What I saw in Delhi a month ago.

I saw her after three years today. Roaming around lost in thought in mangal bazaar. I was with my father buying vegetables. It was busy and crowded as usual. I have grown up giving company to either my dad or mom every week while they dragged me along the wide road in between all the sellers sitting and sweating from morning till late evening on both the sides.

My left shoulder was overburdened with a huge bag of vegetables. My father insisted on handing him the bag but i resisted. I wanted to carry it. I wanted to be the son. It was 12 kilos of sabzi already. Jackruit, parwal, pumpkin, karela, raw mangoes, lemons, tori, lauki and what not. We always keep the tomatoes, the onions and the potatoes in the end to buy. The whole quota of one week is bought in advance weekly. The market was crowded with that kind of crowd which I hate the most. Illiterate or semi-literate saree/salwar-suit clad women with young toddlers with their heads shaved and nose running. Or sometimes newly wed couples who stay in chattarpur in rented flats. Their mush is disgusting than the smell of pickle being sold in the same market. And their clothes are as flashy as the low quality hosiery bra and panties being sold by some woman in the corner of the market. And then the mobile phone stealing crowd. one of the boys once stole my dad's nokia n73 five years ago. My dad kept on telling me to take care of my phone today. He kept on holding my hand too when the market was full of people walking worse than a blind or a drunk lunatic could. 

On top of it all jatt crowd. I despise them. I live on their land too. Well. Obviously the purpose was to buy vegetables economically when again my family can't afford it. Neither we can afford my fees. Nor can we go and a watch a movie together as a family. 

But then whatever. I was standing right next to this stall. My father was buying chillies, capsicum etc. He always tastes the chilly by breaking it into two, taking a whiff of it and then crushing it between his teeth. Usually it ends with a nod if its good or a disappointed reply in which he calls the mirchi 'grass'. 

The same ritual was happening today as well. I was looking somewhere else. Suddenly she caught my attention. I had know her for six months. Maybe more than that. Every week, Every wednesday. I don't know if you believe in superstitions but my family sometimes does. And more than anything else, I believe in blessings. Being a brahmin these things are a part of my lifestyle. A lifestyle which I don't really fancy but respect if the need be. 

Three years ago the need was my mother's to see me get into a college, pass with good marks in CBSE and most importantly, get rid off my anger issues, my temper because of which I could not concentrate on many things. Or even one. I was going through a heartbreak when this ritual started. And I wonder how feeding a cow spinach every week and donating anything green to a 'chhakka' or a 'hinjra' can actually help me cure my temper problems and let me score good marks? The first few wednesdays until we had not found this person were just spent feeding the cow green spinach half heartedly. I was really not up for this shit. Most annoying thing was to go and find a cow first. Well that wasn't a problem as I live in a fucking village stuck in the process of becoming a part of a swanky city. We have the best of the farms/resorts/beauty salons/designer boutiques/India's third largest temple and what not. And we have ill-mannered haryanvis with their cows and buffaloes and stinky hookkas everywhere too. Sometimes if there was a single cow she would just refuse my offering. Sometimes I had just one cow to offer stuff but there were 12 of them. In the meanwhile we found out about Guruji ji urf Jalebi ji too. A third gender human being who lives near the mosque and wears a saffron robe as she or he converted became a 'jogi' long time ago. So she wasn't the regular going to house to house or signal to signal clapping their way to money with fingers stretched wide and making a sharp sound which reminds every one in the society not to be blessed with the third gender in the womb ever. Even a girl will be fine for a society. But a hinjra will be too much. No. Not happening. So I went every wednesday to her house in the evening with the regular green colored offerings. grapes, green veggies, bangles, green sarees, and everything green. two items maximum on each visit. In return she would keep her hand on my head and bless me with whatever she could. Her touch was more gentle than my own mother. Her smile more radiant than any baby I had ever seen. 

She was happy to see me all the time. My walks to her house became brighter from being embarrassing. The cows became less annoying too. I had to perform this each week without fail. And I managed to do so till the time I finally shifted to Pune. Before leaving she was the most important person whom I had to say my goodbyes to. When the last time I met her, she wasn't sad because I was leaving, or the fact that there will be no more weekly offerings, instead she was the happiest person to know about my marks, she prayed for my good health and blessed me for a bright future which I fail to see anymore. Specially at this point of life. I saw her today and was dumbstruck. She hasn't changed at all. I din't tell my father about her. He would have forced me to meet her and say namastey to her but I wasn't in the frame of my own mind. There was a lot to absorb already. As we were leaving the market, A man on a bike behind me addressed me as 'bhaiya' and asked me to move sideways. I smiled inside. 

I told my mother about her after dinner. I made the daal today. The dinner was typically bihari today. I might meet Guruji again as my mother still has her number in her phone.

hello first monday of June 2014

I really want to take this one page a day challenge seriously. God knows if I will be able to keep up at it. Jury is day after. Film is still not ready. It has become so windy here. And I have to pack also. Suddenly it hit me that how this day was so different a month back. And two months back. And six months back. And specially an year back.
Still stuck. Still confused. Still hung up on. But happy for a change. Although won't be able to witness the amazing Pune weather before leaving for Delhi. And as I reach home, their will be BA exams waiting for me.  How amazing. But before that I just want to go to Cafe garden once. Have their amazing Irani chai and watch the kittens who must have grown up now from a distance. I have never stayed away from it this long. It's been three weeks now. And so much has changed and happened in three weeks itself. I have been loved-hated-adored-hugged-kissed-ignored-shunned and silenced all of a sudden in one go in just a span of three weeks. Wow. Talk about life not ignoring you sometimes. And forcing you to sip dirty martinis.
I still dream of having a one room house with a big window in some corner of the camp area in Pune.
And then I think how beautiful this day was an year ago. People kept their promises and love. There was freedom and hope. But accompanied with a lot of illusion. All that is gone now. And the illusion too. For the good I guess.
It doesn't look like Im going to Kashmir this june after all.
So it will be pretty much Delhi heat and rains.

Long time and no see again.

One more week in this city this semester.Pretty much to myself. And my keyboard spacebar is really really fucked.
I don't know what to feel right now. Considering the highly overtly dramatic person I am interms of words and not speech, it feels weird to face loss in the matters of heart again and again. And then you just gather yourself thinking that at least you haven't fallen apart entirely and the film which you are working on for the last six months is now coming alive on the editing table.
Maybe Film makers have to face all this. Maybe that character of canteen owner from the movie ROCKSTAR was right. You have to be heartbroken.
Worse or best, is when you can't put that person to shame. Why? It wasn't their fault! It was yours entirely. It was ours entirely. And then the whole saga of forgive yourself and forgive everyone and move on and star afresh starts. Knowing or unknowingly.
Memories and nostalgia scented moments will be turned hopefully into screenplays and storyboards. Old places will be less visited. Or will stay in occasionally taken photographs.
Will have to resort to our own bodies to derive the pleasures we din't even know that existed when awakened by their kiss on our feet while we were asleep.
we are faced with their questions of 'what do you want?' even when they know that all we need is nothing but them. How hard it is to understand?
Why unrequited love is so important to infuriate, enrage or engage us so that we can shut ourselves from love again and indulge only in personal gratification.
Why communication itself is so difficult when it actually makes everything so easy. Or why do we ALWAYS fall prey to the beast called PSEUDO Relationship. These terms and tags and labels have always been confusing and repelling for a person who ends up feeling like a stupid 16 year old in love after every failure in life.
They say failure in a relationship is two sided. Never one. And you always see it coming. Some even anticipate for it. But what about those who slept one night peacefully and the next in tears? Those who never get an answer for why they were loved one day and ignored the other. Those who were treated to be faded away from everyone's and their own memories. Weren't we always honest about our feelings? Din't we make ourselves clear? Din't we tell them not to keep us on hold? Then even after million pleadings and infinite kisses later, It is always the one who loves is never answered to.
They talk behind our backs. They share us with those who shared them in the past.
We think we gave our everything into this and for them it was just messing around.
And yet we keep telling ourselves that they aren't bad. They aren't bad and yes they are indeed bad.
Sometimes it doesn't really hurt to accept the reality because you know that all the courage we took to fall in this and get hurt in the first place, they don't possess even an atom of it.
Maybe over the course of time, we will grow up as they wanted to see us to be but not for them. They won't be their to see it neither they deserve to.
We will finally take that bus or train which we had taken once with them. But this time we will go alone and for ourselves. When we will finally be independent even though we were never dependent on them.  And we will stop visiting places which they loved because as much as they are dear to them, they are more than that to us.
It's not even my city you know. All though I owe it to this place for keeping me alive even in the worst situations. Debt is not that bad a word too.

Here is a picture of Ritu's Fibi.
She is a cute lil creature who doesn't know what all this means.
What all we humans go through willingly and unwillingly.
All of us. Even them.

Pune 411038

No good and enough pictures from Goa this time.
Writing due to lack of sleep.
Insomnia can be productive sometimes.
I think I am overestimating myself.
I forgot to wish a friend happy birthday.
And Im still just a friend and liability for someone very close.
I think I know way too many good people but just do not know how to use them for my benefit.
Had a month full of co-incidences. Self realization and more.
The shoot today was good.
Im not even very happy with my shoot in Goa this week.
But I met and spoke to more than two very good souls.
Letsee what happens at the editing table.

Im not allowed to fall in love. 

So now it is time to go back in disguise once again.

It is time to go back and become a rock again. 

Lives around me are collapsing, some are struggling to rise from the dust, some are already dust, and some are settling down back again on the ground after the process of loading. 

The feelings of distrust/betrayal/disloyalty etc are coming back.

Suspicion level is high once again. 

The judgement on life has already been passed. 

Once again there is negativity in the air. 

And they say it's all in the head. 

sshh!!!! Don't say all this on a public forum!

arrey arrey! talk to someone in private!

Oh please! Don't start whining all over again man!

Oh! Thankgod! It's a wake up call for you now finally! 

NOW GET UP. AT LEAST NOW WAKE UP.

Fix that cycle. 

I think it's beyond repair. 

You owe your life to someone else and it is not yours. 

Voila. 

I want to make films. I want to make love. And kids maybe someday. 

I am also scared of immature kids stealing my stories. Hence I refrain from narrating it to them like an old granny. 

I don't miss mine. She is wicked. Never told me a single story. 

The night is bitter again. 

Somehow this part of Pune makes me write obnoxious stuff. 

Stuff nobody cares to read or reflect upon. 

It's a burden to love you. 

And it's even more painful to carry the burden of trying to accept myself all the time. 

Nothing happened. 

It's all so fragmented. This place is so fragmented. 

Loved and be alienated again. 

Measure everything and then control everything. 

Unconditional and Expectation can never go hand in hand. 

I don't think there were any mosquitos biting that night.

As much as they are biting now. 

Writing has gone beyond the highest limits of ambiguity now. 

Yes. This is indeed a rant of a misunderstood human being. 

And I empathize with all of you. 

Take care. 

The ATM never works here. At least there is good music in the world.

I want a house where I only make dinner and love. Where there is a huge wall size window looking out into what that particular city looks like. A small gadda aligned right next to it. Every time i spend my monsoon weekend evenings with a mug of tea, the raindrops better splash unto my face too. The corner next to the shower room and kitchen should be where i sit head into my lap with legs touching my chest and face.

Dining should happen on the kitchen floor. cross legged. I will play all the old cassettes I have on an old tape If i can. Breathless/Aqua/Munni Begum/Ghulam Ali...

All of them. whatever is left now. 

There should be a sofa. More of an armchair. Just to watch films sitting on. It should be old and rough. Cozy with my own warmth. The table next to it should be small and big enough to take the burden of all my books. Read and unread. My alma-rih should have that one special place for my camera and the clothes I would wear and not wear on of one of those lovely days. Days when I only get to love and love more. And still get to sleep like a baby. And shower room be door less. Sheers would do. Sometimes. 

This house I will build everyday piece by piece. 

Now is the time to start reading The Surgeon Of Crowthorne.

The ATM  wasn't working again today. So had to step out of the campus. 

It is said if you stand under a railway bridge while a train pass on it, Every wish or prayer you make turns out to be true.

I don't know If my life took those prayers way too easily and is hell bent on making them true. I don't even want to live here anymore. I only dream for a house right now. And good food. I know I have these unrealistically and impractical small expectations from life. Par ab kya karein. 

Or it is life's yet another joke on me being played in full volume. 

I ate some really bad food in the evening yesterday. Sometimes places with an old charm trick you into doing so. Like all the god things in life. Port wine tastes amazing but the squeezes and churns the life out of my intestines making my brain go blow itself out. 

I'm yet to receive my parcel from amazon. 

I thought college life would be fun. 

It is just one word. Inconvenient. 

I pray that all this ends one day. I pray while I stand under the railway bridge while Azaad Hind Express or Jhelum pass over it. 

To be in the city of bridges

Glad that i was back again with an old friend. Testing times you know. So Sunday afternoon I go to that part of the Pune city which tricked me into actually loving it. Shaniwar Peth. Chai used to be for Rs. 7 over there when I had my first misal paav with some batchmates including Swaroopa and Amit Deshmukh Sir.
And then I got the chance to sip on the same tea after two years and eight months for Rs. 10 while Renu and Himalay gulped down glasses of Sugarcane juice each. It felt good to be in the 'sheher' again. Followed by maharashtrian lunch on a lazy sunday afternoon made by a beautiful lady. And then the toil of a student film shoot went on for the next few hours. Sunday well spent. Regardless of the fact how dicy my academic life seems like at the moment.
So ready to head back to our respective shit holes, for some reason I am left stranded on the road near one of the Pune city bridges with my friend and then we wait while coming to a decision on as to where to go or not go. The next moment we see fireworks, And my friend goes " Pune the city of bridges" and laughs it off. Sarcastically i guess. I just guess. Not sure.
An auto is taken towards the other developed Non-Pune like part of the city, passing by lottery ticket stores and buildings and buildings which don't seem to be hanging on in my memory, cause all I care now is for some sleep.
I reach. I collapse. I wake up and eat. And all the merry takes place in front of me in a flash of a few tiring and happy hours.
And then you wake up to the morning with a content feeling you were longing for since ages.
Brunch time becomes crisp. Im still wearing the same clothes and they stink. Of sleep and sweat and warmth.
I leave and reach Cafe Garden. And spend time with all the things lovely. Like the cats and cups of tea. My second favorite after the Shaniwar peth chai. Religion changes. Area changes. The taste of chai differs. But it all tastes good. The difference in taste is amazingly good. Why can't we just accept it?
Anyway.
I'm not alone at the cafe anymore. I have all the things lovely and real for the next 3-4 hours. I finally say goodbye.
I see the cashier at the counter change from the afternoon fellow to the evening one. He was happy to see me again. Again and not alone.
The Chaass at Cafe Garden sucks by the way.
But fireworks and moments of short lived happiness juxtaposed against a cool breeze of air at 8 pm in the evening is a sight to feel. 

3:45 am today.

I see two pair of legs lying side by side with the rest of the bodies, as i myself lay right next to them, on my right side. A little further is a cupboard on which a few books and stationery is kept, and a bottle of port wine, in which there is some amount of liquid left, waiting to be consumed, or rather, the liquid consuming me itself.

Right infront of it is a big window. With transparent sliding doors. Most of even that is covered by a dull yellow thick curtain. 

The street light is falling on the wall next to the cupboard and the woman's legs. The smoothness of the skin is tempting. His legs are just there. Just casually. And carefree. And tired. 

All I can hear is the cars outside on sv road. And the fan on full speed to keep the mosquitos away. Fail. Why this city doesn't sleep. Well there are many reasons. But so peaceful. I wish i could just lie here and look at the motor vehicles passing by outside as well. Keep a count of them and then unknowingly just fall asleep. Consumed by sleep itself. Night time insomnia is sometimes a beautiful thing to happen. 

But then again its not a thing. Which i can keep inside an almirah or Sandook  whenever i want to and take it out and spend time with it while I along with others become busy loosing our senses. It would have been great that way though. 

I don't want to wake them up. 

I don't want to wake anybody up. 

Not even myself.

In other 15 minutes or so, my grandparents living near the river will get up and go for a dip. 

Wish i could just dip in the sea nearby for ever. 

And washed all my sins including my existence. 

I can't even see the sun from here. Just the sunlight. Hope i can see it soon.

i don't know what to believe right now.

A 50 year old man saying love is a test of time.

And 23 year old man saying love fades away. And it is mortal. Just like us. Worse than us. 

I'm scared to believe at the moment.

I should shut my laptop now. Can't afford to wake them up.

Sleep is beautiful indeed.