She sat with her back to the rest of them. She stared at her screen, listening in to every single word they said. Mentally joining the conversation with witty come backs and silly anecdotes. She did not mean to eves-drop. She was struggling to find the balance between cool and needy, awkward and self-assured, confident and anxious. Every. Single. Moment.

She hesitated to join the conversation - often wondering if it would be rude. Worried that they would suddenly go quiet, again. So she pretended to be busy. Typing or reading. All the while waiting for some cue to join in. Half-hoping that they would ask her a question, easing her way into the discussion. That never happened though. After a few minutes, she became supremely conscious of the fact that she was the only one in the room who was silent. Who was not 'included'. Maybe they were talking about her? Gesturing about how weird she was to always be quiet. If only they could hear the turmoil she experienced.

Every day she told herself that she would make an effort, that she wouldn't care about a possible reaction, that she would just be herself. But she WAS being herself. She was shy, and reserved and self-conscious. She didn't want any special treatment, she just wanted them to be a little welcoming. Maybe it was unrealistic to wish for this. After all, it was not their job to make her comfortable. She had to do it for herself. But it just wasn't happening. She had to admit she was doing better than before. She didn't feel her heart pounding out of her chest every time she heard her colleagues start a conversation. Initially it was the dilemma of whether or not to join the conversation. Now it was the pressure of not creating an impression that she was...that she was someone weird and rude and mean and didn't care to join them in their talks.

The people who knew and loved her couldn't understand. They were unable to comprehend why someone so cheerful and friendly was finding it so challenging to fit in. Truth was, she was not sure herself. Yet this was the reality she lived with every day. It was not a catastrophe. It was not like her world was crashing down. Yes, she was uncomfortable. But she knew she would get used to the discomfort too. Perhaps that scared her more than anything.

Demonitization, corruption and my two bits on it

Here's my two bits on a massive change that's swept India over the last couple of weeks. The first I heard of the 'demonitization' was through a forwarded WhatsApp message the husband read out while we were in Goa. My first reaction - it must be one of those fake forwards; ignore! Pretty soon, it became evident that the news was pretty real. This was around 9pm on 8th November.
The enormity of the change started sinking in over the next few days as we heard news and opinions about this change. (And of course the forwarded 'jokes' and images and GIFs!). The move has been politicized to no end, and rightly so, because above everything else it IS a political move. It definitely isn't the life saver, high moral ninja move that BJP would have us believe, but is it all bad?
Personally, I like the idea behind it. To make people accountable for the money they have. I do feel that it would - to some extent - start a trend towards discouraging demand for bribes. Some may say I am being foolishly optimistic. Quite likely, but I'd pick that over reflex cynicism any day.
Now about the flip side. I have witnessed and heard of the struggles people have faced in managing their work and lives in general due to the long ques at banks. I've come across people who claimed to be queuing up every single day for a week, only to be turned away stating that the bank was out of cash. People who have stood for hours waiting for their turn, while someone with 'contacts' flouts the que with no qualms. People who have struggled to fund the day's meal as they were out of cash and were only being paid in old currency. People who have had to miss work as they stood outside banks.
The idea of making our country and society free of corruption is a noble one. Sadly though, it seems to be failing because we are steeped in a mindset of entitlement and quick fixes. No one wants to stand in ques. No one wants to wait. So what do we do? We call up someone who knows someone to "arrange" for cash. We pay people to stand in line for us. We urge our domestic help to deposit our black money in their name.
So if you ask me, the demonitization is not causing all the trouble. It is us. The common people. If only we had the patience and discipline, this transition would have been way smoother! I understand that people dealing primarily in cash are struggling. I empathize with them. But I do not understand or appreciate people who have easy access to plastic money or online transactions, and are complaining about the "inconvenience". Since 8th November 2016, I have spent less than Rs.1000 in cash. And I have been alright.
So please, don't panic. Please don't add to the commotion. And for God's sake don't believe everything you hear. Go out, see what it's like for yourself before assuming the worst! You can actually contribute to reducing the panic! Please only withdraw as much money as you need. And spend it rather than hoarding!
And hey..change is fun! Enjoy the novelty of the 2000 and 500 rupee notes if you do manage to get hold of them ;)

Why "Ae Dil Hai Mushkil" was a disappointment

More than anything else, this movie was a disappointment for the sheer lack of depth! Whether it was the lead actors or their love interests...for me, not a single character was gripping. And that's a shame because the story had potential. It was not a new story, though it looked at the 'same old' from a slightly different angle. Instead of looking at boy meets girl and they lived happily ever after, I believe the attempt here was to hero unrequited love...or 'iktarfa pyaar'!
However, there's a difference between heroing Raja from Saagar versus Rahul of Darr. For no matter how cute the guy is, no is a no. Perhaps the disappointment is so much more since Pink had helped us refocus on the all important discourse on consent. And here we are, back to square one! Whether it is a crude moneyed guy from Haryana or a jet-setting Londoner, no matter where you are, who you are, forcing another person to reciprocate, either physically or emotionally, IS abuse.
So technically, Ae Dil Hai Mushkil champions the cause of Ayaan - an emotionally 'vulnerable' 30 year old - who just won't take no for an answer. Not when the girl says she wants to be friends 'only'; not when she marries the man she loves; not when she tells him she will never feel 'that way' for him; not when she slaps him. So this man is either has a huge sense of entitlement and just doesn't comprehend the concept of rejection. OR, he is just really dense. Owing to my love for Dharma Productions and all things Karan Johar, I tried reallllyyyyyyy hard to give this movie the benefit of doubt. But bro, this isn't 1985! We don't live in that era anymore! (It was amusing to see the likes of Ritesh Deshmukh and Hrithik Roshan tweeting in praise of the movie and the "performances". Seriously guys?)
Despite all of this, the movie does pull off some lovely songs with great lyrics. And beautiful people in beautiful places wearing beautiful clothes. The Urdu dialogues took it a bit too far though. Sounded like they were trying too hard. A few here and there would have been charming, but the way Aishwarya Rai's character Saba spoke was pretty hard to follow!! Perhaps the only somewhat sensible thing that happens in the movie is her breaking up with Ayaan!
Despite my rant, I don't think the movie is BAD like some posts on Fb make it out to be. It doesn't manage to get you hooked like a KHNH or K3G, but well...you need Shahrukh Khan to be around for  more than a couple of minutes for that to happen I guess :D

Fire

It scared her, how much she craved for his attention. For years, she had shrugged off his advances – always putting up a mock agitated front to all the flirting. She didn’t deny that she liked him. He knew it too. And they often talked about the strange bond they shared. Having never met, they had managed to maintain this ‘relationship’ for over a decade. Mindless conversations, harmless flirting... long hours spent talking about nothing and everything. It wasn’t as rosy as it sounds though. They had had their fall outs, lost touch for long spells of time. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, they ended up reconnecting; ended up reminiscing the good bits, happily forgetting the jarring reality.

One thing he made clear from the start: he was a married man. And no amount of flirting threatened his commitment to his family. She appreciated this. Perhaps even respected him for it. But it was hard to keep track of her own feelings. He had a way with words. He had a way of making her feel special. And invariably, she felt guilty. In her head, what she was doing was not right. Her values warned her against it. Yet she was drawn to him again and again.

The scene was different now. Many years had passed, and having been through her share of relationships, a little more immune to his charm. But his messages still made her smile. He still had an inexplicable hold over her. She flirted back without hesitation. Fully aware that this is what they would be, for as long as they remained in touch. And even if they stopped talking, the world would not come to an end.

This went on for a couple of years. They talked on and off. Sometimes about their partners, sometimes about each other. His messages sometimes took a sexual overtone. She hated it when he spoke to her like that. Not because she didn’t like him. But she felt angry. Angry that it affected her; that she wondered whether he meant any of it. Her rational self knew he probably said that to a dozen other girls. And even if he didn’t, how did it matter? She scolded herself for paying heed to his nonsense. But despite everything, she couldn’t break away from him. 

As long as she was able to label this as light-hearted fooling around, things were OK. But it didn’t stay that way. It happened around the same time that her relationship with her partner had hit a rocky patch. A break-up followed cruel words and angry tears.

She was not happy. And she would not let anyone know. Perhaps out of vulnerability, perhaps as a result of years of repressed feelings... for reasons she did not want to dwell on, she found herself turning to him more. The romance and warmth she found missing from her life, she looked for it in their interactions. A part of her warned that she was setting herself up for heartbreak all over again. She knew there were limits. She had no intention of being the 'other woman'. She knew she was playing with fire. It scared her, but it also lit up something within her. An excitement that was addictive. She recognized that, for the first time, she wanted more. 

Waiting - the movie

Saw this movie a few weeks ago and knew that this one I got to write about! :) To be very honest, it did not live up to my expectations. That is not to say that it isn't a great movie. It is. I was expecting something much more gripping though!

Anyway, so as the trailer suggests the movie reflects on two very different individuals' experience of "waiting" for their respective partners to wake up from a state of coma. The contrast is brought out by Shiv - effortlessly portrayed by Naseeruddin Shah - as the older, more seasoned 'waiter' and Tara - an effervescent, recently married,  expletive spouting young woman played by Kalki Koechlin. It's about how we are alone in our grief and how two very different people bond over a common misfortune.

There is a point in the narrative when Tara is struggling to come to terms with the reality of her husband's accident, and Shiv explains the "stages of grief" in a manner that would have done Elizabeth Kubler-Ross proud! It's too textbook to tug at your heart-strings though. Maybe that's what the movie is missing. I would have loved to see more depth in the narrative. Perhaps covering a longer period of time. And the open-to-interpretation conclusion may not go well with a lot of people. That's just my perspective though. The movie is definitely worth a watch!

हर कोई उठा ले अगर
अपनी खुशी का ज़िम्मा
कई कांधों को मिलेगी
इस बोझ से राहत

She was trying to speak between violent sobs. And I was directing all my energy to my ears, struggling to comprehend her words. Three things became evident pretty soon. She was in distress. She was in a vulnerable place. And she was desperate for help. I was petrified to be on the receiving end of this 'crisis call'. To be absolutely honest, in the first few moments when all I could hear was a wailing woman, I contemplated hanging up on the pretext of not being able to hear what she said. I am not sure whether it was fear of being pulled up if the call was audited or something more meaningful that made me hang on. I would like to believe it was the latter!
She said she wanted to end her suffering. That it was getting too much to bear. I asked her to promise me that she wouldn't do anything to hurt herself. She refused. My heart sank to my toes when she told me of her plan as well as access to means for harming herself. There are knives in the kitchen, she admitted quietly. I was at a loss for words. My mind seemed to have slowed down. A voice inside me was screaming, say something! Anything! You have to save her! 'But how?' asked a smaller, more timid voice.
After what seemed like forever, I told her not to go to the kitchen as long as we were on phone together. To my immense relief, she agreed! She started to share her heart-breaking tale. I wanted to comfort her. To reassure her. Yet, I was at a complete loss of words. I probably asked some mindless questions. I can't be too sure. She said something about writing a letter to her daughter and 'ending it'. Before I could react, she hung up!
I have never been more disappointed and scared at the same time. With alarm bells ringing in my head, it seemed as though every single nerve in my body was taut with tension. My manager suggested I call her again. She rejected the call. I tried again. And this time she picked it. Relief, nervousness, fear...I felt it all at once - electrifying my very being. I tried to keep this out of my voice, and requested her to stay with me. 'Don't talk if you don't want to,' I said, 'but stay on line with me please.' Again, to my immense relief, she agreed.
The 20 odd minutes that followed, till we connected her with her mental health worker, were... I don't really have words for what they were. I wanted her to know how much I wanted her to live. But I didn't know how to. She said she was scared. I wanted to say 'so am I'. Instead, I tried being strong for her. Tried distracting her and 'holding' her. Every few seconds I repeated her name and asked if she was there. Every time I asked her to take a deep breath, I did too. I wonder what that was like for her. Was she feeling frustrated by my feeble attempts? Or was she grateful to have another person with her in this? Either way, I am immensely grateful to her for letting me be with her. For my sake more than hers. Because I know how badly this would have haunted me if I did not have the reassurance that she was in safe hands.
That was then. I have no way of knowing what happened after. Did she get the much needed support? Did things get any better for her? I don't know. But I am hoping that she knows, that she is not alone. Then again, I wonder, what was my desperation all about. Was it because I didn't want her to kill herself on 'my watch'? Or because I genuinely wanted her to live. Either way, it was a draining experience. And I am glad she called in.

These are just few of my favorite things

I had a great 2 years in the U.K. Life as a student is anyway super. The backdrop of awesome places like Keele and Manchester only add to the charm! Even though I never intended to stay on forever, now that I'm back almost 4 years, there's a few things I really really miss, and have strong cravings for sometimes! Off the top of my head, in no particular order...
"Full English breakfast" at Weatherspoons. 
Fried eggs with runny yolks, crisp bacon and baked beans. 
Sausages and mash. 
Heat and eat meals from MnS Food. 
Cheap wine. 
Carrot cake. 
Angel cake. 
Red velvet cake. 
ANY cake. 
Daylight at 8pm. 
Weeknights at KPA with friends. 
Cafeteria food. 
Weekly trips to grocery stores. 
10 trip bus tickets. 
Random £1 shopping. 
Trafford center and Arndale. 
Train journeys. 
Bus rides. 
Strangers holding the door for you.
Politeness.
Random kindness.
Huge tress with bright blossoms. 
Primark. Shoes. Dresses! 
Steak. 
Pubs. 
Doner and fries. 
Afghan food joints. 
Curry mile. 
Counselling at Beacon. 
London. 
Being alone. 
Random walks.
Iceland.
Christmas.
Autumn!
Frost. Snow.
Choice of alcohol.
Variety of cleaning stuff - wipes, sprays, mops...
Hot chocolate.

Uh oh..that's longer than I expected. Got to find a way to visit soon! :) 

Difficult decisions

My grandmother is very unwell. She has been deteriorating for the last few weeks. It is heart-breaking to see her shriveling like that. Of course I want her to get better. Of course I want her to get out of bed and walk around like I am used to seeing her. A part of me knows though, that the possibility of that happening is quite bleak. It is something all of us have been told indirectly by the doctor.

Last week, she stopped all food and water intake and was semi-conscious for almost the entire day - flitting in and out of wakefulness and sleep. That's when the time came for one of the most difficult decisions. She is lucky in that she is surrounded by her children and grandchildren who love her dearly. But having so many people care for you complicates matter too. Every one of us wants the best for her. Each of us want her to 'be back'. Yet, there is a fundamental difference of opinions and values. While some have deep faith in medical miracles, others are of the opinion that prolonging her pain is unnecessary.

The question was, whether to admit her to a hospital or continue to care at home. It was hope vs. acceptance of a painful reality. But more than that, it was also the guilt - of giving up too easily, of not having done enough. After much deliberation, disagreement and drama, it was decided that she would be moved to a hospital. So that she could get round the clock professional attention, so that if there was even the slightest chance of her recovery - it wasn't missed.

It has been almost 4 days now. She is in the ICU. Only allowed visitors for 30 minutes in the morning and 30 minutes in the evening. Undergoing multiple tests everyday. With tubes stuck down her nose and wrist. Knowing her, I am guessing she is terrified. Her fear of abandonment must be stronger than ever before.

What is the point of this, I wonder. I understand why my elders made the decision they did. I know it was not an easy one. Yet I can't help but think - what if we had a different view of life and death? What if prolonging life artificially did not trump respecting death? Why are we doing this to her? So she lives on for a few more weeks? Are we really doing anything to reduce her pain? Or just consoling ourselves that we didn't let go. And who is it that we are trying to convince? We love her, we all do. Why does it have to be proved this way?

Tears

If you'd pause to think, you would see
my tears hold the answers that you seek
do you really seek answers, i often wonder
for i don't hear you pause
i hear your questions
and the anguish behind them
and i wish i could put the tears into words
but i can't
they flow, when there are no words.
i have always been
at a loss for spoken word
smiles and tears i am easy with.
my tears are not a means
to seek vengeance or to hurt
to punish or to rub in.
they are an expression
of a girl who is at a loss for spoken words.

Memories

My stomach hurt from laughing so much. This man had a wicked wicked sense of humor! I don't think I have laughed like this for decades now. As a divorced, reclusive workaholic 50-something, I did not give myself much opportunity to lighten up and enjoy.

I met J on an online dating site. I am quite a skeptic when it comes to connecting with people via internet. Call me conservative, old-school, whatever. I just don't think it's safe! But a friend of mine - one of the few non-work-humans I am in regular contact with - created a 'profile' for me and insisted on playing the matchmaker. I am not sure what made me indulge her, but I did. And I must admit, I'm glad about it!

The first person to 'express interest' in my profile was J. His profile described him as a teenager trapped in a middle-aged man's body. I found that funny; and with more than necessary goading from my friend, I started talking to him through chat. Our interests matched on many levels, and differed on many more. I had never come across anyone like J. He seemed to have interests ranging from wine to cricket, Harry Potter to Jagjit Singh, World wars to cottage industries. He seemed to know something about everything. He had strong opinions about politics, philosophy, science, economics, the list seemed endless! Yet somehow, he seemed real, grounded. Not once did I feel out of my depth or that I was interacting with a pretentious douche. After almost a week of near constant chatter about everything under the sun, J suggested we meet (his exact words: "'coz frankly my dear...my fingers hurt from all the typing!"). 

So here we are, 5 hours after we first met in person - having the best time I have had in years. To be completely honest, I don't think I am attracted to J. I don't think he is attracted to me either. But he seems like a terrific person. He reminds me of my ex-wife in some weird way. We were great together. She was my best friend for the longest time. My pillar of support, my confidante, my strength. No, it's not how you think it is. We did not part ways because I am gay. She knew about it. Maybe not when she fell in love with me...but soon after. 

We were really young then. Maybe it was foolish to get married knowing fully well that we would never be everything that the other wanted. But this was the 1980s. I couldn't dare to openly declare my sexuality. I don't think I can do it even today! I was not too sure about my sexuality either... But both of us were sure of one thing - that we loved each other's company. And in the innocence and recklessness of our youth, decided that that was all it would take for us to live happily ever after. Our families gladly consented to the match. 

Neither of us realized how frustrating it would get - and how soon! Not just because there was no sex in the marriage. We had an unsaid understanding. Both of us could gratify our sexual needs outside the marriage. I was naive enough to believe that this arrangement was flawless. I was in for a shock when 4 years after our marriage - almost 10 years since we had known each other - she declared that she was pregnant. And that she thought it was best to raise the child with its biological father. Needless to say, I  was devastated. I felt cheated, used. Why couldn't she just have sex without getting attached? I even tried reasoning with her. Told her that we could raise the child as our own. I would be the best father there ever was. She trampled over my heart by telling me that she did not love me anymore. That both of us were not in college now and one of us had to be an adult an put an end to our crazy "social experiment" that we called marriage. 

'Don't tell me you missed my finest joke!' J's voice jolted me back to the present. I couldn't keep reminiscing over something that happened almost 20 years ago. Why then, did it still feel so fresh? Why did it still hurt so bad?

The day I died

Disclaimer: Fiction ahead

I had made up my mind. As I got up from my desk at noon, for a split second, my hand hovered over the pen. Should I leave a note, a letter? Should I explain? No. There was no need for that. The reasons were clear enough. I didn’t want to seem even more pathetic by attempting flimsy excuses. Without another glance, I strode out of the office – my steps surer than they had ever been. Maybe that would draw attention. I slowed down my pace.

For once, I didn’t have to wait for the elevator. Was it a sign that things weren’t as bad as I thought? Or probably a sign that I should follow through with my plan? That seemed more plausible. The liftboy nodded absently at me. We saw each other at least twice a day every working day. Yet, the half-nod was all that ever transpired between us. A soft ping announced our arrival at the ground floor. Once more, I faltered. Was I really doing this? Shouldn’t I have apologised to all those I had let down? That would be a long list… no, all this was pointless now. For once I had made up my mind. And I intended to follow through with my plan.

And anyway, I didn’t want any reassurances. I didn’t want to be told ‘everything will be ok’. I knew things would be better. When I was gone. They will be grateful I did this. Maybe not immediately. After all, social mores would require them to go through the grief-anger-disbelief cycle. Eventually, they will come to see this as a blessing, I am pretty sure of that.

I made my way through groups of people huddled over coffee, cigarettes and more. My destination was a couple of lanes away; a newly constructed high-rise - largely unoccupied - overlooking an empty concrete courtyard. My plan was simple. I was going to dive headfirst from the terrace. I was going to put an end to this misery. I was going to free my wife and my parents. Nobody else mattered anyway.

I decided to climb up the 20 odd flights of stairs. Somehow, that seemed very important in that moment. I was probably convincing myself that this was a well thought out decision; that I was willing to make the effort. Or perhaps I was just buying myself some more time. Some more time for what? To chicken out at the last moment? No. I am not sure why it was so important but I was convinced I had to do this the hard way.

The first few flights went by easily. I felt calm and confident. It got tougher as I climbed higher. My feet hurt as I continued upwards, breathing harder, sweating. About halfway up, I decided to take a break and sat down to catch my breath. It amused me to think that even though I was going to hurl myself to a painful death, I still wanted to give my body a few moments of comfort. With a chuckle, I got up and continued.

I imagined how my wife would react to the news. Her first reaction would be disbelief. I wonder if she would feel any remorse for not responding to my I-love-you this morning. She was a practical woman though. I am sure she would find a rational explanation for my behaviour and move on. She could finally realize her dreams. My negativity or I would no longer hold her back. My mother would probably blame herself first. She is the kind of woman who is capable of making practically any incident sound like a personal failure! In this case however, it would not be so far fetched. If I could, I would want to let her know that this wasn’t her fault. That she had believed in me innumerable number of times. That I had let down her belief time and again. I had no delusions or hopes of an afterlife. This will be it. The end.

My father would help her cope. He is a sensible man, with no patience for emotional fools like my mother or myself. He would probably see this as an act of ultimate cowardice – proving that he was right all along – that he had fathered a good-for-nothing son. I was thinking of different occasions over the years when he had told me as much, as I reached the door to the terrace. The last time I came up here, it was locked. But it was a flimsy padlock that gave way to a swift tug. Evidently, no one had been up here since, so I walked out. Another sign.

I checked my watch – a minute to 1pm. That had taken longer than I expected! Well, it’s not like any one would notice how long I’d been gone. Would they? Brushing aside these thoughts, I made my way towards to other end of the terrace. I did not want to delay this any more. The final moment was near. 

I would probably make it to headlines of the local papers. Something like “depressed man jumps to death” perhaps? Maybe they will add some non-existent spin to the story. Just to make it a little more interesting. My real story had nothing worth reporting. I had done nothing note-worthy in the 37 years of my life. Even my failures were petty. Nothing grand about them! Such a life was pointless. I was not doing this out of anger or spite. I was not doing this out of hopelessness or depression. I was doing this because it felt right. Some people might see it as a selfish thing to do. Some people might pity me. But the minute they put down the paper, I would be out of their minds. So how did it matter what they thought.

I hoisted myself up on the three-feet protective wall between the terrace and the ledge, and gently slid down to the other side. The ground seemed closer this time. And welcoming. I knew this would hurt. I told myself that the pain would be momentary. And then, there would be peace. I realized that my sweaty palms were clutching the wall behind me. Letting go was harder than I had imagined. No time for second thoughts now. I did it all the time. I heard my wife’s voice in my head ‘you can never stick to a single decision you make’. Time to prove her wrong for once.

With an awkward jerk, I let go – hurtling towards my death – much faster than I had imagined. No…an involuntary scream escaped my lips. Stop! I was panicking. I wanted to turn back time. Frantically hoping for a miracle as the ground raced towards me. Hands and legs flailing, I desperately tried to slow down. Looked like I was going to fail, one last time. Thud. Crack.