Dear Love

Dear love, 
Remember when we were young and stupid? 
It should be known, 
As youth passed by, it snuffed out cupid. 


Dear love, 
Remember you said that only the unloved lied? 
It should be known, 
Even those lie, whose feet are tied. 


Dear love, 
Remember when you made place for me in there? 
It should be known, 
I didn’t ask to be locked in or gasp for air. 


Dear love, 
Remember how each day, I added lime to your tea? 
It should be known, 
A nod in thanks would have set me free. 


Dear love, 
Remember how the days turned into years? 
It should be known, 
I had silently begun to disappear. 


Dear love, 
Remember you said you would always love me? 
It should be known, 
Now you do it in mercy. 


Dear love, 
We’re old now and learning to forget. 
But if you look into the darkness of my eyes, 
You will find your reflection and my regret. 


Dear love, 
Remember you said that I could fly? 
It should be known, 
I took the leap but it remained a lie. 

Bitch.

You see, if I wanted to, I could do things she doesn't expect of me.
Heck, that's what I've always wanted to do.
Do things to surprise her. Shock her, even.
Things that would knock off her imaginary socks. 

You see, I would've have done them if not for her smug smile.
Which she flashes at me with an alarming frequency
Similar to that of her rancid breath trickling down my neck.
She's clung around me, hands tied in a bow.
Voila, now I have a bitch for an appendage.

It's as if an alarm goes off when she sees me prepping for take off.
So even before take off, I've had an emergency landing.
What's the use of wings then? I ask.
With a giggle like a gaggle of geese,
that bitch tightens her grasp around my throat;
Leaves my question hanging, without an answer.
Like a life jacket without any air. 

She points her concave nails at people she thinks are cool,
She dictates what it means to be cool.
She sermonises, makes sweeping generalisations.
And beneath all those fancy didactic intentions,
Lies a pursuant traitor, pretending to be a friend.

Sometimes, I'm convinced I'm not the kind of cool she thinks is cool.
I can't tell post-rock from progressive rock.
I couldn't care less if they were two names for the same thing.
I can't surf nor can I skate board.
I don't know what being hungover from a hangover feels like.

I don't have good dope or cigarettes to lend.
Or the money for EDM gigs to attend.

I don't play no cello nor do I play mind games.
I once went to the movies alone, multiple times.
I can't grow a beard and that's tragic.
Yes, I did have red hair once but that was when I had ADHD. 

You see, she thinks I'm not good enough.
And she thinks out loud, almost always.
In which case, her thoughts become destructive.
You'd never guess how much harm her thoughts do to me.
Not only are her thoughts potent,
they also have impeccable timing.

She's a bitch, not only for tearing me down, but for feeding on me.
Her sheer existence perplexes me,
'cause she wouldn't if I didn't allow it.
But yet she exists, comfortably cocooned in my spine.
Only because I allow her to live without rent. 

If I were a fighting bull, she'd keep me from my fearlessness.
If I were a tight-rope walker, she'd keep me from my rope.
If I were a sniffer dog, she'd keep me from my nose.
But I'm a human being so she keeps me away from my purpose.
'cause she knows, the day I find it, she'll have to pack up and get out. 

Until then, we'll have to co-habit,

In this no-quarter-given-and-no-quarter-received relationship. 

Last night, she told me "You cannot write."
I could silence her only if I went ahead and wrote about her murderous ways.
She's silent at the moment, which means I've found fleeting success.

You see, now I've stopped being passive,

I smack that bitch right in the face
when I get up and do exactly what she thinks I can't.
Sometimes I'm a failure. 

But failures deserve a chance. 

She doesn't.

She is Self-Doubt. 

Bombay Talkies. Part 1.

So, Bombay Talkies. Part 1.

The last scene in Karan Johar's short in Bombay Talkies, you find Rani Mukherji's despair funnel into a feeble smile. She scrubs clean the lie of grease paint on her face to reveal the truth, peppered with her unapologetic freckles. And In her triumph as an actor, you find Karan Johar's as well. His triumph as a film maker that has been eluding him for a while now; even before the sorry excuse for his "youth-oriented" film called Student of the Year. His transition from that attempt to this one is pretty damn impressive. The very first scene in his short progresses with an undercurrent of rebellion which I hadn't experienced in any of KJo's narratives so far. The portrayal of conflicting emotions shines through but what doesn't, is the story's underlining connect with Indian Cinema. More so because this movie was being touted as a tribute to the 100 years of cinema. I saw the attempt in the breathtaking soundtrack used in this short but it failed to convince me.  

I don't want to spoil it for you, but there's a line that Saqib Saleem (one of the lead characters) says to Randeep Hooda when he asks him "You wanna come in or something?" Saqib takes a step back in a way of refusing the offer and says, "No! You wanna come out?" 

On the surface of it, it's a simple response to a simple question. Only, it isn't. 

Then comes Dibakar Banerjee's short. I, honestly, didn't give a rat's ass about the fact that it was inspired by a short story written by Satyajit Ray. How a text comes alive on the screen is what interests me and that is solely the responsibility of the film maker. 

To put a short in short, it tells the story of an unemployed father who spiels out Hritik-chi story or, on some nights, Om Shanti Om-chi story that doesn't seem to captivate his bed-ridden daughter anymore. She is disappointed in him and he, in the actor in himself. And then one day, he stumbles upon an opportunity designed to help him regain the position of a hero in his daughter's life.

Can you Imagine City Lights without Charlie Chaplin? 

Likewise, I can't imagine this short without Nawazuddin Siddiqui. The sheer sincerity he brings to his performance enables Dibakar to harmonize the perils and miracles of an ordinary man's life. Its interesting how the director effortlessly blends in an odd looking emu gawking at neighbours amidst the chaos in a stuffy chawl.

Though Nawaz doesn't quite make the cut with his marathi, his mime is pure sorcery in the last scene. He was soo good that it made me wonder if the story would still make the impact it did if he wasn't cast in it. Hmm.

I didn't realise writing about one film would mean writing about four. Actually, midway, I did.
Will be back with Part 2. 

For your tomorrow, we gave our today.

Journal Entry- 29th November 2012.

Set 14,140 ft. above sea level, the winter frost loomed over the feeble sun on the horizon of Nathula pass. It was a funny kind of winter, one that held a promise to warm my heart despite the bitter cold.

They say exploring a part of your own country teaches you a little more about yourself. If the drive to my destination was anything to go by, I learnt that I lacked the immunity to battle deathly temperatures. It was 3 degrees Celsius and I felt the five layers of my thermal clothes and soft woolens vanishing into thin air, one by one. No, the imported brandy didn’t help either. The scorching heat I detested back home in Mumbai, I sorely missed in Sikkim. 

 As we scaled the heights, a few streams of water traversed through like blood from veins cut open. A few others were turning into ice crystals. The red, yellow and blue Buddhist prayer flags hung suspended in the air, trying to keep up a fight against the robust wind. They had to, for they were there to protect their holy land.

 

I realized that sometimes, you might think the world is more or less how you perceive it to be. But when the skies open up before you in shades of emerald and blue that can only be shown never described, the world under it transforms. You may even wonder if you’re eavesdropping on what is meant for the Gods. The sharp smell of pinewood sings through the air, the bald mountains garb their heads in wigs made of snow and squawky seagulls soar the highest heights. For a while these heights may remind you of the plunging depths and dark corners of your life but slowly, they also teach you to let go. 

Our vehicle continued to ascend the Himalayas, stirring up gusts of dust. The hours evaporated into moments and after a few nasty head bumps, the car screeched to a halt. The grime cleared away and revealed a flight of staircases up hill that led to a band of barbed wire. Rugged army men with rifles stood guarding the Line Of Control. Men with assault weapons never looked so graceful.

Beyond the barbed wire was the land of Tibet occupied by the Chinese army. It made me wonder how different could people on that side possibly be. After all, we lived under same sky. You see, Indian and Chinese army officers at the border were friends; they shared the same brand of scotch and hard Chinese cigarettes. Yet, as the Indo-Sino war of 1962 suggests, they will pull the trigger on each other without any remorse.

The dichotomy of the same land took my breath away, literally. Panting profusely, I stopped at a red-bricked wall a few meters away from the Indo-China border. The red-bricked wall framed a black marbled mantle, which had a few names and these words engraved in gold;

“When you go home, tell them of us,

And say,

For your tomorrow, we gave our today.”

I stood still as a host of clouds crept over me, reminding me of the enormity of every soldier’s sacrifice. In that fleeting moment, my sense of self was reduced to nothing. At the same time, I expanded with pride. It was a feeling I felt not because I was Indian but because I was human.

Lieutenant Prakash stood there with the wind growling against him, guarding the memorial. I clicked his picture trying to evoke some reaction. He didn’t budge.

I wondered; Did he miss the aromas from his mother's kitchen? Did he long for the touch of his lover? Did he miss his baby's tiny fingers? I couldn’t have guessed in those seconds of shared silence.

His lips were dry and flaky. I spontaneously wanted to gift him my lip balm but realized it would be inappropriate. Wearing a crisp uniform, the number of layers seemed much less than what I had expected.

I looked into his eyes, as if to ask, “Aren’t you cold?”

His big brown eyes silently answered my question; “I wear a layer of devotion for my country, for my people. I need no more.”

I cupped the bowl of steaming and seemingly bland Thukpa between my cold hands, sitting in the Army canteen half a kilometer away from the memorial. I peeked at our Indian flag as it slow danced in the wind. I looked a little ahead and found the Chinese flag fluttering as well. I thought of the futility of boundaries, for the same sun that lights up their land, lights up ours too. The firewood had been lit in the camp but I felt a different fire had begun to simmer within me. Sluggishly, the dark clouds began to descend on all sides. It was time to go.

Throughout my train ride back home, I thought of him. I hoped the next time I went up there, Lieutenant Prakash would be a face with moist supple lips and not just another name engraved in the memorial mantle.

The blur of scanty green fields turned into the neon lit streets of Mumbai. I had returned but with an invincible sheild of warmth.

It was 9 degrees celcius one winter's night in Mumbai. My mother asked me "Aren't you cold?" She brought in a thick blanket.

His memory flashed infront of my eyes; torn lips, bright eyes and the fire in them.

I smiled and told her I didn't need it. Not any more.

How to evade the Realization that you're probably Full of Crap and other Life-Altering Exercises.

I'm sure you have a set of custom-made, tried and tested mechanisms to fight the seven evil super hero exes of your respective Boyfriend/Girlfriend. For those other than the likes of Scott Pilgrim, there are perils at hand that are less interesting but of equal importance and urgency. What is of utmost importance for us inferior carbon based life forms is that we must never fully be aware of the fact that we are probably the worst thing that could happen to this planet. It really defeats the purpose of waking up on a Monday morning. Well, any fucking morning for that matter.

So here is Dee's Mechanism propounded to basically evade feelings of hopelessness in a world that runs on laughable hopefulness:

• Reckless amounts of  Masala Chai:

There are mornings when you can't possibly piece together the absurd sequence of your dream, you're trying hard but you can't. Its like a fucking Bermuda triangle of thoughts up there while you're sleeping. You know that you're thinking of something, seeing what it looks like and what it feels like and within moments it's memory spirals into nothing. It's your mind's in-built shredding machine at work. When you finally wake up...you actually understand what the proverbial Dimaag ki Dahi feels like.

Those mornings I call Blah Mornings. For such biological whiplash the most fitting revenge is a perfect cup of Masala Chai or even Coffee. Just the right amount of spices, strength and heat calms the frazzled nerves and magically makes you believe that you're either a supreme brain or an invisible ninja and not full of crap after all. It will jolt you in a direction to help you get on or get off. Either way, its a win-win.

Find what works for you better; Coffee or Chai and believe in its power. Consumption should be limited to twice a day for it could be too much of a good thing.  

Just kidding, no one really cares if you die of a Caffeine overdoes. 

On my recent trip to Kolkata, I found some Kolkettles.

• Practicing Mind and Body Co-ordination:

On my recent conquest of the gym, dance routine and driver's seat.. I discovered that my mind is as terribly handicapped as it is overwhelmingly awesome. In my initial gym sessions, my trainer almost exploded with laughter when I showed her my version of a full squat. An hour and half later when she finally regained control of herself, she told me that I couldn't get my mind and body to work together. Same with my dance and driving lessons...I understood and grasped everything that was being taught to me but just couldn't reproduce efficiently. That again, was my mind reminding me that I was actually full of crap. 

It is moments like these that you doubt your capabilities, which is better than being completely ignorant about them, but still can be counterproductive to whatever little attempts you make. 

Your mind may produce the most amazing revolutionary ideas or creative revenge theories... but they are zilch in value if your body doesn't co-operate to execute them. 

Do this, I say. Go  buy the best looking piece of cake and keep it front of you. No matter how inviting that wonder may look... you will tell yourself this- "Everything you've ever heard about cake is a lie. Its the reason of that double chin and those triple tyres you have. Don't."

If you succeed, you're not that hopeless after all. 

P.S: Since the Gym fiasco, I have now learnt how to do a perfect set of full squats and have also successfully lost about a couple of kgs. Just saying..

• Building of a Fortress:

 And not just any fortress, Fortress of Solitude. I mean we all want to feel like Superman with an exclusive Arctic retreat and a best friend like Batman, right?

Too many times we allow a certain amount of insignificant eddies to affect us in ways we can't seem to control. These insignificant eddies could be anyone/thing ranging from an ex-best friend, family member, Facebook, a social jihadist who drops in on your life as and when he/she wishes to, people who think they know it all but obviously don't, your blast from the past with a cyclops-like present or even ministers watching porn. What they do or say may or may not be directly aimed at hurting us but you being an egoistic cretin will not let go off a chance to feel offended, mortified or humiliated. We've  programmed ourselves to like being in pain because its inevitable.

So speaking out of a little experience, here's what you do to cut out all the things that bring you down without sound reason.

Build a Fortress out of things that you love and you know that they love you back. Take a few kgs of the faithful cake enough to form the triangular base and bury strong pillars deep into it. Cut off connection with people and even the virtual world for a bit. Some may think you're socially incapable of being self-sufficient and need to be around people at all times, that's not true. Stop analyzing yourself... Sleep through it. The cylindrical white crystals are what your dreams look like. Let them shield you from the madness around you. They will drive you to where you need to be, with the people you need to be with.

You don't always need to be a part of that never ending party that looks inviting but is really just a false promise... Its really when you are outside, looking at the ensuing frenzy through the glass, do you realize how stupid most of them look dancing to silence in their shiny disguise.

And still, if you happen to enter that party, make sure you don't let anything affect you. Trust me, it is soo much fun being invincible like Superman (even if its just in you head).

• Wearing Horse Blinkers :

Have you wanted to be a Trapeze artist, a Crocodile wrangler, Fortune cookie writer and Vincent Vega all in the same lifetime? Me Neither.

I want to be all of that before I turn 40.

It may not be wise to diagnose myself with Multiple personality disorder without qualification but maybe its the detection of Iwishtobeeverything disease. My mother prescribes the best cure for people with reckless ambition such as mine; Horse Blinkers.

When we try focusing to many things all we see is a psychedelic blur, like Willy Wonka's chocolate factory.

And losing myself in those myriad possibilities is super duper fun for a bit but then reality hits you hard in that space between your eyes. 

So to battle the distress reality assaults us with daily, wear horse blinkers.Contrary to popular belief, they don't hinder your vision of the bigger picture instead they help your GPS system to avoid the cumbersome re-evaluation of distance from your destination. And now, what with fuel prices shooting up like never before, the Horse Blinker shall deliver us from all our unwanted detours. 

Remember to take them off while sleeping, for that's when it is completely okay to want to be a Trapeze artist, a Crocodile wrangler, Fortune cookie writer and Vincent Vega in the same dream. 

P.S: The idea of Horse Blinkers is highly subjective. Usage has resulted in dwindling results. 

       Sachin Tendulkar used it and so did the two below. Be wise.

        

•  Leaving behind Bootprints:

I cannot stress enough on how important it is to have good  great footwear on at all times. For me, my shoes are as important as people I value. I share relationships with each pair for they have been with me through highs and lows of not only roads but also my tumultuous adolescence.

I may get infatuated with a couple of classy gladiators or flip-flops now and then but BOOTS will ALWAYS be my one and only love. They deserve a separate blog post altogether. 

For now, let me say this, no one will ever stand for you the way your feet will. You make them feel protected with a nice, snug pair of boots and they will in return make you feel invincible. That's what all successful relationships are about, I guess. 

With your boots on, supreme confidence will shine through you and the bad ass boot prints you leave behind wherever you go will negate all the stupidity you did whilst you were there. 

In the face of extreme adversity, put on your trusted pair of boots and run. Run for your life and leave behind Boot prints. Like a Boss.

Please feel free to add to this list, if and when something comes up in that twisted mind of yours.

For now, Imma scoot. Watching Kahaani in a bit... will come back and write about it.

Monstrous amounts of love,

D.

Conversations about a Heartbreak.

Go have a fling. 

Said her father seeing her breakdown for the 3rd time in a row.

Go buy a laptop.

Said her father seeing her cringe at the earlier inappropriate suggestion.

Go to Tibet. Meet Dalai Lama.

Said her father seeing her hibernate in that dimly lit room with their ever so loyal dog strung around her foot.

He shared the story of his heartbreak. How it took eternity for him to let go off his love of 20 years. Her mother, his wife. 

She felt stupid for crying over the 16 months with the guy in ? Real Stupid, STUPID stupid.

Enter, Mother.

Do you think he's found someone else?

 Said her mother, playing detective.

All guys are assholes.

Mother was thinking aloud now.

Just hit the gym, eat cake, stop being blue instead colour your hair blue, learn to drive, steal my car and move on. Just don't have sex. Or drink or smoke. 

Daughter wanted the earth beneath her to split open and swallow her before she could hear something like that from her mother. For the 247th time.

Her sister, well, being the human like alien she was, advised her to shut down all kinds of mental processes for a bit. She advised her to go to sleep everytime she thought about him. Safest Escape.

Her best friend, lets call her R-Pill,was talking to her from a city far far away and said a lot of things half of which she doesn't remember. Mostly, unholy things about the guy in ? . She wasn't ready to accept those  just yet.

Her guy friend, lets call him Massaman Curry, said fuck all that and lets talk about food. 

He'd been through the same ordeal a few months ago and got into a rebound relationship with food.

She think he's cheating on food with music though.

Her other guy friend, lets call him Vincent Chase, who she'd met for coffee convinced her to go the bar instead and drink away her first heartbreak. 30 ml down.Feeling a High and Low at the same time.

He told her that he'd never seen her so weak before. He also said that the guy in ? wasn't the cause, but it was her-assuming-self. Maybe he was right.

Now she sits in this December heat making the worst mistake.

Listening to Eddie Vedder sing to her;

On the dry and dusty road
The nights we spend apart alone
I need to get back home to cool cool rain
I can't sleep and I lay and I think
The night is hot and black as ink
Wooh God, I need a drink of cool cool rain

Love, reign o'er me
Reign o'er me, o'er me
Love, reign o'er me
Rain on me

She realizes that this isn't going to help and changes the track to Beyonce's Irreplaceable.

I hate young teens who think that having a relationship, that ties them down in due process, is God's gift to humanity. I hate that she's even more miserable than the Hindi soap bahus who sleep fully dressed in silk sarees, make up and other articles of adornment.

I'm angry now.

So I'm going to stop talking about her for a bit and tell you how awesome MY life has been.

To be continued...

Disconnection.

No matter how much you try to ignore the fact that you are an emotional being, it will come back to bite you in your barefaced behind. Just like Karma. Trust me on this.

You may have different ways of evading these extreme emotions..Like few people I know well enough to describe,they drink until they are driven to permanent brain damage, closer to impotence or infertility,they eat until they can suppress the emotion back to where it came from, they shop until the only emotion they ever feel after that is hysteria which is guaranteed with the huge bills, some go on this mope overdrive, some watch Quentin Tarantino flicks which always have that vengeful kickass character they've enacted several times in front of the mirror or you might as well smear red, white and black paint on your face and ask yourself  " Why the fuck so serious?"

Either way, you'll be back to where you started from.

The question I'm asking myself is, how do you deal with yourself at that moment? Bottle it all up inside somewhere or search for the most convenient outlet?

Disconnection. Most frequently.

I can't deal with it! When you have been soo close to a person, shared some of your best moments and memories at one point of time you cant really lie to yourself about the emotional distance you feel after it all.

In my case, there isn't any reason in particular besides the usual unreasonable and pointless fights. So what really happened? Nothing. Growing up happened. Egos happened. Boyfriends and girlfriends happened. Careers, well, I hope they eventually do happen. 

I made a few phone calls today. I said a few 'I miss you's today. I said many 'Thank you's today. 

Because in the back of my head I know that we may never be able to share times like that again but in the end, that is what makes it soo beautiful. The thought of it being mortal yet immortal.

                                         

I see him, talk to him, eat with him on most days and still feel a disconnection.Like we are mentally present in a different time and space. This feeling is unbearably disturbing sometimes and sometimes I don't bother and go back to being indifferent. How and Why? I can't put a finger on it. But this is how much I care for the bond and there isn't more that there is to it.

So this is it, this is me making the phone call I could've made earlier. I'm hoping the transmitter and receiver in question are free of any other unimportant engagements 'cause this is important. The media isn't microwaves, fiber optics, orbiting satellites, hydraulic semaphore systems or for that matter any other scientific term that I studied about in physics. It's beyond all this. 

So I've dialled the number now and luckily there is no surge of regret.Yet.

Okay.He's answered my call. Got to go.

Can I get back to you on this?! 

Or Maybe Not. 

:) ;)

P.S :                      "I'll tell you a secret. Something they don't teach you in your temple. The Gods envy us. They envy us because we're mortal, because any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we're doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again."

Achilles to Briseis - Troy