It's after long that I have gotten down to blogging. The reason for that, simply, have been the rains. I have already published blogs about rains, and still, the most prominent source of inspiration as far as writing is concerned , has only been 'rains'. Today as well, it is no different. Rains definitely form the back drop of my narrative, but, the perspective has altered. The joy associated with raindrops touching my skin has long disappeared. Now, there is a shadow of gloom forever marking my face.

The rains have continued for far too long. Or may be, it is the first time I am perceiving them that way. Hindrances to already delayed constructions works, traffic snarls, puddles, difficulty in commutation- if you(the reader) think these are the sources of the absent enthusiasm in my heart, then you are highly mistaken. These are the things that I laugh at. Then what is it that is letting this tangible, yet incomprehensible melancholy fill my being?

A single peek of sun from behind the clouds makes my eyes shine with alacrity; but this revelry is rare to visit my door. I was sitting today for really long in CP, by a huge window, which gave me the most spectacular view of mud hills lining the roadsides, cars of every color and brand stuck in an unending ennui, white colored Victorian buildings damp and their paints chipping, and a grey, almost-black canvas of a huge cupola of clouds, which seems to have sworn sun-protection to all citizens of Delhi for quite some time now. I was sitting and sketching the scene in front of me. Not that i am good at drawing, but i was just trying my hand at being a bit destructive (of the beauty of the scene), a bit disappointing (of my famous sketching abilities) and a bit disgusting ( to my companion who himself is acclaimed at wielding magic as he draws).

Anyway, point was, i was doing it, and in a very sudden, or rather, unnoticeable manner, an unmistakable feeling of grief started springing inside me. I tried to fight it, but i sensed my mind submitting to it. As a natural reflex, the first thing i did was to figure out reasons. My jejune brain first held Ghalib culpable for my condition. Yes, you are right, the same, old, Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib. Why, i will tell later. I was almost about to take punitive measures against his long deceased soul, when i was held back by an expeditious onset of slumber. It was in that sleep i found answers to my heart's unease. It was a dream...a dream which made things lucid to me...dream-

"I was sitting on a hillside. My favorite hillside. The air was damp. Sun nowhere in sight. The valley was green; it's depth not calculable. Cottony fluffs of clouds were rising from deep down. My side of the hills were iridescent with flowers of variegated hues smiling from both corners of my eyes. I was sitting quietly looking blankly at everything around. Only my eyes were peculiar. Water was running down my cheeks. I am not sure if it were tears, because my heart was devoid of emotions. I felt no stabs of sadness. I only cried. Suddenly, a divine person came into the picture. Filled with clemency, benevolence, and sure 'answers' to my discomfort, he came and sat by my side quietly. I said nothing, just stole a sideways glance at him. He was dressed in casuals- green T-shirt and denims. He had a white, perfectly chiseled face. His hair and eyes were unnaturally black. His lips were pink, with a cleft which could be missed sans close scrutiny. He started gazing straight ahead, where the view of the opposite hills was being blocked by the nascent clouds. He sat observing the clouds. With no warning, he raised his fingers as if a seasoned pianist is preparing his agile fingers for a concert. His fingers started moving in incongruous patterns in the air. I was about to ask him, but he shushed me even before i could utter a word. Gave me a glance which conveyed- "patience". After about fifteen minutes of this queer activity, he gave himself a satisfactory smile. Then, he kept one hand over my head. He said, in his soft, echoing, almost a chime-like voice- "Clouds are my most formless creations, but when I make these clouds my canvas, and my fingers the paintbrushes, my mind can picture them in a thousand different shapes and forms and meanings. I gave these clouds nothing. I gave them a transient existence. But then never complain. They utilize their short life giving shade and hope to the others. When they die, they weep- the only, and the final expression of their grief. But, even as they weep, they lend smiles to many. People are glad for the water, relief, rain, respite but no one cares for the very clouds who carry these droplets safely till they are delivered at their destination. But, they carry on, continue, persevere." His gaze pierced through me as he said the last word."

I did not even see this divine creature walk away. I was woken up as we were getting late. I saw the unfinished sketch lying in front of me. I raised my head for a final gaze, intending to finish my sketch, but the only detailing i added to it were the grey, almost black clouds in the background.

Mr. Ghalib, aptly, can find his mention here. He writes the most beautiful lines, and has this uncanny, unmistakable ability to stimulate that corner of my heart which hitherto was latent. This time, the lines were as follows-
"Dil hi toh hai, na sang-o-khisht, dard se bhar na aaye kyun?
Royenge hum, hazaar baar, koi humein sataaye kyun?"
(It is only a heart, not stone or mortar, why should it not fill with grief?
We will wail a thousand times, why should anyone torment us?)

For me, a better translation of the above lines is- The heart is heart, it will weep. Why should anyone be critical of my grief?

I walked down the footpaths of CP, trying to fathom my dream. May be I did. May be the Almighty was fed up of the incessant tussles i have with him, and wanted to talk about the many basics that i ignore while censuring him for my mundane problems. May be he was genuinely concerned with my listlessness about where to head as i found myself without support, care, concern, love and understanding from anyone i hold dear. And then, he sent me this quote in my Gmail inbox-"You desire to know the art of living, my friend? It is contained in one phrase: make use of suffering"

Whatever it meant. Whatever it was. One thing I will surely laud Him for is the medium he chose to communicate with me. This one voice, i can never ignore. Never.

It was one of those days again. Exactly one of those days. Grey days. Blue days. Whatever they are called. Days, when i ask myself too many questions. Or may be one single question. I let the question(s) take root in my mind, become a part of my subconscious self, assimilate information and experience required to arrive at an answer...and then, answer blossoms in my mind even before i know it.

However, what i was thinking, rather, asking myself today, was both, unwelcome and perplexing. To add another word, the specific time i chose to reflect and concoct answers, also made this question ironical.

"Why do friends become so important to us in life, that after a point, it starts hurting?"
(In case the paradox is not ostensible, it is the first Sunday of August today, which the world celebrates as Friendship Day)

I woke up in the morning, and cast a half open glance at the slightly ajar door of my balcony. Hardly any light was coming in. It was dark, overcast, I could make out. I pulled my knees close to my chest, tightly wound my hands around my bosom, and gave myself the warmest hug I could, to counter the effects of the chilly air flowing into the room, and then sprang out of bed. With eye lids refusing to cooperate, i somehow managed to locate my slippers, but accidentally placed my feet on the icy floor. Within a matter of seconds, a current of chill ran up my legs, and my spine, hit my head, and culminated into a smile. The same, old, faint, silly- my favorite smile. Thus i proceeded on my 'arduous' walk to the balcony, ten heavy steps....

I collapsed on the cold balcony floor, in an attempt to embrace what nature was offering. It was colder than inside the room, so i brought myself closer together, once again pulled my knees to my chest, and started imagining the aroma of coffee beans. Had only been a second, when my 'pet' tree, right across my balcony, broke out into a dance- gracefully swaying side to side first, and then going wild, mad, to the tune of the flowing breeze. My tree was welcoming me to become a part of this private celebration of nature, whatever was left of it amid the chaos of brick and mortar which we call our 'habitat'. Having performed the invocation, my tree invited all the other trees, and birds, and clouds, and winds, and rains, to join in this mad revelry, and they all gladly acceded.

What then ensued in front of me is not in my capacity to describe. Any other person would have described it as a heavy, torrential shower. But, was it just that? There were people down in the street, scurrying in all directions to look for a shelter. Hapless people. The more fortunate of us homo sapiens were the half naked street kids, splashing in the puddles, laughing, shouting, dancing....being purified, washed clean directly by the heavens. I broke into a subtle laughter at their sight, and started enjoying the raindrops being tossed in my direction after hitting the balcony railing. I was happy. Innately happy. Infinitely happy. These weren't just rains. This was the most basic and personalized invite that the heavens sent to all of us, to, for once, abandon our synthetic existence, and befriend nature. I did.

I sent a 'thank you' in the direction of my 'pet' tree, which has been my friend ever since i shifted to my current accommodation. Initially frightened by it's eerie silhouettes in the dark of the night, it soon became my companion for the solitary moments i spent in the open, often understanding and sharing my thoughts. Today as well it was listening, as i asked myself a question, and then quickly rubbished it. This very question had caused an immeasurable disarray in my interiors about a day or two back, but today, it was inconsequential. There was a reason to it. And i want that reason to know that it was the reason for the calm and balance i expreience right now.

I met a friend yesterday. A friend, who has forever been a friend, a close friend, but separated by large distances. When i felt cold today, i remembered the warm hug my friend gave me yesterday. When the damp weather's chicanery was coercing me to become gloomy, I rememberd this friend's laughter and his concern for my happiness. When strange thoughts were complicating my routines, i rememberd his simple ways and his humble eyes. I was elated, elevated, and infinitely comforted.

At first, I could not recognize him. He appeared from amid a crowd, his bag hung over one of his shoulders. I knew he was coming, that is why i was waiting for him, yet, the first glimpse i caught of him was laced with disbelief. I was still not humble to the fact that i would, finally, be getting to spend time, in person, with him. He looked better, smarter than ever i had known him to be. He in no way looked dapper, all his charm emanating from the casual, easy way in which he carried himself. His manner was courteous, yet not even a feeble measure of formality streaked his demeanor. His smile was contagious- i call him my own brand of "happiness pill". The best thing about him- he made me feel at home.

He made me realize that dubious questions, such as the one quoted in the beginning, are nothing, but a travesty of the word 'friendship'.

Sitting diagonally across me, with a hot cup of Mocha in his hands, (and a semi alcoholic Irish Coffee in mine), he incited me into self dialogue as to why such a special friend is to be separated by such long distances. We jabbered incessantly about everything that came to mind. We took short, reflective breaks to understand and absorb the importance of the time being spent together. We gave each other little gifts, for this is the only time of the year we could meet, but those gifts in no way could amount to even an approximate measure of how loved we wanted to make each other feel. "The more I think it over, the more I feel that there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people." The artist inside me was failing me. I had wanted to tell him so much more, hear so much more, share so many thoughts, tears, laughter....

Time for departure was too quick to come. I was sad. Little. I was happier to have met him. He has a little thing about him, which revives my faith in everything good and positive around me. I live for my friends; but when it starts getting too much, he inspires me to perfect the balancing act, and not sway to the extremes. The people i love, and begin to hate because of unfulfilled expectations, suddenly become blame free, and i give myself a slight rebuff for letting negativity brew in my head. The good part is, despite being benevolent and magnanimous, he never makes me feel indebted. He says its mutual, and i comfort him as much as he comforts me. I like to believe it. Its so easy to be friends this way. He holds infinite respect for me, as i for him, and while respecting each other, we learn to respect every other good thing/person in our life which deserves to be respected.

My tree still stands there. It has noticed the droplets forcing their way out of my eyes. In its reckoning, i was infinitely happy, so why the droplets? I don't know. May be i am sad for not having been able to give him a last, warm hug as he disembarked from the metro at Rajiv Chowk, and mumble an apology. May be i am happy (mushy-happy), and i have been happy for so long that it can no  longer be contained inside me. May be i am both. One thing for certain- this friend will remain with me, even when that tree dies down. If ever he goes away, I will understand that there must be a reason for it. This season, and the next, and the next...i'll remember to smile whenever the rain fed weather's beauty is beyond description, for it is on one such day, i spent the most marvellous moments of my life with you.

Keep my faith breathing....

It is happening....

It had to happen, but, now, it really is happening.

My last year in college has finally begun. Today was my first day in college. The campus, which till only yesterday was deserted, quiet, and so-not-like-JMC today was teeming with energy. The fuchchas looked apprehensive, inquisitive and excited, and i looked back at my very first day in this very campus. I had still not resigned to the fact that i am fated to remain in this 'all girls' college for the next three years. Coming from a school where i had only (mostly) male friends, it was disconcerting to the eyes to see only female and feminine figures around. I felt irritated to the core when after searching frantically for a 'girls' washroom, it dawned on me that in this campus, there are ONLY girls' washrooms. It felt creepy, and it took time to adjust, and today, the situation is such, that the thought of not being a student of this college exactly one year from this date wreaks havoc with my system each time i set foot in the college.

Me and my emotional attachments are deplorable- i know. However, i cant help it. JMC being the cleanest, greenest and the bestest campus in the whole of Delhi University, it is so easy to fall in love with..umm... the lawns, the canteen, the basement, the amphi, the audi, the library....and the whole college itself.

My friends have taunted me, and have requested me to abstain from any 'emotional atyachar', which they knew was going to be inflicted on them, while i  soliloquised about how a year down the line, we would no longer be permanent residents of this place. The fact is- this hits me really bad. So bad, that keeping my thoughts only to myself is not an option. And since my friends are the package-deal i got from this college, they have little option save listening to my melodramatic monologues.

I'll miss this place, but that will come later. A year later. As of now the thing that i know will no longer come back in my life is the thrill of coming to JMC for the 'first' day of the new academic session, soaking in the beauty of the amazing campus we have, and feeling proud for being a part of this very, very prestigious institution. I will miss coming to college, congratulating others for their grossly, flagitiously, overbearingly good results while mine, in accordance with the custom, were too modest even to be called modest. I will miss taking a college tour, passing new, fresh smiles to everyone. I will miss peeping inside the staffroom to catch a glimpse of all my favorite teachers. I will miss the yearly pledges- "I HAVE to do well this year"- and ruining them even before i could put my first 'strategy to do well' in effect.

But, most of all, what i will miss are the desperately longed for, cozy hugs of my friends, and the smile that instantly lights up my face when i see all of them after so long, and the comfort that my heart silently experiences when it realizes that yes, those people are still with you, around you. I will miss the rigmarole that subsequently ensues. I will miss the first, long hug that Kapoor gives me, the first amazingly captivating smile that Jagga gives me, and the first beautiful gaze that Sanchi's bewitching eyes cast on me.

Two years earlier, when i set foot here, i was not prepared to accept the fact that it is from this crowd i have to find friends who will help me survive for the next three years. Today the condition is such, that survival without these friends is very nearly unimaginable. My next year in college, i want to see pass as a montage of precious, priceless moments, that if i can't freeze into pictures, can at least be safely tucked away in some part of my mind. Will happen. Definitely. Me, my college, my teachers, my friends- we still have one year to revel in our attachments, and then......we'll at least promise to stay in touch.

As for me, it was in ninth standard (five years back), that i first heard this line-

"Hum toh dariya hain, humein apna hunar maloom hai.
Jis taraf bhi chal padenge, raasta ho jaayega"

He said:

And the thought crosses my mind
If I never wake up in the morning
Would she ever doubt the way I feel
About her in my heart
If tomorrow never comes
Will she know how much I loved her
Did I try in every way
To show her every day
That she's my only one
And if my time on earth were through
And she must face this world without me
Is the love I gave her in the past
Gonna be enough to last
If tomorrow never comes...

She replied:

Yes. You made me cry
Through what you said
My lips are dry
My heart unwell.


A dream of glory
Wishing to hope
Nervous to hope
Nonetheless, I hope.
We'll wade through, we'll cope.


A tomorrow will dawn
So what if we stand apart.
He'll watch over, he'll guard.
He'll see us from the same rampart.


One Sun- We'll bathe in its rays bright
One Moon- Will dispel pain, the dark fright
One Sky- Where desires'll seek flight
One Heart- Binding us in divine light
One Soul- Our stanchion of immense might


We'll loosen the ropes of worldly control
We'll persevere, we'll not lose hope


If not in this world
then in the Parallel Universe
We'll experience Grace
Be absolved of the curse.


Providence shall murmur
not cruel, but words sweet
"The ordeal is over, go fulfil
Your need to be complete."

Amen.

Quote from Acts of Faith, Erich Segal
"Deborah, do you want to know my definition of an adult? It's someone who wakes us one morning, and says to himself, 'I no longer care what my parents think'. To me that's the real, psychological bar mitzvah."
(Dr. Barnea to Deborah)

Strange things happen to us in life. We do strange things in life. I did a very strange thing once in life. I have done many strange things in life, but this one was outrageously strange. Though I did it in words, and not on paper, it was strange nevertheless.However, I am extremely happy I did this strange thing, that strange day, over that strange phone call.

I was eighteen, when i adopted a seventeen and a half year old girl as my daughter.

I should have put an exclamation after the above sentence. I did not, because it is not something funny. At least i don't find it funny. Although, I can't put a leash on myself when in moments of anguish, as well as moments filled with her 'cute' charms, she calls me 'mumma', calling her 'kid', 'baby', 'bachcha' and everything of the ilk had been natural since a very early age. I don't just say it, I always meant it.

She is my earliest memory of a friend, a friend who depended on my for nearly everything. I read somewhere- "Like cars in amusement parks, our direction is often determined through collisions". I don't remember when i collided with her, i was in kindergarten, but she became my only object of love. Then came a time, when i lost her; but when i found her back, after a hiatus of nearly 6 years, it was a renewed relationship that started maturing between us. We were nothing close to the proverbial 'joined at the hip' friends, we never stood as a paradigm of ideal friendship, we did not come across as the 'oh so in love, inseparable' friends; but, we were there. We were always there with each other, though not many realized the depth of our bond, till much later.

She sat demurely in class,  her long black hair tied neatly in a ponytail. She was the fairest among them all, had the most beautiful eyes. She was unassuming, at times even a little scared, of the reckless, impudent and insolent demeanor of the others towards her. She loved limitlessly, but faced betrayal. She never hurt anyone, but God hurt her right where it pained the most. She wanted to spread smiles, but was a victim of tears. She, who could never think wrong of anyone was misunderstood and disregarded by many.

And then she found me, and i found her. I tried to be there with her, but was blocked by her 'well-wishers'. It was only a matter of time, that I triumphed over all of them, and today, this precious, little gem is mine to possess. 


She is strong, but gullible. Her heart is of gold, but melts at the slightest display of emotions. She has seen much in life; I've tried to be her bulwark. Whenever i looked into her tear filled eyes, I felt responsible to bring her smile back. Whenever i saw her anguish-ridden face, i felt responsible to put her heart at ease. When she got hurt, I HAD to make life better for her.


I've fought with her, fussed over her, taught her, watched her, protected her, cared for her, loved her- I've done everything in my capacity that under the facade of a friend i could. In my heart, this bond was always more than friendship. She was my family. A family away from home. I've cared for her for so long, that now not caring for her does not seem an option. She was sad, and angry, and dejected the day i 'adopted' her over a late night phone call, and she instantly brightened up. It remained a joke for some days, it still is. However, it is not she, or anyone else who can undermine the motherly (euphemism-sisterly) love i have always held in my heart for her.

I only want her to know one thing. When  life is dark, and no respite in on its way, you can pose blind trust in me- I'll be somewhere around. My hugs for you would never end. My warmth for you would never cease. I'll always be around. Always.


Before i thank you for writing that wonderful post about me, i must share a secret. Every time i have pulled you out of your bed, ruining your compulsive habit to sleep late in the day, i have always spent a moment or gazing at your face..your serene and calm features, and the little smile behind your eyelids...it's a sight which makes me smile. And then I simply sigh, and shout "Charu! Wake up or i leave!!!"




http://idiottalk-angel.blogspot.com/  - that's my 'daughter's' blog

Delhi has never been more beautiful. Not in my immediate memory at least. It is raining, and raining real heavy. The roads are wet, washed clean. The trees are dripping, with the green of their leaves accentuated and absolutely pleasing to the eyes. Summer is seeming like history, and a chilly breeze is constantly caressing my cheeks. The best part- scent of the wet earth. Taking in the fragrance of soil made wet, immediately after rains is easily one of those pleasures i would never get over. Everything is at its pristine best, despite the concrete jungle that forms my immediate habitation. With this little, random, silly smile on my face, am looking at the raindrops lashing against my room's window, reminiscing my best spent moments with life. Moments that touched my heart, moments that i can romanticize forever.

And what such a weather does to me is anyone's guess. "Hopeless Romantic"- I don't know who tagged me this, but whoever it was, was a very sensible man/woman. Just about a few days back, summer was at its peak, and so was my temper, and irritability, and stress levels. It was hot, and sweltering, and nothing seemed to be in order, and fatigue and discomfort seemed to creep into my existence from all sides. However, for the past three days, things have themselves fallen into order. I am calm. I am finding time to even do things not originally in my schedule. I am happy. I am lost. And the same, silly, faint smile is forever accessorizing my face.

And I am thinking about things. About a lot of things. Things, which have one thing in common- They all make me inexplicably happy. It may be people, situations, incidents- everything that left even a faint impact on me, and is still lurking in the penumbra of that part of my memory, which i associate with pure, unadultrated bliss. Let me quote a few examples-

~Somewhere during last week, when i struggled my way up the metro stairs ('cuz the lift was ready to explode with the number of people trying to squeeze in), taking the kanchenjunga exit from Barakhamba Road Metro Station, I saw a couple who would remain etched in my memory for a really long time to come. They were in their middle ages- the female far more graceful than any I have known, and the male, very dignified, with his slightly greying hair at the temples adding to his charm- and visibly, very much in love. However, why I remember them, is not for their looks, but for something different. The couple, both of them i presume, had not been blessed with speech and hearing. They were carrying on an animated discussion, with their hands flying in all directions. It was only a moment i stole a glance at them, and then averted my eyes, slightly conscious by the fact that i was invading their privacy. However, when i looked around, i realized, in India, not many people are blessed with scruples of conscience, and they continued gawking at the two of them, even sharing totally contemptible laughs among themselves. I climbed out of the metro station, stole a last look at them over my shoulders, and whispered to my heart-"bless them"

~I do late night studies, often keeping up till early hours of the morning. Generally, the curtains of my room are drawn, to prohibit early rays of sunlight from entering my territory, and depriving me of slumber- a much coveted, scarce commodity for me. However, today morning, i clearly noticed the sky changing color through my huge window, with no curtains to disposses me of such a magical view. I ambled into the balcony, and I don't know for how many minutes i stood there, immobilized, my eyes soaking in every little detail of the alluring scene in front of me. It was unnervingly quiet, for most people were still snug within the blanket of sleep, but i was glad for not being one amongst them. I was glad for being blessed with a private rendezvous with the most stunning part of the day, the sky over my head being cast in layers of at least three different colors....

~" Sometimes i feel everything in the world is so beautiful and simple. Quite contrary to what I think. But its nice. :)" My friend Saurabh, practically out of nowhere, and 2:17 am at night on 5th July, sent me this message. I had been trying hard to fight out the hideous images of Statistics' formulae and diagram which had been annoying me for past couple of days, when I recieved this, and smiled another of my silly smiles at the mobile screen. Firstly, 'cuz, there are fewer things that can give you more happiness while you are caught in your mundane chores than the name of your favorite friend flashing on your mobile screen. And secondly, the content of the message was so random, abstract, yet enough so effective in transforming my virulence into gladness, and the sms chit-chat which followed for nearly and hour or two after that, one of the fondest i've had in a long time.

While I was pondering over these very things, flipping through the pages of my diary, when i came across a few lines i scribbled as a reaction to a 'Spiritual Solutions' article in HT, on June 15, '10-
"Love is a phenominally understated, grossly misunderstood, and supremely assaulted emotion; but, it possesses a remarkable resilience. It keeps coming back in the lives of all those, most often without their cognizance, who at some point or the other have desecrated this divine object, this blessing than God gave us to directly be connected with Him."

Quite honestly, I did not believe i had written this. But then, I guess I had. I guess something had bothered me so much, that rather than stain the pages of my diary with long, lachrymose content, i simply expressed my anguish in these words.

So, the conclusion. Despite disdain flowing in copious amounts from all sides from the more sensible and pragmatic male friends of mine, the sort who look down on females who are mushy, senti, easily attached to the most silly things in the world, I will continue doing the following things-

~I will read the Twilight series as many times as I desire (in fact, thats what i am doing in my free time at present), despite the fact that i have seen the movie like a zillion times, and read all the four books twice over already;
~I will collect money and buy myself a copy of the classics Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre, even though I've read them emough times now to know the lines by heart;
~I will keep watching movies like A Walk to Remember, Autumn In New York, Notebook, Titanic, and keep shedding bucketful of tears, even long after the movie is over;
~I will totally refuse to give up my obsession with Katherine Heigl, and James Marsden starrer, 27 Dresses, and see it as many times as Star Movies thinks it fit to air it;
~I will continue sleeping with my copy copy of "I Too Had A Love Story" hugged tight to my bossom on those dark days of my life, when things would be awry, and genuinely feel remorse for the author of this cute, little book;
~I will continue going to movies like "I Hate Luv Stories" despite enough warnings from the media and the disappointment, scorn, and incessant protests of my companion, whose definition of 'paisa vasool' for such movies is to avail the benefits of air conditioning and simply sleep. And after trying for the sixth time to wake him up, i would simply give up, and enjoy the movie;
~And here comes the big one-I will continue hoping, in the labelled 'nonsensical' fashion, that my boyfriend came with a vampire bite scar somewhere on his neck, making him an exact replica of EDWARD CULLEN, blessing me with a kismet akin to that of Bella's

Some supremely intelligent individual has quoted- 'Love makes uncomplicated, earnest idiots of us all" (-Tim Dowling). I would like to agree with him, and state furthermore, that it is this specific idiocy, which can grant us those precious few moments, which will flicker in front of our eye lids, when we approach the evening of life. The crepuscular being i am, i firmly believe in the concept of dawn after dusk, and can't leave this post to end on a note with a slight melancholic undertone to it. With nothing left to write, I'd just end with a quote from Acts of Faith, an awesome novel from the magical spinner of Love Stories, Erich Segal-

"It was one of the Jewish legends of the mystics- that when the soul descends from Heaven, it has two parts, one male, the other female. They separate and enter different bodies. But if these people then lead righteous lives, the Father of the Universe will reunite them as a couple."

Is it strange that I have not been perturbed by any sort of intrigue about the much hyped, recently released Aishwarya and Abhishek starrer RAAVAN? Well, at least my cousin thinks so as he gives me those incredulous looks when I tell him I don’t care about the ‘hot new looks’ of the stars or the scenic locations or the great direction of Mani Ratnam which has surely made this movie a masterpiece. Frankly, I am glad the film has bombed at the box office (1 and ½ star rating by HT), a befitting answer to all those die heard Abhishek fans, eagerly awaiting the release of the epic film, hailed as a ‘landmark’ in his career. It may still turn out to be just that, but for me, the hullabaloo surrounding it has been consistently incomprehensible.

What I am glad for, though, is the fact that due to this movie, the media and the intellectuals have been compelled to undertake a debate on the conceptualization of ‘villain’ in our society, in our films, for once trying to give their characters their due respect. This is most aptly stated in the following lines- “Every story needs a villain. The Jain Chronicles are very clear about this. For every Vasudeva, they say, there must be a Prati-Vasudeva. Against Rama stands Ravana, against Krishna stands Kansa. In fact, the villain comes first, justifying the existence of the hero. The villain’s villainy props up the hero’s heroism, justifies the adoration and worship.” (-Devdutt Patnaik, mythologist, and author of The Pregnant King)

A particular source of fascination for me has been the obsession of print and electronic media with revisiting the much celebrate, legendary villain-Ravana- straight out of the epic Ramayana, composed by Valimiki. He is the iconic villain- one whom we love to hate!

Having my mother as a Sanskrit teacher has its own advantages. I dunno how small was I when my innocent tongue started chanting these lines-

“Damadamadamadamanninadavadamarvayam
Chakaarchandtaandavam tanotuna shivashivam”

I never understood their meaning - I still don’t. I was merely overtaken by the rhythm and vigor that emanated while chanting the initial part of these lines. What I do know today is the fact that these lines constitute the second part of the first verse of the 16 verse long Shiva Tandava Stotram, composed by the Asura king Ravana himself. When the fact that Ravana was a staunch devotee of Shiva, so much so that he composed this Stotram to appease the Lord from his petrifying anger, was first revealed to me, I stood in disbelief. Ravana was the sinister demon king who abducted Sita leading to his own destruction at the hands of Rama- how could someone like him be then related to a figure of a deeply religious and learned king, I failed to fathom.

“Ravana is a symbol of evil”- has it not been fed into our system since the time we were toddlers, and were still learning to identify figures, and used to sing alphabets along with other nursery rhymes? We couldn’t boast of any worldly wisdom at that time when our grandmother taught us that evil always gets defeated at the hands of good, as is the case of Ravana, during one of her bedtime story sessions. Such are the common, conventional and delusional wisdoms imparted to us through the oral transmissions of our mythologically rich heritage. Did anyone tell us that the immoral son of sage Vishravas and Kaikesi was actually a learned Brahmin and a great scholar of his time? Did anyone bother to tell us that he is ascribed as the author of Ravansamhita, the most powerful treatise on astrological investigations derived from our Vedic texts? Did anyone tell us that there exist communities in unknown interiors of our country, for whom, Ravana is the only deity they’ve ever worshipped? Did anyone tell us that there is a Jain temple dedicated to the mighty king Ravana near Alwar? Perhaps no one told us because they themselves are not aware. I myself was not, till I saw and was captivated by a documentary on NDTV India this weekend, my eyes glued to the TV screen as I stared at an idol of “lord” Ravana- perhaps for the first time witnessing a serene, and ‘vinamra’ expression on his face, as against the ‘raudra’ image as is commonly perceived in our society.

So today, Ravana stands for me not as the widely professed super-villain, but as an ambivalent figure- part daitya and part Brahmin. His ten heads would not so much frighten me as they did when I was a kid, for today I know his ten heads are symbolic of profound knowledge of four Vedas, and six Upanishads. I will recall him to mind as the composer of the hypnotic Shiva Tandava Stotram, whose hubris was karmically fated to be subdued by Rama. The next time I see Ravana go up in flames on Dussehra, the biggest celebration of triumph of good over evil as witnessed in India, I will for once bow my head humbly to the great and glorious demon king, who has ‘clearly fallen victim to the distinction drawn in Ramayana by Valmiki between a good human guided by moral ethics and marital bonding, and the Rakshasa Jati- the race of demons and illusionists who practice profligate living.’ (HT, 20/06/10).

While I do read in my Indian Culture readings about Samudragupta, the scion of illustrious Gupta dynasty, famously called the ‘Indian Napolean’ by V.A. Smith, as being a prolific veena-vaadak, it has been little in my cognizance, as of most around me that Ravana himself was an unparalleled player of the Veena- the instrument most profoundly associated with the image of the goddess of learning, Saraswati, herself.

The next time I go through the much simpler and abridged version of my copy of C. Rajagopalachari’s Ramayana, I will be in a position to give much more thought to the fact that Ravana is not simply a figure who should be used as an instrument to establish the good and astute image of maryadapushottam Rama year and year again in our highly saffronized society as his effigy goes up in flames during Dussehra; he is a legend in himself, capable of imparting much wisdom to all of us. As I rue the way the good and the evil forces were balanced inside Ravana, I remember the following quote I read in HT’s Saturday Editorial, written by Gopalkrishna Gandhi, former Governor, West Bengal- “While I too believe in Gods, I don’t believe that God concerns himself with the fates and actions of individual human beings- in their daily chores, in their pettinesses and quarrels, in their moments of joy and sorrow… As a Zoroastrian, I believe that good an evil exist as separate forces and that the world we live in is a battlefield.” – Fali Nariman

With Ramayana having already attained its much exaggerated place amongst us, I am eagerly waiting to grab my copy of the ‘Ravanayana’. ‘Ravana’ definitely is the flavor of the season!

My eyes are burning; my vision fogged. My aspirations are crushed; my faith shaken. My past is acrimonious; my future uncertain. A flicker of dream remains; remains, to keep me breathing. It refuses to go away. Audacious, defiant dream. Reverberations in my mind…I hear these words-

“But I being poor have only my dreams.

I spread my dreams beneath your feet.

Tread softly, for you tread on my dreams.”

Poor indeed I am. Nothing save my world of dreams constitutes my wealth. My wealth- wholly intangible at present. When realized, though, my dreams are bound to make me the richest. Richest- with happiness. Richest- with contentment. Richest- ‘cuz I’ll have all with me I ever dreamt of. Dreamt of. Dreamt.

Dream. Hapless dream. It only is the culprit. My mind says so. I can’t deny it. My heart still wants to harbor the dream. I can’t deny it either. The pursuit of this dream, the attachment to it, makes me brittle. I’m shattered many a times along the road.

The path was uphill, I knew. So steep, I knew not.

Obstacles paved the way, I knew. In such abundance, I knew not.

Destination was far, I knew. Almost on unreachable horizons, I knew not.

And yet, I set off. Harrying myself. Challenging myself. A glimpse of the destination- an alacrity. A change in weather, a misty ennui. So many people I meet along the way, each with his own ‘shortcut’ to the destination. Difficult to hear ‘em all. Difficult to ignore ‘em all. Difficult to hold my ground. Easy to let go.

Let go I must not. If I let go, then where do I go? Strengthen. Steel. Maneuver. Plan. (said someone- ‘planning is not success, it only makes the road to success easier’)

Fear not anyone, but yourself. Only if you decide, you stop. Else, you continue moving. Walking. With companions. Alone. In cold. In sun. In mist. In shower. Understand nature’s chicanery. (You’ll find 15 reasons why not to go after a dream, each more convincing than the one that says you should.)

Fealty. To no one, save your own self.

A problem, however, exists. My legs are chained. The chains- rusted, ancient, orthodox. My controllers, my conservative lords- not game for the unconventional route. They overtake my steps. They haul me along. They show me the way, I wish not to see. They still drag ahead. They trample my dreams. (tread softly- did I not tell them that?)

I pick the trampled disfigured ones. I cosset them. I nurture them. It’s only a matter of time. Someday, and God knows when, but someday it’ll be my day. And that day, nature will find its rhythm in my heart beats. Sun will shine within my eyes. The heavens, for once, will side with me. I’ll decide my own course. I'll be my own prophet.

“I shall be telling this with a sigh,

Somewhere ages and ages hence.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood and I,

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference." - Robert Frost