Category: Scribble

Delve into our vibrant canvas where personal narratives, discussions, and candid rants coalesce. Explore real-life encounters, reflections on love, growth, resilience, and conversations that challenge norms.

  • THE ONE WHO CANNOT BE MOVED

    His name is Jain.. Achal Jain.
    Not Aanchal, not Anshul, not Chanchal..  its Achal.
    A synonym of “Hill” in “Hindi”.
    Or as the heading says, “one who cannot be moved.”

    15874733_10154968993894319_532233336675429815_o

    I primarily was not inclined to write this post at all. Because I couldn’t find anything which has not been written over here among all these blog-posts, or said to you directly. Or via Whatsapp, over calls, elaborated text messages and other hundred modes of communication. Out of the 26 years you have completed on this planet earth, our invasion into each other’s life is now exactly two decades old. We’ve been pillion riders on Bajaj Classic Scooter and Yamaha RX-100 for Christ’s sake! It actually sounds like something that should have come out from our father’s mouth. Are we that old?

    Mentally maybe.

    Looking back now, it actually feels like an era has passed. We have actually witnessed each other growing up, And believe it or not, I do remember how we first met.

    So this is about when we entered 1st standard. 1st July 1997 (It must be it, supposedly! I am not that good at remembering stuff), After a blissful summer vacation of entire two months, it was the time to go back to school. The first day of the session, no matter which class, is dreading anyhow. That’s what “the set of unwritten laws” says. To top it off, I had to change my mode of transportation also. As if the tiring work of applying covers to the books and copies, and making crucial decisions regarding which cartoon name-slip will go on which book cover was not draining enough.

    This migration from Horse-Tonga to Auto, was pretty taxing mentally. How much could a kid take on the first day itself? As soon as the high pitched horn sounded outside, my mother rushed me with an enthusiasm she probably wanted to see in me. Had I gifted her my bag, she would have happily took it and rode off in the Auto to school. Sadly that’s not how it works.

    As I dragged my feet to the gate, I was accompanied by my colony friends, who have been using this Auto for eternity and didn’t had to worry about being the new guy not only in the class, but also in the Auto. I saw them giving their bags to the driver, as they happily started conversing with their friends. A look back to my excited mother’s face ensured that there was no getting out of it.

    So I silently walked to the driver, handed him my bag, and gave a look at the children to find a space where to sit. Such an unfriendly bunch of runts I tell you! Just busy in discussing about Shaktimaan and Kapala fight! I thought maybe the friendly neighbourhood friends would help me out. But no, they were the moderators of the group discussion!

    There was this one guy with ultra straight hair and kinda triangular face, who looked at me and moved aside to let me in. I jumped at it and the auto started. After waving off to my mother, whose excitement was turning less visible with the auto picking up speed, my colony friends finally could see me again, and introduced to this triangle boy, who was the only guy in that auto of my age and class. “Hey Achal, this is Abhinav.”

    “Hi! So which section are you in?”
     “1st A”
    “Cool! I am in the same class! That means we are classmates!”

    I didn’t say much in that entire journey to school because all the talking on my behalf was being done by our common friends. We ended up on the same seat in the class, and by the end of the school that day I knew about his interest in drawing. I guess that was the point which led to the starting of a friendship. This friendship.

    Taking a trip down the memory lane does bring up many great things. But that’s the stuff to discuss and reminisce some other day. Enjoy now, as it is the gateway to a new you, 26 year old you. Question everything else but yourself, as it’s difficult to surpass 26 years worth of experience. Maybe next year?

    Any specific wish you have? Start collecting dragonballs then. Will give you a head start in it.. 🙂

    Many Many Happy Returns of the Day!

  • TALKING TO THE MOON

    Yup. The title of this.. article, is inspired (stolen) from a song in my all time favourite list, Talking To The Moon – Bruno Mars.

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    Why the sudden attachment with the moon you ask?

    Nothing too special about it. Just that when I looked up towards the sky tonight, I was greeted by the Crescent Moon. And it suddenly stuck me. Crescent Moon seems much more beautiful than the Full Moon.

    Now, before you either go “Duh! Obviously!” or “He’s definitely gone insane!” on me, let me make my case. For why I loved the Full Moon until tonight, and why I changed my mind upon having a closer look at the Crescent Moon.


    Why I loved Full Moon-
    full-moon-nasa

    Swear by God and say, that one random night when you find the enlarged heavenly sphere called Moon, with the yellowish tint, rising in the sky, you could possibly ignore it’s presence. Any other day, you have to seek it. Maybe even search it amidst the clouds throughout the sky. But no sir, not on a Full Moon day. You might debate whether it looks magnanimous (different preferences amongst yellowish hue or snow white texture), but it does capture your awe, interest and my admiration, always.

    It’s embarrassing to admit, but when I was a kid, stuck neck deep in puppy love, the Full Moon always ended up being the substitute of the person subjected to that puppy love. Every time the Full Moon peeked through the window besides my bed, I wished it “Good Night”, hoping that somewhere the subjected person might be throwing a glance or two at it’s beauty too. And the wishes would indirectly be conveyed.

    As I said, puppy love.

    Full Moon has its own charm. The most complete form of the moon. Flaunting it’s scars in absolute glory. It always felt like it spoke to me, that the true beauty of a person reflects when the person acknowledges and embraces his imperfections. I always thought Full Moon when personified seems so brave, so gallant, knight-like. A presence you simply cannot ignore or dare ridicule.

    Until I noticed Crescent Moon tonight, and wondered if that’s the case.


    Why Crescent Moon now-
    crescent_moon

    Crescent Moon is the Moon at its bare minimum visibility. Just before the Moon disappears, or just after it appears. It is not imposing like the Full Moon with a strong presence demanding your attention. Rather a soft presence in the sky which your eyes stumble upon completely unexpected, like finding a treasure. It makes Full Moon look like, not a knight bearing it’s scar bravely on its chest, but an arrogant presence wearing it’s imperfections like a garland. For the first time I thought Full Moon just boasts its size as if saying, “I am huuuuuuuuge!” (Imagine it in a certain American President’s voice) “I have imperfections, but who cares cause I am huuuuuuuge!”

    Yeah, maybe Crescent Moon got an advantage just because it was able to let me see Full Moon under a whole new light (Other than the Sun’s. I meant the other Blondie).

    But Crescent Moon in itself seems very pure, very fundamental. The cycle of Moon begins with it and ends at it. Like the circle of life maybe? Or simply because it reminded me of the striking similarity between it and the human life cycle, where the Infancy and Old Age are the two opposite ends, yet the same.

    So, if Full Moon once inspired me to take pride in myself the way I am, taught me self-acceptance (before it’s image tainted), Crescent Moon reminded me of simplicity, modesty. The truth of life.

    Maybe at the junction in my life where I am, sitting comfortably observing people around me, I resonate more with the impression Crescent Moon has left me with. Maybe that’s why my liking switched.

    Or maybe, the Full Moon is too huuuuuuuuge!

    Anyway, which one do you prefer?

  • SHEEP IN THE BIG CITY

    I just have 15 minutes before the clock strikes 12 and your B’day starts. So I am pretty rushed because, duh! time crunch.

    This is the first time ever that I am directly addressing you in any of my posts, so well that’s a first. Congratulations Ms. Sheeba Faruqui for getting this far! Now this time of the year has never usually been a, I dare say, favourable time for our “Frenemy” relationship. It’s the time for everything to go south, haywire and mayhem. Utter chaos.

    It’s been 21 years since we first crossed paths, 19 years since we actually have been near each other, 16 years since we started a mutually acknowledging relationship (based on utter dislike), 11 years since a friendship was moulded into an ever-changing shape, something which is still hard to decide how it looks.

    Now, you are the most intelligent girl I’ve come across. But your true strength has always been the amount of labour you put in in-spite of it. The clarity of your goals, your thoughts, the way you want your life, that has always fascinated me. Maybe because I’ve never been so driven. But same is the reason for my respect towards your zeal and efforts. We can fight over the most stupidest of things. Sometimes we don’t even try to understand each other, where we are coming from. But that has never stopped me in acknowledging the importance you have had, in one way or the other.

    Now I am already 5 minutes up, and this blog in itself is filled with the references directly aimed at you. So I have no clue as of what I could possibly gift you that would justify the bond we have had since these 21 years. So I would say the words which I don’t think I use very often.

    Thank You.

    Thank you for being the person you are. Because it has made me the person I am.

    Wishing you a very Happy B’day. I hope God blesses you with everything you ask Him of. And gives you the strength, to ask Him for anything you want.

    By the time I am ending this, it’s been 25 minutes late. I know you don’t care. Still, efforts count, right? 😛

    Now bring a smile to your pumpkin face and be happy, as I won’t be doing cliched things like calling you or texting you.

    This post though, is solely for you. 🙂

     

    P.S. Did you notice how we use Him for God? I think I’ll start using Him/Her from next post onward.

  • LITTLE THREADS OF SEPARATION

    SEPARATION – (noun) the action or state of moving or being moved apart.

    That is how the dictionary defines the word. But the beauty of it is what meaning it holds, even without a particular context. There itself lies the irony of it. A detailed discussion with a friend today suddenly made me realize the importance this word has held in my life. It has been a great teacher. That is why I treat both, the teacher and its teachings with reverence.

    Love, is like a fabric. Not a silk one, that’s just how you picture it. In reality, it is a fabric with the irregular texture, comprising of patches and holes. Some area of it seems worn out and the other feels quite new. Sometimes the fabric feels like a second skin, whereas at other times you realise that it just doesn’t fit your taste.

    Separation, thus can be compared with the cut placed on the bundle of this fabric you own, each time a piece is taken out of our life.

    My grandmother passed away when I was 14. I remember clearly, how my brain simply found itself unable to process the reality. I still feel that this statement lacks the ability to justify the depth of my inability to get in terms with it. Your parents always love you and have faith in you, same as mine. But Naani was a person who made me feel that there was a hidden power inside me, something about which I am still not aware of. In her eyes, I was the epitome of a good human being, brimming with possibilities. Even today, whenever I face a situation which leaves me clueless and raises questions at myself, the memory of my reflection in her eyes gives me an immense boost of confidence. It makes me believe, that I’ll definitely be able to come up with something somehow.

    My love towards her was the piece of fabric that had been cut a long time ago. Strangely, the cut was so clean that by the time I could comprehend her loss, the separated piece had already woven itself with my conscience in the form of an unlimited reserve of confidence based on her belief in me.

    But the transition is not so smooth each time. Not every piece of the fabric called love is cut with such finesse. On the contrary, most of the cuts just refuse to be neat. The struggle through which the pieces go when cut off, is clearly visible, not only on them but on the entire bundle itself. At times, the fabric is unwillingly torn apart into these pieces by others. In any case, what we end up with is a tattered piece of fabric, giving away loose threads from its edges. Unrequited love, unfulfilled love, incomplete love, failed love, these all are samples of the above-mentioned tattered piece. They are the ones which deteriorate over time, as the threads of the separation loosen up and disintegrate the fabric each time it is used, be it in as a memory, or a reference.

    However, these odd pieces, putting their threads of separation at the display, are the ones which have also taught me about the importance of the two key things. Acceptance and Closure. I cannot dare say that I have come even close to embrace either of these. But yes, I do accept the fact that they are the key to put the odd pieces into better use. Maybe weave them together to create something new altogether. A blanket of love, ending up the way love is, imperfect. A reminder of all the components that have been involved in the making of it. Maybe that will aid in finding a continuous piece of fabric that is constantly being used and doesn’t need to cut till eternity. Or it will just teach us how to cut it cleaner; cuts after cuts after cuts.

    Hence, Acceptance and Closure themselves are the sewing machine to stitch close the loose ends of the tattered piece of the fabric. They give a final definition to your complex feelings. They try to even out the torn edges, give it a seam maybe, to preserve them as a standalone memory. So you end up with the ability to recollect the old and once familiar warmth of the fabric, without the baggage. I just wish if the world was so ideal.

    These machines are quite costly. And no, you cannot just throw money to own them. The currency they deal in involves a combination of patience, empathy and most importantly, love. Sometimes they ask for self love, whereas in other cases, just the respect towards the love which once existed, irrespective of the presence or absence of its traces around. People who can shell out this cost with the blink of an eye can be deemed uber rich, marking less than 0.01% of the total human population. Normal people like us take our time, first to assess if the machines are worth it, because it will take a lot of time emotionally to collect the droplets of all three for it. Then some more, to actually go through the process.

    The sadly honest part is, majority of us decide against it. We decide to get rid of the piece itself. Why bother spending so much? Why put so much efforts to save something which is no longer a part of you? Let it rot or wither away and get lost in the passage of time. Even better if you could shove the piece of fabric in the other person’s throat and let them choke on it. Ain’t it convenient to blame others for what went down? “Chuck it and move forward” ranks in as the second best option. However I feel if you could go through the second option, we might not be talking about the same fabric altogether.

    Another lesson I have learned from separation is the beauty of a relationship. I learned to see it and appreciate it. Separation does that to you. You learn to understand the intricacies of a close knit relationship, and to respect it for what it is. I know that the word relationship in itself restricts the imagination to a limited examples in your life, but look wider. The truest essence of what an ideal separation is, could be found in your childhood memories.

    Your best friend when you were 6, do you have any clue where they are or what are they doing now?
    If yes, are you still in contact, in touch anyhow?
    Yes again?
    Then are they still your best friend?
    It’s most probably a no.
    Did you forget the person?
    No.
    The memories you had with them?
    As clear as they come.
    What happens when you tap into them?
    You end up feeling warm, nostalgic. You are completely aware of the fact that these days will not come again. Maybe you would like to revisit them together someday. But you don’t bet on it. You accept them for what they were, what they meant to you then and now, acknowledging their place and importance in your life.

    That’s how separation should ideally be. But we don’t live in a perfect world. I hardly think that the separations you will go through would end up even close. However, as the lines of one my all time favourite song goes –

    You’d have to walk a thousand miles
    In my shoes, just to see
    What it’d be like, to be me
    I’ll be you, let’s trade shoes
    Just to see what I’d be like to
    Feel your pain, you feel mine
    Go inside each other’s mind
    Just to see what we find
    Look at shit through each other’s eyes

    Because the most crucial thing which you must always remember is, the fabric called love gets cut in pairs. It’s never just about your bundle. These little threads of separation are possibly the only thing common left. Savour it.

  • FRIEND ON A SUNDAY

    Hi Friend on a Sunday,

    Sorry for being such an ass, but since you know I am an ass, that makes it okay. I had been thinking of so many people, to whom I could write a letter. But I ended up at you.

    Maybe because I needed to talk to you the most. You always complain that I never call you or contact you. That you are not sure if I even think about how you are doing sometimes. So first thing I would like to clarify with this letter is that, I do. I know what you have went through. I pray to God that nobody should go through similar agony and turmoil. I know what we burn with, is not how the world looks at us, but how we look at ourselves.

    Anyway, bottom-line, my lack of contact is not due to me being wrapped up in my own world. The distance which you feel is not because I don’t care or am tired of caring, but because I want to care. It is a safety cushion for me. That tomorrow when things go south in my life, it could be contained. People say, friends can help each other through all thick and thin. That they are the people with whom you can be your most shameful self and they’ll accept you.

    We both know that proportionality of the vulnerability is directly related to the amount anyone opens themselves up. And I trust you, but I don’t trust myself.

    I don’t think if you realise, that the stakes have been highest with us. I cannot afford to gamble here, do a little bit of experimentation. Our friendship is 20 years old. And it is a constant one. We have seen every single phase possible of each other. That is the concrete basis of my belief, that you’ll survive anything that comes in your way. However, just remember that whatever doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger. But it does shatter your emotions. It starts from the zigzag broken edges, as with each hit, the crack travels a little more towards the center.

    You know when there is an uproar in any of our lives, we have our own way of dealing with it. Trust me when I say, I am more at ease when you are in a good space and I am in shitty situation, as compared to the opposite. Because I can handle my shit in some way or the other, but I cannot do so on your behalf. Moreover, what if my shitty response gave you a shitty idea which shat over an existing shitty situation?

    Too much shit all over.

    Now that we are clear on where we are coming from, I’ll start the actual letter.

    I was just thinking about some incidents that happened when we were kids. This was somewhere in 4th standard, when we evolved from pencils to pens. When bhaiya used to come to Johny’s house for taking drawing classes. So, my mom sent me to take those.

    I bought those fancy scented wax colors, the one with the heads of those superheroes, and a brand new sketch book. I was quite excited that I’ll get to learn something new. What he made me do, was copy one of Johny’s drawings, color by color. And man I was pissed. Since then we have mutual respect for each other, I guess.

    You ratted me out once when I bunked school to go to Manish Bhaiya’s  PS2 parlour. To take revenge, I changed all the moves of your default player Stone Cold Steve Austin to a female wrestler’s. You got your ass handed the next time you came to play. Though that would have been the result otherwise too.

    Knowing me, me forgetting about you should be the least of your concerns. However we are in a space, as opposite as possible, to the kind of future we imagined. Our past selves would have definitely been shocked, and bombarded us with all sorts of questions about what went wrong. And those jerks could be nasty and ruthless. We need to set things right, by bringing ourselves on the right track.

    The person who didn’t use to give or take shit from anybody else, should not be questioning their interpersonal skills now, when they need to be the person they always have been. People get misjudged all the time. People don’t get the second chance they thought they deserve, plenty of times. Open up any history book and start reading. The difference between the names you’ll find in the book and the ones you don’t, is what they did after that.

    As far as I am concerned, no I haven’t figured it all out. I am probably a bigger disappointment to my past self than you could ever be. But I think I have started to make my peace with it. Instead of thinking about where I should have been, what I deserved, I am more on the lines of where I am and how to make the best use of it to reach what I think I deserve. So that I could just get away with a tap on my head by my past self.

    It’s our individualistic journey. We can be of limited help to each other, but I believe that if any of us does good, it triggers the best in the other too. We never have been competitors, but team mates, who ultimately score for the team.

    I can continue writing for an eternity and still there will be topics left. That’s how long it has been and the kind of content I have accumulated over time. But maybe for some other letter, some other reality check.

    –Your Friend on a Saturday,
    Abhinav