Chrysalis

Don’t we all love butterflies? Well, maybe not all – I know my brother was scared of butterflies as a kid (yes, laugh all you want!) – but I’ve always been inspired by them to a huge extent. The first tattoo I got was of a butterfly…

I really feel that Nature is the best teacher. I mean – look at the butterflies! Magnificently hued and the objects of everyone’s envy! But then again, I wonder: what do we envy? We envy their beauty, we envy the fact that they blossomed from relatively ugly, green caterpillars to luminescent self-propelled flowers, if I may put it that way, and we envy everything we cannot be and cannot do. Human nature…

Just some time ago, while reading random facts online, I found out that butterflies have short life-spans. Yes, the longest may be a year, but their average life-span is a mere five days to two weeks. When I read this, I remember thinking to myself that this was yet another example of the law of impermanence in life. Nothing lasts forever. Now, that is both good news and bad news. What really was the point of being so beautiful if your life was merely fourteen days long, at the very best? Ironically, two weeks later, I got the answer to my question. Mother Nature’s mysterious ways cannot be undone; these fractals of our amazing world are here to inspire all of us, if only we paid a little more attention.

The butterfly counts not the days or weeks it has, but the moments it has, and that is time enough…

Today a caterpillar, tomorrow a butterfly. We should never lose hope of what tomorrow might bring. Despite all the heartache, sorrow, pain and insecurities, we are all butterflies waiting to happen. Just when the caterpillar thought life was over, cocooned in darkness and misery, it transformed into a butterfly.

The caterpillar thought, “It is the end of the world.”
The butterfly realized, “It is the beginning of the world.”

The struggles, the battles you fight today, prepare you for tomorrow. They help you develop the strength and make you realize that you need to fly. You might feel that you are about to fall, but butterflies can’t see their wings, can they? They can’t see how beautiful they are, but people around them can. People are like that. We really are butterflies waiting to happen. People are like butterflies and the world is our chrysalis.

A month ago, I found a dead butterfly. It’s not the most common sight. Incandescent green wings, unimaginably beautiful…Dead…It really is not every day that you find a dead butterfly. Until I held it in my hands, its frayed wings, I could have lived in the bubble that butterflies are fairies that come out of nowhere, entertain us with their beauty and disappear into nothingness soon thereafter. But no life is unfair…and fair: an integration of happiness and sadness; change. Change is the only constant. And probably, that is the biggest lesson we can learn from a butterfly.

If nothing ever changed, there would be no butterflies. If nothing ever changed, clear, blue skies would not follow storms. If nothing ever changed, life would have no meaning.

Just like the butterflies, we will awaken in our own time. We really are just butterflies waiting to happen…

Movie Review: Chotushkone (Bengali)

This weekend, I happened to watch one of Srijit Mukherji's movie, Chotushkone. Even though the movie released last year, I just felt the need to review it for it's been long since I watched an Indian movie that breaks the conventional style of story-telling.

You know the movie is going to be gripping when the first scene of the movie begins with a woman writing a suicide-note stating that no one is responsible for her death and then scratching out the 'no one is responsible' part. The premise of the film seems simple at first: four directors are on their way to meet a producer who has agreed to make a film featuring four stories directed by them. Each of their stories, however, must represent 'death' as a theme in some way or the other. These four directors, Trina, Joy, Sakyo and Dipto are familiar with each other, and as the story progresses, their past is discussed and several disclosures come to light.

Even though 'chotushkone' actually means a quadrangle, I liked the way Mukherji deconstructs this structure, first, as a triangle, and revealing the fourth side only towards the end. I will take the risk of not saying anymore about the plot for I do not wish to give the story away. Chotushkone  takes the audience on a bumpy ride with constant flashbacks merging with the present day. The plot is extremely layered with many twists and turns, but one criticism that I do have is that I feel Mukherji gave the climax away a little, say about five to ten minutes, early. Also, some of the sub-plots could have been fleshed out more. Out of the stories of the four directors, I particularly enjoyed Trina's story the most.

The music is melodious and refreshing. I particularly loved the song Bawshonto Eshe Geche. 

The cinematography is brilliant with the film being shot in five different tones. Srijit Mukherji's brilliant story is supported by a stellar cast comprising of Aparna Sen, Parambrata Chatterjee, Goutam Ghosh and Chiranjit Chakraborty.

I would recommend this movie to everyone. It is an uplifting ode to Bengali cinema that breaks conventional styles of storytelling and is bound to keep you entertained. Looking forward to watching more movies from Srijit Mukherji. He is definitely one to watch out for!

The Absent Friend

Every morning as I rushed out of the house, I always saw her lying in her self-designated spot with eyes only half-open. She enjoyed a lazy morning and rarely stirred. Initially, as I passed her by, she would look up expectantly, hoping to be patted. On most days, she would face disappointment because I, usually running late to work, could not afford to waste an additional five seconds to pat her and go. On the few days that I did manage to find the time to pet her, she would get a wee bit more demanding and want to be stroked all over. She would then follow me till the end of the gate where she would stare at me with a forlorn gaze as I left her behind and headed towards the station.

She had been living in the compound for many years and had befriended all the small children and the watchmen. Everyone called her 'Bubbly'. Our compound has many dog-lovers and she was always well-fed. Every evening when I returned home, she would again be lying in the compound treating herself to a siesta after eating a heavy, hearty meal.

It was in the night-time that she was quite active. Whenever I returned home late, she would nicely be taking a stroll in the compound. Her presence made me feel safe.

There were occasions when she did venture outside to meet some of her other friends. There was a black and white dog who often visited her, but she was very possessive when it came to the sharing of attention! I remember playing with her black-and-white friend on a couple of occasions but if I dared to first pet her friend rather than her, the jealous dog would snarl, growl and chase her friend away!

Once, the watchmen had adopted a small kitten that had been abandoned by its mother, and they were looking after her. The poor kitten was missing one leg and half a tail. I had always heard that cats and dogs can never be friends but Bubbly, to my surprise, welcomed the little one and had no qualms in sharing her relaxation-spot with her. Of course, the only time she threw tantrums was if I ended up playing with the kitten before greeting her. Oh, how she would sulk!

On some particular nights, Bubbly would allow me to feed her biscuits. Such times were rare as she used to be usually full. But it was funny to see her jumping to eat those biscuits just because she knew that if she refused, I would offer them to the kitten who I had affectionately named Beraal!

Bubbly had been missing for quite some days. There had been episodes in the past where she went into hiding for quite a while and suddenly resurfaced so I did not read much into her disappearance. But, after a while, her absence became more pronounced. It had been more than ten days since I saw Bubbly. Finally, after a conversation with a watchman, I remembered how dogs run away from their homes when they know that their end is near; and I realized, with a lump in my throat, that my Bubbles was no more.

I knew she was quite old, but I wish she had been around longer. Whenever I felt upset, I would just take a walk down my building and play with her. She was intuitive and seemed to know when something was bothering me - on those occasions, she would be more playful than normal; and spending time with her caused my troubles to evaporate for that brief moment. I miss her. I wish I had got a chance to say a proper good-bye. After all, she was the pet I never had. I just hope my memories are enough to keep her alive...

Hanging By A Thread

"If you were watching a movie and found that it was utterly ridiculous, would you judge someone for leaving the theatre in the middle?" she asked.
"Of course not," he replied. "In fact if the movie was really bad, I'd walk out myself and judge those people who remained inside!"
"Then, why do we judge those who choose to commit suicide because they find life unbearable?"

At that time, he had not answered her question. But today, as he stared at the lifeless body in front of him, he thought about all the conversations they had had. And about the ones they hadn't.

Days passed and turned into months. But he was still woken up every night by her dreams. It didn't matter whether they were good or bad, because they hurt all the same. People still asked him about her. Few asked him what it was like without her. He never knew how to respond to those questions. Going through life without her was not something he had wanted to do. He had never wanted to live without her. And without her, he wasn't really living...

She was the person who'd made his life wonderful. The guilt that he had failed to do the same for her plagued him mentally and emotionally. When someone leaves the way she did, everyone wants to point a finger. Everyone wants to know why. And she didn't leave a "why" because she left behind no note. It was in her nature to leave things unsaid.

He often blamed himself for her death. Well-wishers told him that it wasn't his fault but he knew it was. He knew he could have told her to hang in there but he didn't. He wished he could apologize to her - tell her that he was sorry for not being able to help her. Perhaps, that would take the guilt away. But she was not in front of him and he was tired of speaking to her imaginary spirit.

He felt that his life had lost all meaning and purpose. He was doing nothing constructive. Sometimes, while driving his car, he wondered how easy it would be to just lose control. He stared at the sleeping-pills his father took every night and wondered how many it would take. It would be so easy for him to end things the way she had. But then, he wouldn't want to make anyone in the world feel the way he had felt after her untimely death. He realized that he needed to hold on just to make life bearable for himself and for those around him. She was gone and while he would never forget her, he realized he would also have to remember his old self that he had forgotten, somewhere along the way. Even though he felt dead, in actuality, he was not. He would have to move on because life (with or without her) was all about learning, loving and being alive.

Regret

Her head was spinning with endless questions. She wished she could stop the destructive thoughts flooding her head but she wasn't powerful enough. Never in her life had she felt more alone than she did at that particular moment.
She wished she had someone to tell her that they cared. She wanted someone around because she needed a friend; someone who would have the sense to tell her that she was not alone...Someone who would tell her that they knew how it felt to be lonely in a crowd. There was more to life than living, there was beauty and real joy and she wished there were people around to protect her from the hurt that she experienced...
The pain was too much to bear. As she dug the blade of the knife on to her skin, she kept wishing till that very moment when she breathed her last that someone would call her, just say "hello", laugh with her and share those things with her that she had been forced to face alone all this while. She wished she had been brave enough to talk about the way things were - and she ardently wished someone would have told her to take things easy, how close they had come themselves and how lovingly they had been sheltered...
Things could have been alright. But it was too late now. Unable to seek help and unable to endure her suffering, she murdered herself with the hope that it would take her to a better place.

He was home when he received the phone call informing him that she had ended things...The news shocked him beyond belief. She had not left any note - this bit of information did not surprise him. She had a habit of leaving things unsaid. He couldn't really blame her. This was something she had picked up from him - but at that moment, he couldn't help repenting the fact that she was not in front of him for him to say the things he wanted to say to her.
He wished he could have talked to her about the seriousness of her problems. He knew she rarely opened up to people but perhaps if he had persisted, she would have told him what she was going through. He wished she would have let him have a bigger role in the story of her life. He wished he could tell her that he knew what it was like to wake up in the morning and feel that life is completely meaningless. Even if she wasn't in a mood to listen, he wished they could have sat together in silence until that insight dawned on both of them that life wasn't so bad after all...
He wished he could tell her all the things he had kept away from her...She would scold him for keeping secrets but maybe then they could get to talk about things she had kept away from him, like the fact that she was dying on the inside the whole time.
He wished he could tell her all the wonderful things he loved about her. With no care of the world, he loved the way she always spoke her mind and did what she wanted to do. Always caring more about others than herself, he knew she had not shared her problems with anyone because she would not have wanted to burden them with her troubles. Now the only burden people carried was the knowledge that she had suffered so much, until she could take it no more.
He wished he could tell her that he loved her and that he would always love  her. He knew that without her, his life would never be the same. But it was too late now to do anything...All he could do was live with the regret that he could not save her...

Suicide is a dark word. It stole her from him. They could have grown close, helped each other...But just because he did not realize that he could make a difference, he actually didn't.

Living

We all talk about living life to the fullest and enjoying each and every moment that life has to offer. But what do you make of days that just pass by as if they are already dead by the time you begin to experience them? What do you make of those experiences? Do they just disappear from your universe simply because you did not take the trouble of registering them?

None of us succeed in remembering each and every detail of the things that happen to us. If something is forgotten, does that mean it has ceased to exist? What happens to people who suffer from Alzheimer’s and cannot remember what happened just a while ago? I find it very difficult to put myself in their shoes. If I woke up one day and did not know who I was, I cannot even fathom how I would feel. Would it mean that my life-time has just gone by silently, crawling away from my memory and leaving nothing but traces of anxiety buried within me? If that happened, would my life-time be measured simply on account of the anxiety that I will, then, harbour?

These days, I find myself becoming a rather passive observer. I don’t really desire life but I definitely have no wish for death. It upsets me that I have no other option – in a world where one is always spoilt for choice, having just two alternatives does not feel good. There are many things that I still wish to do but none accommodated by either one of those choices.

People sometimes feel I over-think. These days, I feel I just cannot think anymore – if I do, my head will explode! I feel my thoughts are held at gun-point to live and breathe as if they wish to survive. Sometimes I feel as if my thoughts have disowned me and I am left with no memory. I only have everything that has been forgotten and each day, I am struggling to live this forgotten life that seems to be whispering to me in an undead manner through words that keep running away from me the moment I choose to speak them out.

Silent Screams

She was a believer. No matter how bleak things appeared to be, she never lost hope; and in the end, everything did become alright again. So, there really was no need of her to question faith. Yet, these days, there were too many questions arising in her mind. Some of the questions seemed ridiculous; others she felt were valid. Each question that was raised weighed her down – she did not have answers to these questions and that made her uneasy. She felt stuck in a rut, unable to move. The unpleasant feeling tied her down as if her entire body was bound by heavy, sturdy, iron chains.

Why was it so difficult? If she had managed to arrive at the question, why was the answer so far away? Each day, she grew increasingly restless. Was this just a phase? Would it ever pass? Why was nothing happening? When would it end? Was she just wasting her time or was there a possibility of something good coming out of all this? She desperately needed answers.

She had smoothly flowed along the course of life. She had graciously accepted everything that life brought her way overlooking all flaws and seeing only what was good. She used to proudly proclaim that her life was perfect despite the presence of some imperfections. Where had she gone wrong? Was it not right on her part to ignore faults and just appreciate people for their goodness? She had never seen it as a conscious effort. It was something that came naturally to her. Why was it suddenly such a difficult task? She was known to be a motor-mouth. There were days when people wondered if she ever paused to even take a breath. But, all of a sudden, why was she tongue-tied? Where had her voice disappeared? She felt like a stranger among familiar faces. Her mind was like a volcano almost at the brink of bursting with a lava of questions but it just could not find an outlet to erupt. Every day, she was screaming in rooms filled with people who were seemingly deaf for no one took any notice.

She started questioning everything. Doubts emerged. She became frustrated. A few noticed that things were not as they usually were as far as she was concerned – they asked her what was wrong. Finally! Finally, people were starting to notice the change! She was delighted! She was ecstatic! She had a wide smile on her face – the time had now come for her to open her mouth. But alas! No sound came. She had become so accustomed to not being heard that she had ended up losing her ability of speech. She stared sadly at the inquisitive faces and just shrugged her shoulders. “It’s nothing,” she said in a dismissive tone, “I’m alright.” The people believed her. No one saw the fast pace with which she pranced, rapidly blinking away the tears that were now brimming in her eyes. Even if they did, they did not give it a second thought. Time is precious – why waste it fretting over an individual who doesn't cry for attention? The world is kind to just attention-seekers.

She gave up and resigned to her fate. She decided to stop speaking altogether – if she never asked questions, the disappointment of not receiving an answer would not haunt her. She was a victim and her silence played the part of rescuing the very world that had victimized her. In some way, the silence was also protecting her – shielding her from possible answers that she may receive but not like. She was being held hostage by her rickety belief-systems and was restricted from taking any action. Was there someone out there who could still hear and rescue her from this mess? She needed help even though she did not know how to ask for it. Was there anyone who could feel her pain and lend a hand?

Someone heard her. Not all was lost. One day, along came her friend, Death, to take her; and she gladly went with Him – after all, Life had betrayed her by not showing her the silver lining and leaving her alone. In the midst of her darkest hours of despair, she gladly embraced the company of Death and went with Him away from all her miseries, finally at peace. 

Leaving Crossroads

He was a silent worker who always kept to himself. His reclusive and lonesome nature was one of the many objects of interest for most of his co-workers.
She used to chatter away to glory with anybody who as much as looked in her direction. She was the life of many parties. People were mesmerized by her charms and mannerisms but she did not seem impressed by anybody.

It was a typical Monday morning for everyone at work. Almost all the people were cribbing about returning to work after having “so much fun” during the weekend. It wasn't just another day for him. It was that day of the year when he had turned a year older. As he entered office and walked towards his cubicle, not one head glanced in his direction. He was hardly a prominent figure – no one noticed his presence nor missed his absence. He sat at his desk and switched on the computer. He, suddenly, noticed a note on his bulletin-board. It simply read “Happy Birthday”. He recognized the handwriting. It was from her.
The whole day she was busy with presentations. He managed to catch hold of her at lunch-time. “Thank you,” he said. “But how did you know it was my birthday?”
She flashed her million-dollar smile, “I keep a list of everyone’s date of birth so that I don’t forget to wish them! Birthdays are important, don’t you think?”
She walked away without really waiting for a response. He watched her go, baffled by the ease and comfort with which she did things. No one would believe that this was just her first month at work.

After this incident, their interactions increased. He found that he could talk to her about anything. His evenings were no longer spent doing over-time and his weekends were never spent alone at home.
She gave up being a people’s person and settled for a small group of close-knit friends.

They were inseparable. They completed each other’s sentences. One knew what was on the other’s mind even before words were spoken. 

People talked about them. People made up stories. 

This did not bother them. If anything, it was nothing less than a source of entertainment for them!

After some time, he quit the organization to pursue what he felt was his “real calling”. She stayed on only to join him later, after some months. This move was in “their” best interest. Distance was not doing their relationship any good.  It wasn't what her heart wanted but she did not want to disappoint him. He needed her just as she needed him, she told herself.
He hated it when she used to prioritize work over spending time with him. It tore her heart to a million shreds when she found him choosing the company of other people before her. Something was amiss and it was now time to strike a compromise.
She gave up her passion to help him follow his path of dreams. She plunged herself in darkness in the hope of showing him the light.

As time passed, it became clear to her that it was all futile. He did not need her. She decided to go back to her old life. But going back isn't as simple as it seems to be. Retracing one’s steps does not mean that one manages to restore themselves back to their old selves in a complete manner. She found that she could just not force herself to be the person she used to be. She no longer craved company – she did not like having people around. They annoyed her. She immersed herself in work but her zeal had vanished. She was just not as good as she used to be at one point of time. She felt that her parts had gone rusty. Each day, she was dying a slow, painful death. She wanted to run away but she had no place to go. She did not even know who or what she was running away from. In the end, she settled for a life of mediocrity. She was with people but felt alone all the time. People are, after all, no substitute for the emptiness one feels within.
He became extremely successful in his new field and stood on top of the ladder of success. People looked up to him in awe. He had everything in life. He was content, blissfully and conveniently unaware of the damage he had caused, perhaps unintentionally, to someone who, once upon a time, was his closest friend. It was alone up there but he wasn't lonely. After all, he had always enjoyed his own company.

They had crossed paths but their destinations were different. He wanted to be like the Pole Star, the brightest star in the northern sky.
She wanted to burst like a star and dissolve like a handful of glitter into the universe to give herself back to where she came from...

The Redemption (Flash Fiction)

She always looked like a picture of happiness. No matter how bad the day was going, she always had a radiant smile pasted on her face. With her incessant candid chatter, she always amused her colleagues and friends. You could have a dialogue with her on any topic under the sun. It did not matter that she was not interested in politics or current affairs. She could still weave a conversation with the inputs you gave her. She rambled about the weather; she discussed movies and books; she could lecture you on any topic pertaining to philosophy or the behavioural sciences. However, when it came to talking about her personal life, she always remained silent. So engrossed were people in catching up with her lively chatter that this significant aspect remained hidden from their view.

She was a strong woman. She treated the thoughts in her head in the same manner as she treated the bruises on her body – she concealed them successfully from the eyes of the world and grinned at her wonderful accomplishment. With time, the bruises increased. So did the intensity of the thoughts she swallowed. Suppressed thoughts, however, have a tendency to gestate; and over a period of time, they grow into something else. She got tired of paying the price. She started harbouring bitterness towards herself and for her victim position.  She tried in vain to mutate these thoughts into something beautiful. As she hid more and more, she found herself forgetting who she was and she was gradually getting lost.

A fire was raging inside her and she needed to do something to extinguish the hell that was burning her insides. She dug the blade on to her skin and watched it peeling off all vulnerabilities – of pain, of pleasure, of life, of death – with a broken smile on her face. She did not flinch and she did not scream. With each drop of blood that fell, she felt her tainted soul getting more and more purified.

They found her body the next day. Even her lifeless body exuded a portrait of serenity. Why wouldn’t it? She had successfully managed to escape the agony that had been eating her inside. Her soul, now repaired of its ugly marks of pain, had successfully renounced the physical body and was already on its way to a new and, hopefully, better destination.

The Other Side (Flash Fiction)

He was quite groggy in the morning when he got up. Last night, the farewell-party had lasted too long. Although sleep-deprived, his spirits were high at the thought of the new job in a foreign country with the love of his life by his side. Life just could not get any better than this! He got into a taxi and headed for the airport. He did not know when he dozed off but he woke up to the sound of blaring horns. A crowd of people were gathered at a little distance away from him. He could also see an ambulance parked. He wondered how he had landed on the road. Without looking behind, he tried making his way through the crowd. They had surrounded a broken down taxi. The bonnet of the car was smashed and the bumpers were off. A taxi-driver lay dead on the ground. He recognized the driver – it was the same man who was driving him to the airport. He overheard the conversation of the people – there had been a terrible accident; both, the driver and passenger had died on the spot. He turned around to look at the passenger and was shocked to see his own body lying on the ground. He realized that the people could not see him, hear him or sense him. Surely this wasn’t real! He could not be dead!

As she waited for him at the airport, she could feel the butterflies in her stomach, fluttering around with excitement. The future that she had always anticipated was soon going to turn into reality. Her knight in shining armour, who had already swept her off her feet, was finally taking her away from home so that the two of them could begin a new chapter of life together. As the thought that she was leaving everything that she knew behind crossed her mind, her heart started feeling heavy. Letting go is never easy even if one knows for certain that a better life lies ahead…Giving up on things with which one is familiar is difficult, even if it causes one pain, because no fear is greater than the fear of the strange and the unknown. The idea of leaving behind her nagging parents that had initially seemed welcoming was now pricking her. What if the feeling of being alone appeared and started biting her? She quickly tried dismissing those thoughts. She knew that she wasn’t alone. He would always be there to hold her hand. A smile appeared on her face and her eyes lit up at the thought of him. Even if she was being invaded by feelings of emptiness and barrenness, his love would shower her, once again, with fulfillment and contentment.

His soul found her still at the airport. There was a crease of worry on her forehead and a frown on her face as she repeatedly dialled his number and found his phone not available. He wanted to speak to her but she could not hear the sound of his voice. He was a rain-cloud, held back behind the mountain of doom. She was a desert, aching for his touch, on just the other side…

Freedom (Flash Fiction)

“She is stunning,” he thought as he looked at her intently. “Bright blue eyes, rosy cheeks, luscious lips…She could get anyone!” He remembered the large swarm of boys in his class who had had a crush on her. She wasn't a head turner but she was the cute girl next door with whom every guy wanted to be; and of all the men standing in line to be with her, she had chosen a brat like him to spend the rest of her life. She wanted his love, care and attention. He bestowed upon her insults, injuries and rebukes. Finally she could take it no more and decided to walk out of this loveless marriage. She wanted to be free. He granted her wish. He could see what he had done to her. Her rosy cheeks had become pale. Her luscious red lips were dry and her bright eyes had lost their luster.  In the spur of a moment, he raised the knife and dug the blade into her back. She gasped with her eyes wide open as she was released from her suffocated existence. He bent down to close her eyes. She had always believed in the best of everyone yet she had experienced the worst for herself. He had murdered her today but he had raped her dreams and her life long ago. Each day, a part of her was dying a tiny death. Today, he had ended it once and for all. He wiped a tear that was about to surface on his face. With a grim look, he dropped the knife. Without giving her another glance, he just walked away from the house, now, in search of his own freedom. 

Mumbai: The City That Never Sleeps

Mumbai has always boasted that it is the City That Never Sleeps. The city has been a witness of torrential rains, terrorist attacks, bomb-blasts etc. and none of these have succeeded in deterring the brave spirits of the Mumbaikars and their never-say-die attitude.

Having lived in Kolkata and Bangalore for seventeen years and three years respectively, where everything shuts before 1:00 a.m. and the roads are absolutely desolated with no one in sight, Mumbai was a welcome change as being a city buzzing with activity even late at night past 2:30 a.m. I think I am one of the fortunate ones who has never been chased by the police for being present at Marine Drive in the dark hours of the night.

Every time I am out at night, the ink-coloured skies of the city seem to be sparkling with the painted dreams of the people it inhabits. No matter how late it is, I have never found myself alone in the city - people are always present, be it taxi-drivers, food-vendors or people, like me, just strolling around.

Saturday was the first time I experienced the city shutting down owing to the death of Shiv Sena visionary, Bal Thackeray. It took my friend, Sanika, and I almost 2 hours to reach home. We had to resort to walking on foot since taxis and autos refused passengers. One auto-wala who did agree to drop us to the nearest station gave up half-way when other auto-drivers coming from the opposite direction approached us with their shattered windows and warned us that autos carrying passengers were being pelted with stones and the drivers were being charged with sticks. Trains were relatively empty, mainly because people had no means of reaching the station. While the passing away of a great political leader is indeed a tragic loss for many, it is not right, in my opinion, to force people to mourn his death by bringing the entire city to a stand-still. The city witnessed an eerie silence on the day of his funeral with thousands of his followers gathered at Shivaji Park while the rest of the Mumbaikars were stuck indoors on a weekend. Shops were closed. Restaurants were shut. Even chemists were not open. I was one of the more unfortunate ones: having just returned from Kolkata, my house was not stocked with any groceries and to make matters worse, my building ran out of water supply on Sunday. So, I was subjected to be under house-arrest with no food and no water just because the person who people claim had made Mumbai safe for women and everyone else was gone; and therefore it was not safe to venture out of the house for anyone! Am I the only one who sees the irony of this? In spite of all this, one cannot say that the city was entirely shut with trains still functioning normally.

Although it is the 'City That Never Sleeps', according to me, Mumbaikars are always in a state of perpetual slumber. Have you ever gone even one night without sleep? If yes, you will agree with me when I say that whenever you are sleep-deprived, you tend to be very indifferent the next day. You feel cranky. You do not wish to really talk to anyone. You just want to get done with your work and you want people to leave you alone. If someone is talking to you about their woes, you do not desire to listen to them; you keep wishing that they go away. This is how I normally act when I have not had my beauty sleep and I like to believe that everyone behaves the same way...It is because of this I say that while Mumbai is full of people who never sleep, it hardly has people who are wide awake...People in Mumbai are always on the move, desperate to reach their destination without caring much about fellow-travellers. I have a friend who always claims that in Mumbai you can do anything you like, wear whatever you want - people, here, will not stare at you! There are times when I find myself wondering if that is really a good thing...People in Mumbai do not have time for even giving another person a second glance - they are too self-absorbed and caught up in their own lives...The people, here, are just disconnected from one another and from the other person's reality. They are just interested in ensuring that their life moves forward...My friends often accuse me of being rather sensitive and advice me to be wary of strangers but unfortunately (or fortunately), I just cannot become a Mumbaikar in that aspect despite my love for the city.

People from Kolkata may be termed as 'nosy' or 'interfering' if you wish to see them through those eyes but by their very nature, people in Kolkata are helpful. Several cars sped past us on the Saturday we were stranded on the roads...If it was Kolkata, many cars (I am not saying all of them) would have stopped and offered a lift to some of the people on the roads. When I suggested that we ask someone for a lift, my friend found even that suggestion preposterous!

Death is a natural event. What surprised me is that the natural death of an important figure brought the city to a complete halt when the untimely deaths of several commoners could do nothing to stop the city from bustling with activity! The city of Mumbai finally fell asleep this weekend; unfortunately, the amount of sleep it needs to compensate for being up since several decades was, most probably, not enough.

On Monday, everything seemed to be going back to normal. Even Dadar, the hot-spot of the Shiv Sainiks, returned to its state of regular functioning. This is Mumbai. This is the City of Dreams. There are times when people may occasionally doze away but Mumbaikars will only rest when they sleep in eternal peace. After all, they are living in the City That Never Sleeps...

Write Your Own Epitaph!

"If you were to die today, what would you want written on your epitaph?"

The first time I was asked this question, I was a little startled. I am just 22 years old, perfectly hale and hearty and I still have many years to go before I can think of dying! But then, Death does not visit only those who are sick and old. There are times when you can be busy carrying out the activities of your daily life when Death can creep up stealthily from behind and take you along with Him...

No matter how young you are, you always have the potential to achieve great things! Looking back on my life, I wish to have lived a life with no regrets. If I were to die today, I don't want to regret the fact that I was not able to do the things I wanted to do because I was busy with the mundane tasks of the day! I want to live life to the fullest. I don't want to keep making bucket-lists of things I want to do and end up doing nothing because I am waiting for the right time...I believe in seizing every opportunity that comes my way and making use of it to gather new experiences!

The one reason I fear death is because I fear oblivion! I don't want to be forgotten. Even if I die, I want people to remember me for certain unique qualities.
At the same time, if a stranger comes across my grave, I don't want him or her to merely read:

Divya Srivastava

1989-2012

Even if the person did not know me at all, I wish that he or she would get to know me a little better by reading what is inscribed on my grave-stone. I strongly believe that Death is not the opposite of life but it is the opposite of birth. Life is eternal. Death, according to me, is merely an event that marks a transition between incarnations. When our soul is born, it travels from one body to another depending on the soul's karmic requirements. On my epitaph, therefore, I would want written:

" She is a part of life
 But not just a tiny bit;
 She is life itself -
 She is the whole of it!

The physical part of her soul - the body - is what lies here. Her soul has been set free and has already embarked on its quest for adventures to newer lands."

 Writing your own epitaph can be an extremely emotional experience. This activity helps you gain a perspective on your current life and the way you are living it. Now, I ask, "If you were to die today, what would you want written on your tomb-stone?" What is your reply to this question? Do spend some time and reflect on this question. If you are comfortable, I would really appreciate it if you can share your epitaph on this space...