Leap Into Some Love

I had been researching for an article on Leap Years and Leap Days, when the beauty of the concept struck me. Leap Days are days which exist lesser than the other days. These are days which go unnaccounted for. If you're working today, you're working without pay. If you were born today, you'll have to bank on either 28th February or 1st March as the official day you came into existence. Facebook will have nothing to show you today, unless from a really far off past.

And best of all, if you're forming memories today, you cannot mark an annual anniversary for them. Which makes the nostalgia invisible, or eternal.

Think about it. Today is a day you must obviously try and live more than the others, because, like I said, it will exist lesser than all the other days on the calendar. The scientific reason, of course, is to take care of the anomaly which arises between the calendar year and the solar year, but that reason makes no difference to my life. Despite this adjustment, there is still an error of timing left, which is adjusted by not counting multiples of 100 as Leap Years, unless they are multiples of 400 also. Too many numbers in there, and they still do not guarantee precision. Again, precision makes no difference to my existence, but reasons for forming formless memories do.

If you've seen the (quite disastrous) movie Leap Year, you would be aware of the Irish tradition where women could propose to men on a Leap Day, and fear no refusal. Some say, it is a day when no man is safe, because his denial may cost him a kiss, a silk dress, or a pair of gloves to be given to the lady who popped the question. This latter tradition, arguably, started in 13th century Scotland, when Queen Margaret decreed that on 29th February, a lady may unabashedly propose to any man she fancied. Rest assured, she won't go home empty handed.

It is quite apt, then, that the extra day be added to the month of love. No one really knows for sure why February was left with only 28 days in a calendar where all the other months boast of far more. There are legends, none with a strong grounding though. Leap Day gives this pretty month a chance at equality, just short of it though. And the more I think about this day of fleeting importance, the more its importance becomes apparent to me.

Even though modern existence robs most of us off the luxury of time, I'll still have a plan to utilise this extra day for moments, tasks and conversations which are too important to be archived. February 29th, in the modern idiom, should become the day where we all say out loud those things we've held onto for too long, without the fear of listener's judgement, or retaliation, or condescension. All those three are contemporary malaises, which deserve at least a day's bravery to cure. And if your brave admissions of love or longing (or desire, or any curbed feeling) are met with unpleasant reactions, there is always a kiss, a silk garment, or pile of books to ask for (because gloves really make no sense to our times).

There are times we push hard to make a moment happen, and then we wish it away because it turned out to be too unpleasant for our heart to digest. Congrats, here you have a day which you won't have to wish away, because it will not hit your calendar till it becomes a long lost memory, which, a leap of years later, you would only smile back with fondness over. At least I would. I like prolonging intense moments, by forming calendar memories of them. Today, I won't get to do that. It's my day to be brave, and yours too. If you've withheld a sentiment from me - inbox it right in! I have my most nonchalant self waiting to hear.

I really hope we make a tradition out of it. I would. In the personal utopia I have constructed with some kind people and kinder words. May Queen Margaret's decree be followed - a moment of love, or a bar of Silk, find your happiness either way, and then, if needed, forget the day ever existed :)

Live and let go, I believe, is a lovely motto for our age.

Wisps of Winter

Today, I felt the first faint signs of chill around me. For one, I developed slight, welcome fever. 'Welcome fever' might be a difficult concept for many to understand. It is the kind of pleasant fatigue that makes you pop a pill, lie down, and willingly let go off he humongous weight of work you had been dragging along. It is the kind which tells you nothing is wrong, but this pause is good to recover strengths and smiles. It, at this point of time in the year, also informs you that the romance of winters is going to knock on your door soon, that the season is changing. So yes, as I lie tired on the couch and type it all out, I am actually quite pleased that the hum of the airconditioner is fast becoming a thing of the past.

Winters are special. They make my city beautiful, and my heart fond. They make coffee tastier, and books crispier. They bring along blankets, and consequently, warmth. They take away the irritating moisture, to replace it with a forced dalliance with cold creams. It may sound odd, but I quite like drawing on my arms when they turn parched, and a sheet of moisturiser is the eraser to this slate. A duller world, makes the self more pronounced. And I like, I like it immensely.

Here is my winter wishlist. All things basic, all things romantic. You're welcome to join me, for any, and all of these :)

1. Street shopping for winter clothes

Janpath, Sarojini and Paharganj are on my radar. Any better suggestions for budget and statement winter-wear? Drop me some advice in the comments section!

2. A book date in Rabindra Bhawan

Rabindra Bhawan houses one of the best libraries in Delhi - the Sahitya Akademi library. For a frugal fee, you get access to few of the most amazing titles from Indian, American and even Russian literature. Enough to keep you occupied. Their reading room is inspiring, and if you don't find space inside, the winter sun can give you company outside.

3. Poetry reading in Lodhi Gardens, Humayun's Tomb, Safdarjung Tomb et al

Delhi is a grand city. So many historical venues call out to you in winters to explore and inhabit them. I am eager to take Poets' Collective to all these wonderful places, and also discover some new ones where poetry can resonate and leave behind memories. Let's do poetry in excess for the next few months, shall we?

4. Early morning walk through Sanjay Van

The last time we went there, it was in scorching monsoons. Bad idea! Lal Kot and Sanjay Van seem like a winter destination for a walk along with some stories. A picnic with the close ones is on the cards, definitely.

5. Roadside Chai

It is not even winters, and we have already begun loitering about in N-Block, Connaught Place, searching for chaiwallas on the pavement. Samosas, kachoris and bina-cheeni-ki-chai are going to be my evening companions as days start getting dark sooner.

6. Statement neck-pieces and dark shades of Lipstick

I don't know much about this. But, these winters will be about understanding a bit more of fashion. Who is helping?

7. Conversations over coffee 

Do you have something interesting to discuss? If you can afford some coffee to go with it, you have my attention. Delhi has many roof-top and garden cafes. I am making a list of all the places I want to go to. May be you and I can go along together?

8. Long walks on random roads

Broke or rich, this is something I have been doing since the past few years. With or without company. Music in my ears. Thoughts swirling in my head. Greens becoming greener. Poems calling me out. I love taking walks in winters - an unparalleled fuel for the soul.

9. Reading and writing romances in my blanket 

Nothing comforts like the warmth of winters. I have my reading list fleshed out. I have my story-plots ideated. And I don't mind doing some cosy story-telling sessions at home - an exclusive all-girls, openly gender-biased gathering.

10. Letting my hair down

Well-styled or unkempt - I am letting my hair loose this winter. Winters ought to be a little wild, no?



You can see, clearly, how fascinated am I with the prospect of some chill arriving in Delhi. My winters, curiously enough, begin in the hills. I'll be heading out to Nainital to moderate a session at the prestigious Kumaon Literary Festival on Monday. I'll carry some wintry emotions back.

What are your winter plans? Would you want to join me for any of mine?

P.S. - I am also giving away a lot more free hugs in winters. Just saying.

Winter Notebook - The World Is Not A Wish Granting Factory

Merry Christmas people! Wish you a great one.

Wishful thinking. That is what I am indulging in for now. I have realised, negative emotions make me write more than positive ones do. Is it the same with you? The world, including me, needs to take a serious course in 'Count Your Blessings'. However, the pathetic state of humanity we are all living together in, we cannot all help but ponder constantly over that one grand moment which will come in our life and set it all right. Reality check - it does not happen that way. No. Your life, as well as my life, will remain a constant tussle between the highs and the lows, the goods and the bads, the brights and the darks. I also think I am descending into the thought patterns which tells me only sorrow is real - happiness is but a break from it. Something like how only darkness is real and all.

Among the many stupid things I keep thinking about, one is recurrent. I am talking about wishful, idiotically optimistic thinking. Every time someone cancels a plan, or expresses his/her inability to meet me, at some deep corner in my heart, I am convinced (foolishly, of course), that the cancellation is a mere decoy to give me a surprise! I hope to be that special for everyone. This happens every single time. If my friend says I am not coming to office/college tomorrow, I always travel in the morning in the hope of seeing the same friend waiting to surprise me with a hug. If a friend cancels a lunch date, I am hopeful that the same friend will barge into my house and carry my favourite food and we'll have the time of our life. I hate being surprised, but I still keep planting these scenarios in my head. This is what keeps me going.

I guess the easiest way to be with people in inside my head. Very few of us realise that sometimes, a casual promise, casually uttered, is something our dear ones are hanging onto, with dear life. Cancelling plans, treating promises with scant respect is a way of life, you see. When I look pleadingly into the eyes of a friend and say, 'But you promised...', the same friend looks back at me incredulously, as if the logic I am basing my argument on is long dusted away under the covers of Grimm's Fairy Tales. But what to do, the world is something you still believe in. People are something you still believe in. Your wishes are tied down to moments of togetherness, of love shared and concern showed.

So, is there a way out? Sure there is. I mean, as far as I have been able to crack, the only antidote to 'The World is not a Wish Granting Factory' statement is becoming material in your wishes. Yes. Then all you need to do is earn enough money. Lots of money. Or pass on this list to a friend. Trust me, friends find it convenient to parcel you a (material) gift of your choice. It is best if it can be found over Flipkart (and the likes). Ease of ordering and delivery - now that, is precious.

Anyway, the five things that would make me super happy this Christmas are the following. Feel free to gift in dozens :)

1. Mittens!
I love the ones with fingers open, but, then, do they serve their purpose well?

2. Ring - this one!

Source - BoredPanda

3. All things Silver
You can start at this for reference.

Source - Etsy

4. Books
Romance, that is what is lacking in my thinking.

Source - Ubbcluj

5. Hugs and Gossip and Coffee
The most expensive item on my list, but I hope I get a lot of it :)

You know why I particularly love winters? Because this is the season of funny hats and funnier feelings. More on that, on the next page of my notebook. Share your wishlist with me, and I will try my best to be your Secret Santa :)

The Path of Desires

"PACH zindagi mein pyaar leke aaya hai" 
- Many people, over time.

Dear PACH, 

I like the concept of a Desire Path. Do you know what it is? It is that path which is created through jungles as a consequences of repeated foot traffic. This path takes its own sweet time to come into existence, aided by collective instincts of people over a prolonged period. Isn't it a nice thought that people who are completely unknown to each other are actually indulging in a benevolent activity to aid the travels and explorations of those who follow them. I always like to think of the point at which such a path began. How do so many people travel down the same route enough times so as to create a route which is sometimes the only resort for directions in non-negotiable wilderness? I know all of this sounds random, but I am trying my hand at developing a metaphor for you. You are a Desire Path. You came into existence out of nothing. For your coming into existence in such a glorious form, a lot of us had to travel down the same road together. Our thoughts did not shape you as much as you shaped our thoughts. I am actually confused at times - did we make you, or did you make us? 

You are, as I said, a Desire Path. You know, you are also a 'Desired' Path, which so many of us journey on together, each alternate Sunday, not knowing the kind of beauties we might encounter on the way. We are also completely unaware of the kind of difficulties, or difficult moments which greet us down this road, but then, whistling through the woods, we manage to find music in all your facets somehow. So yes, you are a Desired Path. You know what else, you are also a Path of Desires - to you come linked so many wishes, dreams and hopes; and how all of them manage to remain selfish and innocent, I am yet to understand. You're growing up big and fast, and hence your Desires from us have also increased, rather disproportionately, if I may admit. We're trying to keep up, but really, you make us run. You make us want to become better than we already were. You're involving more and more people so that your growing up needs/desires can be catered to. And yes, again I will say, we're trying. All of us together. This will culminate into something beautiful, this path of desires, and much else. You know what the best, our fate lies in the journey here. There is not really a destination we're moving towards. Its the journey, in which lies your beauty. Thanks for sparing us the mad rush for a destination. 

I am sorry I took a long while to get back to you which my words of awe and gratitude. It was not as much your loss as it was mine. I miss talking to you, you know. Talking to you was among the biggest motivations of my life. And so, today I will rant, irrespective of how tedious or verbose this letter becomes. I will also throw editing/omitting caution to the wind and just write. Write for you. To whisper to you. To shout at you. To communicate to you how much you mean to my life, even with all your demands. You're happiness. Will you please always remember that? No pressures or anything, but try and bear that in mind. 

I could have divided this letter into three parts, but I will divide it into three 'Epistles'. Yes, its a fancier term, and hence I like it. Also, it makes each of the three smaller letters independent letters in themselves, which they are, except that they are united by this acute urge of mine to cuddle you to death tonight. Metaphorically, of course, lest you make that funny face and shirk me, playfully, of course. But I will still put my disclaimers in place. 

Here. Three Epistles. For three awesome dates I had with you. Yes, you. 

EPISTLE I

I love history, I love Delhi. I love the fact that Delhi discloses itself to keen eyes by the many manifestations of historical heritage strewn across its length and breadth. I also love the fact that in the PACH pot (Yeah, smirk. I have been led down to this understanding of PACH now) on 12th January fused poetry and heritage together. In the verdant gardens of the Lodhi era majesty we met and spread so many hues of poetry around. The kind of coming together of people I saw that day is rare, and PACH, you were the one to make it happen. Our own gang was reciting poems at their glorious best, but a lot of idle wanderers, or vagrants pursuing words to find meaning in life, met us at various junctures in the session. They seamlessly blended together, like they had known us for ages. I know it sounds odd (and vain?) coming from my mouth, but I have not seen cozy-couch-like-comfort being found so easily in life. You inspire trust, PACH. You inspire. Enough said.. 

But no, talking to you can never be enough. The repository of the written words you are building silently is bulging with wonders. And for that, there is a team of inspired and enthusiastic PACH sweethearts who need to be thanked. These people work behind you, and are adding so much richness to your texture. I know you wanted me to, and hence I thanked them profusely, after allotting some more work, goes without saying. 

Your amazing opening was marked by Sudhanshu's mad attempt to decorate you into words. Fourteen quatrains, all designed as acrostics to spell PACH, and all PACH members included in that beautiful narration. This chap is mad. For you, of course. Our tryst with heritage got stronger when Vikram sir sang the portion of an epic he is writing on Delhi's history. There were ghazals sung and recited. There were old, yellowing letters which were opened up again.

There, then, was the show-stealer, Navin ji, who was trying to take a satirical dig at the marketing industry which can sell sand to an Arab. That he could mimic so well, I had no clue. Now that I have heard accents from the Middle East to Australia, I have a fair, irritated idea. And yes, his biggest contribution was adding "Khabeez ka Bachcha" to an already profound vocabulary of the PACH youngsters. Makes me chuckle, but its one performance I will remember. 

Abhinav took us on a journey, again, of love and stuff. Aaqib travelled back to Muzaffarnagar and the tales of horror which had marred the land found vents in his poetry. Neha (meri twin) recited about a friendship which is valuable to her (of course I am talking about myself). Anup hailed professors, and their contribution into the construction of a civilized society. Of course I am kidding. Dipalie spoke of geysers, morning ablutions and nocturnal conversations. Oh, a poem on me just added so much to my glee! There were tales of love, old and greying. There was Kamal, with his ode to individual members of PACH (and yes, this kid inspires me each time he opens his mouth). 

Then there were all of us, singing away popular melodies while I secretly revelled in the fact that the chorus of PACH has come alive, and it gave me a strange kind of comfort, assurance. I like to see you bring people together, PACH. Keep doing that please. Keep touching lives. Keep making poets out of people who did not think they could write. 

EPISTLE II

It was a winter morning where I was dead. That all that fatigue making me dead would be short-lived was completely known to me. I, after all, had a date with you. However, here, I need to apologise. Nothing can explain the fact that I was two and half hours late for a date which is one of the most important things to me in life. You were, however, safely ensconced in Ekansha's care, hence I could breathe easy through all those last minute haste. PACH, you must know you are special. So very special. And I am glad we now have more people who treat you the same and who make you come to life even when Anup or I are not around for sometime. But we like to be there, as much as we can push ourselves. 

A decently chilly morning, and PACH bazm on Ekansha's terrace, with flowers, and cushions and quilts and caps. It was one of those meets where I had a cute feeling about myself. I did not have anything to recite, but that was good. There were so many furious quills and curious eyes waiting to metamorphose into verbal expression in front of an understanding and endearing audience. Poetry over chai and pizza - the hosts made sure that PACH #15 is an experience no one forgets.

 

We read out your Preamble that day. Do you remember those tired, outstretched hands, and the amused words just pouring out? I remember, because it was a particularly funny and proud moment for me. We had mouths opened wide with AMJ's recitation of a sestina, the shock of the genius of which still assails me. This format is worth being a challenge. Rini's poem on an author's obsessive search for correct words seemed indecipherable at first, but later felt like a revelation. Amrit Raj commented on his inability to compliment. Deeksha came up with awesome Gibberish. Ekansha's Urdu and her sensitivity to social issues baffled me. Kamal made apt remarks on the hypocrisy which has now been institutionalised in religion. Govind took the off-beat track by writing a poem in English - just as hilarious as his Hindi one. Abhinav talked of slumber, and inspirations and romance. Do you see the diversity you are blessed with, PACH? Pure awesomeness. And magic. And I can never say much.

If I were to point out one person to whom the day belonged, it was Kamal. Yes, he recited awesome poems and clicked awesome photos, but he also had a lot of PACH love smeared on him by Sudhanshu and Rohit. The former went senti (his usual style), and the latter tied his friend in the rhythm of a rap. There is this adorable Venky gang which has completely dedicated itself to you PACH. Hugging all of these ultra-emotional friends together was an incredibly warm moment. 

As the sky darkened, I found myself shivering, bowing down to the chicaneries of Delhi weather. The familiar PACH comfort took over then. When the warmth inside me was waning, a caring embrace made me confident with the fact that everything is well in the world, and PACH is still what it was always supposed to be - a place where not just poetry is set free, but where dying spirits are uplifted. Mine were. We had the gathering pulsating with energy because of the numerous toddlers making it their business to distract us and then stare at us with those unbelievably cute eyes. 

The day began with a "Roadies Salute" (now a regular feature) and ended with the knowledge that PACH had again done those wonders it was so used to performing, yet it held them special and yearned for their repetition. I want to be with you each time you are performing those miracles PACH. I like it so much when new faces walk up to me and tell me that you have been among the most satisfying of their experiences in life. Our flock is expanding. I write this with a huge smile on my face. And some hints of perturbations too. 

EPISTLE III

And then came the Grand. PACH, you carved a niche in a gathering of literary excellence. I couldn't believe that a my toddler had now grown enough to climb up on to the stage of Delhi Literature Festival and enthral an audience which was way larger than the number we had entertained at our prime. It was our shortest outing, but perhaps left the largest impact. 

Our nervous, hesitant poets became star performers. It was enchanting to see Vivek recite his poem in front of the poetry of his life. Kamal and Sudhanshu abandoned mics and faced the audience without the slightest hint of performance anxiety on their face. Aavika, the little packet of poetic brilliance, pushed Anup and me off the stage, to regale the crowd with her Sunday song again. Govind lavished praises to his Saree bond. Aaqib talked of love and betrayal, in a completely non-serious, Yo Yo style. Neha bowed to Krsna through her verses. Anurag's love story between a Goblet and Candle was a life-boat to those lost in the alleys of love. Aastha di's recitation was my personal moment of pride. Leher, Arpan and Pratima stepped onto the PACH stage for the first time. Dipalie recited like the beloved I could easily marry. Navin ji bombed the audience with his prose piece again. We also have a PACH song now, on which we went a little crazy dancing and babbling nonsense. 

Oh, and wait - how could I not mention the awesome note on which the PACH show began? That poem, narrating the journey of a poem, was like a dream performance. I had always admired the writer/poet in Anup so much that to stand and share the stage with him is a privilege I can go on being happy about. In the morning, I had carried some special overseas wishes from Jyoti di in a warm, furry satchel with me. Those wishes worked wonders. We got back home that day absolutely content, and positive about your future PACH, down that path of desires. Rather, up that path of desires. And love. And magic. And warmth. And motivation. And inspiration. And happiness. 

I maintain, like always. You are all of the above, and so much more. Even before I finish this letter, the draft of another nocturnal epistolary tryst with you is getting framed in my head. 

I love you, with deep attachment and pure intentions. I have dreams, you know, of being with you, and with all those people who make you awesome. You're demanding, yes, but I know your demand are justified, and natural. 

I am sleepy. Dead. Gone. But I have to say - You, PACH, are the most beautiful story of my life. I write you, and you write me.

On that note, I kiss you Good Night. 

Love,
Saumya

Mera blog, meri photo :)

When Colours Turn Muddy

Is Holi really the festival of colours? Well, in some imaginative, idealistic notions, it must be. However, as a non-participant on Holi festivities, yesterday I saw less of an iridescent display of colours, and more of black faces, muddy water and police patrol-plus-barricading, enough to give a feel of an imminent curfew. Is that what the festival of Holi has come to mean and symbolise?

Within the comfort of my house, I smeared colours on the faces of a handful of neighbours. Not for once did I feel like stepping out. Not alone, at any cost. Why? Because Holi has come to mean a threat to me and my body. I am sure a lot of girls would agree with what I am trying to convey here. There are so many outstation girl students I know, who, if devoid of a large and protective friends’ circle, lock themselves up in their rooms, too scared to venture out till late afternoon, when the Holi festivities have subsided. What kind of a festival is it which restricts a girl’s mobility or makes her feel unsafe ?

It doesn’t start (or end) on the Holi day. It begins much before. A week in advance, suddenly, the guys of your city get a free licence to accost your bodies with water-balloons, often also filled with colour dyes. Now, I am not saying that girls are their only target, but perhaps my exposure has only been limited to that aspect of their festive mischiefs. An innovation I recently came to know off, via troubled rantings of a college friend is stuffing water balloons with eggs and then using them as a harmless Holi weapon. How cool? Right? No. It is not. It is harassment, to say the least. On our way from college to an all-girl’s market trip, I and two other friends of mine were hit by two water balloons in a moving auto. I know the pain and the impact it created on my arm, and can only imagine how my other friend, who was hit on the cheek, would have felt. All this in the name of festival fun. Needlessly said, the girl’s day out had to be cut short, for who would want to roam around in market places with wet clothes, clinging to one’s body. The world is not short of ogling men now, is it? Oh, and it was not some innocent five year-olds who had played Holi with us in their own twisted way, but lanky teenaged lads. I wonder where do they adopt this tradition from, if it can be called that. One more water-balloon assault later, I decided to stay away from travelling to college till Holi gets over.

What perhaps I have dictated is a minor ordeal, if one may even call it that. The pain my arm experienced subsided in no time. There are, however, many hideous tales of Holi molestations I have heard from here and there, which stay on to pain girls till years later. Holi is a licence for men to touch, run and even maul a female body. Have you ever felt a male hand touching you at inappropriate places under the pretext of colouring you up because that is what the tradition demands? Have you ever seen men, ostensibly your family members, first drench you in front of a crowd, and then admire the shape of your body as the intoxication of bhang strengthens? I am not claiming this is the rule. I am only saying that this happens too. I have been lucky it never did with me. But many of my acquaintances have not been so fortunate. Even worse, many, I am sure, are not aware how an excuse of Holi is used by men to intrude into what is their space, the threshold of which should only be crossed upon gaining consent.

All these thoughts came running to my head after I saw a large gang fight break out in a slum dwelling visible from my house. All faces were painted black, the only difference perceivable being in the shape of bodies distinguishing men from women. Intoxication and loud music perhaps gave a fillip to whatever the argument was about and fight of the muddied faces kept on getting stronger. What caught my attention in this madness was a woman caught in the exchange of blows, who could only manage to wriggle free when she was thrown outside the fighting group to land on her haunches on the wet ground. The next I noticed was a police van hauling up the ruffians (that’s how they all looked) and dead silence returning to the field of frenzied celebrations.

May be this is not the way the civil classes celebrate Holi. They have their other civil ways of making this a festival of fun, amusement and entertainment. Holi is said to be the festival which is a great leveller. All faces, coloured in similar hues, are made free of distinctions of caste and class. The one distinction that does remain, however is that of gender. Perhaps that is the reason why a DU girls’ hostel had to seek a ban on a Holi procession, alleging obscenity in the all-male parade taken out in Delhi University’s North Campus every year. The girl residents claim that crude remarks and indecent gestures made by those boys amount to harassment, and this despite being accompanied by police each year. This is the condition of our education eden, infiltrated, of course, by some who are labelled ‘anti-social elements’.

Amid all these harrowing feelings about Holi, what gives me pleasure is the soft touch of my ten-year old nephew’s fingers applying variegated hues of gulal on my face. It gives me pleasure to see sweet gujias being exchanged among neighbours and relatives who scarce find an opportunity to meet in their otherwise hectic schedules. It also gives me pleasure to see the sweet playfulness dissolve and dissipate, for one day, hierarchies within families. And the best piece of news I heard was from Benaras, where the widows this year celebrated a floral Holi. Radha and Krishna, whose Holi celebrations shade our legends and folk songs, would be happy to see a dash of colour in the lives of those consigned to colourlessness. It were the sufi peers who saw Holi as the coming together of communities and smearing on each other not just gulal, but love. I wonder where the spirit of Radha Krishna, of the sufi traditions of Holi is lost.

Still, I do hope you all had a wonderful Holi, which was safe, vibrant and full of mirth!

Image Source - Photographs by the hugely talented Snigdha Manoli Menda. Used with permission. 

Quote Quintet - October

October was a hectic month. Very very hectic month. Pleasantly hectic month. Hence this post comes a little late. However, recollecting quotes is an activity I enjoy. So, I will continue with the recently begun tradition of posting here 5 of the most impactful lines I came across in the preceding month. Last month was marked with many activities and experiences. I gained professional success, and met with some personal losses too. I saw smiles shining right into my face; I saw tears falling out of tired eyes. I celebrated festivals. I mourned losses. And in the middle of all that, I managed to find some time to note down lines which I would like to remember.

Nothing extraordinary. Simple lines. Important thoughts. Here they are.

On Living

"No human being is illegal."
- Elie Wiesel
(Holocaust survivor and Nobel Prize winner.)
I read this line and I stared at it. I stared at it for minutes, and found its essence to be so profound that this line refused to leave my mind. Live and let live. How difficult is it to understand? How easily individuals, agencies, authorities fall in the pit of trying to determine the kind of existence others should/should not have. Or if they should exist at all. And who better to articulate this thought that a holocaust survivor. I look at my friends from the North-East, and I look at this line. I remember the violence perpetrated in Assam, and I remember notions of peaceful, cohesive existence. Sometimes, its all just hogwash.

On Information Explosion

"It is said that from the dawn of civilization, till 2003, humanity accumulated about 5 exabytes of data; today that much is added in two days."
Sachin Pilot
(Minister of State, Independent Charge, Corporate Affairs)
Whoa. Magnitude. Explosion of data. How much can a human mind cope with, after all. In the face of it all, I have a set of friends too, who just want to feed on knowledge and never stop. Slow down people. There is no way yo make friends with knowledge which has acquired these gigantic proportions.
(Exabytes - A billion billion bytes, just so the mammoth proportions are clear.

On (Alternate) Politics
"Politics is the centrestage of the present system, the stage where system is made or unmade..someone has to accept the challenge of stepping on this stage."
Vision Document of India Against Corruption
(Released by IAC on October 2, 2012, when they launched themselves as a political outfit)
Kejriwal is attempting big. Do his endeavours hold promise? I would be an eager spectator, but a useless speculator. Should wait this one out.

On The Pickwick Fest '12

"What a wonderful festival - superb organization! Thanks for inviting me; I enjoyed all of it."
Nilanjana Roy
(Author of The Wildings. Special Guest and Judge during TPF)
This line came in a form of a text message which celebrated the efforts of each member of the Pickwick Family and boosted their confidence. By God's grace, today, the Pickwick family is close-knit unit, which just refuses to separate. May the good times stay. Always.



On Art
"Good art should not be constrained by boundaries."
Saumya Kulshreshtha
(You know her, don't you?)
It was a happy and proud moment when a quote by me made its way to a news article on The Pickwick Fest in Hindustan Times dates 13th October, 2012. Our festival was touted as one of the most looked forward to events in Delhi during mid-October. That's how we do Jamia proud! And in the above quote, I tried to explain the rational behind bringing to great authors, from different linguistic and geographical backgrounds together in our festival - Charles Dickens and Saadat Hassan Manto. Find below an image of the article.

That'll be all for October. Last two quotes are absolutely narcissistic in essence, but, okay, I do not really mind allowing the spirit of Narcissus entering my mind once in a while.

Happy November and Festive Season to All!

The Pickwick Journey - Faces

Recounting the features of some twenty faces is no mean task. It requires patience and time, both of which I lack. People are my preoccupation. At our post festival meeting, I spoke about each person in front of me at length, for I had observed them that much. Also, I was full of emotions, bubbling inside, waiting to be poured out. Today, I am more calm. I apologise to those I might forget to mention, for my memory-scape is limited. However, my brain knows exactly where it has to begin.

Mishail and Anamta

She would gently hold my hand when metro forbade her from standing straight. She would cast sheepish looks at me when she spoke too loud, or stepped on a fellow passenger's foot. She would wake me up when she needed to talk. Secure, and strong, her laughter always rang in my ears when I needed to relax. And in the course of the festival preparations, she was perhaps the only I shouted on. But Mishail Sharma knew better than to retaliate. She would simply giggle, and my hard features would soften. Problems would again be conquerable. World would again be a better place. 

Even before Mishail, the person I began my Jamia journey with, was Anamta Rizvi. There was a spark in her which had caught my attention. That spark, her zeal to work, and her good nature - all these combined to transform her into the greatest asset I had with me to execute our festival plans. Sincere in her own work, and eager to help others - she was a delight to watch when at work. Writing, speaking, creative imagination - she conquered each. And finest of all, she conquered my heart. 

Between friends, you often forge strange relations. That strange and pleasant relation, I formed with Nayema Nasir - the one woman in our nautanki-party, who is rich in maternal warmth, and has a therapeutic calmness in her personality. She took care, comforted, scolded and at the end, made sure we were headed in the right direction. She took our pain on herself, and inspired us even with her soft, barely audible voice. But that is the woman she is - she had our attention without forcing her presence on us. Nayema di, how was I surviving without all your love till now in life?

The person obviously next in line is Saurabh (this name seems to have some past-janam-ka-relation with me, but that, later). Why is it obvious? Well, its JMI students' prerogative to know. This guy was the strong backbone of our event. Aggressive at the right places, and moderating influence in tense situations - he knew exactly what it took to pull off a festival like ours. No personal remarks on this guy, except the fact that he is fab. I still fear him, but laud him for keeping me humble. 

I would have left the festival scene, had it not been for Aisha Shams, who came an spoke to me like an authoritative, firm, yet understanding elder. Along with Lubna Ansari, she made me confident when I was low, she made me smile when I wanted to cry. And Lubna di - wasn't she my own elder sister? Bringing me special lunches, exchanging comforting glances and silently completing all her tasks, not once losing her cool - all this and more were things that characterized her. The ideal Vice President, she allowed me to blossom, and guided and supported me. Any amount of gratitude to her is less.

The loud, vivacious kid of our group, like is necessary in any family, was Sudipta. The kid, she still is. Despite being the youngest, she had the longest tongue, which would simply not stop producing some or the other noise. Having said that, I have to admit, her vivacity is what kept our spirits up. No matter what field of work, she deputed herself everywhere, and delivered results with aplomb. My unofficial assistant, she was also my gossip partner, which, in other words, can be called, a destresser. And Ma Annapurna too. I would have starved had it not been for her well stocked lunch boxes.

Kid, isn't she? That's Sudipta!

Hina and Anusha

Anusha and Hina - I cannot help but always see them together. The former, bubbly. The latter, composed. Both worked for each other, and not just themselves. Bombshells in a saaree, they were two of the most understanding people on my team. They stood for us, stood by us. There is nothing more I could've asked. 

In this string of people, next name is anyone's guess. Kaif Ali Taqvi. Hamaare Manto saahab. He and Abhilash Philip brought alive on stage the two masters our festival sought to celebrate - Manto and Dickens. I wonder how they handled the pressure and responsibility of doing justice to two such great names. Often harried by expectations and multiple opinions, they both took the stage, did their thing and emerged as stars. Shining bright. Shedding (lime)light on our whole team. 

Varnana

She was another one I consistently managed to get angry with, but Varnana Choudhary made the Pickwick journey lighter with her wit and humour. She doesn't know this, but when people called her event a huge success - I felt a personal pride, and the satisfaction of having done something right. Intrinsic to our social group, she is one of those people I look forward to seeing everyday. 

Care and concern was not showered on us only by the female members of our team. Altamsh was one person who touched our hearts by the genuine concern he had for our safety and security. He would do any and every thing which I asked, without any reluctance. Sometimes, that kind of a reliable person is necessary in a group which has set out to set an example. I knew he had our back. Always. 

Bold, beautiful and graceful - Wafia Kissa had it all to make people envious. However, this girl floored me, not just with her poise and elegance, but with her humility, etiquettes and simplicity. I became an even greater fan of hers when her softer side was exposed to me. Eager to perform, always on her toes and a no-nonsense attitude to work - this girl will go a long way - I can proudly say that. 

I had many people to rely on, many to follow impromptu commands (we call them requests), but one guy who outdid himself, even in the face of copious amount of work loaded on him, was Vismaiy Avasthi. A self confessed nerd, this chap always worked away from  the hullabaloo of the festival. Sitting with sombre expression in front of a laptop, or waving from the department roof while hanging banners - Vismaiy was an efficient, cute, pleasant, sincere asset to have in our team. He rightly feels fatherly affection for the Pickwick blog. I might have started it, but he took the blog to its rightful culmination.

Momin Khan. It will never happen in life that I will forget this name. There are reasons to it, reasons which are best not visited again. However, what I will say about this chap is - he is the person who converted the festival journey into a fable for me. Yes, a fable, no less. As I discovered him, I discovered a bit of myself too. Th depths of his potential lie unexplored, and he only knows it too well. I hope I soon witness the day he makes the whole Pickwick family, the whole Jamia family proud. 

I am missing out on descriptions of many names - Shabeeh, Sadia, Asif, Umar, Aryak, Zakir, Aamir - but because of my limited association with them, I find myself incapable of saying anything more than a heartfelt thank you. 

Aaqib, Zakir and Momin

Oh, and how did I miss out on him? I of course did not! Saved him for the end. Aaqib Raza Khan. I do not know for sure why I grew so fond of him, but he was one person I searched for in every meeting. If there was any day I did not see him performing to his potential, I would be filled with a sense of extreme sadness. Conversely, when his designs were splashed across the entire department, I felt so proud of having a person of his calibre on our side. His creativity spoke such volumes that my friends from other colleges called up to applaud our poster designs - compliments which I made sure I conveyed to him. And along with Momin, he made the trust factor percolate my heart rather early. Momin and Aaqib - I am extremely keen on seeing and knowing where life takes them. For them, and for everyone else mentioned above, I have nothing, but the best of prayers in my heart. 

Its been some days since the festival got over. We are all still living in its hangover. I know from experience that this hangover will not last long, however much I wish it does. A complete package of mature and silly, fun and sombre people - this Pickwick team might not reunite to create another spectacle. Its strange. I am not happy any more, though I desperately want to be. I do not want to live the festival time again, but, I do not want to let go off this grand feeling too. What ultimately made this festival special was our togetherness, our tears and smiles, our trust and transparency, our love, care and concern, and our incessant support for each other. Such privileges in life are hard to come by. Its impossible, and do not cajole anyone otherwise, but I do hope our bonds stay intact.

And days went by like paper in the wind

Everything changed, then changed again

Its hard to find a friend

Its hard to find a friend. 

The Core Pickwick Team

The Pickwick Journey - A Prelude

Individual commitment to a group effort - that is what makes a team work, a company work, a society work, a civilization work. - Vince Lombardi

Switching from one environment to another, one institution to another, is never a cake-walk. It might leave you dismal or excited, but there are always new things and situations one must understand, accept and adapt to. The path which led me to Jamia was smooth, clean and free of surprises, but upon setting foot inside the gate, a perturbing ambivalence greeted me. There was something inside me which was happy, but something inside me which kept shutting my heart. The effort to meet new people, make new friends, start over again seemed mammoth. It was an effort I was not willing to undertake, at any costs. 

And then came surprises. One could call them shocks, but looking back at the strokes of Providence, I understand they all were nothing but unexpected curves in what I had assumed would be a straight road. These curves led me to the blissful, cosy comfort I reside in today. And today, I am happy. I am overwhelmed with simple happiness, the kind which makes you feel blessed, loved and wanted. 

A literary carnival in my department, called The Pickwick Fest, was the turning point. However, this post is not to recount the triumphs and travails of organizing my department's first literary festival. This post is to acknowledge the numerous faces, which seemed and acted recusant at first, but became my greatest confidantes later. The process which brings hearts closer must sure be an interesting one. I do not want to visit its nuances, but by reminiscing on the festival days, I do want to walk that path all over again - the path which gifted me such great people, such pious bonds. 

Retracing my steps, I see many smiling faces standing at various curves. I want to touch them, and tell them, that no matter what happens tomorrow, today, you all are special to me. A caveat about me being an ultra-cheesy, ultra-mushy and ultra-sensitive person might seem out of place to you, but read beyond my words, and you will know. In the words that seem visible, I want to capture this amazing feeling which is lingering around my heart. I am afraid I will lose it if I do not give it a voice. And so, here I begin...

(To be continued) 

Some frames which fit in at this juncture -

They gave me that place, and that love. 

This remains my favorite poster from a plethora which were created for the fest

The first step up towards creating memories

Till my opinion will be sought, this will remain the best picture of our department.

Photographs, courtesy, Belal Khalique and Aaqib Raza Khan