Interstellar

He stared at his fellow-star tenant, and thanked her for the adventure. Space and time had fought, resulting in a break in the continuum.

The shooting star he had wished upon was already dead. He’d believed her to be infinite, but at that moment, she felt empty…As empty as the vacuum that had existed in her heart when they kept taking pieces of her and she let them. He wondered if there was any word for that.

She often accused him of acting like a storm that often came unannounced and left after uprooting her from her being. He did not dismiss that particular allegation – he was human, and storms are, anyway, named after people; nebulae are not. She was made of stardust – they’d crushed her and she’d let them. She was now going to become a star, because that is how stars are born: they crumble, collapse, burn and then finally glow. As a child, he’d stared at the twinkling stars in the sky and wished upon them, but ever since he met her, the twinkle in her eyes was all that he’d needed. Was there a word for that?

She’d wished for something that had destroyed her. Her love for him had moulded her, but, ultimately, what she’d been able to sacrifice had defined her. He couldn’t come up with a word for that.

He’d always loved metaphors even though he had a hard time coming up with original ones by himself. Yet, life had given him the biggest metaphor in her form. Together, they’d embarked on an interstellar adventure, and in the name of allies, all they had were time pirates! Unfortunately, time had always been relative…Two years, two months, two weeks, two souls who kept responding to the hurt that was taken from them. What words could he use to define that? Time was relative, yes; but the hurts were subjective. Love had managed to transform them, and though it was always transcendent, their love had never been quantifiable.

He knew she was probably laughing upon hearing of his cosmic dilemmas. To her, nothing was complicated. Love was nothing but a fleeting glimpse of eternity that would last forever; love had always been free falling, space racing, never running-away but more of a running-towards. Love was nothing other than the North Star which one could always gravitate back to.

She wanted to return home to the star they came from. He used to call them “star tenants” because he believed they’d shared the same origin star. They’d embarked on the same voyage light years ago, but their pathways had been different. However, different star trails from the same star could only stay apart for so long until parallel lines and intersecting lines lost their meaning. The heart did not know of time, space, distance or choice. Heart-strings unravelled in the same way as did the fabric of the universe – there was a break in the continuum, and in their case it was a paradox of love called love.

He used to believe that a black hole is a passage through space and time. She wished he’d understand that time always stood still, making darkness perhaps the perfect place to love somebody. He did not realize that black holes were hugely dense objects, with an inescapable gravitational pull. When he’d fall, he’d fall forever. Forever. It meant there was no way out. She wished he’d allow himself to succumb to the vulnerability, to the fall…Only if he fell, could she catch him. She wished he’d allow midnight to become the easel he’d aligned his stars on – to write of his future infinitely, just like the artist and writer he was. He needed to reel himself back in; he needed to realize that the pursuit of happiness is nothing but a secret locked for safekeeping with the diamonds in the sky.

Space and time had had a fight, resulting in a break in the continuum. There was a break in the opposite end of the spectrum. What he’d believed to be infinite had become unwritten…Unwritten like the rest of his life before him. He wondered if there was a word for that. He realized that, indeed, there was a word for that! It was nothing but love. As he stared above, there it was! Against the dark sky, he saw a ray, an age-old ballad – of science and faith, love and hope. He saw white light - a million colours that briefly splattered across the easel, an aurora lasting all of eternity. He knew it was her light and in his heart, he preserved it and cherished it while it lasted. Finally, he no longer saw a black hole as a dead end anymore.

City Lights

She woke up to a morning just like any other, and stared at the rays of the sun glinting through her expensive French windowpane. Everyone talked about the big city lights, but no one had told her about the darkness - when those lights go off, and the sun comes out.

In the big city, she kept stumbling upon people who were running as fast as she was in order to achieve something. In the race to the finish, she had lost many people, and had gained only a few. But, at the end of the day, she wondered if coming home to an empty apartment on the 26th floor had been worth the chase.

Her weekdays were always fast-paced, rushing throughout the day to complete work and then whiling away time with colleagues as evening turned to night. It seemed to her that weekends were reserved for the sole purpose of sitting down and pondering about life, in general.

She had been so busy chasing her dream that she had not looked back even once to contemplate or take a chance at love. She could not trace when that dream ended, and when she woke up to realize that the chase to glory had not been enough to fill her life with contentment? The philosophical books that she often delved in to find answers kept reiterating that happiness is a state of mind, but what was the essence of her life without people to share it with?

A walk down the beach always helped her clear her mind. She saw the young mother struggling to help her toddler build a sandcastle. She smiled at the two girls playing volleyball. There was an old couple sitting not far away. They were sitting down, holding hands, and watching the waves that arrived dancing on the shore. Their serene expressions made her realize the importance of relationships in her life. She realized that she needed to add another point to her chase.

Often the big city lights blurred her vision and drove her to go right to the core of her dreams. Next time, when those lights shut off, she decided to take a closer look at herself in the dark. Darkness was always an honest friend - it ruthlessly told her exactly what was missing in her life without any sugarcoat. It was time for her to start going after that for a while. The big city had appeared to be fun only when she had someone next to her, who saw her for what she was, and noticed things beyond the glitter and glamour - things that the shiny crowd failed to note.

It was now time. It was now time for her to find the knight in shining armour. She had not been designed to play the part of the distressed damsel who needs rescuing. Instead of waiting to be rescued by him for her happily ever after, she needed to wake up and find it herself.

Of New Beginnings and Ends...

It's that time of the year again when everyone is talking about new beginnings. But how do you begin a new chapter when you haven't ended the previous one? Can you just skip ahead without any real closure? I know I can't.

I find it very difficult to say good-byes. I wonder what I would tell you before we parted again. Would I just shake your hand and watch you walk away, without looking back even once at me as I stand seething in pits of bitter unrequited love, or would I actually open my mouth and let those years of bottled up feelings flow?

Some partings are well-made but one reason why I have never learned to say good-bye to you is because you seem to hang on in almost all of my moments. Even if we don't speak for weeks, each morning when I open my eyes, I feel your presence - or rather it is the awareness of your absence that stirs me from my slumber. Even at night, while I am asleep, you do not leave me alone; you creep into the crevices of my dreams. It's been so long; yet I don't know why you still hold such a special place in my heart.

There was a point in time when I finally decided it was time to forget you. I had to let you go. That pursuit made me search for fragments of your being in the people around me. When I realized it was impossible to recreate something that had felt so perfect, I tried redefining perfection. Alas, I horribly failed! I tried again, and then again, but each time, I failed even more.

Everyone's life has a story but you were the first person who was actually interested in reading my tale. You helped me discover myself; and, in your own simple way, showed me what it truly meant to feel cared for. You helped me become a better person. No matter how corny it sounds, you are the reason why I smile, laugh and believe in unconditional love.

Every lovely thing has an ugly side and, unfortunately, things were no different in our case. You shattered me. I single-handedly picked up the shards of my broken self and tried to fix myself. With a little help, I was restored to my previous state; but now that I had experienced what it felt like to be loved and looked after, it became difficult for me to cope. I became distrustful and swore that I would never rely on one person again. You taught me a valuable lesson on the importance of self-reliance but I still haven't mastered the lesson completely. One day, however, I hope to get to a place where I will not depend on anyone but myself for my happiness. Someday, I hope to emerge a stronger and more independent version of me.

But does that mean that I should just say good-bye and let you slip from my hands? Each time this question pops in my head, my inner voice screams "NO" because you felt (and still feel) like you're the best thing that could have ever happened to me.

It's the end of this year but I know I am still holding on to you. The next time we meet and it's time for us to say good-bye, I shall do so - I do not know yet if it will be a permanent one or temporary but I shall hold on to the illusion that our next meeting is just around the corner; and comfort myself with the belief that our story will never really have to come to a real ending.

Our Math

We live in a world where figures are given a lot of importance. We need to keep count of everything - time, money, odds, gifts, pros and cons, and so on...We are even instructed to count our blessings!

I love that between us, there are no ledgers to be maintained. There are people in this world who can love and calculate simultaneously but I am glad of our mutual incapacity to do so. I love that you allow me to shut my mental calculator because yours does not function either. Or maybe, we do count but in a rather twisted way.

"You called me only once today while I called you four times." - In the way we count, it only means that we spoke to each other five times. I am glad we do not count and settle on the numbers of things we love and hate about each other, or check on which outweighs which. It's relieving to see that instead, we choose to dwell in the depths of knowing each other's best and worst, and in loving each other because of and in spite of everything.

I could say I love you with all of myself, as fully, as wholly as I can, but I cannot measure the love, because there is no measurement scale that I know of for spaces beyond the infinite. Just like a count of the visits one makes to the temple or the formal prayers one recites is not even the slightest measure of one's degree of faith, how often we acknowledge our love for each other, how many gifts we give and receive between us, how many common friends we have - nothing really is a yardstick to measure our equation of love.

And despite all of this, when one of us fails to fail at relationship math, and either of us says anything that sounds like "you never do this right" or "you are always wrong", I love how the other can usually see through the mindlessly uttered blanket statement, and understand the creases.
Sometimes, we both fail. We make mistakes, and when we do, we count what we learnt, and we count the opportunities we have to make those wrongs right.

So, I figure our relationship does have math but, thankfully, not the kind of complexities that require a mental calculator. It is just basic math that the heart does of its own accord. And even if we try, there is no denying that we do, in fact, count. We count on each other; and the best part of such a calculation is that neither of us is ever let down. 

Message In A Bottle

They sat at the sea-shore knowing that the time to bid farewell had arrived.
"Each time you leave me with more questions than answers," he complained.
"You, no more, sort things out for me," she retorted. "No longer do you iron out my doubts, fold neatly my dilemmas and no more do you leave me well-stocked on enough clarity to face life."
"You will need a housekeeper for that, my love," he teased her in reply. "Not me."

"Time flies when we are together," she pondered.
"I wonder if time flies," he replied, "Or if it is feelings which have flown?"
With a heavy heart she sighed, "What can I say? I know I have to let go of you as we depart to distant shores. I know a part of me aches when there seems no ache of parting in yours."
He simply smiled, "I have witnessed many more partings than you; yet in each parting, I experience an ache anew. If  you were to move from your head to your heart, you would feel it too."

She looked at him with tear-filled eyes and poured out all that she had stored in her heart, "There used to be a time when we would exchange messages in bottles made of sighs. I would float my feelings on a thought and you would catch and expand them on your island. Thus, we were tied across the waves of life...But these days, why do I feel as if we are caught up in separating tides?"
His voice remained calm as his eyes shifted in a thoughtful gaze, "Yes, there was a time when you floated your feelings of heart-felt desire. But these days, you have started building a ship to endure doubts within those very sighs. You guard the bottle of doubts, not allowing the contents to float away. There's only so much a bottle can hold - doubts or desires - choose one to drop away."
"Would you rather I allow my desires to find their own way?" she quizzed.
He replied, "How does one sail through life without a compass of security to show the way?"

She stayed silent, settled in her bottle. He stared silent, at the lap of the waves. In the absence of intent, the currents of life drifted them away to where stories without ends somehow find their place.

Being Your Own Best Friend

After finishing twelfth grade, I left the comforts of home and began a new chapter of my life. It has been more than seven years since I've been living alone. The experience has been exciting, empowering and also quite daunting at the same time.

Moving away from home is not easy. Forcing oneself out of one's comfort zone and barging into the world of the unknown is difficult. Despite some lows, I would say that my experience has been pretty good and I do not have much to complain about. However, there are times when stress and anxieties creep in and try breaking me down. "It's alright," I say to myself. "This too shall pass. It is only a minor setback in the grand scheme of things. In the end, all this just won't matter," I continue to rationalize. There are days, however, when such reassurances do not work. In those moments, I find myself tossing and turning, thinking and re-thinking things over and over again. Sometimes, I feel that my head will explode because of the never-ending eruptions of my thoughts. In those moments, I wish I could just hit my mind's 'pause' button and decide to run the world later but, unfortunately, not all wishes come true.

It is in such moments of insecurity that I actually feel the pinch of being alone. Not having a support system is hard because it means I have no one to lift my spirits when I am down. It means that I have no one to remind me that I am capable of handling whatever craziness is tossed my way.

Being independent has its perks but it also has its fair share of disadvantages. Nowadays, I feel that I am so used to doing things on my own that I find it almost impossible to admit before another person that I need help. It is becoming progressively more difficult for me to even talk to people about what is going on in my life. Still, there are days when I brave an attempt and actually ask a friend to meet. But meeting impromptu in a city where everyone has so many priorities isn't a piece of cake. Most of the time, these sudden plans never work out and I find myself sinking deeper and deeper into the marsh of insecurities. These days, I feel I am stuck so deep inside that I don't think I can be pulled out. I am not sure if I even want to pull myself out. The marsh of insecurities, which earlier felt so uncomfortable, gradually ceases to bother me. It now feels so familiar that I embrace these insecurities as if they had always been a part of me. Sometimes, I realize that I am being unreasonable but I feel it is alright - sometimes, one can be allowed to be unreasonable.

At one point of time, I needed encouragement. I needed someone to tell me that I am a wonderful person. I needed to be believed in - to be told that I am brave, smart and capable of accomplishing all the dreams that I dare to dream and much more. I no longer need these reminders because I am no more the person I used to be.

Things that earlier meant the world to me, today, don't really mean much. People who I was, once, very close to now feel as good as strangers. I still have a perpetual smile on my face but it does not reach the eyes. Today, I am in better control of my emotions and, unlike before, I do not allow feelings of anger, exasperation or despair to show on my face. 

Perhaps, this is what it means to be truly on one's own - when you have no one to fall back on but yourself. You can be your harshest critic but you can also be your best friend. After all, no one can really know you better than you know yourself. We always find it easy to notice our shortcomings, but how many of us actually pat ourselves on the back when we feel we have done a good job? People can't be around all the time but you can always be there for yourself. It is tough but I believe it is possible. I have now embarked on the journey of becoming my own best friend.  When are you taking the step towards becoming friends with your own self?

Voids And Discoveries

He turned around to look at her one last time before he proceeded through the departure gates to board his flight. He wished she had accompanied him on his journey but their paths were completely divergent. He was travelling to his future - a land of many promises. Even though he had never gone there before, he was sure everything would be bright and beautiful for he was going to a place that had infinite potential.

She had chosen to stay behind. She considered the past to be a shrine that needed to be preserved. Reliable and unchanging, it provided her with an insight  to the beginning of everything as it gave her a sense of centre and stability.

As she watched him go, she had a sudden urge to leave her familiar path, catch his hand and travel his journey. It was not as if the thought hadn't occurred to her before. But each time she pondered over the matter, she realized that it wasn't the right thing to do for it would forever create a dent in her soul.

He had left his lover behind to completely submit himself to the quest of self-discovery even if it meant conversing with every piece of stone and pebble that created a dent under his sole.

As she walked back home, she hated to admit to herself that she was actually not feeling miserable. Even though he was gone, she did not really feel that she was missing anything in her life.

He cared for her a lot but he knew he could not be in love always. His life had always felt complete until she came along and made him realize what he had been missing all this time. Like a mirror, she reflected what was absent rather than what was present and helped him see the void in his soul -a void he had always resisted seeing. It was ironic that the one who had shown him the mirror of his soul and motivated him to step out of his zone of comfort could not leave her stability-zone behind and venture out to search for her missing pieces.

She stopped at a fountain and sat looking at the flow of water, coming from within and flowing outward. She felt it was metaphorical. By choosing to not walk the same path as he, she was kind of going through the same process of going within, digging inside so much that she ended up drooling out the same things repeatedly; only sometimes discovering some wisdom that kept her in the space of a momentary euphoric moment. She had no control over it and it always left her in a void; making her wonder what just happened and what was all that wisdom about. So far, the only discovery she had made was that she needed to feel someone caressing her body so that her soul would feel that it was alright to find nothing on the path that she had chosen to walk.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she, once again, felt she should have travelled with him. It would help her overcome her grief of not finding any wisdom and the joy of the many voids which were present on her journey.

He knew she would not have regretted her decision of walking down his road. He would have taken her to the beach where they would have sat together and watched the sea move. The waves that were unnoticeable from a distance would slowly appear as a slight bump until they got bigger and bigger as they came closer. When almost at the shore, the wave would look gigantic and crash with enormous power, and then soothe. He was sure that she would have liked watching this sight - it represented both of them going in and out of each other's heart, sometimes discovering something profound and sometimes just encountering a void. He felt, almost relieved, that he had left his old ways - somehow love felt like a drug that made one enjoy experiencing the same thing over and over again - he was glad he had overcome this addiction and discovered his zeal to travel on a path to a new existence.

No matter which path each had chosen, deep inside, both felt somewhat incomplete. Both had lost something which they wished they could get back. Both of them still continued to walk down their different paths, experiencing the same alternating incidents of voids and discoveries on their respective journeys. Hopefully, they would meet at a water-body someday.

Clutter

She wasn't a sloppy person by nature yet it would be safe to assume that her house wasn't the tidiest place on earth. Stacks of newspaper lay forgotten in a corner until they transformed into a mountain-pile ready to topple. Her bedroom, more often than not, accommodated washed, creased clothes in dire need of being ironed and placed back in overflowing cupboards. She had never really been a hoarder but suddenly it seemed that her home was crammed with stuff she did not need; and for some strange reason, she did not have the heart to discard so many things at one go!

Messy places had never really bothered her so she settled quite happily amidst the clutter. She was so engrossed in sorting out the jumbled pieces of other people's lives that she had no time to clean her physical space.

The morning started like any other morning. She woke up, dragged herself out of bed, got ready, boarded the train to work and spent the train-journey chatting on the phone with her friend. There was nothing extraordinary about this day - at least not until she finally arrived at work and sat at her desk. She dove into her bag to fish out her locker-key when the horrible realization dawned on her that it wasn't there! Not one to easily panic, she found herself frantically emptying out the contents of her bag, desperate to find it. It did not take her long to realize that it wasn't there. She calmed herself down, took a few deep breaths and told herself to relax. "I must have left it at home," she thought and resumed work. But no matter how hard she tried, she could not ignore the deep sinking feeling that had set in her heart. Something told her that she wouldn't find it but, as was her norm, she neglected that tiny voice and went about her day as if nothing had happened.

When she returned home, her worst fear had come true - the key was indeed missing. She looked in every possible place but it just could not be found. She was quite a scatter-brain from time to time but her things had a habit of turning up every now and then. Not usually a worrier, she was rather surprised to find tears filling her eyes. It was just a key! Why was she so distressed?

She thought about distracting herself by going out for a drink and immediately made plans with a friend she hadn't caught up with in a really long time. However, as the time for her to venture out of her house dawned near, she felt her feet getting heavy as if indicating that they just did not want to move. Not one to ever back out last minute of a plan she had herself made, she surprised herself by cancelling on her friend and staying indoors. Finally, home alone, she sat down and decided to spend an evening catching up with the most important person in her life - her own self.

It had been ages since she had even thought about herself. Her life had become a mundane routine as she busied herself with work. She had never been such a person! She loved her job but for the first time she wondered if work was just a diversion to distract herself from the painful memories of tomorrows that never came. Even though she hated admitting it, she knew she wasn't really upset about losing the key - true, she was always a perfectionist when it came to work and while she did have a reputation to maintain of never misplacing her things at work, she knew what truly bothered her was losing the key-chain to which the key had been attached...

She had no idea of the significance of that particular, inexpensive key-chain until she had lost it...That particular key-chain stood as a symbol of simpler times in her life, of a time when she had felt blessed with happiness and abundance. Not having it suddenly made her conscious of the emptiness that had engulfed her world. She suddenly started howling and shedding a flood of tears. For some reason, the tears kept coming and would not stop. She had never felt more aware of her robotic existence than at that very moment. After a while, her tears dried. She calmed herself and realized that despite the disconcert she actually was relieved - she had finally experienced an emotion so deeply after a really long time. She had been so busy protecting herself from feelings of hurt that, in the process, without realizing, she had invariably ended up shutting herself from feeling any emotion at all.

She looked at her house and felt disgusted, almost repulsed. She finally understood what she had been doing in the past few months. Not one to dawdle, she immediately set to work. She opened her cupboard and donated her discarded clothes to a homeless shelter in order to make room for the pile of clothes that lay on her bed. She cleaned the floors, sweeping away even the dust that lay forgotten beneath the carpets. She recycled and disposed all the old things for which she had no use. She did not need clutter in her physical space to compensate for the void that was present in her mental state.

Her house was not spic and span but it was definitely tidier than before. The key was yet to turn up and while she hoped with all her heart that it would, she knew she would be alright even if it didn't. While precious, old memories are always fun to cherish, it is more important to make room for building new ones that we may want to treasure.

A Letter To My Girl-Friend

Friendship is a story that chances a beginning each time two strangers interact and click with each other. Our tale is not like those. We started chatting, we met, but we never really ended up becoming "good friends". You were busy with whatever was happening in your life and I had different priorities in mine. And then, on that fated night, you called. I don't think even you knew back then that that phone conversation would change a lot of equations in our life! We were up the whole night, talking on the phone, and since then - we haven't stopped!

You are the one person who knows most of my secrets - the only one who knows all my fears, my desires, the one I trust to keep all my secrets safe - and I know all my secrets are safe with you. I have no inhibitions even sharing those thoughts with you that might make others label me as, perhaps, weird. You may not be non-judgmental at all times but it's alright - sometimes, I need to hear the truth, no matter how hard it may seem. You are someone with whom I can gossip for hours and I love the fact that you listen to me even when I am telling you about people who you do not know at all.

Life is not a bed of roses and our relationship has never been free of thorns. There are times when I have felt that we are growing apart. I have rationalized that it isn't anybody's fault and we are just different people headed in different directions.  But then something happens at work and I start to laugh. My colleagues look at me and wonder what's wrong. At that time, I miss you because I know you would know why I was laughing and join me! With the passage of time, we have so many inside jokes that our friendship has developed a secret code of its own - sometimes we can simply look at each other, not say a word, and just start cracking up leaving those watching us perplexed and miffed. Even when I am not with you, there are times when I see something and immediately think of you. It is a reflex action to just dial your name on my phone and tell you all about my day - not many things register as actual experiences unless I have shared them with you.

Changes can be rough. With you by my side, I believe I might be able to survive all the major changes that life will throw my way and I promise to always hold your hand and walk by  your side when life is being a rocky ride for you. After all, friendship is all about being there for your friend - so whether you need my help while you are nursing a broken heart or whether you need me to take care of you while you've returned home drunk, I shall do the needful because I know you would do the same for me.

I have always been a social butterfly but there are very few people who are included in my innermost circle of friends. You are, probably, the only girl in that intimate circle - If today I believe that every girl needs a girl-friend by her side, it is only because of your presence in my life. I love the way we finish each other's sentences and know how the other one is feeling by a simple glance at her face. Our friendship has been put to test quite a few times but each time, it has survived because neither of us is ready to give up on the other person and on the bond that we share.  Thank you for being such an integral part of my life. I genuinely hope that we shall be friends till the end!

To Mummy, With Love

I don't have particularly vivid memories of my childhood but as far as the classic game of Good Cop, Bad Cop is concerned, in my eyes, my father always played the role of the 'Good Cop' while my mother was invariably viewed as the 'Bad Cop'. After all, my father used to bring us toys and chocolates from his tours abroad. My mother used to ensure we eat healthy home-cooked food. My father used to take us on outings every Sunday. My mother would return home every evening and check our school-work. While both parents insisted on me getting good grades, it was my mother who used to force me to finish my homework and scold me if I did not score very well. Moreover, she would wake me up every morning so that I did not get late for school - unfortunately, being rudely awakened from my beauty sleep because of my mother's incessant screaming was not exactly my idea of a "good" morning. I remember commenting as a child that I hated my mother's shouting - I think, as a child, it was something that I feared.

As I blossomed into a teenager, gone were my shy, well-behaved mannerisms. Suddenly in school, teachers started telling my mother that I had transformed from being "the quietest in class" to one of the most talkative persons. It was in sixth grade that I actually started interacting more with my peers and got a closer peek into their worlds. It was in sixth standard that I realized, for the very first time in my life, that my mom was cool! It was a very random incident but it is one that I remember clearly even to this date - our class got a couple of free passes to the local amusement park and my friends and I wanted to go on our own. Each one of my circle of friends rehearsed a speech to present before our respective mothers in order to get permission. I too did the same. When my mother returned home in the evening, I was a little anxious. I waited for her to settle down and then brought up the topic precariously. To my utmost surprise, I did not even need to finish before she said 'yes' and gave me permission (though she insisted on some form of adult supervision). When I called my friends, I found that a lot of my friends who had boasted in class about how getting permission was not at all an issue for them were having trouble convincing their parents. That was the first time I realized my mother is actually not as scary as I think of her to be - she may scream and shout but if I am being reasonable, she will support me. She managed to even convince my friends' parents to give permission after assuring them that we wouldn't be left completely alone and by ourselves.

When I was in twelfth grade, I remember getting on the wrong side of one of the teachers in school. It did not bother me because my entire gang of friends were eye-sores for her and we landed in trouble almost every day. Never in my life had I ever served detentions until then. Unfortunately, my mother did not find this whole affair funny - it did not matter to her that I had partners in crime. According to her, I should have remained in the good books of the teacher and I remember fighting with her over this innumerable times. Even though I don't agree with this view-point even today, this was one incident where my mother taught me to respect the position of authority irrespective of the person occupying it.

When I moved out of my home-town and started living on my own, I realized my mother's importance. For the first time, I was responsible for my own self. There was no one to wake me up on time for my classes. There was no one to make my bed. No one was there to force me to eat something before leaving the house. Little things that my mother used to do over the years for which I never thanked her even once...Even today, though I have been living away from home for almost seven years now, whenever she is visiting, she will still go out and buy me necessities that I will never think of getting for myself; and though I hate it when she cleans, I really appreciate how nice and organized my place looks for the next couple of days.

Over the years, my mother has become my friend. I find a lot of people around me complaining about how they need to hide some things from their mother because "no matter how cool parents say they are, they are only fine with things if they are happening to other children and not their own" - it is difficult for me to relate to such statements. While I may not tell my mother every single detail of what's going on in my life, I do not think I would ever lie to her if she asked me specific questions. We may not have long, thoughtful conversations but her smart, witty comments have always lightened my mood and also made her an instant hit among my friends! Recently a friend of mine asked if I would ever marry a guy who my mother doesn't approve. My first response to her was "Yes, why not? I have to live with him, not she." However, as I thought about what I had just said, I added, "I don't think my mother would ever have issues with a guy I really like - if she does, there is probably something wrong with him that has caught her attention and not mine. If she brings it to my notice and that 'fault' or 'shortcoming' is not an issue for me, I will go ahead with my decision otherwise I will have to think about it." My friend was a little taken-aback at my answer, and to be honest, even I was surprised at what I had just uttered. All these years I have adored my mother for the immense amount of trust she has had in me without realizing that I have the same amount of faith in her.

My mother has taught me to always stand up for what I believe in. She has taught me to endlessly support my near and dear ones especially before outsiders (it does not matter if our internal equations are jarred at that present moment). She has also taught me to be accountable for my own self and not rely on others to get my work done. I will not say I have mastered each lesson that she has bestowed my way - my mother and I are very different persons with a lot of dissimilar perspectives, attitudes and mannerisms but while we may have our share of conflicts, I can only see my relationship with her strengthening with each passing day for the amount of love and respect I have for her makes it impossible for me to imagine my life without her in it. 

A Christmas Miracle

She stared at the world outside her window squinting her eyes to help her see through the fog. The streets were empty and the trees were barren. No one was in sight. Everyone seemed to have retired indoors to escape the icy chill of winter. Usually, she despised the cold.  Some winters, all she longed to do was slip into hibernation, snuggled under the comforts of her warm blanket. She always battled the cold by wrapping herself in multiple layers of clothing and sipping incessant cups of hot chocolate.

This time, it was different. She found herself opening the windows and inviting the cold inside the chambers of her home. Somehow, the dreary weather outside seemed to be aptly reflecting her gloomy mood. She had been living all by herself for many years. Yet this was the first time she felt completely alone. She stared at the decorated Christmas tree decked up in blue lights – it was a pretty sight but she wished she had someone else beside her to admire the view. There was a feeling of emptiness seated deep within her heart and she wished she knew how to fill up that void.

The sun had set and outside her window was that unimaginable and deserted vastness of night coming in. She put on her coat and stepped out of the house to take a walk, hoping she would be able to get rid of the loneliness monster that seemed to be hot on her trail.. She walked alone without the company of another person or any of the modern gadgets like her iPod or phone. She was armed with absolutely nothing to distract her from her thoughts.

As she trudged along, she became increasingly aware of her hatred for the cold. She hated the feel of the cold wind gushing up her skin. Her nose was vulnerably frozen and she could feel the hair standing up at the back of her neck. As she looked around, she realized, once again, that she was the only one present. No one else was in sight. Suddenly, hot tears started rolling down her cheeks. She could not believe herself. What was she crying for? A lost love or a love never lost? Or a love that never happened? She had no idea but she did not stop the tears from coming down. She was tired of fighting and she just let them flow. Suddenly, she felt engulfed by a huge sense of relief. Perhaps she wasn't as frigid as the world perceived her to be. Maybe, there was still hope for her. She found herself bursting with laughter at that thought and she let out a hearty chuckle.

It was still misty everywhere. Her vision was still blurred, on account of her tears and the fog, but somehow she had a clearer picture than before of the way things were. Winter was not as heartless as people described it to be – on a cold, wintry evening, she had finally found a part of herself that she thought was long lost. It was the best gift that she could have asked for! In the darkness, despite chances being bleak, she had managed to stumble upon her light. It was a Christmas miracle and it had come true!  

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. 

To Mumbai, With Love

I return again to this space after an unexpectedly long hiatus. The good news is that the break wasn't the result of a writer's block. Rather, it was my busy schedule that prevented me from finding time to gather my thoughts and penning them down. 

I have written about Mumbai so many times before. There are times when I wonder what more is there to say about this city that hasn't already been said before. It has been more than three years since I have lived here; and finally it is no more just a city of dreams or a city of unending ambitions for me.
When I first came to the city, I was one among the many aspirants who come to this place with starry-eyed dreams and believe this is the Mecca of making those dreams come true.

It has been three years and I am not sure where those dreams disappeared. In hind sight, I don't think I can even remember what those dreams were. It all seems like hogwash to me - a thing of a past that is so distant that no matter how hard I try to recollect, the only faint remnants of its existence is experienced in my heart in the form of piercing feelings.
Yet I seem to be in love with this city. It is difficult for me to pinpoint the reason. Do I love the city because it gives me my independence? Or is it the unstoppable life of the city that I am attracted to?
The people, here, are fascinating. They always seem to have new stories to tell; and some of the old ones are always eager to fill you in with tales of bygone days. But then people are interesting almost anywhere you go if you take the time to catch a glimpse of their world.

It is not the busy life of the city that attracts me. Living in Kolkata for almost seventeen years of my life has ensured that I prefer the slow life compared to the madness one sees while travelling in the Mumbai locals especially during rush-hours; and while Mumbai does have a charm of its own, nothing beats the old-world charm of Kolkata in my eyes. The way I see it, the crude, harsh tone of Marathi stands no chance of winning points against the melodious ring of the Bengali language. Forgive me if I appear biased!
Of course the one thing I absolutely love about Mumbai, apart from the beautiful rains, is Marine Drive - the entire stretch at night is an object of devotion on its own.
But is that reason enough to make me want to stay?
Of course not!

Acknowledging Mumbai as my "home" instead of being just the "current city of residence" was not an easy transition. But it happened. This change can be attributed to a lot of factors - my exciting work, my very messy but spacious house, my funny, travel adventures, my daily encounters with individuals that always give me wonderful stories to narrate about discovery and delight...This list can be endless. But one thing that truly makes this city feel like "home" are the wonderful friends I made who stood by my side and always sustained my belief that no matter how bad things were, "this too shall pass".
Sometimes I wonder, if it weren't for them, would I have survived the time I got stuck at Dadar-Matunga for more than four hours owing to the heavy rains? Would I have managed to take a leap of faith and resign from a job that did not seem fulfilling enough if I did not have their support? Would I have had the courage to embark on a road to a new destination I was absolutely clueless about? Could I have overcome the loneliness one sometimes tends to experience living alone in such big cities?
I don't think I could have survived any of that without them!

My old dreams may have evaporated but I have still not become a person who just goes on with the daily drudgery of life with no fun and zeal. Life is a journey and even though one may have to give up on past dreams and wishes as one advances, it does not mean that those are not replaced with newer goals and ambitions.
Mumbai has helped me evolve as an individual at many different levels - today, I feel more connected to my core. I have set new goals for myself and I am aware that I have the support-system I need in order to achieve them. Life is not a bed of roses and there are thorns that I need to look out for but I have faith - in the end, everything will be alright!
I guess this is the Mumbai spirit that everyone boasts about - no matter what disasters fall in your path a Mumbaikar always has a ready disposition to face and overcome all calamities. I think this new-found fighting-spirit that I seem to have recently discovered officially qualifies me to say I am a Mumbaikar, after all. 

A Visit To St. Catherine's Home

A part of my job-profile entails that I liaison with different organizations (primarily NGOs) regarding fieldwork placements of students. This responsibility took me to St. Catherine's Home in Andheri (West), Mumbai on a nice, sunny Saturday morning. While I have visited several organizations in the past, this one, in particular, was a humbling experience for me.

St. Catherine's Home was started in 1922 to provide shelter to unmarried mothers but today it caters to more than 300 infants, toddlers, girls and young, unmarried women who have been the victims of deprivation, abandonment and abuse. The one thing that struck me the  most about this home was its emphasis on not just providing education and rehabilitation but also catering to the psycho-social needs of the individuals residing there and ensuring they are re-integrated into society when they are ready. I was amazed to know that they ensure their children go on a trip to the sea-side once every year!

As soon as I reached the home, there was a young couple there who were just leaving after adopting a ten-month old baby. It was a touching experience seeing the gleam of happiness in the eyes of the new mother as she was holding the child in her arms.
After the couple left, I had a conversation with Sister which made me open my eyes about many things that I was already aware of but I chose not to see. For instance, I was told that one of the major challenges they face when they put children up for adoption is that couples do not want to adopt dark-skinned babies. I guess it is because of such obsession with fair-skin that we need campaigns like Dark Is Beautiful. I was also told that no family in India wants to adopt a child that has any mental or physical handicap. In fact, they do not even want to adopt children who have any scars or marks on their faces. I was really troubled on hearing this! While the mind-set is such that we want our children to be perfect, does this mean that children who appear farther away from perfection have no place in mainstream society? Is only beauty deserving of love and affection? I found myself thinking to myself that it is probably because of this narrow mind-set that the couples were not blessed with a baby of their own in the first place - no matter how hard I tried, I found myself being quite judgmental when I heard these stories. Sister told me that all children with special needs are put for adoption in foreign countries. She told me about children getting adopted and living in Sweden, France, Belgium and U.S.A. and doing very well there.
Every time I hear politicians or some orthodox people condemning how the 'Indian culture' has gone for a toss owing to Westernization, I feel they should reflect on some of the ways in which the Western society is better; especially when it comes to the way it treats its women.

While the home is doing a commendable job despite being short of funds, the fact that it exists is proof that we are living in a society that is in no ways safe for the people who have the XX chromosome. Every day, news of molestation, child abuse, gang-rapes continue to be hurled at the public through newspapers, radios and televisions. I wonder what happens after the sensationalism is over? No one is ready to take any responsibility. We wish to blame the government, the police-forces, the judiciary, the media, the politicians, the organization but nothing really comes out of this blame game. I just feel that it is now time to take matters in our own hands and be responsible for our own safety because expecting this country to be a safe place for women is like a Utopian dream.

Towards the end of the visit, the words of Sister that remained with me were, "Count your blessings! Our children, here, would gladly exchange places with you right now. You have food, shelter, clothing and so much more - be thankful to the ones who provide them for you. Parents are always taken for granted and never appreciated for all the things they do because after all you feel it is their 'duty' to do so." She gave us instances of fathers molesting their own daughters; mothers selling their daughters; uncles making their nieces work in the flesh-trade and all these stories just gave me goose-bumps. The trauma one feels when one becomes aware of the fact that the one who is assigned the job of protecting you and taking care of all your needs is the one who is subjecting you to exploitation and oppression is one that can be extremely heart-wrenching and something that no one can understand unless and until you have been in the same shoes. At the end of the visit, I just felt grateful for having so many privileges, luxuries and comforts - while I never have issues expressing my thankfulness, today was one day when I felt a simple 'thank you' would just not do.

To all the people reading this, I reiterate Sister's message and request you to make a list of all those things in life you are grateful for and express your heart-felt thanks to those people who have blessed you by providing those things. It will not only help you look at your life from a different perspective but you will also be making a difference in the lives of those who you hold in special regard. 

The Conformist

The flight was ready for take-off. She proceeded to Gate Number 2 for boarding. It was commendable how she had managed to fit three years of her life into just two suitcases. No longer was she the girl who needed three bags along with a colourful purse for just a week-long vacation. In these three years, so many things had changed...It is easier to travel light when there are so many things you want to let go off, she realized.

As she neared the gate, the briefcase of the gentleman, walking beside her, slipped out of his hand and fell open. He had probably not locked it. All his files and papers were strewn on the floor. Normally, she would have stopped on her tracks, bent down and helped him gather his belongings. Today, she just walked past him. No one had helped her get back on her feet when she had been down. She saw no reason why she should bestow anyone with such generosity.

She looked at the young mother standing in line. The creases on her forehead were proof enough that the not-more-than-four-year old twins were quite a handful. The mother was having a hard time separating the two from each other – they both seemed to be engaged in a mock wrestling match. Once upon a time, she had been extremely fond of children but not anymore. She could no longer look at the world through the eyes of a child and elude the harsh reality. The time had come to dispel illusions and boldly face the harsh world.

She made her way through the aerobridge, curtly nodded at the air-hostess who smiled at her, and sat down at the seat by the window. It was just a matter of some moments now. She would soon be leaving this city forever. As she fantasized about her life in the new city, the air-hostess tapped her on her shoulder.

“Excuse me, Ma’am,” the air-hostess began. “There is an old lady who gets air-sick while travelling. Would you mind exchanging your window-seat for one on the aisle?”
She rolled her eyes. She knew that the old she would have graciously agreed to the offer. But she wasn’t her old self anymore. She was done being nice to people!
“I am sorry,” she said. “But I really prefer this seat. I do not like being disturbed.”

The air-hostess gave a nod and went ahead making the same request to another passenger on the window-seat. Meanwhile, she reflected on what she had just uttered. There was a time when she loved being in the company of people. Being alone in a place used to terrorize her! Today, she felt claustrophobic around people. The movements of the pendulum from one end to another were indeed an amusing affair!

She was sitting next to a middle-aged woman. “Hello, how are you?” the woman tried making polite conversation. “This is the first time I am flying! I am a little nervous.” She tried smiling at that lady but the smile did not reach her eyes. She, once again, stared out of the window, pretending to be blissfully unaware of the woman who was struggling to buckle her seat-belt. Once upon a time, she used to go out of her way to help anybody in need. Today, she did not see the point in assisting anyone – it did not do her any good.

As the captain announced that the flight was taking off, she breathed a sigh of relief. She was finally leaving everything behind – her old self, her old job, her old “friends”, her old life – forever. It was now time for new beginnings. She would be in a new city; in a place where she knew nobody and nobody knew her. Life had given her another chance to collect her dues. In these three years, she had inadvertently been taught the ways of the world. She was determined to put life’s lessons to good use. She had successfully been conditioned to become a conformist…

Home

It's 9:15 p.m. when my flight finally lands in Kolkata. As I am getting off the plane, I find myself heaving a sigh of relief as I breathe in the cool, pleasant air that is all around me - it feels such a welcome change not just from the claustrophobic air-conditioned space of the airplane but also from the humid breeze usually that greets me when I get off the plane at Kolkata. "The air-hostess was right when she announced it was just 23 degrees Celsius," I think in my head.

As I collect my luggage from the conveyor belt, I find my mother waiting for me at the gate. I can't help but smile...
It's been more than 5 years since I left Kolkata but in all these years, there hasn't been even one time when my mother has not come to the airport to pick me. While there are times when I would prefer a quiet drive home to her non-stop chatter, this was a time when I actually experienced a feeling of happiness as I sat with her in the car, listening to random updates about things, people, and life, in general.

"Home is where the heart is."

This quote has never made sense to me! I feel my heart is always in a million places - I feel I give a piece of my heart to any person I become close to or any place that I start to like...I definitely do not feel at home in all these places with all these people...Feeling at ease, feeling good, feeling comfortable - all this is not really the same as 'feeling at home' somewhere, don't you think?

I am very happy living in Bombay. I like the fast-paced nature of the city...I like the way the city just lets you be...It is the place where I get to deal with things my way! I am not dependent on anyone to get things done...It is the city where I am responsible for my own self. The past few weeks, however, have not been easy. My life is in a constant flux of changes and while almost all of them have been for the good, there are times when I feel myself grappling for some moments of peace. Even my mind is getting attuned to the fast-paced life of the 'City of Dreams' and seems to be working over-time without resting for even a moment...There are times I have found myself commanding my mind to just stop functioning and let me rest but it seems to be turning a deaf ear to all my pleas!

The funny part is that from the moment I have landed in Kolkata, I feel that my entire baggage of worries have been dumped behind in Mumbai itself. Here, there is nothing going on in my mind. I can sleep as long as I want to without worrying about any chores. I do not need to worry about the clothes that need to get washed or the food that needs to be ordered or cooked - here, all these errands get taken care of. In Kolkata, I can just laze around, watching my favourite television shows or movies, catching up with friends, and while I enjoy working, sometimes it feels good to just be totally free with nothing to do! Kolkata is the place where I experience 'joy' in each and every moment...

Today, I think I know what 'family' and 'home' mean to me...Family accepts you for what you are and loves you, with no strings attached. While there may be occasional complaints that you do not spend enough time with them or that you do not share much about your life the way you used to, the family does come around in the end and continues to keep hoping for what is best for you...My family has never given up on me even when there have been times that I have felt that there is nothing in life for me to look forward to! Home, according to me, is the place where you are allowed to act the way you want to act - it's ok if I am 23 years old but still want to feel like a baby, snuggling up to my mother; I am allowed to do that at home! While I may not be a 'Bengali' in the true sense of the term, I feel I can identify more with the culture of Kolkata than that of my roots of origin in Bihar...Kolkata is my home because it is the place where my family resides...Each and every time I feel lost, I feel that I discover myself in the 'City of Joy'. My family and my home are my stability-zones in life - while life can keep hurtling me with several changes, these are the few things that are going to remain the same, no matter what...

From 'Joy' To 'Dreams'

Twenty-two years ago, I was born in the City of Joy, Kolkata, on a rainy September morning. Kolkata is my place of birth and it is in this city that I have spent seventeen glorious years of my life...Having spent joyous years of my childhood and adolescence, here; I associate Kolkata with warmth, friendliness and lots of colour! It is a city that not only boasts off a rich cultural heritage but also of being a foodie's paradise. It is a peculiar mix of tradition and modernity. You will find people across all age-groups preferring ethnic wear over Western wear. Women draped in colourful cotton sarees and men wearing kurtas, dhotis and lungis is a common sight. Kolkata is one place that teaches you not to judge a book by its cover - no matter how traditional the attire of the people is, most of the people in Kolkata have a modern outlook towards life - the birth of a girl or a boy is celebrated with equal pomp and festivity; equal emphasis is given by parents on, both, academics and extra-curricular activities; and parents are more liberal than those in other parts of the country in terms of acceptance of romantic relationships (no matter how short the duration)...Kolkata is a place of funny contradictions - living expenses in Kolkata are not much and you can treat yourself to a hearty meal for just thirty rupees! There are small 'dhabas' or eateries in narrow, dingy lanes but be warned! Even if you are sitting in one of these cheap eating-joints, you will be expected to adhere to the same code of conduct as you would follow while dining in a five-star restaurant. If you do not wish to follow table manners, eat the street-food off the roads! You can visit shopping malls but you will not be allowed to sit outside on the steps of a mall in Kolkata - that is a privilege you can enjoy only in Mumbai or Bangalore...In its own way, Kolkata is a funny mix of being cheap and, at the same time, being elitist...It is a city that exudes vibrance along with a laid-back attitude.

I lived in Bangalore for three years. I went there as soon as my school-life was over.Bangalore is the 'Garden City of India' and, the initial few days in Bangalore made me fall in love with the weather and the lush, green spaces... I was looking forward to a new phase of my life in college but Bangalore, to me, came as a culture shock when I actually ended up living in the city! Every city exposes its true nature when you put forth your vulnerable side before it; and I found Bangalore to be rather voyeuristic! Girls, there, were busy smoking in public, discussing what to wear while going partying, displaying the latest accessory they had bought or showing off their new phone! Bangalore never became a place where I felt I was at home...Apart from being the Garden City, it is also the I.T. Hub of India of our country...The college in which I studied made us follow a strict code of rules and regulations and towards the end of my third year, I actually felt like I was training to become a robot - a mechanical entity programmed to behave in a certain way to suit the technological environment of the area...I also got to know why Bangalore is the infamous 'suicide capital' of India -I associate Bangalore with being a city that has a whiff of reckless air of irresponsibility around it which ultimately gets to you (at least in my case, it did!)...

Ultimately tired of my robotic existence in Bangalore, I moved to the City of Dreams. I have been in Mumbai for more than two years now. It is similar to Kolkata in terms of climate and having friendly people. However, life in Mumbai is extremely fast-paced when compared to the lazy life of the people in Kolkata. Standing outside Kurla station in the peak hours of morning and watching the people move like an army of ants is indeed a very fascinating sight! Marine Drive is one of the few places in Mumbai where I escape to when the rapid life of the city gets to me - there is something about the salty waters that always instills in me a sense of tranquility. Just like Kolkata has areas like Dalhousie that are proof of its British association, South Bombay has a few such areas of magnificent British architecture...There are many more similarities between the financial capital and the cultural capital of our country but on days, when I miss Kolkata and its old-world charm extremely, visiting Banganga does the trick!

Over time, I have realized that in order to occupy a place and to have the place occupy you, you need to get intimate with it! I love talking and for me to feel at home in a particular place, I need to know the language. Being able to converse in Bengali fluently and being able to understand Marathi has enabled me to warm up to these places sooner than I would under usual circumstances - in the case of Bangalore, I was totally unfamiliar with any of the South Indian languages and apart from my love for South Indian food, there was nothing in the city that made me feel like a local there...

Mumbai is a city that appears familiar to me and I have adapted myself to the life-style and work-culture here. Becoming a part of this has ensured that the city will not forget or abandon me. I will not be cut off from the activities of the city...

I think I was a happier person in Kolkata than I am at present. Now, I am a romanticist and more of a dreamer. I dream of a perfect Utopian world and aspire to achieve it...Of course, reality is very different and there are times when my idealistic notions are crushed...In those times, I have friends to fall back on...No matter how troubled the times are, I always believe that tomorrow comes with the promise of being a better day and the start of a fresh, new beginning...From the innocent, joyous wonder years of childhood, I have moved to a more adult world without shrugging off my dreamy-eyed expression...The world continues to amaze me and each day, I learn something of some significance...I have moved from 'joy' to 'dreams' and the hope is that one day, my dreams will turn into a beautiful reality!