Platonic Love…

Is there anything like platonic love? No other meaning not even an extramarital one just a man and woman relationship. Numerous quotable quotes are scattered here and there about selfless love, about giving and not expecting back, about holding not clutching. Is it really possible to love someone without any selfish motive? Any relationship be it love or friendship starts with a sense of selfish motive. Motive may not be physical or material it could be emotional or intellectual too but there must be some thing to get along with the person. I have known few people in my life who talk endlessly about pure selfless love. I am tempted to ask them for how long can they love someone who doesn’t love them. Is it possible to give love and care even when the person is not paying any attention or just doesn’t need you?  How long can negligence be neglected that too from a loved one? Few months back we encountered an unexpected situation. Our colleague was in severe depression, her engagement failed. The boy finally bowed to his parents, apologized and backed out. The lady was adamant on clinging to him she said all the passionate things a young, recently in love woman can think of, including “I’ll never marry, I can’t think of any one else”. She did all the weird things, got her horoscope prepared with five different astrologers, signed in on internet for daily horoscopes, kept fasts, visited famous temples. Obviously she wanted an assurance that he’ll come back some day. According to her their love was true. I told her that may be true but it’s over now; at this point she got angry told me to stay out of their affair though she forgot that it was she who wanted me to bear all her rubbish talk. She kept on harping the tune of “platonic love”. From where did she learnt the word “platonic love” that’s a matter of concern because she was not knowing it before she fell in. She has a very poor vocabulary and not a literary person at all. When things became unbearable I asked her will she accept him if he comes back after screening 5 other girls? (Actually I wanted to say “after bedding someone else” but situation was not very encouraging). I received a contemptuous look; then what is this platonic love all about? Why not just love him and let him do what he feels like? She is normal now and comparatively saner. How come possible to give so much and not expect any thing back? And what type of love it is? If it’s not meant to be culminating in a socially acceptable relationship why people want to hold on to it? Is it wise to behave like some supernatural creature when we are well aware that we are just mortals? We are hurt, we have ego, we have self and still we try to be great or shall I say hopelessly illogical. Platonic or otherwise I have no problem but these hyperbolic philosophies spoil my tea time leisure twice a day. Irked by my ridiculous objections they have stopped such sermons at tea time, when and where they do it I don’t care. Tell me if I am wrong and yes I won’t want you all to spoil your hot- tea with rains outside to comment on this. Definitely!!!

Truly Your’s……

Why am I writing this blog? Just because I want to!  Every six months I post an introspective blog, introspection could be about anything. It could be me, you or both. This times its all about you people. I am an utterly unstable person, very fast bored with routine; this is my longest stay at a place. Earlier used to be “Mysterious Creature” now I am myself, feel comfortable with my name.

Let’s start with Aameen.If you’ll ever come to know about his talents, you’ll be surprised. He can write about anything romantic, he can give romantic touch to any object, emotion or feeling. He can fill romance in virtually anything. It’s possible only when one is in love with himself, in love with life. His love is natural, universal it doesn’t depends on a lady for inspiration.

Shivani: whenever I read her I imagine things, situations, and surroundings. Her poems are read and displayed at the same time. She is simply marvelous when she selects words and emotions be it Marya or Moonlight Maiden. Sometimes I feel I haven’t read it at all, I should read it once again.

PK: It was rather a mysterious accident, when I came across his poems. On Iland where English rules I was pleasantly surprised to read Hindi, indeed a rare thing these days. I completely forgot that I used to be a lover of Hindi poetry. Suddenly I remembered my passion. Thanks to him. He possesses a hidden talent, to experience that one has to sit next to him. A very different person professionally, how he manages two streams together, I guess it comes from within. I wish I could tell you more about him that will simply amaze you. I must abide by the rules of trust and privacy.

Rahul: My favorite punch bag. His frequency of blogs irritates me sometimes, it’s difficult to read them all and comment simultaneously. I keep his blogs in pending. I haven’t seen such variety on any other page. God only knows how he juggles so many issues, must be having 20-30 grams of extra brain. You know Rahul why I zeroed in on you, because my arch rival at school was your namesake. Every time I read you I remember him and I feel good after kicking you (just joking  !!!!!!).

Sohamswami: Since the day I know him he’s searching for Trina, and eluding us. Will he ever be able to find her? I don’t think so, because the day he reaches her, he’ll lose her and himself too. For him all roads lead to Trina, his destination, his journey is Trina and if he’ll find her, he’ll be finished. But I do hope someday he’ll tell us the truth: whether it was his fantasy or reality.

Boltus: Most of the time invisible, he is not regular at Iland. His posts are very few but each and every one is varied. He stumbled upon my page and that too on my favorite, truly mischievous post. Of all the comments gathered on all posts, my favorite is what he wrote for “The Art of Lying”. Each and every comment from all the readers is special, but this one is something more than special.   

Frozy: The fellow is immensely talented in making sense out of nonsense. He can write to any length about nothing, just give him a clue and he’ll give you an awfully hilarious blog. I read him with all my attention and at the end I feel like kicking him. Still I will read him next time and feel the same. No one can waste time as skillfully as he can and yet he never sounds like a bore. It takes a good deal of common sense and sense of humor (which is missing these days) to laugh at oneself, to create laughter for nothing.

PDG: Another accident, I don’t exactly remember how and when I tripled on his Iland. What I remember is that pictures were beautiful and some poems were realistic though written haphazardly. His blogs are unexpectedly short, which I find very convenient to read. He’ll say only what he wishes, without going into extraneous explanations and justifications. Yet some things to which I never cared about, I learnt or at least spared a thought. He writes for himself mostly, occasionally for others, that’s the true blogging spirit.

Your’s Truly: Not much to write about, you all have been reading my blogs, Quite opposite to frozy, I can make nonsense out of any sense. Give me any sensible issue, the most serious one in this universe I can convert it in to a frivolous one. That’s my hobby; I have always been stupendous at leg pulling, I know nothing else absolutely nothing.

Once accused of being faceless and conservative, for moderating comments, for keeping email-option closed. That’s what virtual world is for. People take advantage, they could be horrible and they have been. Till I allowed mail to my id, I used to get scores of mails, people offering true friendship. Man behaved as if I was some broken-hearted soul and they were here for me only, like God send Angels. Quite funny it sounds, but that’s true, had my dear friend been a lady he would have understood. I had to take a very cruel route for the fellow who was messing up with my name, he was really horrible. Why I didn’t thought of leaving it? Though mine is no empty mind but it’s still a devils workshop. You remember Narada? The famous wanderer in Hindu mythology, who carried this curse that his skull would burst if he won’t spread a rumor a day. May be I am carrying the same curse; my skull would burst if I won’t post some crap every fortnight. So I’ll keep posting and yours will burst if you won’t read.  Keep reading if you all wish to live long.

Afterthought: Names are in the order of acquaintance.

Warning:Views expressed here are of a vegetarian and teetotaler and are subject to change anytime I decide to convert my religion. Flatter yourself at your own risk.

Being A Celebrity……………

According to Mr. Salman Rushdie, girls don’t want marriage; they are simply interested in wedding dress. The much acclaimed author has been four times married and divorced equally. Does this means, one has to go through hell four times over to acquire such wisdom? To have done it four times to learn this makes him the stupidest person on earth. I would like to be ignorant, and I bet 95% of you would prefer it my way. Our famous sexagenarian author could be seen with ladies half or less than half his age. He can afford to be, as he has searched the eternal, illusive truth, he can’t be fooled by beauties. In India one knows one is a celebrity when newspapers start discussing their affairs, marriages and divorces, dress and haircuts along with the celebrity dog’s pooping frequency. What do you all think? It’s easy being a celebrity? How many of you can wake up at 3 in the morning and run to gym? Would anyone ever like to eat according to the diet chart? Counting calories every time? A pound of extra flesh can bring down the market price tag and render one un-celebrated. Constant pressure of being fashion conscious, to pretend one feels great with new cut or stitch no matter how stupid it looks. The intellectual burden of developing weird theories and snarling them just to remain in limelight is maddening. I hear that the superstar of the cinema (AB) is learning statistics. At an age when he is supposed to be playing with grand children, poor old fellow is busy drawing lines, just to prove himself more popular than SRK.

Lets us assume for a few minutes that we three are celebrities: Rahul, Frozy and I. I just want to see if we can behave that way. That means following the celebrity style, we have to get up at 3AM, work hard with running mill or something like that, we would be preparing some graphs showing ourselves more popular than the other one. First thing first: I am convinced that Frozy won’t wake up at 3 or even 6. He can’t pause his dreams of Deepika Padukone for anything, physique be damned. Rahul definitely doesn’t believe in “eat less burn more philosophy” for had he, he would not have been the teddy bear he is now. As for me, I am already in shape; in fact I would be very happy if somehow I can gain 2-3 kgs.

Coming to statistics: Frozy would be preparing some strange graphs (he proclaims ‘figures’ are his favorite) explaining to you all that he is more popular on iland than I am. I can’t draw graphs, I actually don’t care so I have no other option but to flick Frozy’s graph for my page. He won’t mind ask him if he really will. No arguments here. Rahul certainly can draw them better than us, but he has more serious issues to look after.

Then to the celebrity philosophies: Incidentally Frozy and I have somewhat similar philosophies. We are proud that no one can be weirder than us. Rahul has much deeper a philosophy with which I very rarely catch up. So I won’t meddle with him. No conflicts there.

Last one is a matter of common sense. Who among us, would wait till he/she becomes 60 or 70 to pose with people half her/his age? Frozy won’t wait that long. (And I am sure he won’t mind posing at 70 either) Rahul won’t, he himself had admitted that girls have been his worst competitors; he won’t pose with his enemies. Me.. not interested in photography, just could not behave nice even for a 30sec, shot. Niceties, sweetness are not my virtues at all; it’s very difficult  to pretend what you are not. That settles it.  Following the celebrity suit, I need to change my boyfriend every four months (if I had any) and must have a tattoo to proclaim my love. That means three tattoos per year; by that rate I would be a walking poster or signboard by the end of 2 years! Or have to learn to shed my skin every quarter.

Here are some more nice persons: Aameen, P K but they are far too creative, intelligent and decent to be drawn in to such meaningless matters of the mundane mind.

Did you notice that all this “being a celebrity” business is a frustrating, tiring one? I am no celebrity material neither is Frozy (though he will never admit it) and Rahul? Since we two are no celebrities, how can we accept him as one!!!!!!!!! (No, you can’t vote in this thing. Our decision is full and final).

P.S.: A note of thanks to Rahul and Frozy. Very few people are there who would allow you to pull their leg and that too happily. This is what I call generosity. Frozy deserves double thanks for spicing up the blog.

Their worlds: rahulwrites.rediffiland.com

                      frozensun.rediffiland.com

Pink City Bleeds

It hurts,
definitely even if we don’t express it or we try to be unconcerned. Anything
that has been a part of our life, be it a person, a home, a pet or a city
suffers, it hurts. We may not cry, not sigh but we feel a pang in our heart, it
should not have happened. Best years of my life were spend in and around that
city. Those were wonderful years, college days. Last exam be it mid term or
final was always scheduled early in the morning, so that we may have time to
roam around in the city. It took us 2 hours to reach Jaipur and buses were
jam-packed, University manages special bus service for students. Everyone
wanted to get in to the first bus leaving, we didn’t mind even if we had to sit
on luggage or sometimes on the roof of the bus. For home, very deliberately
buses or trains were selected that started late in the night. We were
butterflies flocking around taking pleasure in simple things of life. A
roadside ice ream, mirchi bada (my friends were so fond of it, though I never
tasted it). No one was ever in a hurry to reach home, there’s something in this
city and its people that I don’t feel as an outsider. Deewali holidays were
O.K., during summers I felt hostel-sick; there must be some umbilical
connection between me and this city. It seems like my own place. Bapu bazaar is
a shopper’s heaven. Bargain as much as you can one just needs enough of time.
At night the scene is straight out of some dream place. Colors and lights all
over, I enjoyed walk in the market at night. Rajasthan itself is a colorful
state. People prefer dark vibrant shades, full of life. Food is simply superb,
one can never have enough. Desert doesn’t seem to suck people out of their
vitality. You don’t love a place because it’s beautiful, but because it shares
best memories of life. Some bonds are eternal, there’s no logic or rational
behind feelings, inexplicable, simple to understand yet difficult to define. I
had to pack my baggage to continue my education, but I never really left that
place, it stays in my heart and a part of mine was left there. And then, these
bomb blasts, suddenly unimaginable happens. I wanted to be there this weekend
only. I have been so screwed up off late that could not find time to visit
anywhere, the moment I’ll finish it, will rush there.

अन्बूझे से रह गए अनसुलझे से प्रश्न
काल भंवर से हो गए
मन के अंतर्द्वंद

कच्ची मिटटी में ढले
रिश्ते यहाँ हज़ार
कब टूटे कब जुड़ गए
मन से मन के तार

मृग तृष्णा सी  नीद हुयी
बंजारों सा चैन
पलकों में ही सूख गए
अलास्भोर के स्वप्न

सावन भादों बैरी हो गए
रस्ता भूला फाग
वीरह जेठ ने सुखा  दीए
तरुण-प्रेम के ताल

With-in-the-Lines

When I was a kid, I used to have a drawing book, we filled it with colors and very carefully colors were filled with-in-the-lines. Why they taught us to fill colors with in the lines? I don’t understand till now. What I understand is that we are living life in the same way; most of us, in fact all of us, sometimes me too. Staying in between the lines, avoiding risks at best. Our lives have been guided by someone else through out; sometimes people do it sometimes we impose others on ourselves. Teachers tell us how to behave, how to be good and well behaved. The boy or girl who tops in the class, guides us, we wished to be like him/her or we were told to become like him/her. Sometimes we were supposed to be like our cousins or some friend. Our own views didn’t exist.  We are brought up in that way only, we are supposed to follow rules, to stay with in the lines; lines drawn by society, family or relatives, anyone but ourselves. We all want to be ourselves; to live life in our own way, but how many times do we really dare to disturb the apple cart? When was the last time we did anything without caring about the society, without thinking “what people would say”?  Living life for others, allowing them to judge us, trying to be best according to their expectations, are we not strangers to ourselves? Are we not living a double life, hiding a secret desire to do some crazy thing, breaking off the unseen, unheard chains? Leave alone the crazy stuff, we are afraid of expressing our views, trying to please everyone around parents, spouse, friends, everyone but ourselves. Isn’t it pathetic! Are we not torturing our soul, moreover are we not insulting ourselves by neglecting our heart and mind? I doubt if this is something less heinous than hara-kiri. I often wonder how such people could be trusted, if one is not honest to himself/herself how the individual can be honest in a job or a relationship? Its not about being rebel or non conformist, it’s about being true to oneself.

Broken hearts evoke a sudden interest or excitement such that no other topic can. From who is hooked to whom to who ditched whom everything is awfully hilarious as long as it is happening to someone else. This one is from my college days. There used to be two lovers association: one sided and multi sided. One sided were the frustrated, hopeless romantics who were refused by girls and they resorted to smoke and keep on ranting about the girls (same girls who kicked them). Multisided were a bit more optimistic and energetic ones, they were known for their shifting interests. They were not any better than their contemporaries when it came to cigarettes and drinks occasionally.  Drinks were opened on a rare occasion, obviously when generations were gathered. Occasionally, because girls had left them penniless, no one can afford foreign stuff with a girlfriend in hand. Though the two groups had very different philosophies, at the end of the day they sat together in college canteen and open out their heart. Their compositions were made available to us by our classmates. It used to be a secret meeting at night and everybody was expected to maintain the code of conduct of secrecy. But boys will tell everything to their “at moment” friend and girls can’t stop themselves from leaking out such things. It was an AIR sort of programme. The name “Broken Hearts Association” was given by me; I had nothing to do with these associations, so I gave them a new name. We Indians have got a habit of giving advice on issues that don’t concern us, I am no different. Don’t ask me how I conveyed it.

I remember a particular affair. College affairs are known to everyone. Except the two people involved, every one else from tea-boy to canteen manager to fruit seller on the road knows it. One fine night a senior of ours (Mr. R.D.) decided to propose the lady (Ms. G. G.), his batch mate. I don’t know why but he was not willing to go alone. He wished one of his junior should accompany him as his driver. He was not trying to pretend to be a royal heir as he had to borrow the scooter from his classmate. May be he was feeling insecure or may be shy. Finally my classmate agreed. A phone call came at 10.30 at night in the hostel. Those were the days when cells phones were not very popular. Ringing at girl’s hostel at night was a tedious task in itself. I was surprised why on earth he would call at this moment. He (Ranjan) asked for the lady’s phone no. We gave him after shuffling our diaries. Next morning Life Sciences Division was empty. The two “would be bridegroom” and his escort left; the honorable lady was ready with her brother and his friends carrying hockey, iron chains and sticks at the base of the hill. We, the juniors were on the stairs of the temple, same temple where I was caught having tea. Our tea-man, the thellawal changed the venue immediately, he was expecting some gang war.  Seeing a whole army down the hill Mr R.D. lost all his courage. Suddenly he forgot all those romantic lines he composed last night; I suppose he lost his memory too. He refused to go ahead. Ranjan, the driver was adamant, he refused to back out. According to Ranjan it would prove them coward above all it would be a shame to whole division.  The lady was from another division and we were rivals, there used to be a bitter competition between the two Divisions. They stood there for half an hour, Sir ready to run any moment and his driver insisting on carrying forward. My friend had no intention of playing the martyr for a stupid senior. There was a deal between the two. We were enjoying the scene at the stairs; some enthusiastic juniors even carried the camera with them. Finally we got a signal from Ranjan to leave. At canteen a party was arranged for us by the Groom. “Bride” was no longer the prefix. Occasion: no one bothered. Poor fellow, who dreamt of being the bridegroom, never came to know who leaked his information to the lady.

P.S. Just a time-pass post, I am not able to think  anything properly. Nothing is happening or a lot may be happening!!!  

DIL  PE  MAT  LE  YAAR…..

Once again I am in a fix. Yesterday I read a full column on “suicidal tendencies” in HT. It has become an annual ritual, the moment board exam begins and there are reports of suicide. Some hang themselves; some try rat kill or phenyl. Kids have become so overstressed that they try killing themselves even before the exam starts. Grades are so important that it is worth to sacrifice a life for them. And who tells kids that they must be the best all the time? Kids are being treated like racing -horse. They must win every time, or they would be shot point blank! So much expectations are loaded off on an innocent brain, that child feels ashamed of himself/herself if he/she is not able to perform according to parents. People think that grades, gold medals and certificates can earn them respect, love, isn’t it amazing? Life can be equally happy and satisfactory even without top grades, in the end we don’t remember people who were in merit list, we remember people who have helped us in tough time, who have been kind and nice. It boosts confidence for the moment but whenever I am sad or lonely I don’t stare at my grades, rather I call my friends.

Another disturbing trend, many of you will laugh at it same as I did: to hang oneself because trauma of rejection/betrayal was too hard to handle. Suicide for fear of exams is explainable (if not acceptable), but giving life for someone who doesn’t cares for you or for the one who was never yours…..isn’t that foolish? Among teenagers love has become a “fast food” sort of item; quick order, quick ingestion and long indigestion. It has been glamorized in such a way by television that it has become a lifestyle disease. And damn it yaar, why everyone thinks of dying be it exams or affairs? Is it some new fashion? May be, I was not aware of it and this idea of hanging myself for a stupid “A” or some worthless person simply doesn’t fascinates. Wouldn’t it be a better option to toss such mark sheet and slap that bustard?

 Nothing wrong with being ambitious or romantic, but this obsession is fatal. This is a time when we all believe that merit makes intelligent and labels make gentleman. Brands don’t make a man gentleman, and academic excellence is no guarantee of being a sensible and good human being. The question is who will tell this to innocent kids?

Here’s a live example of my neighbour, this fellow failed three times in 12^th: maths, science and commerce (in chronogical order), finally managed to sail through in the fourth year with commerce. His proposals got rejected thrice over; flatly! Now the fellow is getting ready for marriage with fourth gal. When I asked him how long will he take to pass higher secondary, his reply was “exams hi to hein, agle saal phir de doonga, kaun sa kumbh ka mela hai ki 12 saal baad aayega?”

Remember that famous quote of Oscar Wilde “a little bit of sincerity is a dangerous thing, a great deal of it is absolutely fatal”. A little bit of insincerity helps a lot. Really.  

A Woman………

A laughter

or just a smile of mine

can make your day

I know when and how and why

mom will get angry,

where dad kept his papers and forget,

I know where to look for them

without even telling him.

I can guess

 if one is lying over the phone,

 can see tears

 before they appear in the eyes

I am blessed with ears

that can listen before a word is said.

Only I know how to cry

and laugh for the same reason,

value of unheard words, unsaid apologies,

I know I rule your world,

You may not actually

have the courage to accept it

But I can repeat it a hundred times

and mean it.

I have given you lyrics,

made you poet out of nothing

your definitions of beauty drab without me,

love is a scentless flower,

I know you better than yourself;

Though, at times I am a stranger to myself.

There are mirrors

All over in my heart

Nothing I hide, none can you

from me!

You can hurt me very easily,

Same I can do to you

even better than you,

still I never even try,

 I have created a religion

with a fallible God,

and I worship with all my faith!

Hard enough to fight this world,

to speak up for my beliefs,

Strong enough to embrace it

forgetting all the bitterness.

Rude, rash at times,

Falling over the shoulders next moment.

I am a woman……

Of course a proud one!

P.S. A small note of thanks to Rahul(Think Tank) for provoking this female chauvinist.

Love unacknowledged……

Autumn and winter moved

leaving an unusual quiet

Here I am, letting days passed

Changing dates

 trying to tear apart

 present from past

 trying to forget all that hurts

 every time a tear falls

 I wish it may be the last tear shed

 every time it pains

 I wish I remember you the last time

 Stabs me, my shattered dreams

 and I pray it may be the last night

Apparitions hunt

of a love long forgotten

There’s no love left

I repeat a thousand times

Lies I have been telling

to no one but myself

There’s a truth

 engraved in my soul

The truth’s a stalker

frightening the heart

I shall always keep it a secret

 from you and from me

Because that’s all I have now.