Smile

I smile when:

I smell coffee

I see kittens playing with sunspots

I feel the first drops of rain

I hear a certain person's voice

I feel a certain person's breath

I see strawberries and cream

I taste the same

I eat mangoes

I dream of the same

I see Pickles skipping

I see Lucky bounding

I see Alex's ears outside my window

I catch the sparkle of a gem

I used to smile:

When I used to see Reshmi glare at Tooki

When Tooki used to chase butterflies

When Shona used to check where my lap was and then fall

When Crownie used to cross her paws

When Missy used to go crazy over Barbie Dolls

When Bolai used to make the gooeyest eyes

When I would see my best friend smile

When I would see shots of tequila in front of me

“I love walking in the rain, 'cause then no-one knows I'm crying.”

It's about noon. The skies outside are absolutely overcast. When I stepped out, the skies were grey, but not dark. A few steps down the line, I felt the first drop roll down my cheek. By the time i was on my way to work, it was pouring, albeit in spurts. A sudden massive shower, with itinerant sprinklings. Luckily, or, perhaps unluckily, I did not get wet.

As I left home this morning, I was fuming within. I got irritated with my mother's behaviour. She has this tendency of constantly acting the martyr nowadays. Granted, she is right about the enormity of the responsibilities she has to shoulder, and I am not saying its easy. Yet, to suddenly,  out of the blue, bring it up in the most irrelevant of situations is nothing short of uncalled-for martyrdom.

We had a slight spar. I got utterly irritated with the whole thing, and stormed out. The last thing one requires is to go out of one's home with an overcast mind.

Things have not been easy of late. Problem after problem is surfacing with such alarming regularity, that we might as well start writing on our schedulers- "labour for the day...". The smallest things, somehow, are becoming Herculean in proportion. Is it a phase? Is it fate? When will it bide over? By the time we are finished with this, we might be finished with each other.

Shall we have patience to pull us through this? We realise where we are going wrong, yet abandon ourselves down the path leading us to unleash wanton fury where it is ill-deserved. There has to be an outlet for everything, but acid wears away what it stays in, as well as what it lands on.

Inflicting pain has become a habit- on ourselves, as well as on others. Yet, to preserve sanity, we smile, we smile where there is no joy, no happiness, nothing. We smile because there is hope, there is hope that we will not lead ourselves down the path of self-destruction. 

Surrounded by people, yet so alone at times. I feel for my mother. She is quite alone. Few friends, fewer relatives. It cannot be easy to just let go of all that is familiar to you, all that has been the way, your home, your life, your past. Yes, it is your past, the memories of the happier times, which, in a strange way, is both a harbinger of hope, as well as the shove towards sadness. Of not being able to recreate them again. In any form.

Today, though overcast, is cool, is quenching the parched earth, is a relief from the heat. Mother called. She was trying to smile on the other side.

I need patience. I have unleashed. I have hope. I, too, smile.

Phoenix Rising

evolving,

from the ashes

quenched my thirst

in the fire

burning away the scars of 

betrayal and disloyalty

the feathers wrenched and torn

my crest ripped, dripping blood

my heart wounded

yet, evolving,

from the ashes

with friendship, trust and strength

rejuvenated with the elixir of life

love, faith

glowing new plumage

a crest high and proud

eyes as sharp as razors

yet, evolving

from the ashes

the wounded heart

still scarred, though fading

still carrying the seed of hatred

of anger, of sadness

wanting to live beyond

go away from the seeds planted within

yet, evolving

from the ashes

the scar's healed 

the seeds sealed within

taking root

waiting to break through

yet, rising

from the ashes

new saplings

of hope, joy and love

for the elixir has worked

the futile seeds

suddenly full of life

melting the seeds away

moving away from the mother

moving away from the darkness

rising towards the light

from within the fire

yet, rising

from the ashes

I, phoenix

I, once burnt, betrayed, wounded

I, once scorned, ostracised

I, winged and strong

take to the sky

waiting for another day

another storm

lightning to strike me

yet rising

from the ashes

I, strong

not to be struck down

no longer do I singe

no longer do I cry

I smile

I cry out loud in joy

to see fools coming to hunt

get drawn toward the fire

from whence I rise

and get singed instead

Risen....

At the hour of dawn

It was a typically late Saturday night. Sanjib and I had gone across to Someplace Else for some music and a beer. As usual, I bumped into half the world at the Park Hotel. Where else would they land up on a Saturday night!

I came back home at about 2 in the morning. Not at all unusual. I chatted with Mum about all the people I had chanced upon there. By the time I wrapped up, it was about 3:30, and as usual, without a bit of reading, it becomes nigh impossible for me to sleep!

I don't know what hour it was. I just heard Dad calling me in a calm voice, with a slight hint of urgency, asking me to wake up. I asked him what the matter was... and he told me, in a matter-of-fact manner, that I needed to come downstairs, as Mum had died. I sat up with a jolt. This could not be true. I looked out of the verandah door towards the sky. It wasn't dawn yet. 

I went bounding down the staircase. As I entered the hall, I realised that none of the dogs were to be seen. May be Dad had removed them to some other room, for Mum's body was there on the floor, covered with a sheet. There were strange arcs of things which looked like mustard seeds around her, and little heaps of the same between the arcs. In spite of everything, I kept on wondering what it was all about. Somehow, everything seemed unreal.

Then my sister, Dyuti, walked in. She had been in Delhi till the previous evening- I thought that either this had to be a very surreal dream, or else she had flown down almost immediately on getting the news. As organised as she is, Dyuti had a list of people in her hands, whose names she was calling out to find out from me whether they should be called at the mourning or not.

I remember not paying any heed to her and staring outside a window onto our driveway. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a girl appeared- a very familiar face, yet I can't place her- clad in a saree. Short, plump, with short hair and a dimpling smile. Right next to her, yet again out of nowhere appeared a man in black clothes, with, of all the things on earth in this beastly weather, a black leather jacket! This man's face I knew- my friend Rocky. As soon as I saw them I realised they were no longer bodied mortals. I asked my sister to look at them, but she saw nothing, and got back to her list. Rocky just looked at me and smiled, and said, 'Yes, I am dead... it's a long story.... will tell you some other time.... actually we are here to take Aunty with us.'

I walked up to the window, and I pointed towards Mum's body and said, 'but you can't.. she is dead.'

The girl just said, 'we know....we will wait for her'.

In all this while I could not cry... everything was too bewildering. I started wandering around... still uncertain of what was going on around me. For some reason, Dad was nowhere to be seen. I presumed he had gone off to call some of our close friends and relations.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, I heard Mum's voice. She was standing outside the window where a little while back Rocky and the girl had been standing. She was calling out to me. I ran upto the window, and, smiling, more out of incredulity than joy, and burst out saying 'Mummy! What are you doing there? You are dead!'

There she was.... outside the window...typically in her house attire.. her long loose printed cotton nighties....her short hair dishevelled... her spectacles were not there though. She merely said, 'I know....'

I tried to reach out to touch her hand- it was resting on the window- when suddenly out of the blue Dad screamed out, 'No! Don't! If you do, she won't be able to go to heaven.. you need to let go of her... she is here because you are not letting go.'

I looked at her, and saw Rocky and the girl had come up to flank her. They too told me to let go, for it was time to take her away.

I looked away, and when I turned around again, she was nowhere to be seen, nor were the other two. I realised my Mummy was gone. How I longed to hug her and hold her and tell her I loved her... and suddenly my eyes opened, still heavy due to the distressed sleep.

I kept on lying in the bed, trying to reason out with myself, whether anything had happened at all. My first reasoning was that my Dad could not have called me so many hours after Mummy's death to actually let Dyuti fly in from Delhi. In the mean time I could hear all the dogs crying to be let out for their morning rituals. I laid in a little more- unsure of what I would see after going downstairs. Had it happened? Wasn't it too surreal to have happened? How could Rocky have died? Naa.. it was merely a nightmare.. yet I was afraid to go down and face the truth.

I got up.. decided enough was enough. I had to go downstairs and convince myself that everything was all right.

I went downstairs. The puppies were at it again. It was bright and sunny outside.... and Mummy walked out of her bedroom. I rushed up and hugged her... I did not know how else to react. I did not want to tell her of what I saw in my nightmare. Yet as I am writing this, she happened to come up behind, and read a few lines- so I told her... all of it... including the bits I have left out here. I hope I have enough time with her to let her know how much I love her... I can only hope.

Talent...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9lp0IWv8QZY

That is the link to Susan Boyle, a Britain's got Talent 2009 Discovery. Rather nice.

Here's another one- George Sampson- Street dancer

Bloody brilliant! 

Here is Connie Talbot- a 6 year old...puts us to shame!

Tiger Tiger... no longer bright...

We lost our cat, Bolai, yesterday (15th April, 2009). It was surreal... the way everything went. I want to share what I felt at that moment, and through the day with my readers, but there is something stopping me from going through that pain again. For the first time, I am making the world privy to a written communication between my lover and me.

"A bereavement... painful, yet definite.. so strange.. every time I witness a death, it is as if all the realities of life seem like a pack of lies... I was so helpless, seeing him collapse on the floor like that... it pained me within. It tore me apart as the inevitable took me over.. even before it was over, i went out to tell mom, for i knew his soul had left... isn't it strange.. my eyes are welling up as i write this... 

I came back home with mom, with his body in the green basket specially bought for his trips to the vet, wrapped in the towel which we keep for him... his collar loose, in my hand, the bell tinkling away.. when i put his body into the basket, the body gave a gasp.. I looked up at the vet, and, well, as if it would have been anything else, he nodded the negative.. he was gone...

I put his basket in the landing, and I came in, washed my face, and went off looking for salt and bleach.. he needed to be buried... and there was no one.. I came back with the provisions, and got down to business.

The narrow plant-hedge against the boundary wall along the driveway- in front of his favourite window seemed like the best place... I took a shovel, and dug hard, and as deep as I could...kept on digging till I hit brick. I wrapped his body in a white cloth, and laid it to rest. It looked so peaceful....so far away from those needles and pipes... I did not let mum see his dead body... she would have broken down even more."

That morning was strange. The puppies were rather well-behaved. Bolai had been behaving in an extremely unlikely manner. He was defecating while sitting in one place, a sign that either he is extremely weak, or that he had given up. Weak he was not, for he was not allowing us to keep him on our laps or hold him tight. His stomach was tight- indigestion, I thought, and gave him some digestive syrup to cool it down, and it worked. For the first time in two days he drank some water. We thought it was a good sign.. two more days and four more shots each day.. he would be fine... he would hate us by the end of it, but he would be fine.... God knows that congestion in the chest can be bad... coupled with constipation... yes, he was a good Bengali Cat.

We went to the vet, and I seated mum in the waiting room, and took him in myself... the shots were administered, and an enema needed to be given. This was when it happened. We were holding him in place...

He started choking, fell off the table in struggle,  and went into shock, which induced a cardiac arrest. I loved him.. we all loved him... I buried his collar with him.... I can never hear the bell ring without being reminded of him. His best friend, Toffee, is still looking askance at his disappearance.

My afternoon's toil is right opposite his favourite window. He loved sitting there, watching the trees' branches sway in the breeze... or little sparrows swooping down.

Little heart, I don't know where you are, and I don't know why you left us, but know this- we love you, and shall remember you forever...  you will never have to feel closed within four walls again, or the harsh coldness of a doctor's table, or even the needles which were larger than your shanks... but wherever you are, you shall always be loved and longed for.

Never again shall we feel your soft ears, or stroke your beautiful eyes.... mummy's scars from your scratches will heal, but you have broken her heart. At this cost, I hope you got freedom from all worldly ties. May you not have to come back with one of your nine lives- and if you do, come back to us...

Rest in Peace, little one....

commitment

How difficult is it to make a relationship survive? How much should you give before you decide enough is enough? Do you really become happy by sacrificing your self-respect, your self-worth? How much can you give love, especially if love is not giving back to you?

Lots of questions rose to the surface yesterday- throughout the day I was kind of troubled with these questions, thinking in relation to a friend of mine.

The way I see it, as the cliche goes, all relationships are compromises- or is it? Till date, I have never had to compromise on my life in my relationship. If anything, it has enhanced, and enriched it. It is not as if my life was empty before it, but now it has a greater meaning to it... to the extent where my other half has truly become my better half... where our lives have mingled in such a way, that in certain ways, our individual identities have merged into one. 

It might be difficult to understand for those who get into relationships after a lot of deliberation. There is a lot of calculation behind such deliberation- and not bad ones, at that! After all, if one has to spend one's life with someone, one needs to make sure that his eggs are in an ironcast basket. In my case, my instincts told me that they were, but, as it turned out, it was more in a hypersecure underground vault which only the goblin bankers have access to.

How does one partner tell the other what he expects from him? How much of it should come naturally? I was and still am a good friend to many, and for a long time, treated my partner as a friend, who was more special than the rest, but a friend. I thought just acknowledging him as my partner was good enough... along with a good dose of fidelity, and ever increasing love. It was various events around me which made me realise that while I was busy being a pillar for other people to lean on, the only pillar I leaned on was and is my partner. He was not just being a friend, but he had become my best friend. 

My lover is my best friend... I have no secrets from him, and do not have any qualms about sharing anything with him. We have our fights, we have our making up. However, one thing has changed- I no longer treat him as just a special friend... he is way more, and I not only acknowledge it, but also show him that- through love, respect and understanding... and letting him know that, truly, my life would never be complete without him... and possibly lose its sanity and its meaning. 

Sometimes, it is important to be a little openly appreciative. Often we expect our partners to be privy to our minds- but for God's sake! Clairvoyance is a limited activity, and should NOT be expected constantly.  Yet, seldom do we ourselves try and read our partners' minds. Till we start at least trying, we are not giving our relationship the importance that is due.

Commitment in relationships go beyond staying together, way beyond sharing a home, costs, emotions. It goes into sharing mental space, emotional space and above all, bringing about a closeness, which no amount of distance and no number of outsiders can rid you of. It is not something that rids you of your identity as an individual, but enhances it to the level where you can be a couple as well as an individual.. where you can support dual identities... similar in approach, but different in goals... an amalgamation of two people with different attributes, but where, after a point of time, one individual's attribute is often part of the identity of the other.

Not everyone is created to be committed. Some people lack commitment in all spheres of their life, and most importantly to themselves. Yet, while some are not willing to give, we all want someone to lean on, someone to hug and someone to share our joys and sorrows with. Have we just decided to be selfish on the face of it, till we know for a fact that our emotional investment is going to fetch returns? Do we delay too much before? For some, perhaps, for others they are building blocks...