Decisive Drift

So we met
At an unexpected moment
With silence in between.

An odd blink of recognition
A hesitant step

And you pass by…

Strangers resolving confusion.

SAVE WATER

http://www.slideshare.net/jbrenman/thirst

Its a nice aesthetic ppt... but more importantly, it speaks of a problem that needs urgent attention.

Please care to have a look and spread the awareness. After all, as someone said "we do not inherit the earth from our fathers but borrow it from our children".

Sacrifice… murder.

I saw a dog die. I saw a train crushing the life out of him. The rumble of the mighty engine drowned the tiny squeak which was the last thing he did – a cry for help? I saw him die while I stood there helpless. I don’t like dogs. But, painful tears instinctively stung my eyes while I stood there, frozen.

That dog was a small thing, white, with a black snout. He had innocent, big eyes very similar to Gypsy’s (Romy’s dog) eyes.

At first, I saw him merrily run around on the tracks unaware of the train around the corner. When he saw it advance slowly towards him, he scurried for the platform. But the gap between the tracks and the platform was too high for his tiny legs to conquer. He couldn’t manage the leap. He tried running further ahead. Turning around he saw the train close on him. And then, he didn’t move. The terror of imminent death showed in his eyes. A second later, I saw the train occupy the spot he was standing on. He was gone.

Why did he die? Why? I think I know the answer… and if that’s the right answer, then, I can’t help but thank God for his death. Darn it.

Friday Night - holy day,unholy night?!

Friday night, I stayed over at Micki’s pg. It wasn’t an unplanned decision and it happened at my insistence.
Micki is a great pal. I adore her. I had stayed the night at her pg with Rash once before and I liked the experience in parts. For this particular sleepover, I had carried my clothes and other essentials to college because the plan was to go to her place directly after college. Ergo, I ended up tugging along an unbearably heavy bag everywhere I went. In college, we asked an uninformed Ni to accompany us for the intended nocturnal plans. After a little persuasion, she assented.
I have abstained from alcohol all my life and I strongly intended to do so till I died. I detest it but I find that I have no strong reasons behind this strong aversion. Do I avoid alcohol because my faith tells me to? Is it because mama’s always told me its bad to drink? Is it because I have always thought that an inebriated condition induces men directly or indirectly on the path to violence? Is it because when I was a kid, I’d see men from slums buying cheap, desi, bad-smelling alcohol and then beat up their wives in public view? Is it because the man who stood behind the counter in these shady looking arracks always glanced at me in a manner that made me feel shamefully feminine? I couldn’t help associate drinking as a morally wrong behaviour. I still can’t figure out why. I can neither stand the sight of Vijay Mallya nor the towering UB buildings near my school and I don’t know why.
I initially tried persuading my very close friends, who took to drinking after we entered college life, to quit. I refused to go pubbing and clubbing. No no, those are bad bad places. So, when people excitedly proposed the POA for the evening and the night, I found myself saying yes! It was the way they said it. I repeat, they are very dear friends. And the excitement in their voices was innocently touching. Also and mainly, I wanted to know what the big deal behind getting high was. I could argue about it and against it only after I had tried it. Like Sahana Das says, “Try things and then say you don’t want to do it”. Logical conclusion.

Scene in the early part of the evening: Micki wanted to go to Koramangla and retrieve her laptop on which we thought we’d watch all the seasons of Friends. I had watched a Friends marathon once earlier and needless to say, I had loved it. Micki had the Friends CDs but her laptop was at Sameer’s place. So, at around five-ish we left Vasanthnagar to travel to another corner of Bangalore and that was an exhausting task to accomplish ahem… behind Micki on her bike. Agreed that I travel almost 50 kms up and down from coll everyday, but that I do in the BMTC bus! (It is the ideal place to catch up with my long-lost sleep; so, the journey doesn’t turn out to be quite as demanding as it should be.) But, the thought of facing the notorious Bangalore traffic jams at the rush hours, on a two-wheeler, with Micki riding like a bolt of lightning, maneuvering through the TINY crevices between polished cars and big buses and overtaking other motorcyclists with ruthless precision while I hold on to seemingly precious life with my feet swaying carelessly near the rapidly rotating tyres even as the wind does a good job at transforming the mass of cropped hair on my head into an unparalleled mirror image of Sai Baba’s hair-do and just as my back screams with pain at being held up without a back rest (I tell you, there should be a back rest mounted on two wheelers) for so long…(phew!)… frightened me out of my wits. But, Micki needed company and she made that childishly pleading face and I agreed, leaving Ni behind to happily gape at the entertaining idiot box, munch on yummy pizza slices and (whats more!) sleep at the pg! We also thought we’d check up at pvr in forum on our way back and see if we could book tickets for Harry Potter for the Monday morning show. Bah! All these girls, I tell you, acting like lunatics behind that bespectacled, scarred boy and his gang of friends and foes so much so that they force, cajole and bully a small, defenceless girl like me into throwing valuable green paper at ticket counters and bunking classes to crane up a tiny neck at 70mm illusory scenes!
Look, I like him, ok… but strictly in books, not in cinema halls.

Scene in the late part of the evening: STUCK IN BLOODY, HONKY, POLLUTY TRAFFIC JAMS!

Scene in the ‘early’ part of the night: Gorging down Chicken Fried Rice, Veg Noodles and Chicken Manchurian Gravy at the newly opened The Paramount in Vasanthnagar for just 50 bucks!! Hmmm… Contented Burp!
[This was after we conquered the roads, nearly missing injuring ourselves and after we stood in queues for those damned tickets only to find them reserved for shows till Tuesday. I admit, I secretly rejoiced at this unexpected piece of news only to frown again when Micki called up Ni and the others and decided on Wednesday as the day for Harry’s darshan! (BUNKING TWO CONSECUTIVE PERIODS OF PSYCHO! BAH! ALL THESE GIRLS, I TELL YOU…)]
The sumptuous dinner was followed by a trip to the liquor shop by my friends while I made my way to the pg. A short while later, they returned with two cigarettes, a Smirnoff bottle of green apple flavoured vodka and a bottle of sprite. I found myself getting excited. I examined the bottle minutely. It was the first time I had held an alcoholic drink in my hands. It was a clear liquid! So different from the pale yellowish hue that stains beer or the erm…other drinks. Aren’t all varieties of alcohol coloured that way?
It smelled of apple. That didn’t seem harmful. Apple was good for health, right? An apple a day keeps the doctor away?
All of us then climbed upstairs to Micki’s terrace (ah! The terrace! I love terraces!) after which quite a bit of vodka was poured into two large mugs. A lil bit of sprite and we were ready. However, one of us wanted clear shots. (Am I using the write terminology here? Aren’t they called vodka shots or wait, are they tequila shots?) Well; so, she just guzzled down unadulterated vodka while I hesitantly sipped vodka-sprite. It tasted nice. I felt warm. I felt heat flowing down my throat and spread around my chest. I don’t think I went high though I have no clue what it feels like when ppl go high. I was conscious of my surroundings but I felt a dull headache arising from nowhere. I fell silent while the others chattered continuously. We danced! But, I was still quiet. I thought. I felt like calling them and talking to them. It was well past midnight. I stopped myself from reaching my cell. I didn’t want to wake them up. They’d be asleep or worse, studying.
Encouraged by the act of drinking, a friend asked for plain vodka and gulped it down in one sip. I saw her face contort and after taking control of whatever she wanted and had to take control of, she said, “Khadz, try it. You have to try it!” So, I tried a little bit of it. And it was so glaringly different from the vodka-sprite. It was bitter, pungently smooth and it pierced my mouth with a fierce alacrity. I was suddenly aware of the pores on my tongue… there are pores on the human tongue, right?? I felt that hot liquid burn down my food pipe and reach the pit of my stomach. I felt scorched.
And all of a sudden, I felt violated. I felt innocence deserting me. I know for sure that if I were raped, I wouldn’t feel as sullied as I felt when I took that last sip of vodka from my mug. Odd, I didn’t feel this way when I took the first sip of the vodka-sprite. It dawned on me then that I had crossed the line I had vowed never to trudge. I had betrayed the beliefs that I had tried thrusting at friends. I lost that, which I had thought, made me different from others. Natural hypocrisy? Or, rigid faith??
When Micki cried, “We’re having fun!!” I smiled and agreed. I felt strangely liberated. Freed from the burden I had carried for so long. I hate it when contradictory emotions hit me simultaneously and this was one of those many occasions. Enveloped in these thoughts, I fell silent. Ideas washed over me with the speed of light. The wind blew hard into our faces while we sat on top of the tank. I wasn’t high or was I? I still wanted to call them. But, I didn’t. Thank god, I didn’t.
Some of us lit cigarettes and let out puffs with a contented sigh. I had tried alcohol. I wanted to try this. I asked them and they were happily surprised. “Try everything before time slips away.” Hmm… profound! They passed the tobacco rolled in white paper with the words Wills Silk Smooth (or something to that effect) written on it. I brought it to my lips and saw the other end aglow. Black and orange. They directed me - “Do not wet it.” Ok. “Draw in a breath.” Ok. Cold and minty taste. I liked it. “Exhale.” Ok. A cloud of white smoke. “Hey, I didn’t cough!” I felt elated. On the way to being a criminal… I had drunk and smoked! The cigarette was passed around. Two whole cigarettes reduced to ash.

Scene in the late part of the night: The Friends CDs untouched, we lay peacefully cuddled up in bed.

Obscenely obsessed-book buff

I did not like One Hundred Years of Solitude. I partially liked The Fountainhead. I turned to Sidney Sheldon after reading Gabriel Garcia Marquez and I could only find faults in his novels. I have The Inheritance of Loss sitting unread at the back of my closet. A lifetime falls short for all the books I wish to read. I want Heart of Darkness even though I hated Lord Jim. I want Frankenstein. I need Prince. I need books. I can’t survive without them. They’ve become my best companions. I need books. With memberships in two libraries and friends willing to lend books, I still feel that I need more books. I want to surround myself with those musty pages until I suffocate. I want to encase myself between the printed leaves till I hate the very sight of books. I am high on books. I am addicted to them. They are the only legitimate way I can avoid the world. They are a gateway into another one. An escape from the hypocrisy called life. I need books. They keep me busy. They keep me from thinking. I read. I observe the figure of every word. Each word is different. Just like an individual. I need books. I hate libraries. I feel faint when I am in one. I need books.