Angels and Bastards

This is something I was always planning to write. My journey of the past 15 months. Lessons learnt, relationships made and broken, happy hours and restless nights, intellectuals and psuedo intellectuals, angels and bastards...

Coming to MICA was perhaps my way escaping the reality. The atmosphere did seem surreal at the beginning and the feeling got more acute with time. Fitting into a new place is not always easy but that was not the difficult part here. Adjusting to the ever changing behaviors and misplaced idiosyncracies however, was. The long walks in the night seemingly drived my life and it was as though the life source was sapped along with the abrupt end of those walks. Unrest replaced my once serene mind and life would be never as good again.

U never know when u click with people who become your best friends. This time It happened online at 2'0 clock on an otherwise boring September night by chance. After more than an year and a zillion mugs of coffee and countless hours of cribbing and complaining later, I believe Mishu is one person who I can always count on ( though not on sticking to coffee plans :) ).

A family away from family, i thought was a phrase that has no literal meaning. But here I am, a part of the first family of PGPCME. A family with all the trappings of a 'K' serial from scheming couples to spurned lovers. The proceedings could not have gotten more dramatic. What would I remember from here?? Lot of them, some good some not so. The shared Maggi n fried rice [courtesy Niki], the mid night movie shows [Karzzzz...!!], the saturday night eat outs, hogging the biryani meant for the whole 'family' [that would be me and Nimit :P], gettin beaten up for doing that, the trip to West Bengal, getting lost in the marshy jungles of Sunderban, assignments shared, fruitbeer and manekchowk in the late night, broken dreams and reality checks, taking the brunt for some one else, pouring my heart out to Mishu on terrace, just being there for each other, the list would go on.

It wasn't all angels and saints though. Some don't waste an opportunity to backstab, perhaps it is a way of life for a few. Hollowness and indifference were to be found in the most unexpected and unlikliest places. I don't know if experience makes a person better or bitter, don't even know if it has made me a different person. But I have learnt. To introspect, to give, to forgive, to apologize, to explain, to enjoy, to endure, to assimilate, to be what I am. whatever I will be tomorrow, I would owe part of that to every one who taught me how to be and how not to be, every one who loved me and hurt me, every one I liked and hated.

I would like to read this one day once i detach myself from the events here, would I still be thinking this way? Would I be more bitter? May be I would laugh it away but the feelings and views don't matter much when expressed at a wrong time and this, is the right time for these ramblings.

For Your Fake

They believe you are a saint, a star shining bright,
the proverbial Abel, an angel dressed in white.
Your true colors are so well hidden by this light,
The hollowness that is your core, a ghastly sight.

Convenience decides your friends and brothers,
in the absence of deciet, your heart shakes and cowers.
Manipulations to add one more to your lovers,
Pretensions and lies among so many others.

The ones sorrounding you don't have a single clue,
one question would remain once they start to construe.
How Fake can one be? the answer lies precisely in you.

In spite of another fake denial, You know its all true.

Just before the end

I have seven days. 7 days of lazy stupor and 7 sleepless nights. May be a little more than that but that's not gonna change anything. Not gonna make any difference to any damn thing. The time left will be dense with anger and disappointment with self and with every one around, a sense of what might have been, utter helplessness and a possibly misplaced feeling of injustice. I don't have any pretensions of knowing what I'm doing or what I want all the time. Wanting the improbable has always been one of my most disturbing traits. But this time, perhaps to indicate my descent into hitherto unknown areas of love and pain, I now crave for the impossible. The lost innocence, the forgotten yesterday, stars in the noon, the moon in my hands, the love of my life, life after death. All of them equally impossible. Some one had told me,"the more impossible the things you wish for, the less will be the hurt when you don't get them." It was a lie. I had to learn it the harder way and worse, I feel the ordeal has just started.

I have more things to worry about as well. What after the seven days? How would it be like? Is it gonna be like a vacuum, will it suck me in like a black hole? How would I fill the void? or is the afterworld a better place for my restless heart? Too many questions, I know. Questions are all I ever had and their answers have more often than not, ended up being more questions. May be the answers have been there all the time and I just didn't look at them. May be I even knew the answers all along but didn't want to admit. But if I had seen the answers, I don't remember them anymore. After pouring down the excess thought flow in my brain into a full page of incoherent words, even now 'm no closer to the answers. And I have no new questions popping up. That should have calmed me but strangely I'm more disturbed now. This just seems like an indication, an omen that doesn't give any better comfort in coming days. But there is only one direction my train of thought is gonna take and I don't see the end of the tunnel any sooner.