Two of A kind

She and him. Him and her. They have an inexplicable connection. They are different, yet alike. He is smart, funny and likeable..she is a bundle of contradictions. He's as quirky as she is. She gets him on a strange level and he understands her perfectly. He manages to get under her skin. She makes him smile more, and for crazy reasons. Had they met in another time, another place, another dimension, they would have had another story. The attraction was always imminent, for reasons best known to them. Yet, it functions on a level so simple, one might laugh at how basic it is. They watch over each other..complement one another. Guardian angels. Friends. Counterparts. Lovers?...

They both like that life is 'grey.' He gets that she despises compartmentalizing things and people into black and white. They are clueless of what lies ahead. Probably nothing. But each is content in knowing the immediate. Each savours this comfort zone they have developed with one another. Neither would look back wistfully and say 'what if.' Each has the great ability to disconnect. What makes it unique is this common thread that runs through them.They make each other laugh (although each has a very different kind of humour), sit in companionable silence at times, have whacky ideas of fun, appreciate each other insanely but say nothing of it.

They needn't say anything at all. Such words would be reduntant.

He and her. Her and him. Distinctly different, yet two of a kind.

Disenchanted

I woke up this morning feeling sick to the stomach. My first thought was Bombay. I still cannot digest the fact that this has actually happened. I take for granted, a safe existence. I walk the streets with confidence, knowing intuitively I will be safe (except from vehicles or trains!..but that of course, is just me). Leopold's brings back wonderful memories of Saturday nights of steak, beer and amazing music. Or those afternoon trips with Tracy where we would look at the prices and then share something! Those hundred walks down Colaba Causeway, the earring-walla outside Mondegar's, the stoles, the hot guys. Sometimes taking the detour to my house via the seafront, gazing at the Arabian in all its vastness. My idiotic trip to the Taj with the Mont Blanc coupon, in faded jeans and oshos.

The near escape when the blast at Gateway happened. We were at Spastic's Society and then safely ensconed in Navy Nagar. It was such a tiresome feeling waiting for hours in Esha's Uncle's place, knowing I was near home, yet so far. The July downpour...again, I sat comfortably in my flat watching 'resilient' Bombayites come to grips with the forces of nature. My friends were stuck in college, yet there I sat, helpless as always..not knowing whether to thank god or curse my luck.

I remember the train blasts..by this time I was in Andheri. Watching NDTV, howling..thinking Dad had perished in them. That horrible sense of finality when his colleague knocked on my door...only to tell me Dad was fine! Flinching each time they showed the 'victims' and their relatives crying unabashedly on national television. Once again, here I am...sitting in the comfort of my hall in the heart of vibrant London....watching my city burn. Attending my lectures and seminars, as though nothing matters. Of course, life goes on but I think it affects me more than I let on. There is also a strange inner voice that warns, 'next time it could be you.' How many near escapes will I have? How many next times will there be? Will I ever be one of those '150 dead' or '300 injured.' It is an intensely scary feeling.

I feel like these invisible walls are closing in around me. I try to cry for these people, yet I cannot. Just because it didn't happen to me. I try to imagine Bombay's makeshift war-zone..yet there is this sense of unreality. Those images seem almost surreal. It is like a strange, unsettling dream. Why, then, can I not shake off this creeping sense of disquiet?

Disjointed

Uncertain times. A world where faceless men with vengeful hearts can tear our lives apart.

A dome of hopelessness and fear.

They hit us where it hurts the most. They mock at us and catch us off guard.

It comes when we least expect it and leaves no stone unturned.

It hits bulls-eye with utmost precision.
We are left helpless and alone.

There are dark shadows still looming. The Taj goes up in smoke.
Gunshots and grenades. Dead cops. Helpless faces.

The image of terror etched forever in our minds.

"The attacks shall be condemned"
"Mumbai under seige"
"Once again human resilience is put to test"

No. Maybe we don't want to be tested anymore. Just maybe we've had enough. With our lives spiralling uncontrollably out of control, is it really that brave to put up that brave face?

Frozen screams. Marked forever as victims. Who is it that is really victimized?

We versus Us versus Them versus peace versus an uncannily recurrent reality.

No excess baggage

I often commend myself on my great ability to detach. It comes so easily that I wonder if I was born with it. A large part of it has to do with the fact that I make almost no demands on the people around me. Well, at least not intentionally. When there are little or no expectations, the outcomes are more neutral. This helps me stay grounded. If ever there is a hint of an expectation forming, I watch myself before I hit reality. Hence...I detach.

This is not to say I am cold or stony. In fact, contradictorily so, I give off just the opposite impression. Warm and sociable in my interactions with others, one would imagine I invest a great deal in relationships. Strangely, I have learnt not to or maybe its just innate. But this protective mechanism works beautifully, in that there is no element of manipulation. Things just play out as they are destined to and I don't have to pull the strings.

Sometimes I think of attachment as just finite and limited to those rare life-long friendships or family ties, for that matter. Other kinds of attachment are temporarily comforting and the kind one can seek solace in. Or just enjoy for it's own sake I suppose. For me, the key is to keep expectations out of the equation and let things take their course. I'm not saying that it is wise to give up all control of the course of your life and leave it up to fate or the stars. This is merely an observation of my responses within relationships. It works for me and I cannot imagine behaving any differently.

Yes, it is a defense mechanism. I'm not ashamed to admit I use it.

Surviving

People who wallow in self-pity have always annoyed me to no extent. They whine, complain, crib and curse their unfortunate lives, because they are convinced beyond the shadow of a doubt that nothing can go right in their lives. I am always itching to tell these people to basically get over it and get a life. No cloud has that damn silver lining, but one does not need it really!

I think of how over the last year or so, I have come to the point where I can actually club myself with "those people".The needless panic attacks, the sudden freezes, meaningless tears and blame game have come to characterize a large part of who I am. I am almost ashamed to admit that there are times I wonder whether I can sink any lower. It is okay to ask for help. But not when this surge of sympathy for the self overcomes you. It is not acceptable to me to believe my stars are forever crossed and there is no way out. So what if I am a walking-talking-living, daily calamity?

I am amazed at how friends and family think of me as stable, patient and tolerant. I laugh in my head when they say these things. I am glad they draw comfort from my words, but if only they knew that their source was a crazy person, who tries too hard to come across as sane. Well, I guess when it comes to their troubles, their pains, I am incredibly rational at hearing them out..or offering a reasonable solution even..or simply listening and never judging. A close friend of mine actually said to me once that I happen to be the most non-judgemental person she knows. It is a pity how harshly I judge myself then. Why do I set these exacting standards for myself then..?Is it that hard to accept that there is a reason I'm so messed up right now.

Murphy with his goddam law can screw me over as much as he likes. The trick is to mess with him right back. I fell flat in the middle of the tube station on my way to dinner the other night. Looking at nothing and no one, I picked myself up and calmly boarded the train. There was this horrible deja-vu, but I willed it away. I guess I am on my way. I will annoy myself less and less over the months to come.

Survive. That I will.

Transponding

In the middle of a rather boring article, I begin doing what I do best..drifting off. Amazingly, I end up doing this so very often that I'm surprised I get any work done at all. I have often heard that the imagination is the most powerful vehicle of thought. It is only after using it with such rapidity and frequency that I realized the kind of Pandora's Box it opens up.

Fortunately, I love the shades of grey in myself...even black sometimes. The most liberating part is that there is no one to judge it, censor it or censure it. I love the idea of being transported into another dimension altogether..sometimes dark and hopelessly pessimistic, sometimes foolishly innocent and at other times boundaryless and exploratory. It takes me exactly where I want to be, in that particular moment. For someone who values 'just being', there can be nothing better than the travails of the mind. It is just so easy to drift away...and in the process discover and re-discover a million different tangents, domains and planes. Whether its being lucy in the sky with diamonds or just freefalling through time and space, the imagination can do wonders. (No, I am not describing the effects of weed!)

I am not talking of the creative imagination here...just imagination or even daydreaming, if you like, at its simplest. Basically it is a slave only for you and you mould it as you go. Not for anyone else, not for the world and cerainly not to give birth to creative output. Well, imagination for its own sake, I suppose. I knowingly fall back on it way too many times; it rescues me instantly. I seek solace in it as it never fails me. As Carl Jung aptly put it, "What right have we then to depreciate imagination?"

Just my luck!

I had the worst day today. It was one of those days where you think you have it all under control, but discover within one crushing second, that life had other plans!

It was my first essay submission today and I very proudly patted myself on the back for having finished it well within the deadline. Even the cold, dreary, rainy day could not deter my spirited mood. It all began when I dropped a cup of hot chocolate all over my unsuspecting classmate who looked back at me in disbelief as she tried to get it off herself, all the while hushing my continued apologies. She changed her seat eventually, trying to politely disguise a nasty glare.

The usually empty computer room was at its busiest. I desperately rushed to the library to get a printout of the essay, only to realize there wasnt a single computer available in all of LSE's massive, hallowed library!! I was panicking..had a class in twenty minutes that I had to compulsorily attend. Eventually I begged a guy to let me use his machine (ooh, that sounded kind of..well, absurdly vulgar). He willingly complied when I shot him this totally desperate, almost in tears look. Within five minutes, I had the print but could not see a stapler in sight. Nonetheless, I dashed off to submit it in a building that was about a five minute walk from there.

Clutching three flailing sheets of paper in my hand that were soaking in the raindrops with sadistic glee and attempting unsuccessfully to manage my umbrella that kept defying gravity, I finally managed to reach my destination. Then came the terrible, earth-shattering realization, my LSE ID Card was missing! I searched for it, nearly emptying out the contents of my bag on the damp ground, almost losing my umbrella in the process. Minutes after I managed to chase my escaping umbrella and salvage the now-wet unstapled mess that was my essay, I did another desperate begging routine. This time it was the imposing security guard, who I somehow managed to convince. While I kept cursing my luck in the lift, I ended up missing my stop and going right up to the seventh floor. As I came crashing back to reality (read-4th floor), I walked with heavy steps to the department office. A sceptical look greeted me when I handed in my essay.

Needless to say, I forgot my umbrella upstairs and realized this after I had left the building. I had to plead with the guard to let me into the building all over again. By then it was simply pointless going to class, so I retraced my steps back to the library, knowing I would NOT find what I was looking for. And..no surprisese here..I didnt. I managed to get a temporary day pass for the library, inquired how I could get a new ID card and bravely took in the fact that I would have to spend 10 pounds over this self-made mess! I made my way to the quietest corner in Subway, forcing myself to eat. Tears stung my eyes (third time this week). I willed myself not to cry and ate half a sandwich. A surge of useless self-pity and a fun conversation later, I was sane again.

Twenty three years old, yet I could not be more careful and responsible. Dad's famous lecture kept running through my brain..the "How many times do I have to tell you to..." one. The "I have the worst luck theory" kept ringing in my ears on my way back to college. I returned to the scene of my ruin (first the 30 pound fine and humiliation and now this!), to meet with my syndicate group for a presentation that I hadnt bothered to read up on. It was the last thing in the world I wanted to do, but somehow I dreamed my way through it. I walked back to the residence in a daze and a packet of instant noodles later, I am contently snuggled underneath my duvet, not reading, but writing this instead!

Impressions~

Given the universality of emotions, I would have expected myself to have the ability to recognize them anywhere and almost instantly. At least happiness, grief, anger, envy and disgust..well, those are supposed to be the most basic ones right? Today as I saw a friend of mine collapse before me in a fit of tears, I looked on blankly for a second and a half until I realized she was actually crying. It was almost as though as my instincts had failed me. As I watched foolishly and others around me began to comfort her, I sprung into action and took on the role of an empathic observer. A late recovery; but it served the purpose, nonetheless. I tried with conviction to explain the reasons for her confusing feelings and asserted that she would surely get through it (as would we all).

What was astonishing though, was the fact that the incident prompted a five hour long impromptu male-bashing session with lots of wine and laughter. There we were on the kitchen floor speaking unabashedly about our needs and wants and how men were never able to fulfill them! We did have a few male spectators, who of course, were completely flabbergasted by what they termed as the usual ‘feminist ramblings’. They attempted to defend their species, failing which they ran away, leaving us in our element. It was an insightful discussion on so many levels and one that rung loud and clear, the message that we are all bound by a common thread. It is almost oxymoronic to say that this sense of belonging is ‘uniquely common’.

A few tears helped invoke an amazingly evocative talk. It reiterated the idea that be it Asian or European, sick, poor or hungry, disabled, man or woman, the human species (in fact I would like to argue that animals too!) are connected by this overarching universality of feeling. Emotions bring us together in powerful ways. It is good to know that there are at least some commonalities that transcend all divides. And needless to say, the sense of agreement or understanding that we reach in these moments are impressioned in our memories for life.

2005

The sentence was dealt
As they watched in silence
plagued with Guilt they felt

Dramatic and Ferocious
He had set himself FrEe
Maybe he was just precocious?

Tears stinging his eyes
This is the last I promise..
Pa BeltS him till he cries

Goddam the stinging whip
Harsh grating scrEEch
BrOken rib and a swollen lip

Trembling in Fear ==
Walking up the plank
He knew the EnD was near

Thick and tight the noose was tied
Pitching tight, till he DieD

Gotcha!

Human beings by nature tend to neglect objective evidence, facts, prior information and previous experience. All those bits of relevant information that are so very obvious in immediately catching a lie, are ignored by us. I think I epitomize these aspects of human error.

This one is for all those who claim I'm gullible. Not that I disagree with that. But on some level, everyone is gullible. It is ridiculously simple to manipulate others into just about anything you want them to think or believe. Naivete has nothing to do with it, it is simply the ability to sound convincing enough. I tried it with a few friends, primarily to see what it felt like being on the other side. Also because they had me crazy worried with a stupid prank two days back, that me being me fell for!

I realized you can get anyone to believe what you have to say, just by coming across as..well,believable. It's beyond me why I dont try it more often. It has such a fun and silly element..and silliness is good! I think a large part of it has to do with the fact that I appear to be 'nice' and 'genuine', something which for some strange reason, a librarian recently told me! So why would anyone have any cause to disbelieve me?! I did not anticipate the tears though. My apologies for that and thank you for caring.

Well, next time it will be a nasty and elaborate prank and I will go all out to master the art of making you look and feel 'ultra-gullible'.

No, I certainly wouldn't like to live amidst pound-millionaires..not for a second. Besides, I enjoy those midnight walks way too much...

Stuck in reverse

Do you sometimes get the feeling that you are doing something for all the wrong reasons?I feel like that far too often. I then try to legitimize those reasons till they sound fairly convincing. It is especially difficult when it gets so monotonous and boring that you cannot help but wonder if there was an easy out. It is even worse when the costs involved are spiralling out of control. Most often, there isnt much you can do. I sometimes like to believe that things will change but when I'm up till 3am, trying to reason with myself, I tend to give up.

People tell me to move on. They advice, counsel, compel, persuade and sometimes force. Others silently watch and smile. But I stay on course, take it like bad medication (and anyone who knows me even a little bit will tell you how much I hate medicines). Is it worth the effort?I guess I will find out sooner or later. For the time being, I will allow this impasse to govern my life.