Tujhe sab hai pata

   
Her head bowed low, a breath she gasped,
A picture of sorrow, hands tightly clasped, 
She shuddered a bit, willing back a tear, 
Tried to summon grit, to restrain fear,
In utter vain though, her efforts spent, 
To the heavens in woe, her trembling eyes went,
A question they asked, they begged a prayer,
Unrestrained, unmasked, fell a thousand tears,
Ma hugged her close, when she shattered so,
When the terror rose, when it wouldn't go,
When into ma she curled, like a scared child,
Clutching onto her world, with a fierceness wild,
Ma held her tenderly, smiled a small smile,
And whispered to her baby, “sleep for a while...”
She raised her head, and looked into ma's face,
A fearless fighter beyond the weakness she could trace, 
A vitality so true, a love of life so free,
She wanted, one day, too, exactly like that to be, 
To love with such abandon, to laugh without restraint,
To battle every demon, and to never give up faith,
Ma summoned her strength and whispered to her baby, 
“I will love you forever, please don't worry...”
Ma was determined to battle a victorious fight,
To emerge from it certain, to be with joy alight,
She smiled, comforted, up at the warrior, selfless so,
Her ma, her joy, her pride... she'd never let go.

Mumbaichya Mulga

I will begin by stating unabashedly that I was a blob of butter on a plate of pav bhaji in Bombay. Correction: Mumbai. I had to say that, or some people-who-must-not-be-named will eat me alive. I was that nascent, untouched, hopeful globule whose doom is both inevitable and glaringly obvious to everyone staring at it in drooling anticipation. Shady connotations aside, I arrived like a breath of fresh talcum powder, a guy crazy enough to believe he could stay alone in this city and live to tell the tale.

Frankly, the BEST bus gave me a scare the first time I saw one. No, I hadn't been living under someone's rickety floor tiles, so the concept of transportation wasn't entirely unfamiliar to me. It was just that the little town I came from had neither the good fortune nor the adventurous inclination of hosting these 'bus-ke-naam-pe-dhabba's which looked like their singular ambition was to cheerfully burst apart at the seams.

This great metal survivor had in it about a million brave people battling either to stay upright (swaying like pendulums, their hands glued to hand rails), or to not get squashed under the tremendous pressure most of their fellow daredevils were subjecting them to using various parts of their bodies.

The bus conductor was very busy ordering this horde to 'pudhe chala' so he could furtively try to sit on someone. His look of utter disgust at being addressed in any way was only rivaled by the bus driver's one of complete triumph when he managed to leave a huffing, sweaty chaser far behind, enveloped in a cloud of smoke. He then smirked widely at his pitiable million-strong audience via the enormous dusty rear-view mirror. I had a sneaking suspicion that this was the sole purpose of its dull existence. I witnessed everyone from poor bespectacled students to ancient grandmas pressed up against the red beast's innards like peas waiting to burst from their pod. I was nearly launched out of a window myself, but a kindly stranger's shopping was wrapped too snugly about my ankles. And the bus conductor was furtively trying to sit on me.

This was just the start. I hadn’t been to the local train yet.

You’ve probably heard it all before. But if you haven’t actually experienced it, you have no chance of even beginning to appreciate the fact that if you survive the local trains in Mumbai, you’ve conquered the planet. The first time I was on one, in the second class compartment, any vestiges of wide-eyed belief in the good of humanity remaining in my twenty-eight-year-old head were promptly shaken out of me and left behind somewhere on those long, winding tracks.

One of the first to climb into my compartment, I was the lucky guy who gets to stand right in the center of all those bodies, getting sprayed from all sides alternatively by dripping red paan and oh-so-fragrant sweat. I also happened to be the guy who was obviously a stranger to the lifeline of Mumbai. Don’t get me wrong: even if you were born on one of these locals, you could be robbed of everything you hold dear. I was just easiest. I felt a hand groping me in unmentionable places, and thought with a jolt that I was being molested by some sick psycho. Then I felt my wallet slipping out of my pocket and twisted around, determined to catch the idiot. I found my face inches from a pimply innocent-looking teenager’s. His hands were empty. Next to him was a paan-chewing, mustached, red-faced, hostile-looking fellow about three times my weight. All around me were close replicas of this guy. I sighed in defeat. I knew a lost cause when I saw one.

My station finally arrived. I longed for the fresh air outside which I was close to believing had been a dream. I tried to push my way out of the solid, indifferent paan-people’s wall. Milliseconds later, I heard the familiar rattling of wheels beneath me, and every nerve in my body screamed in protest. This could not be happening to me. A few stations along, I was gradually pushed out, and fell on all fours on blessed solid ground. I was lost, hungry, and worse, had no money to buy a ticket back to Andheri. Not that I ever wanted to see another local again in my life.

I saw the train pull away from the station, taking with it the hanging-by-the-tips-of-their-fingers mass of people who gambled with their lives every day. I groped inside my pocket for the phone they'd spared, and called my only friend in all of Mumbai. He sighed, said grudgingly that he'd come fetch me, and muttered some nonsense about how someone called Dadar would have swallowed me whole.

Daring Greatly

Humans are beautiful beings. We are capable of so much. Of love, of compassion, of sympathy, of understanding. 

You are capable of feeling all warm inside when mum says she loves you so much and wants to be there to take care of you, always . You are capable of feeling warm inside when a tiny kitten stares up at you and shuts her tiny eyes in contentment as you tickle her little ears. You are capable of feeling warm inside when you see a truly selfless act. You are capable of loving someone so much that you cry your eyes out worrying over them, hoping they'll be okay. You are capable of withstanding the kind of emotional pain you never thought you could survive, and coming out the other side, still believing in the beauty of love, and of life.

It's how it is supposed to be. You are supposed to love fiercely, to fight fiercely, to express however you best express, and to know when to let go. Letting go is not losing something. It is freeing yourself. Freeing your mind of the tethers that hurt you, and of the false dependence you have on those tethers. You are capable of flying without them. They will only hold you back. So let go...perhaps, one day, they will come back and be the strength in your wings.

The power doesn't lie with the one who cares less in a relationship. They are just better protected from emotional pain. The one who loves wholly, freely, and selflessly is the one who dares to do so. The one who puts themselves out there, knowing the chance they're taking. The one who discovers the extent to which they are capable of love. So even when they are cast aside, when they are told over and over how much more in love they are than the other, they have a reason to smile through the tears - they are, at least, capable of so much love.

Lightening up doesn't imply caring any less. It means seeing the beauty in things and being happy with them. It means seeing things for what they really are, not what you want them to be, and smiling anyway. It means knowing that however bad things seem, they are shaping you into a stronger person. It means realizing that you learn something from every experience. It means taking chances, and not being devastated when the chance doesn't "work out". It means knowing that even if things don't work out, it is always worth the fight. 

Theodore Roosevelt will always be my favourite quoter: 

"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat."

No place for cold, timid souls.

10 Experiences to Expect on Exchange

Observations on the TF-LEaRN Exchange programme at Nanayang Technological University (NTU), Singapore. This one is all about interactions with people :)

1. Get used to this.

This will happen a lot. In your head. In reality of course, you'll just go rigid for a bit, blink rapidly and try to explain what a shame that movie is, and how your country, as immensely surprising as that is, is NOT a giant shit-and-mud-hole.

2. Not everyone knows about Abel Rosnovski. Yes, not even the Poles.

Just because this book was such a big part of your life, do not be disappointed if your new Polish friend has never heard of Wladek-turned-Abel. Though after you're done staring dumbly in astonishment at their ignorance, they will recommend watching The Pianist, whose main character is called Wladyslaw. Lovely movie.

3. There will be times you will not know what the hell is being spoken.

You'll recognize some words, but not the meaning, and you'll wonder if you're forgetting the English language or simply going insane. Don't worry about the la's and sia's though. Welcome to Singlish. Ask them to repeat, and try deciphering that sing-song accent.



4. Australians love Kangaroo meat.

Yeah, I nearly did a Joey in surprise. You know, where his eyeballs nearly fall off from popping out so much.?

5. If this is true, you're so screwed.

I mean, you can't survive. They live on this stuff here.

6. Nobody thinks this is funny.

The various road directives of "hump ahead" are so giggle-worthy to me. But don't try and exchange winks with anyone here; they just don't see the humour.

7. Your German teacher will be annoyed with you for thinking a girl is feminine.

Translating to "die Mädchen" in a test will drive her right up the wall. Spontaneous outbursts of "Das ist schlecht" at your results accompanied by wild hand movements to punctuate her sorrow will be embarrassingly common.

8. Sometimes Yu Jing will surprise you by blurting "Aiyo!"

I swear, I nearly died of suffocation when I heard this one. I was complaining about taking two language courses and getting completely confused, when the Oriental guy next to me exclaimed "Aiyo!" sympathetically. I couldn't breathe for two minutes, I was left laughing so hard. The professor gave me an odd look, probably pity for my obvious insanity. Cultural integration in Singapore : you gotta love it.

9. Sometimes the above influence is so strong, you will surprise everyone by opening your mouth.

"But you don't have an Indian accent!" will be said to you all the time. Um, which one again?

10. The half-Indonesian girl in Spanish class will exclaim, "Oh, what long eyelashes you have!"

Hm. The better to bat at you with.

A Brilliant Ride

Saarang. Everything I heard of it, however much I tried to anticipate the feeling of being a part of it, the enigmatic royalty that Saarang ultimately unveiled itself to be was almost impossibly (or so it seemed) better, fresh, new, invigorating and surpassed all expectations.

“It’s time for the most talented individuals, with the most varied cultural abilities in the country to face-off (and show off) again. From the 9^th to the 13^th of January, 2013, the usually serene green campus of IIT Madras will turn into a pulsating arena of fiery and dedicated performances and competitions. We invite you to witness this effortless union of the best and gifted in the country and beyond!”

The time I wrote the aforementioned was not a time I could have appreciated myself the full implications and purport of the words. I was writing only from my first idea as a fresher at IIT Madras of what I had seen. As a second-year now and full of zeal to contribute my best to my newly appointed position as Creative and Media Coordinator in the Sponsorship department of the festival, I ran headlong into the preparations for the grand festival that started in May 2012.

The elaborate learning opportunity from the first few stages of ideation, right up to execution that this particular post provided has been invaluable. Combing through websites, feverishly filling up documents with everything we could think of, being set tasks and deadlines by the Sponsorship department Cores (and the frequent disgruntled “What is this, da? You’re way past deadline…” peppered with a few treasured “Well done, team!”) defined the first few heady months of work.

And then the actual execution of it all began. Juggling everything a semester at IITM has to offer, along with this “coordship” (as we called our posts) was a novelty that taught us an irreplaceable lesson in time management. Being assigned separate tasks, and coming up with our own initiatives, the Sponsorship cores put a lot into our hands, and their faith drove us to excel in every way possible.

A swanky new budget, besides the first ever aspect of social cause initiatives under the umbrella of Saarang Eunoia that our department Cores added to Saarang inspired us to push its boundaries. Everyone got very busy with their tasks (streaking past a friend, shouting “Saarang work” as the only explanation to their questioning eyes became a part of everyday life), and I was no exception.

Driving PR deals, handling and contributing to Saarang’s social media sites, writing pages and pages dedicated to every aspect of Saarang for its Facebook page, online publicity and press conference, organizing and preparing for the careful execution of three Saarang events, and having my heart utterly touched by the underprivileged children from Eureka Child that we organized mentorship for as part of Saarang Eunoia, defined the months leading up to Saarang for me.

Endless email and phone conversations helped develop my so far non-existent people skills, and taught me several little things. Every mistake was a major learning experience, and every victory a well-deserved moment of joy. Of course, the team meetings had arguments and disagreements, even moments of utter outrage from the Cores, but it all extracted from us our very best.

What I cherish most is the inter-departmental interactions we had to go through to execute anything. The Design Core was simultaneously the most pained and most liked of them all, and he was always available for advice on everything, besides the Facebook posts he was constantly sought for. Looking back, I think we’d all agree that he had more cause for irritation with the Creative team than with anyone else, and he still managed to do it all with a smile!

When Saarang finally came along, there was not much time to stop and breathe. Our days were filled with sprinting from one place to the next, making sure everything was in place and the sponsors’ stalls set to their satisfaction. Besides this, it was finally time for the events to take place. Panache was the fashion design competition a couple of my teammates and I worked heart and soul for and which I compered. The butterflies on stage were more out of anxiety for it to go off without a hitch. And it did! The joy which the successful completion of two months’ work provided is unequalled by any other. The other two events I was involved with went off smoothly as well.

Our nights were all about the Proshows! Every one of the professional shows organized was exhilarating and enjoyed to the utmost. The violinist on Parikrama Night received, perhaps, the strongest reaction as he effortlessly ran straight into the crowd, all the while setting his instrument on fire and breaking a couple of bowstrings. The 8000-strong crowd sang along to every Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy song, was held mesmerized by every Choreo Night performance and awed by the skills displayed on Classical Night. Sunburn had us swaying and jumping to everything Asia’s youngest DJ had to play.

Contriving to wrest some food coupons from the powerful Cores, laughing late into a night during a Saarang Newsletter making session, giggling at the always popular dance workshop, presenting a Mad Ad at the carnival stage and being completely enchanted by various performances filled up the rest of my Saarang. I was only one of a thousand-strong organizing team, but the insane feeling of belonging and pride I experienced throughout the five-day ride is indescribable, besides utterly addictive. We all of us want to do it all over again, with perhaps some more experience and some more skill next year around!

For A Lady

Well, this was written to help a couple friends with their tentative love lives. Yes, I've been courting women.

Here I am, with a heart beating fast,

Staring at these blank pages,

Thinking, wondering, debating just how

To pen what I’ve felt for ages…

A rush of emotions, so far unknown,

And a million thoughts leap to my mind,

But my ink and pen, they quiver so,

As the perfect words they try to find…

My senses wage an internal war,

But I had better initiate a try,

To make a start, a little beginning,

Before my head asks too many ‘Why?'s…

But a little voice utters in a whisper,

How can I possibly describe thee,

And capture that enveloping radiance,

Of the being who is an angel to me…

With that unique delicate beauty,

Your hair is like the twilit sky,

Mysterious, exquisitely compelling,

A potent sight, but always shy…

It shimmers like a curtain of gold,

Its dance is both mesmerizing and bold,

Your smile has the glow of a thousand suns

Your eyes, the life of a thousand more...

Your silent laugh, it delights me so,

Your lovely face half-hidden,

In your tresses flying high and low,

The sight enchants me, unbidden…

Splendid as God has made you outside,

I admire you a whole lot more,

For what you’ve made of your soul,

That deep, selfless, thoughtful core…

Your vividly strong personality,

The dogged persistence of your mind,

The intensely alive curiosity,

That is a jewel, so rare a find…

Your particular way of facing any situation,

With a true, brave sparkle in your eye,

Handling it all with a soothing calm,

And a hidden subsurface fiery fire…

That perpetual, alive, simmering heat,

That intense passion of your will,

Your simple, sweet, charming grace,

A thousand stories beneath a façade still…

Your voice’s brilliant complex melody,

Tells an ancient romantic tale,

The feelings the strains invoke in me,

Are matchless, as are you, my nightingale…

Now I hesitate and pause, yet ache to say,

To be with you, to never be apart,

To feel for you as I do now, forever and always,

Is the dearest darling wish of my heart…

Check it out

http://iitbwritersbloc.wordpress.com/2013/04/09/blue-navyata-sanghvi-iit-madras/

:) :)