The Waves

It was 6 am. And still completely dark. Everyone else was sleeping. And on the beach it was just me and the waves awake. I was the calm one... And the waves were the noisy ones. They splashed and danced and sang. They frolicked and foamed. They crashed and played. Like little children who didn't know how to be quiet.

I sat on the chair and heard them playing. Sometimes I would see a white wave crashing on the shore and then the darkness engulf it. And I waited. For morning to arrive and wash everything in light. I waited to see that happen.

And it happened. I watched the darkness melt. I watched the light creep into crevices. I did nothing, said nothing. And it was beautiful. Just me and the waves.

And when the darkness melted enough, the waves seemed to beckon me. They asked me to take a walk with them. And I did. I strolled on the beach with the waves. The waves were playful, as usual. They came running, tickled my feet and by the time I could catch them, they would run away. I wrote my name on the sand and as I turned to look the other way, they would come and wipe it off. I chased them to the sea. But they always beat me to it.

They always beat me to it. Always.

Guys who "were" Friends !

Point to remember before and after you finish reading: Whatever you believe in or observe, there will always be exceptions. And in this particular case also, I know people who are exceptions. So, I would request you not to take this personally.

I have always had more guy friends than girl friends. Not because, I hated girls or anything, but I have been more comfortable around guys.  I was never the girlish type. And also, I have always believed that guys can be better friends than girls could be (And I blame guys for that. We could discuss that someday later. *wink* ).

Well, there were exceptions there too. In short what I am trying to say is, I have had very good friends who were guys. At least I believed that way before I got married.

Things changed once I got married. It is funny when I think about it. I remember the first time I realized how things were. I had been calling people inviting friends, colleagues and family to attend my marriage.

There was one guy who I had called up and when I told him, "I am getting married on 17th Feb, this year. Do you think you could make it?"

Instead of congratulating me, the first thing he said was, "Ab tumse baat karke kya fayada?" (What is the point of talking to you anymore?)

For a while I couldn't say a word. And then I laughed. And that was the first time I realized that things are changing. I talked about this with my husband.

And he said to me, "Men are not comfortable around married women. One of the reasons is that husbands usually do not like their wives to be friends with other men. And men usually stay around women (though not all of them but many), because they have that one teeny tiny hope that maybe she would start falling in love with them sometime. Men are pretty selfish."

He had laughed. I didn't believe him then. Not quite. But yes it got me thinking.

I got married. Happily married, and am still happily married for the last one and a half years. Over this period of time, there are only few men friend of mine, who did not change. They still talk to me the same way they always have, they still call me as frequently as they used to. But except those very few, everybody else changed. The first noticeable change was that they stopped calling.

So, when I asked them, they said, "You are married now. You must be busy. We cannot call you whenever we want to."

I genuinely appreciated their concern.

So, I told them, "Hey, don’t worry. Even though I am married, you still are the same people and the same friends. You can still call me just like you used to. And in case I am busy with something, I can tell you and call you back later."

The next argument they gave was, "And what if your husband doesn’t like it?"

"He is not the typical jealous type. He knew about all my friends before he married me and he is okay with all of it."

"Really? Then it’s great. Now I won’t think so much before calling you up again."

“Happy Ending!” I thought.  It’s just that they didn’t change and most of them stopped calling. All my husband did was laugh, and his eyes twinkled that said, "Wait and watch."

I remember this one guy. He was a good friend. We used to talk for hours on the phone. We stayed in the same city. We would sometimes meet up, have a cup of coffee at the CCD. We went out for lunch sometimes. After my marriage, he never called.  Not even once. He congratulated me on my Facebook wedding album, and communication from his side ended there. I called him up a few times, and then stopped. From then on, I wish him on his birthdays, and he doesn't even bother to reciprocate that on my birthday.

The other guy, we were the best of friends. He came down to my city once and proposed to me as soon as he went back. I had told him that I am marrying Manish and that I don’t have any such feelings for him.  He almost cried. He said, he could make me happier. I told him that if he wanted a break and stop being friends in order to get over me, I would understand. In return he told me, "Please, never ever stop talking to me. You are my best friend and I don’t want to lose my best friend over this. Let’s stay friends."

I didn't break our friendship thinking that he meant it. I stayed normal around him. He was a very good friend of mine, and he assured me that he would be okay staying friends. My husband was not happy with the idea.

He reminded me once, “Men keep having that teeny tiny hope that someday she will fall in love.”

 But he trusted me and he never had the habit of imposing his decisions and wishes on me and so, was okay with it eventually. This friend was okay till the time I was not (yet) married. He would call me the way he used to, and talk to me very normally. Things seemed good. Then I told him that I am marrying on so and so date. He smsed me back saying that he needs to get some fresh air. Then that evening I got a huge mail from him, which mostly said, that till now he had that one hope that maybe I would leave my fiancee and land up with him. I was surprised. I asked him not to hope since that is not going to happen. And in return he said, I have the right to do whatever I want, and he has the right to keep hoping till the night I get married. And when that happens, he will make peace with himself, and we will be good then. And I still believed him.

After my marriage, he all of a sudden became a sarcastic retard. Everything I said, he had a sarcastic reply ready. In the beginning, I didn't mind much. I tried to give him time to settle down things. But his sense of sarcasm went beyond my ability to handle. I told him that on his face (the straightforward person that I am), he agreed and said, that it won’t happen again. Ever since that day, he stopped calling. He came to my city and didn't inform me. It was odd because, remember we were great friends. But I guess I understand his erratic behavior. What I did not understand, was when he blamed me for all this. How was it my fault, I could never fathom?

Another funny guy was a man from my college. I won’t explain much about him because his girlfriend is on Facebook and his girlfriend's friends are all over my Facebook friend list and I don’t want him to be pin pointed (That is my goodness speaking. The evil side of me wants to tell everyone the name of that guy. *wink*). So, let it be that he was a funny guy, and there have been incidents about him, that made him stand out from the other boys in class. We were good friends once, he joked about proposing me now and then. He then found the love of his life. And because his girlfriend was the jealous types and did not like me much and that was made clear to me, I didn't mind when he preferred not to be seen with me much. He had asked me to accompany him to get a gift for his girlfriend. I went, and things were good. Eventually we lost contact.

One day (after my marriage of course), I saw him online. With the intention of a friendly chat,( the kind when you meet after a long time in a, say, departmental store and stop to chat a little), I pinged him, asking him how he was doing, what about his girlfriend, when do they plan to get married, so on and so forth. He replied to all of these and in such a gentlemanly fashion, that it surprised me how he had changed.

So, I said, "Yaar , tu to bada sharif ho gaya hai. *smile face*" (You have become a gentleman)

He replied, "Kaise?" (How so?)

"Pehle teri har baat majak se shuru hoti thi. Kabhi kisi ko seedhe muh jawab nahi deta tha. Ab dekh bilkul tameez se baat kar raha hai." (Earlier, all you said were mostly jokes, you never made a straight answer for anything that was asked to you. And look at you now. All gentlemanly. )

"Tum shaadi shuda ho. Tumko ab aise nahi bolna chahiye." (You are married now. You should not say such things.)

For a moment I did not know what to write. And finally I asked him, which of my above sentences sounded offensive since it was coming out of a married woman's mouth? He somehow managed a "Nahi nahi, majak kar raha tha" (Was joking).

I never tried to talk to this person again. He kind of disgusted me.

When I shared these experiences with my husband, he would first laugh hard, then hug me and say, "Welcome to the Men's world dear!"

What I find odd is, (I realized) most of them were actually not my friends. Because, if they were we could have stayed that way. And I cannot think this is normal, because I do have a friend who is a man and he has not changed one bit. We still are the same friends we always were. And he does not even make my husband uncomfortable with his friendliness.

I am not sure what I am trying to get at by posting this on blog. I guess I just wanted these out of my system. And to all those who had tried to warn me that most men cannot be good friends with women, I am sorry I did not believe you then. *grin*

P.S. Remember the "Point to remember" in the beginning? *grin*

Rape !

I shiver from inside when I think of the torture she endured before she died. And then people blame the Govt, the system, the law. They ask for punishment. People post their anger, their disappointment on facebook. And every time I see such a post, I wish to tell them to start at home. I wish to tell all the men, treat you wife as your equal. Don't take decisions for her. Help her decide for herself and respect the decision she takes for herself. I wish to tell the women to learn to respect themselves and instead of pampering their sons, teach them that their sisters are equally important. I wish to tell every parent, that stop giving dowry, and stop accepting it. Send your daughters to a place where they will be judged by the qualities she has, and not by the amount of money she is bringing.

You know what, the thing that bothers me the most is dowry. Because that is where the evil starts. You are sending your daughter to a home where she is supposed to be a family, where she is supposed to be loved. Why does she have to take money with her? I don't get the concept. How does money decide the amount of love she is going to get. And the funniest part is, women take part in it. The mother-in-law will give costlier gifts to the daughter-in-law who bought in more dowry.

And then comes the children. Girls are taught to endure, to adjust, to accept, ever since they are a kid. The brother is given the larger piece of cake. The girl is taught to wait till the men in the family have eaten properly. Whatever is left out, the girl manages with that. And the father is not even bothered. It somehow becomes the responsibility of the mother to decide. And the mother teaches the daughter to let go. Dont get me wrong. I am not asking the mother/ father to teach you daughter to revolt. I am asking to teach both your children to let go sometimes. I am asking you to teach your son and daughter to sacrifice for each other. I am asking you to teach both your sons and daughters to learn to give the other an equal share of what you have. And instead of making yourself proud that your son is manly, be proud that you have made him human. Be proud that you have taught him to respect his sister. Be proud that you have taught him not be a part of the male chauvinist world.

I have seen people commenting it was the fault of the girl and her parents alone. Why was she allowed to go out at night. Why do women wear provocative clothes? I have a question for all of these people. Whatever the situation be, why were those guys not taught to be "Not Animals"? Why did no body refrain them from doing something that was wrong?
For arguments sake, it was the girl who was out at night, or maybe it was the girl who was wearing provocative clothes. But did she spoil your life? Did she kill someone with her actions? No, she did not. What kind of clothes are to be worn by a woman is not your problem, not your business. You are free to wear anything you want. And so was she. But your actions killed a person. You hurt her. You raped her. Your actions harmed someone else. You don't have the right to harm someone else. Please go ahead and harm yourself. Nobody would come to inquire !

I sometimes feel so angry. No, not with the system. Not with the Govt. But with you my friend. Because, you dont do anything except light candles and shout using posts on facebook. Make a difference to the life of the woman you have in your life. Learn to treat her as a person and not as an object of your pleasure. World will automatically be a good place to live in !

The Blind Man

I was out of office, walking down the street to a small ice cream stall. Manish was with me. As we walked on the pavement, we heard a man say, "Dada, ektu bus stop e pouchhe deben? " ( Brother, Could you take me to the bus stop?).

Both of us looked back. There he was. Standing right in front of a huge banyan tree. He was facing the tree. A small middle aged man, hair white around the corners and bald on the top, a little plump, blind. He held a small bag in his left hand and a stick in his right. He stood there saying the same sentence over and over again. People passed by him. Manish walked back and held his left arm. The man made a weird sort of a grateful noise and walked alongside Manish. I followed them behind.

All my life, I have hated being helpless amidst people I didn't know. Even if I had been scared and tired, I have always put up a brave and strong front. And I imagined myself blind, standing, facing a tree and calling out to strangers to help me walk down to the bus stop. Being blind didn't hurt. What hurt me was his helplessness and his loneliness. I wondered,if he had no one at home, who could have walked with him. Or maybe they were too busy and this man had to come down all by himself. I don't know what could have been a perfect explanation and I do not want to judge anybody. I do not have such a life. I am not blind and I have nobody in my family or friends who is blind. So, I am not the right person to judge what was right or wrong.
As I watched the man trod along in front of me, holding Manish's hand, it seemed so sad, so cruel. I am sure if I am being dramatic, but for some reason it didn't feel good.

A few days back, I was waiting for the metro train at Garia (Kavi Nazrul) Station. There was rush. As we saw the train approach the platform, people waited ready to board. And that's when it happened. A man jumped on the tracks right in from of the train. The train ran over him. I didn't see the man. I did not see him jump either. I was talking on the phone and had looked the other side right at that time. People shrieked and moved away. The train came to a halt and waited at the platform for the next twenty minutes. People curiously tried to find out what happened to the man. Through the window, he could be seen. People said, he had jumped too far. He missed the track. The train did not kill him. It ran over his legs. People who had looked out of the window to see, said his body was thrashing. He was a man not very old.

I wondered what made him jump. I wondered, how painful his life could have been, that he wanted to end his life this way. That day on, everyday I watch the train approach the station, it reminded me of that day. And I realized, that jumping on the tracks in front of an approaching train would take a lot of courage and however hard I had seen life, it was always easier to live. Life must have been real cruel to him.

And what surprised me the most was how people move on in life. How people gathered together on the same platform every day and travelled. How people had discussed, that the idiot should have chosen some other time because the train was 20 mins late and we all were 20 mins late for office. And I realised, that even I did not bother. I did not bother to know what happened to the man. All I could do was wonder.

Life just moves on. Players on stage. Play your part and get out of the stage. Re-appear when you need to. Seems like a proper explanation. And the worst part is, right now I am not liking my part in the play.

Untitled

As you glide through life, you change. As you soar up high, you look ahead and you dream. You dream to touch the clouds above. And you flap your wings hard, and harder to reach that place. You thrive with all your might to touch that fluffy little piece of cloud. But one little moment when you look down to feel the pride in your heart to have soared so high, you see the ground. You see the little houses, where men live. You see the green and the line of blue cutting through it. You see the stream, but fail to hear the gurgle which was so clear when you were sitting on a rock by it. And then you realize, maybe it was not the clouds that you sought for. Maybe, you had it all wrong. And you longed to get back there, sit on that rock and close your eyes and listen to the water gurgle by your side, to God knows where. And you feel, life might be about achieving. It might be about dying proud. But it also means to be happy, to be free, to be lazy, and to die peaceful. And when you look deep into your heart, you might find a feeling whispering to you, that you don't want to die proud and meaningful. You just want to die smiling and peaceful.

So, you decide, that you touch that piece of cloud, and turn back as fast as you can, to return back to that place where you heart belonged. So, you try harder, you tire our wings more, you flap them faster. As thousands of thoughts zoom through your head, you miss that place on the earth, you miss the green and the stream, and the noises. And then you ask yourself, "What the hell am I doing? I need to get back there." Yeah, you realize that you are a lot impatient. So, you turn back and with a smile on your face, you fly back to the place that sits down there.

Your dreams change.

But then one day, you wish you could have flown a little more. And maybe you could have let your feet rest on the clouds. And maybe you would have liked that. But now you will never know. Time doesn't come back to you. And it doesn't leave you enough time to retrace those paths.

So, you sit by the favorite stream of yours, listen to all the noises around it. You feel peaceful. You feel happy. Life has been good to you. But you die with that one dream unfulfilled. Do you regret? No, you don't. It was a choice you made out of all the dreams you had. And the unfulfilled dream, you can always come back for that. Ask Him, to send you back, so that you can fly away on your dreams over again.

Insomnia makes philosophers

Last night I couldn't sleep for a long time! I tried breathing in and out, did not work. I tried to count, started at 1, went upto 490 and then decided that I couldnt be so pathetic to go any further. And then I thought about a hundred things, till I could go back to sleep and decided that life is all about companionship.

Insomnia (Just as a one night stand... I am not a patient) can make philosophers, I guess. I thought about hundreds of things, about people, friends, crushes, mom n dad. Memories breezed by as I kept counting. Sometimes I did find loneliness standing around the corner.

I remembered one winter afternoon under Naini bridge, sharing choclates, and later photographing birds in Company Bag, the same evening.

I remembered a late evening, fourteen girls, a hostel corrider, no electricity and laughter.

I remembered one long drive down the Barasat-Barrackpore road, street lights and black silhouttes of trees, a cup of tea from the roadside dhaba and butterflies in the stomach.

I remembered a day when mom slapped, rolling tears and a hug just 5 minutes later, and a nap with my head on mom's lap.

One evening when I cried on the phone and the friend explained how special I could be.

The college quadrangle, a bunch of friends, where we loved to listen to the music on the mouth organ.

Long letters to a best friend, I wonder how I wrote those pages after pages without tiring myself.

Early morning, 7.30 am, 14 girls, tears rolling down sleepy eyes, seniors and ragging.

Pictures of a carraige, and a blue long flowing gown, the fiction of a first date.

A little poem, scribbled into paper, and loving it all the way.

And the most, I remembered a few promises made to me, and a pair of eyes That I hurt just because I was so damn tired to fight back.

Hundreds of thoughts went by and I wondered... we met, we parted, what remained was memories. Some of them had been so painful, yet when I think of them today, I smile. With every memory exists a person. A wonderful person in his/her own special way. Sometimes these memories hurt not because they happened, but because they ceased to exist. But everytime I stopped at the lonely corners, I wiped off a tear. Corners deviod of people, devoid of company... what existed was void. People say I am strong, emotionally. I handle the mental downphases well by myself. But you know what I am really scared of? Being alone... that is what scares me the most. I need to talk, to listen, to know that I have people around me to whom I mean at least something if not a lot.

P.S. : Please dont take this post very seriously... This was written by a philosopher made by an insomniac sleepless night ! Sometimes you are allowed to get a little emotional.... *wink*

Happy Diwali

A Diwali night.
By the open window,
I stand.
On the flyover
Cars sped... Noisy!


My pair of eyes
Graze the sky.
Diwali crackers
Glitters in the dark.
Beautiful.
And my lips part
into a smile.
The pair of eyes
Watched...
for hours.

On the table
Lay my phone.
Silent...
Drowned into the noise
Of passing cars
And firecrackers.

From the Diary of a daily Passenger : The Abrupt End

After this long break.. I thought of writing the next chapter of the series... but I realised that I have lost a big part of the things that I had in mind. And I am at loss of words right now... So, here comes the end of it... I feel sorry to end it this way...

Maybe someday I would add up another chapter to it... But for the time being.. this is it.

At Bangalore!

I had been waiting to get down to bangalore and join the company I was placed in. And finally when I am here, I am actually trying to like the things that I am doing. I am trying to like my training sessions, my weekends and my evenings at the PG. Don't get me wrong! I am not miserable. I am simply not able to be myself. The self that I loved being. Confusing right ??? *grin* Even I am in a similar state of mind. I will give you an example. I hate cooking and yet yesterday I spent my whole morning walking down the streets of Shivajinagar market buying utensils to cook in. I spent more than Rs. 2000 on all of it. And this morning I got up early to cook and hated the procedure all along. But still I did it and I promise I am going to continue and I have absolutely no idea why.

The only thing that I am actually excited about is my new laptop and the soon to have an internet connection. Then I could come back to the world I love... reading and writing. Till then!

Happy Birthday !

Whose? Well... it was mine. Wish me ! *chuckle*
I had not so bad a day. The friends i had been staying with, forgot it was my birthday, and since I wasn't expecting that, I did not care to remind them. It was half an hour to 28th jan (the day) when i got a call for an advance wish and then they remembered. For the next five minutes they lamented about the fact that they forgot and did not have a cake for the midnight cake cutting process. Later they made a cake of "suji ka halwa" with pieces of almonds saying "happy b'day mou". I loved every bit of it.
We stayed up late, listened to some party songs, though did not actually have a party since i had to prepare for an interview the coming afternoon (my b'day afternoon). *sad face*

So I slept late, woke up early, mugged up basics of Java and appeared for the interview. I didn't even get time to bathe due to lack of time for the mugging up process. But I assure you, I wasn't smelling. And I wasn't looking bad either. I reached 5 minutes late for the interview (thanks to the mugging up process again).

Three people interviewed. two technical and a HR. ( As an extra information, well... I had a crush on one of them *wink* ).

Done with the interview, I came back home at about 8.00 pm. Chatted a while, ate a bit, and birthday was over. I had always wanted my birthdays to be extra special, i love it that way. and this time I wudn't say I had a wonderful day, but I wudn't complain.

Most of my good friends had called. a few hadn't. Some forgot and then remembered. Some totally forgot. Some mailed, and messaged. No complains there too.

And at the end of the day I realized, I was missing my mom terribly.

The walk.

I walk the streets...
To escape
the voices in my head.
I walk miles,
to rest
my tired feet.
I walk alone...
To put aside
untamed loneliness.

As I walk through exhaust fumes,
As thoughts rain on me,
A lump chokes me up.
The eye brims.

I walk until its dark.
And then turn back.
I know I need to get back...
Under a roof.

That night,
When I go to bed, I make a wish.
A wish...
That I didn't have to return.
That i could lie down,
and watch the stars...
for just a night.

For one night,
if I could get lost,
Without you asking me "Where?"




I know poems are not supposed to be on the blog, but a few now n then seems just fine. *wink*

From the Diary of a Daily Passenger : Chapter 12

She answered, “Balia. At my in-laws.”
“You traveling alone?”
“No, No. My husband is sleeping up there.” And she bent down a little and then twisted herself to face upwards and pointed at the upper berth.
Anindita had noticed the man snoring there. She said, “Oh.”
It was quiet for sometime. Then the woman said again, “He is my husband.”
Anindita smiled and nodded. The woman continued, “I have one son. Only eight years old. I was married twenty-two years ago. But I was not having children. We went to the doctors. They could not do anything. They said nothing was wrong with me. They wanted to examine my husband. So, we went to a Babaji. He is a great man. He still lives in Rishikesh. We go there every year. He did a Puja and then after years of regular fast and Puja I conceived. Everyone at home was relieved. My husband had become so upset with me.”
There was nothing for Anindita to say. She smiled. And during the complete journey, the woman took the job of talking and left the smiling part to Anindita.
She kept quiet for sometime and continued again, “My son’s name is Rahul. My husband named him, after Shahrukh’s name is Kuchh Kuchh Hota hai. You have seen the movie, haven’t you?”
Anindita nodded. She continued again, “It is a good movie. I wanted to name him Mahesh. He was actually born on Shivratri. But Rahul is good. It is a better name. Are you married?”
That was a shocker. Anindita smiled and said, “No, I am not.”
“You work?”
“Yes.”
“Good. It is very important that girls should work. We are illiterate. We can’t even name our children properly. Mahesh is such an old fashioned name. Is it not?” And she laughed.
Anindita said, “No why would it be old fashioned? It is good.”
“No, it is not. Everybody laughed when I said that name.”
Anindita kept quiet. Sometime later, the woman started again, “He is in class four now. He is very naughty. He never listens to me. He doesn’t treat me like his mother. Not at all afraid of me. Whenever I try to scold him, he would always beat me and run away. He is so restless. Never comes and sits with me. He sits with his dad though. Actually his dad brings him gifts and chocolates. I remain busy with my kitchen work all day. When I get some time in the afternoon, he sleeps with his grandmother. At night also he sleeps with his grandmother. In the morning he goes to school with his dad. I rarely get him close to me. He is so restless. How could I?”
A pause again.
“I work all day. Early morning, Rahul goes to school. Then two of my sisters-in-law go to college. Then my husband goes to work. I prepare breakfast and Tiffin for all of them. Then my Mother-in-law needs a massage. Then I have to get things ready for her bath. Then I go for cooking. After everybody eats, I clean up, take a bath and then finally get time to eat for myself. Its usually 4 o’clock when I eat. What time do you eat at home?”
Okay! That was a question. Anindita replied with a smile, “Usually 2 o’clock.”
”Hmm.”
She kept quiet for a moment, and then started off again. “Do you know to cook?”
“Yes. I am not a great cook. But I can manage well.”
“Arey, you all study. You can cook. That is all. My sisters-in-law do not cook at all. They always go to college and come home with friends. I know all of them. Actually I prepare the snacks for them. I meet them. So, I know them. They are all good girls. The only problem is they cannot cook. You cannot tell your husbands that you cannot cook. Can you?”
Anindita agreed.

A longer pause.
“Rahul is very intelligent. My husband says, he would one day become a doctor. His father brings him so many toys. The toys do not last even a day. He breaks them off. I tell my husband to scold him sometimes, but my husband says that a child breaking toys is a good sign. It means your child is very intelligent. And my husband says that with all the money he earns, why I should worry about my boy breaking toys. So, I have stopped worrying. But you know what, this will spoil his habits. So, I worry sometimes. But most of the time I do not worry. After all, my husband knows better than me. When he is saying everything would be alright, I am sure about that. I am uneducated. How would I know anything. So, I always……..”

She was stopped by her snoring husband, “Bahot bol rahi hai tu. Thoda kam bola kar. Shuru ho jati hai bas. (You are talking too much. Talk a little less. Once you start, you never stop)”

The woman shut up completely. For a long time, she did not utter a word. Then she moved closer to Anindita and said softly, “I talk too much. But I don’t talk this much when I am at home. At home, everybody is so busy. Nobody has time to talk. I, myself am so busy all day. My husband is a very strict man. He tries to make me presentable. But I am illiterate, so I don’t know his ways. So, I never go out in front his friends. He has very good friends. They come home. I never talked to them. Both men and women. But those women are not like me. They are educated and smart. Like you. He has enough trouble with me. Poor man. So I stay out his way. I try not to trouble him much. I don’t mingle with people much… neighbors I mean. What would they think of my husband if they find out that he has an uneducated wife? So I stay all by myself and pretend to be very busy. So, I don’t have many friends.”
And she continued.


That evening, as the auto-rickshaw sped through the darkness, from the station towards her home, Anindita thought about the women. The unnamed women she saw that day. The two unnamed women, she would most probably never see again. The woman who spoke irritatingly until you would feel like shouting at her, asking her to shut up. But surprisingly, Anindita did not shout at her. Surprisingly, though irritating, there was somewhere a vast loneliness build up inside a heart that could have been wonderfully sweet. Loneliness, from where Anindita knew, she would never come out. She would never know what it meant to be special, or be loved and respected. She felt that flow of words trapped inside a woman, who was forbidden to bring up her own child her own way, to love him or lull him to sleep at night. Anindita thought of all those unspoken feelings that lay behind each word the woman had said to her, which on a first impression would have been sounded like empty and useless chatter.

That night, after dinner when Anindita got into bed, she opened her diary after years. She read a few pages. The last entry was 6 years and few months ago. Once done reading, she scribbled until sleep closed her eyes, the pen still between her fingers and her head on the scribbled ink soaked up by the lined paper.

From the Diary of a Daily Passenger : Chapter 11

The woman replied, “Dunno ! But I don’t think so. I think it’s just their middle class mentality not to let the wife work.”
“Hmm. I will look for the tickets today and will let you know tomorrow. Fine with you?”
“Yes. You are not listening to me, but I think we must quit this job.”
“Arey, don’t worry about it right now. We will think about it later.

And then Anindita’s hearing system unable to filter loud noise, the words rang into her ears, “Your attention please, Train number 3105, Sealdah to Balia, Sealdah Balia Express is arriving shortly on platform number 3.”
It kept repeating in Bengali, Hindi and English.

The pair got up and walked away. Anindita got up slowly. She cursed the train for being on time, and then cursed the man who announced, then cursed the man who prepared the time table and then the driver and during the curing process walked down to the edge of the platform. She watched the pair walk away engrossed into their exclusive world.

The train arrived. As she got into the compartment, she lost sight of the pair, unaware of the fact that she had lost sight of them forever. That was the last time she ever saw them again.

Anindita walked into the compartment found a woman sitting all by herself on a big whole seat. She sat down at one corner. She had lots to think about that evening. She had her dose of humanity and did not need Balia express to provide her with anymore. She sat there quietly looking out of the window, thinking. As she sat there, she noticed the woman turned to look at her every now and then. She was a middle aged woman, wore a pink saree with green leafy border. She had her hair updone into a bun, very untidily. She must have been beautiful years back. She had big eyes, but yellowed. Her earlobes had a big hole resulted due to heavy ear rings. Every time the woman looked at her, she saw a curiosity and wondered if she was too shy to be able to initiate a conversation. Anindita smiled at her. Her lips parted into a smile displaying small, shapely, beautiful but yellow teeth. She looked good when smiling. Anindita asked, “Where are you going?”

From the Diary of a Daily Passenger : Chapter 10

Anindita arrived at the station early. Her seat was occupied. A big family was traveling. Lots of suitcases and bags lay about, children kept running around, mothers at their heels calling them back. She walked round to the next seat. It was empty. She sat down at one side of it and listened to the family chattering about hundreds of things. What she deciphered was that they were heading for a marriage in Patna and from there they would be going to Shimla for a vacation. It was fun listening to the chattering.

One of them shouted, “Neha, did u pack the eggs?”

A young married woman (must be Neha) replied, “Oh Shit ! I kept it on the table, but forgot to put it in. Now?”

The one who had initiated, replied, “I knew you would do it. You always miss on something every time.”

Neha smiled sweetly full of guilt and said, “I am so sorry Gauri didi. What will happen now?”

Gauri shouted at the top of her voice, “Did u hear Ma? Neha left the eggs at home.”

People around turned to look.

An old woman a little father away replied back louder than Gauri, “Again? What will happen now? How many eggs were there?”

Gauri said, still maintaining the volume “Twelve! All Boiled! I don’t think it would last two weeks.”

Anindita smiled. Forget about two weeks. Wouldn’t last two days. People around smiled.

The old woman looked worried. “Now what?”

Gauri said, volume still maintained at maximum, “What ! Nothing ! They will rot and when we come back, I wonder how we would step into that smelling house.”

The old woman got a bit irritated, and muttered, loud enough to be heard by every soul who were around, “Three daughter-in-laws and still you forget to pack the eggs. You are so lucky to have me. If it had been my mother-in-law, you would have been dead by now. Twelve eggs ! It is so costly.” Then she raised her volume to maximum again and asked, “ Haan Neha?? What will you feed Ketan now? That gentleman son of yours doesn’t take in a grain of rice without non-veg.”

Neha smiled guiltily and replied, “Don’t worry Ma, I will arrange something for him.”

Neha called, “Ketan come here.”

A little boy of about three years was squatting at the edge of the platform. He the upper half of his torso, still in the same position and looked at Neha. “Ma, come here. See here is a snake. It is dead.”

“No, you come here. Come fast.”

Ketan did not budge. Neha got up, walked upto him and pulled him to the bench where Anindita was sitting and sat down.

Quietly she said, “Ketan, I forgot to pack the eggs. You wouldn’t make a fuss while eating tonight, right?”

Ketan made a face. Neha explained, “If you make such a face, grandmother will get angry with me. She loves you so much, she will scold me that I did not bring the eggs for you. And if she becomes very angry, she might leave me in some unknown station and then what will happen to me?”

Ketan thought for a moment and then smiled, “No, she won’t do that.”

Neha said, “What if she does?”

Ketan replied, “She won’t. I know. But okay, if you are afraid, I will eat without the eggs. But get me some fish tomorrow. Now come and see the snake.”

Neha and Ketan got up. Neha glanced at Anindita as Ketan tugged at her arm. Anindita and Neha smiled at each other.

And with that, the egg-fuss was over. The old woman kept muttering. Gauri and Neha and others talked and Anindita was the silent unnoticed audience.

The woman (who traveled on board Balia Express with Anindita, the one Anindita did not like much) and her husband arrived and walked to the seat where Anindita sat. That was their usual seat. They sat down. Anindita saw the woman after a long time. More than a week. The husband was traveling alone all those days.

The man asked extra softly making it almost a whisper, “Now tell me where you were these days? Something wrong at home?”

Anindita heard it though she wasn’t meant to hear it. Anindita realized she was wrong all these days. He wasn’t the husband. He must be just a colleague.

The woman said, “They want me to quit working. I told you about this earlier. Did I not? How long do we have to wait?”

“It is getting tougher for you. Isn’t it? Let me check when I can get tickets. Anybody suspicious at home?”

Right that moment, Anindita was. She was a normal human being. Normal people are allowed to be suspicious about things going on around them. She adjusted her hearing system to filter every other sound except the two beside her.

From Tears to Smile : A Guest Post authored by Neha Sharma

The Introduction:
Neha, One of my most wonderful friends! One person, I know I can turn up to whenever I feel like the whole world is crashing down and I have no where to go. One fine evening, she was upset. We had a little chat. And then as goodbyes were said, Neha promised me a post for my blog. Thank you Neha for the honour. About her: She is a wonderful poet, singer and above all a beautiful lady at heart. Click here to read her poems.


From tears to smile
A couple of days ago I met one of my friends online. She was quite tensed about the market. Her joining has been delayed and as a result she’s sitting idle at home with absolutely nothing to do. I guess sitting idle is a very bad situation. I’m also waiting for my joining but thankfully I know how to keep myself busy. This friend about whom we are talking here lacks in this art. So as a result she was badly frustrated and negative about life and other things, so much that she was weeping!

I wonder how people can make simple things sound much complicated. And then they might see a tree as a monster, or a beautiful rainy evening as a disaster. Now, this girl has been blessed with a lot of talents. And she loves all of them. She loves painting, writing poetry, singing, listening to songs, cooking, gardening, observing, and the list is long. But during all this free time what she has been doing? Weeping over her circumstances, over things that she cannot control. What she is not doing is utilizing this immense free time by doing all or any of the things she loves, all the things she always wanted to do but never had enough free time for. At some later stage in life when she’ll become busy as a bee, will she not regret this beautiful time that she wasted in weeping? Of course she will.

But she’s not realizing this at this moment.

It is natural I think. It’s not only her. People always desire and long for what they do not have. I know you have read it a thousand times but then I know this too that only a few of you have pondered upon this. Other’s have only read it for the sake of reading or heard it for the sake of hearing. We often spend our free time by thinking about what we do not have rather than utilizing it to cherish and enhance what we have. Later when we’ve lost our precious moments we again waste our present thinking about how we spoiled out our past moments. So when do we enjoy? I’m not saying that I’m a sage or something. I too have my ups and downs. But at least I know how to spend and utilize my free time. And this is what I wanted her to understand.

I talked to her trying to give her the facts. One good thing is that she believes in me and tries to follow what I say. She opened up her heart in front of me and I saw the sad world that she had created within herself. She was talking as if her life was like an empty cup and that she was of no use. Yet somewhere deep inside she knew that all that was fake and very far from reality. She read this blog of mine and started talking big of me, talking small of her simultaneously. I know that she must have liked my work but when sad, people do this often either to make themselves feel worse or to make themselves feel better (by gaining sympathy). I advised her to enhance her writing skills and painting skills ignoring what all she said about my greatness.

I asked her whether she’s applying for other part time jobs and she denied it. Again, it is common with people, doing nothing and waiting for miracles to ensue to solve all their problems. I persuaded her to go out and search for some job.

Finally after a productive tête-à-tête both of us said our goodbyes. I was happy to know that she was smiling. She acknowledged my ‘superb’ ideas and then did engage herself into something.

This rakshabandhan her artworks that festooned her brothers’ wrists, earned her a lot of appreciation (and even money). She’s quite happy about all that now. Although she’s still sitting at home but she’s searching for a job seriously. She has even penned down something for me (I asked her to do so on the day of our long chat) and I’ve added it here in this blog. (I assured her I’d do that…).

So now when you have read (and are still reading) all what she has penned, I guess you are now aware that she’s not suffering anymore. She’s happy and I’m happy for her.

Written by Neha Sharma (the sad girl) for Mou. (The super supporter)

Thanks Mou!

From the diary of a daily passenger : Chapter 09

The man kept arguing. The only argument he had was that he was a railway employee and he worked hard for the passengers and the passengers must let him travel in comfort and actually, railway employees were allowed to get into sleeper class compartments and sit where ever they wanted to. Nobody was allowed to question them. One passenger demanded his I-card and he produced one. The I-card was handed to Anindita for checking if he was speaking the truth. Out of curiosity, she looked. His name was Giridhari Yadav. He was a "khalasi" or in better words a gatekeeper kind of staff. Anindita hadnt spoken after the passengers had taken over the argument. She was disgusted of the whole affair and of the whole day. Anindita handed it back to the man and produced her own I-card that had been provided to her as a trainee at the IT-department of CLW (Chittaranjan Locomotive Works). She handed it to Giridhari and said, "I work in the computer department of the same corporation you are in and I deal with the Accounts section. You can check. Do you know to read English?"
People went quieter. The man looked at Anindita and muttered something. Anindita looked at the man sternly and said, "It would take me two minutes to find out every minute detail about you. Not only that, I work on the payment cheques that you recieve every month as your salary. You want me to do that?"
The man stared at Anindita and Anindita continued, "Once I am done with all the things I mentioned, let me see how much interested you would be in serving your passengers?"

The man got up and without a single word walked out of the compartment. Aninidita smiled. Her first smile throughout the day. This was the best thing that happened to her since morning. She could surely find out every minute detail in a minute but she was in no position to alter anything regarding his salary cheque. After all, she was just a software developer. It was fun being somebody of such weight that people double your age are afraid of you. Other passengers stood there and a discussion followed for sometime. Slowly the croed dispersed from the door to their respective seats. One of them came up to Anindita and said, "Come and sit. There is space over here."
Anindita thanked and declined. She was loving the wind. The old man was back at his seat. Anindita asked him, "Where are you going?"
He replied, "Balia, beti."
"Dont you have a reservation? It is very far. You will have to sit the whole night?"
"I know, but tickets costs so much. I did not have enough money."
"Hmm. Who stays in Balia?"
"My folks. My relatives. From now on, I will live there itself."
"And in Kolkata?"
"Kolkata nahi, beti, I lived in Asansol. I used to be a Rickshaw-puller. And since the past few years, I gathered up plastics and sold them. It was enough for us. I do not have children. My wife died two months ago. What shall I live for in Bardhman, all alone?"
"Hmm."

Anindita looked outside into the dark and thought, "Funny life."

From the Diary of the Daily Passenger : Chapter 08

That day Anindita was a bit pissed off with lots of things. She wasn't her usual self. She was quieter than usual and wasn't in the mood to be her usual nicer self. So, she preferred to stay aloof and quiet. She did not feel like enjoying her Balia express company. And she knew she would land up in some trouble if she did not keep herself aloof.

As she boarded the train, she walked up to the end of the compartment and stood there by the door. At the ticket examiner's seat sat an old man with a little bundle tied up into a dirty white cloth. She looked at him once. He shivered now and then. It wasn't cold in April and so Anindita thought maybe it was old age. She looked out of the door. She always loved standing at the door. The wind whizzed past, hurting the eyes, forcing them to close. It was fun. She did not lean out but leaned back on the door. On the floor beside her, two men sat, a little less older than the man on the ticket examiner's seat, but nevertheless, old. She did not pay much attention. She continued to look outside and feel the wind on her face. It helped her soothe her uneasiness.

The train sped by on schedule. A middle-aged man arrived into the compartment. Most probably he had boarded at Chittaranjan into some other compartment and walked into this one. He saw the old man on the seat and said to him, "Babaji.. go and sit there." and he pointed at the floor beside the other men. The old man looked at him in meek silence and the man ordered again, "Kya hua Baba? Get up and sit there."
The old man clasped his bundle with his wrinkled hands and staggered to the floor beside the others. Anindita hated the middle-aged man. She glared at him for a moment but he didnt look at her. So, she looked away in disgust. After all what could she do alone? She was a girl and she had always been advised by friends and family to keep shut however tempting it might it was to speak back against wrongs. So, she stared out of the door, with a grumpy face, irritated of all shitty and crude things about life. She stood there thinking of what all things she would have said to that man if at all she did say anything to him. Then she thought, there was no harm in saying a sentence or two. She would not fight. She would just tell him that what he did was wrong and he shouldn't have made that old staggering man to get up off the seat. Then she changed her mind. It would be of no use. He wouldn't listen. So she gave up the idea.

Few more minutes passed. The train moved cutting through the air. Anindita stared outside. It was getting darker. The sky was graying though there still was light, but the earth bore only dark silhouettes. Anindita turned to the middle aged man and said, "Didn't you feel bad making that old man sit there on the floor?"
The man was a bit surprised. He stammered for a moment, unable to say anything. He looked at Anindita and then at the old man and then back at Anindita. Finally he said, "This seat is for Railway employees. It is not for that old man."
Anindita said, "It is for the TTE. It is not for you either. In that case I can ask you to get up and allow me to sit. Should I do that?"
"I am a rail employee. I am entitled to travel a bit more comfortably. I work at Chittaranjan Locomotive works. I work for all the passengers and they should be a little more considerate about letting me travel in some comfort."
Anindita wondered what was she doing. She was actually creating a scene. She had a sudden urge to stop and walk away. But she was into it and she couldn't just leave. She replied back. "You don't work for the people. You work because you are paid. And forget about all that. This man is so old he cannot even stand properly. It never occurred to you that you should have even a little bit of moral sense in you. Three older men and a lady is standing in front of you and look at you, you are sitting there and arguing !"

Anindita knew she was getting irritated. But she knew how to keep her calm. She looked calm and firm but on the inside she felt like slapping the man hard. She already had a bad day all through and now this. A few men, who had been close by, gathered and took her side. They argued with the man and tried convincing him to at least share the seat with the old man if not leave it for him. He wouldn't listen.

Fully Untagged !

Tagged by Dhiman ! It is called "the mind game". The rule is Answer all these questions starting with the first letter of your name. You cannot use one word twice and cannot use your name for the boy/girl names. And tag people.

And here goes the tag....

1. What is your name: Mou

2. A four Letter Word: meal

3. A boy’s Name:Mahul (thts my brother's name.. i guess thts allowed !)

4. A girl’s Name: Madhuri

5. An occupation: Mazdoor :P

6. A color: magenta

7. Something you wear: Mozari (its a type of shoe... but you wear it )

8. A food: Momo, malai curry (prawns), mughlai, madhu (honey), mowa (a laddoo kind of thing... bengalis wud know), manchurian,.... yaar.. i can go on and on :D

9. Something found in the bathroom: Mirror

10. A place: Manikaran (in Himachal Pradesh, a city with hot water springs)

11. A reason for being late: missed the bus/train

12. Something you shout: MY GOD !!!!

13. A movie title: Mann (Aamir Khan and Manisha Koirala)

14. Something you drink: Mirinda

15. A musical group: metallica (i dont like it much though)

16. An animal: Mouse

17. A Street name: Mahatma Gandhi Road

18. A type of car: Matiz

19. A song title: Mere Dholna sun (from the movie Bhool Bhulaiya)

20. A verb: make


Finally, I am fully untagged. No more pending tags. Now tagging is a very difficult part. Most of the people have already been tagged. Those who arent, I do not wish to tag them explicitly! Take it up anybody who wants to.

A bit of Explanation

Recently I posted "A Perfect Love Story", then let it stay on the blog for a few hours and then deleted it, saying that it was a little personal.
People are getting me wrong. I am down with questions from many. I guess the title did the trick. Trust me it wasn't about my love story. I have no *such* complains about my love story !

I had watched three wonderfully unrealistic, dramatic love stories viz,
Love aaj Kal
27 Dresses
When Harry met Sally

The third one was not that dramatic, and maybe that's what created the now deleted post.
It was just about this dramatic feature of movies and the hour (3 am in the morning) that brought out thoughts that are good when kept to myself. It was all about why could we not do those dramatic things in reality !

Please stop analyzing those who are !

Untagging !

First of all... Happy Independence Day !
Have been off the blogging world for the last few days.. been out of station... Am back again, got a huge backlog of posts to be read...

I start with the untagging process. Tagged by Shilpa
1. The jhatpat Tag
2. My life in Numbers

Lets start with the first one :

The tag is called Jhatpat tag... Lets see...

1. Grab the book nearest to you, turn on page 18 and find line 4.
This ensures consistency and saves storage space. However, in practice, it is sometimes......

2. Stretch your left arm out as far as you can & catch air?
The saree I wore today morning.

3. What is the last thing you watched on TV?
Bhaskar Bharti, I guess (2 months ago)

4. Without looking, guess what time it is?
5:45 pm

5. Now look at the clock, what is the actual time?
6.04 pm

6. With the exception of the computer, what can you hear?
The fan

7. When did you last step outside? What were you doing?
This morning. To school, for the independence celebrations.

8. Before you started this Q&As, what did you look at?
The computer screen, A movie !

9. What are you wearing?
A white embroidered skirt and a white T-shirt.

10. When did you last laugh?
Yaar, this is tough. I laugh almost always... And its hard remembering the last one.

11. What is on the walls of the room you are in?
Wall clock, a painting, A calendar, A khathakali face, etc.

12. Seen anything weird lately?
A madman with me in my train compartment. It was very scary. I changed my berth.

13. What do you think of this quiz?
Crazy !

14. What is the last film you saw?
Nayika Sambad. (bengali)

15. If you became a multimillionaire overnight, what would you buy?
Books books n books. I will build a huge library.

16. Tell me something about you that I dunno!
Dont you know?? That would mean, you are not supposed to know !

17. If you could change one thing about the world, regardless of guilt or politics, what would you do?
Change it back to where it was before the Global Warming started.

18. Do you like to Dance?
I can't.

19. Imagine your first child is a girl, what do you call her?
Aratrika (liable to change)

20. Imagine your first child is a boy, what do you call him?
Prantor (liable to change)

21. Would you ever consider living abroad?
Would always come back.

22. What do you want GOD to say to you when you reach the pearly gates?
You will be sent back to earth soon ! :P


The Next one : My LIfe in Numbers

Its about describing your life in numbers from 1 to 10.

One : The month I was born ! January ! One !
Two: The two most wonderful people I have known... Dad and Mom !
Three: There lived three lizards in my hostel room .. I named them ... Tikloo, Pikloo and Spiderman !
Four: I lived in four different hostels till date.
Five: My favorite time of the day during these days... five in the morning !
Six: The lowest marks I ever scored out of 100. (I was in class three then.)
Seven: I was in class seven when I had my first crush. *blush*
Eight: I was eight years old when I first fell in love with damselflies.
Nine: We are altogether nine cousins at home (back at Kolkata... @ my dad's home)
Ten: I have ten DVDs full of animation movies !

Time to tag others... I am not specifically mentioning anybody explicitly.. Implicitly - Anybody who wishes to can take it up.