Abnormal wishes

It started out as a good day. It felt as if I could take on the world, that nothing could affect me and I could withstand the emotional turmoil. To an extent, the day did seem promising too. But as night fell, it cast its shadow on my emotions as well.

I wish, I was strong willed, confident and optimistic. I wish, I could control my mind and cultivate a positive aura around me. I wish, I could stop my emotions acting like a pendulum and not lurch me in abyss of darkness. And, I wish I wasn’t such a naivete straight-talker, who believed in things on their face-value, either.

Each night, I am gripped with fear, fear of being surrounded by the darkness. There is no escaping the questions and doubts that constantly nag me. My mind is tired of playing out situations, of recalling the happy times and the unhappy ones as well. 

I am struggling to keep faith too. There should be a guidebook on this. A key to pull out of this maize of misery. After all, haven’t most of us gone felt it too at some point? I wish…I wish, for things to become normal.  

Cracked hope and optimism

The pain was excruciating that evening after you called. In a matter of seconds, I felt I had lost everything; without even taking any risk. Trust was the target and your words hit the bull's eye; it was shattered in several pieces. Anger, sadness, anguish, restlessness, tears, and, finally, emptiness kept me company that night. I was grateful to be alone and yet, I kept calling my parents, to hear their unsuccessful attempts at comforting me. Dawn came but my eyes couldn't stop the tears, I had just experienced my heart break for the very first time. The dark shades that you bought me, was my sole camouflage in appearing normal to the outsiders.

Photo source: examiner.com

Leaving was/is an appealing option, if not for anything else than to punish you. But the thought of not seeing or touching you is unbearable. Why? How? - are the constant questions that plague my mind. But things have progressed; perhaps not entirely the way we wanted. Days have appeared to sooth the raw emotions.

Now, I want to gather those broken pieces and fix them together, with you. I am still uncertain where we stand. How do we go about mending, nee recreating the past glory, when will the cracked pieces melt into a seamless whole. But I am willing to meet you half way. Won't you? 

Family time, an extinct notion on weekdays

Recently, my mother informed me about my cousin getting a job at a BPO. The cousin, who has daughter of about seven years, wanted to get make into the job market because she feared her two year break would make her unemployable. The cousin’s work time is from 5.30 pm till 1.30 am and I suspect she works in the administration department of this company. She will have the weekends off, which tallies well with her kid’s and husband’s weekend offs. 

Although I am happy for my cousin, I can’t help but think that the child will be able to see her parents together for a fleeting time in the morning. After that, she will be with only one parent. This scenario is neither uncommon nor surprising in most Indian metros. However, it makes me wonder, has family time during the week become an extinct species?

Joint families are thing of the past in Indian society now, except in North. In most households, both parents are working and the child, after school hours, is either looked after by grandparents, crèche or maids. In many houses, couples bring their parents closer to their house or apartments, as it becomes convenient for them to pick-up and drop off the child. So, after raising their own children, the grandparents’ lives revolve around their grandchildren.

With competitive job market and rising stress levels, there is hardly any family time during the week (Monday-Friday). The child is scuttled between coaching classes or extra-curricular activities post school, the parents, either one or both, come home late at least two or three days a week due to work demands. So, the only time the whole family – parents and children – get to spend with each other is during weekend. Everything is pushed to the weekend. For a story, I had to speak to some parents and I was told to call them during weekend, as they busy during the week.

This is a bit concerning because the child unconsciously learns that this pattern of working like mad dogs during the week and piling up your personal life agendas during weekend is an acceptable thing. But even during weekends are working couples really, 100 per cent free? The arrival of all these smart phones has made life more tedious than comfortable. Professionals are constantly checking mails, sending them, calling colleagues based on those mails, etc.

I am not sure what is the solution to this. But the rising trend of ‘weekend family’ isn't doing any good to parents, children or grandparents.  

Rendezvous

It's always a joy to meet an old friend, especially a classmate. I happened to meet a classmate yesterday in a book talk after seven years. She was the one who noticed me but to avoid any misunderstanding, she sent an sms to confirm if I was attending the same event. I immediately turned back inside the Stein auditorium, frantically trying to spot my friend. Finally, after much straining, I did spot her near close to the auditorium entrance - her getaway card if the event did not pan out to be what she expected.

After get over the unexpected encounter and hello how do you dos, there was few seconds of silence between us. I don't know about her but I could not think of what else to ask. I convinced her to sit next to me (another friend had accompanied me), we were together. The event went off well with us updating on lives, work and family of the other.

During the course of evening, I invited her and her husband home and while conversing, she mentioned how we should call another classmate, who also lives in Delhi, as he loved to talk and that way even if we didn't have anything to say, he could fill up the vacuum. Although we continued talking, that statement struck me.

Over the years, I have lost in touch with friends, who at some point were very close to me. I am sure this must have been the case with many of you. I can't pinpoint when the distance started creeping up, when we got engrossed with our work. But only with few are you able to pick up the conversation in the same pace as it was in the past. With the rest, after the initial euphoria and excitement of seeing each other, there is an awkward feeling. I feel that way about my school friends. As a child, I studied in different schools in different cities (my father had a transferable job). So, I just have handful of school friends in my chat list, and that too from the last school I passed out my Class 10 from.

A few months ago, one of my classmates, who was my best friend in Class 6&7 sent me a friend request in a social media website. Although, I was surprised to view her profile and amazed that she could still remember me, I did not feel the urge to add her. Strange, you might think or is it? I think once you are out of touch with someone, who was very close to you, it is difficult to renew the bond at the same level. Life happens and, as a result, not only you but your once dear friend also change. Our attitude, perspective, style, outlook, everything differs and then you realise you don't have anything common with this person anymore. He/she becomes an acquaintance; someone with whom you share some memorable phase of life with.

Rejuvenation of the blog!

My last post on this blog was four years, seven months ago. In fact, I nearly forgot about this - my very first maiden blog. While chatting with a friend in one of my blue moments, I thought it was time to dust the cobwebs and dirt and revive the blog.

Between this time, I got married, changed two cities, went from being employed to unemployed (twice now), started freelancing (baby steps), got a little bit more mature, got one (and hopefully, many more) stamp on my passport, learnt a new language, made new friends, lost touch with some old ones, fell in love with cooking, learnt to bear with constant backaches, joined a course and started two more blogs (one of which died within a week of its creation).

So yeah! It's good to be back. Thought the restart deserved a blog renovation too. And this time, I don't intend to abandon the blog, although the posts by be a bit erratic. 

Biker tales

Travelling on a bicycle can be a tiring as well as exhilarating experience. I learnt to ride when I was in Class 6. I was 10 and didn’t have much height to boast of. Hence, touching the ground for balance would often turn out to be a tedious affair, when I were to sit properly on the seat. But need is the mother of innovation or rather adjustments. I quickly learnt to balance my body on toes.

I am a slow learner…in about everything. The scenario wasn’t much different in the case of learning to ride as well. Everyday I would call on my neighbour Mr Sarkar and his son Dodoi, who was just a couple of years younger to me but a master in riding…hell! He could ride without holding the handles! The reason why I used to pester him was because he had promised and very enthusiastically (otherwise I wouldn’t have taken the promise seriously) to teach me riding, unlike my father, who didn’t have the time or the inclination then. Anyway, Mr Sarkar, Dodoi, my sister and me would proceed towards the large maidan behind our house in the evening and try to learn how to ride the bicycle. I can vouch for one thing, it was tough and one of the few things that I pursued with dogged determination…even the accident didn’t deter me.

The accident put me out of action for couple of months. I don’t remember clearly but by then Mr Sarkar had received his transfer orders and the family had shifted based to Kolkata. It made me very sad because Mr Sarkar really knew how to motivate people and give that extra push. Coming to that fateful evening when this accident occurred, the entire troop had as usual made our way to the ground. Not a single person was on sight besides a couple of schoolchildren making their way home I think. Thankfully, they must have sensed my fear because they walked at the far end of the ground. As usual, I climbed the bike, brought the right side pedle up and took my position. The other two had scampered off to their respective corners to ride their bi-tricycles. Behind Sarkar uncle held the bike. Pushing me slowly ahead, he told me to ride in a straight line, not to lose balance, try to balance my body in such a way that I wouldn’t fall. Slowly, I gathered confidence, the two-week practise was paying off, I felt. I started peddling with some speed. I felt elated. Suddenly, a thought passed by mind…was Sarkar uncle still holding my bike. I turned behind and saw him waving and laughing from a distance, shouting at me to look in front and keep riding. It all happened in a two seconds, I panicked, lost my balance and fell down with my cycle falling on me. Except for a few scratches here and there, nothing major had happened. But as I tried standing up, I felt intense pain shoot from my leg. The side of my right leg, near the ankle had turned red. The pain was unbearable and Sarkar uncle quickly took me home. After an ice bag treatment and an ointment massage, my leg puffed up. Mr Sarkar dismissed it as a sprain and told me not to thing much of it. Yeah! Right, I thought. Easy for you to say, you are not undergoing the pain. I silently cursed him. Next day, with the pain not subsiding, we went to the doctor, who after an x-ray announced that I had sustained a hairline fracture. Next couple of weeks, I walked with a crepe bandage decorating my leg and with a limp.

Now, when I think back, I feel that the fall was a blessing in disguise. Maybe, if I hadn’t fallen, I would never have ridden the bike without someone’s assistance…would always have been afraid of falling…most importantly, I would have had to be dependent on Mr Sarkar. Good for me that I didn’t voice my anger then, for I must actually thank Mr Sarkar for helping me get over my fear, getting me interesting in riding the bicycle and most of all making me independent.

No matter how hard I try to strive to do well, I end up feeling like a loser. No matter with how much force I try to reach the shore, I feel myself drowning. The more I push myself to the peak, I find myself sliding down. Wish I could go somewhere….anywhere, where I didn’t have to…