command any more. The eagerness with which I unpacked and gave away the gifts I had brought for everyone - kinda told me how afraid I am of this ticking time.

So what do I do now? Read a book? A book, did you say? I haven't read a book for a month now. I can't read a book without remembering him, without remembering the fact that this was the first question he asked me, the primary thing that must have come to his mind about me - "do you still read books? I still have the habit - visit the book fair every year, at least twice..."

Crap, crap and crap, do I remember anything apart from him? I am grieving for him as if I am his widow...because I know in my mind that he will never call back, never return to me, all due to his sense of commitment. He behaved in that way because he could see himself slipping, and he wouldn't allow that. I can keep telling myself that he's insensitive, but insensitivity and forced rudeness is not the same thing. You are not rude to the person whom you have written to after 12:30 in the night, and asked her to call back right then if she's awake. You don't re-assert something that she was the first to point out - and predict - "you might not want to have to do anything with me... " - I bared my heart and he just decided to turn his face away. No, he's not a risk taker, never was. I have an open avenue...if love would have happened I'd have welcomed it, else I'd have been more than happy with him as a friend, but to him love would have been disastrous, and probably, he being wiser than me, already realized that friendship is not a possibility? He said he gave up on me because I had ignored him, surely he'd know how much pain his ignorance would cost me? He's been my hero, my protector, surely he wouldn't cause me so much hurt if he could help it? Or is he merely indifferent? Indifferent after sharing a mail every two hours for an entire day?

The bad memories of my life cause more trouble. I have always met the wrong guys na, I can't help comparing him with them. Probably I got too tiring, all of a sudden?

All said and done, homecoming is gloomy, Kolkata feels dismal, life has lost its purpose, I have lost my last straw. I keep crying, shouting in pain, howling in frustration - no I can't take it. I was able to take everything so far because he was my guiding star, I can't handle this void - nothing comforts, nothing - I keep crying all the time, tears just won't dry up.

I have always loved this song, only the long version of this song. The last stanza that's left out in the more popular version gives the song an entirely new dimension. So I am just listening to it now, having nothing better to do...

https://youtu.be/OLUWpt64GMc

God, a time would come when even You'd be in love,
And when Your friend would be leaving You,
Then, You'd realize this pain of separation (which You unknowingly wrote in my destiny)...

I should have never sought him out, I should never have tried to bridge virtuality and reality...in trying to get a moment's happiness - I have perhaps destroyed it all.

The dilemma...

For the first time in my life I write this entry while I am flying. Usually I never do anything concrete when I am airborne. People check and clear up their mailboxes, finish pending reviews and reports - usual nuances of a professional life, I never do such things. Firstly I am very organized with work anyways, and then flights are for eating and entertainment. In domestic flights I usually carry my iPod, which hasn't been charged in the last decade or so. So I didn't bother carrying it this time. Already with a phone, a tab and a laptop, I am struggling with the charging routine. In the international flights my neighbors often strike up conversations, though I am never the first one to approach, I readily oblige when someone takes the trouble to talk to me. But usually these are very shortlived friendships. I remember so many people who took email ids or phone numbers - and hardly bothered to get back in touch. Some elderly guy, who turned out to be a Sagittarian too, had called me his sister and all. I had written him off as usual, but then, outside the baggage claim area, I found him waiting for me, and he vociferously promised to write to me. I kinda believed him then - and kept checking for his mails, but in vain.

This time I am writing because I have nothing better to do. The sudden discovery that the display of my phone has stopped working, as soon as I took my seat and was trying to put it in flight mode, got me quite agitated. However, I soon took it in my stride, way I usually do these days. I have become quite a positive thinker and crisis handler. I quickly told myself, well, I have a spare phone at home, I can call from the tab as well (though I usually use that sim only for Internet) - and it'd take a couple of thousand bucks to mend the screen, which I should be able to afford, as I haven't spent a single paisa on my smartphones till date (all are gifts from my brother, which in turn are gifts to him from his organization, which err, used to be, till some time back, one of the smart phone manufacturing giants - he's changed his company last November)...

It feels bad when things go wrong - all the time - with me. The obvious "why me?" query takes a grip... I try to shrug it off, try to face things bravely, tell myself that I only need to handle it, when there's no one else to do that for me...but once in a rare while I too want to be pampered and cared for...wish someone would put his arms around me and comfort a bit.

Why am I going back? Kolkata doesn't hold any significance for me anymore. Hyderabad seemed more my kinda place, the corporate flavor, the independent living...at times I fail to understand who I am trying to fool... :(

The species called "mother"

https://youtu.be/kmZGI9F4K68

Dedicated to Ammu, the hapless stray in Bangalore, whose 8 puppies were killed by a lady who wanted to exercise her right to express intolerance - http://m.indiatoday.in/story/bengaluru-woman-thrashes-8-puppies-to-death-to-teach-dog-a-lesson/1/624846.html

Ammu, don't look for your children, they are dead. Don't be in denial mode, it hurts more. I wish someone could explain to you the nuances of life, but you are born as a dog, you know only to spread love - you will never understand the need for atrocities. Just in another year you'll get another litter of little ones, they will help you forget your grief. I don't even have that option, still I am surviving, you'll live too...

I wish you could listen to this song. Lukachhupi is a comfort song for moms who have lost their babies. It makes you cry, it tells you that your babies are safe and sound somewhere in a much better world...

Some days are always more challenging than the others, yesterday I literally struggled in the heat. And everything was going wrong. My watch came off undone, my favorite Oriflame lipstick got dislodged at the base - probably melted in the heat. But these are petty crises that you can handle, I could mend these things. The spring of a watch, even impossible things like a broken lipstick...but never a broken heart - I am nursing my broken heart for 10 years now... if there was any way to cure a bereaved mother's heart, I'd have cured mine and yours... I know I can't do that, so I offer you this song...

And Ammu, don't forgive...I know your species forgives easily, but heartless people who cause unnecessary heartbreak, should never ever be forgiven...

What I like?

So the supposed director at Ramoji Film City - who was trying to teach us how a movie is made - asked the audience, whose movies do you watch. People answered with SRK and Salman Khan's name, and I found myself shouting "Karan Johar"...the director turned his face in the direction of my voice and said in his typical Andhra accent -" very good!"

It was good to remember how I love KJo. It was also good to see the dream in the morning. Did I say unkempt and rugged? I'd like to correct myself please. He should be dark, not so thin but not fat either, have a sweet smile and drive his bike in a very criss cross manner...

I guess I like the silent lover type. The guy in question was a kid in my team. Now, when I say kid, please don't be mistaken. These kids are all quite grown up - some 5-6 years younger than me at max. Well, the guy used to have a very sweet smile...I've got a picture of him somewhere - from his birthday party or send off party. Besides this I have no clue why he turned up in my dream. It was such a sweet and romantic dream...he seemed to be my friend in the dream - someone I rely on. He doesn't let me know that he loves me...then his sister, or some other girl shares a letter he's written, with me. Not very sure who the letter was addressed to - but there he says how much he appreciates my courage and the good deeds I have done, how proud he feels about me and how much he loves me. It brings tears to my eyes, the letter is such an honest reflection of his feelings...I feel light and fluttery like a butterfly...

I have terrible pain in my right leg. I don't know when I must have sprained it, during my continuous attempts at winning over my vertigo and other handicaps. I feel like listening to laal ishq - but getting my earphone would mean displacing the leg where I have just put medicine, and probably bending it too. But get it I must, because I need the song to fall asleep, yet I can't play it loudly, this is not my home, I am with people and they shouldn't get a hunch of this sudden surge of romanticism in me ...

The hand holding that never happened...

I am apprehensive about writing personal things in my blog. Because of my stupid headstrong nature I won't make this blog offline...but at times it feels almost as embarrassing as open PDA. Who are these people who read my blog? What draws them to it? Why can't they just leave me alone with my realizations and not intrude?

I was very young then. Almost a kid. Besides the usual best friend and my stupid boyfriend, I used to have yet another friend. He was very handsome. The current me would find his fair skin a bit effeminate (I like rugged men these days, if not rugged, at least unkempt) so it's the old me speaking when I call him good looking. Like all other periods of time in living memory (Rowena Ravenclaw's lost diadem), I used to write a diary then as well. The guy had borrowed my brother's cycle (something that my brother couldn't drive anyways) and subsequently took it away without our permission. But the story is not about that. The story is how I'd ride in front of him on that cycle. So, one day, while I was describing that ride in my diary, I wrote "কাঙ্খিত পুরুষ সঙ্গ" - a very difficult word no doubt - which literally means something quite simple - "desired company of a male". Ah, English can not be Bengali you see. In saying this I do not mean "company of a gigolo" or some such things. It is more of a Hum Tum thing. Hum ke bina Tum adhuri hai... I am incomplete without that man.

I was feeling my vertigo more than usual while getting down some broken staircase. "খুচরো পাপ, খুচরো পাপ" Rito went on saying in my ears, as he usually does, but dammit man, did you ever care? Why I went through all that, how I coped, how I struggle every moment to keep this vestige of a life going? It is so easy to abandon, isn't it? Then don't speak about my sins.

Is there a problem? - he said. A kid who was with our group. Yes, I am feeling scared. Vertigo? - he asked. I nodded, and he gave me his hand to hold. I can't describe in words the gratitude that flowed through me. Can't tell the agony of being thrust away to rot in hell by the people who you trusted. The despair of feeling like a beggar in this wide world. Can you give me some happiness and support? Please, I am very lonely. I hate to beg. It feels so good to hold a hand dammit, to be protected and cared for, to be respected and sheltered. How am I going to live for the rest of my life? I miss him, all the time. He's not my best friend or any of my ex boyfriends. He's the man who shouldn't have left me alone like this...

Facebook knows I am happy and holidaying. Blog knows (or at least can guess) that I am shedding copious tears while I write this...hence proved, yet another time... :)

You...

Last night I had this amazing dream... I dreamed about my so called first love...you know, the B guy. And though the dream is now quite hazy almost after a day, it involved the M lady too. The M lady has got a call from the police, and somehow she's gotten to know that the B guy is leading the investigation, so she insists that I accompany her. Fact is that I never told the M lady about the B guy. In the dream however I go with her to the stairwell of her house where the police is waiting for her, mostly in the interest of seeing what kind of a policeman the B guy has turned into. B guy is hot man, and so sexy too...he'd make a far better policeman than the software person that he actually is...and yet, not the usual Indian type, no please no, that'd break my heart.

Well, in the dim evening light, he very much looked the Hollywood policeman, straight faced, no nonsense guy. No, he didn't give any indication that he recognized me, and the interrogation too went on much different lines than I had predicted (I am a Miss Marple too, so I was also trying to solve the mystery you see)...

And finally he was done and left with his team - without even a glance at me...face stern and expressionless - just like the movies.

I patted myself on the head and said, so you realize what it is? You feel lonely and dream up about men you liked. There's nothing special about you dreaming of your best friend.

But then, how can I generalize men I loved? I hate that bloody Tamil conman - even hating him would be showing emotions towards him, so I am just DISINTERESTED. I am, actually. Photos of him come up in my FB timeline and fail to evoke any reaction from me...except perhaps that I beam on my bravery... :)

But ok, I don't dream of you, I dream of other guys, we don't talk, you don't care, you are bitter. Happy love? Yeah, that's what you are - all these points notwithstanding ;) There, do what you can :D

Fixing myself...

I don't know how much time it took to fix myself...perhaps an hour at the most? I just pulled out a few extra eyebrows with my tweezers (European - bought from Prague, because there I didn't get to thread my eyebrows)...cleaned up the face, and applied nailpolish. But I felt happy (despite the apparent sadness at my balding head - the imaginative girl in me pictured this old lady with an inch wide parting on her head - going to the sweet shop. Moral of the story, Pupu can probably even avoid blood sugar but won't be able to avoid balding...)

The last few days were hectic and stressful. Mom had the D&C and she's been quite bedridden with pain. I had to take up most of the household work as well. But whatever efforts it might demand, there's a certain satisfaction in serving your family. Since I am never going to have my own family, I draw it as much as I can from these little chores. Like serving a hot meal...

But end of the day there's just too much to handle. I try out things...watch movies, download books, and warn myself, if you start reading this now, there goes your paper. Unfortunately the Hyderabad trip was planned before I could foresee any of these things. So I must get along with the plans.

Head hurts, back hurts too. I am not habituated to do so much of physical work. Reason I am surviving is because coffee and sweets were invented by the human race. I break promises at times and post things on FB which I shouldn't. I am lonely and hurt and don't know the reason why I am being punished...by some one who'd rather have killed himself before hurting me. But then he is not in himself, such bitterness...in the person whom I have called my hero?

Happiness is, when some arbitrary person reacts to your rants, or bothers to reach out. A kid in my team, a good, original, frank and emotional guy. He's often told me in small unassuming ways that he admires my skills at work. Probably he appreciates my emotional side too...perhaps he tries to identify me as a complete (albeit screwed up) person? In a friendless, void, challenge of an existence even this much recognition means a lot.

Don't know if I deserve a pseudo holiday or if this is the proper time for it. I am still fixing myself, I am still fighting...

Art of living or art of killing nature?

Note to myself : I usually don't comment on current affairs or politics, mostly out of disinterest. But at times I feel that being disinterested also means shrugging off responsibilities and looking away while crime is being committed. So apart from self introspection in these lines, let me start off making amends right away by confessing that once way back in 2008 or 09 I had spent 1000 bucks on doing an inconsequential and utterly non beneficial art of living course which I regret, Regret, REGRET.

If you see it in the proper light, nature should have been our religion. We should have learnt from her act of tolerance, equality and generosity. Had we subscribed to her abundance instead of the petty segregating thoughts that religion teaches, we could have become a better race. Instead religion is abusing nature in the act of celebrating itself, and we turn a blind eye. We really don't deserve this world, do we? And yet we don't learn, we never learn...

World cultural festival or whatever crap it is called is going to cost us dearly. এত দুপুরে ডাকাতি বরদাস্ত করা যায় না বাপু, I hate myself for merely writing this entry, I should have gone there and laid down my life to protest...

About nearness and fondness...

https://youtu.be/qrZZP-rne18

This by the way is my all time favorite song. I am obsessed with this album itself, but the female version in the album doesn't have the last stanza in this video version. And do I love this last stanza? Can't tell just how many times I have listened to this and felt that it's been written only for me...

Who knew that this life will again get lost in such doubts?
While moving on, at some turn, there'd be nightfall in the middle of the road...
The lamps that were lit up for us,
Are all being put out...
Partly a conspiracy by darkness, somewhat because light cheated on us...
Which is this juncture where life has stopped? Why doesn't it go on?
And if I were afraid, then my darling, please note, I wouldn't have been in love with you...
I'm just afraid of our separation, I'm not afraid of death...

This was a super flop movie by the way, but I still admire Vidhu Vinod Chopra's romanticism. I am also very fond of this girl Neha (the heroine)...I remember perhaps three movies where she was a part, but she looked lovely in all of them...in fact Kareeb released after my HS, in 1998. I was so influenced by this lady that perhaps for the only time in my life I had stitched two Kurtas in her style, long, flowy, ankle length. An off white (or very light yellow) one with floral print which I wore with off white pyjamas and a red dupatta printed in the Rajasthani style (with a gold border - I still have the dupatta) and the other was blue with tiny white dots which I wore with white pyjamas and white dupatta. Both the dresses got torn, if I remember correctly - I wore them so frequently. To add to that, I'm more of a ready-made clothes person, I rarely stitch my dresses, and if again, my memory doesn't fail me, after around 4 frocks (two embroidered, two printed) that were stitched when I was in junior school, this was the first time I had visited a tailor!

The lady Sanjeevni - who has sung this song, I found her voice to be very appealing.

Mom says, she'd found her marriage photos once while cleaning the house in 2010 and then she's again lost it. What's the point in being in such a routine marriage where you don't even treasure the photos? Whatever, I must sleep...

Mere madness, or a curious outburst - because you asked me to write...

Tum Saath Ho...

Cheers to Imtiaz Ali for his thoughts on the honesty in love, gratitude to ARR for bringing life in music, lots of love to Arijit Singh for that muah voice (though here it seems to be supported by ARR himself, at least the last line, even if it's not acknowledged anywhere) and heartfelt tribute to Alka ji for the sincerity and emotions in her voice, she has offered her very soul to the song...

To the lyricist, sir, this is just an imitation, I hope I have been able to render your thoughts and intents in the original song aptly enough in this humble attempt of mine...

The intention is just to inform the world about what this song means to me.

Note:
Normal Font: Alka ji's voice
Italics: Arijit Singh's voice

Do wait a while...let my heart recover...
How do I stop you?
All that despair coming my way - let it slip away,
Let me close my eyes and see you...
Let me talk to you sans a word,
If you were with me...

Wish I could float about, like waves in a river, in your world;
My world is somewhere in your affections,
I get lost in your quaint ways,
If you were with me...

Your eyes have your dreams, your dreams reflect your dissent,
What I feel is that these realizations of the heart are
All spun-off phrases meant to cheat us...
How does it matter whether you are with me or not?
Life has never cared, it still won't -
If you were with me...

In a blink the whole day gets over,
I sit still as if I am running around,
All that despair coming my way - let it slip away,
Let me close my eyes and see you...
Let me talk to you sans a word,
If you were with me...

Your eyes have your dreams, your dreams reflect your dissent,
What I feel is that these realizations of the heart are
All spun-off phrases meant to cheat us...
How does it matter whether you are with me or not?
Life has never cared, it still won't -
If you were with me...

Let my heart recover,
If you were with me...
Let the despair slip away,
If you were with me...
Let this day get over,
If you were with me...

Let the despair slip away...

The popular term called unwinding...

11:30 in the night, I'd finally enter my room after a long tiring day. (Yes, yes, I know it's a dialogue from KANK :D)

Well, not that I do a lot of work. In fact work doesn't tire me much. Lack of work and uncertainty are the major culprits. Groping in the dark is really really tiresome.

Amid all the mundane chores I keep reading. Newspaper, articles, write ups, blogs...I wonder at times why I am such a voracious reader. It's mainly the genes. Mom forgets sleep whenever she gets hold of a new book, preferably thrillers or short stories. She doesn't have much patience. Dad, on the other hand, can finish a book of any weight and dimensions, provided it appeals to him, and he is that passionate overnight reader, staying awake for a book is his way of showing respect. I'm the daughter...what else could I have become?

I read a lady's blog - about what is actually ugly about a girl. She mentioned three things in particular, selfishness, bitterness and lack of self respect. I don't want to be ugly. So I have to constantly fight with these three monsters. A lonely, directionless and worried girl would be the easiest prey to them.

So how do I resist? I unwind. And relax. I try to wash away the day's fatigue in this small half an hour window...

There are different methods of unwinding, of course. E.g. when I have classes on the next day - I unwind by preparing or polishing up the slides. It'd be well past 3 in the night, I'd be half dozing off almost, still it's a rather cute fight going on internally. "What JS am I teaching them if I don't tell them how to code a calculator? And how can I not teach them validations? Please, just two more slides..." Yes, I do it for the money, but yes, I teach them very honestly. Right from the first classes I had taken on networking (not the social networking mind you, the more drab TCP/IP thingy), way back in 2004, I have stayed overnight and prepared for my classes. I haven't been half as anxious about my IT work, no matter what the challenges were, I could deal with those within office hours. Teaching scares me, I am always afraid of going wrong somewhere, it gives me an inferiority complex, you see, I have never been the best student or a teacher's pet (except perhaps computer organization in college and Bengali and English in rare occasions at school). But at the same time it is indeed a rare pride to be appreciated by the students at the end of the class.

And what do I do when I have nothing challenging, scheduled for the next day? Either I watch a movie, or read a book, or (for the past couple of days) I plug in the headphone to the tab, put "yeh laal ishq" on repeat mode, grab a pulse and munch on it as I sink in the song (I switch on the AC if it's hot, that's another luxury). Given a chance I'd have probably listened to only that one line...bus ek rahe mera kaam ishq, mera kaam ishq, mera kaam ishq..."

No hard feelings, I have stopped being selfish, I am not being bitter either (and suffering from the grape is sour syndrome), but I have my self respect anyways, so in this life neither can I reach out to you one more time, nor ever be able to indifferently look back at how I had reached out. I can't read our mails, or listen to my voice message and do a post mortem. This song however, doesn't repel me. Neither does "tum saath ho" from Tamasha or "mann marziyan" from Lootera. I listen to them and cry a bit and fall asleep. I still look beautiful, but look very very tired. The black under my eyes cannot be just smudged kajal. Still, never mind, I still unwind...

Spotlight...

I watched Spotlight last night. What a delightful movie!

As I might have mentioned here quite a number of times, I am restless these days in almost everything. I pride myself on being a good manager, but these days there's so much to do, and over that with a condition of mental instability, frustration and probably depression, I lose track at times. Anyways, after the latest fiasco with my best friend (I think, since we actually reunited for a day or two like best friends, no matter what happened afterwards, I'm more entitled to call him my best friend than I was before) - I made it a point to live life. Because I finally realized that there's no one and absolutely no one who'd help me live it except (if I may borrow my icon's style) - yours truly. Hence, on the Friday before the long weekend, I made a long list of the pending things. One of them was Spotlight - in fact I intend to watch at least one good movie every week.

I have seldom been this happy. Drinking tea with my parents, watching India win the Asia cup, cleaning utensils. Boasting on FB about an inconsequential paper publication. I am not an academic person and it makes no difference, but whatever. It makes me happy. An achievement always does. Treading on new paths and never ever giving up is in my blood, right? I remember I was like this in 2011 in Prague. In the first two visits. Cheering for India as it won the World Cup. I didn't have a worry, was enjoying the travel and the luxurious lifestyle, career was going good and I could spend a lot of time with myself. And then I wanted to look out for more happiness, and doomsday followed. As much as I can't explain why on earth my best friend behaved in the way he did, by doing so he has liberated me once again. I won't look for happiness. This is all I have, and I have accepted that.

I am nobody to judge a movie that has just won the best movie Oscar. In fact immediately after the Oscars there's this huge hullabaloo about "watch these movies" in the media. Last year also there was this craze about Birdman, The Theory of Everything, Boyhood etc. I happened to watch only Boyhood. I am selective about my movies, and I can't explain just which movie I shall happen to fancy. I love Tom Hanks movies, have watched almost all of them, but couldn't bring myself up to watch Saving Private Ryan. Not that I can't stand action movies. I hugely enjoyed Inglorious Basterds. So it doesn't follow a pattern.

All I can say is, Spotlight gave me back my lost faith in work. You just have to go on doing your work honestly. There's no greater gratification in life than a life spent fruitfully. Equally important is being a good person, an honest and compassionate person. I read something on FB the other day. That after the Holocaust, someone (a lady) said that she has discovered that 10% of people are by nature cruel, another 10% are always merciful, the rest 80% can be swung in either direction. My motto in life should be to cling to that 10% of merciful population, come what may, I simply wouldn't swing to the other side. This is my vow to myself, and yes, neither would I ever support cruelty or meanness. I must at least protest whenever I see evil. I loved Spotlight because it talks about all of these things. Talks in a very silent way.

Happy thoughts!

Having said that I am not the one who wants to 1) hurt people just like that and 2) particularly hurt back people who hurt me without a reason, this rather saintly behavior at times costs me every ounce of my self control.

But I am happy that at the end of the day I am a strong girl. I am not immune to hurt, no. But even in an already depressed state of mind, I make it a point to strongly resist a further doze of negative thoughts. E.g. I almost broke down once in the morning and asked myself what's the point in wearing the nose ring. And I found the answer from within. You don't groom yourself to be appreciated by the outside world, you want to look pretty to make yourself happy. A beautiful girl with a smiling face is such a boon to the disaster struck world...isn't it so?

And so I went out, beautiful in my skirt and color coded short top, the scarf and the sunglasses in place, kajal in my eyes, my favorite crystal earrings - and of course my diamond nose ring. Very sad, shaken and tired from within, but looking happy anyways.

My realizations don't die, the music that has comforted me all this while and given me company - are still my favorite, I still like humming those tunes, only the hero is dead. My hero, who, I had thought once in sheer agony, would be hitting the monster who dared to cause me pain. That hero doesn't remain a hero if he calls our friendship as a relationship. Even if we went physical, even if we had married, it still should have been friendship and nothing else. Calling it a relationship was a clear end to all these 18 years of hero worship. And a good enough closure too, because I feel like loving someone new...someone who's not gone so stale.

I find myself beautiful and I don't pretend. I am happy with my lonely existence, I don't spread bitterness. Yes, I shall die a lonely death - big deal, that!

Oh, to end this well, shopping is indeed therapeutic...and so is eating junk, or drinking cold coffee :) Just go for anything that makes you happy, important thing is to feel happy...

Be a good human being...

My parents have taught me...I don't know how many parents teach this to their children, and how many of them learn it...but my parents have more or less succeeded in making me a good human being.

I have realized it often...mostly when people hurt me. I don't hurt them back. If I can find even one reason behind their desire to hurt, I take the blows silently. The only guy whom I had consciously hurt back was the Mumbai guy...because he was so full of pretensions...he didn't have even an ounce of honesty about himself.

Anand had a lot of honesty in him. He was honest in feeling his pain and going insane because of that pain. It was pain and anger built up for a lifetime - and now that I have grown up, I realize that he didn't have a way out than inflict it upon me. I don't blame him for that. Anand is the guy who came closest to becoming my husband, and I shouldn't give up my respect for him only because I regret his insanity. If he is happy today, he is happy because he could take out that venom on someone. That the someone was me doesn't count...

There's no substitute to loneliness...I have finally realized that...I was wrong in thinking that I have a safe haven somewhere...everyone can hurt me, even my parents can. I guess because I didn't have children, there's been a role reversal, my parents have become my children. And ever since mom became sick, I kind of lost it...I couldn't take the tension alone...all the madness that followed was really a result of that. I just needed some real support of a man during this time of crisis. I had no idea that the man I resorted to has become so weak that he himself needs support...

Happiness is for other people...I don't count...