“So that's how we live our lives. No matter how deep and fatal the loss, no matter how important the thing that's stolen from us--that's snatched right out of our hands--even if we are left completely changed, with only the outer layer of skin from before, we continue to play out our lives this way, in silence.”

― Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart

Monsoon in my city

I love Calcutta when it rains...

When the skies get cloudy and all the dust and pollution gets swept away, infusing that hot, humid Calcutta air with a lightness.

When doors and windows start banging and you can see women scurrying around on the neighbouring rooftops pulling down those about-to-dry clothes, their saree pallus and half-undone hair making life impossible - but painting the most poetic picture of home life there is.

When kids run to the window, hoping it will pour so much that the streets will fill with water - so that they can make their paper boats and see them sail down the lane outside their doors.

When school kids wait for a rainy day - and failing that, make sure they travel back home through the most water-logged streets, taking care to jump into every puddle and get drenched from head to toe.

When you are hopelessly stuck in the downpour - in a car, bus, tram - and you know you will never get anywhere on time. But you don't mind because everything around you seems so lazy, so sleepy, so Calcutta.

When the kitchen starts filling up with divine smells of khichudi and begun bhaja - nothing else goes as well with the pitter-patter of rain on your window pane.

When you wake up on a weekend to realize it's rained all night - and you curl back under the blanket with a good book and that must have cha...or in my case, coffee

When the man of the family goes running to buy that perfect ilish for lunch - it's rained after all.

When the maidan goes all green - looking like a blanket that's been freshly washed and laid down on the ground. So that youngsters can play muddy football while the pristine white Victoria Memorial looks on.

When the old city becomes new again - a lilt in her steps, a nip in her attitude, a freshness in her soul.

When opposites attract

I realized something in past few weeks.

Detachment and insecurity can actually go hand in hand.

You could be perfect at the art of controlling your emotions...well nearly perfect. You could tell yourself you know what you are doing. You could tell yourself you don't care...or that you can decide how much to. And perhaps you are not even pretending. Perhaps, over the years, you really have become rather good at drawing the line, compartmentalizing, not really caring too much about too many things anymore.

And then, while you are busy not caring, you realize you forgot to account for just how much of the 'not caring' is really a part of you, just how much of indifference can you really be ok with.

You happily traipse along life, wrapped in a secure cocoon of your detachment with people and relationships, actions and consequences. And then your bubble of smug confidence, of the conviction that nothing can really bother you coz you don't really care - is burst by one small incident, one phrase, one look - that you misread, perhaps.

You might still think you don't care. But the realization that you don't like the fact that the person in front of you might not care as well - and that it bothers you - puts paid to that self-deception. And the irony, your seeming control over your feelings and actions is probably what attracts those like-mined people in the first place.

Two detached people should make fantastic partners isn't it? Rather strange then, that detached relationships can sometimes be the ones that make you doubt yourself the most. That the absence of interest can sometimes stir up the most intense emotions. That the lack of feelings can lead to the most unexpected desires.

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Middish post coming up about stuff that has been going on in my head. Till then...

“I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best.”

― Marilyn Monroe