Book Review : Kafka On the Shore

This Book Review got published on The Tossed Salad (click on title) . 

One of the reasons I am always drawn  to Murakami’s writing is because it makes one extremely cynical and critical of their own likes and dislikes and how they view life. I sometimes find myself judging my own self rather than the content and the context: Did I really like this book? Do I relate to these feelings, am I scandalized or appalled or simply approving? Of course these ruminations are not mandatory, but if one does find themselves over thinking after reading a Murakami book, it is not a reason to be surprised or much too perturbed.

The mystical, the supernatural and the sexual overtones of his work are a manifestation of feelings, perspective and desires. It would not be fair to  say that his writing is food for thought, but it is definitely a decadent dessert worth the money.

Kafka on the Shore is one of those books which keeps you completely immersed till the very last page and then leaves you feeling extremely confused. You find yourself questioning whether you actually did like the book or if you liked it just because the book carries a certain reputation, falls into a specific genre you usually like and is heralded by people who might be considered fashionable enthusiasts in your social circle or on the Internet .  Murakami does have an exclusive and ardent fan following. Either or tether ways, his books do make for great reading and one will enjoy reading him if the reader enjoys literary fiction.

While reading the book, I went through several motions; the assertive yet esoteric tone of the book got me hooked early on. The chapters alternate between Kafka, a fifteen year old runaway, and Nakata, an old man who can speak to cats, tracing their bizarre journey and interesting accomplices. It keeps one engaged, as the tone and tenor of both the parallel stories are quite different. While Kafka’s is sexually charged with a familiar youthful angst, Nakata’s is spiritual and calm with wonky wonders that balances the tone. Interestingly, all the violence is depicted in Nakata chapters.

The book starts rather dramatically with young Kafka running away from home and provides the alternate and rather detailed explanation of a mysterious incident that changed Nakata’s life forever. The author is able to draw the reader deep into the story and into one’s own mind. The plot is mesmerizing, slightly spooky and convoluted, with elaborate philosophical and spiritual musings of Ms Seiko, Oshima and Kafka, the principal characters. These musings are unrealistic and over the top but carry strong content, which really keeps one pondering over them. Nakata’s characterization is brilliant and endearing. The sequence of events flows steadily, but Murakami just drops certain explanations from the book, never to be answered. The reader loses track of the layered references and the engaging mystery.

Bizarre and supernatural sequence of events like leeches and mackerel falling from the sky, talking cats and ghostly spirits are easily weaved into the plot — characteristic of Murakami’s work. However, this book definitely feels more controlled than Murakami’s other great book Dance Dance Dance, where one is sure that the writer has let his pen, feelings and imagination run wild and bouncing.

The book ends on a disappointing note. Too many loose ends make the plot unsubstantial.  One might find themselves re reading certain parts of the book; certain parts definitely need going back to, especially the part where a ghostly spirit – Captain Sanders makes an appearance. But the ending may be forgettable for some.

All in all, the book is still recommended for the undeniable brilliance in Murakami’s prose.

Boston Musings (2)

It has been little more than three weeks here in the United states of America.. and surprisingly I am not keeping a track of the days that seem to just gush by .I find myself riding high on emotions and wonderment. This is the farthest I have been from home, the first time outside my country… slightly overwhelmed, nervous, hopeful and truly excited. It is a whole load of mixed emotions and to add to that all this rain.

In Mumbai one is so used to scowling while walking through crowded streets that it took me a while to upturn the laugh lines … I am pretty sure I surprised a few well meaning Bostonians who greeted me with warm smiles and received a look of incredulity . But now all I do is smile and nod and hold doors. I still haven’t been able to order a good cup of coffee at Starbucks and seriously plan to just sit next to the counter and take notes. I cannot seem to stop hogging on the Dunkin Donuts egg and cheese sandwich (so cheap!!)  even though my denims feel slightly tighter than usual.I did not like the Donuts though, too sweet. The muffins are always soft, no matter where you buy them from but oh my god, what is with all the Sugar in the food ....  Had my first ever fresh blueberries few days ago, have already bought box number three and the Strawberries taste way sweeter than any that I have eaten before. Too much bread in my diet and so much meat... gotta cut down ... sigh. Tried this Mexican dish called Gumbo, which is pretty much Rajma chawal with cheese. 

I find myself putting on a fake accent once in a while, it happens so unconsciously that I realize only after a while that I am doing it, need to be more aware and careful about that. But I really want to learn to at least roll my Rs and speak slowly . I walk a million miles, and not a drop of sweat. Yep yep , I walk a million miles, the city is indeed so lovely. I love the fact that most Americans insist it is still summer and wear the loveliest summer dresses, even though I feel oh so chilly and wrap myself up. But then when one is from Bombay, the only two seasons one is acquainted with are the summer and the rains. I really have no concept of winters and I already feel so cold. The traffic seems so disciplined, nobody honks , have I mentioned the warm smiles around. And so many Indians everywhere. 

Yes, of course the central heating et all is impressive, but it is slightly unsettling when you realize the amount of energy consumed by each household here. 

Everything I buy makes me sweat, for no matter how hard I try, my mind automatically calculates the rupees spent, only time I seem to sweat in the lovely Boston weather. 

Classes begins in two days, can’t wait to swirl in the BACK TO SCHOOL feeling. The days are packed. 

Boston Musings

(Hopefully it is a start of a series...) 


"You know," said Arthur, "it's at times like this, when I'm trapped in a Vogon airlock with a man from Betelgeuse, and about to die of asphyxiation in deep space that I really wish I'd listened to what my mother told me when I was young."
"Why, what did she tell you?"
"I don't know, I didn't listen." -- Hitchhikers guide to Galaxy... 

So only few days remain, then I fly… and I am feeling funny, really funny.

 I am hounded by questions from family, friends and foes… The most annoying being – So all set to go? No I haven’t set anything; I have just packed my bags, that doesn’t really set anything, does it? Then of course there is advice and point of views gushing from all corners, drowning me in exasperation --   ‘Do not limit yourself to just Indians, you’re going to a new country, explore’ , ‘Make sure you make few good Indian friends, coz they are the ones who will always come through for you’ , ‘You are toh half American anyways (just because I love sitcoms and Italian food)’,  ‘ Eat up, you’ll miss Indian food’ , ‘ Carry a Saree and few kurtis’ ,’Carry spices , don’t carry spices, carry this, that , and what not ’ , ‘Learn to make dal sabji will you and don’t drink too much’, the last one is of course my mother’s pearls of wisdom.    And so it goes, some ridiculous, some funny, some downright silly and yet I find myself pondering over all of them, very seriously.

Suddenly the word ‘Indian’ has a whole new perspective. It is but natural; when you’re leaving your country, one has to deal with the issue of nationality, and especially if it is something that one has taken for granted all her life. It is slightly disconcerting, when simplest things make you question and worry about your way of life that has been. Makes me wonder whether being an Indian is a measurable quantity.

It has to be said though I am going to miss my parlour waali and I am excited about all the hummus I can easily buy from stores there.

The packing part has been trying. In all these years I have never touched a jar of pickle, and now I sit contemplating whether I should carry a couple. I have never cooked Dal in my life, I can barely distinguish between spices and here I am toying with the idea of carrying some. I don’t know what it is, is it the want of sticking to being an Indian cliché or simply that I am feeling nostalgic. The fact that I am wondering whether certain things which I barely use here will be available there is getting me all hassled.

It is amazing how you learn certain interesting things about self when you sit packing for another country.

What will I miss most, what I cannot do with? What do I take?  Is it really required? These questions haunt my being day in and day out and I am truly perturbed. I never knew I was so attached to my hair oils.

I am as excited as nervous, I go to a country I am so familiar with and have absolutely no idea what is in store for me. A mixed bag of emotions, reservations, expectations and dreams.

I know it will all sort itself, and these are just pre leaving jitters. The nostalgia has already taken over, I smile to self, there are going to be some major changes. The best I can do is ‘just be’ and let the tide wash over… 

Happy Birthday Elsa

Today she would have been 14 years old. 

I just miss her so much. Even after three years, not a single day goes by when I don’t think about her. Anything and everything lovely reminds me of her. 

These pictures were taken in Jodhpur, when I was visiting my folks. I never saw her after these holidays. We still keep this bed of hers , a wrought iron settee , just as before.

We got this fancy wrought iron settee made for our hall. Elsa loved sitting on it, so much so that she would not let anyone else sit on it. This one time, we had a party at our home; two of the guests were sitting on it, sipping their drinks. Elsa came up to them and growled. Of course the ladies had to get up while Elsa parked herself on the settee. Everyone at the party was stunned. People knew we spoil Elsa, but even we were taken aback when she rudely asked the ladies to vacate. She would not even let us sit on the it. This one time she fought with me, when I wanted to relax on the settee and read a book. She just would not let me. So we fought and fought. I chucked her out of the room with an evil laugh and locked the hall door. She went and ransacked my bed and hid my socks. 

My father decided that since Elsa’ loves it so much, she must have one for herself. Our dad liked to spoil his girls. That's when we got 'Maddum' (that's what I sometimes called her) the smaller version made. It took her time to warm up to the new settee. She actually went from the bedroom to the hall several times the first few days, to what only looked like her comparing the beds. She would come to the hall, stare at the settee and then go back to the bedroom. God that was hilarious. Sometimes I would sit on her new bed, and she would give me this 'Stop taking up my space’ look. 

I miss her so much. 

Happy birthday Elsa! 

Interactions (Postcards)

Benedicted !!!

Feeling Blue ???

Blue Walk

Strawberry vodka meet Capo ..Capo meet Vo.. 

Blissful Carnage ...

It did Happen !! 

The Rants of a Sick sick Woman !!!

So I am sick, down with Jaundice. It really sucks, sucks to the core. For starters it’s my birthday month and no coffee for god knows how many months; also I lost my apartment back in Bombay. I am tempted to lash out abusive nothings about my whack landlord and pmsing house mate, but all the feelings of ‘being wronged’ seems out of context here.

I’m home, recuperating; being spoilt on Mumma and Dadda’s showers of affection and care, which is good, but Kolkata is still a city I can never really feel warmly about. 

Good thing is, I have lost oodles of weight. My skins glowing, don’t know if the yellowness of jaundice makes dark skin glow or just being indoors ... But all the healthy eating, juicing and souping really seems to be doing good. I’m still weak, and miss working out, but ehhh I’ll live.

The first week, I was too weak to really do anything much, so in between cat naps and lion snores, I found myself taking stock of my situation. Not sure whether it was a neural antibody kicking in sensing depression or plain rationalization that always creeps in when all’s jammed and fucked, but after the usual platitude within the lobes, followed by rants of regrets and pointed anger , I felt an odd sense of calm. The usual desultory thoughts got flippant and the ruminations barely meditative. At least my mind seems to be coping well with the illness and all the stillness.

So maybe it is the weakness and inability to do much that my mind feels at ease, since it can not really compel the body to do anything. Doctor’s order – Complete bed rest. And watching wasted hours of lame crime series and sitcoms such as Criminal Minds and Frasier reruns feels really therapeutic.

But now with wellness creeping in, the calmness seems threatened and I can only imagine how I will feel, in a few weeks time when the privilege of doing nothing will near its expiry date. I will have to face life and my decisions again. Gosh I wonder if it reads as dramatic as it sounds in my head.

So ya, this Jaundice is like a break from life, not the kinds that is welcoming in the first place, but now that I got it, have it, will have to bear  with it --  I am warming up to my plight.  

Haven’t really gotten down to writing anything meaningful, began working on a Slacktivism promised article, but slacking on that.

 Anyways I am supposed to be asleep by now. 

Open Space Blogging opportunity

So I have started blogging for Open space. Open Space is the civil society and youth outreach initiative of the Centre for Communication and Development Studies (CCDS). I’m really excited about this opportunity. It is always so nice to be writing on an outside platform and not just ranting on one’s own blog aint it?

URL : OPEn Space Blogs 


Also check : Soldier Who Lives on 

It’s a tubby baby step towards that ‘I want to be a columnist’ dream I secretly hold .Of course I shouldn’t harp and hope too much too soon since I have only just started.

As for life in general.. The Mumbai monsoons get on my nerves on days I have to be at work, and make me merry on days I don’t. Mumbai is getting filthier by the hour; I won’t be surprised if it bursts open very soon. I can see an obvious, extremely obvious degeneration in sensibilities of the people around me. But I’ll leave this gripe for another blog post. But seriously look around you, walk slowly and just observe the people ..You will be oh so surprised at the de-evolution.

Work on Athayogashala is going on.

Advertising is interesting, wrote some lines on my experiences at Saatchi & Saatchi, yet to post. 

Calvin MeQuirks

So what have I gone and done now??

Let’s just say, I finally decided to let go of my inhibitions and confusions, and do something about my misery.

I went ahead and did it. And I am still trying to understand the consequences of my actions. I cannot help but mournfully whine about the fact that there was no drum roll, no red carpets, no ‘gosh love you’, no ‘this is where I belong ‘ moment.

Instead for the first time in well quite a few years I feel an odd sense of unbelongingness towards my own better nay crazy sense. Nonetheless better sense prevailed (rather held on) and I continue to trudge along. Never been so unsure. But I know I have made the right call.

I feel that even though I might not exactly be an authority on life and its matters, I really don’t need much of an experience in such matters et all when I make a reflection that ‘Life’ can sometimes really be a bitch. Even if the ‘Don’t Panic’ text is written in large friendly letters, it does very little to calm the ‘Let’s Explore, fug what have I gotten myself into’ state of mind.

All in all, Life can sometimes really be doggish … big and fat, round and hell bound. Smells too.

I would like to add that the hammer man has left town and so has that dull throbbing of my head I had been suffering from for over a year. And that is what is keeping me afloat, for I am definitely breathing better. It is still murky waters and I am struggling to swim. I could do with some friendly lift me ups.

I do tend to go into this ‘What’s with the attitude, people’ line of thought, but lucky for me I realize that it will resolve itself (or them self) in due course of time or maybe I am just being stuck up. Both ways it does nothing to help my cause, so I have dropped it.

It is exciting though, often I am amazed, impressed and almost always learning interesting things. I guess in the end, I just gotta suck it up, forget past laurels and triumphs. Stick to the fact that I am here to learn and understand in order to realize the bigger agenda of my life which fricking remains elusive.

Lot’s of feel n felts – the thesaurus offered no ‘I’m feeling it’ alternatives. Oh and I also got to learn to write shorter precise leveled sentences, for my own good.

Such esoteric rants makes my head spin too.

PS: The england goalie Green is in so much trouble.

The kids

Teach For India /Akanksha

Cotton Green is a tiny suburb close to Parel. Huge empty cotton mills, a beautiful Heritage building which use to be the cotton exchange and unused smaller granaries mark this central Mumbai suburb.

Akanksha, the NGO runs a primary English medium school in Abhudaya Nagar Municipal School in Cotton Green.

I began volunteering as a teacher assistant in this school a few months ago. Reason: I found myself in a space where all I did, felt and experienced was so very mundane. To do something meaningful became the order of the day, while I struggled with my rat race syndrome. While helping a friend write her TFI fellowship essays, I felt just enough inspired to sign up for the volunteer program.

The approach to the school from the station is rather tedious and I felt a strange sense of glory in my purpose of social work. I had never really done any serious volunteering, a weekend here there apart. This commitment felt substantial and meaningful. The approach is through a tiny slum, the narrow by lane passes through small pale blue two storey structures (Kacha pakka house) on either side where a hundred households are squeezed together –one room apartments with no bathroom. A long line of men stand waiting their turn in front of the common bathroom of the settlement. It stinks! As I mentioned I felt somewhat extraordinary, taking the effort to take time out from my busy, muddling and always stressed mind to volunteer at an underprivileged municipal school. The false sense of worth lasted for less than a week after I found myself interacting with highly inspired, dedicated and strong minded group of teachers, care takers and Teach for India fellows in this tiny space of overwhelming goodness called Akanksha School in Cotton Green. My effort and intention seemed so common among this lot.

Yash Kumar, the Teach for India fellow, an IIT Bombay Grad, a young boy of 23-24 has dedicated the next two years of his life to teach at this school. We all know what starting salary IIT grads are offered on graduation. So to see a young, smart and highly motivated guy counting down from 10 to 1 after a lunch break to bring to order an unruly classroom of seven year olds is indeed a revelation.

I assist Yash in teaching the second standard class at the Akanksha School. The class room walls are pasted with charts and posters and wonderful pictures. Yash and the Akanksha Team have taken efforts to beautify each classroom. The young children coming from various backgrounds are lively, cocky and cute. For me, it brought back memories of a time in school, which most of us cannot recollect and our parents reminisce about most.

This age is wonderful, children are wholeheartedly accepting, loving, and eager to please and easily impressed. When a young Geetanjali wrapped her arms around my waist and rested her chin on my side her gazing up at me as I spoke to Yash, I struggled to keep a straight face as Yash continued briefing me on my task. I wanted to do a skippity hop as Geetanjali’s warmth emanated. I sighed as I watched Yash struggle to walk as three kids had wrapped themselves around him the same way.

It is a primary English medium school – junior KG to third standard. The children come from various backgrounds, with faded uniforms and slippers and sandals. The staff is young and smart. There is Yash Bhaiya of course, the TFI fellow as they are called, Rekha Didi who reminds me of my favorite English teacher when I was a kid – short stylish hair, tastefully dressed, kind eyes, a warm smile and an air of sophistication which as a child is always such an enigma. Then there is Serenity Didi, an international volunteer from London. The language barrier is obvious and so is the fascination most Indians have with foreigners. Serenity seems at home, she is like any other teacher Then there is Nahida and Shahnaz, Akanksha trained girls, their confidence, their vibrancy is quite impressive. People like me who come for the first time to such an environment always have certain pre conceived notions, well at least I did. I found each and every person I met in the school unique and noteworthy. Shuttling between the rat race (each to his/her own) and this place makes you obviously regard the above mentioned people as special and so much more meaningful.

At school it is business as usual. English, Maths, EVS, Music, Play, Hindi/Marathi are the subjects taught. The teachers make it a point to speak with each child in English and also the children are expected to reply in English. As I watch Yash rattling away instructions in English, I see young eager faces trying to grasp the meanings of the words spoken; from their faces it is obvious they are looking out for familiar words which can help them understand. Along with the official syllabus, the management of Akanksha is also actively working on bringing a comprehensive depth in the learning. Yash explains that it is important to really make sure that they understand what they are speaking instead of blindly mugging English text. A practice common in most government run schools.

Akanksha and Teach for India are fully committed to the cause of bringing about substantial change in the society by way of education. They operate in underprivileged and tough neighborhoods. They have managed to set in motion a movement of sorts to inspire young, educated college students and professionals to become teachers and role models for kids and have touched so many lives.

The school follows certain set rituals to nurture hygiene practices, healthy mindset and good manners.Parents are reprimanded if nourishing food is not found in their child’s lunch and snack box.Play time, the kids play either play games or with toys. The toys are clearly donated, some are missing limbs, some a wheel and some just resemble a game that use to be. The little children still pick and choose with zest and play along making the most of the school hours. {Please donate more}

As my initial incredulity and awe settles in, I see that much work needs to be done.I know I hazard an expected preachy, mushy and clichéd discourse. Social awareness in India among the educated privileged mass is definitely increasing. A social revolution on the horizon as community service becomes a part of a person’s life plan and not just for those individuals seeking admissions abroad and unable to get a fake volunteer certificate. Initiatives like Teach India, Teach for India and varied volunteer programs are on the rise. College students even more involved. It feels nice when I learn that individuals like Yash and Purvi are two of many many.

And yet I find it a bit disconcerting when I realize that I have been doing this for only a few months at the age of 25. That it is now that I found the time, the inclination and desire to contribute towards a meaningful cause. And in my social and friends circle, a lively, well meaning, motivated, aware and educated bunch of individuals who love to bitch out India (over drinks and coffee mind you ), I know of only two persons who do community service of any form.

It is not easy, very often tedious. I sometimes struggle, get lackadaisical and distracted. But the experience of it all makes it worth while. I am not quite there, but I am on the path, a part of a change, a social awareness and I find myself eager to give more.

Please visit:

Akanksha

Teach for India

Teach for India/Akanksha - My work.

Yash assigns me eight kids, the ones who are struggling with class room work and need special attention. That is where I come in.

I start writing exercises with the little runts, and it is a struggle. Rehan seems to comprehend nothing, when I ask him to write ten sentences on ‘My School’. Little Pratik begins to write but is unable to string even simple words, Sajida narrates 5 beautiful sentences verbally and fails to write a single sentence, Sabina sits thinking for days together, Imtiaz (a cute one I found myself being slightly partial to) speaks random gibberish and struggles to write, Ayaan seems disgruntled and angry so I humor him initially, Sahil is just a bit slow.

Three days a week, I would spend 30 minutes with each child as they struggled with Basic English sentences. By week 2, I realized who were plain distracted, who were disinterested, who only needed special one on one interaction to get them on track and who all had a genuine problem.

After a month of relenting and unrelenting sessions, one day little Imtiaz sat on my lap reading from an A4 size sheet, a story he wrote on his own. I treated a friend to coffee that day. But every class is a different story. Ayaan the moody one would some days write long dreamy sentences and on other days just grunt and give me attitude which I finally learnt to handle. Pratik , I realized after few weeks was one of the lucky kid who had someone educated in his family, only more so, unfortunately that someone was doing all his homework. Sajida has dyslexia, Rehan is plain disinterested and always distracted.Sahil just needs personal attention, eager to please, eager to learn and eager to rush through lesson just to attract my attention .Then there is Sabina. Sabina lost her father last year; her young mother is a care taker in the school itself. Sabina is struggling more than the other kids in her school work-- she is struggling with her sentences, her words and sometimes even letters. She is unable to grasp even the basics and always seems distracted. Initially I found her exasperating and extremely difficult. Also I realized she did not like me much.

My learning and understanding curve gradually rose, as I began to get more involved with the kids.Each assignment held an interesting lesson for me. For the assignment -Write ten sentences on –My house, I found most of the children struggling. They were unable to write more than 3 sentences. I failed to comprehend the reason even though it was staring at me in the face. And one day on my walk from the station to the school past the slums, I realized why. Most homes had nothing in it; a single room housed a kitchen, a bed, a small chair, a table fan and five people. This is where my children came from.

For the seemingly innocuous assignment – ‘My Family’, I learnt even more lessons.Most children come from difficult households. Abuse, domestic violence, dead parents, lack of basic amenities, money and space and many more problems is a part of the society they come from. The kids are earnest; they smile, grunt, sometimes whine through the lesson, but never seem to lose heart and spirit.

A lot remains to be done.

School is closed for summer vacations. I make my way through the tiny by lane towards the school. I continue going to the school, an hour before work, to teach little Sabina. I am still struggling with her. But I think she is beginning to warm up to me. I feel guilty on the days I am not able to make it. Summer school is going on, and I get to meet some of the other kids I taught and young college volunteers. I feel happy, a bit proud and very satisfied.

The walk from station to school which I found always ever so unpleasant and worth bragging about to add a sense of glory to my volunteership has now made me humble and so much more aware. It prepares me for the class ahead; I smile at the little kids running around, wondering whether they are from my school, or whether they go to school at all.

I realize now how small a part I am playing in my society. So much can be done, and so easily , if each one of us can take some time out.

Most importantly, this experience has made me hopeful in ME, in society and in the power of Community Service.

GoaTravelogues

Goa Pics

More on Goa : click here

Goa travelogues -- Madame Bovary

More on Goa : click here


I am reading Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert. I have been wanting to read this book for so long. It is an interesting read 'FOR ME 'on a holiday like this or otherwise ...simply because the book expresses a state of mind seemingly ubiquitous and familiar...

" No matter, she still wasn't happy,she never had been. What caused this inadequacy in her life? Why did everything she leaned on instantaneously decay? ... Oh, if somewhere there were a being strong and handsome, valiant heart, passionate and sensitive at once, a poet's spirit in an angel's form, a lyre with strings of steel,sounding sweet-sad epithalamiums to the heavens , then why should she not find that being? Vain dream!

.........

Every smile concealed a yawn of boredom, every joy a misery. Every pleasure brought its surfeit; and the loveliest kisses only left upon your lips a baffled longing for a more intense delight.

--

PS : I am not recommending this book as a holiday read ... Just that I love classics and it is a good one.

Elsa Diaries 4

I really miss Elsa. It’s been 2 years now. Life choices do keep me busy. I have so much to do, to decide, to understand and to choose. It is scary as every day I am made to realize the urgency of the decisions to be made. There’s always a flutter in my heart—I work, I study, I meet people, I fall in love, I fall out of love, friends depart, friends’ grow apart, new relationships are forged, domestic woes, living alone woes, maid and flat mate squabbles ,money, shopaholicism, loneliness, claustrophobia and the burning desire to do breakaway from mundane. Yes, Life does keep me busy.
But on the days that are the worst, when living gets overwhelming … I desperately look around to seek reprieve, and grieving for Elsa gives me a certain sense of relief. In a way I feel joyful. I go back into the past, to simpler times, I find myself reminiscing the times spent with her; the cuddling (she never cuddled much, hence they were precious), the chases, the games we played –hide and seek, our squabbles, her silly ball, I would steal, to peeve her , the companionship, and the walks. Ahh!!! The walks!!!! I shed tears, sometimes little, often buckets and then I go for a walk alone, I watch people, birds, dogs and cats , cars and buildings , I look away --- I stare at the sea, I stretch, I breathe and I sense calmness , I postpone life for a day and just feel.
Grieving for Elsa always helps…

Yer Yer Yer... Undone !!!

There’s my life, it’s only been 24 years, and yet I find myself wishing I get back a few of my past years (they are after all My Years) , even though I still have more than half of my eternity left. What is it about the past that makes us always want to go back to either change, relive or rectify??? I often ponder, sometimes lament but I don’t wish to unmeet a single person I’ve met.

And then there is the future. I am so scared to age and yet I can’t wait for things to fall in place, but when I walk down a street and see a woman with a child, I wince. And the fact most these women are fat gets to me even more. Two years back, I might have not even noticed the woman, and few years before I actually found babies cute.
It peeves me to realize that I consider marriage and babies a part of life’s plan.

And here I am with my life, which is mine, so precious, so eager and effervescent. I’ve seen and felt so much and you don’t know so much of it. I feel the need to tell you, to explain , relate stories, my experiences, my happiness, my sadness, it’s strange--- it saddens me that it doesn’t make a difference to you.

But pray we meet someday and you love me.

My Extraordinary Love

Love is extraordinary; it has the power to destroy and to redeem.
I think I won’t really ever understand true love. My being on this planet has become so abortive and selfish that I have begun to gauge everything I do in those terms. I do have visions of great love, of probable love; I might be in love too as I write this, but unfortunately I realize I will never go down the path of greatness in love.
I’m selfish, I deceive, I measure and I demand. I rationalize that if one loves, one needs to give... The other person that is. If one loves one needs to be big …the other person that is. Success is imperative, for the other person that is. There is no room to make mistakes, no room for hurt, no room for doubt and one’s own shortcomings, no room for the ‘me’ first… of the other person that is.
I receive, I receive I receive. Does this scare me, no, not really… I’m shielded by the fallacy that I am a victim, and like the terror makers of the world, I feel I have the cause, the right and the luxury.
And if I do find this love...it will be extraordinary…. My extraordinary love.
Impossible, bizarre … no it’s the premise of a modern day tragedy. How Homer glorified hero worship, justifying the need and cause of war, I wish to glorify My Extraordinary Love. Some people are made to fight, and some are made to be loved… I am made to be LOVED. I don’t seek to be a modern day Aphrodite; my endeavor is much more humble, real and practical ... Just one person and My extraordinary love.

Dinner with Friends...

Life will always keep one busy, even if we feel it’s going nowhere, or we are frustrated with the tedium or plain simply jaded. Hours zoom, days fly by, and in matter of no time you’re on the other side of an uncomfortable age (at present 25 seems to be that age).We try to stave off the routine, the dull hours and days, and we realize the practice is pointless.
So when I got back the other night after a wonderful dinner with my closest friends, I realized it is indeed possible to still time, to slow it down.
Friends, they are good time turners, time stoppers. You go back being the 13 year old you were, laughing silly, teasing, bickering and even exposing shades of a former self you thought time had expunged. One more astonishing thing I appreciate is they make the present too look hopeful and the future not too grim.. for those few hours.
I’m lucky to have a wonderful bunch, and every time I need time to still, I go out for a dinner with my closest friends.

Last day at C.

As I stared out the window,I was trying to comprehend the strange feeling I was enfolded in...
It wasn't sadness,definitely not glee,I was cold,it was really early morning,and the AC in the Volvo I was traveling in kept the air quite chilly.Around me there was a mixed group of people,old,young,really young.I also spotted a girl I knew by face from college. I did not acknowledge her,nor did she acknowledge me.I guess the feeling of detachment towards our Alma mater and everyone a part of it was mutual.
The bus rolled on. There was deep melancholy coupled with a sense of relief.
The sentiment wasn't very comfortable.I was at loss,because it seemed that I had to resign myself to the fact that fate still refused to take on my responsibility, and it was all on me again...Rather it continued to be all on me.this was familiar.I went back into time,to the evening at the Bandra-east bus depot,it was evening,after I got all my stuff loaded into the holding carrier of the bus,I hugged my mother.it still hadn't registered in either of us that I was moving out.Even then I was aware that it was all on me..I was on my own now...Both of us shed some tears.

Engineering college had been tough.In the second year itself I realized that I lacked the astute reasoning of an engineer.I struggled through most of my exams,at one point almost failed a year. I tried hard.when friends partied,I stayed home,and still managed to only scrape through like all others.I marveled at my strength,which still feels like foolishness at how I trudged along the four years ,sat through excruciatingly long, senseless(to me),complex and befuddling lectures.Even though I tried hard,I think my genuine lack of interest did not help in making things easier.
and yet I trudged along,chained and bounded by no one but my mind.
Of course all this is in retrospection.Retrospective rationalization. If only..

The bus stopped at a rest stop,I was surprised that it had covered so much distance.In my stupor,I did not realize.I checked my phone,saw couple of missed calls and messages,and I smiled.Somehow the last four years seemed worth it,at least for those few moments.it was my friend Druki calling to know if I was alright. I still have those moments of reassurance.