Silent Night

It was the silence of the night. The time of night adorned by the emptiness of the busy road and the darkness of sleeping houses. I was pensive and my music player in shuffle mode played the most desired music at that moment; taking me to a different world helping to gather my thoughts which were scattered in the cacophony of my routine.

It was at this time that I felt loneliness the most. I wanted to think of that someone but none came to my mind. The rational mind works under the brightness of the sun, whereas in the dark you tend to forget your notions and let loose your thoughts to wander in space. It reveals the possibilities that are suppressed. The half lit cigarette was busy fulfilling the physical urge inside me and allowed me to love its company. The creative rush trapped inside me for a very long time gushed out. I saw a bike passing wishing it could take me far far away from present and to a ride that does not end.

It was a momentary bliss which would fade away with sun rise. Sleep that was not ready to set in my eyes and letting go off the distress. As I stared at space wandering, why I was writing this? What meaning does these words make? No one would make any sense of these abstract phrases. Maybe the silence of dawn had this hypnotic effect on me. It was indeed magical and flawless, as as my narration in the play goes, yet, it is fleeting.

I didn't know when will I get this time again so I swayed with this weirdness and enjoyed this lonely company, thinking of nothing, just following the passing time; waiting for the first rays of the sun coming out of the veil of dawn.

Writers' Bloc

It is very frustrating when for hours you stare at your computer screen with the 'new post' window open and nothing in your head pouring in.

For over a month I have been going through this dilemma; typing out words and then deleting it. What may be the reason?

Have my thoughts exhausted?

or

Too many thoughts, but no structure to it?

Am I not observing things?

or

Observing too many things, to reflect on?

Am I not spending much time with myself?

or

Spending too much time, to give myself a thought?

I don't know how long would this phase haunt me and I lose all the words to design my wanderings.

Afterall, Writers' Bloc is every writer's fear.

Riot

Have to go to the library to issue the Herbert Read book...

Need to do the business model assignment...

I want to have chicken...

He is so damn hot...

Why? Why? Why didn't I opt for DU?

Have to buy fruits...

I want money!!!

Ghar jaana hai...

I'm a gypsy...are you coming with me...

Control...Control...Riya control your mouth...

Now what have I done?

Nijey ke niye r paarina...

What is for dinner?

Have to read the newspaper...

Will I ever go to JNU?

Where is Soofi ji heading today?

Why the hell I am so lazy!!!

Fuck!!!I have gained more weight...

Should I go for a haircut?

Rick Castle I love you!!!

Am I really a pseudo?

When is it going to start?

Atelier's fest!!! I so want to attend it...

What is Sheela upto?

Landmark sale...

Bharat bhraman...

Sham bhi koi...jaise hain nadi...

Love the rains...

Riya concentrate...


Riot of thoughts clouding my head...wandering in vacuum..

The Perfect Night

There are certain days(rather nights) when you just let go off the present situation and relax. For me tonight is the time. Caught in a "fragile" web of competition and surfing every possible information on the internet in pursuit to keep up with fellow 'specialisation' mates, tonight I let go off all these inhibitions.

The monsoon rains pouring outside. Alone in the room. Soft music playing in the background. The dim light of the lamp sets the perfect mood for this special evening. My Jane Eyre is half-open, waiting to be read. The movie that I just enjoyed watching was brilliant. Thinking of how times change but in all this evolutionary events, I am the constant factor.

The song in the background talks about this distant star which shines alone in the night sky and grabs all the attention. The singer is mesmerized and jealous, at the same time and asks the star how can it steal the night's beauty and take all the pride? I wish I could describe the smile that I have on my face listening to it. I never enjoyed the song at other times, but at this point the lyrics are beautiful.

The classic I am reading took an adverse turn. I so wanted Jane and Mr. Rochester to get married and live happily ever after like the Grimm's fairy tales. But then it is more close to real life. Jane is standing at the crossroads of her life unknowing what the future has in store for her.

Finally, I don't know why I am writing this post. The flickering blue light of the laptop urged me to write something and I typed the words. Also, my friend exclaimed today of how I lack the avidity of a writer as I don't write about anything and everything. As other reality bites, even this remark hurts.

All said and done. It's a perfect candid night with a complete mood mutation.

Wanderings Part IX

How people are fake today. All have the means to ruin ones life. No one can see the other happy. Not even their loved ones (does love exist at all!) Love has turned to a mere thing of insatiablity. Who to blame for this? Materialisation, desperation, deprivation or globalisation?

I see a relationship breaking and wander.

Obituary

23 January,20xx
The Indian Express
New Delhi

Things in an ordinary life has not changed but there is a void in several lives with the sudden demise of Delhi born writer Riya Chakravarty. An awardee of Sahitya Academy and Lalit Kala Academy, Riya is noted for her exceptional work in promoting Indian Art & Culture through her writings. Also her first novel, "Little Things", has been nominated for the upcoming Booker Prize. A journalist by professsion, Riya's contribution in reflecting the richness of the country's treasures has been unmeasurable. Her column in The Indian Express, "Shadows Have Lives" on ordinary people who often are lost in the daily humdrum of life, is one of the most reads in the country.

"India has lost it's most important patron who possibly was the only one which gave colour and flavour to the country, rather than reflecting it's deficits.", Anoushka Shankar laments while talking to the media after attending Riya's funeral.

The vacuum that Riya's death has created can never be filled for the years to come. India has surely lost a treasure.


Big dreams also have king-size endings.

More Than Words

Dear Words,
Sorry for not writing you. I got busy with diction and talking in your form. Don't think that I don't miss you. It's just that you dissolve in the monotony of this plastic life. I have a lot of things to explain to the world. A lot of your symbols to describe. The ink in my pen has dried. Words, please don't go away from me. You are a potter who mould my thoughts; my dwellings.

I apologise for neglecting you. I drifted away from myself. I have come back to you. I need your help. I am in search of you; of your beauty and grace. How you shape my world and my personae. You define me. You complete me.

Words I can never forget you. I want you.

Please come back.

Love,
The Writer.

A Day in my Life

As the evening falls and darkness coats the day, the beauty of the night sky reveals itself. the artificial lights replaces the natural ones and I sitting in the sidewalks of the airport road near my college observe the pandemonia of the crowd and the sounds of the hornsof the speeding cars. It was a long day decorated by my usual cribbing of why I left my dream college and came to this place of shattered visions, forgetting at that moment that this is the place which has given shape to the things that I always wanted to do. The sweet tea at the tapri has been an elixir of energy after the tiring day and the book that I just read neither gave me any inspiration nor the kick to write something. But despite these dilemmas and inhalation of the strong cigarette smoke which my friend was fagging, there was a certain peace around, the sound of silence was faint but filling the blanks which the noise around had left vacant. I was trying to figure out this sound to enjoy the rhythmic nature of this peace. The wind blew the silence as if the sound was coming out of a flute. There was a slight cold wave in the air which was blowing through my dupatta, which made it fly and I experienced a sudden chill in the spine.

I was enjoying this moment. it drifted me away to a different world. I was suddenly unaware of the jokes that my friends were cracking and the lights from the moving vehicle did not blind my eyes as they were doing before. I have often momentarily distanced myself from reality and explored the alternate world that exists around me. But this time it was different. I never experienced this beautiful feeling. it was the feeling of freedom. The world had no chains around it. It had no defined boundaries. Suddenly I realised it was the beauty of independence. I was not dependent on anybody on anything. I could fly in this free world. I could explore any avenue I want. This Pandora world brought new hope to my life. Hopes of achieving new levels of happiness, detaching myself from negative vibrations, reach the zenith where I want to go. The feeling was beautiful; it was nirvana.

Freedom is serene; freedom is peace; freedom is empowerment. That day was my independence day. It was an eccentric, beautiful day in my life.

Happenings

Why this happens to me
I never know
Trying to find the reasons
But they never show.

At times,
Rain is happiness
At times, it is sorrow
At times, things go fine
At times, just bad

Feelings take a different turn
Thoughts just don't seem to stop
Perceptions change with time
Visions grow whenever
Aspirations are high

Why this happens to me
I never know
Trying to find the reasons
But they never show.

Wandering Part II

"The difference between people living in big cities and small towns is that the people in former setting have no time for themselves. They are busy thinking about what others think about them and how can they face the competition in all spheres of life. On the other hand, people from smaller cities have time for themselves. They think about their dreams, ambitions and what THEY want to do irrespective of what others think. Strange but true."

I observe and I wander...

Wanderings...

Often I have random thoughts which makes me see life in a different light. These are realizations which doom me...makes me wander more...makes me understand the implications of life...

So here I wander-

"I hate nostalgia. It is the proof that there are so many beautiful moments that someone's missing. How we are slaves to time. It passes so fast that it is so difficult to catch up on it. It is like sand in the hand which slips however you want to hold it."

The Hidden World...

CALCUTTA DELHI PUNE

DELHI PUNE CALCUTTA

PUNE CALCUTTA DELHI

Which place do I belong? The place where I have spent the most of my life...or...The place where I was born and presently living...or...The place which has given me the space to indulge in my interests.
Where do I belong?

CALCUTTA

DELHI

PUNE

Alas, I belong to my own world...My own utopia which has been there all my life...Which has no topographical or physical boundaries...Where my thoughts are accepted...Where I am not questioned the way I am...I am the queen of this world...This world defines all my notions and beliefs even if they are baseless...This is the world I belong to...

Thus, I wander in this world of my own...

Who am I?

I wander if I ever have to frame a character sketch of myself, how would it be? What would I write about myself? How would I define myself? Its quite surprising that how we have opinions and views about others but when it comes to ourselves, we are clueless. We become judgemental, try to come to terms with our weaknesses and conceal our shortcomings.

We are scared of the 'I am' quotient, scared to confront the dualities of our lives, scared to be asked "Who am I?"

The Big Question...

F-R-I-E-N-D, the six letter word that means a lot to everyone. However a person is lonely or introvert, he/she has that special one in his/her life with whom he/she is comfortable. i feel it is the comfort zone which is actually the deciding factor of friendship. But, nobody ever knows what might click between two individuals which blooms into a friendship.
Ok! too much of generalisation...If I think of my friends, still the question that creeps in my mind is who is the one or who are the ones who I can consider my friends and what are the parameters of friendship?Do i really shared the comfort zone that is between two friends? What is it?


The one who wanted me to just do what she considers her friend should do, or, the one who gave me the assurance that she will be there for me always but turned her back just bacause I got better grades than her?


The ones who just included me in their 'solar system' group just because I was standing with them when they were planning to form it, or, the ones who fought for me with their block's puja authorities because I was not allowed to participate in that area's Durga Puja celebrations?


The one who considered me her best friend and was not ready to share me with any other person, or, the one with whom I used to go for long walks and talk about anything and everything until the point we discovered there was an 'unsaid silence' between us all this time?


The one who was my only friend in a class of 60 because everybody other than her took my reserved and introvert nature to be arrogance, or, the one who manages to call me despite living 2600 km away affording long hours of chatting?



The ones who miss me in Kolkata whenever there is a get-together, or, the ones who I meet only during festivals and special occasions?


The ones with whom I love to be with because of our foolish acts we often do, or, the ones who brought some fashion sense into me and shared their relationship diaries?


The ones who don't want to have any attachment with me except when it comes to borrowing accessories and clothes, or, the ones with whom nothing connects but still we share a strong bonding just like two magnets being attracted towards each other?

Rock Paper Scissors

Most of us have played this simple game of rock paper scissors at some point of our lives...the simple game of luck...Many made decisions according to this game...For some it is just a timepass during boredom...But has anybody ever thought that it can define personalities of people...Thats what happened with three people who come from different walks of life, different places but when they come together they merge like the game of Rock Paper Scissors...

Rock Paper Scissors...What does three of these elements denote...Have you ever given a thought??...

Rock
Tough...Street Smart...Headstrong...stand against odds...Idealistic...confident

Paper
Smooth...Quiet...Patient...Observer...Reserved...Practical...calm

Scissors
Sharp...Straightforward...moody...unpredictable...exuberant...

I have come across the unison of these three personalities who despite being different,unlike the elements complement each other. They promise to be together in the arduous times ahead. As I observe their kaleidoscopic life as an onlooker, I dwell that how this game of Rock Paper Scissors turns out to be...

Morality or desire...What would you choose??

The oscar nominated movie The Reader touches a very sensitive topic that dwelves into every individual's mind at one point of time i.e. how can someone draw the line between morality and desire? Who dictates the moral ethics in the society? Morality in simple terms can be stated as an act which is accepted in the society. Desire is what is acceptable to an individual although it may not be morally correct. This battle between society and individual has long been fought and exists as a cold war in everyone's life. Our every action is governed by society. We modify it according to the standards of the community we live in. But what about our desire? Desires are not monitored or governed by anyone. Not even by the person itself. In Freudian terms,id vs. ego is what drives a human being.

The strongest and the most "sacrilege" topic in Indian society is the most obvious three letter word SEX. It is the most desired instinct in individuals designed by the hormonal reactions in the body. But moral when you indulge in it after abiding by the rituals of matrimony. Immoral sex is like red tapism. All done under the table unless there is a sting operation and you are caught red-handed.There are also many dimensions to it. As in the movie, a 15 year old having sex with a 40 year old...not admissible; self stimulated sex [masturbation]...still not right; sex with the same sex...OH MY GOD!!But these things happen right under the nose of the society gurus and knowingly been ignored. It is at this point where the cold war is favourable towards morality as everything said and done, rules broken, desire being satisfied but we are not going to spread the word as we are "moral" members of our society and cannot see our coming generation being driven by their ids rather than ego.

You may think what is this woman writing!! Has she lost her mind!! I know its funny but this is the truth which deep in our hearts everybody accepts. The chastity of a woman and the potency of a man is questioned by this contention. We judge people on the basis of this notion. Finally the question arises,ultimately who will be the winner between the two? There is no answer to it. Rather it is an open-ended question to which further demur would be added from time to time. What we can do is just listen to it or read and write about it as we are the masters of our psyche and can judge the best.

Past...Present...Future

This is life
As others say
Living in present
And forgetting the past
And waiting for the future

But if past makes life
What is present about?
Is it all about learning from past mistakes?
Or start with 'new' everyday

Today's present will become past tomorrow
Then why to live the present?
As i dwell through this mystery of life

I write,
Live every moment with joy
With love
Enjoy every second with zeal
As these moments will become memories
This will give joy in present
Make past look beautiful
And give life new meaning in future

So as I end

I think of my past
Live the present
And wait for the future
To come fast

Something called LIFE....

This is my first attempt at writing poetry..

Life is a journey for me
A journey of happiness and sorrows
A journey of beautiful moments
A journey of painful mishaps

My journey i feel has no ending
It has a horizon
Which I try to vision

A vision unknown
A vision I search
A vision I adore

Why is life a mystery?
A mystery always unsolved
A mystery never to be unfold
A mystery of unforgettable events

Hey life,
This ode is for you
Show me light
That can lead me to that horizon
The horizon of hopes, happiness
Love, hate, faith, sorrow, pain
As I want to end this journey
The beautiful journey called life...

The Awakening

Aye dil hai mushkil jeena yahan
Zara hat ke zara bach ke,
yeh hai Bombay meri jaan

When this song was a hit in 1956 who thought after 52 years, these words will hold some other meaning. Bombay a.k.a Mumbai, the financial capital of India and the karmabhoomi for thousands and thousands of people is succumbed in the hands of the modern lucifers.Everybody is aware of the aftermath.As always politicians are again busy playing the dirty blame game.
But India is seeing a new dawn....a renaissance...an awakening...a revolution.People joining hands and ready to fight the devils...The stereotypical belief that India is a leader-driven land is fading away...every individual is taking its own initiative to save our beautiful nation.
The quotes by Bhagat Singh at the time of India's freedom struggle-
Sarfaroshi Ki Tamanna Ab Hamare Dil Mein Hai
Dekhna Hai Zor Kitna Baajuen Qaatil Mein Hai
Dekh Sakta Hai To Bhi Dekh Le Aye Aasmaan
Hausla Yeh Dekh Ke Qaatil Badi Mushkil Mein Hai

These lines are again being chanted by every Indian. Terrorism and its followers will not be spared by anybody.We will fight...we will stand together against all odds.We are not Hindu,Muslim,Sikh or Christian, but a nation...a powerful force of a billion people who can bring the change and will bring the change even if it takes a century of long struggle...