The Marine Drive Emergency

I had asked her out not once, not twice, but three times. All rejections. Reasons were as diverse as it will be weird at work, you are such a good friend, what we have is forever and even I don’t want to spoil what we already have.

I was head over heels for her. She kept disturbing my dreams. I barely slept. Once I awoke from what seemed like a nightmare – she was with somebody else. I told somebody about the dreams. But the only I response I got from that person – forget it, it ain’t gonna happen. But I didn’t.

It is true maybe that when a person isn’t in front of you is the time when you miss them the most.

Is it just plain stupid to keep wanting somebody, although they clearly do not want to pursue the relationship? I do not think so.

I landed in Mumbai. I gave her a call. She didn’t pick up. I got a message a while later from her. She was at Marine Drive. Alone. I was staying at my friends place at Marine Lines, which runs parallel to Marine Drive.

The level three heritage building creaked under my heavy steps. I was running. I got a shout out from my friend on the second floor – Best of luck. Did I need it? Majorly.

Chira Bazaar was still abuzz. I made it through the bustle of trucks being loaded and unloaded, as the winding roads took me towards the Marine Lines bridge. It barely had a footpath. But I ran towards where the Arabian Sea was beating the artificial rocks along the bay walk.

There she was sitting opposite to one of those Gymkhana grounds. I could notice her from this far across. She looked beautiful in her sweatshirt, track pants and sporty shoes, just looking at the setting sun. But she was sad. I ran.

I walked the last few steps. I didn’t say a word and sat next to her. She was surprised. But she smiled. Dusk had almost settled in. We didn’t say a word.

I let my fingers slide into hers. And she put her head on my shoulders.

The Arabian Sea splashed waves. The setting sun bought in darkness. But we sat together. Comfortable. We didn’t say a word.

Sudoku

It was five in the evening. She hadn’t come to work that day. But I wanted to see her. I got down at the bus stop closest to her home. The long path was worth the walk. Carrying a box of cookies and the day’s newspaper supplementary, I made it towards H-42 in Highland Hills. I had to call to make sure she was there. She was. A lot of thoughts ran through my mind. Would I be able to tell her finally or would I again muster?

I climbed the flight of stairs to her home. A ring of the bell and there she stood in sporting shorts and a white tee. With a paintbrush in hand, she welcomed me in. She was painting. The canvas lay on the floor. She sat back on the cushion and asked me to get comfortable. I just sat there looking longingly at her. 

She painted layer by layer, while striking a conversation with me. The usual questions did the rounds – what happened at work, how is work and so on and so forth. I tell her I have something for her, and give her the cookie box. She is overjoyed. She loves my mom’s cookies. She stops painting and has a cookie immediately. I smile.

She notices the supplementary in my hand. She enquires as to why I am carrying it. I tell her that it is my new obsession to complete the Sudoku in the supplement on my way home in the metro. She thinks that’s nice. She has the widest of smiles. I look at her, hoping she doesn’t notice that I am secretly admiring her.

I go closer to inspect the artwork. But I know I am closer to her. She always smells good. I make some suggestions, which she thinks are good. We talk a bit more. She always has this fruity fragrance around her. I do not get too close to comfort. She might not like it. I keep my distance.

After a while, I decide to head out. I wanted to stay. But I tell her that I am leaving. She even asks me to stay back. But I falter. She herself gave me the excuse that my mom was home, and I should be getting back. I said yes to that. I must really be a fool.

She came to the door, but didn’t close it. She stood by the stair, and watched me walk out through the gate. Pleasantries were exchanged and promises made of meeting tomorrow. I wanted to tell her. But I kept walking.

I walked on the street, my hands free, my heart heavy. I knew I had missed my chance. I should have told her, while I had the chance. I could have walked back. But I didn’t. I realised something. I messaged her: I think I left something back at your place. She called me back to tell me that she could come and give me my Sudoku puzzle.

But who said it was the Sudoku?

Defy, Submit

(This is something i wrote in the blog of Akanksha's new venture Art on the Wall. Do check their site out, if you want a dash of colour to your room)

I lay in the middle of my room. Four walls. All looking at me blankly. Isn’t it this wall that is shielding me away from all the eyes outside? Isn’t it this wall, that lends you a feel of homeliness? But why blank? Why not my expression? Why not my movement? Why not my love? Why not anything that will liven up the gray of life. Sometimes we are just too involved in a lot of things that we forget that there can be a lot done with the most minimalistic of things.

Walls can be an expression of defiance; it can also be an expression of submission. The most striking wall that comes into our mind is that of the Berlin wall – it defied as well as submitted in the times of requirement and not. The Great Wall of China rises above marvels that pop out of the oil rich Middle East, to be one of the very few man made architecture that can be seen from space. Thus the wall defied again. Defy, submit, make a statement.

Of The Year That Passed

In the beginning of 2011, I was in a totally new place, among the tranquility of monks, the awkwardness of being a vegetarian and the acceptance (and later the getting back) of a story that wouldn’t work out. I know I am talking in codes and utter bullshit. But that was how 2011 started for me – in complete mystery. But from that mystery arose a year, that shall forever remain etched in my mind.

One of my major achievements that I conquered in the previous year was coming to terms to being in love with Delhi. My post graduation here the past two years, couldn’t make me love Delhi, than the time I left for other places. I came running back as soon as I realized it.

It is in 2011, that I became a post graduate, along with some of the most awesomest friends I will ever make. And the greatest thing to happen to your 20-odd classmates, is see them all be in really good positions across the country. I am proud to say that the batch I was with is wickedly talented and I hope to see them achieve more than what they ever dreamed to.

Also in 2011, was when I got my first, second and third job. Well technically speaking, my third job is my first job. I was first offered a job in Bangalore (my loathing for Bengaluru is quite out there in the open), with a clause that came into view only when I was in Mumbai. I didn’t take that up, after which they did one of the most childish thing that a real firm would never do – go complain to our institution director that I didn’t take up the job. Hilarious. Then I was home, rummaging through media websites and what not, sending resumes in the bulk to media and production houses alike. I got a call from a few, but in the end decided to go for one in Chennai – the Deccan Chronicle. And it was not good. The only big city I was not able to cope with till now is Chennai. I headed there, with hopes of being closer to home and easier adjustments than in Delhi, but it was just the opposite. The one week I worked for Chennai Chronicle, the tabloid piece that goes alongwith the main newspapers, made me realize, this was not what I was cut out to do. I left the job within a week. I missed my Delhi. I reached Delhi, to find that my old roommate was still there, but I had to move out of his place (read here). But in the two weeks he put up with me I was back to doing what I had done back at home in Calicut – send resumes by the dozen. But who would have known that it would be the social networking site of Twitter that would finally save my life. My friend Manoj re-tweeted Venkat Ananth’s tweet about an opening in Sports Illustrated India. When I contacted Venkat, he gave me a mail id where I could send a resume to. But the mail bounced back. But I didn’t back down. I searched the net, found the correct email id and the rest as they say is history. I got in, after a grilling session by the most awesomest boss I have had till now – Kadambari ma’am. But it was not just Kadambari ma’am, the entire team at SI, is absolutely fantastic. Each and every person is a character in themselves and the past five months has been a revelation for me. Hope this doesn’t end soon. This to me is a dream team to work with.

In 2011, I travelled. A lot. Starting off with Bylakuppe in the new year, I actually came back to the place during the end of the year. In between I was all around the place – Mumbai, Bangalore, Chennai, Mysore, Kochi, Kannur, Mahe, Calicut and so many more. It has just made me realize that this is the love that I’ve been looking for. Traveling makes me happy. It brings to me the variety of culture and stories, that I would never get sitting on a chair staring in front of the computer. I hope 2012 has more to offer.

In 2011, I understood the true love actually triumphs. It started off with the wedding of my brother and bhabhi. I still am to know their love story, because it obviously has to be a love story. Maybe in 2012, I will get to know. Then there was the surprise package of Faris and Lanisa, college sweethearts, who tied the knot in a ceremony that was attended by the most number of our friends. Another love story of 8 years, came to fulfilment at the end of the year, making me understand that perseverance is the key to achievement. Congos to Nahla and Wasseem for that. Even after years of defiance and rejection, they held on to each other, and finally the two families agreed. And then there is Fathima Ali, one of my bestest buddies (who incidentally didn’t come to see off at the station) got married this year to the most awesomest guy she could ever find (no Basri, I ain’t gay). And to those who have best friends who are about to get married – never piss the bride and groom off on their first night.  But I hope 2012 brings more love stories to life, and I wish this would be the year I could begin telling my kids 20 years down the line, about ‘How I met their mother’ ;)

In 2011, I have realized that failures only makes one tougher. I’ve had my share of failures. But each failure has taught me something new, and a person who has never failed, has literally learned nothing at all.

I guess to sum up 2011, would be a difficult deal, but it was beautiful while it lasted. Here’s to wishing 2012 be much more than what 2011 ever was. Cheers and always keep smiling people!

The Conundrum

"I think true happiness can only be found in the wanton indulgence of animals." - Hobbes


Why can't i just fall in love, without anyone raising eyebrows? Why all this societal norms regarding what your grandfather thinks, what your neighbour's uncle thinks and what your distant cousin, whose name you don't even know thinks? It's ridiculous how our society functions. And even with me ranting about all these absurdness, i can more or less guarantee that i myself will bow down to all these pressures.

How easy is it to fall in love? But how difficult is it to let everyone around you understand that you are actually in love and that it is the real deal? And even if they do understand, their so-called-society or religion can't accept it. We are all a slave to our surroundings. I wish i could go far away from all this. To a place where you needn't prove anyone anything. But seems like that will remain a distant dream, so long as you are attached to somebody or something.

Everyone has a purpose, and this purpose dissuades them from doing something that is simply a matter of the heart.

I'd like to go back to a time, when we were cavemen. No religion, no countries, no states - nothing to divide us than our animalistic tendencies and urges. But that won't happen unless and until we learn to time travel or a mass memory swipe of the world arises, and begin human life all over again. I will come back and look at this blog post in the future, to find myself nodding to all these realizations even then.

The status quo needs change. But at what cost? At the cost of one being an outcast and a radical.