There is this guy i know from my PTI days (they weren't long back, if that is what comes across from the tone. they were just three years ago.), who used to walk with me back from shift and coerce me into eating ice creams with him. I was a (psuedo) anti-MNC then and always used to go for Amul or the very local Mother Diary ones and he, the kind of Hinglish kiddo that he was, always grabbed a Kwality Walls or ...whatever. And he wrote about me and "my love for ice creams" in PTI's work blog and whoosh....I felt all the more encouraged to gulp down more. All the while thinking, "Oh Tony is so ccccuuuutttteee.... (unlike some of the men in the 'constipated' place....well, now I think it was just my thought. Sorry folks.) Today after long, I bumped into his blog...tony2cool...and seems like the Tony I knew has graduated... from shimpy shimpy ice cream and chocolate talk to....SEX. Wow. He has some fabulous revelations on his blog on how he came to know of the forbidden fruit. Well, Tony, if you will ever read this....whatever or however you feel of what or what not in this world, dont ever forget the walk back to bus stop after the 8 am shift and the ice cream sessions. The ice creamwallah knew us so very by our sight that whenever i used to be alone, he used to ask ...apke dost nahin aaye? And I used to say ...nahin...unka afternun shift hai... And to keep his spirits, I would order a cone.
Can't forget those steaming hot and icy cold days of Delhi and the Parliament Street lanes just for some memories like these. The others are tagged to our Mayur Vihar hostel with all fun, frolick, anger and of course the 'naive silliness' of our very naive Misha Pillai. And the days I shared with Ambika Pendharkar, who must now be raking in marital bliss. The 'very literary' chats I had with the 'very literary' Anima Balakrishnan and the love for life and fun I shared with the gorgeous Bong babe Rituparna Bhowmick. And the silent camaradrie I had with the mag man Sachin Gogoi, who still is a friend for life, and the 'very brotherly' love I had for big dada Debjit Chakrabarty. Of course how can I forget my Swaty, a woman in every sense of the word .
Within PTI, it is DKG's pompous talk, Vinod's mellifluous singing as he found his way through foreign copies and Ritu Sharma's and Richa Tyagi's "I care two hoots" attitude that stays evergreen. These are the things that made me feel, at least sometimes, that the I in me is not completely dead. Otherwise, Delhi was the place where I was on a foolproof act...to please and to gain love.... But in the pursuit, I lost myself. I could have gained so many friends and good moments with my real self...had I not been on that act. I would win otherwise, too, keeping away all those factors that prompted  me to act. This post is thus an apology to all my friends who I purposely shut out...Avishek Roy, Sumit Upadhyay, Zeeshan Sheikh, Shemin Joy, SDG, Sukanya, Mriganka, and most of the seniors who I knew I could be friends with. Love you all.

Breathe free

Let me sleep, for my soul is intoxicated with love
Let me rest, for my spirit has had its bounty of days and nights
Light the candles and burn the incense around my bed
Scatter leaves of jasmine and roses over my body
Dry your tears, my friends, and raise your heads as the flowers
Look at the bride of Death standing like a column of light
Between my bed and the infinite;
Let the virgins come close and see the shadow of God in my eyes,
And hear the echo of His will racing with my breath.

The Ascending

I have passed a mountain peak and my soul is soaring in the firmament of complete and unbound freedom;
I am far, far away, my companions, and the clouds are hiding the hills from my eyes.
The valleys are becoming flooded with an ocean of silence,
And the hands of oblivion are engulfing the roads and the houses;
The prairies and fields are disappearing behind a white specter
That looks like the spring cloud, yellow as the candlelight and red as the twilight.
The songs of the waves and the hymns of the streams are scattered,
And the voices of the throngs reduced to silence;
And I can hear naught but the music of eternity In exact harmony with the spirit's desires.
I am cloaked in full whiteness; I am in comfort; I am in peace.

The Remains

Lament me not, but sing songs of youth and joy;
Shed not tears upon me, but sing of harvest and the winepress;
Utter no sigh of agony, but draw upon my face with your finger the symbol of love and joy.
Disturb not the air's tranquility with chanting and requiems,
But let your hearts sing with me the song of eternal life;
Mourn me not with apparel of black, but dress in color and rejoice with me;
Talk not of my departure with sighs in your hearts;
Take me not to the crowded burying ground lest my slumber be disrupted by the rattling of bones and skulls.
Carry me to the cypress woods and dig my grave where violets and poppies grow not in the other's shadow;
Take from me all earthly raiment and place me deep in my mother earth; and place me with care upon my mother's breast.

Leave me then, friends - leave me and depart on mute feet,
As the silence walks in the deserted valley;
Go back to the joy of your dwellings and you will find there that which death can't remove from you and me.
Leave me.

---Kahlil Gibran

I am a big farce
No truth in me
Just a bundle of horrible nerves
And a tongue that wags
I am a big farce
Too costly for life
A daughter and sister I am
A mother, too
Of no particular use
I tried a wife's part
And failed, with elan
A journo I tried being
And messed up with finnesse
Now am I here, in this school
Trying to teach shit
Finally, I said love divine
But divinity... too scared of me
Death finds me tough
Else why should it elude