I gave up on people long ago….

Companionship is dear…

There is only one important question – and it begins with Why?

The object of your affection is a reflection of yourself. There is a mirror in my stranger.

We see everything through a lens. Which is really okay – problem is we can’t see the lens and hence we often have no idea it exists, or what it does to what we’re viewing.

I have found what I was searching for, and it will remain with me forever.

I witnessed something quite pleasantly, amusingly, poignant today.

I was standing outside of Bandra Stn, right outside the arches, at 2 o’clock. I need not add exactly how hot it was, but I should add how pissed I was, at the fact that it WAS so hot, that my bus seemed nowhere in sight, that the traffic and the honking seemed endless and annoying, and especially at the fact that for some reason, a good 50 odd Muslim men seemed to want to stand at exactly that same place at the time.

No, I’m not talking about the Muslims (sigh)

I generally get pissed at any congregation of men anywhere, simply because seldom do they congregate for the right kind of reasons. It means I have to be over cautious and get overtly stared at. Yet, the crowd here seemed quite on their civil behaviour, possibly brought on by the hawaldar bandobast. 

It seems they had gathered to offer namaaz. They were chattering away, the whole lot, some praying, some kneeling, some doing something that was a mixture of all three. Every now and then a slightly older man wearing a pathan-like turban would come around and tell everyone to get in place. People kept getting in place and getting out. Basically there was a lot happening, and people like me who were waiting for the bus kept waiting for something else to happen too.

Then, as expected, the azaan rang out, and the men heeded. All of a sudden everyone got in their place and then, everything went  shush. It was as if someone turned off a switch. I have never in my life seen Bandra station this quite. I was too absorbed looking at what they were doing, so I’m not sure, but I do think even traffic stopped moving for a while. Understandably, the men were engrossed with what they were doing, but even those of us who didn’t have anything to do with this, went quiet. There was no honking, no hawking, no yelling on the phone, no yelling at the hawker, nothing. There was just some annoying banter by the hawaldars (because they just have to ruin a perfectly great moment) – but other than that, it seemed like the whole of Bandra station had joined the men.

It was one of those moments that are filmed and edited to an audio of the National Anthem or Vande Mataram. For the five minutes that the namaaz lasted, pin-drop silence ruled the air. It was almost as if, despite the rush that we are in, despite how impatient we are, how irritated we get with crowds, how we regard the faithful of a different kind – despite all of this, each individual (running, walking, standing, sitting, eating, drinking, texting) knew that this was a moment not to be disturbed. This was moment to be looked at with some respect. This was a moment to feel something. This was a moment to be, even for a moment, a little better, even in the littlest way possible. Of course the hawaldars are an exception.

When it was over, Bandra station resumed its usual poise and grace. The men went to feast and the hawaldars, to fleece. I finally saw my bus snaking its way through the traffic (which had miraculously just started). But this moment lingered. Not because someone was praying. But because someone else decided to let someone pray in peace.

Today was Valentine’s Day.

A day when lovers take the time out, to do something special for their lovers. Not that you need a specific day to do so, but this just gives us one more reason.

It is also a day when companies are laughing all the way to the bank considering the amount spent over really expensive gifts, as well as really ridiculous ones: giant hearts and chocolates, confetti, balloons and the like.

It is also a day when otherwise constantly bickering couples take the time out to not-bicker reinforce their delusion of happily ever after.

It is also a day when men can buy a year’s quota of sensitivity, understanding, respect and affection all wrapped up in a teddy bear (holding a heart shaped cushion preferably, or a bunch of red roses)

It is also a time when women can guiltlessly covet ridiculously expensive gifts their men bring, however grudgingly.

It is also an occasion which creates innumerable future occasions for men to bitch about their women, and vice versa.

And, it’s an occasion which warrants single people to pathetically display their joy and pride at being ‘single’ (Yeah like you really had to work hard for it.)

And that’s why I have always hated Valentine’s Day. The show, the charade, the gloss of it all. Ugh. Till now.

I celebrated Valentine’s Day today, for the first time ever. For 23 years, I have watched all the drama and non-sense unfold before me eyes ad nauseum; and I always wondered what I would feel like, celebrating it. Don’t get me wrong, I have always wanted to celebrate it; I was just never sure whether I would find the right reasons to, after witnessing so many wrong ones. I wondered if there’d be roses and teddy bears and romantic candlelit dinners. I wondered if all of these things would feel less ridiculous when they happened to me. More importantly, I wondered if they would happen for the right reasons.

So after years of criticizing Valentine’s Day celebrations, I finally had one of my own. And that’s when it hit me: I wasn’t really celebrating the day, I was celebrating the person I was with. 14th of February was just like an accessory — there for you to celebrate or to ignore, but that you choose to celebrate, because you have a reason to, you have a person to. Celebrate this person you are with, and everything they’ve given to you, the joy they’ve brought, they way they’ve changed you and the pleasure and pride you feel being with them. Sure, you can do it any day — but hey, today was a chance to do it — Did you take it?

I did and I felt joyous, going about it, in a way I had not felt before. Tingly anticipation, the ecstasy of knowing you have a reason to celebrate the occasion, and you’ve grabbed it! The warm assurance of knowing what you are celebrating, and why. The high of having made that person feel special, of having someone you want to make feel special and that wonderful new feeling that makes you feel. The apprehension that this person may also want to celebrate you in the same way, on this day. How wonderful.

But well, not everyone celebrates Valentine’s Day on the same day. I guess sometimes what we really want out of Valentine’s Day is to have someone celebrate us, as much as we’d like to celebrate them.

FADE IN:

INT. LIVING ROOM – AFTERNOON

4 girls are seated randomly around a television screen. Two are lying on the floor – one on her stomach, with the hands propping her head up, and the other on her back, with a pillow supporting her head. Another is propped on a sofa, and the fourth sitting on the floor. All four are intently watching the movie ‘Batman Begins’

ZOOM IN:

We watch the last scenes of Batman Begins, where the character of Rachel Dawes refuses a relationship with Bruce Wayne until such time that Gotham no longer needs a batman. Movie ends.

BACK TO SCENE

GIRL LYING ON HER BACK

I don’t understand why she refuses Bruce Wayne. He is Batman. Batman, for chrissakes!

GIRL ON SOFA

Maybe she just wanted a normal boyfriend. Imagine Rachel Dawes sharing an intimate moment with Bruce when suddenly that damned bat symbol show up in the sky. Her date will be flying off rooftops before she knows it.

GIRL LYING ON HER BACK

Come on! Bruce Wayne slash Batman is the ultimate symbol of what a man can be. I just don’t understand why she would not want to be with a man like that. This ending makes no sense whatsoever.

ANGLE ON – GIRL LYING ON HER STOMACH

As she turns around to face GIRL LYING ON HER BACK

GIRL LYING ON HER STOMACH

What are you? Some kind of hero-worshipper?

ZOOM IN – GIRL LYING ON HER STOMACH

As she looks out the window

GIRL LYING ON HER BACK

Yes

If you trek to Lohgad in the monsoons on a Sunday, you will mostly be put off by the piles of garbage at the base village, the sheer number of people in your trekking group, the annoying locals who are intent upon singing home productions of Bollywood songs on top of their voices all the way, more annoying locals with alcohol on their breath, assorted discarded bottles in otherwise freshwater pools, and the pitiful state of the Indian Railways. But then, when you’re sitting at the tip of the Vinchukata, taking in the mindblowing vista, fog/clouds drifting in and out of your vision, misty rain cooling your face and wetting your clothes, you realize that nothing else matters, and that it’s all worth it. And if you’re lucky, you’ll find a few other trekkers who share your thoughts.

I went with Green Carpets, which may or may not be your best choice, depending on what you’re looking for. Yet, they seemed most reasonable when I started off, and while not entirely managed as well as I would have liked them to be, the ‘leader’ did what he could, or what he thought he could/should. Yet, there were too many people, too many unruly people, for my comfort. Yet, I don’t (can’t) blame them, I found my future trekking group with them

We started pretty early. We took the Indrayani Express from Dadar at about 5:45 A.M. You could take the Mumbai-Pune Intercity too, although I don’t think there is one that early. These are mostly the only two trains that halt at Lonavla (our immediate destination). Unless you are ‘absolutely’ okay with standing in a PACKED, PACKED general compartment with the windows sealed tight (coz of the rains) please consider getting reservations. The ticket is usually less than 100 bucks. Alternately, you could do what we did. As soon as we got on, a plucky girl with us suggested we explore the length of train to check for any vacant seats which we may be able to occupy for sometime. And the five of us, (3 girls, 2 boys) set off, travelled through 6 cars to finally hit upon the General Reserved compartment, with empty seats. We got to sit upto Karjat, and it was a rather enjoyable ride. At Karjat the 2 boys had to get off and run the length of 6 train cars to get into an PACKED, PACKED general compartment to retrieve their bags. Evidently, they didn’t think we would find seats. Moral of the story: Never be pessimistic on a trek.

We had breakfast at Lonavla, although you could have it anywhere. Lonavla would be the most efficient way of doing it because you have to catch a local train that plies between Lonavla and Pune, to get off at Malavli (the base village). So it makes sense to do some pet puja while you pray for the train to be on time. (Oh, and btw, direct tickets to Lonavla are available only at Borivali, Andheri, Bandra, Dadar and mostly Virar, subject to the sole discretion and mood of the guy sitting at the counter at 5:00 AM on a Sunday morning. Tickets to Malavali are available from Lonavla) This whole journey takes about 4 hours, with half an hour for breakfast.

Once you’re at Malavli, it’s pretty straight-forward. You just follow the throngs of crowd – don’t get too close though. If you went on a weekday, though, it may be a lot different. There are three paths to the base of the fort. Don’t take the nice tar road or the steps, take the mucky trails and paths that cut through the mountain, ‘coz duh! you’re on a trek. And no, it’s not difficult. Depending on your speed and the crazy photographer in you, you’d take about 2-3 hours till the base. I AM a crazy photographer, so I’d say I took about 3.

From the base of the fort to the top is also pretty easy. There are good stone steps, and the walls have been reinforced with mortar. Lohgad is pretty impressive; there’s a lot of the fortification visible for you to be impressed. The view, of course is awesome. There are tiny doors leading into dark rooms from where a young boy will fetch you nimbu paani, slant windows from the days of the good ole bow and arrow, and a temple/mosque on top (sort of mixed architecture, couldn’t really figure it out).

Lohgad is a huge fort. The top of the fort is almost endless. And there’s a panoramic view of the nearby ranges, the Pavna dam, and the clouds. It is all just hitting me right then, and I’m sort of like the junkie who’s just beginning to appreciate his high, when the trek leaders gathers everyone around, chants some Marathi mumbo-jumbo with an echo effect which ends in a deafening cheer of ‘Shivaji Maharaj ki jai’. Thankfully, Lohgad is a strong dose; the high doesn’t wear off.

By now the plucky 5 who found seats in the general reservation car (minus 1) and a 6th (5th, actually) doctor have separated from the rest group, or rather have lost all sense of direction and the capacity for facial recognition. So we ended up roaming the entire top by ourselves, looking for the legendary Vinchukata. This blogger and another guy are extremely persistent, and in the meanwhile find a pond. This is something you have to do if you chance upon it too: You have to take off the socks and sneakers and sit on the few rocks in the middle of the pond and dip your feet in the refreshing, most coolest water body imaginable. After the labour of climbing, the feeling is orgasmic.

However, Vinchukata is still elusive, and one full round and some higher ground later we finally spot it. To those of you who do this trek when no one else is around, find the highest point on top of the mountain and look in all directions until you see an orange flag somewhere. That’s Vinchukata.

Now, the way to Vinchukata is as much fun as the structure itself. You have to walk along the edge of the mountain slope, to go down and then along (or over, if you prefer)some last remnants of what were once fort walls to reach the tip of a rather curved, longish tail of the hill. It’s futile to explain, really. I have pictures here.

This is an excellent spot for lunch. But since the plucky 5 are slightly worried about the trek leader getting worried, they decide to settle for a few biscuits and head back. Now, you can go back along the mountain slope, but heck, we’re plucky, so we climb a section of the cliff. After some good climbing (with the help of a few locals) and a strategically, yet unceremoniously torn pair of pants later, we’re back to the top of the fort, and on our way down.

We lunch on village home-made zhunka bhakar and besan at the base of the fort. There are other lunching options here. Thankfully our trekking group hasn’t really left us, there are in fact a lot of people still up on the fort. So we’re able to lunch in peace, albeit at 6 PM.

Leaving Lohgad on time is important. Remember, you still have a 4 hours journey back home. We conveniently forgot. So it’s 7:30 PM by the time we’re at Malavli station. Ideally, it should be 5:00 PM. From Malavli we have no idea what train to catch, we are waiting for anything that will stop anywhere in or around Mumabi. The standard process is to purchase tickets to Dadar, which turns out to be pointless because we end up in the general compartment of some Ahmedabad-Bangalore express which seems to run on the Harbour line. (Dadar is on central/western line) The plucky 5 are seriously considering hiring private transport from Malavli to Mumbai. But some of the plucky 5, this blogger in particular, are always hard-pressed for cash. So no matter how exhausted you are, or how claustrophobic that general compartment makes you, you’re willing to stand 4 hours on feet you can’t feel anymore.

The journey home is long: Malavli-Lonavla-Karjat-Kalyan-Vasai-Goregaon, but this blogger is a freaking junkie. Junkies are relentless in their pursuit of high. And they can disregard everything else that comes in between. So at the end of the day, it’s not the crowds, or the garbage or the locals that you remember, it’s all the scenes along the way, all the short-cuts that caused all the delays, all the views from the top, every, ‘Wait, Wait, Sit like that, This is an awesome pic’ and every moment spent sitting at some of the most mind-blowing spots around the fort. And of course, having a plucky bunch of friends makes a whole lot of difference.

“Why don’t you just tell me”, she asked.

She watched him keenly, as if he were the only thing that occupied her consciousness. She watched his hands as they moved over the dishes, cleaning each one, briskly and efficiently. He stood erect, always. And yet he seemed easy and relaxed. His eyes never left his hands, and yet she knew he was watching her. He knew she was watching him too. She knew that he knew. She liked making him conscious like that. She enjoyed, knowing that her eyes could take his focus away from what he was doing at the time. It gave her a violent sort of pleasure, knowing that he had to fight in order to get his mind to focus on what it was doing. That she should be a distraction.

She watched him. She watched his eyes intent upon the task at hand. The ease with which his hands performed a task. His lips were drawn in tightly, like they always were when he was working. However, they seemed to have been pulled in tighter than usual today. As if he was unsure of what they’d do if he left them open. Or if he knew all too well what they’d do, and was avoiding that.

She could see his neck over his shirt collar. Because his head was bent down, she could see more of it now than usual. How much ‘more’ skin should one be able to see, in order to call another naked, she thought. Would an extra inch of neck suffice? His legs were planted firmly. He’d been standing for a while, but he didn’t move. His legs never shifted weight. They were resolute in their stand, as if against all odds. Her eyes moved upwards from his legs, to his torso, his shoulders, his neck, his lips and his eyes, before she took in all of him.

“Why don’t you just tell me”, she asked, in a flat tone. Devoid of any implications, or ulterior motives.

“Tell you what?” he replied, eyes still glued to his tasks. Mind tearing itself between her and his will to not give his consciousness up to her.

“Tell me that you want to fuck me”

There is an important ‘thing’ called ‘substance’ in a person. Substance determines what a person is made up of. If man were a product, then his Substance would be the intrinsic worth of the product. Substance forms the building block of man’s values, his choices, his relationships and his philosophy of life; because Substance determines what a person IS.

Substance cannot be borrowed, nor can it be created by flawed standards. Many people will hanker after respect, prestige, status or even money for the power that it brings them. This is an attempt can creating ‘substance’ by a flawed standard set collectively by society to maintain a flawed status quo. This status quo allows those without substance to survive on a false sense of substance that is borrowed or crafted. Neither can substance be borrowed by aspects of one’s personality like physical appearance or latent talent, simply because the existence of these aspects has no relevance to the existence of substance. Simply put, substance is NOT the effect, but the CAUSE. Substance is not created out of man’s thoughts, choices and actions, (although its existence/non-existence may be reinforced by them); but preludes his thoughts, choices and actions, i.e., it is the CAUSE, the CORE from which other aspects of his being perpetrate. Hence, as long as there is Substance in a person, this inherent worth, he does not require a borrowed sanction from anyone else for the ‘worth’ of his actions, thoughts or choices.

Substance inherently exists in a person, as a function of his rationality and selfishness, primarily selfishness. Because a truly selfish man will care about only his own survival, (and only with his rationality can he determine what survival to him is), it can be based only on his own Substance. He cannot afford to depend on, or adhere to, or give credence or accept or acknowledge in any way, any other person’s authority or power to grant him his Substance. This would violate his essence of living purely for his own survival, and his own standards of survival. One might say, therefore, that is existence of Substance in a person is a directly dependant on his selfishness.      

Everything one wants has a price, that one must pay.

The intensity of your want is determined by what you will be willing to pay for it. And in that sense, this price ‘sets’ or determines the value you want has for you. It is a corollary, actually — how much you’re willing to pay will determine how much you want and consequentially how much you want will determine what you are willing to pay for it.

This price, itself, need not cause any pain or grief. It is quite natural and is in fact how it is.

This means I do not (cannot) regret the FACT of HAVING to pay a price. It is a normal and acceptable part of deserving to want.

However, just because it is a ‘normal’ and ‘acceptable’ part of wanting, it is NOT inconsequential or something that one can afford to ignore.I cannot (will not) allow myself to forget that I DID pay a price.It is THIS price that has brought the value that I associate with my want.

When you forget the price, you begin to ignore, ignore the value — value of your want. The want becomes inconsequential, and eventually, non-contextual, i.e. you have no reason anymore to justify the want.

This is why is is so hard to lose someone you love. Because love, demands the highest price of all values.

Every once in a while you hear some unbelievably cute stuff that is just freaking unbelievable. My bro got me this poem. I think it’s epic in terms of wit and charm and cuteness. Here goes:

Daisy Daisy, give me your answer true,

I’m so crazy, all for the love of you

It won’t be a stylish marriage,

‘Cuz I can’t afford a carriage

But you’ll look so sweet, upon the seat

Of a bicycle meant for two.

Michael, Michael, here is my answer true

I can’t cycle, it makes me all black and blue

If you can’t afford the carriage

Call off the bleeding marriage

Cuz I’ll be damned and I’ll be crammed

On a bicycle meant for two

I feel numb.

It’s not supposed to be like this. When something hurts you, you are supposed to take that something away from yourself, so that you can heal your wounds. IF you don’t then the wound never heals; you just become numb.

I feel numb.

Though the object of the hurt is nowhere close. I’m still numb. How do I know this? Because I don’t believe I can be this ‘normal’ given my characteristics and the situation I’m in right now. If I am, then the only way that’s possible is by being numb. Denial. There is no hurt, because there is no object of hurt. It never existed at all. I’m just making it all up in my head.

Or possibly I haven’t healed yet. Yes, that’s it. It’s still an open wound. So going anywhere close to the object of the hurt is going to cause further pain or require fortified numbing.

But, But, the object of the hurt will always hurt. Even after I have healed completely. Then it will be a new wound. Then it becomes a redundant cycle of getting hurting and healing. I’ve read that the capacity to heal diminishes upon repeated injury-healing. One just becomes numb. Back to square one.

Spontaneous Re-generation is the need of the hour.

I don’t want to be numb. I don’t want to hurt either. Lemme know if you’ve figured that one out.

What is the difference between not acknowledging pain and becoming numb? Where is the fucking line? When something heals it doesn’t mean that it will not hurt again. It very well can, by the same object too. Fall 10 times and it will still hurt the 11th. How does that stop? Remove the object forever. Don’t fall in the first place.

The will always be other objects. How many does one remove? How many graves/mountains does one avoid?

Chuck it. Just let it go. The will be more objects after this. Each of them will cause wounds. Each of them will heal. Then there will be new wounds. Heck, then even the old object can be welcomed back. Wounds are wounds. They all cause pain.

I hope the part about capacity of healing diminishing is just a joke. I keep coming back to spontaneous re-generation. Fall 10 times and it will still hurt the 11th. You just learn to get up faster. Wait a minute, is that healing faster or numbing faster?

Maybe it’s not about the object. It’s ME. How does that matter? The answer still remains the same. Stay away from the object of the hurt. STAY AWAY.

Healed wounds are still sensitive you know, even more so.

“I know it’s hard to keep an open heart,

When even friends seem out to harm you;

But if you could heal a broken heart,

Wouldn’t time be out charm you?”

I do hope he’s right.

It’s really hard to go on like this. No point to hurting, healing and then hurting again.

I still feel numb. When does the anesthesia wear off, Doctor?

After my whining in ‘My blog sucks’ I have finally decided to start writing any rubbish that comes to my mind. So here is something that took place sometime back:

Well I indulged in a little “social experiment” sometime back. There are a lot of forums on the internet, as we all know. We most are quite useful — in situations where three heads could be better than one. But then there are also ‘social’ forums — where one can basically socialize and generally air ones opinions.

Background:

SO, I’m registered on bookcrossing.com (there’s a post about what that is somewhere here). And after quite sometime, I actually began to take it seriously. I had signed up for a bookray/ring sometime back and I’d recd tht book — but for certain reasons, I ended up keeping the book for much longer than I was supposed. Not very good. I actually didn’t make the time to read it. And the person who started the ray kept sending me msgs telling me to ‘make a journal entry’. And I’m like Damn! I haven’t even read it yet — what will I write? So I tell her yeah I’ve recd it and haven’t had the time to make an entry. Days go by, and I still haven’t read or made any entries and this person is getting more an more irritated wondering why I haven’t made any entry. And well, although I should be reading. I’m getting a lil irritated too — I said I would make an entry and this person isn’t worried that I’ve had her book for some time, just obsessed over the entry. So I finally decide to write whatever lil I can tell abt the book. And then I finally realize: by a journal entry, she means I’m supposed to write that I have the book. Wow!I leave my views abt it anyway, and contact this person telling them I have an tht I’ll be mailing the book across to the next person, and explaining why I wasn’t making the ‘journal entry’ albeit with a little sarcasm thrown in for good effect.

Experiment:

That gets me thinking — this is weird. She knows I have the book. I told her that. So why worry over me confirming the same thing again on a website? And that got me thinking some more — The purpose of the website was to set books free, let them end up with whoever and then be surprised when someone makes a journal entry telling you their reading your book. But instead it seemed that everyone was obsessed over the tiny details — not just this person, but many others on the website too. I wanted to know if other people thought the same way, so I posted my ponderings on their forum, w/o any mention of this person of course. A general wondering if we obsess over our books once they go into a ray or ring or just left somewhere.

Result:

Quite a few people responded — some didn’t care where their books went. Some did. Some used to but not anymore. Some did in certain circumstances. Cool. Then, this person appears, assuming that the entire thread was targeted towards them. SO, they try to justify themselves and essentially to provide a synopsis of the entire episode. NOW, the replies AFTER her post contain people’s own reactions after freeing the book, AND tell me whether they think I should have left a journal entry or not upon getting the book.

Perspective:

Now, everything written till here can be ignored. ‘Cuz this is the only important part.

1. These people ad no idea of what had transpired between me and this other person. Yet, they made it their business to tell me what they think I should have done.

2. My original post did not mention this person or the incident whatsoever. The incident might have been a trigger, but I did wonder about this everytime I was on the website. That this other person seemed to make an assumption was silly enough. Even sillier was the fact that people forgot to talk about the main content of the post and went on to advise me or her.

Conclusion:

The content of my post was slightly disturbing. No one really wants to admit that they obsess over things. (Particularly in these developed countries where the educated think that it borders on a psychological disorder) But well, we do. On something or the other. And usually, it’s only a matter of getting things into perspective. So, quite obviously, many feel uncomfortable reading it. Yet, most are strikingly honest. There are others who don’t feel uncomfortable. Kudos to them. However, the ones who feel uncomfortable, these belong to two categories: 1. The ones that still addressed the topic, as honestly and as impartially as they could. 2. The ones who told me what I should/should not have done.

When they see a mirror, some people will want to punch it.