The Wall

He was lost. This was the first time he was travelling alone. He had had friends, but this time he didn’t want them to be around him. And anyway, he had been to these mountains before.

He was lost, though not technically. He had been trying to locate the place where the magic happened the last time he was here with people whom he doesn’t want to be here now. However, he was pretty sure that he was standing at the right place. Yet, something kept on insisting him to not to trust himself, anymore. He wasn’t really sure what it was, and there was no one to check with.

He was lost, again. After all these years, he now knew that he wouldn’t repeat the same mistakes, of trusting people the way he did. But sometimes, you don’t want to be logical. And clearly, there was no such thing as learning from past, for him, apparently. He took the wrong turn, and there it was, the dark green, overwhelmingly vertical mountain wall, with no pinnacle in sight, which seemed so near that if he extended his hands just a little bit, he could touch it. Only that, he can’t. Yes! This was the place the magic happened the last time he was here with people whom he doesn’t want to be there anymore.

He was lost, in hindsight. Sometimes he wished he shouldn’t have done the things he did. But then, who doesn’t? And he was also only human, may be more human than all the humans he had known. Or so, he’d like to think himself to be. Nevertheless, should that even matter?

Why then, was he lost?

Read Full Post »

White Cotton Tee

It was an after rain morning in August, the sort which gets misty as the day progresses. And by late afternoon, you’re in a fix if it’s a late august in northern plains of India or early winters.

She was wearing a plain cotton tee.

When she stepped out from her home, it was pretty humid. An old worn out cotton tee is your best bet in Delhi on such a day. Little did she know that she’d be protesting at India gate later in the morning. And by the time she was there, it was already drizzling. Delhi had witnesses another rape in a moving vehicle, and it was barely eight months after what happened on the night of December 16^th, 2012.

She was a strong, independent woman. The sort usually found at northern campus of Delhi University. Probably, because she believed in Neitzsche and Camus. And a little bit in Beckett, which made her quite callous, socially.

But she had her friends. And cats. She didn’t need much.

But on that late rainy misty morning, she was wearing a worn out cotton tee, with a white brasserie. Little did she know that that would be a curse.

It rained heavily that day, and the media was more interested in her worn out cotton tee instead of what she was saying. She noticed it, noticed it more than obviously, and yet she was helpless. This wasn’t Gurgaon. It was India gate. The national media was there. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Fucking shit!

It was only her first monsoon in Delhi, but she knew very well why she wouldn’t want to be there in the next.

Read Full Post »