Sway, Stay, Go Away

I am scared of you; I am wary of your shadow;
I tremble at your voice; I quiver as you move the elbow.


Oh no, come not near me; you instill icy season within; 
Please do not go away, the Lonely demon lurks around.


Go away, please return soon, 
My perplexed  head cries loud, the heart benumbed.


I turn my back, you set to leave;
The space between us is but left to bereave.


We are but a widow pair, 
We move from one shadow to a corner.


Death of the song has long been completed;
Go draw the curtain, the players are long gone.


The props are lifted, the lights switched off,
The lone drunk man stutters to the next door step.


Heads drooping, eyes a shadow of grey;
The two figures walk back their mile.


The song echoes in their head;
Is it just a sea of grief, or do memories too turn senile?

Its acid inside and out

The pain is now unbearable. It will never subside. I wont let it. This is the punishment I deserve. For breaking a heart, for breaking my own life. When I did not have right to control my life, how did I take it upon myself to tear someone's life apart? Nobody can forgive me, no one should lend me an inch of their shoulder to cry on. I deserve not a single word of comfort. All that should come my way are sleepless nights, dark tears, memories that shall haunt me from here on. 


Yeah, many shall say tell me to move on and that all that happens has a higher, if not a better purpose. I agree. But this is no excuse to keep hurting and twist some relationship to a painful demise. I have done that. I am guilty of that and worse. 


I see perplexed looks around me. Nobody knows what am I trying to achieve. So what its not my heart, my emotions. But was it too difficult for me to not just take care of that heart? I let myself down. I have hurt many. I feel ashamed to utter a sorry. 


Life spares no pain. Pain spares not a single vein inside of me. 


Its a saving grace that tears flow silently. 


(this one may have typos and grammatical errors. )

Much Ado About Many Things

She came running helter skelter. One cannot run like that on Delhi roads, but then yeah that was the state of her mind and rest of the things that moment, or so it seemed. Opened her mouth to speak. Nothing apparently emerged. Only after a few sips from the tumbler was she able to get her voice and breath back. 


"Mamon Di, the ranking's not too good. I am worried I may not get a seat." She almost broke down in tears as she uttered the last few words. Lets call her "T" in order to protect her from sympathetic 'ooh and aah' and gasps. She rather get that elusive seat than our comforting words.


Six months of rigorous preparation, giving up a well paying job, so much for that seat? Is that reasonable? Our rationality will vehemently shake its head in disagreement and disapproval. But would she have done anything lesser to get what she ardently wanted? No. Neither would anyone with a strong desire of want. Like an Italian proverb goes "Where passion is high, reason is low". And thank God for that. 


Totally incompetent to console someone, I made a few calls to people I thought would be of some help.  Assurances from some quarters kept our hopes alive for a few more days. But not for too long.


Today,  was the day when she was to get a chance to claim a seat. It was the last day of 'Counselling'. I could never figure out why was that cruel process of rejection or limitless waiting that students are subjected to, be termed so. Its perhaps a hogwash, a sugar coated poison, that allures, assures, but is in fact a weapon to mutilate the spirit beyond recognition. Anyway, she already spent many a sleepless night to go figure her status on August, 2, 2012.


But "T" did not get that One seat. Even before the dust had settled in the "Counselling Chamber", a notice read loud and clear "Admissions closed for General Category in all three centres." 


Tentatively, I texted her, more worried about the lack of consolatory words and gestures I suffer from.  Pat came the reply, "Di, Do not worry. I am fine." Was she speaking the truth? I would never know. Being human, guarantees more fallibility than we wish to recognise and give credit to.


For the last whole week, we were talking a lot. She needed someone to listen to her, reason it out with her and may be show her another option if there was. I was doing all the talking and making SOS calls because "T" and her condition reminded me of my initial days in Delhi.  I was like a stray animal which had mistakenly sauntered into the city and its much haloed UNIVERSITY. Nobody saw, nobody cared, nobody even bothered to let me complete sentences. Delhi was a sea and I was obviously drowning in the cruel madness of this place, at the least with my admission. Even to this day, the stray-ness persists.


Those were times when, admission in Delhi University was nothing like what it is today. No media mayhem, no day to day coverage or fancy newspaper articles. The only thing that the newspapers published, more as an obligation, was the cut-off list. That was it. And yeah the much debated and controversial annual article in "India Today" to throw some light. 


I just knew about 3 colleges when I arrived. LSR, St. Stephens, Hindu and Jesus and Mary. The form said there were almost 8O colleges. Some of them I have not yet located. 


Now its been a decade, completed all the courses I could think of till yet. But the struggle of that first month in this city remains etched on my psyche. Cannot blame the colleges for their nonchalance as they go about dealing with scores of students. However, all of it is such an unfair deal for the student. They struggle, they  cry, they push and pull. Yet the whole system makes a mockery of their aspirations, toil and labour. Do they deserve that? Well that I set aside for some other day.


So when "T" came to me, it was like my past paying me a visit. I wanted to help her as much as I could. It was not enough, its quite clear now. "So much want to study in North Campus", these words refuse to die. They wont, because its her dream. It may be broken, but not destroyed. 


I do not want to load her with pearls of wisdom or words of encouragement. Let her sulk, cry, wail and get the pain of rejection and dejection out of her system. It will take time for her to pick up from where she left and find a new course. But I am sure 'T" shall eventually reach out. Then failure shall not count. It never counts. And like Zig Ziglar said "Failure is a detour; it is not a dead-end street" , so shall she chalk out a new destiny, a new purpose and new motivation. 


As for me, you can find me ruminating on the fallout of a flawed education system in some lazy corner of my house.  I try to work out my confusions through this strange process of blogging. Why do I find it strange? Well another something for some other time. 


P.S - Hope "T" shall land the lucrative PSU job that has arrived in the market. 

Kavita. Just a few words really

प्यार न देखे भेष, प्यार न भटके देश;
प्यार को न तोलिये, वह है आत्मा का आदेश

Chasing...

Catch me if you can,
Its Me now and then.
What you have is a memory of me,
See its vanishing as appears a new She.


Will never know whether it was words or songs,
Or was it your eyes that held me so long.
Love is a strange word, it has no spine,
Once its pain, another time Divine.


Tryst with Destiny we all have to keep,
Life shoots us a look, at times it does peep.
The dust shall settle or a storm may blow,
I want to escape and drown and not flow.


Strange may seem my twisted wish,
A Death within is soon to perish.
I am dark, I am night, 
I burn myself to show you light.


Take my hand, or let me go,
There is but one Yes yet so many No.
You dream of me, I dream of you,
We shall meet again, when sky meets a horizon new.

Shoe-Shoe...

Last Saturday, an uneventful event led to germination of a queer question in my head. "What is the difference/similarity between a stupid person and a moron? 

It was a girl's day out, if I may take the liberty to call my much married sister-in-law and ourselves, the two sisters, who are all on the wrong side of 25, girls. So now, Us, the trio, were loitering aim-fully in Karol Bagh

 market, trying to add some dazzling sarees and fancy and uber girly stuff to our wardrobes. This is one of those "Sale" time in Delhi, where the windows, doors, roofs and even the roads leading to the shops shriek "--% sale". (Note - NRDs - Non-resident Delhiites, this is THE season to visit Delhi, forget the much romanticised Winters. You can just engage in some soul-liberating shoppo-hogging and appease your materialistic cravings!!)


Done with most of the planned and almost all of the unscheduled shopping, we decided to casually sauntered into a shoe shop. The board read "WINGS". Well, then may as well call themselves "FANGS". Why? I shall soon get to that.


Succumbing to our conditioned feminine ways (oh please do not label me a sexist here), we started trying out shoes, slippers etc. The peep-toes, the Osho slippers, the Kolhapuris, the wedges and also the 'Star-war' sandals (not inspired by the Star War series, but the ones which have crystals and gems loaded on them which give them the look of star-filled galaxies), we tried to evaluate most of them on our feet, dishing out some valuable critique as we carried on our pursuit of the trivial. To add to my serpentine description of our activities inside the shop, let me say we moaned and groaned heavily. No girls, there are no hunks in there, so save your excitement for some other time. But yeah, the prices even in this "Sale" season were very very steep.


And then it happened. As i was fancying a pretty pair of sandals, I asked someone to help me find the right size. All of a sudden, I sensed someone was trying to put a sandal beneath my foot. I look down. Its was a miserable sight. No no, I am not a good model for the heel repair cream ads and my heels are in good shape.


There kneeling before me was a scrawny boy, maybe 10 or 11. He was struggling with my foot and the sandal.


I leapt back. Not really leapt like a kangaroo, but yeah I moved back, shocked and horrified. "Arrey bhaiyya paid chhodo, paid chhodo mera", I was shrieking in the most civil manner possible. The kid looked confused, my sister sensing what I was trying to say, joined in; my sister-in-law who was somewhere else, came running trying to decipher what made me yell.


The three of us fixed our gaze on the little boy who was staring back at us. We said aloud in unison "You are so young. Don'fine jitna manage kar sakti hoon t you have a grown up salesman in the shop? Why the heck are you working here and like this?" "Nahin, nahin, kisi badey ko bulao. Yeh chota bachcha humarey feet nahin chuyega."


Now emerged the duffer or the MORON. A thickly built, man, who was till then busy chattering up his colleague (of the same genre). He looked visibly annoyed, because we had disturbed their abuse-laced afternoon banter. He stood there, paunch out, back slacking behind (you may add the act of scratching his scrotum to ignite your dislike quotient for the guy), his eyes trying to size us up and make sense of our demand for a grown up to assist us. The little bits I could catch of his simultaneous conversation with his mate was like "Women, I tell you. They fuss around so much. And whats with not letting the little @*$&#%@ assist them and forcing me to work? beep, beep, beeeeeppppp". So you see why I renamed the shop FANGS.


There are certain times when a direct, verbal assault or lecturing people on the illegality of child labour has no effect or desired result. Once we turn our backs, the kids are pulled back in service or slavery whatever we may call it. But we were fuming, angered by the nonchalance of the guys in the shop. Forget a tad bit of embarrassment, those men behaved as if we were the incredulous ones.


Something must have clicked within all of us that same moment. Why else would we launch a scathing,sarcasm-stuffed, loud and very animated shoo-shooing of all the shoes in the shop, the price range, the designs, the employees and all that came in the range of our sight?


The disgust, anguish, anger, desperation and guilt we felt rising in our throat that moment had to come out. In that moment, our expression of protest and resentment against the gory act of child labour was our verbal tirade accompanied by dirty glances at the owner who sat smugly on one of those black, ugly swivel chairs.


Our last words as we closed the shop door behind us were "bad shoes, bad men, bad attitude, pathetic deed." But was that enough?


Its been a couple of days now that the incident took place and yet the boy haunts me. So many more like him haunt me. Will the vice of child labour devour the happy years of children from the non-moneyed section? Can the law enforcement agencies, the NGOs, the government ever win their battle against the menace? Can, WE THE PEOPLE of this NATION, get a change of mind, heart, intent and action? Or are we doomed to go from being just STUPID to being MORONS? In the answer to my initial question, I found a greater, more grim truth.


We felt helpless that afternoon. We were seething with anger. The happiness shopping usually generated evaporated. The bags felt heavy. Our feet were sluggish as we walked towards the car, burdened with our realisation that we, as a combined polity is to be blamed for the plight of our children. It was twilight but gloom had long descended on our hearts.


"WINGS" had clipped the wings of that little boy we met. His dreams lay trampled under those shoes.


P.S - I know my small gesture will never be enough to put an end to the evil. Yet, I know may be some of us will refuse to drink that one cup of tea brought to us by little Guddu, or refuse to accept the home delivery services offered by the neighborhood shop through young Monu. Or else, even after a century, one of my own would yell and leap at the horrific sight of a pair of little hands trying to fix her a shoe.

Short Women have it easy. Really?

A tall friend complained, rather accused me or my kind of short women in the following words - "You, Snow White's dwarf, you always manage to capture the TALL guys and leave me stick out like a sore finger among shorties."

Till then I never ventured to ideate on this earth shattering, equation altering threat my kinds posed to the romantic and procreation lives of my taller friends. But, really 

I want to assure the proud possessors of those unending legs, height or lack of it has nothing to do with who is entrapped in our charms. Nor is the height of the suitor inversely proportional to ours. In the matters of the heart, it is the width of the heart and depth of emotions that matter. Okay, maybe at times the monetary beauty of an individual may draw some attention. But thats about it.

However, it also got me thinking. Does my friend have a genuine grievance? Does height and physical appearance of a person contribute to making a lasting, successful relationship? Do men feel secure in a masculine manner when they are going around with pint-sized women? Does it push their protective instincts? Or does the woman who has to almost leap to kiss her mate, hang on to a tall man just because she sees her short height as an handicap and desires it to be equalised by the man she is with? What is it that women and men want respectively?

I was myself plagued by a superstition or whatever you may call it to be for a long time. I generalised like an utter numb nut that all my best buddies were so because we fell in the same height bracket. Our vertical hurdle is something thats common and binds us. It was a sure sign to me then that all tall people, seldom gel with me. To add to my theory I also made a mental image that since there was an obvious distance between the invisible wave lengths emanating from me and any person who is more than half a foot taller, a lag, an incommunicable gap was bound to be present and that shall stop me from being friends with the Palm Tree.

As I grew in age, maturity and girth (sigh!) I kicked myself, not literally as it is not physically possible, for being so lame. And now when I look back and around and ahead and above, I see so many beautiful people of all shapes, sizes and some even deconstructing the definition of size, who are my friends, who have been so real that life without them would be like some thriller movie without the adrenaline rush, the oohs and ouch, the swears and popping out eyes and the silent anxiety within because you know you may lose the bet as to who is the baddie.

The tall and short of this whole yapping is to assure my TALL PRETTY Friend that "buddy if you and I can be friends, so can you fetch yourself a tall, awesome dude. One look at your beautiful, almond shaped eyes and a guy shall be yours, lock stock and barrel. So, worry not. Stand tall and enjoy the emphatic entry you make in parties. So many would kill for that kind of height and legs. MUAH!

If you still suck at the romance game with tall men, well then too worry not. You have an entire brigade of not-so-tall fellows with the Tom Cruise syndrome who would love to hold you in their arms or be held by you rather. Let me just throw in a few names. What about Aamir? NO? Salman then? Why do you look shocked? Okay the wealthiest Khan then? Arrey, why do you believe it was his wax statue that features in movies these days? HUFFFF...Think Sachin then? No R.S M.Ps coz they seldom have real powers? Girl, its so difficult to match your tall demands.. Wait, wait, I still am not done with the list...wait girl!!!