the day was horrible, the wind was threatening, the sky was pouring, my advisor was shrieking, the room mate was complaining, the food was inedible, the water was too cold, the job was tiring, the walk back was uneventful, the love was unresponsive, the day was horrible.
i closed my eyes, tired and restless,i just wished it was all a dream, that i would wake up to my home, where throwing tantrums was alright, where dressing like a guy would not count against you, where eating in bed and getting dirty was considered alright, where crying on the top of your voice was suitably ignored, where food was ready, available, free, tasty, where birds and butterflies were as normal as the wind, where to be a girl you did not have to pretend to be a flirtatious damsel in distress with perfect postures nevertheless...after wishing for this life with challenges that one thought were faceable and over comeable, a life of pleasures and luxury, a life with the solutions, a life which was the dstination in my journey, now i wish the wish wasnt granted...i wish the journey would continue, because the journey was so long it had become home... it had become a sphere, a separate world, my world. i wish now i was home.
preoccupied with webs of desires, sleep came. and went.
and i woke up...to find myself at home.
once again.
this time forever.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Friday, May 14, 2010
the patriot
As I stepped out into the expanse of concrete in the parking lot, dotted with barely coloured, solid, dull, but tall buildings, blocked from me by lengths of barbed wires, with unknown faces all around me, feeling stupid pushing a trolley of four larger than me bags, in my not at all enough, too big for me, brown jacket with oh my god golden buttons, trying to see through my big black specs which now had water condensing over it from my breath. I anticipated nothing but the cold, and did I get it… walking from the gate to the cab, all I registered in my jetlagged, yet hyperactive brain was that I was cold, alone and depraved. There was no excitement I thought I would feel in finally seeing America from the window of the airline, there was no rush of blood at touching down to a place I had always longed to be in, no sense of exhilarating achievement… there was just a hollow, flashing scenes of the last few moments spend at home, when I last spoke to my best friend over local call rates, when I last saw my mothers face waiting for me at the airport lounge, and determinedly not going back to see her again, the quiet pride and fright intermingled in my fathers face lined with age, trying not to show either of the feelings, the last message received from my brother asking me to be good, and then another one saying he knew I would, the last time I saw the glittering lines of my city, slowly diminishing away, not knowing when I would see them again…
As one step in this strange land is over, I have gotten over those feelings… or so I like to think. Nothing here was supposed to be like home, nothing is. To get to know and love this place was easy when I could get starbucks in the campus and strut to class feeling all cool, when the first snowfall of your life comes down un-notified on your head, when we cut down dead trees on a rainy freezing day, feeling all ecologically important, when the new york city lighted up to welcome my first visit, when I recalled the number of songs sequenced on the Brooklyn bridge, the pink and purple blossoms that drove the snow away, the startingly clean roads, the endearing nature of all service staff wherever, yeah…life was good.
But then there were times when your room became too cold for you to sleep in, the jetlagged nights staring at the falling snow on the street lights, the stranger filled classes and the even stranger way of education, the empty roads with drunk strollers at night, the emptiness of not being able to speak your language, the dependency on facebook to know what your friends are up to, the misunderstandings with close ones who think you have changed, with the continuously wondering what time it was back home, the constant nagging in your heart if you had made the right choice, the haunting groves in the library where grades were hidden if you were clever enough to seek them out, the gloomy cloudy exam days when the weather did nothing to boost your morale,when all you had to calm your raging heart were photographs…
But then there are days like yesterday…a stiflingly hot day, and I woke up finding myself drenched in sweat, and in that untolerable humidity, sounds of a bus and a chirping bird together came floating across my window...closing my eyes, i felt as if i was back home, where i would wake up similarly in the afternoons, next to mom. Then again, just before the final papers, the lack of words that describe the degree of unpreparedness shared by all the students, their fervent exchange of notes, and the wide eyed, head shaking look that says.. ' man, we are doomed'...,reminds me of the uncountable end semesters during engineering days, nights when you look out and see a lone tree lit by the single lamp, you are not able to distinguish if it is indeed here or there...i try to close my eyes and imagine i am back, the face of the random shop boy, the watchman uncle, the numerous dilapidated bus stands, the beaches, the dog walkers, the stiffling sweaty romance of local trains, the wind swept bus rides, the movies and the malls, the man who taught me how to drive, the known feeling of air where i belong...
like all relationships that last, absence has made my heart grow aware, if not fonder. aware of my own country and the lack of identity i face if it is taken away from me, aware of how much pride i feel when i see a tinier Sri Lanka below a tiny India, aware of the fact that we are indeed a very strange nation, and the fact that such extreme diversities of strangeness can belong together for so many years is an achievement in itself, aware that how much ever i wanted to be here, i will ultimately go back there...and and the end of the day, i am but another patriot.
and a very passionate one at that.
As one step in this strange land is over, I have gotten over those feelings… or so I like to think. Nothing here was supposed to be like home, nothing is. To get to know and love this place was easy when I could get starbucks in the campus and strut to class feeling all cool, when the first snowfall of your life comes down un-notified on your head, when we cut down dead trees on a rainy freezing day, feeling all ecologically important, when the new york city lighted up to welcome my first visit, when I recalled the number of songs sequenced on the Brooklyn bridge, the pink and purple blossoms that drove the snow away, the startingly clean roads, the endearing nature of all service staff wherever, yeah…life was good.
But then there were times when your room became too cold for you to sleep in, the jetlagged nights staring at the falling snow on the street lights, the stranger filled classes and the even stranger way of education, the empty roads with drunk strollers at night, the emptiness of not being able to speak your language, the dependency on facebook to know what your friends are up to, the misunderstandings with close ones who think you have changed, with the continuously wondering what time it was back home, the constant nagging in your heart if you had made the right choice, the haunting groves in the library where grades were hidden if you were clever enough to seek them out, the gloomy cloudy exam days when the weather did nothing to boost your morale,when all you had to calm your raging heart were photographs…
But then there are days like yesterday…a stiflingly hot day, and I woke up finding myself drenched in sweat, and in that untolerable humidity, sounds of a bus and a chirping bird together came floating across my window...closing my eyes, i felt as if i was back home, where i would wake up similarly in the afternoons, next to mom. Then again, just before the final papers, the lack of words that describe the degree of unpreparedness shared by all the students, their fervent exchange of notes, and the wide eyed, head shaking look that says.. ' man, we are doomed'...,reminds me of the uncountable end semesters during engineering days, nights when you look out and see a lone tree lit by the single lamp, you are not able to distinguish if it is indeed here or there...i try to close my eyes and imagine i am back, the face of the random shop boy, the watchman uncle, the numerous dilapidated bus stands, the beaches, the dog walkers, the stiffling sweaty romance of local trains, the wind swept bus rides, the movies and the malls, the man who taught me how to drive, the known feeling of air where i belong...
like all relationships that last, absence has made my heart grow aware, if not fonder. aware of my own country and the lack of identity i face if it is taken away from me, aware of how much pride i feel when i see a tinier Sri Lanka below a tiny India, aware of the fact that we are indeed a very strange nation, and the fact that such extreme diversities of strangeness can belong together for so many years is an achievement in itself, aware that how much ever i wanted to be here, i will ultimately go back there...and and the end of the day, i am but another patriot.
and a very passionate one at that.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
???
what do you do when you are loved? what do you feel when you realise someone is getting close to you? what do you feel when you feel someone is getting to you too much for your own comfort? what do you do when someone catches hold of your own thoughts that were running away from you and places them in front of your eyes, to see, to feel, to touch? what do you do when someone notices where your every movement, every smile, every frown, every secret and reads you every time? what do you do when someone thinks of you before you think pf yourself? what do you feel when someone holds your hand so tight it pains to leave it? what do you say when someone asks you questions you have been asking yourself all your life? and then gives you those answers? what do you do when someone comes two steps closer for every step you take behind? what do you do when someone looks through your pretences and realises what you truly are? what do you do when someone looks for reasons to be with you and you dont have the power to refuse? what do you do when you are asked to trust and against your willingness you feel you will? what do you do when someone says sorry with a smile and you know the effort behind it? where do you hide when you feel exposed? where do you go when you are covered from all grounds? what do you do when someone creeps into your life and steals you away from it?
what do you do when someone loves you?
what do you do? where do you go? what do you say?
You run. To the love. Silently....
what do you do when someone loves you?
what do you do? where do you go? what do you say?
You run. To the love. Silently....
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
The New Dawn
For the last few days, a hoard of messages wishing all of us Happy New Year in a variety of languages were seen to spring up in my facebook inbox. It was surprising for two reasons. Firstly, sitting in a foreign country, it is extremely exciting and melancholy at the same time to see languages of your motherland strwen casually about all over, not something we see everyday. Secondly, for some reason our generation has the reputation of lacking patriotism, cultural integrity and any respect for our values whatsoever.... well, doesnt look like it !! Anyways, the festivities might not have yet begun, but my memories sure have been juggled.
Poila Boisakh is and will always be celebrated with a familiar enthusiasm at home. Where I grew up, Happy New Year was wished face to face, hand in hand, smile to smile...it still is. All my cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents would gather together in the house, not because it was New Year specially, but we just needed an ocassion to make a big family even bigger. From flowers to sweets, from Ray movie CDs to Tagore Books, from mangoes to jackfruits, it was an all out Bengali Affair. This fortunately not being a religious affair, we were allowed to be 'children' without any restrictions whatsoever.
I remember one particular night before New Year vividly. My cousin sister, whom I call didibhai, and I had planned to stay up all night just for fun. For us mortals, that was what adventure was all about. We did not let in anyone else on the plan, and went to bed feeling all excited about what excitement lay in the hours ahead. We stole whatever food we could, food that was prepared for the day after, in our palms, and hid it in the folds of our frocks as we pretended to sleep. With unlimited patience, we waited for the whole house to fall asleep. But...it wasnt a small house!! As an aunt would doze peacefully off, another would stir, as one uncle would snore, the other would suddenly decide to feel thirsty.
This went on for we dont know how long, and before long, we were asleep on our sticky frocks, unaware of how it would betray us the next morning. But I guess NewYear didnt wa nt us to go that easy. It must have been around 3 in the night, when didibhai and I woke up simultanously.And as we realised we had lost 3-4 precious hours of our plan, we jolted up on the bed, all sleep gone, charged to make the most of what was left with us. We spent the whole night playing all wiered sorts of games, I dont even remember them now...but they must have been interesting, given that we managed to stay up all through the next hours. We must have been around 8 at the time, and you can imagine what our conversation would have flown. I am surprised I managed to have a conversation at all :)..
I am sure we must have spoken all we could, and heared or pretended to hear all that we could not ignore, but a few hours later, we were silent, looking out of the window, into the sky that was turning from black to red to pink to blue. Slowly, ever so silently, I saw the colours change. Thinking back, I had a looot of time on hand.. the brightest star ( as we knew it then) was all the more bright in the red sky, and just lying there, by the open window, with the balmy wind playing with us, with the flowers in the garden shedding their dews, with the lone owl going back to sleep, with Lalu, the stray dog, streching her beautiful back, and licking her three puppies, with the cool light streaming into sleeping faces in the room, with the catterpillar becoming a butterfly, we saw the sun rise, we saw the NewYear. My first and last till date.
Its a different story altogether that we started such a day, stealing mangoes from a garden nearby, and went on through the year with a lot more such deeds,it was the most innocent day of my life.e ran from garden, with our hand filled with whatever we could carry, our calves scratched with the stray barks, our hands stained with the juice, our frocks with the sweets, our hair flying wild in the wind, barefoot we ran, but our face held a glee, of childhood's inherent happiness, of the faith that we live in a happy world, a satisfaction that we finally achieved what we wanted irrespective of how we achieved it. For what is innocence if not the acceptance of guilt??
That year, we grew up. We went to higher classes, learnt things not included in the syllabus, faced death in the family, came to a different, wiered and loud city without any friends, and left my innocence behind. It seemed as if that New Year dawn, we ran from a lot more than just the gardener...We ran as fast as we could, not looking back, doubtless, fancy free, jumping into the unknown...but we ran from our good times, we ran from our peace of mind, we ran away from innocence.
We ran away from our childhood.
Poila Boisakh is and will always be celebrated with a familiar enthusiasm at home. Where I grew up, Happy New Year was wished face to face, hand in hand, smile to smile...it still is. All my cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents would gather together in the house, not because it was New Year specially, but we just needed an ocassion to make a big family even bigger. From flowers to sweets, from Ray movie CDs to Tagore Books, from mangoes to jackfruits, it was an all out Bengali Affair. This fortunately not being a religious affair, we were allowed to be 'children' without any restrictions whatsoever.
I remember one particular night before New Year vividly. My cousin sister, whom I call didibhai, and I had planned to stay up all night just for fun. For us mortals, that was what adventure was all about. We did not let in anyone else on the plan, and went to bed feeling all excited about what excitement lay in the hours ahead. We stole whatever food we could, food that was prepared for the day after, in our palms, and hid it in the folds of our frocks as we pretended to sleep. With unlimited patience, we waited for the whole house to fall asleep. But...it wasnt a small house!! As an aunt would doze peacefully off, another would stir, as one uncle would snore, the other would suddenly decide to feel thirsty.
This went on for we dont know how long, and before long, we were asleep on our sticky frocks, unaware of how it would betray us the next morning. But I guess NewYear didnt wa nt us to go that easy. It must have been around 3 in the night, when didibhai and I woke up simultanously.And as we realised we had lost 3-4 precious hours of our plan, we jolted up on the bed, all sleep gone, charged to make the most of what was left with us. We spent the whole night playing all wiered sorts of games, I dont even remember them now...but they must have been interesting, given that we managed to stay up all through the next hours. We must have been around 8 at the time, and you can imagine what our conversation would have flown. I am surprised I managed to have a conversation at all :)..
I am sure we must have spoken all we could, and heared or pretended to hear all that we could not ignore, but a few hours later, we were silent, looking out of the window, into the sky that was turning from black to red to pink to blue. Slowly, ever so silently, I saw the colours change. Thinking back, I had a looot of time on hand.. the brightest star ( as we knew it then) was all the more bright in the red sky, and just lying there, by the open window, with the balmy wind playing with us, with the flowers in the garden shedding their dews, with the lone owl going back to sleep, with Lalu, the stray dog, streching her beautiful back, and licking her three puppies, with the cool light streaming into sleeping faces in the room, with the catterpillar becoming a butterfly, we saw the sun rise, we saw the NewYear. My first and last till date.
Its a different story altogether that we started such a day, stealing mangoes from a garden nearby, and went on through the year with a lot more such deeds,it was the most innocent day of my life.e ran from garden, with our hand filled with whatever we could carry, our calves scratched with the stray barks, our hands stained with the juice, our frocks with the sweets, our hair flying wild in the wind, barefoot we ran, but our face held a glee, of childhood's inherent happiness, of the faith that we live in a happy world, a satisfaction that we finally achieved what we wanted irrespective of how we achieved it. For what is innocence if not the acceptance of guilt??
That year, we grew up. We went to higher classes, learnt things not included in the syllabus, faced death in the family, came to a different, wiered and loud city without any friends, and left my innocence behind. It seemed as if that New Year dawn, we ran from a lot more than just the gardener...We ran as fast as we could, not looking back, doubtless, fancy free, jumping into the unknown...but we ran from our good times, we ran from our peace of mind, we ran away from innocence.
We ran away from our childhood.
Monday, April 12, 2010
memories from a champi
a friend (oops!!) of mine gave me a champi tonight. A champi is a head massage, wherin the giver treats the scalp of the getter with his/her fingers. Depending on the expertise,care,affection of the giver and the degree of frustration,loneliness,headache of the reciever, the champi varies.
the last champi i got was from my mom, before i came to this land of strangers..and so this evenings happenings reminded me of her. She, her love, her encompassing affection, came rushing back to my mind, with every passing moment. I have been close to mom ever since i can remember. when i was little kid, following her was the only job i had. People tell me the only time i would smile, or laugh would be when mom was around, holding me in her arms. Holding her saree, i would follow her everywhere she went. It had a peculiar smell, of flowers, or rather of the flower scented detergent she used, but i always associated that smell with her. She was my playmate, my secret keeper, my only friend during a time when i was the smallest kid in the colony. Her arms gave me all the comfort, her shoulders all the support i needed to grow up. She carried me all the way to school, and all the way back, hiding my scared face from the bullies for who i was an easy target, being the smallest kid around... She gave me all the love i needed, and then she gave me sone more...snuggling beside her at night is the best description of warmth i have ever experienced.
Then i grew up a little bit. Then a bit more. She was no longer my best friend. I no longer needed her support in everything. I was no longer a kid. i made new firends in a new school where no one bullied me. All i needed my mom to do was give me food, dress me up and send me to school, and feed me some more. I did not realise untill a few days back, that feeding and clothing are not as easy as they may sound. I started means of hiding test books and chocolate wrapers....but at the same time, when the light was off and the night was dark,when my mood was sombre and my spirits low, i searched for her. i still needed her approval for my mind to be at rest, still needed her smile to be happy, still needed her hug to make my day.Any problem, any rough day would be remedied by her look, however tired, her touch, however sweaty... i was no longer a kid, but i still not big enough...
then i continued to grow...and so did the secrets. now i was scared of mom finding out what i ws upto...but whatever i was upto were not all that scary..i just thought being with her all the time was not cool enough. she stopped me from doing a lot of things, and i detested it. She kept on resisting, i kept on detesting. Then a time came when all that we spoke was just what we needed to. there was a loss of flow of mindless conversation, heartfelt laughter, just mandatory salutations and the likes...my mom was going away from me, or rather i was pushing her and getting away myself... she never for once tried to pull me back or argue or protest...she let me go...as if she knew i was all hers and would come back....
and come back i did...when things went wrong, when marks went bad, when friends just went...i came back to her, and she was right there, her saree smelling just the same, her love undiminished, her hugs undiluted...and since then she has been my best friend. i have left her many a times, but this time i knew myself that she is the only one i have. that whatevr i do i will never be accountable to her, but i will never hide it from her nevertheless... it is she who taught me the magic of love, the satisfaction of giving more than recieving, the hope that good deeds never goes undone, the belief that if i am good, no matter what happens, i wil be rewarded...but all that apart, the best knowledge i learnt from her was to be simple and to be tolerant... simplicity was her forte. i all these years, i have never seen her unnecessarily adorning herself with anything more than ordinary, but she had always looked beautiful in my eyes... and to say that she has been tolerant is to say the very very least...
i dont know why i have not missed her still now, its been so long i have not seen her, so long i have not heared her say the nightly ritual that she and i have...maybe it is because i take her for granted,maybe because nothing has yet gone wrong here, maybe because when you know someone loves you, you tend to oversee their feelings,so much so that you an be rude without thinking, you can ignore wothout feeling guilty, you can retaliate without tension, you can be yourself without the fear of being misjudged...
but today, with a choking rush of feelings, i reached out for maa, as i call her, and i realised she was no longer in the next room, she wal miles and miles away, and to let her know that i missed her will only increase her never ceasing tensions for me... all i want her to know is that if ever there was a god for me, it is her, if ever i worship a deity, it is her image, if i ever hold on to anything, it is the cornr of her saree....for maa, when all would have failed me, i know i will see u standing, waiting for me to reach up to you... i am still a kid, still scared of bigger bullies in a badder world, but now for the world i have grown, and running to you seems like an easy option, but i wish i could do it, every turn, every problem, every night...
p.s: champu, thank you..its very rarely that i get what i do not expect.
the last champi i got was from my mom, before i came to this land of strangers..and so this evenings happenings reminded me of her. She, her love, her encompassing affection, came rushing back to my mind, with every passing moment. I have been close to mom ever since i can remember. when i was little kid, following her was the only job i had. People tell me the only time i would smile, or laugh would be when mom was around, holding me in her arms. Holding her saree, i would follow her everywhere she went. It had a peculiar smell, of flowers, or rather of the flower scented detergent she used, but i always associated that smell with her. She was my playmate, my secret keeper, my only friend during a time when i was the smallest kid in the colony. Her arms gave me all the comfort, her shoulders all the support i needed to grow up. She carried me all the way to school, and all the way back, hiding my scared face from the bullies for who i was an easy target, being the smallest kid around... She gave me all the love i needed, and then she gave me sone more...snuggling beside her at night is the best description of warmth i have ever experienced.
Then i grew up a little bit. Then a bit more. She was no longer my best friend. I no longer needed her support in everything. I was no longer a kid. i made new firends in a new school where no one bullied me. All i needed my mom to do was give me food, dress me up and send me to school, and feed me some more. I did not realise untill a few days back, that feeding and clothing are not as easy as they may sound. I started means of hiding test books and chocolate wrapers....but at the same time, when the light was off and the night was dark,when my mood was sombre and my spirits low, i searched for her. i still needed her approval for my mind to be at rest, still needed her smile to be happy, still needed her hug to make my day.Any problem, any rough day would be remedied by her look, however tired, her touch, however sweaty... i was no longer a kid, but i still not big enough...
then i continued to grow...and so did the secrets. now i was scared of mom finding out what i ws upto...but whatever i was upto were not all that scary..i just thought being with her all the time was not cool enough. she stopped me from doing a lot of things, and i detested it. She kept on resisting, i kept on detesting. Then a time came when all that we spoke was just what we needed to. there was a loss of flow of mindless conversation, heartfelt laughter, just mandatory salutations and the likes...my mom was going away from me, or rather i was pushing her and getting away myself... she never for once tried to pull me back or argue or protest...she let me go...as if she knew i was all hers and would come back....
and come back i did...when things went wrong, when marks went bad, when friends just went...i came back to her, and she was right there, her saree smelling just the same, her love undiminished, her hugs undiluted...and since then she has been my best friend. i have left her many a times, but this time i knew myself that she is the only one i have. that whatevr i do i will never be accountable to her, but i will never hide it from her nevertheless... it is she who taught me the magic of love, the satisfaction of giving more than recieving, the hope that good deeds never goes undone, the belief that if i am good, no matter what happens, i wil be rewarded...but all that apart, the best knowledge i learnt from her was to be simple and to be tolerant... simplicity was her forte. i all these years, i have never seen her unnecessarily adorning herself with anything more than ordinary, but she had always looked beautiful in my eyes... and to say that she has been tolerant is to say the very very least...
i dont know why i have not missed her still now, its been so long i have not seen her, so long i have not heared her say the nightly ritual that she and i have...maybe it is because i take her for granted,maybe because nothing has yet gone wrong here, maybe because when you know someone loves you, you tend to oversee their feelings,so much so that you an be rude without thinking, you can ignore wothout feeling guilty, you can retaliate without tension, you can be yourself without the fear of being misjudged...
but today, with a choking rush of feelings, i reached out for maa, as i call her, and i realised she was no longer in the next room, she wal miles and miles away, and to let her know that i missed her will only increase her never ceasing tensions for me... all i want her to know is that if ever there was a god for me, it is her, if ever i worship a deity, it is her image, if i ever hold on to anything, it is the cornr of her saree....for maa, when all would have failed me, i know i will see u standing, waiting for me to reach up to you... i am still a kid, still scared of bigger bullies in a badder world, but now for the world i have grown, and running to you seems like an easy option, but i wish i could do it, every turn, every problem, every night...
p.s: champu, thank you..its very rarely that i get what i do not expect.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
being impulsive
i came out of my class, withthe evening ahead of me all planned in my head..a minute or two of facebook (and i knew it would be a minute and twenty, but that would require another blog to describe), reading journals, dinner, buying grocery, then straight to bed...with this agenda in mind, i turned the computer on. as i expected him to, kunal with his crooked teeth forming the straightest smile ever jumped infront of me, 'sumanaaa....i was looking for you only re'...and with that ever so sweet greeting we started rambling about the days unfruitful activities, with a consolation in mind that he would now go to class, so the day would not be a total waste after all.. and come on, today was a very special day, he finally would be turning in his assignment, just a mere two weeks late.
anyways, after a few animated minutes, we came to the conclusion, that his conscience wouldnt really affect him that much if he bunked the lecture,and with a very tired face (so as to fool his classmates), and a very untired heart, we set out to go to jersey city...no reason or rhyme, simply, i guess somewhere down the line we are so affected by seeing all the college kids in hindi movies just chilling out and being cool, we wanted to 'belong' to the clan... and for that we also needed a camera, how else would we let all the students in the class know that we were out being cool...so my camera and kunal's batteries to the rescue..and mindless clicking starts..from the shuttle stop to the jounal square station, anything that was remotely out of the ordinary, or had sunlight falling on it from any wiered angle had no mercy from us...so what if the pics turned out to be either extremely normal, or so distorted that you could not make out where the sun was, it was ours, and we are proud of it :) so proud that i put my laziness in the backseat for once, and this was so that the whole wide world could tell us how nice we looked, and how nice the sun looked and how if not for us, they would never know jersey city was so eventful. none of that happened whatsoever, and we ended up admiring them ourselves, but now i am blogging about it, so you know the obsession is not yer over :)
we, no sorry, i had to buy stuff that i didnt buy, and kunal bought stuff that he didnt have to buy, it was just another trip to the 'patel cash and carry'. i think somewhere deep down, i go there just to get a feel of my country, however criticised and underdeveloped, my people, perhaps corupt and loud, my language, bits and pieces of it all around the shop, my brittania marie, tasteless but healthy, it is mine, it is as much a part of me as i am of it. i go there not to buy, but to belong.
now came the most important part...the food. the food that has haunted me for three nights after i had it for the first time, the food i can take home to my mother, the food that can make me forget my ever increasing waistline, the food that can kame kunal...well...bunk his class... the food was finally here. should i mention them here...no...for 2 reasons, one, i pity the people who did not taste it, and two, i will have to go to jersey city very soon if i think too much about it. just to say, it was heavenly. we actually sat there looking romantically at our empty dishes, wishing more food would magically appear in them, ignoring the dramatic warning noises in our stomachs...but we couldnt ignore the looks of others unto whom the food was yet to be bestowed upon, and we left...not befor getting a few more pics though...lame we may appear, but we care we do not!!!
then the journey back. it was a time for remembering good old bombay...i forgot that trains did not leave from the same platform they came on, and kunal forgot that there would actually be no rush on a weekday...amidst alarming stares from more civil passengers, or should we say, passengers who were jealous that they did not have such charming and fun friends themselves ( hi five kale )... we were back to harrison. and as kunal suggested coming all the way back to my dorm, i realised the fun would continue...
not just on the shuttle trip, but for the next eight months. and after that. sometimes all you need to brighten up your day is another mad hatter like you, all you need is an impromptu decision, all you need is the guts to say to hell with class, i want to have fun, all you need is a camera with no reels, all you need is a pair of shoes to run beside someone with longer legs than yours, all you need is mindless laughter,all you need is food that reminds you of home, all you need is the assurance that you will be taken care of however late it may be, all you need is a friend. all you need is a friend.
anyways, after a few animated minutes, we came to the conclusion, that his conscience wouldnt really affect him that much if he bunked the lecture,and with a very tired face (so as to fool his classmates), and a very untired heart, we set out to go to jersey city...no reason or rhyme, simply, i guess somewhere down the line we are so affected by seeing all the college kids in hindi movies just chilling out and being cool, we wanted to 'belong' to the clan... and for that we also needed a camera, how else would we let all the students in the class know that we were out being cool...so my camera and kunal's batteries to the rescue..and mindless clicking starts..from the shuttle stop to the jounal square station, anything that was remotely out of the ordinary, or had sunlight falling on it from any wiered angle had no mercy from us...so what if the pics turned out to be either extremely normal, or so distorted that you could not make out where the sun was, it was ours, and we are proud of it :) so proud that i put my laziness in the backseat for once, and this was so that the whole wide world could tell us how nice we looked, and how nice the sun looked and how if not for us, they would never know jersey city was so eventful. none of that happened whatsoever, and we ended up admiring them ourselves, but now i am blogging about it, so you know the obsession is not yer over :)
we, no sorry, i had to buy stuff that i didnt buy, and kunal bought stuff that he didnt have to buy, it was just another trip to the 'patel cash and carry'. i think somewhere deep down, i go there just to get a feel of my country, however criticised and underdeveloped, my people, perhaps corupt and loud, my language, bits and pieces of it all around the shop, my brittania marie, tasteless but healthy, it is mine, it is as much a part of me as i am of it. i go there not to buy, but to belong.
now came the most important part...the food. the food that has haunted me for three nights after i had it for the first time, the food i can take home to my mother, the food that can make me forget my ever increasing waistline, the food that can kame kunal...well...bunk his class... the food was finally here. should i mention them here...no...for 2 reasons, one, i pity the people who did not taste it, and two, i will have to go to jersey city very soon if i think too much about it. just to say, it was heavenly. we actually sat there looking romantically at our empty dishes, wishing more food would magically appear in them, ignoring the dramatic warning noises in our stomachs...but we couldnt ignore the looks of others unto whom the food was yet to be bestowed upon, and we left...not befor getting a few more pics though...lame we may appear, but we care we do not!!!
then the journey back. it was a time for remembering good old bombay...i forgot that trains did not leave from the same platform they came on, and kunal forgot that there would actually be no rush on a weekday...amidst alarming stares from more civil passengers, or should we say, passengers who were jealous that they did not have such charming and fun friends themselves ( hi five kale )... we were back to harrison. and as kunal suggested coming all the way back to my dorm, i realised the fun would continue...
not just on the shuttle trip, but for the next eight months. and after that. sometimes all you need to brighten up your day is another mad hatter like you, all you need is an impromptu decision, all you need is the guts to say to hell with class, i want to have fun, all you need is a camera with no reels, all you need is a pair of shoes to run beside someone with longer legs than yours, all you need is mindless laughter,all you need is food that reminds you of home, all you need is the assurance that you will be taken care of however late it may be, all you need is a friend. all you need is a friend.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
the lost toys
the happiest days of my life, or for that matter, anyone's life must be the days spent in school...days where life began with my mother waking me up with her beautiful face dishevelled with perspiration and sweat from her early morning chores, reluctantly waking up to again fall asleep in the bathroom, more so if it was a winter day...i grew up in kolkata in those days, and winter could be a sleepy affair indeed, days when the school uniform was the most comfortable, clean and starchy dress ever worn, a time when socks would go upto the knees,and shoes would invariable be black and shining every morning, only to come back with a thick coating of dust every evening, days when all sleep would vanish when i would hear the honk of the school bus, filled with laughter and chatter of my friends, those days we had a lot of friends, we knew no plitics, we knew no evil deed, it was just a sincere simple bond that 36 of us classmates shared.
there was moumita, my first friend ever, with her hair curling like maggi, there was poornima, whose surname none of us got right the first time,there were the talukdar twins, always smiling and talking about volleyball, there was shilpa, whose knowledge of shahrukh khan and bllywood movies had me in awe, there was oendri and her dance classes, there was ankita with whom i remember having so called philosophical talks, there was sunetra whose mom made the best tasting noodles i ever had, i am afraid i sometimes ate up all her tiffin, there was anwesha, daydreaming about someone, there was monami and sonali, always found together, there was ria, dainty and darlingy like, there was ibrahim, polite and gentle, there was jyotirmoy, oh so naughty, there was siddhartha, meek but mischievous, there was arko, reigning someones thoughts, :P, there was chandrajit, with half the girls swooning over him, there was payel, planning more mischief with pooja, there was janet, always very tensed, there was monica, wo sadly is no more, there was angela, always making the most of anything, there was subhojit, never saying a word, there was parnalekha, always toping everything, there were oh so many more, none of whom are forgotten, just a bit faded maybe. i owe my lifes lessons to time spent with these people....people i hardly ever met after the best 5 years spent in that school, people i think about when i am sad and life is turning upside down, people i wish i could see again everyday, not the way they are now, but the memory i have of them when i was one of them...
the time when silly little secrets used to be the base of so many blackmails, when betrayal meant not sharing your textbook with your desk mate, when christmas, teachers day, childrens day, independence day formed the best and most important days of our life, what innocent preparation went into all the dances and the skits, and the teachers...how can anyone replace them..miss shorbori, we loved her and she loved us more, miss clara we were so scared of, miss sonia, we were more scared if possible, miss jaya with her scale in hand, the play ground, so familiar, so inviting, so small yet seemed so big, the pool, the topic of undying interest till we got to see it did not have a beach along with it, the banana trees which were supposed to have spirits, the maashis, whom we never discriminated against, maashis son, suman who was one of us too, the guard uncle who i will recognise anywhere, but who probably doesnt remember me anymore, the dogs, always near the bathrooms, huh, the tress, the smell, the flowers, the sky, the walls, the grass, its as if i was alice and it was my eternal wonderland...i keep on thinking about those days, a parallel world as if it was, where nothing was ever wrong, nothing was corrupt, not one ws a cheat, an utopia if ever was...
this was the place i learnt to differenciate between right, wrong, justice, injustice, special, normal and all oher discrimination i make today. it was the place where i first loved, first competed, first dreamt, first performed. it was the place that made me, and it will be the place that will break me. for no other confirms with what it taught me to be. no other follows its golden rule...i do not know how to walk, o alma mater, cause your roads no longer exist...
now my shoes are forever dirty, my mothers face far away, my friends are people who i do not know, my days start with the night,the choice of clothes have replaced the choice of simplicity, i am spoilt, unclean, insincere... ready to travel the new world...but looking back to hear the bus...to hear the laughter, childhood's innocent laughter...
there was moumita, my first friend ever, with her hair curling like maggi, there was poornima, whose surname none of us got right the first time,there were the talukdar twins, always smiling and talking about volleyball, there was shilpa, whose knowledge of shahrukh khan and bllywood movies had me in awe, there was oendri and her dance classes, there was ankita with whom i remember having so called philosophical talks, there was sunetra whose mom made the best tasting noodles i ever had, i am afraid i sometimes ate up all her tiffin, there was anwesha, daydreaming about someone, there was monami and sonali, always found together, there was ria, dainty and darlingy like, there was ibrahim, polite and gentle, there was jyotirmoy, oh so naughty, there was siddhartha, meek but mischievous, there was arko, reigning someones thoughts, :P, there was chandrajit, with half the girls swooning over him, there was payel, planning more mischief with pooja, there was janet, always very tensed, there was monica, wo sadly is no more, there was angela, always making the most of anything, there was subhojit, never saying a word, there was parnalekha, always toping everything, there were oh so many more, none of whom are forgotten, just a bit faded maybe. i owe my lifes lessons to time spent with these people....people i hardly ever met after the best 5 years spent in that school, people i think about when i am sad and life is turning upside down, people i wish i could see again everyday, not the way they are now, but the memory i have of them when i was one of them...
the time when silly little secrets used to be the base of so many blackmails, when betrayal meant not sharing your textbook with your desk mate, when christmas, teachers day, childrens day, independence day formed the best and most important days of our life, what innocent preparation went into all the dances and the skits, and the teachers...how can anyone replace them..miss shorbori, we loved her and she loved us more, miss clara we were so scared of, miss sonia, we were more scared if possible, miss jaya with her scale in hand, the play ground, so familiar, so inviting, so small yet seemed so big, the pool, the topic of undying interest till we got to see it did not have a beach along with it, the banana trees which were supposed to have spirits, the maashis, whom we never discriminated against, maashis son, suman who was one of us too, the guard uncle who i will recognise anywhere, but who probably doesnt remember me anymore, the dogs, always near the bathrooms, huh, the tress, the smell, the flowers, the sky, the walls, the grass, its as if i was alice and it was my eternal wonderland...i keep on thinking about those days, a parallel world as if it was, where nothing was ever wrong, nothing was corrupt, not one ws a cheat, an utopia if ever was...
this was the place i learnt to differenciate between right, wrong, justice, injustice, special, normal and all oher discrimination i make today. it was the place where i first loved, first competed, first dreamt, first performed. it was the place that made me, and it will be the place that will break me. for no other confirms with what it taught me to be. no other follows its golden rule...i do not know how to walk, o alma mater, cause your roads no longer exist...
now my shoes are forever dirty, my mothers face far away, my friends are people who i do not know, my days start with the night,the choice of clothes have replaced the choice of simplicity, i am spoilt, unclean, insincere... ready to travel the new world...but looking back to hear the bus...to hear the laughter, childhood's innocent laughter...
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