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The Last Straw Posts

Censored!

There’s this churidar of mine, with red and black stripes. Kinda rustic look and I kinda liked it too. But the tailor ruined the dress and I hardly wear it these days. A single day today, I saw three people in the exact same dress. Saw two yesterday. That’s really really bad. I want to stay unique, everything in me, everyone around me. Glad I’m not wearing it that often these days! Standing out even in what you wear, is something that I have truly cherished in life. Without compromising or taking efforts, things naturally turned out the most unique to me always!

I occasionally walk back home after college. And that I do in a peculiar fashion, jumping across the pavement tiles. Numbering my steps, not crossing the tile joints, placing my leg at the same position in every tile. That’s kinda difficult to describe. I’d rather show you one day than explain it online. Waiting for the bus, I saw this lady with a disfigured face. Probably an aftermath of an accident, it seemed like she burnt half her face. As she crossed me, I had the perfect side view of her other part of the face. Trust me when I say she was elegantly beautiful from that angle. She reminded me of our crippled selves and fake facade that each one of us bear. Symbolism! Lol. I really wanted to let her know how beautiful she was. But yeah, intuitively I swallowed that ‘brilliant’ idea of mine.

Saw a guy today. Have been seeing him quite often and he resembles my long lost uncle a lot. I wish if I could see my uncle just once more and talk to him just once more. I can explain why he walks so brisk all the time. And why he hardly makes eye contact with anybody at all. As if I know this random man and the whole of his life. I wonder how I see the story running through every mind that crosses me. I think what they might have been thinking. Assuming a plot as their life’s story and building upon the vague giveaway of their nature has become my new way of ‘utilising’ time. I meet a hundred people minimum every day. And I have a hundred story lines running through my head every moment of the day. And from those many stories, its my handpicked story that covers my blog post every night.

My point is simple. With so eventful a life, and so much happenings in a single day, I am not running short of things to write. Actually, I have so much to write that I am confused what to choose. I could have written a single post that talked about any of the things that I talked about earlier. I could have just wound it up and moved on to the next. But then, this is what I chose to write. A random paragraph with so much ramblings! This is how things work with me. Obviously.

Not just recently, but ever since I started writing I’ve been accused of one thing. That I dont know what to write in a blog and what not to write. Back then, I was so offended by that statement and I totally abandoned my blog and swore to resurrect never again. But I came back. With more vigour to express and more experiences to vent. Even the last time somebody read my blog and immediately reached me to warn and advise on what to and what not to write. But seriously, I dont bother anymore. You think I shouldn’t have said this is in open? Tell me that on my face in public. Only then am I even gonna consider doing something about it. Back then, it was the censoring of a teenager’s crazy ramblings. But if you think you can still do it with me, you’re gonna regret thinking so. I’m a person. I know what I’m writing, sensibly and sensitively. Having a lot to write and limited time to spend on it, I’m already filtering a lot of things that’s running on my mind. Filtering it again makes it drab. Nothing more remains in the essence of my passion to write.

I’d want someone to genuinely tell me what they think of the things that I write. Are they things worth anybody’s time? Are they worth any thing at all? Tell me if I shouldn’t have written this. Tell me if this offends you. I’d quit again. Stop writing forever. And resurrect again if you let me. For you, a thousand times over!

Just a word

Words are few. To describe all life’s joy and sorrow, pain and agony, love and hate, words are too few. I have had the most of them. The best awesome wonderful words. People give it to me. Knowingly and unknowingly. Over the years, ‘people’ have contributed more than ‘reading’ in building my vocab.

The most amazing and most cherished words are given to me by my brother. I still remember how he used to make me run for the dictionary and search the meaning of every new word that he shoots at me! The abysmal fall to the oblivion is often broken by the obvious concurrence of our fragile existence and the omnipresence. Well, the sentence wouldn’t have made sense to many of you. That’s so many words that he gave me bound together! He told me how rendezvous is just rondayvoo, how sarcasm and pun are similar, what gerunds are and finally how beseech is the best word of expression! It doesn’t end in a single post. Half the words in my writing are stolen from his treasure. How many of you even know the precise meaning of vocab? Its not just a set of awesome brilliant words. Its the skill of using the right word at the place. He told me that and he gave me that.

There are more contributors. My mom gave me the second best word, solace. She instantly knew the word I was searching for! Lol. Reimbursement also owes its credit to her. My dad wasn’t any bad. He handpicked the toughest words from all available English write ups he read. In neatly folded chits, the language was flowing to me every evening, as a brook, as a river and now finally contributing to the ocean itself. He brought me paper cuttings which had English that he failed to assimilate. He’d still come to me for drafting and editing his official letters. Dad, you never knew how proud it makes me!

There was Neha of course, my closest ever friend or listener or chatter box. She called me a git and it took me five min to get the meaning! And I called her naive. And more words returned finally stuck at a loss of words. Not forgetting to mention Rahul for bringing back ‘status quo’ and ‘au revoir’ after long. More words. More people. From ‘alma mater’ to ‘iconoclast’.

Words are yet too few to thank them all and tell them how happy every single word makes me. Looking out for more words. Or may be, just another word!

Shrinking mind!

Do I look like a ‘shrink’ from any angle? Do I actually look like some human god who can curb away all your sorrow? I find it ridiculous people confide in me. Not irritated. Just amused at the very idea. When I say people, the list is sufficiently wide and endless. I dont know if that’s even the reason why I smile so less to people and frown all the time.

She’s on her way back from Bangalore. Its extreme cold there and she was shivering and had to see a doc there. One cant get out of home till ten in the morning coz its snowing all the time. Its her sister staying there. Her sister is working and hence busy. So she goes around to meet up once in a while. Her husband is also busy. So she goes around all by herself. She was too afraid to travel alone. But once everybody started teasing her, she pushed away the fear and began to travel alone. She lost her kid. Life is more or less empty now. Vidya is her name. Except for the last sentence, all the previous ones were her answers to the questions she might have wished me to ask. The five hour train journey was intermittently and effortlessly made engaging. I should have known better to maintain my indifference and never take away the headset from my ears.

I’m not callous. I’m not insensitive to others’ grievances or pain and agony. But being pricked doesn’t feel good. Everytime someone talks to me, I am itched to talk to someone too. Someone atleast! Thinking of the fact it is, I lack an ear. That’s too valid a prick as well!

First time, I’m regretting something that I wrote. I shouldn’t have written this. I really shouldn’t. Most of you who read this, have talked to me and I perhaps helped you vent. I’m not counting back and seeking redressal. All that I meant was, I need someone to talk to. The way I stood for you is not a comparison. Its just a prayer!

The iconoclast!

All my life was an attempt in vain to be an iconoclast. I did not think being one is easy. But I assumed it was possible for me. But the futility of my efforts is depressing. Futility isn’t absolute though. I haven’t yet met with a fiasco. Its just minor flaws that reflect major shortcomings to what I have always wanted. So now what do you say? Is my loss redeemable yet?

My mom read the blog the other day. And her obvious worry! What on earth is my never ending saga of mourning and pain about? She wonders what have I lost so much in life. She’s right about that. I haven’t ‘lost’ anything in life. Life is good. As good and as smooth as it should be. For an average girl of my age, requirements are few and expectations are huge. And for me, they never matter for they are all taken care of. Wants and needs are the way I define it for myself. If I call a want to my need, it gets done as my most immediate need. All thanks to my family and people around me.

But what if I am the illusion myself. Practicality ruling over me, often I filter my wants and needs. What I desperately need gets pushed under my fancies, presumably too irrelevant to be even thought of for a second time.

I get that. Even without looking at your eyes, its obvious what you are thinking. When people have totally nothing to do, may be they can think so much and write so much and drive others nuts! Lol. I agree. I have totally nothing to do. Hence I think. Hence I write. So with you. You dont have anything to do. You dont think yet. You dont write yet. Hence you read. And hence you pull your hair. Who should be blamed?

Traffic – a review

A very very delayed reviewing of the movie Traffic. My inability to stay updated with every other movie playing in the cinemas should be kindly excused. I dont go out for movies alone yet. Nor do I beg my parents. So well, reviewing gets delayed. However though, I saw “Traffic”, going to the cinemas. 😛

Writing about it has been there in my mind ever since. For the urge to be strong enough to push me into writing this took so long! So now what actually pushes me into writing this is silly. A casual quick read of today’s chronicle gave me a glimpse of a self development feature, penned by Anupam Kher. He was vaguely talking about how life is a Domino effect. Or atleast, that’s what I vaguely deciphered from the write up, at a glance. Just as you get up, the first thing that happens to you is the trigger of the entire chain of events of the day. People call it by omen, lucky charm, divine signs and what not. The decision that you make this precise moment is totally dependent on the immediate previous moment of your life. And it continues, as if traversing through a reverse Domino effect. One after the other, perfectly cascaded and aligned. Thus happens life. A shouting at B. B throwing C out of job. C breaking up with D. D committing suicide in front of E. Enlightened E apologising to F. F making friends with A. And back to A, B, C and D. Well, after putting this down, I guess I’m not cent percent correct with this theory of mine. It doesn’t feel wrong yet. 🙂

This stream of thought is awesomely conveyed through the movie. Every scene feels so related to the previous sequence of events. The story line crosses many lives and the connectedness is spread across all characters. Overall, you might miss consecutive connectedness. The relativity of the dialogues and the scenes are taken to a level so subtle that you dig into the movie to identify with them.

Like many our lives, unrelated instances create commotion and change the very course of the plot. Unable to identify with the strange relativity and subtle line of connectivity, people often fight back the swirl and drown themselves. Seldom do we realise, drifting along with the current is a much easier way to unravel the eerie ties of dependence!

Ah! The butterfly effect!

The revelation!

Fears aint numbered. Huge in number and immense in impact. I wish if I could count mine. My fears have never ended by any of my lamenting. Everytime I lament, I wish that’s the last time I cry about my fears. I guess my fear is afraid of me, to abandon me and face my wrath. Lol. Fear all around. Life is so frightening to me now. What happened to the bold courageous me? Well, who said I ever was one! People make mistakes. People misunderstand. 🙂

But then, personally I never knew I was so much of a scardy cat. Afraid to move. Afraid not to move. Afraid to talk. Afraid to be silent. Afraid to sleep. Afraid to stay up. Afraid to help. Afraid to not help. Lol. This sounds like Kamal in Thenali? Reality is not much far from that. ‘Ellam sivamaya enparkal. Aanal enakku ellam bhayamayam!’

The latest added to the list is…ah stop there. Just as I typed this, I got a notice from a group of women. “Soumyanjali”. (Respect to Soumya, mourning her death) The recent controversial tragedy of a girl Soumya, brutally raped and killed in train. So does that count to be my fear too? That somebody is following me, day in and day out. It has been there for somedays, resurfacing often.

Back to where I stopped before reading the notice. My latest fearlist member; sleeping in an air conditioned room. That sounds ridiculous. Even to myself. But then, yesterday, after long I slept in an AC room and I was shivering of the fear and not of the cold. May be its the eerie silence. Or may be the buzz of the AC. May be its the presence of the chill. Or may be its simply the absence of my favourite rickety fan and the soothing lullaby it sings for me. I cant sleep without the fan.

More than the presence of something, its the absence of that thing that frightens me. I had typed this sentence once. But connection failed and I lost all that I typed. Cant type again. I’m afraid to lose again.

Yet again!

Why are people so stupid? Rather so cunning? Or cunningly stupid like me? What was I saying to myself the other day and all the days that passed? That I wouldn’t die I wouldn’t die. A hundred times I wouldn’t die! Yet again, I attempted. This one was serious. Not that others weren’t. But this one was certain. I would die. With all my senses, I was prepared to embrace the seducing death. (Should I rather call it charming death? Lol.) A handful of paracetamol tablets kills you. So was my knowledge atleast. Now that I am alive, I know it does shit to you! The tablets were my last resort. Took out the compass and all those sharp edged tools my unsuccessful engineering life had gifted me in the past. As blunt as my life, nothing was sharp enough to cut through me. Except for frail and fading cuts, they were good for nothing. But then, death was so tempting. After life was inviting. As though somebody from the other world talked me into a migration of worlds!! LOL!!

Why do I laugh so much? Rather, do I laugh at all? When did I start falling into the group of those who never moved a muscle as they typed ‘rotflmao’ or ‘argh’!! I always felt the laugh, the anger, the sorrow. Online or offline, emotions or people never changed for me. But now, what have I become? An insensitive unresponsive depressed psycho. Nobody calls me a maniac. The one who would run around and spoil things for everyone. I am always and forever seen as the silent killer, who suck life out of everyone and everything with silence. My ominous silence. Echoing sorrow and grief in every soul that crossed.

Am I not man enough? She tells me I aint. She tells me I am crippled from inside. Ruined and mutilated. Too much a coward that I cant even look at my own wounds and tend to them. I couldn’t bring myself to embrace her. All that she’d wanted could be a touch. A word of assurance. But I was numb. Numbness that she fails to notice. Cowardice is what she names it. But, couldn’t it have been just my helplessness… Ah! Whom am I justifying to? Myself? Sigh.Perhaps, she’s right. As ever. As right as her prudence can take her to be. My prudent princess,you may move souls. At times, you could crush them too. For so much is your power. So much is your worth. So much is your charm!

The lucky charm!

She aint my lucky charm nor am I hers. But luck is that single word I’d relate to her, over and over. It was long back. Long long back, when we were too small kids to even know the implications of being lucky. She called me lucky once. And hence started our distance. For a long time, I thought she took me for what I’m. Just the way I’m. But then, I didnt appear so transparent to her. Well, not her fault that I blackened myself. 🙂

A childhood friend, who grew more than to be a cousin. But then, we could have gotten better. Thinking of those tiny nasty things that we did…Lol. Wish I could make them public! She was always the good girl. Soft spoken, gentle, beautiful and loving. The perfect ritualistic orthodox innocent Brahmin girl anybody would love to call theirs. I wasn’t jealous that she’s all that. But it really got on my nerves when people compared me with her. How she helped her mom in the kitchen. How she respected her dad. How she took care of her flowing hair. How she obeyed elders. How she never spoke back. How she ‘that’. How she ‘this’. Ah! It was exhausting. And what does she say about it! “Soumya, eppadi di mudiyarathu unnala!”. Lol. She thinks high about me. She would have loved to rebel the way I do. Talk back the way I talk. Not obey, for once. Not seek advice, making a decision. She still likes me the way I am and the entire world is pushing me to be her.

I can foresee that. How my life is yet to be pushed to be a facsimile of hers. But it doesn’t matter. For I know what she is. What she wants. For the pious, loving, caring, obedient daughter she is, she’d also want to pull a prank on her dad. Fight with her mom for days. Sneak into her brother’s phone. Yay! It aint just me.

The two decades of
our lives, changes have swept all over us. So much in her. So much more in me. Beyond those infinite distances that has grown between us, I still owe her a rightful place in my life. When my dad scolds me for grabbing the glass from her and sipping it with my lips before I return, I should always be able to say, “Lakshmi thaane appa!”. My lucky lechu!

Disclaimer

Whatever I write is not complete and that’s NOT all about it. Only those things that meant something to me, good or bad, cherished or despised, are focussed. Neither the incidents nor the people mentioned are fictional. But this is not complete. This is not all about what it is, or what they are. More than these words of mine, they make my life complete. Its just a quick peek. So, dont judge already. 🙂

This is not like me writing. But very much like me talking. I’ve such preludes and intro dialogues when I talk, but hardly when I speak like a keyed toy.

The ringing sorrow!

Sorrow rings, doesn’t it? Inside your soul, inside your brain, inside your very self. It rings in monotonous yelps. In everybody around me. In everything around me.

Everything needs a reason. So is my theory. The above paragraph is the reason. (It is my yesternight’s craziest ever random rambling. Lol.) And the cause is my new action plan. That is something like, one day a post, about a family member. I can be quite confident about writing that coz hardly one or two of my family reads my blog. The reason, elaborated, is that I mumble inaudible cries and pathos and call it ‘my blog’, whereas I actually want to write proper sensible stuff and feel satisfied. The first paragraph was an aftermath of one such attempt. So were my many previous posts. So finally, I need to anchor my ship somewhere and relax before setting of for this long exhausting voyage. And my family that is.

My dad was born into a family of eight kids, which makes it four brothers and three sisters to him. And leaves me with so many uncles and so many aunts and their families, completing my ‘big’ family with so much to talk about. My mom is sibling-rich too. Two sisters and one little brother. Stay along. And read about my whole family before you wonder where I got my crazy streak from!