Magnate

Baby pink and sky blue interiors on alternate sides with cream colored satin curtains drawn loosely so as to let the sunlight seep in through the translucent (almost opaque) and tinted glass windows is a room of her own. A room of her own, that every human being needs. Flanked by the noisy kitchen on the right and the master bedroom adjacent to it on the left, is the four walled space which she had inhabited. Here she has had premonitions, emotions, sensibilities, good old memories and a lot else. Floral printed lampshade,  a walk in closet, precious love .....her room contains all this and more. It gives out more about its occupant than the person herself. You 
know the aura is that of early womanhood, a stage of revealing insecurities. Hug the teddy, read the book, play the synthesizer, watch the idiot box perched on the stand--- nothing at all can be taken away from it. Unless of course, the inhabitant migrates. 

Once that happens, the room becomes the first person, the "I" who matters more than the "she". Its just a matter of time. The "I" overtakes the "she". She goes away leaving I and I's inhabitants just as they previously were. I is dusted and cleaned occasionally but  whatever is its magnum opus of an existence for? I is nothing without she. Realizing this makes I give out a helpless cry of loneliness  betrayal and emptiness. It craves for the cacophony of miscellaneous objects, the luminescent and minuscule text on the walls, the notepads and textbooks. It misses the obnoxious stench the leftover food used to emanate. It's all  gone.. The bell peppers, the glitter, the shimmer, the old handwriting, traces of long lost quarrels and.....reconciliation. 

Certitude

 I've been thinking about this a lot lately- ' What am I defined by?' 

And its been quite an ordeal to actually come to a fairly appropriate answer. Life has taught me to forgive, to forget, to give up in some situations, to accept. But when will I learn to retaliate? To know that it is not always possible to give up on things? It is not mere angst right now thats getting me all bottled up. Am just way too frustrated to know what to do. I can hardly believe that am asking myself such weird questions... Oh, maybe its the result of the indomitably idle mind which sticks to my skull making me feel as if I am trapped in a spider's web. My mind seems to get entangled in the first thread of the web and the void kills me slowly and painfully. Sigh, no one seems to be matured enough in this cruel world...to understand. 

 What about friendship complicating our lives? 

" Hey, we got to save our asses first. We will think about you if we ever get the time'' This is precisely the reason why helpless 'us' fails to garner support in everyday life. We end up thinking that our friend had genuine problems (and still has them up on their shoulders) because of which he/she wasn't able to help us..We hardly think of the reverse situation. Sad, but reality bytes. Well, in some cases certainly. 

I have been  told many a times to take myself seriously. But I still haven't found the answer to what happens when we take ourselves seriously but others fail to do so. Our friends constantly betray us. We are betrayed by present lovers....resulting in they becoming our ex-es. How often do we retaliate? There are bonds....and then there are more bonds. The randomness of life erupts from the moment we fail to get our attitude right. Man must know how to adapt...and then get adept at adapting. Some confessions are hard to make but when they are made...man must forget. And be happy. 'Cause we know we don't want to get one back from life. 

Till then, happy teething ...from a simple to a complex level...

Is it not  what our aim for sure is? :):):) Are we sure we know what we want from life? :)

I Still Love You....with no regrets...

I get butterflies in my stomach when I think about you. My heart beat quickens when I know you are near to me. Your scent fills the air, grasps my senses and am totally overcome.Your words stir my soul...setting my heart aflame. I vividly remember every moment of passion between us, the times we have made love....when every inch of your warm skin touched mine....when Love knew no bounds. When it was all about Lust. The heat slowly starts filling in...generating itself gradually between us. We grasp each other and cuddle. For a remarkably long time. Insanely. Oh, we are in Love, you know.I gaze into your fiery eyes, my darling, and it is so captivating. We are not lovers in disguise.. we are mere spectators of what love can do to us. 
You made love to me last night and I wanted more. Tonight WE made love. And Bliss it was. I guess I want some more of that tender touch of yours. The way you and I become one. You gently graze my neck, sending shivers down my spine. I lose myself into you and you let me do the wildest things that I have ever wanted to do as you tighten your hands to pull me closer to you. I feel your lips on mine...its so sweet and warm inside you. No more words. I feel something rising..something that heightens our senses. Deep inside you...what I remember the most is your arms wrapped around me. Everything cannot be lust. I love you ...I still love you....without any regrets...

P.S. :- This piece of writing is a documentation of my personal experience and not a figment of my imagination. I did not have to work my grey cells at all for this!! No effort needed.:):):)

When I read a book

When I read a book I seem to read it with my eyes only, but now and then I come across a passage, perhaps only a phrase, which has a meaning for me, and it becomes part of me.

~William Somerset Maugham

The mighty spires of a medieval city rise up on all sides, reaching for the sky. The citizens go about their day doing their usual jobs- farming, fishing, forging, weaving. I stand in front of a mighty stone edifice. Perched on a hill, high above the rest of the city is a castle.

The drawbridge is slowly lowered. I step on it with some trepidation. It is not often that an outsider is granted audience with the King. The entrance is flanked on either side by a guard holding a steel halberd. There is a chamberlain to receive me and escort me to the King's chamber.

I pass hallways lit with torches on both sides. Their flames flicker, causing pulsating shadows on either wall. The grim faced chamberlain leads me through a veritable maze of stony corridors. We reach a flight of stairs.

There is an imposing figure of a royal guard on every second step as I slowly walk up. I can feel my pulse palpably racing as I ascend the stairs, leading to an ornate wooden door opening into the royal chamber. Finally, I am in front of the door. It creaks at the hinges as two guards slowly open it.

Eventually, I muster up the courage to step inside the room. It is richly decorated with a detailed embroidered tapestry running across the walls, culminating in velvet curtains with satin edged finishes. The king was facing the window, his back turned to me.

I wait for the door to close behind me and slowly unsheath my dagger. This is the moment I have been trained for, sent for. I shall end this tyrant's rule with one swift strike of my glittering steel. I lunge towards him....

“Lunch is ready.”

The assassination would have to wait. My mother has cooked her usual sumptuous lunch for me. Bookmarking the page in my book, I get up. The Malazan series by Steven Eriksson truly takes you inside the pages of it, into his world.

Thirteen ways of looking at a blackbird

Unlucky thirteen. Yes, Rick was thirteen years old. It was his thirteenth birthday and he did not have so much as a cake to cheer him up. Rick was, in the true sense of the word, an anomaly.

Thirteen years prior, his father had been gleefully expecting his son in the maternity ward. His wife had gone into labour prematurely and they rushed to the hospital. Mr Fernandez was there by his lovely wife's bedside, a first hand witness to the miracle of life. His mood changed dramatically when little Rick came out. He was black, which was a problem since both him and his wife were fair. After that, all hell broke loose.

Mrs Fernandez tearfully admitted to having an affair with a colleague at her office. She begged her husband to forgive her and move past this, but he steadfastly refused. His pride had been punctured and his ego had taken a hit.

The divorce was messy and the worst part of it was that Mr Fernandez got custody of the infant Rick- a walking, talking personification of his wife's betrayal, and he never let him forget it.

Now, thirteen years later, Rick was still reminded of it in every single waking moment. His father remarried and he had two “white” step siblings, just like his father wanted. They got all the love and affection that was rightfully his. His family barely even acknowledged his existence. He was a stranger in his own house. But he had one friend.

A blackbird's nest was just outside his window. The blackbird sometimes came into his room. At first, it just flew around for a bit before flying out again, but soon it began to sit next to the morose figure of Rick and chirp incessantly. He found it amusing to the extent that he would leave out crumbs and biscuits for it.

Over the years, the blackbird became his companion. They had more in common than just colour. Like him, the blackbird is the proverbial pariah of the avian community. Few people tolerate a blackbird nest on their ledges or even on the trees. Blackbirds neither possess the colourful plumage of a robin or the sweet voice of a nightingale or the graceful flight of a jay. They are the outcasts, except to Rick Fernandez. For he understands what it is like to be a blackbird.

Every year, Rick found more in common with his feathered friend. Every year, he found one more way to look at it. Thirteen years, thirteen ways.

Now, as the rest of his family have forgotten about his birthday and gone to the country fair to have a great day, he is once again in his room with his old friend. He softly sings “Happy Birthday” to himself and the blackbird enthusiastically chirps in accompaniment. To the world, the chirping is a distasteful cacophony, but to Rick, it is the sweetest symphony on Earth.

Going to the movies

Do you know what is my favourite part about going to the movies? It is not sitting in the plush velvet reclining chairs. It is not seeing characters come to life in crystal clear HD clarity. It is not even the brilliant surround sound that brings the hall alive.

No, my favourite part about going to see a movie is when my family insists that I go and get everybody refreshments during the interval. One of the greatest mysteries remains as to  why they do not get it before the movie starts, when there is no time pressure or rush.

But, being the adult son, the man of my family, I stride forth to do my manly duty.

I survey the onerous task ahead. There is a large guy in a business suit who is absorbed in a conversation on his Blackberry. In front of him is a couple intent on showing everyone exactly how much they love each other. I sigh in exasperation and take my place at the end of the queue.

The couple take their own sweet time, playfully arguing over the menu and pecking each other on the cheek. I can feel my heart rate increase as precious seconds tick away in their quest for romantic condiments.

“Just choose the bloody popcorn and go!!” I almost said out loud.

Finally, they settle on nachos and dip. I see one last amorous kiss before they finally cut out of line and leave for their movie.

Mr. Blackberry seems to be in a heated conversation with his associate. This argument has taken the epic proportions of a UN debate. The topic of such vital importance- golf.

The clock mercilessly ticks down to the restarting of the movie as he can't seem to put his chat on hold to order. Instead he gestures with the skill of an autistic mime as to what he wants. The poor high school guy behind the counter has no idea what to give.

I have to restrain myself from pulling his Blackberry from his hand and flinging it away as he cannot bring himself to stop his golfing discussion to tell the guy coherently what he wants to eat.

Finally, the high school guy successfully deciphers his improvised sign language and pointing and gives him a Diet Coke. He walks off, oblivious of the heartache he has caused me. It is my turn next.

Faster than the guy can type, I reel off my entire family's order. Time slows to a crawl as he moves from the counter to the various dispensers and starts putting my wishes into cartons. My eyes are bulging and my blood is rushing as I notice that the movie will resume imminently. After an age, I have my order ready.

Balancing several large buckets of popcorn, cups of soda and other assorted snacks is no mean feat, but with the dexterity and finesse of a ballet dancer, I rush back to the hall and run up to my seat. The movie starts right on cue. I just made it.

“You forgot to get a Slurpy for me. Oh and while you're at it, your sister would like a Snickers.”

How To Tell A Story

Sophie was in a bad mood all day. She had been left in charge of her kid brothers, James and John while her parents had gone to a gala. The two of them seemed intent on ruining her day with their crazy antics. She tried calling up her friends, but James and John kept interrupting her demanding a story.

               

Finally, she conceded to their incessant demand and sat them down on the couch. Sitting opposite to them, she carefully surveyed the look of expectant wonder on their faces as they sat with bated breath, waiting for her to start.

“Once upon a time, there was a king and a queen...”

She was cut off by her little brother James. “What were their names?”

Sophie was flummoxed. Her little terrors demanded details to her characters.

“The king was Ferdinand...”

She had barely spoken when John interrupted with a question of his own.

“Which Ferdinand was this? Was it King Ferdinand who ruled Spain in the 1400s? Ferdinand the Just, ruler of Lyon? Ferdinand I of Parma? Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria in the early 1900s?”

Her brothers obviously knew their history well.

“Ferdinand of Spain!! Okay?” she said, in a distinctly frustrated tone.

“This would mean that his wife was the staunchly Catholic Queen Isabella.” said James, “They were the ones who funded the voyage of Christopher Columbus to discover the New World.”

“Hey! I saw a book in Dad's library about Columbus and his accidental discovery of America. Want to go see it?” said John, animatedly.

“Sure. Bye sis. We'll be in the library if you need us.”

Sophie recovered from her daze and smiled weakly. She had told a story good enough to get them off her hands.

Adolescence

                                                                       
         
Thabo is fourteen years old, but he isn't your usual adolescent teenager. He does not have the usual fourteen year old worries of homework, girls or how-to-look-cool. Thabo has very different worries from your average fourteen year old. He has to worry about staying alive.

Thabo is from a village in Northern Congo. One afternoon, the rebels came to his village as he was playing in the field with his friends. Everybody desperately ran to avoid being caught. He ran with a group of his friends to the far end of the field and unfortunately the jeep followed them there.

From the distance he could hear a machine gun fire, as more jeeps rolled into his village and began their customary indiscriminate slaughter. He didn't even stop to look back for his own survival depended on him running.

He could hear the deafening roar of the engine getting closer. He needed to act fast.

There were two other boys running with him. They split in a different direction while he suddenly jumped off the trail and rolled into the undergrowth. The driver of the jeep did not expect this and continued his pursuit of Thabo's friends.

Thabo dived through a bush and hid under a small clump of trees. The thorns cut into his forearm and neck and insects began crawling up his spine, but he dared not move for fear of attracting attention. He lay in his supine position for hours as he heard more vehicles drive past, searching for potential child soldiers.

He lost track of time, softly reciting his favourite song to himself. After what seemed like an eternity, the sound of gunfire abated and the jeeps could not be heard any more.

Cautiously, he crawled out of his hideout and surveyed the destruction around him. The rebels needed child soldiers for their armies and to clear minefields, adults were usually 'sport'.

He returned to the village to see people slowly crawling out of their hideaways and searching for their separated family. A few huts were on fire and some bodies lay out in the open, nothing unusual for such a raid.

He found his mother and father, hiding in their improvised bunker under the house. His younger brother had unfortunately been captured. He would soon be wielding an AK47 for the rebel army.

Thabo was fortunate enough to get away... this time.

Part 2 : Always A Sophia-ite

Hence, there was I, bags packed heading for the Big City. Maximum City. Bidding adieu to the City of Joy...which was sooo my city. I'M sorry Calcutta, for leaving u like this....I guess  its just about the choices you make in life..Sometimes its too hard, sometimes you have to pretend that its easy, for some its really damn easy. 


By July, I started with college but was still not used to it. Nevertheless I fell in love with my college. Every nook and corner of our college has been featured in some movie or the other (read Shaitan, Ishq Vishq, Good Boy,Bad Boy, Lage Raho Munnabhai and K3G to name a few). For the first few days I would like, simply gape at the magnificent architechture of the college campus, taking in the hustle bustle of the Sophia crowd. I would want to go to college everyday. The marble stairs, the Andersson Annexe and our superb canteen were the favorite hangout spots of students. Oh How I love chillng at the marble stairs. Hostel life however was pretty mundane and I would look forward to college everyday which was bustling with activity. Life had come to me in all its craziness....And I was loving it.....

Part 1:-Once A Sophia-ite

Think K3G SHAITAN  AND ISHQ VISHQ

I was looking for a complication...looking for spice in my bland life. I still remember the date. 20th of June,2011 was the day when I got through Sophia College for Women in Mumbai. But I was still waiting in the hope of making it to Delhi. Sadly, that was not to happen. And I was not going to stay in Kolkata for sure. (Ok, I would have had to had I not got through any college.). So, as I peered into the first merit list from the bottom(coz I was so sure I wouldnt get through to such an abysmally fabulous college ) I didn't find my name for the first two seconds of my search. And then, there it was . The fifth name in the general category list. And I literally jumped with joy. This had to be it. I had answered all the moronic dumb arses back in school and elsewhere who had challenged my capability. I so wanted to see their reaction.


Cut to: 20th June 2011 5.30 p.m. When mum and dad r both back at home from work. By now the social circle am a part of has come to know of 'the news'. I could feel the pangs of jealousy in some, and the genuine tone of appreciation in others. So am sitting with Mom and Dad. And lemme tell you , its still a huge affair in Bengali households. 'the-meye-baire-portey-jabe-etuku-boyeshe' thing!


Dad : Bhaloi hoyeche girls' college e peyechish. Tor jawar icchhe ache?
Mom : Na. Na. Mumbai-tumbai te pathanor kono dorkar nei. Ekhaneo bhalo college ache.
Me :.............................
Dad: Tahole Ki JU aar Presidency r lister jonno wait korbo?
Mom : Haan Next week ei toh berobe.O peye jabe.
Dad: Kintu oke jigesh toh koro O kothaye porte chaye
Me : Ma, ami Sophia tei porbo. Its a really good college.
Mom : Tomake chere amra thakte parbo na. Tumi toh parbei na.
Dad : Haan, even I agree. Tui konodin Eka thakish ni. And atow dur e. Chere de na!!
Me: *dejected look* But I know I can. Jodi baire na jai then how will I know bolo toh. And the environment is also good. And Ami mass media porte cheyechilam shetao toh peye gechi.Ebar keno Baaron korcho?
Dad phone rings. here is the kind of conversation he had with his journalist friend.
Dad: Arre kemon achish re? .........Amader thik thak khobor.ei toh meyer ajkei sophia college e BMM chance peyeche...kintu na amra thik bhorsha pachchi na eka eka oke pathate. emni Mumbai te amar Dada TOH THAKE...kintu hostel list eo toh or naam ta nei....oh Bolchish bhishon bhalo college? One of the best in India...??? hmmm...tahole toh bhebe dekhtei hobe...
He disconnects the phone and is back with us
Dad: Abdi toh bolche je O bhalo kore jaane college ta khub e bhalo. Ta or ihche thakle oke bandha diye labh nei.
Mom : Na tobuo ekhane JU aar presi te pele kintu oke ami okhane porte debo na.
Dad : Atleast admission fees ta toh diye di. JU aar presidency r list toh july te berobe.
Mom : Haan Thik ache.
Me : Thank you so much.... I am on top of the world.... Ok, I ve finally made it. Others in my class were still waiting to get into some college. ..
I went to bed that night....A contented woman. The time had arrived.

The Time of Life

It is said that life is short. Time is invariably shorter.Milton thus rightly said-

"Fly envious Time, till thou run out thy race."

One life is usually not long enough to understand the value of time. But both are great teachers to Man. Man's life may just not be enough to comprehend the value of time; consequentially, he may not ever have the time to understand what life is all about. Nevertheless, Man being nature's slave, does realise the value of both eventually.The world is proof to the fact of how man has learnt the value of time in life and the value of life throughout his time. They say, its never too late in life and too early or before time.Time and Life are the two most integral facets in the broader world called the universe. Both teach unforgettable lessons to man. Since time and tide wait for none, Man might as well learn to value the time that life bestows upon him. Life being a gift of God, does teach the noble lessons that every human being is entitled to learn. Life and Time teach us discipline, turning man into a social animal. Time bears testimony to the going ons in Life. In fact, the threatening of time always makes man systematic in his duties, motivates him to fulfill a time bound dream and reach his destination

Time touches all and turns them into nothing. This very truth make life all the more active and enjoyable. Everyone seems to be carrying within themselves and Ulysses to drink "life to the lease." Following the dictation of his mentor Time, Man can acquire success,prosperity and utmost peace. Time is kind to man. Dylan Thomas thus said-

"Time let me hail and climb 

Golden in the heydays of his eyes...."

He had perhaps not wanted to let go of any moment of his precious life. Life is after all a practical laboratory of the teachings that time propagates theoretically. Life is a collection of experiences which either fills us with laughter or makes us break into tears. But in each case and through every experience of success and failure we learn to adhere to time. 

Life and Time are the two great teachers-- time teaches the value of life and life teaches the value of time. The teachings of life are so keen and touching that man can never forget the constant existence of time throughout his lifetime.

Opiate

It dulls my senses and gives me the freedom I have always looked for. All the world's a farce when I am overcome with grief, angst, in indignation and a tumult of happiness.

Its Saturday night. The desire to intoxicate myself and those around me has returned. There is a sudden surcharge within me, to inhale the semi synthetic latex, to lose myself in the narcotic and do the frequent role-play that am so acquainted with by now. I know that it is not what I am. But what's the harm in pretending?

I wear the mask of innocence, roll my eyes with casual nonchalance and smoke. No one sees me, except my soul. I feel my heart beat increasing with the passing of each second.

Opiate has its own romantic charm. It can numb you, kill you, make you see things that shouldn't otherwise be seen. You, yes, not even you would be able to generate the kind of self control that's required to resist Opium. I am a proud addict,unwilling to give up on the zest of life. That is Opiate.A phenomenon. A cloudburst of ecstasy. A bearing on my self consciousness.

I care a dime for realization. For what they say when they see me doping on the roads, in night clubs, and the restricted zones. "They are so narrow-minded", I say, "Why do you care, when I don't? Go mind your  qown damn business. I am bad, and will always be. You might be good, but not for long."- Its more of a warning. My speech is slurred. I decide to inhale once more. The last time, the woman in me promises.