It happens. Happens somewhere.But, it happens

The dal was just right or maybe it needed more salt. She fiddled with the spoon and thought for some time. How did it matter? He was going to foul mouth her anyway. She wished he changed what he said; it was the same every time that started with her food and went to her family.

 She had tried to vent it out to people she knew and reply was ‘office pressure’. Maybe it was, but she could not be too sure. What would she know? She had left work two years ago. She had loved her work. The financial freedom that came with it gave her the satisfaction. Her double degree seemed to be justified but she had to give it up because he didn’t like it. He didn’t want her to stress and get pressurized in the nasty office politics. He had emphasized that it was a bad world.

Euphemism was his greatest weapon and she couldn’t retort to it. He would run to his family and his mother would halt at their place. Blackmails would happen in pretext of advise and eventually she would give in. Like she agreed that it was the right time for the baby. She didn’t know if it was but everyone wanted it. She had pushed away the idea that society was like that but couldn’t ignore. The feeling was amplified by her relatives pressurizing her parents. Sometime, or most of the times she wondered if she lived in this century.

She poured the dal from the stove into a vessel. Her thoughts were somewhere else.The dal she had eaten at Mrs Sasi’s place tasted well. She yearned to go there often but there was no time. That is the reason she had given to Sasi. It came naturally to her, that lies, because she didn’t want another drama over anything. She had stopped talking to people, not that they were concerned either. She gave up on interacting because gossips flew and husbands suspect. Her parents had advised to stay on good books. Didn’t she do that for 22 years? Staying on their good books? Listened to them when they asked her not to go to parties or movies with friends? Is it a life time commitment of listening to someone you bound to? She had many questions but never asked them except in the altar of Gods.

She moved out of her Kitchen and switched on the TV. There was news of rape victim in Delhi. She empathized helplessly. She was a coward, she knew it. One who obeyed her husband and served him. Maybe everyone claimed that being a housewife was the toughest but she didn’t like it. Didn’t that matter? Shouldn’t she be the one to decide the ways of her life? At least the things that were trivial? Anger brewed in her.

He snatched the remote from her, like he snatched everything else. Her thoughts and emotions. But it didn’t matter because the norms were set. Maybe it was the safest and best for her.

The news anchor screeched about the atrocity of the incident. She prayed for the victim. Prayed for herself for she was a victim of another kind. 

World is a tragic comedy

Among the millions that rush through the stream, one sperm makes it. Technically, 999999 of them failed. Cliché as a beginning of an article but then, cliché is in. The heroes always saved the day and villains made us hate them. Women are fussy and men don’t like nagging. Cliché is indisputable. 

In the marathon called life, we follow the cliché. We go to school, college, office, marry, have kids, have grand children and retire. In this cinched race, we have always been taught that it is about what happens in the end that matters. At every junction in life, something mattered or someone did.

What does it mean to live for oneself? What is a life with a “you”? Can you wipe the polish that stained deep into skin from the time you were born? The religion you followed, the place you lived, the books that taught, the language that you uttered, the ambience that surrounded; everything absorbed in the system as you moved in phases of life. Can you suck out the ingredients that made you? You simply can’t tear away the materials that actually sculpted that you see in the reflection.

What am I babbling all the way? I am trying to point the most radical idea that failed to strike and deliberately dodged away from the senses. I am trying to pen down that things that surrounded actually made you. You are the salt that is dissolved in the system like every other person. Invariably and obviously, the entire system in which you exist is actually yours.

Everything in this universe is an opportunity; the light that flickers through the window sill to the dust that settled on the top of the book. If everything is here for you, why do you still hang on to what you didn’t get? Why does a single failure bog everything you believed in?

Success is a particle that makes more than the universe. Mankind has been turning it to a classified and quantifiable object. Marks, money, designation, assets and people; these in unison might make success, but what makes failure?

In literal sense, a “non” of the above should make a failure. So, what happens when someone fails? How much less is failure? Is failing supposed to make one sad?

Why didn’t someone teach us that negativity actually helped us more than success? Failure is like your father of introspection. It hits you, wakes you and unclogs the blocks that you failed to notice. It creates a sense of awareness of self and the environment.

I failed. Not in terms of money or matter but I failed to do anything at all and I wonder why it bothers me? I am very confident that I am not alone. There are many others who feel the same. They feel when the world is running ahead and they are stuck somewhere in the loops and strings of mediocrity. They believe they have not accumulated the money, assets, the fame or the person they wanted. They feel useless in the cycle of material.

Time is erosion and is corroding away. We are reminded of this again and again all our lives. In this short term of hyper activity, we chase against time to make what we claim ‘the success’. Don’t count what you achieve as success. Nobody has been able to define it anyway. Enjoy the proceeds and embrace the results, be it success or failure. There are only two signs of probability in life, black and the white. Yes, no grey shades as everyone told you.

Stop being cynical about your self. There are no fast and hard truths about when you should attain success. When everything in this world is yours and every single grain is an opportunity, why do you think failure should stop you?

When you don’t get what you want, it simply wasn’t your fault. It was nobody’s fault. It was a roll of a die that showed up a zero.

Next time, when you lose a seat in one of the prestigious colleges or don’t get someone you loved or work seems impossible or any situation that you define failure arises, understand you were made for greater purpose than you think. You are to be made into someone that you never knew existed. The force of the universe is going to help you achieve it. You will attain what you term as success. Embrace this period of negativity; it is going to turn things for real.

Like the 999999 sperms, we were made for a purpose. God works in his ways, the sperms dissolve away into the system. But we always get another chance. Maybe, not immediately but our time will come. Stay alert. 

What 26 taught..

(1)  Life planned will always remain in blueprint. It takes a dedication to make it come true. Don’t try too hard, move with the flow.

(2)   Relationships are important but make a point to understand if you mean anything to them.

(3)  People no longer lie at your back; they lie at your face.

(4)  There is competition only if you think so. Everyone has his own audience.

(5)  Stereotypes will strike when you thought you broke them all

(6)  Love has become more of convenience. If not for yourself, it is for someone.

(7)  Hobbies will be capitalized

(8)  Balancing out has become a task in itself.

(9)  Friends matter a lot. More than I expected.

(10) Who cares and who doesn’t is all in your head. 

Yards of ultimatum

She stood in rigidness like forces of the world made her to lean in that direction. Her head tilted to make the pose.

Breathe was adding rhythm to the music that was played in the background.

The darkness yielded around her but the aura overpowered the negativity.

The age old shrills explain that masterpiece is created in solitude and sorrow. The entity is embalmed in years of sweat and perseverance but attains near perfection only when soul seeks in distress. 

Nobody has been able to define perfection. It is in the perception of human mind which switches between the mediocre and hastiness.

She tried to overwhelm herself in this insanity. The stench of power and pride that was instilled over the generations of her family made her legs and hands work in the way she commanded.

She never knew if the heart made conversations with her but always squeezed out the thoughts that entered her head. She thought with her heart and felt with the brain. It was animosity within her for not achieving but she didn’t know what the achievement was in the first place.

Her masters and elders told her that the ultimatum was the masterpiece. People have lost in labyrinth of fate to conquer this pseudo award. To be lost in character and fame. To be aroused with mixed entities of materialistic and magic moments. To not understand the path but love the way it turns. To quench the thirst that was built of passion and predominance.

The dead end of all conquests was the lustful and imaginary award; the masterpiece.

The sounds of appreciation brimmed the hall. Her body didn’t move. Her eyes didn’t see but the music of applaud filled her. 

The seeker was the fool for she sought for the illusion of recognition.

Muscles flexed and she moved to welcome the masterpiece.

The man’s biggest prize didn’t lie in the mazes and dungeons, Not in the perseverance and passion. Never in the emotion and feelings.

It was buried deep in the place where no other man could touch.

She knew it right then.

It was within her, the masterpiece.

Mei eppo baruttiddene

You know the other person very well.

From the rhythm of her snore to bathroom tantrums.

Time she eats, sleeps and even farts.

How she adds ‘a’ after every four words and twists her tongue.

What she wears and sprays.

You just know her too well.

You are in one of the 2 places; either in a prison or a Paying guest room.

Bangalore, just like in its name, has a galore of robots. This hold true at least in the corner of the city I live. People succumb to monotony; they eat, sleep and go to office.

In this 3 staged life cycle diagram, the only human habitation sensation comes when you are inside the four walls with four other members of the PG.

I always wanted to know how it was to be in an army training. How they are trained to discipline timings no complains about food, ounces of adjustments and understanding of human behavior with just a nod of the head. I realized it was quite attainable here.

You have strict timings of bathroom usage and it begins as early as six in the morning.

You have given up complaining about food. Now, you don’t know the difference between Lady’s finger and Brinjal.

You understand when your roommate goes to balcony to talk or sighs at the room.

Recently, four of us were watching Mr. Pranab Mukherjee being crowned as the president. That is when I realized how economics flew into our systems too.

We go out to eat on weekends except the last due to the deficit of monetary funds.

Clothes are ironed once every fortnight.

Snacks are eaten at close by economic stalls; lunches are eaten heavy in the late afternoon only to go hungry in the night.

Costly items are purchased on share basis and cheap items for everyone.

Necessities like doormats to Baygon spray are bought in cyclic basis. For example, I buy Harpic this month and another roommate, the next month.

Treats are special. In both, the literal and economic sense. We need to save.

There is no place on earth that teaches unity in diversity like in the PG. It is the only phase in your life where everyone has everything still, each one is different.

From the trivial habits to prayers that offered, every individual is respected. You might have a Muslim, Hindu and Christian. This is because you may not have a chance to object. For, the other has come with the same expectation and anxiety. You scoff and emulate at the same time. You hate the person still wouldn’t mind staying put.

Nobody cares if it is Ramzan or Diwali as long as it is a holiday. You don’t bother about the colour of the wall matching with the bed sheets as long as the power is available.

Everything will be shared.

From sockets for the mobile and laptop charging to the medicines in an emergency.

From the bucket to the waste cloth.

From bathroom slippers to the single wardrobe mirror.

From chips to pickles.

From happiness to anxiety.

From TV viewing to data card passwords.

Life has much to offer in that pigeon holes rooms.

Hostel life teaches you independence and responsibility.

But PG, moulds you.

I 'too' have a dream

World is brimmed with agony and we are fighting a battle where the consequences might stand its own judgment without our involvement. You may hit the button of denial over this fact but things don’t change for convenience.

In this mode of crisis, what have we got to hold on to welcome the future that seems blurred? What makes each and everyone to toil unfazed to meet the reality?

What is to come seems possible because the human has an ability to dream.

In a narcotic state of the mind, dreams give a man the indisputable power to reign what he wants to have. Dreams remain a mystery; like God. It is in the dual nature of making us happy and sad. We smile because it occurred to us and feel sad because it is only illusion.

Dreams have their own captive ways; tendency to bring the person of submission into its fort.

Dreams lack the hierarchy of classification. We are not sure if they are materialistic or emotional. Are the dreams going to throw abundance of power over us or help us move forward in life?

Nobody is aware of their occurrence but everyone wants them. Dreams have no beginning or end, no structure or period.

There is no bias in any form. No religion or region or colour. Dreams are for everyone and anyone.

I am not talking about the bright lit star that appears in the eyes of the lustful teenager when he sees his star on the television.

I have not mentioned the frustration that appears in the face of a child when he craves for another toy.

I don’t point the smile on the face of a young man when he sees his favourite car that passes by his street.

I am not intending the pleasure that arises out of a woman when she buys her own jewellery.

I don’t know how to put in words the feelings that are strong. I am trying to decode a particular form of dream.

When a dream occurs, do you wake up to think?

To know that half of you is denying that it is impossible while other half is happy that it occurred.

Does the mind transit between the impossibilities and says there is no harm in trying to make it happen? Does time test your faith only feel good about what it may seem when it becomes a reality?

Does your heart want to believe in its power and make it true?  For a moment, you want to go against all odds and the world to make it happen.

This hidden emotion of highest order, to me, is the real dream.

Avenge with deeds what words can't

He moved his finger across each letter and read it twice in the dim light. The pulse near his neck throbbed with excitement. The mind was at play and it devised a plan meant for things that were not supposed to be natural. He had known about it all this time but this moment confirmed his existed doubts. The footsteps outside the door grew louder and in a sudden reflex, he threw the bottle into the draw and skirted the things on the floor to move towards the door. This time there would be no mistakes.

_____________________________________________________________________

He squirmed when Mrilani pulled his cheeks.

“Do you love me?” she asked.

He was tired of lying. It hurt the interiors of the head and filled his body with annoyance. But he knew better when to hide the emotions as he faced his fiancé.

He grinned at her.

‘Pathetic woman’, he thought to himself and grinned more.

“Of course…”, he began

Mrilani looked away and waved at someone across the road. He visibly showed relief when he saw Ruchi.

He noted that she looked as fragile as ever but always had a good dressing sense. She wore dark blue jean and red t shirt. The stiletto gave a lift to her miniature figure.

Ruchi and Mrilani’s were childhood friends. They had done their education together starting from the pre KG. Mrilani considered her as a family member and that understanding was mutual.

“Hi Mrilu! Hi Rohit!”, she squealed at them.

He kept looking at her and began to some show some respect. He had to, for she was the key to all his problems.

“Hi”, he finally said.

______________________________________________________________________

“You didn’t wish me at sharp 12! How could you get forget it? “, she screamed with teary eye.

The drama began to unfold and he was helpless.

“Ruchi was the first one to call. She has been doing that for past 15 years! Why can’t you be more responsible and show some care? “, she wailed.

He bolted his anger and just went to hug her. She pushed him away.

He clenched his teeth.

This wouldn’t have happened in the first place if both their families’ business had to come together for a greater cause. He knew that he shouldn’t have agreed to the proposal. But it wasn’t his fault. Mrilani’s parents pulled him away from his blissful life; from his love. They had promised him more and better life. The future was decorated with money that collected over generations and he was the only heir.

He thought of his lost lover’s face and stood for moment in the place like all the world’s odd was against him.

Mrilani and her parents made him swear to the falsified riches and fame and now, ‘they’ will repay.

___________________________________________________________________

She was meddling with her bag’s handle. He looked into her eyes to emphasize what he was saying. She didn’t look up but stared into the emptiness.

‘Things were smooth as planned’, he thought to himself.

She trembled and searched for it frantically in her bag.

He didn’t stop talking choosing his words carefully. He reiterated things that were very necessary to cause the results.

“It can be!” she said in a shaky voice. “Mrilani is my best friend.” She continued searching.

“I am her fiancé, Ruchi”, he replied in a smooth clear voice that convinced, “why would I lie to you?”

That broke her down. The bottle that she was searching was not to be found. She shivered, snatched her bag and trotted.

The same stiletto that lifted her figure was now giving her away to the crowd in the restaurant with its clanking sound.
____________________________________________________________________
Ruchi searched for the bottle. It was not in its place.
She didnt believe Rohit. The truth was she didnt want to believe him.
The bed appeared and disappeared in front of her eyes. She felt dazed again.
'I have this disease. I was born with it. I will die with it. I will never know what is truth and lie.'
What if Rohit was truthful and Mrilani was right?
Did she deserve to be her friend? Were all the years together a fairy tale that she only has imagined?
She imagined a lot. A lot that she couldn't recognize between reality and lie.
Maybe Mrilani deserved better friend and better life. She couldn't interfere with Mrilani's life. There was nothing much that she could do except one, move away from her for life. And it had to be forever and permanent.
'Yes, I am tired of truth and lie. I shall end it once for all'
'Rohit was telling the truth. Mrilani didn't deserve such a sickening friend.She should go away as far as possible.
She pulled out a notepad and began to write.
It stared with "Dear Mrilani, For greater good......"

_____________________________________________________________________

“Please, you have to believe me, aunty”, Mrilani justified.

Ruchi’s mother wiped her tears and passed on the paper that was folded into four.

Mrilani was perplexed.

The silence in the house was even more haunting. One suicide was enough to haunt the place but the mystery of the death added to the eeriness of the situation.

He took the paper before Mrilani could. He was aware of the contents but reading it would give him the vengeance he had yearned for. The satisfaction grew bounds.

Mrilani snatched the paper. She began to cry half way into the suicide letter of Ruchi.

________________________________________________________________

“The girl had schizophrenia and only Mrilani knew it”, his father claimed.

“But we can’t claim anything based on the contents of the letter. We have known Mrilani’s parents all our lives. The family can be trusted”, his mother argued.

“The whole town calls her psycho because she made her best friend commit suicide by creating some inferior complex. You want our son to marry her?” his father fumed

.“It is too early to judge anything now. Let us give some time”, his mother continued.

“I am not getting my son married to any mentally ill woman. She could be charged of murder of another woman. I don’t want to be associated to the family of murderers”, his father closed the case.

His mother didn’t reply.

He looked at them. The agony and frustration began to yield. Every minute of the scene that had occurred two years ago flashed before his eyes.

He remembered vividly the words from his girlfriend’s letter. Mrilani’s father spoke such words that made her commit suicide. He called her names that no woman could have tolerated.

Had he known it before the fateful night, things could have been averted.

Now, Mrilana would be called names by everyone. It would pierce throughout her life. She deserved it for what her father did to his life.

He ran upstairs and started to cry. But they were tears of joy.

_________________________________________________________________