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.

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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!

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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.

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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.

:)