The REAL "CONNECT"...

She sat on the sofa still. Twenty seconds… thirty seconds.. She realized that in order to restrain that bolt of lightning setting her temper to fire, she had to practice the ‘not-always-effective’ tip of counting till hundred. She closed her eyes; the lids almost wore the ragged sign of exhaustion. The black-rimmed specs with its crystal clear high powered lenses rested on her sharp nose as the gazelle eyes behind them made a desperate effort to see the world revolving within the brightest galaxy of her spacious mind. An ambitious aura surrounded her whenever she sat to work and she preferred a perfect quietude to prevail during that time. The cell phone beeped and there flashed the ‘deserving-only-disgust’ or DOD face of her boss. He was the last person on earth to whom she wished to talk at that hour. The hard task master that he was he wouldn’t let anyone working in his office to even breathe in peace.

She took a few seconds to gather her composure, cleared her throat touched the back of her hand on the cup of coffee that went cold and finally received the call. And before she could say ‘hello’, the DOD spat out his words as if he would be constipated for the next few days if he didn’t vomit what he had to say in one hastened single breath. It took some time before her vocal cords could regain their original vibration. She spoke in a tone which despite being soft, exuded a rare determination that somehow made her boss elated for having an employee as talented and dedicated as her under him. “Yes, sir. It’ll be done by today. I’ll send the edited copy via mail to Shubhankar tonight. He said he’ll get the illustrations done by tomorrow. So, you needn’t worry about that column of ‘Elegance’.” Mr DOD (though his name was “Mr Manish Manchalwar”, what could be more suitable for the boss at the ‘Elegance’ magazine office other than DOD ?The name was coined by Shubhankar, the chief layout and graphic artist).

Kavya, let out a long sigh. The long journey imprinted its side effects on her eyes and heels. I must complete the task by tonight, she resolved. She switched on her laptop and opened MS  Word. She was just about to type the first few words when the screen went black. And that was it. Frantic attempts to switch it on, charging its battery and following a few advices poured in by friends through the cell phone didn’t help. When disasters strike, they sometimes leave you so crippled that you can’t even make an effort to escape. She was new to the town she had just arrived at a few hours back. Adding to her agony, she was all alone. She put on her shirt, ran her fingers through her tresses, added a tint of pink to her lips, wore her stilettos and set out.

Once on the road, she began scanning the area. She had been once to this place before for some work and stayed in the same hotel. But changes are so rampant that if you don’t oft-visit a place, you tend to forget everything. The Manager at the hotel told her that she would find an Internet Café if she walked a little distance.  Exactly as he said, she saw the glaring sign board reading “Mintu’s Net Palace”. She wondered whether the inclusion of the owner’s name (she assumed Mintu to be the owner’s name) on the sign board attracted more customers to his café. She signed in the register where one had to write one’s name and time of entry in the café. She scrutinized the place. The café was more ancient than the monuments of India of which we Indians are so proud of. There were about ten cabins, each housing a computer. Whenever someone typed, you could actually hear the loose worn out keys of the keyboard being pressed. At the centre of the roof, a fan brandished its slow dancing moves. She was shown a computer at the corner and she settled down there. It took a couple of minutes for the program to start. She breathed in a long breath, although it was not worth it. A person sitting in a nearby cabin was stinking, thanks to his socks which could even drive rats nuts if they came near them to gnaw them (what an an effective rat-repellant!)

She had been working on the story for some time now. It would be a little different this time, emanating to a great extent from her heart rather than her brain unlike previous ones. But she didn’t know how to end it- ‘happily-ever-after’ type or ‘all-stories-don’t-have-a-happy-ending’ type. Nevertheless, her swift fingers initiated a move and the words took shape. She started typing the mail.

"In Search of a Soul mate"

"This is an anonymous girl’s saga. I often search for that ‘perfect My Fairytale Prince’ to sweep me off my feet. But the fact is, while I juggle with my career, choices and hope, I end up being single. We girls, sometimes.. just can’t figure out the perfect ‘he’ from amidst the crowd. Sometimes we are so confused about this whole thing of falling in love that we find ourselves reduced to a minion when compared to the whole big concept of it. Choosing one person to accompany you all along the peaks and valleys of life is indeed a great decision to make. This however, doesn’t apply to those who like experimenting on hearts, who don’t think twice before entering into or out of a commitment. And with  Mark Zuckerberg’s wonder child facebook in play, the whole quagmire of falling in love and out of it has become as easy as pressing a key and pronouncing oneself  ‘single’ from ‘in a relationship’, literally….”

Suddenly, everything went dark except the computer screens. The voice of the owner sounded, “Oh, current chala gaya. Generator bhi kharab he. Aab kam se kam ek ghanta toh lagega hi current wapas aane me. Aap logon ko computer switch off karna padega.” Kavya frowned. She was not even half way through her story when the power-cut occurred. She quickly sent the e-mail but before doing so, added a few more words- “I am done. This story’s never going to end and the boss wants it tonight.”

She waited for a good half an hour outside the café, drank a cuppa in the nearby stall, but the current still didn’t come. Besides, it was late- 9:30 pm and her eyes hadn’t stopped burning and her soles didn’t stop paining. She didn’t want to take a risk at that hour of the night in a not-so-familiar place and hurried to the hotel.

All she could do after reaching her room was sleep until it was morning and the landline rang. “Madam, what are you taking for breakfast today?” She recollected that she had survived on only a cup of cappuccino, a sandwich and a cup of coffee the previous day. “Umm, yes. I’ll take a cup of strong black tea and an aloo parantha.” Her headache had accompanied her to wish her in the morning and realized all she needed to do was relax for the next couple of days. Her work had taken a toll on her happiness, and to a great extent-her health and life itself. She switched off her phone, lest DOD would show up his face again and remind her of her task. She said to herself ‘I’ve always been so sincere, let’s see how it feels to break loose once in a while.’

Two days later, she was in a mall selecting a few clothes.  The cell beeped. For once, she thought she would ignore it. But the very next moment, picked it up instinctively. “Hey, Miss Elegant, you almost disappeared from the scene. What happened? Saw the copy of ‘Elegance’ today? They are out on the stands and that’s an awesome story you wrote. I thought of sending you the blue-print of the whole issue but seems your laptop is still dead!” “What did you say, Shubhankar? My story? Oh, come on, I never wrote one this time.”

It took another half an hour for Kavya to grab hold of a copy of ‘Elegance’ from a nearby stall. Her eyes widened on reading the rest of the story…..

“At the other end of the server, sits Mr anonymous. Well, I don’t prefer facebook or technology to prove my love to anyone. I am just this simple guy who had a heart before the  this ‘Zucked era’ and have one even now. I am tech-savvy. I keep track of the latest smart phones available in the market, sell my old laptop to buy a new one every year, but that doesn’t mean I would sell or rather ‘give’ my heart to somebody more than once. Dear, Miss Anonymous, you needn’t perceive the idea that the whole lot of guys go gaga over fb and make and break friends there. As far as real friends are concerned, they are always near you. Just look around you. You may find your Mr. Perfect sitting somewhere near the water cooler in your office, stealing a glance at you. And sure wants to ask his ‘Miss Princess’ on a fairytale date but lacks the gut for he won’t be able to tolerate the sadness that may come if she says a shattering ‘no’. The whole real world of ‘ Social Networking Site’ is everywhere around you. And you can feel the real network between hearts and mind. Someone not belonging to the virtual world may be awaiting your answer in the real world."

Kavya sensed a dewdrop sensation on her cheek. How could her real life love story ever be complete without Mr. Anonymous- Mr. Shubhankar. She immediately typed a SMS on her cell and sent it to him. Shubhankar, still sitting on his office chair near the water cooler, smiled the happiest smile on reading the SMS – “Request accepted. Status- in a relationship with Mr. Anonymous.. Can we go out for coffee tomorrow? I’ll be reaching home today. J”

The Fine Line Between Destiny and Intervention....

The heels of my footwear make an assaulting noise as they slap the marbled floor smeared with tiny drops of red at places. The pace increases as the soles touch the stairs. The narrow corridor flanked by walls made dirty by the ‘paan’ stains at the corners, lead to the room.

A lady sits pensive, her hands surrounding her flexed knees. Beside her, sleeps quietly the 4-year-old. From the area that was left bare, his scapula and back bone were clearly visible as if the skin concealed only the colour of the bones, sans the muscles or fat to hide their contour.

On another bed, a small girl, probably 11 years of age, comes alive in sudden motion when her body shapes itself into a bow and froth keeps dribbling from her mouth. The father holds her by his hands as her back arches into a typical bow. The mother rushes to wipe clean the froth from her mouth. Not that there is a hue and cry about her child having an attack, she is as composed as everyone in the room. With each fresh attack of her daughter, she has learned to multiply her patience.

A cute little fellow plays with a balloon and cheerfully replies when I ask him his name. He has recovered a lot. The tube connecting his chest with a bag hanging down his bed drains the fluid from his lungs. He pulls his balloon away as I playfully try to snatch it away from him. His mom sits on the corner of the bed and smiles a relieved laughter which had disappeared for a few days in the past.

While there are kids with congenital heart diseases who turn blue at the slightest attempt of activity, there are also those who turn out restless like the 11-year-old and just fail to have control on them once an attack starts.

As I stand there, trying to figure out what they might be suffering from, with the very little knowledge that I possess, I am compelled to think- “How thick is the line that separates destiny from intervention”. Can each one of them be saved or restored to a normal livelihood if Medical Sciences intervene? Can the intervention bridge the distance and change the destiny of these less lucky children and their parents?

Some sense of relief pervades as a confident doctor passes by the 4-year-old, muttering,” He’s going to be alright.” I can only vaguely fathom how reassuring that sentence is for the parents as they sit hoping their children will play, shout, laugh and sulk in front of them once again. Hopes, prayers and sleepless, they wait to hear the chuckles again………

But this is far more than just CHUCKLING, isn't it ??  :D

BizArreLy InTo dEtAiLs- the fashionable and colour coded ones !!

We girls. I wonder the level of planning the Mighty Providence must have done before sculpting us- both our body frame and mind frame. Just the other day, I and one of my friends wandered off from our talks to discuss how emotional girls are and how vulnerable they often become due to this aspect of theirs. Talking of vulnerability, yes, we are vulnerable not only to emotional outbursts but also to fall for all things pretty and fashionable.
Step into a mall and you have to wait to count the number of shops catering to men while all around you, you see the enticing boutiques housing female stuff. Talk of shopping and we just go crazy( until of course we are restrained by monetary constraints).

    

That's quite a collection...but most of the time, I prefer my nails transparent clean !!

We pay attention to the minutest detail- which nail colour looks best, which colour will go with the recent dress we bought, which company’s nail color is safer for nails, whether the colour adds that extra shine to our nails ……phew! We can drive men insane if ever they accompany us throughout our shopping spree. But nail colour is just an example. Including all other female accessories will made this post all the more boring (and so I’m abstaining from it)

But the question is- does anybody notice? The fashionable girl sitting next to you wears a fluorescent pink on her nails. They are a good 2 cm long and you raise an eyebrow as she scratches her forehead gently with her forefinger, making a dry sound. She clasps the fingers of both her hands in a slow move and the guy sitting behind wonders how she might have been eating her food with her nails that long (if at all she doesn’t use a spoon). He stretches his shabby face into a disgusting smile when he asks her to feature in a horror TV seriel where, he says, her fingers were enough to make people palpitate.

But we don’t care. Do we? I mean, most of the girls don’t! Back at school, we had to get our nails neatly cut and any colour on it( even Mehendi) would land us in danger. Once out of school, we try all things possible, all colours available. Come on, we are meant to be like this, most of us are. And we don’t give a damn whether anyone notices the intricate design on our hair clip, the colour of our lip gloss, the height of our stilettos, the extra pair of ear rings we have put and ………. Because we love giving attention to details and decorate ourselves, no matter others notice or not. After all, getting dressed up and looking beautiful can be fun. And nothing is as satisfying and enthralling as going through the process of decking ourselves up. Don’t agree? Give a second thought ... :)

Book Review : "Is This Love" & "Autumn-The Last Leaf"

This is the first book review I am writing in my blog. Arti Honrao’s “Is This Love?” and “Autumn- The Last Leaf” are two wonderful stories and I read them in a single sitting.

Her art of expressing human emotions to such depth deserves appreciation. The feeling of friendship flourishing into love with time is the centre stage of both the stories. What crossed my mind while reading the book is- the dilemma people often face when it comes to matters of the heart, the failure to reveal emotions at the appropriate time and the eventual consequences and crushing wave of pain that creates turmoil in the concerned person.

“Is This Love?” is a story that depicts how two souls loved each other right from the start but failed to confess it to one another at the right time. The level of closeness between Vishaal and Sheetal – their constant extension of support to each other when it was needed, the maturity and composure in Vishaal’s character and the plight of Sheetal as she was invaded by confusion as to whether Aman really loved her ; are all described beautifully. The ultimate acceptance of Sheetal by Vishaal even after he knew what had transpired between her and Aman provides ample evidence of his true love for her. The story was gripping from the start till the end. One can actually understand the crux of Sheetal’s situation and it provides an insight of the ability of the author to pen down emotions marvelously.

In “Autumn- The Last Leaf”, the main protagonist, Neha has a rare power to see dreams which transform into reality. She wanted to confess her feelings for her friend, Kedar but it was too late and he married Samiksha. Though at first it was difficult to make out whether Kedar loved Neha, at the end it becomes clear that he married Samiksha just because his parents forced him to. Neha’s initial heart ripping pain and eventually ‘rising again like a phoenix’ (as the author has put it) is described vividly. The twist at the end and the revealing of the real culprit of Samiksha’s murder are executed in a smooth and expert fashion. Loved the way the author has compared Neha to a tree.

The title of the story couldn’t have been more apt. The story starts off with a gruesome murder ( which was actually a dream) but as it progresses, it makes the reader feel that it’s a blend of emotions, mystery and a strong plot( plus a hint of supernatural power-as Neha’s dreams used to convert into reality).

Two stories worth reading. Great reading experience. Thank you Arti di for sending a copy for me. Keep writing..  JJ Hoping to read more books by you…..

Let Me Sink In My Slumber

That drowning in the waters of physical lethargy

The engulfment with the mercury-heavy lids

Sparing only a white slit, open

A doorway for the penetrating cone of rays

That slowly creeping smile of the face

Then a sudden monotonous jerk, a conflict of the senses

Trying to grab on to the dream, chasing it

The shutting of eyes in vain  

Beckoning the estranged subconscious pictures to grow roots

Why don’t they come alive all over again?

I’ll sleep longer, try harder

If only it continued from where it ended

For welling up many fathoms deep in my heart,

Is my burgeoning hope that it transforms into reality

And hate to realize that I have been woken

  

Cajole me to that surreal land

And I promise not to hesitate to step ahead straightaway.

Let me sink in my own slumber

And I promise I’ll visit you again

Until then, lend me a hand

Let us wipe clean the creases on the path.

(P.S. How often we wish that while having a quiet peaceful sleep, we not be woken or disturbed, lest the sweet dream with which we cocoon ourselves will be ripped apart. How we wish that we could cling on to our sleep and reach the very end of the dream that we dreamed. How we wish it to shape into reality......

But if it's a horror dream that we are seeing, how we wish later that we hadn't slept at all  ;):))