I've got one hand in my pocket...

Love knows not it's depth until the hour of separation

2006-11-29T05:10:00.000+05:30

Wrote this a while back when I was feeling extremely emotional.

"Love knows not it's depth until the hour of separation" - Kahlil Gibran

We fell in love when I was 15 and he was 16. Obviously we were written off as puppy love, but we knew it was much more than that. Unlike what one fantasizes, the first two years were rocky. The love we shared was never properly expressed. We tried underhanded ways of making each other jealous, just to gain proof of love. Frustrations were multiple, accusations free-flowing and fights numerous. Yet, something… something beyond our understanding (which we later learnt was called LOVE), kept us together. Somewhere down the line, we started shedding our inhibitions, and we were drawn closer. The fights continued, but they were less accusatory and more “I-want-the-best-for-you-so-stop-being-stupid” in nature. Yet, the bond was incomplete.

In between all this we managed to party a little, turn 18, contribute to mammoth phone bills, break a few rules and oh yes, finish school. Life of course changed drastically here on, without me having the least idea of the implications of the apparent impending doom which he seemed to keep worrying about during his last few days in the city. When he told me he had secured admission, I was joyous. I didn’t think about what would happen to us, or how I would live without him. Whether it was simple denial or simple ignorance of what life would be without him, I have never quite managed to figure out. I never thought in terms of a “long-distance relationship”. I never thought anything at all.

Then one fine morning, he was gone. I didn’t cry then. No, not yet. My Higher Secondary results came out that day. I had fared miserably in English – my favourite subject. I impulsively dialed his number, but the monotone on the other side droned that the number I was dialing, was “currently switched off”. Then the tears came, and they wouldn’t stop. I wasn’t crying about my results. That was for sure. I was crying because I didn’t know how to fill the void I was feeling within, and then, in a sudden fit of epiphany, I understood all that he had been feeling these last few days and I had simply laughed off. I was low, dejected, morose and scared. I wanted him to come back more than anything in this world. But I knew it wasn’t happening. The bond was now complete.

Life was hard over these past three years. We had our doubts and insecurities, and loads of them at that. There were times when we told ourselves in the course of one day, how we would always be together and how we just couldn’t go on together anymore. Maybe because we weren’t together and wanted so desperately that the other be a part of our life, we went into minute details of each day, starting from breakfast, what happened in college, after college, at the gym, on the road, at dinner, with friends, to the neighbours – everything! Of course, in between all this we did find time to include a fight or two as well. Yet, strangely, the numerous incessant bitter fights brought us closer than I could ever imagine possible.

We weren’t together for any of the occasions or celebrations, except his birthday. We weren’t together for some of the proudest moments in our college career. We weren’t together for some of the scariest moments and lowest points in our lives. But, we were together.

After a point, I knew nothing could separate us. We were too busy missing each other and finding newer ways to prove our love for each other to even look at other people. The question of infidelity never arose. We got frustrated of waiting, not because we couldn’t have some “fun” but because it hurt too much to be away.

People often asked me if I found it hard to be in a long distance relationship, and I never quite understood how fully loaded the question was until recently. Yes, it’s hard, because you’re away from the one person who you want to be with the most, at any given place or time. That’s the only reason it’s hard. No, its not hard not to be seen with “your guy” every place you go, no its not hard keeping your libido in control, no its not hard not going to a party because you don’t have a date, no its not hard to be loyal, no its not hard to be in love.

We completed six years of togetherness on the 1^st of August, and it’s the first time we were together in 3 years. Paradoxically enough, we’ve matured and become even more childlike at the same time. It’s as though we’re making up for all our lost time by taking one step forward everyday. I don’t know if that makes any sense. But that’s how nonsensical we are. Do we still fight? Of course we do! Our fights define us.

At this point, I can’t help but be reminded of Shania Twain singing,

“They said, ‘I bet, they’ll never make it’

But just look at us holding on,

We’re still together, still going strong.

You’re still the one I run to,

The one that I belong to,

You’re still the one I want for life.

You’re still the one that I love,

The only one I dream of,

You’re still the one I kiss good night.”

Chocolate...

2006-11-24T06:34:00.000+05:30

Chocolate makes people happy. You’ve probably heard that a million times before. The survey that “proved” that chocolate did work as a mild anti-depressant has been oft-repeated and has been exhausted of much of its novelty value. That is not what I am talking about. I am talking about chocolate being able to spread happiness and love.

Here in India, for a rich child, buying a bar of chocolate is a thoughtless and carefree act, but for the poor kid, it’s manna. Chocolate is a rare treat. In all likelihood, he can’t even afford to spend the meager five rupees for this object of utmost desire. Chocolate, in this country, is a prerogative of the rich. The poor don’t have chocolate. It’s just not done.

Yet, they all crave for it. It’s common to crave for chocolate, especially for kids. I’m nearly 22, and I still crave for chocolate. And its human nature, you crave most for something you can’t attain. I have seen more of the city’s poor than the poor of the village, and honestly, to these kids the difference in status is even more apparent, in every possible way. It breaks my heart to see these children drool over the chocolate billboards they see plastered over the city walls. They know they can’t have it, but they can’t help wanting it!

The streets of Calcutta are filled with begging children. Yet, I don’t give them money because I know that most of this money doesn’t go to them anyway, and yet the sadness in their eyes tugs at yours heart strings. Instead, when I see a little child begging, I’d rather buy him a bar of chocolate. There is one outside my college who’s befriended me and says “Hi!” to me every time I walk past. His name, as I find out much later, is Raja.

On an impulse one day, I stop and buy him a bar of ‘Dairy Milk’. Unbelievingly he takes it from my hand. His eyes light up the moment he holds that bar of chocolate in his hands; it’s as though he’d struck gold! Gratitude overwhelms him, and he becomes shy, and runs off, but not before muttering a very excited “Thank you Didi!*” A little surprised by his immense joy, I watch him for a bit, while he very proudly shows off his newest acquisition to his friends, some of whom are wide-eyed while the naughtier ones try to grab at it, but obviously fail! After his initial euphoria wears off, and the other children start to get bored and walk away, he calls them back. He slowly unwraps the thin foil covering to reveal dark brown chocolate, while the rest watch, drooling, in mystified silence. “What a show-off!”, I think in my head. But right then, he does something I can’t imagine he will. He breaks the bar into five equal pieces and shares them with all his friends, who now treat him like nothing less than a demi-god. I’m really surprised. I would think that this little kid would want to keep the chocolate all to himself, after all this is a rare treat for him.

I have bought him a chocolate many times after that, and I really did think he would get greedy after a while, but he always divided it equally amongst all his friends. I even tried buying him a really small one on one particular occasion, but somehow they all managed to get a bite out of that too! I was amazed, and touched, every single time.

Before buying it for him on one of those many days, I ask him why he always shares his chocolate. He answers in such a matter-of-fact manner that I am a little ashamed. He simply says “Didi, they’re my family; we’re supposed to share everything, big or small. I couldn’t dream of something without sharing it with all of them. Why do you ask? Wouldn’t you do the same with your family or friends?” With this, he takes the chocolate from my hand, shouts a gay “thank-you!” (his shyness has disappeared over the weeks!) and skips down the sidewalk to find his “family”, without realizing the profundity of what he had just said.

The little kid made me think. Made me question whether I had become selfish. Did I bother sharing anymore, not just a bar of chocolate, but even my feelings? Or have I become too caught up with myself to even care about sharing my joys, my possessions, my achievements, my sorrows, my failures…my life? Did I care about those I loved most and did they even think of me when they had something to share or did they just keep it to themselves? Raja’s words kept ringing in my ear, and they changed me.

Chocolate helped me bring a little bit of happiness into Raja’s life, but it brought a lot of happiness into mine as well. He taught me something without even realizing that he had, and that’s the best part about the innocence of a child. Sure, I didn’t do a magnificent act of social welfare but I made him happy. Maybe I didn’t rescue him from his poverty, but I bought him a bar of chocolate which gave him a few hours of happiness. This, made me happy. Not only had I learned to share, Raja also taught me that sometimes our smallest thoughtless acts can bring sunshine into someone’s life and that sunshine automatically overflows into our own too.

*Note: In Hindi, ‘didi’ is used to refer to an elder sister.

Desire..

2006-11-23T17:56:00.000+05:30

I wrote this when I was in school (class 12 I think), the night before my English exam. Though I know it's no fantastic piece of poetry. It's one of my favourites! :-) And, btw, for the lack of a better title it's called Desire, but I really wish I could come up with something better.

DESIRE

I want to sit and read on top of a tree

I want to run like an animal who’s just been set free

I want to learn how to cook a French meal

I want to learn how to train a seal

I want to listen to Mozart and Pink Floyd at the same time

I want to write a good poem without a rhyme

I want to jump off a building to see if I can fly

I want to laugh so hard I begin to cry

I want to read every book ever written

I want to understand the working of the minds of men

I want to never have to apologise

I want to know the true meaning of ‘wise’

I want to write like William Shakespeare – The Bard

I want to write the invitation on my own funeral card

I want to learn to drive a bulldozing machine

I want to never step out of my teens

I want to be interviewed by a famous journalist

I want to be able to tell my life story in a gist

I want to adopt a dog, a monkey, a lion cub

I want to remember an itching nose becomes worse when you rub

I want to love like I’ve never loved before

I want to keep loving more and more

I want to travel to the north and south poles

I want to believe in the existence of souls

I want to travel abroad without a passport

I want to be old enough to vote

I want to be able to laugh at myself

I want to know what Enid Blyton meant by ‘elf’

I want to scuba dive from Kanyakumari

I want to know what its like to break your knee

I want to be brave enough to say I don’t know

I want to know what its like to be a crow

But most of all…

I want to be me.

Just me...

2006-11-22T05:30:00.000+05:30

If I'm not like you,
Need you be judgemental?

If I'm not like you,
Must you try to make me you?

If I'm not like you,
Will you love me any less?

I wouldn't love you if you were me.
But... I love me.
Because,
I am me.

First post..

2006-11-22T05:12:00.000+05:30

Someone suggested I should start a new blog to get over my angst of not being able to write anything that is not in the first person. So I took his advice. For anyone who might be interested, this blog is meant to be different from my usual raving and ranting (more ranting than raving!). I'm supposed to actually "write" here. Maybe,a little bit of photography too.
So for one, definitely don't expect regular posts. Second, thanks for your time, and do come back.

So long, and thanks for all the fish.