Till Now - part 1

I have never justified my title, Untitled, but today i will. The name came organically to me, maybe because I feel that till a story is finished and done, it can be bent anywhere you wish to. I can be titled and confined to something when i am gone maybe, but till then i am still been written. 

So the story embarks on the seventh month of 1992, what time I cannot say, not relevant either, but place I can say is Kolkata. Neither big, nor small but is a congested city. The city does still looks like a fallen British empire. British because of the architecture and fallen because for obvious historical reasons. There are no childhood memories of the city because me and my parents left very soon after I was born. But I have heard their stories, adolescence revolving around the very famous coffee house and Nandan ,a government sponsored film and cultural centre. Anyway, I am obviously not attached to it. I am told I was three when we all came to New Delhi, frankly I am glad that we did. Not sure if I would have hated there if I grew up there, but the very thought of it reminds me the immense change my life would have had if there was no Delhi in the picture. The connection is always strong to a city one grows up in, the place of birth hardly matters then. Though my facebook profile will always hold Kolkata my home town, but Delhi will always remain my home.

What is it about Delhi that attracts me you ask? It’s speed I would say. The pace can be exhausting or adrenaline pumping, but it can never be boring. The city can frustrate me, hurt me, excite me or love me, but it can never not be my home. I am not fond of the ever mushrooming cars though, but cannot complaint if I own one.

As bongs, we are desperate for Durga Puja, no matter where we are, Delhi or London. There has to be four festive days, rather tiring I would say. Each day beginning to the loud dhaak beats and the ceremonies performed in front of the gorgeous idol. The idea is to welcome the goddess on her four day visit to her home, away from her husband. And therefore the glamour and the merry making. This all is when it is the navratri for every other north Indian non Bengali. Huge lavish tents would be set up, lights shimmering, everyone on their best dress would be greeting one another are the main attractions. My childhood pretty much revolved around it, the fragrance of sandal incense sticks still takes me back to that time and puts me right in front of Her. She stands there owning the place and all I am left with is a sense of awe. The celebrations include stage performances, that I was a part of. I loved it, I was good at it, and hence enjoyed the attention. It was a beautiful childhood, the makeup, the costume, the rehearsals, the scolding when I would miss a step, I couldn't ask for more. The long nights after that, sitting around with all the participants is what I would define as after party, not a perfect term but this is what I can come up with. The parents would be at one corner probably criticizing the people they didn't like and us kids would be playing charades in the other. Good times! I hurried for nothing that time, except for growing up perhaps. Children are always in a hurry to grow, foolish they are, and so was I. All of us grew up, school became painful, and hence life changed. It’s funny that how the process of changing, the cross roads of phases do not appear drastic but when I reminisce it seems like too much of events have passed in a very little time.

The board exams are a big deal for some reason, it was for me too but only because the environment was such. It is sort of the first step academically, so hence the hype. I hated Sanskrit, and would never forget the terror it caused me. Not that I was brilliant in every other subject I had, but I knew I will manage. The dreadful month of March, every student can relate to this, approached like an alligator approaching for its prey. But it went by too, it is not until the end when one realizes that the panic was just a hoax.

The next two years were the most important ones; it is the time when every child begins to really grow up. At least for me, it was something like that. The very characters like being the coolest kid (or at least trying to be one), having huge number of friends (better defined as followers), being a prefect, breaking rules even more since nobody really questions a prefect, fighting and over sensitivity defines these two very last years. All of us just wanted to gather memories, because it suddenly hits you that this is it! Thirteen years of school is ending. So as time flies the trauma of leaving school changes into the desperation of having it all done before life even actually begins. That’s the irony I adore about being a teenager.

The final year ends with a series of pre board examinations, laboratory work (there is no way I will ever forget the chemistry lab smell), project submissions and finally the long preparation holidays.

I enjoyed those holidays, I believe exams bring people closer. The long hour discussions about the syllabus each one of us had completed and the panic attack following the post discussions were very exciting. The one particular book that the entire batch was following was the set of pradeep’s books. Anyone who is a science student would totally understand what I mean.

Texts were exchanged like forest fire, yes texts, no whatsapps that time. Its hard to imagine that I don’t text anymore or get the recharges on my phone done for the same. School was definitely different then from now, it was yahoo messenger and later orkut which were popular. Remember the testimonials we all forced our friends to write? It is nothing like that now, scraps have become posts and likes.

Anyway, internet, phone and late night study hours all finally lead to our final board exams. Results were then out and just like that the whole world around us changed for the very first time.

TO BE CONTINUED…….

Sam and the frog

Ever heard of the story about a frog that lived in a well? Mrs Mukherjee selected this particular story for her class on a Monday morning. “So, one day the frog was visited by a little frog who had travelled far from his home in the village” she continued the tale occasionally taking a glance at her students. Little Sam sitting in the back was listening very carefully to his teacher and was enjoying the conversation between the two frogs. Mrs Mukherjee continued “The older frog was surprised by the visit and wanted to know the purpose of the same” to which the little frog replied “I live in a pond at a nearby village and I am looking for a new home, something bigger and prettier than the pond”. The older one was too arrogant and naive to believe that there is any home bigger than his own, and said, ”you silly kid, this well is the biggest of all, nothing can be majestic than this”, clearly the old vain frog was not aware of the never ending ocean, the endless blue colour till the horizon. Hearing this, the little frog felt sorry for him and bade goodbye.

The bell rang as the story ended. Mrs Mukherjee smiled at her students and promised them a new story next time. The rest of the day went by like it always does, learning the decimal system and the crops that grow in different states but nothing was as interesting as the English class in the mornings, thought little Sam.  After school Sam walked to his house, kicking a stone on his way till he reached. He was not really cheerful that day, his mind was filled with the chat his mother had with him the day before. They had to move to a new city, he knew father had moved to Delhi already a few months back and now it was their time to do that. He has settled there and wishes his family to be with him now. Sam was upset and had questions like ‘why does he have to leave his friends and school?’, so obviously he resented the idea of a new home, because he already had one.

His mother of course noticed that Sam was quiet ever since she had the talk with him. “I made your favorite today dear, wash up and let’s eat together” mother said to Sam when he came home. He ate and went straight to his room, he stared at the room for a while, it suddenly hit him that it would not be his room anymore. The ten year old kid had so many thoughts swirling in his head that it made him weary, so he slept. Later in the evening when he woke up, mother asked him to finish his homework. So, Sam opened his bag pack and decided to start with what Mrs Mukherjee had given them that day. She had asked them to read the story on their own one more time. Sam read and read, slowly flipping through the pages; even he felt pity for the older frog. He liked the younger frog, he almost wanted to be him till he realized that he was the little frog who was looking for adventure. It made him happy and cheerful again because though he had to leave his school but Sam was glad that he was not a frog in the well.

Love stories are meant to be dreamy

It is so difficult to come up with an idea or a plot to write. I have always been very convinced that great thoughts just come to you like BAM! But nothing like that has happened to me yet. Whatever I come up with has already been written or filmed. Even the simplest plot of a boy and a girl is so tiring to write. What can I possibly bring something new to a love story that has not already been told? Although, the critically acclaimed are the ones where one of the two dies, but I like a happy ending. Endings are not always shiny and dreamy in the three dimensional life, but stories are the only place where one can fantasies happiness.  I feel like, all the great things are already written and told. So whatever today we think, it has a reference point to the past. Although Romeo and Juliet is not my favorite love story in the world, but whenever there is a parental interference in the story, we know where that is coming from.  Also the romance today has changed its process; texting ILU is somehow more popular than the physical presence, especially among teenagers. Anyway, I personally have always been a fan of a plot where the girl and the boy are best friends, initially not realizing what they actually mean to each other and one day when the girl is out with a bad boy, the jealous best friend shows up and pours his heart out. It sounds mawkishly sentimental but in the end everyone wants to find somebody and not die alone. I am not ashamed to accept that I am a Bollywood enthusiast, and hence I make myself believe that it’s not love if you cannot hear a song being played at the background on your first date. I think I got carried away, snapping out of it now. Even if the songs are not there and the wind doesn’t blow, if it’s love, perhaps one might still go into a trance state of mind. And it would not be the worst thing if a real life love story actually turned out to be like one of the Hindi cinemas. Still I would like to make one change, maybe the guy can drop the attitude and the girl can stop being a damsel in distress, opposite attracts is an overrated statement. I absolutely do not mind the Hero hitting six villains alone though, it has no logic but who doesn’t like chivalry?

Moving on, people will hate me for this but I am not impressed by dilwale dulhaniya le jayenge. It is partially because of Amrish puri’s character portraying an over protective know it all father and Kajol’s character playing too good to be true Hindustani ladki having boundaries as if Indian girls don’t have a life, and mostly because of  the hypocrisy about London being an uncultured city even though it gave the family it’s bread and butter. Baldev singh stayed in the city for over two decades and never thought of going back to Punjab, but the day Simran confesses her love for Raj, he decides to sell off everything and move back to India.

There are things I love about the film too, example;  a very dependable lover who asks Simran to trust him that he will take care of everything. The very sweet Farida Jalal playing Kajol’s mother. The loud fun loving Punjabi family, and my most favorite DDLJ character Anupam kher playing Shahrukh Khan’s Father. And I definitely enjoyed watching Karan Johar as one of Raj’s friends. It is true that you cannot get bored during the entire film, there is something always happening. Whatever one may think about this film, it will always remain an inspiration for the upcoming Hindi love stories, and it has been the most loved love story since 1995.

The world is a better place because of these not so logical love stories, for some it is a hope to find somebody just like Raj and for others something to laugh about. Either way it is entertaining.

Confession of a smoker

My biggest regret yet is the day I held a cigarette, lit it and took the very first drag. It was three years ago, near my college with a friend of a friend. I wish I could erase myself from that moment, then the entire time ahead till now would have been something else. Not that I am dying, but it would be a great achievement for myself to quit it. At times I have been an intense smoker, I would feel the smoke going in and then coming out, every muscle relaxed. I would forget the issue I was frustrated about. Every time, for a momentary happiness I would light a cigarette and smoke away my worries.

A smoker never cares about the weather. If he needs a cigarette, he would walk a mile to buy it, stand under the sun and would not really care about the throat infection he has. I am unfortunately one of them. I have spent thousands of rupees on buying cigarettes, and have literally burnt the money. Obviously, it is not a revelation that I have been a fool. But it took me a lot of time to be brave and write about it. A smoker always finds an excuse, a reason to smoke and so did I. Million times I have promised myself in my head to give up but then I would feel desperate and crippled.  Crippled because, an addiction chains you up in a way that you forget, you had a life once without it.

I live in New Delhi, where probably after every fifty meters there is a store to buy cigarettes called the ‘panwaadi’. I believe I have befriended a few of them. It is like they are calling you, whispering in your ears to light them. There are too many options and too less of my will power. The government has a funny scheme though, it raises the price. Funny because, when people did not stop putting onions in their food, why on earth will they stop buying a cigarette due to price hike? But anyway, I am choosing to believe that it is helping somebody.

The question is, why did all of this hit me today?  I was with a friend the entire day, watching movie and having lunch. It was a fun day, where at the end I realized I had just smoked once the entire day. I became so proud of myself that I thought to reward myself with a smoke. So, for that, after dropping her home I went to the nearest store and asked the guy for a pack of classic mild. To my surprise he replied “won’t this kill you madam?” To which I replied “but your selling it still aren't you?” I didn't expect myself to answer him back at that point. It was a small incident, as far as I know myself, I should have ignored the matter. But I couldn't, it got stuck in my head as I drove back home. At the last traffic light, just before reaching home, without thinking of the pros and cons, I threw the pack out of my window and kept driving.

I do not know if I have quit or planning to do so. Even if I am somewhere in my consciousness, I would probably curse myself for throwing away the cigarettes. I might buy it again the next day or I might steal away a few from my father’s pack. But for the very first time it hit me that I don’t have to be so desperate, and that I too have the guts to throw away the whole pack in the garbage. It is just a beginning; there is a long way to go. The frequent temptations ahead would make the process tougher every day.

Solitude

Google defines solitude as the state or situation of being alone. But every other person who doesn't sit alone and enjoys a cup of coffee thinks its being lonely. Solitude is a choice, a ‘me time’ that all of us deserve. My choice of place is the café coffee day near the Taj hotel in New Delhi. In the winters, when very few people get up early in the morning, I choose to sit there and be alone, away from the buzzing city. It is not just a time for self introspection, nothing that deep,  just a place to be thankful for the delightful winter after the scorching heat. My kind of lazy day starts with the first coffee at CCD and listening to some good music. Each person has his own place of being alone. A bathroom singer chooses the shower, a gym freak has the gym, a speed lover goes for a ride and a coffee lover like me goes to a café.

My friends believe that its boring but what they don’t understand is that, not always one looks for an adventure. It is alright to be still for a while and admire the season, feeling alive, even when not laughing and screaming. I sit there expressionless, earphones plugged in and fall in love with ‘nothing else matters’ by Metallica over and over again. The coffee smell, to me the most erotic fragrance and the cold breeze making my nose red, the high point of my day. The luxurious cars passing by, into the Taj distract me though, but I don’t mind that. After all, a Mercedes is always a treat to the eyes.

I have never tried writing though. I believe I might get good ideas and content. But have definitely studied for my semester exams. Putting the phone into silent mode and rolling up my sleeves I would begin my syllabus. A little while later, the place would start to fill up with students like me, giving each other hi fives. I would always bunk my first lecture in my college and observe people, a group of chirpy girls showing off their new bags and the guys being like ‘whats up bro!’.But if you sit there for long, you would be able to make a clear distinction between the seniors and the freshers. While the seniors are focusing on the menu, the younger crowd is worried about the next lecture.

A few joggers would pass by too, confused if they should come inside and rest for a bit or run another mile. You could actually notice the dilemma on their face. By this time I am in a song switching mode and have ordered for the next round of coffee. Phone begins to ring and my hello meets with a ‘where are you? Come soon to the class’. Hurrying up with my coffee is probably the last thing I would do. Finally, it is time to leave and join the others.

I always knew I would miss my college days but I didn’t realize until a few months back that I would miss the place where I would be alone the most.

A thought in the middle of the night

As one grows up, things like late night clubbing and dancing to the beat of a kind of music called the EDM (electronic dance music) looks more attractive. All the world’s joy is received from being high. For me high was my childhood, the excitement that came from watching T.V after school or reading my book of fables is still unbeatable. I am still amazed by Fred Flintstones and his pet dinosaur ‘Dino’. I am not ashamed, that I have never read ‘Hamlet’ or ’Macbeth’, I still enjoy J.K Rowling and her fantasy world of ‘Hogwarts’. I still cry when I fight with my friends or when my mother scolds me. Interestingly, people would criticize even if the person is emotional. Only few might understand that being in touch with your emotional side is brave. If only swords symbolized chivalry, then this planet would have come to an end long back and no civilization would have sustained.

I will probably be judged for being childish, but for me, keeping the little kid alive inside maintains my sanity. Each one of us misses the innocence of our past, but very few of us is brave enough to accept that.

 Learned men of our society believe that teenage is the most confusing time of one’s lifetime, I refuse to agree to that. For me my twenties hit me the hardest. It is the time when we all actually stop using the phrase ‘when I’ll grow up’. As little people, we would dream big. Dream about being an astronaut or a scientist. In our twenties, somehow those dreams are lost and we join the race of billion runners. As children, people around would appreciate us for being mischievous and encourage us to imagine big. But with time we are tagged with the percentage scored in school or college, criticized for taking a ‘road not taken’, laughed at for the slightest mistake. It’s amusing how hypocrisy reaches its peak and becomes an integral part of our lives very conveniently.
Speaking of hypocrisy, it is not confined to only strangers and the extended family, it is totally nurtured by the parents. Ideally they are supposed to be a child's backbone not just money wise but support wise. And somehow the support and guidance ideology mixes together to produce what i call 'constant bickering'. And then it takes an ugly turn too, the phase of imposing their own dreams on the kid they were supposed to be supportive of. I have totally witnessed a situation, where my mother was appreciating '3 idiots' for its concept and the idea of liberty in one's life and well, when it came to me, it was declared that i make bad decisions and hence be told what not to do in excruciating details.
So anyway, my point is that I thank God for creating people like Joseph Barbera, William Hanna and George Sidney who Created the Hanna Barbera productions so that people like me can escape into their world whenever we want to.

After a few drinks...

After a few drinks, the mind works in its most unusual ways. It is free and carefree. We allow ourselves to react in a way that our sane minds would never approve. It is possible that we might regret what we did the next day or curse the hangover to an extent that we make a fake promise to ourselves, not to touch another glass ever. But of course that doesn't work. And the chain of thoughts, the desire to do the craziest things and the wish to sing are the additional features that comes along.

Everything and everybody looks beautiful and nothing is wrong with the world. The continuous appeal to our friends ‘I aint drunk, dude!’ comes later. I enjoy my drinks, but I am not an alcoholic. My glass of wine doesn't say ‘I am heartbroken’, my drink says ‘waiter! Repeat!’ because I am happy.

The staircase becomes a challenge though, in the middle of merry making, very tricky business! I don’t know about others, but I put all my strength in making myself walk straight. Each step cautiously taken, because you don’t want to fall down. And if u do by any chance, should try to get up on your own as your drunk friends are the least helpful people at that time. The joy of making it on your own to the car is what I call true success. I got a driver, so in no circumstances I am promoting drinking and driving.

The lemon theory! It doesn't work. You cannot immediately make your friend suck a lemon and expect the alcohol to just evaporate from the body. But if you desperately want your buddy to puke on your new shoes, then go ahead.

The upside down ride! Ever tried holding your head to the back of a chair looking up? Alcohol works at its best for me. Silly things like looking up the ceiling and trying to notice every blade of the fan is fun.

The head banging to the music you would hate if not drunk. The unnatural moves and slides to the Bollywood songs. And most importantly, having friends to cheer you throughout the way, the three most important ‘mantras’ to enjoy every sip after a hard and long week you just had. There would be some ‘how I met your mother moments’ and some ‘f.r.i.e.n.d.s’ moments. Sharing your favorite episodes is the right thing to do and the best time to do it too. A Saturday evening with friends at a bar charges me up for the next week.

So, in my humble opinion, let the older people judge you for being a beer enthusiast, and let them comment things like ‘ye aajkal ke bacche!’  because they were once us, and even they didn't care then.