About me....

First things first Happy Birthday Tukun da!

This post comes at the right time of the year when it is his birthday.
I have as always not planned to do this, but a fellow friend had bugged the hell out of me trying to understand me.

To people who really want to know me, I think the first step would be to know this one fact clearly...apart from parents, sibblings (which everyone has) one person I really cannot exist without is him.

I learnt a few very basics things about life from him. Not that I had not heard about these things but I discovered the new meanings of certain things along with him. The most important one being Love! i learnt to love after having fallen madly in love with him... he explained to me that there is so much more to the word than the usual "I love you way, we youngsters take it to be". I got to know it is about romance, about devotion, complete and selfless devotion. It is about music, photographs, colours and most importantly its about using words carefully. I think I am writing too much.
But I really learnt to live and enjoy life with him, along with him. I see the pains he took to make me what I am, and more what he gave me the strength to dare things that I can be.
I remember the times when painfully taught me the word 'threshold' and 'pirolignus acid' and 'constitution' and 'topography' and 'dumrus' and ofcourse the magic word 'marquez'. I hope and (do not wish) that I have spealt them correct atleast after some 9 years now.
it's been long that I said this but I really love and miss you.

P.S - I think I have embarrased you. have I?

To The Legendary Voice....To Begum Akhtar!

Humne samjha tha ki barsaat mein barse ki sharaab
aayi jo barsaat to barsaat ne dil tod diya....

woh mere hain mujhe mil jayenge , laut aayenge
aise talkhiye khayalat ne dil tod diya....

Kill Bill... an essay that I wrote in 11 mintues!

It is difficult for a person like me to pick and choose one movie over and above all the rest that I have seen in my entire life and say that ‘this was the best’. Perhaps it’s a difficult job for anybody, as it is for me. However, right now when I think of one movie that I really enjoyed watching the only name that I can think of is Quentin Torentino’s ‘Kill Bill’.

The movie is a relic we need to watch it to understand what the limits are that a director can reach up to in cinema. It is the height of creative imagination, something that normal human beings can only dream about. With the entire storyline based on a woman, Torentino definitely goes on to achieve what we would call the threshold of feminism and revolution. Uma Thurman, the protagonist does a near perfect job in bringing to life what the director only visualized and hoped for, be it her killing expressions, body language, or the fight sequences, Thurman masters the art of internalizing the character. The movie begins on a very serious note, but Torentino takes it to the realm of the unimaginable with Thurman like a devil slashing heads off, and blood oozing out like a fountain. All these details might seem gory but when you watch them, they are nothing but spectacular. The scenes are beautifully shot, and the technology used only ads to its perfection. I personally would suggest all movie buffs to watch the movie, if not for anything else but at least to understand what a spoof is all about and how a director can do it with so much style that the audience forgets all about the spoof and thinks about it as a classic piece of cinema.

Killing and Dying are the same at times...

Nights

No more have stories

That you do not know

And so

Nothing in me I have

That interests you

And I cannot hold you back.

Will you smile if I got back the river, that

Flew away from our steps

Or will the stories already told

keep you at bay?

I ask

Will you stay?

The morning is so empty

No rustling bed sheets

No early morning dew on the glass window

Nothing only reasons for me

Get consumed in your absence

I wish

You would be back

With all that is so full of you

And as you lay your head

On the nights cold pillow

I would remember this time

To put winter under your sleep

So that it covers your body

And consumes you

You will then be a

Cold dead body

With nothing so life like about you

And I who has suffered long

Will mock at your purple cadaver

I wish

You come back…

This is just beautiful...

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school, where children strove
At recess, in the ring;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

Or rather, be passed us;
The dews grew quivering and chill,
For only gossamer my gown,
My tippet only tulle.

We paused before house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.

Since then 'tis centuries, and yet each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.

P.S. - This poem is written by emily Dickinson. I posted it here, cause (i might sound like praising myself) I just could not ignore the striking resemblance between this poem of hers and the way I write always. The imagery, the way she has chosen the words, the shape and structure of the poem and so much more, reminded me of how I write, not as good ofcourse. Perhaps resemblances like these to great poets makes me still stick to the dream of writing well someday...I wish I could. Amen!

RE:Can I use the banned word?

Let me be all hush-hush while I use it. If someone hears me using it, who knows the next thing they do is hang me...
finally the much debated, hated, and contemplated a word appears in my blog...F E M I N I S M !
Watched Paromita Vohra's documentary "unlimited girls", good I would say for the issues that it raises. Is feminism an ideology for ugly women?
Isn't being a woman reason enough to be a feminist?
Do we have to know the history and everything that went into getting FEMINISM the platform where it stands today?
Agreed one needs to know, but perhaps one cannot dismiss somebody just because s/he hasn't read the literature on feminism.
Whatever!
It's surprising how somebody in her interview said that she is afraid to have freedom, cause at the end of the day it leaves her tired of the social structure. Is it enough for women like me and anybody reading this that Feminism today functions perfectly well just in our lives? Do not we need to push it further so that it reaches to lives of all women? Shall we happily wrap up our mouths and mumble things that only we can hear, and be happy and 'thankful' of the situation we are in today? Is it enough to say that it is necessary that women be emancipated and let others fight for the cause? And in the end of it all say something like
"these Feminists are here to create Chaos !"
Sigh! lastly do we accept any and everything in the name of a culture that teaches us to be filth and nothing more?
do we
do we
do we!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

p.s.- the pic was found in a blog I read.

and suddenly it dies...

evenings and winter chapel bells
long lost dusty feet
return home
on a foggy blue noon
the silly dance and celebrations
choke them to death
no footsteps to traceback the homecoming
no shattered glasses and
the smell of cheap liquor
no beaten backs with rashes
no moaning
no gathering
not even the usual flies
what do we call them
the mourning flies?
I guess let them be the yellow butterflies
not even them to show her lost presence
what could he hold on to afterall?
he rushed back with the mad dance
and took with him the mad, celebrating loneliness
this time
careful to leave back a few tiered footsteps
atleast she if she comes back,
Marichiko could trace him back...
but suddenly the wish dies
and withers in the dusty corners
silent, ages
and pales
and dies again
he looks back for it
and asks
did you keep it safe?

Of Death and its Demons...

mad disgust
crazy awakenings
the cruel cycle bell
and another man
discharges his lust
rape
rape
rape
hushed, muffled voices
and then
finally a scream
men with moustaches
and women with lathis
debate and hate
over the pain-painted body
writhing like a snake on the ground
before the conclusion
the woman-heart stops beating
silence for a while
men lower their moustaches
women their lathis
they silently discuss
who won, and who lost
between a young boy
let us call him the Son
quietly lowers the body in
a filthy garbage bag
hauls it to the dead end
of the shadowless basti
burns it amidst nilgiri leaves
breathes in the fumes and the last ugliness
of an announced death...

Realisations...

It is not going to be about anything concrete here, its just that the I hate thinking at times, it is such a futile task. While I wrote that sentence I just felt that i feel just the opposite of what I wrote.

I am scared actually about thinking...it makes me plunge into the sides of me which perhaps I am scared of, which I do nto want to face, which I do not want others to know.

And what is more I like that side of me better, but social constraints do nothing for me to fondle that side of me...

It's just sigh! time I guess.

To one of those poets whom I ve never had the chance to read

This one is to Joy Goswami, I hope I am spelling his name correctly. I chanced to hear a few of his poems some time back, and fell in love with him even before he finished reading his first poem.
To the few who do not who he is, he is a bangla poet and that is all that I know of him. The best thing is he accidently happened in my life, as out of sheer boredom I agreed to accompany my friends to Ravindra Bhavan and came to find out that it was a kind of a 'Goshthi'. To cut the not so important things I will only write one of most beautiful lines I have ever come across,
"megh balika bhisti hoye ge che.."
which when crudly translated will read something like this,
"the young daughter of clouds has grown up to be fine and beautiful rain..."
I know many Bengalis will object to this translation, but thats how I think it meant.

P.S have been wanting to read more by the same author but not able to get hold of his writings, if anyone can please get it for me. What Hopes I have :)

What Do I Title This Post As?

I have struggling for my first line for more than 1 minute now, I guess it speaks a lot about how long I have not written anything. This problem of not able to write but still to come up with a smart sentence comes up (with me) only when I have not written anything. The last post was sometime in july I believe.
So that indeed is long enough.
Another thing that peeps out of these words is about the topic that I am planning or not planning to write on. I can think of nothing right now.
So lemme write about how nothing apart from google has been happening in my life. I go to office, work, have fun, learnt a bit of fussbal, come back and go of to sleep.
thats all that is to my life, but I am enjoying it none the less.

let me postpone writing for now, as nothing good can be written now.

I think I could have named this post as - Nothing!

Sailing to Byzantium

People who are expecting that I will talk about some nice, picturesque escape route to my dream land, like Yeats (he is the poet for this one, right?) might be disappointed. I am rather going to write about my very realistic, painful yet adventurous trips on the bus from Tarnaka to Punjagutta, where my office is. First thing I loathe the most about it is the beginning, where I have to get up early in the morning to catch the bus. After a brisk short walk I reach my bus stop and hope against hope for two things, one that the bus comes on time and two that the bus has just enough space to accommodate the lesser mortals like me, who can’t afford an auto to work every day. Alas! Nothing of the two happens and right then the adventure begins. I and the rest, boarding the bus from the same bus stop, immediately become enemies after having spotted the bus that comes blissfully unaware of the panic it has caused so many of us and merrily comes crawling at its own sweet pace. Now ready to charge, we rush to be the first one to get on to the ugly, misshapen body, which at this moment seems nothing more than a mass of hands and legs, a few heads all attached together. After having squeezed myself into that whole mass of distorted human body parts. I try to find an inch of space to land my feet. Aha! I have spotted one, between to fat women that will be pretty comfortable, isn’t it? But nothing, comfort is this alien word in this moving planet. After having stationed myself there I realize the mounting pressure from all four sides and curse myself to have taken the endeavor. But just then this sweet lady compromises and lets me have some more of space that she all this while had managed to keep to herself. That really did come as a rescue as I could atleast get my other feet on ground now. I realized that these girls, who stared at you with disgust the moment you tried to nudge, are so very comforting when they realize that the whole trauma is new for you. They make you get used to it. The trips that I began loathing are now very much a part of me . I do not detest the mixed smell of coconut oil and jasmine now.

I am getting so used to my Bus journeys that now I have begun to recognize faces, faces that smile, a happy comforting smile even in the most uncomfortable postures, when they see me enter that mass. Faces that perhaps will miss me, when from day after I won’t get on to the bus at my bus stop. Now that I would no more be traveling by these buses, I wish I had a few more days. So this one is to all the pretty, Hyderabad girls with whom I have spent quite some time now, in those crammed spaces, where inspite of being so protective of the spaces entitled to us by the goddess of APSRTC, we have been so very accommodating to others

Necklace Road - Seetafalmandi

The old eyes watched the expanse of waste land that one could usually see while returning back from the MMTS local train in Hyderabad. The piles of garbage, the motley of dirty, filthy houses, rags covering the thatched roofs everything might have been so much home to the old lady sitting in front of me, with a huge bag of her entire world, her tired, dry hands clutching to the bag, had a story of hard work and suffering. The train crawled on to a much filthier space ahead, a serpentine drain, with the city’s bourgeoisie dump, had the stench I or anybody my age generally associate with utter poverty and grime. With all the fellow faces contorting from the rotten smell, I saw the old woman remained with the same expression, placid and calm. Her eyes had this still, sad look that had seen so much filth that, this present muck made no difference to her. These eyes seemed so withdrawn from the whole world, ready to face anything that life could possibly bring with it. I engrossed in the life around me, could not understand the depth these old soul had experienced. I with my urban, affluent experiences of life could perhaps never understand that life meant living for her, food meant survival for her, and home meant the world for her.

I did not know how she lived her life, how did her hands become so rough that she could no more caress the little child her daughter might have given birth to. I did not know how her feet had become so parched that it hurt to continue walking or perhaps the blood seeping out of the cracks did not bother her of the marks it left on her torn, fragile sari. It did not bother her that people in the compartment preferred standing than sitting next to her. But it bothered me with my urban, educated mentality, seeing her sitting alone, aloof from the whole world. But my presence added nothing to her comfort, perhaps she was used to such pitiful, friendly gestures, which only made her feel more degraded. I realized that her eyes did not complain of the life she had lived. Perhaps I had got it all wrong, I perceived her to be sad, and perhaps she wasn’t all that sad after all. Her eyes did not have sad tales to narrate for her grandchildren; they will be stories of the king who lived a long, lavish life, of the princess who fell in love with a young, poor guy. My station was arriving and I looked more intently at her trying to decipher more of her life and suddenly the train stopped with a jolt, the cannonading sound stopped and a small packet fell out from the old woman’s tattered sari. A cheap green, transparent polythene packet, with a small new plastic elephant in it. Perhaps for the new born grand daughter, she picked it up and wiped the little dirt that had collected on one side of the packet, from one end of her sari. Nestling it safely to where it was, she for once looked up at me and smiled meanwhile the train had reached where I had to get down. Walking back to my hostel room, I no more gave a look of pity to the people living in the slums just opposite the huge gate of my institute.

In Conversation:Part I

Solan: hiya
Shyamalee: hi dear...
Solan: busy kya?
Shyamalee: No dear... not at all for you...
Solan: ok tell me your views on this reservation fiasco
Shyamalee: what to say... though as an instrument I am very much for it...I can also smell the dirty politics behind it.
Solan: leave the politics but as such are u against it. Do you think India does not need reservation?
Shyamalee: No... I think India needs reservations
Solan: that’s all na do u think sitting in air conditioned offices and thinking and writing about all these issues is a crime?
Shyamalee: No... What we need a healthy debate...? I too get quite a few mails against reservation. Most of those are based on stupid arguments. I ignore them like Jesus..."forgive them they don't know what they are saying". Of late, I am trying to learn the art of Non-violence... what I understood... it is a very difficult art. Hats up to Buddha, Jesus, Gandhi who practiced it to the core.
Solan: but then, the rate at which these anti- reservation mails reach my inbox from all over, I think any such callous forwards will have a repercussion in the ever so gullible Indian minds. Don't u think so?
Shyamalee: No... This type world is too small in this country. And it is not easy to penetrate the mass in this way. You can wash out only a few fragile minds... not all.. And yours is not among those.
Solan: no m not talking about myself. But others, and though the percentage of people capable of reading such stuff is low, but from amongst these only we hear loud voices na, the mass anyways is not concerned
Shyamalee: And that’s the point of debate.. What we want is let this unconnected mass be a part of it. Then, it does not matter which side they take.
The wonderful thing about this country is its democracy. In last fifty odd years it has only strengthen... I for think so. And the politicians have to connect themselves with this unconnected mass. So its not easy to anti- the policy. So all these noises will turn out to be meaningless at the most.
Solan: are u suggesting that these anti resv. Stuff might go unheard of
Shyamalee: Yaa.. There is no way out....
Solan: haaan? But don't you think the intensity with which things are going will bear no consequences
Shyamalee: This is my feeling... After working with the unconnected people...seeing policy and bureaucracy from close quarters...That’s where the irresponsible politics lies...that distracts the youth from healthy debate. But its, I feel only a transitory phase.
Solan: amen! What else can I say?
Shyamalee: You are not among the one to oppose or support.... you have the duty to understand it...though I know we all live in politics, but, our politics has taught us to be so..
Solan: then who does so?
Shyamalee: partly...activists...others include those fragile minds who are in the herd. We are supposed to learn things. Society to be precise..
Solan: humm
Shyamalee: And as learner we are open to viewpoints…Now you recall what I wrote on your feminism blog...I meant this...
Solan: humm

I am Losing The Ability To Dream…

It’s a weird sense of loss that I felt the other day when trying to recover my soul that feels like leaving my body after a weeks work. It’s been a habit with me since my early childhood days to lull myself to sleep, trying to recreate my dreams, interrupting every time I felt that my dreams weren’t beautiful, every time a felt that this particular thing might not look good if someone chances to see it. But day before when I lay alone trying to create one of my often dreamt dreams, I just could not. There was no me getting a booker prize, there was no me dedicating that prize to my brother – nothing. Just a white blank space loomed large.

My whole world felt numb suddenly. I feel so disturbed.

May be this will make a good beginning of a story, a young girl, with her dusky skin and long black hair that fell on her mauve shirt like waterfall forgets to dream. And suddenly is faced with the harsh reality that life is.

Won’t make a bad start actually.

Let’s see when I venture to write further.

P.s- got my first salary and sadly I did not at all feel excited about it, the way I am supposed to.

3rd Week At Work.

This Post kind of comes with a pressure that its been long that I posted something new.
As the title suggests this is my 18th Day at work. First thing everybody has been asking me,"So are you happy with your work?, satisfied?" As if everybody wants me to say a 'no' , so that ateast they find one person who has the guts to say the ultimate truth. But thats my take on it may be they don't at all mean this.
so finally how do I really feel working?
Yah its fine. I do enjoy working but I also do not enjoy it at times, like when I have to wake up alone at my hostel to finish my morning chores before going to office, when all my mates are snoring hard. I hate it when I for a long period of time do not get to see the beautifully lazy evenings at CIE, sitting on the tank with my friends. And so many other times.
So when do I like Work? I like it when my ever so sweet and accomodating Boss likes somethings I do. When my colleagues (only a few) make an effort to understand my world, though they do not agree with everything but for sure they do not dump it as trash. I also love it when I feel responsible and important.
But yah I hate it when I end up in mistakes and very recently I behaved very careless. But then that much happens with everyone.
What is my biggest concern, how long will I be able to sustain myself in this, without getting bored?
how long will I e able to survive with this uni dimensional life, where nothing else seems to exist but work?
how long will I be able to live without ACADEMICS?
and there all my hopes crash....can you hear them falling down..all dhadaaam ...dhuuuuuuuum

Lets see!

P.S-now I understand people like Mizfit, who ever so fervently post on blogs regularly. Sad to admit but this seems to be the only way out. (atleast to me right now)

this Is for All my Male Readers!

I Do sound as if I have ahuge fan following and I am some popular writer. But couldn't get a better title.
This Post is also for all those who are disgusted by the word "feminism".
This way I am also letting you deceide whether you want to read this or not...
This is a lilttle bit of information on about what feminism is not
1. Feminism to start with is not all/only about women out with lathis on the road, bashing up men at every opprtunity.
2. Feminism is also not exclusive of housewives and women who are introvert, non-modern rather traditional.
3. Feminism is also not only about women smoking and drinking.
4. Feminism is not just about "bra burning"
5. Feminism is not synonymous to not understanding things and making an issue out of it all the time.
6. Feminism is not inconsiderate.

and perhaps Feminism should not be a thing of the upper class/ caste women.

Feminism is a better way of living for women!

This and much much more human is feminism!

hope it helps all those who misunderstand it and me too.

Amen!

On One fine Day When a Girl decides to Wear a Slightly Tight Red T- Shirt With A Slightly Low neck...

what follows then is nothing new but worth writing it down here.
so one fine sunny morning I choose to wear a tight, low neck red top...I take the mmts from begumpet to seetafalmandi...as fate has it I after no so much of a search get a seat just in front of a not so good looking guy/man. A adjust myself at the joy of not having missed the train and having got a seat. And what do i spot next...this gentle-man was gently staring at my breasts, which unlike on normal days were a bit prominent becoz of the lovely red top(so I thought). With slight discomfort I start staring back at the man, and this helps cause he shifts his stare somwhere else, which came back everynow and then to my red breasts, yet atleast some relief. Happy at my success i turn my face to the other side where another man has hoisted himself. Actually the whole compartment looked empty but this man chose the space right next to my seat and stood there.
now ask what the hell he can stand there atleast he wasn't staring...so I thought. But this man had a better position as from top my breasts had a better view...don forget i was wearing a low cut dress. I get back tomy defense and stare at him with disgust...helps again he turns his head away...i smile and find the other man staring at them once again...i stare back...n turn back...the other man was peeping...i stare back....he turns his head away...ufff...that was some turning and staring i tell you.
I franatically express my discomfort and disgust to other co-passengers (men mostly n women too) hoping for some rescue...
and what do I get...more hatefull glances...which clearly indicated that they all were cursing ....ME for wearing such a dress that invited men's attention...hah! poor me sit guiltly till seetafalmandi and jump out of the train. after a long sad and lonely walk which attracted some male attention i enter my campus and meet two of my friends at the gate...and guess what do they tell me...
hey woman looking wonderful in this RED TOP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

aaaaaaaaaaaah ! I lOVE THIS PLACE.

My SOS !

its been a long time that I planned to make this post, and recent sad events finally pushed me to finally write this.
Though I do not need to introduce him, still he is one of the most wonderful and pretty person one comes across in CIEFl. I know many will disagree, but this post is supposed to be a personal post, so who cares.
As I have already mentioned a speck of what Premankur is to me in my last post, and now there is this whole post only for him.

I began with kindda disliking him. And now I am so in love with him. I have no idea how I began valuing him so much. Its amazing the way I end up going to him whenever i am hurt or upset about something, ever since my first semester here. And he was always there to listen to my at times non-sensical complains. Even today its him I go to whenever I feel low. Somehow he seems to have some medicine for all my problems. And having spoken to him I always come back satisfied, with a better sense of my problems.

Actually I didn't want to say all this prem, I just wanted to say thanks and that I love you so so so much. Thanks for being there sweetheart.

Now is it this parting getting on to me. But we will be together won we?

Now did I embarass you?

ok finally i get back to this page!!!!!!!!

its been hectic all this while. with so much work and all, not that everything is done with, two of my german exam still remain.

that apart, its been a time of departure...
today one of our batch mates left, not that i was really friends with him or something, but his going somehow reminded me of so many goodbyes that will come along with this coming month...

it will so painful i feel, but just the next moment i feel that won matter much to me i will be here anyways...

but no more arun to wait for, no more prem's room for a break when i am tiered of my own room or when i am bugged with the male friends around n their stupid behaviour, no more of my going religiously to abhijit's room. no more of those post classroom addas on the tank...nothing of it...

n when we come back to this place it will be like strangers I know. Sigh!!!!!!!!!!!!!