The gift

Gift me a book and write a note about us on the pages,

For years later, when we are dead and gone,

In the shelves of a library, in the section of love,

The book will be found and we’ll live again. 

To 2015.

Dear you,

It’s been a tough year. Every passing day brought with it a wind of change, what we held so close to us in the year before was ripped into pieces and thrown aside. Swinging in and out of our own emotions, this year has tested our patience, built a disbelief about everything we believed in.

It’s been a harrowing year. We both lost grandparents this year, both left us right before we wanted to rush home to them with something that we bought them from our first salary. We sit with the regret that we could have been there and smiled with them as they strained their losing memory to remember which city we were living in currently.

It's been a tumultuous year for love. We sat there in the beach, scribbling names in the sand and thinking the waves will take our wishes along with them, only to realise that two months down the line, it never really mattered that much. We have spent hours talking about why it happens to us, why don’t we deserve the right one and why does everything lead to disappointment.  

But I'll tell you another story...

This year has been the year of expectations. We have had our hearts broken, our love forgotten yet everytime love stops by, we smile, we hope and we know that one day things will get better. You may have dismissed your own belief, but everytime, everytime I have come to you with the idea of giving up, you have given me the strength to build dreams again.

This year, we have lost and gained family members. We lost a dear one, we cried. But we also gained a dear one. And there have been times when we sat down with the new member of the family and talked about the other dear one, who is always watching upon us.

This year has taught us a lot. From that two-day trip we took to be with each other to the constant messages, we have shared each and every memory even though we are far apart. We have tried to pull our hair out in frustration but in those times have also learnt not to do the same thing again. We have grown and understood more.

This year we have had all the experiences we had only dreamt of, the good ones and the nightmares.

This year we have been there for each other at every single step.

So, my love, this year has been amazing.

Here’s to 2015 now. 

The truth

The truth is it seemed wrong, yet, I went ahead with it. Even though the signals were there, I ignored them all.

The truth is it was never meant to be. I dreamt about it, believed in it but it was never supposed to happen anyway.

The truth is he didn’t want it that way. I misread the signs, figured them out in my favour, only to be disappointed.

The truth is I know it’s the truth and it hurts. 

Understanding

“I love you,” he said.

“I do too,” I said. I understood.

“Let’s not name it a relationship,” he said.

“That’s a cliché,” I said. I understood.

“Let’s move in together,” he said.

“I think so too,” I said. I understood.

“I’ll be going away for a year,” he said.

“You can’t turn down the opportunity,” I said. I understood.

“I’m coming home after Christmas. I can’t wait to see you,” he said.

“I’m so happy,” I said. I understood.

“I have to work till late night. I can’t come home tonight,” he said.

“It’s work. You can’t avoid,” I said. I understood.

“But that lipstick mark is yours from the other night,” he said.

“Maybe it is,” I said. I understood.

“The girl you saw me sitting at the restaurant with, is just a friend from work,” he said.

“Sure she is,” I said. I understood.

“I’m going for a trip with the boys this weekend. I know we had plans but I can’t help it,” he said.

“That’s okay. I’ll meet the girls for a drink,” I said. I understood.

“I need some space,” he said.

“I think WE don’t exist anymore,” I said.

“But we have been together the whole time,” he said. He misunderstood. 

The curious case of Tinder

As a writer and a journalist, you are always on the lookout for stories, for experiences and love. And if this is combined to an extrovert like me, the opportunities are endless. Ahem. Quite the wrong start. Anyway. Of course, this is why even while we are busy at work, there are stories being shared, links popping up on our chat boxes even though the other person is sitting right next to you and well, a whole lot of social media sharing.

That’s when, Miss Paul, distraught with the never ending complexities of my love life, sent me the link of an article on the app, Tinder. Few years back, I would have been flabbergasted by the possibility of meeting someone by just swiping right on your phone screen (I admit even today, Tinder is the most judgemental app there is), but that day, I was interested. And more so, my friend with a boyfriend was excited to try the app from my phone, under my name.

And so it started, after what seemed like an endless time of swiping left, we swiped right. And it’s a match. Even before I could answer to the ‘hey’, Miss Paul is texting and thinking what to answer next. Within minutes, I’m bored, for the guy on the other end, already wants to know if I had dinner. Clingy much?

So then Miss Paul retired for the day and I continued with the swiping. After a few more matches and people to whom I’d rather not apply, came along this guy who starts off with a not-so-perfect one-liner. Now any other day, I would have thought that this was just random but hey, I was already smiling. And so the conversation started.

Now, as a journalist, there are only two things you really possess that can impress two kinds of people – your drunk friends as you get them entry to the best pub in town with your press card and your boss with your editing and writing skills. I wouldn’t think that either of that would help me on Tinder but then life has other plans right? So, that’s how we talk. With me editing this stranger’s Statement Of Purpose. He definitely did have a purpose, I for one, was on tinder and editing SOPs. Not complaining, since I was the one who offered to do it in the first place.

But then one thing led to other and the conversation was deemed interesting. A few days down the road and from SOPs, alcohol, sleep and food were the topics of discussion. And since randomness and I have a long association, I agreed to meet the guy for drinks. Let’s name him Tinder Boy, shall we?

A few drinks then, a movie and quite a few drunken encounters, of which I am more than just embarrassed, later, it’s been quite a while of knowing Tinder Boy (but hey, I already knew a lot from his SOP, his career history to be precise).

While Tinder Boy manages to find time, there have been quite a few others who popped up from the continuous swiping that had happened. One who didn’t want to waste a minute and start dating immediately, the other who persistently over the weeks has been messaging even though the replies come to him once in a week or so and the I’m-so-perfect Doctor. Dear doctor, when you are talking to someone who’s a journalist, who can be the next big thing after a crime investigation officer, it doesn’t take long to figure out that you have a girlfriend of 8 years.

And while I’m going to take a break from the swiping, it’s been a pleasure knowing Tinder boy. Numbers have been exchanged and I’m still getting to know him (and my friends are assuming that there’s a whole lot going on already), it’s one point to thank Tinder for.  So long, then.

Home Alone

It was my decision. It wasn’t too difficult for me. Even when I packed my bags and became the youngest person in the family to step out of home, I was happy. Happy that I was taking my chance at independence, giving myself the liberty to experience new things and exploring the opportunity to handle things alone.

I turned around to catch a glimpse of my parents who refused to leave the premises of the airport until I left; I caught my teary eyed mom, shying away lest I notice her. I ran back for a last hug and picked up my overweight bags. I was fine.

In a new city, it didn’t take me too long to find new friends. But I also witnessed many breakdowns, tears and calls by my friends saying all they wanted to do was go back home. I sat next to them and told them, “It’s going to be okay.”

Three years in the city that became home and there came moments when I was distraught, when I was too sick to move and when I was too heartbroken to speak, but never once did I say, “I just wish to go back home now.” It will be all right I thought.

Graduating hats flew and then I flew to another city. Another new city, another new set of friends and the whole story repeated.

But every time I look back, I wish I was there when my grandma breathed her last, I wish I was there to see my grandpa smile for the last time. Every time my sister sends me a photograph of my dog being sick, I wish I could rush back home and hug him tight, or when my mom sends me a photograph of the newly renovated rooms, I wish I could sit on that new sofa and then dirty the room just like I always do. And then there were those times, when I missed my brother’s engagement, the first in our generation, or when I couldn’t be home to see the elated look on my sister’s face when the guy she liked came home with his family, just because I couldn’t take an off from work. Every new city becomes home for me, yet many a times, I find myself home alone.

I wish to be home at times but every time I can’t, I grow a little bit stronger. 

The long drive

Sam hopped onto the back of the jeep and as they rode through the tunnel, Charlie said “And I swear in that moment we were infinite.” Ever since I had read The Perks of being a Wallflower, this stayed with me. They all had something to worry about, something bothering them but in the company of friends and a long drive back home, it was all forgotten.

In an inebriated condition, my friend and I decided to go for a long drive. Much like Sam, Patrick and Charlie, we too had a lot going on or so we thought. Small issues that we were assuming to be life threatening, petty worries that seemed to never leave our side and a constant doubt about getting what we need. I was hesitant at first. After a night of cribbing and worrying about every possible thing, hitting the bed seemed to be the perfect option. But then the possibility of wandering into the unknown scared yet intrigued me and so we were off.

We were silent at first and then slowly, pouring out the thoughts in our minds we tried to form words around them. As the roads grew darker and the music grew louder, we sank back into our seats and just let it all in. We spoke in broken sentences yet we didn’t have to explain what we wanted to say.

As I stood up the sunroof, I understood what Charlie had meant. The loud music seemed faint as the wind brushed along my face and right then, I lived for that moment. For no worry, no pain could stand next to the feeling of being liberated and just being out there. When I sat back down, the both of us laughed as the songs changed from the mellow tracks to the Bollywood numbers.

And in that moment, we were infinite. I didn’t care about anything for I was in the company of a friend who understood, who would stand up for me yet let me be when I want to.

Once I reached home, the following made even more sense. And this is also to my dear friend, who has the same going on in his head.

“It’s much easier to not know things sometimes. Things change and friends leave. And life doesn’t stop for anybody. I wanted to laugh. Or maybe get mad. Or maybe shrug at how strange everybody was, especially me. I think the idea is that every person has to live for his or her own life and then make the choice to share it with other people. You can’t just sit there and put everybody’s lives ahead of yours and think that counts as love. You just can’t. You have to do things. I’m going to do what I want to do. I’m going to be who I really am. And I’m going to figure out what that is. And we could all sit around and wonder and feel bad about each other and blame a lot of people for what they did or didn't do or what they didn't know. I don’t know. I guess there could always be someone to blame. It’s just different. Maybe it’s good to put things in perspective, but sometimes, I think that the only perspective is to really be there. Because it’s okay to feel things. I was really there. And that was enough to make me feel infinite. I feel infinite.”

A silent day

As I turned the keys around and opened the door, the air of familiarity surrounded me. It’s amazing how after having lived in various different rooms in the past four years, each one of them has been home to me, how coming back to the same bed just after one night feels like two lovers who had been torn apart by distance are now finally reunited. Too drastic a feeling I say that simply implies to the feeling I knew I had when I looked forward to spending the day at home, alone.

There are rare occasions when the hostel is not bustling with activity. Someone getting ready to go to work as someone else can be seen whipping up a recipe for the lunch or the boys from the other end sipping into their early morning tea as they once again start the conversation about the error in the pages (symptoms of working for a newspaper and living with the same people). But no, today was different. The Bengalis in the hostel, barring one, were off on their rendezvous with their beloved Kolkata and Durga Pujo, while the others were still sound asleep when I entered. The silence didn’t unnerve me. Instead, it made the day look all the more inviting.

A long nap later, which was interrupted by many phone calls from friends and family, I woke up as the half day had passed. Yet, it felt like there was a long way to go. I checked my phone for the possibility of a text. Disappointed. Time passed. Numerous songs and a movie later, nothing changed.

I walked out of the room and the corridor was in complete darkness. I walked up to switch on the lights and peeked to see what were the others upto. That’s when it dawned upon me. I was alone in the hostel on the rare occasion of a general holiday. I walked up to the window and saw the lights put up all around, the TV switched on in the apartment across the street, music blaring from a speaker somewhere and chaos on the roads. And here I was, perfectly comfortable in the silence.

The mind goes back to many things. The first meeting, the unfinished conversation and the wait. And then I wrote. As I wrote, I wound back into the silence, in the comfortability of the absence of everything and I lay there alone, in the company of dreams. 

The insanity of it all

I have been talking, writing, reading about love for a long time now. Described it as an emotion that I have lost, a feeling that I'm longing to have and a sin I don't want to commit. And while I'm hopping around with a particular kind of feeling towards the concept of love every other day, what amazes me is how each finds its best interest in me. How despite being disappointed in love, you fall back in that mess of confused feelings and yet move on merely because of the fact that you have to. 

A recent episode made me wonder, how attraction is opposed to love. When you face rejection even though it's just an attraction, it kills you from inside because you thought about the prospect of a 'love' with the person. It might seem irrational, stupid yet you can't control it. You are not ready to commit yet you are hoping for a commitment because the thought of love knocking your door again anytime soon seems like a difficult plan. You try to be practical, straightforward and make sure that you don't make a fool out of yourself, but that's only what you try. The reality however lies in a lot of "Shit, I can't believe I just did that" 

So why then do we allow that attraction to grow into love? To linger on for long enough to make us want more with each passing? 

Because we feel it's our shot at love, it's our chance of having our fairytale. And even though we maybe disappointed, we need to take a leap of faith. Do those stupid things because you don't have anything to lose. And if you do lose it, like they say, probably it never was yours. 

If you are worrying about being confused, don't. Because you will always be. For I am too. Like a dear friend whom I accuse of never giving me advice told me, "I still told him because it was important for me. Even when I knew that he didn't feel the same way. I don't think it makes me any less of a person." Or like the other friend who always says the right thing told me, "But also ask yourself, is it worth it?" And then came the other one who has understood me always told me, "We will always be asking questions." And I quote her blog here, "But "what ifs" are sometimes better than a complete "no"." 

Now, I'll tell you my version. Maybe not today, but the day I feel that this attraction is love I will not be scared to go ahead with it. Right now, I'll settle with the what if. 

And to my dear friends, I'll be fine soon, for this too shall pass. 

The worst feeling

I was angry. Angry because I was fighting with one of my closest friends. Angry, because of the fact that I take friendship too seriously. I was so angry that there were tears streaming down my face and all I wanted to do was talk. Talk to someone.

And what angered me more was, when I looked at my contact list I didn’t know whom to call. Who was the one person I could call and not worry about sounding silly. And I knew more than anyone, I missed you at that moment.

It’s been a long time since we last talked and I didn’t want to bother you. I just can’t. Even though I know, you would be more than happy to listen to me right now but I just couldn’t pick up the phone to call. I know I have moved on and I know, somewhere you have to.

That’s what I have been looking for. For someone to talk to in my worst of days even though I might run the risk of sounding like the silliest person. For someone to laugh with and shout in joy, just because I’m happy. For someone whom I could depend upon emotionally without having to worry about my heart being crushed. For it has happened, more than once.

Which is why, over the years, I have conditioned myself to not let my sorrow out easily. I know there are friends with whom I can share my disappointments, my worries but when I have to cry, I cry alone. Because I know they would say "Stop crying". But what no one understands is that sometimes you have to cry because you haven’t for too long and you are letting go of the many things that bother you. Those things that bother you but you are too afraid to talk about them. And I know at this point, you would have let me cry and just as I would be sobbing, you would make me laugh.

I know it’s not the same anymore. But at least, I know what I’m looking for. 

If that's what you want

I’ll find the places where you hide.

I’ll be the dawn on your worst night.

To find love so pure, to believe in a feeling that rises above all and to trust in an emotion that submerses you in the depth of sadness and at the same time, uplifts you in the best of spirits, is for the lack of any other word, extraordinary. As I write this, someone might be writing the letter of love and at the same time, someone else might be crying into their pillows. All, for love.

The contradictory complexities of love, startle me. While sometimes it is as easy as walking into a bar and offering a drink to someone only to strike up a conversation that lasts forever, it’s also as difficult as holding on to a love lost, for years together, because you fear you won’t find it again. And each in its own regard is called love.

The frustrating confusions about love, bother me. Some say that love is all about giving while a few others say that love understands that you don’t have to give it all. Love is different for all yet it’s the one thing that holds them together.

The fights on love, anger me. It’s a bond that makes us let go of many others. But why? Why can’t love be an entity that’s understood by all beyond the upheavals of religion, caste, sex? We say that we need to fight for our love, but when do we stop fighting? Fighting for an emotion that just comes naturally to us.

Even then, the hope and faith people have in love, makes me dream. That after having eased out the complexities, solved the confusion and won the fight, people will always believe in love. They are sad, they are scared but still they never stop believing for what is life if not going that extra mile every other day, because that’s what “you” wanted. 

Randomness

It’s been more than a week that I have been meaning to write. Write about what was happening in my life. I was so preoccupied with the thoughts that I didn’t want to let go off and the presumption that things would change. But the truth is, everytime I would sit down write, things would actually change but only in an unexpected manner that pulled me back into this pool of confusion.

A random meeting, followed by a few others and then many drunken nights with a completely new bunch of friends, that’s how the past two weeks of my life can be described as. I shocked a few by my decisions and sometimes even myself, but it felt right.*I feel so right doing the wrong thing*

So yes. It has been a strange time where I found myself excited at the silliest of reasons, disappointed with an even sillier thing and then rising right back up dismissing all of them. It got me a lot of “You should be careful” and “Don’t get drunk” from Miss P, “Just doesn’t feel right” from Miss Paul and “I’m telling you out of experience” from Miss D. And these three being the ones I depend on without giving a second thought, I tried to defend my stance even though I knew I was doing the wrong thing. It involved a lot of “conference room” meetings to discuss the latest updates, a lot of phone calls and texts but what amazed me was my decision to go ahead with it anyway.

Why so?

Because it just felt so liberating. Because somewhere in the stupidity, I remembered my old times. Because sometimes in those drunken nights, I just let myself be.

I remember telling Miss Paul one day, that I want to let go of the things that are holding me back and just do something that I have never done before. And that was the day, I met A. Now, before you start thinking, no, it wasn’t something magical or love kinds. But in more ways than not, the whole episode was flattering. It had been really long since someone told me I looked pretty and took out time to talk to me. Considering the complexities of my past relationships which had made me believe that it never happens, A put me in the most awkward of places yet made me like it. I don’t know him or his friends even though I have spent quite a lot of time with them but I took a leap of faith.

And even though, I know it means nothing and I know that it’s just one of those things that happen these days, this random meeting with A and his friends, has put a smile on my face and until it lasts, I want to just let go of things that have me cramped emotionally and take the plunge of randomness. 

The wait

Honking cars, flashing lights and ringing bells, everyone is in a hurry to be somewhere. Somewhere. Right beside me, Miss P is driving the car and hurling abuses at the man who just crossed her path. Then she turns to me with glaring eyes suggesting that I should also do the same. We meet the man again at the next signal. He does it again. And this time before Miss P’s glaring eyes could shoot a look at me, I lift my hands and signal towards the man, “Kya”. Miss P is happy and our drive continues peacefully but only till the next signal.

I pause. I glance around.

While everyone keeps complaining about time flying away too fast, not reaching somewhere on time, graduation here too soon and turning another year older, I look at the other side. At the wait to reach there.  

I was waiting alone at work for my friend to come along. She said it will take her five minutes more. And as I tried to shuffle my contacts and then my playlist and then my messages and very nonchalantly gave out the message that I’m busy, those five minutes seemed to last forever. The wait for the friend made me realise how even in the busiest of all streets you can feel very lonely.

The phone kept buzzing as I tried to ignore the messages. My mind was fixated on the laptop screen where I was scrolling through the Facebook messages. It had been more than a month since he had last messaged. And here I was, in the darkness of the night hoping against hope that with the tick tock of the clock, his reply should also pop on my screen. The wait for his reply made me realise that sometimes even when there are many others vying for your attention, your heart is stuck on that one person who still hasn’t replied.

And as I keep waiting for the many things to change in my life, I know one thing. The wait may make you feel restless, it may make you angry but when the wait is over, you treasure the time that got you there, to the end.

The correction

Just as I had finished updating my last blog, I thought again about the first paragraph. And I realised I was wrong. Yes, I had realised it long back. I’m just writing it now because I’m still suffering from the wedding hangover. No, not mine you doofus. My brother’s. Anyways, the point is, it’s true that I still have minimum expectations and I’m still scared of disappointment. But, I realised I do have more than a few friends who would do things willingly for me. Scratch that, I have a lot.

From a pack of friends who have been there for me since as long as I can remember to new ones who have learnt to understand my complexities and pacify my anger, I still have trouble keeping in constant touch with all of them. But I know, all it takes is one call from me (even if it’s after ages) that says I need help. Long conversation calls and then really long texts to rekindle the light of my heart, my friends have done it all.

To the ones in Hyderabad, thank you for being my constant support at work (even though I pass on my work to you guys a lot of times). Thank you for accompanying me in my crazy shopping trips and laughing to my silly jokes. And not to forget, thank you for making me want to come back to this city even after a long vacation at home.

To the ones from Pune, who were and will always be a part of my ‘home away from home’ (silly Symbiosis reference), thank you for the times you have held my hand and wiped my tears. For the times when you teased me enough to make me want to kill you but only because you love me to death, when you fought with me and against me. Thank you for those little trips to the garden of our society, to the restaurants around just so that we could talk. But most importantly, thank you for the most beautiful three years of my life.

To the ones back home in Cuttack, you guys know who you are. Thank you for all the childhood memories, the stupid things we have done together, the sleepovers. And even though we may act like snooty bitches sometimes, I know that the love we have for each other surpasses all our snootiness. Thank you for being my go-to people since over 10 years now and making sure that our friendship hasn’t changed one bit even though we have not been staying in the same city for over four years now. To the few I keep meeting every now and then, thank you for making that effort and listening to my problems always. To the ones I have been yearning to meet since a long time now, thank you for the hope that we will soon even though our schedules don’t make it seem so.

 

So long, my goofy bunch of friends

Big things come in small packages

I am seldom overwhelmed by the things that people do for me. Mainly because I have found very few who have gone out of their way to do something for me. That might also be because I don’t let them anymore. I prefer to be the one who gives up on a show that she had been waiting to watch for a long time, the one who is going to let you place the order at a restaurant according to your choice etc etc. And I would do that happily. Well, the reason for that is, I’m more scared that if I say what I wish for, the other person won’t live up to my expectation and I will be, umm, disappointed. So, when someone actually takes that little extra step for me, I am overwhelmed.

To say I’m blessed to have the best colleagues at work, would be an understatement. What with Miss Paul getting up from her much loved sleep at 4 in the night to make sure that I’m back home, and at the same time Miss Praveen consoling me about a stupid disappointment (once again, too many expectations), Miss Jha’s help for almost every other dreaded photoshoot, Miss Kumari’s late night chats even though she’s too tired, a certain ‘grumpy cat’ who will shout but help you out every time and Miss D.

I know Miss D is back at work because there is already a goodie bag at my desk. And yes, I love gifts but why I especially look forward to hers is that there are those little notes that always, always make me feel better (with her deep belief that even though we may progress digitally, hand written notes are the best).

I don’t know how many notes I have till now but I know I cherish each. 22 notes for my birthday alone, a special New Year wish, a letter about her vacation and the things I should do, all this while she is sitting right next to me (well, almost). And I’m not even counting the little ‘Thank You’ notes or the frightful ones about dirtying her desk yet again.

Her notes are special because she never makes my problem obvious. She turns it into a minuscule one in the end (after the whole letter reads about how awesome she is and sometimes, about how nice I am), but that strikes hard. It has always urged me to take a step or refrained me from doing something silly. And when it comes from Miss D, someone who respects privacy more than anything yet knows what pains my heart, it has to be special.

I’m writing this down at 4 a.m. and that shows how important it is to me. Miss D and I have had really innate conversations about life, relationships and of course, boys, as we have waited for a 20-minute cappuccino. And more than often, we have found each other in the same boat. Not ready (anymore) to settle down for anything that is not the best, similar experiences of rejection (sort of) and most importantly, big dreams (always).

As I conclude, Miss D, I direct this letter to you. Thank you for all the gifts but I am grateful for those letters that lift my spirits and bring me back every time. Very few people (read: Miss Paul, one of my best friends from Pune and my ex-boyfriend) have written letters to me and good or bad, I hold them all close to my heart.

That with Miss Paul’s incessant efforts to understand my hopes, my confusions about boys (had to sneak this one in) and my anger and Miss Praveen’s jokes directed at me, texts to check up on me always and companionship for my shopping trips, is what makes me believe that I’m an amazing person to have such good friends. (cue- narcissistic laugh).

A work of fiction based on true events ;)

Boy oh Boy. Things happen when you least expect them to, when you are at your lowest point a high hits you that wins you over, thus restoring the balance of life. Umm that sounded a bit too philosophical. Well, neither was  I at my lowest point nor did any high hit me, yet it seems like just so many things have happened. From a few sporadic interviews to new friends with whom I just randomly came across and the usual chaos in a journalist’s life, there was one particular thing that kept running through my mind. In this sudden turn of events, where from complaining about having no men to even flirt my way around to having a one too many, I still wondered where was that man – the narcissistic, oh-I-don’t-have-time yet classy and sweet one.

As I admired the looks of one of my interviewees, a colleague sitting next to me said, “Oh stop being a flirt all the time.” Umm okay, I’m just 22, a girl who’s out there weighing the options available to her, so why can’t I be one? Hold on, I’m not saying I’m coming onto guys, but what’s wrong with just saying (Mind you, only in my mind), “Hey there you beauty with blue eyes would you be mine?”. Umm on a second thought strike off the blue eyes, a recent encounter with someone with blue eyes actually scared the hell out of me.

So coming back to the point, amidst the “Let’s meet for coffee” and “I just can’t wait to meet you again”, I stopped for a second and thought about the one who would drive down even at 3 in the night and just pop open a bottle of the best scotch around town, say cheers, trick me into gulping it down, yet never ever even hold my hand in case he sends off a wrong signal. I think that’s what struck me about him. He would wander into my dreary days with two glasses in one hand and a bottle of whisky in the other, talk about the randomest things in the world, take me out for a spin and in between two jokes, would just reveal a new side to his personality. But then that’s not what attracted me, what did was how everytime the drunk me would jump out onto the road, the drunk yet alert him would shout and then politely ask me to come back. And as I would request to go to the nearest medical shop (just three steps away) to get more coke to dilute my drink, he would insist on coming with me but on the way would never forget to say “Imagine what people would think, a guy and a girl going to a medical shop in the middle of the night”. As he would be pouring out drinks, he wouldn’t always make one for me, that made the difference. Don’t take me the wrong way, if a girl can drink she can surely make her own drink and sometimes you can “offer” to make one for her.

Now hold on, here comes the part that confuses me. After all that, he would disappear. For months together. So, I have met the guy thrice or just about four times and every time he seems to be a mix of the completely stupid teenager who’s not afraid to go all gentlemanly on girls. But then it all goes out in a poof. I haven’t met him for so many months now, yet sometime as a guy bores me to death I think about the laugh I shared with him. It’s strange how sometimes someone’s annoying ignorance can actually make you want them more. Maybe he was just a guy looking at having a good time and then got busy on his own thing.

And yet here I am, pinging my best friend continuously and just asking if I should or should not text him. She says yes, yet I’m too scared to hit send. Because just like him, even I’m the narcissistic one who just can’t take rejection.

And while I’m typing this down furiously, I’m hoping against hope that I don’t sound like a desperate woman who just wants some “fun”. Nope, I just want the good time I spent with him to visit me more frequently. The little butterflies in my stomach that would go crazy every time someone said his name, to just not be so sane when I hear someone else’s and not dismiss them just for the stupid sms language they use or for approaching me way too easily.

Well, until next time then stranger. 

To memories and crazy times

“It’s been two years,” she said, “Come for me, I need you.”

“If you are coming, it would make my day,” said the other.

As much as I was finding it difficult to wander off on a trip of my own, it was the incessant “please”s by these two that convinced me. While it was initially planned as a surprise for the other, it was she who let the cat out of the bag only to make sure that the other doesn’t commit to anything else for that one day that I was supposed to be with them.

And so it started. My maiden trip. Yes, it was a small trip but it was the first with my girls.

After a whole night of binging and trying to cram into a small seat that seemed too short for my legs, I opened my eyes at Vellore. A small town that really had nothing except for a premier engineering institute (where the both of them were enrolled), a few eat out joints here and there and oh, a famous temple and hospital. (Umm.. so the only other people who came to Vellore was to pray for the sick? Bad one.)

There they were, the two of them giggling away even before they saw me. Seated in the auto rickshaw, I made place for them as they crossed the road and silently tried to control my smile. But heck, as they took their place next to me, the autowaala was a little taken aback by our shouts of “Oh my God, I can’t believe you are here” and “I missed you guys so much.”

The fact that they along with their friends had stayed awake all night waiting for me, didn’t count much as even in the silence of the dawn the three of us giggled away to glory and camped on a small bed started talking loudly about how much we had wanted this, the three of us together.

A little bit of sleep, hellos to all of their friends and a whole day of roaming around the VIT campus later, we got together for what was supposed to be an “epic” night. In an inebriated condition, we talked, we laughed and we (read: she) cried.

And that is when I knew, I missed this, not the highness but the bond that we shared, the crazy times we have when we are together, the feeling of being there not just virtually but actually reaching out and wiping away the tears, laughing over our stupid crushes, hugging each other as we realise how much we love each other and then going back to being silly. And then in that moment, that small town within its boundaries had the best thing that it could offer, me being myself with the people who mean a lot to me. 

She and I bid a hasty goodbye to the other as we started on the second leg of my trip, a visit to Pondicherry. What started with our driver declaring “No English. No Hindi. Only Tamil.”, followed by our bouts of laughter as we tried our best in making him understand that all we need to do is stop for a bottle of water, it undoubtedly made up for few of the best days of my life till now.

I’m not going to write down a tourist’s guide for Pondicherry but what happened as we made our way through the French Colonies, the sunrise at the beaches and the serenity of Auroville.

We talked. For all that we had missed out on in the past two years and just texted about to each other, we talked. We talked about the stupid mistakes, about the glorious days and the confused mind. We realised we have come a long way from being two teenage girls in love to two people talking about broken hearts, crazy nights and future careers. We were shameless, we were boisterous and did many a stupid things, but we held those memories close to our heart. Somewhere between talking about marks in a silly test, the plans with our now ex-boyfriends, unruly behaviour on the roads and our new found faith in dreams that we shall make a name for ourselves, toasts to a love lost and a new civilised us, we grew up.

In just two and a half days in an unknown city, the two of us connected again and knew this was the plan that the fate had chalked out for us. It took us a long time to get here but it was all worth it, for it helped me let go of the worries that I had let build up inside me for she let me unleash the emotional side of me that I had buried down within the dark corridors of the past, to make way for a hope that everything happens for our own good.

The perks of being a journalist

Imagine this. A group of enthusiastic students ready to take out their pens all set to scribble away something that will hopefully one day be of use in the journalistic world. I sat as one of those excited kids, ready to mark her step in hopefully, changing the world one day. A teacher enters, and ushers, “If you are here to change the world, please don’t think that is possible.”

Three years into that course where every day you are asked to push a new boundary, academically, physically and emotionally, today, I am a journalist with just about 10 months of experience. Along with the 5Ws and 1H, what also stuck with me was that particular line. Were my dreams of making a difference really possible, considering the magnitude of problems, insecurities, poverty and sadness that engulfed human existence?

A week old in the real world of media, I had met a Hungarian artist who is now settled in Hyderabad and had her own little world of paintings and sketches. Her journey to India had started with a Google search for animation studios in India. A chance click landed her in Hyderabad. From a tourist in 2001, today she is a total Hyderabadi. That was followed by a series of artists, who didn’t bother much about the remuneration they received from their passion but the message it conveyed.

A few months down the line, I had written articles on various mundane as well as essential topics in the world, from the tourist places in and around the city, the various start-ups in the ‘hi-tech’ city of India to the fashion designers, the do-gooders and even the latest trends in the technology and fashion world. While every chance meeting with a new personality, introduced me to a whole new dimension of information, I realised something along the way.

Changing the world doesn’t mean taking a sword and fighting with the problems of the world. It does not necessarily require one to be against every social norm that predictably dominates our society.

For the start up guy, change is making photo sharing easier for families living far away from each other, for the fashion designer, change is dedicating his/her line to a cause, for the do-gooders, it’s all about spreading a smile. For me, it is every time I let the world know about these people through the power of words. That is me taking one step at a time and trying my best to ensure that their work doesn’t go unnoticed.

True, it doesn’t change the world. But maybe, somewhere, a budding artist is encouraged, a young college going girl gets the courage to start something of her own, a young activist is inspired to stand up and believe in his/her cause. Hopefully, with my ardent desire to travel and know more people, I never stop letting a small fraction of the world know that in every sphere and everyone’s periphery, lies a little scope for development.

A recent conversation, restored my faith on what I have always believed in - The power of dreams. Take a leap of faith and do something that marks development in your vicinity and you have contributed in helping to change the world.

For me, being a minuscule part of this dynamic world, one of the perks of being a journalist is doing my fair share of work towards that change. 

Yours Truly, Shopaholic

An array of colours, all neatly stacked up in racks; the smart sailor jumpsuit rightly matched with denim jacket and paired with a pristine white bag made even the mannequin come alive; the tinkle of the bangles and the glitter of the earrings let her know from far and wide that all the jewellery was right there waiting for her. Ah, it was paradise for her.

She walked past all of the waving mannequins that called out to her to for a glimpse of what was the latest in their world; a world where it was all about the right fabric being cut with precision to fit the perfect body. Yes, the world of fashion.

She stopped in her tracks, grabbed her friend-in-a-hurry to a screeching halt, all to check out that little chiffon dress with animal prints that hung at one corner. As she put it across her and stood in front of the mirror, it was not her reflection that caught her eye but that of the off-shoulder blue and black striped maxi dress. Well, that certainly needed her attention. But, the animal prints were not forgotten. Now hanging at the corner of her hand, they accompanied her to the maxi dress. What could have been a disaster if put together in one garment, it seemed like quite a happy union for the stripes and prints until the trial room. While the animal prints was subject to a lot of ‘awws’ and ‘cute’ comments, the maxi dress garnered a lot of ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’. Careful not to disappoint any, she put them both together in her shopping bag.

She was about to reach the billing counter that the bags from across the hall screamed for her attention. Well, not literally but with the neon colours and block prints, you never know! While the bags continued to keep an eye on her, the line of impatient shoppers just waiting to go home with their new possessions was growing. Decided, she couldn’t let go of her current position in the ever-growing queue, but even the bags couldn’t be given a miss! Her friend-in-a-hurry had to sacrifice a little more of her time as she was asked to wait in the queue while she did a quick round up of the bags.

All of them finding their own place in the hugely stuffed rack, seemed to binge a little out of their space to be noticed by her. There it was! A little black purse with a slender silver chain that would go just perfect with her new maxi dress. Happy with the discovery, she didn’t want to spend a second away from the billing counter until she was stopped by the big white envelope clutch that promised to complete her look with the animal print dress. Such easy finds, couldn’t be given away could they? Both the discoveries, now resting on her shoulders were all set to go.

A secret mental calculation revealed to her that the bill will amount to just about Rs. 5,890. Already over budget, there should be no more stopovers she thought. Just then, the classy black earrings on sale seemed to be the perfect rounding off factor. It's on sale, might never find one like this again, she thought.

The friend-in-a-hurry who seemed to have given up hope quickly made way for her and rushed out of the building before any other accessory stopped her. It can’t, she thought. She had eaten her way into her monthly savings by now. But then, once in a while doesn’t matter, she reassured herself.

Her pile of shopping now bumped across the desk, and the meter correctly reading Rs. 6,000, she swiftly took out her debit card. The sides of the debit card now swiped across the machine, refused to register. Once, twice and a several times later, blocked. Still not apprehensive, she reached out to her wallet only to be disappointed with just about 200 bucks. The pile looked at her now with a sad face but earrings glittered out of nowhere. Sparing a little for the ride back home, the earrings were now hers.

She strode past all the colours, bags and jewellery and as she got her bill cleared at the front desk, the earrings from her bag winked at her now promising a beautiful journey together. All for one and one for all, sometimes really does come true right?

Goodbyes

There was a silence between them. From somewhere far away, faint music of a popular Bollywood song filled the silence.Both of them were in search for something, words maybe.

The clock ticked. The pressure cooker had whistled four times already. Water was gushing down into the bucket from an unclosed tap.There was a sense of rush between them that was being metaphorically described by their surroundings.

They had to say goodbye. They wanted to. But how do they? Should they just hug and say “Until next time then?” Should they say the perfect words about the perfect relationship they had and just leave it to that? Or should they just get up and go?

He looked at her, she was smiling.

She smiled, he was staring at her.

He tried to say something but ended up just mouthing something remotely related to goodbye.

He’s finally saying something at least, she thought.

“My train leaves in two hours”, he said.

“Well, I have a flight to catch in three hours”, she said.

Of course, both of them knew this. The timing had been carefully planned between them so that neither has to say goodbye first. They wanted it this way. Right before they left, so that the pain travels with them.

She knew he wanted it. She didn’t agree to it at first but then slowly she realised wouldn’t it be best to leave the perfect things as they are? Why turn the beautiful memories they shared into bitter sweet ones where they would have to avoid looking at each other. She wanted them to meet up at a coffee shop by the road, after a few long years and over a cup of coffee, they would go back in time to relive what were those perfect seven days.

He knew she didn’t want it. That had been his plan since the first day. No long distance relationship. But now when he looks into her eyes, a pain sears in his heart. Would he able to live without those warm hugs that greeted him every morning as sunshine or those late night talks where every random topic used to become an important topic for them?

The clock struck 5. His phone’s alarm went off. Both of them stood up.

So its goodbye then, she said.

Maybe it’s not, he said.

To those who inspire me a little every day

I’m not a writer.

I’m not a writer but I’m inspired by my friend from across the hall. I’m inspired by how she gives a soul to every word in her work of fiction, how she doesn’t care about the wrinkles on her dress but carefully plains out the crumpled page of a book, how she draws inspiration from the little things and looks forward to those big changes in life, how she is from a small town and dreams about the lanes of New York, how she fell and rose in love again and again, only to find the perfect one for her.

I’m not a writer but I’m inspired by my friend at work. I’m inspired by how she treats every story like her little child, how her heart skips a beat every time she hears there’s an animal in danger, how she puts her thoughts into words in her blog, how she gracefully grew out of the phases in her life that put her back, how she always puts up a strong front even when she’s shattered from inside, how she has an innocent smile on her face even when she thinks she’s in trouble, how she excitedly turns around to show something new yet old that she discovered in her closet.

I’m not a writer but I’m inspired by my friend who sits next to me. I’m inspired by how in just a blink of the eye, she pours her heart into those words and makes a story come alive, how she is able to work with ease, how she so faithfully trusts in God, how she believes in doing the right deed, how she keeps her calm even in the most stressful of all situations, how she silently plans out her future, how she is always there for her friend in distress, how even when she is angry she quietly clears her mind before turning around and facing the situation in the most calm manner, how she inspires me to start something I don’t believe I can.

I’m not a writer, but I want to be.