You Need Me, I Don't Need You...

About two weeks back our house was broken into. Preethy and I were at our home towns for the weekend. She was the first to come home. The main door was smashed, the whole house was a mess. Clothes from our cupboard were strewn everywhere. Poor girl had to sit in the house alone for 3 hours before anyone else came. My train also decided to be 2 hours late. She called me to ask when I'll be reaching. She was pissed and had been crying, her personal laptop was stolen. We all know how we feel about our own laptops. Most of us buy it during our MBAs. From notes to movies to all our memories in photos and videos and endless songs... Sure you may have created backups, but unfortunately you can't make backups to your relationship with your first laptop, it knows all your secrets.

There are a lot of times where I can use the word 'nightmare' to describe that day. But the biggest was entering our room to see Preethy sitting at the edge of the bed looking at the all the clothes piled at the floor. She looked helpless, angry and scared all at the same time. All our drawers had been opened. It felt like a form of violation. I could only remember this strip from Calvin and Hobbes.

Anyways, it has been two weeks since that incident. We went to the police station to file an FIR, but there has been no leads. They were sympathetic, but not too hopeful. Preethy has gone home again this weekend and I'm alone for the first time since that incident. Its not like I haven't lived alone before. I pride myself to be independent and love the times when I can just kick back with a book and not have to feel obligated to entertain anyone. But in times like these you come to realise how much you reach out to people around you. When you feel scared of opening the door at night after office, or take a sigh of relief just to see everything locked as I had left it. Even during a coffee break in the evening, my mind was constantly trying to remember whether I had locked everything proper or not.

In these times you sometimes lose the independent streak and want to hold on to someone. Doesn't matter if they are family, a friend or a boyfriend/girlfriend. Doesn't even matter whether they are physically strong or braver than you or not. Just somebody who you could wait outside their office to go home together. Someone who agrees to keep watch with you at night and ends up falling asleep holding you so you know you are not alone. Even though, at a sound of anything creepy at night, would scream the shrillest.

Its funny when you pursue your adult life trying to stand on your feet, only to fall towards someone at the first glance of trouble.

Losing my religion

Being an atheist in India is not easy as it looks. In a country where wars are raged on religion, region, it’s harder to be an atheist. You are born into a family, with a mom and dad (hopefully) who got married with religion being the first on the check list of selection by their families. So it is obvious what you are going to be ingrained in it right from the start.

I know a lot of highly religious and conservative families with their kids being made to blindly follow the same. It’s hard to leave something like that, consciously, when you had been easily accepting the same faith, no questions asked. The few who questioned (including me) were quickly told that that is how everyone behaves in this world, the society, the country, your neighbor etc, etc. Losing your faith, becoming a nasstik, more than shocking, disappoints your parents. They wonder where they went wrong, maybe they should’ve pushed you more, made you attend more poojas instead of letting you watch Hollywood movies and songs, which they believe is where we got the idea from. Worse, they are petrified that you just might get lured by the devious set of fanatics who try and push every person they meet to convert to their faith.
Faith, it’s funny how we keep it synonym to religion. When you lose your religion, people believe that you have really lost your faith in the world. Depressed, angry at humanity, you are just moving around from moment to moment with no purpose whatsoever. Which is amusing, since I have asked on a number of occasions to religious people what is the purpose of life and have only received either vague short answers, or long lectures…which are vague too.

I believe, and I may be wrong since I haven’t really researched on this much yet, that faith is what you expect out of everyone else. Your faith on a higher being, therefore, is your belief that every good is rewarded and every bad punished. Your duty therefore is to be good and good things would happen to you. But what is good?

What is defined as good in this world? Now this is when it gets confusing. Is it what is taught by our parents? Or written in your religions scriptures? Or something that is a part of you already?
You see, since I was young I get this really bad scare inside, muscles freezing, sleepless nights, when I would do something that I think was wrong. Sometimes I would ignore it, and sometimes, I would try to rectify it (and that is another story!). I would think that it is because of what was taught to me what my parents have ingrained in my mind since childhood that creates such panic. It’s funny that I would be made to question this while reading a Ken Follet novel.

‘The Third Twin’ is based on a very common argument which has been ongoing for years, nature vs. nurture. Two people (or rather eight in this novel) with the same looks, same DNA by the same biological parents but with different parents teaching them about life become different people. But when the good guy is given temptation that with no hang-ups, no strings attached, no one to know, would he still be good? And if yes, what made him so? His upbringing, the DNA in his body, God, or himself?

The thought is still scary. Try an imagine a 24-year-old, who has lived her entire life believing that someone is watching over me, someone who would give me back for all the good deeds I have done in my life, and the so called karma would bite people’s ass who did wrong. Imagine telling that person that there is none looking, no one keeping tabs. The good deeds that you did were just good deeds, and the bad things that happened, there will be no respite, no judgment day to punish the wrongdoers in this world. You decide, as an individual how you want to carry on.

Most people can’t pin point where the good comes from, in the same way, no one can detect the bad qualities. Yeah we can point it to our past bad experiences, family struggles, evil deeds shoved on you that makes you a lot of person that you are. But what about the rest?

In this deeply religious country, it is even more difficult to work and not cringe when every time your part of job is delayed because so-and-so person was off for a religious retreat. I remember during my first fairly important and big project, there were about thirty activity reports to be taken by my administration girl. It’s an extremely difficult job, but has to be done every day as the clients need to stay updated about it. In the middle of all the work, she declares that she needs an off for 8 days for Ganesh pujan. Now, I don’t have anything against people’s religion, but at the same time wonder how much work and productivity we lose everyday due to it.

Funny thing is, I always liked to be different from everyone else. Whether it was my rock music fixation in school, rebellion in college, or choosing advertising as my profession, I always wanted to be different from my peers. This is one time when I have all the facts to choose otherwise, my hands tremble at the thought of letting go of the last string of any religious belief that I have in me. I would rather proclaim myself a lazy agnostic, or a humanist (it is also a religion, Google it), than announce my lack of belief in religion, especially to my parents. To think I’d disappoint them, after all these years of heartbreak… more than that, to realize that everything that happens to me is by my own deeds and how it fits within the universe that would be responsible for my future. No wait for karma, or any knight in shining armor to save me, except myself.

An Ode to my Flip Phone...

My dear flip phone,

You were my punishment, I think you know. When I had lost my sister’s ‘super cool’ phone in my second year, you were a no-songs no-camera punishment for me. I hated you so much, with the stupid ‘polyphonic’ ringtones and message tones. I was embarrassed by you. You were practically on silent mode for the past 3 years.

This Diwali I got my new phone and you are quickly forgotten. I still know you are lying somewhere in my bag, SIM changed, all quite. You won’t embarrass me again. Your screen is so broken down that I had to squint to see what I had typed on the sides. And don’t get me started on your buttons.

All these years when you embarrassed me...I would hide you from everyone. People used to laugh when they would see my ‘old, battered’ phone. I would cringe inwardly when they would play with you, flip on-flip off, but secretly, I hated you.

I won’t remember the days, during my non-existent social life in Delhi, when I would spend the entire nights on your radio. And it wasn’t just those nights. The commute, the college in Delhi, whenever I would want to save myself from embarrassing looks and stares, I would find a corner of the college and hide in the songs that you played.

I would also not remember ‘Bubble Smile’ that I played endlessly when trying to study, and my roommate would think I’m messaging. All the papers, the nights when I couldn’t sleep, my low-point-messaging to people... you probably know more secrets than most people in my life. But I won’t remember anymore.

I won’t remember the day I got so angry, I threw you across my bed, not realising that it’s a single bed... in the middle of the room. You didn’t get a chance, slid right off the bed, and broke apart. Didn’t even bother for about 30 minutes. After which I arranged you again and you were again happily beeping off one of you own ‘tunes’.

I got a new phone, the one that I paid for, with the ringtones that I love and all the features that I always dreamed of. It’s been three days, and you are easily forgotten. I don’t remember you anymore...

Everyday is exactly the same...

Since there is no easy (read ‘untwisted’) way to tell this story, I’ll try to make it as easy and non-boring as possible. So last Friday, Neha and I were ushered to the boss’s cabin. We were informed that we had to do research in a couple of villages. Cool, I thought, we’ll be going to places around Delhi, should be interesting. Then comes bomb numero uno, we were going to Bihar, specifically to Munger city which is Neha’s native and from there we would be visiting two villages each. Then bomb number two, we would be leaving the day itself for this task. And finally, we would have no return tickets booked until they are satisfied that they get all the answers that this research is supposed to answer. If you have a problem imagining the shock, try hitting yourself with boulders again and again, I think you’ll get there.

Anyways, skipping the details again, the tickets got postponed till Monday, Rajdhani Express Second AC. Since I’ve spent most of my student life travelling in sleeper class, I was actually looking forward to the journey and was kinda disappointed that it would only last for 12 hours. So we finally reach the train, sitting across from us are two uncles, my bet is they were some high officials from the government (based on the fact that they were discussing putting 90 crores in one account and 20 crores in another). Neha had warned me that people tend to look at you like freaks, but I was no way prepared for all the psychos I met during all our train journeys. Funny thing was, we were videotaped in three different occasions. First we avoided the guy, but the next two times it was so irritating that I ended up fighting with them (Warning: It’s never a good idea to fight with people going towards UP or Bihar).

So after changing another train, we reach Munger. Neha’s dad picked us from the station

(Jamalpur). We reach her place and I actually stopped and looked around for a second. The house was built a little less than a hundred years before. Imagine the house with a living room that opens up to a verandah with a tulsi plant and everything and rooms built are the sides (reminded me of endless Hindi movies sets). Her family is the sweetest, most down to earth people I’ve ever met. Her mom informed me that Munger hadn’t seen running electricity or water for the past 3 months. Considering the heat at the place I knew it was going to be difficult. I was also greeted by Neha’s hyper, doesn’t-know-he-weighs-a-ton dog, Noody. After his few attempts at trying to jump on my lap, he settled sitting near me, provided that I made fuss of him every 5 minutes. (Okay the last bit is a lie; he would not stop jumping over me, Neha, her mom and anyone who would come inside the house)

The next two days we spent roaming around in villages from 8 AM till 3 PM, going to aanganwadis, schools, doctors, retails shops and talking to anyone and everyone that we could. We went to Tikarampur, where houses were made entirely of hay, as they would be burned down almost every year, we went to Taufir, where police had been raiding recently as the natives were making illegal arms (yeah, I did not dare to go inside this village. We just spoke a couple of people and ran like hell.)

Every day when we would reach back, Neha’s mom would feed us with the most delicious food, and Uncle would tell us interesting stories about the place we’ve visited. Evening we would sit at the verandah and talk about everyday things. Nights were a bit tough because of the heat. Time moved real slow in Munger and yet when it was time for us to leave, it seem

ed as though the entire week had passed in a blur. I’ve always found it really hard to show affection towards people who have been extremely nice to me. Most times I end up blabbering inconsequential things, nowhere near to what I actually want to say. But before I could begin fumbling with words, Neha’s mom hugged me and told me to take care. I wish I had taken their photos. Two people I would remember for the rest of my life. And Noody decided that if he bites off my right leg, I won’t be going anywhere!

After a back breaking nine-hours late journey, six days later, I’m back to reality. I’m sunburned and half of my hair has decided to fall out. A bit wiser I guess, but two days was not enough for us to know much reality than what we were allowed to see.

Here we go again...

Today I took out my bulky suitcase, dusted the two years of stagnation from it, and opened it to start packing my things... again. It's amazing, I was just rereading my blog, and read all my posts that I wrote before coming to SIMC, my fears, hopes and anxieties. And the present is what it has all boiled down to, another suitcase packed and another journey ended.

I have always been complimented to be a light packer. Even now, I came with three parts, an old brown suitcase that my mom had brought to her new family in her marriage, and I use it to 'run away from home', an orange cloth bag in which I dump everything that doesn't fit anywhere else, like my brain! and a brown air bag that carries my most prized luggage, my books, certificates and likes.

And now after two years I'm still able to fit in my entire possessions in these three pieces. Everything falls in, except the memories that I got from this place. My first project interview and the so called 'party' after that. My first friend here, Lini, who I love with all my heart. My chatty roommate, Preeti. My highly intelligent and serious friend, Neha. And the none stop talker and adviser, Preethy.

My huge room, even bigger than my own room back home, the balcony view from my floor, my first internship and the love I got. Footprints and the hope of maybe being with a 'normal' guy for a change. My second internship and the respect I got. My birthday surprise, cake and gifts. All the nights spent laughing and sharing hopes and dreams. My loss of friend and the part of me that lost with it. A long period of depression. The quieter next birthday. The bo

uts of insomnia and sleeping in class, scratch that, endlessly sleeping in class. The first internals when I scored the highest, my design technology test when I barely passed...

I can't pack it all. It is spilling from my suitcase and unwilling to stay inside the

airbag. I can't carry it all. It's too many memories. I guess I'm not a light packer anymore...

The moment I have been waiting for...

This is it. This is the moment. Look around you, remember this day. Remember the people who were with you when you witnessed history.

I never thought India could win this, and I admit it with shame. Right from the beginning, I kept thinking, except for Sachin, no one else seems to want this enough... But when the last six was hit by Dhoni, and Yuvraj embraced him with tears in his eyes, I knew we deserved every minute of it. We showed what we were made of whenever the opposition threw us off. More than being talented, I believe we were always talented, we were mentally willing to win the game.

I still cannot believe it. My fingers shake while typing this post, my face is still unable to stop smiling. The look on everyone's face when we won. Especially Sachin... Virat Kohli summed it up when Manjarekar asked him the reason for carrying him "He has been carrying the country's dreams for all these years, I thought this is the time we carried him!'

I have always been proud of this country, today my heart swells with pride even more. And as Lini Antony (my friend) said rightly, "Even if the world ends in 2012, I can die knowing that we won the last World Cup!"

Yes, that pretty much sums it up, I guess.

SCORN

Eyes open. He looks around. The stench of blood all around. Corpses lying everywhere. He breathes, heavy…

“I DIDN’T DO THIS!” screamed. He looks around, searching for recognizable faces. There are none. He doesn’t know them anymore. It’s not…

He crashes on his hands, turns and is faced by them, now bloodied. “WHAT IS THE PRICE, TELL ME!!!!”

There is no life, no death, no love or care. You promised before sending me here, you promised that ultimately one would know the consequences. There is none. Nothing but the endless shallow spokes of words, movements and expressions. For what, for who?

Nothing.

He wipes his hand and screams in pain. He or someone had cut his hand. They drop and become a part of the pool below. The stench is fresh now. He gets up, he runs. Away from life, away from it all….