Corridors of Ankita's Mind

Narcissism for the Soul

2012-01-16T09:31:00.001-08:00

Call it narcissism or self-obsession but poring over old, pretty pictures of oneself is the best way to recover from a hit to the self-esteem. Along with the images come sweet memories and it’s like balm to wounded pride. So I’ve realised that I have around five or six favourite pictures of myself and honestly, if I could, I’d make a calendar with one adorning each month. I’m under no illusion about my looks and I’m definitely not what you’d call vain. But the irrefutable truth is that what is visible to the naked eye is the outward appearance and a good self-image goes hand in hand with exterior beauty. And most people can be beautiful with a little effort. Trust me, the effort is worth it.

So what kind of guy is better in the long run – the flattery guy or the reality check guy? I think either way, it’s not what you say but how you say it. Sadly, most people could do with a lifetime’s training on putting things well. Point made, soul healed. Now all that is left is to end the day (night) with a deliciously paranormal episode of Fringe. Good night!

The moon, cigarettes and more

2012-01-14T21:02:00.000-08:00

9 am and the white crescent of the moon still adorned the light blue sky. It was as though the moon couldn't bear to say goodbye to its beloved - the sun as they shared the last vestiges of a love that would have to be forgotten until dusk. I was on my customary morning walk, preceded by a strong coffee that jerked my eyes wide open and sent my senses singing. As my block neared, I wished I could walk forward to the lone corners with invisible notice boards that read 'For smokers only'. I understood one of the charms of smoking then - it helps you enjoy your solitude better and for a voluntary loner like me, that's akin to heaven. For a moment then, I wished I could enjoy the morning with a cigarette, free to lurk in any corner I liked. But then the thought vanished. I do like my wrinkle-free skin and unstained lips, you know.

However, as I walked past the autumn-dried trees and sun-burnt grass, I realised that I would never again be truly alone, now that I had a GPRS phone. I carry Gmail, Gtalk, Facebook, Twitter and Skype with me wherever I go. There's a whole world humming with me as I go about my life. It's a good feeling. That's the power of living live - there are millions of friends, acquaintances and veritable strangers experiencing magical moments at the same time as you and what's more, making you a part of their experience and vice versa when they tweet or talk about it. This is a modern day miracle - the miracle of togetherness. I would never agree that technology has pulled us apart, as some centenarians would have us believe. Technology has helped us share the love :)

Lost to Me

2012-01-13T22:18:00.000-08:00

I wore heavy melancholy on my shoulders like a well-loved cloak

I got through the day, having perfected the art of self-deception

But false assurance didn't last long and I know the exact moment it broke

It was this morning when that friend caught up with me - introspection.

I allow the tears to fall, the desolation to hold me tight

As I realise that like every other story of my heart

This has ended before it even began.

My bravado shatters and I wonder if I'll ever be loved

If there'll ever be the same hand to hold all my life

I've shed tears for you before and this time it's all my fault

I sought you out and let you capture my soul again

No one to blame but myself.

I've not hurt like this in a long, long time and the wounds feel fresh

Memory is a strange, strange thing. This pain feels so new.

I can't hold up any longer. Hope is lost to me.

This moment, I let you go. I won't try anymore. Nor will I look for you or wait for you. I will not check my phone a zillion times or stay online at odd hours. I will not keep pinging you with no reply ever in sight. It's over.

It's time to get on with my life and bring the sunshine back into my heart. This year began on the best note ever and I will not let that go to waste. Nor will I forget my third new year resolution: Stop being needy. I don't have to beg. Love will come to me.

Frozen in Motion

2012-01-11T07:31:00.000-08:00

Cheeks stung by the cold evening air, eyes bloodshot and an exhilaration zipping through my body - that's how I returned to my room today after an awesomely wintry walk in the cricket ground of my campus. Ten rounds was the goal I set myself and my feet covered them effortlessly, egged on by the peppy music in my ears. Lights from the neighbouring construction work lit up my path as I plowed on through the wet grass. Once the light was gone, I was catapulted into near complete darkness but I walked on and I could have been walking through nothingness. Then a passing car would cast welcome shadows on the grass, granting me vision once again. The freezing wind whipping my hair back rendered my nose and lips numb and I felt like I was breathing ice. As my feet moved rhythmically and the music whispered sweetly into my ears, images and thoughts flashed through my mind and I realised that motion can be very conducive to introspection, when solitary. I was as solitary as could be - all alone on the cricket ground with only the grass for company. Water splashed my legs as I stomped through some particularly wet patches but I was oblivious to the cold by then. The room felt toasty warm when I returned. Sometimes a contrast is all you need to appreciate the beauty of what you have.

Skype - I love you

2012-01-10T05:44:00.000-08:00

I may have watched and liked Paris, Je t'aime but it's Skype I truly love! I'm wondering if I should be blogging about this any more but I will seriously die of happiness if I don't pour my heart out somewhere. Do you know how awesome it is when you see the person you've been yearning to see? And it's actually only the third time in life you're seeing them? God, I could feast my eyes on him for ever and ever. I need time to memorise every detail of his face so I can dream perfect dreams and cherish flawless memories. All the pain and sadness in the crevices of my heart vanished and a fluffy, pink happiness took its place much to my delight. It's strangely difficult to describe the floating-in-candy-clouds feeling I've been feeling.

I re-read our conversation hours later and it was nice. There were so many things I longed to say but I contained myself. I don't want to jump the gun or make him comfortable. I do feel nostalgic though about the kind of things we could tell each other when we first met. I hesitate to say a simple thing like 'I miss you'. I don't know he'd feel about it. There are so many invisible lines I'm not sure I can cross. The first time my roommate and I got really drunk in the room, I talked about him. And I didn't even know why. I guess what we had was real. And if the universe is listening to me, then we could have it again.

Some Perspective

2012-01-09T04:43:00.000-08:00

I asked for some perspective and boy, did I get it. So I realise that it was all nothing but infatuation and that's all it'll ever be without physical proximity and all the nurture that a relationship needs in order to flower. I'm sure that my posts would have been quite the same if I had blogged as avidly the last time I fell in 'love'. It's so easy to believe in love when you're in the throes of passion. And even easier to question it's existence once you've wiped the haze away. Love, I think, is a fire that has to be stoked continuously. A little neglect and the fire can extinguish completely in seconds. Or may be that's passion. Who knows if I've even experienced love to know it?

You know how you can be deaf to the loudest music when you're intent upon what you're doing? That's what happened to me just now. That could be a metaphor for life itself. You miss the sublime beauty in your rush to live and experience all the things you can. That isn't living life to the fullest. That's suffocating yourself to the point of living death.

Getting By

2012-01-08T08:19:00.000-08:00

It has become a necessity to hit the keyboard whenever I find myself with some time on my hands. It's like I cannot bear the silence. Because the silence whispers me truths I have no strength to hear. I've always got what I wanted in my life. Success, friends, growth and now I have just one desire - you. So universe, are you listening?

My eyes grow red. Sleep beckons. Will I dream of you? Will we be together at least in the surreal realm of my subconscious? This is such a lost cause and I drown my sorrows by watching back to back episodes of Sex and the City (no, don't undermine the power of fluffy chick shows!). So I stalk your Facebook profile and I don't like what I see. I see all your photos over and over. It's not enough. I'm turning into a lovesick fool. A tragedy unfolding right before my eyes. And I'm the protagonist.

Round Two

2012-01-07T07:35:00.000-08:00

Last time around wasn't any less intense where intensity of feelings are concerned. But this time is scarily more real - the pain I feel is deeper, brought forth by a sense of maturity I didn't possess before. So I'm reduced to blogging about my feelings for you because I don't know how much I can tell you. Or how much I SHOULD tell you rather. I was shocked by the flood of feelings that surged in me when I looked at the railway ticket you bought for me. Yes, I have saved it for posterity. And when I think about how we forgot to take a picture together, I swear it is as though a thousand knives are slicing their way through my heart, ever so unhurriedly. And I can't believe I forgot your birthday. Even when you asked me if I was here in Mumbai on the 22nd, I didn't have a clue. I wish I could have got you something just so you'd have a tangible piece of me with you. I dare not think about the future lest my heart forget to beat. I know for sure that I have never confronted a fear like this. I rarely ever take your name when I talk to you. Except online - which doesn't really count as you can't hear it. What would I give to hear you say my name right now? Perhaps anything. It seems that I have lost every last shred of sanity. This is so unreal I can't believe it's happening. I need to see you again as urgently as I need to breath. But oxygen is denied to me. And it isn't in my control, is it? Tomorrow we leave. You will go across the sea while I cross a few miles. The only thing helping me through this is music made by one of my friends - the band is called Vega Massive and if you're reading this, please do me a favour and download their songs from www.soundcloud.com/vegamassive. It's arguably the best music I've heard in a long time.

If I wasn't able to put all this down in words, god knows what I'd do. Honestly, how did humans manage feelings before the advent of writing? I guess they painted. Emotions are powerful things. They can kill if left to fester inside. The only resort left to me now is video chat. I have to figure that out so I might be granted a last lease of life - being able to see you and hear you for real at least. Will this love fade with time, the way it did with a classmate of mine? My feelings made the final leap from serious infatuation to unfathomable love one night when I got sloshed with him. And with you too, a few drinks made me bold enough to bare my heart to you although within limits, considering you're not single. It's strange how alcohol is always involved in the equation somehow. But feelings don't ever fade completely - at least the ones you experience with an intensity that threatens to kill you. The older I grow, the deeper is the love I feel. It's frightening. I've been in love before but it was different. My heart has matured and I seem to have no control over it.

Stars and Flowers

2012-01-06T23:28:00.000-08:00

By the time the stars come out tomorrow, I'll be back on Pune soil, albeit for only three weeks this time. I'm not sure how Mumbai will feel when I return in February though. Quite a few of the people who made it incredibly special this time will be missing then. But there'll be new magic to be discovered I'm sure. There's more than enough magic in this world to last every one of us all our lives :) This time around, I've been lazy about exploring my newfound interest in theatre thanks to the awesome theatre students of FLAME School of Performing Arts. Also, I want to see what the city feels like on my own. It's been a long time since we had an intimate conversation :) And there are some magical people that I have missed out on this time. Hopefully, I will also be engrossed in completing my first novel by February. Long shot perhaps, but I hope to be at least half way through.

So I made a list of seven very personal New Year resolutions which go much beyond the typical surface ones that I usually make. But as the days advance, I find myself adding to the list. The most important addition I've made is: to reconnect with all the people that have mattered to me at some point or the other. When you've genuinely cared, no amount of wrong words, actions and circumstances can truly take it all away. And it's never too late to enhance both your lives by making the love flower. I believe that the love you share with each individual is like a different flower, all of them equally beautiful but with distinctive fragrances that set them apart from each other. Now if only I was better versed with flowers, I could give each of the special people in my life the one that fits us best. So my next addition to the every growing list: better familiarity with biodiversity - particularly the floral kind!

Morning Musings

2012-01-04T19:39:00.000-08:00

It's early in the morning

And I wake up with a smile for you

And when it's late evening

My smile will still stay true

Cos I'm in love with you!

This New Year has already brought so much cheer with it. Reconnecting with old friends, making memories with new ones, discovering the city and rediscovering the real me - it's been a wonderful trip and that's just 5 days into 2012! A new phone, an old passion reignited, a new sense of confidence, hope and purpose that promises to make my sun shine brighter every day. And yeah, it's wonderfully liberating to indulge in the sweet taste of alcohol in the open arms of Mumbai. Let's see - I had beer with friends at Cafe Mondegar, white rum with a very special person at a sports bar and whisky with an old friend at his place. That's three different kinds of drinking I'd never tried in Mumbai until now! And the best part is, I went home totally sober all three times :) If that's not growing up, then what is?

Notes to You

2012-01-04T09:09:00.000-08:00

I try to forget. But memories - crystal clear, delectably joyous keep wrecking my purpose. I try meeting other guys. See if they can fill that void within me. It doesn't work. I'm running out of options. Very soon, there will be none left. What am I to do then, my love?

Every night before I sleep memories of you crowd my mind. I have to wade through them laboriously to get to that glorious carefree place called sleep. Sometimes the wading takes so long that I might be stuck there forever. And you know what the strangest part is? I don't mind it one bit. A part of me wishes it could be suspended in memories of us forever - even if they're just that - memories.

How long will it take to make peace with the fact that once again, I have fallen in love in vain? I don't really know. You're like an addiction. Wonderfully painful as well as sweet. Sort of like sex itself. And when I touch you, I feel like I'm reaching out to myself. When you smile, I feel like my heart is blooming. When I laugh, I see it reflected in your eyes. And I find that romance isn't a myth.

The last time I felt like this was four years ago. I only have faint remnants of what I felt then. This time, I want it all to be recorded for eternity. So if I ever doubt the existence of love, I have this.

For you - if words could suffice

2012-01-02T08:54:00.000-08:00

So ephemeral. Like a dream. Did I imagine it all? There's no evidence after all. Just a weight in my heart. A karmic bond. An inexplicable joy. A depth of connection I rarely feel. Five years. Five seconds. Or forever? If 'forever' was an image, it would be your face. Laughter - so true. Warmth -so real. I dreamed of you. But reality felt so much more beautiful. For once in my life, no loss for words. No quest for an escape route. Complete surrender. All the past comes cascading down. Into this pool of love I feel. Wish I could capture every word spoken, every moment spent, every joke shared, every tear shed. Your smile is the last image I want to remember. The feel of you is the last sensation I want to feel. Your soul mate is who I want to be. I've felt like this only one other time. And that was the one other time we met. Irreplaceable. Irrevocable. Never have I felt so devoid of pride. So restless yet content. So insanely happy. So oblivious to consequences or obstacles. I feel so free. Free to love. This is for you. As is my soul.

Time I travelled the Inside

2011-12-08T05:07:00.000-08:00

Life has been a whirlwind since 17^th November, 2011. That’s the last date I consciously remember. Everything since then has been a huge colourful swirl of travel, new experiences, friendship and change. A three-day concert that blew my mind, a trip to Goa that involved watching films and discovering the place itself and a film-making workshop during which I ended up loving the crew enough to miss them once they left. And now I’m free. Some of my friends are back while others have left. But I feel a little lost. I’m having one of those moments where I actually feel the passage of time. Most of the time, it happens so slowly that we hardly realised that the sun that rose today is different from the one that shone yesterday. But now and then, time passes by just a little too fast for one to assimilate. I realise that I have re-adopted certain toxic patterns that I thought I had left behind. I need to make peace with the present and begin to improve it.

Of all my goals, one continues to elude me: that of loving myself. Films, books, television, experiences – all of them keep nudging me from time to time, reminding me gently to love myself. I never have. As happy as I may be, I always seem to have a melancholy background score to my life. Deep inside, I know that this is because I’m not happy with myself. I seek happiness from people, accomplishments and nature. I find it too. But now and then, one of them will mock me by bringing unexplained tears to my eyes. Now and then, when I watch a film or hear a story, I find myself relating to it from a place of pain deep within me that I didn’t know existed. I’ve never really visited this place. Of all the places in this world, the one least explored is one’s own recesses. Terms like heart, mind and soul confuse me. As far as I know, there are only two places in this world – inside and outside. And its time I travelled the inside.

Vote for Social Media

2011-11-10T22:35:00.000-08:00

Facebook: 600 million active users (India: 34 million)

Youtube: 490 million active users (India: 23 million)

Twitter: 75 million active users (India: 9 million)

It would be nothing short of foolish to ignore social media as a valid platform for reaching out to the masses given these figures. The fact that political campaigns are increasingly relying on social media as a cost efficient and result-yielding method of motivating voters bears testimony to this. In the last one year, people’s movements in the Arab countries have been fuelled by the power of the social media. Several political leaders in the west, chief among them Barack Obama, have wielded social networking websites as a winning weapon.

The premise on which social media campaigns are run is that people trust their friends the most and they interact with their friends and contacts on social media platforms. Thus these sites become excellent grounds for disseminating information and garnering support. The Social Democratic party in Zurich took it a step ahead inviting supporters to put up ideas they’d like to be put into practice on Facebook and once they won the elections, they actually took the most popular ideas and passed them as legislation.

The King of Social Networking

No discussion on social media as a tool for political campaigns is complete without a mention of the Obama change campaign. Not only did it win him the United States Presidential elections, social networking tools also got him:

6.5 million online donations
13 million email addresses
2 million profiles on MyBarackObama.com
400,000 blog posts
35,000 volunteer groups

Yes, most of the above were generated by volunteers and users themselves, with no effort from Obama’s team. And that is the new key word in social media marketing: user generated content. The lesson to be gleaned from Obama’s campaign is that social media is not just a tool of communication – it can also be a vital community builder.

Another smart strategy Obama adopted was to offer staggered options for involvement. Those who were not too interested could take small steps to associate themselves with the campaign while the more interested supporters would go further by organizing events and fundraisers. Apart from that, the reason why Obama was able to get so many people to donate was that there was no lower limit on the amount to be donated. They could be as less as 200 dollars, thus opening up the possibilities vastly.

Tool for Mass Movements

Unlike political campaigns, grassroots movements are not organized by a dedicated team. They come from the masses themselves, not necessarily the elite sections. Mass movements empower clusters of people who rise to political power because of their ability to employ social media to reach out to huge numbers of like-minded people and inspire them to action. In the recent uprisings in the Arab world, we saw that protesters could communicate not just within themselves but also with the world at large. What’s more, they could easily monitor international reactions and sentiments. Being a democratic medium, people were able to self-broadcast events in real time, along with information and ideas regardless of laws and regulations or even the rules imposed in newsrooms. Thus, the speed at which information moved was phenomenal, incomparable to traditional media like newspapers and even television. Television of course, made good use of the videos and information put up by the general public.

There is much to learn from the success of these movements, primarily the fact that it doesn’t take a team of employed experts to kick off a storm in social media circuits that quickly percolates to the real world and begins yielding results. Class distinctions become meaningless in the egalitarian environment of social media.

Adoptable Strategies

A few campaigning strategies that stand out from all the success stories are:

· Niche targeting: Give your audience what they like, according to their age and gender. Make it personal so that they can relate to it easily, countering any scare tactics adopted by the opposition. Obama’s team set up separate Twitter accounts for all 50 states to relay state-relevant messages to supporters.

· Cyclical messaging: Connect all the social media platforms that your campaign is using and deliver the same messaging constantly. How do you do this? Every outlet must link to another. For instance, a Tweet can link to a Youtube video, a video can provide a link to the Facebook page, the Facebook page can link to the website and so on.

· Smart mails: Spamming is forbidden, no doubt. But through all the social media marketing efforts, a sizeable collection of emails should be in your possession at the end of it. Emailing is an excellent way of conducitng follow up on your supporters and offering them ways to involve themselves and go back to the campaign’s social media outlets.

Concerns

While nearly all ventures to incorporate social media into political campaigns have been exceedingly successful, there are certainly a few challenges that may arise. One survey conducted by the Pew (News - Alert) Research Center, fifty-six percent of users believe it is “usually difficult to differentiate information they find on the Internet that is true from information that is not true”. It is impossible to control the information that Internet users put up during a campaign and obviously, not all of it can be generated by the team itself. However, there is a simple solution. The best way to counter misinformation is with authentic information – so put up everything there is to know on the Facebook account and other social media platforms. This will avoid distortion of the message as it passes from the party to the public through the media.

Another issue to be confronted is bloggers who often turn into opinionated leaders and can seriously harm the health of a campaign with hate posts and partisan opinions. How do you counter this? Simply generate enough positive buzz that a few negative voices are drowned out in the overall picture. Also, any campaigner must be completely ready for the harshest of criticisms when venturing on to perhaps the most democratic of all media.

Tough questions

2011-09-14T11:15:00.000-07:00

Disclaimer: This post has a lot of foul language so if you're sensitive to profanity, please don't continue.

What do you do when people act like shit for no fault of yours? When friends gang up all the fucking time and then preach independence? When your tongue runs away with you and even the few people you rely on aren’t with you? When you like someone and your morals are questioned because that person is already taken? When you feel like shit because you can’t give it back to people and inside, you wish you could drive a stake into their hearts? Where do you direct all that pent up frustration and suppressed aggression? Do you let it harm yourselves or someone else? Do you let it fester within or torture somebody else with your woes? What would you rather choose?

What it means to be high

2011-09-12T13:55:00.000-07:00

It's my twenty-second birthday and I'm happy high. Not high enough to puke nor sober enough to be sad. I've reached the stage of revelations where I can bare my heart to my roommate. It's good to have someone in your life who's so innocent and pure that you can tell them anything without being judged or loved any less. Isn't that what we fear the most - being loved less? All our actions and words - our lives - are centered upon the need, the ache to be loved. That's why the spiritualists preach love and love alone. There's nothing mushy or sacrificial about it. Love is sacred - be it familial, friendly or sexual. This 13th September, I make a singular wish - to find my soulmate, the one I'm meant to be with. There's no point loving men I can never be with. And it's all my I've done so far. But I can feel better, brighter times ahead.

My New Notebook

2011-09-11T10:06:00.000-07:00

Gold embossed and swathed in the fragrance of hope and new beginnings – the beautiful little notebook sitting on the shelf at Venus Stationeries was exactly what I was looking for. Buying it was my first step towards making a change for the better. The first ray of sunshine upon a sleeping face, the gradual opening of eyes, the start of a smile, the first hint of happiness – we thrive on the firsts and the starts. What happens thereon may not live up to expectations but we can always make another start, another promising beginning. Things never seem to really end, do they? You break up with your boyfriend but until your death, some tiny memories will linger. It’s not something you desire or resist. It just is.

The destiny I envision for my new notebook is to be the receptacle of a brilliant work of fiction, authored by your very own. Yesterday, I listened to a writer called Annie Zaidi. She had come to my college FLAME Institute of Communication for a book reading. How to publish your own book, the market in India for writers of fiction and nonfiction, the challenges, the financial prospects – I got it all from the horse’s mouth. I realised that I’ve never cared how difficult it is. I’ve always written. Its an impulse I cannot ignore. It’s an impulse that needs no motivation other than to see the words form on paper or screen. But Zaidi reminded me of my own dream – one that I’ve steadfastly refused to confront. I know I have a lot to say. And trust me, in my life, I leave the majority of things unsaid, which makes it all the more imperative to express them somehow.

I’ve always thought that introverts make for better writers simply because they have a lot more left unsaid. Of course, no one believes that I’m an introvert now. But I know better. Core traits die hard.

Bring me the sunset in a cup

2011-09-05T09:59:00.000-07:00

Bring me the sunset in a cup

So I can dip into its myriad colours

And create a painting of flowers

In the mysterious twilight

Hinting at invisible hues

Reminding me of a woman in her sunset years

Hinting at a lost youthfulness

Bring me the sunset in a cup

So I can drink from it and taste

The taste of setting sun

Like the bitter taste of failure

Or the sweet taste of sleep

Bring me the sunset in a cup

So I can watch the swirl of colours

Without having to wait each day

So I can have at least one pleasure

Without the need of patience

Bring me the sunset in a cup

So I can read into the colours

Like a crystal ball, my future

The various shades of my life

And know the dominant colour

Bring me the sunset in a cup

Or better still, bring me the sun

Then I shall be God

And control beauty for my pleasure.

Thoughts - Disguised as Poetry

2011-08-26T05:11:00.000-07:00

Second Chances

What if I just stop and stand
While the world rushes me by?
Would I be thrown back in time
Free to start over again?

Would I really do things any differently
Considering my impulses were genuine?
I couldn't guess the right thing to do
Cos I know not how the fabric of life is sewn.

Second chances are never given
But if they were, it'd be a mere gamble
So I'd rather plow on with a single chance
A single shot at getting it right.

Laughter

Every time I speak
A thousand darts come my way
Thoughts and scowls become missiles
Judging, before I've uttered a single word.

My vocal chords are crippled
The words are stuck forever inside
They take on a life of their own, within
Until my life is no more my own.

Now I speak no more; all I have is laughter
Masquerading as cheer
When deep within, those words fester
A sorry amalgamation of all my fears.

Open the Door

2011-08-26T04:34:00.000-07:00

Running with the tide

An unstoppable ride
Trying to hold on
Before everything's gone

My limbs ache, I keep running
My heart weeps, I keep smiling
I turn wooden, stolid and numb
Life has struck me dumb

Those words inspire me no more
Those songs soothe me no more
So I keep looking, I keep screaming
Trying to find a way to open the door

Go open the door
I'll wait no more
So open the door
I won't implore.

I wake up in the morning
And try to find some meaning
But everything I do or say
Goes unnoticed in the cosmic play

Flutter in the Heart

2011-08-05T08:09:00.000-07:00

There's a flutter in my heart and it's not love. There are those unprecedented moments when you experience the transient nature of your life in a way you rarely do otherwise. You literally feel the people, thoughts and environment changing as though in slow motion. Little particles moving so slowly that they're almost still and yet you know that this moment is nothing like the one you experienced a second earlier. I feel excited at the very thought of facing tomorrow - a feeling as precious as life itself. And suddenly my extra pounds and all my pending work don't matter so much. In fact, they don't matter at all. I read somewhere that it's good to be unsettled. As long as I feel this flutter in my heart, I know I'm living. Truly living.

Silly confused soul

2011-07-01T01:11:00.000-07:00

It's always the same old story, repeating over and over like a broken record. I meet new places, people, and experiences with trepidation and eventually come to love them with such ardour that they become part of me. And then I turn into this pathetic slave who cannot live without that person, place or experience. The very same helplessness washes over me as I await the end of my internship within a week's time.

Of course it's not all beds and roses. I'm exhausted by the long travelling, erratic schedules and inadequate sleep. I'll be glad to have nearly three weeks to myself at home before I return to campus life. But I'm going to miss my friends here, the editors, writing scripts, getting promos made, running up and down the stairs, drinking teas and coffees by the dozen, walking that lovely little street to office, taking bus no. 254... God, there are a million things imprinted in my memory from my time here at a television channel network.

It's strange but I find it easiest to forge friendships and memories at the workplace. I cried when I quit my first job. I even considered doing a graduation by correspondence so I wouldn't have to leave the place. Sounds silly now, but at the time I was literally in love with my work and the office and my friends there. A good workplace is somewhere you belong, feel appreciated and wanted - all qualities designed to bind you to the organization forever.

And so here I am - a silly, confused soul who's both happy and sad about her internship coming to an end. Eckhart Tolle says that the only way to live is to appreciate the Now. My mother agrees. But my stupid self insists on being contrary.

Am I creative?

2011-06-04T05:21:00.000-07:00

This has to be the most creative job I've ever had. I have to think of TV promo ideas in terms of motion graphics and compositing. Oh and I have no clue how to think of zooming text and popping up pictures in my head.

Yes, this is the biggest challenge my creativity has ever faced. If I have any creativity in me, that is. So here I am on a Saturday evening, scouring through zillions of videos for promo ideas. But at least one good thing has come out of the exercise. I've stumbled upon some really mind-blowing work. From people who're obviously more creative than me!

How it works with me is, I can be creative only once I'm so comfortable with the task that it's involuntary. I cannot be creative while I'm picking up the ropes. It's just how I am. It was the same when I was in programming. I mastered making shows first, and then I began to have spectacular ideas. The routine has to be mastered to make way for creativity. In my case, at least.

That Enigma called Friendship

2011-05-27T01:16:00.000-07:00

Once again, I've begun to withdraw from the social sphere. The last couple of months on campus were a flurry of social activity, bonding and new friendships. However, as always, I doubt I'll be able to sustain them for long.

I have a strange concept of friendship. I can only commit to a soul friendship with one or two individuals at the most at a time. I do not enjoy having groups of friends which is usually the norm. I have realised that having a 'bunch' of friends is in fact safer and less emotionally stressing than having one best friend. But I just don't find the same pleasure or satisfaction in hanging out as a group. I'm a private person. I do not revel in sharing juicy details of my life with five different people. I'd rather share it all with just one person. The problem is that these kind of friendships become very difficult to sustain as there is a high level of dependence, insecurity and possessiveness. In fact, it begins to manifest the kind of problems and issues that exist between a couple!

So of course, all my 'best friends' have fallen by the wayside. I have only a couple of good friends from my past life, whom I amhaving difficulty keeping in touch as well. I don't know if its laziness or sheer indifference but I just can't get myself to keep in touch, arrange outings or call up my old friends. It does bother me to be alone and not have friends. But I find the effort of doing something about it not worth my while.

It's not that I'm antisocial or that I dislike people. The contrary is true in fact. I love forming connections and making new friends. I wasn't like this earlier. But I wouldn't call myself an introvert now. I'm not shy about approaching people I like either. The problem I face is in cultivating friendships, going out and taking relationships further even after the common ground no longer exists. I can be the best friend you'll ever have so long as we work together or we study together. As soon as that commonality vanishes, I just don't find it in me to continue the friendship.

Honestly, I don't understand why I'm made this way! I guess the enigma is not friendship but my own self!

Bittersweet remembrance

2011-05-24T01:25:00.000-07:00

I see that my followers have reached the respectable number of 12. I now feel a commitment towards my readers to update my blog at least now and then! So it is for that reason that I hit the keyboard today.

I'm back to television and I find bittersweet memories crowding me every step of the way. After all, I spent what I thought were some of the best moments of my life in my first TV job. It was an entertainment channel and we worked there together - me and my friend. We were the best of friends and totally joint at the hip. It was a dream come true for me - a friendship of such depth that I felt we were sisters. Everything worked out perfectly somehow. We found an awesome friend at work and the editors, librarians, literally everyone was so good to us. We liked them too.

Today I no longer talk to my best friend or that awesome friend at work. But of course, their ghosts still reside in my heart and mind. I'm not bitter. I remember the joy and the contentment much better than the anguish that followed. And yet, I had a tough time restraining myself from comparing the two jobs during my first week here. I'm working with a bouquet of entertainment channels now and after a week, I'm thoroughly enjoying myself here. If only those memories would release their sweet yet painful grasp on me.

Dream Risks

2011-04-21T09:20:00.000-07:00

Every dream is a risk. And I've never been one to try the unbeaten path. Oh, I'm certainly not conservative. But I'll never do something I can't be almost absolutely sure of. And so, I've never really dreamt. Not since my childhood years anyway.

Some dream risks I'm daring myself to take NOW:

Go travelling alone, on a shoestring budget
Finally write that book
Spend time in the wilderness with flora and fauna in a forest
Get a pet
Fall in love
Love a friend with all my heart and soul. And most importantly, show it.
Go on a food tour around the globe and blog about it
Lose my virginity with good cause
Master a sport, preferably swimming
Get a camera and click away!
Sing in public
Do a solo dance in public

If within 2011, I manage to do at least one of these things I'll believe that I still remember how to dream.

Distant Places

2011-04-10T01:10:00.000-07:00

There's no better time to bring my mind home from all the distant places it wanders in, than a lazy, languorous Sunday. My mind has a mind of its own. It never seems to want to come home except at quiet, solitary moments like this. My mind hardly ever wishes to be in the present. So, today's trek when I drank in the wilderness, the secret chirping of birds in the laden silence and the stones of different shapes and sizes in my path, was a rare experience. My mind for once, didn't go off to distant places. It probably decided that the present was arresting enough to stay there.

No fire in the belly

2011-03-02T11:09:00.000-08:00

Redoing things simply takes all the charm out of them. Bosses should bear this in mind before asking their subordinates to revise projects a zillion times. And so should teachers.

It's 12.40 in the night and I've got an entire presentation waiting to be redone. But I've got no fire in the belly. All the passion and dedication that I poured into my first effort seem like eons ago. I simply don't care how my group fares any way. There's this attitude of merely wanting to get it over with.

They say we should learn to look at the same things in a different perspective but at this moment, I cannot see my topic in any way but one - BORING. I can do a hundred different projects provided they are all DIFFERENT. Without variety, there is no way I can feel interested in any task.

Happy to be single?

2011-02-20T10:23:00.000-08:00

If romance is the domain of love, then why do I feel romantic without being in love? Perhaps it's just hormones. Or perhaps, sometimes there's just more love in the air. Looking at couples around me all in their private rosy bubbles, I wonder if there's something wrong with me. Should I find someone to enjoy my romantic moods with too? Does love HAVE to be involved? Can you just enjoy romance with someone you like and hope that it will transform into love? I wonder how many of those couples are doing just that. I may have just hit upon the answer to the enigma of how so many 'boring', arranged marriages have worked in India for centuries. All human beings feel romantic and if they have someone to share those feelings with, life is perfect. That's what we sensible people call 'love'. Not that agonising process of falling for someone and trying unsuccessfully to capture their affections. Love is nothing but conquest and lust. This is just a hypothesis, by the way. I do find the chase of love pretty entertaining, if not always productive.

Still, none of this philosophical rambling can change the fact that I'm hopelessly single and still I succumb to the allure of romance. It's at moments like these that I actually consider the madness of getting into a relationship. All other times, I'm happy to be sane and single.

City of Angels

2011-02-10T23:04:00.000-08:00

I've been reading a lot about angels a lot lately. I've always derived spiritual insights from fiction, even if the genre is something diametrically opposite to God and religion.

The hair on my arms rose, tears collected in my eyes and shivers ran through my spine as I read about angels in this supernatural fiction novel called City of Glass. My body always seems to know when I'm reading something that's true and beautiful. So does that mean that angels exist? That would be great, wouldn't it? Beings that love us enough to protect us from all evil. My mother has always been my angel. But when I'm away from home, I wonder who's looking after me. There are friends but ultimately, I have to be my own angel.

For some reason, reading about angels brought back memories of my childhood when I used to cry at the thought of a God that loved me unconditionally. I didn't really deserve that - for a being as great as God to shower all his affection on me, when I was sinning so much. Now I'm no longer religious. I don't think I still believe in God as an independent and superior being. I subscribe more to the idea that we are all connected and the energy that flows in us in the same energy we call God. Love is energy too. And I think one needs energy to love. It is why weak people can never really love.

Returning to the points of angels, I wonder if there are some people amongst us who have taken it upon themselves to be angels. Like social workers who seem to think nothing of comfort and money, and only about other people's betterment. Social workers are maligned by many but I have profound respect for them. So then it's possible to become an angel. And you don't need silver wings to do it :)

Killing what we live for

2011-02-02T04:29:00.000-08:00

Ask most people what is their life's greatest wish and the answer would be "to see the world", to travel. We toil and save money so that we might take the family out to an exotic resort and find pleasure in the beautiful environs coupled with the lovely company. We crave for weekends so we might spend a few quiet moments by the beach, in a garden, take a walk. Whenever we see something beautiful around us, we want to capture it on camera so we may look at it whenever we wish and gladden our hearts innumerable times. Beauty is what we live for. And the greatest beauty is the natural world - the birds and animals, forests, mountains, beaches, flowers, trees, greenery, wilderness, woods, deserts. In the absence of the natural world, the manmade world will simply lose its attraction.

It's strange. The further we go from nature the more we crave for it. We come to the cities in search of happiness and when we do achieve what we thought would bring happiness, we realise that we want to go back to the wilderness. The unique pleasure of watching a bird flit from branch to branch, a flower changing its hues with the sunset, a tiger walking majestically by the forest river, leaves fluttering in the afternoon breeze will all be lost if the natural habitats vanish.

I wonder why we are determined to kill the very elements that we live for. Is it money that we live for? Is it skyscrapers that we live for? Is it the GDP figure that brings a smile to our faces while we sleep? It's only when the feel of the cool grass beneath our feet is replaced by hot, hard granite that we will realise how good the grass felt. Commercial success and industrial advancement cannot feed our hearts and souls. We came from this earth and it is this earth that we will return to, to adapt from the Bible. Like it or not, all of humanity shares an unseverable link with the natural elements.

Is there anything in this world that can rival the profound feeling of peace, godliness, silence and joy that one experiences standing before lofty mountains etched against a stark blue sky or in a silent, unpenetrably deep forest? All the money and fame in the world cannot come even close to this feeling of oneness and nothingness.

I fear to think of what I would do if I couldn't wake up to the innocent, joyful call of sparrows and squirrels. I don't want to live in a world where there is no beauty, where there are no animals or trees. I would trade all the money in the world for a life spent in worship of the forests of the world. Competition, ambition, fame, envy, sadness, anger, frustration - all these voices in my head seem to get silenced effortlessly whenever I connect with nature. Everything recedes into insignificance. All that matters is creation.

I don't know if anyone is listening. But please let's not destroy this planet. It's a thing of beauty. And it's ours to nurture, enjoy and worship.

Miniature

2011-01-31T03:44:00.001-08:00

(This is a story I wrote a couple of years ago. It won the third prize in the Revenge Ink all India horror story writing competition.)

A Bonsai plant stood on her windowsill, a breath of Shinto in her little retreat. The children gazed at it in wonder. They compared it to the gigantic banyans and peepuls in the vicinity and pondered over whether it had been dwarfed by evil spirits. A poor little tree, cruelly restrained from its full glory. She did not see it that way. Nor did she wish others to see it that way. There lay the problem you see. She would explain, “It’s a miniature - a delicate ornament unlike those colossal beasts. This way you can see it whole, be right by its side. Feel its tree spirit. Feel its love. Can you feel that with those giants?” The children listened for they were fascinated by her. She did not speak like a child but she resembled one – just like elves and Lilliputians in their favourite fairytales. It was a delicious mystery for the kids and the very mystery endeared them to the child woman. There was nothing warm or malicious about it. It was just plain, raw curiosity.

"My sweet Pipah, come have your dinner…” she crooned, as to a baby. The sun had not yet surrendered, the ‘colossal beasts’ glowed with an unearthly magenta hue, swaying in the cool winter breeze - a breeze that gently teased your skin and senses to dangerous alertness. It is the kind of alertness that awakens the repressed among the less fortunate of the world. She shuddered and drew the curtains on the trees, not really shutting out the danger but at least gaining a momentary escape. Pipah had his dinner early. He was a miniature poodle. “Darling Pipah, my best friend,” she thought, her eyes moist. Pipah gazed back at her innocently – his blank memory a balm for all his experiences.

The children had heard sounds. A volley of high-pitched barks, not blood curdling but disturbing, emanating agony and terror. The children could feel it more deeply than the adults. The deliberate persistence and the unyielding brutality hit home and shocked them beyond imagination. One little girl lay awake at night, tortured by images of nightmare. “It must just be the street dogs having a brawl,” the adults would shrug. The children were not convinced. But after three days of such periodical echoes of canine horror, it halted. They never heard it again. Was the terror dead or the canine? They dared not wonder. And as children are, with time they forgot, their conscious memories erased. Yet, such habituation is undesirable. It gives rise to a numbness and an acceptance of violence.

The trees were tormenting her. She saw them in her dreams and her reveries – them blowing big and strong, grinning ghoulishly at her while she cowered underneath, ashamed of her debility. They intruded maliciously into her paintings and her handicrafts. She made handicrafts for a living. Once, someone had told her, “Why are you wasting time with these? Look at you, you could just dance on the streets and people would come to watch.” The trees were making her remember things best forgotten. Pipah sensed her mood and kept away. No more did he think he could tease his mistress. This was a mistress to be feared. This was a mistress who wanted things her way for she believed she was absolutely right.

The truck driver was annoyed. The trees were blocking his path. Had they fallen in the unexpected cyclone last night? Surely the storm hadn’t been so strong? Oh well, it was not his duty to mull over the causes. He had to worry about the consequence. The BMC people were called to clear the dead, grotesque shapes on the road. Nobody could explain how they had been shredded and shattered so badly. Nobody could explain the death of a man on the next street either. However, nobody thought of connecting the two events as one seemed monstrous wile the other human. It’s funny how injury to human beings seems more insensitive than destruction to other natural phenomena. The adults discussed it among themselves. “Motive. That’s what lacks. Why would anyone commit such mindless actsof violence?” “Don’t the police have any brains? Why haven’t they caught the killer yet?” “Oh well, who really cares about a poor man roaming with his dancing monkey?” The monkey had survived. The children knew nothing about it.

She was writing in her diary – a pretty, petite writing that didn’t quite befit the bony, worn and embittered fingers. The sun blazed in the relatively warm afternoon but her house seemed dark and the air cold. Cold thoughts can keep out the sun for years.

‘The world is too enormous. And so is the evil. The evil must not be allowed to grow. Innocence, purity, sweetness, it is all vanishing. They grow and as they grow, so does the devil inside them. I cannot take it much longer. How can I explain to them what I know, about the superiority of small, what they know as ‘miniature’? I was born a miniature. Each day, I thank God for making me so lucky. My parents were born miniatures too. Oh they called them ‘dwarfs’. But I abhor that word. To call me a dwarf is to make my size my only identity. Do they call themselves ‘talls’ or ‘fats’? But they find nothing wrong in labelling us that way. Mama and papa died from the big ones’ cruelty. I will not die. I will fight. I hate thinking about it but the winter is having its effect on me. As I walk on the street, they all stare at me - the children in curiosity, the adults in vulgar distaste, pity or contempt and some of them men, lecherously. What gives them the right to look down upon me? They are all dwarfs inside. They have dwarfed hearts and dwarfed minds. Their entire lives are a miniature - unrequited love, unfulfilled dreams, dead faces and dead realms. I always have to look up – to them, the sky, the buildings, to love, to honour and to life itself. I wish I could seize the sky and bring it down to my level. I want us all to be equals. I want it so badly.’

It all started with science class. “A malfunction of the thyroid gland or the pituitary gland can stunt growth, making the individual dwarfed. It can result in mental or sexual deformity as well.” Sona immediately thought about the child-woman in her locality. Half of her was sad that the mystery was now no longer a mystery, while the other half rejoiced at the very fact. All the children came to know. They conversed excitedly amongst themselves. “So she isn’t an elf after all!” “I doubt she has any magical powers!” But when she passed with Pipah, they would stop abruptly – some out of regard for her feelings and others to stare at her and gloat in their newfound knowledge. She was surprised. “Why are they behaving like the adults now?” she wondered in pain. She would walk on, her head downcast. She loved the earth. It was the one thing she could look down upon. They walked together - she and Pipah. Alone in their sadness. Together in their solitude. Of what avail were all her struggles and all her efforts to keep up her strength? What kind of a life was this where love was but a distant dream – a pie in the sky? Sand dusted her small shoes and the wind tossed her hair, raising it so that her ears had no protection. “Dwarfy, dwarfy! Hey stunty! We know what you are!” She would not believe it at first. Then the refrains grew louder. “You’ll never grow up! You’re just a tiny grown-up! Are you even as intelligent? Do you have any brains?” They were closing in upon her. She stood rooted to the spot, Pipah whining piteously. The children looked almost taller than her now. In the twilight, their ghostly faces glimmered with childish spite. Bile rose up inside her. Was she going to die?

They all disappeared. The children. Banyan Road attained a deathly halo. The dead leaves and a stray insect were the only beings to flutter about in the streets. The adults were all silent. Even tears were too great for the shock. All their idle gossip, their dog like professions, their married lives – nothing was worth the loss of so many lives – lives that were their only hope for a better world. Growing up is all about realising how cursed the world is. The only sounds heard were at her little house. She was cultivating a garden. She dug all day, humming a song composed by herself, Pipah by her side. Pipah, whose evil big dog-like barks she had silenced forever. She sang:

O monkey man, o monkey man, the monkey was cleverer than you
She knew what not to utter and at the sight of peril, she flew
O monkey man, o monkey man, how dared you say all that?
The very same way I dared to stick a knife into you!
O colossal beasts, my dear beasts, how lofty you once stood
Proud in your strength and slighted by the tiny brood
But did you imagine, my colossal beasts that one night
A stormy night, the rain with my aid would set it right?
All’s right with the world, all’s right with the world,
Now that the strength of the miniature’s unfurled!

The children had not been born miniature. But they had died miniature. Rage had unveiled its claws and she had unleashed her god-given gift – the brutal strength that possessed her in times of humiliation on the children. Bereft of their innocence they had no right to live. They had no right to make her life hell while they dreamt of heaven. Stones, branches, bare hands, teeth, nails – these were but weapons of death, destruction and emancipation. Shrill screams, cries of help and pleas of mercy were but ploys to turn her away from her duty – to overpower her and outsmart her. All the children she had loved and thought loved her in return were nothing but flesh and blood strung together by vile emotions. Their blood flowed and wet the dusty ground and along with it flowed all their malice and hatred. Their torn hair and stripped flesh burnt and stung the air with the fragrance of the victory of good over evil. And when the carnage was complete, she had tenderly picked up what was left of them and lovingly laid them on the ground in her courtyard. Their innocence had been entombed forever in the tiny graves, deep beneath
her garden. Her duty was done. Yes, now there was no one left to love but at least she had a memory. An angelic smile spread across her face. And she continued gardening, watched by the Bonsai plant.

Aww! Isn’t that a cute dog?

2011-01-23T01:14:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have dreamt of uttering these words in my wildest imagination. Don’t get me wrong, I think animals are beautiful. And I’d any day fight for their rights than for those of human beings, defenceless and purer hearted that they are. But somehow, I could never get used to the sensation of something warm and furry nosing my leg, or worse still, darting in and out of them. And God save me if a dog or even a puppy decided to follow me around for a while. I’m sure the entire campus has been treated to my screams and cries of ‘Get that dog away from me!’ a zillion times in these two months. And it always pained me that I couldn’t allow animals to get close to me. I mean, I have trouble enough connecting with humans. Animals could have provided an excellent, more loving alternative. And the dirty stares the numerous animal lovers on campus threw me didn’t help.

But something began to change gradually at FLAME. The first incident occurred at the horse stable. It was a still afternoon and we had nothing much to do during the glorious PREP program days. I’d been curious to see the horses since a while and we decided to make a visit. The path was quite uneven and as we neared the stable, the smell of the animals hit our nostrils. Somehow, it didn’t repel me. My animal loving friends immediately went to the horses and began to pet them. I watched enviously. Suddenly, I caught the eye of a large house. His eyes were uncannily human looking. He gazed back at me and then looked away, bored. I inched closer. The lure of having a picture clicked with the beautiful horse encouraged me to touch him. He was warm and as he swished his head around, something clicked inside me. He was so beautiful. And a strange part of me felt like I could understand his language, whatever mystical world it come from. I fed two of the horses grass and oh, the sensation of their wet noses as they delicately ate from my hand pleased me no end. All my fears seemed ridiculous as I befriended the horses. All too soon, it was time to leave. I felt a little foolish when I realised I had tears in my eyes. But now it doesn’t seem all that stupid. Connecting with a different species altogether on such an incredibly friendly level is quite a magical thing, don’t you think?

I think it helped that horses being nearly as tall as we are, can’t really nose around my feet. But since that day, I began to question my irrational fear of animals. The second incident occurred at the mango plantation, high up in the hills. It was a lovely day, totally out of a storybook. And the peace and the natural beauty of the orchard left me beaming. While my friends lounged on the grass, talking and joking, I wandered off on my own as I often do. I encountered a beautiful chameleon on one of the trees. I recalled reading that you had to be really still if you didn’t want an animal or bird to move away. And I did exactly that. The chameleon stopped - not coming any closer and not moving away either. But it was close enough that I could observe the scales on its skin and the shape of its bulging eyes. I was totally fascinated. And then I heard my friends call out to me as they were leaving. I reached out to touch it a tad too fast and alas, the pretty creature scampered away.

After these incidents, I was emboldened enough to play with the puppies of the black dog on the North Point road. Oh yes, I had to clutch a friend’s arm for support the first time they ran around my legs. But after that, it was smooth sailing. I played with them and did everything short of picking them up. The innocent frolicking of those poor homeless puppies truly touched my heart. What was to be scared of these sweet little creatures?

But my final triumph over animals and dogs in particular, occurred at my Professor Shukla Das’s house. I had gone there along with my classmate to work with her for my fellowship. I was already aware that she owned two dogs and had imagined huge, black, ferocious monsters. But what i encountered on being ushered into her hall were two extremely well mannered, plump, cream coloured street dogs. I heaved a sigh of relief when the maid bolted them inside a room. We were busy working in ma’am’s workspace. I was engrossed in reading a file when I felt something warm and furry pass by me. I looked up to see that it was Baddu (short for Badmaash. The other one was called Puddle). It struck me that he hadn’t scared me one bit simply because I hadn’t known he was there. So perhaps it was all in my mind. And something about Baddu attracted me to him – perhaps it was his friendly nature or his cuteness or both! After that, I petted the two dogs at every chance that I got and they sniffed me back. I guess they liked what they smelt for Puddle even licked me then. Baddu wasn’t too much into licking but I swear he smiled back at me when I grinned at him. I bid them goodbye with a heavy heart when we had to leave. But I know I will see them again and until then, I have many sweet memories to keep me company!

And that’s how FLAME helped me get over my fear of animals, so much so that I want my own dog now!

The Smartest Clown of All

2011-01-12T21:38:00.000-08:00

Twirling moustaches and shiny bald pates

They go around saying “Oh we’re best mates!”

He hums and haws before an audience of millions

It’s obvious he’d be out of there if not for his minions

The politician – he makes you guffaw until you fall