Slips Of Paper And Lumps Of Metal

Yes. It was the seaside.

I remember it oh so well. The waves were getting strong, and I was scared. I felt it was taking you away from me sooner than you were supposed to go.

Then you touched the tip of your pinky finger with mine, like you'd seen my girlfriends do with me. A "pinky promise." I was surprised. Guys rarely ever do that, and you were so strong, and manly and handsome.

But we sat there, throughout the afternoon till the sunset.

That was the last time I ever noticed the beauty of sunset again.

The sun gleamed like a gold coin rolling away from me. I ran to catch it, you ran behind me, huffing and puffing. You were exhausted, yet you didn't stop until I did.

The scary waters were now luring me in. You never minded my mood swings, after all, you could do anything in the world for me.

We waded in, ankle deep. I shut my eyes, and we crossed pinkies again. We stood there, perfectly in sync, connected, telepathic, until all my fears floated away with the water.

The wind played with my oh so frizzy hair, yet you told me I was perfect. You said they were "curly", and curly was beautiful and fun.

You said, I don't resemble those ice hearted popular girls that way. I was different, and that I should love being different.

You were forbidden cupcakes, yet you ate a big chocolate chip one with me, because you know eating your favorite dessert alone can be oh so bad.
I tiptoe, and kiss you on the cheek, your eyes twinkle. I beg you to come inside, but you don't, because Ma doesn't like you with me anymore. I try the horrid way out. I start crying and saying that you don't love me. I said all the promises you made were false. Your eyes widen as you watch me run inside my house. I just know you heard Ma, because she yelled oh so loud "Did he hurt you? You won't go back to him anymore, you get me?!"

6 years later, I remember each and every moment I spent with you, and I can only wish you could see me, hug me tight before I go to college and do the most unfamiliar things in life.
You were all the fun and excitement I had in my life, and my first friend. As I look in the mirror, I see my eyes shining, with tears, and I remember the stars we used to see in the water.
Because I remember running to the hospital, screaming, brushing past everyone, into your room. You were sweating terribly, and the AC was oh so cold. The mask on your face was so tight, it was leaving marks around your mouth. You started crying when you saw my face, for the first time ever, and you held my hand and said "I'm scared". 

I said, "Its okay, you'll be with me forever"
"I'm not scared of dying. I'm scared I have lost you. Will you forgive me?"
I laugh nervously " For what?"
"You remember.....that night, I didn't tell you....of course I love you"
I started crying again, then laughing, or both. " I wasn't serious. It was just a prank to get you to come in. I know you love me." Now I was crying bad. "I'm sorry. I let Mom keep you away from me, all these years, and now..." I choked, "now..."
I hooked my pinky around his tightly, as his pain passed. 
"I'll....always..lo..."
I cried till my eyes were all red and infected. He couldn't even finish what he wanted to say.
I don't remember much, it was this dark, distorted blur after that. I recall yelling at Mom, blaming her. I remember the inquest. And all the money he left me.
They say I'm some princess now, with all that money.
I look down at all of it.
It hasn't replaced you. It was supposed to.

You were worth more to me than some slips of paper and lumps of metal.
I'm not going to go on about what they can't buy me. They can buy me nothing I want.
I want my first hero. My first love. My first friend. My first pony. My first protector.
I want the thing I loved most in the world, back.
And I loved you, Dad.

Confluence.

There was a certain character I invented, in a fit of boredom one day.
His name was Ouingu. He was small, round and shiny. His head was slightly flat, so he looked like a semicircle, but not quite. He had two tiny Zoo Zoo hands and legs.
The only word he knew, was Meep.

He wanted to tell the world so much, but never could. When you have much to say, and you can't, the silence can be deafening.

Ouingu was from the future. He was obviously trying to enrapture us with visions of good times, bad times, evils and wonders. His "Meep" meant a lot to me. But to others? It was just an annoying sound.
So Ouingu did something. He actually applied a lesson from his history books. Just like our ancestors, Ouingu learnt to sketch and paint.
His drawings started from the basic stuff. The window. .My parents. My brother. My runaway cat. Me.
In all of the pictures we were washing clothes by the river. Even my runaway cat.
They developed under the light of skill and creativity. Da Vinci level, even. Then one day, they stopped making sense.
Random splashes of red and blue. Sometimes a plain white canvass, A yellow circle. I didn't pay much attention. Modern abstract art, you know.
But, after a few days, my heart started sinking with grief. My life was going well. I didn't know what was wrong. Then I found Ouingu crying in a corner of my brain. I had totally forgotten about him.

His tears, were the most beautiful things I had ever seen. Swirling rainbow patterns, specks of black and white, like ying and yang. 

I closed my eyes, and in the kindest, softest voice I asked him, " Ouingu, what is the matter? Isn't the craziness and happiness of my mind giving you euphoria too?"

The sobbing stopped. He expected me to understand. I didn't.
His soft little fingers touched my brain's sensory nerves. I blacked out. 
*********
It felt like I was inside one of Ouingu's teardrops.
Rainbow patterns swirled around the walls. I was hurtling backwards. When my body was expelled from the travelling dimension, I found myself in a shiny, sunny room.
Really. It was as if the walls were made up of sunlight. 

The room was covered with things. Important things. The sword from the Indian Battle of Panipat, A red Stygian cap, A model of the Holy Grail. And Ouingu's paint set. I was puzzled by the sudden contrast.

Suddenly, people started appearing. Not only wise, wrinkled faces, but young adults, even children. They sat on a round table. Just like King Arthur's. A debate of the wisest minds of the world began. They fought and argued and Ouingu stood there in a corner, sketching.
Then from some where, a green gas started filling the room. All the idealists began to choke. Soon, everyone began to evaporate. I know it sounds weird. But still.
Pretty soon the room was empty. And Ouingu had nothing to draw. His sketches fell to the floor.
I recognized them.

I looked at them closely for the first time.
Me and my family weren't washing clothes. We were washing the colors of nations' flags.
These were all the ideas he had shared with me.

*******************************************

Ouingu was fueled with ideas. The arguments and debates. When the vapors of ignorance and flaneur habits floated into them, they simply stopped. Forever.
With that, stopped enlightenment. Art. Culture. Design. Religion, to some extent.
Ignorance is promoted. Ignorance that destroys nations.
You see, all the important things of the world, have a confluence.
A point very easy to reach,  Just imagine. Watch all the colors, from different fields, blend together. Da Vinci style.

Their strength together, the depth of the brown they make together, is sometimes greater than the ignorance.

Mix a little hope, you have Rangeela glitter shades. 

The Cloak Of Change.

.

Change.

Evolution.

Revolution.

Rebirth

<Swoosh>

<Sweet Breeze>

<Fairy Dust, with that magical, tinkling sound>


A hand appears out of nowhere, and pulls nowhere in the air. Not gripping anything. Then suddenly, lines and creases appear. You can see an invisible fold being pinched. Then the hand tugs hard as that pinched cloth of invisibility gives away.

The black and white world of prejudice gets torn down, and with it it brings a colorful scene of "present".

Where one rupee can hardly buy you anything, and people refer to thousands of rupees as "mere".

Technicolor.

You blink twice as more as you used to, because things are swiftly changing before your eyes can even adjust. Wild, splashes of color, and small houses become huge buildings, a toy windmill becomes a wind turbine. "Fun" is replaced by "Progress", and children just don't mindlessly play anymore.


This is what Change, has brought for us.

While giving us things which make times better, Change has brought about with it sorrow. People are getting poorer and poorer everyday, the river of tears is increasing in volume. The rich are lost in a dream- and the reality checks hurt.

Among all this boring, hard admission stuff, It has also subjected us to a new dawn. At the very beginning of a new day, the things we decide to do before we sleep, are a million times more different than what our parents or grandparents used to decide. While we think of changing Profile pictures, our ancestors found it difficult to change into a new pair of clothes everyday.


Just humble things.

Basically, our priorities were WAY different, if you know what I mean, and everything reflects it. Meanwhile, there is also a change in the human psychology, something I found very interesting upon realization.

Going old fashioned, is suddenly very cool. Like, using simple old English language instead of the urban abbreviations, floor length gowns from the 70s,  listening to old pop hits and most importantly, reading classics. You get instant admiration when you talk about Bob Marley or Gone with the Wind.



Moreover, we still come upon countless instances where the old culture influences our new ideas and society. Our religious customs, for one. They haven't changed for the modern man, reasonable or unreasonable. Scientists do puja for heaven's sake.


Many Indian hospitals insist nurses to wear white sarees as uniform, as the old nurses of India used to. It is something that we Indians should be proud of, because if one nurse from an Indian hospital stands in a row of nurses from different nations, she'll stand out from the rest of the dress wearing nurses.


Change always influences, harms, but never takes. Its us, who ignore the old customs, make trendy new ones, and blame Change for it all. 

Hanging On.

I was on my way home, I saw someone weeping on the side of the road, I hung on.
It was around midnight, but the beggar was cold and crying, so I hung on.
My mother would've probably killed me, but we’re women, we’re born for compassion, so I hung on.
Defense classes were tiring, and six hours without food was agony. But he needed it more, so I gave it to him, I hung on.
The joy and relief on his face as he devoured each and every bite of my tiffin was rewarding.  I hung on.

It was a dark, deserted alley with a humid weather to match, and my full sleeved long dress was clinging to my skin with sweat.  I still hung on.
I stuffed the tiffin in my bag, and hurriedly made my way home. I was scared; but I hung on.
How was I to know that a gang of men would block my way?  Danger vibes were lurking around the corners, like a pack of hungry wolves eyeing prey.  I closed my eyes, prayed, and hung on.
Times were bad for girls ,as the gang surrounded me.  I was pinned to a wall and groped everywhere, my tolerance was tested. But I just had to hang on.

Courageous enough to break their hands and legs and noses, flipping them upside down with strength that put them to shame.  I had nothing to fear; I won the fight. Punishment was approaching swiftly for them; they just had to hang on.
Picking myself off the floor, and helping my dignity up, I ran home. Mama’s arms were around me as I sobbed. She didn't scold me even once. Justice had been self attained, I hung on.
My house wasn't left alone after that; I was on every screen with the guilty, telling my story to these..people with cameras.  My heart was sinking, but my head was held high. 

Each time I feel like giving up during those terror seizures, the nightmares, I see some other girl, who wasn't so fortunate. She couldn't fight and had faced it all, and now her parents were running to the corrupt police stations.  All she could do was cry in frustration.  But her survival gave millions of other girls strength.
The only time when suicide wouldn't be considered cowardice. But we’re born to be heroic, saviors. We’re born to stay and fight for our right to protection.

Yes, I had saved myself.  But I was still broken inside.  While my heart was relieved,  my eyes weren't shining. When my mind said it was safe, my perspiration contradicted it.
I would never again consider the world to be a beautiful, safe place. But  I had people who believed in me, who would be heartbroken  if I gave up.  And just like billions of other girl victims, I’m not enjoying anymore.  Since that fateful night, I am and I always will be,
Hanging On.

Till I Die. 

"I Know"

"Its too hot today"
" I know"
"The weather isn't getting colder"
"I know"
"I wish the weather gets colder"
"I know"
" I'm going mad with heat!"
"I know."
"Just what kind of an answer is that?!!"
"I know"
" While most normal people say why?, you say this. Good answer!"
"I know"

Nowadays, you can either be a knowbody, or a nobody. And its just not the usual, droning, bookish stuff either.
People are progressing deeper and deeper towards development, and the unique approaches surprise us everyday. Science and literature, sore enemies, have started to actually relate, people are now comparatively more aware of what a mirage "magic" is. Fairy tales have become outdated, and in a world where now everybody gets exceptional marks, you have to know what else counts.
You seemingly know every page of your chapter. You seemingly know all the questions coming in the exams. You seemingly know how much you're going to get, so its assumed that you seemingly, can predict your future. 

"The future belongs to those, who know where they belong." No. This doesn't mean sharp, strategic planning, prodigies, achievements. This means knowing actually who you are and why are you in this world. All of us have a role to play. Doctors save lives, engineers build them, technicians power them, architects shelter them, and idiots liven them up. We can decide what we want to do, what we want to choose.
The hardest challenge life throws at us is always in the form of a choice. Since our choices make us who we are,  and shape us, we have to cross fingers and make sure its the right one.

I was browsing this website called TED : Technology, Entertainment, Design. Its a platform for sharing ideas which can change the world. Sort of academic, the cleverness amuses me. They made sure not to include "study", "education", "literacy" or any other academic word in the title.

There are amazing videos, of manipulating DNA of microorganisms to make super solar batteries or cells, making personalized skin tissue models of our organs and testing cures for different ailments, diseases. Moreover, its a lovely place to gain insight into the more complicated matters of the world. Everyone, even the dumbest ass, wants to know. They may not want to know how to calculate x or the vectors and scalars, but they certainly want to know which company hair dye did the Principal use today morning, or even the peculiar, strange meal times of their obese friends. Curiosity is the most wonderful as well as the most fatal flaw our human nature possesses.

So if we abandon school, sit at home doing futile things, sever all connections from the outside world and marry our TV and video games, will you end up being the king, or his attendant? Or none?

I don't know about you, but trust me, I Know.

The Nightingale.

It was the worst day of my life.
French class was the best place to ease my frustration. I sat on the last bench, quiet, with my eyes and fist clenched shut. Then a figure sat beside me. I had to look up only for a fraction of a second before the whole story and a river of tears came flowing out.

An incident I swore I won't speak to anyone about, I told her. When I was done, I felt no regret, no fear. Because I knew she wouldn't tell. I knew she wouldn't let anyone know what a pathetic condition she had found me in. She never tried to console me once, in fact, she very easily stated the pure simplicity of the situation. It instantly made me feel better. It was she, who made me realize that sympathy in the form of pity was the worst thing you could offer to someone in trouble.

The kindest heart I have ever come across. She was always there, beside me when I needed her most. No, I never showered her with praise, or flattered her, or called her my best friend. She was still there.

I often felt angry about things that have been unfair to me. I tend to say bitter things about the people I care about, and later it subjects me to a sleepless night. She stopped me from doing that. She always told me to let go, and nobody's perfect. There exists a backbiter in everyone, some great person had said. I can't even imagine how it feels to have been proven wrong. 

I have seen her face glow, with happiness and delight, each time some less fortunate child got a new toy when we went for Social Services together. I have listened to her simple requests and refusals at doing something extravagant for her, and have admired her each time for it. I have tried hard to learn some of her best qualities, her attitude and character, and have failed miserably every time.

Right now, while most friends would be on the verge of tears with happiness, she's just going to be shaking her head in disapproval, because she would just think that all this was unnecessary and pompous and showy, and above all, untrue. After all, I've portrayed her as an angel. I was giving her compliments I didn't mean, just to make her happy. That itself was a heinous crime for her.

Saanchi Agarwal, my Florence Nightingale.

Yes. She's allowed to disapprove and blush all she wants. But its her birthday today, and it was the perfect excuse for me to tell her how much I think of her. How lovely it is to tell her about the marvelous books I've read. Above all, how wonderful it is to have her as a friend.

I'm not comparing you to someone utterly and overly saintly. I'm doing that because you are my Nightingale. You see, you came up to me with utmost cautiousness, with just the right amount of tenderness and firmness to make me stop cursing myself, with a lantern of hope shining brightly from you.

Happy Birthday, Saanchi. Because you deserve each and every bit of this. And also because you've always wanted to read my blog. And also because I really love you. :) 

The Excitable Little China Doll.

"एक चतुर नार कर के सिंगर 
मेरे मन के द्वार ये घुसत जात 
हम मारत जात, अरे हे हे हे 
यक चतुर नारकर के सिंगर... "

1968, Saira Banu gave us something to appreciate. An epitome of charm and grace. 
Yes, Bindu won many hearts in the Hindi movie "Padosan".The moody, competitive, winner-of-hearts was our selection for the Annual Day, to pay tribute to the people who so gallantly appeared on stage and gave us the best time of our lives.  Now to choose the people who would act it out.

I'm not a huge fan of Annual Day. The last time I participated, I ended up losing my spectacles, my mom's favorite dupatta and my skirt ! (Who does that?) So yes, this time I wasn't exactly the most eager participant.
But the fun gradually lured me in, and in a matter of few days, me, Ms. Anti Annual Day, was sitting in the hall, waiting for the next act to begin. You must have guessed. It was this very song from Padosan, and I was to see the cast for the very first time.

A very melodious, classic "ta ta din ta " begun the song after a  hour of tummy-aching comedy.  The source was a senior boy playing the lead on the harmonium, with my best friend, Trina, beside him, playing Bindu.

I watched in astonishment as singer began to gesticulate the notes of the song, and both Trina's and his feet began to rise up and down in perfect unison. 
She was amazing at doing this shoulder thing, as in, she moved her shoulder blades left and right while stretching her back bone upwards with a dazzling smile. As some of my friends stated correctly, the attitude and grace came naturally to her.

Then the song started. The hall, usually jam packed and noisy, and least sensitive to the people performing, was unusually quiet. Trina leaped lightly around the whole stage, as if made up of air, while the boy with the harmonium followed her doing classic kathak steps. 
The song itself commanded attention and celebration, and the actors were doing the most wonderful job of nailing it.


Then the last, hyper beat came, and the two opponents came to fight each other. Amidst the angry "hmm! hmm!" Trina moved in between the two, flailing her arms wildly and sending them toppling backward. Then with two more graceful leaps and a smile, she finished with a flourish and looked up. The hall was dead quiet for one magical moment, before it boomed with spontaneous applause. 
I still remember her jumping high in the air shouting "Woo Hoo!", as people couldn't stop clapping for her. The spell bounding, astonishing part was, that we had this dance a billion times after that, and she evoked the same reaction every time.
I mainly wrote this for her to let her know how much people think of her and her talents.
She had always been hyperactive and jumpy and chirpy. She had always laughed the loudest at my jokes, and when we walked beside each other on the street, we were stopped every time, and asked " Are you both sisters?". The warmest question I have ever received.When she asked for her biography, I was stumped. I didn't know what title would I give her. And these aren't even proper biographies. Then I remembered a china doll my grandma used to own, probably still does. It was pure white, with a perfect, graceful figure and the happiest expression, holding her heart on one hand. I had a tendency of dropping it every time. And along with the heart, it used to shatter into two pieces. 

Grandma used to come with a tube of Fevicol and glue the pieces back together again. The china doll used to stay in the show case, brand new again, happy again. 
Trina is exactly like that. She is a tiny little beautiful thing, who is very sensitive and breakable. People hurt her uncountable times, and she shatters into so many pieces. Eventually someone comes along, with a warm smile and kind emotions, and glues her back together with her own tears and theirs, but if you just look closely enough, you'll see the fine cracks on her, which'll probably always be there.

But you know what makes her such a great person? She'll always smile. She'll occasionally make the cracks visible, but she'll always be cheerful.

And her heart, will always be out, in her hand, to give out to those who need her.