their glory ends with their gold medals

sitting silently, doing nothing, the spring comes and the grass grows by itself

Colorful Bottles

Colorful Bottles

*Salwar Kamiz – A traditional dress of Indian women
*Dopatta – A silk or muslin shawl worn by men or women in India, usually worn with Salwar Kamiz

Whenever I see a girl wearing Salwar Kamiz, I always feel there is something missing in the dress. The dress does not seem complete in itself. It took me a long time to find out what was missing. Well, it is the Dopatta. What are left in the dress are only Kurta and its female counterpart. Dopatta goes missing. I do not have a personal disliking for Kurtas, but this does not defeat Dopatta’s importance. Dopatta is like salt in a Barbecue. You cannot do without it. It is the spice. But Dopattas, eventually, have lost their meaning. People have completely forgotten where or by whom they were invented and for what purpose. It does not even matter now. The bottom line is that they seem to be missing from the Bazaars not lesser than they are missing from girls’ dresses. I feel they would be defunct soon. Fastest to forget them, would be females, for whom they had been of any use, if at all. Boys never liked them to be honest. How could boys, even in their dreams, like anything which shadows beautiful forms. Difficult for them, I guess. Perhaps, they would soon be available in the list of rudimentary items updated and maintained by World Protection Organizations. NGO would soon constitute some laws to protect it and fine every girl seen without a Dopatta.

In my childhood, I grew up hearing the importance of Dopatta in a female’s life. My mother used to say, “Without Dopatta, a girl’s attire is incomplete.” Girls just don’t seem right without them. She also used to say that Dopatta is a symbol of girl’s dignity. It is a veil of honor. But it was not her fault. It was also the era when girls had little choice, when it came to apparel. Saris dominated the Bazaars for a long time and were going to be outdated soon. Girls needed a change, and I think we needed it too. Readymade dresses replaced Saris. Soon, they were everywhere. Girls liked them for decades. But the happiness did not last long. Girls found better things to wrap their bodies. Tailors stopped sewing Dopattas. In no time, Dopatta-less dresses flooded the market. A girl might have a second opinion about the Dresses, but the Dopatta part had to go, and why not, it had enjoyed the bliss for quite a while. It had to leave. May be girls thought, it was too much to handle. A Dopatta is not easy to handle. It is not easy to wrap yard long linen around your torso and still walk properly. Dopatta is an obstacle to seeking catwalk. Somehow girls had managed the trick earlier, but you have no reason to push them nowadays. They have too many choices. Even a towel makes a good attire, if you have nothing else to wear. Dopattas took a lot of space and effort and served very little purpose. It was time for change. There was also another issue with vintage dresses. They did not have any pockets. I think they were made for housewives. Dress designers surely dint know that girls would do better in the future. But designers have adapted quickly. Time has changed a lot in last decades and so have Girls and their draping instruments. Ideally for me, I would prefer for History to repeat itself at least in their dressing sense if not in the way they think.

Let’s see what a Dopatta has to say: (Autobiography of a Dopatta)

I was born in a textile mill, all covered with tiny threads and pieces of cotton, when a weaver, took me in his hand. He looked at me closely. May be he wanted to check if I had any defects, or was I good enough to pull through the contemporary clothe markets. I was then tossed into a huge vessel of burning colored water. I thought, I was getting my first bath. I felt a burning sensation. It was a painful cleansing. I laid there for about two days, before I was pulled out by a different weaver this time. I realized I had turned white. I felt I was baptized. It felt great. The weaver took me in his arms, rinsed me dry. I sensed a motherly love in this guy. He kind of loved me. I was being dressed up for my journey towards my first destination.

I don’t remember exactly when, but it was crack of dawn and I had just opened my eyes. I realized only somebody picked me up. I was then creased, and placed in a box. I was not alone here. There were many other Dopatta friends. All were wrapped nicely. I guessed they had undergone a similar torturous process as I had. I made friends with the blue and the green one. The Red appeared too loud and he yelled all the time in the box so we could hardly hear each other. Pink was too soft and cozy. He preferred to sit in the corner and was lost in his charming fancies. Then we all heard a sound of screeching brakes. We heard closely and found out that it was our truck that had stopped made that sound. We had reached our destination. All the boxes in the truck were unloaded in a shop and so were ours. The shop appeared to be a storehouse as well as a big garment store. We were glad but skeptical at the same time to see what was in the store for us. Our box found a place in a dark closet. We were to spend a long time in this shady life span. It was the worst time of my life. There was no light, not a sound. I had nothing to do but to look at the faces in despair, all around me. It was saddening. I kept myself absorbed by talking to the friends I had made in the box. Sometimes rats troubled us during the midnight. I was scared of them. They enjoyed eating us. One night, I was nearly brought to death by a guerrilla rat if my green friend had not saved me. He sacrificed himself. That bastard rat ate almost half of his body. I prayed harder everyday to get out of that shabby place soon.

Eventually, my prayers were answered and one morning, I saw, it was light, It felt good. The box was opened. The mutilated body of my green friend brought a growl on the face of the guy that had unlocked me. He disappeared in the store for a while carrying my green friend away from me. I never saw my friend again. I was then wrapped and placed in a polythene case and situated in a light and rat-free closet this time. But this was not the end of good times. My hopes seemed to be responded. I expected better everyday. I wanted to go places. I wanted to see the world.

There was this golden day, when I was unpacked and displayed to a beautiful girl who came to the store. She wanted a Green Dopatta but I sensed she liked me too. But I felt a drop of tears rolling through my eyes being nostalgic about my Green friend. She insisted for the Green color. The shopkeeper presented his best offer. He offered to sell me for two hundred and fifty bucks. He said to the girl, “This white one is good madam; it will suit on any dress.” The girl accepted. I think she was affiliated with me. I loved her. She had occurred to me like an angel. It was a love at first sight. I felt anxious when I could be in her arms embracing her, but she decided to postpone the moment. She wrapped me and pushed me under her arm and left the store.

On the way, I kept dreaming about the girl. I wondered when she would hug me. I anticipated, if she really liked me. After all, Green was her first choice. I was the second option. I wondered if she went to college. I was curious to know how she would look when she will clasp me. She must look like a fairy angel, I thought. She was too fair for me. She was fair as milk. But I remembered my pride that I was fair too. This relationship will last long I believed. The best time of my life had come. I was here with this angel of my life, all free from dark stores, hungry rats and lifeless and greedy shopkeepers. I hoped, if I could stay with her forever.

Well, the blessed moment came in my life. This was everything for me. I had craved for this moment right since when I was born. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, but it was not too hot. She had decided to give me a chance today. She took me out from her personal wardrobe and unwrapped me. She took me in her arms. I felt unconscious in her presence. It was the biggest occasion of my life. A light flashed across my mind and I could not ask for more. Her face appeared brighter than ever. She looked excited. She danced a little embracing me on her shoulders. May be she was trying a walk a little, to see if I was a good bargain. I felt flabbergasted. I was on cloud nine. She walked towards the mirror. Perhaps she was dressing up for a college date. It was a pink bordered mirror hung in the corner of her cheesy room, right outside the smoky bathroom. She had just finished taking a bath. She stood in front of the mirror. It was the time, when I saw myself. It was enlightening. I was too numb to feel anything. I was startled to think how long this moment was going to last. I suddenly felt blue. This time should never end, I begged. The good thing about these moments is that they are so enchanting, so perfect, but the bad part is that they are so few in your life and they do not last longer. They are short lived. You cannot stand on these colossal peaks forever.

The expression on my girl’s face told me that she was quite pleased with me. She appeared satisfied. But I could not take my eyes off her. After all, she had given me a new life. She had bestowed me a time of my life. May be she was the cause for me to be alive. I could not live without her. I had to serve her best, it was my chance.

I do not remember, nor do I want to, how long those lovely moments lasted. I had lived my life, enough to fill my eyes with tears when I would be nostalgic about them. My life was soon going to be over and I had no regrets about it. I am talking about the day when I was tossed on the road was run over by a huge truck, which, ironically, was also my childhood transporter. Trucks, I thought, are meant to carry stuff to places and not to kill. But nothing could be undone now. It was over. I was taking my last breaths. My life flashed before my eyes, and I could see all the good and bad times.  I was not surprised to see that best moments of my life were with that angel of mine. I never knew her name. May be she draped me too less for anybody to call her name and I could have heard it. But I had no repentance. I was rewarded much more than I had imagined. I remembered that she only wore me twice, once for a college date, as I said before and secondly, it was a family function, I guess. My life was going to end soon. If I was reborn, where would I go? What would I do? A face appeared in front of my eyes half open. I tried to catch a glimpse and there she was. It was my angel. This was the last time I saw her. My eyes were going to close forever. May be she would ever wrap me again in another lifetime, perhaps. Could I be Green in my next life?

I was waiting for you to come back
Dint know how to say, I was taken aback
Looking back at those lovely moments we endured
Can’t wake up from dreams, is there any cure?

You remind me of the breeze that makes one refreshed
I get swayed by it, like dry leaves instead
You are the incense which makes me feel high
But you wont let me near, am I unfit for thy??

I want to pause forever, never wanna face this fact
how could I forgive you for such a cunning tact
it pricks like needles, or like fierce arrows
pierces through my heart for uncountable blows

Only your thoughts now, show a ray of hope,
deep down in my soul I know it is all fake dope
Clinging onto this slight line, I am making my life drag
I am waiting for you, knowing that you won’t come back!!

03.07.09 Friday

This article is about a day in my life, spent with friends in my office, doing stuff which will make us all to remember it forever. One of those days in my life among few others, which I know, I am going to remember, till I am alive. A day, which was fully lived, so complete and enlightening; my heart beating so fast that the person sitting next to me could almost hear it, a day of talks, plans, fun, accomplishments and laughter all around. One of those kinds, when it does not matter what you do, but it is going just right. Every dart hits the bull’s eye. A day for friends, a day of love, a day in rains.

It was dark cloudy sky outside, right since the morning. It was drizzling, like typical rains in Pune. We expected heavy rains today, but it just continued to drizzle for the entire day. We were already feeling to be on cloud 9 and to add, it was drizzling and to top it all off, it was Friday, the typical T.G.I.F (Thank God It’s Friday, for those not good at acronyms). ‘We’ refers to the group of friends who were a part of “Halla Bol” team including myself. The drizzle and the Friday effect roused our feelings. As if the time had stopped for a while. I asked myself if I could live these moments forever. Something was coming out of me, like a sudden burst of energy from nowhere, from some Supernatural source.

Let me start on how it all started before it gets too late. It all started yesterday night, when I composed an article. The article was about a short-lived, but complete and effective encounter of two people. I have been trying to write for quite some time now, but it’s that I still feel that something is missing. Or it may be just that you know your progress better, coz you are the one actually climbing the stairs. Well, the article was penned and my non-artist bro helped my type it. He showed his interest in helping me edit the same and finish it, though he is not interested in these kinds of things otherwise. The article was good and I think it will be published by the time you are reading this. Then I was off for a good night’s sleep and then it was “Halla Bol”.

The day started with a cool drizzle when I left for the office. I opened my computer, when a good friend and colleague pinged me to go outside. We went out, sat there in the shiny monsoon, talking about arts and writing, partially discussing the article I wrote the night before. This casual conversation turned out to be one of the most exciting meetings, which illuminated my mind and cleared the dusky clouds shadowing one of the major ideas I had for a long time. It helped me organize a story, which had existed in bits and pieces in my mind. I had been thinking about writing this story for quite some time and then get it published as my first novel. But you know, you cannot just expect to write a novel, get up the next day and do it while brushing your teeth. It is not easy. It is like facing Roadies auditions, or may be to learn Scuba Diving. All I mean to say is that writing a novel is a big deal. Coming back to the conversation with my friend, our discussion was slowly moving towards this story of mine. My friend showed lots on interest in hearing the theme line of the story. I started talking, and kept conversing for quite some time and he sat there, listening to my words, watching my expressions, trying to feel my thoughts and visualizing the story. The story was about a namesake relationship which transformed into a timeless bond. When I finished, he gave an expression, which I could compare with the looks I had when I watched “Titanic” for the first time, or may be “A beautiful mind”. I will always remember that expression. He was amazed. He really felt happy about the story. He has a great interest for arts, and in his pastimes; he is sometimes, a poet, or a writer, or a painter or if nothing goes well, for sure he is a guitarist. Music is his regular passion. You now know that I chose the right audience for my storyJ  Well, we kept discussing the story for a few more minutes. This was also the time, when my friend started pouring in his suggestions and feedbacks which could make the story look good. We also discussed what I wanted to be the essence of the story or to say, the meanings behind the lines. He then suggested some really great ideas, to which I affirmed to implement. I felt the scattered pieces of the story were moving towards each other, and slowly a marvelous picture appeared like it does in a jigsaw puzzle once you put every piece in the right place. I felt the importance of my story. I accepted that it is a lifework to be completed. It mattered much more to me now. It had to do lots with the mankind. It could become one of those immortal stories, you remember forever.

Well, the conversation ended when my manager called me for a meeting. Cocky managers are made to spoil moments like these, moments of creation and composition. The entire industry is revolving around a bunch of useless processes, fundamentally killing the creative thought of mankind and turning it into rat shit.  I was off for the meeting and as soon as the meeting was over, it was time for lunch. Maybe it was the cheesy effect of the dominoes cheese burst special that ignited this brilliant idea in me to make friends with a friend of a “desired friend”, which intimately served a purpose of feelings. This was not the first idea for this purpose, but one of the series of events that took place during the day, the day we ended up calling “Halla Bol”. Halla Bol”, resembling Ajay Devgan’s style, in the movie “Halla Bol”, a native Indian Hindi phrase which means “let’s shout” or “let’s attack”. I was walking with the attitude of a fully charged Gangsta joined by another teammate along the way and then another, striding in unanimity, as though we were about to rob a bank with guns on our shoulders. People scrambling out of the way giving us respect that we did not deserve otherwise, but just for the sake of “Halla Bol”. When we finally reached the point of attack, we were five.

Wow!!! I’m talking about attack as though as I knew what it meant. Well I do know now at least. It is that moment when you charge forward when you have nothing to lose but yourself, knowing that every step you take determines your fate. It’s the moment you know, will be the eventful time of life, even though other memories less significant will prevail. I don’t know if it’s the rush of blood in my head that made me do it or the instinct from my soul. The attack was fairly simple; I just had to “Talk to her”. Easy as it seems, it made my heart skip a beat. I convulsed when I saw her, maybe that is to blame the convulsion, which made me arise and say her name. Now I knew there was no way back, sweat began to flow. Fear creeping in my words, I then began to speak.”

It started out as a small chat which evolved into an enjoyable conversation and then into a long dialogue. I thought of these as small steps I had to take. I felt those tiny drops of sweat on my forehead, may be my body’s natural way of telling me to calm down. The stimulating conversation we had , had nothing to do with “Halla Bol”, only the importance of having it at the right time with the right person made it an exuberant and thrilling experience .This conversation contributes a lot to “Halla Bol” coz it gave us the energy , it gave us soul . The bottom-line was that it was over sooner than I thought, not in terms of time as I said before, but in terms of the thrill it gave me. This one hour of sunlight in the middle of this rainy day was to determine my fate for months to come or at least to affect it in a big way. I was glad that the attack was over, but even more glad of the temporary outcome. Was she nice? Maybe too nice .Well, I don’t know for sure .But time should tell. I will talk more about that in future. I am sincerely hope that time does tell me something.”

Then we all continued with the regular office work for the day and united in the office canteen at dawn, to share the celebration of my accomplishment. Everybody expressed their thoughts; their faces seemed red and vibrant with happiness. The red signified, for me, the red robe, held by a torero (the person responsible to get the bull by its balls). Was I playing the torero? I thought better to be the torero than the injured bull. I could imagine myself as the torero wearing an elongated hat in a huge arena (the office) with Spanish music playing in the background, the audience (my friends) cheering me to stand in front of the raging bull with sharp horns (implied friend of desired friend) who was angered by the poking of swords into her back. The fact of the matter is that the audience doesn’t care who dies, all that matters is just that they are entertained. They just want some balls on the ground, dead or alive, hardly matters. Maybe it was the bullfight which made me unstoppable. I had this millions pounds of energy flowing out of me, which was not going to halt at any cost. Friends tried to calm me down, but I wasn’t ready to or rather wasn’t able to or just maybe I didn’t want to. They were amazed to see me pass this kind of an exam with flying colors which necessarily contradicts with my perceived persona otherwise.

As the fight got over, the music started blaring. The sound of “Halla Bol” pulsing through my mind .This was a symphony of harmonious composition of love, friendship but with a very thin string of feelings dividing those two. This tells me that my heart still beats in tune with elements, other than myself. This made me feel more humane and implied that I can still fall in love. *So whenever u find yourself drowning in those dizzy dull thoughts, remember, it’s time for “Halla Bol”.*

~ to friends (Chote Dada, BabaJi, Neeraj, SLU and She)

She stood so near to me, I was so sure this time. I could feel her. I could see her so close to me, although in a literal sense. I could feel the incense of her body. A mixed aroma of her partially wet hair, wide lips, and a budding young body. We stood there, besides each other, discussing routine stuff, which is always discussed. What was new and exceptional, was her smile, a gesture, seen while she was talking. That enlightened the moment and gave it a sense of purity. A cheerful expression and a glow in her face when I cracked a joke.

All I wanted was to make her smile. Smiles are worthy. I somehow knew but never realized this before. It really works. I stood there, static, watching her smile, a line of white teeth visible behind pink and sensuous lips. Her hair, tied at her back with few strands falling on her shoulder on the front. Her soft hands were moving, while she was speaking, as if she was a magician and casting a spell on me. This was all so real. I could not feel anything no more. This was a sense of achievement.

She finished what she had to and took a leave. I was suddenly taken aback. I did not want to show her that I missed her presence, which was painful but an ingenious experience for me. I did not want to let her go. Nobody could let go of the moments which filled their lives with so much joy. I could do no more. I had to let her go. I did not say anything, not a word. All I did was to see her leave.

She left on time, completing what she had to. It was as per plan and anticipated and cannot be retailored. Blocked calendars are never modified, except for other priority requirements sometimes, to move something pre or post, or to replace one appointment with another. They are never altered to occupy moments like this. Outlook or Squirrel has not yet worked on software’s to plan moments of bliss. They can only plan business meetings. Let’s hope for them to do better in the future.

I only kept thinking about her. She was so complete in her presence. She made me feel happy. She made me feel myself. I could not say anything or move. There was no hurry, in her actions, but a finishing. She was not an amateur. She was a professional, used to this world. She knew the rules. Not that she had no feelings, but she did not express it, or may be hid them so well, that nobody could find out. At least I could not. Then I got busy thinking about when I could see her next.