In the end,

It is not about being fooled by words and by actions
It is about being betrayed of promises and of trust.

In the end,
It is not about being scarred at heart and at a million other parts
It is about being the lover and not the loved one.

In the end,
It is not about who won and who failed
It is about who loved and who lost.

In the end,
It is not about just a heart break then
It is about what you did and what I will do thereafter.

Then,
In the end,
I will pick up each shard of what’s broken and patch it back myself.
I will find my soul's lost glory and restore it in full blossom again.

In the end,
I will live with neither excuses nor regrets.
I will exuberate neither your lies nor my pain.

In the end,
I will neither forget you as a bitter experience nor bury you as a bad memory.
I will highlight you as a life’s lesson - better learnt than regretted.

In the end, I know,
It is easy to lie than to be true.
It is easy to pretend than to be real.
It is easy to hide than to show.
It is easy to deny than to accept.
It is easy to run away than to confront.
It is easy to destroy than to create.
It is easy to say than to do.

Then, in the end, I know,
I didn’t lie, I was true.
I didn’t pretend, I was real.
I didn’t hide, I showed up.
I didn’t deny, I accepted.
I didn’t run away, I confronted.
I didn’t destroy, I created.
I didn’t just say, I also did.

In the end,
It is not about just a heart break then
It is about who you are and who I am.

In the end, then,
You were neither my prince nor my hero.

In the end, then,
I’m not just a character of a book, I am the creator of my life's story.

In the end, then,
I will not hate you more than I loved you.

In the end, then,
I will not be You.

In the end, then,
It is not really The End.

I will wake up with a new dream and dream about it in daylight again
I will walk on the roads less trodden and sail on those waves again
I will let my heart bleed love and paint the world red again
I will make my choices and stand by them grounded again
I will write the story of love and be the lover once again

Love is not lost in translation. Love IS the translation.
Love is not the excuse. Love IS the reason.
Love is not in just being loved. Love IS being able to Love too.
Love IS being the lover too.

And that..you know...IS a great knowing:)

The Metaphor..

She was a loony at heart. Always.

Yes, she had almost lost her heart twice, went weak in her knees a few times, but, she was yet awaiting her chance, to be loved back, still. When she was not playing her part in life, she was painting a whirlwind romance in her head – leaving behind a dreamy expression on her face for the world to see.

It was by sheer chance that she had happened to meet him. “It can’t be a chance meeting bumping into you”, she had murmured to herself then as she took a long second glance at him. She had known then, there itself, that he was the face missing from her story, the rhythm missing from her song.

Today,, months after that first chance encounter, he was right in front of her. A scene right out of her head, she told herself. Her loony head. It spoke more to herself than to the world outside..Checks. He was wearing checks, she noted with a flutter:)
Could this be real? Could he be everything that she had thought of him to be? She was a dreamer.. This could be a dream too. Right. This was supposed to be a dream. Its manifestation was not meant to be.. Or so had she talked herself to sleep every night?? Whatever that it was, it was not meant to reach him!

How on earth did he know about her dream? Did he know that she dreamt of him every single night?? He had brought with himself too many questions! But, before she could even reach her heart to fetch the answers,, his hand had wrapped her around her waist.

He was warm. Warmer than she had imagined him to be. So close to her heart now, he was altering all her assumptions of him - heart beat by heart beat.. Ummm, it couldn't be a heart beat, she corrected herself quickly. Right now,, her heart was racing a marathon and pounding a thump louder than a lion roar..Her heart was scared..as scared as she was.. Or happy?? Very happy..?? She was confused. The whole of her was.

What had drawn him to her?? What was he thinking - grabbing her by her waist?? How did he know?? Had she been too obvious of her love for him?? Gosh No!! Her brain was racing her heart now and they both were getting nowhere.. Nowhere close to the answers at least! Traitors of blood had left her alone on this battleground.

She looked up to him for the first time. She was too petite for him. Or may be he was just too tall.. Hmm,,this was not the time to ponder on the tall and short of things, she gathered herself back. Not when she was close enough to experience a massive power failure of her heart! She had never seen him from this close, ever. He looked more Godlier than he did otherwise. Chiseled to the chin, a neat stubble and those eyes. Deep, dark eyes. The whole of universe could drown into them, she thought. Wow. Her eyes tried to shy away,but, he had them locked to his.

He winked back at her as if to break herself ongoing self chatter. No exchange of words had happened since what now looked like forever and neither of them spoke even now. May be words were not always meant to fill vacuums. He drew her closer and the intimacy had spread a pandemic of goose bumps across her flesh. Her hands, stone cold by now, touched against his built to avoid total collision. The space between their hearts had never been so scarce.. Never. She could hear his heart pounding too. It was a stronger, sturdier thump than hers. The most beautiful sound she had ever heard. She guessed he had sensed her cold body even before she had. He looked at her again and answered all her questions through those eyes. She didn't have to ask, he didn't need to know. Their hearts had communicated.

This was not her dream. It would not end at the break of dawn. Yes, she had dreamt of him for the longest of time that she could remember. And for the longest time had she been afraid of this confession, afraid of falling in love, afraid of being loved. But here he was.. Filling her being with love she couldn't contain, with happiness she couldn't hide. She was about to explode when he carefully planted a kiss on her forehead. Like he had waited - waited as long as she had, for this moment to arrive. Like he wanted her as bad as she had. Like this was his dream come true. Like she had completed his puzzle as he had added music to her love song.

Everything about him had been warm. Warm like the first sunshine after a cold winter. Warmth that could melt her world in his one embrace. And melt, she did, as he took her in his arms. For infinity to find them..It was not the dream. It was him. The dream had just been the metaphor of him:)

One Cup and One Billion Dreams - Only in India

I am not a cricket fan. AND in the part of the world I live - India - this IS a Big thing to say.

Living in the Mecca of cricket, all my life, I’ve really pondered hard to understand the psyche that goes behind this game.. And all the reasoning - logical and otherwise - has only stumped me out, Every Single Time.
So,, to say the least, I’ve found this whole play of a bat and a ball - a highly overrated sport and would be still going strong with this belief of mine,, HAD I not lived the day of 2nd April,2011.

I knew “cricket” in India was a religion.. I knew “cricket” in India was overtly highlighted and I knew "cricket" here was an unsaid mandate every sane Indian was expected to follow from birth. But, like exceptions in every breed, there was me - adding to a bunch of loonies - the disowned latter who failed to understand the thrill of this game!

And then came the morning of 2nd April,2011 which had a different air about it from its dawn. I still don't know WHAT had got into me that day?? And to think of it, the virus was in the air, infecting all...
As I picked a Blue to wear for the Big Day - and though I landed up wearing the Sri Lankan Blue(read:the goofy me;) I was in my heart ALL for the Cobalt team!! No tricolor painted on my face, no Sahara jersey tugged onto me and with for sure no money put at stake…, I , like an odd zillion Indians across the globe, was bleeding BLuE..I was catching the Final face off between India and Sri Lanka - how ever best I could!! Woooff!!

The Match - For the love of God, you can't explain to someone WHAT it feels when we have a Sehwag out at the God damn 2nd ball and “The GOD” (read:Sachin) following him!! We hadn't even settled down when missiles dropped at the bottom of everyone's belly, the sighs echoed and the prayers doubled up! Even God must have felt the jitters!! For even a cricket illiterate like me, I knew this match meant the World to us! We HAD to win it! It was not an Oscar, not a Nobel, but it was the World Cup!! (read:shouts)
I have never seen my country like this before! And I have never seen "me" like this too!! This domino effect had got me down into splits!!

Back to the game - We played an inning WORTH a World Cup Final. For anything more that I say will only understate the players’ brilliant display of work! The word's AWESOME!!!!! We WON THE WORLD CUP!!!! We became the World!! The Happiest Country in the World!!

Actually, it was not just a Win. It was not just a Victory. It was The Realization of a Dream. A Dream of a zillion souls together. A Dream bigger than any game, any war. A Dream whose fulfillment wrote a whole new chapter in history.

Yes, in the end, it is just a game of a bat and a ball. But, the eleven men in blue, cobalt blue - brought the whole nation to a standstill. And for the 2nd most populated country on the globe, THIS IS a BIG Thing!

I've read history,, heard of heroic tales,, watched war movies and witnessed a whole circus macabre on "patriotism"! But, to FEEL history being created IS something else for sure!
To feel life spring up past midnight..To feel flags waving at every corner..To feel strangers rejoicing with you...To feel tears shed for a win you didn't even contribute to..To feel jubilation, pride, happiness and To feel alive - all at once...This is THE FEELING I will pass down to my bloodline. This is THE FEELING I will reminisce sitting on a rocking chair. And This is THE FEELING that I will take back to my grave.

I didn't wrap the flag around my body, I didn't run on the roads carefree nor did I even honk at strangers passing by me..!!! But, as I watched a mother take her child to feel this moment,,as I heard drums thumping loud at 2am in the morning and as I felt a goosebump raising inside me, I felt patriotic for the f@#&% first time!!

"Thank You" can sometimes become a real short expression for someone who wants to say a lot in words and even more through emotions...

Yes, there are sports and there is an entire universe who may not even have heard of "cricket"..I am not a cricket fan, but, for now, I'm smitten by this game of a bat and a ball:):)

Word Count: 768
Emotions : Countless
For everything else,,, I still have a Master Card;P

With Love..

25th March,2010 – the day you died. 25th March,2010 – the day the girl in me died too. Your girl.

It has been one year today. 365 days of existence without you and I'm yet trying to figure out if the reason for that has been your strength or my weakness..?? And like it has been for a while now,, I land up with NO answer. Only silence. A deafening silence that has been creating more noise in my life than bringing across some solace.
So, yesterday when I was typing my leave application requesting for an off for today, I had to face the same ugly, bitter truth that I've been running away from – the truth that you are no longer around me. You are no longer there to wake me up, to have my tea, to hear my ramblings, to make me laugh...to make me smile, to make me happy and to make me feel “home” any place with you.

Crumbling from inside and carrying this dead womb of pain along, if words could EVER express my hurt, these pages would have been bleeding in a bloodbath now. But, I will write today. It's the best way I've know to express some of the most intense feelings and I'm hoping that "words" won't fail me this time too..

My dearest grandfather, I write this to you, for you. A Tribute To You, With Love..

From the day I remember, you have been my world. A world of happiness, care and a world of selfless love. From making me wear socks, tying my shoe laces to oiling my hair, seeing me off in the school bus and waiting for me endless nights for dinner,,, you've been my world. The world I loved living in.

And as much as I've said this to you while you were here, I say this to you again – I Love You. I love you for loving me so much. I love you for teaching me all that I would have never learnt otherwise. And I love you for being there with me, for me, day in and day out, till you breathed your last.

May be you are still around..as a spirit, as another soul..But, the bitter truth continues to rock my existence - you are not with me, in flesh..in person..

Three hundred and sixty-five days and I am still struggling to get a grip of your absence. I've searched for you in the stars, looked for signs in the pigeons and even prayed for you to come in my dreams. But, for now, all this has been bull crap. I couldn't find you.
I also tried to escape. Escape into the oblivion. From changing my time to wake up to the time of returning home, I changed everything and anything that reminded me of your absence. I changed my way of living. But, again, I FAILED! FAILED! FAILED! Miserably.

I have fallen into absolute nothingness and looks like hit the dead end of the road too.

Time has passed and so as per everyone around me “it's about time I get over it”.. I can't. And I can't for the sake of goodness even explain this to anyone interested.

So,,, I've come to this conscious awakening now - I don't want to move on. I don't want to. For anyone who has ever loved – loved with his whole heart, loved with his complete soul, loved without any selfish reason of "loving" will know that “moving on”, “getting over” and running away" are absolute invalid options. You can't “get over”, “move on” or “run away” from it. For love, in its purity, runs deep. True love runs within you. And I Love You.

And as a proud heir for some of the most beautiful virtues that you've passed on to me, I revive them here, exactly in the way you passed them onto me as a tribute for you to know that the seed you watered didn't run into the wild but blossomed under your sun and shade:)

"Love – Hate is easy. Love takes courage. Love with all your heart. Love with all your might. And Love all. There is no bigger gift, no better remedy and definitely, no larger motive than this. Love as much as you can and you will never be void of it:)

Kindness – Love will bring you this, complementary. Be nice. Be kind. Be human. Simplest of all and yet you will find yourself faltering at this one the most. It's the most precious gift to you. Don't lose it, else, you will be left with nothing for yourself.

Forgiveness – Be the bigger one. Be the better one. This is the toughest one and you need to master this. Many will hurt you and you will hurt many too. What is important in the end is that you forgive others for what they did and you forgive yourself too.

Happiness – The most desired emotion of mankind, it's foolish to know that we've made “happiness” so complex. Sometimes with your smile, sometimes with your deeds and most of the times by just your mere presence,, you will make someone's day! Now, that's the power you should desire for, strive for and aim for. Be happy and infest the world with it too:)

You will always find someone in dire need of "love", "kindness", "forgiveness" and "happiness".. And most of all, if you look around carefully, you will find so many showering the same on you,, knowingly and unknowingly..

Remember, you are good. Be the better one. Everyday, every time. For the rest of your life.”

I try:)

Thank You, Bapuji. Thank You, for everything. I Love You and always will<3

And for more reasons that I fail to put into words here, I want you to know that I STILL know of no other life than a life with you. I miss you. Badly:(

If I could write and bring you to life,
You'd be my rising star..
If I could write and bring you to life,
I'd never send you so far..

25th March, 2010. The Fall of My Hero, The Rise of My Angel.

With Love,
Priyanka

ps - Just for the record, you still are the MOST Dashing, Good Looking, Handsome, Cool Rockstar I've known! Your girlfriends;) miss you..So,do your pigeons..but, most of all, me..

There exists..

An asterisk under every commitment
A hole unseen in all passed judgment

A little truth hiding in the spoken lie
An unsaid “Don’t go” behind the said “Good bye”

An expiry date for every Never
An unread due date for even Forever

A little hurt in all the misunderstood silence
Aplenty love showered without an authorized license

There IS a method to every madness
There IS a pattern to all randomness

Deep down inside,,, it ALL makes complete sense.

The Scarlet Red

Splattered red on the wall
Attracts them, one and all..
The scarlet red, the glistening dye
Everyone around wants to buy..

“Marvelous!” I hear one say,
“How much ever it costs I’m willing to pay”

Thank You Mister, but, it’s not for Sale,
Why don’t you pick another and take it on bail.

In a pitch high he spoke again,
Assuming the volume will turn his boon to bane..
“Can’t you see, young lady, what this painting has done!!
Crowds have gathered, so many hearts has it won!”
There is something in this one that draws me to it; time and back,
The color, the dye, its spectacular mating on the canvas black!
I want this One only! It will adorn my hall!
Lighten up my room! Liven up my wall!"

“Quote your price, I’m ready to pay ALL it’s worth
Be sane and wise; and your life hereon will be full of mirth!!”

Pardon me if you can, but, I can’t give you this
It’s not what you see - a painting of bliss.

The scarlet red, the glistening dye
There’s more to it than what meets the eye..
Look carefully, I say, if you may must
It’s not the color palette that draws you just.

What the world calls the splendid art
Are but the shattered pieces of my heart.

The Replay

It all goes back to the start,
When it began with just a heart..
A heart that was meant to beat,
In turn, the owner did it cheat..

“Your command I followed”, said the trained lair,
“It was You who jumbled with the wrong wire..”
“I had asked you not to play it again”,
That song which messes up with your brain..”
“The song that you rewind,
For the perfect ending you hope to find..”
“But no matter how much you rewind”, said the sinner saint
“It’s fate you can’t really repaint..”
“The song’s already been written and You fit nowhere in the picture,
It’s a total misfit, you girl, like the wine served in a beer pitcher!

The devil in me awoke,
As the ego within had the heart poked..
“The lyrics can be changed! The song can be reframed!
It’s You, my stupid heart that so fears to get remaimed!
The song that itches you so bad,
The lyrics of which make you so sad..
It’s that song that brings him to me,
It’s the dream in which I choose to be..
He stays here for long,
As he writes me a new song..
A song that has me,
And together is the right place to be..
A song that he sings,
To give our love new wings..
The song that we play together,
As trespasses us every weather..
That song I’ll play forever,
A choice that is not a bit clever..
But, I take up this onus,
Of the pain and its bonus..”

And I went on, before interrupted the disturbed heart,
The crook began its sermon from the start..
“You foolish soul, I can’t let this play,
Can’t you see it’s You in the end who it’ll slay..
It’s a dream in the end,
A misleading fox you mustn't befriend..
It’s too good for it to come true,
It’s a picture you shouldn't have drew..”

I held in me a tear weak,
As the traitor in me continued to speak..
“Time will fly by,
And you’ll find a better guy..
Let him go if he must,
It’s your love that need not rust..
It’s in me, your heart, where he stays,
And I give you my word that your love won’t faze..”

Mum..I went with this last word,
My dream would breathe in now, even if the plea had gone unheard..”
Paused, both of us, for a moment we stayed,
Rewind before forward, I began to play..

“I can’t shake him off my head,
I can’t put me off to bed..
This music You may stop to play,
It’s the song, you know, that I’ll forever REPLAY.”

"Untitled"

It happened not so long ago from today. But, what’s astounding is - that it happened one day. Uncalled for.

It was one of the first weeks when rains had just settled into the city and we had just got into the full swing mode with our project submissions et al.
It was a Saturday. Dress code – Formals. Occasion – College Film Festival. Attendance – Compulsory.
Yaaaiikss..I so loathed the whole idea of “the dress code”. “Semi-formals”. That’s what I would read it as;)

“Cow dung”. I said to myself as I reran through my plan. Bear in for two movie premieres and sneak out for a bladder break...only not to return there after ;) I didn't feel guilty breaking rules once in a while.. The weather had lured me into doing this. The tube light white of the sky, the enchanting smell of the wet soil, the sudden life in the luscious green spread and the fuelled rainbow reflecting puddles.. With so much outside only “cow dung” could turn me in!

I entered the auditorium while it was still getting filled and headed to the top most of the empty rows, usually preoccupied by either the ‘gangwallahs’ or the ‘you & I couples’ of my batch. It was affirmative that neither of the two would disturb my solitude or my plan. So, I sat down as everyone around began to settle in; watching seats being booked, A/Vs being checked, roll call and volunteers running with bouquets for the judges’ welcome.. A lot of people butter skating their way to clear exams. How I damned this whole idea at that moment.

I wanted to be OUT. Out, where life was playing its own orchestra. And here I was - Capsuled within the four high walls of the audi, earning brownie points for having “attended” the event!
“Chuck it!” I took to Plan B. I refused to be in 2 places at the same time and made my pick. And just as I began to pick up my bag to leave, he appeared. To me, at that moment, he appeared out of sheer nowhereness and placed his helmet right below the seat next to me blocking my way out.
Gosh! I opened my mouth to talk and shut it the very same instant… when I looked into those eyes. Those eyes. Man!

I sat down back into my seat as if ordered by some external force and looked at him again.
He was too busy, shuffling between some goddamn papers and I was happy to know that he didn’t notice me noticing him;)

Hmmm.. I had never seen him before. “May be, he’s new or maybe he’s a proxy.” In any case, I didn’t care till he didn’t notice me. I was already sketching him in my virtual Photoshop folder. “For future references”, I justified myself. “Mud beige t-shirt hand tailored from the bottom; washed out jeans; out-of-the-bed hairdo and those magnetic, deep eyes.” I wanted to drown in those eyes.
Shit. I’ve never noticed so much in a guy before. Or maybe I never came across “him” before.
Simultaneously, of course, the event began and the jury was slowly unfolded. “Whatever...” I chuckled as a name was announced from the dais and it turned out to be his.
God! I swear on God, I never in my wittiest guesses chanced “him” to be a jury member. “Shit.” I said again. Only that it was audible this time.
Startled by my welcome note for “him”, he looked at me for the first time then. And did something for which he could have been charged for a lifetime. He smiled.

Man! That smile - starting from his one ear and meeting the other, covering the entire universe in its span! It killed me, there and then. Shot dead.
Though, I’m not sure if I smiled back or fumbled lamely. I was not me anymore. Something was happening and I did really not like it. It’s like when you are driving your own car and the brakes refuse to follow your command. Humph!

To further add to my dismay, the lights went out for the premiere show. “Perfect”. “Just when I lose the key to my own house, someone schemes a dark out!”
Now, I was really stuck. Stuck between wanting to get a grip of my hormonal, emotional, sentimental or whatever that was loudening the music inside my body to so desperately wanting to slow down the time from taking this moment away from me.

So, this was it. This was my coup de foudre moment. And I, as usual was not dressed for the occasion.
As the first movie rolled out, ramblings in my head roll – “At least you could have done your hair neatly or used the gloss for once!! Blah blah..The voice went on, but, I was adamant to figure out what had caused my breaks to fail!

I watched “him” from the corner of my eye and my eyes got affixed to “him” like metal to magnet.
Holy God! How I loved his sight. His undone hair, his bottomless eyes and his 360 Volt killer smile. I wanted to talk to him. I wanted him to know that he had just killed me. But, my mind flatly refused to accompany my thoughts to my mouth!"Traitor!"

Meanwhile, the audi suddenly sprang up to life and the judges gave their feedback, one by one. When he spoke, he killed me again. Now, he was charged for twin murders and he was totally oblivious of his crime yet! He spoke “intelligence”, I marked as he dished out the tiniest nuances of film making, camera handling, light usage, subject research,etc. And all this without boasting to be a “know-it-all.”
So, the guy with killer looks carried a brain and humility along as well. I must have died again...

As the movies unfolded, my gaze followed his moves between the occasional blackouts and light breaks. I could have continued to watch “him” for the rest of my life, I thought. I had just sprung up to life, after all.

And then came in The Intermission.

I couldn’t believe myself. I sat through half of the day within these walls and now wanted to let go of my glorious chance to “the great escape” for a complete stranger. I no longer wished to be outside when my breath was immobilized inside.I sat through the entire break ensuring no one else would take away my seat and hoping that “he” would not change his place on return. He didn’t. Another smile and I minused another life from me.
“A few more smiles and it’s Game Over for me.” I blushed and “he” spoke. We spoke. About the movies, studies, blah blah.. I don’t really remember the full conversation we had, but, I was glad that the iceberg was finally broken.

The lights dimmed out and we spoke again. The movies turned out to be really hilarious and we got a topic on hand to discuss. He found company to share his thoughts and I found a whole new reason to live life again.

It’s funny how ‘time’ hoodwinks us during our best moments in life. We were done with the show and he had to leave. I had to leave too…To get back to a routine I no longer related to, to get back to a life which suddenly felt incomplete & unreal without “him”.

“Courage! Find it, dig it, hunt for it..I don’t care..Get it for me!” I must have ran this instruction through my system a zillion times before catching hold of that thief.
“Ummmm..Excuse me. How can we stay in touch?” I asked him. I think my question was very direct & I expected him to give me his card or number. He replied, “Just google my name. You’ll find me.” DAMN HIM!! I was clean bowled.

As he moved down the stairs of the audi, I watched him from behind. He came into my life like a bubble from nowhere and disappeared just like it into nowhere. A bubble that’s hard to define, harder to catch and hardest to preserve. You have to watch it disappear in thin air and preserve all that it offers you – a magical memory and a happy face:)

Would I really google him out? Would I really get in touch with him? Was it really what I thought it was? Was he really who I thought he was? Would we really get connected? Would the story in my head spring to life as I had that day? Would I tell him what I felt? Would the guilty be charged? Questions loomed over me.
Then, there, I had no answers to any of these.

Today, do I have answers to any of these? Yes and No. He came in without my permission. I loved him without his.

The answer to where this story ends or how it ends is answered in the beginning itself.

P.S. – the name;)

Truly, I Am Another YOU!!

Most of us live our lives blaming ourselves,cursing others,sheep walking every other man’s advice, instruction and order,empowering the world to hit us below the belt,every single time.We are emotional fools.Our dream man is a compilation of ten other men,our dream job is someone else’s job, our future is someone else’s present.Nothing is originally ours.We don’t live,we exist in the wait of our dreams to meet our reality,without even giving it one decent shot.“What we don’t have is destiny’s fault,not ours.And what others have is their luck.”This is the biggest lie written on rock.

‘I Am Another YOU’ is a book for all those who live this lie,day in and day out.This book is beyond learning.It is beyond experience.It is unlearning all the lessons of life you and me have grown up parroting.

“You can’t do this? Are you mad? You will fail miserably!You don’t know anything yet?Remember my words!I had told you!I knew this would happen to you.You can’t do anything.You are a loser,a mistake!”These are just a few statements which every Tom,Dick and Harry has thrown at me, piercing me at every chance they got.These are the words you believe,without a second thought. You strip yourself at every popular demand till you peel off your skin and grind your bones. Till all that is left of you is a meek soul held captive in your body.You live a vegetable growth, waiting to rot.

‘I Am Another YOU’ breakthroughs this YOU - The YOU who has the passport,but,not the visa to your life;the YOU who degrades self at the leisure of others;the YOU which is trapped in all of us, hidden, unattended, unacknowledged.
‘I Am Another YOU’ cleanses the inner self whose value is self destructed,the soul whose existence is not appreciated.It is not self help.It is the source to awareness,the medium to realization and the achievement of acceptance.It is not Priya’s journey alone.It is a path to finding our true self,not following hers,but,by simply experiencing hers.

‘I Am Another YOU’ is not a tale, neither is it an autobiography.It is a book of confessions,acceptations and discoveries – confessions of a lost,broken soul shattered in a million little pieces,accepting mistakes that turned life upside down for her and discovering the culprit and the victim – a timid, tamed,incarcerated soul hiding inside her,waiting for the right moment,hoping God to send a fairy Godmother to her rescue before every wrong turn,hoping destiny to play fair,only to find out that there is no right or wrong moment,there is no fairy Godmother,there is no destiny scripted.It is YOU.YOU are the key to your lock.YOU are the moment, YOU are the Fairy Godmother and YOU are the destiny.

‘I Am Another YOU’ is not a soul curry for a vulnerable soul.It is not a book with hidden secrets.It is decoding life for those who condemn it to be too complex,too unfair not within their control. And it is coding life for those who don’t know their purpose here,who live life at the mercy of others and who eventually wither off into nowhereness.

‘I Am Another YOU’ is coming across the word ‘miracle’ and realizing that the 'magic' is YOU.YOU are your strength and YOU are your weakness.YOU are the action and YOU are the consequence.YOU are the master and YOU are the slave.YOU are your creation and YOU are your destruction.

Priya neither leads nor teaches.She simplifies the complexities and serves her purpose to enlighten every single soul living in despair and self pity,perishing one moment at a time.She reinstates the greatest truth of mankind, the greatest lesson of God – “All is One and One is All.”

‘I Am Another YOU’ begins with an end of hiding,waiting to be found and ends with a discovery of the new YOU.So,the book never really ends.It grows with YOU, within YOU.
It would be wrong if I say Priya motivates.She inspires.She enlightens.And without travelling miles,YOU journey through the pages,every page finding a little YOU everywhere.

She says,“If I can,so can YOU”.Why not?I ask myself. After all,I Am Another YOU!!

Technically incorrect

At any other point of time I wouldn’t get so vexed had it been any other gadget. After years of experience, I had finally come to some consensus with myself that ‘technology’ and ‘me’ were probably not meant for each other. As absurd as this may sound, it doesn’t change the reality that we both just don’t seem to get along quite well.

Anyways, now that this happened with me not for the first, but second time and the fact that I had no backup plans (this time either), made me act really BIZARRE - to an extent that I remembered Arthur Weasley's words, “Never trust anything that can think for itself, if you can't see where it keeps its brain..” – Was he talking in context of the cell phone?! Hell Yes, I convinced myself.

Talking about my phone - it was one of the high-end phones which had umpteen number of features one could ask for (courtesy – Dad, a gadget buff).
However, for the weirdo that I am, I never really used it for what it was meant to be. I almost always forgot that I had a camera built in my phone. (Result- must have missed capturing a hundred moments of my life.) Music I had, but never carried headphones along. And when with me, it was always lying somewhere in the middle of everything. I always treated it more as a necessity than my need.

They say, “It’s only when you lose something that you understand its true value in your life..” Sounds cliché right?! But it does ring a bell.
And yeah, it holds true for even the most non-existent, seemingly replaceable parts of your life.

It’s only when my phone got bugged that I realized how much it meant to me. I was so busy convincing myself that I was no nomophobic that I didn’t realize when it became such an imperitive part of my life. Though I rarely used its ‘highlighted’ features, I did use its basics. It was my watch and my calendar. It ensured that I toed with time and wished my people on their anniversaries. It reminded me of all those ‘to-dos’ along with the ‘not-to-dos’. It saved for me, my wandering thoughts.
Almost like my Keeper, it stored EVERYTHING for me like a good, spacious, external hard drive of my brain. It had become my handy companion, ‘mon ami’. And what did I do? Took it for granted! Such a human trait!
But, if it’s human to err, it’s human to mend the wrong too. So, here I go.

Mon cher ami,
I was wrong. I always thought of you as a mere necessity. I cursed you for losing my contacts and other crucial data. I blamed myself for relying so much on you. I always thought about myself and forgot to appreciate how much had you contributed to make my life so much easier. With you gone, I felt handicapped. Of whatever others may term it, if I can’t value the small things around me; I will become as good as any other expendable, inert entity – which I am not. To me, you are more than a mere necessity. You truly are valuable. If ‘Sorry’ means anything at all, I am Sorry.
Technically incorrect,
Priyanka

PS - Yes, this was about my phone. Wondering whether I am a super sensitive nut? Well, I am sensibly sensitive, but, I won’t argue about the latter ;o)

Got Inked..FINALLY!!

Just about six months back on 26/11 the country was rudely woken up by the terror attacks in Mumbai. Though not the first one that a country like ours had witnessed, yet something about this one was so dissimilar that suddenly everyone (literally) was forced to sit up and take notice of it. And all that Rang De had virtually portrayed was all of a sudden adapted as ‘the need of the day’. The aam aadmi’s voice no more went unheard as the media nationwide finally metamorphosed as ‘mass media’ taking up moral responsibility in initiating a mass movement that sent heads rolling within no time. Though the entire episode was no less than a revolution, Judgment day seems far away today.

But as they say “every movement triggers a change” – this one did it too.
It gave people like you and me something we needed the most – A reality check.

And WHAT A TIMING I must say! Elections were around the corner and I was FINALLY eligible enough to exercise my most powerful right as an Indian citizen.

Just around six months back I too was venting out my anger like hundred others right here on this blog. For six months I have tolerated all those provocative political rallies, inciting public meets, irritating pop-ups of online campaigning, abhinetas turning netas, netas imitating abhinetas, their digs pulling each other down, the celeb bandwagon used as props to lure voters.. All this and much more.. I have had ENOUGH!

If the terrorists had terrorized us, these politicians have traumatized us. We had to shut them off! And I knew to ‘shooo’ them off the ‘shoe’ was not the answer. Not my answer. (What a waste of a commodity anyway)

So, I did what I was meant to do. Not cause I had to, but because I wanted to.
I VOTED. Words cannot describe my desperation for this day (only if the adrenaline in me could do the talking..)

Never did I think that I would show my ‘middle finger’ (mlm) to anyone. But today, I seem to be showing off my ungli to every other person I seem to be meeting! How do I feel? Ecstatic! Powerful! Somewhere in the back off my mind I can hear Uncle Ben murmuring, “With great power, comes great responsibility.” Yeah Spidey! - Voted for DEMOCRACY. Voted for INDIA. Voted for ACCOUNTABILITY. Voted for MYSELF. .. Got myself INKED!

Out of sight

Somewhere amidst the crowd
You see;

Those tobacco stained teeth
Don’t shy away from smiling;
Those jaundice yellow eyes
Don’t wink at you once, but twice;
Those copper bronzed hair
Don’t dare to go unnoticed;

But,
By the time you catch more than a glimpse
You notice;
Not the teeth, not the eyes
Nor the weird hairdo;

Cause now, he stands in front of you
In full view, zooming in at you;

Smaller than a dwarf
He wears clothing not fit for one;
Tucked from here and pinned from there
Squalid enough to leave behind a stink;

His skin, no less than a snakeskin
Sufficed enough to hide his skeletal;

Least bothered about what one may think
He yells out loud, urging you to buy his hair dye;
His voice is hoarse
The stained teeth explain why;

You try to sympathize
With eyes you empathize;

But before you know, he cuts through the crowd
Vanishing from sight;

From head to toe in a complete state of pity
He leaves you to ponder;
Does he even eat once a day?
Or he breeds on tobacco to relieve his torment?

Questions like that intimidate you
Dare you to call yourself a victim again;

As your skin crawls, you see him off at the next station
Probably to catch another train;

You can’t help but look back at him
Till he goes out of sight again;

You revive
To understand what hit you so hard;
You introspect
To find answers that well up your eyes;

Those eyes had stories of survival
Those teeth had accounts of starvation;

His very appearance strikes back at you
Not as a casualty of child labour;
But, as a survivor
More so as a fighter;

He sticks in your head yet, screaming,
Out of sight, though, Not out of mind!

Today’s Special – Us

Ok then. It is International Women’s Day!
The print media has pages and pages full of women (human) interest stories, survival tales of women from different walks of life, interviews from women on-the-top, articles on women empowerment, international v/s national status report of women and blah blah. The electronic media doesn’t lag far behind. Overlooking the fact that the entertainment channels are anyways women dominated, we still have an array of shows and movies scheduled to be telecast today – all celebrating womanhood. How do I feel? Well, pampered for a while. But, hasn’t the media gone a bit overboard, especially, the news media?! Hmmm… and we talk about equality?
Talking about equality, with hardcore feminists arguing for more rights and the male chauvinists counter arguing over the plethora of laws and reservations we already have to our rescue, this debate over the equality of sexes may never come to a full stop.
Anyways, as a woman, and a proud one in that, I take this opportunity to speak on behalf of the entire yin clan – that we don’t need all this print and air space going gaga about us for a day. We are glad that we are celebrated. We appreciate. But, the need for the day is RESPECT. We are a part of your life in different forms - your mother, your sister, your friend, your relative, your companion, your teacher, your love, your homemaker, your household help, your cook, your next door neighbour and even the ones you may not know personally – we are more than just a part of your sex chromosome. We don’t deny your importance in our lives. All we expect of you is to accept us for what we are, who we are and respect us for the same with your entire gentleman’s grace. Want to make us feel special, then as a first – don’t take us for granted.
Respect – you may claim is something you always have had – and that you don’t need someone like me to remind you of your manners. Well, I am sorry if you already are an exception. But, just answer this question to yourself – how many abuses have you used till now which don’t insult somebody else’s woman? Name them, understand their meaning and you will get an answer for yourself. Remember, the need for rights arises when they are denied.
All said and done, it will take more than just rights to prove the proverb ‘What goes to the goose, goes to the gander’ right. It will require conscience awakening. It will require YOU to be a man of your words. Till then, one can just hope that God is the abbreviation of Goddess.



A simple Hug, a Peck, a Kiss,
Use of ‘Thank You’ and of ‘Please’,
A Helping Hand at chores sometimes,
Say ‘I care’ and ‘Sorry’ at times,
Cook up some meal or Come home early,
Make your Woman feel all girly,
Mutter those 3 Magical words whenever you Must,
Show more of Love than of lust,
Bring her some Flowers if not a rock,
Or simply take her for a Drive or a Walk,
Be with Her whenever you Can,
And when with Her - be her Man,
Replace the ‘I’ and ‘You’ with the lovely ‘Us’,
And see what Wonders all this does!

These are just a few Pointers from me to You,
Make Use of all or one or two,
What You Do is upto You,
After all, I don’t need to tell You -
What in the World She Means to You!

The crossing

Crossing the road is something that all of us do. It’s a very involuntary lesson we all learn with time. But, ever thought that crossing a road could be more than just that? Well, one such crossing changed my life forever.
It was mid May – the month of my summer vacations and also the one when the sun is in his worst mood. It was one of my first visits to the Tata Memorial Hospital – a place where those suffering from cancer are treated. But, it was not one of her regular chemotherapy and radiation sessions that day. She had come to do some blood tests as the doctors had doubted that her cancer had spread furthermore. Of course, she didn’t tell me that when I asked her then.
Over a year of chemotherapy and radiation had already sucked half her life out and now they were sucking her blood – not a drop or two, but two test tubes full of blood! Can you imagine the brutality?! I cried. And what could be worse – the doctor-in-charge gave those test tubes to me and instructed me to submit them to the path lab located in the opposite wing of the hospital.
In order to reach the lab, I had to obviously cross a road – not a big deal, right? I thought so too. But, as I stood there waiting to cross, the opposite footpath seemed miles away. Suddenly, my body decided to act up against the gravity. I couldn’t raise my foot. My hands started sweating – not because of the scorching sun, but because of the fear that had begun to grip me. The cold sweat made my palms even more slippery. What if I couldn’t cross? What if I dropped the test tubes? Was I even capable enough to carry someone’s life in my hands? What was the doctor thinking - assigning such an important task to a kid like me? I was not even a teenager. I freaked out.
But, I knew I had to cross that road. I had to cross it for her. And I thought of her and how she managed to smile even when they sucked her of all her energy in the name of cure. How could I be such a coward? If I couldn’t do this, I thought, I couldn’t do anything at all.
So, I used all my force to stop the trembling of my fingers, picked up my body weight which felt like lead, gathered my faith and took a step forward. The crazy traffic, the harsh sunlight, people pushing each other while crossing – everything seemed plotted in my way to assure that I didn’t succeed. With every step I took I was fighting the fears that were killing me of hope and the tears that were blurring my vision.
But, somehow, I managed. How? Even I can't explain. All I know is that when I finally crossed, I turned back – and stood there for a moment – consuming what I had just survived – a simple zebra crossing – which transformed me from a kid to an adult. In just a matter of few minutes, the caterpillar had transformed into a butterfly. Delicate, but, colored with new hope and its newly discovered strength - all it had to do was accept its new form and flutter its wings to fly. Was I prepared to fly alone in the vast blue sky? I’m not sure. But, I sure had my wings now.
As tears flooded in my eyes, I looked down to see those two test tubes safe in my sweaty hands – her blood had given me her strength. The doctor had probably foreseen her enduring will in me. After all, I was her blood.

a Parisian Parsi love story

I still remember the day when I first met them. It was late in the evening when dad and I rang their door bell. We had fixed an appointment with them earlier in the day, so, they knew we were arriving. When the door opened, one of the most charming faces welcomed us into their house. He introduced himself as Soli before we exchanged greetings.
Sprawling in all directions with old antiques, wooden furniture and life size balconies, a typical Parsi household stood in front of my eyes. Soli escorted us into their bedroom, where I first met Yasmin. And if Soli I thought was dashing, Yasmin was mesmerizing.
The next few moments of the conversation which my dad had with them were blank to my ears – as I was busy gaping at both of them, in awe. The next thing I know - they were escorting us back to the door. As soon as the door shut behind us, I remember telling dad this, “No matter what the fees are, I’m not losing out on this one.” And all he did was smile back. Probably, he too, had been as smitten by them as I was.
So, finally began what I thought would be just French tuitions, only to be proved wrong later. My ‘date’ with Yasmin would be thrice a week in the evenings. And every time I met her, she would welcome me with a warm “Bon Soir” (good evening) and some shruberries. And for the one hour that followed, I learnt a bit of French and a lot about love.
Yasmin was a living beauty – with rosy lips and scarlet nails. She had lost a lot of hair due to age, but her skin shimmered nevertheless. She would wear beautiful floral prints accompanied by a floral perfume. Even at home, she would sit all decked up as she must have been for her first date with Soli, waiting for her man to come back to her. She had a striking resemblance to the ‘old Rose from the Titanic flick’. But I still insist that Yasmin was a lot prettier.
Soli on the other hand was no less a Prince Charming. He was much calmer than Yasmin, both in appearance and nature. He was a man with humour. A funny bone which always had only one target - his beloved Yasmin. Gosh,They complimented each other completely.
Soli apparently had this fixed time of arriving home which coincidently clashed with my tuition timings. So, if ever he happened to be even a few minutes late, Yasmin would go all eccentric. She would forget what she was teaching, keep staring at the table watch and when she couldn’t contain her worry, she would share it with me, “Look at the time Priyanka.. He is never on time.. What should I do of this man?!” She would wrap up tuitions early those days as her head would be floating somewhere else then. And as I would start to leave, there would stand Soli – with flowers in his hands at times and “I’m sorry jaan” on his lips always.. Oh, that twinkle in his eyes for keeping her waiting and the "I'm not going to spare you this time" look on Yasmin's face was as fresh as it must have been decades back. This was not just a one day affair. I think Soli would purposely come late to live those moments of love with her everyday. They would argue like cats and dogs and just when I would think that the volcano was about to erupt, they would hug and kiss and make up like newly weds.. For them then, I would be invisible and so would be the world.
On other days when Soli would be home, he would play pranks with her or simply tease her all day. He once showed me her swimsuit picture. It was a black and white one, but that didn't hide Yasmin's enigmatic, electrifying persona. And before I could compliment her, Soli purposely commented,"Priyanka darling, did you see how beautiful she looked THEN.." That was enough for Yasmin to get started. She gave him back through me, reminding him how they had a courtship of seven years before she finally said a YES to him.. Such conversations of love would happen everyday. And I would feel obliged to be in their presence.. I was getting a lot more than I truly deserved. With them, I would learn French, travel Alpes, taste wines and cheese and get lessons on love for free. I would keep pondering that how could they manage to be so romantic even at the age of seventy-eight. I guess this is what they call ‘unconditional love’ where even time couldn't keep set conditions for them and age was never a barrier. Their love was like French wine - the older it got, the better it tasted.
Oh, how I wish I could describe all those moments.. But, ‘magical’ is the only word that comes to my mind when I think of Yasmin and Soli.They were the ones who made me believe that ‘fairy tale love stories’ did exist.
Paris may be the most romantic city in the world, but with Soli and Yasmin, one didn’t need to be in Paris to experience ‘true love’.


Adieu Yasmin..

When I shifted base, I lost touch with them. I always wanted to meet them, but somehow the plan never really took shape. Quite recently when I inquired about them, I got to know that Yasmin had left for heavenly abode about two years back..
She kept nagging me all her life to grow my hair. She would say, "Dikra, what’ s wrong with you? Why you keep cutting them every now and then. Will they ever grow?” Yes, they did grow. But she didn’t stay to see them flow..
As a tear rolled down my cheek, I thought of Soli. It was so difficult to think of one without thinking of the other. Now, if this is not ‘eternal love’ then what is?
I still wonder whether she died in his arms..

Bare teachings

For years now that I pass that lane,
I see him living off his bane.

They pass by him every now and then,
Dogs, cars, men and women.

Nobody seems to really notice,
Everybody just give him a miss.

But, he begs for nothing – neither money nor cure,
That’s one thing that I know for sure.

He simply lies there with his derriere all exposed,
Waiting, waiting, waiting to get disposed.

He has nothing to lose, nothing to gain,
That road is his home - be it summer, winter or even rain.

Was he abandoned or was he not,
I shudder every time I’m crossed by that thought.

He may not know this, but he has taught me a lot,
For one that - a lot in life cannot be bought.

He teaches me that - life is not all that bad,
That one could smile whether glad or sad.

So, here is a man, who doesn’t know anything about me,
Teaching me to see what the others can’t see.

He simply lies there with his derriere all exposed,
Waiting, waiting, waiting to get disposed.

T for Taboo

I wish for a day,
When T stands for Tattoo and not for Taboo,
When it doesn’t matter whether one is Hindu,Muslim,Catholic or Jew;

I wish for a day,
When issues of caste become things of the past,
When corruption is something that does not last;

I wish for a day,
When capitalism is not the way of thought,
When conscience is something that cannot be bought;

I wish for a day,
When options of adoption and abortion are discussed more,
When expectations are less and acceptations are more;

I wish for a day,
When slangs are used less and condoms are used more,
When abuse is tolerated not even behind a closed door;

I wish for a day,
When sex is spoken of not as a sin,
When divorces are accepted and so are live-ins;

I wish for a day,
When transgenders are no more offended,
When gays and lesbians are also befriended;

I wish for a day,
When ‘black’ and ‘white’ bothers only to socks and shoes,
When eyebrows don’t raise at what you choose;

I wish for a day,
When ‘love you’ is heard more than ‘hate you’,
When T stands for Tattoo and not for Taboo.

The way back home..

We all have these childhood memories – some which get diluted with time and some which get frozen inside. And one of my fav among these sweet bachpan ki yaadein was - the way back home..
As a kid, one of my most awaited moments of the day was when the last bell would ring and we would run towards the ‘big blue bus’ and race to get that ‘window seat’.
For the dreamer that I was, the ‘big blue bus’ was a royal carriage that parked itself outside the gates, waiting under the shade to escort the little princesses back to their respective castles.
The ‘window’ for me was like an opening to another dreamy, larger-than-life sequence. Everything I was exposed to through it just amazed me.. Be it the trees swirling like a hand fan to cool off its residents, the baby sparrows chirping to their mothers for lunch, the dust particles that danced to their own tunes under the sunlight, the vehicles at the signal which looked like complicated parts of a jig-saw puzzle scattered on the road, the roadside vendor who stood like a scarecrow swaying the flies away, the dogs who lazed on the footpaths like kings on their thrones and the people who ran at every crossing even when the signal went ‘red’..
It was like the orchestra of life was being played for me. It was my royal privilege.

But, years later, tracing the way back home seemed so surprisingly different. It was weary in a way because I felt so much like a lost wanderer. The roads were the same, so were the turns and so were the structures that garlanded them. Growth had definitely contributed to the add-ons, but that’s not what surprised me. It was me - my growth that had startled me more than anything.

That ‘window’ seemed to have suddenly disappeared. And its then that it dawned upon me that it was not only the trees that had grown over the years, but me too. We both were following the law of the nature. And the ‘tree of sense’ that had fruited in me had unknowingly overshadowed my untamed land of innocence.
The logic in me did not allow me to think illogically.
So, the trees didn’t sway but stood still, the chirpings couldn’t be heard because of the car honks, the dust particles were nothing but pollutants, the vehicles were not part of the jig-saw but were carbon emitting machines contributing to global warming, the roadside vendor was not a scarecrow but a guy selling unhygienic food and people ran all over leaving no space for even dogs to laze around.
The eyes were the same, but, the perception had changed. The feel had changed.

We keep getting nagged all our lives to grow up, act matured, think rationally, make sense and blah blah. But if ALL THIS comes at a cost of losing our innocence, I rather think that the trees are just tired, the sparrows have gone for a summer vacation, the dust particles are performing a carnival finale, the vehicles are still a part of the jig-saw puzzle, the roadside vendor is best at his job, the dogs are ruling so well that there are more people wanting to be a part of their kingdom and that the ‘window’ is just playing a ‘disapparting’ trick with me.

Changes in others are so visibly spotted by us, but the changes within us are so easily glossed over. We are so busy reacting to others, appreciating, criticizing the changes around that we almost ignore ourselves - our growth. And that’s what is astounding.

Corrigendum – It’s SLAM the underDOG, become a MILLIONAIRE

Over the years, Indian cinema or Bollywood as it is jargonized by us has been successful in carving a niche for itself in the global market. Not only are our films watched worldwide but have also gained recognition. Fact. But is that enough?
Probably, no. Yeh dil maange more as they say. Fine. I have no issues with we aiming higher, achieving more. The issue is with its DQ -determinant quotient. Here’s why.
We suffer from what I call the ANS – American Nod Syndrome. I mean come on..,we have evidences- The White Tiger wins the Booker Prize and it tops our Top 5 books list.
This is routine. We have a list of artists like Arundhati Roy and Salman Rushdie having been appreciated for their works by US first and then us. My question is -Why? Why are we always so desperate for America’s attention? Why do we need a Booker Prize or an Oscar to anticipate and acknowledge our artists? Why does it matter anyway? I mean it is great if we are applauded on an international stature, but if we’re not, does our worth lessen?
Slumdog had already won accolades in international festivals when it came to India months back but failed to find buyers. Reason given – “This won’t work here. Who wants to see slums and poverty? What’s so great about them? We see them all over. Blah, blah..”
And bamb.. Post Golden Globes (2nd best to Academy Awards), the movie’s splashed all over – everyone’s singing Jai Ho! And now, a little known ‘Q & A’ becomes a bestseller (years later than it should have). Suddenly, multiplexes have a lot of space for this Golden Globe accredited ‘Indian’ film (FYI – its not an Indian film per se, its just shot here). Anyways, who cares now, especially after it being nominated for 10 Oscars!
Cool.. We might even land up winning a few. And gosh! I don’t even want to imagine how we might react then? ‘Jai ho’ might become a patriotic song, Anil Kapoor might land up doing some reality shows himself or participate in Big Brother (or worse Big Boss) and Slumdog might surpass Sholay’s hype.. Well, whatever happens tomorrow, hopefully it shouldn’t be anything that’s happening with the film now.
When Maslow conceptualized his pyramid of human needs, I guess he forgot to customize it for us. Take Slumdog for instance, first we wait for it to get the American Nod, once it does, we go blowing our own ‘its our film’ trumpet, and once it gets all the media hype, we have these ‘here’s-the-moment-grab-the-attention’ types who suddenly wake up, just in the nick of time to criticize, protest, throw accusations and use all their might to play show spoilers. I wonder how Mr.Boyle will cope up with such reception. But poor Mr.Boyle doesn’t know that yahaan shaadi hoti nahi aur baaraati pehle hi aa jaate hai khaana khaane (Mr.Bachchan leading the baaraatis this time). Not that he seeks all the hype. But what the heck if he gets paid lump some for all the ‘blog talk’.
All I got to say is that Mr.Bachchan is not the voice of India. So even if he has had his say, lets not blindly view it through his specs. Cause even if he accepts it or not, the ground reality does not change. There is a difference in realizing and accepting.
India is not all about slums and poverty, but even if this underbelly is exposed, we are not ashamed of it.. So, lets not throw brickbats at something that deserves showering of bouquets.

ps – the book is worth a read. Vikas Swarup may finally take a bow.

shattered life

After almost forty-eight hours of being glued to the TV set and two dreamless nights, I finally stepped out of my door to resume back life as usual..
Usual? I’m not sure it was.. I was not normal and nor were the commuters in the train.. at 6 in the morning one could see the usual hustling, but something was amiss, it just didn't seem alright.. fortunately at six in the morning you don't really need to struggle to find yourself a place to sit..so finally when I did, very habitually I plugged in my ear plugs and tuned in to my mp3 to deflect myself from the surrounding chaos.. but switched it off at the very next instant..
there was chaos.. chaos in my head.. and in a very surreal way I could hear it in almost everyone.. hearts thumping, expressionless faces, grim moods, people chanting prayers, disturbed mindsets, complete commotion.. In some bizarre way, I smelt fear..
I shut my eyes in an attempt to introspect the hours and hours of horror and terror, anxiety and ambiguity that had gone by..
Vivid visuals from the live coverage flashed before me, sounds of bullets and grenades thundered near my ear drums.. felt like I had an overdose of those news channels after days of perpetually sucking onto them like a leech.. as implausible as this may sound, this was happening..
The pandemonium in my head had caused a mixed bag of emotions to run amok.. I felt infuriated at the lapse of our security intelligence, abhorrent for those remorseless fanatics, helplessness for those held hostages and their loved ones who were hoping against hope for their safety, poignant for those innocent lives who fell prey to those callous terrorists and a sense of overwhelming pride for all those NSGs, MARCOS, Black Cats, RPFs, the city police, the firemen, the media and not to forget the hotel staff who displayed commendable customer service putting duty before death..!!
I didn’t know what to feel, how to react.. everything just fell apart…like shattered pieces of glass.. and it was appalling cause one doesn't lose control of self that easily..
Its not that we have not witnessed terror attacks before.. I mean c’mon we had bombs exploding at theatres, markets, bustling streets, trains, bicycles, cars and even tiffin boxes and bins.. but this was different.. extreme in all respects.. forget a Mumbaikar, to a common Indian this was his/her worst nightmare come true – billions’ city of dreams, the country’s financial capital had come under siege..
And boy, we were not prepared.. had not seen this coming.. completely thrown off the cliff.. as Barkha Dutt said it almost looked like ‘being part of a bad Hollywood film’, except for the fact that this was real- the face of terror in blood and flesh, remorseless, loaded with ammunition, firing bullets, hurling grenades at innocent lives, hijacking heritage structures and engaging in a warfare with what audacity that perpetually went on for over fifty hours..
Watching this entire drama unfold, realizing that this was for real, in the heart of heart like everyone else I was hoping this to be unreal, untrue, a bad, bad dream that didn’t seem to end.. but as they say truth is stranger than fiction, reality bites and how.. this was war in Mumbai..


One knew for a fact that like everything else this too would end.. and there would be an outburst of questions on the collapse of our security services, intelligence agencies, politicization of the carnage.. but before all this could take its course it was essential to humanize this unprecedented attack..the attack that raped Mumbai of its resilience, paralyzed the nation at point blank and shed blood of hundreds of innocent people who were just at the wrong place at the wrong time.. and its simply outrageous to know that this could have been avoided had our damn leaders paid a little more attention to our basic security than securing themselves using our funded Z security.. horrendous to even accept that it takes such vicious acts of terror and slaughter to unnerve these authorities to take action and who yet seek political mileage and play dirty politics even in the hours of despair instead of taking up moral responsibility..

Its not that we won't resurrect.. we have no option but to get back on our feet.. but its time we don't go with the flow, but against it..whatever it takes..

They say that wounds heal with time, but if the wound runs deep it leaves behind a scar..

PS- I salute all those unsung heroes who sacrificed their lives.. they are the real NSGs- Numerous Saviors of God..



A darting fear—a pomp—a tear—
A waking on a morn
To find that what one waked for,
Inhales the different dawn.

Emily Dickinson