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i just remembered something. Like one thing led to the other.
Some of your past stories reminded me of california dreamin'.
It was Jan first/second week of 2013. You had just returned from Panchgani or you were about to leave, or maybe PIFF had just got over.
I was back from the winter vacation. A week before 2012 winter vacation I had helped you with that Karishma film of yours. Insane day it was. I remembered you thanking me at the end of that shoot and you came to me and were willing for a handshake. I sheepishly, like I have always done, shook just one index finger of yours. As if I was some chipmunk from alvin and the chipmunks. You laughed. And I just said that it's okay man.
I remember even after that boring hectic shoot ( the first time I met your brother and that friend of yours), around 9 pm or something you went ahead and watched another film in the projector room.
So as I woke up on one of the, somewhat close to the weekend jan mornings of 2013, I remember waking up from a dream where I was standing in the fvd studio right behind you, while you were editing on the mac where you always sat. I shook my hand again. And I woke up with the sensation of the first time I touched your fingers. When you had or maybe did have an idea that I liked you. Anyway. I think I hadn't seen you in a very long time. I got up from my bed while throwing the blanket away and opened the curtains of my window of the old hostel. Wore my clothes and brushed and left for the mess.
I think they were serving baked beans that day. And bournvita. I was filling my prison food tray and looked to my left. You were sitting at the far left corner, back against the window in a blue jacket with red collars I guess with khambolja and apte and all those chicks. The last thing I was expecting  was to see  you after dreaming about you that morning. Somehow stupidly I ended up sitting at the same table as you guys. And then after a few minutes you gave that bastard like smile of yours and sang california dreamin'. Again. You were so annoying. So are dreams. And so are songs sometimes. Goodnight.

Depersonalization-October 2013

He kissed her and touched her and adored her, as if he was reciting the most passionately written poetry ever by Neruda to her. 
Some people prefer yellow lights in their bathrooms. Warm. The one which hides the blemishes and all the body's ugliness. But she sat there. Naked. Hair wet dripping with cold water. On the white tiled floor. A cold cfl light on the wall above the small mirror. But she sat there. Silently and peacefully. While the shower was on. And poured boiling hot water on her. Her skin burnt. Burnt like hot iron. Turning her skin red on the palms. But relieved her of all the pain. Her muscles, her lower back, the beautiful wide but tired shoulders. And she took all the heat in. And then turned the knob to the left. It all stopped. 
Do you know how much i love your city? The city which you claim is not yours. Of course you wouldn't. It is so natural. I love it. It is so human and not humane. Your city i mean. The old buildings, the parks and the ugly malls. Okay the malls i cannot stand one bit im not going to go on and on about it and so i wont. I love how your hand slides inside the spaces between my skin and the garment, I get scared and the next moment relieved too. Just how the skin burns outside, the soul burns inside. And then you dig into my skin and soul without yourself realizing it. Your palm and fingers, fingers which you hate so much, travel the length of my back. I don't know why but im having a deja vu while i write all this. 
Sleeping on the terrace in the winter nights of February of an unknown village in Bihar, staring at the moon and counting the stars, under the warmest blanket while the existence of this life of mine was just 12 years old and was dealing with a loss of a loved one for the first time, praying for their soul to rest in peace finally, that is how the touch of both our hands felt like. And you say that I am destroying you? God knows. You have been un-layering me and i try to layer myself again. And again. And then i fail to do so. I don't know which is worse. 
She still sits there. Under the ugly white light which makes her accept herself every time she looks into the mirror. All the scars and the blemishes. And rest of the ugliness and imperfections which she tries to hide under the cloak of her loose masculine clothing in the name of being a strong woman. Bullshit. Whats the whole point of accepting then? it is still missing. I don't know how many kilometers we walked that day, maybe it does not matter. You must have walked those distances so many times no? While you were in love. Sometimes when you were heartbroken too? I know nothing about you. And yet i feel like guiding your lips with my fingers while you kiss my layers. The skin. The body. 
The same which likes to walk by your side, sometimes ahead of you, sometimes behind you. The same skin which freezes while his fingers dance on it over the cotton and consequently warms it up while it leaves a trail of emotions behind. She walks behind you like the similar trail you mark her body with. And the more she walks, the more she falls in love with the city. The one full of garbage, concrete and big beautiful banyan trees, just like any other city. Agra maybe? God knows man. How strange. We both are from cities which has lifeline like rivers, yet they are so venomous. But then let the venom be. I don't want it now. 
I close my eyes. Feel your breath against my eyes. Sometimes against the heartbeat and then she feels like saying; Don't Stop! Keep doing it. Just keep doing what you do to me. And no don't make love, which you don't have for me, but make the poetry to me. Just the poetry. The poetry which she tries to recreate under the long spells of hot shower. I am fine with this place being so unplanned and full of egoistic people in your words and experience. As one realizes who their 'true people' are. Who your 'my people' are. Otherwise everything is so perfect and yet just an act of fraud. At least an unplanned city is not a slave of someone Else's decision. Its fucked up but its so free. The people residing in it are the only ones who can mend it. tame it. And who is responsible to plan a city anyway? Our politicians? Engineers? Our parents? Really? Or Poets like you and me. who cant even plan a day properly and all their impulsive trips are based on just an ' I don't know what i wanna do OR where i want to go OR I don't know what i want to eat.' Isn't that how we make the most of a place? No. It better be unplanned. Order will follow after chaos. Just like your touch. Just like our nights and the mornings spent together. That is why i love your city. Of course i love it a lot less than i love you. I love it nevertheless.

Healing will start in 7 seconds.

I hugged Rudy and Pragya after months today. And I could not leave them. I dint want to leave them. This was so far my best day in loni this year.
I din't leave Pragya for almost a minute I guess. Or rather she din't let go off me.
Same thing happened last week when I met Nikki. In the mall.
And when I met Alok at Nal Stop bus stand.
Stop being pricks both of you.

It is said that a hug works as a healer if it lasts for seven seconds or more. Or maybe if it was three seconds written in that newspaper article I read with images of Tibetan monks hugging on it.
How I wish I was too around them, the monks, on my 21st birthday this August. Away from this shithole.
This shithole of a place being bearable for me only by the likes of Pragya and Rudy.
I miss eggs too sometimes. But then Im to be blamed for the distance between us. I was a prick in our case.
I hate it but Saatchi's nonstop Deccan queen live playlist is still stuck in my head. All sorts of Bollywood songs I had never heard. Can't believe it that I had never heard them.

That was a train I had taken to escape from this shithole.
Im back to one meal or max two meals a day routine. My hair has grown longer. I would like to cut it off again. It's been five weeks now. I need to cut it off before I feel the burden again. And we all have our own ways of practicing asexual masturbation. Im sure by now you don't even know what exactly Im talking about.

maybe more later.
worst writing session ever.

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.