The Hardest Goodbyes

For whom is a 'goodbye' harder? For the one who leaves or the one who is left behind?
I remember sitting with my closest friend in my house, just before I left the city of Kolkata for good. I was seven. So was she. To me back then, leaving a place for a new one was something as exciting as a vacation. I was in my packers' costume, something my dad came up with- a Jumpsuit, a cap on the head and a notepad in my hand. She walked in to wish me 'goodbye' with a card in her hand and an unusually unsettling countenance. I think we were too young to understand the concept of emotions or how one expresses it. She said 'I'll miss you', I reciprocated and hugged her with a promise to write her a letter every week.
So that was about it. Fifteen years now and on the phone with her a week back this is what she said- "In my twelfth grade, I used to go to your block for tuitions. Each time I crossed your building I could not help but smile, remembering you and wishing we could go back in time and relive those memories." All I could think of is the unsettling expression on her face the day I left.  For me, I had a whole new life to begin, while she was returning to the same one only without the someone she really valued.
Having said this, we can still never be sure of the answer. 'Goodbye' is just one word. Indicating closure. Sometimes unavoidable. Sometimes a choice. Sometimes... a necessity.
I was sitting in the University a few days back as I wondered which 'goodbye' personally was the most unsettling one for me? The one that was unexpected or the one that was unexpressed?
I recollected the way my mother cried the evening before I left for higher studies. I was too excited, just like the child in the jumpsuit so all I could manage was - "Relax! We will Skype everyday! It will be like I never left". A 'goodbye' unexpressed.
Reflecting on the same I realised that the hardest part of a 'goodbye' comes from the memories associated with the person involved and the fear of things 'not being the same'; the fear of facing the brief period of instability. A 'goodbye' to the dependency.
'Everything's going to change!' I exclaimed childishly to my pal a few days back as we were getting crazy selfies clicked. 'I can never be this weird in front of anyone else and now you are leaving!!!' She laughed for a long while trying to get words out but only laughing more each time she opened her mouth to speak. Before we knew, we went back to clicking selfies. A 'goodbye' unsaid.
Sometimes I wonder, what really makes us miss a person? We meet people on a daily basis. Different kinds, different (interesting) specimens. How do we still have the space to miss someone. Probably you miss a person as long as you remember how you used to feel when they were around you. Once you cease to remember that, you cease to remember them the same way. Then there are those who will never let you forget that feeling. The memories remain fresh and never fade away. That's when you realise that after-all, there wasn't a goodbye. There will never be one...

The Bawl of The Broken Pieces

'Two more miles,' I told myself as I dragged my feet across the road. Wiping the tears off my face, making way for fresh ones that were currently brewing below my lids, I took the turn on the right. It was past midnight. Ma and Baba are surely still in bed, munching on happy thoughts in their deep slumber. I hope Prabhas Kaka remembered to put back the gravy in the fridge post dinner. He has become very careless lately. Ma has been very upset with him. As it is Raya has been giving her so much trouble with her Math marks. Oh! Doesn't she have another test tomorrow? Well, this time when she fails, she can put it on me- 'My older brother of eighteen has run away from home'.
There is no turning back now. No there isn't. I just need to keep walking for two more miles. Then maybe a little further. Further till I finally figure out where these roads are leading me to. No, I am not eloping. Nor am I a byproduct of a family breeding on unhappy grounds. In fact, just a few hours back I put my dog to sleep in my drawing room while Ma sang, in our regional language, happy songs of love and hope that binds humanity together to my sister in her room. I always forget the lyrics.
'Just one more mile' I spoke out loud. That's when my knees gave way as I knelt down on the footpath. I gently pushed my body back to get the support of the wall. It reminded me of the time I was five and I ran down our lane with the street kids playing soccer. After the 'big game' we sat against the wall sweating in the heat and laughing till our cheeks turned red. It did not last long though. Baba did not like me playing with those boys. They were 'gawaar' he said; illiterate.
I stared down the street wondering whether this lane has ever witnessed a bunch of five to six years old boys play around jauntily in the peak of their childhood, their screams and laughter echoing in the ears of the passersby.  As I stared, I saw it right in the middle of the road. A pair of glasses, frame intact, a crack symmetric across the left rim. The dim streetlight suddenly seemed to refract sharply through the chipped edges of the glasses.
They were like a pair of eyes staring right back at me. I laughed at the horrific thought, nervously amused by my height of imagination at One in the night. Or was it Two?
I pulled my eyes to my watch but my gaze remained arrested to the abandoned frame in the middle of the deserted street. Probably we were the only two loners in town today- one's been forcibly isolated and the other chose to.
The thick frame suggested that it belonged to an old man, probably in his sixties. I guess he would be a little older than Prabhas Kaka. He never wore glasses. He said he eats healthy and never needed them. But Baba said he was fibbing. He does not wear them cause he does not want to look old lest Baba should ask him to quit. Kaka has been working for us ever since I remember my existence. Ma once told me that when I was two and suffered from dengue, Kaka prayed in several temples and swore to quit eating meat for the sake of my good health and long life. He still believes that I survived because of him while Baba of course tells me it is because of the Zillion medical care services imported for me. Baba is an atheist so I never argue about this with him. Actually, I never really argue with him on anything. I just... never do.
I wanted to get back on my feet and inspect my lonely companion much closely but my body did not comply. I tilted my head to one side. There was a blue sari swaying in the air in someone's balcony across the street. I stared at the miniature reflection on the glass and smiled. Ma had a similar sari with a golden border. I remember she wore it for the first time on Raya's first birthday. I was eight at that time and was writhing in pain from within as MY mother held this new kid of twelve months so affectionately in her arms. I am the only child of Ma and Baba and will always be. That was the year I got my first cellular phone. I had a good year at school- ' The only kid with a phone at that age'. I made so many friends so fast. That was the last time I longed for Ma and Baba the way I did at the birthday party. Longed for, openly. Cause after that, any time I opened my mouth to complaint I got my 'something new'. A new blackmail game I liked- reducing my emotions merely to a trick to get things done. Hey! But it was a trick that benefitted both parties. Cause boys don't cry. Boy's don't express their feelings. I was indeed, grooming to be their "perfect son".
My eyes streamed with tears once again, blurring my vision. I felt like I had those broken pair of glasses on. Viewing this world, through the cracks. But then, don't we all? Watching the subtle imperfections stream by. It was through my blur vision that I could see things more clearly.
I pulled myself up to my feet and marched towards the middle of the road. I picked up those glasses, the fragile pieces unravelling between my fingers and finally settling in the pit of my palm. It had the letters 'GUCCI' inscribed on the side. I laughed at its destiny.
I threw away the pieces and kept the frame in my front pocket. My 'branded' companion for the miles that remain. Maybe a little further. Further till I finally figure out where these roads are leading me to. It's time to put the broken pieces together...

The Sleepless Slumber!

It's 12 AM. Alarm set for 7.
Big day tomorrow, a lot to get done.
Two research papers lying on the couch, one assignment.
Time to wrap up for a good night's sleep.
Lights out, eyes shut.

Tick-tock, it's 1 o'clock.
What's that in the hall? Is that a light flickering?
No it is not. It's the laptop screen in the other room going on and off.
Oh! I think I have left mine running too.
But no, not now, eyes shut.

It's 2 AM. Alarm set for 7.
That song I heard from the movie today.
My flatmate and I singing along, a merry evening spent together after quite long.
There was something catchy about the tune.
No! That's enough. Shut!

Where is the clock? It's 3 AM??
'Three WhatsApp Notifications' - do I check or not?
Maybe it is from my pal in London, I wonder what she is up to on a Sunday evening.
But no, I need to sleep now.
Big day tomorrow- 4 hours to go!

Three hours. The alarm shall go out.
Remember my teacher from first grade, yelling at me for sleeping late?
First grade was like ages ago! Now all like a dream! A sleepless dream!
Wow! Have I really come this far?
Tick-tock, just end the self-talk!

5 AM.
1 Mississippi; 2 Mississippi; 3 Mississippi and four.
People hovering in my thoughts, the various battles fought.
The adventures with Homies, the fun with my Roomie, friends lost, the various lines crossed.
Time for life-reflection now? I think NOT!

6 AM, I hear the birds chirp awake.
I see the silver-lining of the clouds, literally.
The city's first metro runs across, now never been awake for this one before!
Should I go for a morning jog?
Oh who am I kidding? Keep staring at the door.

7 AM. The alarm went out.
Monday it is, big day, a long week ahead.
2 Research papers lying on the couch, one assignment completely undone.
I wonder what I should start with; tick-tock, 7 on the clock,
My eyes shut all at once and I happily doze off...

Hymn to the Rising Sun

It is six in the morning.
It is a new day.
It is six in the morning and it is a new day.

The routine must begin.

The sun has risen and so has hope.

It is a new day with new hope.

The sun has risen and so has fear.

The fear of what is to come on a new day.

It is six in the morning and there is more fear.

New hope with more fear but the routine must begin.

It is six in the morning.

It is a new day.

Just like any other day...

Hope against fear.

The Value of Twenty-Something!

I woke up this morning to a phone-call from a friend I have not been in touch with for years now. She said she happened to have a dream about me as a senior executive manager of a large MNC and called up to find out whether it was true.
"Yeah, twenty-two years from now I would be double the age and right about there," I laughed casually.
"Good going! Dream big... You are only twenty-two after all."
Since that fifteen minutes conversation those words have been reverberating in my head. For someone who has had her fair share of rejections in job-offers, University offers and people, just like many around me, it seems funny as to how I could have saved myself of the temporary "grief" from time to time if only I had realised the value of what I have in hand- the value of twenty-something.
People usually ask you questions like- "Where do you see yourself in five years?"I would rather have someone ask me- "Where are you TODAY?" Believe me that is a much tougher question to crack. (Personally, I have no clue. But will soon find out!). As ambitious individuals trying to chase (or trace) our dreams we must first know our starting point. Another question I would like to ask myself (which again I have noticed not many people around me doing) is- "Where you were five years back?"; basically reflecting on how much I have managed to change (transform) for both good and bad through sundry experiences. Why is it important? Well, I sort of think it acts as a catharsis to when you invariably end up blaming yourself for everything that goes wrong. That's when you tell yourself that you have set it right before and you will do so...once again.
Moving from the age-group of identity crisis towards that of existential crisis the brilliance behind the entire process is that by the end of it we are bound to find the answers. No, I am not in an overly optimistic mood today (not really) but all I am doing is stating facts that I have observed in my life and in the lives of many people around me. Last year, one of my closest friends got rejections from every University she applied to and every job interview she sat for while many of us were bagging offers. She is currently on her flight to Chicago to pursue her MBA in Kelloggs Business School, one among the top ten B-Schools across the globe. As I was wishing her good luck for her journey to come I could not help but reflect on the thought that at the age that we are in there are more doors opening than closing. I never really believed in the whole- 'Opportunity knocks the door only once' phenomenon. At least, every person I know around me has proved it wrong. I wondered, what would have happened if she sat disheartened in one corner the whole year while the rest of us were pursuing our dreams instead of simply working harder and putting in doubly efforts to chase HER dreams?
Accomplishment comes with not just hard work, but the right ATTITUDE.
Personally I don't take rejections that well (hence, the post). I have no idea how a set of human-emotions fuse together at such moments and completely shut your rationale. But the truth is, there is no such thing as- "This/he/She/It was THE one that was meant for me!". If only one can regard situations as challenges rather than struggles, more of us will be in less of depression each time a door closes. More of us will be less afraid of being ambitious. More of us will be less fascinated by taking the easier path. Lastly, more of us will be ACTUALLY LIVING our twenty-something.
More on the lines of note to self, this is a note to all. Next time a door closes, be assured you have the key... if not for this door, for the one that will lead you to your answers. Let the adventure begin!

The Lone Wolf

I was not someone you would see in one corner of the classroom, buried in a novel during lunch hours, glasses hanging at the tip of the nose, unaware of who is around me. I preferred reading people rather than books and did exactly that; right in the middle of the classroom mingling with as many people as possible, having the loudest volume echoing down the school corridor.
'Loner' was what some people called my friends who belonged to the former category. I used to do the same; as I wondered how these people (including my high-school best friend) managed to live life in such seclusion. When asked, they would say they enjoyed solitude and that it gave them the space that they desired. Probably being the extra-extrovert that I was, the concept of "giving people their space" was met with quizzical responses from my end. For someone who counted the number of friendship bands she got on friendship day and who kept a tab on her friend list on Facebook? Well, let's just say introvertism was not something I comprehended.
Now that was school. Then little something called 'growing up' happened.
Believe me, nothing much has changed. I still prefer reading people over books, and that's exactly what I still do... only much silently, sitting in the corner, buried behind my books, glasses hanging at the tip of my nose , completely AWARE of who is around me. I probably know most people much better than their close friends know them.
Solitude is something a person like me learns to enjoy accidentally and not out of practice. Something developed out of 'escapism' or resorted to as a 'healing process' to sundry events. Honestly, it may not give me the space I desire but definitely gives me the space I require and never realised that I did.
When I join the dots backwards it all makes sense. Why these people who knew how to maintain their personal bubble are so sorted within themselves. Some of these people were definitely (as I can recall) chided for being introverts in their budding years but have emerged out to have quite strong personalities.
The best part is that there exists no trade-off between extrovertism and introvertism, something very few people understand. I have a good friend whose Facebook friend list is much longer than mine (yeah I checked; stop judging me) and is a complete social animal but insists on taking a solo trip to the hills of Northern India every year. She is by far the most interesting person I have known. Makes sure she remains in the state of equilibrium between being an extrovert and an introvert. Between an open book and a closed book. Perhaps, an open book with missing pages...
Having tasted both sides of the plate, if given a choice I would personally still choose being the extrovert who has many people waving at her each time she walks down the University corridor. However at the same time knowing that lying by the pool all day by myself on a holiday and quietly reading a book while rest of my friends are out partying brings me a strange kind of surreal joy, is quite assuring.
So there you see them around you, sitting in the corner. The extra-extroverts masquerading as the lone wolves. Waiting for the right opportunity to jump right in and once again their loud volumes shall echo down the corridor! 

Cafe Diaries...

Sitting at Starbucks, sipping on the first cup of coffee for the day I flipped through the pages. Barely had I reached the third page when the lad working at the cafe brought me my breakfast order.
"Have a nice day, ma'am", he smiled in a coy manner, with a trace of hesitation.
I smiled back with a quick nod.
Getting back to my report that was due for submission the next day, I glared at the rugged print of the page. Being the easily distracted self that I am, I looked away to the empty tables ahead of me. I was attempting to organise my thoughts so that I can deal with them once and for all and get back to my work. As expected, I failed.
I sighed as I rummaged my runsack to pull out a pen or a pencil. The lad came running up to me and pulled out the pen from his pocket- " Ma'am?" This time his smile gleamed across his face. I let out a short laugh and thanked him.
"Have a nice day" he said again.
"You too," I responded. "Have a great day"
His face lit up as though I had just tipped him a 20 dollar bill.
I could not help but think to myself why I did not say it back the first time he wished me so. How sometimes our words and expressions resort to such levels of mediocrity.
" You are working on the paper by Waldfogel."
"Yes, I am! Have you read this one?"
"Oh yes. If you want to get the real idea behind the 'Dead-Weight Loss of Christmas', you should read Solnick and Hemenway's paper."
"You seem to know a lot about this. Why don't you sit down and enlighten me?"
Then something strange happened. He laughed loudly and walked away like a child who was returning to his playmates. My puzzled gaze followed him until he disappeared behind the counter and began to attend to the new customer who had just walked in.
The brief episode was mildly unsettling. However the moment the crowd filled in, I plugged in my earphones and buried myself under the abstract burden of my report.
Four hours later, after exhausting around seven tracks of indie music, six sides of A4 size sheets ( front and back) and keeping about thirty something tabs open on my browser, I closed the lid of the pen shut. It was after lunch time and the afternoon hustle had nearly faded, leaving me once again alone in the land where you can literally inhale the strong aroma of caffeine.
I stretched my arms up in the air to get my limbs out of the numb state. At that moment a cup and saucer was placed on my table.
"I see you are finally done," he peered at the mess I had created in the course of the couple of hours.
"I din't order any coffee"
"No. It is on the house. You have worked very hard."
For some reason I couldn't tell whether he was being too kind or just too sarcastic.
"Why did you walk away, back then?"
"Why din't you respond back the first time I wished you?"
I did not answer. Neither did he.
He placed the bill on my table and walked away with a nod, smiling his smile. It had my breakfast menu in it, excluding the coffee he had just placed on my table. Below were the words inked in blue- "Have a GREAT day :) "

This 'Happy Time'

This time we are spending, you and I,
In the middle of nowhere and yet in the midst of somewhere,
Is nothing but a 'Happy Time'
A time that will go into the 'Happy Corner' of my memory box.
I shall keep this moment locked. Like I have kept many others, alike.
Locked until one fine day when you are no longer around,
And my heart feels empty. The day feels dull. Troubles walk in, in flocks.
That's when I'll know, it is time to open my memory box.
And when I do so, I'll find you there,
In the middle of nowhere and yet in the midst of somewhere.
This time we are spending, you and I.
This 'Happy Time'.

Love- A Perception!

It was a gloomy January night. I was walking by the bay with my best friend as he continued to brag about his brand new purchase.
"You should consider coming for a drive with me."
"You should consider getting over yourself."
"Uff. And YOU should consider stopping this bitterness. Why so much jealousy?" He nudged playfully.
Yes, it was true. I was jealous. I like how he always knows what is going on in my mind (even if it is something pathetic) and still tries to diffuse the situation with one of his lame, 'almost there' kind of jokes.
"Nah. Not jealous", I smiled. "I am happy for you. You deserve it bro."
"Did you just bro-zone me? Remember the deal we had? We shouldn't be doing that!"

I laughed and pulled him along to the other side of the park. Casual flirting was something I strongly loved about our friendship. Doing just too well for himself in life, Nikhil came across as the most humble person I know. Humble. Not modest. Well, but I guess most of the times he does it just to annoy me. And it works. 

"Did I tell you about the leather seating?"
"Thrice"
"And the colour of the seat covers?"
"I'll tell you what? Why don't we just go over to your place after this and then I can have a look at it. Once and for all!"
He broke into fits of laughter. 

I stopped walking and waited for him to finish.
"How is your book coming along?" he asked me on a rather serious note.

"It is going good. Actually I sent the first part for proof-reading and..."
"You have seriously written 425 pages on 'love' ? "

"Um. Haven't you been seeing someone for the past two years?"
"So now you are judging me?"
"No. no! I am not. What's your point?"
"I don't know. To me, love is something that should be expressed. Not written about or sung about. It is something... personal."
"Writing is a form of expression"
"For the whole world to read it? I mean, just because you have had a beautiful love life why go ahead and announce it. Imagine thousands of people who will be reading and wondering Wow! So this is how it would be.. And then when they actually find love, they will be like... Um. Okay. That's not right."

"Subjective experiences Nik. Everyone knows that there is no blue-print. Everyone's got their own share of..."
"What if it doesn't happen. What if there are people who never find love?!"
"Why would that happen?"
"Oh please, Yana! Think about it. What is the guarantee that your readers are going to find their true love. What if they end up being forced to get married to someone they don't love. What if they never find the girl or guy they had always pictured in their mind.. Or worse. What if they are subjected to unrequited love. Do you know how much pain you are spreading by your happy stories?" 

I din't say anything. I walked by him for a while, staring deep into the distance. It was like meditation. Meditation by the bay. 

"What is love, Nikhil?" I asked him, softly.
"Seriously?! You are SERIOUSLY asking ME that? I am not in for such discussions."
"Want to know my opinion?"
"Nope."
"To me love is..."
"I said no."
"...Meditation"

"Okay What."
"I was in ninth grade when I had my first crush"
"Hah! That's pretty late! When I was..."
"Two months later he sexually abused me in the school bus."
He stopped walking. I walked on for a while till I found a bench to sit. I heard him move behind me after a couple of seconds.
"Nikhil, you know the power of love? You can never have enough of it. You will never wake up one day and say- That's it! I am not going to love anymore. Sometimes you might feel like.. That's it. It is not worth it. That is your mind speaking. But your heart's still beating."
"What happened to that guy?"
"What?"
"Did he get run over by a  truck?"
"What? No..!!" I laughed. "That afternoon I was defenceless. Not because I was a 'young teenager unaware of the evil world'. Because I was a teenager in love who never thought evil could exist. When in love, the world looks so pure that..."
"Stop that Bullshit! So this is what you want to propagate through your books? Love is so pure that the purity gives you the power to take crap from people????" 

"Love is so pure that it helps to cleanse the taints of your past."
He was silent. This is the first time since I have known him he looked so worked up.
"He was expelled from school. Within a week. I din't take the crap, you see!"
It was hard to tell who he was mad at. Me, the guy or the concept of 'love'.
"I even wrote a poem for the school magazine voicing my experience.. 'Amuse or Abuse?' ..  I personified sexual abus..."
He threw his arm around me with a soft smile on his face. "I love you".
"Finally, you mustered some courage to say that."
"Haha. Yeah yeah, very funny! "
"See! This is what I am saying. We always find love ultimately. In some form or the other. And when you finally do.. these harsh memories.. none of these matter. Life has a way of giving things to you." 

"Well, I don't know."
"How many break-ups did you have before you finally found Sarah two years back?"
"That does not matter."
"See!"
"No. It does not matter cause I never allowed myself to get so attached to someone that walking away from her would be something that may bring about 'pain'"
"Ah! You are a rational lover."
"You can say that."
"You are pathetic."
"You can say that, too."
"What if I spill coke on the grey seat covers of your car?"
"I will bash you down. I am not kidding."
"Be rational Nikhil. It is just a seat-cover. Ek jayega, Doosra aayega. (One can be replaced by another)"

He smiled. "Since when did you get this smart?"
"It is worse when you sit and watch people walk out of your life and do nothing about it just because you want to be rational."
He shrugged. 

We walked on for a few more minutes. This time he was staring into the distance.
"I like that line you said- love is so pure that it cleanses the taints of your past?"
"My original line!"
"Yeah sure!"
"Hey! Of course it is original!"
"Do you think every person in this world will find love? Like EVERY person?"
"I think every person in this world DESERVES to find love."
"And you say the power of love is such that..."
"Let's call it Strength. Not Power. Power sounds too authoritative. Love does not come with authority."
He nodded his head frantically as we walked out of the park.
"You are frustrating."
"So is love"
He looked at me.
"You are brilliant", he laughed, almost not wanting to admit it.
"So...Is love."