Stick Stuck Stucked

How often…how very often I still allow you to raise such havoc inside me that my already collapsed walls of heart find it hard to again stand up and accept the truth.

"I have...and you need to too."– The words reverberate.

As I put down such disparaged feelings on paper, a sense of abhorrence engulfs me. No, the hatred is never towards you or for anyone else. I know very well that I am the only person on whose proud shoulders the blame lies. While I look back and see the time and the moments gone by, I ponder, how could the course of time change me for worse? I was never such a silly thing. I was a livewire. Wasn’t I? And the things I deserve in life are happiness, peace, and love. And I let you be their synonyms in my life. And that's exactly where I went wrong.

When life is like a dreaded cold night and outspread is the aloofness – even clinging to an icicle provides the much needed warmth. May be it is all in mind!

Really! And how exaggerated it looks to me now… only within few minutes of writing the just above lines!  How well we embellish our sorrows while keeping the life waiting next door.

The tussle goes on…in my mind…and in my heart.

And when everything seems to go wrong, what never fail are books, movies, songs, serials and of course the hobby kits.

It was just another random evening when the memories inside my heart were crying out loud. Before that I hardly knew how the serials I catch upon occasionally can help me dramatically to piece together my broken self in a very sublime way.

No. It was not a coincidence as life has its own cryptic ways to make us believe in it over and over again. And so the opening quote that day on the re-run of Grey’s Anatomy was,

The dictionary defines grief as keen mental suffering or distress over affliction or loss; sharp sorrow; painful regret. As surgeons, as scientists, we're taught to learn from and rely on books, on definitions, on definitives. But in life, strict definitions rarely apply. In life, grief can look like a lot of things that bear little resemblance to sharp sorrow. 

The episode ended with such hard-hitting truths which startled me beyond words.

Lexie: [narrating] Grief may be a thing we all have in common, but it looks different on everyone.

Mark: It isn't just death we have to grieve. It's life. It's loss. It's change.

Alex: And when we wonder why it has to suck so much sometimes, has to hurt so bad. The thing we gotta try to remember is that it can turn on a dime.

Izzie: That's how you stay alive. When it hurts so much you can't breathe, that's how you survive.

Derek: By remembering that one day, somehow, impossibly, you won't feel this way. It won't hurt this much.

Bailey: Grief comes in its own time for everyone, in its own way.

Owen: So the best we can do, the best anyone can do, is try for honesty.

Meredith: The really crappy thing, the very worst part of grief is that you can't control it.

Arizona: The best we can do is try to let ourselves feel it when it comes.

Callie: And let it go when we can.

Meredith: The very worst part is that the minute you think you're past it, it starts all over again.

Cristina: And always, every time, it takes your breath away.

Meredith: There are five stages of grief. They look different on all of us, but there are always five.

Alex: Denial.

Derek: Anger.

Bailey: Bargaining.

Lexie: Depression.

Richard: Acceptance.

I have seen this episode before also but never did it make so much sense to me.

And it hurts to realize how very close I have always held you to my heart. And it hurts more to realize that I can never express that to you in words. Nor even with silence...not anymore. And it hurts beyond measures to wonder– would you ever realize my realization?

I am not sure on which stage I am in. It seems that even after reaching the last stage, I am still stuck in all the previous stages. How very uncanny of me to be in such a juncture of life where ‘Denial’ and ‘Acceptance’ are fighting with each other while holding their hands tight.

~*~

…and I really want to pour my heart about 'Moving on' and 'How I Met your Mother'. But as always I am once again in such a baffled situation where I am unable to react due to overwhelmingly over-crowded emotions. It rips my heart apart. May be some day I will choose to write on these pending thoughts instead of dumping them in the backyard of heart where many ideas, memories, emotions, and feelings are resting in peace... when all they deserved was– to be written.

~*~

Some more quotes from the same episode that turned the pitcher of my heart upside down,

• Alex: You died in my arms. You died in my arms! You freakin' died, and then you left instructions that I wasn't allowed to save your life. You wanna know what I'm scared of? I'm scared of everything. I'm scared to move. I'm scared to breathe. I'm scared to touch you. I can't lose you. I won't survive. And that's your fault. You made me love you, you made me let you in. And then you freaking died in my arms.

• Izzie: I'm wishing for a brain tumor. I'm wishing all the time for a giant tumor that would just press down on my brain and make me hallucinate George. So that I could talk to him again, so I could laugh with him again.

• Bailey: I lost O'Malley. And um, I just can't. I can't care anymore. Stevens is not my child. O'Malley was not my child. I have to stop treating them... I just have to stop caring so much. 'Cause I can't keep feeling... feeling like this. 

Image Courtesy: www.thoughtbubbleproject.com

Book Review: Alchemy (II) edited by Sheba Karim

The sheer excitement of reading a well written Erotica is always high but given the fact that it was my first experience of reading an Indian Erotica, my excitement was doused with amusement as well as apprehensions. Alchemy, is an anthology of erotic short stories written by writers of South Asian descent and edited by Sheba Karim who goes with the belief that “I would much rather want that someone first learns about sex from a well written Erotica story than some unrealistic, badly made, male-centric porn on the internet.” While internationally an Erotica has been accepted as a genre capable of literary merit, it is still a long way to go for in a country like ours. And thus such well written and edited Erotica novels and anthologies are highly welcomed and accepted by readers like me.

However, as I finished story after story of this Erotica anthology, I was not much impressed by it. May be because my expectations were quite high and was not in any mood to read an account of a postmodern man’s attraction towards his maid and such similar stories. I wanted to read something that would evoke my senses and would let me contemplate it long after I have finished reading the book.

Read below for individual brief review of all the thirteen stories.

The Farmer’s Daughter by Rabi Thapa:

Well much to my dissapointment, the first story of the book is a unapologetic account of a postmodern man’s sexual attraction towards his maid. Based in Nepal, the protagonist secretly desires for a sexual endeavor with his maid but never gets the nerve to approach her even after befriending her and getting quite a number of chances that destiny throws at him.

And no, I did not like the story at all as I was no way in mood to read an account of a man's lust towards his maid. This is an age-old plot and thus it left me in bad taste.

Clay by Gudiya:

I started reading it without much expectation. The beginning was tad-bit unimpressive but very soon I was amazed to realize how well written the story is. Settled on a modern day platform, for me, it dealt with many modern day aspects of our lives. How sexual relationships with no emotional connect are on the rise. How women too are concerned and focused about their own sexual gratification. How sex could just be an act of pleasure and nothing more and how at the same time those li’l moments when you connect to your partner emotionally while in the middle of it, you transcend to a whole new level of gratification. On the other hand it also deals with social aspect of today’s world where there is almost no connection in between the family members. How children are exposed to such activities at such an young age. How an elderly is not taken care of. So much so that you don't even notice the demise of one. 

Last but not the least it also emphasis on the naked truth that love, crush, lust, fantasies, and desires can be towards anyone. Feelings are par beyond the societal norms and status.

By far this is my favorite story out of all even though more than an erotica it is a well written sensitive story dealing with layers of human emotions. This story has a heart of its own which surely touched a chord of mine.

Of You and Me and Delhi Winters.

Lost memories found their way.
Back to me.
On a misty morning.
In a lonesome tea-stall.
At some long forgotten corners.

Crossroads are still crossroads.

--- © Preetilata Sarkar

~आते जाते खूबसूरत आवारा सड़को पे कभी कभी इत्तेफ़ाक से कितने अन्जान लोग मिल जाते है... उनमे से कुछ लोग भूल जाते है कुछ याद रह जाते है. 

P.S: The lines in Hindi are from a song of a Hindi Feature Film.

Nirbhaya

She died at last and along with her a part of me has died too.

It could have been Me. It's just that I was plain luckier and she was not. Once, I too along with my boy-friend was surrounded by such uncouth men in a bus which took us to the reputed Jaypee Institute located in the heart of Noida. We only suffered an act of pick-pocketing and a violent push from behind when we were about to step down. If not, it could have been Me. I am sacred and sad and terrified beyond words. I can’t thank my stars enough. But that doesn't make me feel any better. That does not does not make me to wipe my tears and count my blessings.

Not to mention how we girls get assaulted every single fucking day that it has become such an integral part of our lives and hence has stopped bothering us. We have accepted it as a part of our daily life. Just the way we are unaffected by the change of days to evenings and finally to nights, we are impassive to the assaults we go through. So much so we don’t even bother to tell our family and friends about it until and unless it is not a li'l more than the regular things. Yes! eve-teasing, molestation, getting raped through those bastards’ lustful eyes, ugly/vulgar remarks, and lewd comments have become a regular and a very normal thing for/to us.

I have stopped boarding buses long back. But I could never tell my parents that how actually the men molest us there. They do it not only by touching us here and there and by passing comments, but also by masturbating then and there right inside the bus. I have suffered it myself many a times. It had always made me feel disgusted, used, like an object, dirty, and many more such things for which I am finding hard to express. But on the face of that man I have always seen a SMIRK that marks his filthy satisfaction. Satisfaction of trampling and objectifying one more girl. Satisfaction of being the Powerful and THE REAL MAN. I, on the other hand, like many other girls, had shed silent tears and had left the bus. Later on I learned to shout and yes had made it a habit to always carry a pin with me. But since the time I started earning; I, over being subjected to such filthy acts preferred not to travel by bus anymore. I stopped. Many more girls stopped. Majority of us remain silent. But they- the REAL MEN continued forever. Passing the baton from generation to generation.

Nevertheless Safety, Respect, Freedom still elude me. While I left travelling via bus for good, in Auto, I am never sure about whether he will ever take the right rout or not. A recent episode where the Autowala was so keen to drop me someplace else all in the pretext that it would be nearer to my place and by that I won’t have to walk that extra 5-10 min or so. He even dared to turn towards the other side and stopped only after I gave him my solid piece of mind. “Madamji aap to vishwas hi nahi karti ho.” was his gory reply. It left me baffled and induced in me the habit of being extra vigilant of the routes from now. On the other hand while I walk on the roads, I am unsure of which path would be the safest one to tread upon. I have been verbally abused by men even on so called safe roads too. Don't ever think that Residential roads are safe and sound. These Real Men become Animals not only in shady areas and at nights only. Don’t forget there’s no place for a Woman. Their barbarism knows no end be it Anywhere, Anytime, Anyways. Else there would have never been any act where a girl- be it an old, grown-up, child or even a baby is raped in places like office, school and colleges and not-to-mention inside the four walls of her own HOME- the safest place in the whole world.

Like my own shadow, Rape and Assault and Barbarism follow me everywhere. He takes it as his birthright and I take it as one of the many normal things that take place in my day-to-day life. And no I am not complaining about it, neither protesting nor am I affected by it. Not anymore. But I did once and for that the society snapped ME back. So Not anymore. Not anymore. And why to? Isn't it as natural to me as breathing is?

Image courtesy: Cartoonist Satish Acharya. 

From the depths abyssal.

The earth ponders and keeps the fire burning. I witness it with wide open eyes. There is something so very mean and uncultivated there. Uncultivated and bereaved of many things out of which some fickle and frivolous emotions top the list. Emotions – the most talked about but very much overrated somethings. We play around and make merry all in the garb of some pretentious fallacies and in the process we keep on hurting while obnoxiously shouting about how hurt we ourselves are. And we do it all in the name of something called 'emotions'. Every drop of tear that leaves its abode tells a story. A kind of story that’s smeared in falsity and brevity. 

And what comes handy is the withdrawal syndrome. But how far one can run away from those fallacies made out of erroneous efforts that consumed no less than a lifetime? When life itself is just a mere notion of something unknown. 

Palpitating emotions and its accompaniments would not hold even a mere substance when the sun would celebrate over the other side of the sky. Till then let me enjoy the excruciating pleasure covered under the thick wrap of uncouth pain for some more time. Perhaps just perhaps it will keep me going for few more steps when the sun is yet to shine.

Let’s see for how long felicity eludes me!