I like to believe its more than just coincidence

I like to think that we’ve met before.

That there was a whiff of you when you passed by there..

and there was a second glance.

That there was a point in time and space

where our paths first met

where you held my a gaze a millisecond longer

that I felt it and you did too...

I like to believe it started then, there.

When our fates first met, and chose to twine

I like to believe its more than just coincidence

You, me, the stars, they were meant to be!

Not so crazy thoughts...

Once in a lifetime, you have to raise your hand, stand up and say “It’s done with”! It’s hard. Its hard to accept the need to do so, in the first place, its harder to raise your hand and make yourself stand, its even harder to find your voice when on your feet. But for that once, you have to do it. You have to do it for that tiny feeble voice that says ‘go on, you are right’.There are no reasons, just gut feelings, which tell you what should and shouldn’t be done.

It hurts. Its like pulling off the cable and saying game over, when the other is probably enjoying the game. Sometimes you see it coming, sometimes you don’t. Love can make you believe the impossible. Love can make you do things and not do things. Love can drive you crazy. It’s all a matter of choice. Whether you choose to let love rule your life and run it, or whether you are adamant to get a grip on the reins. Whether you are content with the happiness in someone’s eyes or whether you need to feel it in your heart too! Whether you want to pick up the hints or whether you want to hide them under a four-letter blanket.

Some things may hurt now, but it’s better to have a cut that heals over time than a bleeding wound.

All lose, whole find

 Photo Courtesy: www.petermichael.com

“Fear is a bad thing and unworthy of you” -Jawaharlal Nehru (in a letter to his daughter)

I am not a feminist. I am an avowed tomboy. I have been pondering for the past half an hour, over what it means today to be a woman, and my head is now a clutter of thoughts flowing in all directions, and I have to write, to help it settle down in my head. 

We all are raised by a set of beliefs, the word belief here not restricted to a certain sect or religion (one could be raised with a belief that one is a princess for that matter) and these beliefs shape the course of our lives. So one is raised to believe that one is a woman, and the other is raised to believe that one is a man and then they both are bogged down by societal definitions of what one should or should not be. Well the differentiation by nature into a man and a woman is purely functional. Something nature chose to do to prevent over abundance for all you care. Like if there was no split into two genders, then each individual would have an equal probability of producing more of the same kind and then there would be no check on the growth of population in the absence of predators (and diseases) and may be Nature (coz my atheist readers may not like the term GOD) would have to resort to earthquakes to gulp them down and keep a check on the growth of population. All life forms would then reproduce vegetatively and I cant imagine how the earth would be. 

But since Nature likes to play dice, it decided to create this functional difference and create two genders, so the male has to find a female, and only then they can reproduce. And there, we should have been happy accepting that as the only difference and lived with it. But the intelligent humans that we are, we decided to take this functional difference a little further, and created a difference in the functions performed by these two genders. And then we had this whole differentiation into Men and Women and their different functions in society. 

There are those who argue that these functions have been assigned based on physique and physical capabilities, but if one believes in evolution then it must have been  a matter of evolution that women today are (in most cases) physically weaker than men.  (and there is another argument to this that I will come to later...). So when someone says respect me, coz I am a woman, I squirm, coz I would like to be respected as a human, and not because I am a woman. A man deserves as much respect for being a man, as a woman does, for well, being a woman.  

So we now have a differentiation of men and woman, that’s not purely functional any more, but is also of form, and the difference in form is something that has materialised out of our heads coz it has risen from our definitions of way things are meant to be. To create equality, this definition is where we have to start with, we have to pick it up and we have to disintegrate it. And by this I don’t mean making a futile attempt to erase it out of our heads and everyone else’s , I mean working on it, slowly and steadily, and erode it out of existence. 

If we want long lasting change, we have to start with the young ones coz they are mouldable, and coz we have given up on ourselves anyway. So when you raise your daughter mould her to be a better human, rather than a better woman.  Rather than telling her that she should learn to cook coz she has to cook for a family, teach it as a survival skill, and so also your son. Send her to the gym, not to shape up and lose those pounds, but to put on some muscle. Don’t raise her to wait for a prince charming, and don’t make him fight for a princess, those only emphasise stereotypes, tell them stories of real men and women. Shape them, to be independent individuals, men independent of women, and women independent of men so relationships don’t feel like barter system any more

We have been talking about the basics, about where to start, but we are grown –ups now, and somewhat beyond repair, we have been wired a certain way (though some believe its hard-wired, one could always argue against it). After the general hullabaloo on women safety, I have advisories on being cautious every time I step out, and it comes from everyone around, parents, friends, and even that friendly protective uncle down the street. I am glad for all these people, I mean I truly appreciate that they are concerned about me, but beyond a certain point I can’t gulp down the fact that I should live in a perpetual fear of being hunted in my own country. (I’d rather live every moment and die half way, rather than drag myself to the grave and contemplate over a life of regrets.) And after hearing this over and over, one does start feeling dependent and this feeling of “fear” kind of gets to you. If every woman started carrying an escort with them, we are making it that hard for women not blessed with escorts. Think also of what you would be doing to their confidence. If all of a sudden a woman not used to traveling alone, has to confront a stalker, that’s surely gonna scare the shit out of her. For a change I would like to free men from the onus of standing up for us. If we can fight for our jobs, for our kids, well we did fight for our freedom, we can bloody well stand up for ourselves and fight for our rights, our right to freedom. 

Where to start? Go take that self-defence course you have been dilly-dallying forever. Or take up a sport, or yoga, and build some muscle. Know your strength. Which is the strongest muscle you have? How hard a blow can you hit? Also know where to hit. Build some stamina. Self-defence techniques most often only give you a chance to escape, and inevitably you will have to run; you don’t want to be panting half way down a chase. And most importantly, fear is the last thing you want to show on your face. Learn to stare people in their face, in their eyes. 

These are patch up solutions anyway. As I said before, to create a society where one can live without fear, we should change the way we think. Unless we stop objectifying women as well as men, we won’t make any headway. If our choices (from our clothes to hair-do) are freed from prejudices of form, and are more functional (like I wear shorts, coz they are that much comfortable to run around in and not to expose my legs in some way) it would be much easier to look at and deal with things. We are struggling with ‘ghosts’ really. We have to fight things that are there in our heads, so we stop taking things at face-value.  

And we need to stop celebrating crappy days, a woman should embrace her existence as well as a man's,  every day, and same is true for a man.

Happy Anniversary

The alarm beeps. Meera looks at the time, 5 to 12. She hears the kitchen door squeak. She has been aware of the cautious movements outside, the hushed hustle of 2 pairs of feet; one trailing the other in puffed bedroom slippers. She puts the pen down, pushes the papers aside. The desk is a clutter, and she has long given up on keeping it neat. There is just enough open space to keep a journal and write in it. She picks up the pen to put it in the pen stand, one of the numerous mugs that that were now used to house stationery, there are paper clips in one, paintbrushes in another, and lazing between them all is ‘that’ old paper cup with hearts, brimming with coins.

She turns towards the door. A minute to go, “should I barge in on their preps, or wait patiently pretending to be busy and forgetful”, she thinks as she turns out the lights.

The clock strikes 12, “Mummaaaa” a gay voice fills the room and her thoughts. She smiles and picks up the 3 feet bundle of demands, kissing her on her forehead. “Mummaaa, ‘appy annievalshary” a kiss is planted on her cheek. Meera smiles again, walking towards the door, that is now held open by a silhouette with a paunch. “Happy anniversary” the silhouette, now more like the phantom in the dark, whispers in her ears as she passes the door.

***

He enters the room with heavy feet. She is snoring peacefully. He grins mischievously through the wrinkles. He would love to tickle her feet, to break her sleep and run a fake chase through the house only to end back on the bed with her. The grin widens into a smile over the years of desires fulfilled and unfulfilled. He slides into the bed besides her, careful not to wake her up, places the rose besides her pillow and whispers in her ears ‘Happy anniversary’. She grunts a snore. He smiles and falls back on his side of the bed. ‘All this excitement is tiring’ he thinks to himself coughing. He turns to pick the jar of water on the side table. A thorn pricks him...

***

A cake lies on the table between candles that carefully draw a heart. At a safe distance stands a bottle of champagne all set for a toast along with a box in a red gift wrap and a hand-made card scrawled with crayons. The guitar is resting on a chair. Just as she turns to the phantom with lifted brows, he disappears, only to reappear with the guitar. Chords fill the silence.

‘It was almost a decade ago wasn’t it? The first time you’d played it over the phone.’ The words twinkle in her eyes. A nod responds from the other side as the bundle slides down her arms to rush towards the phantom, “Happy Annievalshly papa, let’s cut the cake now”. Meera picks the cam to set a timer, the phantom picks a knife...

FLASSHHHHHH

***

‘Why do you need a timer, m a pro at self clicks’ she says grabbing the cam from his hand as they squeeze into the frame with the cake.

‘It’s gonna be blurred, you are shaking too much, give it to me’

‘No m not’

‘Yes, you are, you are high’ he grabs the cam

‘No, am not. Not. Not. Not. You are.’ she tries to grab it back. He dodges her hand and almost topples.

‘You, are high.’, she says definitively grabbing his hand just in time, planting a kiss on his cheek as she pulls him closer, snatching the cam from his hand.

Regaining his balance, he rushes to the dashboard to turn the radio on full volume.

‘....and the next request is by sms and it says Happy Anniversary, and it comes from umm... vow this guy forgot to write his name, the number is XXXX-XXX-XXX... and here’s the song’

‘Happy anniversary’ he screams rushing towards her.

‘Ha you forgot your name’ she says playfully dragging him towards the bonnet, a cake awaits there patiently, to be slaughtered.

“Smaaaaayyyle...” she says pulling him in the frame with the cake...

FLASSHHHHHHH

***

‘uddharko dekha kya?’

‘kya dekhne ka? chora chori chumma-chaati karrele hain, tu kay ko dekhri?’

‘ae idhar dekh na... (waits) tere ko yaad nai na?’

‘kya wo?’

‘aajke ich din mila tha tu mereku’

‘tu din ginte baithi kya, tereku kaun bola’

‘mere ko yaad hay... sharukh ki picchar lagi thi thetar mein, wo Zafar gubbare bechra tha dilwaale... bhot bheed lagi thi, aur tu saala udharich poshter ka neeche das ka bees karrela tha.’

‘aur tu bakra dhoondh rahi thi udharpe’

‘haan, terekoich aana tha na halaal hone’

‘saali’ pounces on her and misses.

Laughs ‘hatt saale’

They continue to stare at the cake, couple and the car.

‘Tereko kuch bolne ka tha’

‘tu kab se puchke bolne lagi’

‘wo kya bolte wo.... wo... Happy ‘versary tereko’

***

‘She slept’ the phantom says walking towards her.

Meera is in the balcony, staring at the sky. He moves besides her, his arm over her shoulders, ‘It’s a beautiful night’. She smiles holding his hand. They stare at the stars dazzling the moon.

***

Down at the gate, a car honks, ‘I love you’ he screams. She rushes back to him with a half irritated smile. 

Many giggles and chuckles later, they finally decide to call it a night. She runs away only to turn at the gate... ‘I love you tooooooo’ she screams back. He triple honks and drives away. She runs past the watchman, smiling at him. He smiles back, drawing out a photo from his wallet. ‘I love you too,’ he says running his hands over the photo , ‘Happy Anniversary’.

The clock strikes one. He is counting hours till dawn.

***

‘Youngsters...’, he says... Meera smiles at the girl walking through invisible hearts hovering around her.

‘.. by the way you have to drop Su to school tomorrow’, the phantom says stealing a glance at the watch.

She nods.

***

They are walking on the shore, under the stars. There is a long trail behind them, their prints distinct, his hard, heavy, hers lighter, barely there. They are running now with water splashing, like there’s nowhere to go, just this shore to run. They could run till dawn, they could run forever. Sometimes she leads him, naughty playful... sometimes he leads her, cautious, concerned. They know they are in love, they know they could run forever. And then he stops, he’s finally caught the moon on water. She joins him. She touches the reflection only to send ripples through it, ripples through him. He raises his head to the twinkles that stare at him, and then to those over his head, and yells...

‘Bawwoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo’