A friend gets married...

She was the most beautiful person in the marriage hall
She also seemed the most anxious
I tried inquiring about it to her garland and her ornaments

But they were too busy posing for the photographs
Oh! The photographs and the photographers!
Did they not know that she liked posing with her head tilted?
And the priest! Why did he have to be the only one singing verse after verse?
I badly wanted to shut his mouth and make my friend sing
Her song would have been a sunflower shining in the moonlight
Her song would have been a young boy's laughter in a military camp
Her song would have been a rabbit running around the marriage hall
But slokas and traditions had to precede talent
An amazing singer had to remain silent as her marriage music played on.

I recall the gifting / photography session
The gifts served as the entry tickets to be a part of the marriage album
What if my friends and I had gone without a gift?
All we had wanted had been to see our princess become a queen
But a gift we had - perhaps a formality, perhaps a happy reminder when dusted years later
Though who were we fooling?
Would she have wanted a better reminder than glancing at us from her wedding stage?
What would have run in her mind during that momentary glance?
The lunches we all shared? The fights we all fought? 
The birthdays we all celebrated? Our favorite spot at our college?
We had often debated as to who in our gang would get married first
And there she was, the smiling winner
A few feet away we all stood, happy, proud and emotional...

I recall the gifting / photography session
It reminded me of my school annual days
Climb up the stage, shake hands with a smile, pose with the prize, climb down the stage
All of a sudden, a 25 member gang rushed on to the stage
Similar to the energetic crowd surrounding the news reporter reporting live from a location
The gang positioned itself around the couple, all smiles
As my friend smiled at them politely and as her husband let out a hearty laugh
I realized that it was the husband's family
I looked at my friend amidst the 25 people and felt my heart becoming heavier
She had always found it difficult to select a dish in the college canteen without the gang's help
And there she was, prepared to serve this new family with joy 
A few feet away I stood, happy, proud and emotional...

I recall the gifting / photography session
My friends and I also climbed up that stage and we also handed over a gift
But we did not want to climb down - Her eyes would not let us
We knew she had so much to share, so much to laugh and cry about
Seated in a circle on the stage, sharing the marriage meal
Our gang could have relived the past once more
But then it hit us - Beside her was standing her new friend
We wanted to share a few tips with him
We did not, knowing it would spoil the fun
Letting the new love blossom, my friends and I stepped down.

The protest of two minds

"Thamizhan nenaichaa enna nadakkum nu theriyuthaa!" screams a voice. 

"Is this even right? In the wake of emotion, are we sowing the seeds for the downfall of  democracy?" screams another.

The former is filled with passion and rage. The latter is filled with doubts and fears. 

I realize that a new revolution is on its way in my birth state, Tamil Nadu. My friends, standing amidst the sea of people gathered at the Marina beach, call me and ask me why I haven't yet returned to Chennai from Bangalore to be a part of the protests. One of my friends asked me bluntly, "Do you support Jallikattu or do you not?".

I did not know the answer. 

Is not knowing the answer wrong? Is not having an opinion wrong?

The human in me wanted me to take a stand. But the writer in me did not want to. 

The writer wanted me to think about the people who did not want to form an opinion. The writer wanted me to think about the people who did not want to protest. The writer wanted me to remember Aaron Sorkin's lines from The American President.

"You want to claim this land as the land of the free? Then the symbol of your country can't just be a flag; the symbol also has to be one of its citizens exercising his right to burn that flag in protest."

I see Facebook and WhatsApp being bombarded with memes praising the involvement of the youth and memes mocking the state and central governments. There's a feeling of fear filled joy. 

It is very evident that social media will continue playing a very important role in the forthcoming major political changes. But the fear builds up thinking about the fairness of the battleground it will provide to the two sides of the scenario. 

"Social media is the voice of the common man", one might say. But can the common man be always looked up to for the solutions of political problems?

I do not know the answer. 

But I know to this extent that not knowing the answer and knowing a wrong answer should be given as much importance as knowing the right answer. 

Not being right is also, after all, a democratic right. Denying that would be wrong.

Leaving behind love...

(A fictional piece dedicated to an angel who made a man out of me)

"How would it be if we had black stars on a white sky?", she asked with a serious face, looking at the dark night sky. I did not care to look at the stars. I was looking at one, seated beside me, on the lawn that spread before my office building.

"I am going to miss these questions", I replied in a sad tone.

She remained silent. Her silence always signaled the start of a sad thought train in her head. I wished I had the power to derail her sad thought trains. I wished I had the power to command her brain to stop overthinking though I loved the way her face shrunk with a sad thought.

"What did your boyfriend say?", I asked her, putting up a red signal to her thought train, with the fear of starting another. She had met her boyfriend an hour ago. 

"The usual stuff - 'Don't take a new job in an unknown place. You will get a better one here. I am scared of a long distance relationship.'" 

A teardrop rolled down her cheek. I knew she liked talking while crying and I remained silent.

"I am scared too. Shit scared." Her handkerchief came out. "What if I turn uninteresting over messages and phone calls and Skype?" The blue flowers on her handkerchief were getting watered. "What if he decides to end it? What if I am making the biggest mistake of my life?" The handkerchief covered her entire face. Her hair strands falling across the handkerchief made the blue flowers part of a hanging garden.

I let her cry knowing that she would scold me if I tried consoling her and she would scold me worse if I did not.
Five minutes later, her handkerchief curtain came down, revealing her face that had become so beautiful with the mascara mess. I raised my left hand to point to it but she quickly grabbed it and locked it between her hands. The pressure in her grip revealed her pain. I wished it could be wiped away as easily as her mascara.

"What will I do without you?" she asked. A teardrop rolled down her cheek. I realized I had to keep my handkerchief ready.
And suddenly, as if she had attained enlightenment, her face turned calm. Letting my hand go, she fixed her stare upon me. As I looked at her eyes, my heart skipped a beat. I recognized the stare. I knew what followed next and she uttered it seconds later.
"I feel I am a magician whose most powerful trick is to push myself away from the people I love the most".

My head began spinning in its three year old memory. A teardrop rolled down my cheek. "Maybe it is not your fault. Maybe I am the magician and you ended up getting hurt because you were part of my trick", I told her.

She lifted her hand and placed it on my cheek, a smile appearing across her face. My teardrop rolled down across her fingers. She then moved closer and hugged me. I slowly joined my arms around her.
We were ready for our big magic trick.

****

Three years ago

"Did she really admire me?" my mom asked, excited.

"Yes", I replied. My mom smiled and let silence prevail.

A mild breeze was blowing upon us on our terrace. The sun was on its slow rise and flocks of birds were starting their day's duties.

"Why do you think a girl like her would not like me?" I asked my mom. I felt she would hold the best answer, me being her creation.
"It was not that she did not like you. She just liked someone else more. There is a difference", she replied. I wondered how she constantly managed to look at life standing behind a glass of goodness.

"Do you think I committed a mistake waving her a final goodbye? Do you think I should have stayed a good friend?" I asked my mom, knowing the answer I wanted.
"I do not have an answer to that", my mom replied and added,"But life is pleasant in the way that it rarely lets you reach a point where it is too late to correct things".

"I feel I should just stay away from her", I announced, after a minute of thought.

My mom turned to fix her stare upon me. Her face looked calm. As I looked at her eyes, I was able to hear what she was about to say. The world heard it seconds later.
"Along with my artistic skills and shy nature, I feel that I have also passed on to you my magic of pushing myself away from the people I love the most".

For the first time in my life, she did not seem a mother. Standing beside me was a normal woman with her own pains and sufferings. A teardrop rolled down my cheek.
"Maybe I was intended to be the magician all along. Maybe you don't have to carry it further, having passed it on to me", I whispered, stepping closer to her.

My mom lifted her hand and placed it on my cheek. She then hugged me.
I could feel magic coursing throughout my body.

The writer's block

The pen has not run out of ink
Contrarily, it is so filled that it only releases blobs
I want to be a horse with blinkers
Not the housefly I am now, noticing more than needed
I look around my bedroom
The walls keep expanding, letting in ideas and images
I am yet to find the door
I take a deep breath, hoping to exhale the chaos
The nostrils refuse to open
Sense is left screaming in suffocation
I do not know if the brain is to be blamed or the heart
One seems too filled and the other, too empty
Maybe it should be the other way around
Maybe the meaning is too hidden to be found
Maybe I need to step off my masochistic mound
Maybe a lesson of life to keep the writer earthbound
As clarity ceases and confusion compounds
I offer a bittersweet smile to the universe
It doesn't seem to have learnt
It can never prescribe pain to stop my writing
Words are my way out of worries and wounds.

Understanding birthdays

First came the birthdays when I really did not understand what was happening around me. There would be new clothes and new toys. There would be balloons and glitter. There would be extra pinching-of-the-cheeks. There would be my recitation of the same nursery rhyme over and over and over. There would be that 10-years-elder-to-me girl angel from the neighboring flat. 

Then came the birthdays when I had to answer the very important question from my mom.

"What do you want - Coffee bite? Eclairs? Alpenliebe?"

The answer mattered a lot because the toffee had to be one that would be loved by my entire class - not to mention my favorite teacher angel, by my entire apartment, by all the neighboring kids joining me in the playground. 

During those birthdays, whenever I walked around my class to distribute chocolates during the lunch hour, I got more excited when I noticed that a classmate was not at his/her bench. It presented me an opportunity to place a couple of toffees inside the desk and offer the classmate a tiny surprise. 

Many a time, we make the mistake of assuming that only the person celebrating the birthday needs to be surprised.

Surprises never require occasions.

Then came the birthdays when the birthday dress attained gargantuan importance - Because it had to be worn to school, and more importantly, because it had to be worn before that angel seated in the corner desk of my class. 

There would be the realization that I looked awkwardly fat but there would also be the hope that my new birthday dress would make me appear as cool as Prince Adam in He-Man.

There would be a very calculated attempt to enter the classroom as late as possible. That walk, in the birthday dress, from the classroom doorway to my desk would make all the hero-introduction scenes of Tamil films shy away in shame. 

Then came the birthdays when the expectation of gifts arose, accompanied by the fear of treats. 

When a good friend forgot to wish on a birthday, the forgetfulness threw away a hint of a big surprise that lay ahead. When a good friend forgot to wish on a birthday and there turned out to be no big surprise, the ensuing fight ensured that the friendship grew stronger. 

As the friend circle grew, the number of wishes via text messages, Facebook messages and WhatsApp messages increased. But what always remained interesting was seeing how the really dear friends - the ones who had gotten so close that hearing them wish 'Happy birthday' seemed awkward - reacted to me turning a year older.

I will always cherish all their reactions.

Then came the birthday that was yesterday.

Thinking about it day before yesterday had given me a strange feeling. 

I was not going to be at school. I was not going to be at college. I was not going to be at office. I was not going to be with any group of friends. I was not going to be with my cousins. I was going to be at home with my mom and grandmother. 

I had not had the slightest of doubts regarding the affection that would be showered at home. But I had reserved doubts regarding the affection I might miss, not being in the vicinity of friends. 

And yesterday taught me a number of lessons.
Our aunts and uncles deserve to be loved more than they are - They love us more than we deserve to be.

A text message is no way lesser to a phone call. 

A friend who had called to wish and had fumbled a couple of minutes later, running out of topics, is no way lesser to a friend who, after a 30 minute call, had wanted to meet in person because there was so much left to talk. 

A friend who had called yesterday night, apologizing for the delay, holds the same amount of affection as the friend who had wished late night the day before yesterday, afraid that sleep might overcome the love. 

A friend who had forgotten to wish is still a friend one has to be grateful for - The absence of the wish only suggested that the person's love is stronger than his/her memory.

Prioritizing one's work over a loved one's birthday never meant disrespect to the latter - It just signaled survival. 

Most of us set out on a journey to find an angel, leaving behind the real angels at home.

P.S.: An extra-special lesson - Love never gives a damn about geographical distances - A friend from the United States, a friend from Tanjore and a friend from the neighboring street stood testimony to this.

Notes & thoughts from a short trip - II

On the lookout for a miracle

Whenever I travel in a bus at nighttime, I keep staring outside the window, looking out for solitary lampposts and lonely huts. Such sights offer me a feeling I experience when I discover a child's drawing on a paper used to bundle up groceries.

But last weekend, as my bus spiraled on its way to Gokarna, I was on the lookout for ghosts.

I do not know how ghosts look but I continued looking for a flickering white light, for a body-less being, for a soft whisper with a mild fragrance.
It was not a want for a cheap scare. It was just a desperate need for some sort of a miracle.

If not for ghosts, I was ready to make do even with a God. But either refused to show up and all that lay ahead was just a beautiful trip.

****

Finding a place to stay

Restroom.

That seemed the priority. The living room could be compromised with. A night's sleep held lesser importance than a day's dump.

It made me wonder about the significance given to the living rooms and bedrooms in our houses. All the fancy furniture, the wall hangings, the show pieces - To a weary traveler, all these would seem as unimportant as the stairway in a 30 storied building. 

Aren't we all weary travelers, some literally and some metaphorically, in our daily lives?

****

Eating mindfully

Lemon-ginger-honey tea and mashed potato with butter. 

Possibly, the simplest of dishes one could order on a vacation. But sitting on an old plastic chair, behind an old plastic table, in an old and tiny cafe, with the Arabian sea before me, it was the best dish I had had in a long time.

There was no deliverable waiting. There was no meeting scheduled. There was no hint of sleep trying to overcome me. Every spoonful of the mashed potato and every sip of the lemon-ginger-honey tea lived its entire life in my mouth. Their travel down my throat was in rhythm with the receding waves. 

No gobbling up. No hurried swallowing. I managed to eat, after a long time.

****

The waves

Why do we like waves?
Is it because, unlike us, they cannot be controlled?
Is it because, like a pleasant dream, they come to us voluntarily yet do not let us lock them?
Is it because, like really good friends, they keep coming back to the shore though the shore does not make an effort to hold them?

Is it because they dance so well?
Is it because, deep down, we are still the underwater micro organism that started evolution?

Is it because, like many of us, they are the creators and destroyers of their own lives?

Why do we like waves?

****

Sunset/Sunrise

My brother and I were seated on a rock formation at the Om beach. We were waiting for the sunset. The two of us sat beside each other, sharing silence. The two writers that we are, that evening, we did not find the need for words. 

The sun slowly started sinking in to the sea. I hurriedly grabbed my mobile phone and played 'Oru deivam thantha poove'. Halfway through the song, the sun disappeared. But at the very moment the bright orange ball left my sight, I realized why I loved sunsets and sunrises.

No matter how bad things are, no matter how good things are, the sunsets and the sunrises would go on. A bad day always has to end and a good day always has to start.

The next day, before the break of the dawn, I rushed to the Kudle beach and into the waves. There was no one around. I stood knee-deep amidst the waves, not knowing if I preferred darkness or light. The sun started its majestic rise. I hurriedly grabbed my mobile phone and played 'Oru deivam thantha poove'. 

A feeling of warmth started seeping in.

Sharing secrets

As I stood at the Murdeshwar beach eating cotton candy, and on my way to the temple, my focus was only on the gigantic Shiva statue, seated in penance.  

Man had built a remarkable statue of God to serve as a constant reminder of man's greatness.

But after I entered the temple, the large Nandi statue grabbed my attention. I remembered what my mom had told me in my childhood. 

"If you desperately want something to happen, whisper it in Nandi's ears like a secret. Nandi has the power to make it happen".

As I walked closer to Nandi, I realized that I did not want to share my wants. Instead, I had a bag full of secrets. I unloaded the bag and handed over the secrets to Nandi. 

It felt really good catching up with an old friend.

Can I be your O2?

I sharpened my pencil to write this poem

The lead broke and went rolling across the paper

That beautiful mole of yours - Can that go rolling too?

Your mole reminds me of the universe

Galaxies, stars and planets.. Rotations and revolutions..

Does the sun have to rise every morning?

I maintain peace with its routine for a simple reason

My favorite part of every day - Waking up before you, to see you try to wake up

Chuck your bindi. Chuck your mascara. 

That unruly hair, those un-opening eyes and that uncontrollable yawn

You are a princess all the way from the bed to the washroom.

Yesterday, during my walk, I came across a flock of birds

All pigeons but for a solitary dove

Like that single strand of grey hair on your head

Remember that day I discovered it and you broke down?

I try imagining you old and wrinkled

The affection does not diminish a bit

Reminds me of the stagnating water in our kitchen sink

To hell with all the utensils while you wash them

Why do you hold them so dearly?

To hell with the coffee mug - That beautiful ellipse is mine

Can I gift you a packet of straws instead? But wait!

To hell with the straws too. And also your toothbrush.

I have sharpened my pencil again

The pencil shavings show me an exciting version of your eyelids

Can I reroute the path to my office between your eyelashes and eyebrows? 

I have a confession - I threw away your previous pair of eyeglasses

You did not lose them at the restaurant

But the eyeglasses deserved it, spending more time with you than I do

Kindly hide away your new contact lenses

And your comb and your wristwatch and your slippers, especially your favorite pillow

I have already contacted a buyer to dispose all our furniture

I now need to worry about only one problem

How do I turn a part of myself into oxygen?