Sleepless

She tossed uneasily in a restless slumber. Each night she retired to bed wondering what exhausted her more – the nightmares that did not let her sleep soundly, or the nightmarish reality she found herself living every morning? Perhaps, this whole life had been one big mistake.

“If you wish to call it that, at least acknowledge it as a beautiful mistake,” he said.

Her eyelids rolled upwards, and then she rolled them back in – she really was in no mood to open her eyes. “When did you come?” she asked. “I’ve missed you; you know!”
He looked at her serene face that now showed the hint of a faint smile. “I’m right here. Why don’t you just open your eyes.”
She felt him crawl into bed and settling down beside her. “I’ve really missed this,” she sighed as she allowed herself to be spooned. It had been a tiring day, but she knew that he already knew that. He always knew everything. And he always accused her of the same.

She allowed her mind to travel back to the time of their parting. He was the wanderer on a mission to discover new lands. She was the North Star meant to stay fixed. Even if it was in a sky of chaos and muddle. It hadn’t taken him long to realize that no matter how far he went, his compass always pointed in her direction. She was still the point around which his whole world turned. Yet she knew she had to push him away. He was meant for greater things. She too had a different purpose. “It won’t matter,” she had said. “Life’s short, and we’re only here for a brief period of time. Let’s just live our purpose, collect these experiences, and meet on the other side?” It had seemed to be the most sensible thing to do at that time.

As she snuggled up to him, she mumbled, “I wish you were really here. Things are just so easy when you’re around. When I’m lying next to you, in your arms, time seems to have come to a standstill. There really is nothing more I find myself desiring out of this life.”
“I needed this too,” he said, gently kissing her forehead. “You’re my favourite place to go to when my mind needs peace.”

Dreaming of being in the other’s arms, both had a good night’s sleep after ages. The nomad in him wondered how the cosmos managed to travel the world every single minute, every nano-second, every single day. What from him had travelled through into her world even after he’d left? And what part of her had still not left his side? Did anyone ever really leave? Was there any place in the Universe where they could just park themselves forever? Did such a place even exist?

“Not yet,” smiled the Devil. “And, perhaps, never,” and once again, sucked them into the world of nightmares. But it didn’t really matter anymore. 

“Everything is an illusion,” her voice served as a reminder calling out to him even amidst those nightmares.
“And that’s no excuse to not experience everything,” he chuckled and dozed off thinking of her – his favourite illusion.

The Battle Of The Egos

He woke up early in the morning, before the sun got an opportunity to set his skin on fire, and went for a run. He enjoyed running. One day, he hoped to be able to race fast enough to finish life’s race. As soon as this thought crossed his mind, he stopped on his tracks abruptly. Why was he suddenly so interested in rushing through life instead of savouring every moment? He had never harboured any delusions of an easy life, but why was he choosing to run away from problems instead of attempting to solve them?
Deep down, he knew the answer. She had been his “problem-fixer”. All he had to do was tell her about what was bothering him, and she’d take care of everything. She had a knack for making all his troubles and worries magically disappear. But where was she now? He had no idea.
He wondered if he should send her a message. He was affirmative that she would reply. But then, he wondered, should he tell her about what was on his mind? Would she think he was only trying to reconnect because he needed her? He couldn’t just pick up the phone and tell that he missed her. Expressing feelings were her department, as was intuitively understanding what he was feeling even when he did not say a word. He had even stopped cyber-stalking her months ago. It was too painful seeing her constant updates with people who had once been ‘nobodies’. Even though she frequented places which were a stone’s throw away from his habitat, it bothered him that she never made any plans with him. She had always taken the initiative. Why should it be any different now?
He thought it best to keep his feelings to himself. Dismissing all thoughts about her, once again he began sprinting across the blocked paver.  

The never ending stretch of the sandy seashore seemed to confuse her way. The beach had become her new home, yet she was not able to decide how she felt about it. She’d been feeling this way for quite some time now. Since the last one year, she’d been tossing between choices, cities, and voices, and she could not remember the last time when she had felt like her old self.
Her old self always had a smile on the face, didn’t hesitate before greeting strangers with open arms, and always remained in a positive frame of mind. Where had this old self disappeared? Why did she feel so uprooted?
She’d always been a traveller. Shuffling places was not new for her. In fact, she quite enjoyed that part of her life. Perhaps, the problem was that he was not there with her…
Even though they had never frequented places together, having him in her life made her feel like home. He was her home – the home where she felt comfortable, where she felt safe and sheltered and where she could be her genuine self. When things went awry, as they often did, his voice was all she longed to hear. Just like home is a place that’ll always be there, not for once had she imagined a situation where he would not be around. Before him, she unknotted her burdens and he held them for her so that she could walk out of the door without the weight of her problems bringing her down to her knees. Home is where the heart is, and her heart always remained tied to him, no matter how far she wandered away. Every time someone mentioned home, her mind always led her to him.
She longed to be home again. So many months had passed. Did she dare to pick up the phone and give him a call? What would she say? What if he didn’t answer? What if the call made her realize that the picture of the home she had painted was a mirage, and in reality, her home had been long wrecked? What would she do then? It was best to wait for him to make a call this time. After all, nothing was over until it was explicitly stated so.

The call never happened. The text remained unsent.
Both clutched to hope with one hand and prepared themselves for disappointment with the other.
Ego had won this battle. Would the heart still manage to win the war?

Anywhere

She walked aimlessly on the deserted road, not really knowing where she wanted to go. It started to drizzle, and she looked around hoping to take cover before the rains got worse. 

He saw her standing by a dilapidated ruin of what appeared to have once been a tea-stall. She looked haggled and tired, but her spirit did not seem beaten. “Can I take you somewhere?” he offered. “I have a bike.”

She smiled at him and wondered what to say. She could’ve asked him to take her home, but then she remembered that a storm had ravaged it. She wondered if he’d help her rebuild it, but it was too late for them to salvage it. 

“No, thanks,” she replied. “I’m just on this road, walking on.” 

“Where?” he prodded. 

“Away from the ruins, and hopefully, away from the storm.” 

Thunder rumbled and lightning struck. Without another word, she got on his bike and they rode along. 

“We’ll sleep anywhere we find shelter,” she suggested. “This storm is too strong!” 

“And finding shelter in this country-side is so rare. Do you know where shelter can be found?” he asked.

She just tossed her head and replied, “Anywhere.” 

They stumbled upon an old, shady-looking hotel, and it had a room to spare. 

As she was about to crawl into bed, she warned him, “I often get nightmares when I sleep, but I dare not ask for your care. That would be too much kindness, of which I’m very scared. In case I wake up and cry, please forgive me. I only cry for my home and everything that I could once call my own.”

She did not seem to realize that he was too baffled to respond. So, she continued to speak and he listened in silence, puzzling how from this situation he could abscond.     

She was murmuring to herself, “I told them to make the house stronger! I screamed for help! They paid no heed, and dismissed the need – it’s only a breeze, they said. Don’t worry unnecessarily. What is the need?

But it was a storm alright. The very worst of its kind. I kept trying to save them. I told them to stay strong! But they huffed and puffed on the side of the storm, and there was not much I could do alone. Now everything’s gone! Everyone blames the storm! We could have saved everything, but they still blame the storm!”

He looked at her deep-set eyes. “Is that why you are on the road, simply walking on?” 

“Well, walking isn’t all I do,” she laughed and pointed out, “I sometimes speak to strangers just as now I am speaking to you! But, generally I talk about the weather, because that’s what strangers do.”

He laughed at her statement and assured her, “Now and then, it’s alright to digress. Conversation, path, or both, briefly. I am in no rush, and neither are you. There’s nowhere you have to be, and there is nobody awaiting me.”

“I could go wherever I wanted to, except, of course, back in time,” she sighed. “But I am really tired now, tired of walking, of being, and tired of trying to rhyme.”

“Then let’s just lie here, do nothing, think nothing,” he suggested. “How does that sound?”

He took her silence to mean a ‘yes’ and continued talking along, “I want to look up to find a clear sky each day, and realize the universe is awesome.”

She smiled in surprise and shared, “I want to believe that karma is a sure thing. I want to believe that there is something out there that ensures that things go right. That there is a plan. I’m not on it yet, but I believe there is a plan. I might have lost my home, but I still have two legs. I can go anywhere, and I’ll go where there’s happiness.”

“And where is happiness?” he asked with a grin. 

She returned his grin with a twinkle and simply replied, “Anywhere.”

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?

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.

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. 

The Glass Slipper

It wasn't time to leave yet he chose that moment to say 'Good Bye'. With a heavy heart, she watched him getting up from his seat and walking away. Her mouth opened and she raised her hand in  a motion to call out to him but no sound came. Her extremely feeble attempt to stop him had also failed.  He walked away and she bravely battled her tears in case he glanced back in her direction but he did not look back even once.

It wasn't time to leave as there were so many unanswered questions. She still had so many things to say to him. Oh God! Why was she always tongue-tied in his presence? Why were their conversations always incomplete?

There was still time before she needed to return yet she found herself on a bus homeward bound. It would be a long ride home. After all, she had come all the way to the other side of town just to catch up with him over a cup of coffee. And conversations they had had on topics ranging from books, movies, philosophy to current affairs. Not once did he express any interest in knowing the happenings of her life and though she had attempted to bring up certain issues, his nonchalance forced them to stay inwards. She wanted to just pick up her phone, dial his number and scream at him. She took a few deep breaths as a last piece of struggle to remain calm. She decided to not think about it and tried diverting her attention to other things. Unfortunately, the sight on the road jam-packed with cars was not a pleasant view to admire. She looked inside the bus and suddenly, a sight of the mother and daughter sitting in the seat in front grabbed her attention.

The mother was narrating the story of Cinderella. She watched as the mother animatedly related the part where the Prince swore to only marry the girl to whom the slipper belonged and his quest finally led him to the home of Cinderella where, much to the dismay of her stepmother and stepsisters, the glass slipper fitted Cinderella perfectly and she ended up marrying her Prince Charming. The daughter had a broad smile on her face and clapped her hands in delight at the happy ending.

She still believed that a happily ever after was possible for her. It was not something that existed only once upon a time. Life definitely had a lot of beautiful things to offer. Why else would she be still living?

It was not time for her to leave this earth yet which is why she chose to stay. She could have allowed herself to be broken down and blamed him for her miseries. But that would have been the easy way out. She had grown up hearing fairy-tales. This was her chance to live her teachings from them. Just like Cinderella and her glass slipper, if something was meant for her, it would be a perfect fit. There would be no forcing, no struggling and no pain. And with this lesson, she stayed on earth joyously, living each day to the fullest, being grateful for all the blessings that were showered her way.

She was, after all, just a part of the cosmos, scattering her stardust all over the world. And she had been gathering it back ever since she had opened her eyes in this world. She hoped to find all her missing parts as life went by. The real challenge had been knowing if she could fit them right back into the jigsaw of her life and figuring out which parts were not the lost pieces of her being.

Love

She sat by the lake and stared at the setting sun. It was a beautiful evening. She watched the Night arranging itself, colouring the evening purple and the blue sky black. She would have liked to be alone but instead, she was surrounded by love-struck, young couples, holding hands and staring into each other’s eyes. She rolled her eyes and tried to look away as one pair of love-birds indulged in tender, passionate kissing, completely oblivious of the rest of the world. She despised public displays of affection. Suddenly, she felt a knot in her stomach. The tightening feeling made her want to throw up. This was not good. This could not be happening! She immediately got up and started walking, not sure of the direction she was headed towards.  Tears were starting to well up in her eyes and she furiously fought them, trying to stop herself from crying.

She felt silly. She had no idea why she was crying. Was it for a lost love? Or a love never lost? Or was it for a love that never happened? She wished she could just shrug her shoulders, mutter “I don’t know” and brush it off but she knew deep down that she had the answer. She was now all by herself on a lonely boulevard and it was getting darker. Perhaps this darkness was a metaphor of her harsh reality. She thought that the darkness was symbolic of the hatred she had nurtured in her mind about the so-called metaphysical feeling called ‘love’. She had started despising the entire notion of love. The very mention of love irritated her. She had been its victim once. Love had forced her to care so immensely that she saw that someone in a way that was inaccurate. What and who she thought the person was did not match up to who they were in reality. Wearing rose-coloured glasses and overlooking that someone’s flaws and imperfections was easy. What was difficult was ignoring the fact that she was not being treated with the kindness and love she deserved. After spending weeks and months trying to figure out what was wrong with her, she finally broke free from the cycle and escaped home.

As she looked around, she found herself alone. With the evening coming to a close, people had started trickling out of the park. She found an empty spot by the lake and looked at her reflection in the water. She was not pleased at the sight. Returning home had not really helped. While she enjoyed returning to familiar territories, she missed the company of a few of her friends in her current city of residence. After all, they understood what she was going through. Around them there were no charades. But she loved the feel of her home-town. It helped her connect to her true self – a self she had forgotten and forgone long ago. She knew she was caught in a tussle but as she witnessed the turmoil in her body, things started clearing up for her. She knew home was not a place or a person. As long as she could be comfortable in her own company, she would always be home.

She had no idea why she was suddenly feeling angry. She tossed a stone into the water and watched the ripples distorting her image. She had to stay strong. She could not allow herself to fall into the trap set by love once again. She resolved to resist love with all her might and never fall in love again. How foolish of her! She failed to see that love was too vast for her to feel it. Love was present in every breath that gave her life. It was love that allowed her to feel that strength from within. Love was the wisdom within her. Love is all these things in everyone. Love was not separate from her. She was love.

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. 

In Search Of Light

Have you ever seen a sea in the sky? Have you ever seen a void in that sea? Have you seen a world in that void? Have you seen a light above it all? That shimmering ray which sparkles a glimmer of hope...It is alright if you haven't. There are days when even I can't seem to find it...I keep walking in the dark hoping to bump into someone holding a flaming torch to guide the way ahead. I find myself getting lost in the dark. I never seem to reach the end of the tunnel and find the light. Thankfully, this does not last. I usually manage to shake myself awake from these nightmares.

However, on some days this is not possible. How do you wake yourself up when you realize you were not sleeping in the first place? What do you do in those moments when you feel that the entire purpose of your existence is like the tip of an unsharpened pencil - completely pointless! What do you do when you find the very ground on which you stood, resting your faith, is crumbling to pieces and you have no place to ground yourself. In those moments, can you patiently wait for the universe to shower your life with happiness and meaning?

Like many, I too had dreams and the will to chase them with the hope that one, fine day, they would become a reality. Leaving behind the luxury of familiarity, I entered a strange land with dreamy eyes and elaborate plans. I wanted the tree of life but only grass and weeds lay on my way. I searched for people who would dare to be different but no matter where I looked, everyone was just like the others.

I sought solace indoors and hid myself from the world. I no longer wished to participate in their worldly affairs. I wanted to get lost so that I could be found. I waited and waited for someone to miss me and come looking for me but no one knocked on the door. I stared out of my window and looked at everything happening around me. Nothing stopped because I wasn't a part of it. What was I to do next?

I stared at myself in the mirror. I could not recognize my own reflection. I still stepped out of the house hoping that the world would accept and accommodate the new "me" even though I wasn't at peace with myself. I really had nothing to worry about. The world did not notice any difference - it treated me in the same manner as it always had. I did not know whether to be hurt or whether to breathe a sigh of relief.

Yet not everything remained the same. I started noticing things I had never laid eyes on before. I could see the sadness in her eyes no matter how hard she tried covering it up with a big smile on her face. I could see the way he crossed his fingers nervously even as he portrayed himself as the perfect picture of confidence. And then it dawned on me! People are forever tenderly wrestling and negotiating with their own shadows, making preemptive strikes on their personal share of the world's evil, fighting the good fight to keep from spewing their darkness on those around them.

In moments of darkness, we have to look for the light within us for there is nobody else to illuminate the path for us. The realization that there is no "you" was quite a liberating experience for me. It means that succumbing to institutionalized relations of 'family', 'love', etc. is merely a struggle to keep the illusion of an "I" and a "you". In reality, there is only the "other" and nothing else. Therefore, by refusing to associate with another, I am really just liberating the "other" as a consequence of destroying myself.

Sometimes I feel that I am the moon that removes darkness from people's lives while never revealing my dark side; and just like the moon gleams because of the light from the sun, I too shine because of the light from another source - I just don't know who my source of light is. Hopefully, someday in the future, we will meet. After all, what is life without hope?

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…

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!