22

“So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I'm still trying to figure out how could that be.”

The quote is from the movie The Perks of being a Wallflower, and I can relate to it so well right now. I LOVED the movie. Before I watched it, it seemed to be like a regular high school movie, except that it wasn’t. And it has a beautiful soundtrack. I’ve been listening to Heroes by David Bowie since I saw it (‘The Tunnel song’) and my head is swimming with so many thoughts.

I am 22. I’ve always wanted to be 22 since I was a kid. 22 always felt like the most fun age. The ideal age. Not only is 22 my second favourite number, but this is where I always wanted to be! This. Right here. It is like a big cross I had made on the map of my life and I am standing right on top of it. But I realized I had forgotten all about it. I find myself so busy lamenting over my past or worrying about my future that I end up feeling really morbid all the time. I am 22 and I feel like sleeping for a thousand years. I feel like not being aware of the fact that I exist for a while. Till it all gets better. How did it all become so haywire? What happened to my ‘living in the moment’ plan? What happened to all my plans in fact? Wait, did I even have any plans?

Recently one of my most admired teachers randomly walked up to me and said “You’re not alright in life, are you? You’ve lost the twinkle in your eyes. I know something is wrong.” And I was speechless. She had noticed? Is it that apparent? And since then I have been questioning myself. Why? How? I am only 22! I’m still in the phase of my life where I can fix things for myself. I should be able to get over stuff. I need to admit it that I am human, and I am stupid and that I hurt people. And I need to learn from that. I need to grow. I need to accept the fact that I will not get over some people I have lost, and just live with it.

There is a dialogue in the movie “I know we'll all become somebody, we'll all become old photographs and we'll all become somebody's mom and dad. Right now these moments are not stories, this is happening. I'm here.”

It just made me think. It’s okay that some plans didn’t work out. It’s okay that life took a completely unexpected turn. Things happen for a reason. And in the end everything somehow turns okay. Even if right now it feels like life will never ever get any better, come on, it has to. Life still is beautiful, with endless possibilities spread out before you. It is exciting. You don’t know what is going to happen. You don’t know who or where you are going to be. This is really the time to make it all happen. We cannot choose where we came from, but we can choose where we go from here, right?

It’s not too late for anything. I need to find my way. I need to step up to things. Accept my mistakes. Move past them. Maybe life has a different plan. There is another world. A better world, waiting for me. There has to be. And what will I do? I will keep all the memories deep inside me, close to me. I will just embrace life, and walk towards it. That’s my plan, for now.

“The scent of a flower,

The colours of the morning,

Friends to believe in,

Tears soon forgotten,

See how the rain drives away, another day.”

                                                                            --Dusk, by the Genesis

A sleepless night, a running nose and lots of films

(A still from Dziga Vertov's documentary 'Man with a Movie Camera')

It’s been weeks of uncontrollable munching-on-chips every night like a ferret, sipping countless cups of coffee and burning my tongue on it, (#everydamntime) sleeping till my body cannot take it anymore and randomly walking around the campus in a full-on emo fashion. Too dramatic my life has become. And every time I sit at my favourite spots on the campus and look far off into the distance all pensive, I play a Pink Floydish song in my head and imagine I’m this deep, graceful, sensitive protagonist in a movie who is lost and life is teaching her how to actually live. Did ANY of that make sense?

Moving ON. Classes have been very interesting, and inspiring. Doesn’t take much for that inspiration to come crashing to the floor though. I particularly enjoy our Documentary Film Making classes. Which reminds me, I need to buy a camera, and a new laptop. I use a chotu Dell netbook, you see. And even though I love it dearly, it doesn’t suffice for editing and high resolution video playing :/

Anyway, in this post I’d like to talk about some of the movies that were shown to us in the aforementioned Film making classes.

I’m 20: This is a film that was made in 1967 (20 years after India gained Independence) by SNS Sastry. This film contains questions that were asked to people born in 1947, hence, all 20-year-old boys and girls about what they think of India and their hopes, dreams, expectations and predictions about the future. What I absolutely loved about the film was how some of the people who talk in the film were so bright, intellectual; while some of them were nonchalant, or indifferent, and some just plain goofy. Some of them were conservative and shy, while some of them confidently spoke about what they felt. One surprising thing about it is that some of the things said in the movie about India hold true even today; which just proves how much our country still lags behind when it comes to certain aspects.

Amir Khan: This film, made in 1970 by SNS Sastry again, is what you may refer to as a portrait documentary on one of the most influential singers in Indian classical music- Ustad Amir Khan. The film is shot beautifully, depicting the singer, his wife and their son in their simple, private moments. The interviewees are not shown talking, their voices are heard while the candid videos reveal the simplistic lifestyle and the complexities of Amir Khan’s life. I loved the way there is an ethereal, poetic feel to the entire movie, where the singer’s music and couplets are sprinkled in generous amounts throughout. As our guest teacher, Mukul Kishore says, “Sastry does the most outrageous things in his movies and makes you feel there was no other way to do it.”

Night and Fog: Made in 1955, directed by Alain Resnais, Night and Fog is a French film which reveals the horrors of the Nazi concentration camps. It shows the abandoned grounds of Auschwitz and Majdanek and has used a lot of real footage of the camps. All of us, including our teacher was in tears after watching this one. We were so speechless we actually had to take a ten-minute break before we could get down to discussing it. It is extremely graphic and disturbing, and the language used to describe the brutality of man is beautiful and impactful. This one should be seen, no matter who, where or how you are.

Something like a War: Made in 1991, this film is about India’s family planning program from the point of view of the women. Through the movie, the film maker Deepa Dhanraj, has exposed the problems, corruption and the cynicism against the methods used to sterilize women all over India. Yet another example of the oppression of women.

An Indian Day: Directed by S.Sukhdev in 1968, this film tries to depict every aspect of India, and succeeds in doing so too. The film maker travelled all over the country and shot India in the most beautiful, ethereal and raw manner, and then mischievously edited it and put everything together so as to expose the various contradictions and conundrums that make up our country what it is. It is a treat to the eyes, and should be seen for the beautiful shots, its randomness and satirical nature.

Mirror of Holland: Shot in 1950 by Bert Haanstra, is a documentary film about the Netherlands. The entire movie is made up of shots that are reflections inside water! How amazing is that? The camera moves over the water as it goes from the countryside to the city, rippling and moving with the music. It is unlike anything I have ever seen. Crazy, yet beautiful.

Meat: Made in 1967, it shows how goats are caught, made to walk in a line, killed; and then gutted, slaughtered and turned into food for people like us. If there was ever a time when I was thankful I am a vegetarian, it was when I saw this movie. It is almost inhuman how these animals are treated and killed, and the poor things do not know they are going to die till the very last moment. It gave me the chills. And sorry to disappoint my non-vegetarian friends again, no, I don’t think I can turn non-veg.

Explorer: Pramod Pati shot this film in 1968 for Films Division. I was pleasantly surprised when I saw this film and realized that the Government was open to such experimental films in those times. This film uses no dialogues or voice overs; just bizarre shots of people, cultural artifacts  religious idols, ‘Om’ symbols, extreme close-ups of ecstatic teenagers, amidst other random things. All of this accompanied by sounds of cymbals, ghunghroos, etc. There are associations between modernity and culture, between religion and spirituality, between the urban India and the traditional India. The images whizz by you so swiftly they hardly give you any time to register it in your head, but the overall impact of the film is intense. Watch this film for the seemingly sheer absurdity, which actually has a deeper significance.

These are but a few examples of the many films we watched in class. It amazes me how powerful a camera can be, and the potential it has to touch people, move them, make them think, make them change. Now that we have to make a documentary ourselves as part of our course, I'm looking forward to start thinking, shooting and producing something that I will be able to call my own piece of work. It will not be easy, but I’m hoping it will be worth it.

Mind over matter

You know what?

The mind is a vile, corrosive, self-destructive time bomb just waiting to lead you head-on to your doom. It fills your head with despicable thoughts, it makes you stay awake all night thinking of all the abysmal things you have done and are doing in life, in compels you to lie in a foetal position all day watching mindless, borderline funny sitcoms huddled up inside your blanket like a cat, and it makes you gulp down cups of coffee hoping it might put some energy into your system.

 You know what else it does?

It secretes all the wrong hormones at all the wrong times; it makes you stare at a million open tabs on your screen without making you do any sort of work; it makes you want to cry out loud for the sheer impossibility of the situation it has put you into; it makes you feel like the days are long, but secretly the evil thing makes the time seem to move faster than ever. Why we had to be the ‘superior’ species with more intelligence than all the other animals, I fail to understand. I would rather be frolicking about naked in a jungle hunting for food, scratching my head, infested with termites and fleas with predators lurking around me than be in this situation. Or you know what? Maybe we are not as intelligent as we think we are. Seriously, is any one of us completely happy in this concrete, swarming, claustrophobic, noisy, blood-thirsty, stinking world we have created around us? A quote by Douglas Adams comes to mind at this juncture:

“On the planet Earth, man had always assumed that he was more intelligent than dolphins because he had achieved so much—the wheel, New York, wars and so on—whilst all the dolphins had ever done was muck about in the water having a good time. But conversely, the dolphins had always believed that they were far more intelligent than man—for precisely the same reasons.”

Let’s get back to the vicious little thing the mind is.

It makes you write down pretentious text-book words like ‘juncture’ that you had learnt in high school; it makes you over-analyze things so much that you end up taking the wrong decisions; it makes your very survival on this planet seem almost impossible; it makes you want to scream, and say horrible things to people, and screw your life over. It makes you cry. Oh my dear GOD how it makes you cry.

Rock, paper, scissors. If only it was that simple. If only there was a Backspace button. If only people had a better control over the devil that resides inside their skulls. It also plays tricks on you. As a friend put it, it makes you feel “confused, angry, dejected, randomly optimistic and happy, then suddenly completely blah and fucked in the head a few minutes later”. It makes you go back in time and repeat scenarios differently over and over in your head till you feel you’d go insane. It has the potential to make every situation, every face, every song seem hollow. It is the one that makes you write such optimistic blog posts at 6:45 in the morning when your sleep-deprived body screams for some sleep.

And then it has the nerve to slyly sneak up on your shoulder and whisper “You got what you wanted. Are you happy now?”

Out of the shadows, into the light

I can vividly recall the thin pair of dry lips and the set of orangish tobacco-stained teeth peeping from behind as he used to grin at me. Raju was my middle-aged driving instructor when I was eighteen, and I remember how excited as I was on the first day of class when I sat behind the steering wheel of a grey Maruti 800. I never did notice the first few signs. When he brushed his hands against me, and touched me as he helped me with the gears. Too excited I was, to learn how to drive. To be free.

It happened on a tricky bend on a road when I was looking behind while putting the reverse gear. I felt his hand grabbing my left breast. At that time, I just froze. Too shocked to move. It was a deserted area and I felt utterly helpless. Then he unabashedly squeezed my thigh as he told me what a fast learner I was. I jerked away, I screamed at him, and all he did was smirk back at me. I fought back tears of fury as I drove back home and locked myself in my room. The revulsion was so extreme and so sinister that I pictured myself stabbing his gut with a knife again and again. I felt disgusted, and I felt like a coward, the weaker sex who is suppressed and who chose to do nothing. The anger continued to froth, and bubble and boil until it erupted and I wept my heart out.

Even though this was only one of the many incidents I had to face apart from being followed, stalked, sneered at, touched, groped, and hear disgusting remarks, I never had the courage to do anything about it. This is the fist time I am talking about it in public, and it is because Jyoti's incident has given me the guts to do it. When I thought about what I felt that day in my room as hot tears streamed down my face, I couldn’t even imagine what the women who get raped, abused, beaten, molested, tortured, burned, belted, hammered, stripped, bludgeoned feel. I have been trying to write about Jyoti’s death for quite some time now, but there is just so much inside me that I never quite managed to put it into coherent sentences. But I shall at least try.

As journalism students, we were following the case very closely and the morning when I received the news of her death, I spent the entire day reading articles about her to an extent when I simply could not read any further. Her death affected me. Her death affected all of us. The level of human monstrosity compelled everyone to come out on the streets and scream with fury and frustration. Till two days back, we did not even know her name. What we do know, is that she was assaulted so brutally that she lost her intestines. And after 13 days of unthinkable, agonizing pain, her life. Who is to be blamed? The girl, whose only offence was to go out for a movie with a friend? Or the perpetrators who had the nerve to commit the heinous crime? Is it our judiciary system? Our leaders? Our government?

A recent article I read echoed my thoughts completely when the writer wrote that the thing with rape is that it is not about sex at all. It is about power. When a man sees a woman in a short skirt walking with her friends and laughing, it’s not that he gets uncontrollably aroused and pounces on her. The guy pounces on her when he sees her independence and boldness as a threat to his place in the society. ‘How dare she? I’ll put her in her place.’ If rape was all about wearing revealing clothes and venturing out late at night, and being an Indian and not a Bhartiya naagrik, as RSS chief Mohan Bhagvat claims, then how do you explain 70-year-olds and 2-year-olds getting raped in their own houses by their own family members? Rapes, assaults, domestic violence all occur because men feel inherently greater than women. It doesn't matter if the girl is attractive or plain or young or old. They want to do it to make her feel terrified, while they enjoy their sadistic 'masculinity'. It is a way of exercising their control and asserting their superiority over women, just because they happen to have a penis. Bravo.

We may seem to be a country where we worship goddesses and place women on pedestals. In fact, even our country is our ‘maa.’ But let’s face it, the suppression and objectification of women runs rampant since ancient times. It is in our films—where a Shakti Kapoor or a Ranjit raped any woman available and it was shown in full disclosure, while a consensual love-making scene was always showed by a pair of embracing flowers. It is in our songs—where a shameless Honey Singh explicitly states his desire to rape women, and people dance to his music. It is in our everyday profane swear words, which we throw at each other mindlessly. It is in the videos played on our TV sets day by day, which seem to get impossibly vulgar one after the other, of scantily-clad and heavily silicone-filled women gyrating on the most obscene lyrics anyone can even conceive of producing. It runs in the subtle and sometimes outrageous sexist comments that men throw at women; it is when Aasaram Bapu says that Jyoti should have called the rapists her ‘brothers’ and asked for mercy; it is when Mamata Banerjee says that rapes occur due to the increasing interaction between girls and boys; it is when a husband asks her wife to not wear a sleeveless blouse or travel alone; it is when a girl is frowned upon if she has more male friends than female; it is when a woman is winked or whistled or leered at. It runs deep in the system, in the mindset, in the blood; and to find a solution to this deep-seated problem is going to be extremely difficult. I do not know the solution, but I do hope there are people who will come up with it. Meanwhile, we will all do our bit to fight the menace.

Be proud of your body. It is YOUR body. Love it, use it, flaunt it. We shall not succumb to how the chauvinistic men want us to be. It is time to break free. Do not ignore the sexist comments. Kick the next guy who ‘eve-teases’ you a swift kick between the legs. Have male friends. Go out with them. A lot. Have nice, feminist boyfriends who respect your individuality. Take part in protests and answer back to those old aunties who say ‘aaj kal ki ladkiyaan haath se nikal gayi hain.’ Give a piece of your mind to anyone who tells you that a woman’s place in our ‘social system’ is to be a housewife and let the husband take care of her. Scream. SCREAM YOUR LUNGS OUT. Why should we take it? This should have been done way, way back, but at least the people are waking up now. I know Jyoti's life is too big a price to pay to shake the people up out of their complacent stupor, but at least there is some change taking place. Is it the awakening of a whole new India? A safer, better place for women to live in, where they can wear shorts and walk alone out of a pub without being molested or teased or attacked? Or is it all going to die out and women will continue to be mutilated because it is too late to change the monster our country has turned into? 

I sincerely hope it is the first one. It is time we witnessed a revolution. It is time we live in a country where we know that travelling in a bus will not lead us to our own destruction. It is time we step into the light.

Happy kitty, sleepy kitty, purr purr purr :3

The past two weeks have been emotionally harrowing. Not only have I been facing severe existential crisis, I am also becoming increasingly anti-social. Not a good thing, I know. But I guess it’s just one of those phases. I really hope to get out of this rut soon, and put some life into this blog as well.

We went for an overnight trip to Satara as part of our Rural Reporting course. And it turned out to be one of the best things I’ve done here so far. Just visiting the villages, talking to the people, discussing, and thinking of new story angles was an experience in itself. But even this trip and the IIM fest together could not manage to lift me out of my slump for long. IIM A was kind of an enchanting experience for me. The campus mostly consisted of red-bricked buildings, lots of trees and scurrying animals, good food and lesser restrictions. But what bowled me over was the kind of passion, energy, enthusiasm the participants in the plays showcased. The street plays in particular, were unbelievable. I had no idea they could give me goose bumps, make me move to tears and have the power to touch me to such an extent. Our stage play was good, but it paled in comparison to the other stage plays. Kirori Mal college (DU) performed a play called A Threesome without Simone, which involved only three actors on stage. It was an extremely intricate and delicate play but they carried it off with such skill and finesse I could only wonder how they get the time and the drive to act so well. 

Once back in college, I went into my black hole again. Coming out only briefly, as if a little mole poking its head out of its hill. But something amazingly extraordinary happened today evening. I was in the middle of an argument with a friend, when a furry little ball climbed up the staircase where we were sitting. Now I have never been a fan of cats, I’ve no experience with them, and I always assumed they were selfish, irritable little creatures. But this little kitten did not claw me or run away; it just lay on my lap while I stroked its fur. I played with its paws, I touched its little nose, I squeezed it, and it just lay there on my lap, sleeping peacefully. It was such a furry little thing, and it was so cosy against me, I had to bring it back to my room. And bring it back, I did.

(Snuffles in my room!)

(Snuffles cozying up against me :))

(Sleepy kitty)

(Look how tiny it is!)

I’ve decided to call it Snuffles and it is sleeping very peacefully on my tummy, all curled up like a little bundle of warm, purring joy. What amazed me was how quickly my agitation evaporated once I started playing with the little thing, and how elated a strange, lone animal can make you. It’s the perfect company if you are a little homesick and down in the dumps too. After a lot of running about, posing for pictures, hiding under the bed, some warm milk and half an Oreo biscuit, Snuffles is all tucked in while I watch Monsters, Inc :) I can hear its soft purring, and I can feel its heartbeat. Such, such, SUCH an adorable little thing.

There are ways to bring yourself a little happiness. Reading a comic book, listening to your old favourite pop artists, playing with a stray animal, or just enjoying a warm cup of tea at night. For me, as of now, it lies in looking at the Calvin and Hobbes poster and the clandestine messages given to me by my pseudo Secret Santa: Banta Singh :) And of course, Snuffles.

Even if everything we do doesn’t seem to bring us happiness, we can at least try. It can be amazing how sometimes the littlest of things turn out to be exactly what we needed. 

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all my readers. I love you guys :)                                                                                                                                                                                                  

Of College and Shooting stars

I have been procrastinating a blog post for a VERY long time now, thanks to the ever increasing ennui which has been on an all time high last month, but if there was going to be any reason for me to get my arse here and write, it was this: It’s 12/12/12! The last repetitive date which I’m going to see in my lifetime! Makes you so aware of how mortal you are. And how life is so very, very transient.

It’s funny how it’s almost always Radiohead which helps me transition from my no-writing to writing mode. I’ve had days when I’ve just sat like a big gunny bag full of sand doing absolutely nothing. And I’ve revelled in it too. Is that okay?

Maybe it’s the foreboding about the 21^st of December *snigger* If that does happen, I will die in a bus on my way to Ahmedabad. Which, by the way, is a pretty lousy way to die. I’m playing a small part in a play written by a friend, which got selected in IIM A’s annual cultural fest: Chaos. I’m pretty psyched about it, seeing as Dualist Inquiry is going to perform there as well. Also, I have another white hair (the third one now) and a fresh new pimple on my cheek. All telltale signs of the coming apocalypse no?

The past one month has been jam-packed, airtight crazy busy. Which is awesome, because when I’m busy, I don’t think about evil things. I can just come back to my room, surf the net a bit, and sleep like it’s the most precious thing in the world. Which by the way, it really is these days. College has been good to me, and bad to me. Mostly good though, because it has made me aware of all the things I didn’t know, and all the things I’m yet to know. Journalism is unlike any other profession. You don’t delve deep into the workings of any one subject, you delve deep into basically everything; politics, history, psychology, sociology, anthropology. It made me realize how I was trapped into a microcosm of the huge, huge world and how blind I really was to so many things we face today as Indians, as people, as humans.

We finished our first live reporting TV news story yesterday. We basically did it in one and a half days, and there were a lot of scuffles, tension, hyperactivity, flared tempers and egos and mini mishaps and disasters. But to watch the final output on the screen with the entire class and being appreciated was a brilliant and relieving experience. College has been about juggling between workshops, classes, practices and taking out significant portions of time to go on the terrace, lying down inside fluffy blankets and watch the meteor shower till late into the night. It has been about listening to The Fray as the stars shoot around you, and a misty cloud floats across the sky while you ponder about the life, the universe and everything. About trying to accomplish all tasks on time while oscillating between sudden bouts of euphoria and abrupt depressing spells.

Life here is about talking to everyone, but knowing who matters to you and keeping them very, very close. Life here is in trying to see beyond what you see, trying to appreciate what you have, and stealing those few favourite moments just for yourself. It’s about reading in the library, making tea in the middle of the night, skipping meals and making impulsive plans of going to the city, laughing at a nonsensical thing. Someone once told me that we usually forget most days, they just pass by, in a jiffy. But we remember some particular days because they made us feel different, special; so why not try to do something that makes you feel like that every day and make every day worth remembering?

With winter finally here, Christmas on its way and secret Santa surprises in the air, it’s very difficult to remain grumpy for long. Especially if your next two days are holidays and you have time to read, write and sleep. Even though I do not believe in it, I made wishes when the stars were falling around me. I guess we do need to keep a little faith inside us alive. 

Dilli diaries: Part III

This is the first time in five months that I’m sitting on my own bed, I’m sleeping in my fluffy blanket, and the first thing I see when I get up is my purple wall. I’M HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOME! Coming home after staying at another place is quite indescribable, and only the person who actually experiences it knows what it feels like. When I sit in my room now, it’s like I had never left home at all! Like the five months in college never happened! And yet at the same time, it feels so different.

I still remember how I felt a few days before I left home, the apprehension, the excitement, the hollow pit in my stomach. Now I feel like I’m not the same person anymore. So much has changed since the last time I was here. So much. And yet, all these little reminders in my room tell me that I’m still the same person, and perhaps will always be. Talking to mummy is still refreshing, making tea in the kitchen feels so warm and homely, uninterrupted internet connection is bliss, waking up to the reassuring hum of the washing machine and going through all my old books and diaries. Sigh, it’s brilliant to be home. I needed this.

Delhi was absolutely wonderful to me. And because Diwali is around the corner, it was gorgeous and exciting. I turned 22. Yes, it hurts to say that. I had JUST turned 21, and I wasn’t even over the shock when BAM! I turned another year older :/ I just wish I could stay 22 for another five years, and then move on. Time just whizzes by, it’s crazy!  Anyway, you always have people around you who make you feel so special on your birthday that it all seems worth it. People who gift you amazing, thoughtful books, and people who write poems for you, and people who get you toffee eclairs cake, and people who take you out on a drive on the highway and you can just sit on the window of the car and scream like a banshee against the wind. Also, people who make you have something so amazing as a Banoffee pie. Mmm!

I miss Delhi now. I miss travelling in the metro, counting the stations, standing till my legs felt like they would fall out. And I miss the brilliantly lit up Select City Walk with its fountains, and music and having warm chocolate donuts sitting in the chilly winter breeze. I miss working for the NGO, Vidya, and the little kids with the big sparkling eyes and the innocent grins. I miss walking on the roads, in the malls, I miss how there were always so many places to go to, and so many things to do. I miss the vibrant, shining, shimmering city. I really wish I get to visit it again soon.

For now, I think I’ll get back in my fluffy blanket again.

“If I lay here,

If I just lay here,

Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Let’s waste time,

Chasing cars, in our heads.”

Dilli Diaries: Part II

"Ambar pe milte hain kadmon ke nishaan, tere hi har shaam,
Khidki pe likhe koi os ki boondon se, tera naam."

I cannot explain why this song makes me feel the way I feel when I listen to it. It brings back a lot of memories, and stirs emotions which I am always trying to hide.

It's the magic of music, I guess.

My blood test results are out, and turns out, I only had the sniffles, and not dengue. So I won't die. Yay? Yay.

Delhi is beautifully silent tonight. I'm so going to sleep. 

Dilli Diaries: Part I

There is something about Delhi.

There’s something about the premature winter winds of November, something about the bustling crowd at the metro stations, about the pretty young faces sitting at the Hauz Khas fort, about the restless, busy people walking on the roads, and the young groups of friends outside the malls.

There’s something about travelling in the metro, looking at the faces standing around you, wondering about their lives, and watching the city go by.

There’s something about cutting a birthday cake on a bench in Deer Park. There’s something about listening to Ambar by Raghu Dixit at Delhi Haat amidst illuminated trees.

There’s something about gorging on the typical north Indian chaat from a roadside food vendor when you are incredibly hungry.

There’s something about purposefully not wearing anything warm and then catching a cold and sitting in bed cutely sniffling away and whatsapping.

There’s something about living with a typical family who fusses over you and takes care of you and feeds you twice as much of ghar ka khaana than you are generally used to eating.

There’s something about watching a Shahrukh Khan movie on his birthday till 5 in the night, making fun of everything about it, and then getting up at 3 in the afternoon the next day.

I’ve spent only four days here, but I already feel so connected to the city. The sprawling, massive, frightening, liberating city. I can’t get enough of it. 6 more days here :)

Also, my birthday week has begun! I’m going to collect all my Delhi memories and keep them in a little bag when I go back home. Delhi, you can be so harsh and mean, but oh I love you :')

We should meet again, you and I

Down the road, somewhere in another world

In a white wonderland, on a marble bench

Sliding dew drops on a glass window pane

In a parallel universe, on a cliff overlooking a valley

On a park swing, hearts fluttering in the chill of a foggy night

In a galaxy far, far away on an apartment terrace underneath the stars

We should meet again, you and I

There can always be another goodbye

Another world. Another dimension.

The smell of cheese hanging in the air

The whiff of nostalgia and the whispers so crisp

The taste and the sweet melancholia

Salty lips and sleepy eyes

Dreams and smiles and melodic verses

We should meet again, you and I

You can keep asking yourself and never know why

Console yourself

Negotiate with your heart

Shush your soul

The answers are scattered

Flown away with the wind

Hiding in the sea shells, and in the clouds, and between your fingers

In the autumn winds, in the hill tops, and in the cold rain drops

We should meet again, you and I

We should meet in the sky; we should float in the air

We should talk of endless love, and our lives and the universe,

We should meet again, you and I