Bibliophilia Revisited - Part II

Thanks for reading the earlier post and feeding me some brilliant new titles. Here is the second set of 9 books. Tell me which ones you adore and abhor - and why!
(Also, it took me a while to complete this post - I am finally at the point in life where hours in each day are too few!)

1. The Sense of an Ending by Julian Barnes

Gifted by Saif bhaiya. He never goes wrong with books and poetry. 

What you remember is a very personal version of what happened. This book, a short text of profound depth, will grill into you precariousness of memory, history and constructs of identity.

2. The Sensualist by Ruskin Bond

Bought from Oxford Bookstore. 

Why this book makes the cut is because this is unlike any Ruskin Bond you might have read. The endearing author who wrote of childhood, hills and nascent relationships suddenly delves into topics of intense and even violent sensuality - a surprise from his corpus.

3. The Last Song of Dusk by Siddharth Dhanvant Shanghvi

This book called out to me from a shelf at Spell & Bound, SDA. The bookstore, unfortunately, does not exist anymore. 

I have misplaced the picture of the book, but it remains indelible on my psyche. It is among my top 5 reads of the entire lifetime. I have a definite crush on the author, and he, in my opinion, is the best writer of Magic Realism among Indian writers in English. The Last Song of Dusk is a masterpiece of intensity, poignance, pain and sensuality. Treat, this book is a treat for any heart!


4. To Sir, With Love by E. R. Braithwaite

Sent to me by Ayush, a cousin from Mumbai.

A classic. This is an autobiographical text about a teacher making a forceful impact on the lives of students. It resuscitates your belief in the institution of education, which, however obsolete in terms of content, can create remarkable differences with the aid of one motivated and enterprising individual. (I am so kicked about being a teacher in a part-time role, more so because I know of such possibilities!)

5. The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid by Bill Bryson

Gifted by Gangesh, who remained disappointed with me for the greatest time because I couldn't find time to read this book. 

This is a memoir - about a child growing up along with the world around him. Each new development brings an opinion along with fascination - a wonderful guided tour through the America of mid-20th century.

6. Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair by Pablo Neruda

Gifted by Saif bhaiya, as a Diwali present. His choice, as always, was impeccable. 

I sigh as I read the name of this book. Neruda creates magic while fusing melancholy and love in his verses. Read - there is no other way of understanding this experience. I have gone through each poem here more than six times, and I cannot help but be captivated into a lull each time. A lyrical lull.

7. My Gita by Devdutt Pattanaik

Bought from a roadside book-shack in Green Park.

"Yatha ichchhasi, tatha kuru" is my takeaway from this book. Own your beliefs, be an eternal observer and change along with the times - this is what the text teaches us. The best part is, this text will probably teach you something much different than what it emphasized to me. Pattanaik has created a following for a reason - he makes Indian philosophies accessible, while providing counter-narratives to each. Read this book, and then read this again. I have put it on my TBR this year as well.

8. Urnabhih by Sumedha Verma Ojha

Gifted as a performance reward by Deepak, my boss in the previous organization. 

A love saga set in the Mauryan times, drawing its basic plot from the state espionage system - what else do you need for killer excitement in literature! The author brings an altogether different era alive in front of you - and I experienced racing heartbeats more than once. I was literally sitting on the edge to see plots and sub-plots unfolding with alarming grace as I turned pages. This is highly recommended!

9. Norwegian Woods by Haruki Murakami

Secret Santa gift by Shweta, colleague at Shiv Nadar School, where I am currently employed. 

Need I even spare words on praising Murakami? I will say what I said in a review earlier - Murakami makes sadness titillating. It is a task accomplished with much difficulty and immersion. Norwegian Woods became a part of my blood flow while I read it, and rendered me incapable of reading anything else till long later.

My reading is coming along just fine this year as well. I recently received my Brunch Book Challenge hamper, for having finished 58 books in the past year, and I am more positive now about the ways in which reading can impact your life. Above and beyond all, reading gives you yourself. I don't know if it makes sense, but each time you run a line and its meaning in your head, you're talking to yourself. It brings you at peace with the idea of existence. It also, many times, gives you answers that you had forever been seeking. Read, and keep reading, for there is only so little time to absorb so much out of the Universe.

PACHyatra - to Sapera Basti, Mandi Village

Dear PACH

In my last two letters, there is much that I have told you - about you, about me and about us. All of us. However, while glancing through them again today, I realized, I left so much unsaid. You know what, lets just summarize it in two words again - Crazy and Magic. Yes. That is what I have come to understand you as. After our last tryst, I am further convinced that you are capable of doing magic, and that too in a manner which is unanticipated and plain crazy. Yes, so while you are going crazy with excited disarray in your head, people still call you organized. Fun? May be. Humbling? Sure!

I did have an idea, but I could never have created a complete image of the place where I met you this time. You took us on a trip, literally and otherwise. Had it not been for you, I would never have known that somewhere, at the end of winding roads which are like modest boulevards lined with grandiose farmhouses, there exists a village of one-time snake charmers, which does no justice to the exotic image of India which the Occident created. Given animal rights regulations, most of these villagers could not take up their familial occupation, and many had to resort to odd jobs, or contend with being jobless, yet survive. In this Basti of Saperas, we met some little faces in whose world we got lost for hours. Not some, a lot of faces, different expressions characterizing different faces - innocent, naughty, sincere, curious, sulky, blank, eager, reserved, distant; and then, I think I saw some nastiness, and some awe as well in those faces. I am sure that the young ones of the entire village had assembled with us after a point - the point at which we stopped trying to ascertain what number of children are we trying to involve in our creative session.

Meeting Elizabeth and Shibumon - the minds behind Bharat Seva Samity - was an experience I was wanting to have, and needed to have. Their story is both, lovely and inspiring. So yes, PACH, thank you for making it happen. What I need to thank you more for is the kind of amazing day you gave us, in which, my friends and I, and the little kids we had just met, left nothing unexplored in the realm of creative arts. We made the kids dance, sing, draw, recite rhymes, share ambitions, and do just about anything that made them feel happy, and open, and confident. Did you notice the bright smiles on their faces? I know you did, but perhaps you were too tired to sit back and savour all the magic you spread. Still, what you should know is, halfway through the session, a child wanted to know if we were going to come back and do all the masti with them again. I don't know about you, but I was too touched to be able to answer it.

I have many favourite moments from the day, and I think I should take out some best frames to show those to the world reading this letter along with you. So yes, here.

That is my friend Neha. Umm, twin Neha. Till about a month ago, she would need a push to share her lovingly written stories with us, and this day, she confidently places herself in the middle of all the kids to narrate a story about her favourite being in the world - her pet dog, Chintu. Kids talked about their pets as well, and I stood somewhere, really happy to know, that her stories, written keeping children in mind, are now finally reaching their destination. 

Don't see these two for what they seem like. They are generally known as Anup Bishnoi and Sidhant Mago, but here they are Chintu doggy and Dolly baby, characters straight out of Neha's story, performing antics and enthralling children. Forget children, I caught myself bursting with laughs. Yes, bursting is a good word here. 

Thats Nabila Sadiq, the sincere one among us to have carried an original poem to share with and teach kids. More than the poem, what she aspired to tell this young crowd was that its important to dream, and so dream, they must. Along with her, it was only Shrutiy Chakraborty who got a poem customized for this very special gathering, but once lost in the world of kids, forgot to share. I think PACH feels bad, and has its ears perked up for a reading among an audience which is slightly elder, but only in years. 

Though I am not sure what exactly is happening here, I can take a guess. In this setting which reminded us constantly of Sholay ('Solay', as echoed), the famous 'Kitne Aadmi The' dialogue is being played out. Popular culture works so well to engross and amuse everyone! I loved this rock, and secretly hoped that I would get to climb up and settle there. But my back. Bah. 

This picture was clicked on request - I requested this star kid to pose with me, because I like to remember good singers.  And Ankit, for that is his name, is sulking because I made him stop drawing his red car under blue clouds for this click. He sang a romantic bollywood number with confidence and innocence which only someone of his age is capable of combining. 

This tiny tot, whose name I do not remember (Jatin, may be?) troubled me the most. However, I think I made good friends with him at the end of it all. 

The laughter he spread was so contagious and effective, it was only obvious that Sidhant Mago would end up being a huge hit among all the children. The caricature a child attempted to draw of him (successfully, of course) is only a proof of what kind of love all of us received at Sapera Basti. 

Among the many rhymes we taught them, I think we did this the best. Chubby Cheeks, acting out the Dimple Chin here. What an amazing feeling it was to hear these simple, childhood words being echoed all around us in a cacophonous chorus. I have no idea when I last did this, acting out rhymes. Its good, I've done some practice before I have kids of my own. Aah, I'll try and keep my focus. 

This girl wants to go to Mumbai when she grows up - her ambition quite evident in this picture. Like all, I too was pleasantly surprised when all this talent was unleashed on us by these incredible packets of energy. 

These pretty packets were put together with much love by some resourceful PACH members, and, more importantly, enthusiastically decorated by the tiny students of Crayons and Strokes - art school run by Aastha Seth, who is the creative genius behind all the unbelievably amazing posters which announce our fortnightly poetry sessions. Isn't it a wonderful thought, that little kids from one part of our city spent a day making colourful stuff for little kids located on the fringes of our city? Fascinating, for me at least. 

This is where the madness of drawing and colouring finally started. Calling it madness is an understatement. But I know each one of us enjoyed it, most of all, Aastha di, I guess. You can see her in the back, getting ready to manage her set of learners, while Anup settles right in the middle to spend a fun and harrowing time among all these fans he cultivated. 

Why am I the crazy, laughing woman in the picture? Because a very composed and bright girl named Pooja wrote a rhyme for me, and made it pretty with all these colours and a rose. When you go along with PACH, and return with a poem as a gift, it feels as if all the pieces have fit in perfectly. 

Applauses. This is what we gave them in copious quantities. We gave a lot of love too, but then, they gave more of it back. 

So, coming back to you PACH, tell me, how do you actually lead us to such 'scintillating' highs? No, how? Those who witness the day said that this party-like class was the best they had attended. Here, this is what Duolos Jose (he, of course, the person who made this event possible) had to say about what we accomplished on Sunday, and you must hear - 

"It was the longest event in this basti, they usually get bored fast (even when I show them movies)! Your interactions (mixed with fun) had a great impact which held them back for hours. Also, I never knew that some of the kids could dance and sing so well.. even paint so well. Hopefully, an artist shall emerge from that slum some day."

So, there. I am actually short of breath as all these musings come to an end. There is one, tiny memory which lingers on. When we asked the kids - "Aap bade hokar kya ban-na chahte ho?", a boy of about 8-9 replied, "Padhe-likhe". Just that. That simple, yet not.

May be I will come back here someday.

Crazy, again.
You're all of two months, and though you are growing at an alarming rate, these are still your nascent days.
And you're just not ceasing from showing us your magical ways.

PS - You can read about Bharat Seva Samity, and Elizabeth and Shibumon here - http://www.bharatsevasamity.org/index.html

Thanks Aaqib, Navin ji and Aastha di for the wonderful pictures. How will we ever relive PACH moments if not for you all. Thanks Archana and DJ for making this happen.

I loved quoting a particular verse (half of it, perhaps) in my school days. I  don't know the poet, but I am taking the liberty of reproducing it here, hoping that in some way it applies to all those kids we met on Sunday.

"Hum toh dariya hain, humein apna hunar maaloom hai

Jis taraf bhi chal padenge, raasta ho jayega"

Among my favourite pictures from that day.

Catharsis or Cyber Bullying? Try Confessing!

(This article had been originally written for  Scroll360.in, when the trend of 'Confessions' on facebook was still going strong. Thankfully, that madness has abated. However, while going through the contents of this article, I found ideas and issues still pertinent. I am hence sharing it again on Nascent Emissions. Hope you have a nice time reading it) 

Let me begin this article with a caveat. If you are looking for an objective view on the topic, then understand that you are interacting with an author who is struggling with herself to arrive at objective analysis and later deductions on this debate. However, as someone having suffered the negative side of a recent social media phenomenon, it is obvious that bias will be inherent in words that follow – passion just might overrule the possibility of a rational discourse.

I am here to confess – no, I will desist from using that word unless absolutely necessary, because for me, it has come to acquire irksome connotations. Confessions are the latest fad to have announced their grand arrival on the virtual stage and to have caught the attention of all – the old, the young, the teenaged and the infant-minded. These confessions, which opulently display themselves out on dedicated pages, identified by school, college, department or organizations, are being pursued – whether secretly or in open – by all and sundry. In very little time, they have come to be characterized by the idiom – love them or hate them, but you cannot ignore them. These confession pages are capable of giving you all entertainment you seek in the world – they excite you, they intrigue you, they might make you feel elevated, or they may cause your spirits to plummet. They are increasingly acquiring a weed-like tendency – you uproot (ban) a few of these pages, and a few more than before will sprout instantaneously in its place. So ubiquitous is their presence, that I felt no need to introduce the dynamics and mechanics of this page anywhere in the beginning of this article. These pages, in fact, are not just confined to their virtual domains, but have come to be the ultimate spring of normal day gossip and discussions among students and office-mates. The speed and ease of posting, and then the skill of facebook at spreading the written word have lent these, if I may say, unscrupulous ramblings, the power to make and break images – a sad reality in our world which thrives by feeding on gossip.

My introduction to a confession page was, interestingly, not on Facebook, but via a leading national daily. In an article, a reporter had sought the opinion of a leading psychologist about the then new trend of confessions which involve a large mass of teens and young adults. The psychologist, even more interestingly, was very positive about this whole phenomenon. According to him, the frustrations which are a natural by-product of urban lifestyles, compulsions and tensions, find a helpful and healthy vent through these anonymous online confessions. So far so good. I was happy to read about something which is working to add comfort, optimism and calm to the lives of thousands of youngsters out there. A month later, I am not so sure. If anything, I reckon that anyone who still holds this phenomenon to be positive is perhaps talking without laying on eye on the content which these so-called confessions entail.

As per my understanding, the concept of confessions finds it origin in the Catholic culture, wherein, a man, conscious of his wrongdoings, guilt-ridden, walks into a confession chamber to unburden his heart and purge his soul. It is one aspect of Christianity which I have always admired. Not only does it make one confront his weak moments, where wantonly or unwantonly, he might have indulged in a sinful act, but this one act of confession also strengthens the faith of that man in the infinite mercy of Almighty, in whose forgiveness lies his salvation. Now, one can always trust social media to cash on something so pure and noble, and transform it into a crass and cacophonous nonsense. I might be strong and extremely prejudiced in terms of my expressions, but I have peers who have spent days layered in anxiety and low self-esteem only because of some expletives directed at them from anonymous mouths. I, despite maintaining a steadfast and deliberate distance from any page with ‘confessions’ in its title, have also been embroiled in invectives reeking of misogyny and hurtful envy, if not more insidious tendencies.

Anything said above is not to discard altogether the cathartic aspects of nameless online confessions. Not in my vicinity, but on some confession pages of distant universities, students have posted genuine problems which are difficult to verbalise and have met with encouraging comments and helpful links from their peers. There are youngsters sharing their insecurities and even honest angst against institutional policies, which have led to fruitful discussions and understanding of multiple opinions. However, these instances are exceptions rather than being the rule. Most often, the confessions pages I have seen invariably contain the following – a deluge of expletives, proposals of ‘I like you’ and ‘I love you’ kind, misogynistic diatribes, demeaning explicit comments and obtuse tales of bravado. Now, which one of them can you remotely associate with the word confession? Most will agree on the fact that confessions are meant to purge or unburden oneself, and not to malign someone else. I would never even be able to understand a statement like ‘I made out in the college library’ as a confession. What is the confessioner trying to achieve by posting this? He, clearly, is not guilty of his act, rather proud in fact. What goes down in the process in the name of the institution and often necessitates a disciplinary action by authorities, especially where defamatory comments are concerned. I have personally known an admin threatened of legal action, and another relieved of his professional duties because of careless posts on his confessions page.

So, catharsis or cyber-bullying? My vote is with the latter. At the core of the appeal of such pages lies their anonymity. You can post whatever you wish. The more outrageous the content of your post, the more reactions it elicits. Responses – in the form of likes and comments – isn’t it because of them that we are all so hooked onto Facebook? Earlier, the debate was around the perils of leaving your privacy at the mercy of social platforms like Facebook. Now, via phenomena like confessions, unscrupulous elements go one step further to jeopardize the privacy, as well as the public image of others and not just themselves. With an increasing number of parents and teachers becoming a part of their ward/student’s social network, the harm caused by hurtful and malicious confessions increases manifold. I recently read on a blog that Facebook is being pressurized from many corners to shut the confession pages. I hope earnestly that the concerned people pay heed. 

The Virgins by Siddharth Tripathi - A Review

Out in the market, there are many coming of age stories which are waiting to entertain and excite you; which are eager to lay in front of you fables of shedding naiveties and acquiring of a wise character. Most of them will serve you the regular fair - a carefree life, a deep, unassailable crisis, and then, what the Greeks will call, peripeteia and anagnorisis. For novels catering to young-adults, this is the staple diet. But then, you will come across that one novel, which will take you traipsing through the adventures of young boys, and make you feast on those events and incidents which turn those just-out-of-adolescence-kids into men-of-substance, and entertain you beyond your expectations. By the very cover of this book - The Virgins - I knew I was in for a treat. So glad am I for the fact that author Siddharth Tripathi made my gut feeling come true, in a manner of writing so colourful and crude, that it engages without effort and entertains till the very last page. 

To give a synopsis of the story of The Virgins is not easy, because this book does not bank on a storyline. Rather, it banks on a very strong plot, which extends into episodic narrative. It is these episodes (or adventures) which build the grand story. Very roughly put, The Virgins is the story of three boys - Pinku, Bhandu and Guggi - all born and nurtured in the sacred soil of Benaras. All three have interesting backgrounds to them, which they are consistently negotiating with, so as to find their own foothold in life. One is a school drop-out, innocent at first, sly later kind-of-guy, who is smitten with a plump girl responsible for his first trip to prison. Another is the product of a wrecked marriage, perhaps seeking solace in a 'firang' woman who is scarce aware of his presence. A third is the eternal troublemaker - whose only purpose of living is to invent impossible adventures, and then drag his friends into it. These three diverse characters - and a host of others are united in this unique book, which thrives on irreverence and an eclectic mix of characters. 

For me, the biggest strength of this book are, indeed, its characters. They are all known by nick-names, a mandatory tradition of Indian households; and they come in typical hues in lands of UP and Bihar. While most monikers are just the instinct of a doting parent, many others arise out of an urgent need to put a shameful label on a peer to highlight to the world his most embarrassing detail - the gift of friends who see you through years of puberty. The characters in this book are amusing, and teeming with life - they are created so deftly that they might even become unforgettable for you. The book comprises of several parallel narratives, and different characters peak at different points in the book. The best deal - no loose ends. All individual strands of the story are complete. You might want to keep this book away from kids, because of a very liberal sprinkling of expletives, though I have to admit, I did not find the cuss-words getting very creative, which is quite the norm in youth-novels these days. 

What was extremely creative was the opening of each chapter - with a quote or a verse, which was a strand of the story itself. The amusement begins at these tiny epigraphs, and continues till the last word of the chapter. Many of these epigraphs are clever, many are outright preposterous, but each has been placed with care, and blends seamlessly, but importantly with the storyline. The language is witty - sometimes simply funny, and you may catch yourself guffaw at places (I did!)

All in all, entertainment, expletives, adventures, and masala - you will find it all here - and what more do you need from a book which promises to give you a welcome break from the routine of life. Traverse the terrain of Benaras with an author who has seen the landscape from really close quarters. See Benaras beyond the sacred halo which centuries of fables have ascribed to it. Experience how the Ganga is not just a holy river, but a meaningful part of the lives of the locals. This, and much more - The Virgins is a complete package! A 3 on 5 star book for me!

Book Details -
Author - Siddharth Tripathi
Publisher - Fingerprint
Published - 2013
Book Source - Review Copy
Genre - Fiction
Price - Rs. 250
Pages -  320

Comfort Of Dusk

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God Bless!

Down The Road- A Review

My short sabbatical to an internet free zone was spent with my nose poking deep into the pages of Down The Road- A collection of short stories by various authors about life on campus, edited by Ahmed Faiyaz and Rohini Kejriwal. What I felt about the book shall come later, but I must share with the readers that I was often found by concerned family members sometimes sharing a ridiculously personal smile, at others a worried pensive stare with the pages of the book. It was not merely because the book was handsomely engrossing. It was certainly because the book shared stories which seemed personal. 


Life on campus is a rigmarole for most of us. It, invariably, occupies a very special place in the chest where we preserve our precious memories. Growing up, finding ourselves, making friends, understanding love, learning, unlearning, failing, trying, enjoying, crying- you look back at college and you find yourself enveloped by a dozen emotions you once lived through, the ones which have played an important part in shaping you as you know yourself today. Quite obviously, I had my hoped pinned high on Down The Road, especially because I am fresh out of DU, and still not quite over the feel of campus life.

The book lived up to its name. Quite effortlessly, it took me down the memory lane. It is a fresh and pleasant collection of short stories by young authors from diverse background and with diverse writing styles. It tells simple tales of incidents we've lived through in school or college. Most of the stories which appealed to me dealt with love and friendship- the discovery, the innocence, the misunderstandings, the whole experience in fact. The book is divided into five sections with 28 stories by 16 authors. The individual authors have explored many different facets of campus life including elections, politics, ragging, teachers, passions, lessons, crushes, placements inter alia.A thumbs up to the editors for selection of stories included in this anthology. Some of the stories will make you smile as you remember the hazy face of that first crush, some others might touch you where you are most sensitive and feel some pain or regret. Narrated with an almost personal tenderness, many of these stories make you reflect on those trivialities which seem to acquire meaning only in retrospect.

What I did not enjoy was the last section of the book, with two essays about campus fiction and campus based movies. I was riding high on the nostalgic atmosphere which the stories created around me, and quite honestly, I did not feel like forcing myself through those passages which seemed a little dry after the wonderful and touching stories. I would give the book 3 on 5 stars. It is worth a read, in fact a few stories are worth reading many times over. Some warmth and some nostalgia you are sure to feel while you involuntarily find yourself living your college days.

My favorite five from the stories published in this anthology-

1. Smells Like Home by Aashish Mehotra
About the reluctant return to his homeland of an NRI student, who experiences comfort in the company of a girl whose presence he takes for granted.
2. Bellow Yellow by Chinmayi Bali
A commendable, mature and intense story about the darker tendencies which inhabit a student's being. Well narrated, delicately handled.
3. The Music Room by Ira Trivedi
The forbidden love story of a bright young student and a docile, out of place music teacher.
4. The Cafe With No Name by Sneh Thakur
A gently narrated tale of the brewing relationship between a student of limited means and a concerned and doting Parsi owner of the roadside cafe. Heartwarming.
5. Remember Me? by Ahmed Faiyaz
This one because it made me revisit Ruheen and Aditya's love story, one I had gotten quite attached to while reading Another Chance.

Winter Reminiscences- Expectations of Love!

Have you ever gotten a taste of your own medicine, as they proverbially say? I mean, have you ever landed in a situation which is like this giant mirror of your life, just that you see your own role being performed by someone else? And all this in a pleasant and amusing way, not with any masochistic or depressive undertones.

It happened with me, at the beginning of the 'month of musings', as I call it. December, as insinuated by me in Flakes Of Love, is that month where besides indulging in hopeless romanticism, I also take a stock of the big and small details of the year gone by. Right from the best books I read, to the people who mattered to me- I like revisiting things that made my year special. Introspection, on the problems faced, moments lived and lessons learnt is perhaps the most important aspect of this yearly catharsis of mine, and this post is precisely about that.

Unlike the previous years, this year's cathartic recollections began on an extremely amusing note. I am known to be this extremely insecure person, who craves undue levels of attention from people she loves. When that is not becoming, situations have been known to get ugly. At times, certain unfortunate friends of mine have been caught in pugnacious encounters with me without any apparent fault of theirs, specifically when even a tiny figment of my brain assumed that they've been sharing with a third person some part of their life which I rightfully think to be my own. Though I am learning to grow up, envy and a certain degree of possessiveness towards people I love have always characterized me. The closest to me suffer the most. Anger and tears follow. Acrimony, thankfully, is kept at bay.

So what was so amusing? The fact that I got a taste of my own bitter medicine. In one of the most harrowing situations in my life, I entered into a confrontation over issues of attention and insecurity where I was on the receiving end! It would've seemed implausible at one time, but it did happen. And the person wroth with me, wroth because of hurt feelings of extreme love, was my mentor. She was the first person ever in life I looked upto, and I know I fell in love with her even before my brain acquired sanity. She is much elder to me, and as much as I wanted to see my future in the strength of her character, she liked seeing her own past in my childhood achievements.

Maturity is often confused with passivity of emotions. May be that's why I was dumb initially when I saw that unmistakable hurt in her eyes caused by my callousness in loving her enough. I was in disbelief and denial. Here is how I defended myself in my thoughts- How could she feel hurt? How could she doubt me? She should know that even though I don't lurk around, I always hold her dear, shouldn't she?

Well, no! She is not obligated to assume that I love her, if I do not care to show her enough the love and concern I hold in my heart. Her getting hurt is not her fault, it is mine. The disbelief and surprise was soon replaced by delight, translating into a smile on my lips. I felt really good in my heart. Firstly, because of the realization that I mattered so much to someone, and secondly because I kind of felt at home. When I threw similar tantrums in front of others, I was assumed to be immature. So, I vowed to 'grow up', implying that I vowed to close myself to such extremities of emotions. No more! I smiled because her one outburst assured me that I wasn't some abnormal being always sulking for attention. Her words were my words, used many a times before. My problem is that I verbalize my thoughts too easily and too often, and ride an emotional high throughout my existence. It is the reaction I get which makes me doubt the very person I am.

I narrated this incident to a friend late at night, with palpable alacrity in my heart. It was a weird state state of excitement. I ended my narrative with these words- "and there I stood, smiling, but with absolutely no idea what to do now!". His query- "So, what will you do now? In fact, is there anything at all that you can do?". Poor chap, his query was obvious. He has been the victim of my outbursts way too often, and this is what I had to say to him- "I will now do everything for her, which I expected others to do when I put them in the same spot. No matter how hard I try, I cannot erase the bad memory, the hurt-that is how it works with hyper emotional beings like myself. But what I can do is to lurk around, and create enough happy memories to make that bad one inconsequential. She matters to me enough to put in that effort, and it is just that I need to let her know."


Lost somewhere within the pages of my journal was a five point mantra I devised for myself long back- more like compiled from various sources. This incident, fortunately, compelled me to find it once again. These five points were put together by me in not some gloomy-reflective condition, but in a state of perfect bliss, when I wanted to pamper my self, and feel proud of the person I am, but with responsibility. Time is good to share it on my blog. This constitutes my treasured lesson from the year 2011. They are not some divine secrets which promise a glorious existence- but five simple lines which if understood simply do have the potential of helping screwed up situations get a little better.

1. Stop lying to yourself. Harms no one but you.
2. Ask for help. Give your near ones the right to interfere while they still can.
3. Do not rationalize, i.e., do not make excuses for yourself. There cannot be a good enough reason for failing to do what you did not.
4. Count your blessings. List your motivations and rewards. Naive, but  has the awesome potential to make you feel great.

5. No matter how hard you try, you cannot change the person you are. When it comes to that, let go; with an understanding that holding on and letting go are divided by a invisibly thin line based on personal discernment

I think the best note to end this post on would be a painting by my favorite, Leonid Afremov, titled

Expectations of Love!

Impromptu Rendezvous- School Remains The Best!

The kind of happiness an impromptu re-union can give you, its quite unique. We leave our academic abodes- schools and colleges- with loud promises keeping in touch, being integrally involved in each others lives, and always being there, with due emotional emphasis. But by now, all of us have been through and known, that even the most genuine of such commitments are often not able to stand the test of circumstances. We move on. We carry few faces firmly forward with us, but leave a lot many more behind. Often, the people we leave behind are the ones with whom we perhaps shared more intimate association while still in their obvious company. There remains a guilt, but there remains a helplessness.

And this is where the concept of reunions catches steam from. Reunions sound ultra grand- sound like a homecoming of sort; but the more they are planned and ranted on about, the more they fall flat on expectations. When invited to reconnect with people whom you shared your pens, pencils, notes, and your very heart with in one era, you can sometimes feel awkward by the pace with which things and people have moved on. You yourself, of course, being no exception. But when reunions are random and unplanned and impromptu and fixed over sleepy calls at the break of dawn, suddenly the excitement associated with them increases manifold. And then, who land up in your company are friends, who really want to be there with you enough to jump out from bed half dizzy and head towards an old hang out without a second thought. Despite it being a Sunday, they shift, alter, delay or cancel plans to experience that coveted tryst with memories.

And yes, though my ramblings might seem exaggerated at points, they do total justice to each emotion I felt during the course of the day. I studied in Laxman Public School, an institution which remains irreplaceable to my existence and to which I will proudly remain associated till even one known face exists in its precincts. What made one of my routine trips to the school even more special today was the coming together of the best of my friends, after an eon, with all the ease of the good old days. Teachers, building, classrooms- everything/everyone was greeted with the familiar mischief, familiar loudness, and familiar warmth. The day was great, and was made better with the lightness of everyone’s demeanour.

We saw a few changes. We don’t know for good or bad. We ended up criticizing them. Alterations, good/bad, associated with things which have a sentimental value are not always welcome. Traditions are sometimes best left untouched. We also found ourselves a little grown up. We began by indulging in the usual fun-banter about teachers, but ended up apologizing to a few for our unpleasant acts committed while we were too young  and adamant to realize it.

After a great time, albeit reluctantly, we parted ways. This time too, loud promises were made of keeping in touch, being involved, and being available. I am not thinking about that. I am just happy that today was. 

Thank you all, friends and teachers, for making LPS such an awesome experience for me. We might not always be in touch, but our common roots are enough to ensure that we remain connected at some level, always. 

Anjali ma'am. Not just a teacher, but a friend and mentor for life. She stood by me when I felt lonely and dark, and made me learn things which cannot be found in any text books.

With Tyagi Sir and Tyagi Ma'am-the best Chemistry teachers ever! I owe all my boards marks to their strict and disciplined, yet fun teaching.

The 12-A2 gang, collecting outside the school gate. From left to right- Piyush, Nishtha, Tarun, Myself and Mayank

Seema ma'am- junior school math teacher. She was the only one who could make me do math. Later, I only deteriorated.

Anant And Saurabh- A Very Serious Interview

They are known as "Radio Ke Virus". For me, they were my daily addictions en route to college. I have been listening to them since I don't know when. So, some five years back, when the year 2006 was about to close, I got an opportunity to interview the two of them, for a very special edition of Times Of India-NIE. I could choose anyone- writers, politicians, socialites, artists- but the fifteen year old girl in me preferred to make arrangements for an interview with the masters of mad talk- Anant and Saurabh. While TOI promised to facilitate conversations with the management of Radio Mirchi for this particular interview, what I distinctly remember is the wonderful treatment, and insanely prompt replies I got from both- Anant-Saurabh, and the people I had to go through in order to reach them.

This interview, edited, was published in TOI-NIE edition dated 8th February, 2007. I found it again while rummaging through some old mails, precisely in the hope of re-igniting some lost nostalgia. Now that I read it again, a lot of it does not seem all that hilarious as it did when I was small. My teachers were proud I pulled this through. For me, the achievement was that an interview with these two adorable-crazy-awesome chatterboxes was the closest I have ever gotten to anyone I have ever claimed being a fan of. And till date, they both are the most amazing RJs I miss listening to, given my habit of sleeping late, getting up later. The are the craziest partners on air, but also gave me my daily doze of local updates, along with unconventional, humorous, and sometimes serious opinions. Recently, when they won an award for their programme on Human Trafficking at an international forum, I felt a personal pride, and promised myself to search for this interview again. Forgot. Here it is now! I did this as a fifteen year old, and from the perspective of a school student. Most questions hence are about school life.
(Their full names- Saurabh Bhramar and Anant Jha)

A pic I received from Radio Mirchi 6 years back to be published along with the interview

They are hilarious, they are famous, they are the cool dudes of the city & they come with a statutory warning- “Kuchh bhi karna, par in ko mat sun-na.” No peanuts for guessing, they are ANANT and SAURABH, the RJs whose voice acts as the morning alarm for most of the ardent radio listeners of Delhi. The Dilliwalas are absolutely in love with their antics, which help start their day on a bright note. While the listeners almost guffaw in response to the hilarious conversation between the two of them, Saumya Kulshrestha, a student of LPS, thought of taking a very serious interview of the two of them. The interview follows.....

GENERAL INTERVIEW

Q:1) We as school students would like to know that how important is school life in shaping a person’s future?

A:1)We believe that school life is very important in determining one’s future as you get to know the subjects that you hate and wouldn’t want to work in any of those fields. The things which a student learns between classes and in their interaction with other students is more useful than what they learn from the textbooks.

Q:2) Tell us what aspect of school life charmed you the most?

A:2)Summer and winter vacations. All companies should also follow the same routine.

Q:3) Was RJ-ing  always a dream or you stumbled upon it?

A:3)Totally stumbled upon it. If somebody could pay us to talk, it couldn’t be that bad.

Q:4) Radio or rather FM is an important mode of dissemination of substance based information. How far do you agree with the statement?

A:4)We totally agree with the statement although we can’t agree on what it means. Wasn’t “dissemination” a biological term???

Q:5) You usually play new songs on your show. If you were to present a show fully dedicated to old classics, what kind of songs would come out of your song box?

A:5)We would love to play songs by Britney Knowles, Beyonce Spears, Shakira Bano, Materazzi and Mohd. Barfi. We love their songs.

Q:6) We & all your listeners are complete fan of your antics. Tell us are you as hilarious in your real life too? How do your kith and kins react to your funny comments spoken out on a citywide forum?

A:6)We are very serious people and take everything in life very seriously, if people don’t take us seriously then there is something wrong with them. Our kith and kin (body parts???) think that we work in a call centre.

Q:7) Is witty conversation between you premeditated or spontaneous?

A:7)We meditate before we speak so I guess it is premeditated and since we don’t know what we are saying, all of it is spontaneous.

Q:8) If you were given a chance to direct a movie tomorrow, what would be the subject & who would be the leading people of the movie?

A:8)It would be a film based on wildlife in the film industry narrated from the perspective of a couch. According to our cinematic adviser, Guru Rai Bahadur Mahesh Butt sahib it would be Angelina Jolie as the couch, and the man with animal instincts, Shoaib Akhtar as the wildlife.

Q:9) A VJ or a television anchor gets a lot of importance because they are recognized by the general public by their face. Do you feel being an RJ somewhere deprives you of that fame & glamour?

A:9)No. we have the perfect faces for radio. Not doing television has been a conscious choice but eventually when we stop talking we will be doing silent films.

RAPID FIRE- one sentence answers please (as brief as possible)

Q:1) Your take on these technical terms from various subjects, probably taught to you also in school.

a)      Catenation (Chemistry): When the entire nation is run over & governed by cats it is known as cat-e-nation.

b)      Disaster Management (Geography): People who make disasters happen on a large scale.

c)     Polynomial (Maths): A polynomial is an equation that has more than two variables and lots of answers.

d)      Capital Punishment (Civics): When a student is given the arduous task of learning the name of every country’s capital in the world it is known as capital punishment.

e)      Oxidation (Chemistry): When humans start dating oxen!!!

Q:2) What if not an RJ?  

Ladies tailor at Lajpat Nagar.

Q:3) Three words that define an RJ.

Licensed to talk.

Q:4) Indian bolly stars who have the maximum potential to be an RJ(except Preity Zinta & Vidya Balan).

Tusshar Kapoor in Golmaal and Rani Mukherjee in Black.

Q:5) Best thing about each other.

We love dating each other’s girlfriends and spending their money.

Anant and Saurabh- with their award at the New York Festival

PS- Sincere thanks to Kriti Arora and Sonam Sharma for all their help with this.