Photo s hoot

~ Soumya ~ Leave a comment

An old thought of mine was returned to me by someone. That taking photos is such a waste. The moment happened for you to see it and cherish the sight forever in your memories. Not to be shot and stored as *.jpeg or *.gif in your disk. You never go back to it except when its time for a photography contest. Things aren’t cherished but judged.

What I said is just a general case where people compete with extraordinary cameras to an ordinary element of sheer talent and taste to photography. Photography is an art. Truly an art with a lot of passion and so much less of talent, to put it more correct. As any other art, it demands a drive. A spirit to make it worth knowing. Nothing matches that gift. But amazingly, it’s not something you are born with to be called an innate thing. It roots out of a deep desire of sharing the sight you had with someone else who deserve to have enjoyed the charm. It’s a craving to show the world through a different perspective that’s unique to the photographer. What you see would have been missed by others and that’s what makes you exceptional in taking photos. It’s a story you say. A symbolism you develop. An impression that you make. With the marvel of colours and elegance of light and audacity of darkness.

The laburnum

~ Soumya ~ Leave a comment

The wind blew harder. Never hard enough to mar her vision, yet hard. Her loosely tied hair was now let open, gently caressed by the moving air. The flowing dupatta made her happy. Thanks to all those less womanly days of formals and jeans. She truly enjoyed the femininity bestowed upon her by the curves and in-shape tailoring of her salwar. After years, she remembered to pin the shawl and cover her bosom and the deep neck line. She was wondering yet how long she took to dress up for the casual meeting with him. Why would a cup of coffee demand so much of touch up? May be its not the coffee. May be it’s him. May be it’s him after so many years.

“The conversation was pretty short, wasn’t it?”, she asked herself. May be I hurried to break the ice. I should have given him a chance to start the conversation, atleast now. For every time in the past, he wanted to talk and win me over. Poor thing. I never gave him a chance. Or may be, he wouldn’t have wanted to talk at all. After so many years of silence, may be he forgot to talk anymore. Perhaps, he’d have been too worried to choose the right words and lay the perfect situation for talking.I’m usually right. And almost always right, about anything vaguely relating to him.

The phone vibrated in the leather pouch, held tight in her hands. She would have always yearned for somebody to call. But now, the vibration seemed to disturb her. She didn’t want to feel anything other than the chill of the wind. She took the phone, to turn it off. The call ended as she took it. She glanced at the clock. She was way late. It’s almost turning six. She should have been at Ann’s at five. Dialling him immediately, she cursed her tight schedule. The laburnum laid pathway was so welcoming that she didn’t want to walk back. The drooping laburnum bunches and their yellow glow were mesmerising. The evening sun could be the most unforgettable sight of the day. She craved to make it to the beach. But the choice was between him and the sea. And it didn’t take a second long for her to decide. She turned and looked around for a taxi to reach Ann’s. Perhaps, she missed something. She waited and went back to the laburnum. She disconnected the unattended call, and clicked her mobile camera. That was the best shot of her life.

Turning back, she got into the next taxi that came her way and sent him a text apologising for the delay, begging him to wait.

Matrix and the parker

~ Soumya ~ 4 Comments

Gotten close enough to a Matrix Bilt note book? With elegant black cover, and the problem free wiro binding, as they name it, it’s classic and executive. Always had an eye on their 5 subject note book. Considering the price and the number of pages, I reached at the obvious conclusion that’s not worth my ‘lecture’ notes. However, as things always happen, a Matrix three – partition book came to me through a cousin.

Ever since I got it, I was confused what to write in it and hence just kept it aside. Until recently,I assumed nothing worth to be written there. Now though, with my most cherished and chaste Parker, I pen one liners and multiple liners in them. They may be not extra ordinary. But the pen and the book got something of my satisfaction to be engaged with. Upon some ‘elderly’ opinion, those ramblings will also find room in my blog, right here.

More to write. Later.

UPDATE :

What I wanted to write on the book and the pen was simple. I was always intrigued by the ‘pen holder’ they offered with the Matrix. I was wondering what on earth did they actually mean by this amazing offer? It took a long time for me to notice the small hole at the back cover of the book! That was disgusting. They present it as though its some additional effort that they took to make the product more attractive. But what do I see instead! They should have given us something ‘extra’ and what they do is actually take away portion of the back cover which should have been our rightful possession. But you know what? I am stupid. Dumber than dumbu. It was the perfect ‘pen holder’ I ever had. The page size and the spacing of the hole was so perfect that my Parker glided through the hole and peacefully held on to the Matrix. That was one fine thing the book and the pen taught me. Taking away of a portion of the back cover was such a brilliant idea. Sometimes, all we need is that. Take away a bit of those things that needn’t be there in life. It will make room to accommodate all those indispensablities of our existence. Look around and learn. There’s a lot to learn from everything, every moment.

The talk

~ Soumya ~ Leave a comment

“Nandan, have you ever thought of the possibilities of killing yourself?” Her question was more than just troubling. I instantly knew where this conversation would lead to. Wanting to wind it up, I gulped the remaining drink in my glass and mumbled an inaudible cry. I wanted to leave. She just wouldn’t budge from her stand. Her thirst seemed to grow beyond getting an answer. As if, only my blood could quench. For the first time, I saw through the bitch in her. The blood thirsty vampire. Not a second long, and I was filled with guilt. Wasn’t she my princess? The love of my life. She still is. There cant be another woman I love more than her. But then, look at us now. Not loving would have been fine. But the hatred that’s filling our gap is incinerating.

She woke me up from my thoughts with her vicious laugh. I wanted to cry. For help. For mercy. Here she is, laughing at my helplessness and all I want is just an escape. This running away is tiring me. I’m shunning her stares away. Shamelessly, they are returned more intense and deep. When would this accusation stop! She broke my thoughts again. She held my hand over the table. “Have you hated me so much? Answer me please. What’s come over us? We used to be so much happier.” I wanted to yell at her. “Yeah, we were so much at peace and harmony. And now we are not. So what? Why the heck are you always pointing at me?”. I wanted to ask. But I kept quite. Arguments dont hold a chance. Not with her. I silently pulled my hands away and rose to leave. “I’m starting to office. Half an hour late already. May be we can catch up in the evening.” Surprisingly, she just nodded, and said, “May be we can. Evening sounds perfect to me too.” I wanted to stay for a while more and see her yell at me as usual, as I ended every conversations. Today seemed different. She was blankly staring at the phone’s screen. I couldn’t take my eyes off her and bring myself to leave her. I was worried if my eyes were welling up. But I saw hers first. After years, she cried in front of me. All those things that she said blared in my head. After everything, she’s crying! I should have been feeling nothing. But I was shook by her tears, the impact of which dawned upon me, unforgivably late. She looked up at me, with her proven skill of holding back her tears. “Didnt leave yet? I’ll be there at Ann’s at five.”. I was pulled back to my senses.
“Yeah, I was just waiting for you to say something. Bye then.”, I managed. She assured, “Its okay. Bye.”. Its okay? What? Me leaving the conversation is okay? Or me staying for her to assure me is okay? I didnt have time to answer all those questions that popped. I walked out of the restaurant, away from her. The way she did it to me. Ann’s was assuring. I knew she’d come. Definitely to Ann’s.

Team India MadE victorious!

~ Soumya ~ Leave a comment

Team India just won over Aussies by four wickets! And I’m so happy and proud! Obvious question. When did I ever start being a cricket maniac! Let me explain.

Its not about cricket. Its all about my stupid symbolic triumph. My victories always remain rooted in my symbolisms. Was watching the match with my uncle and cousin, the one who always make predictions about how things are impossible. As ever, he declared India lost the match. Twelve runs in six balls was impossible for him! Based on his run rate calculations and whatever other probability that the game of cricket gave, he should have been right! But my point was simple. One ball can give you a maximum of six runs. Six balls naturally can give ya thirty six runs! Yeah, I know I’m talking about the rarest ever and seemingly impossible happening. But yet, its still plausible aint it? And it did happen! Last over’s first ball was a six! Second one was a No-ball and they ran for three runs. And the third ball was another six! Hurray! India just won! Impossible turns possible, in a split second!

I dont know of cricket. I dont know of the match. (Is this the Common Wealth thingy?). I dont know of No-balls. I dont even know the implication of ‘winning by 4 wickets’. But yet, I’m the happiest person that India won today. It feels like my victory. My symbolic triumph of making the impossible, possible! I dont know much cricketers. I dont know of their history and trackrecord. But then, Dhoni is god to me. His last three battings, changes my life! Symbolism rocks. Only with me!

The baby times!

~ Soumya ~ 2 Comments

Preface : https://soumyavg.wordpress.com/2012/01/31/disclaimer/

Me and baby? What relativity eh? Seriously, I’m wondering too. Eventually, it seems like there’s a lot of relativity though. Not that I’ve, out of nowhere, started loving all those ‘cute’ baby photos or all those pink ‘n blue things of life. But things have definitely changed between me and the babies.

My bro always pulls my legs on how I used to check if the diaper is on before getting anywhere near my cousin’s child. I dont think anybody believes him on that now. It seems a near impossibility now coz I’ve gotten that intimate with the kid. Back then, I had told only him about how I used to do that. Nobody else holds a reason to believe it now. I dont even realise how much has change swept over me.

Its a wonderful kid. I cant say the ‘best’ coz I dont know many kids to make a comparison. She’s the only one I’ve ever known. Known the best! Tending to her, reaching out to hold her hand, coaxing her, yelling at her. I’m loving it all. Love the way she calls me ‘athey’. Amazingly, I kinda even miss her when she’s away at her grandma’s. For people who have known the callous me, aren’t these ‘interesting and new’ developments? Lol. Hell they are! And I cant even bring myself upto believing it.

With all the preconceptions of people around me, I’m very much disturbed by their assumptions and notions. Its so much a relief to see her and believe atleast she knows me only the way I’m to her; nice but easily angered. I wish if things could remain that way with her forever. With someone atleast, let me sneak out of all the prejudices. She’s growing, soon losing her innocence. Life and its prejudices aren’t far from her. And I’m worried. Ironically, I crave to see her grow up into a pretty girl, yet staying the apple of everybody’s eyes. She’s one such whom I’ve loved so much that it causes envy. It might even asphyxiate her. Worry gets recursive! (Read the previous post to make some sense of the last sentences)

She’s growing. Already at the computer! Lol.

The degrees of like!

~ Soumya ~ Leave a comment

How much can you like something or someone? It is only as much as making somebody else jealous of your like. I have liked a lot of people in my life and still like a lot more of them. But then, now it feels like I’m on the nth degree of it. How plausible could that be? Can ‘like’ or ‘love’ have a saturation point? Seems like they can. Do not confuse with satiety. At the nth degree of love, (like replaced by love, coz all references herein are made to people and not to things), I am not done loving anybody. But the love feels saturated. Like, more of love can make no difference. Being so intimate to someone that moving any closer will only crush the person’s soul. As though, a bit of gap wouldn’t harm, but instead give us some air to breath. Loving people so much makes it really hard to let them take a step away from you. Taking a decision for themselves, missing out on wishing you on your special day, unexpected delaying of a scheduled meeting up. Every single one of them makes you feel like your entire world collapses there! Don’t label this obsession already. I am not talking about how obsessed am I with people.

There’s a state in between. Between love and obsession. Between hatred and falling apart. A stupid crappy state! You don’t budge. You want it done implies you WANT it done. No matter how much you push yourself into the realisation of things as simple as they are, it always seems complex and ciphered. You dont read along the plain lines of life and complain how bleak it is between the lines. As ever, simple things get complex in frail fingers like mine. Its not easy to understand straight aspects of life, when you struggle to define its implications symbolising lives! Not catching up often, missing to reciprocate wishes, forgetting to look back and failing to notice are not things that ends the world. But then, knowing is not enough. Never enough.

I love people. Have always loved them and will always do. Loved enough to make others jealous. People envy my love!

P.S. I am not in ‘love’ as in ‘love’. So please don’t ring me up and yell at me, “Why didnt you tell me earlier??”, “Dont you have the sense to keep things private?”, “Tell me who who??”. Lol. Dont do that to me coz its not what you think it is.

College – an insight

~ Soumya ~ 2 Comments

Have never talked enough about my college. More correctly, I haven’t even thought enough about this place that I go everyday. I dont curse myself as I turn the alarm off and get up every morning to rush to college. Going to college is an enthusiastic idea to me every morning. Nobody is waiting for me there. I’m not expecting to see anyone there either. But yet, its motivating enough to pull the covers off me. My class is boring. So are the people. So is what I assume, atleast. The teachers make me yawn more often than making me think intriguing. But yet. But yet I love my college.

The welcoming entrance, the parking space and the bikes aligned, the parapet with gentle backrests, the curve of the stairs that lets me take giant leaps, the pathway that gets flooded in the rain. I’m amused by everything about my college. The ‘group-ism’ in class, the boring useless lectures, the ridiculous bunch of dumbheads. Seems like I’d live through all of them or even worse, coz so much is my liking for the place. Unusually, I feel all comfortable and cosy at a place, despite it being so rough and insensitive to me. But its not the place that’s insensitive. Instances and happenings are rough. Not the place. For it have been always good to me. Walking around the campus, I’ve cried silent, laughed aloud and cursed bad. It has been just two years here, and somehow I turn more nostalgic about my college than my school where I spent years of my life. But the reason is obvious.

In school, there were people in life. They had an impact on me off campus or on campus, the place being so irrelevant. But now in college, people stop to exist. Its just incidents or accidents if you cross another person in the daily routine. Life has changed and is all about places, things and instances. People hardly hold any worth or role in life. Doesn’t that vaguely sound like I’ve turned into a materialistic jerk? Or may be it doesn’t. It just says how life has changed my notions about it and gifted me a new sense of perception.

There’s so much to write. The lovers’ point, the bunk area, the hideout, the common joint, the budding romances, student politics, management talks, teachers’ strike and a hell lot more. I need to break it up and talk. There really is so much to say. Wait for more of them.

Censored!

~ Soumya ~ 4 Comments

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. Stopwriting forever. And resurrect again if you let me. For you, a thousand times over!

Just a word

~ Soumya ~ Leave a comment

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!