Category Archives: Personal

Grey love

They were on skype. He said something, she said, “What do you think? I have got grey hair for nothing.”

He smiled and said,  “With every new grey hair, my love for you grows and deepens.”

The next morning, she received an sms asking, “Wanting to get rid of your grey hair. Our product assures that. Contact us… ”

She simply deleted the message.

 

 

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When the mind cuts like a knife

In many ways, words become living beings in the course of our life journey. Words assume a life of their own when we listen deeply to our inner self.
She thinks of the word ‘Pining.’ And thinks of him. He taught her the word — through  his presence and absence.

Both of them feel they should have been together. It would have been wonderful to read, write, dissect, reflect and exchange ideas and world views. Night after night. In the midst of ordinariness of life.

Even though their  interests are different, they share a very strong sense of adaptive intellectual and cognitive connectivity. After all, all you can now only hear cacophony around you. There are so very people  with whom one can talk these days. Don’t get her wrong. She doesn’t believe in intellectualizing human relationships.

People think she’s flamboyant. They find her cool. But you see people see themselves differently. She feels the flamboyance is actually a kind of cover up for all the years of longing she has kept within her.  Lest the brutal world will shred her soul.

Over cups of black tea and Farida Khanum’s soul-stirring music, she tells to her friends, “Love and loss mean the same. I have loved only one man in my life and lost him so many times that in the process love and loss are intertwined.”

One friend asks, “What makes you stay attracted?”

“Tenacity and ability to look at the world like a sharp knife. It’s gratifying to see someone to cut the flab/the excess and hold on to the essence. Something like holding a knife and peeling the yellow skin of a mango.  A simple yet meaningful act. There’s immense beauty in it. Probably, that’s why I am always attracted to austerity, melancholy, bareness. Excess is vulgar.”

There was silence in the room. Silence can be sharp too.

 

 

 

 

The Art of Stillness

I enjoy reading Pico Iyer. The other day while trying to sail through the madness of the newsroom and stiff deadlines, I took a little break and ordered online a copy of  Pico Iyer’s The Art of Stillness. I decided to give my favourite Amazon a miss and chose another site (No, not Flipkart). Well, I chose this site  because it was offering me a price which was Rs 22 (when you convert, it’s far far lower than one dollar) less than the offer given by Amazon. The lure of saving money.

 

book

 

This was my first purchase from this site. My heart says it will be last too. Little did I know that this site took the title of my book  very literally. They true to the title of the book decided to be STILL for many days and weeks. They taught me to practice The Art of Stillness in real life. I waits and waited.

The stillness turned into movement when I received the book two days back after I had forgotten about it completely.

The slim book is a pleasure to read. I m not rushing through it.

Like slow cooked mutton biryani, I m savoring it.

Slowly. And slowly.

America. Too far

Even in 2016 that comes with near perfect internet connection, viber, skype, whatsapp, Gchat, I find America too far. I find it difficult to embrace two different time zones.

“America is far. When will you be back?” I asked him. “Distance is not an issue these days. By your logic, even Ahmedabad is far from Delhi,” he told. “No, America is very far,” I answered back. He told, “But your sister lives there.” I replied, “How will anyone understand the pangs of separation?”

My younger sister has been living in America since last 20 years. During the initial years, I hoped that she would come back to India. To Bangalore, Pune or may be Hyderabad. We often talked of her coming back to India.  Possibilities of walking into each other’s homes  without ever having to go through the visa, immigration procedures.

Times have changed. Years have brought in different realities.  We don’t indulge in such talks now. Our wrinkles on the face are becoming more visible.We know the reality. Her coming back to India looks as remote as Virendra Sehwag once again playing international cricket.

I have always hated the hours between my sister boarding a flight from Newark and arriving at Mumbai. These hours always make me  cranky, anxious. I  somehow make a listless attempt to sail through the day. I keep myself occupied by  cleaning wardrobes that look organized. I perk up when she arrives in Mumbai. Suddenly the anxiety just melts away.

It’s not even 20 hours since he left for America. I have started feeling the pangs of anxiety. I am writing this piece to sooth me, to calm me. I know, it’s not about him. He has gone there on a short visit. He travels frequently. So, it’s no big deal.

So, what exactly is it? It’s about my primary emotions. It’s about my sister living in America. It’s about my sister and me not being able to mourn together the loss of our parents. We could never hug each other when our wounds were raw and bleeding. We were too desolate in two distant lands. Yet we could find a meeting ground.

Life is strange, actually. Sometimes we don’t know whom we are missing. But we feel the ache deep within our heart. We feel the pain in our veins. Same is true of ‘being far’ too. Even in the midst all the internet trapping, I feel America is really far. The silicon valley guys will laugh at me. For talking about distance in 2016.

 

 

Relationship manager

I was on my desk at work. A tall, lanky man came to meet me. I thought the visitor had some press release to share with me. Journalists can’t think beyond news/stories.

I looked at him curiously. He looked at me and told,  “I am your relationship manager.”

I told him, “What!!!! most of my relationships are screwed up. So, what exactly are you managing?”

He was taken aback with this outburst of mine. Most finance professionals are too seriously involved with numbers, profit margins and the like. Humor doesn’t come to them quickly. Humor comes easily to poor journalists like me.  He then blurted out, “I am from your bank. I am there to manage your account. ”

Money, relationship, finance … all now seem entangled together in a liberalized, market-driven India.

You see, I was born in pre-liberalized India. I am as clueless about all this as I was before.

 

Love. Pyaar. Magic.

Duniya bahut saari hoti hai, par pyaar ek hi hota hai. (There are many many worlds… My world, his world, her world, rich man’s world, poor man’s world, peaceful world, volatile world, hostile world, friendly world.. the list goes on and on. But there is only one love.) You can never replicate magic. It just happens once and once in a lifetime.

Just embrace the magic. The magic called love. And be grateful for it.

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