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...

Expression...

শোকাতুর মন,
যেখানে যখন
আশ্রয় পায় -
নিশানা বানায়,
প্রেমের ক্ষুধার।
লজ্জা দ্বিধার -
এই কি সময়?
বোঝেনা হৃদয়...

Switched off the Internet finally. It was becoming too much of an allure. I understand that I am in a state of mental agony and instability, and I need support, but why seek it in such a twisted way? Instead, I came to a truce with myself. We are friends enough. Let me write him a small mail and pull off the weight on my mind. No, I have grown up now. I won't open up like I had to that school friend of mine. I often think of him these days - he was closer to the brink than I was, when I met him. He chose to remain that way (or maybe that's not so, he's done something fruitful with his life, but I wouldn't know, I didn't follow up...anyways the latter seems quite unlikely). And I chose to fight it, and try and show that I have won. But these days I seriously wonder how long my fight would last?

Forget it. Let me continue with the story. Or perhaps let me give a background. There's been another death in the family. One of my uncles, with whom I was quite close. Uncle and aunty had even come and stayed with us in our Bangalore flat. He passed away suddenly - sigh, Agatha Christie would have probably called it Death Before Diwali...(don't mind my slips, I am feeling extremely clueless right now about this life and death cycle...) I saw him last, fit and fine, on 18th September, the day of my grandma's last rites. And now he's simply vanished into the thin air and blue skies. Each and every person who had genuinely cared for me and had some appreciation for my existence is gradually fading away in the folds of this all encompassing thing called death. Doesn't my existence become meaningless too?

So this was the background. And for obvious reasons, although I am no more a child, I don't have that much of an ego and neither am I prejudiced in any way, and I am not unreasonable either, yet, I couldn't "offer" my love. I just did the simple thing I could do. I like talking to him, I talked to him. Because if he's really like me, way I feel, then he'd understand even with the few little words I say. So, having done that, I switched off the Internet. Let me spend a quiet, lonely Diwali. And get prepared for the quiet, lonely life ahead.

In self mockery

There ends all the liberty - the ambition of living my life my way. Because at times I need to put a brake to the madness, and choose dignity over - you know, the usual, "idea of being in love". So here we go - the remnants, the screen shot.

PS - Why do I even try to string together the fairy lights and decorate my grieving home? Only because the others have done it? Why do I have this unpardonable desire to live?

PPS - Couldn't anybody simply treat me as a human being and not something defined in the perspective of time and space?

The funeral party...

The reality was never there. The relationship was never really born. But every good thing has to come to an end. So I wanted to give it a fitting end. I choose to call it the funeral party.

I went quite mad during the party. As it is I have promised to myself that I would let myself do whatever comes in my mind. I was surprised to find myself saying that to him. And God knows how many other strange little things. And way he's famous in my life for the cutesy things he reads, he read something like - our souls know each other...

I was mad you know, mad and flirting and happy - who'd say it was a funeral party. And was I expressive? You bet. The same compliments were in place too. You look good. Not pretty this time just good. But that's OK enough. It was like reliving the life when it was all born. I was grieving then, I am grieving now. He's the only color in my life, my only preciously impossible dream in this grim reality. Reality where everyone around me is dying and a child will never be born to me probably. I feel a strange quietude and peace in loving him.

And then the party ended. Or maybe it didn't end. I was exhausted when I traveled to Delhi straight from the party. Almost. And kept working late through the night - because I you see I make commitments and I can't be dishonest to them. And amid the back breaking tiredness I'd close my eyes to see his face. My favorite face, my favorite smile. Goosebumps. Fairy tale. Fantasy. Sleep, the rare and ever elusive thing called sleep. Because when I wake up, I'd find you. In some way. In some virtual way...

I take a night time stroll in Delhi. Delhi doesn't anymore seem so scary. And I find an ice cream stall. My face softens. The tagline of the ice cream brand has his name in it. See...imagination triumphs over reality.

My session at the conference gets the maximum number of claps. It's not my credit. The funeral party gave birth to something intangible and enigmatic...

Early morning poetry...

I am not your friend,
You are not my friend,
But there will come a bend
When unfurls the love untold, 
And all is bought, that's still unsold,
For unfelt love does things to you,
It tugs at the heartstrings anew,
It feels as if it has just rained...

Talking to myself...

D'bhai, shall I write what's on my mind, unhindered? I have never ever been at such a total loss. It breaks my heart D'bhai, I simply can't take it anymore. This silent treatment of his kills me.

I wanted to mock at him. For having been in two minds. Or perhaps I wanted to break his silence. Let him come up with an explanation. Give him a chance to write back to me. I never ever wanted him to obey me silently. It was as if he was just showing me pity. I become this অভিমানী girl, ঠোঁট ফুলানো girl, who's so upset that she feels like never talking with him ever again.

I am reading this book these days, called Burial Rites. It is depressing and comforting at the same time. I don't want to live long D'bhai. I don't have much more left in life. He could have tried to be my friend no? I so long for a friend. What's the point in being my silent admirer? I so need to talk to a like-minded person.

And D'bhai, frankly, give me a Durga Puja without Bijoya Dashami. It is so not my day. Even as a child I could never understand the festivities around bidding someone good bye. After accompanying my grandma on her last journey and doing the rituals with my own hands, I don't really feel like saying goodbye again. And the সিঁদুর খেলা irritates more. Faces smeared with vermillion can be such a torture to one who has dreamed of getting married since her childhood. People pitying me or saying that by next year the magic will surely happen, makes me even more weary. I don't want to live D'bhai, I really don't.

Impossibility Vs. Addiction

Things are curious when you are living life up to the brim. Then it rains. I watch the ritualistic evening time worship of the Mother Goddess and feel myself in an emotional haze. The Goddess comes alive amid downpouring rain, merely based on the strength of "bhakti". Bhakti that encompasses and surpasses all other hardles that come in the way of life, even death. I am in a trance, as the arati continues. Because, believe it or not, that's me. That's what my name is supposed to mean. দুর্গাপুজোর আরতি। Though I don't even know that for sure. Somebody once told me and I simply happened to like the meaning.

Believe me or not, I once had a chess board. And I used to play with my brother. My brother was better skilled than me in the game. I was just a time pass player. Way I am with everything, jack of all trades yet master of none. It's a wonder that I happen to have two master degrees,even after being such a casual person.

In the transition from Vodafone to Reliance Jio, I was hell bent not to lose the residual Vodafone data. It's expensive you see, Reliance is free. I have bought it with my hard earned money. Last time I got the whim of installing a chess app, I had severely scolded myself. This time I let go of my grumbling. Let's use up the data, one way or the other. I call him chessman no, at times. Ever written a story, found it impossible, and scratched it out? And then again, out of a strange compulsion, started writing it again? That's addiction for you...and I am suffering from it way too much, seriously...

About miracles, fairy tales and stupidities...

Today the miracle finally happened...

There have been so many days you know, when I have been traveling to and fro in the "vast" expanse of my workplace, and wondering, why I don't happen to meet him ever. Because, you see, there have been so many instances, when, seated in the back seat of the car, dog tired, I have just closed my eyes to relax, and seen his smiling face (or curiously smelled tea when I have been to his premises, way Harry smelled Ginny's shampoo once, curious, because he likes coffee no, like me? Or may be people in his region can't do without that particular version of boiling tea in milk?!)...I have heard random people speaking in his dialect and longed to hear him amid the passing crowd. I never came across him on such days. I kept listening to tu jahaan main wahaan, but he never appeared in my time of need...(no that's wrong, he did...I should remember that he has a life too, a life that's quite unrelated to me, and quite stressful in its own way). And today, when there was a thousand things to be done, before the office would shut down for an 11 days' vacation, I come down to deposit my salary cheque, all confused, go up for the wallet, and again come down and go out, and as they say, the rest is history.

I wish this screen would be a drawing board. I could explain better. How my eyes (already big eyes) widened further, and then came the smile, and then the ease of speaking in his dialect (which is, through mere ill fate, kinda ingrained in me, I wonder if he ever ponders on this aspect)...

And then, like a stupid unreasonable child, the sudden impulse on a crowded road, to find out how I look...did I look presentable enough?

Miracles are always followed by more miracles. Today I completed 3 years of my stay in Kolkata. 3 years of embracing martyrdom, and learning to become a Phoenix. After I was finally able to post the last entry, I have kinda become reckless...I wrote my longest ever post on FB. And he followed our usual custom of কেন কিছু কথা বলো না? শুধু চোখে চোখে চেয়ে, যা কিছু চাওয়ার আমার, নিলে সবই যে... একি ছলনা!

I was mesmerized with my creation, and his (silent, wow so silent) response, and our fictitious love story became a banyan tree in my mind, as it often does...and after I came back to normalcy, there were more surprises awaiting me...his letter, wishing me for the festival (in larger fonts than the rest of the mail, mind you) and my once again unstoppable impulse, to respond, and then again respond for a second time. Garrulous is the word, probably...but why should he play with my sentiments, particularly in the middle of the night?

Irony...

At times I get so angry that I have to take a deep breath and tell myself, ok, write...write whatever is on your mind. The funny thing is that on such occasions, if I manage to write about whatever is troubling me, then things are actually better. Because there are situations when too many things bother me, starting from trivial to major ones and I am just too pissed off to write about any of these. It's not worth it revisiting the wounds. And definitely not of any value reliving the disgust. Disgust particularly when I find people talking like idiots, being stupidly opinionated or disrespecting work. But there must be something that I can do at this point in time to calm myself down... 

It's then that I tell myself to turn off internet. Read a book, get engrossed in it totally, without any further disturbances from external elements. When even that won't help and I find there's no sufficient concentration to read with enough comprehension...(read that I am boiling with anger and can't concentrate), I simply ask myself to close my eyes and dream about an utopian situation. Today's the first time I felt like writing it down. As it is, internet is off. I might not be publishing this ever, or maybe I will. Doesn't matter. I just wanted to tell this aloud, somewhere...

Yes, I dream of him making crazy, passionate, impatient love to me. This virtual lover of mine who has a real self as well, that doesn't match up with my expectations all the time, but manages to surprise me intermittently. That surprise is sweet at times, even gives me goosebumps but very rarely, and often tastes quite bitter even...but all the same, the eternal bengali girl's mind - খেলাঘর বাঁধতে লেগেছি আমার মনের ভিতরে...

I love dreaming about the way he loves me, mumbling in my ears that he finds me beautiful, and talented, he's all in awe of me and he can't love me enough...and while I live that dream my eyes moisten up, I rediscover reasons to live, get back some self worth. How can I let go of this one link with this person that proves to me that I know him, he knows me, that this dream, however much over the top, does have some basis? I need the reassurance that I won't be alone in the world even when I live alone and is totally transformed into a bitter, cribbing and thoroughly despising human being. That somebody still finds me like worthy and pretty. 

You know, I was really happy to find out the upsurge in my blog hits, and then, equally upset to discover the real source of all this traffic, a most objectionable site. And the irony of it all rather amused me. A chaste girl, almost a virgin, who writes down here about her sorrows in life, her fears that she'd be forced to deal with this loneliness and celibacy for the rest of her life, suddenly finds a load of lusting people being directed to her blog. Yes folks, I too have a normal life hidden somewhere in layers of virtuality. But boy, I wish you were really there to cling on to, on nights as helpless as this one...we'd be wild, get lost in each other and forget about the stress and selfishness of the rest of the world... 

Just two things ok? (because I am finally posting this after 2 days deliberation)... And, because I can't stop talking, let's make it three... 

1. Who will love you as much as I do? 

2. Keep smiling, please, come what may, because I simply love your smile...

3. You know what? I was selecting photos for display as featured photos in FB. And it suddenly showed me your profile pic. My heart as usual skipped a beat. Is it your way of showing your love for me? By setting a photo from my timeline as your profile pic? (you know...I am like that, dreaming at the very minimum chance)...But then I remembered that it was not I who had shared it on FB. I am just tagged in it...an one off case. And then I thought, what if I actually set it among my featured photos? What a novel idea of making myself a laughing stock, no?