Monthly Archives: February 2020
Delhi Riots- Khajuri Khas Extension
Delhi is burning
Hindu Muslim Unity
The good die young, I wish this thought could make people feel better. But it’s not comforting for the mother who looses her child, the sibling who loses his closest friend or the wife who has to raise her kids alone. How senseless life is!
My youngest Uncle (Mama) was not even forty when he passed away, leaving behind his widow with three children. Four years later, his elder brother not even fifty passed away, leaving behind, his wife and three kids. It’s unbearable the enormity of that.
A friend of my brother’s passed away. I must have met him not more than ten times. But he was volatile and sarcastic, like I am, so we had conversations that were a bit off. Ofcourse he had much nicer qualities than I do. I did end up attending a lot of weddings on my brother’s behalf. I never thought I would be attending funerals, too. You feel as if you get over pain caused by loss but the minute you see someone experiencing the same thing, bam, the feelings just overwhelm you. Also when you’ve been suspecting, there’s something in your breast and someone has just died of cancer, you feel a little bit more, than you should.
You also notice, what happens to the people around. All the relationships we are so busy maintaining, half of those people don’t care. It’s just the closest one’s, who needs us, who are actually shattered. In the olden times, people were less practical. So there were rituals after rituals, which ensured the family wasn’t alone, someone was with them. People gathered around you, to distract you and to help you heal. Those were simpler times…better times.
In Kashmir, even now, if anyone in the neighbourhood is sick, people will pay them a visit. If someone dies everyone just automatically comes to pay their last respects and then they remember the departed in their prayers. It seems a bit much, for us practical folks. But I like the Kashmiri ways, they take care of their own. Anyway, I took a pic of his to remember him by.
That’s all you can do, pray for them, their families, and feed the poor, hoping your karma makes their journey to wherever souls go, easier.
Delhi is burning
Fuming after yelling for more than an hour. The heart pounding like crazy. I’m so envious of people who have no reactions, no volatility. One is so fucking volatile, never know what is going to send me for a toss.
‘These guys think we are dating’, tells me Ocean for the umpteenth time. Having heard it as many times, should probably make me immune to this crap. But I heard so much shit from ‘these’ guys , many moons ago, that one is not in the mood to be bullied into a corner, again. SB is in charge, after all. ‘ Why?’ ‘What?’ ‘How come you are here?’ ‘When?’ ‘Where’ ‘How come you’re here alone?’, these questions are never asked to the men. In one’s head, one is allowed to do everything that men are, that’s why they are so perturbed by me.
A slew of obscenities later, she just can’t have this conversation, again. The trouble with being soooo open about your life is that, people assume there are many more hookups, than there have been. Which is ok, human beings usually like to pretend to be better than they are, therefore, they hide what may make them look bad. I on the other love being bad, so there is a more casual, callous way, in which I roll out things, which may make look more blasé than one is. It’s when I get linked with men towards whom I have brotherly feelings, that’s when I loose my shit.
You would assume society changes. But all the damn money and education, doesn’t change people. Maybe a little dent, here and there but it just doesn’t bring about the change as rapidly as it should.
I don’t know if it’s the terrible news, of someone passing or the wine that made the dreams horrible but I’ve woken up feeling miserable.
Someone mentions on Fb that they are flying to Srinagar and I feel homesick. Don’t mistake me to be Kashmiri, the way the journalist did, just because I call it my home away from home. I just left my heart by the side of the Dal, sometimes I need to go and check, if it stills beats.
Hummar tuta hoa dil pada he, Dal ke kinare. Koi aate jaate, usse le aana. Kumbakht kabhi to kam aayega!
Happy V day-Mein Swag Se Sol
SB looks at the cake and flowers and has no reaction. ‘Bachke rehna re baba, bachke rehna re!!’, she tells herself. ‘Hi baby! I love you. Happy Valentine’s Day!’ she yells excitedly as she plants a kiss, on the only person, who she doesn’t look at with suspicion.
‘Dead, you’re dead inside!’ , SC tells her. ‘ You ‘re too dramatic…songs make you howl…forget the men…the songs that remind you of people make you cry. Please sleep for a decade. You can take over at 50.’ Their tussles begin in the morning and go on throughout the day. For the past few years, SB has won most of them.
She zips to Noida and races with a cutie on the DND. Sex on V day? No! Adrenaline rush ( orgasmic) from racing? Hell, yeah! It’s funny how we hide our true selves, under so many layers and yet the smallest things, betray us, to reveal who we are. The bookshelf- shows ours interests, the way we dance-how we are in bed, the way we drive- our attitude and of course our eyes, the damned eyes- exactly how we feel.
A day spent, splitting time between the studio and the father’s work, in the evening lots of presents are bought for the baby, to cheer her up. After kisses and cake cutting, one heads for some ‘me time’. If you think watching a movie alone is problematic, try watching one alone on V day. You’ll end up raising more eyebrows than you can imagine. From the guy at the ticket counter, to the guard who is supposed to hand out roses, everyone seems surprised. But we are swag se solo!
The movie is amazing, not just because it won the Oscar, for best film. The way the two families are portrayed, is rather interesting. The smell, the rain, lovely. Two contrasts, in the extrinsic world, the duality within. Hmm.
A drink and a few conversations later, V day is over. Until next year, SB shall keep love at bay. Unless of course she finds a Howard Roark or a Thomas Crown, who says, ‘ Here’s to the fear of being trapped!’