Surprise!!

2:00 am. Bhusawal station. Drenched empty roads. She stepped out, into a puddle. Her tears mingled with the raindrops. Her red stilettos. Her precious stilettos. Fuck him, she said as she turned back. And there he was, killer smile and all. Relieved, she fell into him, like paper to flame.

Spin a Yarn

“Please stop. Please stop now. Yes. Yes. Oh!” He gazes at me, and sighs. This is not fair at all. This is not supposed to happen. He looks around, at the excited eyes, fixated on his hand. He gives me another lecherous look, and spins again. And I realize how much I hate Spin-the-Bottle.

Of Colors and Letters

Book Antiqua, Garamond, Monotype Corsiva. Taking out her fountain pen, she finally wrote the letter in long hand. She thought about the flowers. Red, Purple, Yellow. The colors of the bruises. The colors of the flowers he brought her afterwards. Nobody will ever buy me flowers again, she smiled.

Anonymous Marriage

Stunned. Breathless. He stared at his monitor for the longest time. This can’t be true, he murmured, feeling the hollowness in his own belief. Six years. Every single detail. Duly recorded. He believed his marriage to be a happy one, till he found the anonymous blog.

HIMYF!!

It was my best friend’s bachelorette party. Champagne, chocolates, lingerie. And the hottest stripper ever. Satin black shirt. Musky cologne. Broad shoulders. Sexy hips. Women drooled all over him. His eyes flirted with mine. He took my hand. And held me close. And that kids, is How I Really Met Your Father.

Rimjhim Gire Saawan...

2008. Lonavala. Torrential Rains. Overflowing dam. They sat on the edge. Laughing. Deliriously happy. Having found this time alone. Rimjhim Gire Saawan.. she sang. And then she slipped. Into the dam. He screamed. He cried. He fled. Today shadows often dance on the dam. On quiet nights. And the breeze hums, Rimjhim Gire Saawan..

The Finger!!

Her fingers moved furiously, while she concentrated on his lips. Emotions flared. Words flew. The argument intensified. How do you sign ‘I am sorry’, he tried to recall. And then she showed him the middle finger. They both burst into laughter. Sign language or not, some actions are very clear.

Look at me

You look at me, and yet you don't see me. You see everything I used to be. You see what you want me to be. Sometimes you see right through me, while I keep wishing that you would look inside me. See me for who I am, who I have become. And for once, stop asking me questions, stop digging deeper and deeper into my past, stop making me regret my very existence.

The Morning After

The harshness of the voice fades away,
The echo of the words spoken remain
The sound of the muffled sobs dies out,
The wetness on the pillow remains
The accusations thrown around are forgotten,
Their scars etched in the soul remain
The singe of the slap reduces,
The redness of the swollen cheek remains

The hatred and pain of the night crumbles,
The morning after, only love remains..

Won't you?

The clasped hands, an unruly flick of hair
A stolen look, the hesitant smile
There's an unsaid thought in the air
Won't you come and sit with me awhile?

Someone I really admire

"Human nature will not flourish, any more than a potato, if it be planted and replanted, for too long a series of generations, in the same worn out soil. My children have had other birthplaces, and, so far as their fortunes may be within my control, shall strike their roots into unaccustomed earth."

These words, from the epigraph of 'Unaccustomed Earth', have always made me wonder the same thing. Did my parents read these lines? Is that why they uprooted me time and again, expecting me to start afresh from scratch, and not just grow but flower? Strangely though, I have never complained, rather I have welcomed these moves. My nature has, indeed flourished, thanks to all the transplantation.

The only regrets, if any, has been the inability to truly start afresh, with a clean slate, even when I have had an opportunity and the fact that there isn't a single place on earth that I could truly call home. Nowhere that the roots go in so deep that could belong there. But then I digress. This post wasn't about that. This is what Jhumpa Lahiri does to me.

Interpreter of Maladies, The Namesake and Unaccustomed Earth. Every story has the same fluidity and an underlying sense of nostalgia, yet the emotions they speak of and the reactions they evoke are different. And I have loved each of these stories. There is something about the way she writes. There is a flow in her narration, like it isn't her writing the story, its the characters following their own heartbeat. Her characters speak to me. They tell me their story, in their language, at their pace. They tell me some of the fact and leave a lot to interpretation. And thats exactly how I like it. It gives the bookworm in me the space to immerse myself into their lives and empathise with them.

In fact, I can see some of her protagonists amongst the people around me. I can feel, often pre-empt, their thought process. The contemporary settings of her stories make them real. The strongest connection, though, is probably the inherent Bong-ness of it all. And in the world that she spins around me, Bongs come in all forms. Kolkatans, Probashis, NRIs, Conservative, Liberated, Confused. Whatever their state of mind, they are essentially Bengali.

The strangest thing though, is how much I can identify with some of the people and their stories. Like the daughter in 'Unaccustomed Earth' who was trying very hard to hold on to her Bengali roots and pass them to her kids the way her mother did with her. Like the sister in 'Only Goodness', I have often wondered whether I have been a good influenc on my siblings or have I spoilt them by being the shield between them and my parents. Like Sangita in 'Nobody's Business' I have kept looking for love with all the wrong guys, never noticing the guys falling for me and well, breaking hearts. I have felt the agony that the wife goes through in her marriage in 'A Temporary Matter' and have actually played the game of one-upmanship and who-can-make-the-other-feel-worse with my boyfriend. Somebody I wished I was though is Hema and have that one all-consuming, mind-numbing, cant-live-without-you foreign affair, even if I have to move on from there wondering whether I should have expected more.

I did not realise how long I had been rambling. I have always wanted to write like her. I have written tons of stories and had people tell me that they are good. Guess I could post some of them here sometime.

Its only tears

"The house captain for Red house is...."
How could they not call her name, she wondered.
Disappointment trickled down her cheek mixed with tears.
"And the headgirl for 2009 is...."
Oh!! these are tears of happiness.
She said to those admiring the headgirl badge on her.

Wedding Announcement

"Congratulations Rahul!!" he grinned as all of them hugged him.
They had all met after 6 years. He had just announced his wedding.
Even in their drunken stupor, they were all happy for him.
Whos the bride, Rahul? Nikita.
Nikita Verma? Sahil asked. He nodded, surprised.
So you are the 'creepy wannabe' she said she had to marry, just because I said no to her?

It will never be you...

'I love you baby', he said softly as she neared him.
She couldn't breathe for a few seconds.
She closed the distance and hugged him tight.
Thats when she noticed...
The bluetooth device in his ears and the look of shock in his eyes.

What did I learn today...

Sometimes, the things which are hidden from you are hidden for a reason. If you dig in too deep, it would only get more and more unpleasant with time.

Somebody asked someone to believe. Believe in oneself. In one's dreams. In life itself. I liked what was said, though I could not completely agree with the thought. I believe in myself, atleast most of the time I do. I used to have dreams, I dont anymore. So thats one thing less to believe in. And life, well, dont get me started about life. The only thing I probably believe in with regards to life is that its a bitch. It screws me at the most inopportune moments. And because I can't do much about it, Il pretend to enjoy it. Well, just to set the record straight, I dont. :-)

Somewhere over the rainbow, bluebirds fly. Birds fly over the rainbow. Why then oh why cant I? Because I am way to heavy. :-P

Baby.. My Baby

People wailed, everywhere she saw. Her husband sat on the steps, sobbing.
But she stood there, statue-like, not a tear in her eyes.
Her baby lay in front of her, wrapped in cloth, covered in flowers, dead.
She just wanted to tell someone, anyone. She did not mean to do this.
He just would not stop crying.

Whispered Love

A million thoughts crossed his mind, as she walked towards him.
She gave him a peck on his cheek and hugged him tight.
He silently thanked God, that she had finally understood his love for her.
And then she whispered into his ear, ‘Is the guy in the Red Octavia looking at us?’

For the love of a woman

The sway of your hips. The pout on those lips. Those slim fingers.
You are perfect. I saw you. And I wanted you.
Today, I taste the saltiness of your skin. Take in your heavenly fragrance.
Touch you. Feel you. Explore you.
You would have enjoyed it, you know.
If only you hadn’t resisted.

Anything for a smile.. :-)

She watched his face break into a smile. She had just told him her decision.
Her heart skipped a beat. ‘Keep him smiling always’, she silently prayed.
And walked away, as the pain shot through her heart.
I think you would be happier with Jia. She had finally said it.

The Beginning of the End ??

Here I am.. At the start of yet another blog.. At yet another crossroad in life.. Its the same stuff, all over again.. The phoenix-shall-rise-from-the-ashes syndrome..

All I had ever wanted is out of my reach and honestly, today I dont want it anymore.. I dont 'want' anything anymore.. I am striving to become truly Spartan - detached, aloof, unemotional.. I have discovered virtue in selfishness, decided that pursuit of happiness, of one's own happiness is not a crime..

I know this resolve may not and probably, will not last long. There is a soft spot in my nature, a strain of weakness, a sensitivity that would never harden. But try I will. To suppress the sensitivity, kill the niceness, grow out of the naivete.. And if I cant become that woman, I would put on a mask.. Develop an exterior so tough that no one would know of the weakness within.. The walls have already gone up.. The lines have been drawn.. I am this side.. Everyone and everything on the other side..

First posts are usually about the why.. Why am I here? Because its my space.. Its mine, all mine.. Here, I need not pretend.. I need not say things the way others want to hear.. Here, my words speak for me.. My words are my identity..

As I watch the raindrops hit the window panes and trickle down, I wish this blog frees me of my ghosts.. Writing has always been my liberation.. I wish it does its magic.. Again..