Dear Anonymous Letter Writer - Birthday Chronicles

I make a big fuss of birthdays, each time. Especially if it is mine. Of course.

And you know what counts as luck? When you find others who make a bigger fuss of birthdays than you. And I'm the lucky one, who has not one, but about a dozen crazies around her, who've been investing time and mind into creating little gestures of warmth, leaving a wide, uncontrollable smile on my face.

A recent pretty phenomenon is a red coloured note, which I find stuck to my almirah with the help of magnets, each day when I get back home. These notes/letters contained words of love, which, as hard as I might try, I cannot identify the source of. I thought of cheating, because, it is easy to (all I need to do is steal my sister's phone - I already know the password). But then, I thought of living the experience through. I have analysed the handwriting, the tone, the language, the emotions - and honest admission - I have zero idea of who he or she is. I think the writer is a 'he'. Just, instinct.

So, while I have given up trying to establish the identity of my anonymous pen-friend, let me write him (assuming 'he') a letter of my own. I am doing this, because unresponsiveness is among the things which irks me most in life. Even though I do not know who I am responding to, I will still go ahead and do it, because words deserve words, love deserves love, emotions deserve emotions, and letters deserve letters.

Here goes, a short one, for the person counting down 26 days to my 26th birthday.

Dear anonymous letter writer

I want to thank you. Not for writing to me, but for writing in general. People have quite forgotten the genuineness and touch which ink and paper hold. People have also forgotten that at times, all it takes is one little gesture to completely light up someone's life. Like you are lighting up mine. I look forward to your notes each day. It is a habit I could fondly cultivate. 

Thanks for making me realise how old am I going to be. No sarcasm. I am happy to know how far I have come in life, and also to get a glimpse of how others have journeyed along with me. 

A little word of caution though. When I finally get to know who you are, we'll work a little on your handwriting. No offences, just, my way of saying I think I like you enough to want to work with you. 

Looking forward to note number six. 

Thanks. 

Love, 
Saumya. 

Badi Pagal Si Ladki Hai

Prelude - For my birthday this year, I got many gifts, in gestures, in words, in books, in love - in many other manifestations, but the gift I am sharing with you all here is the most special among them. To have had these words read out to me was an experience nothing short of magical and extremely humbling. Gratitude fills me as I post this -

Badi paagal si ladki hai..

Ajab khwaabon mein rehti hai..

Bikhre baal rakhti hai…

Alag sa haal rakhti hai…

Alag ek dhun mein rehti hai…

Hamesha hasti rehti hai…

Kabhi khamosh ho jaye…

Yun toh kam hi hota hai…

Ke jab khamosh hoti hai…

Fiza pe rang nahi chadhta..

Bahaarein laut jaati hain…

Ghatayein ghir bhi jaayein gar…

Boondein dam nahi bharti…

Aur jab muskuraati hai…

Gul bhi muskuraate hain…

Mausam khil ke aate hain…

Ajeeb ik zid si hai pakde…

Ke Gul sehraa mein khilaane hain

Sab kaante mehkaane hain..

Roton ko hasaana hai, roothon ko manaana hai..

Gham duniya ke mitaane hain..

Kabhi koi jo gham, uska..

Gar humsaaya ho jaye…

Gham se ru-ba-ru hokar..

Milaa kar aankh har ranj se…

Yun muskuraayegi..

Ke gham muskura dega

Dard ki baahon mein daal kar baahein …

Yun gungunaayegi…

Ke dard bhi gungunaayega…

Koi bhi dharm duniya ka…

Isko soojhta kab hai…

Mohabbat pooja karti hai..

Mohabbat socha karti hai…

Kabhi poochho sabab iska..

Toh hans ke itna kehti hai…

Ke tum dekhna jaana…

..Ke tum dekhna jaana…

Ik roz duniya ko…

Mohabbat Main sikha dungi..

Ik roz duniya ko…

Main ishq bana dungi…

Badi Deewani ladki hai…

Ke bas khwaabon mein rehti hai…

Picture credits - Mayank Austen Soofi

10 Things You All Must Know About My Birthday

Long story short - I had an epic birthday. Well, an odd way to begin a post about the most special day which greets me in an entire year, but that is it. Epic could well be an understatement. Crazy is more like an apt word, and I mean the highest degree of crazy at that. Birthdays, or any celebrate-able occasions have always been kind of big affairs for me. My dear, dear friends, this time around, proved how affairs could be made bigger and grander and unforgettable. The celebrations began four days early, went on for about a week (if you could include all the pleasant hangover) and left me exhausted, but with a happy smile on my face. I cannot name and thank everyone involved here, in this post - because open display of affection and honest admissions have their pitfalls, and because all content is not for everyone - but I will still whisper gratitude to all those awesome people who inhabit my world, and who make life a brilliant journey to travel through.

That's how it began at Jamia

There are a few things I would like to tell you all about my birthday though. I am not sure, but I think I will go and name this post as 10 Things You All Must Know About My Birthday. So, here, the ten things which will always make me remember turning 24. I am not just promising cheese and flowers, but salt and lemon too. Let's begin.

#1 The Birthday Poster

Now, did you ever have a poster proclaiming your birthday has arrived? Well, I had not one, not two, but three of those posters promptly made and displayed by two of the most awesome, creative, innovative artists I know! These posters were pretty and funny and so endearing, that I ended up believing my birthday this time was going to overshadow all the previous 23 ones put together. When it begins at gorgeous, it ends at gorgeous. Mostly, yes.

Aastha di and Neha - thank you for this one! 

#2 A Day Out With Mamma

This was new, and special, and fun. I like using 'and' a lot. It projects a chain for me, which could keep subsuming experiences, and thoughts, and words in an unbroken connect. Having 'and's' is kind of cosy - you can have it all, and have it at one place. And with Mamma, and my sister, and two of my dearest friends, I had the first of its kind shopping day out, which was topped by a quiet lunch of tea, pasta and sandwiches, and which got rounded off by some more shopping off the Janpath flea market. I've made a mental note of making more such days happen!

On our way out, for shopping!

#3 The Afremov Connect

Now, people just know that it was Leonid Afremov who made me fall in love with colours. And so, two of the most awesome painters in the world got down to task to paint me some breathtakingly gorgeous Afremov-like paintings! I am keeping them safe and closed. On the most appropriate day, they shall come out and decorate a space which is an extension of all that I stand for.

Some colours and some light - all wrapped as perfect gifts!

#4 The Twitter Chaos

Some fantastic brains adept at handling social media were employed to run a 'tweetathon' two nights before my birthday to just talk sweet things about me. Honestly, it was embarrassing - but it was super fun too! There was a guy on twitter who called it an ego massage. It could well have been that, but for me, it was also a positive reinforcement my life had been severely lacking. Thanks twitterati!

Very creative invite for the Tweetathon!

#5 More Social Media Chaos

They all wanted to make me feel like a celebrity, and the first step in that direction, which my extremely loving and irritatingly creative friends took was to develop social media profiles in my name. So, there was (is) a functioning twitter handle, a Facebook page, and an e-mail id created to keep me flooded with electronic updates loaded with excitement of anticipation. This is, veritably crazy stuff. Crazily crazy.

#6 The Kids

There are too many to name. And they are always around, to show their love and also to ask for love. They are all a gift God has given me to feel special, and to be privileged enough to make them feel special too. The paint, draw, ask for longer hugs, want to take me out on dates, or for bowling; they let me in on their secret conversations, they even cry with me when times are rough - and they basically love me as much as I love them. And this, my dear friends, is a gift. To love, and to be loved back.

#7 Mr. Ashok Chakradhar

How awesome could it feel when a bunch of friends conspire to invite your favourite poet as a surprise for your birthday? Ashok Chakradhar ji has been a favourite since I first saw him on television in a show called Wah Wah! I could meet him only for a little while, but cutting the cake with him, hearing him recite his poems and being gifted a heart-breakingly pretty crystal lotus by him are sweet bits of memory I shall always savour!

#8 Bhagwan Das Ji and Cultural Extravaganza

No part of my body was not enjoying when Bhagwan Das Ji, the legendary puppeteer, singer, poet, performer came down to perform specially for my birthday! He is a repository of dying traditions and cultural practices, facing his own share of apathy from those authorities which have a reputation of being insensitive when it comes to their own interests. However, personal hardships aside, he sang like a true performer - filling us all with Rajasthani and Sufi melodies. Kailash bhaiya, his second in command, took over to then put up some fine showmanship, which included puppet dances which were breathtaking and unbelievable. An artist who knows his craft can breathe life into the lifeless.

#9 Mr. Harivansh Rai Bachchan

He could definitely not have come down for my birthday, but I invoked him for some solid life advice. We're all transient, and dispensable - and if to this truth we do not awaken, we're being plain unjust to ourselves and the world around us. Leaving behind things which are dear is never easy - but sometimes, moving on, even if with tears, is the only option. One of the greatest poets of our country taught that in a perfect poem his scribbled ages back. The beautiful consolation was that his son, Mr. Amitabh Bachchan, sent me an autograph scribbled on my portrait, along with four other famous names - Gulzar sahab, Shaan, Hariharan ji and Mr. Manmohan Singh. How do my friends even make these things happen is crazy.

#10 The Magicians

And there are so many of them. They're also known as friends, but for now, I shall call them magicians. I can never say enough about them, so let's leave it there. Over past few months, I've lost some, gained some, reconnected with some and fallen madly in love with some. My cup is full, so full, that it continues to brim over in a smile or in a fond tear.

These are only two of the many faces which make my world special

Such celebrations should happen only once in life. To all the gorgeous people who were a part of my day, I'd just say - stay close, you're all valued. And my life makes sense and has meaning because of all of you.

On that note, the day ended. 

Hurriedly Scribbled #2

This one is a little late, but since my blog crossed 8,00,000 views a few hours back, today's countdown post is very much in order.

So, if someone were to ask you, what was the one thing you discovered in the year of life which just went by, what would you say? Really - its a question to which you must write an answer in the comment box below. What I want to see is if you can actually stop at scribbling one thing down. In an entire year, one could discover so much about himself, about life, about people. Can there actually be that one, overpowering thing which towers above all the other experiences of life, establishing itself in a position of dominance, from where it stands a chance of influencing and shaping your life?

As is apparent, I asked this question to myself. I often do, but I wake up to different answers. As of today, my answer would be, that the 24th year of my life was significant because it was in this time period that I discovered feminism. I am not sure if my discovery was related to unearthing a mini-feminist sitting crouched somewhere inside me, but I have definitely become more sensitive to the misogynistic strains which permeate the air we unconsciously breathe. Honestly put, its troublesome, to see how stereotypes relating to gender and sexuality are just accepted without challenge, and to find yourself become sensitive and reactive to them. Its an honest admission. I reckon I was better off when I could laugh at those of my ilk when others chose to make a joke out of them. This day, I cannot. I don't get messed up with anger, but rightfully indignant I do become when I see biological limitations becoming a curse, and social conditioning getting more regressive by the day. Try as hard as I might, I cannot laugh at what Kapil Sharma puts up as humour. It was funny for the initial bit, but to make a trend of laughing at women, servant class, and obese people - no, it just doesn't work any more. I did hear someone call Kapil the Shekhar Suman of our times, and with whatever little I remember of Movers & Shakers, I tend to disagree. Lets leave the rants at that.

A magazine I edited while heading the Women Studies and Development Cell, back in JMC

I don't like cooking. I don't want to cook. I always knew it was a difficult position to assert, but the fact that I would have to negotiate with not just individuals, rather entire communities to have this fact understood was not known to me. Ask Neha, please, how I routinely burn my eggs even in the simplest of recipes, or how I almost always end up adding extra salt in my maggi, sometimes even twice the amount of that extra salt, and you would know what kind of a culinary cripple I am talking off here. A few years back, I had even heard of a phenomenon called 'Mageirocophobia', which is the fear of cooking, and had conveniently adopted the label, till it was shrugged off by the dust of sookha aata on the chappati I was learning to flatten with a rolling pin. I can finally get them nice and round, but its only as enjoyable as a once-a-fortnight craft activity for me. I would enjoy painting the kitchen walls with vegetable dyes in an equal proportion. Unfortunately for many around me, this was the year I discovered Rokeya Sakhawat Hossain, Simone de Beauvoir and Parveen Shakir. I discovered Virginia Woolf and via the might of her quill, I understood the possibilities which would have been snatched from the hands of a certain, fictional Judith Shakespeare. (Among many of my professors, Dr. Baran Farooqi I specifically need to thank here). I learnt how economics influences the social, and how soon the personal starts becoming political. Vague? Well, yet again, a coffee invite is open. By the way, do you have any theories about the origin of the concept of incest? Try researching, some awesome nonsense might raise its ugly head in front of your eyes then.

The above is only a minute fraction of what has been festering inside me since long. It was the most pleasant journey of my life which probably ended up turning me into a feminist. Probably. And no, it is not because of some harsh experiences related to my body or sexuality. Yes, those are avenues of study for anyone wanting to delve into the politics of gender, but this is not the trigger for me. My problems started surfacing with something much more basic, perhaps even trivial to the world - emotions. Caught teary-eyed in certain situations, I realized that my valid concerns were being overlooked, undermined, just because tears, or sentimentality have come to acquire gendered connotations. I was not always PMSing while I was trying to make the world understand what part of me was hurting and why. In case of conflicts, primarily with the other sex, it was always expected of me to see reason, logic, and abandon emotions as they stifle fruitful outcomes. I failed to find logic in situations which had feelings attached at the very core of them. If I cry, I am emotional. If they show temper, they are not. Its sort of baffling, and ridiculous. And this did not end till one day I decided I will not go down to the level of logic till they decided to rise to the level of emotions. The process of othering, which I always found ludicrous, is the only refuge my expressions in this case have come to adopt.

Aaqib Raza Khan and his magic lens, yet again

I have a paper on gender, two days from now. You can see I am decently prepared. Superficially yes, but I'll conquer my syllabus soon.

The 24th year of my life was also the one where I discovered poetry and mythology. And some fantastic relationships. I'll pen them down soon too. For now, 6 days to go!
(This post is an hour late, hence I quote the figure 6)

Hurriedly Scribbled #1

If the last year was the year of possibilities, this one turned out to be the year of impossibilities. A lot of things I deemed impossible happened, and no, I don't mean in the achievement sense. I do not mean in any positive sense. I mean those things which make you withdraw, which make you look at the world with renewed amusement. However, since those sad-kinda-impossible-things have been continuing for sometime, I am hoping their days are numbered. Since I like dates, and turning points, and all those things which have romance-like-connotations attached to them, I am hoping that the end of this week will bring some novelty in a life which has its happy moments, but against an overall pall of gloom. At the end of this week lies the start of a new year of my life - and for a week, I thought of hurriedly scribbling these little notes to myself, about things which are whirling in my head at the precise time I sit down to write them. My attempt will be to count blessings, to delineate incidents in a cryptic manner and to decode them in an evermore frustrating philosophical tone. Now, since I never listen to philosophies others waste on me, the typical bull-head that I am, it is imperative, that time and again, I formulate junk philosophies of my own. I have a whole trash-can full of them, did I tell you? Well, invite me over for a coffee and I shall entertain you. If you don't like what I philosophize, well, too bad, since I won't be listening to you in any case. You see, I can pretend to listen very well - but, yes, it stops at pretension. What is left then is the lovely, stubborn world inside me.

So, if someone were to ask me, what was the most amusing, and heart warming thing that happened to me in the day that went by, I would have the following to narrate. Four individuals, not much younger to me, wished me a happy Mothers Day. One of them even recorded a beautiful song to accompany the wish. Now, I am only 23 (about to turn 24), and completely unmarried - so messages like this are amusing. What is furthermore amusing is the fact that I unconsciously reciprocate with motherly emotions. Some awesome mess of wiring in my brain might be the enabler of these seemingly funny relationships I build - but then, all of these relationships are extremely dear to me.

We all have those principle things in life which we gravitate towards, in which we locate the source of our existence. I locate them in these relationships, these bonds which nurture me. People - who are all essentially eccentric - and their stories are enough to make my days and my thoughts seem full. My first scribble is dedicated to all of them, and the roles these people play and not play in my life. When certain people forget to fulfil a certain role you had expected them to play in your life, it adds to you. Let's not get into the mechanisms, but I just know it does. So, yes, to people. Cheers, to all of you, for existing, and not-existing in my life. You're all awesome.

Isn't life too like an awesome illuminated cage? Sometimes?

The countdown to my birthday begins. Really excited :) 

That's Not The Point!

Baat yeh nahi hai ki tum sundar ho.

Kyunki tumhe tumhaare bare mein bataane baithe,

Toh yeh baat bahut chhoti hai

Kya dhang se tumhe shabdon mein bayaan kar paayenge

Is soch pe shanka bhi hoti hai

Par ab baat karne ki thaan li hai

Der se sahi, waqt ne bhi yeh khwaahish jaan li hai

Kuchh lakeeron ko andekha kardoon

Toh is bhool ko andekha tum kar dena

Kuchh sawaal main khade kar doon, 

Toh unhe jawaabon ki roshni se tum bhar dena

Ab baat yeh nahi nahi ki tum jawaab likh deti ho

Baat toh yeh hai phir bhi kitne sawaal

Hal kiye hain tumne

Kitne hi pareshaan, neeras kono mein

Rang bhare hain tumne

Yeh toh jeevan ke us pehlu jaisa hai

Jo khali bhi, aur dukhdaayi bhi tha

Par jiske bare mein main jaanti nahi thi

Jab tak tumne usko bhar na diya

Dekhi apni achchhai?

Mere jeevan mein ek dukh ko aane se pehle tok diya

Ab baat yeh bhi nahi hai ki tum achchhi ho

Par tum yeh zaroor sikha deti ho

Ki achchhai kya hoti hai

Koi aankhein padh paaye tumhari toh jaane

Ki sachchai kya hoti hai

Par yeh jo aankhein hain tumhari,

Yeh jheel ke khamosh paani jaisi hain

Jinki gehraai maapi nahi ja sakti

Jinki kahaani aanki nahi ja sakti

Kabhi kabhi, khud se hi bhar

Chhalak jaati hain, kuchh kehna ho jaise

Tab darr lagta hai, aur mann kehta hai

Yeh moti sab khud mein sametoon main kaise?

Baat yeh nahi hai ki tum ek kahaani ho

Baat toh yeh hai ki tum mein kisse baste hain

Jeevan ke jo mool hai, who unhi kisso mein toh sajte hain

Ek ek seekh, sabak, ek ek kissa, 

Kitni khubsurti se piroya tumne 

Us mala mein, jo kuchh bhaari zaroor hai

Par amulya bhi, anubhav aur gyaan ratn se

Jiski chamak adrishya zaroor hai

Par jo roshni phailaati hai seedhe antar man se

Kuchh roshni ke kan tumne mujhe bhi diye

Un pyaare palon mein jo tumhare saath jiye

Baat yeh nahi hai ki tum mujhe pyaari ho

Baat yeh hai ki shayad tum khud pyaar ho

Jiska pehla hissa jab mujhe mila tha

Toh samajhne mein thodi der lagi thi

Vishwaas nahi kar pa rahi thi na, 

Jisse dhoondha bhi nahi, woh apneaap dikhi thi

Par ab, tum jitna bhi do

Woh pyaar poora, par kam padta hai

Aur miloon, dekhoon, seekhoon aur jaanoo

Yeh lagaav (jo tumse hai), ab tang karta hai

Mujhe pata hai, tum aisi hi rahogi

Par mere aas paas se kabhi gaayab mat hona

Ek rishta mila hai maayoos sadiyon ke baad

Jaayaz se thoda darna, aur tumse yeh darkhwaast karna

Ki chahe jis raste zindagi le jaaye,

Theek lage, toh mujhe saath le chalna

Akhir mein, baat yeh nahi hai ki tum Aastha ho

Matlab, Aastha toh tum ho hi, 

Par us se kitni zyada ho, yeh batana ab mumkin nahi hoga

Kabhi aur uthayenge phir kalam

Yeh baatein khud tak rakh pana jab aasaan nahi hoga 

This poem came to me on one inspired morning, when I walked out of the warm quilt to tap away on the keyboard my understanding of perhaps the most precious, unexpected gift life sent my way, in her. I wish calling her beautiful, or good, or awesome, or amazing, or even phenomenal was enough. But it is not. Beauty resides so deep within her being, that it makes her glow with a kind of radiance I have not observed in men or women around me. She is different, and rich, and a personification of most manifestations of goodness one can perhaps conceive or conjure. But that's not really the point. I mean, anything I say about her will never be sufficient either to describe what she is like, or to describe what I feel for her. I only, time and again, wish that she, Aastha didi, remains around me always for those doses of inspiration, and those reassuring words of understanding which have come to mean so much to my daily existence. Loving her is a privilege I hope to keep for life. 

Wish you the warmest winters Aastha didi. You've learnt to give the perfect hugs at the perfect time! 

One of those rare times when she is not camera-shy :) 

Rich With Life!

Clouds gather lustre

Nature comes to life

Dew emits sparkles

All in her one smile

Makes me love her more, much more

It was an ordinary day when she came to my life. However, any day there after I spent with her, was anything, but ordinary. She has occupied my mind and heart for the better part of 2012. I know there are people convincing you that 2012 the world will end. I can confidently denounce their claims as grand 'rubbish', for it is in this 'doomed' year, that I got a new lease of life. In her.

She chirps to brighten my morning. She laughs like no one's watching. She is conscious of the world around her, yet, she dares to carve another, mini world of her dreams and fantasies around her. Gentle, and naive - she easily grants entry to anyone in her world - her realm of imagination, of blooming flowers, of flowing rivers, of magic, of angels, of darkness, of good triumphing over evil, of niceness pervading all hearts, of love binding people together. It is hard to imagine - a girl, whose visions hold so much piety, how pure would be her heart?

I began this post thinking, I will write her story. That, would be one of first birthday gifts I would surprise her with. However, when I closed my eyes, to conjure her face - my muse for now - only a million descriptions swam in my head.  It is her birthday today, a day no less special to me than her, for it is today I can celebrate her, her existence, her presence in my life. Actually, I do it each day, albeit secretly. Today, the show can be opulent. And it is not her story I need to write, that privilege is entirely hers. I can only cast a subtle impression in words of the grand personality my friend is. Tiny eyed, kind hearted, scared of traffic, proud of her friends, always available to help - all these words are but insufficient capsules to contain the phenomenon Neha is (yes, Neha, that's her name) - and it will take many, many more posts for me to chronicle what time spent with her has been like.

Coolest place in Delhi, and the coolest people in town!

Right now, as my eye lids become heavy, I plan to whisper these wishes into the cold air of night, hoping they are carried as a murmur to her ears.

Dear Neha, 
I pray for your life to be rich. Not (just) with wealth, but with love. You have so much in you too give, and you deserve so much more in return. Just know, you will always get your due, and rewards will always come your way, just not from the direction you expect. Have faith in the grander plans life has for you. Make your talents speak for you. Persevere and excel. 

My God protect you from pain.
May Life be kind on you.
May the stars watch you over.

Happy Birthday!

Love,
Saumya 

Your pictures look lovely with me, hence only 'couple' pictures allowed!

Picture Perfect - October

Not all sibling relations boast of expressiveness. However, all sibling relations do have an undercurrent of love flowing richly through their invisible interiors. This love does not raise its head always; in fact, this love revels in chiding, in taking digs at each other - even in openly refuting the existence of any such love! Softer sides are not for everyone to take pride in. That said, it is also true that this soft, loving side gets activated when one sibling sees the other get threatened, vulnerable or melancholic. Somehow, troubling our brother/sister is entirely our prerogative, isn't it?

The above ranting is to give preface to the most wonderful visual which my eyes grazed on this whole month. It was a post-birthday gift for my sister - and its only once in years I get this expressive towards her. I thought I should share it on my blog.

PS - The super-cheesy lines on this poster are not mine; they belong to Hartley Coleridge.

PS 2- I think sometimes we want to make our siblings feel better so that 'we' (only we and no one else) can regain control on making their lives miserable. Especially if its a younger brother/sister we are talking about. Isn't it?

Comfort Of Dusk

Love is not a very complicated emotion to understand. Love, however, is a very complicated emotion if one were to try to define it. Love, would acquire an even more complicated texture if a person sought to analyze it in terms of gains and losses. Love is merely a feeling, which is drawn from the depths of one's heart, and which lingers and touches and comforts and gladdens. It can lead to pain and melancholy too, but even in that pain hides an element of fondness, an element of sweetness too.

Happiness, they say, is like a butterfly, which alights on you when you are least aware. Happiness, again, they say, cannot be pursued, but can only be felt. Magicians are those people who have a contagious laughter; those who know the trick of staying happy and the deftness of waving their wand to spread the smiles in all directions. Happiness, pure and unadulterated, lies in the company of such jovial, selfless magicians.

 There was this person I met, when I was in tenth standard, who had an infectiously happy personality. Humble and sincere, his unassuming mannerisms made him a favorite with students and teachers alike. One of the people he effortlessly cast his 'happiness' spell on was me. I remember remembering him like that. He would come, linger around for a little while, say a few nice words, talk to you respectfully, ostentatiously display his modesty and leave you (me) feeling glad (thrilled) for the exchange. That person stayed around for a very little time in my school. Today, 6-7 years down the line, I can proudly say, he is one of the closest people to me on the planet. And this fact, still, gladdens my heart like the teenaged girl who had met him in school.

Life has a way of fooling around. She does this in a bid to give you the best birth to death journey. I philosophized in the beginning of this post about love and happiness. Ostensibly, the subject of this post is neither emotion, but the friend I have spoken of in the above paragraph. Journey with him has been life's way of fooling around with me, but only to give me the best adventure possible. One that I am incredibly fond of.

Growing up in two separate states, with only the resources attributable to students, how we remained friends, I have no idea. What I do know is, we not only remained friends, but kept on becoming better at what we share. What I feel for him today is nothing short of a lot of love, and care, and related things. But love for sure. In our own disparate worlds, our own trysts with this word ('love') have been very different. In the zone where our world's converge, an unspoken importance, almost invisible importance is attached with the same word, the same concept. Time with him does not exactly bear the freshness of the morning or the vibrancy of the afternoon sun. His company is more like the mustiness of the rains. Even more appropriately, his concern is like the homecoming at dusk; the sharing of a cup of coffee as the day recedes into the background.

I quote and believe - There is nothing more truly artistic than loving someone. 
Today, as the artist inside me, yet again, fails me, I resort to my blog.

 Dear friend, on your birthday, I do not know what better can I do. I can think of you. I can tell you what I am thinking right now. And I can also tell you that I always think and wish the best for you. Thanks for the smiles. Thanks for the love. Thanks, even for the tears, which make me feel alive. 

Hope this is the year which fulfills the promise which all your visions have held for you.

God Bless!

The Girl Who Asked For Too Many Surprises

I wish this post were a short fiction about this little girl with mischievous gleam in her eyes and a soft, innocent smile on her face who went around asking people for gifts without specifying what she wants. But sadly enough, this post is not a story about that girl, unless a few people might think that that girl's description possibly applies to me. Does it? I don't know, but I have a queer feeling in the pit of my stomach which says that some people might agree to the above stated. Few of those some people might be the closest friends to me. Oh, and aptly enough, those are the people, and not the girl herself, who are the subject of this post.

An old wish fulfilled, due to my cousin's crazy affection for me. Thanks Tapan!

I sang, and danced, and shouted around since weeks before my birthday as to how excited I am for it. Few smiled, few scoffed, mostly people ignored. My birthdays in school days fell during holiday season and during college days fell in the exam season. In short, the timing of my birthday was a recipe for disaster for a girl who takes such keen interest in dates and looks to celebrate even the most insignificant among them. However, something special was in store for me this time around. Without waiting, like I usually did, for people to create that perfect birthday ambiance around me, I went ahead and did it on my own. I bought myself trinkets. I saved up to buy some grand gift for myself. I fooled around a lot. I allowed myself to have an impossible wishlist and secretly sneered when people thought what a perfect lampooning crackhead I am. I went out and risked things and people beyond my comfort zone. God knows what all I did in order to feel like an idiot, but a happy idiot this time around.

However, this birthday was different in many respects from the previous ones. It is not a facebook addict's typical line I steal when I say I had the best birthday ever. 'Tis true. Reasons galore, few I would like to share.

This was my first birthday where I got to see three whole cakes dedicated to me. Now that is HUGE by any standards I have set for myself in life. The cake season was on the wane in my life till it was revived this year by three very thoughtful sources-best being the one my family brought in for me.

Fruits and glaze and cream and chocolate- dad does know the best! 

A regular chocoholic, I had never quite eaten anything like this one. Oh wait, what was its name, again?

A third cake had manifested itself in front of my eyes via the people who have been a source of tremendous consistency in my life for past some years. Their presence was almost a certainty for my day, and I did revel in this lack of unpredictability. Despite having studied in a girls' college, I have had many boys as (almost) my college mates, and the ones I would specifically thank for embarrassing, but entertaining me on my birthday are- Mujeeb, Mittal, Diwakar, Namit, and Mudit. Pampered and cared for- among them I feel safe.

That one expression describes most of my expressions- but the people thanked above have much their own interpretations and sound and visual effects for the same.

An odd yet special little bond had happened to develop between my and a young student at an event I had once went as a judge-cum-chariperson to. A precocious ninth standard student sat among confident college goers and unleashed on them his intellect and oratorial skills with baffling ease. More than inside, my relationship with Anup grew outside the committee. In a very sweet gesture, from a person so far away from my immediate landscape of life, manifested itself in my inbox. Red and bright and warm. Needlessly said, I loved it!

Another surprise awaited me in my gmail inbox. It was a masterpiece of crazy creativity sent my way from a girl who has been a part of my heart ever since I can remember. Her artistry lent me, not smiles, but guffaws. In a gesture commensurate with hers, I would thank her by accepting her perceptions of me as reflected in this ingenious poster. Thanks Niyati Kochhar!

Two extremely endearing gifts came my way from the girl I call my Goddess, with whom the readers of my blog would only be too well aware. Cheistha Kochhar is one hell of a talented woman, the kind whose talents cannot be bundled together in a single category or genre. On demand, she got me a painting and a flower arrangement she herself assembled. Here is a glimpse of them both.

As weird as it might sound, but I have never gotten something which can lexically be described as a surprise on my birthday. This time, hence, I went around telling people to surprise me. For once, I am glad that the only girl I did not ask to surprise me took my words seriously. Cheistha brought together few of my dearest friends to create what would remain my favorite memory from all the recent events. As I was still absorbing the presence of Pallak Jagga (the sunshine, as friend better than the best) around me, I was greeted by two nonchalant figures waiting for me at a restaurant table, one of whom was supposedly sick and another out of town. Saurabh and Rohan were perhaps all I needed to make the celebrations not just complete, but special. From these two, a few things still remain due.

Two cups of coffee later, when I was finally returning home in the metro, thinking that the best is now over, a brawl broke out in the metro coach I was traveling in. A twisted middle aged men was hurling abuses in front of his daughter and wife over the occupation of a seat at an older and more decent couple. When I might have felt bitter and angry or scared, I felt happy for having witnessed a scene in which right and like-minded set of people came together to support the ones being humiliated by the abuse-spouting uncle. I smiled inwardly and decided to thank everyone, aside from those bold but polite people in the metro, who made sure I was happy on the day I most wanted to be.

Tarique and Sumit and Gopan- Thanks for all the pampering.
Cheistha- Thanks for just being yourself
Pallak- Your one smile is enough, but thanks for a long familiar hug.
Mudit and Diwakar- Thanks for getting me paintings in the perfect color.
Mittal and Namit- Thanks for creating an Awww Moment
Saurabh- Thanks for just coming. And the two cups of coffee.
Tapan- As I said, thanks for the crazy affection, a frame and a new friend.
Rohan- For smiles, and pleasantness, cheesiness and that refreshingly fresh tone of yours.
Manan Bhaiya- Thanks for the consistency in taking my wishes seriously.
And Mujeeb- Thanks, for too much to be simply put in words.

"Reach high,

For the stars lie hidden in your soul.

Dream,

For every dream precedes a goal."

-Cheistha Kochhar

First Gift

For about a month now, I have been posting the most impossible, insane and ludicrously self-advertising birthday wishlist on twitter, much to the annoyance of my twitter followers, I am sure. My birthday is still 14 days away, but I like making my demands much in advance. So I did. However, nothing beats the charm of subtle surprises that come your way to make you feel nice, revived and loved. There came my way a sweet picture surprise from my dear friend (My Goddess). Though I share this picture with many more recipients and it isn't exactly a slice for my birthday, I am still taking the liberty of officially considering it my first gift and posting the same here. Cheistha, who very thoughtfully shared this picture with exquisite words with me, is slightly more than a mere inspiration for me. But what that 'more' might be, I am yet to understand.

Ridiculous. I was supposed to have kept dumb and shared the picture. Look at me! Can never get enough of words.

Here is, what I pompously declare as my first gift from a dear friend. The irony, unfortunately, is true, as I have been explained today.