Why do I Blog?

Ok, so what is blogging all about?
One, pretty much vomiting out your thoughts as they come and go. Two, getting across your ideas to people who will(or might not) care to read. Three, to vent(oh, yes, very important). Four, for the sake of writing. Five because you're just terribly bored. Six, because things just make more sense on paper(or a screen) than they do in your head. Seven, because it's a nice way to pass your time while you watch some random person picking flowers outside your window(it's better than telling them to buzz off, because that might not end too well). Eight, because you started writing a mail to your friend, and then realized you didn't have much to tell her. Nine, so that people comment on your writing and hopefully tell you it's somewhere about readable(no one will admit this one, but there's the bitter truth). Ten, when even on prodding and namecalling, your roommate refuses to wake from her deep slumber and keep you company in your time of need(read, time of excessive procrastination). Eleven(yeah I know you thought I'd end at Ten, so did I) because you need an opportunity to use the word "procrastination", I mean it's become so cool for some reason. Twelve, because you hope you might be able to entertain someone who happens to trip upon your blog. Thirteen, I won't say because it's an unlucky number. :p Fourteen, because now I really feel the need to get to twenty. Fifteen, because your clothes are refusing to dry due to constant rain, and absolutely no shine. Sixteen, because you know that if you just sit around staring at the ceiling, you'll end up feeling guilty for not studying(yes, nerd, haha.:|) Seventeen, because your fingers need exercise(preferably of the literary kind, heheh.) Eighteen, because you're slightly tired of loading your blog with depressing stuff. Nineteen, because you know this is just a way of delaying another dose of your depressing posts. Twenty, because I really needed to reach here. Twenty One, because sometimes it's nice to contradict yourself.

Coffee and Cigarettes

Note: That movie really inspired me.

A man and a woman walk into a restaurant. It’s an outdoor café, with umbrellas casting a shade on each little table. She walks to a table and sits down, just as he is about to pull out the chair for her. His hands fall limply to his sides as she beats him to it. He lamely goes and sits across from her. He has a sheepish look on his face, which he tries to disguise as a casual smile.

“Why are you smiling like that?” she asks as she removes a pack of cigarettes from her pocket. He smiles even more casually, beginning to look a little silly “Oh, you know.”  He can’t quite think of a way to finish the sentence and he lets it go. She frowns at him. “No, not really.”

She sets the pack on the table, leans back and looks around, disinterestedly. “What do you get here?”

“Well…coffee, and other stuff like that. Sandwiches. Pastries. Nice place, isn’t it?” He smiles again. “The umbrellas…”

“Yeah, they’re a little pretentious. Like they’re trying to make us feel French or something.”

She sneers mildly and then glances at him and notices his face fall. She quickly adds “Nice place, otherwise, though…clean, isn’t it?”

“Clean, yeah, spic and span. Pleasant.”

“It reminds me of that place we used to go to back in college, the only fancy place we could afford. What was it called, The Cavern…or The Tavern, or something?”

He laughs happily, “The Caravan. Yeah, it is a bit like that, isn’t it.”

She nods and reaches for the pack and removes a cigarette. “So, coffee?”

“Yes, yes. Been a long, hard day. Need some caffeine!” He stretches leisurely in his chair and then looks around for a waiter, but he can’t spot anyone.

“He’s behind you.” She says drily, and signals to the waiter, “Excuse me? Yes, could we have two coffees please? One black, without sugar. The other with milk…and three spoons of sugar.” As an afterthought, she mutters “Thank you.”

She puts a cigarette in her mouth and digs in her pocket for a lighter. When she looks up, he has a flame ready. He’s reaching across the table waiting patiently to light her cigarette. She hesitates and then leans forward. The cigarette is lit. They both sit back.

“Thanks.”

He smiles obligingly. “So how was your day? Are you tired? Much work?”

She stares at him for a bit, expressionless.

“I woke up at one. Just in time for lunch. To find that there was no food at home. So I went to that takeaway place downstairs and got myself some noodles. Then I showered and watched some T.V. Then I came to meet you.” She grins. “Much work indeed.”

“But it’s a weekday. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I quit my job. So I wasn’t really thinking. Hah!”

“What?! Why? What happened?! Is everything ok?” He reaches out for her hand which is on the table. She pulls it away gently, just out of his reach. She takes a slow drag. “Will you calm down please, it’s not like I killed someone.”

“ Tell me what happened!”

“Oh, c’mon! I can’t be a receptionist all my life. It’s mentally draining. But then I don’t know what I can be all my life. I think I just need a break”

“But…but, you just sit there. I mean…I don’t mean it that way. But you don’t really, really have to do much, do you? I mean…you know.”

“What do you mean?” She laughs. “That’s precisely why it’s so exhausting. I’m so sick of doing just nothing.” She leans forward, elbows on the table. “I mean…you know” and laughs softly.

He looks mildly embarrassed. “Right, so what plans next then? Job interviews? How does your resume look?”

“Bare. But enough about me. I know you’re dying to tell me about your long, hard, tiring day’s ordeal.”

He laughs nervously. “Haha, you make it sound worse than it was. It wasn’t all that bad…I mean.” And he abruptly stops. She smiles, “Well tell me anyway, man.”

He sighs, leans back and launches into it. “You know, it was just a lot of meetings, a lot of clients, phonecalls, sealing deals etc. Had to go talk to the accountant. The amount of money coming in these days!” He laughs pompously, “It’s crazy how much people thrive on electronics. The more they have, the more they buy.”

She seems to be listening but her position slowly changes. Her chin rests on her hand as she nods absentmindedly everytime he pauses.

“The business, it’s very, you know, lucrative. It just never dies. Best way to get rich.” He pauses and then suddenly sits forward, “Which is of course not why I started working in that line. I mean, I was interested. Very much so. In electronics. And the way stuff works.” He finishes the outburst lamely, seeming disappointed with himself. His hands are very active as he speaks, gesturing to accompany every word.

She slides a little lower in her chair and looks around a few times. Then she looks back at him. He’s still talking.

“It’s both interesting and profitable,  is there a better job than that, now? You know…”

“I’m sorry, I really am, but, our coffees still haven’t come. I think I should go ask the waiter.”

“Oh, no, let me! I’ll go ask.” His voice is slightly high pitched with excitement. He smiles inanely and gets up and walks toward the counter.

When he comes back, she has her head in her hands. He prods her cautiously, almost as if she is an explosive that might burst if provoked too much. She starts out of her reverie, or as he thinks, sleep.

“It’ll be here in a minute, the guy said.” And he smiles brightly and sits down.

“It better be.” She mumbles to herself.

“Something wrong? Headache? Tired?”

She looks up sharply at him. “I’m not tired goddamnit! I haven’t done anything to be tired!”

He is a little taken aback by her tone, but accordingly chastised. “Of course, I’m sorry.”

She waves it away with her hand. “Nevermind. What was I saying?”

He straightens up. “Oh yes, I was saying. So, yes, the business is just blooming. And it’s an absolute pleasure to be in it! Oh and the people I meet, oh!”

The waiter brings their coffee. The black coffee for him and the milk coffee for her. They both reach for their cups.

“What about them?”

“Eh?”

“What about them, man? What about the people you meet?”

“Oh, you know, they’re all… not the most charming or flamboyant, or larger than life, or whatever…of course. All businessmen, you know. But they’re all, well, quite…engaging in their own way.”

She has her head in her hands again, but her eyes are looking up at him over her glasses.

“Do you sit at your desk and laugh at them after meetings?”

“Haha, you’re funny. Well I can’t really. They’re all distinguished, respectable men. All my colleagues.”

“No one’s looking at you. I don’t see why you can’t just have a quiet laugh to yourself.”

She’s now sitting up, straight and looking right at him.

He looks down, avoiding her eyes. Then suddenly he looks up at her.

“Well, you know why I don’t laugh at them? Because I don’t think they’re a goddamn joke!” And he falls silent as if that one brief outburst has sapped all his energy.

She sits back, smiling and takes a sip of her coffee. “Now that’s the first interesting thing you’ve said all evening.”

He looks confused, and slightly affronted. He folds his arms indignantly. “All right then, I’ll stop talking.” He thinks a moment. “For a bit.”

“That would be nice, thank you.” Suddenly, “Do you know what I want to do?”

“No, I’m not psychic.” He looks vaguely comical as he sulks. Like a little boy refused a toy.

“Ah, what wit. I’ve always admired your beautiful comebacks.” She winks at him good naturedly. “Anyway, what I want to do is, I want to come join your office, and attend meetings with you and then after the meetings, come sit in your cabin and snigger at all those phonies with you. Hah! What do you think?”

He smiles gently, completely forgetting his sulkiness and is silent for a minute. She watches him expectantly. He keeps looking at her.

“Do you really want to work with me?”

“Yes! I’m sure they could do with a better advertising agent than that Tina. I don’t even think that’s her real name.” She giggles softly.

He downs his remaining coffee in one gulp and stands up, grinning widely. “Well, let’s go work on your resume then. Bare as it is. I’ll just go pay the bill.”

“Right. I’ll come pay my half.”

“No, no. I mean I should pay. I mean…you know.”

“Oh, shutup!”

Like Movie Memories

You float, we float, in my head.

Even though this bridge is broken.

You said, I said, that we were dead.

But I seem to have just woken.

We intertwine, slowly

Rough copper wires in the sun

In the dark, we are glowing,

The shine, the rust, all one.

These flashes, of fantasy

They sear, they linger,

Don’t know if it’s just a memory

As I feel your lips on my fingers.

I can see your eyes glinting

In this soft slow song

Your movements, they are hinting

That this is right, but it’s mostly wrong.

We ignore the cuts of the whip

Because we laugh together,

And as we take this drunken sip

We feel as light as feather.

We feel like two blades of grass

Yet we’re different blades,

Our greenness, it might come to pass.

As we rush through everglades.

We’re tired, we’re lonely,

We’re sunken so low

We mirror each other

In this fluid snow.

Yet our actions are different

We can’t be the same

Because you can’t accept

And I can’t be tamed.

And as these tangled vines unravel

And sing this dirge to the spirit

In my veins it begins to travel

That everything but my heart is in it.

And Saturn ended its slow spin

Its rings they whizzed like my mind

Something choked its turn

Something hollow, unkind

The drums, they were beating

Softly against the earth

Like my heart beats

Slower, faster, alternating from birth

Sickeningly sweet, this sudden sunshine

Blinding me and everyone around

Speaking its loud words as though

There cannot be any other sound

Sparks of love, they burst from me

But sparks of hate, they soar and fly

They reach the curve of Saturn

As I watch the rings spin in my mind’s eye

When that world up there can be so plain

From this distance of light

Why can’t I go closer and explain

What it should be, and what it instead might.

There are voices floating above the clouds

I’ve heard them in my waking dreams

There are colours that mix and swirl

I’ve seen them but to touch them I never seem.

I can say these things to everyone

But they still won’t know me well

They will never know the truth

The gorge that inside swells.

It might be easy to circumvent

This path of dark loneliness

But that world up there, it gives me peace

When it promises its yellow bliss.

Speak of what is, speak of what is not

But don’t tell me what you really think

Because I’ll steal it away from you

I’ll make it wreak, I’ll push you to the brink.

I’ll push you so far, you’ll balance on those rings

Those spinning circles of firedust

I’ll dangle you from the edge

Until  you break the murderous lust.

It might consume you, it might eat me up

It will fill you like ants in a corpse

Its dread is its eternal poison

Because it rises from floods, and leaves only drops.

Forced Confusion

Forced thinking

Such a compulsion

Forced feeling

Needs propulsion

Strangers talking

Slightly unnatural

Swishing their ideas

At each other, so forceful

Loud loud voice

Making yourself known

Whether you like that self

Whether it’s really your own

Look at someone

Across the room

Size them up slowly

As they consider you

Drift away from

Present conversation

Move purposefully

To a new destination

Socialize with

A devil’s intent

Spread your way through

With a cancerous scent

Signal slowly

For another glass

This moment needs

Wit and class

Drawl, drawl away

Your deep ideas

Mystify

What is clear

Claw slowly

At your own face

Bathe in this

Intellectual embrace

Call it pseudo

Call it delusion

Call it a need

For forced confusion.

As Much As I Want To, I Cannot.

Never say a word, don’t mention yourself.

Keep the silence, keep your mind.

Don’t say a thing, don’t speak aloud,

Even when it weighs heavy inside

Lets not be foolish, lets not find a friend,

Lets be alone, for a while, for life.

Shut it all out, or shut it all in,

Even when it cuts through like a knife.

Not to be virtuous, or a martyr,

But to save yourself the coming agony

Don’t spend too long, being attached,

Because severing yourself is the irony.

For something lingers, after every minute spent,

In the solitude of another’s mind.

Something stays and refuses to leave,

And whatever left it there, is hard to find.

Like holding the air, it seems so easy,

Until it slips through your own cold palms,

And leaves behind a void to fill

But nothing to fill it, only a restless calm.

The calm is so simple, because you’re alone.

But those thoughts, they echo with disturbance,

The cave that is built seems so dark,

The mind feels so full of silence.

Something is missing, a piece of me,

I’ve given it away, I’ve lost,

I thought it would bring me peace of soul,

But I curse now, what it has cost.

I know that I will never stop myself,

I know that I will want to try.

Yet I know that as one pulls me left,

The other will keep drawing me right.

How Would Freud Interpret This?

Note 1: This short story is based on a dream a friend of mine had. I've added a lot of my own details about characters and descriptions of scenes and whatnot, but the basic story is from her dream.

Note 2: None of the content of the story is meant to be offensive, because like I said it was all a dream.

She walked purposefully toward the main road. She didn't look to either side. It was a crowded and dirty street and she did not wish to spend long there. Suddenly a figure dashed into sight and stopped right in front of her. She tripped , startled. She looked up at him. He seemed vaguely familiar. But she couldn't recognize him. He held out something in his hand. Without a word. No explanation, nothing. She saw a screen. A rather large mobile phone. There was some movement on it. She looked closer. She saw herself, standing on the side of a road.

She backed away in surprise, her expression incredulous. The road was the same. The very road she was standing on just now. She was wearing the same clothes. The whole situation seemed alike. Even the colour of the sky, the light, everything. She stared at him blankly. “What is this?” she gestured with her hand. He pushed the phone toward her and nudged her to watch further. She continued watching, both reluctant and fascinated. As she watched herself, her attention slowly turned to another figure in the middle of the road. She watched closely and realized with some surprise that this other person was her very self. She was just beginning to get used to the surreal feel of watching herself when a truck abruptly entered the frame. It was huge. And looked even more alarming in when compared to the lone figure on the street. It was moving very fast. The figure in the middle of the road was unmoving. It just stood there, no reaction, as the truck came hurtling down the road.  A scream rose in her throat as she watched. As both of her watched. The truck came closer and closer.

There was too much blood. Everywhere she looked, the shiny red of it assaulted her eyes. The road looked war torn even though there was a only a single body. It was a mangled, red, oozing mass now. Unidentifiable. She watched in horror as a strange crowd began to form around the body. People were approacing from all sides. Concerned, scared, hysterical, shocked, indifferent. They all had different expressions and movements. But they were all the same. Identical. She saw herself. So many of herself. Her head was spinning. She didn’t know what to register first. Her disfigured body lying there, or the teeming clones, all gathering so matter of factly, completely oblivious to each other.

As she stepped back, unsteady on her feet but in some relief, thinking it had ended, a sudden crash sounded. A tall apparition in black had descended right in front of her. He was beautiful. And dark. And alien. He had long dark hair and a kind of staff in his left hand. He didn’t fit in with anyone around. Even the kindness in his eyes seemed so other worldly, so sincere, but clouded with worry. He had a strange mark on his cheek. A star shaped tattoo of some sort. She stared at him, fascinated, moved, and momentarily forgot the trauma of two minutes ago.

He spoke. Softly. In a deep voice, smooth and calm like black velvet. It seemed to awaken her, his voice. She came out of her trance and listened. “They are coming for you,” He said. “They will hurt you. They will leave you for dead. You must not speak. Do not echo what they say. Do not.” And he clicked his fingers and was gone. Silence filled the air, as if his leaving had created a void.

She stood there, transfixed, the urgency of his words unacknowledged. She was still, as if waiting, expecting. 

And then they came. Like a sheet of white. From heaven knows where. They seemed to spread. The white and their voices were like a cancer, wherever it was empty they seemed to apparate, filling every crack and crevice with their screaming breath and their pale robes. They came towards her. Sweeping up to her. As they neared she saw glints of silver. Sharp, shiny, strong silver. They had spears. They brandished them, slowly seeking her out. The glint appeared one minute and disappeared the next. She didn’t know what she was imagining and what was real. They threatened. They laughed cruelly. They hypnotised her and then let her snap out of it. She swung from one state of consciousness to another. She felt in a limbo. She felt liquid.

They seemed to be saying something. No they seemed to be shouting something. “Hallelujah!” they screamed. “Praise the Lord.” They wouldn’t stop. They kept screaming shrilly, rhythmically, in unison so perfect that she wondered if it was one voice or many. Their cries rose, higher and higher and when they reached a crescendo they sank and started again.

They were untiring. She did not know what they wanted. She did not know where to turn. She picked up a large metal shield from somewhere. She didn’t know how it came to be there. She felt a little like Alice in Wonderland. But she had no time to fantasise. She held up the shield to protect herself. She cried and cursed and shouted. She ran and hid and ran some more. She was breathless, tired, frightened, defeated. She finally lowered her head, as if to give up. But there was a sudden, deafening silence. Louder than the chanting. As if death was sounding its approach. She looked up slowly and saw each figure in white launch into the air as a brilliant crimson flame and come down again as lifeless grey ash. Ash rained from the blue sky, turning the air to smoke.

Through her watering eyes, she saw the black apparition again. And she knew not if she had imagined it, because it disappeared immediately.

In an instant she was elsewhere. She hadn’t felt herself be transported. She hadn’t felt such a long time pass. But she was somewhere else. She was standing in a room. Steps led to a door. Two girls sat on the steps, reading a book. She walked upto them and asked if she could look at the book for a moment. She felt a strange, pining fascination for it, but she didn’t know why. She started turning the pages, reading softly to herself, and realized that written in it was every detail of what she had just experienced. The sequence of events was described so perfectly that it was as if she had written it. She kept reading. Word after word. Page after page. She reached the last pages and started reading even more feverishly. She wanted to know who the black apparition was.

This was the only part that she did not know anything about. The book told her very simply that she must at some point fall in love with this figure in black. But this man would not love her. He would deceive her. He was sent to end her. To kill her. And all under a beautiful pretence. She turned in shock, finally to the last page. The ink was smudged, the words unreadable, as if washed away by water, but in the midst of the blur one word stood out clearly. “Terrace.” She repeated it to herself. She could not for the life of her fathom its importance, or why it was there.

She eventually forgot about the book, but the movie she had seen still came back to her.

She met the man in the black robes who had saved her. She began to know him, and love him. And even though she had shut out most of it, the threats came back to her. His villainy seemed to her so bizzarre and yet his gentle affection scared her. Everytime he touched her she felt a strange mix of feelings. She thrilled under his touch, yet flinched in fear. Her body was as confused as her mind.

Slowly the confusion receded. Her trust grew, their love grew.

They sat one day, as the sun was dying. They were talking over their evening coffee. They teased and spoke and laughed. They declared their general contentment without really saying it. They asked questions. They seeked answers. They wondered and thought and dreamt together. Then they fell into a peaceful, comfortable silence.

He then stood up slowly and held out his hand. With his beautiful smile he whispered, “Let us go up to the terrace, the view is beautiful from there.” She smiled and was about to lay her hand in his, when she abruptly froze.

“Terrace.” The word echoed in her ears. She didn’t know what  to do or what to think. She didn’t want to look at him, but she didn’t want to turn away. She looked up. He was still smiling, patiently waiting for her to stand. She waited a moment. And then she decided. “if die I must, then I shall die by his hands.”

They walked together up to the terrace and went and stood by the edge. The city was twinkling with all its little lights. It was as if the night sky with all its stars had opened up beneath them. He kissed her slowly and then drawing back said, “I brought you up here to take your last breath. To take your last look at the world when it is at its most peaceful.” She nodded, understanding every word he said. Her eyes filled with tears. Of fear, of disappointment, of heartbreak. “But I cannot do it,” He said. “I cannot see you leave me.”

He let go of her hand and stepped back. He clicked his fingers, and in an instant his radiant self burst and rose up in a beautiful flash of flame and then settled slowly as soft grey ash. She saw a rain of ash for the second time in her life. But her tears were for a different reason.

When It Left

Then the tinkle of it came

Like music to my thirsting ears

And it seemed to push away

The barrenness of fear

The white of glinting teeth

Like a rosebud to the dew

It seemed to shine above

Like the sun risen anew

That call I seemed to give

With those words filtered out

To the happy tremble of lips

To that ringing divine sound

And day after day I’d call

Through all the sadness within

I’d choke my silent tears

With the sound of this smiling din

Until one day I was torn

I was cut deep inside

Like a spear was twisted through me

Like a worm with a place to hide

That sound, it did not fall

Upon my hollow ears

The pallor enveloped me

I listened but could not hear

Like a sucking hollow vacuum

My self seemed to pull

It pulled away from me

And left me of nothingness full.

Bottle It Up

Catch the light in a bottle.

Don’t let it fade away.

Shake it every now and then,

Let the ashes fly and sway

You need that light.

You’ll need it sometime.

When the dark surrounds you,

When you’ve closed your eyes.

You’ll need it when you can’t see.

You’ll need it when you’re afraid.

You’ll need to drink it up,

When the black runs through your veins.

But don’t be frightened,

Of this thundering night,

It only comes once,

And it slowly dies.

How long it stays,

I cannot tell.

It has its ways,

Its faintly bitter smell.

It’s wrapped around you now,

It’s gently caressing,

It’s as scared as you are,

It cannot be stressing.

Its arms are weak,

And then are strong,

Its hold feels right,

And then it feels wrong.

So bottle up the rays

Catch the sun,

For when you’re alone,

You might glimpse someone.

And so it ended

The way it began

Like water through my fingers

Like a snake through the sand

Like a dream being caught

But eluding the mind

Like that taste on your lips

Lost, for someone else to find

Like the breeze through your hair

Like a smile on a face

Like that strange feeling on your back

As if footsteps left their trace

Like a glance in the mirror

Like a leaf in the wind

Like a butterfly’s life

Like regret over a sin

Sometimes it lasted a while

Withstood the scream, the smile

Sometimes it ended in a flash

Like that brilliant lightning crash.

The madness of the colour

It sucks you right in,

The light and the darkness

The silence, the din.

The beauty of the fantastic,

It sucks you right in.

The horizon of its untruth,

Its many layered skin.

The perfection of its people,

It sucks you right in.

Their black and white souls,

The greyness on the fringe.

Their beautiful words,

They suck you right in

The poetic conversation,

Like words you can sing.

Their pain so unreal,

It sucks you right in

Because you hurt with it,

Its truth, like bitter gin.

The loves they all lose and gain and kill,

They suck you right in,

The sinning, the mocking, the humour,

The deadly lies they spin.

The lives, never lived, but temporarily played.

They suck you right in.

The sun as it rises, making an hour a day.

They always let you win.

The escapist, the philosopher,

From beneath their very skin,

The realist, the scientist,

It sucks us all right in.

The Landscape of Two

The grey, thick and viscous
Like a knife in it wouldn't fall through
So solid that its airiness
Was lost in its dull hue
Unlike the usual sky
Unlike its semi fluid state
Instead imposing and dark
Like written on and rubbed off slate
Under that gelatinous heaven
The green stood its beautiful ground
Its freshness eternal and sombre
As it cast its airy blessings around
The gentle movements, the light bitter taste
The caressing rustles, like the dance of the earth
And the earth's grace
They stood together -
One ablaze with earthy glory
The other like the words of a weeping story.

To Someone...

Note: This post is a day late. My apologies.

To someone I never want to lose.

To someone who makes me laugh so hard, I cry.

To someone who manages to challenge my brain without hurting my ego.

To someone I respect.

To someone, who I think over the years has grown beautifully.

To someone who I sometimes feel the need to protect.

To someone really pretty.

To someone who is good at so many things.

To someone I never thought I’d become so close to.

To someone who has a trillion nicknames.

To someone I miss home for.

To someone who has a pakoda nose like mine.;) 

To someone I often feel too far away from.

To someone I want to eat Paradise biryani with.:D

To someone I have an amazing amount in common with.

To someone I love.

And lastly, to someone whose birthday it is today.

Happy Birthday, Ramya Kannabiran (my Geddy)

P.S: Welcome to adulthood, babes.:D

P.P.S:  Forgive the condescension, I couldn’t resist.

Closed Minds, Closed Lives

The first thing that hits me when I visit a new place in India, is what I am and what I’m not allowed to do. Unfortunately that dictates a large part of our lives, especially if you lean towards wanting to do things a tad rebelliously.  Different cities, different cultures, different upbringings in this one small country can lead to severe culture shock when you travel.

I’ve lived for five years of my life in Hyderabad, a city full of malls, flyovers and youngsters wearing fancy shades and fancier hairstyles. However it is also a city where if you walk around in shorts or a sleeveless T – shirt, you will get stared at like E.T would if he visited Earth. A strict dress code, a strict moral code, no short clothes for the ladies, no ladies for the gents, and vice versa. This bothered me when I first moved here. I still complain about it quite tirelessly, but now it’s with a kind of resignation.

 Then I moved to Chennai, and I discovered how much character a coastal city can have. It makes such a huge difference to me that I live in a city that has beaches. When you think of a beach, you think of a relaxed atmosphere. No restrictions on dressing is what you’d hope for, (considering it’s not very comfortable wading through water in a salwar kurta.) but unfortunately conformism is the way to go. The clothes you wear, the things you say, the way you behave, the company you keep, everything is under the scrutiny of the public. Boys and girls together, even in large groups are looked at with a disapproving eye.  Chennai is just as extreme as Hyderabad, maybe even more so.

And then came another city. Goa. I cannot even begin to describe the level of comfort I felt there. Walking around, meeting different kinds of people, talking to and getting to know them, enjoying the beach for what it is, taking in the scenery, the breeze, the sunshine, everything without a thought about what I was wearing, who I was with and how I should behave, was priceless. It was so hugely different from what I was used to, and so liberating.

It might seem trivial that all this is so important to me, but to be part of a city, a community where you don’t have to be afraid of and bowed down by societal pressure is to really live!

It’s not just about the clothes. That is probably the least of our problems. It only serves as a symbol for what is happening, because it’s so ‘in your face’, something we think of every single day. But there’s so much more. Everything seems to be everyone’s business. No one is left to themselves, to live life how they want to. Getting stared at, hearing stray comments from strangers who have no right to decide anything for us, feeling insecure in public, constantly worrying about what one is saying and how one might be perceived. The mental exhaustion might not be very apparent, but at some point it gets to you. Lives are ruled by the general public and their rigid codes of what is right and wrong. Moral policing has become an overused term, but unfortunately it is also an overactive phenomenon. One very important clarification that I want to make is: I am not at all criticizing people’s choices and preferences. I am only pleading that one individual’s way of living should remain his or her own, and not something that is thrown in everyone’s face and made a social norm.

True, I have become accustomed to the restrained way of public living, true that I do understand its deep seated nature to some extent, but to receive the breath of fresh air that Goa was after the stale inhaling of all these years, is an experience worth telling, and discussing.

Footsteps In The Dark...

To be awake when everyone else is asleep is a strange feeling. It feels as if you have for a short time stolen the world from everyone else, stolen time from them maybe, so that they seem suspended in a kind of timeless zone, while you stealthily walk about doing as you wish, thinking and watching and observing, undisturbed, a little anxious perhaps that your stolen world might be broken into, but enjoying nonetheless, the peaceful solitude of it all. And as you sit, lost in thought, free from outward interruptions, you feel a kind of serenity in which the only sounds are of the ticking clock and the noise of the crickets.

You sit, pensive, writing, imagining and at the same time anticipating the sound of the footsteps of someone who you might want to share your stolen refuge with. It might be a need for physical proximity with someone, it might be a need to dissolve the lonely feeling the silence brings, it might be a brief connection you made at a time when nothing else seemed to connect, that you wish for again. It might just be to share the silence and its solitary, self sufficient beauty with someone who will understand it.

Hats Off - My Notes On 'The Whole Woman' by Germaine "genius" Greer

 Note: This is just something I wrote when I began to reread this book for the second time. It's brief, not detailed and probably not fit to be called a book review, but it's stuff I needed to get down on paper, because the book overwhelmed me so much.

There are books I read where I love what the writer is trying to say but I don’t quite like how he or she is saying it. Then there are books where the expression is beautifully articulate but the substance is just not there. There aren’t too many books however that have something meaningful to contribute to my thought process along with being literary beauties. This book is one of those.

‘The Whole Woman’ deals with feminism, with women, what they feel, what they think and also what they are made to feel and think. It talks about how they are pushed down, emotionally and physically by everything around them, by men and by other women, by society in general. Almost every idea in this book, every detail and issue the writer addresses is identifiable with, for me and probably for every woman whether she admits it or not.

Each chapter has a topic of its own and can be read independently of the rest of the book. The chapters are all aspects of a woman’s life, physical and mental – her body, her appearance, her health, her emotional well being, her self consciousness, her vanities, her extremes, her questions, the answers she gives to her own questions, the walls she puts up, the facade she builds for everyone around her, everything basically that allows her to live and grow in a world that is constantly being taken away from her.

All this, although very interesting and enlightening might seem quite prosaic. But the almost poetic ease, and the passion and conviction with which words flow from the writer, makes this intense, thought provoking work, widely readable, understandable and enjoyable.

The book does not fail to shock, it does not fail to hit the reader where it hurts (the mind I mean), it does not fail to teach, to warn, to encourage and to celebrate. It does everything feminist literature should do – all without being a preachy, moralistic, self pitying pile of crap, which such literature always runs the risk of turning into.