Reflection.

When I was seven I fell into water once. The water pulled all of me in.
Literally and otherwise too.

The swimming coach managed to bring me up and back but not in entirety.
A part of me was left behind in the depth of the dark shadows of the water.

When I was seven, I was split into half.

I am terrified of water even today, especially from a height. I know what it is capable of.

When I was seven, I learnt what incomplete meant. And I did not have to look into the dictionary.
Life teaches you things that the dictionary doesn't have space for.

And then, I grew old. I trembled with fear each step of the way up.
The water seemed farther away but it was still calling unto me. OR, was it the water that was calling?

I haven't made my way down yet, I am scared of the depth. No matter how far I am, when I look down I still see the other half. I try to give it a hand and pull it up  back but I am unable to reach.
I guess I need to go down further.

But, I am very scared of slipping in. It's tricky you see.
Incomplete, is a little better than nothing.

A Lifetime Of Memories

Memories are tricky. To only think of all the memories that this place gave me; makes me so happy, that you can only imagine it must have been a joyride. But it is not easy, to reproduce meaning of how these memories matter to me, these tiny little scraps of paper coming out of everywhere at the most mundane of moments, reminding me of why they were written in the first place.

I have been packing these memories away in boxes now. Not only tiny little pieces of paper in actual light-weight cardboard boxes to save space around the room, but making up these boxes to be stored in tiny little corners of my mind too. Memories. A lifetime of them.

And then they begin to disappear. It scares you, but you were the one who started to store them away anyway, didn’t you? To make space for more. And you think they’ve disappeared until this one moment, you listen to this song, the same ol’ one that you sang again and again and again much to the annoyance of those who never understood how four people could never get bored of the same song despite singing it again and again and again. And there it is - a blast from the past - the cliché, but it hits you so real nonetheless.

You think of the old times and you decide you don’t want to add meaning but just to think of them the way they were meant to be.

The good old times, yes.

Like the very first time we ever walked into the Wine And Beer Shop and the sense of know-it-all-ness with which Ritika asked for ‘3 pint tuborg aur ek bada RS dena’ while Pragya and I waited with as much a petrified look on our faces as the ‘menfolk’ in the shop had. Haha, can you ever get over that feeling?

Or the night spent shivering at the beach, waiting as each minute went by, for the sun to rise. *Chal, aaj sunrise dekhte hain* was the plan, and what we did was sleep under those twinkling stars, some of us. While the rest of them built sand castles. Sand castles, soon to be swept away by those deep, dark waves, whose music you could hear while you slept. And the sun did rise, as we stood mesmerized with our feet digging deeper and deeper into the sand, taking the wind in, pausing life, and when we got back, we gave each other the longest smiles that ever existed in the face of the earth. We knew what meaning that moment bore, for each other and for ourselves.

Of the timeless moments spent in the lawns outside the very red brick walls, with Shubi making Freudian analogies on plucking grass, the countless slip-of-tongues Pragya made. (The multiples of which I did too) Of spending all the free time we had making practicals, cursing practicals yet making them with utmost care. Of when Group B stood by each other, personifying integrity by refusing to make entertainment of another’s life. (Remember that, Andy?) – Of learning how multiple relationships change our attachment style, and not necessarily distort it. Of bearing through the most generalized statements with a heavy heart and yet holding on to what we believed in.

One open cardboard box leads to the other and you find yourself staring at more images from the past. Images you thought had been washed away in time, but have managed to linger on in the midst of the storm.

Like that of the busiest morning, where I managed to sneak out of the most important department gathering to celebrate a birthday. It was difficult to weigh, the priorities but I knew my arrival was awaited by people to whom I meant something. Happy Birthday Kusum, we sang, cake in my mouth, my mind split into the thousand other things that were happening around me. Celebrations are the easiest to forget and the easiest to recall. Be it the numerous celebrations we had as a department or the ones Suversha Ma’am gave us an excuse to have. I am like your Grandmother, she said, and this is my gift to you - A gift I still hold on to dearly, the memory of a day well spent. And of course, then there are bit of papers about the everydays of life. The journals from Karuna ma’am’s class, we all resented back then, we all love to peek into now. How time changes the value of something for us! The support stories from Diana ma’am’s lectures. Her own stories. The breaking of archetypes. The breaking of stereotypes. The whole new world like it was supposed to be. And of course, fearing every moment that you entered late into your Political Sc. class, and still sleeping through it with your eyes open, LIKE A BOSS. Turning into countries to understand IR better, I was THE China, no, if I am not wrong? And Fatimah Russia and Jaya something else. Pragya the facilitator. Funnily enough, things you think you will remember better have faded memories you’re holding onto with both your hands dearly.

The tiny little things. The conversations you had. The unending evenings with Kranti at the Hostel. (Read: Pseudo-home). Trying to hug Shibani every chance you get, apologizing thereafter. The cooking food and cooking up stories with Pragya at HER apartment. (Read: Pseudo – conquered home) Studying for exams together but no not really, rather sleeping through most of it. Watching mundane episodes of The BBT and laughing our heads off. Our affinity to end up in the reference section despite our hate for it. Our first night stay and the conversations we need not remember because what matters is that we had them. Stalking people endlessly. (Baaaani, remember this?) The unplanned for, frivolous train travel and dirty feet at the end of it. Cribbing through PMS, cribbing after PMS. Cribbing all the time. And yet being the joyful lot. Being frontbenchers, being hated by the back ones for it. Clicking pictures ALL THE TIME. (Ishti, we made a deal!)

The difficult times. Getting through the difficult times because of sheer love from the people. Samagam. Montage. Trying yet not giving up. Falling down yet holding each other through pieces. That conversation the four of us had sitting in the lower Foyer. Remember that, the day Samagam got over – Anahita, Sandy, Tvish? The Award. The Dilemma. The Sacrifice.

The places. Café. Nescafe. The red-bricked building. The lawns. The mean cats all over the place. 900 photographs. The college Magazine and the Visitor’s Room (What a memory, ah!), The auditorium, room no. 67, the foyers, the empty corridors. The place I used to call home.

The memory of yourself. Careless. Ambitious. With big dangling earrings and a huge purple file. Surrounded by people who loved you to no end. And by people who loved them too.

The memories are too many. Too diverse. All over the place. The cardboard boxes refuse to shut, even when forced. Tiny bits of paper from everywhere, fly around, settle down on your eyelashes. Waiting to be touched again.

To The Iron Lady

(Note: Don’t jump to conclusions unless you have read the whole of it.)

I take pride in saying that Meryl Streep is not the real Iron lady, but you, the lady with the iron hand and rule, the chief minister of my very own home town. The way you have managed to bring about change, it amazes me, if not anyone else, I am sure school students will be really happy out of this for they have one less chapter to learn. You have glorified their lives, they will vote for you, for change, for years to come.

A coin has two sides. Similarly, every person, like you and like me, has two kinds of qualities, good qualities and bad qualities. Now, the right thing here would be work upon ones bad qualities and rectify them and enhance the good ones of course. But to use the good ones as a shield against the bad, is to go as low as the fox who used wool coats to fool sheep and feast over them, or as low as Narendra Modi – The Great (Hypocrite).

I appreciate you, for the change you have brought, for the promises you have kept. For the number of bandhs which don’t happen in Kolkata anymore. My mother appreciates what you have been doing, and I mention her because she is the one living in Kolkata while I live in Delhi and am just a by-stander to your hitler regime. It is also important for me to mention that I am not writing this depending on baseless media outrages and mere statements from news channels, of course these are the only resources I have used, but there is also a lot of thought added to what I want to say.

Didi, I am not angry, probably because I don’t live there but here, but I am duly upset.

I couldn’t vote, I turned eighteen only last year and elections happened before I owned a card. But, I wished for change. I wished for difference, and when you won, it mattered to me, because I had wished for this. I don’t support any political party, neither CPM nor yours, but I supported you, as a woman, and as an ardent lover of my hometown. I have looked upto you. Then why Didi?

I ask you, why did you let us down? Why is there not a single woman leader in Indian politics I can look upto? What about the promises you haven’t kept? Why have we moved on from only a frying pan to a burning stove? Why are you challenging democracy? Why are you challenging your own dignity? Why are you doing wrong things?

It matters to me, yes, it bloody does. So what if I don’t live in Kolkata anymore? That place is very much a part of this country I call my own, it is also my hometown, I am never getting over it. And I am never getting over the people who are attempting to spoil it. I thought you were sensible, you proved yourself otherwise.

You have questioned Democracy, you have questioned the Right to Freedom and Speech, you have questioned the Right to Expression. You have also tried and removed every single possible means of CPI(M) interfering in your rule even if the intervention were to be right. Are you this scared? What is the reason for you extreme insecurity? If you think what you are doing is right, then why the safeguards? Am I seeing a loophole here? If the theory of Afterlife were to be true, Marx would be probably banging his head on a cement wall somewhere. Why? I ask you this, if kids don’t study Marx in school, how do you think they’d cope with the huge syllabus on Marx in college? Or is that your ulterior motive, to stop brain drain, erm?

And now you call some random woman who questioned your government, a Maoist. Wow.
Please don’t call me one. We had a chapter on Maoism in Political Science last year, and thanks to selective study, I left it out. I don’t frikkin know what or who Maoists are. So don’t even try me.

You are being of major help to the common man - increasing income, implemented traffic rules, beautified infrastructure, economic development and blah. Waittt. Where is welfare? Are you trying to cover up all your loopholes with the excuse of economic development? Yes? Well, then Mr.Modi finally has competition on the other side of this country, I must say.

I think you need to breathe. And tell those scoundrel followers of yours to stop creating chaos everywhere. My best friend lives and studies in Burdwan. She had written an open letter to you on social media. It was about how much she believed in you and how much you disappointed her. How their college does not have classes, only riots, and how she is living in fear. Some one must have reported abuse, because the letter is not there anymore. Are you this scared, again? You don’t want to even listen to people. This gives me hope - my friend has more power than you do, because her letter scared you off.

Escape is not an option. With Power, also comes responsibility and it is high time you stop running away from it. Face it, woman. You are the (Hon’ble) Chief Minister of one of the most important states of India, and not just the street fighting opposition. Frikkin, act like it. I am 19, a student, inexperienced, I can risk it to make immature statements and write letters like such, but you can’t. You have the power, don’t use it to win fear, ma’am, use it to win respect. Or one day people like me and my best friend and that girl you called a maoist, and many others, probably everyone I know, will lose Faith (a lot of them already have) and you, will wake up regretting that you could have done so much more to the betterment of the state, of this country, of the people, for their love and their faith and you couldn’t. One day, you will lose it all.

Good Morning ma’am. Your life and my country are hanging by the thread. Hold on. Wake up.

P.S. – I write this letter because

1. I still have hope,

2. I refuse to believe that all women ruling this country are out of their mind, I choose this woman to prove it otherwise.

Also, like I mentioned before, I DO NOT SUPPORT ANY POLITICAL PARTY (given that we don’t really have any good options between their selfish agendas), so just because I questioned the Chief Minister and her party, the opposition need not jump around in excitement thinking this is their victory. If you stupid fools had ruled the state properly for the last few eons, this situation could have been avoided.

I am just another girl, voicing my opinion. I don’t know how many of you are reading this, or will read this, but I sincerely hope it this makes a difference.

*photo source - http://manipalblog.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/Source-The-Hindu-Newspaper-Mamata-Banerjee-Cartoon.jpg

That Place Called Home - Revisited Part II

 10^th April, 2011. College. Last day of First Year.

16^th April, 2011. Nine months. New home.

And while we keep sitting in empty spaces, procrastinating, thinking about tomorrow, today flies past. And we hardly notice.

With first year over and nine months spent in a new place which is not new for me anymore, as I look back, there are things I want to correct and things I want to relive. I don’t regret anything. Yes, the fact that I want to rewind does not imply that I regret my decisions, some of which have been hasty and childish. Life is not perfect. And it is definitely not about taking the right decisions but making your decisions right. Right?

The irony is, even as I sit here today, running fever with a splitting headache, I’m thinking about tomorrow. My first  exam. Psychology Practicals.

I’m not prepared.

Nine months. First year over. I’m still so overwhelmed.

Looking back, LSR was the best thing which could’ve ever happened to me. I might be getting detained while I say this, but it is true.

Yes, I have been disappointed with a lot of things. With the crowd. But probably because I have not found the crowd I could be at comfort with, yet. With not getting an honours. Three extra subjects are definitely a pain and Pol. Sc., I don’t like you. Ma’am. Sweet she is. But I don’t want to study psychology anymore. Period. Expectations I haven’t fulfilled. People I haven’t been able to get along with. I have been disappointed with myself, but I don’t regret coming here.

Unless you’ve been inside these Red-bricked walls of LSR, lazed around in the front lawns fooling around with your friends, day-dreamed amongst the Bamboo-grooves, introspected sitting in the back lawns and written to your heart’s extent, future-talked with the beautiful pansies and chrysanthemums, unless you have breathed the air in LSR, you won’t know what it is like to be here. What it is like to be home. :’)

THE cafe. The cats. And the faces they make. Jaya and her absolutely abusive rant. *thats my way of showing lurrvve* and not to forget her teethy smiling poses. *I Luurve you, Jayaa* Fatimah and her constant effort to prove to us that she is jinxed and slow even though she is not. And of course her all-of-a-sudden hyperexcitement and vice versa. *Stop sulking, baby. :)* Shibaaaaani, Shibaani ki Jawaaaani *courtesy – Vasudha* or should I call her Taadddy Beear. And Shubi. Isn’t the name enough? She can, Rajni ‘Kanth’. Haha. *don’t worry, I won’t disclose our secrets ;)*

And all of you call me a Fuckface. Hmph. :/

The classes. Reaching late, to EVERY-SINGLE one of them, full of stupid excuses. *On the 2^nd of April – Ma’am, Fatimah pranked me by telling me college was off, I just came to know, it wasn’t*

Texting each other from under the desks, or from above them. *Ma,am I don’t have paper, I’m taking notes over phone*

Asking for a free period every other English lecture. Coming to the first lecture in pyjamas. Clicking photographs. Sulking about attendance. Abusing DU. Hanging out with our amazing seniors. Blah blah blah.

Well, thats JUST first year. Looking forward to two more awesome years in this home *not three, please.Not three. Just two*

Well because, ALL’S WELL THAT DOESN’T END. :D

That Place Called Home - Revisited Part I

27th October, 2010

It fills me with reminiscence. With memories – The very smell of the Gulmohar. It fills me with thoughts of the past. The life lived and not forgotten.

LSA. I miss YOU.

Yes, very contradictory but true – I miss home. Or rather a place I used to call home. More than anything I miss my favourite haunt, those evening walks with Sid and Mini, spending 14 hours with Shal glued to the Idiot box, the constant arguements and ‘conversations’ with Mommy, the bickerings with Dad, the four-hour long calls and night-stays with Sweta, the crushes and the psycho classes, the stairase conversations with Shreya and Pragati and Shrishti, the South city visits with Avarna and Riddhi, birthday bashes with my gang, coffee with Shreya and Shivi and Sritama, the events, Arpita di, Hanging out with Prateek and Maneet, The TTIS challenge – Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. I miss all of it. Home, School, Office.

Life is more about ‘getting used to’ than ’moving on’. Not that I’m missing out in Delhi. Factually, staying here has got me closer to those who I’m away from. Besides, College’s awesome. Friends are even more awesome, Evening walks are more frequent and coffees are an everyday affair. Life, is not better, not worse, but not the same either.

Thats why, I like to sit, next to YOU

It makes me sad very rarely because I cherish all the memories rather than regret not reliving it. But sometimes, nostalgia strikes my tear ducts and it strikes hard. *Little things you do for me and nobody else makes me feel good. Little things you do for me, making me smile like no one else could*

They say, the past always haunts us. I say the past haunts us for good.

To keep us alive. To keep us in touch with what we used to be and what we are now. To keep us in touch with ourselves

And then there’s the Gulmohar. Which has an equally intimidating fragrance back ‘home’ here also.

Miss you Kolkata. Love you Delhi.

Away from that place, called home.

Do I miss home? Do I miss my city? How have I adjusted so easily?
I am tired of answering these questions about a hundred times. Its obvious. Some people ask out of curiosity. Some people some ask out of concern. And some, simply out of awe.
Yes, they are surprised at how I have managed to move on so easily. Leave my home behind. Adjust.

The truth is, I haven't moved on. And that is what has helped me perfectly to adjust. To adjust to a  completely new environment. To a completely new life.
We only miss those things in life, which we leave behind.
I haven't left anything behind.

In a poetic way, I could say I have carried memories and thoughts along. This time, its that and much more.

Lessons learnt. With mistakes. Through experience. During arguments. Within problems. And solutions. I have carried every single lesson I have learnt in this short life I have lived so far. And, I continue to learn.

Relationships. Family. Friends. Crushes. Though that does not really qualify into a relationship!  Snapshots, mementos. And love.

Passions. Priorities. No, they haven't changed. I'm still a nerd. Or whatever you've judged me as. I am still growing up. The legacy of 'T'. Decisions have been altered. Goals have not.

Habits, I'm not gunna mention them. You know they are NEVER going to change. I might add few. But the ones I have, remains forever.

Finally, nature, I'm still a stubborn, mushy, spontaneous, stupidly smart, blunt at my sweetest, self-obsessed pacifist. I eat a lot. Talk a lot. And I'm impatient. Ironically, tolerant. And 'Diplomatic'. I am still the 'Pie'. To the wind. And many more. I can stare at the moon for hours. I still have butterfingers.

I'll change. In fact I am changing. Evolving. But carrying forward the good of my past to the future. Maybe some of the bad too. But do you care enough to know?

In spite of all these, you ask me if I miss home!
In simple words, I don't.  Because I carry it with me, wherever I go. The world, is my home. The reality, my life. The dreams, my vacations. And the ultimate best, my destination.

Looking forward to a fulfilling life in Delhi. Amen.