The Liberalization Generation

I was one among the 4 individuals who features in the Sunday Magazine of the Indian Express, which talks about the liberalization generation and their choices, pressures and aspirations. In a conversation which stretched over a couple of days, many things became apparent to me as I spoke to Ankita, who asked incisive questions to put her story together. Titled, 'The Winner Takes It All', the page long story brings out the concerns and comforts of our generation, which evolved alongside the Economic Reforms to which our country owes much of its present shape. You can read the whole story here - http://indianexpress.com/article/lifestyle/life-style/the-winner-takes-it-all-2931791/ - and it was a privilege to be featured alongside my friend - Akshat Mittal, whose comment on how our generation has the ability to convert passions into professions was my pick of the lot.

While talking to Ankita, I realised, how fortunate are we to belong to our times. We do have our share of pressures, but the opportunity to exist as unique individuals is overwhelming, and available to all. The internet and social spaces have eliminated any filtering interface, which makes it that much easier to build ourselves into a version of our Visions. The opportunity is democratic - the skill and perseverance is the differentiator. Our aspirations are set high, and hence our focus must be set higher. The perils are there - too much interactivity, too many choices, too much distraction, too much pressure (active and passive both) - but the deterrents (and deterring addictions) have existed in all ages, and so shall they continue to. The point I am trying to make is, anytime someone tries to talk to me about social media as taking away from reality - I have scores of examples to quote where digital has been used (exploited) to create, curate and inspire real experiences. Secondly, it is time we understood virtual experiences as a part of our reality - enriching, informing, integrating and entertaining. And thirdly, if there are individuals who prefer a virtual existence to real - I'd like them to have it. Digital-social spaces have been empowering for people whose physical participation was often unconsciously discriminatory. Persons with Disabilities are a case in point.

The space to exist is huge. The chance to construct our dreams is tremendous. The power to bring people together is unprecedented. And the opportunity to just be ourselves, assertively firm and fluidly evolving, is overwhelming. Your struggle - to find who you are, what drives you, what lends you happiness, and what do your doggedly dream of.

There. For more perspectives, hop onto the Indian Express link and read on!

Read here - http://indianexpress.com/article/lifestyle/life-style/the-winner-takes-it-all-2931791/

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

Becoming A Rebel - In Verse!

There is a lot happening in life right now. I say this to nearly everyone I meet or talk to. Which I rare these days. Meeting and talking to people at length and peace is something I am scarce able to enjoy - but it is all worth it at the end!

My life has given me many gifts, with costs, of course, but pretty gifts nevertheless. The best gifts, I maintain, are the real moments which people spend on you, share with you, shower on you. That, I have not been able to accomplish. The rest, yes.

Among the super interesting things I am working on right now is a book of poetry, called Lyrical Rebellions, the conceptualization of which I have been involved in since the word go.

Our mind hides a million mutinies, each grappling with an emotion or circumstance unique to a person. To give words to these subdued feelings is not simple, yet poetry attempts to reveal and heal these very conflicts. Lyrical Rebellions is an effort to bright together the choicest of expressions which hide a raw understanding and expectation of life.

This theme, when presented to able and talented young poets, baffled them. Honestly, I was pleased. The first part of creating something new and unique is to shake people out of their comfort zone. Our Editorial Board then issued this explanation for Lyrical Rebellions.

When we say 'Lyrical Rebellions' we are not giving you a topic, we are giving you a premise. We are asking you to initiate a thought rebellion, but we are not specifying who you should rebel against. We're not even close to attempting to title your poem - we're merely asking you to interpret. We're asking you to be beautiful while being cynical.

That said, meet my wonderful team. Each one mentioned on the yellow landscape below is playing an indispensable part in making this literary endeavour see the light of the day. 

And then, there is a very happy-me! It is a privilege to be reading stuff like I am getting to read by the virtue of being the facilitator of this process of finding very expressive rebels in the world around us.

Send us your poems soon at lyricalrebellions@gmail.com

If you cannot send in your poems, just send us your good wishes (and pre-orders for the book!)

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. 

Picture Perfect - August 2014

I was contacted by a pleasant toned girl, named Sarbani, a while back, who had a couple of really broad based question to ask me - about myself, and the passions which have driven me thus far. Well, I answered those questions, and this frame happened. Its nice and yellow, and what makes me absolutely ecstatic is that this picture features in a campaign which as some very famous names of twenty-something persons doing stellar work in their respective fields. And these fields, of course, were those determined by their warm hearts and not cold conventions. 

Here is the description to this photo - 

Driven by her passion for writing, Saumya is the content strategist at Drizzlin. She loves the world of written words. But according to her, this field is not seen as professionally sustainable.

While she struggled to make it big in IAS exams, writing stayed with her like an undying passion and today, with close to 2 million hits on her blog, and being published in 3 separate genres of books - she can confidently claim joy and peace.

I wish more power to all those trying to heed the call of their heart. Dream Big, Begin Right away!

Thanks for the recognition, The Education Tree! 

Hurriedly Scribbled #2

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aaqib Raza Khan and his magic lens, yet again

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

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

To You, and the Awesome Road Ahead

Dear PACH

To the basic first - you are awesome. Okay. You're more. You're a redefinition of awesomeness. People could call it vanity on my part, but then, between you and me, I can always say these things. You know its not vanity as much as disbelief, fondness, and then, some legitimate parental pride. With those love-filled, keen eyes, I am witnessing your growth - and when we last met, you left me speechless with all the grandeur. 

That's you, that's us

It had been long since you and I met. While writing this, I realized something funny, and strange. In your world, the serious can coexist with funny, the dull can coexist with bright, the silence can coexist with noise. Basically, you permit it all. And so, the funny thing I realized is, you feel like a kid, and a beloved, all at the same time. And you can, you totally can coexist in my head as both those entities. Its fun to see you grow each time we meet. Its fun to see me fall for you all those times, over and over again. You're plain awesome. Oh, but I already told you that. 

The 13th invite

Among the new things that I have to tell you, there is none. Except the fact that in our thirteenth tryst, you overshadowed all your previous manifestations. That's something you do. This time, however, was slightly different, for you led us to a time warp, within walls which echoed the most personal and priceless sentiments of a human heart. We met in a place where the bustle of city comes to rest, where the walls entice you to detach yourself from ordinary, hectic life,  and spends moments of intimacy with yourself. For me, personally, Ugrasen Ki Baoli is a place where I have seen melodies of life and relationships play out. In that sense, and in every other, this was a perfect venue for our rendezvous. 

The enchanting venue

When we arrived here, I and this other person who is equally fascinated and proud of you, but doesn't say it that often,  had already spent a beautiful morning in the company of Delhi's own genius poet, Mirza Ghalib. Having traversed the winding alleyways of Ballimaran and Kucha Pati Ram Gali, our poetic day began with the most traditional flavours greeting and refreshing us. Heritage and poetry often hold hands while walking. That morning, in a green-tinged haveli, I understood why. Urdu poetry, penned by the mighty quill of Ghalib himself, being read out in the space which was originally his, was an absolute treat for the senses. In the tiny metro ride from Chawdi Bazar to Rajiv Chowk, I mumbled this to myself - "Ragon mein daudte phirne ke hum nahi kaayal/ Jab aankh hi se na gira toh phir lahu kya hai". Essentially, I was carrying a little bit of Ghalib with myself, PACH - and so glad am I that he and his stories came to meet you too. 

Mulaqat-e-Ghalib

Our start was slow, remember? It was like a perfect winter morning waiting to come to life, but fighting to retain the lazy romance which is its ultimate marker of beauty. In no time, however, you attracted enough people to leave my forehead slightly creased. I remember exchanging that amused - not worried - glance with Anup, where we were basically puzzled to see so many of them climbing down the stairs of the stepwell to us, some perched on bliss, others on curiosity. It was a flock coming together, or what Neha Bawa prefers to call her tribe. 

Same emotions, different expressions. 

Facing our poets, who double up as the audience. 

She was one of the earlier ones to open up, with two poems letting out stifled emotions. I was moved enough to share my own. Somewhere in this rush of poetic energy, a few new, yet recognizable faces greeted us - and they added a greater hue of grandeur to our last poetic tryst. A short introduction to Parveen Shakir and to feminism in Urdu poetry was given to us by Rana Safvi - a shayra herself. In her tone, she carried authority as well as the affection of an elder. I could've gone on listening to her. Asif Khan Dehlvi, the master storyteller from Delhi Karavan, was waiting in the wings, to regale the gathering with anecdotes about Zauq and Ghalib's rivalry. Vikramjit sir's presence, coupled with DJ's much awaited entry to the PACH scene - it all added up beautifully to kickstart the last mehfil of 2013. 

Asif, in full flow

Rana ma'am - adding the feminist touch

Six paragraphs down, I am still at the kickstarting phase. We're both crazy when we talk to each other, and I am crazy about the craziness you are. Each new face which came in went back feeling they've known us for long. There were rockstar performance by Anup and Kamal - their poems having become a part of the very fabric of PACH. Vaibhav combined Chemistry and Poetry into a product where each couplet led to applauses. Rohit developed a single innuendo to persuasively propose to you, PACH - because for him (as for me) meeting you was akin to falling in love. Amrit left us a little stunned when he recited and recounted numbers in his poem written over a train journey. Aaqib's shayari worked backwards, but still found the perfect route to enter our hearts. Himadri's nervousness made her endearing, but I kept wondering why would a poet as sensitive and sensible as her would be scared to share her creations with us. Taru recollected a painful friendship; so did Vaishali. Anirudh, the videshi-chhora, came back to take us through realizations which hit a person in the process of growing up, or becoming a man. Sonalika di spoke for womanhood, spoke for compassion. Archana asked for Neha's voice to express what was personal and sacred, and painful too. Nabila, Rudra, Dipali, Karan, Shiva, Varun, Akhil - so many names and faces shared so much with us that it is impossible to recollect it all here. Still, PACH, do you know why I take out time to share it all, minute by minute, feel by feel with you? Well, its my way of prolonging the best time life sends my way. I am that kind of a romantic, you see. 

We were much more than what you see here

Someone called us the convenors of all this madness. We're a little mad ourselves, you see. 

My favourite moment from the last meet was when sir (whom we know as Aastha di's sir) took out time to introduce us to God and his mysterious ways, which are incomprehensible to a mortal's brain. He also, then, introduced us to the magic that Aastha di herself is. I did tell you I love her, right? And also that she is the most precious gift PACH, you, have brought for me? Well, after the poem I wrote and recited for her, you would know! She knows, but its the kind of love which I wanted the world to know of. Again, thats precisely the kind of romantic I am, you see. You're grand, that you let me be. 

Aastha di and sir

Lines just rhyme these days. Music is what you hear in Yogesh ji's poetry, which chugs amidst the mundane faces found in a metro. Melody is what is encased in Pratibha's poetry - who decorates you with words which cause my heart to well up. A marriage of music and melody is what it is like to see Pratibha and Yogesh descend the stairs with gorgeous smiles on their faces. Music, which is soft and lilting, is what you are, PACH. Harmony is when all the diverse voice which make you come together to celebrate poetry, and to celebrate life.  

The official, first PACH couple

Having told you this much, I am far from being done. We paused for a bit, bidding adieu to the beauty that had hosted us, only to huddle on the roadside to lend our ears to the remaining poets. Huddling and cuddling were on our agenda the entire wintry afternoon, if you remember. It was happyfying to hear an elated Sudhanshu, admitting to have found inspiration in his own verses. A cute Aavika, with usual reluctance, poured love in our hearts with her soft lyrics. Shruti, more than anything, left me flabbergasted with her vocabulary, and the dexterity with which she juggles words. Navin ji, the master performer, displayed yet again why he is multiple leagues above us all. Anurag, hmm, is a kid who overwhelms me so much that I often forget his words - thats just my connect with him. Ekansha chose Faiz above her own words - and I was glad that after Parveen Shakir and Mirza Ghalib, another Urdu poet became a part of our gathering. My own, personal, favourite surprise was when Supriya (whom I like calling #DilliKiBilli) decided to share an old piece of poetry with us. More prized, however, were her reactions to the other poets, which are what led to multiple, enthusiastic discussions about you in Kunzum. You, PACH, are just hitting it off big with people. Take my word. 

The written word

Aunty, with Aafreen!

In the most comfortable embrace, I recited and ended our journey through 2013, with sparkling hopes in my heart to see 2014 become an even more liberating, surprising, elevating celebration of poetry and life. Did I already say that earlier? Well, again, it fits. You, and I, have come to a happy place. You, and I, and all of us together. You are among the most satisfying of my experiences. You infuse pride, sure, but then, you're humbling too. When I look back at this one-day-over-half-a-year we've spent together, nurturing and caring for each other, I feel a certain amount of nostalgia. Why nostalgia? Because you are the best thing to have happened to me in a long time. Years and years hence, I shall be talking about you to my grandchildren, with sketchy details, perhaps, but all the correct emotions. You are a toddler, whose pace of growth, honestly, is a little scary. But then, we're in it, together. I'm writing to you, but will you mind terribly if through this letter, I also thank each single person who has ever supported us in the smallest of manners? You're grand, and innocent. I think you would want to be with me in thanking them all. 

Happy 'half year old' PACH!

Its a flood of fond emotions, but its just the beginning. And when I mention beginning, I instinctively thank Anup. He conceived you, you know - so you technically began in his head. But about these endless words of gratitude, he knows much now. 

Happiness and hope

And so, dear PACH, I wish you a happy, fulfilling and thrilling New Year. You flow in my head right now like a mesmerizing background melody. You set me free. In your own, unique, magical way. As a last confession - you've made me grow fonder of myself - and this, I value, beyond everything else associated with you. 

Much love.
Saumya. 

All the awesome people!

PS - I am so full of you, and you're coming back, so soon? Oh, PACH. You just know how I like being loved best :) We meet again, Sunday, 12th January.

In my happy zone

Let's Grow Up Together

Dear PACH,

Can we call it the best group picture, like ever?

You're growing up into a terribly demanding kid. Kid, yes. You're that insistent, even nagging, and you cannot, just cannot stand any lack of attention from those who nurture you. I am a case in point. At the conclusion of your tenth edition, I had made a promise to myself, that for about a month and a half, I will maintain a safe, sane distance from you. But then, you crept into my dream, as a definite vision of what could a perfect incarnation of yours look like, and I jumped right back in. You see, I like holding your hand and leading you there, there where we all imagine you should be. I am privileged you grip my hand right back, and trust me. And then we travel together, in a caravan, of course, of a growing urban tribe of poets, and arrive at surreal junctions like the one which just went by. Lets talk a little about it to each other, shall we?

I was talking about you to Navin ji the other day, and one thing we concluded was that your setting this time was impeccable. Karan Bhola and Cheistha Kochhar need to be thanked for allowing us to meet you in the amazing, pristine, beautiful Sri Aurobindo Centre for Arts and Communication, which also serves as the Young India Fellowship Programme campus. It was green, and of course, that made our already hyper, young environmentalist, Aavika, chirp even louder with glee. We expected it, of course. That is one of the cooler things about you PACH. Your family has members who are known by their distinctive traits, distinctive preoccupations, distinctive inspirations and styles and perspectives on life - but they all seamlessly blend together to make you into the vibrant tapestry of gem-like thoughts. Hell yes, you're studded with all precious, not semi-precious, ideas, which are brought to table by people who dwell on comics, superheroes, first crushes, unrequited love experiences, nature, creatures, languages, family, bonds, individualism, devotion and innumerable other incongruous, yet complimentary motivations. You, its all you PACH. 

When we invited you to take it all out, and how you obliged us! 

Do you know the best thing about being where we were? The fact that we were under an open sky, not bound by any space. I could, for once, see poets relax, find their own comfort zones, walk around, freshen up their thoughts, loosen up their bodies and drink in both the chill and the sun with equal alacrity. May be you should always call us to places like this - which are free, so our thoughts could travel free. Well, poetry is a medium of travelling, to distant lands, to hearts of people - and this, of course, I learnt from Ekanksha, in an exquisitely worded introduction. Oh, introductions are the special things about you. People like talking about themselves, we love hearing about them - it all just adds up perfectly. PACH, perfection is boring. Don't be perfect - just always be better than what you were the day before. It has kind of been the trend so far, so, lets not pressurize you in that direction. 

The beautiful amphitheatre of SACAC

Three huge paragraphs, and I have not even arrived at the point, the pivot, the peak, the prime reason why this PACH was a touch above from the others. Actually, leaps and bounds ahead of all previous ones. This reason is a name - Ashok Chakradhar. A poet who is an institution in himself. While anticipating his arrival, we were hoping to meet a celebrity, one who would enamour us, meeting whom was what our collective dreams were made of. However, the actual tryst with him proved to be astonishing and humbling, both at once. In him, we met a listener, a poet and a teacher - not a celebrity. He came, he became a part of you PACH - and he took keen interest in both, knowing you and commenting on you. All good comments, goes without saying. 

Chakradhar sir was eager to listen, laugh and appreciate. Whether it was Govind narrating his love story in broken Hindi, or Dipalie finding solace and silence in her beloved's grace; whether it was Mago's poem which tickled Newton and Einstein, or Anup's ingenious, rhythmic verses giving brief lessons on living - Ashok ji heard them all with interest and enthusiasm. Aditya's ghazal needs no commenting upon anymore. Aavika, our little environmentalist, impressed Ashok ji with her naughty Sunday song, dedicated to an imagined lover. I had a short vain moment when Ashok ji appreciated Daastaan, the poem closest to my heart after 'A Thousand Times Over'. He mentioned something about having tears in his eyes after my recitation, but I will let that pass, lest I not be able to control this pride knocking so firmly on my door. The true show-stealer, however, was this poet who calls himself 'Umar'. His poetic dimension was so well hidden from me, that to this day I marvel and sense disbelief in my heart regarding it. While Ashok ji, but obviously, was mighty impressed with his compositions, I could only let my tears lose in response. His words were filling me up so much, that I actually wanted him to stop! Now that, PACH, is something new I experienced. 

This capture is amazing for the smiles spread all around, especially on 'Umar' sahab's face

Ashok ji himself couldn't hold back, and he recited something in front of us which the world as yet does not know about. I'll keep the specifics of the composition to myself, since all my letters to you PACH are sort of a public affair, but what I will let out is that in my view, his poem was a PACH epic. It was long, but it only kept getting better with each succeeding part. The tone, the rhythm, the vocabulary and the recitation - each was a lesson, each leaving us absolutely bewildered. I felt certain emotions the dictionary has no terms for - and I know for a fact that I share this bewilderment with you PACH. There is no way you do not understand this feeling. Sir was full of grace, humility and the lasting image I will carry of his will be that of a teacher sitting in the midst of 35 odd students, teaching them about Abhida, Lakshana and Vyanjana...

In hindsight, I cannot believe sir gave me a high five for a naive comment during his recitation :)

And the shawl! Looked so perfect on him. You do very well know how much more I want to talk about Ashok sir, but then, there are other poets I MUST make a mention of. 

Dipalie said something very intriguing and remarkable about you PACH. She said, if the air around and within you is canned and carried to different places, will creative genies cast their spells on everyone they come in contact with? Essentially, she was giving voice to the shock and awe I experience when first time poets, or people who are still nascent in this realm of writing churn out completely incredible, top level verses. I mean, so many have come to your gatherings admitting that they never write, of if they write they don't write in a particular language, and that they don't share their creations with anyone or in public. Now, how many of those very people have gifted you surreal words and expressions you want to neatly and carefully compile together in a treasure trove of poems which will undoubtedly leave the world stunned? The number is too good to be true. 

Iti, Ekanksha and Mago - three outstanding poets PACH is blessed with

When we last met you PACH, people shared too much. Right from the beginning, where Ekanksha put our day long journey on the perfect track, till the very end, by those melodies stolen from Rafi sahab and Jagjit ji's corpus, each moment you breathed, I lived a little more. The Elephant in the Room, by Vaishali, left a giant impact on each heart. Navin ji's reflections on truth, which went from lived experiences, to philosophical abstractions to realistic deconstructions was akin to a compilation drawn from our collective childhood. Jyoti and Anup's duet was soft, lyrical, lilting. Anurag's composition reflected mature thoughts and word usage. Neha's poem, read in absentia, was rich with genuine devotion expressed in unforgettable phrases. Mansi always adds that spontaneity and ebullience to the group. Ghosts of Neha Bawa's past still haunt my heart. Iti, demure and dignified, touched each soul with her ode to the most special, umbilical bond which life grants us. 

In his smart winter attire, the writer par excellence

And, even though I feel out of breath recollecting such vast list of poem, each uniquely special and remembered by me, I cannot help but make a distinct mention of Kamal, whose poem was so amazing, that I cannot even begin to describe it in words. "Hum Aapki Kyun Karein?" is a simple question, but demands some understandably difficult answers. I want a larger world to read that poem, PACH - it had so many echoes which have so far only reverberated within the walls of heart. I invited him as the next guest blogger on Nascent Emissions - I think he will agree. 

The photographer-painter-poet

All these, each one of these, make you so special. PACH, you cannot be a lifeless concept. You are growing, one meet at a time. The pace of your growth has been scary, but hey, some crazy magic works here, remember?

I want all this love, disbelief and fondness to grow, as you grow. I want myself to grow, as you grow. You keep acquiring newer meanings for me, dear PACH. Its an enormously satisfying, calming feeling I am blessed with in time present. 

Winters are here. Let's promise each other some warmth and some awesome balmy days we spend holding each other's hands. 

With love and bright hopes for future, 

Saumya 

PS - I have to admit, that at times, so much happens during a single PACH meet, that I find myself incapable to registering and processing it all. It is for this reason that writing these letters is so important for me. This is where it all sinks in. This is all like being in love. For so many of us.

In the subtle glow of setting sun...

Oh, Your Magical Ways...

Dear PACH,

This is my second letter to you, in a series of many more to come, God willing. But this time, I write to you with a very heavy heart. Not sad, just a heavy heart. If I understand you right, you endorse words as a therapy for setting ease to all aches. Isn't that precisely what you demonstrated yesterday? You did, and I trust you, each day a little more. So words, aah, not that they are easy to find. But I will try. For you, for all who make you, and for myself. By the way, did you hear, they called you a 'healer' from behind foggy eyes yesterday? You're too grand to register it sometimes, I thought I will tell you once.

Aastha's art  and Aaqib's artistry 

They then called you magical. It did not seem enough. So they simply began calling you magic. You know I agree with them, and you know what I think about you. I think you are crazy. You are doing crazy stuff which my mortal experiences put in doubt. How, no tell me, how can you have an entire gamut of people come together from distant corners of human diversity and share details of love and life which are feared, which are locked, and which are seldom retrieved from those painful musty corners? Do you believe what happened? I have to, you see, because I was present there, and was listening and absorbing and hugging and absorbing a bit more. Please don't laugh at me when I tell you this, but I think, I have absorbed a fragment of each heart which beats for you. I honestly, genuinely feel so. And carrying those many hearts in my heart, it makes me heavy. It makes me float for a while, too, but it leaves me full, and pleasant, and heavy, all at once.

As I said, literally and figuratively, leaning on each other. 

Tell me, do you know magic? You have to, you are just too mean and too smart to give it away. Or you're just secretive, in a nice way. You keep your magic under wraps, you make me nervous before each meet, you put my excitement to test, but you do it so I may never have any idea what kind of spells your wand will cast on those many hearts looking at you in innocent anticipation. Oh, you playful thing. You make it rain too, which pushes me to assure others while I am shivering with panic deep within. But now I know - you did it to take us to the place where we began. And of course, you take us there to help us realise how far we have come in how little time. We did dwell on it - from a cosy group of nine, we became a cosier group of some forty odd people, all taken together. So cosy in fact, that the warmth drew in people from other tables, stopped some more in their paths to other destinations. Was it because our coffee smelt better than their coffee? Okay, now I am being crazy. It was our mad laughter, our visible happiness, our lovely verses and then, this unmistakable love and trust we shared. That invited them. That invited everyone. That is also what keeps us together. Trust, before love. 

It was another of those days when people cried, and I again, could not. I never cried in your midst, did you notice? You know why? Because I was taught to carry hearts with care. I was also taught to care for emotions laid bare. And there, in that gathering spreading out person by person on the floor, all veils had been voluntarily abandoned, as I looked around in absolute disbelief. Only pure and honest expressions came out, some via exquisite pens, some via gleaming eyes. You did this. I do not even understand what you are made of, or how did you become a living, breathing entity, but I do know you did this. You don't just know magic. You are magic. 

That is what my last letter to you looked like - In Your Nascent Days 

There is this little girl among us, who called you a gift. The best she has gotten in her life. You crazy PACH, I hope you realize you are just two months old, and here are your admirers, calling you a gift and a blessing in the same breath. I am sorry, I should not call them admirers. If I call you a living, breathing entity, it is they who infuse life and breaths in you. They are a part of you. They lean on each other, they lean on you. It is positively insane the way you make them come up with pristine thoughts, gem-like words and majestic verses. You took us on a journey from Agha Shahid Ali, to squirrels and suicides, to schizophrenic delusions, pausing for sometime at Eliot too - all the while perched high on the wings of love, being flapped gently by that demure, yet vivacious girl. You taught us of hope and hopelessness, of love and its silences, of strangers exchanging mute glances, of inhibitions and their overcoming, of bantering in love, of break-ups and break-up humour, and of poetry and its essence. Pardon my extra-liberal usage of the word 'love' in these musings, but, excuse me, is it really my fault?!

Aastha di's creativity - oh, she gave life to the Panda!

Mist. In my eyes. Has to be, right? You are crazy, PACH. I maintain. Last time I spoke to you publicly (for personally, I seldom stop chattering away with you), I was apprehensive about you losing the innocence with which you were born. Today, I have to tell you, that if it were possible in the world to gain in innocence with time, you have accomplished that impossible feat with grace. You're growing, alright, but you're still the toddler whose chuckles give life to the despairing. People are exposing their softest sides, flowing with you in gay abandon, and while you might get used to all this unbelievable attachment, I will still look at you with goofy disbelief. 

You wash away my cynicism, you filter me off all the bad energies I acquire on the way to meet you, and leave me nascent and beaming to face a new week. Trust me when I say this, I feel a little newer after each tryst with you. It is akin to how finding love makes you feel new. This, you already know - finding you was like finding love, in more ways than one. 

You're poetry. You're stories. You're trust. You're love. You're magic. You're enough. 

Talking about you is not, but then, there are tales still waiting to be woven into the regal velvet of your fabric. I will wait for the tapestry to develop a little more before I get down to describing it again. 

You're now called PACH and more. 

All this, still, in your nascent days. 

All this, in your inimitable magical ways. 

PS - I now have one. Aditya Mani Jha, our master storyteller, left me a message which touched me beyond imaginations. He sent us blessings, exquisitely worded. And while reading it, all I could think of was the person where it all began - Anup. However much PACH grows and branches out, it will remain on the first page of our fact book that he gave birth to this idea which is has now acquired a life of its own. Each day PACH makes me happy, I never forget to thank him for it all. I call him the superboss, as do many now, and he is the nicest one could ask for. A genius poet, an outstanding human being, he merits an entire, lengthy post, but that, later. For now, I just want to thank him for being bored in life, because in that boredom lay the seeds of PACH, and of a grand vision for poets and poetry. PACH looks up to him, as do all those who are a part of it. 

Oh, and for PACH to be this crazy, Anup has to be crazier, which he conveniently is. 

Picture Perfect - December

I know its a little early for this post, but the above picture left me so excited, that I had to share it on my blog, as soon as I could. This was taken on a chilly Delhi afternoon in Aurobindo Market areas, where the flower vendor was still putting his shop together, and was kind enough to let two mad women get themselves clicked in the company of his beautiful flowers. The other mad woman is my friend Neha, who has been complicit in most of my crazy plans in the past few months. You will find her picture below.

There is another reason why for me to have put this picture up. A dear friend of mine, Gopan, found this picture inspirational enough to convert it into a Christmas gift for me. In a beautifully crafted mini-story, called "Memory of a Winter Morning", he has inserted this picture to add a visual glow. And, to be honest, with the story about a girl who sold flowers running in the background, I think this frame looks a lot prettier. A heartfelt thank you to him. 

To all readers of my blog, a Merry Christmas! You all deserve a special thank you for being with me on this journey upto a lakh views. I usually give you all flowers when I need to express gratitude. This time is no different. Roses, gladiola, lilies, carnations - look to my left and take your pick. Thanks for dropping by and leaving your valuable feedback. It feels nice to know that whatever I write is not for nothing, that there will be people who will read it, and also, perhaps, get back to me on it. You make me want to continue writing. Thank you all so much. 

And here is my pretty friend, with more flowers - Neha!