Rhythm Divine

Writing a post from the hostel of an IIM was only a dream for me. I had got into an IIM precisely 5 months back but still writing a post could not happen. Largely because I had started believing that my mind and heart had stopped reading between the lines.

Now, blessed with a broken foot and a week-long-complete-bedrest, I have what seems like an entire lifetime to myself. And surprisingly, my judgment of myself was wrong. I can still read between the lines.

Our college is a good 25 mins away from our hostel. And that day, as always we were in a rush to make it to the college bus, only to see that the last bus to leave was more than full. So we got the college van instead. It was one of those rare days for me when I travelled in van, having missed all the buses. And I had hardly interacted with many of the people with whom I was commuting.

As we started, first thing was to turn the music on. “Beete lamhe…” was the song that played. Expecting some local songs, we were happily surprised to find regular “our” songs playing and what ensued was a magical trance. Many of us sang along, while some chose to hum and the rest stared out the window.

It was then that I realized something. All of us came from different parts of the country, and so belonged to different cultures, had different childhood (and some adult too) experiences, motivations and yet aspired to achieve a common goal.

The music, on the outside, was the same to everyone. But to each one of us, it meant an entirely different world. However, the underlying emotion was same- love, belonging, passion.

I assumed, knowing whatever little I knew of them, that while one of them thought of their CAT scores and getting a better college, another one might probably be thinking of her ailing pet back home and how she won’t be able to see it anymore. While one thought of a handsome summer placement and the life ahead of him, another one relived the song thinking of his love.

And what was I thinking? I was only too mesmerized and occupied with this thought to think of anything else.

It is amazing how one simple thing as music means so differently to different people. And because of this, it stops being simple.

All that Matters

All the time, we call life “queer”. Actually, its us who make life and so, WE are queer.
Just the other day, yet another incident (actually a couple of them) opened my eyes to a new kind of queerness of life.

To give a quick background, the home that I lived in for the first 13 years of my existence is in the vicinity of the grad college that I would attend much later. also, from my home, across the road, was the kindergarten school I went to.
I happened to visit my college to collect some documents from a friend who once used to be my closest. Everybody thought we were going out because we were so inseparable.
I can not recognize this friend now. After trying to get through on phone for 15 mins, I got to hear a simple “ok”. Still I wasn’t perturbed. Everybody has a bad day. The final blow came when he, on seeing me, handed over the things and without even looking straight at me once, let his “”new BFFs”” do the talking. I felt so suffocated that I left without any more ceremonies.

On my way back I stopped at a store very near to my old house. From across the road, I saw an old lady (really old), carrying 2 kids’ bags on her shoulders with 2 children holding each hand of hers. Even today she looked just the same. The last time I saw her, probably 15 years back, was on her grand-daughter’s wedding. The sight brought back so many fond memories and I invariably drifted back to when I was a small girl, in KG. She, my “maasi” (mother-like) would fetch me from home, walk me to school, feed me the lunch and got me back home. Sometimes when I was tired or sleepy from the day’s activities, she would carry me in her arms. And here she was today, walking yet another KG kid. As she crossed the road and came to my side, I walked towards her, apprehensive whether she’d recognize me (at her age, I know I wouldn’t be able to). But I only needed to remind her my name and the house I lived in and she knew me. I really had difficulty talking with choked throat and her voice broke me down.

In that instant, I wanted everything best to happen to her. I wanted to do something for her.
She asked me about my family and bhaai. I was so happy that she remembered them.

And when the children beside her started wailing, I knew it was time to go.
She blessed me with all the success and happiness in the world.

And I… I took home a very big lesson.

In Bits and "Peace"s

I stood there, facing the horizon.
The waves... large and small, came in a fixed pattern.

A pattern that God has set, a perfect paradigm.
The grandeur of Yan, the silent and never-ending depth of Yin.

I felt i was a part of this paradigm. I, in a way, felt complete.
Here was a thing of beauty, truly a Joy forever, that'd never deplete.

Nature, sure, has its own way of teaching mankind a lesson.
We've "progressed" from apes to humans to giants, the callousness just doesn't seem to lessen.

BUT

Miles and ages away, I stood there. Facing the horizon.
I was at peace with myself. My soul had sought satisfaction.

...

22 seconds

This post was born on a traffic signal.

It was a family wedding and as I, along with my family, left our expensive new home, sat in the expensive new car, all of us clad in expensive new clothes, I fought the urge to throw away my heels and run barefoot back home, tears streaming down my cheeks.

Next moment I saw myself staring out the window at something, anything that could momentarily cheer me up. But even the billboards and hoardings and signboards refused to oblige and we continued the seemingly endless journey in morbid silence. Such had been the scene at home for God-knows-whatth time and was likely to continue for God-knows-how-long.

Then came the traffic signal… and a smile crept to my lips.

We were at the very crossing where stood our ex-home, as the traffic light showed red. Everything here was still the same and yet so different.

My eyes remained open as I played the scene when I first learnt to drive a scooter and had a wounded knee and a broken scooter. The scar remains.

I played the scene when in summers we’d dip mangoes in buckets of water to cool them off and in our dirtiest best clothes, ate those crouched on the bathroom floor.

Now we are served neatly diced pieces of mangoes, to be eaten with forks.

I saw the drawing room where the 4 of us sat laughing and chatting over the precious serving of butterscotch ice-cream.

The thing remains untouched for days now.

I also saw my mother getting our sweaters and woolens some sun before putting them in a huge silver trunk, along with naphthalene balls wrapped in thin cloth tied together with thread.
And as she did all this, I saw us kids fighting to slip our thin hands from the gaps and sliding the latch as we rushed to her after school, dressed in carelessly worn ties and hair.
The exam time.
How on the day of our last exam having been allowed to watch tv till 9 seemed like the best thing about the exams getting over.

All this played right in front of my eyes as I saw that the traffic light, like in those days, still turned green for only 22 seconds.

Life in transit...

As I think of this title, I muse to myself- But isn’t life ALWAYS in transition, seemingly so still… yet always moving forth.

Anyway, this phase of my life is called the “Chewing Gum” phase.

Turning 20, basically getting out of the teenage, was a dream. I’d thought grown-up life would be different. Whether good or bad, I hadn’t given a thought. Just a different life was what intrigued me the most.

But as I consciously stepped out of it, nothing was different. I was the same height, weight (well almost) and complexion. Then I realized your life is yours. If it is beautiful, be happy that it is yours. If it isn’t, well… understand that exchanging from or borrowing others’ isn’t an option.
My life is far from being NOT beautiful.

The best part, and paradoxically the worst, about it is that I am a student… still. Yeah its not very unique to a 21 yr. old but when I see my peers in their jobs, I feel I, somehow, am still connected to where we all come from. I have, in my heart of hearts, not been able to move out of teenage yet.

I say the “worst” because somewhere, i also want to dress up in formals as a routine and i also want to tell my mom what my boss at the office is upto, and what did i do with my pay. But i know this life cant hold me for long.

Though I’ve graduated, my heart still belongs to the unseen and unknown corridors and classrooms of the future college that I’d go to. Presently, and for a long time, doing a job seems such a distant thing. As if I’ve to be a different person altogether to be one of the many hands of the 9 to 5, 5-days-a-week clock.

For now, I am happy sticking to where I think I belong the best.

:-)

I see you.

I live on the 9th floor of the building, the top most floor.
And fortunately or unfortunately, our building shares one of its boundary walls with one of the most famous multiplexes in the metro.

The first time I went for the movies there shortly after we’d shifted, I was so thrilled to find that my room’s door that opens into the balcony was clearly visible from the lobby just outside the screen.

So. It was one of those days when u feel wasted without getting drunk, you feel lazy and are not guilty for that feeling.
It was one of those days for me. I stood in the balcony staring at a distant point in horizon without looking at anything specific when suddenly my eyes retreated to a point closer to where I stood.
When my gaze shifted an inch beyond my feet, I saw a couple coming out of the multiplex making their way toward the parking area.

On weekends, traffic flows in the otherwise secluded lane-cum-parking lot like a swarm of bees. And when you see it from 9 floors above, you’ll know I’m talking in literal sense.

So, as they covered some 200 mtrs., a thought hit me.
They didn’t know someone could see them. I could. Not that I carried any malicious intentions (God no!), but it was an interesting feeling of observing someone when you know they aren’t observing or staring at you back.

There also are times when I see a bunch of guys, in school uniforms worn rather fashionably, at 10 in the morning. And in my heart, I say “If no one else, I see you.”

How many times have you walked down a lane, earphones plugged in, and mind in anticipation of a tomorrow or engrossed in a yesterday?

Whenever you have, rather…whenever you will, just remember someone will always be observing you while saying- I SEE YOU.

Elixir

"Hope is a Good thing, maybe the best of things." someone had said (and i am not referring to respected Stephen King here)and HOW!!

This one is not about a certain "he" or "she", but about things that make a bigger difference - HOPE & FAITH.

So what if u fall, there is always a next time to stand tall with a stronger spine...and shine.
So what if you fear the consequences, its the journey that decides where are you headed.
To hear is one thing, to listen to and ponder upon it is altogether another.

There is never a wrong or a right decision. You have to take a leap of faith and then... its only you and YOUR decision because he who tries may fail, but he who doesn't has already.

It was amazing how brilliantly and effortlessly had he talked her into seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. And while at it, MAKING her believe that there does exist light at the end of the tunnel.

"Are you afraid of working hard?" was the question that got her off the hook.
She could'v easily dodged it, or replied defensively with "Ofcourse not...d'uh"
but the truth "Yes, I am afraid to work hard" would always resound in her. And she knew better.

He might not have provided her with a solution, the destination. But, he sure converted the maze into a single straight road at one end of which, stood she and the other end had her destination.
This was more than she could'v asked for... ever.

Now her belief " I am just not good enough" was clearly replaced with his "You aren't as bad as you think."

If anything... this was a miracle. Nothing less.