Right Round

Life has a way of coming back full circle.

One minute you're sitting someplace new, forging bonds over a cup of coffee, with the hope that they'll last a lifetime [at least], and the next minute you find yourself in the same place, which has now become more familiar to you than the bonds you were trying to form and hold on to.

The chair opposite you is empty, but somehow, you're not. There is a promise in the air, not like there was the last time, but a promise that you'll find a new side to yourself, turn over a new leaf, and start afresh - just like you did in that first minute. Cool, eh?

You know what keeps the circle going? Transition.

Everything moves, changes form, changes in definition and finds a different meaning to add to your life. But just because everything you know is largely transient, that doesn't mean you have to learn that everything goes away eventually. It only means that the things worth holding on to are the things that find their way back to you in the end - whatever the form.

Everything that is largely transient DOES come back into your life - full circle.

Rate This!

Among all the labels I like to give myself, I'm a movie buff, a theatre enthusiast, an avid reader and a food lover. So are a bunch of other people I know, and don't know [yet]. If there is one kind of discussion I both enjoy and detest, it is the idea of discussing reviews and ratings for these forms of art - cinema, theatre, books and food, to be precise.

Now, for those who know me well enough to have heard me blabber on and on about my career choice, I would like to review food and films someday [and films about food, if there are any]. This makes it interesting, because I have a dissonant part of me that does not subscribe to reviews and ratings for things. But when I reject reviews when thrown in my face, I do so not with the intention of rejecting the review itself, but in rejecting the fact that the review is absolute.

Take, for example, a cinematic work. It has X rating points on a movie site, Y.5 stars in a newspaper, and some critic in a magazine decided to wax eloquent about it. Now, these X's and Y's and amazing comments may not all comply, and may definitely not comply with the way I see that work of cinema. Case in point: quite a few of them! Easiest one perhaps is Student Of The Year [SOTY]. Now, I will not proceed to shove it down your throat as to how amazing the movie and the plot and music and everything is - because, chances are, most of you won't buy my logic. But that's the point! My life experiences let me understand the movie differently from the way you do. My emotional response is different from yours. Hence, my rating or review is based on a foundation that you don't have, and vice versa.

Now, apply this to the remaining 3 categories of art that I love [as stated above]. See what I mean?

For those who need more clarity, I'll simply say this: art appreciation is a personal process. Our perception of an artwork is limited to our understanding of things and our knowledge, coupled with experience. If you are in a foul mood and I ask you to review a movie like Enchanted, you will first throw something in my face post movie, and then proceed to talk about how the movie made you feel as you watched it. Anyone can get into technicalities to prove that their view is 'unbiased'. But at the end of the day, even that perception is altered and affected by your personal experiences related to it all.

Therefore, I don't mind you consulting a review before you watch or read or eat something. But what I do heavily object to is taking that review and making it the thought process you follow, before you've seen the product for yourself. I believe in sampling things before I outwardly accept or reject them and I think its a decent philosophy to live by. At least it lets us see more, learn more, experience different things, and finally, live to the fullest.

-Untitled- [feel free to suggest]

I've dealt with
Versions of You
My whole life.
You who said it can't be done
You who never got up to try.
Whose personal battles were never won
Even when loss was a far cry.

I've dealt with
Versions of You
Day in and day out.
You who sit and criticise,
You who love to scream and shout.
Not one have you said a kind word
Not once have you tried to see what its about.

I've dealt with
Versions of You
That fight against
Versions of Me
Every single day.
You beat my optimism to pulp
It can't be of any use anyway.
You snatched my dreams
and my sleep withal
Said: What's the point of rising
When eventually you must fall?

But there is an impossibility
that keeps me alive each hour
That there will be insurmountable sweetness
To counter a mild sour
There will always be a bright yellow
to contrast a dull blue
And there will always be versions of Me
To deal with versions of You.

Senti at Twenty

As is ritual, I find myself documenting, to an extent, what went on in my head on my birthday. This time, it was my 20th.

It started in the usual fashion, of course, with cake(s) and card and lovely people who stayed up till 12 and beyond on an exam night, and tonnes of phone calls and messages. The next morning, an exam was written. A treat was given in the afternoon, and a whale of a time was had with family at night.

Through all of these modes of celebration, which involved LOADS of cake, it dawned on me that this celebration is much too needed and much too crucial.

The journey from one year to the next is always fraught with fun and frolic, trials and tribulations, happiness and sorrow. But the journey from 19 to 20 was a little tougher than the rest have been so far.

It was a year of change.

I was part of a batch that was senior and junior to a lot of people in college, which meant that there were more friends to make, while there were some special ones who were ready to step off campus, hardly ever to be seen again. I realised that would be me someday.

I hit rock bottom at one stage wherein I couldn't write. It has been almost six months since I wrote, and that was a difficult phase to get out of. It took me apart each day to know that that was not to be the day that I would pick up a pen, or jab keys at a keyboard, to my heart's content, because something creative had struck me. It broke my heart when all I could muster was a flood of tears or a flurry of frustrated reactions to counter that loss of creative energy. I hurt a lot of people in the process, and hurt myself even more. When I look back on that today, I know that it has been an uphill trek up to here, where words are forming themselves as I recall impulses. And it feels amazing, and it is a beautiful gift to know that I can do what I did before, despite the hardships.

I learned a lot of new things, which is the silver lining of my dark cloudy year. I learned that I had finally been able to zero down on a career. I learned that "I trust you" means a great deal more than "I love you". I learned that my shades of grey are ALWAYS going to be different from someone else's mix of black and white. I learned that though I can be content with doing my bit and moving on, there will always be a space for hurt and dejection when its not reciprocated, whether I expect any returns or not. I learned that there is yet much to learn, and that I've done good so far to learn from what has been thrown at me.

There is also a degree of anticipation that has set in, in the process of it all. The "what's next" phase. I want to see what the final year of college will bring me. There are so many places for me to see, some more friends to make and a lot of friends to bid adieu to. I feel like I want to do a lot more with another year added to the existing total. I want to dance more, I want to swim, I want to eat more [hell yes!]. I want to fall in love, I want to do crazy things, I want to see what at date is like. I'd like to write a little more, I'd like to trust a little less [or a little less often], and I'd like to free fall, just to see who'll turn up to catch me. I want to make amends, I want to break free [right?], and I want to be able to keep wanting.

A lot of what I felt last year has resurfaced, renewed by certain experiences [or the lack of them]. And I guess that's all a part of growing up, isn't it? moving forward, while leaving behind the things that inhibit you, and keeping the things that have let you go on so long.

And so, here it is, the end of this post, not just because this is longer than I expected it to be or because of the fear that the person on the other side has possibly dozed off, or left. But because I'm done being senti at twenty. Let the mental-ness begin!

-29/11/12-

My year starts in January,
all warm and fuzzy and bright.
The days are all so Spring-y,
Calm and cool are the nights.

Spring gives way to summer,
And heat rises to the highest grade,
but just then the summer scorches down,
And all I do is hunt for shade.

I drench myself in monsoon air
and raindrops that incessantly pour.
The weather seems to drown me,
I wonder why, and how much more.

Autumn tries to calm me,
but there’s only haze instead of greys.
And I look around me
upon a world that slowly decays.

As the leaves fall from shedding trees
and all the darkness throngs,
I resolve to spend December
making myself strong.

Strong for icy blasts of air,
Those reminders of the end,
Make me forget that my solace
Is right around the bend.

And so the hopes are up again
for a warm and fuzzy retreat.
But it’s a just a rewound cassette
I’ve been playing on repeat.

I feel all these sensate seasons,
but as each of the other bereaves,
There’s something I’m now bound to accept
That January never leaves.

LOVE

Love. Such a strong emotional state that can overpower every pore and the very core of the being. Though it is Diwali today, I can't not discuss the meaning and influence of love on me, especially because I've just watched the biggest tribute to love - Jab Tak Hai Jaan.

Technically labelled Yash Chopra's swansong, it is truly what one would call, 'saving the best for last.' Being a huge fan of his treatment of romance [and who wouldn't be? He isn't called the King of Romance for nothing!], the waterworks began as soon as the first still with the Yash Raj Films logo was shown. Knowing this was going to be the most important film to me because it was the maestro's last, I watched the film in awe of his craftsmanship. But little did I know that I would find glimpses of things and moments I've known and felt. The unique thing about love is the intense commonality of its experience. Even if we are, or claim to be, the "instant make-out, instant break-up generation", our hearts still reverberate with that old world, Yash Raj-type romantic notions. I know mine does.

Right from the idea of love being above faith, the challenges of fate, and the moments the characters lose in their absences from each other, as an audience and as a human being, I connect with all of that. But the thing that struck me the hardest was a dialogue, uttered by Rishi Kapoor. He says "Har ishq ka ek waqt hota hai. Woh humara waqt nahin tha. Par iska matlab yeh nahin ki woh ishq nahin tha..." And he's right. I would rather not go into why I think so and what makes that statement so meaningful and profound to me but I know that everyone has a connect with that statement.

The best possible description I can find for love is that its a maddening process. Its not love if it doesn't drive you crazy. Its not love if it doesn't make you link everything up to that one person. I mean, love is poetic, magical, inspiring, fearful, scary, scarring and the most hurtful state. But at the same time, it is beautiful and grows more and more so with each tear shed in their name and each pang of pain borne for them. The day we fall in love is the day we are truly born. So says the movie, and so I believe and endorse. 

What also holds true for love, for me at least, is that it comes with no quotas. You can fall in love more than just once. You can be the love of more than one person [if you're lucky and if you're Major Samar Anand]. But its that one person who leaves you senseless that is truly the one you love most. Reiterating a dialogue from Dil Chahta Hai, "pyaar soch samajh kar nahin kiya jaata. Bas ho jaata hai."

Some of us are with that person. Some of us are still searching. Some of us are stuck in limbo, between with and without, between faith and doubt, between yes and no and between life and oblivion. For all three of our kinds, I say, hold on. Just keep holding on. Love is for all. And its all for the taking. And love is eternal and doesn't ever fade, it just takes new shapes. And for all of this enlightenment, I have only Yashji to thank, forever and ever. He will remain in our hearts, Jab Tak Hai Jaan.

Fading

The pain ceases to exist

but the scars remain.

They remain as reminders,

as indicators, as markers.

And if as none of these,

As memories of the pain

that ceases to exist,

Though the scars stay.

The scars fade away,

Surely but slowly, with time.

If not from life, from sight.

And if not from sight, from memory.

But they fade,

Slowly and surely, with time.

Time and again,

painful scars come and go.

As life goes on -

painfully, slowly, hurtfully - 

People places and things

come and go,

Leaving painful scars

on the ever-healing soul.

As they all, eventually,

Surely, slowly,

Fade away.