Conversations

Did it hurt?

It did a bit, but its really hot. It feels good to have it.

Hmm.

What?

I mean, I'm sure it does. Sigh, but the pain one has to go through in order to get it.

So?

Nothing. She yawns. I'm just saying it's frivolous. Besides, you look like you're bruised.

Wait. Have you ever got one of these?

No.

No wonder.

***
(Scenes from teenage life-First Hickie)

WITH A SPARKLER

I want you to write my name in the dark, with a sparkler!

Okay… but why with a sparkler?

Because others things are boring. Some people tattoo their darling's name on their shoulder; others have it engraved on their tombstone. But I… I want you to write my name in the dark with a sparkler.

Hmm… but why in the dark?

Because a sparkler won't sparkle in light stupid! Then writing my name would be pointless…

Okay… so tell me, what is the point in writing your name?

You ask a lot of questions…

I'm curious…

About what?

About who we are… and what do names have to do with us?

Names give us an identity…

I thought personalities did that…

Argh! Does it really matter what names do?

Yes.

Why?

Because you want me to write your name in the dark with a sparkler…

Yes, that's precisely what I want you to do.

But… why your name?

Because you love me and you can't just write anyone's name in the dark with a sparkler!

A moment ago I thought you said that names don't matter.

Well, there are exceptions…

Hmm…

What?

I'm bored.

Are you saying that this conversation means nothing to you? That I mean nothing to you?

No, I'm just saying that I'm bored.

Are you trying to fool around with me?

Sadly, I think by the time we are done with this conversation, the only thing I'll be 'fooling around' with will be the sparkler…

Anyway chuck that… you in the mood to do it then?

Do what?

Write my name in the dark with a sparkler!

Oh… you're still on that…

What else do you expect me to be on?

Me.

Argh! Men! Just think about themselves all the time!

Oh! Forgive me Mother Teresa!

Do you really want to start a fight right now?

No, that's your job.

Uff! This conversation isn't going anywhere.

I'm sorry, did you actually think this conversation would go somewhere?

Yes!

Where? Timbuktu?

This is not funny. I know why you're doing this. You don't love me anymore.

Oh god.. Here we go again…

You don't care about my feelings, or what I want, or what makes me happy. Sarcasm… that's all you know. You don't know how to love, how to-

Enough! I can't take this anymore! I'm going!

Where?

To write your name in the dark with that bloody sparkler!

~~~

IN MEMORY...

Remember the time when we were in love?

When the days collapsed into nights, where the roads chased dragonflies, where rain danced on roof tops, where the mountains echoed sunrise ~ it was the season of mistletoes.

Remember?

When we ran wildly after rainbows, when the trees wore the colours of olive and bronze, when the sun bathed the sky red, and your eyes sang poetry.

Or the time, when we lay naked on the grass, entangled like the roots of an oak tree, breathing into each other, while your fingers teased my skin, touring the outlines of my body, snaking the curves, as you blanketed me with your kisses.

Remember? I'm sure you do, for that's all I have to offer. Memories.

~~~

Genre: Prose Poetry

LET US GO THEN YOU AND I

Sometimes, you just have to listen...

To the stillness between moments, to the rustling of leaves of yellow and brown twisting and twirling with the wind, anticipating rain, to the flapping of the wings in the sky-calling out to freedom. Listen... To the breathing of your body, to the ticking of time, to your feet caressing the grass beneath you while you walk alone in silence as darkness colours the blue of the sky...

Took my dog out for a walk in the evening... The Retriever leads me down the road, sniffing about, wagging his tail, perking his ears every now and then whenever a fellow canine scurries past.

I hum unconsciously as I walk. It's a beautiful road. A long stretch with tall, intimidating trees hugging it on either side, casting innocuous shadows onto the grey boulevard. The lamp posts stand nonchalantly at equal distances from the trees, creating small pools of light, illuminating the dreary road as far as their circumference allows. Fallen leaves lie scattered in dismay, they have their own stories to tell. The air is dry, lifeless, still.

The cicadas sting the air with their shrills: high-pitched, droning sounds that compete with silence, and win. My pace becomes slower, as my eyes search into the night, for beauty, life and celebration of it. The moths dance hypnotically under the lamp posts, their translucent wings slithering against each other, as the light seeps gracefully into their fine, muslin-like textures. Lost in trance, their movements explore the space, with definite and indefinite troughs and crests.

They are spell-bound to the magic the light renders. Drunk, as some may say. Lost, as lovers may say. Mystified, as the poets would say.

It begins to drizzle. I extend my hand out, wishing to embrace the moment, as few droplets parachute down. Then a few more descend. And then, some more.

My dog turns his head around to look at me, while he continues to walk. His eyes seem to question, as his tongue hangs out insipidly in thirst.
I smile.

"Lets go home, shall we?"

He wags his tail in response. We turn around, as the clouds resonate in anger, promising yet another thunder-storm. We keep walking, fearlessly like lovers, eventually disappearing into the night, leaving the whispers of dead leaves behind to tell our story.

~~~

Genre: Fiction

REMEMBERING THE FORGOTTEN

He smiles at me mischievously as the sunlight plays with the silver in his hair. Sitting on the park bench, with his hands delicately resting on his lap and feet placed firm on the ground, my grand father is not an ordinary man. A scientist by profession, this man of eighty-four is a remarkable story-teller.

The air around us brews up little moments of nostalgia: the lilies, the damp grass, the warm and moist smell of mud—they all conjure memories of a forgotten time. This park has seen me grow up. As a child, I have sat down on the swings, raced with the wind, have even imagined the swings to be magical wings that would help me soar as high as the over-ambitious Icarus. I have not only imagined all of this, but have also attempted little feats of my own, only to fall face down on the ground, and to learn (at a very young age indeed) that gravity does, in fact, exist and can make me bid farewell to two of my teeth. I've stood in awe under the once giant slide which once upon a time proudly towered two feet over me, and which meekly seems to dissolve under my presence now when I approach it; I’ve chased butterflies, for colours and movement have always fascinated me. I've sung several Hindi songs at the top of my voice while sitting under the quiet trees with my friends [until 2^nd grade, when I took to listening and appreciating Dire Straits and Eagles. Courtesy: my brother]—this park has seen it all. This park has endured it all. It celebrates my childhood every time I visit.

Past speaks in whispers, the see-saw beckons, time stands defeated while my grand father's voice scissors through the world my memories have woven, re-introducing me to reality.

He begins to tell me a story.

I was always interested in science... My maternal grand father was an educated man. He had studied agriculture and was interested in farming. Education made him liberal minded and broadened his perception towards life. It was during that time spent in his house that I realized my first love and the subject I wanted to pursue later on in my life-Science.

My father's death left my mother a young window of 18, with three extra mouths to feed-her children. I was four back then, while my sisters were one and two. In south India, widows were ostracized and hence it was inevitable that my mother would have to face several hardships. Though she was illiterate and young, my mother was a strong and intelligent woman, determined to educate us.

{His smile fails to leave his face as he talks ardently of his childhood. His dimples teasingly play hide and seek with me, while the wrinkles near his eyes deepen and relax with every movement. Sitting opposite to him, I wrap my arms around my knees and place my chin comfortably on them. I wait anxiously, wanting him to go on.}

***

This piece is a part of a much longer story. The story is growing beautifully. Will try to complete it as soon as possible.

P.S. Thank you Aaki.

~~~

Genre: Creative Non-Fiction

FRAME OF MIND AS OF NOW: PISSED

Early in the morning, I wake up with a sore throat and no intentions to go to college whatsoever. I listen to Schism as I try to wake myself from the senseless consciousness I am in. The music changes to The Road I'm on-makes me question my existence. It's a cold day and I'm guessing I'll be falling sick pretty soon.

It's a fucking annoying day. Yesterday I had gone to 'cover' the Alumni meet of my college . Had to take interviews from random pass outs and ask them vague questions like, "So, how were your three years in this shit hole?"... So basically you can understand how my Sunday went. Pathetic .... Gloomy as the weather was, I still managed to catch up with friends. Two guys, a girl, an old monk and the religion of music. While the guys had something to drink, I went into a pensive mood. Music played in the background. Sunlight played hide and seek with the curtains. Smoke danced in the air.... "I like the randomness of smoke" says one in the group, mesmerized by the hypnotic dance of the plumes and the magic with which they animate the still air... The music plays on... plays in my subconsciousness... yet, I'm surrounded by this silence. Where I can hear absolutely nothing. I breathe... Every breath is slow, warm, moist. It creates its own music... in... and out.... in... and out....

Brought back to reality with the clicking of my friend's fingers... Clicking to the beats of the music thats playing... He takes out a photo album and shows me pictures of his childhood... I have an ambiguous perception towards pictures... Don't really know whether I like them or not. They revive memories. Remembering memories makes us live in the past while being in the present. Why? Why should we think about something that has gone? That has ceased to exist? Those moments will never come again. You may call me pessimistic, but here I'm asking you to look forward, embrace the future, live the life that is to come. So am I optimistic then? Naah... I'm just sane... I think.... I guess.... I hope....

The music changes track: "The Logical Song"

"How apt" my consciousness mockingly tells me. Nothing seems to be logical in this world. It's illogical. That's the beauty of it. Ironically, it is the insanity we live in that somehow, in a very weird way, makes sense. We humans love to dwell in depression. Drown ourselves in self-pity. "Life is harsh," I hear a friend of mine tell me. Sure it is. If it was easy, who would want to live it? Boredom would strike, melancholy would take over and we would be living a mundane life as an answer to an existence already known. If this doesn't make sense, don't bother. Probably we aren't on the same plane....

Mom asks me to make chai for her. My reply: I have to rush for college after this. I'm meted with a glare, a shrug and a pissed off, "riiiight" from my mother. She walks off.

LESSON #1: No matter what you're doing, never say 'no' to your mom. What will ensue otherwise, will be an endless cheer-up--mom process which will inevitably take up more time.

Will probably shove off now. Have to 'get ready' for college-a world where everyone lives in a comfortable bubble, completely divorced from reality.....

GOOD MORNING

ANOREXIA AND ME

It's weird you know, how young girls are becoming victim of diseases like Anorexia and Bulimia... I have been a victim of Anorexia... and thankfully, have been managed to get out of it...
In 9th grade, a certain line, said by a certain boy in my bus triggered everything off. I was fat back then. Really fat. Obese perhaps, I don't know. I used to have a packet of Lays chips everyday, had fried finger chips during recess in school, finished the half-eaten sandwiches left by my friends in their tiffin boxes-I hogged. My weight was a matter of discussion between my parents. My mom would sometimes object to my pig-like eating habits, yet my dad was the one who always defended me.

"Let her eat. She's young . If she doesn't enjoy life now, when will she? She'll grow up and start worrying about her weight in any case. She'll never eat then. Let her be for now." And with that, the conversation would end.

My daily food intake was huge. I loved eating... I loved food {still do actually}... People eat to live... I lived to eat. Jokes were usually centered around me... or involved me in someway or the other... Terms like 'moti', 'fatso' etc. were often used to refer to me. I didn't really care about my weight back then. I was thirteen! Guys in my bus often made fun of me. I usually ignored them.. Retaliated... Fought back... did whatever I could to keep my pride. If I had an argument with anyone of them, the first thing they would attack on would be my weight, my size, anything and everything. Yes, it did hurt me, but then again, I was used to it. No, not immune... I just learnt how to live with it. But that all changed. One day, in my bus, a guy (whom I used to hate.. Have had several fights with him) said something really painful... He pointed out to one of his friends, loudly, that I wasn't walking properly due to my gigantic size.. (that wasn't true by the way).. I was walking pretty well.. but for some reason, what he said, hit me. I don't know what it was.. maybe it was the sudden outburst of laughter that affected me or the smirky looks given to me by some of the teachers in the bus... but it just hit me... a whole run. I went back home, crying all the way, crying in the lift, crying.. just crying. When my mom opened the door, she consoled me, comforted me and said,

"To hell with those stupid kids! You are beautiful Radhika, ignore them. Now, I know what will make you happy. There is nice Aloo ki sabji for you... Your favourite. Now go wash up and I'll get the food ready."

That did it. Food. That was the reason to my unhappiness. That was the cause of my humiliation. I started hating food from that day forth. I stayed away from it. My mom was happy that I was controlling my eating, so she didn't say anything when I suddenly reduced my food intake. I started with having one spoon of rice, one chapati and a bit of sabji... then, I removed rice from my eating list. Mom made me join these Shamak Dawar classes, where I learnt the importance of exercise and how out-of-shape I was. I started exercising day in and day out at home. I used to work out for an hour on Tuesdays and Fridays, then Tuesdays, Thrusdays and Fridays, then I started working out even on weekends.. and then the entire week. I stopped eating chapatis... I learnt that sugar was something I couldn't do without, so I switched to drinking Real Mango juice (3 packets per day-120 Cal/pack) and peanuts... It is said that an average human being needs at least 1300-1400 intake of calories per day... I reduced mine to 600 calories and exercised like crazy. In Dec 2000, I was 70 kgs, in May 2001, I was 55 kgs and by the time July arrived, I had become 50 kgs. In six months I had lost 20 kgs. With a pale face, a considerably thin waist and no strength at all, I had turned anemic. My parents tried to reason with me, literally begged me to start eating again, sometimes my dad screamed at me for abusing my body, but I didn't listen to him. At 50 kgs, I wasn't happy, I was determined to lose more weight-a definite sign of anorexia. Even with a waist of 26", I felt I was fat, huge, humungous! I stayed away from food. If I had even a small bite of my mother's chapati, I would feel like I have put on a kg. I used to envy girls who were skinny and wondered why couldn't I be like them. When I returned to school after the summer holidays in July, I was greeted with open mouths, surprised looks and utter astonishment. A sense of triumph visited me. Girls came up to me and asked me what I had done to become so thin. People couldn't recognize me. It felt good to be the centre of attention and not of jokes.

Back home, my dad and I fought every night... He would be angry about the fact that I didn't eat properly. To avoid eating food, I would sleep all day long. When I would get up, I would exercise, watch TV, have my juice and then sleep off again. My hair started to fall along with my weight. The group of popular girls at school befriended me, bcoz I belonged to their 'size' now. As for my old friends, they were still there.. and were very concerned. They tried to shove food down my throat on the grounds of friendship... But that all didn't work. There was a point of time when I took to Bulimia as well. Whatever little my friends managed to feed me, I would puke it all out in the toilet. I wanted to look 'good'... I wanted to do away with the title of 'Moti'... I wanted to impress guys around me (I had turned 15). But there was something terribly wrong in all these wants. I wanted to look good for others, I wanted to impress others, I tried to find happiness through others. My mother started taking me to doctors and made them drill some sense into my head. All of them explained how badly I was misusing my body and offered me correct alternatives for losing weight. They told me about other girls who had ruined their lives due to anorexia. Mom made me read several articles on the disease and its side-effects (some of which I had started to encounter already). I wanted to lose weight because I thought I would start looking prettier, better... After reading one of the articles, one day I went and stood in front of the mirror and I saw how pale I had become. How ugly and fragile I was looking. I realized how stupid I had been.

Slowly, slowly, I tried to get myself to eat food again. I started enjoying solid food in my mouth. After about a month and a half, my face began to regain its colour. I was happier, healthier... Eventually I got out of anorexia and as soon as I became well, I gained weight like crazy. This is one MAJOR side-effect of anorexia. You put on weight after loosing sooo much. Moral of the story, just lose weight the normal way-exercise and eat healthy.

When I look back now, it feels almost like a dream. I learnt that instead of finding happiness within myself, I looked elsewhere. Thats what peer pressure does to you-it prevents you from thinking straight. You start living for the world and not for yourself. Screw the world! Who cares what the world thinks? At the end of the day, nobody gives a damn, seriously. Everyone is concerned about their own life. Be happy with who you are, what you look like, what you weigh like. Now, I'm not saying that its 'okay' being overweight, I'm just saying that its pointless pleasing other people. You need to be happy with yourself, you need to find that happiness within yourself... don't be dependent on others to give you that happiness. So next time you think anorexia is the anwer to all your stupid weight problems, slap yourself, read this article all over again and go have a proper meal!

(c) RADHIKA IYENGAR 2006

MORNING BLUES

I start my day by getting up at half past seven... Those of you who get up at noon and call that their 'morning', I truly envy you guys. For those who are undoubtedly confused, I may articulate myself by saying that, the exact time as to when I should get up, rests completely in the paws of my much loved dog. His early morning "coos" and deliberate yelps successfully wake me up and I reluctantly stagger towards my bedroom door so as to free my dog from the boundaries of my petite room. Yes, that is exactly how I begin my day, period. Anyhow, moving along... today I went out and got baked under the scorching sun (err, I went out for some personal work by the way, n' no, I don't do this for fun)... I came back and then religiously turned on my computer to listen to music. Music is my only escape from the monotony in my life n' I simply adore it! (yeah, I know this sounds cliched) Well, my life isn't as boring as I may put it.... But then again, define boring? Anyway, I just realized that I may be 'boring' quite a few of you with my incoherent use of sentences. So basically, I should now stop my fingers from typing any further. Thanks for reading my thoughts and you can now carry on leading your complacent lives....
P.S. Those who don't like sarcasm....Well, too bad! I really couldn't care what you didn't like anyway. Happy reading! :D

(c) RADHIKA IYENGAR 2006

VOCAB

New phrases have been introduced into our vocabulary... Phrases like, 'funny shit', 'shit happens' etc... I just don't get it though.. I mean, how can shit 'happen'? And even if it does, whats so great about that anyway?!? Seriously... What is up with our language? With our way of communicating? I mean, I myself greet my friends by calling them names which, if my mom would hear, would leave her mouth open in utter astonishment for quite some time. But still.. Think about it... Isn't it weird how our sentences are almost all the time punctuated with profanities and vague abuses... Who would have known that a certain finger of the human hand would become an integral part of ahem, human 'communication' shall I say?

Hands... Ah, the creative mind can think of so many different ways of making use of them... from polite gestures to immature, debasing hand movements; hands have done it all. It's just amusing to notice how verbal thrashing has been replaced with uncouth hand gestures. Not that I'm saying that I don't behave like an average teenager or that I have never committed the 'sin' of affectionate abusing... I have.. But the fact of the matter still remains that our vocabulary is continuously being influenced and dominated by several words and phrases completely uncalled for.

FUCK... I'm sure most of you were almost certain I would bring this word up... From the age of twelve {maybe younger} many kids discover the existence of this word. Now, the actual meaning of it may not matter, but the deliberate continuous use of it does.

Fuck! I've lost my pen!
What the fuck are you talking about??
Are you fucking kidding me??

Seriously, we have got so used to using this term that it's impossible to let go of it! God knows who invented this word, but if this individual had a face, teenagers would worship him! okay, maybe not... but you get the basic picture, don't you?

(c) RADHIKA IYENGAR 2006

My friends and I decided to go out after college-since we got tremendously bored in class and desired to do sumthing fun... Now picture this, four people in one auto! yep, not a very pretty sight... Even the auto walla, instead of looking at the road, kept on looking at us through his rear view mirror!
Now its completely understandable when foreigners stare in awe at completely jam-packed DTC buses or enthusiastically take pictures of more than two people sitting on bikes, but it was kind of embarassing to notice that a bunch of travelling firangs were nicely pointing fingers at us and nodding sympathetically as if they empathized with our situation!
Anyway, we reached Vasant Vihar Market in one piece and as soon as we get out, we were greeted with a 'Bomb Disposal Squad' Bus or a name something pretty close to that... Oh man, we were so scared... I was literally on the verge of getting into the auto again... but then again, the bus had come just for safety purposes, so my friends calmed me down, and off we were gallivanting into the market... After nearly half hour of contemplating where we should go for lunch, we settled on 'Yo China!' And I must say, there was nothing 'yo!' about it... it sucked... the food was served cold and to top it off, when we complained, the waiters were bloody rude! Haha, somebody wasn't going to get a tip today... so anyway, we had our totally non-delectable meal, had a few laughs, welcomed many frowns and got free fortune cookies... I had read somewhere, that if u read your fortune from a fortune cookie, make sure u end the sentence with 'in bed'.... it somehow adds a new meaning to it and turns out to be more fun... mine said-'It's your turn to be a good samaritan (in bed)'...hehe... for those who don't know what a 'good samaritan' means, it means 'a person who voluntarily offers help in times of trouble'.... GO FIGURE! Of course, I hope such an incident never arises :P.... Anyhow, after that, we guys went off to do some shopping-that was fun... couldn't catch a movie because the movie's time didn't suit us [dammit]... After that, I took a bus back home, and returned home with an splitting headache. When my dad opened the door for me, I was greeted with a huge lick on my face, courtesy-my dog, who was evidently extremely happy to see me... He followed me around like a little puppy after that... I turned on my computer, listened to music and here I am , writing yet another account of my life... so, how was your day?

(c) RADHIKA IYENGAR 2006

IT'S ALL ABOUT THE MONEY...

This is so weird, I can write an entire book on DTC bus rides! While some people may consider it 'dumb', I think its the best way to bring ur creativeness into being. The following is an account of what I come across during my journey in a DTC bus (which is now so popular on my blog) almost everyday...

1) The other day, while traveling, i saw a cycle-rickshaw upon which a mobile no. was written-'for service, call pappu on 98.....' Hahaha! I'm not kidding!

2) Whats even more hilarious is to look at cycle rickshaws which have 'CNG vehicle' symbol painted on their seats!

Now, there is one universal truth about auto-rickshaw walas... They act like they are our customers.... Most of us who have taken several autos in our life have to listen to the whims and fancies of the auto walas. If they don't feel like going to a particular place, they'll just drive off. No ifs, not buts, just drive! Okay, so maybe that was a sad one.
Their Favorite pastime: - Bargaining! Over time, I have learnt that if you want to pay a particular amount, say Rs. 100, then always tell them that by meter, it usually costs you Rs. 80... They by themselves will increase the amount to Rs. 100. So technically, though they might think that they've won the bargain, indirectly, it is you who has won it. However, if u tell them that u usually pay Rs. 100, they jack up 20 bucks extra and demand Rs. 120 out of ur purse!
Another tantrum u may come across is their, "Kindly madam, pay Rs. 15 extra since I will not get a customer on the way back" excuse. Also, if they agree to go by the meter, the idiots will purposely take you via the longest route possible to reach your destination.
Yes, smart-really smart. So the next time you think you have paid decently and that u have got 'value for money' just because you have traveled by meter, think again. Live and learn my friend, live and learn....

(c) RADHIKA IYENGAR 2006