Part I- The Ending

Part II- The Premonition

Part III
The Celebration

 If this was the last hour I was allowed to spend with you, I would spend it like it was the last hour I was allowed to live. When you walk out, love walks out, life walks out. 

I was only adjusting the smile on my face when my heart gently leapt out of its place. The bell rang. He is here. My cheeks flushed red, perfectly complementing my dress.

I clicked the lock open, and peeked out, hiding my body behind the door. Clad in a black shirt and denims, there he stood, ready to massacre the hearts of a dozen females. Aah. A sigh still escapes my lips when I see him stand with that casual grace in front of my eyes. He is not any Greek God personified. He is but love and passion epitomized.

He was gazing at me. Unnervingly so.

"Hey." I said. I smiled. I calmed my racing heart down. Really? Has it really been five years of our togetherness? "You are not carrying your luggage sweetie? Left it at your apartment already?"

He pulled me out from behind the door, lightly revealing my demure frame to his eager eyes. He appraised me from  head to toe. I think I saw a hint of a smile on his face. A tired smile but.

"You look gorgeous. Much lovelier than I ever remember having seen you."

"Stop flattering me. I mean, I like it. But there, you again did not answer me directly. Where is your luggage?"

"You know you could ask me to come in first."

"Oh! Sorry! Its only excitement. Come in. Make yourself comfortable."

He walked in straight towards my bedroom, only pausing near the table in the living room for a brief second to place on it a pretty red rose. My Valentine's gift. The one I had always liked. It was the only luggage he carried, hitherto hidden behind his back. I see his body disappear into my room. I stand frozen for a second, a little perplexed. Closing the main door, I pick up the elegant rose, the hues of which match precisely the tone of my dress, and proceed towards him. By now, my heart has stopped racing. It has begun to sink.

I halt at the door of my room, and lean against it. Seated at the edge of my bed, facing away from me, I can tell he has worry writ large over his face. He is staring at the floor with a burning fierceness. He looks up. Its only confusion, painful confusion he sees in my eyes.

"I am going back by the evening flight. In about two hours, I leave."

He takes a deep breath, averts his gaze, and continues. "This is it. My father wants me back there. He has wielded contacts to find me a job, and expects me to marry a girl of his choice next year. He wants me to settle down and be with him and ma."

An even greater sigh. "Angel, I won't be coming back."

He returns his gaze to meet mine. His deep, expressive eyes are moist. I feel pain. I feel an even greater urge to lessen his pain.

I walk up to him and tousle his hair while he sits still, looking down in an emotion I reckon as guilt. He curls his arms around my waist and presses his face against my belly. I can feel his tears permeating my dress, touching not my skin, but defying gravity and racing up to hide away in my heart.

I don't cry. I smile. I know I am his strength. I have been, for long. I keep still for a while.

I then withdraw, sit down on my knees with my hands in his lap. I look up at him. Again, I smile.

"We knew this had to happen. We did. We loved each other, but we promised not to hurt our parents."

He keeps mum. He keeps looking at me, but remains mum.

I look deeper into his eyes.

"For the next two hours, you are mine."

Our eyes are now locked in an intense gaze. Not breaking it even for a moment, he supports my shoulders as we both stand up facing each other. An inaudible "Love you" escapes his dry but luscious lips. I draw closer to him, burying myself in his chest. His labored breathing becomes all the more palpable in the rhythm of his heart. He lifts my face up, perfectly accommodating my slightly plump cheeks in both of his palms. I cannot stand the heat of his gaze. I close my eyes. The next moment, I can feel his soft lips on mine. One of his hands reaches the zip of my gown, the ease of unfastening which, I always suspected, was what made him buy it in the first place. In a swift motion, my gown slips off and collects in a heap near my feet. He knows I turn shy. He draws me closer in his embrace and enters the coziness of the blanket to escape the prickly Delhi cold. He also does this to hide me away from the prying eyes of the fan, the wall and the mischievous mirror.

What began as an eagerly anticipated Valentine's was fast culminating into a final celebration of love. 

 

(Part IV-The Last Song- last of the four parts, coming up soon)

Part I-The Ending

Part II
The Premonition

Its only a single heartbeat of yours I need to hear in order to understand truth of life as we know it. You say so much, even when you say nothing.

"Uh..Hello?"

"Hey. You're asleep?"

"Brilliant question to ask honey." *Yawn* "What else do you suppose I would do when my darling refuses to spend time with me on the Valentine's Eve? Gosh! Its three in the morning! Is all good baby?"

"Yes Yes. Nothing much."

"Wait. Am I imagining things, or your voice is actually heavy?"

"Chuck that. Can you take off from work tomorrow?"

"You always do this. A question in reply to my question."

"Hey...don't be upset. Tell me, can you?"

"Wait, let me see. Why would I take off from work tomorrow unless that darling mother of yours lets her only son come back to Delhi where apparently he has a job and a girlfriend waiting?"

"I am coming back tomorrow. Should be there by the afternoon."

"What?! Really? Yayyiee! But really? You're fooling me? Tell me you're not! Oh honey! You always give me the best of surprises. I should have known you would not let my Valentine's go dull. You know I love these little celebrations of life, these little celebrations of love. I should have known. I'll be waiting. Or should I come to receive you at the airport?"

"No. Stay at home. Will you do me a favour?"

"Anything for you baby. Just command."

"Will you wear that red silk gown you wore to the quiet dinner date we had on your last birthday? The one I had bought for you?"

"Ahaan. Someone's getting romantic already. I would, of course. When I open the door for you tomorrow, you will see me as the girl you could fall in love with all over again."

"I know you will look gorgeous. See you tomorrow."

"I'll be waiting."

"Love you, and a Happy Valentine's angel."

"Love you too. My Valentine's will begin when I look deep into your eyes tomorrow."

(Click)

I try drifting back to sleep. Yes, I felt happy that he, after a really long time, will be back in my arms. But some part of my heart challenged that elation. Something was not right. Am I thinking too much? I must be. When he'll be here tomorrow, everything will be fine. My edgy heartbeats will settle down into a peaceful rhythm. He will make that happen. He will.

 

(Part III-The Celebration, coming up soon)

Part I
The Ending

Loving you is irrevocably drugging myself to a form of living I know I can spend my life in. Loving you is living.  

Few not so bright rays of sun manage to percolate through the thick oriental curtains on the window to rest on the left side of his face. Penetrating the aquatic blueness of the window tresses, they fall on his face like luminous ripples of water. I gaze at him. I sigh.

He lies on his back, covered upto his chest in the soft, velvety blanket I share with him. The blanket protects what we seek to share only with each other from the curious eyes of the fan, the walls, and the mischievous mirror. I plant a careful kiss on his glistening shoulder. I then draw out from the blanket.

I do not intend to get away from him. Having savoured him in every other possible way, I now wish to savour him through my eyes. I lift myself up, leaning on my elbow, and cast the most loving gaze at him. My lips instantly register that same smile he described as the sexiest curve of my body. I smile imagining things, both pleasant and forbidden.

Oblivious to my shenanigans, he sleeps. Peaceful, calm, radiant. I am sure he is dreaming. Dreaming about us. I can feel him sigh behind his closed eyes.He is definitely dreaming about us. It is easy to read him. It was easier to have fallen in love with him. Almost instantly. Like a sudden revelation.

Half of his face is playing host to the mild rays of the distant sun. The serenely illuminated countenance of his is reminding me of his admirably illuminated inner self. The other half of his face bears a shadow of his own features, reminiscent of the protective shade he has been nurturing me in for so long. His perfectly chiseled, smooth shoulders give but a peek into the majesty that he is. His right arm, so far a pillow for me, is now lying with a casual grace on the softness of the blanket. He is perfect. His aura is perfect. But soon, it'll all be gone.

 

(Part II- The Premonition, coming up soon)

Yes. Through this post, I am out here celebrating the century of nascent words which have escaped my heart over last 3 years. It feels incredible. When I go through the neatly drafted older articles, I often sense pride and warmth serenading my being. The words were always reflective of my thoughts. Honest thoughts. Not one word here has an element of fabrication. Each single post of mine is written with personal care, tenderness, love and thoughtfulness. Emotions have been my guides. People my inspirations.

What I would want to dedicate my 100th post to is my inspirations. The three people who have been a distinct part of me and who have inspired me not from around me, but from within me. Their faces lurk behind most of my writings. What I share with them prompts me on. Whether the happy moments or the sad, they either cause them or help me live through them. Invariably, they metamorphose into some exquisite thoughts which my quill itches to paint into some precious words.

Here they are. Here is who they are. Here is what they mean.

The Love

He is the Guardian Angel of my solitary heart. I read about love. He taught me about love. The feeling that filled me with his arrival in my life was so overwhelming that it needed to flow out. It had to flow out. He made me feel so much of love that I could finally begin to understand it. Once I understood it, I felt a need to write about it, share about it. Love has been an experience of learning and unlearning. Nothing stands absolute in its path except for the fact that it exists as an Absolute need for all of our survival. I did mention about having understood it. But love is a spectacular panorama. Not one to be understood easily. He says, "So what? Live it, feel it, flow with it." And the words flow along too. Gracefully. Dancing under his magic.

The Care

He is solace of my heart. My reason for feeling good. My reason for looking forward to a new day. In his face, I've seen a frown which I sensed a need to smoothen. In his eyes, I've seen some pain which I always yearned to help flow out. In his heart, I've seen a coldness which I felt I could help thaw. He is the majesty which stands tall to the respect of the world. He is the softness which has always been cared for by me. In caring for him, I have felt infinite warmth being reflected back towards my heart. Each time I watched over him, I sensed some faith building up in me. Can there be a more potent inspiration that faith itself? The care, taking care, being cared for, lent me that faith, and the consequent inspiration. Its friendship at its best. The fights inspire me more than the good times. My writings carry lessons and emotions I gained via the periods of distress, the periods of taking care. Its is not the cherry on top of the cake I am claiming, it is the whole cake of memories I am sharing.

The Smile

She came into my life with the glow of sunshine. Funny I call her that despite heliophobia being one of her prominent attributes. Her innocence, silliness and childish purity has been comfort of my heart in the darkest of hours. Happiness deep down within has been ascertained by me to be a prerequisite to aid clear flow of thoughts out into comprehensible words. She channelized the best of positive energies towards me with that one bright smile she flashed at me on the first day I noticed her, and continued to flash the same at me each day we met and began getting closer. Her brightness, her contagious positivity, her infinitely pretty face, and the stupendous happiness she is always sprinkling around- all these factors have been the greatest motivations whenever I have sought to make anyone happy through the words I share on my blog. If she did not lent me all that bliss, I could not possibly have passed it on.

And We Turn 100

 I am not thanking them. They're all mine. My own. And they've stuck by in my good and bad times. I've fought each one of them with bitternes. I've loved each one of them with passion and tenderness. I was in three different worlds while I wrote the above three, but that in now way means they are distinct or isolated sections of my existence. They inspire and encourage me together.
In his love lies tender care and plentiful smiles.
In his care I find smiles and the warmth of love.
In her smiles hides a reason to love and to take care.
They all hurt. They all are close. They all are behind my expressions.

For having come a long way. from writing my post #1 to now writing post #100, I am ecstatic. Each one of you reading it has been a part of my journey. Thank you so much! I know you are happy for me and are sharing that ridiculously beautiful smile with me. Thanks again. Hope to keep seeing you around.

What is the time of the year that as a college student you most look forward to? Definitely not the exams and assessments. It is, indubitably, the time your whole college is drowned under a spirit of celebration- your annual college festival which is not just a time to have fun, but also to work your asses off and proudly show off your college to the whole world out there.

I'll add one more thing to the above generalization. Not just for the incumbent college students, but also for the nascent alumni, the most looked forward to occasion is not the Convocation or the Reunions, but again, the college festival. I say this from personal experience. Reunions are good in their place, but they do not recreate the fervor and frolic associated with college life. Festivals certainly do. With a bunch of old friends, heading down to your own college with a cup full of memories in your hand and a sparkle of expectations in your eyes is an exercise many of us would like to undertake to revel once again in that relaxed, carefree air. My lips widen in a huge smile as I recall to mind that a similar trip I shall be undertaking towards to my college just about a fortnight hence. It is that time of the year again. It is MONTAGE time again!

Splashed all across my twitter timeline and facebook wall are updates and more updates about this year's edition of Jesus and Mary College's Annual Festival- Montage'12. It is heartwarming to see juniors take the oars in their hands and row towards the D-Day with such skill and innovation. With each successive edition, we at JMC have gone a notch higher in terms of the quality and enthusiasm with which we decorate the fest. More spunk has consistently been added. More shimmer sprinkled. More care observed in organization. More efficiency achieved. More events conducted. More participants attracted. More fame gained. And if I am to go by the words of the college president, Kanika Chaturvedi, this year, Montage promises to be nothing less than EPIC. Dear Kanika, make it an advanced version of epic. I know it lies in you and your team to do that!

The team. Aah. Now they are an enviable lot. A bunch of young, smart girls, who put the most passionate sections of their heart and the most creative sections of their brain into making certain that the fest is pulled off with uncomplicated meticulousness and stylish grace. One of the many new things they have tried this year is reaching out to people via an interesting blog. Oh, they have made some awesome teaser videos too, but since I am a blogging person, I am glad that my lonely, nightime occupation is being taken seriously by some cute damsels. They are churning out some cool posts with a candour and lightheartedness I wish God blessed all of us with. The feel you get while reading all those posts just makes the air around the road leading to the fest all the more energized. The countdown has begun.

Hit the fb page, or the Montage official website, but what I will strongly recommend is that stop by Montage's official blog by clicking here. Take a moment. We want you to laugh with us. We can be pompous about ourselves, because all the awesomeness JMC lends to us is prone to spilling out now and then. But with this blog, the creative scribes of JMC are out there to make you feel at home even before you step into our campus.

Its here. Montage '12. So, are you ready?

 

 

PS- If you are one of my male friends reading it, FINE, I know I have to make sure I take you along. I will. I promise. But don't you dare pester me to introduce you to femme fatales from my college. Please.

Log kehte hain Jagjit na raha. Ghazal ro rahi rahi mera manmeet na raha. -Manoj Kumar on Jagjit Singh's demise on 10th October, last year.

Ghazal kehna bahut zimmedaari ka kaam hai. In other words, conveying the pathos of a poet with musical embellishments is a job of immense responsibility. Jagjit Ji, without fail, discharged this responsibility with enviable perfection. Ghulam Ali Sahab was true when he remarked on Jagjit Ji's demise that "With the going of Jagjit, a pillar of mausiqi has been lost." However, more touched was I on reading as a eulogy Manoj Kumar's above quoted expression. Jagjit ji's loss cannot be captured more lucidly in words. In his going away, ghazals have been left bereft of their most beloved humraahi. Humsafar. The face of ghazals as catches the popular imagination today had been chiseled by the dexterous of doyen of contemporary Indian light classical music. On 10th October last year, he decided that it was time now he serenaded the heavens with his silken voice. If he had not been so hasty in his departure, today we would have been celebrating his 71st birthday.

Jagjit Ji's voice is a magic potion. Much about him shall always be said in present tense, for he has immortalized himself via some priceless jewels. Rare gems like him never recede to the past. Their worth and glory enhances as time progresses. Jagjit Ji's soulful renditions of some great poetry can make reality hit you hard, or transport you to a surreal world. They may intensify your gloom by echoing with surprising precision a personal sorrow. The same ghazals could exude a salubrious air- an air capable of setting right the ills concomitant to deeply, passionately felt love.

Besides being a prolific singer, Jagjit ji was a great storyteller. Ask me what sung by him is my favorite ballad and I won't spare a nano second in pointing towards these lines. These lines are a chain of thoughts. Lyrically beautiful. Rendered sublime in Jagjit Ji's soulful voice.

Baat niklegi toh phir door talak jaaegi

Log bewajah udaasi ka sabab poochhenge

Yeh bhi poochhenge ki tum itni pareshaan kyun ho

Ungliyan uthengi sookhe hue baalon ki taraf 

Ik nazar dekhenge guzre hue saalon ki taraf

Choodiyon par bhi kai tanz kiye jaayenge

Kaanpte haathon pe bhi fiqre kase jayenge

Log zaalim hain har ik baat ka tana denge

Baaton baaton mein mera zikr bhi le aayenge

Unki baaton ka zara sa bhi asar mat lena

Warna chehre ke taasur se samajh jayenge

Chaahe kuchh bhi ho sawalaat na karna unse

Mere baare mein koi baat na karna unse

Now, doesn't this story sound all too familiar? If you have not, I implore you with all my heart to lend an ear to this just once. For this composition, veteran lyricist Javed Akhtar is said to have remarked - Baat nikal bhi gayi, aur door talak jayegi bhi. These were Jagjit Ji's early days. Javed Akhtar's words proved prophetic for the heights extraordinaire which Jagjit Ji was destined to climb.

He shimmered like the brightest star in the sky of Indian music. A sitara, however, has not been lost. He is, in fact, shining ever more brightly, firmly, coruscating in the hearts of millions who loved him and will continue to do so till eternity.

Today is his 71st birthday. I wish it were in my capacity to reach out to him and wish him just once.

Achchha sa koi mausam, tanha sa koi aalam

Har waqt ka rona toh, bekaar ka rona hai.

My short sabbatical to an internet free zone was spent with my nose poking deep into the pages of Down The Road- A collection of short stories by various authors about life on campus, edited by Ahmed Faiyaz and Rohini Kejriwal. What I felt about the book shall come later, but I must share with the readers that I was often found by concerned family members sometimes sharing a ridiculously personal smile, at others a worried pensive stare with the pages of the book. It was not merely because the book was handsomely engrossing. It was certainly because the book shared stories which seemed personal. 


Life on campus is a rigmarole for most of us. It, invariably, occupies a very special place in the chest where we preserve our precious memories. Growing up, finding ourselves, making friends, understanding love, learning, unlearning, failing, trying, enjoying, crying- you look back at college and you find yourself enveloped by a dozen emotions you once lived through, the ones which have played an important part in shaping you as you know yourself today. Quite obviously, I had my hoped pinned high on Down The Road, especially because I am fresh out of DU, and still not quite over the feel of campus life.

The book lived up to its name. Quite effortlessly, it took me down the memory lane. It is a fresh and pleasant collection of short stories by young authors from diverse background and with diverse writing styles. It tells simple tales of incidents we've lived through in school or college. Most of the stories which appealed to me dealt with love and friendship- the discovery, the innocence, the misunderstandings, the whole experience in fact. The book is divided into five sections with 28 stories by 16 authors. The individual authors have explored many different facets of campus life including elections, politics, ragging, teachers, passions, lessons, crushes, placements inter alia.A thumbs up to the editors for selection of stories included in this anthology. Some of the stories will make you smile as you remember the hazy face of that first crush, some others might touch you where you are most sensitive and feel some pain or regret. Narrated with an almost personal tenderness, many of these stories make you reflect on those trivialities which seem to acquire meaning only in retrospect.

What I did not enjoy was the last section of the book, with two essays about campus fiction and campus based movies. I was riding high on the nostalgic atmosphere which the stories created around me, and quite honestly, I did not feel like forcing myself through those passages which seemed a little dry after the wonderful and touching stories. I would give the book 3 on 5 stars. It is worth a read, in fact a few stories are worth reading many times over. Some warmth and some nostalgia you are sure to feel while you involuntarily find yourself living your college days.

My favorite five from the stories published in this anthology-

1. Smells Like Home by Aashish Mehotra
About the reluctant return to his homeland of an NRI student, who experiences comfort in the company of a girl whose presence he takes for granted.
2. Bellow Yellow by Chinmayi Bali
A commendable, mature and intense story about the darker tendencies which inhabit a student's being. Well narrated, delicately handled.
3. The Music Room by Ira Trivedi
The forbidden love story of a bright young student and a docile, out of place music teacher.
4. The Cafe With No Name by Sneh Thakur
A gently narrated tale of the brewing relationship between a student of limited means and a concerned and doting Parsi owner of the roadside cafe. Heartwarming.
5. Remember Me? by Ahmed Faiyaz
This one because it made me revisit Ruheen and Aditya's love story, one I had gotten quite attached to while reading Another Chance.

"At the end of love there is unloving, when you can engage in the ceaseless hunt for all those things to be taken out, and somehow discarded, when you can fight against the new roads and try, futilely, to return to what you were before." -Page 180, Another Chance.

Much thought goes into deciding the title for a book. No matter what genre, what subject, what type a book, a title is supposed to provide just enough peek into a book's soul, without revealing too much about it. It is your first impression of the book, and in case of novels, fiction novels such as the one I am attempting to review, the title of the book is supposed to hold the story together, even guide the reader when he feels lost about the direction the book will take after the next turn in the story. Ahmed Faiyaz's Another Chance boasts of a title which is precise and perfect. It encapsulates the very essence of the book in a mere two words- Another Chance. To a romantic's heart (read:me) these two words are almost a philosophy. In Ahmed's novel, they are a simple expression of the desire which harries many a unlucky-but-still-in-love hearts. The Desire For Another Chance.

The plot of the book revolves around a single girl-Ruheen Oberoi, described by the author as a depressingly gorgeous woman in the prelude to the novel. She is a hep, free spirited girl, sought after girl, brought up by an indulging grandfather, who lost her parents when young. Aditya Sharma, Ruheen's enduring lover, a young corporate trying to make his mark, is the second protagonist in this novel. His commitment to Ruheen is almost dreamlike- but much comes in the way of consummation of their love. A string of men enter Ruheen's life at successive junctures- A politician's son and Ruheen's obsessive stalker-Vishal, Ruheen's childhood friend with feelings for her-Varun, and then Ruheen's good-for-nothing, abusive husband-Rohan. Luck, as is guessable, does not favor Ruheen's relationship with any. At a young age, battered by the chicaneries of life, Ruheen gives up hope for finding love and comfort in a man's arms, when Aditya re-enters her life. However, love, as we know it, is not a simple road to tread on. It comes with its own complications, its own compulsions, its own tests. Will Ruheen finally find happiness? Does love deserve a second chance? Is the human heart, with all its weaknesses, a sound guide to consult while making life altering decisions? All this, and more, you ponder as you flip through the pages of Another Chance.

After Love, Life & All That Jazz... it is the second book by Ahmed Faiyaz that I am reading. Like the earlier one, this too has done a decent job of providing me a good, entertaining, and moving story which is not too heavy and easy to relate with. Having read these two books, I can conveniently say, that Ahmed does fabulously when it comes to painting close-to-home, real life characters. While in the last book, what could have been three independent stories were intertwined in the narrative, here it helps to have just one rather simple story to follow and focus attention on. Simple, but replete with exciting twists and turns.

It took me about quarter to four hours to read the book, and I am by no means a fast reader. It is much like a bollywood romance, which engages, touches, entertains, and leaves you with happy tears in the end. Do not pick this book to satisfy the literary critic in you. Pick this book for catching some fresh air, a simple break from your otherwise ridden-with-anxieties life. As I said, not heavy duty stuff in this book. An easy, light read, whose climax builds up like that of a mushy, romantic flick. When during the course of the book you start sharing the agony of the character and get desperate for them to achieve happiness, you know that the writer has succeeded in casting his spell on you- in binding you together with the narrative. I have a proclivity towards falling for nicely narrated romances. This one gets 3 on 5 stars from me for primarily two reasons. First is its ending- they way it builds up, gives you hope, then perturbs you, then leaves you with fond tears. Second is for the author's handling of human emotions- their gullibility and resilience- and for his treatment of the dynamics of a new age, urban relationship. The narrative of the books shifts between many locations, Indian and foreign- and the screenplay like storytelling makes it conveniently possible to imagine vividly the characters and their setting. If you read with as much passion as I do, you'll lose yourself to the story. And in my view, that is how one should read to draw maximum satisfaction from a book.

I cannot end this review without mentioning the brilliant cover portrait of Bruna Abdullah which almost brings Ruheen's character alive in front of your eyes. Her expression on the cover was the first thing that made me want this book. For all of you wanting to a read a little mature and not an utterly cheesy romance with no load, do remember to pick this up on your next trip to a book shop.