The Fine Crumbs of Sand

Finally here it is. My oh-so-rare mood to scribble something! It’s not the lack of matter or the lack of activity, it’s more an issue of keeping up. And of choice!

When there are so many things to mention, confusion arises as to what is important and what is not. And that confusion prevails long enough to kill the mood.

Life it seems has become something of the sort too. Nothing that has happened over the last two months is unimportant and yet for any of it to become a post here, dreary confusion has played the spoil sport.

So, here I am living a life that every 24 year old wishes to live. Big and most importantly a desired job, great prospects, new city, new people, good money and the independence of it all! A perfect start to the career I wished for.

But then there is this feeling. A feeling that comes when people, with whom you lived every waking moment, become mere voices on phone. Comforting and loving but mere voices. It makes you realize that there is more to life than having a job or being independent. There is something in a loved one’s hug that money or independence cannot give you.

I know most people who stay away from family and friends feel this. And not surprisingly, they shrug it off or muse it over as ‘homesickness’. Some don’t talk about it thinking it’s uncool. Like I said, when you have the above said ‘amenities’, being homesick is a spoiler.

I miss everything about home. My folks, my dog, my bed, my dirty shorts that I haven’t been allowed to bring, my gate that creaks, my scooty that gets all the attention when it’s on the road for its sound, my fighting neighbour and everything that’s there and has been in contact with me.

It’s not like I am lonely here. There are people; there is my work and everything else to look forward to. But at times, when I am lying on my bed, thinking of all those moments spent just arguing with people, emptiness creeps in. A question pops up. Is this life really worth giving up all those people and things so associated with you?

If not, then what is life worth? Is it just about simply living it off? So many people I met, have been ‘running’ through life, not pausing to take a breather and see what’s passing them on the way. In their frenzy to establish and secure their life, they are at the end of the day, letting their life just pass. Like how in an attempt to hold a fist full of sand, the more you tighten your grip, the more it falls from between your fingers. And when you open your fist, all that you have are some crumbs; all the fine sand is gone. Just like those fine moments in life…

The Ritual

Oh well, so after a gap of almost two months, here I am writing or trying something like that, again.  Lots happened in these two months.  My life changed from one phase to another, transition after transition happened at such a pace, in such quick succession that it seems Somebody up there has great editing skills!  Anyway, that is not my story today.  My problem with writing is that I need a strong (and damn strong !!) reason or motivation to write.  I can write otherwise of course, but it won’t have a soul.  And then, what is the point of such writing? Hence I take my own time to feel and then write.  Today something struck me and got etched somewhere forever. 

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It is said that at some point of time in life, when you close your eyes and see all those that have passed in your life, some faces come up.  They may be known, they may be unknown. I know this one face that will always haunt me for a long time to come...

I saw it first on one of the sweltering May afternoons, sometime around last year when I had come back home from a movie.  The palatial looking house beside ours had been demolished and a new society set up.  A family seemed to have moved in newly into one of these houses which could be seen from our bedroom window.  That day, when I was parking my vehicle, I saw him.

Clad in a linen kurta and soft cotton light blue coloured pajamas, he was as such quite ordinary looking. Except for those eyes.  For those who read eyes, his are Shakespeare or Tagore to them!  They were glassy, classic and large with a myriad of expressions playing in them. 

That day when I reached home, I was told that the house has been newly occupied.  The Devs moved in today only, I was told.  There were Papa Dev, Mummy Dev, Son Dev and their daughter-in-law.  “So who is that old guy there at the gate?” I asked.  He was Papa Dev’s elder brother.  “Is slightly ‘out’ in the head!” my sister added.

That day onwards, whenever I go out, I see him.  Rather he kind of stares at me, with those big eyes.  At first I took it all in the complete wrong sense. ‘Saala budhha, kaise dekh raha hai?!’ once I told my sister angrily.  Then one day, I observed him through my bedroom window. He stared at almost everything around him.  Those eyes were constant on a flower for more than a minute, before shifting onto a mooing cow nearby! And he was always near the gate of the house. 

Somehow, observing him then became a ritual for me.  I figured out his routine, which wasn’t hard.  He was made to sit near the gate, every morning at ten and given tea.  He would be there till he was given lunch.  He continued to sit there till evening when he was given tea.  At around eight, he would be given some dinner and by nine, he would be taken in to sleep. All this time, the main door of the house was kept closed. It was quite peculiar.

One morning the entire society woke up to his loud cries.  We all rushed out to find that he was shut out of the house and the family has gone somewhere.  The man was howling at the top of his voice.  No one could do anything.  He tired himself out by noon and at around four, the family came back.  Later we came to know that some relative of theirs had passed away and they had to go suddenly at night.  As they could not leave the man locked inside the house, they had left him out, “…and the gate was definitely locked, so where could he have gone anyway?” as the daughter-in-law of the house put it!!

Today morning I observed Papa Dev making him sit on a chair near a gate and a barber trying to give a shave and a hair-cut to the old man.  He was sitting quietly, but there was an innate restlessness in him.  When the barber removed his covering cloth, I saw that his hands were tied with a thick rope.

Later in the afternoon, another big vehicle came.  Many men came out of it, all dressed in white.  As we all started looking out, we saw the old man being carried out by his arms by these men dressed in white.  He walked calmly, almost resignedly.  I ran up to my window to see what was happening.  Just as I reached my window, he had reached near the vehicle.  Papa Dev and the rest of the family were at the gate, quite  nonchalantly.  As I turned my eyes from them to the old man, he suddenly looked up and met my eyes.  He held on to the look for about a minute or so and then the vehicle went off. 

“He is taken to the mental hospital.  Good for him.  The way the family had taken care of him, the hospital would any day be better for him.  Devbhai was saying that he was getting quite difficult to handle.  They have so much business, so much to do, where will they have the time? And what is the point of having so much wealth, if your mind is not in place?”  I heard my father say. 

I came back to my window.  Now there would be no glassy eyes to observe by the gate.  The gate that seemed to look forlorn at the loss of its companion. My ritual had come to an end, abruptly and something wasn't feeling right inside me. I knew I won’t be able to get over that old man’s face, the last minute look in his eyes and my ritual…

Finding it all!

Last August, we had a film making workshop with Madhusudan Agrawal.  I would say he’s a film maker with a difference.  I would not talk about him here, more because he is a person to be met and experienced.  So during one of those sessions, he had said something that struck me as the most important part of the whole exercise.  He had said, “Whatever film you make, in fact whatever you do, you need to find the ‘chi’ or ‘che’(pronounced as shi) in it.  It is the soul of your work and that’s what makes it worthwhile.  Whatever you do, the soul of your work has to be there to make it a great piece of work!”

I had thought, ‘Hmm. That means my life needs to have the chi too.’  Since then I have been in the process of discovering it.  

26^th March, 2011, I was on my way back from Mumbai.  I had gone there purely for my own selfish need.  To see how I would fit in a place I heard so much about. To live and experience life there.  If you have been reading my posts, you would know that I did not really like my stay there.  It was hectic and my time with my own self was scarce.  But something changed my thoughts about Mumbai.  Something that made me re-think about the dream city.

It is really funny how things just walk into your life.  All through your life, you run behind things and suddenly, when you are least expecting anything, bang! It just pops up in your life and it seems like it was never missing.  It may be people or things that you thought you would never ever confront.  It would be events that would change your life forever.  All you can do is be dumbfounded, then be happy and savour the moment. 

In the process of finding the ‘chi’ or ‘che’ of my life, I think I have come across something that could be it.  The probabilities are more.  The excitement is more.  And so is the process.  I think I have found it.  All I am waiting is for it to be confirmed. 

A tempest inside

Today is my last day here, in CNN IBN office. My much-desired, much-coveted internship is finally at its glorious end today.  I say glorious because I enjoyed lot during this period, more importantly learned a lot.  I met some wonderful people, made friends, nurtured feelings, hoping that I left an impression.

I thought I would personally go and say bye to some people. This was planned some days back. But then towards the stipulated time, I am having different thoughts. I shall tell you the reason.

Yesterday, one intern left and today I will be leaving.  While we were in office yesterday, I saw them taking interviews of 15 new interns.  Our positions were filled even before we had vacated them.  Like how it happens in government hospitals.  I saw the process and guess I had a pang inside. Somebody else would be occupying my seat, working on the same computer that I am working at the moment and no one would even think about me.  My hours of work and dedication would soon be confined to a letter of appreciation.

I have always been sure of my feelings.  Well, lets say most of the times.  Sometimes, there has been a chaos. Each emotion trying hard for the biggest space in my head.  And in that chaos, the moment gets lost.  Such is the situation today.  I know I will miss this office, some people, the running around etc. But will I do it again if given a chance? I dont know.

I think the change of dreams are responsible for this havoc in my head.  I mean I always wanted to belong to the media in Mumbai, but when I actually went through a 'test-dose' in this one month, I am not sure if this is what I wanted.  Failure in dreams is at least an end, but confusion at this stage is scary.  I know I want to be in the field of media but in Mumbai is not something concrete in my mind anymore.

Hmm. I guess that is too much of speaking-my-mind done. So that's all for now. 

My morning sandwich

It was Tuesday morning, 8.16 am and I was waiting for a local train at Malad station, Mumbai.  There were about 40 to 50 more women near where I was standing, all voraciously waiting for the train chugging ever so slowly on to the station.  The immediate imagination I had was of a cute little white rabbit hopping ever so lazily into the lion’s den, and a set of cubs, all set to pounce on and ravage it.

The ladies’ bogie hadn't even reached where the women were standing and they all ran for it.  I did not want to get into this one.  It was too packed, but before I could back off, the human tide pushed me in.  I had no option than to get it.  And that, as I realized later, was a huge mistake.

As soon as I got in, there was a searing pain in my right foot’s last two toes.  Some girl, who had decided to try heels and trample others in the train in the process, had had a sudden realization that she was supposed to move ahead.  Which she did, killing the red blood cells of my little toes in the process!  Anyway, except for a little swell of salt water in my eyes, I couldn’t give it more.

The next station had more adrenaline-filled females push into the coach, chattering and arguing, some about their husbands who can’t buy cars, some about the crazy heat and some just about anything.  The tide became stronger and I was pushed in further.  Then she came.

She was well…healthy.  I would not exactly call her fat because she wasn’t.  She was just a little healthier than others and that commanded a little too much of space than there possibly was.  And she tried to push her way in too.  It was as if a tsunami struck an already turbulent sea.  This time I wasn’t exactly pushed.  It was worse.

I was literally sandwiched.  I did not know where my bag or earphones were.  I could only see part of my hand and hair.  I was twisted and stuck in the most unbelievable manner ever.  If I was a cripple like that, I would be a physiotherapist’s dream.  If I was poised like that, I would be an artist’s muse.  Every organ of mine screamed again my epidermis that they are not able to breathe.

10 minutes went on.  The next station was announced.  Some un-sandwiched part of my head thought, “Ah! Finally!!”.  As the train chugged into that station, the jostling continued and intensified for some women were to get out.  My healthier co-traveler too pushed out.

Out of many hands clasping onto the holders, I saw that I was three stations (still??? Gosh, it's been ages!!!) away from my destination.  As more and more women got out, I felt air rushing in and that felt good. I was amazed at the way my body had needed air.

In a few minutes (that seemed like years!) my destination came and I formed a tide pushing my way out towards the door.  Those in my previous condition were giving me the looks and their hearts abusing me. 

As I was about to step out, on one side another great tsunami pushed in all over again.  With all might that was left in me, I got out, gave a toss of my painful head and said, "Women!!" 

Little things that matter

Oh well, it has been 19 days since I came to Mumbai.  And I don’t know whether to be happy or sad about what I am feeling at the moment.  I won’t say I have turned a complete Mumbaikar, but I can say that I am not scared of the crowd or the local trains or the life here anymore.  The whole ‘Oh Mumbai!’ emotion has gone numb.

Having said that, I still am completely mesmerized by the city.  Let me use my metaphorical skills.  I see Mumbai as a pretty teenage girl.  She has myriad moods, countless emotions and unbelievably good sense of her own lethal beauty. 

When I open the windows of my tenth floor apartment at night and look out, I see the buildings all lit up with numerous lights.  A thought that immediately strikes is that there are so many different kinds of people living, living with various dreams and expressions.  Imagining all these coloured lights as their dreams, fulfilled and unfulfilled, big and small, useless and important, they seem to be oozing life every second.  I see down from my window and the city appears calm and serene at night, but in my mind, I know that she is like a sleeping tigress.  Unbelievably in slumbers but equally vigilant and fidgety about her surroundings!

I am now no more scared of the crowd or of the hectic life.  I wanted to test this when I was living a relatively slow life back home.  I know I shall adapt to it.  With time, I will become one of those countless demeanors that pass me daily, with countless dreams.  But a question that arises while I think of this is if I really, honestly want to become one of those faces?  I know I shall adapt to Mumbai, but do I really want to?  I don’t know.

Moving on, in this mad run and rut of life, there are some teeny-weeny things that quite like a good breeze during a hot day bring relief to a tired being.  Let me quote one such example of my day yesterday. 

I had had a very hectic day and while on my way back, I was famished.  As I got down at Malad station, I bought a vada paav.  As I reached the steps for the over-bridge, I saw a little girl, of about 8-9 years of age.  She had another kid, a child of about 1-2 years old with her.  She was standing near a food stall and looking quite intently at the foods kept inside the glass cases.  On an impulse, I handed the packet of vada paav to her.  She was taken aback since her eyes had two seconds long curious look in them.  I smiled at her and she smiled back. 

That brought about an amazing change in my bearing.  It taught me how a small incident can actually work wonders and help you forget your bad moments.  It taught me the value of that little drop of water on a hot day, of a good handshake during a hectic schedule, of a friend’s ‘hi’ or ‘good night’ message at night, of little moments in life that make it worth living!

All about goof ups!

Yesterday was a big day.  International Women’s day is after all a big day.  But how good it is to a woman who goes for her first really big engagement and makes a bigger goof up? Read on!

I was at the CNN IBN office when at around 6.30 pm, I was called by one of the senior reporters at his desk.  I go to him to find out that it’s a shoot that I have to go to and something of the kind that I have never been to before. 

“There is a research conducted according to which Indian men exhibit the highest rate of sexual violence and India is worst on gender equality.  So you have to do a vox pop (ask random people about their takes on a particular issue) at Phoenix.  We need it for the 9 pm news. Hurry…” I was told.

Since this was my first big shoot till now, with more involvement, I was excited and practically ran for it.  We reached Phoenix and I started looking around for women.  I did find women who were ready to talk till they heard that they had to come in front of the camera.  Then they would say ‘Oh I am not looking good enough to come on camera, or I am too camera conscious etc.”

Basically within 20 minutes I could convince only one woman.  I was tired of ‘I am in a hurry or my husband’s come etc.”  But I had no other option other than go on.  Hence within 45 minute I got four women to give me their opinions, after massive convincing.

Only one more and I will be done, I thought.  That was when I saw a middle aged lady with her husband coming out of the mall.  Ok, here comes a perfect couple.  She looked like she could have an opinion and could speak well about it.  I went up to her, told her the issue and she agreed to come on camera to give her opinion.

She came in front of the camera, thinking and asking me what to say and her husband following, with a mysterious smile on his face.  I wish I had given a little more than a glance to his smile!  Anyway, as she stood in front of the camera, my cameraman and helper started whispering though all I could hear was ‘awaaz’.  I thought they are saying she may not sound good on camera or something.  What the hell, she is ready to help and now these people have issues with her voice, I thought irritably.

Meanwhile, she went to talk to her husband for a minute and then came back.  Suddenly she said she cannot do this.  Seeing my confused look, she said, “I am sorry dear, but you see, my husband here is the editor-in-chief of CNBC Awaaz, so I don’t think I should do it.” 

*Pause* *Two taps on head*!!!!!!! DAMMIT, I thought! Of all the people! Wife of the editor-in-chief of CNBC Awaaz, the sister concern of CNN IBN!! Why? I looked up to the skies and asked!!!

I don’t remember the later part of the event.  I must have said sorry, they must have walked off with smiles, the camera people would have laughed at me and I would have looked like a complete idiot.  But I did not care.

Soon enough I found another lady, who spoke well and we packed up.  All through the rest of the night, I was tossing the event left, right and centre in my head. 

As I was telling my friends, when God had too much of goof ups in store to load on some mortal’s head, I must have gone to Him and begged them to be loaded on my head!