A Bowl of Elusive

  हर कोई अपने love story को ultimate और epic समझता है Breakup का शायद यही side effect है। पर कौन बताए इस आशिक़ को, कौन समझाए ये बात, की काफी humdrum , run of the mill कहानी थी तुम्हारी। ना love at first sight था, ना कोई आसमानी connection , बस दो टूटे हुए शख्स मिले थे एक दूसरे का सहारा बनने को।   जितने मौसम साथ गुज़ारे, थे बड़े ही यादगार, वो milkshake वाली शामे, वो कहानियों से भरी दोपहरियाँ, वो रातों को छुप छुप कर landline से किए हुए calls , वो पहला kiss , वो पहला scented un - named love letter , और वो future वाले plans जो बना रहे थे हम दो बेवकूफ future से अनजान।   दोष किताबों का है साहब, Iliad और Odyssey पढ़ते पढ़ते, हम भी सोचने लगे की story epic है हमारी, हमने भी बचपन में गरीबी देखी है और दुख भी, Rags to riches हमारी कहानी को भी बोल सकते हो। इस गलतफहमी के साथ अपने life  को approach करते रहे, पर वो छूटा तो पहली बार एहसास हुआ की शायद इतना special भी कुछ था नहीं। ना ही हमारे प्यार में और ना हमारे ज़िंदगी में।   दोष फिल्मों का भी है साहब, उन में h

What’s your purpose in life? That is such a loaded question, isn’t it? I am thirty-two years old, going to be thirty-three in a few months and I sure as hell don’t know my purpose. I remember a few years ago, when asked what I truly desired, I would say, “a tension-free life, where I didn’t have a stressful job, with tyrannical bosses and upcoming deadlines breathing down my neck all the time”, and yet, today when I have it, life is still stressful, albeit for different reasons. My wife, who is way smarter than I am, told me that your purpose should be different than your desire or your ambition. For her, it’s service – to children & humanity. Her purpose is a noble one and I wish I could say I had the same. That got me thinking – does your upbringing shape your purpose? My wife was raised in a devout Christian household, where the concept of church and community was instilled in her early on. But was that the sole reason for her having such an honor-worthy purpose in life? Probabl

Children always have a lot to say. So did I. And it is because they feel like whatever is new and exciting for them is also new and exciting for everyone else. I feel like adulthood sets in for a person the moment he realizes that most things he wants to say have already been said, most ideas already discovered and most conversations already had. My uncle used to describe this moment as the death of the child within oneself - when you stop enjoying cartoons and an irreversible cynicism sets in. For me, the cynicism and the realization that I have nothing new to contribute set in pretty early on. When I moved to college, I had had years of knowing that the more I talked, the less seriously people took me - so I became quieter. The quieter I became, the more cynical I got. And very soon, I was known as a jerk by almost everyone who wasn't close enough to me to realize who I really was. Before that, I remember always having stories in my mind, and even poems. I often wrote them and pe

I have been writing a book. It will be published in a few weeks, hopefully. It is about a guy who pretends to be other people. Won’t give away more than that - spoilers can’t be good for business. You must read it when it comes out - I will share the details in this space. Anyway, as I was writing it, I had several crises of faith - Will it be a good read? Would anyone buy this? This is boring. Am I writing this character right? And in all this, I looked closely at myself, to draw inspiration for the imposter I was writing about. For as long as I can remember, I have had trouble understanding myself as a person. Often I have felt like an empty vessel, driven by the faces I wear.  Let me clarify - my life hasn’t been a very happy one so far. There were several deaths, abandonment, and separations that marred my journey, and not being the bravest person I know, I used denial to cope with these situations. If I didn’t believe these things were real, they wouldn’t affect me, right? I think

I remember all of us sitting in the dining hall at our place in Sambalpur. I wasn’t more than five years old at the time. My grandfather was seated in his usual wooden recliner, with my grandmother by his side in a matching chair, while my father sat at the dining table peeling mangoes for everyone to eat. I was on the floor fiddling with some toy of some kind while my father was entertaining his parents with anecdotes from his time in the armed forces. After a while, the conversation shifted to me and how I was such a big responsibility, especially since my father was raising me alone. My father looked at me with pride and announced that I’d become “a doctor or an engineer” when I grow up.  My father’s plan was to be hands-on with my upbringing and to a large extent he was. But it was short-lived, as just five years later, he died of kidney failure and I came under my grandparents’ care. They were good people and their style of parenting involved giving me a wider berth to grow creati

Ever since I was a little kid, I faced a lot of hostility at the hands of a lot of people, be it my own mother, the bullies at school, my abusers, bullies at college or several other nameless individuals. But I rarely retaliated. I internalized the whole experience and made myself impervious to hurtful things. And I did that with the help of defense mechanisms. Now these defense mechanisms vary in size, shape and nature. Let me dive into a few of them today, to give you a beginners' tour into the dark twisted alleys of my mind. A colleague recently told me that my boss was taunting me about something during an official con-call. And I had completely missed it. You see, that's not me being naive, it's my mind filtering out negativity. This started out when I was younger. After my parents went through a pretty long and scandalous divorce, being from a small town in a relatively backward state in the country, my folks and I had a lot of people randomly saying derogatory

So, those of you who knew me between 2001 and 2007 must remember what I was like. I was very talkative, often ended up being the brunt of all jokes and frankly didn't give a shit about that. Well, happy days! And if you haven't actually interacted with me since then, you might have a hard time getting used to me now. I don't talk as much. Even though I often say this, it's not true that I ran out of things to say as I grew up. I just ran out of the energy to speak up about the things I had in mind. Now I don't know whether my peers can relate to this or not. Frankly many of my friends actually found their voices as they matured. I, on the other hand, lost mine. After a long hard week, it's Sunday again. So I guess it is time for some soul searching. At 7AM in the morning, here I am, awake and worrying about how I am gonna get through the week ahead. That's my life now. Anyway, where was I? So, I was telling you about how I lost my voice.