...

The last time I looked, the flower was blooming,
It's thorns were young and green;
Life, like a ghost, was desultorily looming
It's real form yet unseen.

Thoughts

Some evenings, like this peach-pink one outseide my window, are reserved for thinking.
Thinking about the various goings-on in the world and MY COUNTRY.

The Jan Lokpal Bill has raised a stir in India, and a lot of eloquent commentary on it is flying around websites, newschannels, college campuses and possibly coffee houses. And it is very heartening to see so many Indian citizens taking such an active interest in the Bill. There might be people who actully whole-heartedly support this campaign, others who might detect flaws in it, and yet others who may feel the need to oppose it. There might be people who are still pondering over the Bill's efficacy, and the consequences which might arise if it is passed by the government. I must say that as an Indian citizen, it is heartening to see so many people so actively engaged in thinking about this movement, in critically scrutinising it...we should realise that apathy is never the answer, and the 'aam junta' always has a responsibility...to think, to be vocal, to analyse and to act...indifference will only breed danger for all...we must use our faculties to the best of our abilities, in times such as these. Whether the Bill is successful or not, if passed, is something only time can and will tell...it is not possible to make entirely accurate hypothetical predictions, though one may well draw upon similar historical incidents...but contexts are ever-changing things, and I do believe that any step towards a positive change should be ruminated upon, encouraged and yet scanned thoroughly for loop-holes, instead of being simply dismissed into the realm of apathy by those who believe that their lives will not be directly affected by it...such were my thoughts when returning home from the library today...out of all thoughts emerge ideas and actions, some of which may directly affect the society we inhabit.Let's hope for the BEST.

What I miss most, not least...Part 2

I miss waiting for classes to begin, I miss waiting for classes to end. I miss wearing a new outfit to class, I miss feeling very apprehensive after a new haircut. I really miss resisting my friends' many attempts to coax me into having phuchka, and then finally resisting the temptation by yielding to it, to borrow from Wilde. I miss discussing books, analysing them for hours and coming up with bizarre interpretations. I miss reading poetry together with ma fiends, and making each other laugh with our weird comments...read:"balmy drops, " from A. Tennyson's IN. M...I miss studying together before our exams, shesher dike online, on gmail...and sending each other random links which we thought might be useful...What don't I miss...I miss those sudden trips to Dakshinapan, those stolen visits to The Dolly Tea House, those never ending walks of ours, our way back home via the Dhakuria Bridge, how my friend and I bid each other adieu on the steps...how I felt a gush of warmth when I saw the blue gates which spelt home.

A STROLL DOWN A LANE OF RAMBLING NOSTALGIA

What is it that I miss the most about my days in JU? I think I miss the smell of the rain-drenched grass by the jheel. I miss the slowly approaching summer evenings,the mellow and sudden winter evenings, the pink and violet evenings of spring, the clear and bright Shorot evenings, the stormy and tempestuous monsoon evenings... the time reserved for twilight and friends, the steaming cups of sugary coffee at Milonda's dear canteen, our cups of tea from the cha-walla near Char (4) Nombor Gate, our rant against the mosquitoes and red ants, our endless conversations about endless things. I can vividly recall our dissected dreams, our myriad littlw hopes, our comfortable fears and our feelings of togetherness, when the sun had set. I miss running into people from University, and having the most random, mostly interesting and sometimes very profound conversations. I miss sitting near Vivekananda Hall, dodging the cigarette smoke, listening to other people play the guitar and sing undecipherable songs. I miss popping into the book-store and occasionally hopping out with a treasured buy. I miss the sudden greenness, I miss the random chaos, I miss the undeniable order of things, which insisted on structuring our lives, despite all our liberty.
I miss my classes, I miss the Ledge, ((never sat on it, though.))I miss getting sudden glimpses of people, I miss discussing our lessons together. I miss so many things, and yet I am not sad...I remember more than I yearn...a lot of misunderstandings can occur among friends, but one should not let that freeze up, or embitter one's memories, should it? The good times must always be remembered in fond and charming fondness.
I miss coming in late for a class and feeling terrible about it, I miss exchanging glances with friends, I miss our pointless debates, which ALWAAAYS had a point, I miss missing the point totally, mostly in relation to innuendos, ahhem, I miss ambling around, I miss complainin' about term papers and tests, and the secret sessions of SparkNotes we all completed...I miss the frantic phone calls before end sems., trying to figure out how much choice we had in the question paper, and which texts we might very, very safely leave out. I miss our group study sessions. I miss the feeling of being attached to a place which had suddenly, and unknowingly become my own. And i miss going HOME at the end of a day...
I might as well enjoy my time now, before it slips me by, and I begin to miss a new episode...

A Story to Tell

As the evening unfolds, so does my story. It begins in the bylanes of a small locality, which shall remain unnamed. I must begin at the very end. The chapter of the unseen planets. But how did I get there? Must you know? Well, I began the story, I know that, but must I articulate every inch of my tale by myself? I could use some help, for sure....

Dear Diary.........!

Dear Diary,
I am infinitely grateful for ever so many things. I've always wished to 'study' in another country for a spell. It has been one of my most ardent, deep and long-lasting dreams. I had imagined a life so different, so full of infinite possibilities and unknown potential. I love interacting with people from different cultures, and engaging in enriching symbiotic relationships. All those dreams are blooming like a mysterious flower, petal by petal, each new day. I am happy, to the say the least. But something, I can't quite say what, seems to be missing...oh, the campus is lovely, a verdant wonder, ....more later...

Another evening

The evening pulls me into myself,
In silent contemplation,
In exhaustive introspection,
In quiet, private, expectation,
I will wait for you.

Though the days are blurred and hurried,
Though the hours are capped with work,
Though my songs are left unwritten,
As they die upon my tongue,
Though my thoughts are still amorphous,
They crystallise at times,
When I convince myself,
That the wait is worth the while...

I have a life to carve,
I have a dream to shape,
It may take me a while,
To realise what it was,
I will spend my idle hours,
(Though there are very few,)
I will re-construct my desires,
And wait the while for you...

I have a while to work,
I have forever to learn,
We all have livings to earn,
But I shall not yearn
for you,
I shall instead,
Wait in well-rehearsed optimism...

So when walk past the lake of dreams,
Limpid with our love,
When we taste the bite of reality,
As we brush past its rude shove,
When we dance amidst the rainbow clouds of expectant hopes,
When we avert our eyes from blazing, orange flames,
We'll be together, and our wait will be over at last.
If only for a while.

Surprise

Nothing ever prepares you for the initial jolt of realisation! Every inch of pragmatic philosophy flies out the nearest window, as soon as one of my knind leaves home. And it becomes essential to re-discover oneself, and hunt out one's deep, unchangeable identity.
I really don't know how to articulate the way I often feel these days. Waves of homesickness insist on breaking themselves over me, whenever the tide is in...and that is more often than not. Sometimes I ache to meet the person I used to be. I don't think I've changed...I hope not...but I fear that the mad idealist, the irrepresible dreamer and the incorrigible enthusiast are all hibernating for the time being. I miss all my kindred spirits, I miss a certain ease with which I used to view life, I miss a certain unexplainable way I had of looking at things...I miss mt frequent flights of fanciful imagination...I miss myself...I find myself bereft of my indulgent friends and family members. I am, of course, very grateful for all that I have...and whenever I'm in a spot, I never fail to count my blessings, (a habit of yore, which I've yet seemed to retain)...I just wish these non-issues would sort themselves out soon, so the gushing romantic ( about the world, of course) in me could return soooon.

a tale of 2

A voice insistently lingers,

In a crevice of my mind:

And its silken fingers run,

Softly down my spine.

That hint of a quiver,

And that silent shiver,

Refuse to let me pine.



There flits a lone mistral,

A lightly tripping breeze...

A pastiche of past perfumes,

Which puts my mind at ease,

And yet

Does its best to tease

My soul,

By dividing it,

And yet

Making it whole.



There lilts an arcane melody,

Amidst the whirring of my heart:

Which matches the rhythmic beats,

With its tuneful art...



There lies a sleepless whisper,

In the depths of my ear,

Which keeps you locked in me

When you're far from near.

I can still hear that voice

Since you're far yet near.,

AN EVENING

There are just so many ways in which one can actually spend an evening like this...the best way, for me, is to spend it carefully, in idle contemplation...sometimes life is so mesmerisingly beautiful in its connected wholeness, in its infinite potential, in its glorious epiphany, in its stingingg disillusion, in its absolute absurdness, in its incredible dynamism and its beautiful stillness...in the unsurpassed, surprised wonder of each new friendship, in the amazing incredulity of each newly-forged bond, each unthinkable kinship. In the unforgotten poignance, in quietly treasured joys, in its strange silences, its imagined romances and deep introspections. In the way in which Life whisks us across space and time, across people and places, across latitudes and oceans and unseen seas. Over Unknown meadows, far away hills, empyrean heights and deep, sunken gorges. I cannot quite understand and am trying in vain to figure it out. Everything both makes sense and doesn't. It seems to resist and invite intepretation...so alluring and evasive it is...

Just a Happy Love Story...in need of Much revision

Paranthetical insertion
Sheena cast a surreptitious glance at the boy seated next to her. She was inwardly fuming and flaming at the thought of being forced into this hasty alliance. Aunty Rita sat opposite them, her face caked with make-up, her heavily shadowed azure eyelids glimmering in the sunlight which streamed into the room. “We told you she was very striking,” she was saying while nodding her head vigorously in Sheena’s direction. Ma and Baba stood quietly in one corner, a little bewildered by the alacrity with which things were moving. Sheena took one glance at them and felt irritated. What was the point of feeling surprised now? Why hadn’t her father worked harder to deflect this ‘appointment,’ as she had expected him too? And WHAT was the deal with her mother’s exasperatingly vacillating expressions?
Uncles Anu and Ajay had taken their usual posts at the table, and were eagerly supervising the laying of the table by the aged and rather crusty workers at their house. “You must try Babu’s biriyani,” Uncle Anu hollered across the living room., while Ajay urged Babu to serve the guests with his signature mint and rose syrup. The boy’s mother looked directly, too directly at Sheena,or so it seemed to Sheena’s parents, whose anxious expressions belied their forced smiles and nods.
Sheena wiped her forehead. She’d taken great care to look as unkempt and care-worn as possible. Her hair was tied up in the most casual of buns, something she knew her parents hated. She’d deliberately left her eyes un-smeared with kajol, and she was wearing an old t-shirt and skirt which she had long since relegated to antiquity. What Sheena didn't realize was that her casual elegance was serving the perverse purpose of heightening her attractiveness. Her sandal-tinted cheeks looked flushed with anger and embarrassment, her eyes shone a little too brightly in silent rebellion and her tense body gave her a charm that was at once appealing, alluring and somehow dangerous.
The boy looked almost as uncomfortable as Sheena felt. His dark hair was frequently smoothened by a rather nervous hand, and he kept his eyes trained on the floor. He seemed to be surveying the carpet with great attention. Aunty Rita took this as an opportunity for sparking off a novel conversation. “This is from Iran. Sheena went there last year to visit her Married friend Natasha!” said Aunty Rita, wiggling her finger emphatically and adding unnecessary stress on what she felt was a significant word. Sheena sighed. That trip, with its myriad memories had ceased to conjure pleasant images in her mind, ever since she’d heard of Natasha’s unceremonious separation from her husband. It had been no one person’s fault. After the first rosy veneer of illusions had faded away, they had been left with nothing to carry on with. Sheena hadn’t understood at first. Weren’t people supposed to make an effort? How come Natasha and her husband didn’t realize this acrid truth during those two years of incessant phone calls and finger-numbing text-messages? How come they used to go out on those dates to expensive restaurants and movie halls? How could they have expected to get to know one another if they never really communicated with one another? They were always surrounded by people wherever they went, and it was as though they were serving some larger purpose by dating, contributing to the popular, prevailing culture somehow. But Sheena did not want to be too judgmental. It was always easier to analyze from an objective distance. Real life situations always have the ability to throw people horribly off-- guard. And Sheena began to feel that she was thinking too much about the whole affair while Natasha was moving on quicker. Sheena’s sensitive and over-empathizing nature was making her more bitter than either Natasha or her husband.
The boy’s mother pricked up her ears at the mention of Iran. “Iran…Tehran is such a lovely city. Do you remember Akash how your daddy and I took you there when you were 9?” exclaimed the lady with a dreamy expression in her eyes. Sheena looked into them for the first time since they’d entered their house. They were so warm, so soft and so, so liquid, Sheena felt herself thinking. Her eyes seemed to be pensively picturing the mist-clad mountains of far-away Tehran, where she’d been secure and happy in the company of her husband and child. Sheena felt suddenly moved, somehow suddenly touched. She glanced again at the boy next to her and saw him looking shyly at her. He would have hurriedly turned his face away had she not smiled.
It was only yesterday that Aunty Rita had bounced into their house with this laugh of a proposal. She had a notorious reputation for being a passionate binder of hearts, but so far Sheena had managed to escape unscathed. She was always so serious and studious, so impossibly and remotely romantic, that neither she nor her family members ever bothered about pairing her up in reality. Sheeena was content to satisfy her own romantic yearnings through works of literature and films. She was growing up, but not quite, not being one to renounce her hold on childhood that easily. What difference did a few measly years make when THERe was still plenty of time to behave like a full-on grown up she figured.
Well, so Sheena didn’t keenly feel the lack of a boyfriend, though she did have her wistful moments. It was never really peer pressure that got to her. It was more the phenomenon of sudden bursts of anxiety over whether she would eventually meet her soul-mate and be able to recognize him to be the “one.” She wasn’t crazy enough to expect him to appear on a steed of gold, with accompanying fanfare and music…rather she hoped for someone who’d love her forever in a quiet, steady and rather loyal way. Oh yes, and it would help if she found him a teeny bit good looking.

So there was Aunty Rita, her rapidly ageing face dolled up as usual, puffing and panting into the house. Sheena had just finished typing out her latest application essay when her mother‘s happy laugh greeted her ears. “And why not? Whenever he wishes!” Sheens heard her exclaim. “What are you talking about?” Sheena demanded as she climbed down the stairs to the living room where her mother was serving Aunty Rita with tea and her favorite Marie biscuits. “There is someone Rita-di would like you to meet…someone special,” her mother giggled like a hopeless teenager. Something inside Sheena squirmed and she glared at her mother in anger. “I thought I told you N-EVER to fix up or arrange anything for me mommy,” she exclaimed, aiming her comment towards Aunty Rita. Aunty Rita was not one to be deterred so easily. “It’s not like you have a boyfriend or anything…let this just be a trial…who knows? You might even end up dating him.” She retorted. “Oh, I’m the first victim of your latest project, the blind dating academy?” Sheens found herself exclaiming, much to her horror. She’d always been so polite, especially around relatives, but she could not help feeling distraught and distressed. Aunty Rita was suddenly making her feel so hopelessly inadequate, as though she felt Sheena was incapable of garnering a boyfriend for herself. In fact, it was the ever-prudent Sheena who always turned down proposals from boys she found unsuitable. Anyway. Sheena rather dramatically turned on her heels and stormed out of the room. Her mother, who had been trying in vain to establish a modicum of peace between the two, wrung her hands in despair and rather dramatically collapsed on the nearest sofa.
Sheena had run up to her room and flipped open her newly acquired pink laptop. She’d not allow any kind of artificial arrangement, which was altogether too business-like for Sheena’s taste, deter her lofty ideals of romance. She made up her mind to be as difficult and stubborn as possible. Aunt Rita seemed exceedingly shallow and intrusive to her at the moment…and her temporary wave of anger made her forget for a while just how well-meaning and honest-intentioned a woman Aunt Rita was. She was a rather lonely lady, who had lost her children in a long-ago car crash. Her husband had decided to abandon her when she’d given birth to a second daughter. Aunty could have become a bitter cynic. But she’d decided to carry on with life…her unhappy past had curiously re-in forced her faith in God, and she had committed herself to helping others the best she could. “I literally want to bring colour into lives!” she’d exclaimed, when a few baffled people had criticized and questioned her decision to “always put on so much make up, that too given her tragic circumstances…” Some people dismissed her as insane, others found her eccentric, some found her heartless and uncaring…both those few lives which she was able to touch were never the same.
The next day was cloudy and rather grey. Sheena was rather annoyed. She loved savoring days when the weather was tempestuous, but today was already marred by Aunty Rita and her strangely concurring parents. However, she had to admit, if only to herself, that she was feeling slightly nervous and somehow excited. A part of her was curious, the part which made the butterflies flutter in her stomach. But she didn’t exactly know what to attribute this feeling to, and so rather tiredly began the seemingly arduous task of getting dressed.

Akash was feeling out of sorts that morning. His forehead felt unnaturally warm and his eyes seemed to sting. “Drat!” he said to himself as he looked out of the window near his head. A rainy and depressing day, he thought, just the kind he disliked. It was time for him to get dressed and head to someone’s place. Someone who might turn out to be a life-partner, a soul-mate. Akash usually kept an open mind about most things. Ever since he had returned from the U.S. he realized it probably was time to settle down to the idea of ‘settling down.’ He had always had a very strong paternal instinct latent within him. He loved playing with small children at family gatherings and parties, where they would inevitably flock to him like bees to honeyed flowers. Maybe his soft, velvety brown eyes were particularly enchanting to little kids who insisted on crawling all over his lap, requested him for stories and took turns to ride on his shoulders. Of late his thoughts seemed to be centered excessively around children. Maybe his father’s death had had something to do with it. He remembered how wonderful and caring a parent his father had been and perhaps wished to re-connect with his lost father by becoming one himself. Often he found himself wishing he’d become a pediatrition instead of a cardiac surgeon.
He thought of the vacant years which lay ahead of them…his father had been inseparable from his mother. So much so that sometimes even Akash felt himself feel like an intruder, in their company. His parents were never aware of it themselves, but every unconscious gesture or look on their parts suggested that they had lost themselves in one another. Akash often came home to a dreary house now, with his mother burying her face among the heaps of his father’s shirts in a cupboard. She had refused to emerge from her room for days, until Aunty Rita, her mother’s new neighbor, had really drawn her out. It was a surprising camaraderie, but it worked wonders for Mrs. Ghosh. Aunt Rita actually taught her to look back on her husband’s memories in fond remembrance, and to celebrate their years of togetherness, rather than solely lament for him. The very mention of his name no longer made her want to torture herself with agonized tears, but brought a sudden gush of instant happiness and a bitter-sweet smile to her face. More importantly, and perhaps strangely, she never felt his absence any longer. Somehow he was always with her, and she knew exactly what he was saying, and how he was helping her. She even surprised herself by regaining bits of her old, rather wicked, rather perplexing sense of humor. Akash was much relieved, and often marveled at Aunt Rita’s capacity to work wonders. She seemed to have spilled some carefully preserved sunshine into their suddenly darkened lives,without even having known his father. Had never even seen him. Some inexplicable things can really make a difference, Mrs. Ghosh thought.
Akash shook his head. His long working hours had begun to take their toll on him, and he found himself without an appetite at the breakfast table. His mother looked concerned and a bit jittery herself. “What’s up, Akash? Not feeling well?” she said as Akash fidgeted with his porridge. “No I’m fine, just a little un-hungry,” he grinned, not wishing to worry his mom. “I think you need a break…you’re wearing yourself out with your work. I’ve been telling you so for ages.” Akash sighed. “Mom, you know doctors can’t afford to be lazy or lax…you know how I feel about this, ever since dad…” his voice trailed off slowly and his tired eyes met his mother’s moist ones. “Sorry ma,” Akash reached over and patted his mother’s arm “see, I’ve taken this day off and have agreed to accompany you, without even a hint of an argument.” “You’re looking mmuch too pale for a prospective groom and your hand feels clammy…maybe we should just call it off for the day? Let’s go catch a movie or something?” his mom anxiously suggested. “Come on mom, I’m not that sick…you know I hate going to claustrophobic movie halls!” Akash grinned wanly as he left the table to get ready.
They had hailed a cab to the Bannerjee’s residence. Mrs. Ghosh would not hear of her son driving that day. She was not entirely certain if she was doing the correct thing by trying to arrange a marriage for her son. She had immense faith in love marriages owing to her own idyllic years with Ratan, her husband and companion of many years. Even as a young girl she’d never had much faith in the arranged marriage concept. If it worked, fine…even love marriages involved risks and chances…but the whole idea of putting two strangers, who knew not the first thing about one another , under the pressure of a marriage seemed bizarre. But she knew Akash was lonely, was too shy to garner a girlfriend for himself, and she also knew that he secretly craved his mother to find someone for him. She probably felt more nervous that her son, who was leaning back in his seat and trying to catch a quick nap.
Sheena didn’t know what to think. The guy’s mother was really nice, she thought. After a few moments of customary awkwardness, they’d struck up an interesting conversation. She discovered Mrs. Ghosh’s love for Leonard Cohen and L.M.Montgomery. “I grew up on a healthy diet of Lucy Maud’s books…and I even got my husband and son hooked to them,” she smiled in fond remembrance…”much as he might not admit it now,” she continued, glancing at Akash, who had turned a bright shade of crimson. Sheena looked at him and he felt he that should try to release his tongue from the fetters of silence, and say something to her. “So are you studying Literature? That’s what Aunty Rita told mom yesterday! It’s such a fascinating field.” He managed to say. Sheena smiled, without looking at him. His eyes were too intense and she suddenly faltered under his gaze. “Umm…yes, it is…” she managed to mumble. “Why don’t you take him up to your room and talk in peace?” Aunty Rita chimed in, wishing to push things as much as she could manage. She was delighted that things seemed to be taking off. Sheena glanced at her parents. Her mother gave her a little encouraging smile and the slightest nod, while her father looked away, embarrassed. He just couldn’t come to terms with the fact that his little child was old enough to be considered ‘marriagiable.’
Sheena led the way upstairs. Akash followed rather hesitantly, as his head had begun to throb again. He was now beginning to feel more than a little alarmed with the whole episode, and was suddenly feeling confused and dazed. What if this attractive girl had a boyfriend? What if he was about to listen to an unceremonious rejection in her room? What if she found him a dismal and dull person, not worthy to be spoken to? Sure, he’d had lots of friends of both sexes , but he suddenly felt as though he’d never had a single conversation in his life before…he felt devoid of speech, blank and vague. He forgot that he was a lovely, fun person to be around, that he was a brilliant conversationalist, with a unique sense of humor. So he walked into Sheena’s look feeling every bit the nervous wreck, without realizing that Sheena was feeling much the same.

Akash leaned against the wall and looked out of the window. The rain was really pouring down now, making visibility difficult. “I love the luscious rains!” Sheena said dreamily, feeling a bit more relaxed. “You’re looking as perplexed as I feel!” she exclaimed with a laugh. Sheena had a sudden, infectious and rather delicious laugh. Akash looked at her and smiled, feeling his apprehension melt away, by ‘soft degrees.’ “Why don’t you sit down?” Sheena said and pulled up a soft, cushiony chair. “After you,”Akash said softly. Sheena sat down by the edge of her bed and Akash lowered himself on to the chosen seat.
“I don’t know how you feel about this whole thing…” Sheena found herself saying. This boy was alarmingly good looking, in a very unusual sort of way, she thought. She found herself being enveloped in a cloud of diffidence and began to stammer a little. “I..It is not as if I’m…I mean I’ve never been…it might sound strange…but I’ve …you know…never really been in this situation, or in a relationship before this…not that I’m labeling ours as…I mean…I don’t know what I mean…” Sheena finished with a gasp. What was she saying? He must think her awfully stupid and not in the least like the powerful speaker an English major ought to be. Akash’s eyes laughed but he kept a straight face…”Are you an expert in legilemency apart from literature? I mean, you just echoed my thoughts verbatim!” he smiled, and found himself feeling rather paralyzed by Sheena’s casual charm and her unpretentious personality and her intelligent yet innocent way of speaking. Her eyes were so hypnotic that Akash had to force himself to look away for a bit. Sheena somehow knew she could trust this lad. She didn’t know why, but she just knew it, with a confidence she’d never felt before. He came across as one of those instinctively pleasant people. What they both begun to secretly realize that they were both young, romantic and hungry for love, and they might just end up being wrapped up in that emotion. They might have things in common, they might discover a multitude of differences, they might have quarrels, they might hurt one another, but they both suddenly hoped they’d stick with one another, no matter what…idealistic yet practical…or so they thought to themselves…
“I haven’t been too well today,”Akash disclosed. “Oh I’m sorry to hear that!,” Sheena exclaimed genuinely concerned. “Would you like to lie down for a bit?” she said. “It won’t be awkward!” she quickly added. “No it’s fine… I’m just feeling a little bit over-strained!” he confessed. “I have always loved the medical profession. But you mustn’t work yourself too hard…” she added gently. “It’s what I use to keep myself distracted…ever since my own father…passed on…and I was called back from the U.S…it’s been a tad difficult…” Akash never confided in people easily, but somehow Sheena already felt like a kindred spirit. The fact that they were expected to become husband and wife didn’t exert any pressure on him…in fact, that knowledge coupled with his instinctive feelings towards Sheena somehow made it easier for him. Sheena had always been a good listener, and she’d often dreamt of the day when she might assume the role of her beloved’s confidante, whom she would be able to help and care for…whose feelings she’d respect and be respected in return. Sheena’s heart warmed to Akash who spoke in such an earnest way, so as to not demand sympathy or attention. He gave her a candid account of his hopes and desires, to help people who were unwell, to see his mother happy, to perhaps be a good parent someday. Sheena blushed. She loved children too…she thought nothing as sacred as motherhood…and she gently broke these feelings to an elated Akash. “I’ve always earnestly believed that motherhood should never be an imposition on women,” she explained rather confusedly. “I mean, it should always be allowed to remain a choice. A woman who does not want to be a mother should not be labeled an aberration by those who do….I’ve always wanted children for myself…but I see why some women might not!” she finished. Akash nodded rather seriously…”I know what you mean…only I could never phrase it as eloquently as you just did.”
Sheena secretly thanked God that she had refrained from following the paths of some of her, well rather unrestrained friends, who changed boyfriends every week, till the novelty of romance completely wore out for them. If she had succumbed to peer -pressure, would she have felt as ‘blythe’-spirited as she was feeling now? Akash, too, had always been teased for being too idealistic and romantic, by his friends. “Just cease the day and grab a chick,” one rather offensive guy had once told him…”But doesn’t she have to be the right one?” Akash had rather emphatically asked. “Is ANYONE ever the right one?” the guy had said, throwing him an exasperated look. “Well, at least I have to be deluded into thinking she is!” Akash had responded before turning away. Now it seemed as though he had deluded himself enough to work up an appetite for the biriyani that awaited them downstairs.

RAPTURE

Just what IS it about L.M. Montgomery’s writing that makes me fall so overwhelmingly in love with her again and again? Her works have become such an integral part of my consciousness; my soul seems to have entirely imbibed her inimitable imagery, her startling humor and her liltingly melodious language. She is an author who seems to offer me more revelations about myself and life, more than most others. I come back to her books after long breaks and each time I re-discover her poignant brilliance, her subtle artistry, her keen sense of observation, her alluring aesthetic appeal, her vivid characterization and her mesmerizing linguistic charm. She is the writer I’d like to passionately defend from (sometimes justified…perhaps?) criticism. Once this person I knew said that her books need to be re-written from a postcolonial perspective. I love Post-colonial Theory myself, but I don’t see why and how this statement is relevant…yes, we do hear mentions of missionary workers in the Oriental lands, but I don’t think L.M. was saying anything offensive, or out of her own immediate context. I do not want to be a litterateur who seeks to problematize when it comes to her books. I am unscholarly and biased, when it comes to her work. Her works have guided me through my adolescence, have seen me through my teens and into my twen-teens like a softly shining, always enchanting, sometimes evasive little star. Her emotions are expressed so beautifully, her ideas are so well-developed, her writing is so acutely introspective and mature…I have begun to realize just how mature her writings are off-late, when I cast a few retrospective glances at how they have helped me and continue to do so. And I will fiercely defend her from the charge of being a weaver of sunshiny and romantic yarns. Her stories never fail to explore the darker side of life, the many sadnesses which accompany every individual, and her war literature is so personal it’s touching. It’s just that her philosophy is so positive, so inclusive, that her writings can’t help but make one feel happy. I do not like it when people condescend to relegate authors solely to the restricted realm of ‘children’s’ writing. I have the greatest respect for children’s literature and am absolutely fascinated by the way in which authors can play upon the imagination of a child’s eager, open and curious mind. If a writer can appeal to children and adults alike then he/she is a truly commendable author, because one does not grow out of her works but simply re-discovers newer aspects to them, with age. And when a writer is writing for children, who, by virtue of their age, have limited 'Prior Knowledge,' I'd say they're no less talented than adult-authors.
P.S.: i LOVE THE PEOPLE WHO DON'T AGREE WITH MOI...you know who you are

My Blog Reads My Mind

'Man is by Nature a Political Animal'......t'is the qoute of the day on my blog!!!! and to think I came across and ruminated upon this quote thrice today, when reading a book on Comparative Governments!!!!

The Helen Schlegel in me is still alive...

much to my relief.

The heat was unbearable, the humidity terrible,
The curtains inadequate shields for the sun...
How was I to while away, this sultry, resinous April day?
Was there a way, if only one, To bear the burthen of this sun?

I picked up a book I never thought I would...
The front and back covers didn't seem too good.
'Not literary enough,' said my fine 'sensibility,'
This tome is trash, an unwanted liability...
But I felt brave, and flipped it open,
Romance I'd craved all morn you see...
And it did seem to me
That this book would be soppy enough to please me
Mushy enough to annoy and tease me
And apart from the irrate comment or two, (or maybe 3)
It did mostly woo...
my mind. A most troubling yet gratifying find.
It did too help, that I
Imagined, *here I sigh*
**r*** **h**'s form in the protagonist's role,
Down to the very last mole...
And I fished out romance from the most unsavoury parts,
and skilfully escaped the author's chosen darts...
He couldn't pin me down to his biases or opinions,
My imagination flew off on a pair of forged pinions...
What am I writing, oh for the sake of rhyming,
My mind is whining, I should be dining...
SOOOONEER

more sooner

I discovered what it feels like to re-visit a city which never ceases to feel like home, having been mine for a good couple of days.The past week has been indescribably hectic, but rewardingly memorable...down to the rough bed-sheet at the #### hostel room. They passed me by like a whirling dervish, carrying me, a half-conscious, half-willing bundle of contradicting emotions, with it...

An ode to an Arboretum

I am surrounded by beauty of an excessive sort...of a pulchritude which refuses to register itself in my mind...this place should open a botany/ecology department, the whole campus would be an ideal class room...and the campus can also qualify as a literateur's muse...the stone walls, the bafflingly-beautifully confused architecture...I want to get lost here forever, to drift among the lone paths, to stumble upon unexpected flowers, to discover weeping butterflies and benign bees...to listen to the wild murmurs of the Night flies...IIMB, thanks for this chance...I will remember it forever....and also Professor V.M. for being so encouraging and literary!!

MellowWallow

I am deeply unhappy
AND
As a consequence, rather snappy.
I am sad, my head feels bad,
It aches, the world makes
no sense...morose is me,
Even
A cup of my favourite tea,
Didn't quite do the trick.
Prick! go my nerves,
Or maybe they don't
Maybe I should laugh it off...
But maybe I won't...
Maybe I over-react
But I'm entitled to a fault
Why doesn't someone just hug me very tight?

TO TB

I have constructed the warmest and most huggable teddy bear in my imagination...I hug you whenever I'm feeling low...I rarely feel this down...but your soft arms pull me up again...your nose is always dog-wet...thanks for being my cuddle bug, my comforter...I love you. Thanks for that warm, goofy smile...that shy look, which always comforts and dis-comforts.Thanks for being there for me always, whenever I need you...thanks for doing exactly what my mind wishes you to...and Memory, I respect you...I will not let go of the memories of the good times I've had with any of my friends....JU or Cis or BIS or DI...and I will use my 'icy personality' as often as I need to. I love you Cuddles. And I know you will always be there for me...always always.

Leia Broods

Tonight’s a night of indescribable melancholy. Of an earnest, yearning and persistent pain. Strange notions of sadness are floating aimlessly across the air. I am bereft of your company. This is one of those nights when this awareness hits me all too sharply, sharper than the most stinging vinegar on an unsuspecting tongue. I wish to be near you, but this thought pushes us farther apart. What is that music, which is emanating from the moon? What crossword puzzles are the stars trying to solve, edging past one another, amidst the chaos of those clouds, which gift-wrap the sky? Is the breeze whistling that tune we used to hum? Is my imagination flying off with the screeching owl, into the realm of silent seas? My fingers tremble as I reach for the phone, but, suddenly, your voice is not enough. The sound waves which can traverse the Atlantic make me feel inadequate, and make a mockery of our love. I would have said a lot more, but right now I feel like jealously guarding my own intimate emotions and feelings…I will only whisper them in your ear…when I can see and feel and touch your ear…but not now, not like this.

TOEFL aargh!

All's well that ends in a 119! Yes, the ecstasy has finally sunk in...but I can't believe I missed the BOI-MELA...WAAHHH.