My Life, A Cocktail

Illusion is safe. Illusion is nice. Illusion is what helps me survive. I try not to see what is, and pretend to see things that everyone so easily does. Illusion makes my life clear. Illusion gives me choices, and keeps me away from that single truth of no choice. Illusion creates a different reality, until reality totally fades out. Walking on designated trails is so much simpler. 'Coz it tells you where you fit in. I am supposed to be one lost piece of the giant jigsaw puzzle.

Stop taking things for granted. You have been gifted with people in your life, and they are all that you need to live by. They are the only ones who make your otherwise dull life, full of colors and fun. They are people you cannot possibly live without, not physically, but emotionally. And there is that one person in your life, that you possibly cannot trade for any damn thing in this world, he is all that you need for this sustenance, and for the lot more lives to come, if at all. You definitely cannot take him for granted. And yet I do it. Why, is a constant question I keep asking myself. And perhaps will continue. But well, is that what is meant by closeness? Love? Is that what they mean? I am not sure, I have never really been. I read something about the “One”. Yes, life is supposed to be some natural flow of all things, living and otherwise, all in continuous existence with one another. Now that was some impressive literature, I must say. And when I read it, I really believed it.

I had been expecting it for a while now. It kinda excited me to wait, and picture, pictures of little christmas greetings, with little snow covered houses, reindeers and the snowman, bright colors in the background of white. The exhilaration of imagination is sometimes so great, that it overcomes all fear, all apprehension. Like I thought, it came silently, while I was asleep. The sudden wake up call in the morning, was my best till today, coz the next moment, I found myself looking for my glasses, so that I could get a glimpse of what I had been waiting for so long. White flakes covered the green, I longed to get out. I saw tiny specs falling from the sky, as though Mother Earth was being bequested with some treasure. Dry leaves that had covered the earth till now, had suddenly turned into bowls of snow. I picked up a leaf, and touched the snow. It sent a shiver through me, symbollically and literally. I covered myself well and went to school. I was returning to my office in school, a

For the love I had for life, I didn't fall off from my balcony that night. It was strange, of how the balcony had always beckoned, sending me into this trance, where death seemed like the only option available. It wasn't like I was tired of living this life, or had too many regrets to face, I was having fun alright, doing what I wanted to, carving life the way I thought best. And yet, one unguided glance at the balcony, and the wind from outside would seducingly invite, and I would be there. Some temptations are just too hard to resist. Once there, my hands on the little rails, I would look down, down the abyss, and just then, it'll happen. It would seem like a gust of wind pulling me down, voices sounding from beneath, imploring me to escape. And then the great thrust would come, from nowhere, from inside me, and I would float in the air, smiling and at peace, till the final thud. I open my eyes, and I know I am frightened. For I know, I should take care, lest the temptat

It hurt real bad that night. It wasn't an accident I'm sure, it was done on purpose. But when I lay in my bed that night, pain exceeded all logic, and I began to cry. I didn't care to wonder anymore why he did it, or why me? I didn't care to blame God, someone told me he was always listening, I'm damn sure no one is. Tears dropped one after the other, for even they had learnt to flow in order. I ceased to think, and the more I was aware of what was happening, the more I felt better. I am not possibly allowed to feel good with so much pain. People would soon know, and they would come, like they always do, and talk and question. I can't say I'm ok. I can't possibly be ok. So I started to think about the past, and started to curse, started to mould the hate in my heart. When it was rigid enough, the people came. And they were satiated.

In her shoes I stepped To see the world she called her own She waved to me and said "Come on" I saw myself vanish and behold People no longer were as they had seemed Some were nicer, prettier Some uglier than it could seem. Flowers bloomed and the sun set For all the while I stared. And in that moment I realized For the beuatiful eyes I had Reality was an illusion of the conditioned mind Step into another shoe and see it unwind.

It was the morning of 26th of June, a Monday. My dad's shrill wake up call came at about five thirty in the morning, and by eight thirty, we were all seated in a Volvo bus, speeding its way through the national highway, towards Salem. Close to one fifteen in the afternoon, we reached, and got another bus that would drive us through our last thirty five kilometers over the hill, to Yercaud. About the geography of this place, its located about 1515m above sea level, and you have to go through a good one hour's journey up the hill, consisting of 20 hair pin bends. Like every other hill, this one too is draped in slender, tall green trees, and assures a scenic view as you drive by the tarred roads bounded by little white parapet walls. The hill itself is called Shervoyas. Yercaud's a little more than a village, thanks to tourism, totally unexploited, aptly called the Poor man's Ooty. Famous for coffee, oranges and spices like pepper, cardomom and cinnamon, you are greeted b

He didn't like people to be around. He had told me once they were unreal, he thought the flowers looked lovelier. I had argued with him then, I had the courage then. I told him we were all equally real, alive and kicking. I didn't really believe in all that I said, but it was important to convince him. The doctors had said he was getting depressed. He only talked to me. The rest he shunned. I remember his mother come inside the room, sit beside the bed where he lay, eyes closed, like a normal baby, and his mother had passed her hands through his hair. The scars on his mother's face have faded with time, but the ones in her heart remain. Empathy was what I felt on the first day I saw him. They had got him to this asylum next to my place, where I worked sometimes, as a volunteer. I never knew then it would all get over so fast. Today's my last day with him. He knows he's gonna die. Everyone'e ready, and waiting. I am sitting beside him, waiting too. We are both la

She had never wanted him in her life. And yet, somehow, he was always there. Perhaps it was because he liked to be around. But her eyes were always searching, for something more exquisite, something that glittered and shone. And then he wanted to shine. To wear the intellect halo. So the passers by could notice. She was too busy to notice. The light shone into her eyes, and she made it seem like it hurt. She turned away, into the dark. He took her everywhere. He did all that she would have ever wanted him to do. She smiled, and let him take her in his arms, and when it got sticky, she would scoff at him, and move away. People told him not to care. People are vulnerable. After all, the evil is always warded off. She stood there like she would never move again. She was evil. Standing tall, smiling, at her own defeat. She was evil, who turned love into hate. She was evil, who did not care. She saw him walk away, with his intellect halo and his individuality. That which had come from her,

I don’t have much experience, I must admit. Being brought up abroad, for me, relatives were just people whom you take away gifts for, during your visit to India, and in turn, you get to spend some time with them, to sit and laugh, and recall memories no one actually remembers. But what happens when you are done with earning all your dough abroad, and come back… And… one fine beautiful morning, relatives come calling… Welcome… Now, that’s one important thing you must do. Pick up them up at the airport or station or bus stand or your doorstep. Carry their luggage for them, irrespective of the fact whether they have goodies in store for you or not. And yes, when they enter your home, greet! Don’t ever forget to do that, you have to say, “Vaango, vaango” or perhaps “Aayeeye aayeeye”, even if you are actually thinking about that sweet time when they’ll be gone. Goodies... Like what they bring for you. Perhaps they actually picked it up from that rotten sale that was up to clear out stocks,

A little girl searched the water For reflections her own All she saw were mindless ripples Out of proportion blown. She knew she wasn't them She looked and looked in hope Who was that in the distance That cried all alone? She looked up to see herself Helpless and weeping She went over to herself For comfort and soothing. A bird flew from up above She looked, she smiled But, who was it who saw the bird The weeper, the soother, or the mind? The ripples now shone In the moonlight Into heaven She stepped her first flight.

A little boy, I saw at the supermarket. He held a bottle of ketchup in hand. Absolute excitement, haste, mindlessness. He ran towards the basket that his father held. He dropped the ketchup bottle, seemingly into it. In reality though, the bottle hit the floor, splintered into little parts, red ketchup against the new marble tiles. Perfect stillness followed. The father frowned a loud frown. The little boy was fighting tears, and pleading not guilty. My dad went over, and told the boy it was ok. He shook himself off, and went away to the other side, where he could see no one, hear no one. The cleaner swiped the floor clean.

Earthen pot held at her waist She walked like she'd got no haste Water spilling here and there In musical rhythm danced her hair. Through the many fields she passed Smiling at the green grass The wind blew her veil off And rung her anklets to make them talk. Her lips parted and vented a sigh And she said to herself, what a lie To wear a veil, and see the haze With the wind blowing it off her face. And she sang with the wind Without the veil this time Her anklets clanked louder in sync Without reason, without rhyme.

From the time I was a child, it has somehow been embedded in me, that Truth is the Way. Now, whatever that means. I recall questioning my mom, asking if it was really so wrong to lie and all. My mom would always wear this wise look on her face and tell me that it was ok to lie if it was to do some good. And then she would narrate her favorite example. "If you see a man running after another, with a sword in his hand, and thirst for blood in his heart, he comes over and asks you which direction the guy went, it is ok to mislead him. This way you save a life, which is noble." Hmm, that was enough to convince me then. Now, I wonder. Perhaps I would have saved a life alright. But there could have been more to it, right? "The next day, the newspapers talk about a murderer who jumped the jail, and how a brave officer followed him with a sword in hand. Due to the misguiding public, the murderer fleed." Like the albatross, who made the breeze to blow, or perhaps, brought th

Icy hands Said goodbye Hadn’t we danced Said we would keep nigh? A silver string Between us Now, we had the wings He said this must. What had I to lose For there wouldn’t be a me I smiled like they smile with the noose Into love, he beckoned me.

Clash! The next moment, I was bending over to pick up my mom's spectacles. It was broken alright, the left glass. Two big cracks originating at the same place, divided as they touched the other end. Whatever, the point is, the specs was useless. Let me tell you how it happened. I ain't telling you so I could entertain and all, just so that I could get it out of my system, may be some kind of confession sorts. I had just finished my dinner, and came to the living so that I could catch up on some TV. I noticed this new pen placed neatly on my mom's notebook, and me being this crazy freak about pens, went right to inspect. I lifted the cover of the notebook so that I could relieve the pen of its hold on the cover, of course, not seeing the specs on it. You can imagine what followed. For all those who wear glasses, would possibly know what it feels like to lose one's specs. I mean, I am practically blind without them. May be I am blind otherwise too, but thats not what I am

Pieces of glass lay on the floor. They pricked, and funnily for a change, made me reflect. I hadn’t broken the beautiful mirror I know. The one who broke it possibly didn’t even know. Now, it was my feet that soiled the floor. I wished I believed in Past Sins, so I could tell myself it was all God’s snare and that I deserved it all. Of course, I can’t wait for things to happen to me and then brood over them and call them my Fate. I thought of buying the thought that it was an Unfair World, a world of random happenings, that didn’t really care for the right and the wrong. When you say something’s random, there are no questions asked, like in lucky draws. So convincing myself, I pulled out the random piece that had pricked me, at this random spot in my feet. I left random little spots of blood here and there. I walked away, random thoughts in my mind….

Getting down the bus, my first challenge was crossing the Kanakpura Road. Having spent a long day at work, this challenge seemed hardly so miserable. Amidst trucks and honking cars, halting autos and zig-zagging cycles, I carefully traced the shortest path to the other side of the road. Once on the other side, people stared, more at the dangling ID card around my neck, than at me, with funny interest. Ignoring their looks, I made my way through the half done road. I saw this little girl playing at the garbage. For all this nice things that exist on earth, I have never been able to understand why the garbage so interests kids. I called to her, taking out an imported chocolate that I had preserved to eat in solace. The girl ran quickly across the road to reach me, snatched the chocolate from my hand, and ran back into a small plastic blue tent, which I guessed was her home. A smile showed on my face, and contentment filled my heart, the kind even a whole box of chocolates cannot bring. T

A strange echo a wooshing sound here to there it spans the source, I do not know neither destiny it doesn't start it doesn't end. Sometimes louder sometimes a whisper it remains a halo of stillness. The mind ceases waiting in awe to discover silence and creation.

Stillness carries voices random, audible of laughter of noise. Is that real I ask or is it my mind that laughs? Is there really a haze or perhaps its all clear like the echo I hear. My mind draws patterns some straight, some knotted and it loses itself in its own creation.

Morning. The stage’s set, we leave our current home, to the home to be. The first thing to do is always, putting the “Kolam” (rangoli) on the “Vaashal”(entrance). And as always, I am chosen for the task. Rice powder can look so beautiful at your door step. The awaited “Vadyaar” (priest) finally appears. Grahapravesha as its called, starts with a literal Graha pravesha(entering the house). The Vadyaar converted his brass pot into a nice kalasham, with white thread adorned in a lovely design, I still wonder how he does that, the pot is filled with water, a little mango leaves in it, and a coconut for the topping! Daddy carries the portrait of the well known trinity of Lakshmi, Ganesha and Saraswati, and Mommy has the kalasham in her hand. I am given the Aarti. As we stand outside our entrance to the home, I am asked to have the aarti done, 3 times. And then we enter, of course, with our best foot forward, the right leg! Once we are in, the pooja begins. The Vadyaar lays out all his stuff

There goes a wise man They said As everyone looked up Eyes wide in awe. My mind looked too With suspicion though They struck me Told me not to think like me. I did not question There was nothing to ask They saw me not protest I got up and left. There goes a wise man They said As everyone looked up Eyes wide in awe.

Thousand thoughts arise Clouds of mystery and caprice Unrelated, from the same mind Floating in the air, slowly unwind. A sudden gust of animated wind Thoughts mellow, some here, some there A lifetime is saved, a lifetime lost With the gust that mellowed a certain thought. And then the future hears Tales of different thoughts They borrow the saviours The mind rots. Commanded clouds float in the air The gust is called in when prepared Choked thoughts become familiar shapes A lifetime's saved, a lifetime's saved!

Day by day He watched his efforts Flow down the stream Of Void. Day by day He kept trying And heard them say Not this time. Day by day He mended his faith As they laughed At their bait. And then he stopped trying.... Day by day He cursed his God As He came And dropped him dead.

“Life sucks”, he said. He slammed the door shut, and swore he wouldn’t ever return back. He would resign his job, he was not meant to be here. He would go out for a vacation, out to some far away place, and relax. Yes, he needed to relax, there were things to be thought about, there were things to be decided, and there were things to run away from. Perhaps he would go on a cruise, see new places, find some women, drink till his heart’s content. He would take a walk in the nights, devouring the sky and the sea to find no difference, and feel one with them; he would look at the stars, till he found a shooting star, and then another, and then another. He would sleep, and travel, across unknown dimensions, where his mind will create every this and that….. The next day, he dressed himself up, and went to OFFICE. This is his boss speaking. It is 11 PM in the night. He is still here. He broke the glass door after all.

The little girl called From behind the dust cloud “Do you have some love to spare?” I looked away and said, “Who cares!” The little girl called again I frowned and looked in vain “Do you have some love to spare?” “Why do you ask, I told you I don’t care!” The little girl smiled “For yourself”, she replied “I have some love to spare” She smiled again and said, “I care!”

The last time someone asked me the meaning of this particular title, I had jokingly warded it off. Infact, I had made it sound funny. Now, after the three hours I spent yesterday watching the movie, no, I would rather say, living the movie, I wouldn't dare to make fun. In my opinion, apart from just being an entertaining film, it was an amazingly provocative film, the kinds that make you want to stand up, and make a difference. The whole idea of patriotism and how young fighters gave away their lives for the freedom of our country, was never so beautifully put across. It makes you wonder, why did they really have to do it, unlike us, who submissively accept, living happy lives, and dying happy. Would I really give away this wonderful life that I am living today, for my country? The answer is easy, No. Thats what makes it so strange. Perhaps when life stares at you in the face, and asks for answers, you go beyond the realm of fear, into freedom, until you find a stranger peace. Whe

Delusion. If you are an earthling, then I presume this is your natural state. From the time you are born, you are made to live someone else's reality. A haze that is pulled over your eyes, which inspite of its blatant irony, is hard to cut through. And this haze is your world. Perhaps with time, and what they call maturity, you create your own way of looking at things, your own haze. This haze has a funny charecteristic though. It reflects what you want to see. And you are happy with this haze of yours. You stand in front of the mirror, and smile. Of course, mirrors are never funny. You talk to friends and hug and cry. Of course, they are not the cause of your worry. The sun shines, and everyday it tries to reach out. But of course, into your haze it is not allowed.....

The first time I saw him, he was asleep. I stood transfixed watching him. It was not beauty, or grace that caught my attention, but it was the serenity, like as though he had had a strenous day at work, and now, forgetting the world, he slept, devoid of worries or fears. I never knew then, how my life would change. I don't know exactly how and when, I started to like him. I had met him only a day ago, and the next day, when I was leaving for my home, I had tears in my eyes. I had never cried even while leaving my parents before. It struck me as strange. Once home, I longed to meet him, I would see his pictures, talk to him over the phone, I had never been so concerned for anybody. Love is strange. It didn't tell me when it came. I know he has no feelings for me, but then somehow it just doesn't matter. He is the only one I know, with whom I have no expectations. And, maybe that is why I love him so much. On this Valentine, how I wish he was here, to kiss him lightly, and te

It is once again time to have some fun. But why is it that I plan fun… People to go out with, where to go, how to go, all precisely planned and rolled out, so that I don’t have to feel disheartened, and that I am prepared. Lets have some fun folks, some Prepared and Anticipated Fun. Whatever that means. Well, as human beings, we all just wanna be sure, and of course, we have our reasons for it. Ok, now I am not getting into fear, uncertainty and all that, so you don’t have to worry. So, what was I saying… yea, prepared fun. Let me start with a question. Now, this isn’t rhetoric in any sense, I actually want you to answer it, to yourselves. How many times have we had moments that just happened, and we didn’t really have anything to do with it. And, we actually had fun. Aren’t those kind of moments much nicer and prominent in our dreary lives. Aren’t those the real moments that we enjoyed, and that comes back to us every single time we shed a tear, to remind us of the existence of God. W

Misery. I find no better word to describe the past forty nine years of my life. Born in an affluent family that claimed to own half of what was my world, I was the only daughter of my father's second wife. I don't really know of how many wives came afterwards, and with them how many of my brothers and sisters. I haven't known much since that cold night of January, when I was shut up in this room, proclaimed a mentally challenged child. Mad. Apart from the daily three time meal, that was pushed from underneath the little space beneath my door, I knew nothing of the outside. I was like a structure in a worn out building, no body visited and yet, no body wanted to take the blame to destroy. So, I just remained. For the first few years, I remember wailing, day and night, screaming at whoever passed near the doorway, to let me free. After all, I was a little child of twelve. Freedom meant so much. My room. I slowly grew used to this setup, which had nothing but four walls and a

I know I ain't some journalist to write reviews, but still I dont mind playing the role for once. So, here goes, the new flick in town, 15 Park Avenue. The fact that there was nothing glittery about the movie posters and the star casting, was what made me check it out. Rahul Bose, Konkona Sen and Shabhana Azmi, all stars in their own accord, and people I extremely admire and appreciate. The movie was Aparna Sen's, and that is enough to guarantee a good theme, good acting and good music. All in all, a good recipe. The movie starts with a gray potrayal of Konkona Sen, alias Mithali, as she is called in the movie, as a disillusioned skedofrenzic patient. She lives in a reality that she crafted for herself, where she knew happiness with her husband Jojo, Rahul Bose, and kids, whom they had together named. The story revolves around her life and her reality, which people considered trivial and senseless in comparison to the their own reality. Shabhana Azmi plays her sister, level hea

We all look back. At moments, at bad times, at people as they were..... and we regret. Regret for the time we've lost and now cannot make, regret for the things that happened and those that did not. I speak one such regret, something that did not happen. The first sight of him, meant nothing to me, perhaps because it was reality. In the midst of uncertainity and the unknown, selfishness paved the way for us, drawing us closer, simply because we shared perspectives, and thought each one to be interesting, like some flick to be entertained from, to learn from, and to forget without bondage. It were the initail highs. Pleasant smiles, handshakes, conversations that lasted hours, admiration, modesty, willingness. And Hope. Then, expectations rose. Commitments were cautiously warded off. The pleasant smiles were replaced by a faint sign of acquantainship; a rise of the eyebrow that lasted a milli-second. Time was blamed. Perhaps I should have consented when he wanted to go away. I had h

I was on my usual ride to the bus stop, off to work, one early (or at least I like to call it early) morning. I could feel the cold air blow against my dry skin, as so many vehicles rushed across the road, noisy and smoking. My auto came to the usual halt at the traffic light. That mighty tall post that stands out, blinking three different colors, one at a time has the efficacy to halt many a huge vehicle. The word “control” hammered in my mind. And I wondered how this post here could control a whole city. Fear. Yes, that was it. The best way to control….. As my esoteric thoughts touched the apogee of an unknown hill, a giggle interrupted me. There was this white Sumo that stood right next to us, and it was carrying a couple of kids to school. Two of these kids were looking out of the small window, and were shouting out some kind of slogans, which I later deciphered to be “Family Mart Dabba!!!” For those who don’t know, Family Mart is this Mall in JP Nagar, and the only Mall close to m

A clock hangs at my wall, dark and gold, unaffected. And this clock is my enemy. I dread the time it shows me, coercing me to some place where I don't belong. I dread the hour it strikes, making me yearn for that one time when I shall be complete. I dread every move of the spike, as it separates me from life. Looking at this clock hanging on my wall, dark and gold, unaffected, I wait in hope, for hope is all that is 'a clock life'. Till this clock strikes my hour....