Out of the Shadows

"If there is anything in the world more annoying than having people talk about you, it is certainly having no one talk about you."
Oscar Wilde

He was an absolute stranger, a tad obnoxious too I thought. And then it all changed. "I've seen your byline in the papers...." He had said the magic words. And suddenly I smiled and made my peace.....

Silly to the point of insignificance one might say...but to me it was proof that finally in whatever minimal form someone somewhere had noticed me. And knew me in some fashion. I was beaming and I knew it was showing too. Not that I bloody cared.

The point is finally the stint with anonymity has come to a pleasing conclusion. I had cribbed, hollered and even sobbed in pure anguish. At being reduced to something that had no value in this wide world. Then this break happened and here I am being noticed for the one thing I have always wanted to showcase to the world. My way with words.

Yes, there is no modesty left in me. My ebbing confidence in the dark phase ate away into the remaining bit of it. Now I feel hiding behind unfelt and uncalled for characteristics is merely taking away from me my own future. So I shall holler into the night....People stand up and see me. I am no longer hiding within the dark shadows. I am here for all you men and women to see.
Look up and make me feel loved, hated, wanted, despised or anything else...

Know me in your own way. I will know I am alive.

Absurdity that's life

This life so worn out,
a mirage
not of consequence
to end up as ashes.
Why an overconcerted effort?
These unwanted concerns
of human existence
a trivial pastime
to merely satiate a stranger's curiosity.
Why take on the excess burden?
One that could be avoided.
Yet these nonsensical forays
that rule our senses
add meaning to the very absurdity
called life...

Mangled Choices!

A lot of running around and grumbling later the summit is over and I'm heaving a sigh of relief. Sitting through endless sessions of gibberish and sleepily masked yawns later, I have realised what it takes to be on the road, wiping off the grime and legging it some more in the garb of a reporter. I always cribbed when they asked me about my role as a producer. To me that was silly, to sit behind a comp, with all the controls in my hand, trying to dole out news bulletins under the nicely chilled AC sipping on coffee.

Life's weird. The choices we have and make are weirder. I always thought my life has been about surviving the impossible and then coming out into the open with another folly. Then I got married and thought it was the smartest thing I ever did, to settle down with somebody who embodied pretty much all that I wanted on certain levels. (after all perfect matches look only good on television!) I was in love and we were determined that we would make it work.

But reverting to square one, there have been times I have wandered into the studio and felt so at home...when the controls were buzzing, when my ear-piece is in place, and I am yelling at the director to cut from here to there even as I mumble into the anchor's ears little tit bits about what I am showing on TV. When reams of tapes and shots have gone amiss and I have to run a 6 hour special, I have felt so at ease, not a thought astray. But somehow all the glory I wanted and still seek from television seem to be the only ones denied me. I wanted to stand amidst a burning mob passing on information to my studio, to be atop a tree doing my link even as the camera about me whirred in pics of the minister talking to the PM before he hopped onto a flight...I wanted more than my 5 minutes of fame, and they didn't want me to have exactly that!

So what was that one big irreversible flaw in me that prevented them from allowing me to follow my dream? I haven't yet understood the reason behind the conspiracy, but there it is in public domain, tormenting me, forcing me to question my choices, my academic pursuits and a lot more...

Fast forward....lost in this unbecoming city....searching for another chance to push my foot within those eluding walls....to chase my dream...and see it translated into tangible shots of fame....no yet again the forces are at work...now I have to question my belief, my confidence and a whole lot else.

So I look for short change...and now I am basking in the glory of something that lends me a different yet extremely visible and slightly lasting high. I write to be known. Some read, some set aside, but my name shall glare back vehemently at one and all and expect and chide to be read.

In some unfathomable way shall I console myself that I have but arrived though in a planet known only to those unknown bennys?

Hmmm till I decipher this one for my self I shall take leave...

If Looks Could Kill!

Clad in purple, she stares across partitions. Her look indicating that I might have wronged her beyond pardon. I stare back with the innocence of a stranger.

Rewind.

She and my hubby were mates. Went to class together, whispered sweet nothings together, passed silly comments together and watched out for each other. Then I walked in head held high. Stood aloof on the empty terrace smoking with not a care in the world. He watched me stealthily. Fell madly in love. Tied the knot and forgot her with good cause.

Now as I enter the same workplace...eager to make my mark in the powerful and gigantic world, her ugly looks spread ill will...make other sweet strangers run for cover...leaving me friendless and a loner in this new planet I had hoped to conquer.

Who is to blame? My love, my confidence or her insignificance for letting her dwell in anonymity.

I like rubbishing inconsequential lesser mortals. I have succeeded in doing so yet again. Now she wants me dead.

But I shall survive!

Second Time Lucky!

Another one from me folks....

and extremely visible yet again!

Here's the link....

http://epaper.timesofindia.com/Repository/ml.asp?Ref=VE9JQkcvMjAwNy8wMS8xMyNBcjAxODAx&Mode=HTML&Locale=english-skin-custom



Comment:For AOL users: http://www.blogger.com/">http://epaper.timesofindia.com/Repository/ml.asp?Ref=VE9JQkcvMjAwNy8wMS8xMyNBcjAxODAx&Mode=HTML&Locale=english-skin-custom

Good morning Mumbai!

Not in the disgusting intonation that Vidya Balan used in Lage Raho Munnabhai. But with my little piece titled Passage to India....Guys I am here!

Ready for flight

"To fly as fast as thought, you must begin by knowing that you have already arrived." Richard Bach

Now I can soar up and fly....for now my dreams seem to be within reach. And not clouded over by the greying mist and the towering hills. I am now in sight of my future. And I can smile.

I Have Arrived!

My first byline in print. Bangalore edition TOI. Am so kicked. And the size of the article made it all worth it.

Here's the link....

http://epaper.timesofindia.com/Repository/ml.asp?Ref=VE9JQkcvMjAwNy8wMS8xMCNBcjAyMjAx&Mode=HTML&Locale=english-skin-custom


For AOL users: http://www.blogger.com/">http://epaper.timesofindia.com/Repository/ml.asp?Ref=VE9JQkcvMjAwNy8wMS8xMCNBcjAyMjAx&Mode=HTML&Locale=english-skin-custom

Well people I have ARRIVED!

Don't be afraid Girl!

“If my mind can conceive it, and my heart can believe it, I know I can achieve it.” Jesse Jackson

This is what I have wanted for oh so long. And now I will not let anything keep me from letting myself fly. I have to make my mark no matter how small and I will. So all I need are good wishes sent my way through every medium possible. After all my ill luck I want to smile.

On the road to fame!

Well fame of sorts I would say.....but then if lakhs of people reading your name and recognizing it the second time round does not account for fame, I don't know what does.

Point is I am a print journalist after so many years of running away from broadsheet writing. I wanted spontaneity and zero time lag in news. And then I shun it for this...ironical and silly to an extent is all I can say. But then fate intervened and I conveniently will allocate all blame to that one factor that cannot hit back.

So here I am waiting for my first byline to appear.....

psst...should be latest by Wednesday.

I Miss Me!

I miss Delhi. every waking moment I miss it so heart wrenchingly it makes me want to run away. and to hide in the bylanes watching my house which now has strangers inhabiting my favourite corners.

I want to stand on my wide terrace and watch the fog recede and the trees and buildings come alive after a smoky illusion.

I want to shiver in my pajamas while my fingers clutch at my coffee mug so tightly trying to wring out some warmth through its thick impermeable walls.

I want to cuddle in my "rajai" and look through the little slit near my eyes at the weakened sun as it wrestles with the winter breeze trying to spread some cheer and heat.

I want to feel the wind in my hair as I shiver and snuggle while the auto driver dances through the lazy traffic.

god I miss Delhi. I miss me in Delhi. I miss being me in Delhi. I miss me.

I want to be KNOWN!

Passion is the element in which we live;without it, we hardly even vegetate. Byron

As I stepped into the train, the darkening clouds and the fading skyline of Delhi made me weep like never before. I was leaving my home and the job I was really good at and anyone who cared for me to enter an alien land, to make new acquaintances and to hunt for a job, that might never give me the high I had always wanted from life.

Though the rewind seems scary, the fact that news might go away from my life for good has made me sit back and evaluate what is that one thing that I want from life? And Irealizee that while I shudder between the sheets, turning page after page of often read novels, trying to seek meaning and inspiration, what I am doing is burying my dream of being a hot shot reporter on the move!

I want to be on the move, to be in the news, to live in the moment, to be able to come back dead tired and flop down on the bed with my shoes on, to wake up and see my name/face all over making a point. I want to be known for what I know.

That dream seems like an illusion I am chasing sitting within yellowed walls. Why don't these bricks fade to let me out into the open land where I can try to holler and make a difference?

Almost Famous!

A completely new high I must admit. Though the actual high would be seeing my name in black and white....there for all to see. But I assume now that this first step has happened that aint too far away. Anyhow here's the reason for my celebration....

http://epaper.timesofindia.com/Repository/ml.asp?Ref=VE9JQkcvMjAwNi8xMi8wNCNBcjAxODAw&Mode=HTML&Locale=english-skin-custom

She Stares Alone

You must have a room, or a certain hour or so a day, where you don’t know what was in the newspapers that morning....a place where you can simply experience and bring forth what you are and what you might be.
Joseph Campbell


Seems like ages since I was confined to this little house overlooking the traffic. I watch cars and scooters pass by with bustling passengers….trying to get a sneak peek into their lives….trying to understand why they alone have been chosen to be the ‘busy lot’.

I married for love and now am confined by my love. They told me marriage is all about sacrifice, adjustment, termination of individual egos and what not. I dutifully obeyed them and here I am…..a pathetic shadow of myself.

I watch from above and see this lady, cribbing, watching TV, perfunctorily cooking dinner, lying on the bed gazing at the roof hoping or maybe praying that someone or something come crashing down to bring her life. She cleans and hums, makes love and fights, socializes and sleeps all in rhythm. And in the stillness of the four walls she sobs out loud. Wanting all to hear and save her from this anonymity and dependence. I put out my hands….but her blinding tears keep her from clutching my fingers….

Suddenly she hates the world and everyone inhabiting hers. She wants to break free, yet the choices she made strangle her and tie her down like a block of iron. She is talking to me and asking me to intervene. To play with fate, and to erase these moments that are making her seem like an outsider to herself. She doesn’t understand the shackles she has built for herself. And still amidst the drowning waves she loves and calls out for him. Wondering if her love might not shake him awake from his self possessed dream…. hoping if he might not put out a hand to prevent her from drowning in her pool of tears.

Alas not even her Gods seem to be listening in on this aside. All at once she feels betrayed by her loved ones…for not stepping in, for not pretending to care, for not being there….. For leaving her all alone to stare.

Crippling Fear

I have always patted myself for being fearless and unshaken. But I am scared. Of the unknown, of something that I cannot define. It follows me with a knowing and evil eye. It has made me fear every whisper in the breeze, every shadow that crosses my window, every added breath that comes along with the wind, every creak emitted by the doors, every frightened glance I make over my shoulder half expecting the figure that will in short answer and sum up that fear.

What is it that maketh fear? They say the only thing you need to fear is fear itself. But then what about all those things you cannot name or define, you cannot control or overcome; you cannot abolish or live with? What other emotion do you extend to those unnamed things? What do you call the emotion that they evoke? Awe? Or simple, plain undefined fear?

I am crippled by this unknown force…that I believe is watching me and studying me without my permission. Making decisions for me and marking me out as its prey. Transforming me into a puppet that is enacting the verses put down by “it”. I have become an actor, a slave to the thoughts and provocations of someone, something unknown. And I have no hope or means of redeeming myself.

Why choose me? The solitary reaper? With not a sense of drama furthering her existence? Why not pick on a much celebrated or revered being, whose eye lashes keep furtively blinking so as not to mar the perfect snap? Why poor mundane me?

I have been forced into hibernation by this unknown and unwanted fear. I don’t like being held hostage by things I cannot even hate or blame in entirety. Why not have adversaries that you can holler at? Instead of echoes that merely surround the empty walls!

I have always been claustrophobic and this new form of containment will not leave me human for long.

My new found love

E E CUMMINGS

i carry your heart with me(i carry it inmy heart)i am never without it(anywherei go you go,my dear;and whatever is doneby only me is your doing,my darling) i fearno fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i wantno world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)and it's you are whatever a moon has always meantand whatever a sun will always sing is youhere is the deepest secret nobody knows(here is the root of the root and the bud of the budand the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which growshigher than soul can hope or mind can hide)and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars aparti carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

Irritating Tongues….

Her nasal overtone is killing. The lady is pretending to be oh so prim and proper….the epitome of class and sophistication. Christ, I would infact buy it if only she would stop alternating between tongues….why is she so confused about the origins of her accent….someone told me she is from Coorg.

So why does she alternate between every continent she has traveled through? Why not retain a Kannada twang native to her part of the world? Is it that every week spent in one continent has rubbed off on certain parts of her much limited and affected vocabulary, that it tends to never undo itself….making her look like a mixture of cultures the minute she opens her mouth?

Ah the travails of a star…one who has not an ounce of acting in her mangled anatomy….but has oodles of attitude to make up for all her misgivings….

Someone should tell that woman that merely flitting in and out of other worldly productions will not in any way prove her capabilities as an actor. Instead she is merely trumpeting to the entire world how dispensable she is in a world of talent. One cannot spend hours staring at her plastic countenance when someone beside her is enacting a well scripted role even as she uses her multi-accented tongue to make innumerous grunts and pouts.

The “Mistress of Spices” is stirring violent spasms of dislike in me. Someone switch off that TV!

You Lied to Me!

“I'm not upset that you lied to me, I'm upset that from now on I can't believe you” Friedrich Nietzsche

Despite repeated reminders in that one split second he had changed our entire lives. He said a "white lie" to save face and avoid confrontation. Was it worth all the pain and the accusations that followed. All the trauma and the nonsense. The depletion in trust and in unshakeable belief? The living hell that both have to endure till memory fades and time selectively relegates this aberration into the back chamber? Was it really worth anything?

Too Much of Nothing is Too Bad

So Sang Bob Dylan...............................

Now, too much of nothing
Can make a man feel ill at ease.
One man's temper might rise
While another man's temper might freeze.
In the day of confessionWe cannot mock a soul.
Oh, when there's too much of nothing,
No one has control.

Say hello to Valerie
Say hello to Vivian
Send them all my salary
On the waters of oblivion

Too much of nothing
Can make a man abuse a king.
He can walk the streets and boast like most
But he wouldn't know a thing.
Now, it's all been done before,
It's all been written in the book,
But when there's too much of nothing,
Nobody should look.

Say hello to Valerie
Say hello to Vivian
Send them all my salary
On the waters of oblivion

Too much of nothing
Can turn a man into a liar,
It can cause one man to sleep on nails
And another man to eat fire.
Ev'rybody's doin' somethin',
I heard it in a dream,
But when there's too much of nothing,
It just makes a fella mean.

Say hello to Valerie
Say hello to Vivian
Send them all my salary
On the waters of oblivion

Bored of Myself

When people are bored, it is primarily with their own selves that they are bored. Eric Hoffer

It driving me nuts....this feeling of being worthless and silly. Of existing as a non-thinking being who merely dissipates the conundrums of other thoughts as her own in an attempt to disguise the lack of activity in her upper floors.

What is it that holds me back from freeing myself from this exile? Why have I chosen this over the many more ridiculous methods of existence? Do I crave life and joy no more? Do I not want to enjoy the pleasures up for grabs in nature? What is it that ails me? And makes me want to hide beneath the sheets all day long? To pretend exhaustion when all I really want is to go out there and let the sun shine down on me, holding me aloft in the public eye.

Why do I fear company? Why do I shun contact with the world? And the chance to engage in meaningful conversation? Have I lost the capability of holding my own? Or is it that I no longer enjoy the nuances of argument which have always taught me insightful lessons and the truths of life?

Maybe I am a bit bored of the routine. I am bored of the same faces that greet me day after day as I wake up and smile. I am bored of the same things they say in varied tones and accents. I am bored of the silly mails that remind me that those beings that I have been running away from still exist and care. I am bored of the noises that creep in through the pores on the walls making me shrink into my blanket. I am bored of the way the maid walks in punctually at 1300 wanting to do the clothes and vessels. I am bored of the weekends that mean nothing but a movie and a dinner. I am bored of weekdays that mean nothing but cooking, waiting for hubby, soaps on TV and a quiet dinner together. I am bored of everything around me. I am bored of life, of predictability, of togetherness, of this town, these people, of myself.