Shifted!

Changing identities is easy here.

Person remains same, words remain same, address has changed just a little bit. Find me now at: http://mumblingbee.wordpress.com/

अल्पविराम

कुछ शाम है भरी भरी,

कुछ दिल भी है भरा भरा,

कुछ हवा है, बस वही दवा है.

इस जुदाई के आलम का और कुछ ना हो सकेगा, 

यूँ ही कुछ और भर जाएगी शाम, दिल भी भर आएगा.

धुआं भी उठा है, आग कुछ लगी सी है,

नादानी कुछ लगती है, इश्क सी मालूम होती है, 

जो तुम ना हो तो धुआं भी तेज़ लगता है,

रुख नहीं है दुनिया से, काफिर बना दिल चलता है,

तुम आ जाओ तो बहार खिल उठेगी, जग झूम जाएगा, रूह खुश हो जाएगी.

पर जी मचलता है,

दूर हो तुम, तुम्हारी आहट भी नहीं है, 

यादें हैं कुछ, अधूरी बातें हैं कुछ,

कुछ मीठा सा दर्द, कुछ कड़वा सा सच.

बस गयी है दुनिया जिसमे तुम हो भी और नहीं भी,

कुछ समां ये भी बांधे है, कुछ समां हमने बना लिया,

इसी इंतज़ार में की तुम आओगे,

और वो दिन भी क्या होगा, क्या होगी वो रात,

क्या होगा वोह समां जब बनेगी कुछ बात,

तुम और मैं बंध जाएँगे, खो जाएँगे,

फिर भरेगी शाम, बरसेगी भी,

धुआं बुझ जाएगा, यूँ ही दिल भी खिल जाएगा!

Happily Ever After?

Love can make a home. But can it run a house?

All that glitters is not gold. It is silver and bronze and brass and gold and copper under bright light. Remove the shine and see the truth. It’s not dark but it’s the reason why every story ends at happily ever after. 

There is a turbulent, complicated, beautiful, mind boggling ever after.

Open Letter To Facebook Friends

Dear Fellow Facebook-ers,

                                                Warning: If you take offense very quickly and want to kill after reading the first line, stop right here. I don’t want your silly opinion about how what you do is right and what I should do.

Still reading? Okay.

I am tired of you. And every time I open Facebook, I want to cry. And YOU who identify with the traits mention below, are the reason. Facebook has ceased to have any importance because of YOU.

What you don’t seem to understand is that you’ve lost all your common sense, I don’t know where, and have so far not been able to get it back. Here’s the deal: STOP making a fool of yourself.

We understand you want to share your life’s event’s pictures. But trust me, going to city walk every other day or metro pictures, those are certainly not your “life’s events”. Add to them your editing skills – what are you trying to do? On top of that, you want to explain your day using pictures. I don’t care what story happened in that metro. It would seem still sensible had it come once a month. I can’t believe how free you are to do this every damn day.

DON’T share those ugly looking pictures of injured children/battered wives/creepy animals. Your “share” is not going to help; I guess you’re old enough to understand that. You should rather help to take them off Facebook.

When you post “:(”, “I wnT 2 cRyYy….”, “I Wnt 2 DIE. LiFeee……nT sOo GoOD…..” and other similar stuff, you are labeled as one attention grabbing idiot, if I may say so. On top of that, when someone asks you, you’ll reply with “kuch nahin yaar….”. Obviously something is wrong. And obviously the person asking is also an idiot because your true friend would’ve called you even before you posted this message. Also, updating your status every two seconds is NOT a good idea.

Your boyfriend coming to meet you is a major deal, I agree. But if you post 10 pictures/statuses each day on what you guys did and stuff, I’ll metaphorically slap you and sincerely hope you break up. Also, Facebook isn’t ice cream therapy. If you’re sad about a break up, call your friends.

Someone died in the family? Oh let me post it on Facebook. This is the worst attention grabbing technique. Why would you want to tell your entire friend list, which consists of meaningful and meaningless people, about such a grave matter in a Facebook status update?! Seriously? No, even if they are sick, you can’t. There’s messaging and phone and all kind of communication stuff for this. At least respect the person who lost his/her life or is struggling to keep it?

Facebook is a social networking site, if you will. You get back with old friends, keep in touch with new ones all day and if you’re interested, befriend new people. Not your daily log. I repeat. Facebook is NOT your daily log.

We might have, at some point of time, done this (except for the last point, even I’ve done a lot of the above). But we learn from our mistakes. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. Why don’t I just hide these updates or better yet, deactivate Facebook? That’s because sometimes there may be important updates there. Some people can’t be hidden since their updates might be important (and once the importance goes, they’re also out of my friend list).

Just common sense and social etiquette.  And the world will be better place to live in. These are only a few of the woes I have regarding you. I wish you a better life and hope some common sense gets instilled in you magically.

Sincerely,
Living on hope.

Photo: http://www.google.co.in/imgres?um=1&hl=en&sa=N&authuser=0&biw=1366&bih=667&tbm=isch&tbnid=tOl_F-0ULS8KxM:&imgrefurl=http://www.telegraph.co.uk/technology/facebook/9035396/Facebook-worth-1.1bn-to-UK-economy.html&docid=8SFSfiH6QVDC9M&imgurl=http://i.telegraph.co.uk/multimedia/archive/01796/facebook-front_1796837b.jpg&w=620&h=388&ei=vNC7T-b8Hc_rrQf52b2ZCg&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=536&vpy=148&dur=418&hovh=177&hovw=284&tx=139&ty=105&sig=106120958739934562971&page=1&tbnh=132&tbnw=187&start=0&ndsp=19&ved=1t:429,r:9,s:0,i:169

Vodka Shot Cuatro

Broken dreams are like shattered glass, weren't meant to last. 


But I say, thank you broken dreams, for you showed me what I am really meant to be. 


And so I'll go on, stronger and prettier and better.

Photo: http://www.istockphoto.com/stock-photo-6042424-summer.php?st=b9cca96 

A Cricketer Less Ordinary

Being a girl, my cricket frenzy was limited to the looks of the cricketers. At a young age, I collected pictures of cute cricketers from all teams and stuck them in a diary. And that is why, maybe, I could be nobody else’s die hard fan (no offense). It was always Rahul Dravid.

I had no elder brother seeing whom I could see cricket frenzy. My dad wasn’t much of cricket crazy person. There was family friend, much like a sister to me. She was THE fan. She had posters, interviews, pictures, everything you could possibly imagine. Even their birth day dates were the same. I was awed. I read them all and realized that there is something about him. The next SportsStar (Fortnightly Sport Magazine of The Hindu) had a pull out poster of him. I stuck it in my clothes almirah and saw it almost all day daily.

I grew up and continued to admire him albeit with lesser fervor. My fascination for him was well-known among friends and family. During his match in Australia in 2003, where he made the fabulous double century, I was travelling. My younger brother, now slightly aware of the cricket tamasha, teased me throughout the way saying that Dravid will be back to the pavilion at 199. I kept fighting him. That was the kind of trust Dravid placed in us. In 2003, the first time I followed the World Cup was because of him. I was not saddened by the final loss but I was amazed by the way he led the team to the finals. Just brilliant.

In 2007, India suffered a crushing defeat at the World Cup. Our media has forever had the habit of taking a cricketer to Mount Everest and then pulling him completely zameen ke neeche. But Dravid maintained his dignity. He never embarrassed you.

His address at the Bradman Oration in Canberra made us all proud yet again. I read each word of the speech only to be filled with more respect for him.

I can’t comment on the way he played. No analyst there. Though I have seen innumerable jokes on how slow he was. But he took it second by second, it seems – every second speaking for itself. He was used to pressure but the dressing room stories say otherwise. He was The Wall for them too. Indeed, the Mr. Dependable. Never exaggerated his presence, always maintained a subtle appearance. Every time I looked at his picture, I was filled with a sort of calm – this guy is still there.

Now that he’s gone, cricket doesn’t seem so important any more. However much I may dislike IPL, I get to see Dravid in action again. I side with the team he is in – even if that needs me to change loyalties from one team to the other like some fickle minded person. But it’s only Dravid who matters. I watched cricket because of him. And now I won’t watch cricket, because of him being not there.

I sincerely hope to see him in the positive limelight just so that he can continue to remind this generation of Indian cricket’s glorious past. Adios, Jammy. You’ll always be my favoritist. 

photo: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Rahul_Dravid_-_moving_the_field.jpg

Why Twitter is better than Facebook

    1. Firstly, Facebook is a social networking site. Twitter is a micro-blogging site.

2       2. News! Follow at least one news channel/ newspaper/ something’s twitter profile. Also, trending topics give a good amount of information – especially with the new twitter.*

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         3. Gossip. Everyone’s the other person’s friend in Facebook. Bitching cannot be open enough. Twitter is slightly better because, trust me, not all your friends know how to use it and they never bother checking after making an account just for the heck of it.

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         4. You can’t update your status every second (unless you want to incur some major wrath from your friends). You can tweet every nanosecond – your followers will be happy (if you’re sensible, that is).^#

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         5. With 140 characters only, the tendency to babble becomes less.^#

6

         6. There are no photo albums titled “MeHhhHh <3”.

7 

         7. Followers are more important than friends, though slightly less faithful.

8  

         8. You’re not compelled to reply to every mention.

9

         9. News reaches you first, in every form – sarcasm, fact, mockery, and joke. Anything you want.

1   

        10. You can mention anyone and kick their butts or praise them or do whatever. They won’t notice, they won’t care and if you’re good, you’ll be retweeted!

*  - Most important for those budding journos who hate readin newspapers and like to flip through.

^# - contradictory, but true also. When you want to tweet a lot, you want to sound sensible.

Leftovers

Fragments of your smell in the blanket. Bits of your memories on the sheets. Indifferentiable whispered Iloveyous. Fading feel of your lips against mine. Rising cold realization. Numbing of my mind. Half closed, sleep craving, waiting hollows of eyes. Drying words. Cooling passion and firing up again. Curled toes and trembling fingers. Reminiscence of your breath on my face. Messy hair. Salty thin strings of water from above. Your absence in the presence of your leftovers.

Don't go please.


Or are you gone already?

Freeze

You know when time flies?

I want it to stop.

I want it to breathe.

This is where we belong.

Stop, just stop right here

And see we’re happy.

See we’re smiling in the midst of a few happy tears.

See us love each other like we wanted to.

See us fly but don’t learn.

See us get lost in each other,

And relish the moment.

Cherish us together,

Bring us alive again.

Hold our hands and dance.

Just be, be how we want you to be.

Don’t bring about your end,

Just freeze.  

Smoke

The door opened,

You walked towards me,

Giant steps,

Loud thuds.

I was there,

Soaked in blood,

I lay painless.

You touched me.

You grew on my blood,

Laughed at my tears,

You took my heart in your hand,

Heard its silence and chuckled.

And then you took your steps backwards.

I lifted my hand,

In vain,

I felt dead,

There was no pain,

I was dead.

And then I heard

The last thud

A last chuckle.

You disappeared,

The door closed.

Did You Know Why?

Intoxication, high

Most of the times, you don't know why.

I speak, three wonder creating words,

You smile, I wait for you to be heard.

I see you again,

With a look, same

I speak again

But this time, you don't feign

A smile, you cry

I thought I knew why.

I run my fingers through your hair

Hold you for long, it was only fair

You deserved this,

I didn't know what I'd missed.

I sit down beside you,

Speak words, new.

"You share your dreams, I'll tell you mine,

Together we'll create a dream, make our lives sublime"

You smile at me weakly,

You knew I am beaming,

You shake your head and walk away.

She says she feels sorry and holds your hand,

You wrap your arms around her, not a word you say.

I see you again,

With a look, same

You turn around and so do I,

If only you'd told me,

Why the intoxication, why the high.

Dazed, Amazed, Awed.

“The laws that lay down who should be loved, and how. / And how much" (The God Of Small Things, 311).

And that one quote summarizes the whole book.

First published in 1997, I think it was just the right time for me read this. Not too old to over-understand and then to judge and not too young to confuse completely. Since it’s more than a decade old, there’s no point in me telling you the story. Moreover, it’s very difficult to narrate the story. The book is written in non-linear form, which is confusing yet so brilliant. It follows a narrative style like that of Shadow Lines (by Amitav Ghosh. Another masterpiece, I must say) but the plot, I think, is much more complex. There are even lesser closures and the end couldn't have been more abrupt. Yet, I love it for its themes, the undaunted portrayal of love and the true portrayal of manipulation and power relations. I am still dazed and I think I’ll have to read once again to completely absorb it.

There is a lot of dramatic characterization in the book but that too is quite subtle and punched with bits of direct characterization in between. So it’s quite hard to say which one was my favorite character. But I think it was Velutha. He was absent for most part of the book and it took me some time to understand why he loved the two-egg twins so much. But when I did and when he died, even before I read the final chapter, I’ve never felt such remorse for any fictional character as for him. He was betrayed – first by his own father, then by his Comrade Pillai and then, unknowingly, by the child he loved so much-Estha.

He knew what his caste meant, he knew what repercussions his action would have, he knew there might not be a ‘tomorrow’ and so it happened and yet the only truth in his life and in Ammu’s life was their love.

Maybe it’s only because I’m smitten by the idea of love, but the way Arundhati Roy has explored it is fantastic. The love between Ammu and Velutha broke all barriers, literally. Different castes and what a place to love each other. Baby Kochamma’s love for Father Mulligan – attained truly in his death. Chacko’s unconditional and almost blind love for Margaret Kochamma and their daughter.

The twins’ love for each other triumphs over all of them. Truly, it was never you and me for them. They were always ‘we’.

One character that truly saddens me is Estha. He turned into a recluse, I think, because he realized what he did to Velutha, because he said “But that will be never” to Ammu, because the “orangelemondrink man” violated him and he never opened up to anyone. Estha, “the Practical One” was manipulated throughout the book. Rahel was rebel. She resisted the manipulation, fought it when she could and learned to live on her own. But Estha is one of the saddest literary characters ever (in my knowledge).

I’m awed by her language. Her sentences. Her words. The lack of proper closures, some missing bits which I wanted to know, specially Estha’s life in detail in his father’s house make me restless but I’ll live. :)

It deserves another read. And you can’t understand it one go. There are so many things that I'm missing out on but I can't possible explain each of them. Beautiful quotes in between which you should probably mark out. Great work, inspires me.

Vodka Shot Numero Tres

Hum ne bahane se, chhup ke zamane se, palkon ke parde main ghar bhar liya..

The music of this song randomly popped in my head and I YouTube-ed it immediately to pacify the desperate urge I had to listen to this song. And I realized what I fool I’d been that I didn’t have it in my phone. (Which reminds me that I need a great result for an iPod so I can store all my songs in it. And DU is taking forever!)

Ae Zindagi, Gale Laga Le. Beautiful song, beautiful lyrics. I know everything about the movie, Sadma – the movie in which this song is played but have never had the guts to watch it because what I saw was the last scene. Every time I think about it, it gives me goose bumps. I cannot bear to watch such a wonderful relationship end in blood and how! But I must say, the movie was a masterpiece.

The five minute song delicately shows almost every aspect of their relationship. It moves your heart and Sridevi’s impeccable performance caresses your soul. You can relate so much to the lyrics that it’s almost as if it’s about your life.

I have never been a fan of South Indian remakes but this and Hindustani, both with Kamal Hassan in the lead, mesmerized me.

Go and listen to it first, even before reading this, if you haven’t heard the song yet. 


And then wish yourself a very Happy New Year, from me. :)

Vodka Shot Numero Dos

Have you ever thought about dreams? Not our dreams of life, but the dreams we dream when we are asleep. It’s a world in its own, don’t you think? Whatever explanations I’ve heard on them never satisfied me. Dreams are intriguing, sometimes troubling, excruciating, intricate yet magnificent, beautiful, hopeful, significant. Where do they come from? From our thoughts but how does something we see, while we are asleep, recreate the feeling of touch. So much so that you can even feel the other person breathe in your dream. And not just of anybody, it is that of the exact same person you’ve been dreaming about. How do locations change? What do these dreams mean? Should they be taken as signs?

They’re so colorful yet so sad because we can never truly interpret it rightly. But maybe, it is better if, in this world of so many not desired meanings and unwanted answers, some things are left to our own personal imagination… 

An Affair with Bollywood – Commas but No Full Stops

It started as a beauty, still is but now it has become like the moon – a beauty with a little more than required marks on her face. 2012 marks its 100 years – the Cinema of India, better known as Bollywood. 

When I was asked to do an assignment on it (the joys of journalism!), I realized that it was impossible to capture all the aspects of this hundred-year-old huge, majestic empire ruled by the actors, the singers, the versatile and these days, the skin-showers. The first movie I watched in a theater was Hum Aapke Hain Kaun at the age of 5. And since then, I’ve been in an on and off relationship with it. I was never a huge, die-hard fan of Bollywood. I just liked movies in theaters, something to pass time and an exclusive luxury because my parents were never great fans.  I lost faith in Bollywood when I switched to Star Movies, HBO and the likes. Each movie, however big a hit, disappointed me. It was only Lage Raho Munnabhai, Bheja Fry, Khosla Ka Ghosla (comedies all of them, I now realize) that kept a bit of hope alive. Now, when I came to college, I started understanding a bit more. And thanks to Shreya Katuri, a friend and an AC (quite a cliché, but that’s what she is!) of Bollywood, I was back in tune with Bolly again.

The history made me realize that this nation has had ample supply of great cinema. I’m not in any position to review any of Dada Sahib Phalke’s or Save Dada’s works but they gave the shape to Indian cinema, as it is now. The evergreens have given it an augmented definition. And the new comers are, well, distorting and making and distorting again and re-making.

Sadly, no movie can recreate the history of Raj Kapoor’s magnificence or Guru Dutt’s delineation of the tragic mood in his films. There can’t be something as grand as Mughal-e-Azam or something as simplistic as Shree 420. These movies were carved with perfection. Even a comedy like Choti Si Baat or Golmaal displayed excellence. They were not movies which were built around one-liners or funny dialogues like Ready, Damadamm or Bheja Fry-II.

Today, Bollywood is more about who is the highest paid or who has had more relationships etcetera, things which should be of least importance. A bit of fault here is of the audience too who cannot appreciate Sahib, Biwi aur Gangster, Dev D or That Girl in Yellow Boots. They want movies like Bodyguard and Wanted, a supply of which is uninterrupted thanks to Salman Khan. With Ra.One, Shahrukh seems to have disappointed many, but that doesn’t dent the popularity of action movies with really animated fight scenes.

Another audience accepted, at least most of them, formula is sleaze. Saw the hype around The Dirty Picture or Love, Sex aur Dhoka? I watched just the former one and it gave me a headache. Sleaze makes the movie sparkling, no doubt and I’m not a conservative bitch, but right amounts and right portrayal is quite important. And also, the new trend of whorish names with a slutty adjective/activity which you know is here to stay, for bad, when Karan Johar has “Chikni Chameli’.

There is so much more I want to say about Bollywood. But this post can cover only this much or you’ll stop reading. I wish Bollywood has a better class. Nonetheless, I love it. For the music, the colors and entertainment, entertainment and entertainment.

I Want You - Like Crazy - But Baby You're So Far Away.

Just saw the movie Like Crazy. Halfway through it, I’d almost lost faith in long distance relationships. Thankfully, the end was slightly positive though highly ambiguous. Did they no longer love each other like the way they used to? I almost cried. The way they hugged when they met after a long time, the way she stared at empty metros where they’d travelled together. I am a sort of an emotional fool, but you have to see it to feel it. It is heartbreaking to know that they probably separated after the shower. For my satisfaction, I believe they lived happily ever after. But after their encounters with other partners in each others’ absence, I don’t know. It’s more heartbreaking than ever.

I don’t know why everyone makes such hype about long distance relationships. Why can’t they work out? The bracelet Jacob gifts Anna, indeed, what was written on it was the key – patience. Who knows whether you’re meant to be? Who knows if you will separate forever? What you do know is that you’re one, not physically, but in love, in thoughts.

With patience, comes trust. You have to be patient enough to understand that nothing can go on in their life in your absence because you mean the world to them. You trust them, they trust you and that is where you establish the root of your long distance relationship.

You can’t get involved with someone else. Because if that works out, then there wouldn’t have been a long distance in the first place. You decide on something when you say Okay let’s how it works out but in your hearts of heart, you believe in it truly. So you wouldn’t be seen dead with someone else. 

Need I mention this? It’s love. It binds you and it is the reason why you’re here in the first place. Nurture it, preserve it, cherish it and believe in it. And it will get you through and make you happier than ever.

Stop whining about how you’re the only one who calls them. It’s okay to keep making the effort. After all, what counts is whether you talked and not who initiated the conversation – unless you’ve fought of course. The important thing is to keep the conversations going even if you have run out of things to talk about. As a matter of fact, if you’re in love, you can have a conversation with having nothing to talk about.

In today’s world, when there is ample access to internet and other devices that keep you connected 24/7, there is no reason why long distance relationships should be so difficult to take and hard to maintain – unless, of course, you’re incompatible. There are only so many things that you need to keep a relationship going but maybe if you just believe in yourselves and love with all your heart, you’ll have that world you’ve been dreaming of.

When you know that the answer of what have you been doing is waiting for them, you know there’s nothing such as long distance.

Cheers to love!

Vodka Shot Numero Uno

Life is not as complicated as it seems. Okay, maybe it is but you need to understand that it doesn’t wait for you. It will never wait in happy moments, never rush through your sad moments, won’t care if you miss someone. Life goes on. You will have to wait for the moment, grab it when you have it, let go of regrets, shoo the tears of sadness.

Live the oddity, create the randomness and breathe life!

Over A Cup of Coffee and Paneer Tikka - Part 3

“Max? Who is he, Mish?” her eyes glinted.

“Max Hospital, Lipika. Hospital,” she said the last word through gritted teeth, trying very hard to suppress a scream.

“But Mish--” Lipika began.

“I know you’ve been stopping me since morning. But it isn’t right. I know it isn’t. I love him and that’s all that matters. I’ll forgive him, this one time. He deserves forgiveness. For all the love he ever gave me,” she could sense tears in her eyes but she didn’t want to cover them now. She hadn’t cried for a month. Now, she could. Now, she could release the hurt, the pain, the anger. She knew it wasn’t entirely Lipika’s fault, who’d kept her from Ansh all through this month, but she just couldn’t take it any longer. Her mind had given up, lost to her heart.

“He hasn’t even told you her name, Mish,” Lipika said in a last-ditch effort.

“I DON’T CARE. JUST GO,” she shouted and then broke into sobs. “Just take me there.”

Lipika turned the car to the direction of the hospital. Nervous breakdown was not her thing to handle, she was sure as hell.

Now, Mishka could feel the taste of coffee and paneer tikka in her mouth. It was almost as if she was coming back to life. She had kept all her memories at bay by working overtime. Every time a memory surfaced, she blocked it with anger. She took sleeping pills so she didn’t have to think before sleeping. But since the past week, her mother had hidden them. And now she thought. Hard. She thought how much she missed him, how much she loved him. She thought if that was how petty her love was that it could not forgive. She remembered how they shared coffee and paneer tikka during the cold nights, how he had hugged her to sleep. How he loved her. Really loved her. Her mind kept racing to the memories of the past and she had realized what she was stopping. Now, nothing could stop her.

“We are here, Mishka. Go.” Lipika announced as they reached Max hospital.

“Thanks, Lipika,” Mishka was still crying. Then she ran.

Lipika was only whimpering. She didn’t cry that easily. But she was saying it again and again. “The girl was me. I am sorry, Mishka.” She knew once Ansh told her, she wouldn’t have her back. She didn’t want to have her back. She had her eyes set on Ansh and when she found out that he liked Mishka, she couldn’t believe her life took a turn like that- like some movie. And then she gave him up. But a month back, when she got the opportunity, she couldn’t resist it. She couldn’t believe it either. That she could still like him. Mishka was out and there was nothing better than alcohol in the world. And Mishka was the best excuse to invite Ansh over. She’d planned it all out, now she thought, like a vamp in some silly serial. But strong will power was never her forte. And she did it. She knew Mishka wouldn’t forgive but what she had forgotten was how much they loved each other. She drove back, knowing no one would come back looking for her.

In Room 413, Mishka held Ansh’s hand. He couldn’t speak through the oxygen mask. It only fogged when he tried. But she knew what he was saying. She knew he was sorry.

“I am sorry, too. I love you very much, Ansh. More than anything else. I don’t know what would’ve happened if I wouldn’t have come here, Ansh. Stay with me. Just stay.”

They both cried for the rest of the night. Held hands in each others’ and cried.

The nurse found both of them asleep the next morning. She was sleeping by the side of the bed, kneeled down on the floor and head resting on his palm and he lay peacefully on the bed, his other hand on her head. The nurse smiled and went on to call the doctor. The doctor had to be told, after all, that Ansh was normal again. 

Over A Cup of Coffee and Paneer Tikka - Part 2

Memories..

It was a rainy afternoon when he had told her what he told her. It was just one day, Mishka, he was saying, just one day. I know it hurts, but you have no idea how terribly guilty I feel, Mish. She knew she believed him, her heart knew it. But her logical mind refused him outright. There’s was no world where she would forgive a lying, cheating bastard. A one-day stand, huh? That’s what it was? she’d smirked. She got up and left. Without goodbyes, without a last look. She didn’t even say she didn’t want him anymore. It was implied. She didn’t want him to say sorry. That would’ve eased his burden and guilt. He didn’t shout or stop her. He sat with his head hung. She’d walked, walked as long, as far as she could. Even though she knew every nook and corner of Delhi, she didn’t know at that point where she was. Then her phone had buzzed. It was her mother. She had seen her walk past their home and was worried. She cried in her mother’s lap that day. Told her everything. Her mother had suggested forgiveness but she denied it vehemently. It does no good, ma, she had screamed. Her mother had patted her all night and she had cried all night, saying just two words, why me?

“There’s another party at Swarovski. What about there?”

“What?” Mishka sounded like she had been woken up from a deep sleep. Lipika grimaced. “Party. Swarovski.”

“Hmm. No. I don’t want to. Anywhere. I don’t want to go anywhere,” she constructed her sentences with difficulty, carefully choosing the words, afraid she would give away her thoughts.

“I want you to meet someone. He---”

“I DO NOT want to meet any new guy, LIPIKA. How HARD is  THAT to UNDERSTAND?” She realized she was shouting and thumping the table and gave a look of apology to all the people sitting. Then she glared at Lipika.

Lipika continued calmly. “He is the Head of the Creative Department of Femina. Its Delhi office.” She had lighted a cigarette by now. That was the only way she knew to not retort to anyone who snapped at her.

“Oh.” Mishka was embarrassed now. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. They were quiet for some time.

“Are you still getting the roses, Mish?”

Roses. They’d started to come in from the next morning after the night she’d cried in her mother’s arms. They increased with the number of days. First day there was one, then two the next and so on. Every rose had a note. Notes of apology, notes asking for another chance, noted about how he still loved her. Her mother took the roses, read out the note to her and kept the roses in her books. Books. Ansh had never liked reading books. He thought they took too long to finish. She’d discovered that when she had gifted him ‘Three Men In A Boat’ on their 6 month anniversary. It was a nice, light read and she was certain he would like it. But he had only given an apologetic smile and put the book away. When she’d visited him the next time, the book was right where he’d kept it then. When he saw that she had noticed, he had explained his aversion to books. She had laughed and said that he could’ve told her earlier. Then, they didn’t know that they’d be celebrating their 5 years anniversary soon, which would be followed by pain. But what is love without some pain…

“Let’s go, Mish. You can decide on the way if you want to come to the party or not,” Lipika got up. She glanced at Mishka and saw she hadn’t got up. So she lifted her by the elbow.

“I am getting up. Relax,” Mishka revolted.

On their way, Lipika was briefing Mishka about Parth.

“Parth. The Femina guy, Mish.”

“Oh.” She realized suddenly that she might’ve missed on a lot of what she had been told. Memories were still swarming her head, clouding her thoughts, making her dizzy. She wanted sleep but she knew it wouldn’t come. She closed her eyes, trying to register what Lipika was saying but all she could hear was Ansh. The way was he said he loved her, the way recited cheesy Bollywood dialogues, the way he cried when they couldn’t meet for days, the way he came running after her when she was angry with him, the way he was. Every word she heard connected to him. She’d spent 5 years of her life with him. There was no way she could forget him. There was a possibility of forgiveness, easier. Not very easy, but easier than forgetting which was almost impossible.

“Let’s go to Max, Lipika,” Mishka said. She didn’t know where the words came from. She just spoke them.