Kolkata and London???

Kolkata will be London she promised. She dreams big, and speaks loud for sure.

We can never belittle her dedication to rid Bengal of its eminent misery-the CPI(M) rule. Not only has the rule turned out to be detrimental to our state's progress, also, it turned out to be a monopoly and a a feeling of absoluteness crept into the minds of our dear ministers. No, I am not here to curse any minister or even pin-point the things that irritates me beyond control, but today, just analyzing what the ministers actually do, I feel ashamed that I was even born in this state of rich cultural heritage.

From the rubble left behind by the cruel and self-satisfying Left Front rulers, it is a mammoth task to re-build a state to a recognizable something. What had that old man done at all? Destroyed industries, ruined the state just for personal benefits! And indeed he will go down in the thick volumes of the to be published History texts as one of the best politicians the country(forget the state) has ever had. He was indeed a politician of tertiary capability, and I, having no personal issue against him, will say that he redefined politics in the state. If politics is a bad game today, it was he who introduced such politics in the state. What didn't he do just to get the votes needed to stay in power! All the fake promises to the sections of the society, posing as a hero by saving the lands of the illiterates, by pacifying and negotiating with the rich men and especially the "muslims" and the list goes on. He had a mission and a vision, but all of them started and ended to stay in power. Indeed, this was our late dear ex-Chief Minister, Jyoti Basu(RIP bugger!).

The lady with an rock-solid determination fought single-handedly to dethrone the Left Front and indeed, Bengal needed that change. If the Left Front has been completely shaken from their foundation today, all of the credits go to her. I still remember seeing her in the airport. What a simple and straight-forward lady she is! Wrapped in a cheap sari and with a pair of slippers under her feet, she paces up and down the state, ad yes, this is our new Chief Minister, Mamata Banerjee. But her visions are too far-fetched I believe. Kolkata can never be London! I mean a place where in every odd corner of the streets corruption thrives in jocundity, can that place ever be London! Where houses are built on clouds and smokes, lying in the lap of lies and misgivings, can Kolkata ever be London! She toils, she works alone, she does what she does(almost every time with utmost stupidity to again pacify the "common" people), but despite her efforts, has there been the metamorphosis she promised during the elections?

I was really taken to the limits of my tolerance by a taxi driver of a pre-paid taxi of the Howrah Station. That little weed was teaching me that Dunlop is just limited to the Dunlop Crossing and not before and after that, where very clearly it was written at the taxi counter in bold caps-"VALID UP TO 1 KM RADIUS." This was just one incident. Every day, when we look around us, we can see many more of such nonsensical wrongdoings.

I don't write this with a conceited feeling of the fact that I am perfect. All I want to say is that revolution is not complete in words. Revolution is not complete at the superficial level. It comes from within every individual. If one has a heart that weeps at the present scenario, he must change if he is human. Extinction of poverty, illiteracy and corruption can never be done miraculously, nor can it be forced upon by Government officials. It has to be done by people and people themselves. The least that our beloved didi can do with her Government is support, and someday, Kolkata, I believe can be the best city on earth. Even I may not live long enough to see that day, but someone will I sincerely believe. 

I Hate...!!!

Hello Friends! Back to blogging after a small "exam" break. I hope you all have been doing well and keeping good health.

In this post, I'll basically re-justify the fact why I hate my college and why I am forced to being selfish. Before I move on, I would humbly apologize to those of my college whom I really love and respect. And to those who think they deserve my love and respect, well fella, you gotta earn it!

One of my beloved juniors, who I love as my own brother, asked me this question today-"Dada, won't you be present at the saraswati puja celebrations of our college?" And quite contrary to his perception of me I said an over emphasized(just typed in caps) and a straight-forward "NO." His astonishment was obvious and I quite expected the "Why?" I got in return. But the answer to the why, was too long to type on a chat forum, or rather too long to make a chat boring. So I summarized it in a sentence I love the most-"I hate my college."

Now what am I in college? I mean I am who I am, but what do I really do to put up forward the image of my college's ambassador? I participate whole-heartedly. I am an active member of two clubs. So my dear brother and the rest of thee first year guys and girls often see me everywhere. They must think that I am a devoted patriot of my college!

Right? WRONG! I'll justify why I do what I do. There are a few things you can do living alone in a hostel. One of those things are to sit with text-books and mug up everything from the first line in the first page to the last line of the last page. Many people do it. I don't, rather I cannot. And to be honest I will not. If my education is bound within pages of textbooks and I am judged on how well I have mugged up my texts, I better be uneducated than going through such education. So this possibility is eliminated for me.

The next type is do nothing. They are the local heroes, generally boast a lot about their masculinity and their encyclopedic knowledge of pornography and also, their varied and numerous experiences at tasting the different brands of liquor, cigarettes, drugs and marijuana. They criticize, they don't a thing other than sleeping their days off, they don't even manage to complete the first sentence of the first page of their textbooks. I am sorry to say that they are most in numbers. I can be social about everything but not a boastful addict.

Now there are the other hybrid types and the perfect types too. I hate both the others, but I'll limit myself to mentioning the two extremities. Now look, I have to live alone with nothing that I love can I do. So if a club's activity helps me improve my speaking skills, I join in. If a quiz competition helps me improve my GK, I participate. If a debate helps me speak better in public, I debate. If singing make me happy, I sing during cultural events. The truth is I have a selfish reason behind every of my deeds and activities which is quite opaque to most of my college mates, seniors and juniors. So basically an honest confession before them will be synonymous to hypocrisy on my part.

Sorry guys, I cannot help being more honest, because this is the most I can be. I am selfish, I am ruthless, I am heartless and I hate my college. This is to all who have personally taken care to make a funny showpiece out of me or to make my life miserable-Do what you want, I don't care, because I don't need to.

Lastly, I will end with a message to those I love and respect because I know they know that I love them. I am sorry guys, but this is not fury that you see. This is just despise and hatred. Don't belittle my love for you after reading these words, because I'll love you and only you of everybody in college. You are the guys I live with. Thank you for being there for me.

The Birthday

I failed to make it to every page of her diary, but that one day was most special.

I huff and puff,

For I know it’s tough.

I’m sorry I swear by Jove,

‘Cause I couldn’t give you that one thing called love.”

I closed my eyes when I read these words. 17^th March, 2010. That was the day; my 27^th birthday. That was the one good day in my life; the only good day in my life. The only one day I had her. The only one day I got to show my love for her. What happened next was something I wished never to recall. But today, those very memories are breaking the veils of the tears that I hid for so long and are showing in my eyes.

“Don’t go far away I pray,

For I have many more things left to say.

For many nights and dreams I saved a thing,

And before I know I leave, I’ll love to sing.”

I loved Neha. But I fell short of one thing she most desired in her dream man-popularity. Born with a defective eye-sight, I was forced by Providence and the doctors to put on the thick goggles I had to, and somewhere down the line, I was misconstrued to be a geek. She hated geeks. And what a fool I was! I never ever mustered the courage to protest, but all I did was blatantly confessed and with obvious refusals every time.

School was done with, and we were separated by long road miles when in college. Internet was something I preferred not using due to the often invasion of privacy by people. So I preferred phone-calls and texts. I still remember how I longingly waited for a reply to my texts. And to every phone-call I made, I got a “I’m busy now…” from her. Not even a “Sorry, I’ll call you later.” But I never gave up. I would send her letters and texts and birthday cards. She replied, but once every year, on my birthday. I still cannot describe how happy and elated I felt on those days. Yet, they were short-lived as the agony of separation would suck me into it like forever.

Time was the only healer but alas! Time moved on. Thanks to the advancement in technology, I lost my goggles in a five-minute operation. But my feelings for her never changed. I was an accountant in a multi-national bank. And she was something I didn’t know, for all I heard of her was an annual “Happy Birthday.”

That day was my 27^th birthday. After a tiring day’s work, I returned home exhausted, in delightful anticipation of a short-lived annual moment of joy. But somehow, that day, the letter didn’t arrive.

When it was 10 at night, I was almost sure that I was no longer eligible for that moment, the door-bell rung. I wondered who would want to visit me at such a time at night. I wasn’t expecting anyone as such. But the moment I opened the door, I was shocked due to overdoses of shock and happiness.

Neha was standing at my door, with her luggage. Her beautiful face had broken down to lifeless pieces of sorrow. Her eyes drooped and tears zigzagged all across her face. Yet, she was looking beautiful, for no matter how bad a diamond is carved, it will always shine. She came in, and for the next fifteen minutes or so, she lay dead on my shoulder. She wept and wept and didn’t seem to stop. I was weeping too.

The conquest of smart lovers had taken her on a very dissatisfying physical and a nightmarish meta-physical journey. Scarred by injuries, she was the sorriest thing on earth that I had ever seen. I slowly lifted her head up and before I could even utter the three magical words on more time, this time in voice, she pulled me near and kissed me passionately. She kissed me like none of the many girlfriends of mine ever did. I knew those were fake promises I made for temporary pleasure and satisfying my quota of lust. That day, I understood what pleasure was.

She kissed and kissed me. I was not an earthly being that day. I was completely driven by sub-conscience, and fearlessly I moved on my hands on her shoulders and removed her clothes. I felt her bare breast full of hard feelings and the love of maternity in my hands. I drank the milk of love while she caressed my hairs gently, yet passionately. I slowly felt a hand removing my clothes and I didn’t stop her, for I didn’t want her to stop.

The feeling of the conjugal bliss was evident as soon as my masculinity was tamed by the overwhelming love of her femininity. I pushed harder and harder and she went on kissing me as if she desired the taste of my saliva more and more. The slow puffs of her warmth breath brushed through my face and soon I began roaring like a tiger in a zoo free from bondage. Finally I found my shelter. I so dreamt to ride on the white unicorn that guarded the Elysian Lawns, and that day I truly did so.

That night we lay in each other’s arms, naked on the floor. The next moment I opened my eyes, I was the only one to have made to the earthly side of sleep. She lay motionless on the couch. And after the burial, I found her diary.

Today is my 28^th birthday, our first anniversary and her first death anniversary. I open my eyes and see my soul coming out in parts with the exhaled smoke of the cigarette I’m smoking. Yes, I long to die and be with her one more time, for I still love her.

“You are my rising sun and shooting star,

You are near, yet so far.

You sound as fresh as the running waters of the mountain streams,

You are my days, my nights and my dreams.

I drug and dose and drink and dose,

Alas! My love, I won’t ever be so close.

We were forever for years much this way,

And it will be always that way, as I’m riding away.

But the one big thing that was due,

Yes my true lover, I loved you”

Infidelity's Child...

Being a man in love, I realized that you have to be patient, and always be at the receiving end of womankind’s endless vetoes. Yes, I say this not because I have the slightest dissatisfaction in love, but because I have quite been hanging out there for a little too long for discomfort. At times I doubt its infidelity, but here is the question-Is it another way of expressing the clichéd doubt, or is it truly a test of fidelity. Enough of the many examinations that I have given ever since the big confession, probably many more than the number of written or oral examinations I have given till date for my academics. What? Do I have to hang in there for even longer?

Assurances and reassurances have never failed to live up to the best I could afford. The why after every reassurance am I quizzed tirelessly with the many questions that had already found their answers in the reassurances. Weren’t the answer spotless and picture perfect? Well to be honest, they can never be, in spite of the best of the perfections I could afford within my limited boundaries. I cannot embellish my vows of love with sugar-coated lies. Hence, I get hurt easily for every inch of disbelief in them. And today, after days, one of those moments of supposed infidelity inspired quiz was fired at me, to which I had nothing but another of those same old reassurances.

As my love cannot change after everything, my reassurances cannot change either. So they’ll sound very much the same every time. I am sorry; I am out of novelties here. But that’s not the end. An assertiveness in the blatant refusal of the truth happened for the first time today, and that was fired straight-forward point blank, which added on to the element of sadness and added an element of surprize to it. But here’s the twist, and I write it down in pen and paper, that it will reoccur. In the end, I’m again sorry to have thought her to be a bit out of the box of the members of womankind known to me till date, but no matter how, she is all the same.

She cannot realize or reciprocate love. Fine, no bad feelings, but the first moment of a supposed infidelity happened today which probably I had anticipated for the long road miles that separate us. Maybe there’s something else that she wants, but she has no right to be assertive of what I want, for some reason or the other, she doesn’t live my life. I live it. And the truth is, this side of the endless vetoes and the missiles of infidelity is what I’m living. You can’t see it, can you? You can’t feel it, can you?

I often confused the two words and thought it to be synonymous in our case-love and respect. While the latter has been ever since the day we became penfriends of the virtual world, the earlier somehow is not the “it” word in our bond. Wait now. Was there a bond or have I assumed too much? You are not the second most important thing after me yet for I am still nineteen pal, but that doesn’t negate the importance of you in my life.

To whomever it may concern-I love you, and not anything on earth can change that. Even if I am devoid of my desired togetherness due to unforeseen or obvious circumstances, I will love you. Now for every time I am quizzed or doubted, I’ll hang in there and reassure that I love you. But never ever say affirmatively that one lie-“I don’t love you.”

TOO MUCH...!!!

I have not been able to write much of late, primarily because my exams are knocking hard on my door, and most importantly, harder than it has ever knocked till date. Apart from the huge books untouched, something has been bothering me very much of late. Point is, I don’t know what, or rather why. My past once again is haunting me, but I really don’t know why.

I was not quite willing to come back to college this time. One reason is that the vacations were so long that college had become a non-existent part of my life, but I think it’s mainly because of a feeling of incompleteness somewhere down the line. This incompleteness is the thing that is giving rise to everything. I have been through these extremely frustrating feats and I have become quite used to things happening against my wishes. But somehow, this thing is so bothering. I never ever had to resort to nicotine and liquor before in my life, to overcome these short-living inglorious moments.

Concentrating has become so tuff of late. Also, my rate of speaking bullshit has increased manifold. Somehow it seems that the world has no space left to accommodate me anymore. Perhaps I don’t belong to the existing system anymore. Probably I am being a little too idealistic of late, where I really should be either materialistic or objective. I believe I’m a human being as any other at the end of the day, and I have my share of mistakes. But I have paid the price for it, but why don’t they just leave me alone? What more do they want out of me?

Until this is resolved, my life is going to be worse. As it is I am following a totally self-destructive path, but I don’t want to end my life being a loser, and having my small moments of glory in building fake castles in the air. Whatever needs to be done, needs to be done real fast! I don’t want to mess my exams nearby, and later, my life.

I'll be back...

So finally its the last night at home before I leave for college, something that I eagerly look forward to on the first day back home and something that I least want to meet with as days pass by. I find it really hard to get it into me that I don't live at my home anymore; I'm just a guest that stays on for weeks or at times, a few months. I was wondering why, after one and a half years of being in college, my heart resides in Kolkata.

Kolkata, is not my birthplace, but it has the streets and faces and things and buildings I have known in my senses since childhood. There is something majestic about this city, that doesn't escape me or my thoughts. I find so much peace and comfort and love in every corner of this city. Be its people, be its streets, I love Kolkata. And for the next few days I'll probably be down with nostalgic feats. Though I am surrounded by people 24x7, somehow I feel very lonely.

I live in a place renowned for its scenic beauty. The sunrise from the Kanchenjunga peaks is a panoramic view beyond appreciation. The mountains, weather, rivers, all are so beautiful. But someway, I feel better to skip the sunrise and be in the bed for a few more hours. I love the heat of Kolkata. I love sitting by the Ganges and see the crowds of devotees, passengers and lovers. No, Kolkata is irreplaceable.

But I have to accept the fact that I'm not in my city. Well, I have kind of accepted the fact, and hence have survived the past one and a half years there. Reality is harsh. I repeat what I said in my last post. But somehow the dreams, daydreams and alcohol-spurred illusions keep alive this hope in me, that I am going to be back in Kolkata.

"Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things. And good things never die."

Goodbye to you my dear city and all its residents. I'll be back for sure, and real soon. Take care... :)

Alas! It's too late!!!

Life is so full of realities. So full that at some point, happiness must necessarily be derived from dreams, daydreams or illusions. I mean reality is harsh, really harsh. It hurts. At times I really wish that I could go back and re-live a few moments, and probably redress the issues. But I just cannot. This, I write with a realization of late; that once a person is hurt, its hard to restore the relationship back to what it was.

Anger is a negative virtue I have in me. Nothing on earth scares me, except the person I'm when blindfolded by anger. Issues were born out of thin air at times in the past. Its true that I am the one responsible for most of the reasons why people who hate/dislike me, do so. Now the point is, I haven't found a complete remedy to this malady in me. So it makes me think and retrospect a lot during the aftermaths of many of such sudden outbursts. And the only question I have after that has not yet been answered by me. Why does it happen?

I was very hurt today, not that I lost contacts with the many I did, but because the ones who refrained maintaining contacts with me still believe I don't love them. No, I love them, and what I ask from them is to give me one more chance, to talk to them and confess my mistake. All I want to tell them is I'm sorry.

But alas I'm too late. Almost everyone who is close to me, has been hurt. Some still believe in me. Some do not. So I live in daydreams and dreams. Illusion spurred by alcohol and weeds and smokes. But they are momentary. Yet, I feel they are good. At least I can smile for once.

Recently an incident touched me. I write this basically to apologize to him and thank him. From day one we met, he treated me like a brother. And after the incident last week, he still treats me as his brother. I was moved indeed that he didn't abandon me from his life altogether, though I had to go through a long long speech in return. I never apologized to him properly.

So, to you my dear brother, I'm sorry. And to all you my dear lost friends, I'm sorry. I know that the damned face of mine doesn't deserve to be back before you saying all this, but I hope that the heavens convey my apology to you. I love you all.

The Million-Dollar Question

A friend of late asked me question that quite caught me off-guard. The question is probably one of the most-asked ones in the world, at times colloquially, at times for fun, at times just for the sake of asking a question, but never seriously, or rather as seriously as I was asked. The unpreparedness hence, was quite obvious. The issue is one of the maladies of teenage years, an obsession sounds better though.

I'm in my last year of my teenage years. Now this was not just told to inform my readers of my age, but with a graver thought implied. The fact is I have lived my teenage years, more or less with the same thoughts and obsessions affecting my peace and harmony, as others'. Having lived through all this, I often had wanted to revisit my teenage years, once before I was twenty. And thanks to my friend, that question quite helped me with this share of nostalgia.

I, to be honest, was obsessed, time and again falling for the beauty of it and also for the fun in it, rarely because I had to fall in one. The truth is, I was never a desperate guy in this case. I had my issues and stories, but with age, as I grew up to live fuller and better moments, I felt it was better I burn them forever. But I preserved this papers till this recollection of mine. Thanks to him, I burnt the ones I cherished to revisit the most.

Now all of you might be thinking what the question might have been. Before I reveal the question, I will say something. That I have burnt all my past occurrences, doesn't mean I have run out of the desire of future occurrences. And I would prefer a colon P out here.

And the question was-"Have you made-out yet, Sir?"

(for all my readers but to a special person, the proper answer to whose question would be this.)

Happy Diwali and Bhatri Dwitiya to everybody...

God or Human???

Revolution is not a one-man task. Nor is it absolutely synonymous to honesty. And here is the catch : We need to make money enough to survive well in the world today. So, lately after going through a book, I have been weighing my chances in both revolution and being honest, with a goal in mind. I have to earn money. Look, people have different ways of putting it; some say they have to "stand on their own two feet, some say, i need to get a certain degree that betters my chances of survival in the job sector today, snd some just blatantly, yet straight-forwardly puts it as "earning moneyto survive."

Currently, I am a 2nd year B.Tect student. Its the time we are supposed to enjoy our college life the most, since we are in no fear of "ragging" and we have more than half of our college life left to give a proper damn to career prospects. But the world today has changed its thought process. So, sadly what I meant to say is, I have been thinking about how to make money, easily, where I should have been hanging-out with my friends. Sad, bu true. The thing that haunts me most is how am I going to survive in an India which produces millions of Engineers per year?

To be honest, I have planned on getting a MBA degree, if that sieves me out to the "more-qualifed" millions. But there is no such securtiy in the job sector today. Well, there is no guarentee of a proper tomorrow in the first place. Money is Power: that's the mantra of the practical world today probably. And sadly, in most of the huge success stories, if we dig in deeper, honesty is a virtue, least-valued for. You get your work done with hot cash near at hand, else, you are a part of the system. That enables you to wait infinitely for evrything almost with least desired results or as in most, NO RESULT. You can supress criticism and protest with money. You can buy love with money. Imagine, you can be a God!

Revolution is not a good idea to make easy money. When alone, you can do nothing about nothing. While dedication and hard is common to both the penny-paid ways and revolutionary ways, honesty demands a lot in the latter. Revolution, many will argue has happened already in our country. I say yes. But in particular fields only. There can be no voice raised against a long-bothering issue, that is probably the greatest enemy of India's development. Yes. Corruption. That's the easiest way of making money. Thanks to people up at the "top" the people last in the heirarchy of Capitalism suffers the most. I believe India too is changing towards it; Socailism remains to be just another clause in the Constitution.

So, what I really meant through all these conflicting ideas is, what should I do? Will B.Tech+MBA be enough to run things honestly enough to make enough money to survive, or do I have to "make" money? Should I use my intelligence to make money, or should I use it to be a part of the revolution? A "yes" to the previous will make me a God, while a "yes" to the latter, will make me a human. Should I be a God or a human? Should I earn everything, or should I leave a little for achievement?

I Wanted To See For Years...

The grass seemed greener that day. My joys knew no bound as I ran on the meadows; my bare feet were eager to touch the grass. The running didn't tire me at all. I ran and ran and ran, happy to feel the grass beneath, caress my feet. The heavens above roared and soon, as I had anticipated, it began to rain.

I have a habit of catching a cold easily, yet, I desired to run and not stop. My wet clothes stuck to my body and as the wind blew, a chilled shock-wave run across my spine. Yet I ran and ran and ran. I circled the meadows over and over again in joy. For a long time in many years, I could enjoy the monsoons the way I would have loved to. Every drop seemed so clear, as if I had never seen the heavens shower ever before. Not that there was anything special, but I wanted to see them for years...

I stopped finally panting for breath. But I wanted to let go of myself, and soon burst into a vocal recitation of one of the songs of Rabindranath Tagore, a person who was next to God in my life. "Bozromanik diye gatha, ashar tomar mala. Tomar shyamal shudhar buke, bidyuteri jwala!"(dedicated to the bengali month named Ashar, when the monsoons strike, the poet adresses the month saying that your garland is of thunderbolts, and you strike the bosoms of the flushing meadows). My joys knew no bound. I could see the different shapes of lightning. I wanted to see them for years...

The rain stopped finally after an hour or so. The field was filled with water almost an inch thick. Frogs seemed the happiest, yet I was happier than them to have seen the monsoons. The sun began to peep through the dark clouds, and soon enough, it was out, fully. It would have made me perspire in other days, but the rain had cooled the environment. I felt the coolness. But then I saw something that I had never seen before. There was a rainbow on the sky, just like I had learned when I was young. It was beautiful in its seven colors. I started from somewhere on the ground; I went near it, but never saw where it started. Yet, I was happy. I wanted to see it for years...

"Rohan! Rohan wake up! Its seven almost!"

I heard my wake up alarm. My hand searched for my glasses. I opened my eyes. It was raining outside. I wish I could see it. I reached my stick and breathed a deep breath. Under the breath, I hummed-"Bozromanik diye gatha, ashar tomar mala. Tomar shyamal shudhar buke, bidyuteri jwala!" I wanted to see for years...

Choice... Do I have one???

Though quite familiar to the word "choice," I am quite not privileged to have had one in my life until today. For long now, the thought of this has been haunting me, and quite often the cause of my furious outbursts. It almost makes me feel like a loser in life, who is not capable of taking decisions of his own that suits him the best. Do I have a choice?

From childhood, I had been under strict parenting, which I presume is good to discipline a child. Young and almost ignorant of the world outside, the choices of my parents would be final, and rightly so. Academics being given the prime-most importance in our family, examples of "good-boys" would quite be restricted within people who have excelled academically. Back then, success would quite be synonymous to being the best boy in my class, and that was invariably topping the score-sheets during the terms. But, since childhood, I was brought up under two ideologies. While my school forced on education, at home, it was just books. While books at schools had no boundaries, books at home every time, found the fence. I still remember being beaten up by my dad for borrowing books from my school library for the sixth week consecutively. That was one of the most important things that made me master the art of lying. I don't regret the fact that I can lie well and confidently, but I hate the fact that I lie too much. From petty issues to important ones, I live with lies.

There is a time at the fag end of your schooling where you have to decide upon your career choices. Art, in every form has always found a special place in my heart. Yes, I wanted to be an artist. My love for music is as much as my love for literature, and even today I act like a crazy when I visit bookstores and music-shops. But I was given two "choices" and quite soon, I was left with one. Engineering, A guy who works well with logic and numbers is destined to be an engineer, at least that's what I was told. I too was a coward back then. I would have loved to continue with biology, but it was totally omitted from my choice list of subjects, as being a doctor, it takes long years to have recognition. I didn't complain back then. But today, I just can't help but do so.

Yes, once again I re-assure you all, my dear friends, that I was a coward back then. And looking back to regret and whine, I am no less than a loser. Yes indeed, my life is scarred by lies, or rather, camouflages. But no more of it. I have decided and I am firm on it. Before I go on to the next paragraph, I would seize the opportunity to apologize to my dad, that I couldn't be the "good boy" he wanted me to be.

Today when I took a decision about my higher studies, I was told that I am ignorant of the world outside and the market conditions. Yet I was assured on the other hand that nothing was being forced upon me. The ways differ as we grow up; the obvious dislike said it all. I was most foolish to have not done what I wanted to do, but enough of it. I will stand on my own two feet. I don't know how much having a "branded tag" counts in my case, because I'm happy with simple things. True that comfort never eluded me since childhood, but again, I wish not to fly on my father's wings. I prefer poverty, for poor people know what is it not to have things one needs, near at hand.

Today, I made the first choice of my life. And that is to be honest with myself, which till date, was jeopardized by the thoughts of being beaten by leather belts and slippers. I am no alien to those. There would be hatred in his eyes, and pain inflicted would be inhuman. While the shouts allured him to land one more blow, there was someone who sympathized with me, and mostly took the rest to bail me out of it. If not for anybody else, I'll do it for her. Today, pain, failure, I have been through it all, and I know I have lot more left to go through, especially when I chose to dedicate my life to the seven notes. But for once, nothing stopped me from doing what I wanted to do. Yes, finally I am happy. Also, I love you, mom...

Music...

My parents have been really troubled of late, concerning my total disregard of the rituals of "my" religion. I showered curses while climbing a long plight of about 300 steps, which "Hindu" people from all around the world come and climb willingly to have a "glimpse" of one of the numerous deities, and hence I should ditto them. As a result of that, I received a "curse" from "Him/Her" for my behavior in the form of getting a deep cut on my right hand... There have many more of such incidents of late. My belief in God and my being a "Hindu" has been of public debate in the family.

In this post, I'll clarify and justify why I did all that I did. Also, will introduce you to my religion, in which I believe I don't go astray from what the Gita or the holy scriptures of our religion says. To begin with, I had always wondered and questioned with equal awe, the extents that people could reach in search of God. They can traverse rough, long miles, barefoot. They can climb heights high. They can conquer the vast waters. And all these and many more, in search of God! And God? The clay-made, bronze-made, gold-made, silver-made, platinum-made idols? The funniest thing that has been intriguing me since my childhood is that, people know how God looks! All the flowers that we offer at the idol's feet, reached the Gods in heaven! I wonder and can't do a thing more than wonder...

Durga Puja is one of the most important "festivals" of the bengalees. Indeed, the word puja that follows the name of the deity is of little or no significance at all. We don't worship, do we? We have Brahmins having special training in the "Art" of worshiping, who have mugged a few lines in Sanskrit doing the "puja" and all the rest, go about pandal-hopping. It is indeed when people get to wear new clothes. The rich clear their wardrobe for the poor, and then buy a couple for themselves(so much so that they have a new set every morning and evening of the days of "puja"). It is also a time for reunion for many. As for the worship bit, all we do is repeat the lines in Sanskrit after the specially-trained Brahmins, and that is indeed all we do.

My questions arise. Is God residing in those religious spots only? Are Brahmins the only people who have the right to pray? My questions have never been answered. God to me is one, and omnipotent. Religion to me is one that binds every human being together. From my views, "Hindu" people do have every right to socially sideline me and curse me, but I got some answer for them too. No, I'm not the atheist that does not believe in the existence of God. No I'm not that agnostic that is unsure of God's existence either. I do have a religion.

I worship music. It is my religion, it is my God. It is present in every corner of the world, among people of every caste, creed, sect, sex and "religion." Music has its kind, its types. But music in a word covers all its varieties. Its speaks to people. the different tunes and ragas, have different emotions. Music, though comprises seven notes, and nothing beyond, is infinite. It is omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent. It understands people, people understand it.

I don't find that inner peace of praying, or the satisfaction of completeness, or even the peace of mind at a religious spot, but every time I touch the six-strings despite all the pains in my finger, and utter the notes my heart feels to utter, I feel detached from everything on earth. Life, death, mirth, sorrow, none affects me. I can feel, i can dream, i can love, i can hate, i can laugh, i can weep, all when I sing. That is the way my God listens to me. That is the way my fellow human beings listen to me. Yes, that is my religion, that is my God. And that is music...

A time to die, and a time to be born...

'I don’t not what he must have thought of when he opened the door and saw me standing there. His looks didn’t change, same as that of years ago. I can recall the love in those eyes when they looked mine. And it never seemed to have diminished after all these years. He wasn’t surprised at all to see me after ten long years. And I stepped in.

He didn’t say anything, just helped me in with my luggage. For one moment I thought that I should say something, but I refrained. I hugged him tight. Yes, I was wrong to have doubted him years ago, and left him in disgust. His love was platonic. His love was sacred. He thought a lot and that’s why I had left him. I wanted the adventures, the fun, the wildness. He wanted my love. Just my love.

My heart started beating very fast as I held him close to me and tight. I could feel his warm breath on my shoulders. His grip tightened. Tears rolled down my cheeks. I held him tighter. He caressed my hair. He kissed my shoulder, then moved on to kiss my forehead.

Adventures I had enough. Men would crave for my body. Making love to me would rid them of all their anxieties. But the pain would be indifferent to me. I felt duty-bound to oblige them. Sex was their drug. None loved me. They loved my body. They loved having sex with me. My only ware of worth was my genitalia. It earned the money for me. Was that all I’m capable of? Or had my vanity suppressed my faith in love? I would eagerly wait for these men. Weeks passed by, months passed by, years passed by. I waited and waited and waited for the many men. But none loved me.

The men were very vulnerable. They would be nervous. They would shake and be unsure of their touch, their actions. They were insecure. But he was different. He looked composed and confident. There wasn’t the shakiness in his breath. It was peaceful. It was from the soul. For all I knew was, he loved me.

Slowly I lifted his head of my shoulders and we kissed. He pulled me closer; my breasts pressed harder on his chest. I doubted if he felt anything else at that time. He kept on kissing me, and I didn’t pull back, for I too felt the heavenly feeling of love for the first time. I kissed many men in my profession. But somehow I was a reborn a virgin that moment and it felt like my first kiss. Yes, I was a virgin reborn.

That night we made love. It was like never before. He yelled. He roared like an animal! But it didn’t matter, and I felt immense pleasure, because this was how it had been since the beginning of time, when the first man met the first woman and they made love for the first time: they shouted.

Then his body collapsed onto mine, and I don’t know how long we stayed there, our arms around each other. I stroked his hair like never before. I felt his racing heart gradually slow down to its normal rate. His hands began delicately to move up and down my arms. He kissed me and said with a smile-“Good evening!”

“Good evening,” I said.'

John wiped the tears off his cheeks. Anushka lay silently in the casket. John never had the heart to say the three magical words. “I love you,” he said looking at his wife’s dead body. She passed away in the morning. It was their fiftieth marriage anniversary. She told John to read her diary from the very day she would die. And this was the first article in her diary. Yes indeed, for that was the first day of her life, her life as a lover.

I'm Not A Messiah!

He cared about her a lot. He loved her a lot. But she never knew how much. Many a times, she misinterpreted it to be yet another one of those romantic approaches of a guy, so she preferred not being with him. She often would tell him that she was not a good person, and he should not care about him after all.


This was one thought that used to occur to me over and over again, and often I told him that he should actually let her go the way she liked; he was not duty-bound to change her for the better. But nothing would stop him to spare a thought about her. I learned from personal experiences that honesty the not the thing that most of the girls look for, or even acknowledge now a days. They look for fun, adventure, and pleasure. Being good was a taboo, and I warned him of heartbreak.



He is my best friend. And I cannot afford to see him heartbroken at all. And my fears came true so suddenly just about an hour ago when I got a phone call from him. He sounded weak. His heart broke a long, long time ago. So what I assumed, it was something a lot more serious than it. This was what he precisely told me:


“Kuldip, she called yesterday. And this time, I could not hold myself up together, because this is too much. I mean why do I care at all? After one year all I know is that she doesn’t even give me a damn! So why am I trying all this?


Kuldip, she is not a virgin. And hold it, I know the lecture that awaits me. But trust me, the fact didn’t hurt me at all! It’s her attitude. Look I don’t at all poke my nose into anybody’s personal relationships, and even be it physical, it doesn’t bother me. She says she had it for fun. And now when I say that the way she is behaving, trying to find love in a guy who she just “loves” because she wants to have all the fun in a relationship. I mean, where’s the fun in it when you are not honest. All that guy cares about is to have a girlfriend.


Now when I say that all her previous company has ruined her and she was not in the right path, and just taking shortcuts to seek happiness, she doesn’t even bother to listen! I mean why do I care, right? Yes, let me tell you why. Because this is the first time I truly love a person and today she’s into sex, tomorrow drinks and drugs! I can sacrifice her personally. I don’t need her in my life at all. But I cannot see her sacrifice herself to the satanic things. Yeah, guess what I won’t give up!


I did lose all my hope to be with her forever, long, long ago, when I got to know that I meant nothing to her. But like it or not, she means everything to me. Right now, I’ll be the happiest person to see her go the right way and be happy in her life. I can leave her to have her find her own way. But I know one thing for sure, that if I do that, she’ll go deeper into damnation, and that by any means, I cannot let happen.


I really have larger responsibilities to shoulder from now on. So I said it. I’ll be nagging. She will plead me to let go of her, but I’ll not. I swear. I’ll do it selflessly, because I don’t want her in return. I want her to be a happy person in the long run. You know what it means to be honest. It hurts, but you are happy. You become the victim, but never lose your dignity. I want her to be good and honest. I’ll do anything to help her out of her ways.


I am not a Messiah! But I’m a human being with a heart. And all I can do is to love her selflessly. I’m happy that I love her. But I need her to love too, not for the sake of loving, but loving honestly. I do not want her to love the idea of a person. I want her to love the person, be it anybody.”


I was shocked. He hates monologues. But for the last 20 minutes, I was on the receiving end of one from him. I had one thing to say but I stopped myself. I felt a tear roll down my cheek, and I cut short the conversation with a “Goodbye. Talk to you later.” My voice choked. I knew she was gone forever, never to return. I wish I could tell him my story.

The dark passenger

"Life has no victories... There are only battles, and the best that you can hope is that, at the end of it all, you find a stand, and if lucky, find someone willing to stand beside you."

This was something I came across in a TV show, a little time back. Since the I've been thinking a lot about it. I mean, isn't it so true? There ends a battle, and soon enough a new one sprouts, and before we can even relish on the victory in the previous battle, we are already standing surrounded in the battlefield of the latter. And this goes on as a continuous process.

Emotions. What are these? Why do we feel them? Who gives these to us? These are the few questions I ask myself. For some good time, if the above said quote holds good, I really didn't feel anything at all. All my smiles, all my tears, all my everything, they were nothing. All of them were meaningless. I lived without feelings.

Pain is something that I have become very used to of late. What is pain? It is something that is supposed to hurt, right? So was it painful when I fell through a table accidentally? Or was it painful to see a friend change radically for the worst? Was it both? Was it none? I'm clueless.

They say "loneliness is tragical." Every time I close my eyes, I see that I'm in a desolate island, looking ahead, walking to the place where I can see the sun set. But the further I go, I see that I have to go to a different place altogether. No footprints on the sand, no signs to follow. Is this what we call "being lonely"? It is supposed to be something when you are all alone, and its not good. That's all I know. But am I lonely? I mean I'm always surrounded by people, at times, those who know me and love me well, at times, those whom I don't know, and at times, people who would be more than happy to see me dead.

Death. Another thing I don't know. People say and think a lot about it. It is not good they say, but it is unavoidable. Some commit suicide. Some are murdered. Some die a painful death. Some die peacefully. Why does it have so many varieties? Does it have any varieties? Its the moment of death I'll focus on. Whatever may be the reason, death occurs as soon as the heartbeat stops. So isn't death similar in all its forms? Why do people keep thinking and philosophizing about it? Is it death or that one moment that takes us to the other world? Why can't people accept a fact? I wish things were so easy...

I don't know why I write all this, but nothing of late has made much of a sense to me. And sure as hell this doesn't either. Is it the sorrow of rejection of honesty towards somebody? I don't know what sorrow is. Is it the shock of a sudden radical change in a somebody, whom your heart felt it should love? I don't know what shock is. I want to know. I need to know.

The Call...

This post is after a one hour chat with one of my close friends. It was a casual call but in its course, it got serious. Though in the end, we both had learned about our own "mistakes" concerning a particular incident, I somehow felt I should write on it. I carried on with my share of feeling bad about it, but writing about it gets all of it out of me. So I'm writing.

First let me introduce the person concerned. She is someone I really love and respect a lot as my friend. But to me, she is a human first and a "she" next. I was educated in a boys' school, so at one time, I was not at ease with conversing with the feminine gender. But it was my sister who convinced me to make mistakes, so that I come out of feeling uncomfortable, for in my future, I have to interact with men and women equally. And so I started my interactions. Many a times, my jokes didn't go off well; I have left many hearts wounded in the city because of some silly pranks, jokes or maybe comments I made about them. Some thought I'm a flirt, some felt uneasy about a few friendly gestures made. So this led me to believe that indeed interactions with females are not so easy as those with males. They are different indeed. And they need their own space a little more than men do.

But this young woman happens to come in my life. Our meeting was virtual, and rather an unusual one for a long-lasting friendship to continue. Yes, it is hard for people to believe in it; it was hard for me to believe it too. But it was reality. She was the first of the womankind that I could be really free and frank with. There are issues that I cannot discuss with my mom or my sister, for I feel shy as they are elder to me. But knowing that she was someone who would be the last person on earth to mind anything about it, I did share a lot with her. We shared a lot with each other. She changed my view altogether about women. Often we her women fight for equal rights as those of men. They were right. They are as good as men.

When I started contemplating a lot about the two contradictory viewpoints of mine, I was somehow driven by sheer justified facts that men and women should be equally treated. This viewpoint actually help me be at ease with womankind. I made a lot of female friends soon after. Slowly, I was led into an all new belief. Women are human first, women next.

This summer I happened to meet with her on not one, but two occasions. It was really nice to meet her, and we had our share of fun. She wasn't a bore to be with, so I really loved her company. Till here all sounds okay. But then it happened. We were about to part our ways towards home, when we shook hands and I added a friendly gesture by poking her little-bulging-out tummy. Yeah, that's what I do to friends with bulging tummies.

For days later, we conversed normally, though occasionally I brought up the tummy issue, and she would "jokingly" say-"My tummy officially hates you!" But it seemed that I was wrong. I was definitely wrong. I generally understand subtle remarks, but about a thing that perfectly went down well it me, I couldn't decipher the subtlety in it. It didn't go down well with her. I admit that my blind faith had a loophole. Do I ever give a thought to what the person on the receiving end feels? No I don't. And I was wrong. So I learned that its again different with females. They need their own space and we have to respect that.

I was feeling miserable to have done what I have done. Especially to have hurt someone like her, who has been one of my best buddies, and is one of the few who really understands me well. But my complaint is on only one thing. I agree that given to the fact I'm a human being, I'm not perfect. I make mistakes. But they are unintentional. I try my best not to hurt people, because that goes down as a regret in my life, and I hate having any regret with me in my life's course. I prefer being shouted at when I'm wrong. At least that makes me conscious about my mistake, and I apologize. But this was supposedly a case where a "sorry" is not enough. I have just one thing to say. It would have been, if at that moment if it were to be told. But alas that did not happen.

I want to tell you my dear friend a thing. Please be direct with me about nothing but my mistakes. Correct me, for I'm human. Enlighten me, for I am illiterate about most things. In the end, I wish that we have learned our lessons from this incident. I'll quote-"I'm selfish, impatient, and a little insecure.I make mistakes, I'm out of control, and at times, hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best." Please let us help each other for life, for all I know is that if there is anyone who can handle my best and worst and won't defriend me for either, it is you and YOU only.

Heavenly Kashmir...

This is something that I have been wanting to pen down since a year ago. But somewhere deep down I was scared to do so, given to the really "nice" stories about that place. Believe me or not, after hearing all of them, you would rather stay at home than risk your life to visit "heaven." Yes my friends, this place is none other than the aptly called, "Heaven on Earth", Kashmir. I had the privilege of visiting Kashmir last year around May, and though I consider myself lucky to have come back alive, I consider myself luckier for having visited the place. I will not only focus on the scenic beauty of Kashmir in this article. but also on a certain something that to me was utter doleful and shameful.

The first thing that comes to the mind of any geography-educated student of our country about Kashmir is the Dal Lake. For the sake of trivia, Dal Lake has a catchment area of 316 kilometers and a shoreline spanning up to 15.5 kilometers. It is lined by the Mughal Gardens, two of the famous ones being the Shalimar and the Nishad Bagh(garden). A shikara ride is the thing of maximum interest for the visitors. Taking shelter in a House-boat, is another experience never to forget. But the thing which perhaps attracted me the most was the sunrise and sunset. I just have no words to describe how beautiful it was. The water changes it colors with time. At night, its pitch dark, during sunrise and sunset, a bright crimson with an yellowish tinge, running down to infinity. Two more things of interest about the lake is the char chinar(four chinar trees) island and the floating gardens. A variety of flora is evident, but if lucky, a wide range of fauna too.

The next place I would love to focus on is Gulmarg. Embracing the clouds, it was once upon a time, a place on demand for the Bollywood directors. How romantic is the place! There are three points at this place, each some kilometers above the other. From point 1, it is a 30 minutes long ride in a cable car to point to. As you ascend, the fog becomes denser and denser, but still the flushing meadows beneath and the teak and sal trees covering most of the left-hand side and the right-hand side view. Upon arriving at point 2, you'll be able to see that a little above, its all snow. A 30 minutes walk battling the slippery rocks in the way, you reach this spot. Here you can try your hands on skiing and sledging. I personally tried my hands on skiing. It is real tough to put your weight on your knees, but ignoring the pain, the trip downhill was another unforgettable experience, not to mention the big fall I had to the end of the run that left me almost numb in the snow. It did hurt, but I was smiling. Going to point 3 is more than just taking a risk. The famous LOC(Line of control- a military control line between Pakistan-occupied Kashmir and Kashmir in India) is less than a kilometer from there. Due to its high altitude, breathing becomes extremely difficult. The snow there is knee deep and the fog, denser, almost blinding you after a few meters. I was lucky enough to visit the Indian Military camps and come back alive. No bullets, and I could still beat, though to be very honest, I was very nervous. It was a very nice experience to meet the soldiers though. Not everyday they have a visitor, and not everybody dares up to their place. My mom was in tears and my dad angry. But I was arrogant, for I would not miss such an opportunity. I was the only visitor from our group of 30. Living far away from family, sacrificing all the comforts of home, putting their lives at stake to protect our country, they deserve every bit of sympathy, honor and respect.

Kashmir has a lot more of such places like Sonmarg, Pehelgaon and the Mughal Gardens. I don't think that I'll ever finish this article if I go on with these places. A special mention to the weather of Kashmir, which is very cool and pleasant. If it gets hot(comparatively), rain showers to restore it back to its cool and original self. In a nut's shell, Kashmir is indeed heavenly. I don't know if I'll ever make it to Kashmir again, but if given a choice, I'll definitely want to have more of Kashmir.

Now focusing on the sad bit of the story that I have learned. Kashmir has been a very controversial place in India, and probably one of the reason of conflicts between India and Pakistan. I believe every state in India has conflicts and the media is not so severe in projecting them to the people. I living in West Bengal can say that there are political conflicts, people here are murdered too, there are a lot of underhand business going on. But thanks to the "image" of the state, it is often pardoned. But life is a lot different than we know in the papers. And to be honest, Kashmir is no different than West Bengal, or any state as such. But after the Kargil War in 1999, any petty issue is portrayed as a large something. True, that the place is under constant disturbance, but the only thing the media has done is bring in fear and hatred in the people of our country for Kashmir. People are afraid to visit Kashmir. People look down upon the Kashmiris. People don't interact with Kashmiris. In the long run, Kashmir has somehow been neglected and socially boycotted by us people.

I can still recall one of their people hugging me at the airport and tell with tears in his eyes-"babua, hum bhi hindustani hai, tum bhi hindustani ho. Hum bhi insaan hai, tum bhi insaan ho. Par kaun samjhaye pure desh ko yeh, wo to hume pechante hi nahi(You and I, both are Indians. You and I both are Human Beings. But who will tell this to the rest of the Indians, they don't even recognise us as their own)."

Kashmir is something that India can be proud of. My request to you all is please, don't sideline or look down upon people just by believing the media. All is not true. As for the Kashmiris, they are our brothers. They are our fellow Indians. Please give them the love and respect they deserve.

To whom it may concern...

I was not willing to post this one, but something convinces me that here I speak my mind out. Nobody stops me. I write the beginnings and the endings. Anyways, this is about a person who used to be a nice person until a year ago. Since then, I'm someone whom she needs occasionally, and just needs...

Our 1st meeting dates back to early April, 2008. We had just graduated to the 11th grade. Back then, life really used to be different. I personally being educated in a boys' school, was not at ease in interacting with girls. So my introduction to her was kind of lame. But strangely, she was the only girl I really was at ease talking to. She would purposely talk to me the most to help me out of this problem. Slowly, we became good friends, maybe the best of friends.

It was time for all the engineering entrance examinations. I wasn't much serious about my studies, quite unlike her. As a result, she scored much better than me and got into a comparatively better college, the best in our state. And there it all began. Yes, there were promises made to be friends forever no matter what happens in future, but little did we know what time had in store for us. Slowly ego crept into her. Though we still did meet after that, something felt so not right...

Months later, meeting was out of question. Why? Because she was busy with her studies. But so was I. I mean she's not the only one on earth who had to appear for exams! Speaking of exams, she had exams everyday. Everyday? No-one can have exams from the second week in a semester, everyday after that. She didn't have time for a simple "Hello!" Gradually, the "Hello!" from the other end of the phone faded to a not.

No, we do speak over phone now. But its only when I'm on the receiving end of the call. And why suddenly? "Kuldip can you do this for me?"; "Kuldip I need your help!" And it goes on. Its the only time she feels that she should speak to me. I'm a somebody when she needs me, but a nobody in reality. It saddened me a lot, so I stopped speaking to her.

We met today online(a rarity). She drops in a "Hi!" I wasn't surprised. I was just waiting for another thing she needed my help for. In the end, the conversation wasn't nice at all. She insisted that I should believe a person just because he is a good student! I was shocked and really lost my temper at that moment. But I was feeling guilty at the same time. All the "If only"-s came into my mind back then.

I do not regret such an ending to story. I mean, from being the best of pals, to a nobody of each other was quite a journey of over three years. If there is one way I want to live my life, I would not, in the future, look back and say something beginning with "If only..." I was sad. But now I console myself thinking that this has been just another learning experience. People remember you when they need you, but do not even recognize you, when all is well for him.

In the end, I would love to conclude by leaving a message to her. "I always acknowledged you for being better than me. Live well my friend. I love you."

Imperfection, Yet Perfection...

No man in this world is born perfect. Perfection equals being God. Imperfections are bound to be present in everyone no matter how "perfect" they claim they are or people claim they are. The close that a person come to perfection is being the best version of himself/herself. We respect a person for his/her goods and expertise, very often termed as his/her "perfections." But I think, we actually remember the imperfections more. True, it is the general tendency of human beings to focus on the darker aspects. But it is the imperfections that we remember, and when we look back, its the imperfections that bring about a smile or a tear.

My school days are long gone by. Long as in just a little over a year. People get busy with career and new things come in their life, so its very rarely that we get to meet with each other. And how many would spare a good siesta on a rainy day than a football match in the mud? I mean those days of wilderness are gone, never to back again. I'm still quite attached to my school, so I visit it every time I'm at home for some holidays. When I sit quietly and think about my school days, its the pranks that we played on each other, the weakness of a few teachers(whose life would be made a living hell by us for those 40 minutes), the break of school rules, all the wrong things supposedly that come into my mind. Strangely, that makes me smile and say-"I wish I had one more day left at school!"

My best friend in school had a very bad habit of pulling his own hairs from his head! So much so it made him almost bald! I still remember the day our physics teacher sent him out of the class, because he was pulling his hairs. He also had a bad habit of joking a lot, sometimes beyond the limit. Curled up in his muffler on a winter morning, he actually kissed a boy during the physics practicals! We have had a lot of fun together. But when I think about him, these are the only few things that come to my mind, and I shed a tear...

It is the imperfections that make us remember the person. Accolades and achievements are too many to remember. In the end, I would like to conclude by saying, "Imperfections make the most perfect memories."

Life has no victories...

Living alone, far away from your home isn't a comfortable experience at all. With the freedom comes in a lot of responsibilities. The lone fact being that you have no one there for you to aid all your needs. Lonely would be a wrong term to use. You do have friends, but a whole new bunch of people. You cannot be absolutely at ease with them right away, or even confide in them all of you. Living away from home was something that I was eager to when at home, but for every of those moments for the past one year, I wish I were at home. Life would have been so much easier!

August 8th , 2010, was my first night alone, in an all new place, with three complete strangers whom I had known just for 4 hours. As I closed my eyes, the first thing that I missed was my bed; it was much longer and broader and much more comfortable than this one. I can almost feel the wood below the cushion. To my right, there wasn't my computer. In my room, there wasn't my guitar, which apparently I still cannot live without. Nothing seemed familiar. No family, no friends. A whole bunch of living and dead strangers. And I shed a tear, a tear for graduating from a Disneyland to reality.

I didn't get along with the people initially, mainly because most of them were from villages and a few, from places even unheard by my parents! Luckily I had a somebody who was my school-mate too. But yes, to live well, I had to live with all. I couldn't come down to their level honestly. What's very normal to me, a resident of a metro, is a taboo for their society. Their language, their thought process, nothing matched mine. I would still join in their conversations, but they always made me feel out of the group. Gaining their trust would be difficult I knew, but that is something that I really had to do. It took me over six months to adjust. Now, at home, I feel bored, because there, I had somebody to talk to all the time. Here after my parent are gone for work, I'm left all alone. How quickly things changed in the past one year, I'm really surprised every time I turn back and look.

I have learned an important thing about life in the process. There are no victories... There are only battles, and the best that you can hope is that, at the end of it all, you have a place to stand, and there is someone willing to stand beside you. Well I'm still waiting for that someone. Till then, I'm ready for all the uphill battles I gotta fight. The whole experience matured me, my thoughts, my beliefs. It's really easy to give in to situations with happiness as the immediate outcome, but suffering in the long run. We generally do give in to all of these for want to happiness. But I guess to hold yourself back and go through the rough paths is a better pursuit of happiness. Believe me, there ain't any shortcut to happiness either...