One Day At A Time

Many would argue, that the time for nostalgia is over. For me, it has just come alive. I am celebrating the New Year in the most spectacular way possible - sipping through memories in an absolutely quiet room, all to myself. In the distance, I can hear some crass party music buzzing on meaninglessly. I can also hear gentle snores from neighbouring rooms. Dreams are hastily in motion, living their final pleasant breathes for tomorrow will bring the rush of office life, the mayhem of odd-even logic. My sister has an exam. I hope her dreams are flooded with untidily scribbled notes.

PC - imgcell.com

As for me, I am going to sit this night out. I have a couple of things to ponder on, another couple to feel good about, and I am going to allow myself the privilege of embracing only the fatigue caused by contentment. 2015 was a special year, not because it was perfect, far from it actually, but because at the end of all of the chaos, I remember prettiness. In fact, I even remember the darker times with a hint of pretty. That is a good sign, no?

Dates, endings and beginning are all psychological constructs. Nothing really, materially or physically has changed between yesterday and today. Still, I have quite loved observing dates to which we attach significance. These are times to pause and reflect, before you decide to drone on and get accustomed to the usual pace of life after a moment's high. Here are some reflections and learnings from 2015 which I find worth sharing. A part of them you might relate with, a part of them might help you out in someway. Another part of them, perhaps, you could help me out with.

Books
There are these drunk screeches I can hear from cars blaring music as revellers inside them welcome 2016 in a manner I never can. I am casting loving glances on my Murakami lying a little away on the quilt, because once this post is over, I will be snuggling with it to sleep. (Whatsapp servers being down helps). I have always been an avid reader, but in 2015, I saw in me a compulsive need to read. Amid social media comments which called me a show-off to a liar, I persisted with my stubborn love for books, and ended up reading 58 of them! That, by any standards, is a huge number to accomplish in a year.

However, number is not all that I have accomplished. Books helped me discover knowledge, meaning and even balance. A  lot of time which I could have potentially spent over-thinking was spent guessing and obsessing over unfolding plotlines. My thoughts were often writing stories of their own, which were so powerful, that it impacted my actual writing styles, in a good way. I connected with people who connected with my reading list - and these, I can tell you, were the easiest people to match wavelength with. I ended up inspiring, quite happy to say this, a few to set their own personal targets and take up reading seriously in the coming year.

 No matter what was happening in life, I always had a book to come back to. It was comforting, and not in the least did it contribute towards making me reclusive. Rather, these books gave me so many conversation topics that I would be bursting with literary excitement everytime I was in human company. As much as I can remember, I only gifted books this year. Trying to find the perfect book for a friend was almost as exciting as trying to set him/her up with a perfect match! For those who have yet not discovered the magic of books, I am here to help. For those who want to sort out their reading list, I am here to help. For those who want membership in my personal library, duh, I am here to help.

Time
Not my greatest friend, honestly. But I got along fine with it.

A persistent question which friends/acquaintances/people I interact with on social media, asked me was - how do I have time to do all that I do! Honestly, I don't have an answer. I do find myself burdened, running delays, panicking with the load of work I have - but that is a rare occurrence. It happens when the general spirit in life is low. Else, I am quite happy observing the diffraction in my thoughts as they are forever trying to accomplish multi-hued objectives. I am quite chaotic in my head, but this is a very endearing chaos which keeps me goofy and occupied. Do you see what I mean?

PC - bookbook.com

There are a few things I have learnt in 2015, about my relationship with time, which I am going to carry forward next year. I spent hours curating experiences for myself. I took myself out of dates, learnt to make peace with solitude and understood that cacophony is disorienting if consumed too much. This might not sound feasible or wise, but wherever there was a choice between saving time or saving money, I literally squandered money to save myself some precious minutes. I've started sleeping adequately, and I think, I have begun loving my sleep-hours more than food. THAT is saying a lot.

Moving beyond the ticking aspect of clocks, I have learnt to trust and respect time. It will keep moving - no matter what. So, if you have a happy situation - live it, because it won't last. If you have a difficult situation - keep cool, because it won't last. Flow, if possible. Act in the best possible way, take your breaks, get back up again, and time, with its constant flow, will take care of the rest.

Poetry

PC - Tejinder Singh

I am not a great poet. Good is also a debatable adjective, but I have had the golden privilege of frolicking about in poetry most days of the past year. That, however, is not what I want to talk about. I actually want to mention Poets' Collective here, defining which is beyond the collective expressive capabilities of all the beautiful souls which inhabit it.

PC is a family which many of us have built together. Even while I try and observe a safe distance from most things, attachment towards PC comes naturally, without realization. Part of it, certainly, is about poetry. A greater part of it, however, is about life. In its most intimate manifestation, I have seen people show their craziest sides without a shred of fear about being judged or mocked at. I LOVE THAT. "Being" is more important than "being free". Think about it. And in this almost surreal state of being, I have seen some amazing poems brewing, even before they take the shape of words. There is no larger purpose here - we've got our jobs and ambitions and plans sorted for that. This is, perhaps, about saying - "Let's grow old in poetry, together."

This commitment, to growing together, learning together and cherishing all the good which comes along with poetry in our lives is what makes PC special. At least I believe so.

Mistakes
Oh many! So many!

Learning from mistakes aside, I learnt, that there are some mistakes I cannot help but commit repeatedly. In that scenario, what is important is to learn how to assuage situation soon enough, so as not to cause damage anywhere. Internal or external.

I believe people are sometimes too harsh on themselves when they realise their mistakes. It's okay. You will go on making them. Problem arises when you repeat your mishaps. Please find new mistakes to commit through life. Once done, ask yourself, 'What next?' And act. Action is sometimes the greatest way out of the gravest quandaries in life.

Shall I tell you something more? In retrospect, each of your silliest mistakes will beautifully fit together like puzzle pieces to complete the mosaic of your vibrant life. You'll have nothing to regret, unless you're hell-bent upon it. Hang in there. Most of these things are happening for a reason.

Important - when others make a mistake, and you think you are in a position to make them realize it, please to it with an aim to correct and not to condescend. There was this lovely day last year where there was an oversight on my part, and I was shamed in front of an alien public, in a verbose and unpleasant manner. I love rebukes. They are usually dazzling chances to learn. But not this time. Tough love does not include shaming - it includes a stretching of parochial perspectives.

People
Aah. My favourite part. This year was insane with respect to people. I offended a lot of people, sometimes knowingly so. I fell in love with a lot more. Some unfriended me, some took me out on marvellous dates. The pretty difference this year was, whenever it came to conflict between my peace and someone else's happiness, I first saved myself and then did whatever I could for the other. Rants aside, here are a few mentions.

Dr. Ashok Chakradhar - an inspiration and mentor, he gave me the privilege of calling him a teacher - a role in which he excels effortlessly. Literature, poetry, discourses and life - I gained a lot through my interactions with him.

Mujeeb - calling him a lifeline is still an understatement.

Niyati - if I have truly shared any phase of my life in painful detail with someone, it has been her. This relationship was due some years on me.

Akshat - we grew up, suddenly. We've had a history of most invigorating discussions, but the level and class and subjects suddenly became too grown-up. In a good way, I guess. (This person is my reality check in life.)

Mohit - he brought music and senseless smiles back in my life. Among few of the toughest days in 2015, it was just this guy, who could say precisely the words I had wanted desperately to hear.

Ekta - the way we connected, in an instant over that auto-ride, this is the stuff that great friendship stories are made of. Resolve to meet me more, okay?

Ambikesh, Prateek, Sharad - funnily enough, you guys played a similar role in my life at different points in time. Standing up for me, and facing my boiling temperature, you three have completed cycles of the relationships we're hopefully building for a long time to come.

Nimisha - daughter, decided? Chuck everything and come snuggle with me when times are tough. Also, there are always books and pizza.

Anurag - you came up bravely, but there is a long way to go. You know it. I know it.

Divyaksh - you are my goofy spoon of happiness and the best ever insight into mythology and philosophy.

Puneet and Atif - kaise? How are you guys such dazzling humans at heart? I have loved your poetry, your love and the pretty bonds of friendship which have formed between us.

Rashmi - no words in the world are capable of telling you how thankful, indebted and in awe of you am I. You are such a reflection of the life-force which I forever want to live with!

Mimansa - the genuineness of your heart tugs at mine. I hope to know you better next year.

Pooja - when you talk, it is like my conscience speaking to me. I could write poetry for you daily, you know, hoping that someday you'll scribble some verses for me.

Yaseen - you're a friend I have chosen to believe in.

Evita - how did we come to be so close? How did you come to be so fond of me?

Kamal - I think noone in my life understands the term 'unconditional love' better than you do. Darling son, okay?

Nishant - God gave me my full when he designated you as my friend. I'm blind and demanding when it comes to our love and friendship!

Netrik - for the unconditional faith you have posed in me and the world we've created.

Yasser - for being a charming new addition to life.

Atika - the liberty to be at peace with myself when I am with you is stupendous. You are a beautiful person, and there is nothing I will not do to add smiles to your life.

Vernita - I have ended up admiring you. So much! I want to meet you so much more and keep falling in love with you.

Saif bhaiya - you are the BEST gift that 2015 gave me. I have known you several years, but not like this, never like this. Your being there matters. A lot.


One Day at a Time
My biggest gift this year was the ability to live one day at a time. Yes. I gave each new day its respect. I seldom carried on emotions and intensities from previous nights to new dawns. There were many mornings I woke up and asked myself - so, what do you want to try out today? And whether it was as basic as making mashed potatoes for myself, or beginning work on a new book - I just went ahead and did it. Simple.

I wish you a great 2016. I have some great plans and some stupid tasks to accomplish gloriously. Absolutely kicked about it. You?

Meet My Family

I spent the day at home. It is a rare occurrence, if you must know. What was special about the day was the fact that despite accomplishing truckloads of work, and putting off another truckload, I slept rather peacefully. That, again is a rare occurrence.

The reason why my closed eyes could breathe easy was the fact that I knew I will make time to finish this blogpost before the day ended. This one is important to me. And it has been pending sometime. I was scared that by the time I get down to writing it, I'll lose the feel of it all, that I will get over the sense of overwhelm that assails me 14 times a week, that I will forget the pieces of memory I am trying so hard to keep together. Today, I knew I will make time to put all these anxieties at rest, because, as of the present day, I have much to be happy, and peaceful about in life.

I have been away from this precious domain for quite sometime, not being able to record all the amazing things my life is blessed with at present. Like, this very moment, when I am sitting next to a window with a mug of tea, with crazy rains outside, and the faces of my beloved kids in my mind. Most of us experience this kind of peace with the memory of a lover, enhanced by the romance of rains and a cuppa with the aroma of shared moments. In my case, the whiff of romance is similar, just that, it is shared with an entire family which loves me more than anyone, anytime, anywhere in the world can. All of them together, all of them individually.

It all began with poetic soiree, almost a year back. A lot strange faces I met were soon going to become my family. The process of coming close has been epic, but more epic are these individuals I seek to write about. Let me talk of the family, I'll talk of the Collective in a later edition, someday. Or not, Poets' Collective is because all of them are. Meet these people who make my heart a mushy place :)

Sumedha
I don't know why I began with her name. It is probably because of a really sweet message she sent my way last night, which ended up making me feel like the luckiest being alive. She has been attending our meets for close to 8 months now, and she never spoke a word - just silently sat their observing the poets recite away to glory. Till the day she gifted me a lovely handmade pen stand, I could not have guessed her levels of affection. Gifts, sometimes, are important. And today, when she has started chattering in front of us, I can distinctly see oodles of love in her eyes for me, and for this little mad family we have all created together. White and pure, these are the words which come to my mind when I think of her. Her talent, I believe, is yet to blossom out in the open - but she is already my young one, literally and figuratively, and I have no doubts in my mind that she will do brilliantly well in life, yet stay humble about it.

Riya
Riya is a rare talent, one that is difficult to control or cage or even channelise. Her thoughts, revolutionary and provocative, will keep flowing over and also singe those who listen to her with an unwelcome ear. She holds in her heart ideas powerful enough to inspire not ours, but a generation of the future. She is someone who is elder for her years, and hence, who humbles me into listening. I have nothing to give her but all the encouragement in the world. She is her own guide, her own flame, and as travellers on a similar journey, I hope she keeps us close. And I miss her. And I think she knows it.

Sharad
I love getting photographed - and that is a world famous fact. What is little known, however, is the fact that I have been fortunate enough to chance upon some genuine behind camera talents, who make me look good, probably better than my own imaginations. Sharad is one such spark of brilliance who has just floored me with his insane levels of warmth and love. He calls me mummy whenever he feels cornered, and the alacrity it fills me with is more than visible on my face. I call him my minion - yellow, funny and happy. I've seen him cry in the middle of a monologue which remains among my most prized moments in life - when this kid admitted to having developed more respect for people around him after having joined the PC gang. In another bit of fond memory, he has learnt to give nice hugs now (and that is something, his girl - now or in future - has me to thank for!)

Divyaksh
He is the funniest brained person I know. His life is discontinuous fragment of satirical observations on the world around, each woven into a metaphor we now understand and associate with. He is a Jaya aunty fan. He has a hold on marketing and mythology logic with the same comfort. He sings bollywood numbers at inappropriate places and comments inadvisable nonsense much to the chagrin of fellow metro passengers. He talks non-stop. He is elder to me, yet gives me the respect of an elder sibling. He says he is a lost soul who feels like he's given direction when he is with us. He loves pink. And as far as I am concerned, he is the one person I feel the safest with.  He can keep me entertained for hours, he can contest my logic, and yet end on a very respectful note. Like everyone else, he is such an important part of my family, and my existence. I hope I can learn from his genius. Also, he is a dinosaur.

Nimisha
I have many sons, but she is the first daughter of my family. I consciously call her my beloved daughter, for she evokes in me a feeling akin to very motherly protectiveness. I feel like taking her in my arms and protecting her from all the ill-tendencies out there in the world. Not once, but many a times has it happened that she hugs me in a restaurant, and before you know it, she falls asleep then and there. And never have I had the heart to rouse her out of the very peaceful slumber reflected on her face. While she is talented and belligerent in her own ways, never has she stepped out of very humble and respectful mannerisms for me. It makes me feel blessed and responsible in equal measures. Till where I can push, I will do so for her. Oh, my only complaint to her - ladki phate kapde pehen ke baahar aa jaati hai. Needs a wardrobe overhaul asap. Rest, she can come to me with all her fears, and they'll be absorbed. Promise!

Anurag
We go back a long way, and I have seen this one go through many lows and highs and yet survive and come out strong. He is again one of those who is elder to me, but manages to give me the respect of didi. Legend has it that I scared him away when I met him the first time, but he managed to be brave enough to return to our kind of poetry, and has kept coming back since. A kind of syntactical distortion lends extreme levels of genius to his poetry, but these distortions exist because he has seen the anomalies and realities of life very closely. What I really want to tell him is that each time he has lived up to his own expectations, he has lived up to mine. And nothing will catch my attention more than his doing well in his own manner, on his own path. I do want to be a happy co-traveller, if possible?

Abhishek
I never call him Abhishek. Never. In public, or private, I love calling him Chintu. And I love it more when he resists this nickname from everyone else, except me. There is no end to how special I feel each time he lays bare his heart and soul in front of me, telling me all little details of things which have shaped him and his sensibilities. He is quite a sensitive and sensible soul, who is capable of taking care of himself, as well as those around him. In our close knit family, he fulfils many functions - a brother to one, a son to the other, a friend to another. The best thing about him? When I am not able to give him my full attention, he does not develop a grudge. He thanks and lauds me for absorbing so many stories of so many of them. I mean, the maturity strikes straight through my heart!

Neha
This girl stuns and surprises me each time. A pretty, sophisticated, ever-smiling girl - I could have never imagined a streak of activism in her, which I am being greeted with since past sometime. Neha is a completely paarivarik girl, who brings along the same values in my family. With her around, I can be sure that no malice and ill-will will enter our world. She expresses less, but when she does, I feel like floating above and beyond the moon. She holds me responsible for much, not realising that had she not been spreading energy around with her infectious smiles, our world would have been a lot less happier. She'll do well, with her smart mind and diligent heart, and she'll always remain a beautiful part of my life because of her almost selfless levels of trust and love for us.

Aniket
Aniket is not among the kids I have spent a lot of time with, but I know in my heart that whenever he finds a zone and opportunity, he comes running to us. For now, what I know is that I quite adore his kurta clad look, and his warm and respectful countenance. He seems to be someone I can trust with many responsibilities, and he will not disappoint me ever. I just want to see him around more, much more.

Shibani
Shibani is the latest entry in our madhouse. The fact that she is a poet-performer-par-excellence is known to all of Delhi. What is not known to all perhaps is that she is mad in equal measures to all of us, and that is why, probably, she feels at home with us. I did not expect to see her around so often, but I guess, she accepted us in her life before we accepted her in ours. With me, I remember feeling super-elated when she gave me a very warm hug post her performance at the last meet. Few things give me greater pleasure than being accepted in the lives of people with such faith. A few conversations later, I am cozy with the knowledge that she identifies with us, our cause, and is honest in her efforts to help us go places. In whatever little manners I can, I am there with her, for her :)

Shiva
She is a stunner. Again, I don't know much about her, but she has much depth and calm to her being. I have not heard many of her compositions, but the one poem I have heard, I keep hearing it daily. Because it calms me down. Because in the mad mayhem of technology, she is a pleasant pause, with old-world values and charm. Because her heart as pure as pure can be and that reflects in her words. Because I know I am not super-close to her, but she is going to be indispensable to our family, real soon.

Prateek
Umm. The caveat here is, anything I say will be saying too less. He began as a creep in my life, and has graduated to becoming an extremely creepy stalker now. I think very few people know me the way he does, because even when I am not letting out much, he is observing and absorbing. Prateek is an incredibly brave child, for he has chosen the difficult path of aspirations in life - but he is holding up. And so long as he is holding up, I am there with him to give the necessary push and guidance. Each time he thanks me for being around, my heart shrinks a little, because I feel I have not done enough for his genius to blossom. But he understands, I am sure he does. He is among the few who understands my affection as much as my irritations. Among my more mature sons, he is probably the one I will remember to call in my old age. To take care of me. Or just to give me a lot of grandchildren to while away my time with. (I will spoil them better than I spoilt you. And you cannot stop me.)

Ambikesh
Can I ever put in words the love we share? Can you do it? Can anyone else do it? You were the useless, pennyless  college student who made me suffer a loss of 500 bucks when you came in the first time. Those 500 rupees are the best investment I have made in life ever. You know Ambikesh, I often end up riling people when I feel they do not reciprocate or do enough for me after we've parted ways. In your case, you are always giving me 2x the love I can. I am already in your debt. I don't speak to anyone as much as I speak to you. I do not go to people to for advice or for sharing my lows as much as I do with you. And you manage to calm me down. Sometimes, you make me cry in confusion, because, when you tell me how much you and the others love me, my mind literally stops functioning because, I mean, how can this much happiness and love be possible. Being the cherophobe that I am, I shut out most of these positive feelings, lest they make me arrogant. But, you all do make me arrogant, you know. This is the best of a family I have experienced, and you're my elder son. It might all change tomorrow, but, you're the focus of my life for now. And even though you do not need it, I know, I'll be protecting you forever.

This is a good season of life. Among the best, but so precious, that I am scared to call it the best. Keep the family together, please?

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

What The Stars Know And I Don't

The Lake

Beseeching
I look at the stars
Twinkling as scars
On the dark landscape of my memory.

Screeching
My words in my ears
Mere seconds converted to years
From the time you left me.

Pleading
My heart to for his love
For the heaven above
To pull aside the curtain of fury.

Feeling
The arrogance turn to dust
The soul poised to burst
Into a million shreds of agony.

PC - Mohit Tyagi

I sat alone, alone with the stars, remembering the tick-tock of his steps hurrying out of our house. The tick-tock of his leaving resonated till much later in the sounds of the clock. Time serves as a reminder of his love and my envy, his embrace and my pride, his loyalty and my doubt. I’m sitting, sitting along, gazing at the stars, to spot a speck of his reflection.

I know not where he is. Probably the stars do.

My People, My Wishes

Writing demands coffee and solitude, together. I have had a lot of the former, and hardly any of the latter ever since the year began. And hence such a delay in the start-of-the-year post. I had a lot to write, a lot to plan, a lot to recollect and a lot to wish for. Clearly, 2015 is going to be the year of expectations for me. A little birdie warns me of a major overhaul in the coming year. Either that, or I'll be fighting hard to make the strewn away pieces of life gather back together and make a picture which makes more sense than abstract art. Hey, life, yes, I am talking to you. Okay? Heed it, this time.

However, more than an expectation post, I want this to be a gratitude post. I have a few people to thank from last year, whose presence continues to comfort me till date. Now, the fluidity of human behaviour which I have observed (and accepted) necessitates that I thank you all now, because I have no clue if time will permit our relation to remain amicable, or to remain at all. So, whatever needs to be said, is best said right away.

Thank You cookies from theartofthecookie.com

Here. Meet my precious people.

Asif Khan Dehlvi
Or, as I call him, Asif. He is a gem, and I am sure, the whole of Delhi knows that. However, why I need to thank him is because he tried to heal the kindred hurt he found in me. Asif and I have been through similar kind of life-changing lows, at different times in life. The only difference is, I wasn't there to comfort him, while he was there to make sure my injury did not permanently cripple me.
For 2015 - I wish our lessons on Delhi become big. Let me show you my Dilli, while you make me travel through yours. 

Dehlvi Sahab - In his favourite avataar.

Neelkamal Pandey
Or, simply Kamal. It must have been in an extremely blessed moment that he entered my life, because, ever since, he has treated me with an exceptionally special kind of love. When all strands of faith in humanity were drowning into an abyss I understood little about, this wonderful human being stood up and told me, come what may, he will never leave my side. Do you know what that kind of assurance does? It gives you confidence to stand up the next morning and say, 'jo hoga, dekha jayega'.
For 2015 - I wish we collaborate on some artwork. I don't know how, or when, but let's grab the opportunity when it comes. 

In his favourite colour. 

Aaqib Raza Khan
Rare. People of his kind, they are rare. I saw very little of him in 2014. Very, excruciatingly little. However, he did not have to be physically around me to assure me of his love and company. Each time I followed up his digital footprints, I either laughed, or was touched, or I simply felt happy and proud about knowing him. We've always had a sort of mutual-admiration thing going on, since years (right?), and selfishly enough, I'd say, I hope it keeps going on. It makes breathing less laboured, and mind pollution-free, I can assure you.
For 2015 - I hope we meet. For some reason, I am hoping the World Book Fair will be a good time to do this. 

From his birthday celebrations, 2013.

Achint Mathur
Or Sameer bhaiya. He has been the source of some fantastic memories I had towards the end of 2014, which, unfortunately, cannot be stated publicly. What can be stated publicly is the fact that he is one of those people in life who are fearless friends, whom you can blindly trust on, who will go till the end of horizon to make sure their loved ones are safe. Fiercely individualistic, yet surprisingly sensitive.
For 2015 - Let us read a book together? And, umm, you've to get down to Delhi and we have to meet, and hang out at a real good place. Okay?

From the wedding!

Manan Kulshreshtha
Ranu bhaiya! He got married, and in the process, he gifted me a shopping carnival which worked as a therapy and an unapologetic route to splurge on things I would otherwise only gawk at and drool. Bhaiya's wedding was also the one event which kept my spirits up each time they'd dwindle. Plus, the kind of love I felt in his company on my last Jaipur visit, well, that's what stops me from cribbing about the lack of warmth in the world.
For 2015 - I hope we talk more. Whenever possible, but I hope for this. 

From his engagement, earlier in 2014.

Mohit Tyagi
Too young in acquaintance, but having sat beside him enough in the office, I know this guy is one of the finest human beings I will ever come across. He has been the greatest calming, disciplining influence on me in life. He seems to me like a kindred soul, one which reassures my belief in the very personalized form of madness I often find myself at odds to understand. Oh, and he introduced me to fab Punjabi poetry. How can I ever thank him enough for that?
For 2015 - I hope for much. I hope for a lot of poetry particularly. 

When winter was stepping in.

Neha, Mujeeb, Akshat and Niyati are few other people I have to thank. But I am not going to. I don't care to pen down the reasons. Basically, sleep takes over now.

Winter Notebook - December Arrives With A New Theme!

December is a reflection zone for me. This month brings with itself the smell of nostalgia. It does also, usually, carry along the wonder of winter, the comfort of blankets and the thrill of cosy moments with friends, but, well, that, I believe, is a burden of expectations which January will have to bear. I can say this, because I am writing this post sitting on the floor in the drawing room of my house, wearing half sleeves kurta with a thin, cotton salwar, killing mosquitoes as I type. December should not feel like this. I mean, by now, I should have been shivering inside a blanket wrapped around an oversized gharwali jacket. And by now, all mosquitoes should have died of merciless cold. But, aah, well, none of those has happened.

PC - Funnybox.com

The nostalgia is here, definitely. It has got a little to do with winters, which carry along the pleasant lull of thoughtfulness. It has got a little more to do with the timing. Another year is dying, only so it may live with its best and worst moments inside us. A new year starts looming in imagination, with its promises of great things and nervousness of new experiments and performances. Is the prospect of a new year always exciting? I don't know. However, for me, personally, I am glad 2014 is going to be gone.

It was a tough year for me; probably the toughest in my memory. The scratches of bitter moments are still red, and they itch now and then. It was a year in which I saw myself refusing to mature with experience. I found regression comforting. This was a year in which I challenged life, looking right in its eye. Then, I won some, I lost some. Good things happened, of course they did! But somehow, I am looking at December to serve as a grand compensation for all that went wrong. So far, it has behaved, umm, in a lukewarm manner. But it has only just started, and probably great things are in store. Or probably they are not. I don't know. I don't know how welcome is it to think of planting experiences and not allowing them to come on you naturally.

Good, or bad, one thing I am fervently hoping is that December leaves me with experiences I can translate into stories. Oh yes, I am high on writing stories these days.

I am also high on eliminating clutter from my life, a start of which has been made on this blog. I loved the rich red shades of the earlier theme, but I guess it was time I made things cleaner (and leaner?) here. What do you think of the new theme? Not that I am going to change it if you advise, but I would love to know your thoughts.

A wintry smile, from last year.

I'll introduce you to my memories this month. You don't really have to be on this journey with me, but I will be glad if you are. 

Water Memory - Guest Post by Anurag Vats

Do You see those drops falling?

Each drop of water that falls on Your skin has tales to tell.

Each swig of the drink You take; taste, or no taste, has moments.

Water retains memories. 

  

Hence each time You see rain falling,

Each time You share a drink,

Each time You drink water, sharing that glass,

You share a part of the memory.

You wouldn't realise. 

But it takes a place in Your head.

Memories of Centuries.

Memories of moments.

Memories of the moments past.

Memories of present.

It is absorbing a part of You as we breathe. 

It’s good that You live here, and we've shared a drink. 

Perhaps that's the reason, a part of You lives in me,

And You wouldn’t realise, a part of mine in Yours. 

It is neutral, it is transparent.

Because it is so opaque, with memories that You won’t be able to see.

They say that a kiss can transfer a bit of You in the other.

Who knows why?

Water memories, watermarks and water colours.

What are waters?

They are eternal. I swear.

Imagine, water goes up and precipitates, for millennia.

Ancient water.

Water sipped an unison, they speak.

Water fallen on the paper. 

Water kissed from the cheeks.

Water absorbed from the other's body.

Watery eyes.

Ever imagined saline water that runs in tears and in oceans.

We are almost water.

So is most of the Earth.

Uncountable memories.

Countable instances.

Memories make Us, most of Us.

Memories lead to love, to procreation and it doesn't end there.

Memories conjure water too and water conjures memories.

Drop by drop.

They fall like drops of You and i.

Drops of us. 

Dropped through Us.

On Us. 

In Us.

Us.

About The Poet

Anurag Vats is among the many young, promising poets I met over the past year, who leaves the listeners of his poetry exhilarated and incredulous with his deft, bordering on fantastical use of language. Anurag, besides creative expression, has the blessing of a mesmerising baritone, and even if my description of his poetic brilliance is going a bit over the top, it is still all justified, you can trust me! The above poem, if just one example, and you can find more, here - http://anurag-vats.blogspot.in/

Image Credits (For the dewy-leafy picture) - Vivek Nambiar (another awesome friend I made over the many gatherings I attend and organize. 

Sonnet II - The Eye Which Closed

A fierce stare, ambling, crawling up

The scar which charred her happy visage

Sour tea bubbling in her brittle cup

She drinks and smiles at the grand mirage

A hand then grips and clutches hard

To press the open wound which oozed

Not blood, just bloodless hymns that start

Talking, while she looks on, amused. 

In a chamber overwhelmed by violence

Of subsurface thoughts felt too deeply

She tries hard to shrug the piercing lens

The whiteness spreading its fangs ornately

The mirror, the frames, the sights weakened, tore asunder

Calming, she closed her eyes, to travel through wonder.

The comment I left at the exhibition

For all those who could not head out to Triveni Kala Sangam in the week that went by, they missed the sight of sheer magic being splashed on the pristine white walls of the Shridharini Art Gallery. The magic was keen, curious, penetrating, and, as they say, stupid! An exhibition of photographs by the name of "Stupid Eye" was on at the venue, where in, a veteran psychologist - Harsheen K. Arora, and a seasoned photographer - Vipul Amar, had collaborated to undertake an intense journey through the inner selves of fourteen people and then paint them out impeccably in front of the world through breathtaking photography. The frames, which were the net result of the inner journey of these people aimed at finding and liberating their true selves, were devastatingly beautiful. At first, they were just frames which you would interpret. Later, they became fields where you would try to locate yourself, or your experiences. How an event trapped inside four walls can be liberating for the creative and the unexplored that hides inside you - this could be learnt at Stupid Eye.

These booklets had all the stories, sans which, my experience at the exhibition would have been incomplete. 

The above sonnet-structured poem was scribbled in a mute response to when Prayas asked me as to what I found there, and if I could locate myself in any of the frames. I failed to do so. I am one of those who is scared of discovering too much - I find my liberation in uncertainties. A picture, too clear, eliminates the possibility of fascinating interpretations - and if the possibility of impossible fancies vanishes from life, it doesn't augur brightly for me. And I seek bright. Blurry, okay, but bright. For some, the frames presented a figment of reality which they thought reflected off their past, or their inner self. For me, the frames served to shut out much, and delve within myself, happy in the cloistered, yet connected existence. And amid this rant, I am stupid if I forgot to tell you that Prayas is that dear friend because of whom Stupid Eye became a rather personal (albeit short) experience. He is among those people who charm you, and make you feel comfortable with the warmth they exude. Its a pleasure to know him.

Posing with Prayas, or one of his manifestations.

I met some tremendously fascinating people up at the exhibition, engaged in insightful dialogues. Harsheen ma'am and Vipul sir were gracious hosts, not refusing anyone an audience, discussing freely what went into conceiving an executing the Stupid Eye project. The opinions of attendees were given weight; there was no one who could stand there and feel wrong. Welcoming smiles and warm hugs - they were my fond takeaways from the brilliant people I met there.

The creators and their creation

So yes, the time I spent at Stupid Eye exhibition was fabulous. It will stay with me. The grand event was made more special because two of my very dear kids - Kamal and Vaibhav - won an art event conducted by the organizers. At the end of this post, I leave you with a gorgeous interpretation of 'Stupid Eye' as painted by Kamal, a kid in whose growth and achievements I take personal pride. And Vaibhav, you deserve another treat.

Rewriting Delhi - Part I

Around December last year, I began assisting Asif Khan Dehlvi in his endeavour named Delhi Karavan, which is a concept traversing through time and space to serve the best of Delhi in front of those who are in love with the city, and are eager to explore it. In my journey with Delhi Karavan, I realized the truth in the oft quoted line - To have travelled is to have arrived. I am more of a ghostly presence there, seldom manifesting in actual events, but lurking somewhere behind the online face of it. The freedom which Asif grants me to explore my city, my way, is what makes even this virtual journey so liberating, and in keeping with the same spirit, I started drafting for Delhi Karavan mini Facebook columns called 'Rewriting Delhi' sometime back. These columns were about how I saw my city, and what is it that fascinated me about it. In the form of stale quintets, I decided to share these columns with you as well, also to know what is it about this rich, ravaged, reconstructed city that you happen to admire.

Here is the first quintet, the first five posts written under #RewritingDelhi 

#1

"Meri muhabbat pe shaq na kar ae sheher mere
Par teri dewaaron par laparwaah si kabhi sachchai bhi dikh jaati hai"

Armed with a new phone in hand, with awesome camera specification, I was eager to click the best visuals from my city - and this is the first that caught my eye in a fast food outlet in Connaught Place. It amused me, yes, but also shook up some funny memories of misogynistic encounters I have had while travelling through the deemed safest areas of Delhi. I love this place I live in, and this is where I want to die - but our city has to go a long way in becoming a safer haven for women. Or so I think.

Some people, I reckon, need to read the writing on the wall.

Spotted inside McDonald's, somewhere in CP

#2

"Panno mein uljhe chehron ko dekha hai kya kabhi?
Tujhmein hi ae sheher yeh apna khwaab sajaate hain"

This lane has a distinctive importance of its own - if you ask me, then more so. This is where the dreams of many an aspirants for the highest jobs in India come to seek salvation. Not just that, this is where an entirely different kind of crowd scurries in as well - and that is the foodie crowd. If you are a chaat-deewaana, it can't be that you have not heard of the Shri Prabhu Chaat Bhandaar in Delhi. Just in case you have not, you must rush here to see the confluence of some serious aspirations with some tangy flavours.

Right beside Dholpur House, the destination for many aspirations

#3

The excitement of devouring these lovely, fried pieces of potato was such that I could not avoid getting the click blurred. But then, that is what #DelhiChaat does to you. Invariably, in all corners of the city, around the next bend, at short distances from each other, you will find jazzy chaat stalls inviting you with all their might to taste the sweet and tangy flavours they have to offer. Golgappas, Tikki, Lachchha Tokri and a spread of some other delectable quick-foods is irresistible. For me, however, these fried potatoes - called Aaloo Chaat - work best. Is it the same for you too?

This is proper Delhi fast food, which no number of Americanised joints can push out. And thats what I will keep believing.

Aloo Chat!

#4

“Kya manzil ki tak mein zindagi basar karoon
Ya is safar ko hi apni manzil maan loon?"

Have you ever felt like taking a taxi to nowhere, to travel for the sheer pleasure of travelling? This picture, by my dear friend, Aaqib Raza Khan gives me dreams, it makes me want to become an explorer. A taxi to nowhere could also be a taxi to everywhere, or so I think.

I don't see many taxis around in the city, except now for those fancy call-cabs, each an advertisement hoarding in itself. But then, this is also how my city is changing, evolving, becoming new.

Aaqib Raza Khan's lens clicks these beauties!

#5

"Ae sheher tu razdaar bhi, dildaar bhi, fankaar bhi
Jo panaah de, na sawaal kare, woh humsafar, woh yaar bhi"

You did not think this city opens its arms only for you, is it? When you head out to capture interesting moments, you find them being played out between creatures of all colours and sizes. Like here. These were spotted lurking on top of a shed in some corner of Dargah Nizamuddin Auliya, caught deftly by the all observing camera of Aaqib.

Are they growling, or romancing? That is where my thoughts end, still wondering.

Inside Dargah Nizamuddin Aulia, again clicked by Aaqib

PS - If you liked what you got to read here, more will come your way, soon!

Meanwhile, why don't you follow @DelhiKaravan on Twitter, or hop onto their Facebook page by clicking here.