On a bit of truth about myself.

I am a sensitive person. I am a sensitive and quiet person. A sensitive and quiet person who is usually nice and laughing. But then, you come along. You come and you think all the quietness and niceness and the laughter would always be there. So you walk around and come over to my wrong side. I try shrugging you off from there and lead you back to the other side but you are adamant and decide to stay. Because you think, even on my wrong side the laughter would stay, the niceties would stay.

 Let me tell you what happens instead. The laughter disappears. Yes. It is replaced by a stone face that will not even attempt to smile at you. The niceties disappear. Replaced by nothing. The quietness becomes silence. I engage in absolute disinterest in your presence in my life. You are stunned. You would be because I do not care and will never bother to give you reasons for such withdrawals. And usually you spend a lot of your time telling yourself how I withdrew and disengaged inspite of you trying and never gave conversation a chance.

 You are right. I do not believe there is any need for conversation when you take everything about me for granted. I believe you should have introspected and have had the conversation earlier. And no, I do not come with warning tags. If you claim to know me at all, then the taking for granted would not happen. At all.

 You may think, I am probably very bothered about this shrugging habit that I have. You are right. I am bothered deeply when it hits me first. I stay up nights and talk to myself during the days wondering what is it that went wrong. I wonder why would say what you said or why you would say that in that manner. I go back years, think of all the times that I had decided to overlook the little mistakes and wonder why I had not said anything then. Most of the times I decide I should have said something earlier, much earlier, when there were warning signs and not waited for this to happen. But then, it is also true that I am who I am. I am quiet and I am sensitive and I do not say anything. So if you know me, at all, then you would know that too. And you wouldn’t take the quietness and sensitiveness for granted. Ever.

 I must also tell you that all the heartbreak also goes away. Sooner or later. And with time, I see it is increasingly easy to accept no nonsense and move on. There is less staying up at night and less talking to myself. There is less need for rationalising and reasoning. There is more of it is what it is. There is more consideration that I grant myself.

There are four of you in my life. Two from my family and two of my closest friends. One more person from my family has been very recently put on the same track.

 One of the family members has been very difficult to deal with. I have taken years to understand the complexity of the relationship, the power imbalance and the emotions in that relationship. Very recently, I have decided that I did deserve better, that more than the relation itself, I must look at myself as an individual engaging with another individual and certainly an individual deserves a better in a relationship.

The friendships that I have consciously disengaged from have also been rather hard on me. Yes. The friendship itself was hard and then the process of disengagement was probably harder. I wish I could be more specific but I this is the best I can do for the time being.

 So, yes. That’s the truth about me, a part of me. I am quiet and sensitive. But if you say you know me, then no, you don’t get to treat me as a doormat and walk away with that.

***

 Note: This post was written after a year of continuing therapy where I attempted to untangle some of the knots of my mind. Therapy helped me. I could sit down and write this without breaking into tears, dissociating and floating into outer space and staring at old pictures. There are other knots that are still there. I will untangle them in my own time. I am still in therapy and will be for as long as I think it is necessary. 

 There were doubts in my mind about putting this in my blog. But then this is who I am and this is how it is. I trust the ones I call my friends. They would know what I am talking about. And I trust my readers. You have a right to form an opinion about me.

On strange strange days.

My body feels like a stone today. Heavy and not able to move. My mind feels quite the same. Fuzzy, blank. With images coming in and going out, conversations floating in and floating out- recording nothing. Like a white sheet of paper where you scribble and erase, scribble and erase repeatedly until there are marks on the paper but no formation of anything. My eyes are heavy. Wanting to sleep, burning with exhaustion. Looking at no one, seeing through every one. Expressing nothing but blankness and that exhaustion.

Exhaustion refuses to leave me. It seems to have engulfed my whole being: parching my throat, drying my lips that no amount of water can satisfy.

It is a state of being here and not being here. Sitting here at my desk yet floating around and looking at myself, hunched over the study table, fingers typing- studying myself from a distance wondering what would possibly bring me back to myself, let me experience my being with some form of emotion.

My mind forms an answer, much like the bubble in comic strips. And I chuckle. I think I want to lie on my couch and watch sitcoms for one afternoon. Strange it is, I know. The exhaustion, dissociation and the need to reclaim television time, sitcom afternoons and my space on the couch. But it would bring me back, I think.

Mindless laughter, sarcasm and that space to stretch out the whole body – just the thought of it almost brings a smile to face!

Dearest darling best friend,

You are the only one who would call me from halfway across the world at 2.30 in the morning just to find out if I am “okay”. No one else would even think about it.

How much I love you because of that. How much I love you for all that you are and for every thing that you are not.

I miss you. Come back soon.

*Sniff*

Click on image for source.

On a little bit of joy

You know how life is made better on sullen afternoons?

(Following is a chat excerpt. Contents of full chat will not be revealed here. A will disclose his full name if he wants to )

Me: throws paper ball at A

paper ball misses target

A picks up said paper ball

throws it back at Paroma

paper ball lands right on Paroma’s head

Paroma wails

A offers clean white hanky to Paroma

Paroma refuses said hanky

A blows his nose into hanky

Paroma’s eyes fill up with tears

Paroma turns and walk to her sulking corner

Sigh

Story. Of. My. Life.

A: you’re making up your own story I see

Me: it is my story indeed!

A: awww

pulls out tiramisu cake he had brought for Paroma

hands it to her on a plate with a fork

Me: yay!!!

A: tries to hide the cinnamon cappuccino which he will give her after that

Me: yay yay yay yay

does a little jig

snatches plate from A and runs to a corner to eat it all by herself

longingly eyes the cappuccino

You see, they might not know all that is wrong with your life but they definitely know what will bring you a little joy

Well, that’s why they are so precious. Them friends.

On a Sunday well spent

I initially thought I’ll write about my week and what good things happened so I could get rid of my work stress. But then I realized no good thing happened during the week and I definitely don’t want to write about work. So. I will rewind myself to last Sunday. When much fun was had by four very good friends.

Last Sunday R and I decided that we have grown up and that we must think of our future and we must invest in right places. I thought, as a way of investment, we should buy a RV, live in Europe and travel the world. R acknowledged that it was a very good idea but suggested that maybe we should look at some flats. And so we went. large acres of land, partly dug up, green in places and cows grazing merrily. There, they said, will be luxurious apartments in just three years. Glass all around, imported marble, vitrified tiles. A four bedroom duplex too, if you want. After knowing the price, I almost fell off the duplex balcony but R caught me just in time. So we drove around prospective township, scratched our heads and voiced our thoughts aloud. The RV increasingly looked like a better idea.

So, after an attempt to make such important decisions in life, we went to watch Alice in Wonderland with C and S. we missed the first two minutes of course because C had to finish his smokes, and R had to buy iced tea and so I also had to get iced coffee and C felt like having some cappuccino to fight his sleep. But, even without the first two minutes, the movie was just what I had expected it to be. Down the rabbit hole went Alice, she grew tall and shrunk in size. She ate the cake and drank the potion and got stuffed into the tea pot by the Mad Hatter. Johnny Depp is God of course. He is the only one who could have played Mad Hatter in this whole world. The orange eyebrows seemed perfectly natural on him. Then there was the red queen who screamed “Off with his head” and the white queen with her vow of non violence. And the caterpillar, and the Cheshire cat. Sigh! Alice has not lost her “muchness” at all. Neither has the Wonderland. They all seem “much more muchier” now. And I was reminded as to how important it is to believe in as many as “six impossible things before breakfast” to get through one single day! A must watch it is, Alice in Wonderland. Such a delight, always.

Well, so, after we were done with the movie and reeling under the effect of all that fantasy has to offer, we hopped over to Smokehouse Deli. Now Smokehouse Deli is one of my favorite places with sandwiches and burgers and soups and dessert to die for. I mean, they have food to die for. Plus they have a sit out and a giant TV where they screen the IPL matches. Perfect setting for four friends to drown themselves in pitchers of Sangria, talk about everything from human rights to politics, cricket and marriage. S and I, of course, spent a considerable amount of time talking about the “men” kind. Interesting ideas were bounced off like when R said how true independence will arrive when more power is vested with the women and C said Alexander had come to India by sea and landed in Kerala (!!!) and followed it up by saying History was one of his strong areas in school (!!!!!!). S spoke a lot about Dravidians and Aryans (must have been lecturing C about Indian history) and initiated the discussion on female infanticide in Rajasthan, where, she said, female infants are drowned in a “holy” pot of milk so that they go back to God right after their birth! I had a lot to say that evening and I went on relentlessly about gender, gender sensitization, loopholes in implementation of laws, use and misuse of laws and the very warped perception of domestic violence in society.

And no. All this talk never tired us out. We went on for over four hours. Drinking those pitchers of Sangria and talking. When we finally got up to leave, we had to rub our eyes to keep ourselves from going off to sleep while driving! Not a good thing and not advisable at all.

It was a Sunday well spent, though. It was a Sunday worth writing about. And a Sunday that kept all of us going for the rest of the week as well!

PS- You know, I am awfully proud of my friends. They are all mad and weird but they are them. They make me laugh and always laugh at me. I make their day if I fall off a chair in front of them. They actually laugh about that for the rest of the year, yet they are the first ones to pull me up and offer me an ice pack. They are always the first ones to run around a look for ice packs. They made my first anniversary spectacular. They make my house feel like a home. It is only because of them that I am still in this city. I feel blessed to have them in my life. They complete me, they keep me the way I am. Thanks guys. You are such fab people.

(For R, Shruti, Namrata, Chetan, Arjya, Avinash, Shubhagata, Sohini. Also for Maman and Rinky. The last two are very far away from me now but always close to my heart.)

On Calcutta.

Mild winter breeze. Grey skies.

Overbearing crowds.

Traffic snarls. The eight minute wait at a traffic light.

The bells of cycle rickshaws. And the horns.

The CNG autos. The low floored buses.

The mouth watering rasogolla at the neighbourhood sweet shop.

The familiar smell of warm toast in the morning. The tinkle of a spoon against a tea cup. “You still prefer black?”

The endless fish curries. The waiting for biriyani.  The mutton rolls.

The plans changed. Times not kept.

The doorbell ringing in the morning. “Didi, aajkey oi baari tey ki hoyechhey jano? ” (“Do you know what happened in the other house this morning?”)

The news bulletins on Jyoti Basu. The heated discussions on politics, ideals and beliefs.

The new literature festival. The book fair missed.

Smiles, laughters.

The walks around a park. The life that seems a little troubled. A friend’s shoulder. A patient hearing.

Evenings spent with relatives. Neighbor’s lives. Gossip. Smirks. Laughters again.

Shawls and sarees. Kashmir emporium. New Market.

Sitting by the side of a mighty river. Staring out into the open.

Dreams had. Deams lost.

Peace. Home. Hope.

Heartache. Soulmate. Best friend.

Calcutta.

On an outrageous conversation.

Conversation with a not-so-elderly relative this morning-

Relative: Hi. Long time. You never call these days. You have completely forgotten all of us. Very busy you guys are!

Me: How are you doing? (Yes, yes and yes. Bleh.)

Relative: We are all well. Achha listen. I had to ask you something very urgent.

Me: Yes. Tell me.

Relative: You know we are looking for a girl for “X” no?

Me: Hm.

Relative: There is a shommondhho* from “Y” you know. She is from your college. One batch your senior. Do you know her?

Me: No. I don’t.

Relative: Listen we have seen her bio data. And we know the family is good. But there is one problem you know.

Me: What?

Relative: Actually our friend through whom the shommondhho* has come says that the girl is a little plump. So I was wondering if you can find out how fat “Y” is.

Me: What? (WHAT THE FUCK?)

Relative: Yes, yes. You know “X” is tall and slim and a fat girl will not look nice with him.

Me: What? (ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE?)

Relative: Yes, yes. Can you call a friend to find out? It is a very urgent matter you know. I must know by this evening.

Me: You need to know by this evening how fat “Y” is?

Relative: Yes.

Me: Sorry. I can’t help. Really.

Relative: But can’t you call a friend?

Me: Yes I can. But not to find out how fat a person is. Sorry.

Relative: Please try. It is very urgent.

Me: No. I am sorry.

Relative: You can call a friend a pretend that you are trying to place “Y” but can’t seem to remember how she looked. Then they would tell you how she looks. Can’t you do that?

Me: No. I cannot. And I will not.

And with that I end the call.

I am REALLY angry with her. More disgusted than angry. I am disgusted that I am even remotely related to such people. Who stop at nothing. Who have no self respect, no shame and definitely no concern for other people’s feelings. How DARE she even ask me to place such a call?

And of course, “X”, the long haired free spirited and rather nice cousin of mine has no idea that such enquiries are being made. He would probably be mad with rage if he ever hears of such a thing.

And “Y”, I hope for your own good that you are spared of having such a terrible mother in law. Who is prejudiced without even seeing you once, without even getting to know you. I am sure you deserve much much better.

And as for me, I have never been diplomatic. Never tried. So I am not doing it this time around as well. I will not pretend to “find out” about her “fatness” in the guise of asking other innocent questions to my friend/s.

To hell with that relative. She has a heart as ugly as her toes.

*Rishta/ Marriage proposal

Diwali

is over.

The Rangoli is gone, the diyas are gone, the candles are over. R burst his fair share of firecrackers, I stood at the farthest corner possible, draped in a new saree of black and gold with a few Phooljharis in my hand cringing every time a cracker burst in the vicinity (that is to say, every other second right beside me). The lights from my balcony will come down tomorrow. Life will go back to being muchly mundane. We will all go back to work, to our daily commute, the songs on the radio and no particular mad rush of getting back home.

The Diwali ended well. With a traditional Bengali dinner complete with finger licking mutton curry, tomato chutney and narkel naru.

The Diwali brought with it a nice crisp breeze, a slight chill in the air, the mellow warmth of the sun and walks any time of the day. Yet now when the sunlight falls squarely on my east facing balcony, a slight heartache tells me I am missing something. It brings me tears of both joy and sorrow. Of loved ones coming and loved ones leaving.

But then there is tender daybreak. A new day, every day. It brings a little bit of hope for all of us. Hope of holding on, hope of letting go. Hope of being able to smile one more time before wiping away hidden tears.

Yes. Diwali is over. All that is left behind now is the strange feeling of nostalgia, the sudden feeling of emptiness. And the lamps, waiting to be lit again next year.

On October so far.

It’s a very lonely Friday afternoon.

I am at work. I am staring at a blank document with a blank mind. All I can hear are the sounds of the relentless typing on the keyboard, my colleagues speaking in low voices, phones ringing and the fans rotating furiously as if trying to defeat the cool air of the air conditioners. I have papers on my desk, a blue pen without a cap, a half eaten bar of chocolate and the cold bottle of water. I lean back on my red chair and wonder what makes me so melancholic today.

Maybe it is because autumn has finally arrived in Delhi. That the sun has mellowed down and breeze is more soothing. That the trees are looking livelier and basking in their gorgeousness one last time before winter comes. Or maybe because I miss the fall in New York City. Where nature turns a shade of fierce orange and red and the chill in the air brings in endless mugs of hot coffee. Where people sit out longer and have dinner to savor the last few days of fall weather. Or maybe because I miss October in Calcutta. I miss the feeling of Durga Puja being over, the familiar feeling of approaching Kali Pujo and Bhaiphnota, the trips to Vivekananda Park for fuchkas. October used to bring the sunlight in my small balcony back home where Ma used to put the blankets out for sunning one last time before winter arrived.

Or maybe I am missing some romance. I am missing holding hands with R and walking around in the park and having dinner at an open air restaurant.

Whatever it is, it is a subtle and joyful but melancholic feeling. I miss the vibrant colors of New York City, I miss the soulfulness of Calcutta, but here in my comfortable New Delhi apartment, I can sit quietly in the balcony and stare at the vast October sky.

It’s a gorgeous month, October is. Isn’t it?

PS- If you want to read a better post on a happy October, do visit this blog. This is one of my favorite posts ever!

Edited to add later- I read Suchismita’s post after writing this and then I was wondering whether I should post something so similar. On second thoughts, I did.

Memories.

“Just a little bit longer”

P.S. Wordless Wednesday is now on all week. And I start today.