Clot in the throat

I hate this feeling -- the feeling of a clot in the throat. It happens to me when there's a sudden rush of emotions. Emotions I can't handle. Emotions I can't share. Terribly demeaning emotions.
It happens when I want to scream out loud, scream till the world goes deaf, but am forced to keep mum. It happens when there are a million words in my dictionary but I can use none. It happens when I want to cry, cry till the oceans flood, but can't let my tears show. It happens when I want to prove a point but there's nothing to prove. It happens when things I direly want aren't going my way. When what I say falls on deaf ears. When they get me wrong. When they don't respect me. When there's disregard. When they don't draw the line. It happens when I realise I have't drawn the line. It happens more often that I would like it to happen.
It's happening right now.
*Realises water is good for clots*
*Gulps down half a bottle of cold water*
*Feels better*
Ah... *wonders why people prefer alcohol*

Horribly creepy

It was about 11 last night. I was making my way through the Dadar railway bridge. Clutching on to two bags, inconveniently climbing up the uneven stairs. It was dark. The station was poorly lit as always. I took out my phone. Managed to speed dial 5 and talk to JP. Was about say a final good night.
And then, a lanky man stretched his hand out from the crowd on the opposite side and grabbed me by my left upper thigh, trying to make his way up to my genitals. Before I realised what was happening, he was done. He began walking hurriedly to wherever the hell he was headed.
A second later, I yelled out, 'Abey chutiye, haraami. Ruk. Ruk na saale.' He moved faster. He began running. He was too fast for me to grab him by his collar, pull him back, slap the fuck out of him, crack my knuckles against his nose, kick his balls and let him writhe in pain while I had some sadistic relief.
He fled. Fled like a rat scurrying for cover from pest control. I shouted again. I seemed to have raised an alarm amongst the late-night vendors selling their 'foren maal' on the foot-over bridge. They began yelling, chor, chor. One of them came up to me and asked, kya chori hua madam?
I said, chori kuch nahi hua, haath laga ke bhaag raha hai.
The vendor then told me, Accha, accha.
And he stood there.
And I stood there, still abusing the coward, who now seemed to have made his way to the foot of the bridge and onto the roads. I hoped he got caught and lynched by a mob till he bled.
I felt helpless. Like a damsel in distress, needing someone else to act on my behalf. I had this horrendous, creepy feeling. I could still feel the man's hand where he had felt me. Like a nasty after taste. And it stays for a long time. Stays so that you can't experience or think about anything else but what's happened. And then there is the feeling of haplessness that returns at regular intervals.
Horrible. Just horribly creepy.

Plain bored

In office. Damn bored. People around are typing away stories on their computers. Others just pretending to be busy, me included. A group of ladies is holding intense discussions interspersed by hearty giggles. Wonder what they are talking about. Wonder if I could join them. But again, I am really bored right now and rules of boredom state that indulging in any interesting activity might steer one away from the state of boredom. So, I shall just stay put where I am -- typing inanities on my blog post.
*Looks around to spot anything worth a mention here*
The terminal on my right is empty, the one on my left is unoccupied, so are the ones ahead of and behind me. That wasn't worth a mention, you may say. And I'll reply, that's all what's happening around me, and that's what makes me bored!
The TV is switched off for lack of a worthwhile sporting event. Two colleagues just walked in. They are scrounging over the remnants of some Butterscotch-chocolate cake that was ordered to celebrate our boss' birthday. Can't spot my boss. Guess, he's down stairs making important calls on his phone, getting some inside dope, drinking some hot chai and munching on some crisp, salty and very addictive pea nuts.
The landline phones in office are constantly ringing. As soon as one stops, the other begins. I am beginning to believe there is some strange, uninterrupted cycle they follow.
Ah, have been given some work! Will be right back.

Ah, where was I? Anyways, boredom has gone. Listening to some System of A Down songs. My colleague DT has been very kind and generous to lend half his I-pod!
So, bye bye....

New Year and all that...

Well, it's the beginning of a new year and my Inbox is full of greetings -- both on my phone and e-mail. While I have been avoiding answering these wishes from my well-wishers/acquaintances, it became increasingly difficult to ignore them. So, while I was semi-drunk (yes, I am the kinds who has ego issues in conceding my full-drunkenness!) this morning after a quiet evening with my family, I had nothing better to do, but classify these greetings into different categories. And from whatever intelligence I could generate from within my intoxicated brain cells in the semi-drunken state, I have 5 broad categories. Here we go...
1)There are some greetings which are plain and simple -- just Happy New Year from XYZ and family or Wish You Luck from ABC -- Thank You.
2)Then there are the ones that are intensely poetic -- It's time 4 (yes, 4) new resolutions, new beginnings, new visions. It's a new life, afresh. It's time to remember and thus wish a Happy New Year -- Thanks, Wordsworth.
3)There are also people who believe in keeping their humour quotient up despite alcohol getting the better of them -- To all my friends and relatives who sent me love, prosperity and best wishes for 2008... it didn't work. Please send me cash for 2009 -- No sorry.
4)And when there is such festivity around, there are some who find the urge to stay "glued" to their culture, their language and not get swayed by the winds of westernisation. So, there are customised messages for them, in their own languages that send out heartwarming messages to their "cultured" clan -- Thanks, but no, thanks.
5)But what amaze me the most are the ones formatted on some mobile software by some geek, who doesn't have a life on new year's eve and finds designing forwarded messages the most interesting aspect of his/her time on earth. The designs -- all made out of a thousand commas and semi-colons, brackets and hyphens form the "cute" teddies or "sweet" flowers -- Amazing.

So, I shall have a great year after all, with so many people in the world wishing the same for me. I'm glad!

P.S.: If you defy my skills of categoristaion (yes, in semi-drunkenness) you must get back to me. I might consider your suggestions and apply them next year. :-)

*Sigh*

One of my very close friends passed away about 20 days ago. I have been wanting to blog about it. On some days, I haven't been in the right frame of mind and on others, I have begun to write but never found the right words.
A couple of days ago, Avanti would have turned 21. Her family decided to publish a book with messages from her friends. I finally got myself to contribute, after having lived in denial for way too long. Here's a bit of what I have to convey:

Dearest Avanti,
Yesterday was your birthday. You would have turned 21, and I can't begin to imagine how excited you'd have been with the whole deal of crossing the 20-threshold! I thought a lot about you yesterday and the only thoughts that filled me up were of us having a whale of a time together. I guess that's what you did with everyone around you. That's what you did with the world. You pumped in so much energy and life that no moment in your company would seem pensive. You always had so much to say, so much to listen, so much to contribute. I remember one instance when you told me about meeting one of your uncles, who was breathing his final moments. I can recollect how you were shaken up about the prospect of death -- about cessation of life. You couldn't fathom how somebody could just stop living. Today, I can't believe that someone as alive as you could stop living. As hard as I try to find logic and reason behind the way things went, I fail. But, I have come to terms with reality, because that's what you'd want me to do. I would be lying if I said that I miss you, because I miss you a lot. And always will. But it's your memories that live with me and always will.

Yours,
Mini

My Tattoo

The latest and probably the only excitement in my life right now is my new tattoo. After a lot of contemplation, opposition and persuasion, I finally got it done last month. Have been a little busy lately so haven't had the time to blog about it. But yeah following were the tiresome steps involved in getting my dear little tattoo etched on my lower tummy:
1. Being sure about the tattoo (took about a month)
2. Narrowing down on the design (2 minutes, i had a dream about the tattoo. So that made this aspect easier. I let my subconscious mind rule over my conscious)
3. Getting a nod from important friends (1 day)
4. Persuading my parents (never really happened)
5. Arranging for the money (1 month)
6. Getting the tattoo etched (1 hour)
7. Feeling good about the tattoo (Ever since)

Ah yes, I still feel proud of the tattoo and hope it remains so for the rest of my life. Now, a little about what the tattoo looks like and what it means.
The tattoo is an image of myself. It's me, through my eyes. It's a little girl sitting all alone on a rock. She's looking into the blue sea. She has two young, yet strong, wings. She is undecided about plunging into the water and exploring the world under water or taking a flight to catch a glimpse from above the rest of the world. She's been thinking forever. She is 'happy-sad' about being indecisive. Happy because she can just sit forever and cherish this moment before making a choice and sad about having to make the choice.

Cool na?

Discard

This is something I wrote for the anchor space in the Edit Page of DNA. That's the newspaper I work for. The piece had to be a funny life experience. Having had many such, I just picked the most recent and wrote all about it. The editor discarded it calling it too "risque". The piece had been feeling lonely, lying in the 'Sent items' folder of my gmail for over a month. And also my blog had been feeling a little lonely for some time. So I thought of helping two lonely subjects. Here you go...

Wilson College Nature Club trips have marked a major high in my college life. The tiring climbs, sore bodies, parched throats and obsessive environmentalism compensated by fresh breaths of air at mountaintops, blinding fog, greenness and much more…

I am not sure of having learnt the finer nuances of nature conservation, but if there’s one aspect of being in natural surroundings that I have mastered, it’s beckoning nature’s calls in the open. Yes, more often than not, when tents are pitched on remote green plateaus, one can only see trees and rocks as makeshift curtains while attending nature’s calls.

On one of these trips, I was in northeast India with a few friends, returning to Gangtok in a van after a failed attempt to reach Nathula pass on the Indo-Chinese border. One of the most common problems encountered at altitudes above 10,000 ft is high altitude sickness, something that could even turn fatal. To ward off the adverse effects of the illness, the best one can do is sip water at regular intervals. And that’s exactly what I had been doing after already having experienced some dizziness on the downhill trip.

I have always believed that I have been cursed with an extremely small and non-elastic bladder, which always lets me down. With my shortcoming, it is only natural that I had the urge to relieve myself at an interval of 20 minutes. After a couple of halts, the driver grew impatient with my demands and pretended as though he was short of hearing whenever I pleaded with him.

To my delight, we got stuck in a traffic jam in the ghats with a few uninhabited shops in the vicinity. I took the opportunity, hopped out of the van and began scouting for a good shelter to do my business. I looked around. There my van was, last in the beeline of many vehicles. A few trees dotting the spot. Nah, too far away. I saw the rear tyre of my van. It seemed too alluring. I could just squat there, nobody would have an inkling of what I was up to. And, it wouldn’t even take me a minute. So I looked right, left, right again, and go.

I was enjoying the growing emptiness within me, and vroom. The damn traffic jam decided to clear. There I was, exposed to the world in front of me – mostly my friends who had got off to stretch a few muscles and a few strangers. A few moments of silence and shock prevailed before I zipped myself up with a job half done. And what followed through the trip and still does is insurmountable embarrassment.