There is great order in chaos. There is great peace in disarray. Love makes you blind, they say. I guess being blind doesn’t mean not acknowledging the misgivings but accepting those misgivings and focusing on the exciting parts.
Have you walked through an unknown lane staring at all the people busy in their work? Have you ever wondered what stood here 100 years ago? Have you wanted to know the secrets and mysteries? Have you loved and lost and yet never really lost? Have you experienced the joy of being where you are loved, loathed, despised and criticised and most importantly accepted?
Have you felt the exhilaration in the passion, energy and anonymity around your love? Have you understood the tears and hurt that someone you love can give? Have you felt the guilt of moving away without really ever saying goodbye?
Yet the love remains. It flows each time you turn back. It stands waiting for you as well as travels with you wherever you go…
Have you wanted to run away, cribbed each day and yet found yourself going back each time? Have you understood the worth of love once you were away? Have you known the unsaid sorrow and unshed tears that characterised every visit? Have you seen all the problems that surround this relation, the things that don’t exist, the anguish of everyone else and yet faithfully continued to love?
It happens once. It lasts forever.
Have you met my love? Have you been to Bombay yet?
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Mumbai....
I am very protective about Mumbai – my native city. Having lived there all my life I jump to defend it and often also silence critics by glorifying it. Hence it becomes all the more difficult to accept that Mumbai isn’t perfect. Far from it, in fact. In many ways, after the urban studies classes, I feel Mumbai is capitalism (in whichever form it exists in India) at its best. The constant hurry and lack of time, the chaos, the orientations towards benefits and profits and stark inequalities are characteristic of Mumbai. And one thing every Mumbaikar is accustomed to is collapse of services – anytime and anywhere.
Having reported on varied issues of Mumbai, I can count the number of times the citizen was let down by the state. Be it July 26, 2005 when I found myself stranded at varied points for a period of three days and I saw the city held to ransom. I remember the Chief Minister and Civic Commissioner looking at each other when questioned about the complete failure of services across Maharashtra and also the fear on the faces of hapless citizens who climbed onto buses and ran to higher floors as they saw their homes submerged. The sight of dead buffaloes in Goregaon still haunts me at night sometimes. I saw the Prime Minister promising crores of rupees as relief and then reporting on how that money never reached the victims. With so many hands working to propel Mumbai towards capitalist efficiency, each time the city only seems to be on the edge forever.
Another incident that comes to mind is the Gateway murder which again raised issues of security and crime in Mumbai. Were the streets safe for women? Were criminals lurking free in Mumbai? They say Delhi is unsafe for women and no one ventures out after 8 pm. Mumbai is the city that never sleeps, expect it seems we all successfully manage to put our conscience to sleep. We manage to overlook the gross injustice and disregard for our emotions and hardwork and keep on working day in and day out to earn the ‘productivity’ tag. It reminds me of Charlie Chaplin’s film Modern Times wherein everyone works in the assembly line, each minding his own business and going back home feeling he has been productive.
Still Mumbai is home and will always be. What the city offers in terms of opportunities is still higher compared to other cities. As a reporter the maximum number of stories I have done have been on the Fort Booksellers. I have followed the story, each and every development and seen the brutalities of bureaucracy and red tapism. Hypocrisy is dominant with Fashion Street with many illegal hawkers being allowed to stay put (because they give hafta) and raiding the stalls of the book sellers time and again because they refuse to pay. When they did finally pay, they were told to come after 3 months! The raided books lay in the municipal godown where rats were feasting on them and I was told they would be later sold in scrap and the money would be pocketed by the officials. Yes, it is true that the booksellers sell pirated books. And having exposed the piracy racket myself in the Harry Potter series, I can assure you that the sellers are the smallest fish in the pond. This is a much bigger racket which is actually a business that brings in huge profits just as film piracy does. Thus who gets the blame? Who gets penalised? The powerless, the desperate and the smallest link in the story.
The inequalities in an urban setup also came out well in the documentary film ‘Kachra Kondi’ directed by Ajay Pete. An entire subsystem exists within a city who are deigned to live in dirt, grow and perish there. Lack of access to services is evident when graduates also take up the broom, join the conservancy staff and get into mud racking literally. The most poignant point of the film was when they showed how dead bodies were also waste that these workers had to cremate and on a daily basis deal with mangled and decayed bodies. What is the essence of such living? What is the level of helplessness to continue working in such inhuman conditions? What are the power politics that relegate them to such work – time and again? And what progress are we talking about if the earlier scavengers are now rag pickers??
Of the recent films I have watched I liked Life in a Metro. The complex characters who are neither white nor black. The struggle of having dreams and using different means to achieve them. The assertion of sexuality and its implications. The entire mosaic of characters who aren’t apologetic for their run after money, who are confused perpetually and who are figuring out their lives at every stage.
Since on the topic of sexuality, I have noted that urban setups are the epitomes of contradictions, especially in terms of sexuality. So while on one hand, we have homosexuality coming out of the closet, on the other hand, we have moral crusaders joined by anxiety-ridden parents protesting against Valentine’s Day and the concept of “love affairs.” That these days came into existence in the first place is thanks to globalisation. The existence of both these extremes shows how complex we humans are. And it intrigues me because we are the land of Kama Sutra and yet we have a “dignity” to uphold.
In comparison to Mumbai, Pune is a slower, calmer city, I feel. Is it because capitalism hasn’t permeated fully here? is it because resources are lesser here? The other day I was chatting with my friend with Mumbai and he said “Pune is a dead place na. Everyone is so laidback.” And to my own surprise, I retaliated “But what is the hurry? Where are we dying to reach?” Moving out of Mumbai has confirmed my Wilson classmate’s theory that “Those who live in Mumbai believe that the world starts and ends with Mumbai.” Today when I see the news I note that 90% of the news is about Mumbai – everything from its fashion, to night life to weather and of course economics.
The contradictions are also visible in terms of religion and its expression in urban setups. In an increasingly uncertain and chaotic world, lot of young people are gradually turning to religious institutions for stability. On the other hand, many are rejecting the tenets of religion and turning into atheists. This whole jihadis versus nastiks is evident to me in my daily life – wherein people either want to subsume themselves in religion or isolate themselves from it – neither of them questioning or reflecting.
Shilpa Ranade’s research on gendered public space in Mumbai (April 2007) made me think of how women’s staying out late needs legitimacy and only certain spaces are “safe” for them. Walking through lonely lanes, ill-lit streets and rowdy nakas have always been a struggle for women. And this is important more so in urban setups which are supposed to be equalitarian and liberating. If public spaces are predominantly male and women are restricted to mark a group’s honour, where is the emancipation and empowerment that urban areas are said to be granting to women? Urban areas are recasting women into newer forms of restrictions albeit giving them some opportunities nonetheless.
Finally, an entry on the 6 years punishment to Sanjay Dutt in the 1993 Mumbai Riots case. Many issues come to the fore here – insecurity, crime, punishment, reformation, public scrutiny, judicial justice and power. While sympathies are with Dutt, the truth is few are given this chance to improve – to better their mistakes and Dutt got it because of his background. And even fewer get this kind of media support and public sympathy as Sandipan Deb rightly points out in the Indian Express that “Many others stories will remain unheard, their father’s grief unheard and their tales …possibly laughed at.”
We mustn’t forget that Dutt is where he is today because of his social capital. Though the man has reformed himself, this opportunity was granted to him – a chance many languishing in prisons as under trails would die for. As Judge Kode was right – “In a city like Mumbai every citizen on the street felt threatened during the riots. All of them didn’t resort to possessing illegal weapons to protect themselves.” There are many sides to this story and many would say his celebrity status is going against him. But his celebrity status is also getting him Z plus security as he is shifted out of Arthur Road Jail to Yerwada Jail. He is unlucky but also advantaged.
And since this journal entry was predominantly about Bombay I would like to end with verses from Rudyard Kipling’s poem “To the City of Bombay”
…..And the men that breed from them
They traffic up and down,
But cling to their cities' hem
As a child to their mother's gown……
Now for this debt I owe,
And for her far-borne cheer
Must I make haste and go
With tribute to her pier.
Having reported on varied issues of Mumbai, I can count the number of times the citizen was let down by the state. Be it July 26, 2005 when I found myself stranded at varied points for a period of three days and I saw the city held to ransom. I remember the Chief Minister and Civic Commissioner looking at each other when questioned about the complete failure of services across Maharashtra and also the fear on the faces of hapless citizens who climbed onto buses and ran to higher floors as they saw their homes submerged. The sight of dead buffaloes in Goregaon still haunts me at night sometimes. I saw the Prime Minister promising crores of rupees as relief and then reporting on how that money never reached the victims. With so many hands working to propel Mumbai towards capitalist efficiency, each time the city only seems to be on the edge forever.
Another incident that comes to mind is the Gateway murder which again raised issues of security and crime in Mumbai. Were the streets safe for women? Were criminals lurking free in Mumbai? They say Delhi is unsafe for women and no one ventures out after 8 pm. Mumbai is the city that never sleeps, expect it seems we all successfully manage to put our conscience to sleep. We manage to overlook the gross injustice and disregard for our emotions and hardwork and keep on working day in and day out to earn the ‘productivity’ tag. It reminds me of Charlie Chaplin’s film Modern Times wherein everyone works in the assembly line, each minding his own business and going back home feeling he has been productive.
Still Mumbai is home and will always be. What the city offers in terms of opportunities is still higher compared to other cities. As a reporter the maximum number of stories I have done have been on the Fort Booksellers. I have followed the story, each and every development and seen the brutalities of bureaucracy and red tapism. Hypocrisy is dominant with Fashion Street with many illegal hawkers being allowed to stay put (because they give hafta) and raiding the stalls of the book sellers time and again because they refuse to pay. When they did finally pay, they were told to come after 3 months! The raided books lay in the municipal godown where rats were feasting on them and I was told they would be later sold in scrap and the money would be pocketed by the officials. Yes, it is true that the booksellers sell pirated books. And having exposed the piracy racket myself in the Harry Potter series, I can assure you that the sellers are the smallest fish in the pond. This is a much bigger racket which is actually a business that brings in huge profits just as film piracy does. Thus who gets the blame? Who gets penalised? The powerless, the desperate and the smallest link in the story.
The inequalities in an urban setup also came out well in the documentary film ‘Kachra Kondi’ directed by Ajay Pete. An entire subsystem exists within a city who are deigned to live in dirt, grow and perish there. Lack of access to services is evident when graduates also take up the broom, join the conservancy staff and get into mud racking literally. The most poignant point of the film was when they showed how dead bodies were also waste that these workers had to cremate and on a daily basis deal with mangled and decayed bodies. What is the essence of such living? What is the level of helplessness to continue working in such inhuman conditions? What are the power politics that relegate them to such work – time and again? And what progress are we talking about if the earlier scavengers are now rag pickers??
Of the recent films I have watched I liked Life in a Metro. The complex characters who are neither white nor black. The struggle of having dreams and using different means to achieve them. The assertion of sexuality and its implications. The entire mosaic of characters who aren’t apologetic for their run after money, who are confused perpetually and who are figuring out their lives at every stage.
Since on the topic of sexuality, I have noted that urban setups are the epitomes of contradictions, especially in terms of sexuality. So while on one hand, we have homosexuality coming out of the closet, on the other hand, we have moral crusaders joined by anxiety-ridden parents protesting against Valentine’s Day and the concept of “love affairs.” That these days came into existence in the first place is thanks to globalisation. The existence of both these extremes shows how complex we humans are. And it intrigues me because we are the land of Kama Sutra and yet we have a “dignity” to uphold.
In comparison to Mumbai, Pune is a slower, calmer city, I feel. Is it because capitalism hasn’t permeated fully here? is it because resources are lesser here? The other day I was chatting with my friend with Mumbai and he said “Pune is a dead place na. Everyone is so laidback.” And to my own surprise, I retaliated “But what is the hurry? Where are we dying to reach?” Moving out of Mumbai has confirmed my Wilson classmate’s theory that “Those who live in Mumbai believe that the world starts and ends with Mumbai.” Today when I see the news I note that 90% of the news is about Mumbai – everything from its fashion, to night life to weather and of course economics.
The contradictions are also visible in terms of religion and its expression in urban setups. In an increasingly uncertain and chaotic world, lot of young people are gradually turning to religious institutions for stability. On the other hand, many are rejecting the tenets of religion and turning into atheists. This whole jihadis versus nastiks is evident to me in my daily life – wherein people either want to subsume themselves in religion or isolate themselves from it – neither of them questioning or reflecting.
Shilpa Ranade’s research on gendered public space in Mumbai (April 2007) made me think of how women’s staying out late needs legitimacy and only certain spaces are “safe” for them. Walking through lonely lanes, ill-lit streets and rowdy nakas have always been a struggle for women. And this is important more so in urban setups which are supposed to be equalitarian and liberating. If public spaces are predominantly male and women are restricted to mark a group’s honour, where is the emancipation and empowerment that urban areas are said to be granting to women? Urban areas are recasting women into newer forms of restrictions albeit giving them some opportunities nonetheless.
Finally, an entry on the 6 years punishment to Sanjay Dutt in the 1993 Mumbai Riots case. Many issues come to the fore here – insecurity, crime, punishment, reformation, public scrutiny, judicial justice and power. While sympathies are with Dutt, the truth is few are given this chance to improve – to better their mistakes and Dutt got it because of his background. And even fewer get this kind of media support and public sympathy as Sandipan Deb rightly points out in the Indian Express that “Many others stories will remain unheard, their father’s grief unheard and their tales …possibly laughed at.”
We mustn’t forget that Dutt is where he is today because of his social capital. Though the man has reformed himself, this opportunity was granted to him – a chance many languishing in prisons as under trails would die for. As Judge Kode was right – “In a city like Mumbai every citizen on the street felt threatened during the riots. All of them didn’t resort to possessing illegal weapons to protect themselves.” There are many sides to this story and many would say his celebrity status is going against him. But his celebrity status is also getting him Z plus security as he is shifted out of Arthur Road Jail to Yerwada Jail. He is unlucky but also advantaged.
And since this journal entry was predominantly about Bombay I would like to end with verses from Rudyard Kipling’s poem “To the City of Bombay”
…..And the men that breed from them
They traffic up and down,
But cling to their cities' hem
As a child to their mother's gown……
Now for this debt I owe,
And for her far-borne cheer
Must I make haste and go
With tribute to her pier.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Sociology...Subject of my heart
July 20 2007
Sociology is an intriguing subject. Contrary to popular belief, wherein one feels one would study society and make statements about it, it actually helps you understand yourself. Something most social sciences do.
Sociology has helped me understand my location. It has helped me to know why do certain things trouble me. Why do I react adversely to certain comments? Where does my identity come from and how it isn’t the same for everyone else. It has helped me reflect on my own actions and question my beliefs.
My Mass Media course truly helped me question homogeneity. Sociology is helping me know why I prefer homogeneity. It is making me amoral ….. i.e. it is constantly challenging me not to make moral statements about others. It is asking me to understand a phenomenon rather than make judgements about it.
It is asking me to reflect on why was dowry instituted and the political-economy of marriage. It is rubbishing my ideas of women empowerment by showing me how many women still remain untouched by progress. It is showing me how numbers can deceive you and the prorportion of women receiving primary education is decreasing even as the number of women getting higher education is increasing!
It is making me question why are slums increasing in numbers and how that relates to the economy. It makes me see how certain spaces in urban areas are restricted to a few and privileges aren’t obtained in spite of having money.
It shows me caste isn’t dead. It points out that how communal tensions receive attention while caste conflicts remain invisible. It shows me how family is the site of violence. How it becomes the site for oppression, for power games and isn’t the sacrosanct ideal. It shows how the heterosexual, 4 member family becomes the norm, making all the other families abnormal. This needs to be questioned. By you and me. We need to ask why are single parent households looked down upon.
Often people wondered why did I choose sociology for my masters. But when I make such revolting statements or question their own beliefs, it disturbs them. It makes them uncomfortable and they would rather be in their stable comfort zones.
This is why I took sociology. I enjoy status quo and I know it isn’t good. Being a comfort zone doesn’t help. I enjoy sociology. It is disturbing. It is critical. It is unsettling.
And I like it that way :)
Sociology is an intriguing subject. Contrary to popular belief, wherein one feels one would study society and make statements about it, it actually helps you understand yourself. Something most social sciences do.
Sociology has helped me understand my location. It has helped me to know why do certain things trouble me. Why do I react adversely to certain comments? Where does my identity come from and how it isn’t the same for everyone else. It has helped me reflect on my own actions and question my beliefs.
My Mass Media course truly helped me question homogeneity. Sociology is helping me know why I prefer homogeneity. It is making me amoral ….. i.e. it is constantly challenging me not to make moral statements about others. It is asking me to understand a phenomenon rather than make judgements about it.
It is asking me to reflect on why was dowry instituted and the political-economy of marriage. It is rubbishing my ideas of women empowerment by showing me how many women still remain untouched by progress. It is showing me how numbers can deceive you and the prorportion of women receiving primary education is decreasing even as the number of women getting higher education is increasing!
It is making me question why are slums increasing in numbers and how that relates to the economy. It makes me see how certain spaces in urban areas are restricted to a few and privileges aren’t obtained in spite of having money.
It shows me caste isn’t dead. It points out that how communal tensions receive attention while caste conflicts remain invisible. It shows me how family is the site of violence. How it becomes the site for oppression, for power games and isn’t the sacrosanct ideal. It shows how the heterosexual, 4 member family becomes the norm, making all the other families abnormal. This needs to be questioned. By you and me. We need to ask why are single parent households looked down upon.
Often people wondered why did I choose sociology for my masters. But when I make such revolting statements or question their own beliefs, it disturbs them. It makes them uncomfortable and they would rather be in their stable comfort zones.
This is why I took sociology. I enjoy status quo and I know it isn’t good. Being a comfort zone doesn’t help. I enjoy sociology. It is disturbing. It is critical. It is unsettling.
And I like it that way :)
For Pradeep.....
July 18th 2007
It’s the truth and I have to accept it. I am not fond of children and vice-versa. In fact I have had many instances wherein the moment children look at me, they cry or run away. Its as if my face says “I am your worst nightmare!” I can’t understand children. They are smart but will pretend to be stupid. They are funny but will cry. And they will bite!
But one child intrigued me. I met Pradeep, who is all of 5 years, at my home. He came with his parents who were fixing something in the home. He sat quietly and occasionally glanced around. I understood him. I know that feeling. Of being in a strange place and wondering what to do about it. I smiled at him and he looked at me. Just plain looked at me. Mom asked him his name and his mom told us that Pradeep couldn’t speak. He was weak and hence couldn’t speak.
I connected to him. At many levels, I enjoy not speaking. I enjoy being silent. Not that I can ever imagine his pain of not being able to communicate at all. But I knew that he enjoyed himself because I saw him play by himself many a times. I knew he didn’t feel anything unusual about himself and that’s how it has been with me. Everyone else has felt that I am different. But for me, everyone else is different :) Pradeep was like me.
We had just made tea and I offered him some and he lapped it up as if that’s the only tea he would get in a long long time. He then removed a chocolate from his pocket which his mom said he should offer me. He immediately hid it. I liked that. I liked the fact that he didn’t want to share his chocolate. I am very possessive about chocolates and with much reluctance I give it away to someone else :)
I like eating pasta and this Sunfeast Pasta offers Fixos. Those things you assemble to make small jeeps, helicopters, bicycles and cars. That’s the only toy I could offer to him. So I gave him a yellow and red jeep. He grabbed it, not once thinking of refusing or trying to be modest. I liked that. This was his reality. He didn’t have toys and as a child he shouldn’t be worrying about modesty :)
He didn’t play with the jeep. He put it in his pocket and for the 20 minutes he was in my home, he kept looking in his pocket to reassure himself that it was still there.
I saw him the other day in the building compound (his parents are construction workers) playing with the jeep. I smiled. But as soon as he saw me, he put the jeep quickly in his pocket. I could see that he feared I would ask for the jeep back and take away that joy from him. Mom said to him I wouldn’t take it. I didn’t say that. I simply walked away making him believe that I wouldn’t ever ask for the jeep again.
I had reassured one Pradeep and that was success enough :)
It’s the truth and I have to accept it. I am not fond of children and vice-versa. In fact I have had many instances wherein the moment children look at me, they cry or run away. Its as if my face says “I am your worst nightmare!” I can’t understand children. They are smart but will pretend to be stupid. They are funny but will cry. And they will bite!
But one child intrigued me. I met Pradeep, who is all of 5 years, at my home. He came with his parents who were fixing something in the home. He sat quietly and occasionally glanced around. I understood him. I know that feeling. Of being in a strange place and wondering what to do about it. I smiled at him and he looked at me. Just plain looked at me. Mom asked him his name and his mom told us that Pradeep couldn’t speak. He was weak and hence couldn’t speak.
I connected to him. At many levels, I enjoy not speaking. I enjoy being silent. Not that I can ever imagine his pain of not being able to communicate at all. But I knew that he enjoyed himself because I saw him play by himself many a times. I knew he didn’t feel anything unusual about himself and that’s how it has been with me. Everyone else has felt that I am different. But for me, everyone else is different :) Pradeep was like me.
We had just made tea and I offered him some and he lapped it up as if that’s the only tea he would get in a long long time. He then removed a chocolate from his pocket which his mom said he should offer me. He immediately hid it. I liked that. I liked the fact that he didn’t want to share his chocolate. I am very possessive about chocolates and with much reluctance I give it away to someone else :)
I like eating pasta and this Sunfeast Pasta offers Fixos. Those things you assemble to make small jeeps, helicopters, bicycles and cars. That’s the only toy I could offer to him. So I gave him a yellow and red jeep. He grabbed it, not once thinking of refusing or trying to be modest. I liked that. This was his reality. He didn’t have toys and as a child he shouldn’t be worrying about modesty :)
He didn’t play with the jeep. He put it in his pocket and for the 20 minutes he was in my home, he kept looking in his pocket to reassure himself that it was still there.
I saw him the other day in the building compound (his parents are construction workers) playing with the jeep. I smiled. But as soon as he saw me, he put the jeep quickly in his pocket. I could see that he feared I would ask for the jeep back and take away that joy from him. Mom said to him I wouldn’t take it. I didn’t say that. I simply walked away making him believe that I wouldn’t ever ask for the jeep again.
I had reassured one Pradeep and that was success enough :)
Sunday, July 01, 2007
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Reservations about being reserved!
I always marvel at how different each one of us is. Things that seem extremely easy for some become the most difficult for others. Simple things that make life easier only seem to get complicated with some of us. Like I cannot pick up the phone and ask for assistance. Be it a computer guy to repair my PC or a prospective employer to get a job. It just doesn’t happen. I usually don’t walk up to people to chat with them. I linger around in corners at parties (which I rarely attend) while I know some people who can walk into a room and make everyone feel that they know him/her. They can chat with people across ages, classes, races and languages. They can get their work done because they have the gift of the gab.
My forte, as is visible, is writing. I can write. Anything. Everything. Communication to me was born with writing. I have always admired people who can express themselves well. Be it with words or only through gestures. Often I have stood at bus stands looking at deaf and mute children communicate with their hands and laugh. I haven’t heard such pure laughter anywhere else. The entire world seems abnormal when they talk. They are oblivious of everyone around them. I often imagined that life must be so tough for them. But then I also understood that they were communicating. In spite of not being “gifted” enough, they expressed themselves. Whereas someone like me, who could speak, would rather write! That’s why I marvel at how different we are.
But I also have understood that each one of us has a place. We just need to know that. Everyone wants us to conform. To fit in a mould. To be like everyone else. And it isn’t as if we don’t try. But it’s a just a fact that we are different. And as Amitabh Bachchan says in Black, “Be proud to be different.” Its difficult. Not to belong. To be the odd person out. To be looked down upon. To be stared at as queer. To be always introduced as “So she is one of the shy types. The reserved one you know!”
But then we shine. On our own. Envying the ones who can talk and be the light of the parties. And also knowing we can never be like them. And ….. they can never be like us.
My forte, as is visible, is writing. I can write. Anything. Everything. Communication to me was born with writing. I have always admired people who can express themselves well. Be it with words or only through gestures. Often I have stood at bus stands looking at deaf and mute children communicate with their hands and laugh. I haven’t heard such pure laughter anywhere else. The entire world seems abnormal when they talk. They are oblivious of everyone around them. I often imagined that life must be so tough for them. But then I also understood that they were communicating. In spite of not being “gifted” enough, they expressed themselves. Whereas someone like me, who could speak, would rather write! That’s why I marvel at how different we are.
But I also have understood that each one of us has a place. We just need to know that. Everyone wants us to conform. To fit in a mould. To be like everyone else. And it isn’t as if we don’t try. But it’s a just a fact that we are different. And as Amitabh Bachchan says in Black, “Be proud to be different.” Its difficult. Not to belong. To be the odd person out. To be looked down upon. To be stared at as queer. To be always introduced as “So she is one of the shy types. The reserved one you know!”
But then we shine. On our own. Envying the ones who can talk and be the light of the parties. And also knowing we can never be like them. And ….. they can never be like us.
Moving on....
Staring in your eyes
I can see you have moved on
I only seem to have all memories nice
You seem to blur.. oh you are gone
I don’t know where I went wrong
I want to blame you
Its you who forgot our song
I guess you just wanted to start anew
I recall every dark memory
All the arguments and fights
I thought all the love I could bury
Fighting with myself thru the endless nights
But I know now its futile
I could never hate you
I love so you with all my heart
And there seems no place for hatred
I don’t believe love is about giving
Because I could never give you pain
I will keep walking behind you and never turn my back
So whenever you turn, you needn’t look very far
I will be with you, asking no questions
I will be for you, making no demands but one,
That you never break a heart again
And give someone else this pain.
I can see you have moved on
I only seem to have all memories nice
You seem to blur.. oh you are gone
I don’t know where I went wrong
I want to blame you
Its you who forgot our song
I guess you just wanted to start anew
I recall every dark memory
All the arguments and fights
I thought all the love I could bury
Fighting with myself thru the endless nights
But I know now its futile
I could never hate you
I love so you with all my heart
And there seems no place for hatred
I don’t believe love is about giving
Because I could never give you pain
I will keep walking behind you and never turn my back
So whenever you turn, you needn’t look very far
I will be with you, asking no questions
I will be for you, making no demands but one,
That you never break a heart again
And give someone else this pain.
This is me…
I am not who you want me to be
I can never be that idea, you see
You want me to fit in a format
I can only be boring and flat.
I am interesting in my own way
Not quite like the others, they say
I really want to be someone else
But it doesn’t seem to gel
I am rude and lovely
I am polite and fastidious
I love to be alone
I love attention
All thru my life
I tried to measure upto you
But then I realised
I wasn’t ever going to succeed.
I am me and you are you
You can’t be me
And now,
I don’t want to be you.
I enjoy being myself
And I wouldn’t like any other way
I accept who I am
And now I don’t give a damn!
I can never be that idea, you see
You want me to fit in a format
I can only be boring and flat.
I am interesting in my own way
Not quite like the others, they say
I really want to be someone else
But it doesn’t seem to gel
I am rude and lovely
I am polite and fastidious
I love to be alone
I love attention
All thru my life
I tried to measure upto you
But then I realised
I wasn’t ever going to succeed.
I am me and you are you
You can’t be me
And now,
I don’t want to be you.
I enjoy being myself
And I wouldn’t like any other way
I accept who I am
And now I don’t give a damn!
A Walk down the beach
One of my favourite things to do
Is to walk down the beach
To hear the roar of the waves
And to understand what they preach
To feel the sand beneath my feet
Being whisked away by the waves
To understand the uncertainty of life
And fight with all the odds to beat
I am a wave
So youthful and deep
I am learning my lessons from the sea
To be energetic and vivacious as the sea
In what is my ultimate goal
To be calm and reassuring
When I am least expected to be
To watch out for those
Whom I love so dearly
To warn away those
Who will destroy themselves
To love with all my heart
And hold an ocean of mystery within me
To give my life my best shot
And return back to the sea.
Is to walk down the beach
To hear the roar of the waves
And to understand what they preach
To feel the sand beneath my feet
Being whisked away by the waves
To understand the uncertainty of life
And fight with all the odds to beat
I am a wave
So youthful and deep
I am learning my lessons from the sea
To be energetic and vivacious as the sea
In what is my ultimate goal
To be calm and reassuring
When I am least expected to be
To watch out for those
Whom I love so dearly
To warn away those
Who will destroy themselves
To love with all my heart
And hold an ocean of mystery within me
To give my life my best shot
And return back to the sea.
Monday, March 26, 2007
The thrill that cost me dearly...
We fought for space and time
Sometimes angry for no reason or rhyme
I simply could not understand your fears
After all it was only a couple of beers
Your constant calling and concern
Your worry, Dad, I couldnt discern
I cut your call and screamed with glee
As the car stereo boomed 'Tonight you and me!'
As we raced down the road
The wind in my face unburderning the load
I, at the wheel, smiled at him and he held my hand
Life seemed just perfect in all its strand
Then I took a wrong turn
And before I knew it I rammed into a car in front
The next morning when I woke up
I was no longer the yuppy teenager
As I sit near his grave today
All I hear are sounds of cries
All I see is his blood on my car as his car horn beeps loudly in the eerie night
I had snatched a son, brother and friend that day
And all I got were a few stitches...
Oh! The pain is so much
My heart could explode
All I feel are the tears that sting me
Alas... regrets do nothing but taunt me...
(This poem was born when I heard someone I knew had lost his life in a car crash. An extremely fun-loving and smart person who died a tragic death due to a girl who had too many drinks that day!)
Sometimes angry for no reason or rhyme
I simply could not understand your fears
After all it was only a couple of beers
Your constant calling and concern
Your worry, Dad, I couldnt discern
I cut your call and screamed with glee
As the car stereo boomed 'Tonight you and me!'
As we raced down the road
The wind in my face unburderning the load
I, at the wheel, smiled at him and he held my hand
Life seemed just perfect in all its strand
Then I took a wrong turn
And before I knew it I rammed into a car in front
The next morning when I woke up
I was no longer the yuppy teenager
As I sit near his grave today
All I hear are sounds of cries
All I see is his blood on my car as his car horn beeps loudly in the eerie night
I had snatched a son, brother and friend that day
And all I got were a few stitches...
Oh! The pain is so much
My heart could explode
All I feel are the tears that sting me
Alas... regrets do nothing but taunt me...
(This poem was born when I heard someone I knew had lost his life in a car crash. An extremely fun-loving and smart person who died a tragic death due to a girl who had too many drinks that day!)
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Cinema and Movies!
I truly enjoy cinema. Not the movies but the cinema. Ok I do sometimes want to just sit back and let Akshay Kumar tickle my funny bone or nerve or watever. But mostly I prefer cinema.
You know the ones which get reviewed as 'different' 'aethestic' and 'off-beat.' I dont know but I have a penchant for those stories which reek out of the characters. I dont want to see someone (surely shivering) at the Alps serenade in a sari. I want to see Aditi Shrikant Pandit wipe her glasses and chide her husband. I dont enjoy Aishwarya Rai doing Ishq Kamina as much as I enjoy her being Guru's wife.
And yes I am a sucker for sob stories. The tragedies of life - pain, separation, hurt and death. Thats why I cherish Zakhm, The Notebook and Black. One of my all time favourite films is Stepmom - one which always manage to evoke varied responses each time I see it. The mere sensitivity with which it is handled is mind-boggling. The struggle for recognition between the two women is amazing.
I recently saw Nishabd and I loved the film. I think it is an extremely beautiful film. Crafted so well and especially long leg shots of Jiah are astounding. I mean you need to be a distinct sensibility to make such a film. And this from a filmmaker who has made films like Company. There is just no slotting of this man.
Another man whose films I enjoyed watching is Madhur Bhandarkar. Chandni Bar and Page 3 are exceptional films for the mere treatment of the subject. It reminded me of the 1970s era wherein the hero was a common man and not someone who drove a ferrari!
I also am pretty thrilled with the recent film on the Namesake. I mean these are pertinent issues of identity and cinema often is a good medium to bring them to the fore.
I do catch all other movies most of which are quite entertaining. But its only once in a while that a Astitva or a Pather Panchali comes by and no one can create magic like them! :)
You know the ones which get reviewed as 'different' 'aethestic' and 'off-beat.' I dont know but I have a penchant for those stories which reek out of the characters. I dont want to see someone (surely shivering) at the Alps serenade in a sari. I want to see Aditi Shrikant Pandit wipe her glasses and chide her husband. I dont enjoy Aishwarya Rai doing Ishq Kamina as much as I enjoy her being Guru's wife.
And yes I am a sucker for sob stories. The tragedies of life - pain, separation, hurt and death. Thats why I cherish Zakhm, The Notebook and Black. One of my all time favourite films is Stepmom - one which always manage to evoke varied responses each time I see it. The mere sensitivity with which it is handled is mind-boggling. The struggle for recognition between the two women is amazing.
I recently saw Nishabd and I loved the film. I think it is an extremely beautiful film. Crafted so well and especially long leg shots of Jiah are astounding. I mean you need to be a distinct sensibility to make such a film. And this from a filmmaker who has made films like Company. There is just no slotting of this man.
Another man whose films I enjoyed watching is Madhur Bhandarkar. Chandni Bar and Page 3 are exceptional films for the mere treatment of the subject. It reminded me of the 1970s era wherein the hero was a common man and not someone who drove a ferrari!
I also am pretty thrilled with the recent film on the Namesake. I mean these are pertinent issues of identity and cinema often is a good medium to bring them to the fore.
I do catch all other movies most of which are quite entertaining. But its only once in a while that a Astitva or a Pather Panchali comes by and no one can create magic like them! :)
Saturday, March 24, 2007
I the Protestor!
For a very long time now I have hibernated in the dark corners of my mind and havent written my blog. Somewhere I knew it would beckon me. So here I am back on the circuit. And that is due to a specific reason. It all happened when extremely hot dry March afternoon.
I never truly understood the meaning of protesting against something until the moment I was a part of a protest rally. I was screaming slogans, holding placard and raising my voice in protest. This was unimaginable 5 years ago. I believe I was very status quoist type of person. I dont like conflicts and often wondered about protests. But this moment when I stood up with several other students to protest against the Khairlanji and Nandigram incidents, I understood why so many people across the world do it. What drives them and what they get out of it.
In the end, there were many who said whats the point it isnt as if it makes a difference. But I knew it made. It made a difference because at least we made our dissent known. At least it stirred something within me.
I think sociology is really sensitising me. Awakening me. It is a good feeling. It is "de-academising" me as Sir would say ;) Most of my college friends wont believe that I bunk classes, I am not the top scorer and I am not stressed at all. In fact I am reading much more than I did in BMM and quite enjoying it.
My bias towards Mumbai has made me averse to Pune but I think I owe a lot to the city. It seems to have changed my perspective. Things I otherwise took for granted now need to be earned. The comfort I felt in a familiar place is now replaced by a constant sense of adventure.
I think it is now that I am truly being a student :) Well cheers to that!
I never truly understood the meaning of protesting against something until the moment I was a part of a protest rally. I was screaming slogans, holding placard and raising my voice in protest. This was unimaginable 5 years ago. I believe I was very status quoist type of person. I dont like conflicts and often wondered about protests. But this moment when I stood up with several other students to protest against the Khairlanji and Nandigram incidents, I understood why so many people across the world do it. What drives them and what they get out of it.
In the end, there were many who said whats the point it isnt as if it makes a difference. But I knew it made. It made a difference because at least we made our dissent known. At least it stirred something within me.
I think sociology is really sensitising me. Awakening me. It is a good feeling. It is "de-academising" me as Sir would say ;) Most of my college friends wont believe that I bunk classes, I am not the top scorer and I am not stressed at all. In fact I am reading much more than I did in BMM and quite enjoying it.
My bias towards Mumbai has made me averse to Pune but I think I owe a lot to the city. It seems to have changed my perspective. Things I otherwise took for granted now need to be earned. The comfort I felt in a familiar place is now replaced by a constant sense of adventure.
I think it is now that I am truly being a student :) Well cheers to that!
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