RUMOURS

Charlie from “The Perks of Being a Wallflower” has said about news and if I paraphrase him, to use in the context of rumours, that “I don’t know how rumours in high school travel so fast and how often they are true.” But in my case the rumours were not just false but far away from the truth. The thing with rumours is that they are always about the other person’s private life and mostly concerning his/her love or sex life. I haven’t come across any rumour that is something about say, food, something like a certain Mr/Miss X loves butter chicken! And it’s baffling because food is the most important thing under the sun!

When you are a teenager everyday you learn something about yourself or about other people and most of those learned lessons stay with you for good. Rumours about me only made me aware about something I had no clue. I wasn’t a very popular kid in school. I wasn’t a class topper or a famous athlete and neither did I win any of the co-curricular activities, but I was someone whom the other kids from the other sections and classes would know by name. You can say that I wasn’t well known but I was fairly recognized. But all of that changed one day and only because of rumours.

By the 9th standard I was very comfortable in my skin. I knew I was gay and I was okay with that. And unlike many of my straight friends I wasn’t looking for friendship with girls so that it can lead to somewhere more meaningful. I had girl-friends in school and outside school and that was it. There was no hidden motive.

I used to attend coaching classes and my batch had students from my school and as well as from other schools. I had made some good friends over there and one of them was P. P was from different school but lived in my locality. Small town, you know. P was exceptionally good. She had a great sense of humour and a knack for getting into trouble. We bonded over our shared liking of weird humour and gossip. In a short period of time we had become good friends. It helped that we had made a certain routine. Everyday after coaching classes we would take a  walk together to her home and then I would leave for mine after dropping her off. Sometimes we were joined by other kids but mostly it was just us. And yeah, apart from P, in my coaching classes there were two or three girls who were not only my schoolmates but also lived in my locality and one of them was my neighbour. And the rumours took shape with the help of  these three girls.

My friendship with P and the fact that I was friendly with other girls had put me on the spot; I was starting to get noticed more in my school, not just by students but also by teachers. Suddenly a lot of people had started teasing me that I had lots of girl friends, and I got frequent requests from the guys who wanted to know more about this particular girl. It was just a matter of time before all of these would turn into some nasty rumour that I was some sort of a freakster who ran behind girls.

Couple of days later, a friend of mine informed me about these rumours.

1. I am a freak.
2. Every day I follow and basically stalk this girl
    all the way to her house.
3. I am dating three girls at the same time.

I had a really good laugh thinking that someone got it all so wrong, monumentally wrong. I didn’t correct him because I didn’t think all this would snowball eventually. And true to my character I enjoyed the little attention I got. But the rumours hit the peak in the next few days. One evening during the last lecture, Mrs N, our SS teacher who knew me personally informed me that all the teachers in the staff room were talking about me, and that I had to be very careful. Just imagine the kind of life in a small town in early 2000s. Claustrophobic is an understatement.

Our classroom had three columns of benches. To the right sat girls, boys sat on the left side and in the middle sat the girls only on the first two benches while boys occupied the remaining ones. I was sitting in the middle section and my seat was the extreme end of the bench towards the right meaning towards the girls’ side. As soon as the assembly prayers ended the girl sitting next to me said something, some casual remark, and our class teacher saw that. She stood up from her chair, came to my place and with an intense look asked us, what is happening between you two? I knew that instant that the situation had turned ugly. The first thing that came to my mind was that my parents should never come to know of this. But the day just passed.

The next Saturday after school hours when I was walking home, I was joined by those three girls, the Gujarati versions of mean girls, who had a bigger hand in spreading those rumours. They walked right behind me, keeping some distance but making sure that I wouldn’t miss a single word they were speaking. Referring to me in the third person, they gossiped about me for 30 minutes. And I heard every word. I knew they were the ones who started it and turned something innocent into ugly.

Next day, on Sunday, for some neighbourly work my father sent me to one the girl’s home. I wonder what came onto her but she apologised to me for the previous day. And my reaction to that, my genuine reaction was that I couldn’t care less about it or about those ramous. I really didn’t care and it hadn’t affected me in any way whatsoever. And that was the truth. It dawned on me that even after the whole drama which included teachers also, at the end of the day, I really didn’t care whatever people thought or talked about me; that I didn’t pay attention to rumours and nothing was going to change my behaviour or my way of living. I was surprised that how naturally this "art of living" came to me. I couldn’t help what people would think or believe about me, so why would I let it have any positive or negative effect on me? Even after all these years, I have remained the same. I do wish people rather than believing in rumours try their best to know the truth but there anyway isn't going to be any effort from my side to correct them. I am just not interested.

P and I remained good friends till the end of the high school. Our friendship didn’t survive when we moved to different colleges. But that’s how life is.

It happened one night.

It had a weird shape like some Pacific island and had one or two teeth marks. A glorious crimson colour. It was just above my left nipple. I could say that you had worked on it. You gave it to me like I was your possession and you were marking your territory like some wild animal and  you were certainly a wild animal that night.

Exams were over. It was the last day of the first semester of my engineering college before short vacation. All of my friends and classmates and entire college in general just couldn't wait to write the paper and leave for home. Most had already packed and had brought their luggages to college so they could get to the bus station or railway station right after finishing the paper to leave for their home town. But not me. I had lied to my parents about having one more assignment submission and therefore I had to stay for one extra day.

We met on the social networking site Orkut and were talking for the last two weeks. We planned to meet after the exam. You said many nice things about me which nobody has ever said to me. The mere fact that you, a twenty-three year old man, were interested in this eighteen year old boy was enough for me to fall head over heels for you. I didn't even know that I had this thirst inside me which was making me longing for you. You were everything I ever wanted.

My parents thought that the smile on my face was because I was happy to come home. Would have they guessed that their little boy wasn't little boy anymore? I kept thinking about that night, that beautiful night. I could still feel your lips on my lips, your wet tongue in my earlobes. I couldn't forget how you feasted on my body and how much I loved it. When I took you in my mouth I felt like I was born for this moment. I didn't want to ever let you go. And in the end you gave me a souvenir on my chest. You said this would remind me of you back home. You stupid boy, It was a gift of love. Cherished one.

The holidays passed very slowly, without internet I couldn't even message you.  Long days small nights spent in waiting for you. The first thing I did when I reached back to my hostel was to look for you. You weren't there. You had deleted your online existence. I went to see you at your home, turned out over the holidays you had shifted. It was disappointment after disappointment. I was getting impatient. Still I had a hope that I would find you at the college, I just needed to find out where the classes of post graduation students were held.

Two days later when I was coming out the department, I looked up and you were there, climbing down the stairs. My heart skipped a beat. You stared at me. I was waiting for that smile. I thought you would run and hug me and everything would be good again. But you, damn you, after pausing for a moment, just turned to right and left. I knew I didn't need to know anything more. It was over. You already had broken my heart.

I will always be thankful to you for giving me that night. I was loved that night. So thank you for that. Funnily, today, I don't remember your face or your name but I do remember the gift you gave me that night, very fondly.

Beginning

It was way beyond midnight or very early morning. It has been hours since they were inside the home. Making love, Smoking, sharing their cigarettes. Sharing their truths.

He: I'm old, broken, I will die a death of a moth.
All I can be a cloud which is barely a cloud in the perfect blue afternoon sky.

He: And I'm young, beautiful and probably I will live forever.
I'm like first rain, light tangy smell, I'm like a perfectly cast character.

He: You are god's best creation.
And you want me?
Me?
I'm dirty inside.
You will have to clean memories, past, things which I did knowingly.
You have to kill them.
Don't show mercy.
You know they have to die for us to survive.
I may cry.
Wet the pillows.
Again.
Make them go.
Can you do that?

He: I may not succeed or survive. But I will try.
I will kill all of them, but you who has to bury them.
Again.
My heart is open if you need a hideout.
For Ever.
I will do all that but in return you have to hear.

He: what?

He: I love you.
.
.
.
He: You know I do.

Mama, I'm (not) Coming Home.

I am sitting here at the Bangalore Airport, waiting to board my flight to home to celebrate the festival season with the family. It is very early morning. The darkness has gone and it is getting brighter out there. First few minutes of twilight. It has been many years since the last time I saw a rising sun, and I am hoping to see one today. I don’t like twilight because they make me feel sad but when I say I don’t like them, I mean the evening ones and not the morning ones. I have never been that early to witness them, so have very little experience to form any particular feelings towards them.

As I am heading towards my parent’s home and waiting here has given me an ample amount of time to reflect what my feelings about home are. I am going through a lot. That’s why I decided to write it down. For last many years I have been struggling with the idea of home. Because what is home? What does it mean when people say ‘I am home’? And most importantly what is my home?  Where do I belong? 

As some of you probably know that I grew up in a small town in the state of Gujarat. I lived there with my family. We were pretty close family of five that includes me, my parents and my two elder siblings. I moved out of my home when I joined college in another town, nearby. I was still near to my home where I would pay my visits on weekends. Not all but many. After college I moved to Bangalore and weekend trips were converted into once-in-six-months trips.

Like most people, while growing up, my home was the best place in the whole world. I remember everything, however small, that I did there. In that house only I recognized myself as gay.  I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror; I looked into my eyes and told myself that “Parth, you are gay. Congratulations.” (I never struggled with my sexuality; in fact I was happy for being different). I remember how I used to change cloths keeping the window open so the neighbor guy can see me. Oh! Puberty. (He saw me every day changing cloths. without fail). You get the idea. Basically it was the best place.

But in college, I got to learn that ‘Home’ is a feeling and I was losing that feeling regarding my parent’s home. Yes, growing up as gay was one of the major factors. Rather than going back home, many weekends I simply stayed at college, I lied to my parents that I have to stay here to complete the project, while in fact I would cruise online for other gays. But the feeling that you will not be accepted in that home for who you are and in future you will have to move out actually made me move out mentally a lot sooner. Yes, it was an assumption but it already had its effects. I had started to prefer my crampy, semen stained hostel bed more than my bedroom’s soft bed. My home was not home for me anymore.

And since I have met A, my life has changed a lot. And one of the biggest changes that I consider is the idea of home is changed from a physical place to a person.  A is my home. I know making a person your home is very dangerous thing to do but that is the truth and he is my home. I hope that one day we will have a place which we both will call our home. But right now I am happy with him being my home.

I still think my parent’s home is a pretty good place where I am always welcomed and people living in that home are eagerly waiting for me to come. My parents are still hoping that I will be back there one day for good. Of course, it goes without saying that I have not abandoned the people, I love them very much and I will never leave them but I have abandoned the place.

So I will board this plane and will go to home and I will be genuinely happy to see them. I can imagine how my dad will tell my mom to cook my favorite dishes and mom will be like ‘you don’t need to tell me what to cook for my kid, I have already made that. Always one step ahead of you.’ And my sisters will stay for nights, so my niece and nephews whom I immensely love can play with me. And once they will be asleep, we will start gossiping about other family members. For the next whole week my family’s life will circled around me. I can see that  mom will keep start talking to me whenever I will take out my phone, or will send my niece to call me if I am not around her for more than 10 minutes. She will come out and stand at the gate if I am going out of the house. I can see her crying on the last day of my stay. Her eyes will be begging me not to leave and stay there.

I am sorry mom, but I cannot come back. I am not at my home. My home is different. I don’t belong here.

{P.S.: - I am back to Bangalore. I had a great holiday. I had forgotten to publish this post.}

WhatsApp DP

I had a lot free time today afternoon. After a heavy Sunday lunch I just wanted to nap for three hours. But alas sleep didn’t come. Just to pass the time I thought why not ping somebody with whom I haven't talked in ages. It will be good to know what’s going on with them.

I was going through my contacts on WhatsApp and saw a friend of mine with whom I had talked last time probably four years ago. Though we were school mates and grew up in same neighborhood, we were never friends. But we did care and had respect for each other. After school we went to different colleges and lost whatever little touch we had with each other. In the final year of my college when I was visiting my town we found each other on Grindr. It was surprisingly shocking for both of us. We met at our neighborhood's park and talked a lot about each other. He told me that he was engaged to a girl and planning to marry her. He was from a Marwari family and they had a very good already established family business of sweets. His family never gave much importance to his and his siblings’ studies. They were happy that he is at least passing the grade cause in the end he has to run the family business. When he accepted himself as gay it was already late for him to pursue a career and become financially independent. He tried hard but the foundation of the education was so weak that he couldn’t even finish the college and had to drop out. In the end he had no other way of becoming financially independent from his family. One time he tried to come out to his older brother, hoping that he'd understand but it turned out very horrible. His brother left him alone only when he lied that he wasn't gay anymore and had changed his sexuality.

I knew already that he was not a fighter but not everybody is fighter. Not everybody wants to fight. Not everybody can fight.

After a while I moved to Bangalore and we lost touch again. One year ago I had heard from a school friend that he got married. 

I was staring at his WhatsApp DP. It was a selfie of two couples. He was standing with his wife and beside them was the other couple. Everyone in the selfie looked happy and into the moment and I could say that they were having fun, except him. I could read his eyes. He was tired. Tired of pretending. His eyes were, may be, saying like he could give anything to be anywhere in the world than here.

I did not ping him.

The Day.

It was small village with the population less than 1000 people. He and his family lived in a home located in the middle of the their farm. There lived a family of five who were neighbors, also lived in a similar set up. They shared a good relationship with each other. He was fourteen and youngest of the three siblings.

It was Sunday and his mom had made khichdi for supper. Being the youngest he was asked to go the neighbor's and bring a cup full of ghee. Ghee goes well with Khichdi. Such exchanges were common between the families. He asked the neighbors' sixteen year old son who seemed to be alone in the house for some ghee. They stood together in the large store room. Alone. He reached for the top of the self. He thought he could do with some help. Before he could even realize their bodies collided as they made a simultaneous move for the jar. And then it happened, like the collision was just a simple nod that they were looking for. Nobody knows how it all began.

Few seconds later, his fear surfaced. He thought it was all wrong. What would bhaiya say? Father would most likely beat him if he'd come to know. He thought of pushing him away. He raised his hands, but the hands instead of pushing, embraced him and brought him closer and closer. All of it didn't take much time. Both were young. He took the cup full of ghee now and ran back.

His mom asked him when he gave her the cup, "what happened, why are smiling? What mischief are you up to now?"
When he first tasted the khichdi, it burnt him on the lower lip which bore a cut on it now. He added more ghee but it didn't stop burning. His hunger had grown only stronger after the evening. He finished the whole plate but his hunger remained the same.

My Struggling With Twilight: Part 3

Seasons play a vital role on our moods and based on it, people have their preference of seasons. AKA their favorite season/seasons. Even though it’s sunny and hot to the point that it can kill you, and tortures you till you could break yourself, I love summer, especially summer evenings. I grew up in Gujarat. And generally Gujarat is windy state, where coolest wind blows in winter from north that freezes you up and hottest wind blows in summer from south-west which almost roasts you. But evening winds are always comforting in summer. They mostly remain moderate. Also summer days are very long in Gujarat. Nights become dark at around 8 pm.  Pretty Long Days. Huh.

Summer usually starts from March to June here.  So generally I spent good amount of summer days in my college, staying in hostel with friends. Those were the carefree days with the worries only of some particular subject or a girl or a boy, and in my case a particular faculty. So come to the point I spent most of the twilight time, when going out of your home doesn’t kill you, with friends taking leisure walk outside of my hostel.  After dinner at 7.30 I and my friends especially Y, L, H and HH were used to take this walks. Sometimes we had company of V, D or some other friend.

My college was located on an aptly named college road with some other five different colleges so residential areas around the road were bustling with students.  On a walk one can meet their classmates or some just some small talk friends. My college was the largest one and was the last college on the road. Perpendicular to the road a canal used to flow just 50 meter further from my college, along with a dirt road parallel to the canal. (See image below). Also on the road, further crossing the canal A Hanuman temple was there which used to get crowded on every Saturday.

       

Now all those twilight and all those walks have many stories but not on a particular day. Each walk has something unique to tell or sometimes nothing to say. There isn’t a particular day that has something extraordinary tale. Sometimes we met a college friend whom we don’t meet in college cause he doesn’t come to college. Or Sometimes we saw a couple from our college crossing the gate of the college and disappear behind the trees where none can see them (God knows for what :-D ). Sometimes we saw college football team coming from their practice, all sweaty and wet in their shorts. It was a relief for my sore eyes. But most days we were just alone, talking in ourselves, laughing, ewwing*. And that was it.

On very rare occasions we used to go on the dirt road along with the canal. Mid road there was a fall in the canal, like a small waterfall. At that point the road had some stone walls like dividers so no one can fall into the canal. We used to sit on those dividers till it becomes dark or till police comes and asks us to leave because in their eye, every person sitting there was a potential suicider. While I was within the moment with my friends creating memories with them, I was also not there. It was the time of day which I hated the most along with my habit of thinking only about myself 24/7. I wasn’t out to them so I was unable to tell them very core feelings of mine. I always remained in a way out of the group. I knew that but I just couldn’t help it. I was busy balancing my “in closet” and “out of the closet” life. I always felt guilty about it, for being aloof. But then again days passed and twilights came and again we went for a walk and again I was the same.

Well, that’s it. This post is like a movie without a plot (most movies around the world). But I would like to thank my friends for giving me their time and memories to look at and smile at. I don’t remember our talks or the jokes that I made as I was the hilarious one but I do remember that I was happy because my friends were with me in those twilights. And I am grateful for that. For that I love them. At least some of them.
 

*Ewwing: An Expression where your reaction to the most of the things are just “ewww, that’s gross” 

My Struggling with Twilight: Part 2

It’s been quite long since I penned down my thoughts under the title “Twilight” and I thought it was high time I took it further, so here goes, part 2! I’m sure even the Twilight movies can easily beat me to it. Anyhow, this is another one of my trysts with Twilight.  

I’ll begin with what inspired me to write this down. It was just yesterday evening when I was waiting for him to arrive, and I stood by the road in front of a shop. The road that lay ahead of me wore a deserted look. There were a few stray dogs lazily strolling across the road and of course, one or two automobiles which seemed to suddenly appear out of nowhere zoomed past me. Apart from all this, it was relatively a dull evening, windless and it somehow made me feel sad and bored. Now that is a deadly combination, isn’t that! I have no idea why I hate this time of the day; I hate Twilight. As usual, He took a while to arrive, as he does always and as I looked around I could see a television playing inside the house across the road, through its window. All I could figure out was that it was probably a cartoon show and I could also see kids stuck to the TV screen. And this reminded me of the time when I was a slave of television.

It was the happiest time on TV, well before Ekta Kapoor ruined it all. The time when Star Plus wasn’t a popular channel but still was my favourite! I would avidly follow a show called “Star bestsellers” even if it meant reaching my tuitions late by 15 minutes! 

And there was this one show I could never watch but had only seen its promotional ads and it was called “Kshitij ke Uss Aur”(Beyond the horizon). The whole ad was shot during twilight. From the ad it looked like the story was divided into two parts, one was based in Mumbai and another on the other side of Kshitij in Shimla. In Mumbai, the shot was that of a Gunda who has kidnapped this young girl and had held her at rampuri knifepoint! And the other part showcased a couple in their late thirties sitting on a bench amidst pine trees with hot coffee mugs clasped in their hands and with sad, gloomy faces. Surprising! That’s where it all came to an end, the ad I mean!

And I guess the fact that the ad was shot during the twilight hour was the only thing what made it memorable to me. I wonder why. I don’t see anything special about the ad, not even the hunky gunda guy, not even the beautiful beach or breathtaking scenario of Shimla, but still! 

It is so gloomy! Both outside and on the inside! I am sad. I just wish every time I’m immersed in this feeling I have him by my side who would only make this worth enduring! J

Thanks to Richa, harish, Onir, Cindrella, Aamir and a thousand others for making a difference.

And yet, I don’t understand why every year at the end of April my parents invite the whole family for lunch. Mom says “family ko season ka first aam ka ras (we gujjus cant bear a summer without it) toh khilana padta hai na.” :’( and I’m always like “What the....???”.

Ideally in any family a get together means bade bado ke sath and bache bacho ke saath. But the sad thing for me I guess, was that I happened to be the youngest kid in family. And the next in line was 5 years older, leaving me all alone with none to play with!

So it was the same get together “mango” lunch for the so-called mango-crazy people. My school vacation had just started off and I was excited to enter the last year of my middle schooling (7th grade). I was 12 years old and as ignorant and innocent as any 12 year old could have been.

After lunch while everyone sat down chitchatting with each other in the drawing room, my elder cousin, who was I guess 19 years old back then in the context of a pakdapakdi game, dragged me into one of the rooms.

What happened next – I hadn’t imagined it in my wildest imaginations, the time froze and so did I. I was clueless. And the same thing continued for a span of 3 years. It took me that long really, to finally pull myself together and to reach a point where I could finally “disagree” or nod my “dissent”.

Finally when I went to college I got to know about the entire situation, I got to know that I am the victim or survivor of Child Sexual Abuse(CSA), the current laws of India, 2007’s report of UNICEF and Ministry of Women and Child Development - everything was just a mere disappointment.

Years passed and then I saw Harish on Richa Aniruddh’s show “Zindaji Live” on IBN7. I was glad and so happy to see that one person is trying to tell the world about the hidden reality of our society and more glad to see Harish for taking this courageous step of telling the world about it. Later in 2011 Onir comes up with the film “I am Abhimanyu” based on the life of Harish Iyer and Ganesh Nallari. And now Aamir Khan confronts the much taboo’ed topic in his show “Satyamev Jayate” leaving no stone unturned.

 I would like to thank those people who are trying to make difference and on the whole making the country more humane.

Thank You Richa, it all started with you. It’s you who took the first step to tell India that her future is falling prey to “abuse”. Thank you so much for being such an inspiration for others.

Thank you Harish, nothing much to say, you have been there fighting for it for years and we are all proud of you.

Thank you Onir, for such a wonderful film.

Thank you Aamir for leaving the whole India deeply moved with the hidden reality of our families.

And as per the latest news Child Sexual Abuse Bill has been successfully passed in Loksabha. Time to cheer.. yaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyy….  

Ek time constraint se bhari bechari LOVE (?) story, with other affecting factors

Well this writing is all about how when you fall in love, you go on, you let disasters happen, the true pictures of your inner feelings come face-to-face, you witness this way too absurd state of yours, family and friends just brainwash you, and you are in the end, confused and clueless. It’s based on true story but as per the protagonist’s request I am here going to change the names. So let’s call him RAHUL (too common a name, waise bhi “naam to suna hi hoga”) and lets call her Anjali. ;)

Let’s first have their introduction.

Rahul: A boy next door you’ll find, simple and naïve and way too stereotypical, you know what I mean? Someone who never puts his bike’s key in a proper place just so it saves him time that would go into searching for it now and then, or never switches off the lights or the fan to save electricity, or never learnt to remove his shoes exactly where it should be so it doesn’t block the doorway entry, and many other things, you got it right? In short a typical Indian guy who is ecstatic about loud and noisy music and Sachin scoring a century is something more than a personal accomplishment for him.

Now Anjali: Well, I never got to know her personally, which is why I keep this bit low-key and free of any judgements.

So to start off, Rahul and Anjali meet through common friends four months ago. That evening Anjali who actually had seen Rahul once before and liked him, confessed to him about her liking. And Rahul without having any feelings whatsoever towards her, accepted it thinking “I don’t have any girl friends, so let me give it a try” :s

And then, long calls, after work meetings, Sunday night dinners, finally they had started to like each other. Mind you they just had liked each other. So one fine day in the presence of their friends, Rahul proposes to her, and she.................well....................accepts! J

And soon I got to know that the “proposal” was forced by a common friend. As they were headed out together they wanted him to propose to her in their presence (whether he wanted to or not, was secondary I guess, they didn’t bother to ask him, nor was he himself concerned about it). I wonder if he ever did ask himself this question “Do I love her really, or not?”.

Begane ki proposal main Abdulla Deewana..

And then in last four months nothing much changed, long calls were still happening as well as the meetings, but for one thing that changed - Rahul was in love with her. But she as it appeared, had yet not crossed the “liking” stage.

Kahani Me Twist:

Anjali’s parents were forcing her to get married (the time constraint shows up here), and so one day Rahul goes to meet her parents to ask for Anjali’s hand for marriage. All this while she still, remember, hasn’t crossed the “liking” stage, or should I be blunt enough and say - doesn’t really love him.

Why the hell did she agree to Rahul meeting her parents?

Her parents didn’t approve of Rahul as a viable candidate as he didn’t belong to their cast... Pweeeeh…


And now she wouldn’t go against her parents’ will!

Or her own will I guess??

Not clear at all…


But one thing is clear that Rahul is saved from falling into a trap, and it’s better that way to not marry her and end up in a love-less relationship. So she may have taken a wise decision in the end. Both for herself and for Rahul.

Rahul and Anjali’s common friends:

Now the common friends of the two, one who already has had 12 girlfriends in the past and one who is currently in an extra marital affair... are now bitching about Anjali and calling her a characterless woman. I wonder what they must be thinking about themselves? :P

Begane ki shaadi me abdulle abhi bhi dewaane hi hai..

And poor Rahul is trying hard to deal with such toxic remarks about her!

So now things are on a pause between them.

So things I want to ask, tell and want to think is that??

1. How “giving time to a relationship” is important?
2. What is the limit to which you must allow your family and friends to sneak
into your personal and private life?
3. I don’t understand when Rahul says that he couldn’t create love for him in
her. Can love be created? And if you think you can create love, do you
actually understand what love is?

The twilight…part 1….( Not about the movie of course, )

It was last Friday when I was heading towards home from the city of Ahmedabad. I boarded the bus which was scheduled to leave at 4.30p.m. And hell! I was up for a three hours long journey finding myself in the world’s most-crammed bus ever, placed over one of the least comfortable seats ever. It was 6.15 pm, and I saw the setting sun as the bus coursed on the Bridge of River Mahisagar, the fourth largest river of Gujarat. The beautiful river demarcates the two districts and just as the bus crossed the bridge the first thing that met the eyes were huge areas of mining and factories that churned out little pieces of stones. The dust coming out from the factories and the mines added to the gloominess brought in by the setting sun. The roads were deserted and people were nowhere within sight. Peeping out of the window I could only see loneliness and hollowness, and unfortunately, I loved the feeling it evoked in me. It reminded me of the scene in the film named Border, in the end, where in Akshay Khanna dies and Pooja Bhatt waits for him with longing eyes. I forced myself to think of something that made me feel good about this twilight.


Way back in 90’s, I guess somewhere in 1996, I was 8 years old and my sister was 11. Our house lay close by the river where it took a sudden meandering turn along its path. On the bank opposite to where my home was, there was a small Dargaah. Kehne ke liye it was close, but it was an altogether different place, a world apart. My side was crowded with people and their ill-planned houses, and the other side, also crowded but with trees and trees with birds and their chirpings. One fine Sunday when twilight struck, my dad took me and my sister to that place. I was thrilled to be on my dad’s Bajaj Super Scooter, nestled safely in the leg space provided, right in front of him. It almost felt as if it was I who was riding the bike. It barely took us ten minutes to exit our world and to enter the magical world on the other side. After crossing the bridge, we left the main road and took the small path that was covered with a lot of dirt. The muddy path was adorned on both sides by rows of fragrant Nilgiri trees. The birds were chirping at its peak, but it wasn’t noisy, it was the music of the souls and I can feel it even today. As we reached the Dargaah, we found nobody around but for the Maulvisaab along with a few Peacocks that ran here and there. I had never seen one up close. Dad led me inside the Dargaah. My sister waited outside. The atmosphere inside was suffused with the aroma of rose petals and incense sticks which made the experience divine. Once my Dad and I were outside, the Maulvisaab made gentle hand movements over me and my sister holding a bunch of peacock feathers that were tied together. Dad then took us both to a small path behind the Dargaah that seemed to disappear into the river. As we gently stepped down that path, I couldn’t contain my excitement any longer and I took the plunge. My sister followed. The best time of my life, splashing around carelessly in the waters, dancing away and trying my best to play God – as in, making desperate attempts to walk on water, but all in vain. One of the best things about childhood, of believing one could achieve the impossible.

And then it was time to leave. It was getting darker by the minute and dad thought it best to leave to home. As we walked towards the scooter, I remember looking back one last time, to fill my eyes with the beautiful sight of the Dargaah and everything around it, which made me so happy. I haven’t visited that place ever again in my life after that. The muddy path, the trees, the birds, the Dargaah, the Peacocks, the path to the river, are still locked up in my memory, never to be erased. And these memories come rushing through when I’m bathed in twilight, when I hear the birds chirp, or see a river flow, it gives me the feeling of having magically been transported to that very place yet again, and as if, time has come to a standstill, even years after years..

What would you do?*

well, this aint by me, and i had shared it many times with many ones. and i guess you are already aware of this. but this is close to my heart, and i just thought of sharing it here.


There was a guy just like us. Young, tall, smart, educated, aspiring to achieve SOMETHING, to be happy in life, to earn money and with someone to love. But, unfortunately, today he lost everything. He lost all the people who once loved him, a job which had once given him a sense of security, and mostly the hope which had given him a reason to live, a reason that had kept him strong, a reason that had kept him going. Alone in his room, leaning against the wall, smoking a lot, he finally decided. He finally decided to DIE.
He thought of many available options to commit suicide and then chose the nearby just a kilometre away railway tracks. He thought going down the running train and ending his painful life. But miraculously before leaving home somehow he wished to give his life a last single and fair chance. So he decided while walking towards the tracks he is going to meet many people, many people will pass by him and if anyone of them would smile at him and if that would make him smile too – he would take that as a hint towards “everything can be alright” he will then not die. He will then give himself another chance, another chance to make things correct and another chance to live again.
Well, forget what happened to him. This isn’t story of him and I too don’t know what happened to him? Is he alive or not? I don’t have any idea. I just want to ask YOU a simple question.
If that guy came across your way what would you do???

* this article is taken from the book "Adadhi Sadi ni Vanchanyatra" (half century's reading)

"Dreams" On Wings.

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Almost a year before a thought of writing something came to mind. A not at all connected friend named as Yadhu Krishna had influenced me about penning down my thoughts. So after a year, here I am.

Like thousands of people, I’ve started writing with not just some thoughts but something that is deep inside me, a piece of me, my dreams, my love and my hatred, my gains and my loses, my smiles and tears, me myself. I m thinking of calling this process as “making myself as I am (supposed to be)”

Every day, as I kiss my loved one goodnight, he asks me what I’d do before going to bed and the first thought that would always haunt me was “I will write something”. J

But whenever I tried to do that I couldn’t. Every time I felt “naah, something is missing”. And deleted many files many times. I was not like this before, I am changed.*

I was thinking what could possibly be the reason behind this change?? My busy academic life? Knowing my capabilities (that they are much more than I always thought)? A long lasting family issue that was finally sorted, which gave me so much relief? Actually the answer is the one person, almost two years ago I met this person, a guy who was on a jolly rideJ, and then we became friends, best friends, and now we are synonyms of each other. Kuch bhi naam do. Thoda sa alag sa, very well organised, knows what to do and what not to do? He knows how to live life. Sometimes I think what my life could have been without him? Could my birthday be so beautiful, so colorful without his drawings? My mornings would have indeed been so lonely without his texts. I share my life with him, he owns my life. It’s his. I love him.

I am changed; I now see a glass half full as just that, rather than half empty. Thanks to him.

*no conditions apply.