अब पता चला

अब पता चला,
कितनी बारिशों से गुज़रे हो तुम,
और कितने तूफानों में अभी भी ग़ुम.
अब पता चला,
क्यूँ होश नहीं तुम्हे मेरे वजूद का,
अपने वजूद से जो रूठे बैठे हो तुम.

बात करते हो तो,
लगता है, और सब बेमानी है.
फ़िज़ूल कि गुफ्तगू,
में उलझा देते हो तुम.
अब पता चला,
क्यूँ बात बात पे दिल दुखा देते हो तुम.

रोज़ मेरे सब्र, मेरी सोच को,
गिल्ली डंडा बना छेड़ना पसंद है.
कभी दिल को छूना,
कभी दिल को भेड़ना पसंद है.
अब पता चला,
क्यूँ दुनिया भर का पंगा लेते हो तुम.

खबर है मुझे,
तुम अक्सर खो जाते हो.
तुमको रात को अब सपने नहीं आते,
अक्सर आँखें खोल के ही सो जाते हो.
अब पता चला,
इन मासूम शरारतों में कितना डर छिपाते हो तुम.

अब पता चला,

क्यूँ होश नहीं तुम्हे मेरे वजूद का,

अपने वजूद से जो रूठे बैठे हो तुम.

अब पता चला,

कितनी बारिशों से गुज़रे हो तुम,

और कितने तूफानों में अभी भी ग़ुम.

First three days at Ummeed Home

Fixing..

Picking out the weed,

never appealed to you much.

Getting the right seed,

wasn't easy as such.

Still, I see you fixing

one day at a time.

Only to get deeper

in the slime.

Digging out holes

for tomorrow's plants.

Dealing with parasites

and dead ants.

I see you fixing

so often, I say,

I think I'll stay

till you till..

but we both know,

I will have to go away.

For her and her, women still fighting it out..

So where are we now!

Downpour at midnight,

of thoughts allergic to daylight.

Have the journeys made me wiser?

Or have I killed the best advisor?

Killed the reason sublime,

Or freed a spirit locked away in time!

I was happy until I knew it won't last long,

I was happy until I knew I still don't know where I belong..

No words for - What? Why? When? or How?

No words for - 'Where are we now?'

Some unbeatable moments in Goa..

1. "You have an underwear on your face". So I walked into my PG, and I see Gavin (7 yrs old) playing blindfold chase with his friends in the house with Elaine's(his elder sister, 11 yrs.) underwear on his face. And this is how Frida (other elder sister, 9 yrs.) responded to the scene.

2. I enter a bus in Goa, and I see everyone at the window seat with the side seat vacant. It's a Goan thing, always aim for a window seat.

3. Discovering that Goa would be the only place, where you can hear psychedelic in local buses!

4. Solomon's "Do you know?" fact updates with an Irish style, is clearly something unforgettable.

5. Erikson(class 7) saying I want a divorce from my wife; that Indian wives only keep cribbing about sarees and jewelery with his typical fast forward gestures. Funniest kid over there.

6. Walking into Khareband for the first time; a slum area near Margao inhabitated by people who create 'Dhols' for a living and produce kids at lightening speed. Met a family with 10 kids, none of them going to school, hardly dressed, not sure of next meal. Response to why so many kids - 'Allah deta hai!'

7. Getting lost near Gaondongri and following instincts to find a place (some village called Nuterlim) where I went during the first few weeks. Recognizing the waterfall and realizing it's the best place in Goa.

8. Entering into the 24/7 Nescafe near Margao and since there was no one at the counter; making my own coffee and waiting. After 45 min : Instead of the counter person, more people wanting coffee came :) Discussing the concept of 'honest Goan' and paying the next door shop for the coffees.

9. The star-lit sky at Palolim beach. Trying google to find out names of the constellations, pissing off other friends :P

10. First day of swimming :))) Nothing like it!

11. Parasailing for 10 min. Wanting to be in the air for eternity. Wishing to be doing everything - Reading, dancing, eating, drinking, chit chatting - one day suspended in air.

12. The orange-red soil of Sanverdem (a mining area) putting a sort of tan on your skin while waiting for innumerable trucks to cross.

13. The faces of over 1000 kids radiant with unseen joy while dancing to songs by the 'Light of the World' movement. Goosebumps seriously!

14. Diwali celebration at Iona's ancestral house (more than 150 years old) in the frontyard of their "Jorge's Family bar and restaurant". Ferry ride with her, after seeing the place where the river and the sea meets. Meeting her father who is food enthusiast to the level it gets crazy :P No matter how much food there is in the house, he'll always get more in the morning/evening. Eats in courses. Likes to argue about Goa being separate form rest of India over dinner. Quite a happy soul :)

15. Sleeping downstairs with neighbours as Iona feigns illness to her 'about to be divorced' husband saying she's in Belgaun. Crazy but kickass female, never met anything like her!! Super-mom, plumber, mechanic, chef (who hates cooking btw), wild bikrider, forger, fixer and much more..

16. Noticing that there are more extra-marital affairs in Goa than anywhere else in India.

17. Slow dance when intoxicated by moon-lit beach and a lot of other things :)

18. Few silly things I noticed... the way Gavin and Iona always say "See haan, see" before showing some trick; the way Xisto always laughed after making a serious face; the way Frida would touch the inner wall of her left cheek with her tongue when trying out something for the first time; the way Ranjitha's face will have thousand expressions when she's explaining something; the PWD road always buffallo ridden; the pink bus that used to come every morning, with two brother conductors always asking everyone to "Fatle yo" (go back); the way I used to get lost in my own interpretations when people were talking in Konkani, and 'Raju' :) the dog at the bungalow, the way he barked at me the first day and kept me out; and fell in love with me from next day..

19. Frida and Elaine (kids at my PG) using Priyal's and Rishabh's hands and faces as canvas - my last night there. Elaine keeps hugging me, Frida keeps me close when sleeping. Gavin tries to appear nonchalant. Last bed-time story :(

20. At 5 a.m., on my way to airport, still not knowing how quickly everything happened; felt as if I lived a lifetime. Kept remembering my first day at Joet's and how I imagined my time in Goa to be and how drastically different it turned out to be!!!

As I sat there on the beach, I stitched
thoughts for a life to be,
Blinked and found
a different wave, a different sea...

Goa Diary: 25th Aug

Patches of heart got burnt and patches of my soul froze today, listening to Fatima telling about some of the Childline cases. Some of the stories made my stomach turn with utter disgust. Too painful to recollect.

Made bhindi-bhaaji today with tamarind and chicken masala. Actually turned out nice.

Started a chain bedtime story for Elaine, Frida and Gavin; "Swolly and the Barbie". I love these kids already. I am starting to believe that sometimes randomness puts you right in middle of things you would've never known but you most definitely needed to know. 

But there is a silent calmness about me today. Probably, because of the experience at the Children Court today. Plus, watching Iona bringing up three kids independently makes me wonder if parenting isn't  the most difficult yet kickass thing in life. It teaches you everything, child psychology, patience, cooking, story-telling, getting up early; managing time, multitasking, budgeting (better than the most successful entrepreneurs); appreciating the simple things (baby snails, thermocol soup, pogo cartoons etc. ); in Iona's case : even plumbing. electrician jobs, bank jobs, driving/riding, shopping; in short how to do a man's job better than the man and how to rise to the occasion and focus on solution rather than the problem.

Goa Diary: 24th Aug

Bewildering day.. should be recollected in points:

-          Got up with an uneasy feeling with a constant tuck tuck from the upper side of the bungalow. On my very last day, it scared the shit out of me; didn’t have the heart to check so stayed in bed with scissors. Another uneasy thought, this one about someone's eccentricities; was almost like somebody pulled me by the hand and kept pulling me through all the fields, the rocks, the water, the thorns without me getting a good look at them, as he was busy explaining his episodes with women and life. Nice but scary man.

-          Packed once more, puzzle pieces on the floor. 2000 of them.

-          An hour to locate HDFC ATM at Vasco, but the good part was that I met Joeaquim. My how to get my luggage to Margaon puzzle solved right at that moment. He is quite like an angel; first saving me from a disc fiasco on our first meet and again today. Felt kind of weird, that I can't really help him back.

-          No feelings registered while leaving the bungalow.

-          And first kicker, spoils the whole peace structure of my mind. As if, she hasn’t made it difficult enough for me by making me doubt myself for a small mistake, she calls and speaks like I’m some criminal, not to be trusted. It would have been better if instead of the guest house treatment and over-hospitality of bungalow and all, she would have just talked to me, tried to even know what I was like. Never mind, I think she did the best possible thing for me, by letting me go.

-          Felt even weirder as Jokhim was there when my conversation on.

-          Second kicker, the PG that I’m staying. A female, Iona, with three kids, husband cheated with a girl she only brought. She even got her the nursing job, then the beauty parlour job, only to find out that she was pregnant with her husband’s child. Very interesting female, full of life and care.

-          Third kicker, I’m dropped by Iona at the back side of the mosque(it’s a landmark so that I can reach Jan Ugahi’s office) and I take it as another mosque. I take a full round around Margaon market area, just to reach back at the same Mosque. And the unceasing rain throughout the day didn’t make it any simpler.

-          Fourth one. I’m there listening to all the information about Childline and other projects at Jan Ugahi; One of the coordinators, Fatima asks me to come to the court with her tomorrow, and she’s giving the details of the cases. Child abuse at ages as low as three. Sisters abused by their own father, one got pregnant and he still continued to abuse. I almost died for a second.

-          The kids in the new PG are really nice; one is a book-maniac, one is a bag-maniac, the youngest is just a maniac!

-          Unpacked, and exhausted. Need to call PJ now.

Goa Diary: 21st Aug

I think life has become a constant race between packing and unpacking. As soon as unpacking is picking up, packing rushes in and takes the referee by surprise! I’m moving out of the bungalow to Margaon on Tuesday. Don’t want to talk about it, except that it’s a good decision and I’m hopeful that even I’ll run into few surprises myself. 

Goa Diary: 14th Aug

So I blurted out,

In the face of life,

Made one more mistake,

Always walking on a knife.

No erasers here,

Will you help calm my fear?

Feelings uncertain, unknown,

Waiting to belong.

Waiting for your song.

The rush is great, I know,

Everything’s changed, I know,

Will you join me now?

As I no longer know, if I really know how to stop.

I was sitting by the window. Dabolim to Vasco to Panji to Mapusa to Children Walking Tall. The fear of loosing face subsided with the face of nature, smiling and intriguing. Today was a good day, but I still am not over the fact that things can slip out of my hand so surreptitiously. Once more, my carelessness has said the magic words. I am beginning to believe that there is something in this universe working against me but I don’t care now.  I’m always going to try to rise up, always going to find a solution. 

Goa Diary: 6th Aug

I think the party just ended. I came back around 11:45 pm to see my off-season deserted guest house filled with cars and bikes and a party with good live music playing. But I guess under the effect of the mild cold that had become slightly severe and a little rum (that helped a bit for the cold; by the way), I didn’t consider joining the party. So, now that they are playing “Leaving on a jet plane” (It’s around 3:30 a.m. and I just got up with the guilt-feeling that I didn’t wish Shruti ‘Happy Birthday’ yesterday); I think the party just ended.

To relieve me of the guilt, I’ve decided to wish her first thing in the morning; and to try stay awake till then, I picked up ‘City of Djinns’ by William Dalrymple. As expected, it’s written in a way that you don’t feel like putting it down. That is, unless a thought enters your brain and refuses to let you live in peace unless you express it. I apparently was struck by my encounter with Chivonne’s friend more than I realized at that time. Her friend, a ‘looker’, as she said; an addict, but a sensible one; someone who had just about everything a girl would want in a man; except the fact that he committed suicide. The reason for the suicide was this Mumbai girl, with whom he had connected at some ‘other’ level and lost all his reasonable self when she left him. Chivonne told me that he planned his suicide well; he made it a point to meet all his friends over the weekend, and then on Sunday evening took his life first by trying to suffocate himself to death by Baygon spray, which didn’t work, so he hung himself. I haven’t seen him, but I can’t stop thinking about his last few hours. In my head, I can almost visualize him, his life and his end. I remember having this conversation about suicide with Rahul, three-four days ago when I was still in Delhi. It had started because of the book he was reading ‘Lust for Life’ a slightly fictionalized version of Vincent Van Gogh’s life. I told him how it strikes and aches me when a young person, with unfinished dreams, dies. How I keep trying to imagine his last minute conflicts with his own nemesis. How I wish that the misguided courage to overlook everything else and plunge into this, could be guided. If only he would’ve had few more minutes, probably a second thought would’ve hit him; probably he would’ve delayed it for a while, and stayed long enough to reflect and see what a huge mistake it would be to give up so soon. If only somebody would’ve told him that it’s ok if it hurts, that pain is not uncommon or invincible, that a lot of people survive blows bigger than this, and so can you. If only he would’ve given life a second chance!

My head’s heavy with the helplessness of never being able to meet Chivonne’s friend or Vincent for that matter. It’s also partly heavy with the news of flood in Leh; I’m so scared for all the people and kids I know there. There has already been much damage. A cloud burst last night wiped out houses and everything else in many places in and around Leh. It’s time like these I wish I wasn’t an atheist. Then I could at least pray. People are climbing up mountains to save themselves, but no place is safe with constant lightning and rain. The helplessness of being in a place even when you know it can kill you. The roads are blocked and so is the airport with piles of mud and debris. I hope no more damage happens. Death of innocent people is a disgusting thing.

P.S.: Though today sounds pretty dark, I did have a really nice time with Xisto(an ex-drummer football coach) and Memol(his assistant coach) over dinner. Liza is superb, warm and soft-spoken, and always swimming in and out of appointments. I asked her to move me to a shabbier place; and she asked me if I’d like to move to a bungalow! I think I love Goa already.

Goa Diary: 5th Aug

I just couldn’t get up. I knew I had mild signs of fever; but the waves bullying, teasing, pushing and sometimes punishing me, for what took me so long to get to this place, kept me tempted. There’s happiness inside my heart, I’m sure, because there’s no sadness; no reason for not being wild and joyous the way a friend was yesterday because he cleared an important exam he thought he wouldn’t under any circumstances (he was screaming at the top of his lungs, singing and running up and down on main colony road with vigour comparable to Archimides ‘Eureka’ story!) Well, in a way, I’ve cleared something important too; I’ve always wanted to be here, I’ve always wanted to be doing something so interesting. But then, instead of hysterical high, why this strange dead feeling creeping in layers of my sand soaked skin? Is it the solitude? But that hasn’t bothered me ever. In fact, I saw more, I felt more, whenever I’ve been alone. Is it guilt, of past that I’m not sorry for, neither for the fact it happened nor for the circumstances that led it to end? But my heart is wise enough not to brood over things, it couldn’t help. Then, is it just the soberness that hits you before fever. That duct-tapes your excitement and makes you contemplative. I hope not. I hope it’s an intuitive feeling that my life is about to change forever. It’s a feeling of belonging, to a place, much before you have reasons to belong.

I had no bucket, so sat beneath the tap, wiping off the sand with water one body part after another. The hot water, sinking into my sublime thoughts; some of which I hid so carefully, are now wet and exposed. Again, I just couldn’t get up. Had it not been the ‘save water’ gene in my brain, I would have just sat under that tap, waiting for more wet and exposed memory photo-films to be developed. I guess I’ll have to keep running away from these memories, lest they stalk me and make me weak. The spotless floor is not spotless anymore; neither is my conscious. But then, neither is anybody’s! I mean, what’s the use of consciousness if it’s all clean, right?

Today is for looking at the waves from my window; sipping coffee in a place full of rums, vodkas and wine, making mountains of tissue paper ridden with unusual nasal activity and rewinding the episodes selected by the conscious with sub-text narration by the sub-conscious.

Tomorrow will be hopefully less introspective (and feverish plus dripping). Will be going to see the school and meet the kids and Liza J

P.S. : The guest-house room is quite a luxury, overlooks the Bogmalo beach; it has a lamp that looks like half-crescent moon (along with things I absolutely don’t need- T.V., A.C., mini-bar etc.); I should ask Liza to put me up in a shabbier place soon.

Date : 05.08.10

A walk.

A walk reminding you of all the walks before,
unfinished smiles, unfinished miles beside the locked door.
Because I crushed and crumbled your heart more than once,
Part with my words, part with my absence.

The soul in your eyes,
pierced through my disguise.
Strange little paper-boats up again,
I hope it doesn't, then I hope it does; rain!

You're right, I could never forget you,
your spell was deeper than what I thought, I knew.
But, you know it well,
I won't say a word, even if the heart rebels.

कुछ हैरान नहीं करता

काफी वक़्त हुआ,
कुछ हैरान नहीं करता.
हर ख़याल रुक जाता है खाल पर ही,
रूह को कुछ परेशान नहीं करता.

महंगी ज़िन्दगी खरीद ली,
पर रोज़ पुराने कपड़ो में,
कुछ पुराना महसूस करने की कोशिश.
किसी खड्डे वाली सड़क पे,
बेतरतीब,
स्कूटर से गिरने की ख्वाइश.
तब तक दौड़ जब तक,
दर्द बेजान नहीं करता.

काफी वक़्त हुआ,
कुछ हैरान नहीं करता.

Indifferent.

Chapter's closed,
and so are the windows now.
Eyes no longer look for you,
Stubborn head disallows.

I know, it'll be great,
to talk to you again.
I know, we're good,
there's no visible chain.

But I took your flaws and mine,
and mixed it with my feelings.
Now, I don't know, which is which,
Layered heart; multiple ceilings.

So, here we are,
separate and far.
As indifferent as strangers
of different lands,
bearing different scars.

Crossroads.. an old article in the old Job

somethings that left an impression..

Born out of random conversations, somethings just stick forever with you; guiding you, reminding you! Sometimes you realize much later, how big an impression something has left on your mind..Trying to recall a few..

• A friend, Sidharth Jayaraman, with whom I shared a pretty solid like-hate relationship, told me once during college winters, 'You don't change yourself for someone, you mould yourself..' And I didn't, after that. 
• A hostel room-mate (a senior, her name began with 'A', that's all I remember) gave me a very good advice, when I was feeling confused about helping certain people in the hostel, who were bitches, to say the least. She said, 'Don't help someone because he/she will like it, help only when you'll like it. Don't do it for someone else, it should be in sync with who you are. That ways, you'll never regret it.' Simplified a lot of paradoxes for me.
• A very talented photographer, Himanshu ji, in Jaipur fixed an idea in my head. He believed, that in the act of capturing the beauty, you kill some parts of it. When you click, when you paint, when you define something pure and beautiful; something in it dies. In the madness of giving expression, we commercialize it, we make it visible, too accessible. If you speak your heart out, the thought doesn't remain intimate anymore. It's never the same again!
• A very close college friend, Varnika, while trying to counsel me out of something, said something invaluable in symbolic language. She named one hand 'self-respect', and the other 'impulsiveness'. She started out with both hands at same level, then a competition started between both of them to be higher than the other. Sometimes self-respect's higher, sometimes it's 'impulsiveness'. Hands keep going up, but in the end, 'self-respect' wins. Precious!
• Well, this one came from a movie, 'The Nanny Diaries' - " I read that critics of anthropology believe that just by observing a culture you inevitably change it." Have been stumbling upon this line, quite often nowadays.

College days.

An under-construction library,
remembered most for purposes quite non-literary.
A few beers, a few smokes,
and a wildlife of different strokes.

A canteen,
where food sucked, if you know what I mean.
Some sensible, many non-sensible words,
and exploring the world of absurds.

Three hostels,
crash course in world of colorful pastels.
Some back-bitching, some friends for life,
lessons for crazy whims, lessons for strife.

A central fountain,
less water, more memories to contain.
Many birthday splashes, many more random throws,
and endless lectures killed, viewing it from windows.

And the lawns, the yawns,
the dusks at khokha, and the lazy dawns.
The wi-fi, the nescafe, the fraud juice-waala,
Sec-6, Sec-4, kaali-ghata, dwarka ka raddi crowd saala!
Night-outs, fests, farewells,
creative outbursts and dry spells.
Exams.. testing your cram 'n' puke skills,
Monsoon crushes, winter chills.
And everything said, unsaid, done, undone,
those were the days of solid fun,
those were my college days, where it all begun.

A well insulated heart!

Lost in the chasm of his songs,
he held me near,
Insulated all along,
Integrated to his song.

I could see the wires,
over two thousand per meter square.
Fencing his face, his hands, his soul,
His lungs, his mouth, his all…

His repressed intellect, impressed in smoke,
His nervous toes, bitten fingers, dissolved layers while he spoke,
The wrinkles of his humour, his impaired hope,
Soon, he, with his insanity, would be fishing out of scope.

I could’ve wished for more ignorance,
More delusions of knowing him, more unwired moments,
But, I guess, I swallowed pieces of ice long ago,
Cold speech, frozen heart, what would I know!

So, lost in the chasm of his song,
I held him near,
Insulated all along,
Integrated to his song.

खाली पेट

सीले बिस्किट,  आधी प्याली चाय,
क्यूँ ना, आज खाली पेट मुस्कुराया जाए?
छोटा-सा तरबूज़ सात हिस्सों में,
मज़ेदार गरीबी ऐसी, जो सुनी थी कहानियों में, किस्सों में.
एक-चौथाई बाल्टी से ही नहाया जाए,
क्यूँ ना, आज खाली पेट मुस्कुराया जाए?

एक कम्बल में चार छेद,
चार छेदो से निकलते चार छोटे सर.
उनको परियों की दुनिया में उलझाया जाए,
लाड़ के कम्बल तले सुलाया जाए.
क्यूँ ना, आज खाली पेट मुस्कुराया जाए?

बरसों पहले फूलों से दोस्ती की थी,
उनके रंगों में अपने रंग कहीं छिपा दिए.
कुछ रंगों को तो वापस लाया जाए,
पतझड़ के बाद, ये फूल शायद फिर आये ना आये.
अभी फिलहाल, खाली पेट मुस्कुराया जाए!

Storm hits the heart.

Criss-cross, criss-cross,
like lovers of yesteryears, strolling across.
An unknown land, unprepared, unplanned,
lost in the moment, hand in hand.
Then destiny rolled the dice,
in seconds, everything fell apart.
You can fix the cracks and the burns,
but how do you fix when a storm hits the heart!


Caught off-guard, near the water,
prejudice attacked, perceived morality ready for slaughter.
A small mistake, a big price; how abruptly virtue became vice!
innocence was lost, slice by slice.
When paradise turns against you,
demanding your depart,
you can't try enough, you can't cry enough,
When a storm hits your heart!

बाहर निकल चल

बंद कमरे में नहीं आती ज़िन्दगी की खुशबू,
चल अलस के मारे मन, बाहर निकल चल.
धूप जला दे न, जब तक तेरे अहम् को,
ये बनावटी चेहरा धूल में न धुत हो जाए जब तक,
हो ना जाए जबतलक, तेरी सोच थोड़ी और तरल.
चल अलस के मारे मन, बाहर ही खेल चल.

Ladakh Day 29 April 2010

My eyes still go back to that panoramic view of having nothing but mountains around, one side with icing, one side without. Mountains playing shadow games with each other; mountains grinning with white teeth, brown gaps in between; mountains with closed fists close to their chest, looking up probably wishing to be higher; mountains looking at you blankly, wondering what the hell you’re doing in their land. There was also this place, viewed best from the monastery in Stanzin's father’s village ‘Matho’, that looks like uprooted from some other planet; I love the alien feel of this place.
So yes, he took me to his father’s village ‘Matho’; known for its different colored soil (he calls it red, but it’s not so :). Kept telling me stories about leh berry, monastery, their kings (who get married to Tibetan, Muslim etc.; liberty at his best), about the new Ladakhi tourist minister who is actually father of a senior from our college, about different trees- poplar, apricot, apple and their uses,  something (dzo) smaller than yak, different villages (Stok, Matho, Stakna etc etc). I think I should be applying greater efforts in remembering the names now, all of them unfamiliar, most of them difficult to get in one time.
They told me about this retirement ceremony (now out of fashion), where everyone the poor retiring person knew, would join him and make him go round Ladakh and celebrate. The real reason Bandey uncle told me was to tell everyone, who shouldn't be trusted with credit now ;). He can be funny at times, he just talks less. He retired 11 yrs back (and yes, was part of the ‘Retirement Jashn’); but still continues to go to SESOL. I went there today, and it’s full of red tomatoes. Difficult to remember their names, and them speaking with their killer cuteness, doesn’t make it any easy for me.
I’m just really in the Ladakhi moment today; no other memories coming to bite me from behind. I have to admit that Stanzin was damn right when he said on the Jaipur trip (years back, when we were still in college); that this is “one place you never regret coming to, but always regret leaving it".
The most beautiful sound of utter silence is back. Wind blowing pass your ears forcing you to open your eyes as wide as possible and you try (that’s the best you could do) to take it all in.
29 April 2010

First Day in Ladakh - 28 april 2010

So I finally reached Ladakh today. Still blooming like an idiot, thinking about the moments my heart froze with wonder while in the sky. There comes a point, when from the clouds, slowly and stealthily, mountains appear, and they keep getting whiter and whiter until they are like giant bodies sleeping under snow blankets. The aged Air India air-hostess found me amusing, I guess. Whenever she’d see me sticking to the window of 21A seat with eyes wide and mesmerized as if of a new-born, she’d give me this smile that I still can’t classify as mocking or sweet. When I got out of the plane, flight IC445, I could almost sense a tear materializing in my eyes overwhelmed by the feeling that I’m in Leh. I kind of, killed it mid-way so that the fellow passengers might not give me ‘the look’. The fellow passengers, for whom the grand welcome by this mountain, with few streaks of white hair, on the regular coiffure of brown strands, was less extra-ordinary than it was for me.
I’ve been advised by the family that I’m staying with to take complete rest today, i.e. I can’t go out. So I’ve been talking, reading, eating but could not keep myself from reminiscing.

I don’t understand what exactly it means to miss someone. I keep getting glimpses of the kids at Umang, Jaipur; especially Sambhav, Yuvraaj, Meera, Yashank, Priyanshu, Ishaan.. so many of them.. I’ve just arrived here in Leh, and I’m imagining how Sambhav will give that disarming smile when he sees me in July, how Yuvraaj will say ‘Dilli chalo’ when I spoil him with love, how Meera would ask for more homework... I am telling you; I think that’s closest to missing someone I could feel and describe.

I should seriously stop listening to these old soft songs. It’s making me weak with memories. Just faces, so many people, friends.. Trivandrum, Jaipur, College, Colony, Pravah; of course Dad, the way he just kills me with his unsaid love and the way he takes care of everything, even when the thankless daughter loiters away.. I’ve always tried to lock memories to deep undergrounds only to be dug in times of urgency or times like these; when I lie with body weight resting on elbows, face resting on the edge of the bedside, eyes resting on the particles of immense beauty outside the window, thoughts resting on the hopelessly romantic songs in the background.  How can happiness fill you with so much heaviness! (Never mind the jump; I guess I’m still recovering from Milan Kundera’s ‘Unbearable lightness of being’).  I’m switching back to tougher music now. I should be better now!
Lights went out, just had another cup of tea with the aunty and chatted about her son Shabir and life here and there. I love her already, she’s incredibly lovely, has this simplicity about her when she talks and a lovely mother-like voice (with of course, Urdu and Ladakhi intonation).
There is an uncomfortable silence in the room, when she leaves and the music is out. If I don’t hold myself back, it seems like I might be sucked away by feelings that I know nothing of.  Where is my tough music, I need a stay on this. Too much reflection makes my head heavy.
Date: 28-04-10

A lot to catch up!!

So, a lot has happened since the last post. Blame it on my innate lethargy; but like a smoker's timeless attempts to quit smoking, I fall back on the track every once in a while. I can't give up writing, even when my lazy fingers almost always convince my distracted mind.

Very briefly, I've been moving around doing things and would be sharing some of the experiences(but not all of it!!)

कब से हुआ ये?

कब से हुआ ये,
 दिल गली के गटर सा हो गया.
 लोग अब दिखते नहीं, उनकी बस कमियां नज़र आती है.
छिल जाती है दिल की तबियत,
जब ख़ुशी सामने से गुज़र के,
पड़ोसी के घर सोने जाती है.
पूछ उसी कमबख्त से,
कब से हुआ ये?

कब से हुआ ये,
समुंदर का शोर सरदर्द करने लगा.
आँखें रूखी रेत सी,
ना टिकती है आसमाँ पर, ना गीली होती है कभी,
 जैसे बर्फ का पहाड़ दिल में घर करने लगा.
एक-दो दिन में तो नहीं बना ये!
पता है, पर नहीं बताऊंगा! कब से हुआ ये!

कब से हुआ ये,
रंगों से नफरत हो गयी.
दीवारों पे भी धब्बे है, मेरी खुन्नस के.
ये सपनों के गुब्बारे लिए,
जो चले आते है आज-कल के लड़के,
फोड़े थे मैंने भी कई अपनी तकदीर के फोड़ों से.
अरे छोड़ो! तुम क्या समझोंगे,
कब से हुआ ये.

An Umang Smile..

There’s a typical November winter chill in the air of Jaipur. My love for public transport (Bus number 220, to be precise) ensures that I experience the full blown impact of it, while reminiscing my past month here in the city. There’s been a surge of people, art, conversations, ideas, discussions; but all of that blurs in front of “Umang”.

Umang, as it defines itself, is an initiative towards rehabilitation of the disabled. For me, initially, it was just my placement organisation for the “Youth for Development” internship by a Delhi-based NGO Pravah. Now, it’s something that gives me a reason to wake up at 06:30 in the morning, a reason that keeps me driven till 01:30 p.m. to put every piece in my heart to see those kids as who they really are sans the veil of disability, a drive that keeps hanging through-out the day and flashes me every now and then about how much there is to be done.

If I start talking about the kids, I wouldn’t be able to stop. I’ve been awe-struck so many times by their spirit, inquisitiveness, sensitivity, flamboyance, humor etc. And you can not help but notice that, all you require is the proper environment, a prejudice-free zone and the flowers would bloom. And Umang, is doing that bit, quite well.

But for many others, there’s still a wide gap between their understanding of disability and the truth. According to WHO figures, around 10% of the world’s population or 650 million people live with disabilities of various types. Of them, India accounts for about 21.9 million (Census India, 2001). And, while we are still struggling with various myths surrounding disability, there are a lot of issues to be addressed. There’s a nightmarish dearth of disability friendly places in India. Everything from airports to ATMs, railways stations to movie theatres, restaurants to several institutions, is designed oblivious to the fact that those 10% exist. Then apart from the discrimination they face all through, there’re employment issues. And these are just the broader problems; things just get even darker when you go in details.

I see all that, and then I see the kids at Umang. I see sheer brilliance of some, utter innocence of others. I see the efforts of Umang and of those kids, and I feel bothered. I was warned by Neha a senior from Pravah, Delhi that a box of unknown, unfelt emotions might rush in unnoticed while you work for this internship. Well, she wasn’t really wrong. I still have to figure out the how, why, where, when, but I can’t go out of this internship, without making a difference; especially now, when I’m hopelessly in love with these 180 kids. So, I get out of the bus. I walk like a ghost, lost in my own thoughts and the song “Smile like you mean it” by “The Killers”. The first Umang auto is here, morning smiles and morning hugs and morning chit-chats! My smile couldn’t be more meaningful.