Back to Math!

“Ankita… help!” I cried on the phone.

“I wish I could. But Math..? Sorry. You know I have had enough of it. You promised her, so it is you who should teach her.”

I scowled and put the phone down. This problem was much bigger than sympathizing with and advising my namesake, my childhood somehow-always-with-me friend. I could not back down now. And it involved… *gulp*… Mathematics.

I met Nishtha Batra on the first day of my preparatory school, when we were just 3 years old. On my birthday, I discovered that we share not only my name, but our birth dates as well! Since then, we have been good friends, with our differences and similarities, studying in the same class of the same school. And coincidentally, we share the same best friend too - Ankita!

Now, when I opted for English (hons) course, it wasn’t only my love for literature that drove me, but also my extreme hatred for Mathematics. The day I stepped into the lecture room for English, I had gone home to shut up the compartment of my brain that had always been forced to solve complex differential and polynomial equations. I had officially broken all ties with the esteemed subject gleefully. If only I could have anticipated this day!

Nishtha (Batra, which is) took up BBA after school. Somehow, she must have missed her lectures due to health problems. Now, after a seemingly huge misunderstanding with Ankita, she got in contact with me yesterday, and one thing leading to another, I decided to clear the air between her and Ankita, and help her out with Math too. So she came to my place, and took the mammoth book, opening to me again the whole unending expanse of Math. And I surprised myself by solving hideous questions of dreaded Integration. How on earth could I have remembered all the steps? Why did I fear it? But realization dawned on me after an hour of torture. I wasn't bad at it - i would not have scored a 95% otherwise. But I loved the free flow of literature, the magic of the words, thus the hatred towards figures.

After my mind had lost all stability, I took her to the Math tutor who had helped me out during by Board exams. He accepted her as a student, thus relieving me of any future implications. Not to forget the brownie point that he was extremely happy to see me again! Next destination was Ankita’s home. And making Batra the reluctant to drive their. After Anki agreed to talk, we had a 'filmy' moment when they were acting like tweens with their issues of communication gap, while roaming the streets in vicinity. And finally, after we had almost died from laughing so hard, Ankita apologized for all the pain I had to go through while pouring over Integration. She completely shares with me the repulsion towards Math.

I am glad we were all happy with our day. The fights between friends can turn very ugly if not solved with a cool mind. We, thank goodness, just let the unpleasantness pass! And it reminds me, we might get together again – our birthday is round the corner!

STEPPING OUT

What is the curfew time for you to reach home at night? And what should be the limit for girls? And why am I even asking these questions?!

Last Saturday, after writing a cruel test and having lugged the whole week for submitting the final draft of an assignment, my friends and I were desperate for a break. So, after churning our minds and considering the lack of time with me (the dark side of traveling through public transport: YOU HAVE TO COME BACK BEFORE DARK!!), we decided to go to the Hauz Khaz village. But it is a given fact that in a group of friends with diverse interests, ALL cannot enjoy ALL of the outing completely. So, after a part-boring, part-crazy exploration of Hauz Khaz Killa, we decided to compromise a little and accompany a shopaholic friend to Sarojini market, which proved a torture for the rest of us.

It’s funny how, after a while, propriety takes leave and we are unable to hide our thoughts. The more amicably we accept what our friends prefer, the better. After coming to our senses, that going out for a movie was one thing that would drown the buzz of mismatched preferences, we three took leave from Sarojini and our fourth friend, say X, (I can’t bring myself to risk my life by mentioning her name on the World Wide Web!) we reached Saket, further down. All that we could arrange three seats for In Time, starring Justin Timberlake and Amanda Seyfried (sigh). About the movie, well, read the newspaper reviews! We somehow managed to stay alive by bringing our English Hons analysis to life, critiquing (or criticising, really!) every cliché’ dialogue and every unnecessary smooch. And yes, the time on hands! But worse was yet to come.

By the time the PVR attendants gave us our college bags back after the formalities, it was already 7;15 in the evening, and I was still at Saket! Catching the bus back to Sonepat would take me forever! Well, I called my dad and explained. Then I called up a wonderful guy friend of mine, who I knew would leave for Sonepat soon, and explained. Then I called my mother and explained, again! With the auto journey , the disrupted metro rides and candid secrets spilling out, it took me an hour to reach Kashmere Gate. And another 30 minutes for my friend to find me here! I could actually hear the blood running through its streams.

The bus moved from its spot at 9. We arranged for my friend’s parents to pick us up from the deserted bus-stop of Bahlgarh, since we could not find a direct bus. Though his parents were very accommodating, I was dying inside, thinking about my now-marred image in their minds.

My dad wasn’t yet home when I reached home, I thank Almighty. And my mother, after 5 minutes of venting out all the anger, hugged me and sobbed about the immense tension I had given her. And reiterated what (let us call him Y) Y’s parents would think of me. "LADKI 10 BAJE GHAR AA RAHI HAI. D.U. KI HAWA LAG GAYI HAI ISSE!!"

As I talked it over with my best friend, he just asked me if I would like to look back at my college life sans any crazy move or a rash evening. No, of course not! And it was fine, really! It was a wise move to wait and come home with my friend. And he proudly told me about his ‘lift’ riding adventures – how he pillion rode a random bicycle rider, and then a cart-puller! You see, you have to cover the distance, somehow or the other.

So, what I concluded in an agreement with myself is that, may be, I should step out of the cozy cocoon of my home and explore the world a little bit on my own. Or with my friends. I should laugh like crazies in the metro, with us pulling the most foolish of jokes. We should discuss the assignments, as well as our opinions about the fashion on streets. AND try to reach home at time, so I can have fun without the countless stares in the bus, and without pissing off my mother!

FRAGMENTS OF THOUGHTS

I push the books aside,

and my papers for tomorrow.

The lamp, switch it off;

pull up the covers

and lay down on the bed,

oh! So welcoming!

And just as I am about to fall

into the deep valleys

of sweet slumber,

the cell phone beeps.

The lamp, I switch it on.

Your message, requesting me

to do you a favor with some mails.

My eyes droop no longer.

Some yawns and a smile

play around my lips.

The clock ticks on.

Sleep evades; thoughts take over:

your  message, your face, mails,

your smile, amidst the watchman’s

frosted whistles,

our handshake, always formal,

kept formal,

all a whirlwind…

Beeps again. The alarm.

The  sun.

The glowing lamp, hot;

I switch it off, and rush,

my eyes burning.

10 am:

You text and thank me for the mails.

And, yes, mention that you come back

tomorrow.

Ah! It is wonderland again.

Work evades now, and I am sure

that tonight also,

I will Dream with my eyes open!

PARTY JITTERS!

October 7^th. A highly discussed and volubly debated date in my household, every year. The occasion – my brother’s birthday. For 11 years now, we have been discussing how to sketch out a perfect birthday party. And till now, no party has ever been ‘perfect’, however grand it might have been. Something or the other would always occur to point out the possibility of improving my PQ, or the Party Quotient.

If you notice the date again, it was my brother’s birthday a few days ago. And this time too, the plans were being formed since a month. But the difference now was that, due to my father being completely wrapped up in his business, it was I who had to look after all the arrangements. Fine, like a good sister – just a term invented to make us girls comply with our siblings’ demands – I accepted the responsibility. The menu was decided, all his friends invited, house cleaning, cobweb brushing – everything was done on time. Now what remained was putting it into action.

On the morning of 7^th October, however, a cold sweat drenched me. I had not prepared myself for… for his friends! Innocent kids, just a decade old, would you say? NO! His friends are, putting in politely, little devils! I knew they would scream their throats outs, as soon as their number exceeded two. I knew they would shower the food ALL over the place (which was, coincidentally, MY room, since it is the pseudo-hall for all our family gatherings). I knew I would be running up and down for the whole evening, compensating for any quantity of the truffle dessert I would eat. And I dreaded it all (yes, I am not a party person!).

Well, I ran out to the market at 4;30 in the evening, trying to bring in all my food on my own, because our favorite food joint could not deliver it to our door that particular day (see, I told you, there always is a loophole!). And I just had my humble TVS streak scooty to accompany me. Lord! Do not ask how I managed all the work! My scooty’s dickey was filled with burgers, the cake box was resting between my feet, and on the top of it were hung the return gifts, on the hook. I sure was looking like a weirdo that day!

So, yes, I did all the serving for my bro and his friends, tolerated the racous music they played (which wasn’t that bad, especially after switching off the lights!), made them discard the wrappers properly in a dustbin (a BIG achievement, I would say!) and laughed at their jokes! Though, mid way, my brother came up to me and threatened to avenge my inability to bring in the ordered hotdogs, and compensating them with burgers. And once they had had fun with the fireworks, I had to drop some of them at their places. And, surprisingly, I felt happy doing that! I felt responsible for these kids, whose mothers were politely inquiring on the phone if I could drop them off, because I had spent some amount of time acting as their Head Girl in school before I passed out, and they called me Didi, like my bro did.

Really, our parties cannot be ‘perfect’ – this cliché word again - but a few holes here and their give a reason for a few good laughs! During the family dinner afterwards, he could not stop smiling and relating the evening’s tales to the extended family. And, with all the necessary bickering, so important in our relationship, he chose to NOT thank me for my management success. Ah! I knew that this, too, would happen. But I know he was amazed to see me bringing in his cake, and proud when his friends relaxed abt reaching home on time. Since he won’t acknowledge my help out loud, he offered to share his newly received chocolates with me, and that is more than enough!

DISILLUSIONMENT, TOWARDS REALITY...

For some certain reasons, MANAN CHAUDHARY, you inspired me to write this... :-)

Ah! Sweet illusions…

An illusion it was,

the world of bourgeoisie,

with its blinding glitters,

echoing trumpets,

in stately mansions.

A tomorrow, anticipated,

unfolded into the ghastly moment,

and the mask fell off.

He was disgusted, pained,

as soon as he could register

the blood soaked thorns.

Hopes, companions, life;

wasted, left behind,

all for this medley of pseudo-friends?

Free flowing Madeira,

A concoction of Cocaine –

It was never what he wanted,

what he toiled for!

Still he was forced

to burn (and drown!)

in what is considered a ‘prize’ –

only for the winners.

My friend! How I wish

I could help you see,

their parameters of freedom – so different –

Aphrodisiacs,

that arouse and take you to heavens,

only to throw you back, dizzy,

into the darkness.

I can see you stumble;

my hand reaches out,

but I won’t catch you,

because, once you fall,

bruise, and get up,

you will be where I am –

This cold castle,

mending its broken walls,

lighting the darkened nooks,

loving the poverty,

the half filled cups of mead,

and bread sans butter.

We, both,

were born in a home of love,

not a palace of ambitions,

with lullabies of caresses,

not the tinkling of currency,

This want is yet not as appalling

as the rich prospects

of a hollow soul!

Critique awaited! :-)

From Papa... to Father!

Papa,

Forgive me, but

When did you decide to be my ‘father’,

With your political correctness

And unending prior engagements??

Why aren’t you my hero now?

Then, won’t you listen to what

I have to say?

Keep your prejudices aside and

Look at the world that I see?

Won’t you shake your head, and

Take a step back,

And acknowledge my proud grin

As reasonable?

I may be wrong,

But you are not right, not at all,

And we both know that!

I am left dangling, uncertain;

My one self rooted, obliged

To not let you down,

The other, thrashing

Against your rules,

Yearning for the world unknown –

That beats the drum

And shouts out to me.

I might as well sit down here

And claim the threshold,

While my two minds fight,

And wait with silent dread

For the impending estrangement.

I know there isn't a lot of vocabulary in this one, but it has a lot to do with emotions. Let me know if u like it, and yes, even if u don't!!

AH! PROMISES..

When, sitting in college, I got frustrated at the immediate loneliness and anonymity, I wrote it for my school friends… If only I could ever grow out of them!

I know I should move on,

I promised you, I know;

And I have tried to blend in here...

Nothing seems to work, though.

At times like these, when we people sit

And smile and charm our ways through,

Some words, some melodies trigger off

The locked up memories of you.

I seem to go in a trance,

And you are again with me.

We laugh, we sigh; my dreams

Take over my reality.

The people here call my name,

Beginning to like my company.

But I steal a few moments for you…

I never promised myself, you see!

My blind God

Okay.... this one came out in a few moments of  extreme anguish and pain, when i wanted to call up many people and let me tell all the pretty and good stuff about myself. But i abstained, only because i want to test the strength of my heart, to the tests taken by God. Moreover, i did not wnt to act like a constant nagging presence in their lives, so.. yaeh..

MY BLIND GOD

O tears mine, on the verge, stop!

You shall not show, not now;

Let me grow cold, blind, deaf,

Then they may go on explaining, somehow.

Whatever became of my efforts,

my talent and perseverance?

Humbug, that! The choice was made.

The duel? A mere pretense…

Oh! Go on now! Try,

Console me however you can.

But no smile shall appear hither…

Dejection, too, becomes a man.

Break down I will, but only

In front of the plain mirror.

My salt-mingled, bitter cries

Are only for the God to hear.

A gnash it is to my being; used

As I am to acceptance, fair.

Lord! Pray, tell, why change your ways?

For I now belong nowhere.

Your own men are devils now,

Ripping souls and grabbing their fills.

I shall search for a flicker of light,

Hah! My God shall go on blind still!

If God was just, he would let me come out. But he is burying my talent, still deep and deeper inside. Enclosed, captivated in a whole, open, endless world; walking blindly without a path, that is how I feel right now. Sometimes I wonder if shouting and screaming would do me any good… Yes, yes it would! It would give me the relief of venting out the fumes of His injustice, that have been clogging up my insides. And I would never want to tell this to the people who mean the most to me. My weaknesses (oh! So many) I want to hide this time. There is no reason for it, no ‘because’. And I promise, I would never kneel to His will of my non-existence.

The Ribbon

Okay! This is a poem i wrote when i was stressed due to the ongoing mathematics examination... i had tied up my hair in a ribbon, which gave me this idea.. i hope you like it. Suggestions are welcome..!

The ribbon,
silky, red and gold,
was her favourite, even then.
She used it to tie her long, wavy hair,
adding other ribbons
to match her dresses.
Then one day, suddenly,
she grew too mature to care
about a little ribbon,
when she heard a strange sound,
that of her own heart--
how it became unsteady,
(or so it seemed)
when he looked at her!
Now, lost in his thoughts,
she tied and untied the ribbon
around her fingers,
unconsciously,
gazing at something hidden behind the winds...

That day, when they met under the tree,
the ribbon held her curls loosely.
Heuntied it softly, saying
he liked her hair loose better,
and tied it, a flower,
on her ring finger.
It became her way too,
whether it matched her dresses, or not.

The ribbon is still there,
threads loosening at the ends,
holding his letters to her together;
the letters,
from promising his eternal love,
to complaining about the weather,
and finally stating that it was all over;
not a dream, bot a reality
they had revelled in for too long...

The ribbon is old,
but it still has the power
to move her to tears,
to make her try hard
to smother her sobs
in the orders of her mother
in the porch, to the servants,
to make all things perfect

for her wedding.

What a regular girl faces...

"Jai Shri Krishna," came the chants from one loudspeaker.
It was Janamashtami, the day we Hindus celebrate as the birthday of Lord Krishna. I was fasting to celebrate this day in a traditional way, having prepared already the sweets which were to be offered to Kanha at midnight. Since a fast is never really complete without a visit to a temple, my dad had decided to take me and my brother to Baba Dham temple in my hometown itself. So, here i was, outside the temple, my feet bare on the cool mud, struggling to stand still in the milling crowd that was determined to give me not even a square foot of ground to stand upon. "Radhe Radhe....," people were greeting each other. And i was still wondering how, if possible at all, i was ever going to get in....
Gathering my courage, i ventured inside, my dad continously looking back to assure my safety. I felt no need to watch where i had to go -- the crowd took me with it on its own accord, like a tide of devotion of Krishna's love. The idol of Shri Krishna was so majestically decorated that I could not help being awed at His beauty. The whole experience was delightful!
Having offered my prayers to the Lord, it was now a challenge for me and my brother to come out of the temple gate without getting our feet trampled on. This was where the ugly part crept in. There were so many guys at the place, which, of course, is not unusual. But the deliberate torture they inflict on the female species of our race is definitely reckless! I mean, they were practically falling on me from all directions  -- yes, i know it was crowded there, but one could actually see many of them smirking shamelessly! -- and I felt disgusted! My dad was a few steps ahead of me, and frankly, telling him of my discomfort specifically-which he obviously did sense- would have led to a public fight. And i know that any girl would hate that.
But I could not help thinking of this peculiar behaviour of some males. And I wondered what Lord Krishna must feel when he sees these low mentality people harrass innocent girls in such a way. I suddenly shudder at the thought of what any normal girl is prone to, at any given day.
I do not even know if there is an alternative or a possible solution to this deep, yet lurking problem. All i can do is to hope not to face any form of sexual harrassment ever. I want to take pride in my femininity, and not be ashamed of it, or afraid of it being a burden on my soul...