Rising Again

My nights, when not spent in hurriedly studying for the exams, or used up sleeping due to the college routine, are often utilized in thinking and imagining fantastic things; which is why my mother often calls me an 'old aunt', i guess. But as long as talking and imagining help me solve the everyday problems without rousing a suspicion of me being a lunatic, i guess i will let that continue! 

Here is a poem, coincidentally very much apt for posting here on this blog after such a long break.

Rising Again

I  know;
The moment before, and the moment
after I whisper the deafening words
will be the moment i face death
and revive again.

I imagine the contours of your face
change,in amusement;
the realization of truth will change them to shock.
And disgust, I am afraid.
I try to tread gently,
but trip over my own tears,
while my hands tear at my hair.

I am afraid I have thought too much,
and need to rest now.

Pray, when the moment finally arrives,
listen to my cries once, kiss me,
and then push me away.
I know
I will smile and lie down,
right there,
when you have satisfied
your curiosity
and spewed all your amazement.
I will smile at your inability to lie.

And i know too,
that the icy marble of my room
will make me sleep better
than the silken blankets.

I will awaken to rise up then,
and not step down.

SO I WRITE.

Ah! It has been so long since I put any of my thoughts on paper, or any idea here. A writer's bloc, perhaps! But that got me thinking, days and nights, and i could not stop my self from finally picking up a pen and a paper. And then typing it up!

Once again,

after what feels like ages,

I am searching for a rhythm,

a rhyme

in my words.

Afraid of being labelled,

again,

a ‘post-modernist’,

I wonder if my words

are worth the risk.

I remember, you raised an eyebrow,

with a curious smile,

that day,

and asked why I had not

written for a while.

I looked away.

Today, what do I say?

That I am not so sure,

anymore?

That my words fail

to make sense to my own father?

Then why would the World,

my friend,

not mock me, flick me away?

Whatever can I accomplish

Anyway?

And, now

as my pen quivers,

flows and leaves a puddle

of ink at a point,

I know why I write.

Semi-conscious dreams

all these nights..

Let them see, and call me a fool.

My mind twitches, bursts with hope.

The words spill, and the ink seeps in, dries.

MUSINGS

For all the things I haven't learned yet...

Nineteen years of my life;

What have I done yet?

Just a speck in the ocean, eh?

A voice booms in my head.

Is this all that I am, then?

I picture my life, detached.

No miracle, no discovery,

Nothing outside my nest, alas!

So many books yet to be read,

So many songs to be sung.

Wind, water, food unexplored,

Unseen millions to spread smiles among.

A silken voice then whispers,

The seed has flowered in here.                      

You found the treasure in your friends,

Walk with them, well you will fare!

Endless books, ceaseless melodies,

Tastes and miracles boundless.

Do your share, as all would, all

Drops identical, but each, priceless!

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!