Julian Barnes - The Sense of an Ending

Black omni

In the darkness of the backseat of the omni cab she sat with her legs spread open. Like guys sit. Like guys have the freedom and the approval to sit. With their thighs taut and comfortable - all weight falling on their feet and hands clasped in macho design. How sitting with legs closed - so close and together - is the hallmark of feminine posture while sitting with such open swagger is so male, so authoritative and decisive. She sat with that authority. As if blood rushed through her legs in surprise. It felt good and definitely felt so much more in control. The driver won't turn back to look, would he? Sit back, she said to herself. Even if he does, it is comfortably dark.

This is her little secret in darkness of a black omni.

:)

Basics

It is fascinating and almost a relief, finding delight in oneself. Some months ago, I found myself deeply troubled, grappling** to find a plausible answer to what was the fundamental purpose of living (as opposed to life or simple existence), of doing anything at all, really. I was questioning the basics of work, routine, taste, recreation, vacation ― what was the underlying reason that we did those things and if living, every single component of it that we call 'doing' something, meant anything, or whether it was supposed to mean anything. After days and days of looking into myself I felt that the only purpose to living (as it happens to us, not as we go ahead and make of it) was to come to know oneself better and as a corollary 'replace' oneself. For some days this 'deduction' helped,provided some relief and I started to test it against my everyday actions.

**Grapple, because I was fast losing myself to the idea of complete futility. I still think part of it may be true. And now as I look back, as much as a part of me did accept how futile things really are, the rest of my self rebelled against it and it was this bit that struggled to find that which would justify the status quo by arming it with a theory, to be subsequently tested.

(In conversation)

Statis

I am good. Delhi is the same as you left it. Dreary mornings, warm days and cold nights. I go for a walk everyday like I used to. It is also my favorite part of the day.

I am not reading any particular book presently. Either go through a huge book on human rights or read poetry on the net. This year I mostly read Hindi books and Urdu poetry. Agyeya I liked. Have you read him? And this another lovelorn Pakistani poet called Jaun Elia.

I have realized this new thing or should I say a new-found pleasure, which I could share. I was always secretly proud of my flexible ways, of being fine with my clothes in luggage bags even though it was an year since I had returned to Delhi, (because the cupboard had no space for my clothes), of being okay with sleeping anywhere, eating impatiently, working in a mess as long as I had the bare minimum. My focus was on substance not form, or such was my refrain.

Couple of months back we got wood work done in my room and now I have a double bed (in place of a single bed), two bedside tables, wooden almirahs in place of the old wall-unit to keep my clothes in, and a new book shelf is on the way. I also bought a bedside lamp for myself which I use at night. To my surprise, I now take pleasure in hanging my clothes (with care) in the cupboards, I have started taking care that my bed stays clear of knickknacks, I also have a money plant in an old liqueur bottle on my table and I like to see it grow. I would now take a moment to place my earrings in the box on the bedside table or duppatta in the third drawer. I know people live like this generally. But the fact that I am doing these things with a certain care and nafasat, believing that a small act of securing little things is also as important as the next article I am reading, is something that gives me a quiet sense of equilibrium and poise, before I return to my routine.

(In conversation)

Tujh Se Gilay Karoon Tujhe Janaa'n Manaaon Main

Tujh Se Gilay Karoon Tujhe Janaa’n Manaaon Main
Ik Bar Apne Aap Mein Aaon To Aaon Main

Dil Se Sitam Ki Be’saro Kaari Hawaa Ko Hai
Woh Gard Urraa Rahi Hai Ke Khud Ko Ganwaaon Main

Naadim Hoon Woh Ke Jis Pe Nadaamat Bhi Ab Nahin
Woh Kaam Hain Ke Apni Judai Kamaaon Main

Kyon’kar Ho Apne Khawab Ki Aankhon Mein Wapsi
Kis Taur Apne Dil Ke Zamamon Mein Jaaon Main

Ik Rang Si Kamaa’n Ho Khushbu Sa Ik Teer
Marham Si Ik Wardaat Ho Aur Zakham Khaon Main

Shikwa Sa Aik Dareecha Ho Nasha Sa Ik Sakoot
Ho Shaam Aik Sharab Si Aur Larr’khraon Main

Phir Is Gali Se Apna Guzar Chahta Hai Dil
Ab Is Gali Ko Kaunsi Basti Se Laaon Main

- Jaun Elia

Faraar

Apne Maazi Ke Tasawwur Se Hiraasaan Hoon Main
Apne Guzre Hue Ayyam Se Nafrat Hai Mujhe
Apni Bekaar Tamannaon Pe Sharmindaa Hoon Main
Apni Besud Ummidon Pe Nidaamat Hai Mujhe

Mere Maazi Ko Andhere Mein Dabaa Rahne Do
Mera Maazi Meri Zillat Ke Siwa Kuchh Bhi Nahin
Meri Ummidon Ka Haasil Meri Kaawish Ka Sila
Ek Benaam Aziyat Ke Siwa Kuchh Bhi Nahin

Kitni Bekaar Ummidon Ka Sahaaraa Lekar
Main Ne Aiwaan Sajaaye They Kisi Ki Khaatir
Kitni Be-Rabt Tamannaaon Ke Mabham Khaake
Apane Khwaabon Mein Basaaye The Kisi Ki Khaatir

Mujhse Ab Meri Mohabbat Ke Fasaane Na Poochho
Mujhko Kahne Do Ke Main Ne Unhen Chaahaa Hi Nahin
Aur Wo Mast Nigaahen Jo Mujhe Bhool Gayeen
Main Ne Un Mast Nigaahon Ko Saraahaa Hi Nahin

Mujhko Kahne Do Ki Main Aaj Bhi Ji Saktaa Hoon
Ishq Naakaam Sahi Zindagi Naakaam Nahin
Unko Apnaane Ki Khwaahish Unhen Paane Ki Talab
Shauq Bekaar Sahi Sai-Gham Anjaam Nahin

Wahi Gesoo Wahi Nazar Wahi Aarid Wahi Jism
Main Jo Chaahoon Ki Mujhe Aur Bhi Mil Sakte Hain
Wo Kanwal Jinko Kabhi Unke Liye Khilna Tha
Unki Nazron Se Bahut Door Bhi Khil Sakate Hain

- Sahir Ludhianvi

damnation!

Don't know what it is. But my mind seeks time. Some time and lots of books. Just books and time and patience. Books and coffee. Many reads and my mind. CONSUME. The way it's your fantasy to make love on a tabletop.. sweeping random objects off the surface with a single continuous thrust of the arm, before swiftly placing your lover on the counter and then go on, go on loving..

Roll back.. rewind and revisit the sweeping part in slow motion this once. Feel the strength of a man's arm, the relentless, the careless, the reckless gesture as things 'important' tumble down one after the other, slowly charging down against the weight of time and bursting into tumultuous fractures on the tiled floor... making a deafening (defining?) clatter - the clamour of the broken pieces and the din of all that breaks loose - hell as well as your own mind. Heedless of the mess, unmindful of the broken pieces of glass on the floor, blotched sheets of paper lying about - some crumpled some not, stationery, knickknacks strewn about. And on the mind just a blurred frenzy, a stupor in a spur.. a ruffled fazed uncomfortable delicious odyssey..

Wanna do that. Just that. Right now.

Wanna sweep off the tabletop all that claims its place there... all that impedes my flow.. and obstructs my path. To renounce everything and every thought that was so far the 'subject'.  The path! As if the landscape is itself evolving. That everything else is a distraction, a disturbance, a speck in the eye.

That there's only one thing you're accursed to do. And that you must do. And what peace in such damnation!

- Reposted from Nov 2011, London

Shekhar - Ek Jeevani (Vol. I & II) Agyeya

?

Why am I still alive? Why are you still alive?

Blank

I miss writing. As if I have lost it somewhere - I don't know where I have kept it. I come to you looking for it..but it is no where to be found.

मेरी जान फक़त चंद ही रोज़

चंद रोज़ और मेरी जान फक़त चंद ही रोज़
ज़ुल्म की छाँव में दम लेने पर मजबूर हैं हम
इक ज़रा और सितम सह लें, तड़प लें, रो लें
अपने अजदाद की मीरास है माजूर हैं हम
जिस्म पर क़ैद है ज़ज्बात पे जंजीरें हैं
फ़िक्र महबूस है गुफ्तार पे ताजीरें हैं
और अपनी हिम्मत है कि हम फिर भी जिए जाते हैं
जिंदगी क्या किसी मुफलिस की कबा है
जिस में हर घड़ी दर्द के पैबंद लगे जाते हैं

लेकिन अब ज़ुल्म की मियाद के दिन थोड़े हैं
इक ज़रा सब्र कि फ़रियाद के दिन थोड़े हैं
अरसा-ए-दहर की झुलसी हुई वीरानी में
हमको रहना है पर यूँ ही तो नहीं रहना है
अजनबी हाथों का बेनाम गरांबार सितम
आज सहना है हमेशा तो नहीं सहना है
ये तेरी हुस्न से लिपटी हुई आलाम की गर्द
अपनी दो-रोजा जवानी की शिकस्तों का शुमार
चांदनी रातों का बेकार दहकता हुआ दर्द
दिल की बेसूद तड़प जिस्म की मायूस पुकार

चंद रोज़ और मेरी जान फक़त चंद ही रोज़ …

फैज़ अहमद फैज़ 

(अजदाद = ancestors, मीरास = ancestral property,  माजूर = helpless) (महबूस = captive, गुफ्तार = speech, ताजीरें = punishments, मुफलिस = poor, कबा = long gown) (अरसा-ए-दहर=life-time, गरांबार = heavy) (आलाम = sorrow, शिकस्त = defeat, शुमार = inclusion)

What.

What would you cook for someone if you knew it were their last meal?

Vayam Rakshamah - Acharya Chatursen

Vaishali ki Nagarvadhu - Acharya Chatursen

Gunahon ka Devta - Dharmveer Bharti

Sahir Ludhianvi

Two Lives - Seth

Untitled. Incomplete.

हक़ तुम्हें भी है 

रोने का 

बिलखने का

अपने आसमानों से सवाल करने का 

और बादलों के बरसने पर खामोश हो जाने का

हक़ तुम्हें भी है 

मर जाने का.

on living and dying

Why do I continuously want to die? I try not to think of it but I find peace in the thought at times. I do not have the courage to see the future, to see more people, to suffer more lies, to break my heart some more, to see people I love die and to still go on. 

I do not have it in me to go on - not physically - not mentally. I find myself arguing with life itself. Wrestling, grappling myself out of its clutch I want it to free me and let me decide for myself. Like a sane person should. We should have the right to the ultimate exit without causing pain to anyone. We should be able to go as unquestioned as we were born. Is this whole 'life' thing not an imposition?

They say, and you might also say it is a gift. I balk at that. I am unable to fathom, I am unable to enjoy this gift, it is difficult to breathe in the mornings. Why can't anyone see it is difficult? Humiliating when I see those names in my phone's contact lists and call up people just to distract myself. My mind knows what I am doing, the whole 'act' of it is disgusting but I fear going mad. And so I make the call, very reluctantly.

And as I write this I realize how big an irony it is and what a big fraud I must be. On one hand I shiver with anxiety, afraid for my safety, afraid for everything I have including my mind, and on the other I talk so carelessly (thanklessly, if you will) about life itself. On one hand I am afraid something bad will happen to me - on the other I want the worst (according to common belief) i.e. death itself. 

You see the conflict? Where do I take it and who do I share it with?

And then enters the greater ignominy of it all. The idea that others are suffering more and here I am bestowed with so much and yet complaining? Do you see the layers and layers in which this 'thing' is operating on me? Not allowing me to live, not allowing me to wish to die, not allowing me to breathe, not allowing me to be?

I am tired. Is there no end to this bitter conflict in me? 

:) It is fine now. Like an idiot I stood outside, tears trickling down my face. I had arrived at 9 actually, and I read and waited till 9:45. It was then when I enquired about you that I was told that you were not in. And it dawned on me that all those people were not there for you at all. One by one everyone left and I couldn't bear sitting there any longer. Would you believe me if I were to say I felt you abandoned me? (Now I am laughing at it.)

But then you had me at "Bachey, I am stuck". I was still crying but I was reassured.

-----

Last evening I went to Prithvi theatre with a guy friend. I had already been feeling a little jittery in the legs, soon my heart was beating very hard and without telling him I ran to the bathroom, trying to calm down. I came out and we immediately left the place. Walked to Juhu beach and sat there. The cool breeze did me good and we parted ways.

-----

Can we meet soon? I do not want to leave without meeting.

Research

nervous

I am feeling extremely nervous as I type this. I don't know what will work and what not. I don't know if any therapy would help me. But I want it to help. I was fine all day and evening.. in fact I even enjoyed my company today at a coffee shop where I sat and read my book after a hard day. But all that is gone now and I have fallen flat on my face again. I feel crestfallen and so humiliated, because I dared to feel fine for a bit. I am afraid for my future for my life to come. I fear I might go insane and I do not want that to happen to me.

I wrote to you some days back also as I cried the whole night. I didn't send you the mail. I wanted to appear strong. As if not addressing will make it go away. But right now I am panicking. And trying to write calmly.

Why is this happening to me?! I want to be healthy in the mind. I am having trouble breathing easy and the fear is making me want to cry. But I can't cry right now.

Ode to a naked beauty

With chaste heart, and pure
eyes
I celebrate you, my beauty,
restraining my blood
so that the line
surges and follows
your contour,
and you bed yourself in my verse,
as in woodland, or wave-spume:
earth's perfume,
sea's music.

Nakedly beautiful,
whether it is your feet, arching
at a primal touch
of sound or breeze,
or your ears,
tiny spiral shells
from the splendour of America's oceans.
Your breasts also,
of equal fullness, overflowing
with the living light
and, yes,
winged
your eyelids of silken corn
that disclose
or enclose
the deep twin landscapes of your eyes.

The line of your back
separating you
falls away into paler regions
then surges
to the smooth hemispheres
of an apple,
and goes splitting
your loveliness
into two pillars
of burnt gold, pure alabaster,
to be lost in the twin clusters of your feet,
from which, once more, lifts and takes fire
the double tree of your symmetry:
flower of fire, open circle of candles,
swollen fruit raised
over the meeting of earth and ocean.

Your body - from what substances
agate, quartz, ears of wheat,
did it flow, was it gathered,
rising like bread
in the warmth,
and signalling hills
silvered,
valleys of a single petal, sweetnesses
of velvet depth,
until the pure, fine, form of woman
thickened
and rested there?

It is not so much light that falls
over the world
extended by your body
its suffocating snow,
as brightness, pouring itself out of you,
as if you were
burning inside.

Under your skin the moon is alive.

​- Pablo Neruda​

Oda a la bella desnuda​​

Con casto corazón, con ojos
puros,
te celebro, belleza,
reteniendo la sangre
para que surja y siga
la línea, tu contorno,
para
que te acuestes en mi oda
como en tierra de bosques
o en espuma:
en aroma terrestre
o en música marina.

Bella desnuda,
igual
tus pies arqueados
por un antiguo golpe
del viento o del sonido
que tus orejas,
caracolas, mínimas
del esplendido mar americano.
Iguales son tus pechos
de paralela plenitud, colmados
por la luz de la vida,
iguales son
volando
tus párpados de trigo
que descubren
o cierran
dos países profundos en tus ojos.

La línea que tu espalda
ha dividido
en pálidas regiones
se pierde y surge
en dos tersas mitades
de manzana
y sigue separando
tu hermosura
en dos columnas
de oro quemado, de alabastro fino,
a perderse en tus pies como en dos uvas,
desde donde otra vez arde y se eleva
el árbol doble de ni simetría,
fuego florido, candelabro abierto,
turgente fruta erguida
sobre el pacto del mar y de la tierra.

Tu cuerpo, en qué materia,
ágata, cuarzo, trigo,
se plasmò, fue subiendo
como el pan se levanta
de la temperatura,
y señalò colinas
plateadas,
valles de un solo pétalò, dulzuras
de profundo terciopelo,
hasta quedar cuajada
la fina y firme forma femenina?

No sòlo es luz que cae
sobre el mundo
la que alarga en tu cuerpo
su nieve sofocada,
sino que se desprende
de ti la claridad como si fueras
encendida por dentro.

Debajo de tu piel vive la luna.

​- Pablo Neruda​

falling

I am back from Amalner. Albeit with a sprained ankle. I am with my friend pretending to watch the television, but my heart is sinking and I am struggling to keep it afloat. 

Yesterday night just before I was to leave for the bus stop to board the sleeper bus for my journey back to Mumbai, I tripped and fell from the stairs outside Bharti ji's house. My ankle had twisted pretty severely was beginning to swell. Bharti ji and her daughter were quick to get ice cubes I asked for. I was in unbearable pain, and yet it was sadness and breathlessness that felt more excruciating. I instantly felt fear gripping me and a sense of failure soon tiptoed behind it. I was trying to fend off tears not knowing their source - were these tears from the pain I was physically feeling or were these from the sense of failure that the fall seemed symbolic of? I knew it was the latter as I also tried to reason with me it has to be the former.

The research project, the traveling, the interviews, the fact that my family doesn't really understand what is it that I do, my being on my own for almost all the trips I have made professionally were already taking a toll on me. Because everything was an effort and yet I was forcing myself to go on, instead of feeling satisfied after two hard days of work, I was still feeling lost. Keep working, I would tell myself. And keep smiling. But my tripping and collapsing on the ground broke whatever I had salvaged of my spirit. I again felt I had failed. I felt I did not have it in me. I again felt my head swoon.

I asked Bharti ji to hold my hand. (I had trusted her from the moment I had met her an year back, so it was ok to be vulnerable in front of her). I told her I was ill at ease and nervous and if she could just hold my hand. She held out her hand and then she hugged me. Patting me softly on my back, as I sat on her sofa and she stood holding me. She could feel I wasn't near tears for the twisted ankle but for something else. Five minute passed and soon I recovered. The pain was there but I could take that. A doctor soon arrived, turned down all possibilities of a fracture, sent for an injection and some medicines and it was all taken care of.

Post Script:

I read somewhere that there really is something called a broken heart syndrome. I do not know much about it - but that term perfectly describes how I feel. As if something is physically broken inside of me and try as I might my heart/mind isn't functioning normally. 

Please know that I hate to have to written this, nay, I am ashamed to have written this. THIS when there is so much of real work to be done. When there is so much I am capable of and yet this is what I come up with? I need to understand myself. Discover my place in the universe, truly understand what I am here for and feel life's worth again. Either that happens or I will be doomed to live through this, as if a curse is upon me.

Everything I have ever believed in is turning around and laughing at my face. And so here I am writing it all down and disgusted with the reality of it all. 

Work is work. It is not necessary that it reflects what you actually studied or makes use of your ideas, qualifications, passion and the like.

Work is work. It is supposed to pay for your food and lodging and that is about it.

Work is work. Leave aside all passion and just earn.

Work is work. Stop expecting to enjoy what you do. In the end it is all the same.

Work is work. It gives you a routine. You, who are so afraid of not having one.

Work is work. So you can tell people where you work and they can make a guess about how much you earn. 

Work is work. In the end perhaps everything really is a fluke.

a lot of me talk

Interestingly, all my 'prospective' blog posts are being converted to letters and being sent to a couple of friends. Friends I know nothing about personally but who I have begin to trust and listen to. Corresponding with them, knowing that they are far away from me, and in a way have nothing to do with my life is reassuring and adds to the trust factor.

Upon my return from Hyderabad I immediately left for Jim Corbett and Nainital with both my sisters and their husbands. At Corbett we stayed at a luxurious resort and as usual I enjoyed the breakfast spread on all days. In Nainital we stayed at a small hotel on the Mall Road which allowed me to sneak away anytime I liked and go on a walk to explore the area on my own. I remained eclipsed from the world and though at times the 'family' time became too much for me - me being not used to so much of it - but it was mostly distracting (in a good way) with all of them around. Yet, surprisingly I continued to feel like an outsider within my own family. Every now and then I would have a strong urge to leave, which I would suppress - calling myself an ungrateful wench now and then.

My first night here was full of fears where I would transfix myself at one place unable to move lest some calamity should occur. I am lucky to have a best friend who hears me out and is always there. I sometimes wonder why - yet there she is, so is my sister. 

In continuation to the last post - the offers have been coming in yet nothing really truly excites me. I might leave for Jodhpur before which I have back to back meetings the whole of the next week. I was far happier working for free for the same people that I now am working for money. truth be told I have been disappointed in people interviewing me except for the last interview where the conversation was so crisp and smart that it made the entire interaction feel like a page out of a book. I did make a couple of cheeky comments which i hope would be taken in the right spirit. 

There is a lot I want to write but I don't for the fear of being seen as someone who is trying to be different/thankless or thinks too highly of herself. If only I could put to paper how these are the very contradictions that have kept me disturbed. It was easy for me to work for free and still is - but extremely tough to work for a meagre nothing. I think so highly of myself that I wouldn't allow myself a single mistake - and yet I have corroded my self to an extent where I have no confidence in my self. 'No' being the key word. I dislike the idea of being alone yet I am always seeking to be away from people. I can't at times stand the night being alone in my room - yet I equally do not want to meet anyone. I badly want to work - as in the routine work, not the kind I am doing right now. And yet I have no enthusiasm, no hope, no purpose, nothing that I am now looking forward to. 

Sometimes I feel I am waiting for a miracle. Sometimes I feel since I am soon going to die anyway what difference does my working not working, responding to emails or not responding, meeting people or making excuses not to meet, really make? Why do we have to go through life? They tell me it is something to be grateful about - ok I am grateful - now can I please leave this drama I have no interest in being a part of? Make a clean exit? If I have life I must have hope (at least enough) to subsist. If I do not have it then what is the point in this lifeless rudderless thankless hopeless existence that is so in contradiction to anything I respect?

Since I obviously cannot take my life -  it is better to stand still and do nothing. But doing nothing is always more difficult. If only I could do that I don't think I would be writing about all this. I would be a monk.

This is an escalator that is not really going anywhere. But there I am. On it and heavens would fall if it were to make a move! Though I must continue to believe that I am moving.

Beherhaal, I will try to simplify things for myself by either making some sort of a map or flowchart or something. I might come back here soon. I am liking the taste of it here.

Neha

Hitherto

Hi! I leave for Hyderabad tonight. From not being able to take a walk down the road from my own house, I am now able to make a long trip by myself. Though not as confident as I would like myself to be, I am learning how to push the anxiety further. I am thinking more of the new places I am about to see, the long train journey on which I am going to finish watching what remains of House MD episodes and perhaps read up on the paper I am going to present. I am also reading Vikram Seth's Two Lives these days.

I will be starting on a job soon after I return. I am not overjoyed about it yet but I think it will be interesting, I will be taking up a complete different topic of research. I am also looking forward to meeting the experts at the conference and perhaps write to them upon my return. 

I am a bit more hopeful on the academic front too as I just received a very encouraging note from a professor from a university in the UK. Things are looking a bit better for me and I hope I don't relapse.

A couple of days ago I made a trip to Rajgarh, my nani's place in Rajasthan. I do not know what it is about that small sleepy town-village that helps bring me back to myself. We also visited the small temple of Ramdevji, a place much revered by my otherwise non-temple-going family. I secretly prayed. I fervently prayed. Not to the Gods, for I do not know if I believe, I do pray though sometimes and I don't know if it is really a God I pray to or just have a need to be really vulnerable sometimes. 

In Rajgarh I also met my maternal uncle. Interestingly he now has a cow her calf at the backyard of his huge house. I made friends with the cow, and actually had fun rubbing her back and feeding her on jaggery and fodder. I have always been very afraid of cows especially after an incident in my childhood when I saw a bull go mad and attack a kid from behind. So befriending this cow was a big thing. Funny too.

That is all for now. I am liking the fact that I am for once writing lucidly, away from the obscure way I had begin phrasing whatever I wanted to say. I will be posting some pics too. From Agra and Rajgarh.

So long!

:)

It is okay. It is all going to be fine. I am going to get back to being who I am and there is a lot to be happy about. I love youuuuuu!

N.