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!”