Monday, April 28, 2008

Fairytales and so on

Fairytales are a funny thing. We can probably hold them responsible for most the hare-brained notions of Prince Charming in whites which haunt young ladies world over. But, even so, I cannot help but believe that we live in the hope of that fairytale we’ve held on to for a long time turning into reality. If it doesn’t happen, well, we quickly dismiss it as being something we never really (in actuality) ever hoped for. But that isn’t true. And such cynical points of view are adopted in the eventuality that it doesn’t happen. What I am looking at today is, what when it does? Despite it being something we look for all our lives, do we recognize and give it its due?

It is ever so rarely that you stumble upon something so precious and cherished that it makes everything worth its while. Life presents the most beautiful gifts it has on offer in the funniest packages. You find them when you least expect them, and you probably even start with ignoring or avoiding them.

She met someone. The meeting didn’t register as anything particularly important for either of them. Eventually, they discovered a distant familial tie, but that wasn’t what gave rise to the spark. Speaking of which, for over a year she did not even agree they had a spark. When they met for the first time, they were both very different people (from each other and from what they’ve become today). Quite story-book like in that she was enthusiastic and showering her affections everywhere, basking in the attention paid from several other quarters, while he was quite, intriguing, cynical and had his own following of charmed or interested people. They rarely spoke in the first few months of their acquaintance, and whatever little they did was due to his initiative. For her, it was like the half-serious, light-hearted friendships she had with almost everyone else. For him, well, it was soon discovered that it was love. Hot and cold followed. When they spoke, they spoke for hours, about everything under the sun, about things which were ever-so mundane, yet could be discussed at great length. And when they did not speak, the gap could last months. But he did not give up on the feeling, and she, well, she wasn’t even really thinking about it. A phase of turbulence in her life made her jolt out of her merry little teenage soap. Relationships became serious, some died. He started assuming more and more importance, little by little. Before she even knew it, she was more dependent on him than on anyone else around. And vice versa, I think. A fortunate or unfortunate distancing made her sit up and take notice of how much he had started to mean to her. Steps were taken to remedy the distance. Maybe unfairly so, but it seemed important then. And it worked out well. Another messy affair followed. He survived, and so did she. And then love grew. Not from his end (that was already ‘there’, so to speak), but hers. Although it would be much prettier if I described it to simply have ‘happened’ one fine day, with her waking up in the morning and feeling in love. It wasn’t quite that simple. It developed in stages, grew over the tribulations they wrestled with, found life in the many tears shed by both of them over various things, strengthened when they faced negativity together, blossomed over beautiful conversations and summer-evening walks. She did not feel love overnight. It was a feeling which was moulded by several factors. It was an attraction developed not in a hurry, but through a series of irresistible meetings. The chemistry was not in a spark but in a slow fire that they both had to feed richly, for a long time, with expensive items like their own emotions. A lot of things followed from that point on- significant events, which for some reason seem insignificant in the context of this initial progressive realization of their own individual dreams.

It is important for us to keep our eyes and ears open and pay attention to when a dream of ours is taking shape, for it happens ever so quietly, unexpectedly, and noone from heaven sends you a signal that this one is the one. It is important to take note and work on the dream, for dreams are only vague outlines. It’s the reality that you pour into it which makes it the fairytale. If you make a mistake, think that this one is the one, and turn out to be wrong, or even if you’re right, and things simply don’t work; well, then, I suppose you can shrug your shoulders and move on. But at least you’ve tried. Without leaving scope for ‘if only’ type whinings. If you’re really brave, you’ll probably muster up the courage to dream again. Most of us will then be ready to make the compromise and do what we’re told to.

I cannot say for sure when the fairy tale began. To tell you the truth, she realized much, much, much later that this was that dream. It required much more effort than the dream had said it would. The fairytale sort of just happened, this, it needed to be made to happen. But somewhere, the line between fairytale and reality blurs, in that one forgets which picture is more beautiful, more perfect.

And this, for now, is all that is important.

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

What goes around comes around, I guess. In emotional frenzy, one does things, which even if unintended, are unkind. And justify it though you may, suffer you will. For one does not always ask reasons before awarding retribution.

Salaam Bombay

A disclaimer: This post might sound offensive to some, but it is not intended to be. It only highlights my
jealousies and possessiveness. Bombay, at the end of the day, is open for all. So go ahead, have a good time.
A friend of mine recently told me that I have absolutely no tolerance for other people's opinions. The situation that merited this comment was that he disagreed with me on how milkshakes at Haji Ali were brilliant enough to be priced at exhorbitant rates.
I wondered for long after that incident as to what had made me react so strongly to so innocuous an opinion. And I realized that I don't really care about opinions in general and am not all that intolerant, but with regard to comments and opinions on Bombay, I am rather touchy. I take it personally when someone has something not so nice to say about Bombay. It hurts like some kind of insult to one's child. Or to one's parent. Or simply to something that belongs to one.
Because I believe that Bombay belongs to me. Additionally, it's a lot of jealousy stemming from the fact that people who have been in Bombay for a few days, or few months at best, are passing judgements and offering opinions on a city they barely even know.
For Bombay is not only about Haji Ali milkshakes and late night drives.
It is not about late night movies and all-night 5 star hotels.
It is not about Mondegars and Marine Lines.
It is not about romantic train journeys and sleepy book stores.
It is not about shopping excursions and expensive pubs.
It is not about petite dinner places and Colaba Causeway.
It is not about coffee shop fliratations or romances in theatres.
It is not about novel writers or their attractive words.
It is not about a blog entry or two on pretty Bombay.
It is not about fancy lights, good living and little adventures.

Those are fragments you see. But that isn't Bombay. Or that isn't all that Bombay is. It certainly isn't what you should love the city for and claim to love it, really.
Bombay is about hard work, hard-core professionals who struggle each day to grow.
Bombay is about utility, and an insignificant search for beauty by the side.
Bombay is about friends you may not meet for months, despite them living 15 minutes away, and catching up with them after years as if nothing happened.
Bombay is about owning, about dreaming, about demanding and winning.
Bombay is about suffering the sun and relishing the rain.
There are areas between Bhayander and Bandra, you know.
Bombay is about trains that have a purpose.
Bombay is about valuing everything you get, because you have worked bloody hard to get it.
Bombay is about bearing it with a grin.
Bombay is about walking on the beach with that boy you love, fingers interlocked, in moments stolen away from life.
Bombay is about a dissatisfied lower class, an over-worked middle class and an enterprising higher class.
Bombay is about living and struggling and loving every day.
Bombay is about a mystical attraction that pulls you and runs through your veins for every day, till you die.
Bombay is about giving a part of yourself up because you love the city so much that you will give it anything it demands.
It is about you and me and some memories.

Bombay truly is about the beauty of living every day of your life in that city, about learning to love it with its flaws and because of them. While all the beautiful touristy things one may see and like might be a brighter shade of the ever-tempting Seductress, that isn't all she is about. And it is very hard for me to listen to people talk about her so.
Perhaps all this on my part is plain and simple jealousy. In 3 years, I have spent exactly 4 days there. What right does anyone else have to be there when I am so near, and yet not there?

Another one of Those

What bothers me is the indifference which comes naturally, and the effort that has to be put in to make an appearance of non-indifference (concern..? Nah, that doesn't really fit).

The can-do-with-can-do-without attitude.

Like I care.

Too long, too long.

Ticktock, sab theek thaak. (Yeah, reading Midnight's Children)

It's fun being cold. With a pun on the last word.

It's also fun being washed with rain. But how would all of you know? You're stealing fragments of your life and trying to piece it in. A bit of Kutchi sandpapered away.

Enough now. I'll save the cogging for the projects.

Sunday, April 13, 2008


Something I've realized with passing time (more so because situations which brought it out strongly in me have presented them at frequent intervals in law school) is that I really despise lies.

Before you raise your eyebrows and skeptically remark that you're sure I've lied on several occasions, let me confess that I indeed have. To save my skin, to give an excuse, to get out of those sticky-parenty situations, I have lied. And quite a bit. With a straight face and a pit in my stomach. I have told serious and not so serious shady tales. The general stuff. And I remember my mom (she is a rather astute lady, who knows I am lying, and reacts in a way that tells me she knows, but is nice enough to let me carry on the pretense so as to save us both uncomfortable situations) saying on several hundreds of occasions that we shouldn't lie to her, that she can stand an awful truth, but a lie in any form really gets under her skin. She told both my brother and me to do anything but lie to her.

I identify with that sentiment now.

Let me explain how this is not a display of double-standards.

I hate it when people very close to me lie

I hate it when people lie for absolutely no reason.

Or exaggerate, chuma.

I hate it whent the lie achieves no significant purpose, yet is told.

I know it is a subjective, and perhaps even arbitrary standard to judge a lie by, the purpose for which it is told. But I think that makes a difference.

And I know that most people don't like being lied to (duh!). But I cannot explain just how much it irritates me. It makes my blood boil. I can almost feel anger seeping through every vein in me.It makes me want to throw something, break the nearest object; to thoroughly shake the lie-teller and demand why it was told. Some lies, told by exceptionally close people, can even evoke murderous instincts in me. Injure their head with a brick. Preferably something fatal.

I don't know why I feel so strongly, especially about irrelevant lies. Most people would shrug their shoulders and move on, because it doesn't affect them in the least. But what bothers me the most is that it was told when it doesn't affect me in the least.

Maybe it's just hereditary.

Thursday, April 10, 2008

And I suppose every high is followed by a low :)

The car still is the brightest spot on the horizon though. So cool!!!!

I Got a Car!!

I got a car. Driving's improving, even. I'm not even scared. Am so high on life!! We even randomly went to town at 10.30 pm. This just has to be the coolest thing ever!