Breathing Memories.

A lot about me

Is about death.

My love

In flesh and blood

Died while I watched

And a part of me

Died with it

On some days 

I smell like

Those white flowers

That are placed

Right beside

A dead body

Some days I smell

Like the dying fragnance

Of incense 

I look like sunsets

And a lone tear

Right before 

It exits the corner

Of the eye

I'm all about endings

Unexplained 

And sometimes 

Unfinished, even.

But what is it like 

To live with

A thousand dead bodies

Inside you?

I say,

I've never felt this alive

I challenge death

And its sidekick: oblivion

I breathe

I live with memories

And I ponder often

How strong our memories make us

Remembering is a painful joy

One feeling that I'm quite inept

Of explaining

Probably an abrupt ending will do

Just like everything else

That once was.

Why I write on Love.

I write on love

Because I know

All about it.

But then,

I don't.

I spill my heart on paper,

Expecting it to understand

The feeling of love

Because I'm pretty sure

What love looks like.

But I am still

Hung up on the fact

That I haven't really

Known how it feels.

Maybe it's like

Seeing someone

Who loves you

With all they have.

But then,

You can't comprehend

Why it takes so long

For you to commit

To that person.

Maybe it tastes

Bittersweet;

Almost like

The taste

In the back of your throat,

When you realize

That you've fallen

For the wrong one

Who'd eventually

Break your heart

Or worse,

Leave

Without doing it;

So that you're the one

Who drops on the floor

And shatter into pieces.

Maybe it's like

Making the same mistakes,

Over and over again,

Knowing that

It's still a mistake

Even if

You make it with a

Different person this time.

Maybe it's like

Writing letters

And never giving them

Because you thought

It'd be silly.

Maybe it's like giving

Those letters anyway;

To the person,

Who you know

In your heart

Is the one.

But you're too scared

To put a foot forward.

I write about love

Because I know 

That this world needs it,

Even if it is not really 

A good place for

Love to exist.

I write about love

Because without love

Things would fall apart,

Never to be joined back again.

On grief.

When my tongue gives up

I pick up a pen

To write poems

And letters

That I'll never send

You always marvelled

At my intense expression 

While penning down a thought

You once clicked a picture

Of me writing

That was not a pretty picture

Because that day

I went back home

And cried myself to sleep

Because our love was falling apart

And I didn't know what to do

So I felt grief

In the most vulnerable way

It can be felt in

I felt it

And wrote verses

That never made it

On my Instagram feed.

Do you remember

How I used to read

Poems to you?

And how I used

To talk about dead poets

As if I've lived their life

Before they ended it

As if my soul died with them

As if their grief was mine to keep

Forever, inside the pages

Of my worn out diary

People say poets are sad

And they know nothing else

I tell them

That grief is a poem

Written for a beloved

And recited

Over and over

By an ignorant world

Not realizing

It was written

On her death

Grief is difficult

Like Nietzsche

Grief is a series of suicide notes

Known to the world 

As art

Grief is like Plath

Wanting to be loved

And yet dying alone

Grief looks like 

Dried flowers

That once lived

And yet were plucked

To be put on graves

Grief is me trying

To understand my own sorrow 

Through a list of words

Grief is a countless number

Of things that might not

Be related to death

Grief is very much alive

It lives and breathes

In all of us

Hence, grief is a poem 

Because poems live forever.

We are damaged goods.

 We are one broken generation.

We are Icarus' offsprings,

Flying too high;

Too near the sun.

Hence we drop down on the ground;

We fall,

Without a dull thud,

Without blood.

We fall,

With a million meteors

Accompanying us on our doomed journey,

Making it appear beautiful

To the people looking up at the sky;

Ignorant of the number of deaths

It requires

To create something so beautiful.

We are a generation of dreamers.

We never break from our slumber

Even though the world is screaming

At our ears,

"Too sensitive!"

"Too honest!"

"Too brave!"

Yes, we are a bit too much

Of everything

Normal people can't take in

And will never understand.

We are too real.

We are a generation of artists.

Each one of us

Is art itself;

And the artist too.

We have never believed 

We couldn't be both.

We are mad;

We are wild;

We are living,

Making this wretched life count;

One breath at a time.

We owe it

To the million chances

We have given ourselves

After gulping down pills;

And slashing wrists.

We deserve every bit 

Of this life;

However sad it is.

We are a generation

That has more to give

Than grainy monochrome photos,

That people mindlessly scroll through.

We give pictures to captions;

And not otherwise.

We shout;

We spill;

We rant.

We cannot compromise,

Because our conservative households

Want us to.

We are voices

That will scream

Until we are heard.

We are a generation of the dark.

Dark thoughts;

Darker souls.

We spill ink

In place of blood,

On blank pages.

We are made of busy days;

And suffocating nights.

We struggle with every bit

Of waking up in the morning,

But don't let the world know

That we'd hoped of not making it

through the night.

We hide;

But with SOS signs;

If anyone would just care

To look for them

In the depths of our eyes.

They scream;

"HELP!"

We are a generation of lovers,

Waiting to be serenaded;

To be cared for;

when we can't do that

For ourselves.

We hope a lot

And that's one of the reasons

For our misery.

We keep our eyes open,

But we do trust a lot.

And when hopelessness visits us,

In the form of heartbreaks

Or betrayal,

That is not quite a pretty sight.

But we are a generation of believers.

We think we can move mountains

And change the course of rivers.

We think the world will change;

For the better.

So we sit,

And wait

For the day

When we'd start feeling alright.

Till then,

We appear as a generation

Of Admirers.

We look at pretty skies

And compose imaginary verses.

We try to shape our mess

And pose for group pictures

We are anxious people

We are too good

For this bad world.

But that's the catch;

We know there are others;

Just like us,

Waiting to be recognized

From a distance.

We live on;

In hope of meeting the one

Who would see us for us

And pass a knowing smile

"You too?"

"Yeah, me too."

Image: Pinterest

Notes to Self: 01

You.

Well, you were made

With care.

The right proportions

Of ingredients,

Mixed into a beautiful whole.

A spoonful of stars;

Half a cup of dreams;

A pinch of sorrow;

Mixed into a bowl full of chaos.

So,

Whenever your eyes twinkle

With unsolicited happiness;

Know, that it's the stars,

Shining in your existence.

You are, because they are.

They are, because you are.

When people tell you,

That you dare not dream;

Tell them, you're brave enough.

Because, you were made with them.

When you feel sad

About a void inside you;

That you never created,

Let your tears fill that up.5

Because,

You, of all people,

Would know,

Even sorrows are beautiful.

And when you feel

That your whole world is

Falling apart,

Stop;

And

Look.

Maybe things are just

Rearranging themselves.

Dusk on the lone walls of my heart - A Musing.

Saki writes,’ The young have aspirations that never come to pass, the old have reminiscences of what never happened..’

It feels like ages have gone by since I last heard your voice over the phone. It was a goodbye call, laced up with a lot of unsung tears, and unwritten poetries; a goodbye filled with a perfect amalgamation of hurt and love. And nothing has changed since then. The dusk still lights up the barren walls of my room, giving it the same orange shade you loved so much. The wind still blows on cold nights, ringing the wind chime you had gifted me on my birthday. And I sit at the same place every night listening to the songs you used to play on the guitar for me.

Everything has remained still as if the time hasn't moved, except for the fact that you're not around. It's weird how everything is altered and unaltered at the same time. It's like I'm this old lady who can't remember where she placed her glasses and hence everything around her is blurry; everything has silhouettes but not any definite shape. It's a weird middle ground that doesn't feel good.

I wish to remember how your voice sounded like when you were sleepy and how you looked like when you had just returned home after a long day. It's like you're here but I can't see you and that, my friend, is a feeling I don't cherish at all. I'd better be blind than to see a world where you exist only as a dream. I'd better die than wait for things to fall into place. I guess I'm just tired of the games that you've been playing with me; just hand me my glasses will you?

(Picture taken from Pinterest)

Books that shaped me: 02

Milk Teeth by Amrita Mahale

I got this book on my Kindle Account under the 'Prime Reading' section. I had already read a lot of mixed reviews on the book and that instantly made me choose it for reading. Also, the cover of the book was so beautifully illustrated with bright colours on a pale pastel blue backdrop. It made me want to buy a hard cover (and I plan on adding this to my collection sometime in the future) I appreciate books as a whole. Aesthetics is as important for me as the content and hence I'm describing the book in such detail, including the colour schemes and illustrations as well.

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Milk Teeth is Amrita Mahale's debut book about Bombay and how it changed in front of her eyes from the Seventies to the early Nineties. The transformation of Bombay to Mumbai is not only on the economic front but also on the political front, with the hint of communal beliefs and prejudices. Amongst all the change, Bombay still tries to retain its heritage. Mahale has given life to the 'city of dreams' as it can be felt through every page that Bombay/Mumbai is also a character in the novel, going through the turmoils but still trying to look up to the better side of it.

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Asha Nivas is the building where the main protagonist, Ira Kamat has spent all her life. So, when it comes to relocating to a better place, with more space and better living conditions, Ira is faced with a lot of built up emotions in her regarding the place. Asha Nivas, in fact, is a metaphor for the crumbling city of Bombay/ Mumbai.

.

This is a story of Karthik Kini and Ira Kamat, two childhood friends who end up being engaged but are trapped in their own past and struggling to deal with the ever changing present.

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The book has dealt with diverse themes but all of them have been woven into a perfect whole. Mahale, for a debut writer, has done an excellent job in portraying a city in such detail even though she has never lived there.

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Cities become cities not because of the rising buildings and better living conditions and more opportunities. It is because of the people we share it with; their eccentricities, their own way of going about in life. A city's heritage is not only because of historical events and the architecture, it is present in the lives of the people who've touched it; lived it. So when a city is constantly striving towards modernization, it always hits the people living in them in a hard way. They're hit by nostalgia and fear that they'll have to let go of the precious things that they've held on to for so many years.

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City dwellers, keen to pass their memories to new generations, go on about their ‘good old days’ and lament the loss of the city’s old charm, now turned to chaos. The new generation, in its quest for change, is in a constant struggle with the older generation’s ideals and values. This aspect has been subtly touched in the novel and we, the unfortunate Millennials would relate to this experience in the truest sense.

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Every story in the novel has been intricately interwoven and portrays the metamorphosis of Mumbai from Bombay. The same metamorphosis is reflected in Ira and Karthik's life. Both of them share a past, with common experiences during their childhood, yet their memories reflect different versions and perspectives of the same incidents. This is an interesting narrative technique to show how their paths diverged over the years. Or, were their paths never meant to coincide in the first place? Well, that's a mystery I leave for the readers to decide for themselves.

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The best part of the novel is the fact that we can actually visualize the places mentioned. I've never been to Mumbai but Mahale's vivid descriptions left me with my sweet imaginations of the place and even made me want to visit the city some time in the future. Another beautiful aspect of the book is the abrupt  ending. I liked how this book had no fairy tale ending and was indeed open ended so you could have room for so many interpretations.

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It's difficult to categorise the book into a definite genre. It's a story of coming of age, love, betrayal, shame, middle-class aspirations, freedom of expression in a liberalized country, casteism, religious intolerance; all put together in a perfect concoction of words. But above all, it's a book about Bombay and Mumbai. Pulsating along through the lives of the individuals that have made this city their home, dreaming a life that they could not fulfil in their own villages and towns.

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A lot of books tend to lose steam as they go towards the ending, but Milk Teeth becomes stronger and more whole as the story approaches the conclusion. Some people might say that the book is long and even I complained while I was reading it but towards the end I realized that there wasn't anything that could be termed as 'extra information'. Everything was important to build up the story. 

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For people, who have lived in and loved a place with all their heart, this book would be a perfect read. I related to it because it felt kind of personal to me. Every page seemed to be a part of my life put on paper by someone else.

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There are a few books that have touched me in the way that Milk Teeth has. It is surely a book that made me feel a myriad of emotions and with it, I feel, I have grown into a better person.

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Note to Readers: I took my own sweet time to finish this, it's one of the best books I've read. It is highly recommended :)

All in all, it is a  tremendously beautiful and promising debut and a must read.

Also, do you like to read books on cities or places in particular or the city/place being a major contribution to the plot? Have you read any? Please leave me some suggestions!

.

Thanks for reading!

Train Journeys and Life - A musing

Written on 9th January, 2019.

On a train journey; going back to Varanasi.

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As a child I used to be very fascinated by trains. Big windows, convertible seats, a continuous overflow of humans from different parts of the country, yet a known smile passed every time someone meets the eye. As a child, I used to be this frantic kid who'd clutch on to ma's ‘aanchol’ and baba's hand, getting up on a train, trying to absorb everything that the journey had to offer; from the various smells to the eccentric ways of vendors; I tried to capture it all in my tiny little brain.

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And fifteen years later, I still find myself in the same place, the only difference being that I am always alone, traveling back and forth from hostel, still trying to capture everything that the journey has to offer. And of course, we have smartphones now, a living proof of a boring train journey which suddenly turns amazing because of one reason or the other.

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Trains are an excellent example of our inner selves; sometimes affected and sometimes growing numb towards the life outside.

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Trains are amazing, says a twenty year old swivel - eyed adult, who's still trying to figure out life, one journey at a time.

Let's talk about Tagore.

Being born in a Bengali household, I was introduced to Rabindranath Tagore from a very young age through সহজ পাঠ (sahaj path)

As I grew up, I started to learn Kathak (I have no idea why) but before I could be promoted to my first year of Kathak course, I had to learn and pass an examination on Rabindrasangeet. And since then, I've listened to Rabindrasangeet on a regular basis.

By the time I realized that Kathak wasn't really my jam, I had already passed all the certificate examinations. I realized pretty late that I loved singing more than any other performing art form.

Singing runs in my blood. My mother is a wonderful singer and so, my introduction to Rabindrasangeet singing was because of her. I used to sit with her and listen to her singing for hours and then one day, I started singing along with her. We haven't looked back ever since. It has become kind of a routine for us now. Even though I don't live in Durgapur anymore, I make sure to sit and sing with her whenever I come back home for vacations.

As for literature, I'm guilty of not reading Tagore's works in Bengali. Before you start judging me, I'd like to inform you that Tagore's Bengali language is the toughest that you can find. Hence, English translations have always been my go-to.

So yeah, Tagore is in me; Tagore is around me. I can't count the number of books my mother and I have collected and read. We love Tagore and I doubt there would be anyone (regardless of their community and religion) who'd not love him because of his contributions.

The interesting thing about Tagore is the fact that his contributions aren't limited to the field of literature and art. He was a poet, philosopher, freedom fighter and an educator. Hence, I find Tagore in everything.

There's a famous verse by an anonymous writer that I came across and I can't help but mention it here:

প্রেমে রবীন্দ্রনাথ,

অপ্রেমে রবীন্দ্রনাথ।

বন্ধুত্বে রবীন্দ্রনাথ,

একাকিত্বে রবীন্দ্রনাথ।

সুখে রবীন্দ্রনাথ,

অসুখে রবীন্দ্রনাথ।

আলোয় রবীন্দ্রনাথ,

অন্ধকারে রবীন্দ্রনাথ।

আন্দোলনে রবীন্দ্রনাথ,

বিপ্লবে রবীন্দ্রনাথ।

ব্যক্তিগত - রবীন্দ্রনাথ,

সামাজিক - রবীন্দ্রনাথ।

দেশপ্রমে রবীন্দ্রনাথ,

বিশ্বপ্রেমে রবীন্দ্রনাথ।

স্বদেশ ইতিহাসে - রবীন্দ্রনাথ,

বিশ্ব ইতিাসে - রবীন্দ্রনাথ।

সমাজ চিন্তায় রবীন্দ্রনাথ, 

দর্শনে রবীন্দ্রনাথ।

নগর জীবনের শূন্যতায় বা পূর্ণতায় - রবীন্দ্রনাথ,

পল্লী জীবনের আনন্দে রবীন্দ্রনাথ।

অন্য কে আপন করে নেওয়ার শিক্ষা - সেটাও রবীন্দ্রনাথ। অভিজিৎ - সেও রবীন্দ্রনাথ।

নিখিলেশ - রবীন্দ্রনাথ,

বিমলা - রবীন্দ্রনাথ।

সন্দ্বীপ - সেও রবীন্দ্রনাথ।।

The lines have been so beautifully penned down and the meaning is even more beautiful. For people who can't read Bengali, here's a translation:

You'll find Rabindranath in love,

You'll find Rabindranath when there's a lack of it.

You'll find Rabindranath in friendship,

You'll find him in your solitude.

You'll find Rabindranath in happiness,

You'll find Rabindranath in sadness.

You'll find Rabindranath in light and in darkness. You'll find Rabindranath in protests,

and in revolution.

You'll find Rabindranath to be personal and to be societal.

You'll find Rabindranath in patriotism,

You'll find Rabindranath in universal love.

You'll find Rabindranath in Indian History,

and find him in World history.

You'll find Rabindranath when you think about society,

and when you think about philosophy.

You'll find Rabindranath in the in the emptiness or fullness of city life,

and you find him in the joy of rural life.

You'll find Rabindranath while trying to learn to embrace others.

Abhijeet - He is also Rabindranath's creation. Nikhilesh too,

Bimala too,

Swandip too.

The poem highlights Tagore's profound connection to the full spectrum of human experience, from the depths of love and solitude to the grandeur of social and political movements. From the positive to the negative aspects of life. This duality reflects Tagore's ability to empathize with the entire spectrum of human emotions, a hallmark of his literary genius.

He is found in the light of progress and the darkness of struggle, in the pursuit of individual fulfillment and the collective well-being of society. Tagore's multifaceted personality shines through, revealing his deep engagement with both personal and societal issues. His ability to connect with the human experience on such a profound level has made him a beacon of inspiration for generations, and his works continue to resonate with readers worldwide.

As for me, I will forever be enamored with his words, whether be it in a book or in a song. Rabindranath is my whole existence.

That would be the end of my thoughts on the great man who is 159 years old today but remains forever young in the hearts of the people who love him.

On the death of a true artist.

Shakespeare has said, "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players;"

We say we couldn't agree more. Every time someone close to us dies, we revert back to this quote to give our aching hearts some solace.

Our life is a script that we are handed out at the beginning. It is a script with definite entries and exits but no middle. Aristotle would be really mad at the scriptwriter. How is this play even a play if it doesn't agree with the basic rule? Where is the 'middle'? We're supposed to write the middle, in our own words; writing whatever makes us comfortable.

And so, we become the writers of our own destiny. We're the performers too; and like every performer, we've diligently practiced all our lines, the entry and the exit. But as the curtain starts to fall, we realize that maybe we haven't given our best. What if the best is yet to come? What if we could do better than we did? What if we don't want to exit?

The curtain has fallen now but we can still listen to the claps. It shows how our time on the stage was appreciated, no matter how limited it was. We feel happy that we've touched lives unknowingly and that we'd be remembered forever because of what we did.

Yes, we didn't want to exit but we did and it was inevitable. What matters is the fact that our deeds live on. Maybe these are just sweet words to make ourselves understand that what happens is for the best.

Irrfan Khan, a renowned name in the film industry, passed away on 29th April. I was deeply saddened by his untimely demise; it felt unfair that such an artist left us in a time where he didn't even receive the kind of farewell that he deserved. After Alan Rickman and Chester Bennington, Irrfan Khan's death was what felt like a personal loss. It seemed that the late actor had just begun giving us the movies we deserved in an industry where true art doesn't get recognized so easily.

Irrfan's journey is proof that talent can alone take you to positions that you deserve. He was a humble man, having humbler origins but his passion made him what he was till the day he breathed his last. It is a truly irreplaceable loss and the heartbroken fans will have a hard time coping with it. It was surely not his time to exit the stage but the claps are proof that his time was thoroughly enjoyed by the audience. Of course, it is never enough. So the heart will still want more of his work to come up but alas.

Life is unpredictable. It is often compared to a play or a film. The thought of Irrfan's life to be compared to a film anuses me. For an actor like him, is real life any different from reel life? For all I feel is that Irrfan poured a bit of himself in every character that he played and that is the reason his sudden exit from the screen is so sad. But the director has said "cut" even though neither he, nor his audience were prepared for it.

The scene is complete and Irrfan has exited, handing over the rest of the story to the others, to complete; to carry on his legacy; the revolution he brought to Indian cinema. 

Irrfan sir, you'll be dearly missed. I, as an ardent fan, hope that you continue entertaining people in the afterlife.

Books that shaped me: 01

There are a few books that stay with you; they transform you. No matter how much you try to pen down your thoughts on them, you fail because you don't understand what would do justice to the story and the storytelling. A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini is one such book for me. It is a book that I'd always come back to; each time, gaining a new perspective towards it. 

I was recommended this book by my roommate back in 2017. And 2 years later, I decided to pick this up for reading. It took me the longest time to finish this book. I could have read this book in two days but I chose to read it slowly because a beautiful book like this needs to be given some time.

What can I say that has already not been said about this beautiful, beautiful piece of art! Every line, every chapter and every story that I came across in here is something I'll cherish forever. It is so full of pain that it made me cry for hours at a stretch. 

It is a coming of age story of two Afghani women, Mariam and Laila, both struggling with their identity as a woman in such a harsh society. Even though Mariam and Laila are the wives of the same man, they don't actually hate each other. It is their friendship that shines and it made me believe that women aren't sworn nemeses of each other. It brilliantly portrays how two women, belonging from vastly different backgrounds, come down to suffer the same fate in a country that doesn't respect their existence. It is their journey through loss, dejection and poverty in a war stricken Afghanistan.

I don't think there are many books out there that portray pain and love in such a vivid way. The plot is so gripping that you can't not be affected by the stories which have been interconnected in such a beautiful way. Hence I choose not to review this book. This goes straight to my 'highly recommended' list because I have no negative remark on this; nobody could possibly criticize negatively on this book.

I personally related more to Laila for some reason. I don't have any hard feelings against Mariam and I can't possibly compare their stories because each one is equally painful but somewhere, deep down, the rebellious spirit of Laila created a very strong impact on me. 

What Mariam went through throughout the novel is another aspect I'd like to discuss about. I can't imagine the amount of love she had in her even though she never really did receive love in her life. This book is a beautiful ode to Mariam's journey from being an innocent child to a woman who gave her all when it came down to love and friendship.

At the end of the novel, all I can think of is the fact that the world needs more women like Laila and Mariam.

Also, I'd like to credit this book for making me learn some really beautiful Farsi words, one of which has become my favourite.

Hamshira is the Indo-Arabic term that means Sister and I am in love with the term for no reason. I just love it and I have no explanation for it.

A Thousand Splendid Suns is a timeless piece and every woman should read this. It would tear you apart but in the end you'll find a new hope and a new outlook towards life. This book feeds the soul and makes one a better person. That is what I feel.

Note to readers: That's the end of my appreciative blabber on Khaled Hosseini's A Thousand Splendid Suns.I wish everyone reads and appreciates it in the same way I did.

:)

The Dream.

It is so great when you're seeing a dream, isn't it? The hard part comes after; right after waking up, when the realization finally hits that it was just a dream. But isn't it brave enough to dream? Knowing that it won't ever be fulfilled; that's heartbreaking but still not being afraid to dream on.

I too have a dream. I want to get published one day. I want people to know me as a writer and not some random girl they met somewhere. I want to be famous. Not crazy famous though. I want a bunch of people to know about and appreciate my work.

I'm a great fan of indie music. It has been almost a year that I haven't listened to a good Bollywood song. Somehow, I always pick up a playlist having Prateek Kuhad, Taba Chake, When Chai Met Toast, Anuv Jain, Ankur Tewari, and others like them; indie artists, who're famous but among their little crowd. They're happy making music for the people who listen to them.

If I ever become famous, I'd like to be like that. I don't want to make India read or anything like Chetan 'whatever' Bhagat wanted to. I want readers to pick up my book; people who've read beautiful works like Dickens and Austen. I want them to read my work and say, "Well, she's no Plath but she isn't bad either."

That's the dream. I keep playing scenarios in my head. Over and over. I don't know if I'll ever be there but that is the magic of dreams, isn't it? The uncertainty of it all! I don't know where I'll be in a few years. For all, I could end up working a 9-5 job that I hate. Anything can happen. But I have a belief that the world doesn't give up on art. And it is our art that makes us; artists.

As long as I don't give up on the dream, no matter how silly it seems to other people; as long as I keep writing and keeping my art alive in me, I know that I'm an artist and that is one of the greatest realizations I've ever had. I'm planning on keeping that realization safely hidden within me.

Maybe eventually I'll get there. And I hope to see one or two of my readers here come up to me and say that they knew me from the time I had posted about my dream. Yeah, I like that idea.

Note to readers: Do not forget to dream a bit. I think it helps with dealing with the real troubles of life. Keep your dreams alive in you. Who knows, maybe it'll just come true one day. Just believe that it can happen. Not going all Paulo Coelho on you, but the universe needs dreamers so that it can help them reach for it in all ways possible. Do the universe a favour and dream on.

:)

The Now.

Every story deserves closure. So it would be unfair to not give you the details of where I stand today. It has been a long and difficult journey of 22 years and there's hopefully a long way to go ahead.

Year 2018 was a time of self introspection, better writing and just being a better person. I knew I had to improve certain things about myself but I didn't know how and where to begin.

There were moments when I felt like running back to Varun but I curbed myself. My friends really helped. But the most difficult part was done by me. I decided not to believe in love anymore. Wrong, I know but that is what felt right at that time. I couldn't hurt myself more in investing my time and energy in people who were not made for me. 

Hence a phase passed when I chose the option of casually dating people. The one thing I hated the most, I fell back upon that to protect myself from the hurt. What harm could a few tinder dates do, right? Many random swipes later, I found myself on a date with a stranger I didn't even know properly.

I was scared and it was evident and things didn't end well. But it didn't stop me from more of such dates with different people and before I could realize, I had started opening up to people with whom I had no prior bonding. Slowly, tinder dates became a solace from my loneliness. It was all about having a fun evening with an interesting person.

I was rocked back to my senses when I was sexually harassed on one such date. Maybe sexual harassment would be a really big term for it but I for one thing knew that I didn't give my consent to whatever happened. Thankfully, I was saved and I came back home safely. I didn't talk about it to anyone because I was scared that people would blame me for going out on a date with a random stranger I met on the internet.

That was the end of the dating experience. I realized that I wasn't really made for casual dates because people on those apps looked for physical relationships rather than building an emotional connection with the other person and I wasn't one of those people who would be comfortable with such an arrangement.

I would not say that tinder is a bad place. It's good for people who are good with it. I am not a judgemental person but I know what I want and don't want in life and I had realized that tinder is not suitable for me. 

But the most humorous part of this tinder journey is the fact that I super liked my current boyfriend on tinder. And, no, he isn't one of those random guys I swiped right on. The reason we super liked each other was because we were batchmates in school. We were friends and had been friends and acquaintances for 10 years!

I had often found him funny and we really gelled well and this was even before I knew or met Varun. Arjun was a friend. In fact, he was aware of every relationship I had and I often used to complain to him about how no man comes in my life to stay.

He had also gone through a bad break up and also other setbacks in life and I felt that he somehow understood what I was going through. Also, he had a humorous way to make me understand things. 

The idea of dating each other wasn't a conscious thought in either of our minds. We weren't ready to date anyone. At least I wasn't and hence I ignored all the visible signs of how well we bonded. But now and then it would come up either through him, asking all the right questions or through my friends telling me that he should be the one I should be dating. But all of these were casual or so I thought.

I later found out Arjun (The fictional name I gave him) had liked me since a long time but didn't have the heart to ask me out. He didn't want our friendship to be spoilt. It was me who had this strange epiphany (kind of 😂) one day and I realized that the idea wasn't that bad. So I asked him if he'd like to go on a date. It was a very casual conversation. I was not even serious.

But he agreed and things escalated from there. Now, it was difficult to think about a relationship again with such heavy emotional baggage. But I found my way and the biggest support came from him. He knew I needed to heal and he made it clear that he would wait.

I have not seen a person like Arjun. He brought out sides of me I didn't even know existed. And the best thing about him (there are many) is the way he never gives up and makes sure that he communicates with me.

We generally don't fight but when they occur, he has his way of solving things by discussion. I know I can get ugly in love but he knows how to tame that ugly side of me and he doesn't love me less for it. 

We don't have much in common but we often find a middle ground and that makes me happy. He's all in for making efforts for the people he loves and I love that about him. I owe him for bringing me back into the light. 

Varun exists in the deepest darkest corner of my heart. But Arjun is everywhere else. I love him like I've never loved anyone else. 

I'm currently 22 years old and pursuing a Master's degree in Literature from BHU. I am generally a fun person to be with. I still write to calm the raging thoughts in my head. I love writing and the idea of building a career in writing is an enticing dream. But I've always wanted to be an enabler. I want to enable people to educate themselves. I have invented this job profile for myself. I would like a teaching job but I want to be an enabler more than an educator.

I have a knack for many things and I keep doing them even though I'm not good at it. One of such activities is singing. I've never received any formal training in singing but it runs in my blood. My mother is a very good singer and I'm glad I can sing. I may not be perfect but I love singing. 

In fact, music is an inseparable part of my life. I find my calm in music. It helps me put my thoughts in order. I also love cooking and feeding people. I like the way people smile after having a good meal and hence I love to cook for people. And since I cook, I'm also a die hard foodie. I love exploring new food.

Apart from this, I've a habit of wandering into new places, trying to find something new. I also admire photography. I've tried my hand at it but I'm no good but I appreciate the art form and the people who click those photographs.

So that is my not so boring life. I now stand tall and proud. I've come a long way and it wasn't easy, battling so many issues, getting hurt for all the wrong reasons and what not. But I've made it through; wounded but alive and breathing.

I plan to make the most of this time that I get to have in this lifetime. I have big dreams that I'd like to see getting fulfilled someday. I hope I survive. I just hope I'm happy and I'm able to spread this happiness everywhere I go.

Note to readers: I'm currently in love with the life I have made for myself and it gives me immense joy to share my story with the world. Thank you for showing interest in my life.

:)

First Love.

2017.

Supposedly a new year but I was stuck in the same old humdrum of life. Waking up, waking my roommate up, going to college and coming back. The only difference that I could feel in my life was that our hostel had changed and I was not sharing a room with 3 but only one. Relief was this! My roommate was someone I already knew. She had been my roommate in the first year as well and even though we're not that great friends, we shared a different bonding that could exist between roommates only.

Among new friends who were not new anymore, I felt lonely. Again. It was not because I didn't have good friends but I looked for that one human with whom I could share everything; a person who'd not judge me for my eccentricities; one who would laugh with me on the silliest of jokes. I needed someone who would understand me.

And all of a sudden in the middle of September, I fell in love. Shocking? It was for me too. I thought I had had my experience of first love but the butterflies were real. Everything was happening again; some feelings were even new. I took a lot of time to realize that the first time wasn't love in the first place. No wonder that I took so less time to get over that person. I always questioned myself why I didn't cry that much and let a relationship of 3 years go so easily? I never really loved that person; at least not in the way I had started loving the new person who had magically appeared into my life.

Varun (The fictional name I gave him) was different. He wasn't like the people I had seen before. He was studying in IIT BHU. Now, people aware of the situation around MMV will understand why I could have chosen to talk to him in the first place. Apparently, dating an IITian was a matter that went around a lot. The trend had been going on long before I had come to the college. MMV and IIT BHU had a different kind of relationship and it was apparent.

So, loneliness and Peer Pressure led me to befriend Varun on social media but I had absolutely no intention of dating him. I wasn't really the type of girl who'd casually date someone. It was either a relationship for me or nothing. So loneliness and peer pressure made me click the add friend button on Facebook and it was not long before we started talking.

It started with a simple Friendship Day wish and soon I found myself sharing my number with him; something that I had never done so easily. But there was something about Varun that made me want to do things I hadn't before. We became great friends in no time. We bonded with the utmost ease.

He took a lot of time before asking me to meet. It was something that I really liked but I had been really frustrated too. I, being a girl wasn't supposed to ask him out and hence all the frustration because he just wouldn't ask. It took him a month to ask me out. But it wasn't a date. I made sure it wasn't a date because I took a friend with me.

I'm very nervous when it comes to talking face to face. So I didn't talk much. Actually, I didn't talk at all. It really felt like I was accompanying my friend and she was the one on the date with him because she did all the talking. But it wasn't a date, right? My heart was hammering inside when he shook my hand saying that it was nice to meet me. He said he liked meeting me. That was enough to not let me sleep at night.

There were no violins playing around me when I confessed, one month later, that I had started loving him. And no, he didn't come to meet me after that confession. He was back at home for Diwali vacations. Here, I should mention that Varun wasn't Bengali. The first difference about us was that he wasn't as excited for Navratri as I was about Durga Puja; but we chose to ignore it.

He reciprocated to my feelings and that was the start of an epic love story. We were mad lovers, maybe because it was the first time we had felt valued in life. Our lives started revolving around each other. There wasn't a day that we'd not meet and even though we're clueless about where we were supposed to go every single day, we managed to do alright.

The best thing about us was the fact that we were always on the same page, from music taste to food choices, we agreed on everything with the utmost ease. He was a vegetarian and I wasn't and yet, we hogged on white sauce pasta with the same intensity and love. With him, I never really felt like choosing a non vegetarian dish even though he was cool about it. I liked sharing a meal with him because he let me have more, or that is what I like to think!

We're so in love that we didn't really give a shit to what the society would think of us as a couple. When you're in India, love isn't a spontaneous emotion that you suddenly fall into. It requires much contemplation about the future of a relationship based on what religion, community and caste our partner belongs to. We had skipped that 'fundamental' step. And we were really good in the 'relationship' field.

We fought. We fought in ugly ways mainly because it was me who overreacted on every small thing. I had unresolved issues in life that made me the emotional mess that I was and getting triggered at the smallest of things was the easiest. I took it all out on Varun. He never complained about it but I knew that it hurt him. Honestly, I tried to curb myself but venting it out to him felt like a relief.

Our relationship didn't last long. It was quite evident, I think. We just didn't see it coming. We thought we were inseparable. We thought love alone could transcend all barriers. At least I did. I didn't think that it mattered that our worlds were different. I had a belief that love could make anything possible if we tried enough.

But he didn't try. He was scared and I don't blame him for it now. I did, then. I was furious that he decided to let me go even though he loved me. I was furious because he was scared. I wanted to try. I wanted to give my all in the relationship because God, I loved him. I didn't want a world where we couldn't be together. I think I asked too much of him.

We were on and off after that initial shock. We decided that we should be together without thinking about the future but inwardly, we knew that it wasn't meant to be. We weren't meant to be. Still, we decided to live in our small bubble.

Of course, the bubble burst. This time I was the one holding the pin. As time passed, things became clearer to me and even though it hurt like hell, I knew I had to let him go because in the end it was going to happen anyway. Surely, we would have been hurt but it was in our hands as to how hurt we wanted to be. The longer we stayed together, the more it would hurt us to leave each other.

And that was a whole year of my life, starting with just a friend request and ending on a sour note where we couldn't even stand looking at each other. That was the first love of my life; the bittersweet experience everyone talked about. I now had a story and countless memories to live with. Varun was the person who shaped me into the woman I am today. He took away some things and gave me some things that I still carry inside me.

It is said that a heartbreak is necessary to turn our life around. I blamed Varun for breaking my heart but I also thank him for gifting me my own self. After him, I learnt how important it was to love oneself. I realized that I had to live life without depending on another human being because even people are temporary in life.

It was both a good and bad experience and I don't regret falling in love with Varun. A part of me still wishes that things hadn't ended the way it ended. A part of me went with him and that is a void I'll never be able to fill with any amount of love that I receive; I've made peace with that. 

It was difficult to live after everything ended. I felt like my life had no meaning and I'm sure Varun might have felt the same but we both knew that it was for the greater good.

I haven't really moved on even though there has been a lot of changes in my life. I have someone in my life who has made it better just by being in it. I love him but the fact that I love Varun too is a complicated fact. But I'm okay with it. I'll never be out of love with Varun. It is impossible for me to hate him because I've tried and failed. He wasn't a bad partner; our situations fucked us up. So how can I hate a person if it wasn't his fault in the first place?

I hate some parts of him though. I hate his cowardice and I hate his inability to handle my emotions the way it should be handled. But that is not enough for me to hate the whole of him because I know that he tried his best. And frankly, I was at fault too.

Varun and I were a whirlwind. I love the idea of us. I love us. If only that could have been a reason for us to make it till the end.

I think we're both scared.

Note to readers: This is an extremely personal aspect of my life and it was difficult to write it down and share with the world. But it is a story to be shared and I'm glad that I did. 

Thanks for reading!

:)

The start of something good.

2015 was a year of change. I changed my school. I took up Science for my higher studies. In fact, I'm one of those bravehearts who took a combination of 4 subjects: Physics, Chemistry, Mathematics and Biology. I had scored pretty good in my 10th board examinations and naturally, everyone around me said that I'd be good to go if I took up Science. Being the daughter who didn't want to disappoint my parents, I obliged. I didn't get admission in the top schools in the town because I was 4% short of the cut off (which was obviously 90%) but I was at peace. It couldn't be that bad, could it? I was an optimistic person, after all. All of a sudden I found myself in a coaching centre, apparently preparing for a career in medicine. If only things could be so easy!

One year of coaching later, I realized I sucked at Maths and Physics big time and the minimum knowledge of Biology I had, wouldn't let me pass my entrances. I was shit scared. My father, now a retired man, had put a lot of money in getting me into the best coaching centre. Apart from that, he also took up the pains of taking me to all my other tuition classes. How could I tell that man that I didn't like the profession he was pushing me into. And also, it would have taken me years to clear those entrances. I decided a career in Medicine wasn't made for me but I had to keep that decision to myself.

I continued my relationship with the guy. We're in the same school and maintaining contact wasn't tough. We made sure that we remained in touch through social media platforms and also in person. It was difficult because our parents kept a close eye over us at all times but I was a die hard romantic. I knew that determination would get me to my goal.

It was soon time for me to apply for various colleges. By this time, I had secretly realized my love for reading and writing. All those boring lectures in my coaching centre were made bearable by the books I used to secretly carry with me. Sitting on the last bench, I enjoyed my time with novels. Life was good until it was time for me to appear in the entrance examinations for getting admission in a good medical college.

Now, here I should mention the relation I had with Banaras (Varanasi). My father hails from this holy city. He was born and raised there. Hence, my family has a lot of scholars who graduated from the prestigious Banaras Hindu University. My uncle (Father's elder brother) was a gold medalist from the Geology department and my cousin (My paternal aunt's daughter) had received a scholarship for her PhD abroad. So, BHU, for me, was a magical place; a place I could only imagine about. 

It was pretty clear to me that I wanted to study literature. I had found my inner calling. It told me to apply for BHU. Well, BHU was already an option for my father but only in the field of science. I didn't have the courage to tell him that I'd like to apply for the Bachelor of Arts programme as well. My mother came to my rescue here. She knew my love for the English language and she had, at times, caught me reading novels instead of the books I was supposed to read.

She insisted that I apply for the Arts programme as well. I had always been good with English in school. In fact, when people asked me what my favourite subject was, I always said that it was English. I genuinely loved the subject and the idea of having a career in the field as an educator was enticing. My father agreed because he never expected me to clear the entrance as I had no prior experience or knowledge in the field. What he didn't know was the secret preparation I did regarding the paper.

Now, one secret to clear any entrance in BHU is to literally mug up the past papers available on its website. I didn't know it then but I decided to do that because I had no other way that could help me clear the entrance. While I was supposed to prepare for my 'Plan A' which was to clear an entrance in medical, I secretly started preparing for my 'Plan B' which was to crack BHU entrance in the Bachelor of Arts programme.

When I first appeared for the examination, I was pretty sure I wouldn't get in. The questions were tough. Some questions were common but they were not enough for me to get into such a prestigious university. I was heartbroken. I decided I'd study Zoology in my city college.

But then the results came out and I had secured a pretty good rank. I couldn't believe myself. This is where my life took a turn. Obviously, good things were about to come but suddenly I realized, the person I thought I would spend the rest of my life with, suddenly grew unsupportive of my dreams. He wanted us to be in the same city and study together. I could understand his wish but I was hurt that he wasn't happy in my happiness that I had gotten into my dream college. That's a red flag that I should have noticed. But I was young. How was I supposed to know what are the signs of toxicity?

And so I went. I stepped foot into a new city with a bag full of dreams, unknown of what lay ahead. All around, I saw people who talked in a foreign tongue and I knew right there that it was going to be one hell of an experience. I was ready to leave my familiar surroundings; my parents; my old life. From now on, I was to be known as a hosteller and the feeling gave me goosebumps. A room of my own; a freedom to live my life on my own terms. I couldn't wait.

And then I found myself in a women's college. My God, the disappointment was evident in my eyes. From studying in co-ed schools for 14 years of my life, I was suddenly a student of Mahila Mahavidyalaya. Nice!

And the idea of having a room to myself was crushed when I realized I had to share my room with three other unfortunate souls like me. The only solace I got was the fact that my batch had enough Bengalis and that too from my city. It was a relief to talk in a familiar language in an unfamiliar place.

Soon after I started college, my relationship started going downhill. Apparently, there was a term for relationships that were maintained from across cities. I learnt the term: Long Distance Relationship. I wasn't sure of what people did in Long Distance Relationships but I wanted to learn. I wanted it to work between us. But the other person wasn't really interested. He grew excessively rude towards me. The calls got lesser and lesser and I was left devastated and unsure of what to do.

On my first vacation back home for the Durga Puja, I made sure that I met him so that we could solve things between us. But he informed me that he had started seeing someone else in the meantime. He had moved on without even informing me that our relationship was over. I didn't know what to do. I had thought that relationships were meant to last forever. I was hurt but what could I do? I had to move on because the other person had.

Surprisingly, moving on was easy. I didn't have to make a conscious effort to smile or to continue living my new life in college. I made friends and I enjoyed their company. I had also learnt later on that what I thought was a pure relationship was actually a lie. The person I trusted the most had cheated on me even when things were apparently very good between us. Hence, I didn't see any reason to hold on to a person and his memories. He became a non-one to me; someone whose name would casually come up in conversations with my friends, not affecting me in any way.

This was the time when I realized that my parents were right in the first place and I felt guilty for not listening to them. This was when I decided that I'd never hide anything from my parents and would always listen to their advice because they were the people who stayed, no matter what.

Note to readers: It's pretty long! I am incapable of describing my life's story in mere sentences. I feel that we all need to give explanations for everything. So, the next post will be about my first love. Don't be surprised. You'll know when you read it.

Thanks for investing time in my life.

:)

Where should I begin?

Umm, let's see.

I should start by explaining my existence in this world. Where I was born and raised, the places I've been to, my childhood, the slow slipping in of adulthood, and all that. You get the drill.

I was born in the year 1998 in a small town called Durgapur in West Bengal. To say that I was brought up in a totally liberal environment would be a lie. But yes, my parents always gave first priority to our education. By our, I mean my elder sister and I.

We're a small family of four but our relatives lived very near. My grandmother, whom we used to address as 'Thamma' was really fond of us but she lived with her daughter, right across the street from our house. Hence my earliest fond memories of my childhood are in my 'Pishir Bari' (Paternal Aunt's house). I was the youngest member of the family and hence all my cousins loved me very much.

I was a happy kid but I've been told that I slept a lot. Hence I don't have many pictures in which I'm awake and up to some business. I started school when I was four; in the same missionary school that my sister was going to. My sister was my sole protector in school. She'd take care of all the people who bullied me and took my tiffin. Kids my age were mean but I had my sister.

My sister and I are 6 years apart and hence she could never relate to any of my thoughts but I always looked up to her because her life looked so enticing. She wore short skirts while I had to wear tunics as the uniform. For me, adulthood was that; wearing short skirts and playing 'Throwball' (An exclusive sport invented by our school) with friends.

But then I grew up and realized that life was not as easy as it looked. I struggled with friendships. Everyone I thought to be my best friend either betrayed me or left. And saying anything to my sister and my parents felt impossible because somewhere deep down, I knew they would never understand me. Some things are better shared with people of our age, isn't it?

It was in the year 2012 that I discovered Anne Frank and the joys of diary writing. Finally I felt that I could tell everything to someone who'd not pass any judgement. Anne Frank had pointed it out to me; Paper had more patience than man.

And so it began; the beginning of something good even though it was difficult to maintain secrecy. It is at this point that I should let you know that my school was an asshole with teachers who were much bigger assholes.

I was in my pre-teens and hence a certain attraction towards the opposite sex is natural. And so, here I was, looking at boys and thinking that they were the love of my life. And all of this went into my diary. That topper who'd never notice me, that tall and fair senior who didn't even know I existed and all other crushes; I told them about my feelings in my diary, hoping that no one would ever find out.

I never realized when I started composing poems. Childish, of course, but I liked writing them. I felt it made me say about my feelings in a better way. I hadn't realized when I actually fell in love with writing.

School wasn't great. As I mentioned already, it was a place where teachers bullied the students. I would not say that I was totally innocent but the fact that they'd take such measures to get back at me was not expected. There was no one who could actually tell me right from wrong. Instead, they pushed me to the edge.

I was scared because I had started to realize that I was a disappointment to my parents. There was a sad look that I saw in my father's eyes when he looked at me. I wasn't like my sister, they said. She never faced any problems in school. I was supposed to do the same; pass out with a good percentage.

But it felt like my school didn't want me to perform good. The teachers discouraged me at every step and scared the shit out of me. They had discovered my weakest point; I was scared of disappointing my parents. They attacked me in the same spot over and again by calling my parents to school for humiliation every chance they got.

The complaints were about a boy. As I said, I wasn't completely innocent. I thought I had fallen in love with a boy in my class, who claimed to understand me. I had started to confide in him. He was my human diary and I dreamt of having a future with him. Childish? I know. But it was easy to believe in forevers and happily ever afters then. We were 16 and life hadn't even started. It didn't cost us anything to dream. And, I've always been a dreamer.

I was suicidal. I made childish attempts to end my life. I wasn't aware what really worked in inducing a painless death upon oneself. I tried slashing my wrists in the wrong places, tried swallowing disinfectants and bathroom cleaners and even glue. I wanted to escape the cruelty of the world because for me, that school was the miniature version of the world that was outside. I wasn't brave enough for it; or that is what I thought then.

I'm glad that none of my attempts were effective otherwise I wouldn't have lived to tell my tale. I emerged victorious in the end. With the help of my family, I managed to pass out of that hell hole of a school with flying colors.

But I hadn't given up on my 'love'. I was still determined to work my 'relationship' out. I inwardly felt that I would end up marrying that person. But this is where I started to see my parents as an obstacle towards my goal. They didn't like the boy because of their prejudices. They didn't say anything to me but I could see and feel that they wished for things to end between us. But i

I was the stubborn daughter of my stubborn parents. I didn't budge. At least, I didn't plan to.

Note to readers: So, here's the account of my childhood and teenage; the 17 years of my life that I spent in Durgapur. I didn't know what life had in store for me. But I was determined to find out. My college life deserves more than 2 or 3 paragraphs. Hence I'm breaking up this origin story into two parts. Read the next post to know how college life, hostel life and adulthood treated me.

Thanks for reading :)