Pursuing Freedom in Moments

She took a puff, a long drag…kept in her lungs till they were completely filled and smoked it out…looking at the sky!  She kept looking at the night sky for a while…exhaling. It felt as if she inhaled freedom and exhaled fate...

I have known people who believe that they are free in their minds and hearts. I have had conversations about truly being free and what does it mean, but I have hardly found answers. Here, I am not talking about the academic minds trying to link it with the economic equality and human rights but recent events that have occurred around me have compelled me to pursue the sense of the topic of actual freedom at very personal level.

Being conditioned in conservative homes, many young and bright people that I know have tried to find escape routes to freedom. Philosophically speaking everything in this world is just the way we pursue it, yet the complexity behind the perseverance of freedom boggles me.

But recently I saw something that has become a photographic memory in my mind. I was on my way to Ahmednagar, travelling alone which probably gives the sense of freedom to me until the bus stops at the shady food arena that suddenly makes me conscious of being a woman. That evening, the bus was running late and it was dark by the time we reached the Dhaba. I got down to stretch my legs and experienced something like never before.

I saw a woman, probably in her mid-40s, extremely skinny, tall and dark walking towards my direction, she was dressed in a sari and wore rather bold jewelry. She had a pallu covering her head and another woman with similar description was following her. Her appearance made her look as a part of ‘Lamans’- a community of nomads. I remember being scared of them when I was a little girl.

Suddenly both of them stopped at a point away from me and the bus, the woman from the back handed over a beedi to this woman I was curious about. She took a puff, a long drag…kept in her lungs till they were completely filled and smoked it out…looking at the sky!  She kept looking at the night sky for a while…exhaling. It felt as if she inhaled freedom and exhaled fate.She was in no hurry to finish that beedi.

I was stunned; I just kept looking at her. There was a sudden feeling in me of witnessing an extraordinary incident that caught me thinking. She saw me looking at her with my eyes wide open and she smiled…the next moment both the women started sharing the beedi and indulged in a conversation while I still stood there watching them.

What was her name? What she must be doing in her life? What was she doing on a dhaba near highway? The questions started splurging out of my mind and would have materialised into a conversation with her.

But suddenly the honk of the bus brought me back into reality and I was forced to occupy my seat. But I kept smiling and couldn’t gather what was making me smile.

I had just seen a woman, who probably has been treated as a matter of object, walked several miles for food and brought up in the environment beyond my imagination, enjoying a moment of freedom.

Oh yes, she looked liberated than me…

She probably went back to her normal life after smoking that beedi but got me into deep thinking process of what exactly is freedom of being…I just know that the answer does not lie in finding escape routes! 

Probably in the moments that we live…and keep living…

Down the memory lane

There are some memories which live with you all the time, their gentleness makes you feel alive and fill in hope in you. Following are the two of them which will probably live with me forever.

                       Manjusha posing for us in the 'waranda' of her house 

Almost 3 months ago, while on the tour to Bhandardara , a beautiful place in the Ahemadnagar district, we happened to visit a tribal village. It was a village where not more than 2,000 people lived and they all belonged to the ‘Thakar Community’.  The person appointed to show us around, took us into a house to learn about how the Thakars’ live??? What do they eat? What do they wear? and so on…

The house looked like any other typical village house, but once I entered it I spotted the difference. There were probably 7 to 8 children of all different ages inside. From them only one was a boy and all others were girls. The eldest was trying to make the youngest sleep, while the mother was cooking rice. The other children were reading their text books.

“Would you like some black tea?” asked the man of the family while entering into the kitchen. We were surprised by this question, but we kindly declined the offer. Later, we learned that the youngest baby was named ‘Madhavi’, and others had beautiful names such as Sarita, Manjusha, Lakshmi and many more which I don’t really remember. But the eldest girl told us, “we don’t keep names such as Rani and Priti, they have become too common. So we will always keep unique names to girls who will come in our family.”

When the father of the house came to say goodbye, he was asked by one of the fellow visitors, definitely surprised to see the sheer number of girls in one house, “Isn’t there a problem of female feoticide here, such as there is in Satara district, where they name girls as Nakoshi-unwanted?”

He calmly replied, “No sir, we know enough names to give our daughters. We feel blessed to have them around.”

When I looked back at the house I saw Manjusha weaving at us…she looked happy. She was the only girl to pose for a picture. Looking at her smile I understood how they live…or have always lived.

A Flight

Manjusha, reminded me of a 12 year old girl I met almost 7 years ago. She was thin and exuberant, the only one who was ready to join the Sunday school to be conducted in her small village by an NGO that I worked for. Her father owned a grocery shop in the village and was pro active in her education. He told us, “teach her English, she will attend your classes.” But one girl was not enough to conduct a Sunday school, so we took her along and started visiting houses of her friends to invite them to join our school. She was jumping, running and too fast to keep us pace with. She was definitely different than the girls I have seen in those villages of Pune district.

While reaching the school building, we all heard a sound of an aero plane passing over us. She jumped with joy and suddenly held my hand to ask, “Didi, will you take me inside the biggest aero plane one day, I have heard there are many of them in the city.” I held her hand tight and said yes, while looking up at the passing plane.

This happened when even I used to look up to the sky and dream about flying one day. I remembered while holding her hand that even I am yet to take my first flight. But when I took my first flight last year to Delhi, I remembered her. I remembered how her eyes had lit up when she saw that plane passing over us. I was almost choked with her memory. Frankly, I do not remember her name, not even the name of that village which I visited almost 7 years ago. All I remember is her face and her excitement.

Even today while walking on the streets of Pune, I think of her. I imagine her to have grown up in to a smart woman. I wish that one day she will recognize me from the crowd and come to me running just to ask me when I am going to show her the biggest aero plane possible. Ahh…someday I will get a chance to tell her that I have been showing her many aero planes everyday in my dreams…

                                                                                          

Identity!

There are certain things around you which you neglect for years and one day they make you realize their existence in their own way.

Just like a coconut tree in the backyard of my house! Yes, I have an inevitably growing coconut tree in the backyard of my house right in the middle of our garden.

When I look at it now I am always left wondering about how  it has grown taller than my house and its shafts have spread all over. Its root has grown stronger and looks old, whereas it has covered itself into the brown layers of net. Many insects have made it their home. Some of its branches look immersed in a conversation with the mango tree standing  in the neighboring house since many years and others are busy covering my bedroom’s windows by its shadows forming various shapes on walls.

I have seen the moon through its branches and it looks enchanting. Looking at it now, I remember it was only 2 feet tall when my father got it as a gift from an old neighbor few years ago. There were a lot of talks about its identity, many of our acquaintances thought that this tree is a Singaporean coconut tree so it will not bear the coconuts that we find in India. 

For me, this tree bears several identities.It can call itself a witness of my teenage years, a gift from an old neighbor, a home to various insects, a proud member of our garden or just a coconut tree which is ambitious to rise above all and bear the fruits containing water as sweet as sugar. 

Identities!...which one will it choose? Or will it just stand on its root and keep itself aloof from all the identities associated to it?

Thinking about this makes me realize a sentence I heard some time ago which says,

‘Identity is not static and always in the making but never made.’

 So what is my identity?…I wonder!

A Letter to RK Narayan

To,

R K Narayan

Subject: I wish you if you were here...

Dear Sir,

If you were present in this world today, I would have written you a letter at least a week. I would have looked for your number or would have dropped in your house to seek answers to some of the very simple question that I have been asking myself. The questions are similar to the questions that those characters in your book ask themselves, those characters through, whom you have been still speaking your mind to us.

I have recently read your ‘The English Teacher’ which kept giving me a hint that the protagonist is going to be alone soon and then he becomes lonely and explains his loneliness so beautifully at the end. Sir, I have been reading you and every book of yours has made me realise that ultimately everything boils down to what ‘I’ want. Your characters are always in pursuit of their ultimate goal, they are alone in their journey yet they are in love with people, places, simplicity and they speak their mind honestly.

When in English Teacher, Krishna thinks that he is doing nothing but filling his students’ heads with crap, I could relate to him. When the guy who completes his ‘Bachelor of Arts’ goes haywire in finding what he really wants I could relate to him. When ‘Guide’ covers up his mistakes and only lives in his self interests, I could relate to him and When the protagonist who is ‘Waiting for the Mahatma’ becomes vulnerable and lets his mind get influenced by an ideology just to impress and satisfy someone else, I felt as if I should tell him that he is not alone.

Sometimes I wonder how you could understand people and their feeling so well. Is that because you were very honest with your self or people were very honest with you. For me, everything today has boiled down to confusion.

Sir, do you know that when I close my eyes, I see almost 100 forms of myself! One of them is climbing a difficult wall but she is well equipped to do so. The other is sitting at the beach, watching the sun set and writing a poem, another one is waiting for a politician to take his quote. There another one, sharing knowledge with hundreds of youngsters. The one form I desire the most of me is walking hand in hand with someone into an endless, natural road invading forests, taking us into oblivion. And one is reading you and understanding herself through your characters.

Just like your characters, even I am alone, waiting for answers of several questions. I am in pursuit of something that I am not sure about. I am loved by people but not realising its intensity but my state is unlike your characters that lose their way in the middle and then…they discover themselves and then the need for money, love, company, job, status for them become secondary. Something else emerges inside them which is more meaningful!

Kindly tell me how you made it happen, Sir? If you were here, you would have asked me to look within and find my answers…But I wish if you were here to tell me…

From,

Yours faithful explorer

Kaleidoscopic Vision: a colourful night in Mumbai

Once the sun sets and series of yellow streetlights are on, something new awakens in the city that actually never sleeps, under the bright yellow lights I saw a sepia toned Mumbai, where every colour looked as bright as shiny and as deep as its meaning. As I sat in the black and yellow taxi at Sion, it felt as if I am wearing kaleidoscopic glasses as every aspect of this city at night looks different than ever.

I could see the place of pani puri wallahs was now taken over by the Bhurji Pav wallahs. Eggs were neatly arranged in the blue and red carts and bread loafs stacked besides them.The eggs crushed on the oily pan looked yellow, a little dark due to the sprinkled pepper and sported a green colour in between with the spicy green chillies. Even while sitting in the taxi and being far, that colour of Bhurji dipped in oil made me almost smell its pungent, spicy odour.

The stretch that is between Sion and Mahim is as colourful as it can be; the taxi driver was driving carefully as we entered the part of Dharavi. I could see men mostly wearing white caps, women covered in black strolling the streets, it looked like an old black and white film but I couldn’t ignore the five coloured flag representing an ideology from nowhere in the side of the road, to be honest it looked very lonely in the midst of black and white.

As we moved further I saw a red sari, glittered nail polish and golden bangles, they covered a dark body and a wounded soul, that body had eyes, deep black eyes. “She belongs to my kind” I thought, “a kind that I am most afraid of.” As I passed that figure I thought she dissolved in this night making sepia tone darker, how many nights she must have dissolved in, I didn’t know.

Suddenly, I realised that I couldn’t recognise the road i was on. It was dark, and all I could think of was colour red, red for danger, as we entered small lane, it was crowded by group of young men giving friendly curses to each other, it was 11.45 and I found the man in khaki who was driving taxi was unusually talkative. My spine went cold and the sepia tone was now turning in to dark brown as the manhood is capable of making life colorless within seconds in this symbolic society and suddenly i reached the holy road.

The LJ road of Mahim is as holy as any road can be, it starts with the Mahim church followed by the Darga and Shitaladevi temple, at night these holy places look like standalone pictures of old building. I could see the stack of small statues coloured in blue, white and red of Jesus Christ left uncovered due to the sea breeze in front of the church. Somehow my spine came alive as i saw series of familiar streetlights, the unusual journey ended but I am still not able to remove those kaleidoscopic glasses.

Every colour in life whether dark or bright represent emotions...some colours have got deeper meaning, some have the capacity to hide several things!

I wish to write an ordinary story

I want to write a story about a woman who travels everyday in the local train and uses that time to remember god by reciting Jay Jay Ram Krishna Hari, she recites at least 100 times.

I want to write a tale of a mother who brings her mentally challenged child at least twice in a week in children’s hospital that is there on the second floor of my building.

I...wish to know the story behind the person who stands for at least 8 hours making Kababs in a nearby restaurant; I would like to know if his tireless efforts make the Kabab desirable.

Today, I feel like writing an ordinary story of ordinary people. Story about you and perhaps a story about me!

To tell you the truth, my story is not even ordinary. I am not capable of reciting god’s name. I do not have another life depending on me (I can barely handle my own) and I am a soul that is still searching the purpose behind the work it’s engaged with everyday.

It’s like one of those curious cases when your childhood, amateurish dream actually comes true and then you come to know that the idea of dream was better. Then you start feeling unsure about everything because the thing that you were most sure about all the 21 years of your life turns out to be something entirely different and here the story begins!

When we read in extraordinary stories that how extraordinary people whether real or fictional, always emerge from his or her lows, from mud to touch the sky, but my story is different, the story that I wish to write is about sustenance. It’s about a plateau, a poised situation in life where anything and everything that a person does, he or she feels “okay...it’s not working out or this is how its going to work out.”

I wish to describe that frustration, that very feeling that you are a looser or failure. I want to give words to the feeling that every ordinary person must be feeling when he is choked in fear of life, fear of failure, fear of social taboo, a fear of god...a fear of death. I wish to include in this story how every second person cursing the current situation reaches a point where he feels “it’s never going to work out ever” and still is able to motivate him or her to pick up a bag and reach office.

Every day when I go home walking on my holy trail from Office to home...those 15 minutes, I guess fate always takes them away from me and makes me look around, it makes me appreciate the efforts made by people to live that very ordinary life, it shows me those people who have learned to enjoy the poise, a stagnant stage of their lives.

Well, it’s not easy to be ordinary...to make yourself understand that this is it. This is what your life is and it is going to prevail till the very end and whatever exciting may be in life will come with certain limitations.

I wish to write such an ordinary story...

.

Let the discontent be phased out: it’s just a beginning

From the mountain the valley looks beautiful...when you stand in the valley and see up to the mountains they look beautiful from a farther distance...then you taken the route and start climbing it and they reveal their actual tough nature and brings out the best in you...Yes, the best of your stamina, your fighting attitude, your rigour and passion and urge to reach the top and see what beauty you left behind in the valley.

Well, what amazes me is that the point where you start climbing from looks so beautiful after sweating off your life climbing that mountain; isn’t everything feels and looks beautiful from farther distance?

But bet you, I enjoy climbing mountains more than running between CST and Churchgate to look for stories. It’s better to see a valley filled with natural beauty rather than entering an empty room in state exactly the same that I leave it every morning.

So, here I am... I am feeling what I never thought that I would be feeling...a quarter life crises .To be honest it took me a 10 day leave, an exam and a trip to Mahabaleshwar to cool down my temper, to vent out my frustration and to believe that world has not come to an end. Now, as my nerves are under control I feel as if I am foolish to waste my time in being frustrated and there are so many things left to do in life...it’s just a beginning and mind you ‘life’...ahh that is a big word.

But what happens when you continuously feel discontent towards what you are doing. The discontent that lives within you and makes its presence felt through tears, fights and zingers that fly out of your mouth. This discontent makes you believe that you are not innocent any more, you have no room to make mistakes and the discontent that tells you what you are doing is not enough...

“How much you think Girl, leave it, just chill don’t be impatient” they say...

“Things will change, don’t worry it’s just a phase that is going to pass,” I advice to myself and my friend who is feeling the same!

So is it like nothing that is revolutionary, interesting and worth achieving will phase out and some extraordinary opportunity will come my way and change my life?

Ahh my ultimate realisation says...Dreams are better seen when your eyes are closed. The couple of things that i have learned from last 10 months is that nothing comes your way and nothing can be achieved by you...what you have to do is sustain, fight and prove. My realisation tells me it’s a constant fight...it’s an ever rising mountain, if I conquer it I will able to see the most beautiful valley in my life.

So to all those in quarter life crisis...let the discontent be phased out...you are capable of getting what you want...one decision is what matters.

On the occasion of Mother’s Day...I can see you in Me!

Today, 8^th of May is known as World Mother’s Day! Well, for me every moment of my life is a mother’s day. When I look into the mirror, I always wonder did she look the same when she was my age.

Today if my mother would have been there she would have been nearing her 50s and she would have never shared he age and weight with anyone! I remember how she used to tell me not to mention to my friends that she has joined gym or dieting to reduce weight. I remember our frequent and secret trips to the Balaji Pani-Puri and Bhel centre nearby our house during her dieting days.

Haha...i remember her scolding me while i was digging into the sev-puri one day and spilled it all over on my dress, “now what would your father think looking at your dirty dress? He doesn’t know we are here.” And i had answered with epitome of innocence that “ohh don’t worry Aai, I will tell Baba that you didn’t eat!”

I remember my trips to the market on her Black kinetic Honda which used to make horrible sounds and it still does as my father uses it. Even if i still hear a kinetic Honda I feel like running up to the door and asking her “Aai, what have you bought for me today?”

There was always something, a kayani cake, Pattice from Hindustan bakery or crème rolls.

Huh...right now I feel like I will explode writing this blog as there is so much congestion of feelings, memories and thoughts within me. Even after 10 years...even after growing up into a 21 year old girl, even after finding a career path I miss being 13, I miss my school days, i miss my home and her which has never been the same again after she died.

Her memories within me have no grief in it, no regret; I can only remember her as a woman of substance, an achiever to whom everybody back in Pune remembers as a good woman. But what I loved the most in her is her polite, sweet and sometimes a childlike behaviour (not to mention her endless attempts to lose weight!)

She is the one despite not being around me has made me believe that i can love, I can feel and i can fight...I will try to fulfil your every wish my beloved mother ...ahh but forget about getting married at the age of 20...as i have already crossed that age (and I do not wish to destroy someone’s lifeJ)

So...Happy Mother’s Day...I can see you in me every day and it will remain the same till the very end.

Those are the ‘words’ that will lead you to freedom

Have you seen the movie called ‘Freedom Writers?’ In which a hopeful and aspiring teacher transforms the bunch of hopeless kids, how? She uses the most powerful weapon...and what is that? Well...Words!

Miss G, as she is called in this movie makes her students write, read and listen the words full of hope, virtue and belief. She simplifies the chaos in a teenager’s mind into paragraphs written in a diary.

What is in words? What can words do to a human being? Have you ever realised that all our relationships define and sustain on the words we use? We call somebody our friend—which is again a word and share some words of friendliness with him.

You call someone a Father and what you get in return is love...what i have realised somehow is that a relationship with anybody will prevail if that person is least bothered about how you say to him but listens with open heart, what you say to him and sometimes stands beside you, speechless just to let you know those cosmic words which are unspoken yet conveyed through eyes, a simple touch or a smile. When we finally experience this all we do is to collect these memories in mind and convert them in to words to share with someone else.

Watching those kids in that movie troubled with racism, gang wars and constant gunshots, open their hearts in a personal journal and express the meaning of fight, chaos and how they miss their friends they have lost in the futile gang wars, have made me write this content. And when i wonder why, my memory of the first diary that i wrote comes back to me.

I guess I was 15, just passed my SSC exam and got a diary to write in vacations...what i wrote, i clearly remember was about my family and how much i used to feel alone, How i found everything was a lie and nobody loved me. I have no idea where these thoughts came from and how i tackled them later on but these few written words still make feel a little guilty about those feelings but that belief of expressing myself, being true to myself in a diary lifts me up every time. I can lie to the world, and i certainly do so but how can I ever lie to myself...what empowers this feeling is few words describing the truth.

When you see something else and you get to write the contradiction because of the human made norms-- give words to the truth you know, give words to what you feel, let the words flow in the format of your emotions and let them explain what is most important to you.

I bet, you will score ten on ten in this exam and the word ‘belief’ will enter in to your score card of life!

A billion dreams...but I was heartbroken...

They boarded the train from Khar, I was amused by their behaviour.

While sitting on the board, they were intrigued in their conversation. The eldest was holding one magazine, ‘Cricket Samrat’...

“ye Dhoni hai...or ye pata hai kaun hai?” asked the eldest to two younger ones.

“Gary Kirsten...aur ye Yuvaraj!” said the younger one.

I was amused by these three lost little boys, dressed in wrenched cloths, dirty, stinking and who, I guess didn’t know how to read. But they knew who is Gary Kirsten, and how does he look. They were more interested in looking at Yuvraj’s several pictures clicked during world cup and discussing about him. A billion dreams, this was the title given by the newspaper I work for to its world cup campaign, I have never understood how one game keeps a nation going. To be honest, these boys should have been in school, studying about how this country has sustained its unity in diversity, its national game is Hockey and Mumbai –where they wander in, is this country’s economic capital!

I wonder about these billion dreams...where are they heading.

A world cup victory, Anna Hazare’s fight and India’s youth standing against corruption at one side and on the other dropping number of a female population in the new census, series of scams and how right to education haven’t even reached 20% of kids in the country!

While looking at those boys gazing at photographs of their heroes, I wished at that very moment, I wished from bottom of my heart if they could read what Dhoni said after the victory...if they could read how Kirsten inspired Indian team. How i wish...

Lost in thoughts I left the train and looked back at the boys, they did not care which station came, probably they did not know their destination... but while looking at Harbhajan’s picture, they knew he is bowling a dusara!

All I could do is to smile at them...somehow; this victory which has won billion hearts was making me feel heartbroken...

Interpretations of my dreams...

I have been wondering about this for a long time now...My dream world? How would it be...green or blue? Would it be like a smooth trail paving through thickets reaching the point where I can see nothing but a valley and the endless sky!

Ahhh, actually my dream world sometimes do feel like a dimly lit, painted in white— ballet dancing room in which every movement is slow, graceful and elegant! In which happiness prevails with broad smiles and shiny eyes. It is a world where people rejoice.

Yes, I confess that I spent half the time at night constructing my own dreams with some people i hardly talk to and in the world which I have hardly seen.

Well, there are people who always tell me, “Grow up Neha, you are going to be 21 now, life is not as smooth as a dream.”

Well as far as I am concerned’ Dreams’ have helped me to listen to the lullaby of life. Dreams were my inspiration and day dreaming about anything which may mean nothing to the real world and people has done wonders for me.

Whatever I am today is the result of my series of endless dreams during graduation years and I think my dreams have already started shaping my future.

I dream of becoming a writer one day,

I dream of going to watch fire crackers at London eye.

I dream to roam Ladakh with a backpack and a friend!

Ahh I dream of owning a house on top of the mountain...

I dream of meeting a man, who will understand my conversations within.

I dream...

I had heard from someone that dreaming and making dreams a reality are two very different things.

Life itself feels like a dream...and ‘living’ feels like a dream run when everything is in place...

It’s been four years; I have been staying alone and dreaming.

I have realised that every interesting person that I see then he or she may be a person sitting on a footpath with expressionless face and a lost sight automatically fits into a fictional character of my dream...which leads to a concept and then a fictional piece of writing!

It’s been days i have written a fictitious story...ahh i guess it’s time to dream...

When freedom comes at a terrible cost!

It’s been quite a few days since I have written something without a proper structure, good intro and a word count! And it’s been many nights since I slept without even thinking about my dreams!

In my case I end up forming my own dream rather than experiencing one subconsciously. But today while cleaning my house one thought captured my mind and that was about one person.

A person whom I was a little rude with (I justified it given the amount of irritation caused by the person, but I still feel the guilt.)

She was a lonely lady, always cribbing about being alone! Not loved by anyone anymore, a lady who missed her husband, son and grandchildren every minute of her life. She was one of those people who never considered other people to be good human beings.

And one fine day while performing her daily prayers she said to god, “Dear God, these days i forget anything and everything please don’t let me forget you...!”

I was amazed by her thought, she was smiling at her favourite gods framed and kept on a shelf.

I have heard this lady whine about not giving her a girl child, “girls love their parents, they never let them be alone,” she used to say!

She always told me that with money you can get everything what you won’t get is love.

Ahh...this 85 year old, my land lady of course!, whose past and present and everyday routine which I used to hear every day for at least 10 times fell from her bed due to a paralysis attack. It was the thing she feared the most.

I did what i had to! First time i was covered in someone else’s blood. She was saved!

When i went to meet her at the hospital after couple of days, she was bedridden, paralysed and could hardly speak asked me, “Neha, have you informed the milkman not to deliver the milk till I get back?”

“Yes” said I and left the room. Today she is gone to her relatives, she has got company and she probably recover. But she still lives in each and every corner of this house. Each thing shows her behaviour, her attitude.

When we learned that now we are the only guardians of this house. We couldn’t rejoice. We got freedom, we don’t have listen to any cribbing and bitching as well as there are not restrictions yet we couldn’t breathe free.

And then my roommate suddenly asked, “Isn’t it difficult for a woman to suddenly leave her 60 year old household?”

Not single conversation of ours ends without her memories.

I have friends who envy me for staying alone. But the truth is staying alone with the loneliest lady you possibly know in your little life of 20 years was a challenge! My ultimate realization tells me how much ever you hate a person, how much ever you want to get rid of him or her, that person becomes a part of your life and impacts you the most.

It’s hard to enjoy freedom which is gained at this cost! But I guess ‘such is life!’!

When they hear my name…

“Whats your name?”

“Neha Ghatpande”

“ahh… Brahmin?”

This is a usual conversation I have heard since my childhood. From the peun in my school to my landlady in Mahim get the community I belong to (My family belongs to: I still don’t know about me) be recognized by just hearing my sir name.

I used to think people in Pune have this habit of gathering extra information about each and everybody (even god doesn’t know for what) but my such basic misconceptions are coming to an end when most of the (open Minded) Mumbaikars also react in the same way.

Being in Marathi medium school casteism was part of life. Starting from the teachers asking questions in a study tour like:“How can you eat an egg? Aren’t you a Brahmin? I seriously didn’t know how to answer that question. As my parents never really told me that we are Brahmins! Especially my father and his vast social network, he has got friends in almost every community and so we never really recognized ourselves by the community.

So many times I had seen forms lying on the table at my fathers desk with a heading —‘Membership of Deshastha Rigvedi Brahmin Sangha’, biting dust before being thrown in the dustbin.

“We should be united,” they say!

Then they will start with your cast and then you as a Maharashtrian then your religious identity and then you as an Indian, I forgot race here! Hushhhh…..

I have never really understood this concept of unity! First they will tag themselves with a community name, they will make friends belonging to that community and then they will use the word unity! How ironical they can get!

But when I introspect I am ashamed to admit how much it is in my blood! It’s that part of conscience which pops up suddenly and unknowingly while mingling with the other community or even talking with the same! The feeling of insecurity fills me up when somebody asks my cast! I am left with no other option but to say yes or avoid the question with a smile (which has absolutely no meaning).

It becomes part of your identity socially. I feel glad about leaving that protected cushion blinded by the community bias to go to a temple like Fergussion College and a cosmopolitan city like Mumbai!

In last two and half months I have roamed in and around Dharavi, slums in wadala and Bandra, recently covered the death anniversary of Dr. Ambedkar at Shivaji Park. Everywhere what mattered to me is my Identity as a reporter as they looked at me with respect.

As my father always tells me, “You should be known as a good and capable human being.”

So the ‘Ultimate Realization’ is that I might have to live with my cast identity for life but carving out an identity myself is so much more fun than leading blissfully closed life!

I

It started with something called ‘Not at all’

She was keeping a jar full of laddu’s on the shelf. I came running to her and said, “Aai, ask me whether I want laddu’s or not?”…(In Marathi)..ahh she was surprised but she did ask.. “Tula ladoo have ahet ka?”(Whether you want laddu’s or not?)…and all excited me quickly answered in English,‘No, not at all.’ ‘Ohh..’ she said and hugged me. I was in fifth standard in which I learned first few words of a language called English.

I still wonder why she hugged me? I am pretty sure she must have shared this incident with my father. Neha, spoke in English!

Today I find it easy, as if it was never an issue for me. But it was! I have no idea why I suddenly remembered this incident from my past and here at this very moment I realise how far I have come in life.

I know I am 20 and people might think that calling it a LIFE is a bit too much but whenever I turn the pages of past I do feel I have come far…very far from everything that happened.

Regarding the language, people around me are surprised that I come from the vernacular school, Marathi medium to be precise and it was followed by my best friend confessing that looking at me I seriously don’t look like those from the Marathi medium!

Hah…who are those? And why are they called as those?

I remember I used to whine about not sending me to the English medium!Then my Aai would say, “I always wanted to send you to an English medium school, but you know your Baba!” and then the conversation would follow with how my Baba is ultimately right as she never really opposed him!

So when people ask me how come I picked up this language I always share an anecdote about Ferguson college when my favourite English teacher told us that if she (who studied in a Marathi medium in a village where she didn’t have English till her 10^th as a subject) can stand and teach us today, why can’t we learn?

Till today I used to think Ferguson College and My English Professor were my mentors but then I remember the ‘not at all’ conversation with my beloved mother and I say ahh I guess no, not at all!

It was her…It was her dream…

And I wonder if she is watching me here sitting in an office of a leading English daily, writing this blog in English!

It’s been nine years…I am conversing with my self and not with you!

Aai…I wish I could talk to you in English and see your beautiful eyes lit up with pride…

Well not your every wish comes true…

When she left…I felt something back then I didn’t know what was that something called but today I know the word…It’s void…yes, the word is ‘Void’…

A place to remember…

I think each one of us has a special place in this world. A place where you get to feel the significance of yourself in others life. A place which is so comfortably placed in your memory that what so ever happens you will remember the time you spent there.

It can be anything from a bench on Kharghar station to the table for two at the four Seasons!

In my case, it’s a bus stop. Yes, it’s a Bus Stop in my long left home town Pune which I will always remember. This bus stop is near my house from where I catch a bus to Mumbai almost every alternate weekend.

Now why this bus stop?

We are a family of six! And all the members are always excited to send me off to Mumbai (they won’t agree but that’s the truth). Each one of those five seek an opportunity to drop me to this bus stop and wait till I board the bus…and Bus takes ages to come (as always). So meanwhile standing on the bus stop I listen to my family tales! You know I have never heard Fairytales , they were always family tales even when I was a little girl!

Staying away makes you be in that blissfull ignorance about the insights in the family issues. Ya , and they are literally issues!

My father finds this time to inspire me to go ahead and make a place in this world and build up a status (be humble and down to earth‑ very important points) and what not in this world! grhhhhhhhh…I just keep looking at the bus and feel sorry for the bus driver who eventually becomes a victim of my cursing for every second in my mind…

“Why the bus is getting late, why its always late.I hate this pune’s traffic, dada!” it puts my brother into flames who spends every second on this bus stop in convincing me not to go back..then he says, “ya ya..you are a Mumbaikar now. You hate everything in Pune, including me!”…ahh how clichéd (says my mind- mind you, its always my mind which talks on this bus stop)

My sister makes a point of bringing out a fight out of nothing there and making all sorts of misunderstandings that one human being can possibly make on this whole earth.

Sometimes I do wonder she has taps inside her eyes, always ready to pour water out…

So ultimately this place , The Vanaj bus stop in Kothrud, Pune 411038 is always filled with those emotions I am actually deprived of throughout the 15 days. Its always good to be there once in a month! Only once…

Then the bus comes…makes that unexplainable sound of a break and the conversation ends…I board the bus and look out of the window to give them ‘a bye for now see you soon kinds’ look and then starts a journey towards my destiny.

This all might be unusual, funny or even boring at times but this place makes my loved ones tell me few things which they don’t tell to anybody else. This bus stop, might be just a bus stop for others but for me its place where I bond the best with my family members.

I guess it’s a good enough reason to come back to Mumbai…

Because while going back to Pune , I always wonder which tale my family is going to tell…

When loneliness becomes a habit…

I could see them, chatting, strolling on roads together, bunch of youngsters walking past everyone in their own world. They looked so happy to me! I remembered my days when I used to spend hours at a tea shop, sipping tea and pouring words continuously.

I remembered my school friends and our constant giggling. Endless discussions on the matches we won and lost while we were in school!

My job compels me to meet various people. They share their experiences, sometimes good, sometimes worst. Then at office I sit between gang of girls where I never feel alone. As the day progresses the feeling of loneliness starts making its way through and then comes the moment when I have to walk alone towards my home every night.

I immediately call my family members, chat with them. Then after reaching home I call up my friends and again chat with them. The question that still remains is for how long phone is going to keep me company. For how long movies are going to divert me from thinking about my loneliness and not a single day goes by when I don’t press the repeat the play list button on my mobile! Sometimes I wonder why the hell I am doing this. Why the hell am I alone living with the old lady, eating outside food when my parents own a three storied bungalow? Is it independence or my passion? I wonder!

There is nobody here with me to fill up this empty space. Then I am lying awake till two at night thinking about the good old days. I seriously wonder whether I was sleeping and this storm has suddenly woke me up or I was in a misconception that I can mange myself alone!

I stay alone still I am so occupied by the thoughts of others. I haven’t eaten a rashogullas’ because my friend who likes them is not with me. When a friend mails me from England I just keep smiling the whole day! Then suddenly my best friend rings me and asks, why every blog of yours ends with you? The only answer I could think of is because I am the only one whom i spend time with these days.

Does this mean that a person like me is in a need of a companion? My answer is no, I have enough friends and too many family members who are ready to keep me company willingly but the time has changed now. I am no longer a so called sincere girl with all the notes and answers with me. I am no longer a girl who would fall for anybody just to seek company. Life is more about bigger things now. I have always done what I wanted. There is not a single decision that I regret in my life. My only regret while writing this blog is that I am sounding like 40 whereas I am just a 20 year old girl full of energy. At the end what makes me happy is that I have so many memories to cherish when I am alone. I have so many things to share with my family when I go home once in a month. I meet my cousins once in a while and we all roar in laughter thinking about our childhood tantrums.

Here I wonder again…I feel empty still so occupied! I may be living alone but good memories keep me company and my decisions keep me going…!

Another blog that ends with me…but I am not disappointed because I am thinking about how these words are keeping me company!

Reading Blues…

As a person who loves writing I have experienced a thing called ‘writers block’. It’s a state of my mind where you just can’t write even a word. You may try as much as you can but it doesn’t help…but these days I have been thinking if there is something called as ‘readers block’ as well!

‘A reader’s block’, a state of mind in which you don’t want to read even a single word. Then suddenly out of the blue you realise that books are piling up on your desk, books which are yet to be read, books which were bought buy you, some of them even gifted looking at your passion for reading and some recommended by excited friends who took up reading because of you!

These days I actually do have an ample time to read but I am not reading at all. When I realised that I am not able to grasp a single word, I started trying hard, you know as I guess any passionate reader would do. So I sat on my sofa with a book and a determined mind. I tried to remember it’s first few chapters as it was a book I left halfway through…then with absolutely alert eyes I started reading the book after 10 minutes I was in a sound sleep.

So every morning I tell myself don’t worry lets start with a newspaper and I fail to reach the editorial page! Even while reading a sports page or a recruitment section I think about things which are in no way connected to the text in front of me…so when I realise I am not reading, I am just holding a page in front of me. I start reading the text again which I read few minutes back! Ahh …this cycle never stops.

I can literally hear Ayn Rand, R.K.Narayan, Orhan Pamuk and various other legends calling me from my stuffed to death bookshelf…”come on..you can read me..don’t you remember how you used to read us with zeal..with a shine in your eyes..!” and all I can answer them is a big, boring yawn..ahhhhhhh…

Just at the point when you are depressed with your suddenly realised ‘reading blues’…your father comes up with two new books as your graduation gift. “Read them beta, they will inspire you in your journey in the field of journalism...” says your excited dad…

This incidence follows with a series of cosmic questions like why this is happening to me, why I am not able read and why my father always strikes a wrong timing?

No..no...I will come out of this phase. ‘Yes I will’ says the Inner me to myself! This time I have changed my plan a little bit..

I am sitting on my sofa..with a cup of tea and a magazine in hand…lets see how many minutes I’ll survive!

Reflections: An insight

While looking at a pattern of a tree outside reflected on the wall of my bedroom, I always wonder if the tree is more beautiful or its reflection.

I have always observed that the reflection of a moon in the water is so much more subtle and touching…I wonder why?

Have you ever seen a reflection of sky in the water…sometimes its so camouflaged that at a point you won’t be able to differentiate which is the water and which is the sky! So what does a mirror show to you? Sometimes when I look at my reflection in the mirror, I keep thinking that whether its me or someone who I want to be is looking back at me!

Its interesting to know how you perceive yourself at a certain age. I clearly remember my Sanskrit period in school, our teacher was explaining a Sanskrit poem in which while talking she said, “At your age you have a fascination of the mirror, you keep checking how do you look and you find yourself to be beautiful!” That was so true! You, yourself are never ugly in your own eyes and the respective mirror plays a fantastic role in this.

What will you do when you feel like talking to yourself? Like a woman in that poem who doesn’t like to grow old and curses the mirror for it! isn’t she cursing herself? Isn’t the mirror actually reflecting her own insights which are making her feel old and tired?

In my house there are three mirrors, one makes me look bold the other clearer while I am always afraid to look in the third as its wider and it makes me look fatter! Its so simple…what I feel is what I see in the mirror. Its my perception combined with my insights reflects me. The moods keep changing, the feelings keep changing so is my reflection, what is constant is the mirror and its quality of reflecting whatever comes in front or to be very precise whatever is real, just like as it is.

But whether its real, vicious, tricky or a simple lie depends completely on how true to you are to yourself. Once a friend said in a discussion that, “I can lie to the world but how can I lie to myself?”

I think this sentence completely suits the moment when the mirror reflects you.

“Tell me what do you see within, what do you see in my eyes? Do you even recognize me?” I asked the mirror one day and he proudly replied, “I see you! Your eyes reflect that now you are ready to face the world…and your mind says you are about to fly away…I will miss you!”

It rained today…and I lived the moment!!!

I left my home in agony, in suffocation. It felt as if something is binding me, bothering me so much that I am not even able to breathe. Is it because of my unemployed status or the house full of people, is it because I don’t exactly gather what I am doing properly or I am considering few things which I was pretty determined to ignore.

I knew the shop is going to be closed but it served the purpose of going for a long scooter ride, alone thinking about myself, my life and it started raining.

Monsoon rains are so enjoyable. I have always wondered how come rain has a power of washing away all the miseries of your life and gives you the courage to start afresh! Yes! I felt it.

The city of Pune in every season keeps telling me to go back to my roots. It keeps encouraging me to feel that, yes I belong here! Any and every time I left this city was always to come back…Pune was totally washed today.

It felt as if Mother Nature is gently bathing her lovely child. Today I tried to wash all my grievances in the same rain and I was successful enough. I sang my favourite songs to myself while coming back home, I felt rejuvenated.

Then I remembered how my cousin and I used to play in the rain in our balcony. I went there and played with water…splashhh...was the sound as I kicked the water. I guess it was the worries that splashed in the rain and I let them drain in the void.

In this span of time I realised that I am doing nothing but enjoying the moment. I did not care about what will happen in the future…ahh I did not even think about the next minute. It was present and I was absolutely present over there, getting wet in the rain. Drops of happiness falling continuously on my face…as I closed my eyes what I could listen and feel was just rain.

My usual habit of enjoying the rain is by sitting at the corner of our sofa in the living room closing my eyes and just listening to the sound of rain…I did realise today that I can do the same even by being there… outside on my own without any fear. There is no need to worry about anything after all life is about creating memories…living them in moments and rejoicing them afterwards!

I guess rain has made me converse within…It has taught me to just loose myself and live every passing moment…

I wish to continue my lessons with rain…

Right now its time for a hot cup of tea…Happy monsoon!!!

The Great Himalayan Trek…

One thought crossed my mind as I was watching the great Himalayas, What makes a man travel? Any man travels to explore new places or to explore himself? Throughout my Himalayan expedition I was occupied with such cosmic questions yet I was at peace. There was no regret, no guilt, no insecurity. There was no rage about my past, no worries of future. There was just one goal and that was to reach the top exactly at 13,800 ft and one focus, that was ‘Me’.

Himalayas are not only beautiful but mysterious as well. It makes you go silent. You just keep looking at the snow covered peaks and think its so near but eventually those peaks are miles and miles away from you looking down at you. You don’t feel like talking to anyone, you just want let the environment sink in you.

Throughout the trek I wrote random thoughts in my diary. I was not bothered to mention any schedule, day’s routine or anything particular. What I wrote was what I thought. Have you ever been in such trans where you are at complete peace? you cant predict what will happen tomorrow yet your not worried! You know, feeling good about yourself! I was in such trans till I returned. The atmosphere there sets you in such trans. You feel the silent mountains are talking to you.

“Who are you? Just like one of those trekkers who come and go, who consider reaching on top of me as an achievement? And eventually have very less time to admire my beauty?” asked me the proud Himalayas and I answered, “I am not one of those who are exploring you. I am not one of those who consider you as an achievement. I am here to explore myself. Your beauty and greatness has compelled me to do that.”

The ever changing weather in Himalayas post another challenge to your mental strength. There may be a bright sunshine in the morning but after a while suddenly its all cloudy and you already know that its going to rain and going to get tougher, still you know you have to climb . Your goal is set, your road is fixed , tackling its difficulties and reaching on top is what matters.

If I talk about my ultimate realisation in this wonderful trek of Himalayas then that is very simple. I trek because I love nature, I love that activity, I love meeting new people and I simply love clicking photographs and creating wonderful memories. I do not envy those who consider reaching on top as the whole and sole purpose of trek. I do not envy those who hate getting tired and fail to admire the beauty of the mountains. If you aren’t tired then how will you stop and take look at the green lush valleys, snow covered peaks and get back the energy to move ahead? If your photographs do not create memories of a shared laughter with friends then what is the purpose of being together on a trek?

So now I do believe that anybody who has a will power and absolutely loves nature can trek. But do trek with right vision, otherwise it will just turn out to be a hectic holiday. As you reach the base camp you hear a word , acclimatization…more than my body my mind was acclimatized in the great Himalayas…and after this great Himalayan trek I am finding it difficult to acclimatize at home…