Blank Noise and Bombay Addiction and World Dont Stand No Chance

For the first part of the title, here. I contributed my story for a section called Action Heroes. Support.

I spent Diwali with Hussain at Prithvi and Juhu Beach. Been insanely busy writing for topics I dont really understand, Insurance, Management, Indemnity, Winter Gardening, Addiction, you get the drift. Well, Addiction, I do understand :P And why am I writing trash? Well chicas, we got Rent issues.

I have also been going nuts fixing Internet connections, moving, traveling in Autos, cooking, stuck in messy transactions with Bai, quality checking LIITs around umm everywhere, contemplating saving, hogging shawarmas et cetera.

I'm indebted, with sparse money in a city with much too many avenues to spend on, not to mention Landmark and Mango stores. I hope my Karma rewards me for my super-satiated behavior lately (in terms of shopping strictly). Strict leading to discipline leading to job thoughts, reminds me, I have a deadline. So more life updates later.


All in all, times, they are a changin'

What do you do when your daughter refuses to go?

In the opening of David Copperfield, Charles Dickens once wrote,
“Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show!”

I know people do braver things. Go to war for the country, lay down their lives for social justice, quit a comfortable life to help the poor, sit on hunger strikes for their rights, lots of things, which need immense strength and an indomitable spirit. Maybe my brevity will count nothing amongst those stories. Maybe I’m just a small portion but in my world, I think I went way ahead.

In my personal list of 100 things to do before I get old- Today, Now –
39. Stand up for myself.
I stood up for what I thought was right. Against all the odds and the evens. Against everyone who has ever loved me. Against the world which gives you no voice. Against the community which robs you of your freedom. Against this system, wherein, a woman’s happiness counts to nothing. And unhappiness, well, you just get used to it.

I read at IHM’s blog, what do you do when your daughter refuses? And it really made me think, that 99 out of 100 families in India will force her to come to terms with injustice. As long as he’s not hitting you and as long as you’re not burnt, everything else is workout-able. How much unhappiness is enough unhappiness? Why does our mother's generation think that all marriages are based on women giving up their lives, livelihood and dreams? Why is Happiness a selfish luxury asked by the girls way too spoilt?

Is an Indian Marriage a selfless act of righteousness? And Love here, just a possibility, not an intention, not the purpose, just a mere chance byproduct? Chance.

We have so many people working towards underprivileged women, with women married off too early, with women facing violence in marriages, women with drunk husbands, so many. But how is it that we never talk about the real problems. The problem is not that these women have the wrong men. The problem is that women are conditioned to not speak up. Not stand up. And left at the mercy, first parents, then husband, then when they consult their parents –redirected to husband. The real privilege so many of us are robbed off is Freedom. Freedom to speak our minds and be heard.

Unfortunately, a woman being unhappy in a relationship is tagged as ‘noncompromising’, ‘adamant’, ‘career oriented’, ‘too ambitious’, ‘selfish’, ‘self centered’, ‘egoist’ and last and my favourite, ‘slutty and characterless’. Why is it that if your husband earns enough and is not particularly hitting you, its enough and you shoudnt ask for more.

So what is it that is wrong here? I am? Someone who thinks that breaking up a relationship on the pretext that “I’m not happy!” and “I’m not ready!” is a justified cause? Have I had too much Hollywood? Am I dreamer? Should I have just shut up and go ahead and once again mess up my life? Once again.

Sometimes unhappiness is the only problem and I believe its justified as well. And you don’t have only lower class people in it. Ask any women of middle class homes in joint families and they’ll tell you how they’ve never made any decision of their life themselves. That is helplessness.

In their own peer pressure and their acclaimed self acquired right to dictate their children’s lives, they force you. All the time. To not wear a certain dress. To not sit on a bike with guys. To shut up and never utter the blasphemous words of breakup. Basically, to be scared, all your life. To be scared of who you might become. To be scared of who you really are.

How much longer are women just going to sit and blame fate. I never quite got the English translation for majboori. I just concluded that itni majboori shayad India main hi hoti hain.

I for one, have lead enough amount of time blaming the people, system and fate. And I wont anymore. And I’ll fight.

And I did. So yeah, I quit the whole relationship scene. I’m done. So long and thank you for… nothing.

The story of how I did, what I did, stands to be told, but that another day. It'll be a quite a bollywood for y'all. For now, wake up, it's september end. Brief smile. Greed. A whole hearted sleep.

The Pointlessness of Being.

There should really be a book like that cause this is the sole truth. And what is truth anyway. Truth is just a variation of the millions of permutations and combinations of life’s entities, it could as easily have been another. So don’t hold any accounts of truth, as I said, your being is pointless. There is also no point in wanting something, not because you wont get it, but sometimes, you just might and it will clear all your doubts in mind and reveal to you the only reality, there is no happiness in it. It will probably just be easy, if you never get it, hope makes world easier. Empty still, but easier. And so they say, to aim for something you will never be able to have, Ignorance, you see, is bliss. Now you know.

Life does not listen to your logics. Because Logic is subject to change and wisdom. And logic – is a perspective. Perspective and point of views are altered truths. And what is truth anyway. All in all, pointless.

A man is a man, is a man. They are all cowards and do not live independently. Ask any evolved man, and he will accept that he is. If he doesn’t, he’s proving it. They’ve lived and will always live a life of reassurance. I am very sure the whole concept of someone being there for you was made by a man, cause he’s weak. They’re all weak. They are all sadistic parasites who will not leave you alone. Whoever it is, a husband, a father, a brother. In his mind, your life is not yours, it’s a byproduct of his. And all women believe it. You are not incomplete without him, he is. And he will make you believe otherwise, why? you ask me? Because they are weak. Don’t be fooled by the life in him, whether he says it or not, or even dead, he will not leave you alone. Cause how else will he make himself feel better. Physically, and every other wise.

And while I tell you the truths of life, let me also tell you that you will never be happy. Because nobody is happy. Happiness is but a mirage. It’s an illusion they make you believe, to make you want to live. It’s a game and you will never win, that’s just one of the two rules. The other being, it’s pointless. If you want to go to the Himalayas chasing the meaning of life, you can, there are several ways of wasting time in this world.

If you think I’m just being a sad and depressed person who’s been wronged and hurt in life, and whatever other excuses you make, abused as a child, raped, disrespected, stranded, rejected, unloved, these are what they are, excuses. If you don’t know this already you haven’t lived long enough or you took an easier path, of ignorance that is (which is highly recommended).

The greatest mistake you can do in your life, is to want something. Desire will eat you alive. Everyday of your life it will remind you how you don’t have what you wanted. And the trick is, once you do have, you’ll want something else. There is no point to it. It is meaningless. You are going to get nowhere in life, because you are coming from nowhere and will reach nowhere. There is nowhere to be. So, to live better, is to be detached, to be free of all wants. Cause it wont be this one thing that you want, it will be a series of wants. There is however a point to detachment.

So, don’t ever ask me again why I don’t believe in God. I can tell you, but then again I’ll save your time and tell you cause he’s a Man. And he’s just the same, a sadist parasite. And if there was an ungendered fair God at all, who made all this beauty in this world of colours and water and wind - he’s dead. You are all alone, and you forever will be.

Ofcourse there’s no pressure, you don’t have to be wise today. You can most certainly think of happiness, link it to some future goals, rely on God, be easy on yourself. Happiness and God are the two biggest hoax mankind has ever played on you. God is, but a propaganda.

Journal of a Rock Angel

It's the Blog Swap time at 20 Something Bloggers and I and Hannah are tagged together. Guys - It means I write one post for her and she writes one for me. So here she is, give a warm welcome :)


This week I'm away at the youth group residential. We're staying at a campsite near Epping Forest. The plan is today that we head into London and do the tourist thing. Today is also Lambkin's Birthday (for those who don't read my blog the people around me go by nicknames rather than their own names) he turns 8 today so at breakfast we had present opening.

When I started this post we were waiting in South Kensington tube station trying to sort out our tickets - we needed a group ticket because its our youth group but we couldn't get the ticket at the first station. We were somehow allowed to board the train and organise the tickets at the other end.

Anyway so now here we are in the queue for the Science Museum. I do love the museum but there are so many people here I'm not sure its going to be worth it.

One of the guys in my group is serenading one of the girls (actually I think he was singing and she was stood in front of him)

Later today we are heading to Camden Market. I'll see if I can add pictures and bits later.

Thank you for having me. More Hannah-ness can be found at http://www.rockangel.co.uk

Hannah :)

Thanks Hannah. It's a pleasure :) I love girl journals.

Daddy's Little Girl

Most people start with ashes and as life turns old, things turn gold. They beckon all the beauty and serene, rise and shine. Leave the old lives behind. And then, just never look back. So heroic their progress seems. So apt, so desirable and so deserving. I envy them. I belong to those ditched cast of people whose past never leaves them alone. Not because of it was dark and dreary, but because it was beautiful. It was flawless. Had I made and drawn my life myself, I still wont have changed a thing. And then one day at a time, it all changed.

I started with everything in my fists, just I never knew how to hold it right. And then I lost it all.

I have this lovely memory of going swimming with my Dad for the first time. I was very little, tiny really. And I had seen a swimming pool before, just never been allowed to get inside one. My mother was there, my little brother. I didn’t have a swimming costume so my dad just made me wear those little boy shorts and told me I’m good to go. Now, I could’ve been a little girl but I had seen TV and had some idea how women dressed. And I was so embarrassed. So the tiny me, shyly came out of the changing room, hiding behind Papa and covering my chest with my hands. It was so hilarious (to everyone else there) that my mom almost slipped in the pool laughing it out. And I had no idea why everyone was laughing. I thought they’re laughing because Papa has such hairy legs. But when I realized they were laughing at me, I bolted right past Mom, covered myself in a towel and never spoke to anyone the whole day. Till in the evening they bought me a new red swim suit and a swimming cap. But they laughed still.

It was so special. When I was little I used to sleep on my Papa’s chest. When I was little I remember how Papa once told me that he wished he had another girl like me and not my little brother. I remember my grand ma telling me that when Mom was pregnant they had only thought of a name for a girl, not a boy at all. I remember how he used to gather all the kids in the family and play games with them. I remember being jealous when Papa paid too much attention to the other grown up kids of the family. I had always wanted to be like my Dad. I used to applaud anything he liked and rejected anything he didn’t. No plain milk for Dad, no plain milk for me. White shirts to bed for Papa, white shirts to bed for me. Since I never had White shirts, I used to just wear Dad’s. It made me feel even more special to wear his clothes. It made me feel how I was his favorite in the world. I used to get my hair cut like his. I even tried to shave my face once, just to be like Papa. I would’ve done anything for him. Pity, I’m the person who took everything away.

We were so happy, my mom and dad were the best parents in the world. They were strict about somethings, for example sleepovers. But for everything else, they were amazing. We had a cozy little place, great dinner conversations, so much to tell each other, we were happy to just be around each other. And then it all went wrong.

My broken relationship broke down everything. Sadly, irreparably. The problem is he loved me too much. So do I, and that’s why it hurts. I cant forgive myself. Papa has a heart of a little girl, and I wish I could take it all away for him. Get him a better world. Woudnt have made so many mistakes. He still wanders in those troubles and I feel helpless when I can’t get him back to be in the present tense. I feel responsible and guilty. He just never was the same man again. And I miss him. I miss him terribly. And I cant see you suffering like that Dad. I wish I could go back to being the same stupid midget I was when I hid behind you for everything, and I swear to god, Dad, this time around I’ll listen to each word that you say.

Just come back to me. Please. Just the way we were. Lets all go back to dining room. Just once more. Come back to yourself. Come back to me. I miss you around me.

About Love and its Legalities

I’m so over-the-top happy that, the Delhi High Court decriminalized homosexuality by reading down section 377 of the Indian Penal Code. The Delhi Gay and Lesbian Parade went very well and had a great turnout, I’m happy about that, but also sad that I coudn’t be there. For great pictures of the same, head over here. There was this crazy news reporter there going around questioning all of them and asking extremely annoying questions like, Is he your boyfriend? Do you guys kiss? Do you think this disrupts Indian Culture? And provoking physical expressions between them, so that he can take pictures and then sell them, or who knows run it on India TV for a good one week. I get so annoyed when people say this is abnormal, or can be treated. For one, Heterosexuality is not normal, it’s just common. Hence, forms NO benchmark for normality. Two, it’s unfair; Love and Marriage is human right not a Heterosexual Right. And please about the Indian Culture, sometimes I think India is a country of tolerance and diversity of landscapes, colour, languages, gods and festivals, everything but people.

The Backseat

I never do book reviews, merely because I never read book reviews. I hate it when people segment books by genre. Or typecast books by sad, mad, bad or ugly. For that matter, I don’t like flashy covers either. They make me want to keep the book down and switch it. I like stories not described before, or a book without it’s back page filled by words “thrilling”, “enticing”, “extra-ordinaire”,”masterpiece” et cetera, for really do they really think my choice is in-sync with the columnist of The Suntimes? I like books with aged yellow pages and that lost smell of handmade papers. So lovely.

Anyhoodle, this isn’t about me this is about Aditya and his book. The Backseat. It’s the perfect book for the Mumbai Monsoon. You know those books which keep you engrossed on those rainy days ... curled up in a blanket. Nikita’s story is, well, really for her to tell. But as for Aditya, you can tell by reading it’s a film-maker writing the story. There are ups and downs and quick recoveries, it’s not those typical books (read: all books) when the tragedy goes so excruciatingly slow you almost suffocate in the pain, and if you’re like me, skillfully skip pages. This can be cast into a movie, or made a sequel of (off the point: Aditya, you did think of a sequel right?) (devilish smile).

What I loved about this book is Aditya’s way of storytelling. His little stories, which seem disjointed, come together in the end, tactfully. Moreover, his writing has a visual sense to it which I have rarely come across. It’s been sometime since I’ve read the book and I can still so vividly remember the portrayal of the little girl, the Ganpati Visarjan and her father at the beach. Although, to me it seemed at the end, there were a few strings un-sewn and some emotions undealt with, but then again, he shows what he wants to show, it’s his story and it’s only fair that he leaves us asking for more.

It’s a simple read and a no-frills book. Anyone who likes chick-lit, inter-cultural portrayal, Mumbai, drama, storytelling, storyreading, bonding, hope and Aditya would love it. I enjoyed it. Give it a shot!

PS: Thank you for the nice note on the book, Aditya. And Manish, Thankyou for bringing it to me.