Latent desires

Finally the exams are over (again).

The joy that they (exams) leave you with, with their departure is more than the fear, anxiety and tension they bring with their arrival.

Joy, my dear, weighs more than a woe.

I am not sure whether I' ll pick up another course after this one is over, but this 'exams are over' ecstacy is what I love the most.

Somebody asked me, why I picked up 'Journalism' course as it has no relation with my current profession, to which I replied that the whole life I studied what was important for me, so now, having finished the 'significant', I am doing what I always wanted to.

Though I am in no mood to take up another year long course, any further, but three things attract me:

1. Leaning Urdu. 

I always wondered why people learnt a new language. One cousin did one year course in French from Panjab University. A friend learnt Spanish, giving statistics, that there are more Spanish speaking people in the world than French. 

Until one day I realised, how much I loved 'Urdu' and there is a possibility that I can invest time in learning it too now. Oh, I always wanted to learn this beautiful language. As per me, this is the most sophisticated language, closest to a human being (and God) and is the most suitable to express your happiness, pain, wit, respect, humour and the other similar feelings aptly (Pl ignore if you find it exaggerated, but i really feel so) and Mirza Ghalib was the person who perfectly portrayed its beauty, while keeping the head held high for the language.
The pronunciation, the meanings and usage..dont u think it is just superb?
Ok, my second plan could be-


2. Learning Web designing

I know, having a dream of learning Urdu is digestable, by a CS who completed her LLB last year, who is on verge of completing her Journalism course, but from where does this 'web designing come from??

Have patience, buddy.
You know na, how sanki I am...

I love creations. And, how great it feels when you are given the pen and a box of colours to draw an image on one the biggest media channels- internet.
Wow!! I still get excited to think about it.
I always wanted to be a Creator. A Producer. A Maker. An Owner. A Provider.

I wanted to know how things work, so that I never indulge in 'fault finding exercise', but be a part of  'solution provider'.

I love the technicalities involved. I love the 'how' part of it after knowing its 'what' and 'why' parts.

 3. Learning fashion designing.

As you know me, how much I love dressing up like a 'girl'. Mom is a creative designer too ( for me only).

I love experimenting with colours, fabrics, and designs.

I think this too, being creative in nature attracts me... so no wonder if I end up being a rival to Manish Malhotra.. hehe

A tryst with solitude

They say, the more you run away from girls, the more they come near you...
Solitude, I infer now, is exactly opposite to that...
More than enough I have ran away from it..but it looks like never leaving me
So, why not, for a change, pause and let it reach me...as they say, no one should go unheard.

As the definitions of life have been recetly changed for me, I realised, I am now, getting more attracted towards solitude and its reated stuff..

Earlier, when i used to roam at the beach, i used to get amused to see the couples holding hands, laughing, kissing, hugging and playing..
But now, i feel like getting more attracted towards the singles..of all age groups...of all sexes..of all creeds..of all social statuses..
I have observed that people who stay single are more healthy, more independent, more smiling, choosy and seem like being proud of themselves..
They work as an insignia of human race.. i may be wrong..but they look like so powerful from inside
Probably when we are alone, we are assured that we have got nothing to lose, hence we feel contended, happy and secured

Initially, when i encountered solitude for the first time after separation from my partner, it symbolised death to me...gradually i realised that staying with solitude was not a compromise, but a blessing as it taught me how important i was for myself...and it really taught me how to love myself..

But gradually, as per the law of diminishing utilities, the love for myself, after reaching its height started to diminish, and at that stage, i felt like giving clues to myself that i was decaying..

As a matter of fact, I am going to complete 6 months of the exile period now, and i m passing through so many questions, probabilties, some larger uncertainties and some self framed lessons of life...

The season of tears, in between, arrives every two months..ha ha
I have just finished over with it..i m allowed to have a tearless smile for another 2 months now...

By staying alone, I realised that there are 26 hours, and not 24 hours in a day..
And i know every single hour that i live with during the day, now-a-days.

The days are long..especialy sundays
Nights are grey..they used to be sparkling black earlier
Mornings are patchy and pale yellow in color.. they used to be orangy red earlier

Meanings of life have changed substantially

The things that used to look big in years to come in life, smell smaller and vice versa
Life used to look so planned, just like a passing affair...
Time, similarly, i took as a weak warrior
I am contented to know that I am wrong, before wrong actually happened to me..

Solitude has made me realise my mistakes and my potential and answer the questions for which i never was able to shell out time..strange, but true!!
It has helped me to suggest myself what all do i need and at what time to fill up the vaccuums created within me..

It has helped me know myself, as a being, as a female, as a growing woman, as a professional, as an individual..

At the same time, it has uncovered the bitter variances of life that I used to assume as constants in my equations...

I am reminded of Joseph Konrad's saying...."We live as we dream- ALONE !!"
The new law of my "Individualism" replaces "we" by "I" and "as" by "and", thereby making it...."I live and I dream- ALONE !!" 

The Ghost

Ghost- A derivative of borrowed apprehensions.

A ghost derives its powers from our own impotencies.

You are not sure whether actually ghosts exist or not, but you still get frightened of them.

Till the time, somebody is accompanying you, you smug, having a reason to console yourself. 

Ghost is an uncertainty, a feeling of helplessness, a cry, a strong feeling of needing somebody by your side. 

Yes, that’s what I wanted to say. 

Solitude is like a ghost.

It stays in your own heart. 

It feeds on your conscience in your sub conscious..

Till the time somebody is by my side, life looks as normal as it is.

But, the moment, the heart realizes that the person besides me is about to make a move, the ghost from the corner of the closed walls, suddenly appears from nowhere and starts dancing by your side…

Neither parents/ siblings nor relatives/ friends can provide you company. Yes, you are absolutely alone. Your ego too, leaves your body. 

You lie in your bed, like an injured rat, whose life is as unimportant as its death. 

An acutely severe phenomenon- that tears you from inside and keeps on scratching your wounds. 

There is no escape. You are a well defined prey…meant to suffer. 

The Request

“It is a black and white picture. Not clear. But you can see it moving ”, said she, telling about her observation on seeing the baby inside her womb in ultra-sound.

Thank God, we were conversing on chat, otherwise she would have noticed my teary face or heard me groaning in pain, to miss that part of my life.

I absolutely and very clearly remember, Mr. God, when once, while crossing the bridge you had implanted the thought in me that you won’t leave my life empty and  I am too, your dear child. I’ll also get everything that I ever wanted….just that I should wait with some patience. If you remember, I had agreed on it happily that evening.

But, why this strong pain. I never wanted to be a mother. And, now, I just want to be a mother only.

I request you to define the word “patience” that you often use, in our conversations. Yes, you heard it right. I want you to quantify and define how long and how much pains in my struggle for life I need to go through.

Please explain.

You have given me a good, attractive and a healthy body. You have made me a master in my field that I get respect for my work and am able to work for my living for the rest of my life, with pride. You have given me no liability and only peace at heart to enjoy the bounties you have bestowed upon us.

I thank you for all that. I am really grateful to you, for that. I mean it.

But, now, I want you to bless me with that concept that gives me the strongest feeling.

I want to be a mother.

You know it.

I want a baby of my own.

I want to reproduce.

I want your blessing inside my womb and that I see it growing every day and night.

I want him (am sorry, am becoming gender specific) to be created inside my body.

I want him to look like me, and do all that I did…and all that I couldn’t.

I want to live life again- through his eyes.

Please god, I know you are listening to me..i know you are there… I know that you are seeing me crying.. I know that you will. Please give me more patience to wait.

First time in life....

They say, there is always a first time in life.
My questiom to them is what if all these first timers arrive in your life simultaneously, and that too for the first time in life.

I had a booze, ....all alone for the first time in life
I jumped down from a running bus, for the first time in life 
I watched a movie, .... all alone for the first time in life
I bought a handphone, , .... all alone for the first time in life
I came back from the Air port (without anybody waiting to receive me) .... all alone for the first time in life
I had a overnight journey in train, .... all alone for the first time in life
I ate a strawberry ice cream in my style of closing the eyes after every spoon, , .... all alone for the first time in life in a busy motel

I decided to buy that costly short frock for myself, , .... all alone for the first time in life
I abused a bastard who tried to pinch my butt, .... for the first time in life
I went to the High Court, .....for the first time in my life
I wore a brown blouse,...for the first time in life
I wrote a blog, ...for the first time in my life
I shared my poems, for the first time in my life
I bought blue flowers for myself, .... for the time in my life
I managed a massive financial crisis,.... all alone for the first time in life
I booked a train ticket from a reservation counter, using the "Ladies only" counter, .... all alone for the first time in life
I have imagined to live a life all alone,... for the first time in my life.............

Prostitution

When a thing is used, it doesn’t make a difference as to how you use it.
You buy and use.
Consumer Protection Act differentiates the use.
You are not a consumer if the goods you buy are not for your own consumption.
So, if you are a Vendor selling grapes, you must not complain of your own grapes if they are sour.
This was a commercial transaction. 

Law, has no other option but to legalize and devise such definitions. 
I had never realized that ‘sex’ was a commercial transaction too. 
Where your own body, doesn’t belong to you, but, to those who pay you for its use.

It is not that I have come from Mars and I don’t know what prostitution is. 


I have seen in movies and read in newspapers and magazines; even got involved in girly gossip team about conjecturing a particular ill famous girl as a whore, and staring at a skimpily dressed non attractive girl on the road at night, but had never seen a ‘confessing and admitting wench’.

As they say, knowing is knowing, and doing is doing. I did. 
The Pill House experience was not as light as had expected it to be.
The lady on All India radio at 100.7 MHz updated, that after the fresh downpour, the air carried 100% humidity. 
Later, I realized that certain things, which the air carried along, she was not informed of.

The air carried the filthy demand for lust, the cruddy business of petty money and the foul smell of flesh, and yes, the economics of impuissance.

Not just the women displaying what the eyes of the hungry men wanted, the brokers of the ‘commodities in demand’ were on patrol to give you the best material at the best negotiated price. 
The moment a taxi slowed, a swarm of the agents would gather to ask your taste and budget.

My curious eyes turned woeful to see the inexpensive gestures of ‘fuck me for money’. 
The road was the market, the hovels were the showrooms, and the commodities available for ‘rent’ displayed on either side of the road, for innumerable gazing customers.

Ladies below thirty, were dressed in tight fitted figure hugging western, single piece, off shoulder attire with plunging cleavage, with a hell of non-professional make up- darkened eyes, glossy lips and untied hair.

The forty plus class was exceptionally non presentable with shabbily powder dabbed faces, black maroon lips, bloated tummies, artificially mended arch brows. Draped in saris with its palloo not on the bosom, but held in the hand, just like the highly paid sophisticated women on Fashion Channels, exhibiting branded creations, they stood in with an unmatchable confidence on the face. 


I caught one thing in common. Amongst all those women. It was, the faces. The expression that every face carried was absolutely ‘expressionless’ but highly ‘professional’. 
They comfortably and convincingly knew what they were selling. To be in, you must be out.
You can not afford to take a break in the peak business time. 

As a customer, you have a choice. 
You ask for it, they have it.
You can go for modern or traditionally clad woman, you can hire black or white as per your skin taste, you can buy either north or south Indian; you can take either a young or an old one, you can enjoy a married virgin or a non-virgin spinster.

You can order as per your budget and requirement. Confidentiality is non questionable. 
Need reference and quality check? Ask the old customers, I mean, the existing ‘consumers’.
My friend asked the Cab driver, “To Bhaiya, ye sab to paanch sau rupaye mein milti hongi?”
To which, he replied, “Array ye hazaar rupaye se kam wali nahi hai..”

For a moment, I took a pause from the scene and asked myself, when the rate of inflation in India is 13.91 percent for last month, the integrity of the woman was still available at a cheap rate of a thousand bucks. 

While the taxi moved towards Congress House that was once a political congregation hall, the degrees of obscenity became coarsely sophisticated. The mall culture, you know. 

There, only the brokers are out. Ranging between 35-65 years of age dressed like 9-5 government servants, they sell sisters, wives, daughters and mothers.

As the streets were going narrower, the business was getting serious and severe. 
This is Mumbai, where you can order Dhokla, Dosa, Dal Makhani and Dolma in one restaurant.

Rent a cab, or rent a lady, it is all, available, at your disposal. 
And, you have the option to select the model that you want to drive.
There is no difference in a cab and a woman. Isn’t it?
Fuel it in and drive as much as you want.
Use it day and night, get bored and then dispose off.
Enjoy till you want, and then sell off. 
Thrash it and throw compensation.
Broke? No problem. Buy a second hand model at throw away price, and feed your hunger. 

My mind didn’t take a u-turn with the taxi.
At the end of the road to ‘heaven’, the taxi stood at the red signal. 
There are red signals in the red light areas too!!! 


From a distance, I saw a college girl, in purple top and black jeans, as if carrying her coaching classes’ books. Seeing the head light of taxi, instead of giving a way, to my surprise, she turned towards it. With her forefingers she sensuously moved the flicks of her hair falling on her face to see the face of the passenger. 

Her probing eyes became apathetic to see a non eligible customer (me, a girl) in the taxi, and she moved on the other side of the road.

What a cheap glimpse it was!! 

I just felt the clinch in my heart. How unsafe it was, walking on those roads, where you were not a girl, not a passenger, not a student, not a lady shopping groceries, but a prostitute.

A chill passed by my spine and in seconds, I felt my soul was stripped off my body.
A couple of moments in the taxi in that area had ripped off my belief in the … and there were those girls, with dead heart, professional female organs, with saleable bodies that dwelled so confidently on those graveyards of crushed morality.

The taxi driver stopped the cab at Saifee Hospital at Churney Road Station on the eastern side.
The meter of the taxi said I had to pay thirty eight rupees for the flimsy experience, for which I was so curious about. 

I just calculated… what a difference. 

The west side of the station is soaked in the salinity of sea and the eastern part was mysteriously overflowing with the bitter uncovered truth of life….