Simplicity

"I don't fool myself with the notion
that I can consciously affect your emotion.
It's only my inadvertent sigh
that invariably tears through the veil of calm.
Tears me. Tears you.

You hold on to those images, those sounds, those thoughts,
that are,
for better or for worse,
carved into the walls of your impeccable memory.
Faulty, but impeccable.

You hold on to your anger.
You hold on to your pain.
I hold on to my pain.
We hold on in a violent, obsessive embrace.

We do it like it means something.
If only we could let go."

"It can't be that simple"
"But, what if it is?"

Pause

It had been six months and that book was still sitting on the bedside table. Chapter three - the tale was just picking up pace, but the reading was not. He’d been stuck on that chapter for nearly four months. Every time he went to bed, his mind would brim over with thoughts; random thoughts, vague thoughts, painful thoughts – the book just took a back seat. He’d finish a few pages, forget about the book and by the time he got back to it, he’d forget the story and would have to read it all over again. After the fifth time, he was yet to pick it up once more.

He spoke to his mother for a while; there wasn’t much to talk about. Soon, she went back to doing the one thing she did now-a-days – sleeping. He restarted the movie.

He loved movies. Has quite a passion for them when you think about it. This one was particularly good – a classic from the 50’s, one he’d been meaning to watch for a while now. Instead, he filled his time with ritualistic hobbies like painting. He liked to paint but he didn’t paint now because he liked to, he did because he needed to; he didn’t know what else to do. Finally, when even painting couldn’t occupy the time any longer, he took out the DVD and started watching the movie.

He was enjoying it but, not the way he used to. It was snowing in the movie, Christmas was round the corner. ‘It would never be the same again’, he thought. ‘We’d still have the lights, the food, the cake, the wine and of course, the people but, he wouldn’t be there.’ So, he didn’t want to be there. He thought of running away once, yes. He didn’t know where he’d go but the thought did cross his mind. But, he was rational; he has family he can’t abandon. A very large family – still. And so many friends, more now than ever. They all wanted to talk, to get him to talk – talk about what happened, talk about his feelings…talk about the future. But he didn’t want to talk to anyone - not when he could barely talk to himself.

Suddenly, the power went out. All the lights, fans, the computer, the TV’s – all the noises went off. He got up off the chair and moved about the house a few paces. He heard his sister’s voice from another room, “Oi, if you just close the windows, I’ll light some candles” So, automatically his feet moved towards the bed in front of the window. His feet moved with direction but his mind felt aimless. ‘Aimless. The story of my life’, he thought. It hadn’t always been like that but he didn’t go into the details. He had to fold one leg up on the bed and sit in order to reach the window. A cool breeze erupted from the open window and he put up his other leg and made himself comfortable. It washed his face - washed it of sorrow. The breeze became wind. He sat there speechless, feeling alive again for the first time in a long time.

He finally replied, “Forget it. Don’t bother!” “Yeah, bet the electricity will be back any moment anyway”, said the voice of his sister from a distance. ‘I hope not’, he thought. He felt cleansed, it was a beautiful feeling. He felt like if he just sat here long enough, all his pain would vanish, the loss wouldn’t prick as much, like his passion would return…and perhaps his life too. Even if the electricity came back, he decided to put off all the lights and continue sitting there, all alone with nothing but his thoughts. All he had to do was face them and they’d leave.

Today was the day. His spear and sword were sharp as they could be and he was all dressed in his armour and helmet. He could hear the crowd roaring in the arena and he stood in the dark waiting to enter. His knees were shaking but he stood his ground. His armour felt heavy and the hungry lions outside waited impatiently. He was ready.

But, just then, as though mocking him, the fans, TV’s, the computer, the lights and the noises came back on. He heard his sister sigh with relief. He had a plan and for a moment he looked like he might just go through with it. For a moment, he thought he would. But, then he realized, even through the pain that the realization brought, that he wouldn’t. The gladiator turned away from the lions, the crowd, the arena, their noises and his thoughts and right there in the darkness began to walk away from what he knew he could face. As he thought this, a teardrop rolled down his cheek. For a moment you could see a flash of his true self, his happy self, one that’s not crumbling under the pain of losing a father. But, it was merely a glimpse and it disappeared with no one to chase after.

So, he took a deep breath, wiped his eye and restarted his movie.

The book was still sitting, waiting on the bedside table and there was hope, but, it would just have to wait a while longer.

Pink

This is an article I wrote about the colour Pink for the gender section of our college magazine. It's a little forced, certainly not my favourite written work of all time but it was a tedious task...might as well post it.


PINK FOR A GIRL


A little over a year ago, my aunt and uncle decided to adopt a child – a boy. On their rampage of a shopping spree to fill their home with baby things, from toys, baby care products, diapers, bedding, to the most important – clothes, they went all out! But it was no mean task. While they wanted their purchases to encompass every colour imaginable, they found little other than blue (for a boy) and pink (for a girl). They bought both. So, it’s not uncommon for my baby brother to be mistaken for a girl every now and again, especially when he’s dressed all in pink.
In a society built upon norms and stereotypes, (and let’s face it, which society isn’t?) feminine associations with the colour pink are as unavoidable as death and taxes, perhaps more. So I decided to probe a little deeper into the issue.
The irony is that up until the 1940’s, the colour pink, because of it’s closeness to red, which is decidedly a masculine colour, was assigned to boys, whereas the colour blue was linked to girls for being delicate and dainty. Now, I’m not certain as to how exactly the reversal in connotations came about but, I’m going to go ahead and take a wild guess. I believe that we can safely give the entire credit to Barbie, for ensuring that no female can possibly escape from the colour of her gender.
The colour pink is just so strongly associated with feminism that all the “girlie” girls can’t get enough of it. Just like Paris Hilton, they can surround every inch of their vicinity with pink kittens, dolls, teddy bears, bows, hearts, ribbons and flowers and never get bored. Whereas, the “not-so-girlie” girls, well, I think ‘aversive reaction’ is the right term here. Some simply cannot handle the idea of pink, and its nature of bringing to mind images of overflowing treacle and sickeningly sweet peppermint.
Due to the feminine link, the pink ribbon is the symbol for breast cancer and Victoria’s Secret Lingerie, very appropriately, has an entire clothing line for women, simply called PINK.
However, it should be noted that feminism is not restricted to the female gender alone. I recently asked a friend of mine if he would ever wear the colour pink and I received a short, curt reply: “No, its gay”. I soon realized that he isn’t completely wrong in his assumption, for officially, pink is the mascot colour for the LGBT community in many countries, from Pink Money – Gay purchasing power, to Pink Pistols – Gay gun rights.
When Barack Obama had just become the president of the United States, people wondered if the nation’s first black president would be alright with living in The White House. However, I doubt Argentina’s female president Christina Fernandez might’ve had any problems with her place of residence seeing as she now lives in The Pink House.
Stereotypes about the colour pink are ubiquitously present in every sect of modern society. Even the assumption that, as a woman, Christina Fernandez likes the colour of her new home is stereotypical.
However, even the most far-fetched stereotypes have their basis in truth and logical reasoning. Experiments conducted in order to decipher the effects of colours on human behaviour have shown that, while surrounding oneself with the colour red tends to make one aggressive and antagonistic, the colour pink actually suppresses anger and anxiety ridden behaviour. It invokes feelings of tranquility, to the extent of actually causing physical weakness. This may be why the weakest of the fingers on our hand is referred to as the pinkie finger and the colour is generally associated with the so called “weaker sex”. Originating perhaps from the same notion of the colour, low paying jobs meant mainly for women, such as waitressing, hair dressing and the like, are commonly referred to as ‘Pink collared jobs’.
However the female sex fights back, ironically using the very colour that supposedly epitomizes its weakness. Nisha Susan’s ‘Pink Chaddi Campaign’ may not have been as dramatic as Pramod Muthalik waking up to find his horse’s head in his bed in the morning, but the campaign caused a nation-wide stir nonetheless.
I still remember a time when Shah Rukh Khan, with his black, shining dandruff-free hair, would flirtingly stare at us from our TV screens, squint his eyes just a little bit, and ask us if we dared to wear black. Today, with metro sexuality being such a household term, it would be quite a sight to see all the women turn to the men and ask them, if they would dare to wear pink. Personally, I can think of nothing looking sexier on a man than a crisp, well-fitted pink shirt, but, hey, that’s just me. I like pink.
And I am not alone. George Costanza (a character from the TV series “Seinfeld”) simply refused to date a woman whose cheeks were void of a pinkish hue. Steven Tyler (from Aerosmith) liked the colour so much that he wrote an entire song about it that went on to win a Grammy award. But, I doubt anyone’s obsession quite compares to that of singer/songwriter Alicia Moore, who most people know as just ‘Pink’.
So, in conclusion, what is it that I have found out from my excavation into the mysteries of the colour pink? One: the stereotypes exist and there’s really nothing I can do about it. Two: Some hate it, some like it and some love it, and there’s really nothing I would want to do about it. And lastly: I realized that maybe we need to redefine the word ‘gender’ from being dependent upon one’s actual biological anatomy to being determined by one’s conditioning and associations. Then, perhaps, Blue is for Boys and Pink is, in fact, for girls.

Luck By Chance

I nearly despise Bollywood. I usually hate song and dance sequences (don’t even get me started on item numbers!!) unless they fit the context of the story (which they rarely do). I dislike most of the comedy thrown out by the industry because it’s pointless and meant for an audience of brainless apes. The drama is almost always overdone and nearly all the big stars are uptight, self-obsessed sell outs.


Zoya Akhtar has, in a very profound way, renewed my faith in Bolywood.


‘Luck By Chance’ is a gem of cinema and head and shoulders above most of the other Hindi movies out in recent times. First, the acting. It’s subtle and dignified, from each individual actor. Arjun Mathur, who plays the role of a friend to Farhan Akhtar’s character, is especially brilliant. Hrithik Roshan proves that he is in the industry for a reason, because he can act, AND HOW! The cameos and special appearances in the movie (almost all of them) are complementary to the story and the movie. Farhan Akhtar is understated, which works excellently. Konkana Sen Sharma, however, for me, is the best, though still subtle enough so as to not overshadow the others.


The two major songs (baawre and pyaar ki daastaan) I don’t hate because they’re sung in order to represent typical bollywood. Also, they’re really nice songs that I like. But, ‘Sapno se bhare naina’ is my personal favourite, sung in Shankar Mahadevan’s deep voice, with beautiful music and is extremely well suited to the context of the story. The other songs too, are good in my books primarily because of Shankar–Ehsaan-Loy involvement, who I believe are one of the two music directors in Bollywood I have genuine respect and admiration for (the other being A.R. Rahman).


But, what really binds the movie together and makes it what it is, are the direction and the screenplay. The credit for both goes to Zoya Akhtar. The story is engaging and entertaining. The comedy is just right, it’s actually funny. But, it is the depth in the drama that keeps me thinking of the movie long after it’s over. As for the direction, the camera lingers on the actors’ faces (this is where Konkana, Hrithik and Arjun come in) not too long (so the movie is light hearted) but just long enough to soak in the moment. Some of the powerful, hard-hitting dialogues are seemingly said in the passing and yet manage to echo in your head over and over. The end especially works for me because it’s realistic and at the same time just what you need. Everything is fine and yet the end is bittersweet.


In a manner rarely found in recent hindi films, the movie could be a light hearted comedy about Bollywood and all that goes with it, or it could be a deep thought provoking masterpiece that is skillfully put together to hit just the right notes in emotion. Either way, I’m sure everyone will enjoy it.

Why I shaved my head

For those who haven't heard, I shaved my head.
For those in disbelief, you're not alone. I myself am still amazed!
For those who don't understand why I would ever do such a thing, maybe this will help.


Heat.
Its just so damn hot now-a-days and frizzy waist length hair really does not help.


Hygiene.
All those problems that accompany long hair; dandruff, dryness, itching, etc magically disappear in its absence.


Ease.
It is not easy to maintain long hair. Also, no matter how much you try you have only three hair styles; pony tail (bored), braid (bored) and open hair (an impossibility)


Just short hair.
People said cutting my hair short would’ve solved all my problems, but I figured if I’m going so far, might as well go all the way. It’ll grow to ‘short hair’ in less than a month and meanwhile, I’ll get to experience something that very few people of my sex and age have the courage to experience.


Perfect Timing.
I don’t have college for about four months now which is enough time for me to enjoy the new cut. And by the time I graduate, it’ll probably be really long once again. (My grandma will be happy)


People saying I shouldn’t do this because I’m a girl.
Whatever you say, that’s being a sexist. I’m not a feminist and I do believe that there are many traits that epitomize the difference between a girl and a boy, but the length of the hair, especially in today’s day and age, is not one of them. Guys can have no hair, little hair or long hair but, God forbid if a girl should ever go bald!


Its not why I did it but it certainly added fuel to the fire.


One less thing to worry about.
Without all the discomforts and problems, I have such unimaginable peace of mind.


I’ve always wanted to do this.
Why does it always take near death experiences for people to realize that they should appreciate every second of life? That you’ve got to do what you really want to? That you’ve got to live life fearlessly and fully?


Courage.
Cutting hair is a really, really huge deal in my family, and for me too. I’ve been terrified of cutting my long locks despite the torture. But ironically, (with a little inspiration from my twice-gone-bald brother and my well thought out argument that won my mom’s approval) I felt like I had the courage to do this.


Invincibility.
It is a bit of an exaggeration, yes, but if I can do this, (one of the most difficult things in my book) I honestly feel like I can do anything.


Pick the one thing that you're shit scared to do and grit your teeth and do it anyway. It's an unbelievable exhilarating feeling.


And last but, not the least.....


Its on my list of things to do before I die. ‘nuff said.

Thoughts in my head...

One of my favourite things to do in the world in think, some others being talking and sleeping. I always said that I talk faster than I write, think faster than I talk and talk faster than most people can comprehend. It’s one of my little perks that I particularly enjoy boasting of, though I doubt anyone other than me thinks of it as a 'boastable' quality. Unfortunately, I’ve noticed that lack of use of well constructed, thought out sentences and lack of people who understand me (yes, there are a few) has led my language to become quite unimpressive and well, sometimes, just plain wrong. So, trying hard to keep up with my brain, my hands now attempt to document some of the things (mostly egocentric and useless things, though, I’ll try to leave that part out) my head comes up with.

Honestly, this whole blogging thing is quite scary. Every time I feel like pouring my heart out, I remember that this is going to be on the internet. But, then I also remember that very few people actually come to this page anyway, so, well, I’m back to square one. (this would be some of the useless things)

I was just discussing child birth with my dear dear mother, who was kind enough to give me every little painful detail, demotivating my extremely determined mind to have a child. Frankly, as much as I really do want to have a child (2 actually, preferably one girl and one boy and, preferably twins, so it’s all over in one go) I do wonder, especially after the narration of the process from someone who’s experienced it first hand, how women can still refer to it as the most rewarding experience ever. I guess, at some level I do understand it, but perhaps with the narration so fresh in my head, I can’t really see that far. I do want a child though and as for all that other stuff, I’m going to leave it to judgment day to decide whether I want to consciously experience it all or keep my eyes on the prize and just endure. Either way, I’m going to have children, so might as well do it the way nature intended.

I’m seventeen, and I’m sure that one may find it either astonishing or inappropriate or both, that I think of these things. Hey, I can’t help it, I can’t stop myself from thinking about all these things.

Like death for instance, another gloomy delicate topic that can make some people uncomfortable. I remember asking my grandfather once (I think I was 13 or 14 and him around 75 at the time) that if he was to die tomorrow, what would be his dying wish. I thought I’d be reprimanded by my family for stirring up such a topic but instead I managed to gather everyone’s attention as they all now wanted to know the answer. My grandfather replied that all he wanted was that no one should cry upon his death.

I do constantly think of how blessed I am to have parents and grandparents who answer all my questions, whether they’re about general phenomenon, the news, religion and rituals, God or sex. It is rightly said that knowledge is power. When you know things it enables you to comprehend other things much better. It gives you confidence and allows you to develop your own opinion. For example, my idea of God but, I guess I’ll save that for another time.

Lonliness...

Television shows. Oh, how I relish them. The number of shows that I watch and love are so many, they're hard for me to even jot down. Just yesterday I was watching the double episode season three premier of 'boston legal'. At the end of the second episode, Alan Shore, a character who's well, charmingly ruthless and as some put it, ethically challenged, says that he feels a certain attraction towards his mother. It's not sexual, he says, he simply desires love. He craves the care that comes with a mother's embrace. Perhaps thats why I wear so many tailored suits, he adds. I had just begun to think of how difficult it must be for a hard-assed lawyer like him to be so brutally honest and admit such a thing, when he turns to his best friend Denny and asks 'do you ever feel lonely?' Denny doesn't like all the deep conversation. Its a simple question, Alan says and asks again. Denny immediately answers no, and turns the tables. 'You?' Alan is asked and he gazes far across the brightly lit Boston city, eyes unfocused, and manages a "no" as well.
That dishonest no touched a chord in my heart.


No one can understand you better than yourself. You might not know yourself fully but if you truly attempt to analyze yourself, then no one else's knowledge of you, can possibly compete. And because of that, i think, sometimes you can feel lonely even when you're surrounded by people. Sometimes no one can understand what you're going through. I'm blessed and most fortunate to have a crowd of loving and caring people around me, but, still, sometimes, right now, as i'm writing this for instance, as I reminisce, I can't help but feel a little lonely. I feel like i'm lost, like i'm missing something but i don't know what it is. Its hard to describe, even harder to understand.


Even though "boston legal" put such thoughts in my head, I pity those who never feel the emotional stirring that such television provides. The things they force you to think about and the things they make you feel. As sad and painful as it may sound, it's also equally beautiful. it makes me want to just close my eyes and drown myself in all its beauty, lie in it forever........
But alas, i come out into the real world with, in retrospect, gratitude for all my short-lived experiences. Who knows? Perhaps even the loneliness is only a phase that i shall later be thankful for....