Create

Create a new post. Its all about clicking on that link and there opens up a space which is truly dimensionless. One can connect to oneself so well only if he/she writes. It is so important to write. It is like the morning pooja that I have seen mothers doing religiously. I tell you it is important to me because I know how it feels when I have not written for years altogether. I feel slightly lost. Not in touch with the ME, if you understand what I mean. Writing and meditating are like two sides of a see saw. When I meditate I free myself of impressions, when I write I quantify those imaging into stories. I am a story teller, thats what I am. I have to write not because you will come to me and tell me how well I write. But because I cannot not write. I feel so liberated having come to realize this truth. Though it took time but I know my destiny. I wanted to be a writer at twenty one, ten years later I want to only write.

Like I scatter books around my home, so that my three year old has an access to them where ever she may be pottering around, I think I must keep my pens and notebooks ready. So that I do not need to open my machine but can just jot an idea which comes as the last thought before i fall asleep. I have this thing (as we like to call it)- wonderful thoughts come just before sleep. In fact I even dream up  great stories. But well dreams are tough to remember and they do not make as much sense(ation) when I wake up.

I have few big ideas which I want to convert into stories. Alright this time for Annie and Milan, they are not mushy. How improbable, but true. One is about solitude. Solitude in different shades, and company in different shades. Making friends with different people and remaining aloof. A friend of mine (if I could call him a friend) once wrote to me advising me to retain my friends from school and college. He had said, you will be able to make friends no more. I wonder why I remember his advice. I have been able to make a very friends after college though. And it is sad they all left the city. Sri, is one friend, who I can still call up sometimes. What made him prophecy about friendship, I wonder. One thing that I have come to learn with time is friendship becomes rare as you age. And the good thing is thats the idea for my story. A seventy five year old woman, who begins life afresh, gets a hair cut, goes for a facial and revives her love for painting. She begins to make friends. And one of her friends will be this self pitying ME :)

I know when I write I try to become this melancholic writer. Finding beauty in sunset. But well, was that not in the past,  when I got hurt in love. Love is a great great experience, sometimes it makes you drunk and other times it makes you write like you were.

I think I am regaining the witty vid. Well I loved her, the wit and the twinkle. I hope you find me less talkative but as interesting. I am coming friends. Welcome your writer to KTM.

PS: shared just one idea for writing in this post. There are two more. and these two are both on non fiction and something Milan w

In the company of women...

I bought this book on my way back to Kolkata from Jamshedpur. Having read a Train to Pakistan, by Khushwant Singh, I had set high expectations from him. Needless to say I was thoroughly disappointed. He touched a few aspects which could have made an impact if delved in depth.  First wast religion. Singh not only takes us through a few classes of religion- which is  a subject that Mohan (the prot)  is taking in his university. He touches upon Hinduism permitting one to rid one's sins by taking a dip in the holy Ganges. The arguments of        the Pakistani woman (I forgot her name), against Hinduism. About the absurdity of worshipping everything from     Lord to Lingam. Inface Lingam being the Lord.

The second interesting point, which was left unexplored in my opinion was about losing virginity among girls. Most women recounted how their male relatives had 'deflowered' them. It is a big challenge in our conservative society to give protection to women. One might be skeptic at the use of the word protection, but it is being realistic. It was not long when Delhi asked students from other states to dress appropriately. It is stupid to think that if one is clad from top to toe, one is safe. And will someone some day bring out a list of safest clothes to wear to avoid abuse. Getting back to the novel, I felt strange and sad that both the women - Molly and Sue, remained silent about the abuse. I was also reminded of the on going Aarooshi episode, where the little girl lost her life due to sexual relationship with the domestic help. She's been allegedly killed by her own parents. Why are not women safe in their on homes? And why are they attacked by their own relatives who are supposed to be care givers??

There was another nudging point. When the protagonist tells Sue, how women are generally initiated into sex by  a male relative, Sue counters that same is true with men. When young men are not able to retain the massive energy, they are initiated into sex by older women like maid servants. How true is it, I wonder. And is that an abuse too? By whom?? To whom?

And one parting shot why does Khushwant Singh perpetuate the myth-  the bigger the better?

Through the looking glass

My salutations to my imaginary friend. Hi!

If you were here, we would talk about books that I should be reading. Well, I do manage to read a little but it wouldn't make you happy. You are not easy to please, are you? Anyways, lets pretend you are here. And this place is a cafe. You know the best hangout place has to be a cafe. I should tell you I have graduated from instant coffees to gourmet coffee! I now prefer Coffee Bean and Tea Leaves to Cafe Coffee Day. Linus finds it funny when I roll my eyes up looking out to the right corner.I just did it and it reminded me of him. I wish we spend more time together, sipping coffee and analyzing people- specially myself. Talking about the past, a life I once had. I feel like I have grown apart from my former self, so much that it makes me think that me six years ago was altogether a different person. Younger, rebellious and without makeup:)

I used to write a lot more than I do now. Last night I was talking to Linus's Prof's wife. We concluded that like they showed in the movie Rockstar, one does need to be affected to be able to write. How much can we feel through borrowed experiences, Mrs Sarin had said. Should I tell you, I wore a bottle green saree which had flaring orange flowers printed on it.  Orange reminds me of Annie. Again, she seems to belong to a far away world. It is the age of connection , social media is at its acme, yet I am distanced by mere geographical boundaries. But our connection my friend is not based on either. I think I always had you with me, as a part of growing up. May be I gave you different names at different times. I began early with writing a diary, which would begin with Dear God. As I grew up things changed. I enjoyed writing more to someone who would respond than poring it all to Dear God!
ve
Sorry, friend for having not kept in touch for so long. But I am back now... And I have lot to talk about. Like growing younger with every year. Growing more beautiful. And yes trying to make sense of myself , the one who is me now and the one who was me before. I wonder if i am still the 21 year old who wanted to take a peek of her future-the cliched 10 years from now.  And what seems to be today is it what she is actually looking through the magical looking glass. Will  she pull her head back in disbelief and this world of mine will melt into nothing but her giggles. Oh, yes, she giggles a lot. Should I say giggled?Guffawed? I should if today is actually the present and I am looking through the magic looking glass going back in time. Linus cringes at the very thought of looking back. What is gone is gone. Is it?  I think it is a life lived.

So much for now. I send you my love.

Will write again,

your loving friend

Vid

Short story book- with one of my stories

Hi friends,

I am proud to share that my story has been published in a collection of short stories. It would be lovely to get yr  feed back. You can get your copy from flipcart.

Grins**

Finding ones path

Often in life, it happens that we delude ourselves into believing that we are someone that we actually aren't. It happened even with Jack Welch. But he was lucky, he found that out very quickly and so he did not have to become just another guy with white starched shirt and well pressed suit tangled in the net  of bureaucracy. He remained the guy with the Boston accent and his stammer. I on the other hand have changed. Both in appearance and ideas. But  I am not sure if this is me or someone else. With time we do evolve. We mature, we change our outlook but do we change as a person. Why do I feel that the ME 10 years ago is not anymore with me.

Today, I was walking on the road with the same gait that I used to have in my college. That cool dude kind of... not at all lady like.  Lot to do with how we dress up that we change our personalities to match our outfits. So clad in a pair of faded jeans and an old favorite shirt, I felt like the old me. I walked into the premises of BSNL with such spring that my 3 year old PUMA sandals would allow in each  of my steps. I had gone to complain about my Internet connection. Felt like a student again...faced with connection problems!

So, there is a lot again on my technical to do list. Like get a servicing for my HP  pavilion. Similar to getting the old desktop to the servicing center in kathmandu. What connections I have with Kathmandu!

And there was another thought about friends. Where did I lose my friends? Did I miscarry? I sometimes feel...the emptiness that one might have after a miscarriage. You do not have a baby but you miss her/him. I do not have Annie but I miss her ;). Do not have her as a friend anymore. She has become abstract. I used to specialise in personalizing abstracts. But she is someone I do not want to give to much of a thought. Because that reminds me of not having her. And that we are no longer in same planes. That she has probably traveled and achieved greater miles that it would be such a shame to call out to her.and such other BS

time to go to bed....

i like being this ME.

how many MEs are in ME...:)

To mush and love, again :) - Introducing Sreelekha in R&Y series

The book lay on my bed. While I flipped through it, I noticed most of the characters were people I was not supposed to meet in the regular course of life. I had knocked the doors of strangers and made friends out of them. Yatharth was one such person who I had met ten years ago.

I was an energetic teenager, who viewed life with rose tinted glasses. I loved to read poetry and write sad love stories. However, it was wit, humour and sarcasm that I enjoyed reading. I had noticed two colunmists who wrote for the 'Jagriti' (the daily English Paper). I used to supply Jagriti with love stories which they published on Sunday supplement. One day, when I had gone to Jagriti's office to collect my remuneration, out of no where I asked the receptionist if I could meet either of the two writers. That was how I met Yatharth. We sat down in the cafeteria and he ordered coffee for me. I felt like a writer in the offing, already being interviewed by celebrated columnists. He gave me his card when I got up to leave. I had wondered if it would be correct to offer to pay for the coffee. Then I decided it was unlady like. I left him with a smile. It was the beginning of many such meetings. I was like the Kareena Kapoor in Ek Mei aur ek tu, who was just out of one relationship and did not want another relationship, but she wanted a friend. It's a typical immature girl syndrome where a girl         wants to be just FRIENDS with a guy. If I had had read Chetan Bhagat's Two States then ( which I couldn't have since he hadn't written it at that point of time) I could have dispensed my idea of a boy becoming a best friend to a girl. But as luck would have it, it was not Bhagat but Kuch Kuch Hota hai, that was doing rounds at that time. And it was fashionable to have platonic relationship. Yes, your friend was allowed to have a crush on you, and you were allowed to enjoy the special attention he would shower till you kept reminding him that of course we are just friends!

I did not realize when Yatharth fell in love with me. But I knew from the beginning that I was a special friend. I liked being his special friend. But love happened. And unfortunately I was not in love. Although I admit I deeply cared for Yatharth. Our friendship kind of survived his going down on his knees but it got a little complicated and we finally had to accept that we had to move on.

Why a girl needs a best friend

Tring ...tring..

Coffee khana joom? (lts catch up for a cup of coffee?)

Life used to be just that simple. Your best friend used to be just one phone call away. All you needed was to buzz and then rush to the nearest coffee joint. Then whether it was a small nagging problem about a lover who hadn't replied to your last email or your extended family pestering your mom to get you married off or your dad annoying you for spending a bomb, you could vent it out on your best friend.

Now, now, I agree problems do not remain the same. The lover either disappears or becomes your spouse ;) (depending on how your love story came to an end -either way), needless to say you have been married for quite some time and your dad is happy you don't rip him off any more. But your mind  becomes adept at piling itself with woes. Now that you are not the carefree bird you were, you review things, you cling to the past, and you bother about people who you dislike. Why does one end up giving so much of mind share to people who make us unhappy! It is mostly because in the adult world, we are not given a chance to speak our blunt mind out. You smile and greet every damn person who pisses you off when you try to fall asleep in the wee hours of night. Why is there no outlet to express anger?

Why is there anger in the first place? Because things are getting piled up. You need a best friend who will give you not just her ear but a handy broom to clean yourself :)

I miss you Annie.

Melody and moon | Editorial | :: The Kathmandu Post ::

Melody and moon | Editorial | :: The Kathmandu Post ::

Writer at twenty-two | Editorial | :: The Kathmandu Post ::

Writer at twenty-two | Editorial | :: The Kathmandu Post ::