The perfect love affair

I've often wondered what the perfect love story would be. What kind of a demi God would the hero be and how many ships would the heroine be able to set sailing for her. How would the cosmos conspire to make them meet and what would their destinies hold after this fateful meeting. Would they turn into a doting couple who live together and die together, or would they never meet and go down in history as a beautiful thing that couldn't be.

The few things that really come close to the perfect love story are fairy tales. The waiting for the right person to come into your life, knowing at a glance that your true love has arrived, and heroes and heroines who are as good as they look. And then they live happily ever after. 
Real life however, tragically happens to be longer than a 10 page story book. And sadly most of it is spent in the "happily ever after". Soon the "happily" goes away. With time the "ever" seems longer than ever before. And all that is left is "after", a period not well documented in most books that authoritatively describe the events that led them there. 
The perfect love story would, I guess, not really be a story, at least not in the kind of meaning the word is generally used. It would be a tidbit of life, another day, a lone journey. The perfect affair is what occurs between you and the pretty young girl on the platform as your train draws out of the station. It is perfect because it is impractical and practicality ruins it.In those few moments she can be everything you want and you don't even have to know what exactly you want her to be. And as she disappears into the milling crowd, you can think of the infinite possibilities for a love that could be. One that wasn't long enough to be tarnished by practicalities of making it real, of making it work. That is the closest we get to a perfect love affair. Most of the times, the hero would give in to the way things are, almost always out of control. But sometimes he may be brave enough to get down from the train.. he may be brave enough to chase the dream.. to call out to her in the busy crowd.. to run up to her.. grab her hand.. and make her turn... 
But practicality ruins it. 

(Disclaimer: Views expressed are solely of the author. Feel free to jump off moving trains or whatever it takes to chase your dream, at your own risk)

 

The Lone Runner

I wrote it a long time back. Thought I'd paste it here before it gets lost and forgotten...
he was walking down the road talking to himself... cos he was happy... he was enjoying walking and so he was walking... he met a lot of ppl, he met them all, he liked them all... probably bcos he was happy. then he was pushed aside sum1 had come from behind and pushed him aside... sum 1 who was running for God knows why... but he didnt care cos walking meant all to him and he was in no hurry....
a few minutes later another guy brushed him aside... he too was in some hurry.... and this time he got a reaction, slight brushing aside by our hero. when a 3rd man ran past him it was too much. our hero let go off his slippers slipped into sneakers and he ran like no man has ran before... he ran for he was angry at being overtaken... he ran because he wanted to find out what is at the end.. but most importantly...he ran because everyone else seemed to be running too. but as he ran.. ppl overtook him and for the first time, he wished they would fall. he saw familiar faces standing in the path.. but he chose not to stop. he kept running not knowing when to stop. and forgetting wot he was running for... . slowly he got tired, he lost speed and he thought for the first time..."what am i running for?" suddenly he saw the man who had brushed past him... he was sitting under a tree crying... our hero asked him- why was he running as he was.. " i dunno why i was running for and i dunno why i cudn't stop before". but why are u crying now he was asked.." cos i have come too far now and i can't go back home tonite."

Stop running....there is no rush. stop before it is too late. life is a journey, there IS no destination.

Some traffic definitions delhified

Motorcyclist: someone who likes to put his life in other people's hands. 
Overtaking: A mechanical snigger that puts to shame the driving skills of the overtaken vehicle.
Female driver: Bad driver, because she can't beat you up if you call her that.
Car: A vehicle that tells you, your father's name is MCD and all roads are basically his.
Two wheeler driver: one who chose the wind in the face feeling over his life.
Lane driver: learner
Rikhshaw puller's and cyclist's motto: Right is Might.
Blue line bus driver's motto: Might is Right.
Motorcyclist's motto: Speed kills but thrills; It is better never than late.
License: A photo id card helpful in getting new credit cards/passports etc.
In case of two equally positioned vehicle, who moves first?: One who can put his vehicle at a higher risk.
What if both are willing to risk?: One who can show his emotional/physical/optical/mechanical inability to brake without hitting the other vehicle gets to go first.
Zebra crossing: A place you drive over, unless ofcourse you see a zebra crossing.
Indicator: A light force that would somehow assist you in braking if the vehicle ahead suddenly goes for a sharp turn in front of you.

Thats it.. I can think of more and I know a few here are stupid. but i wanted to write just 3. rest are there to fill up the page.:)
Happy Driving.

Bye bye Monu's mom

It is saaddening to note that of just twenty-four blog entries so far this is already my second eulogy. I guess death remains one of the few rituals that still overwhelms me with emotions. An emotion that passes the restrictions of the mind and can directly affect my heart. So much so, that after a long time I am writing a blog entry not because my blog page needs it, but because I need it.

In life there are peaks and valleys of happiness. The problem with a peak is that you can't go higher without climbing down from there. Neither can you move deeper than a valley without climbing up the gorge first. A lot of our unhappiness isfelt when we are midway in a valley. So we don't really know what to say or do when we are the bottom. "Sab kuch theek ho jaayega", is an overused phrase in comforting someone. But its motive is clear. To replace the thought of an immediate loss with that of a distant hope of progress. But you feel orphanated without these words. What do you say when these words make no sense at all? Nothing, I guess. No smart phrases, no witty lines. Nothing, I felt, at least in my vocabulary, made sense. Just empathy. Maybe with time I'll know the right things to say, and maybe someday I'll say these things without meaning them. But till then I was happy to see I was dumbfounded with emotions. I've been delhified, but I've managed to remain human, so far.

I had to go and receive Monu at the airport yesterday. I had not told him about his mom, considering he would be traveling alone from Kolkata. Airports are interesting places in that they let you experience a life time of emotions at one place. Like in statistics it is known that sampling of one system over a period of n time units and sampling of n independent systems simultaneously yields the same information. Standing at the receiving gate you can feel the presence of a plethora of emotions around. I myself remember standing at the same place, not so long ago, awaiting the arrival for my sister, anticipating the times ahead. And there I stood yesterday, in front of the same information board, dreading the time ahead. It was the longest drive home. He was asking questions and I had no answer. I felt at a loss of words. I felt inadequate.

It was late yesterday by the time Monu arrived home, so the cremation was postponed till today. He exhibited the strongest will power I have ever come across. All his energies were channelized into arranging things and this attitude was contagious. I guess every one was waiting for someone to set an example as to how to react. Monu provided them that. Emotions were given the back seat and logistics required for the various rituals took over. It was then that I realized how the rituals around death are devised to soothe pain. There are rituals like bathing the dead body and adorning it with jewelery that caters to the female need to get it all out in tears. And there are rituals like carrying the dead body on shoulders, sorting out wood for the pyre, that are aimed at the male need to get distracted from emotions and reality. And then there is the symbolic gesture of hurtling the final bamboo stick over the burning pyre, indicating our last offering.

Coming back to the eulogy I think am incompetent in writing intelligently about Mrs.Krishna Singh. That job might be done by a lot of other people and much better than myself. I, on the other hand, am grieving the loss of "monu ki mummy" as she was for me. I remember numerous visits to Monu's place, and each time I'd find her working diligently in the kitchen, trying to make a home of the house she inhabited. She'd often force me to eat things she had cooked and often share her apprehensions about her sons. We came from different worlds and our gap was more than just ages. I come from a world where the biggest question on everyone's mind is 'what is the purpose of our lives'? She on the other hand lived for just one purpose - to take good care of her close ones. In my world that would be called a wasted life. In hers it was cherished and successful. I can't estimate the loss of the individual she was, but I know one loving mom in this world just passed away. The average affection in this world has dramatically decreased. May her soul rest in peace.