Thanksgiving!

Posted on December 4, 2010 by Guria
We are a strange breed of people as unique as our land. Strange as we are like no other race of the world. But what race are we? What is actually our ethnicity? Who knows that perfectly? Yet everyone knows us. We are Indians. Not a race, not an ethnic group, but the different yet alike people of a rich, varied and a wonderful country.
I am digressing. Not an annoying trait anymore as often I dream about how beautiful my country and like nothing better than to relishing the dreams aloud. Ever tried describing your country to an outsider? Realization dawns that you had never really realized! 
One fascinating thing (among millions) about us is, we celebrate. And we celebrate like no other! For holidays, for slacking? Maybe, maybe not. But surely for the joy of celebrating, the unparalleled happiness that remains associated with festivals and festivities! We are a happy bunch of people!
Thanksgiving. My first. We celebrated not just with the joy of having a long weekend which is all you get in this country but actually a festival of giving thanks.
And I was in Chicago! With people I love. Not doing anything but just being. Pampered, cared for and treated like the princess I never thought I was, you just know why over every little thing that hurts you, that doesn’t go your stubborn way, you still are in love with the same wonderful person… You just see why we celebrate love. Even over the pain of separation, of having to pull apart when you would like nothing better than to be melded and molded to the one. 
And thinking about giving thanks. On Maverick Misfit, I am thankful for my ability to write and express (for me, it’s not so easy in real life), and the freedom. I am thankful for the people I have known in this world and the joys reading has brought me. I am thankful for the love I receive whether there are lows or highs.
Finally, I am thankful for my wonderful friends I have never met but who are as important a part of me as anyone else! And the unconditional, bottomless love. You’ve made my life worthwhile.

Posted in Friends, Happy, Life, The Other Side of the River | 1 Comment

Our Love for Writing

Posted on November 13, 2010 by Guria
This post was selected as (yet another) Spicy Saturday Pick by BlogAdda on November 13th, 2010. Click on the image to see I am actually telling the truth! 😉

More than a year and a half back, I wanted to write and keep writing and wanted it to be preserved and treasured, not by anyone else, I would be enough. I had started to blog. A word and a world I had learned of the first time in my life.

Today, not so much later, the scenario has changed drastically.
People blog for popularity, they blog for money, they blog for fame, recognition, and many other reasons that I am ignorant of. But I do know what they don’t blog for. The love for writing.
Controversies, instigated and propagated via social networking sites, bad-mouthing, bitter fights etc have much over-shadowed the real thing. We have forgotten what was it that had brought us together in the first place. It was not who we are, what we are, where we are or even what we want but just that single thing that we love- to write. At least, that’s how I saw this little but expanding world of mine!
But this wide world shrank back on itself for me! Don’t pollute it, was the only thing that came to my mind. At first, it was funny, a nice break to monotony, gossip and fodder, maybe I can make it into a story in a blog post! But when you get caught up in the tangles of life, and only get a few stolen moments to do the things you love most, the things that you do only for yourself and nothing else, you just feel hurt and nothing else.
I write for me, and sometimes for the ones I love, for a cause I believe in, for a wrong that needs to be righted or for awareness, but what I’ll never will or can write for is money or fame. I’ll vote for you to win big wads of money but I’ll never mean it. You’ll know when I mean it, when I vote without you prompting or I’ll leave a word. You can ask me to read but don’t ask me to root for you. But there lies the irony, no one cares whether you mean it or not, whether you read it or not. Did you ‘vote for me’? Great, then be gone.
But that doesn’t matter. I don’t care really about the person who you are. I am not interested. But I do care about what you create and share with this world. And there lay my second big disappointment.
I am not just a blogger who writes (or writer who blogs?) but I am a reader too. In only a time span of 20 months, I find a decline in quality of writing, in expressing, in creating! As if all that matters is churning out a blog-post after another, without substance, without thoughts or creativity. Nothing. Zilch. It is as if every thing centers on comments, pageviews, likes and retweets. Gone are the times when you will feel compelled to leave behind a word, forced to return just to sample another of the author’s creation. But then bloggers are authors no more.
Bullying, bitching, mindlessly controversial and politely abusive posts are not what writers write.
That’s why your followers or even commentators are not your readers. People don’t read anymore either. They leave their own links, publicize their own blogs along with a word, usually feeling and meaning less, for you. What is the worth of it?
I count on my fingers the blogs I still visit to this day, even in  my hectic and busy schedule, because reading them makes me feel a part of this special world. But there are so many others who have forgotten the real reason of their advent into this world, the purity and sanctity of this shared and cherished world. And as much as I pity them, I detest them. Let not my world be as corrupt as you, let it be beautiful!
Earn the respect. Earn the recognition. Don’t try to buy it, it’s futile.
Posted in Bloggers, Creations, Non-Fiction, Observer | 13 Comments

Another Day

Posted on November 12, 2010 by Guria
Theirs was a small house in Sonarpur, just a few hours away from main town Kolkata. But it was their own house nevertheless. A simple two-storey structure with a little front garden and a backyard with a garage for a car that they would surely own one day soon. But how many could boast of their own house in this day and time?

It was enough for Mukut, his wife, Sudhi and their two children. It was their pride and the envy of their friends.

It was just another morning. The bed-side clock glowed 5:00 AM. Time to get ready for work.

Sudhi had already woken up. Mukut could hear her moving about in the kitchen. It was a weekday and the children had school. It was a new school in Sonarpur where all the rich kids went. Well, it was expensive but that was no reason to deprive their children from fine education. And then, he was not a good-for-nothing father. He would do his best by his children, and he would see to that they get the finest.

Mukut got up from the bed lethargically. Today was Monday, so naturally he was feeling tired. Effects of the gruelling day before. Holidays were the days they had to work the hardest, those are the days they raked in the most.


Sudhi and Mukut worked in the same place. They always took the early morning local to Kolkata. And then a minibus from the station to their place of work. Usually taking a taxi worked better but it didn’t help. It was a luxury with far-reaching effects, and then, the bus was more than fine.


Mukut drowsily trudged to the bathroom, yawned at his reflection in the mirror and scratched his beard as he wondered what he wanted to do today.


After half an hour, he came out of the bathroom dressed for work. Sudhi was already ready.


“Here is your wrap”, she said as she handed Mukut over his overcoat.


She was already wearing hers. It didn’t make sense to get out of the house in the ways they dressed for work. Even though they always left early, you may never know when some prying neighbor was watching!


“Have you taken the money for Rao-sahab? It is Monday, remember?”, Mukut asked.


“Yes, I have put it in the pocket of your pants.”, Sudhi replied.


It was a few minutes past 6 when they hailed a rickshaw and left for the train station. The children had already left for their morning school.


Sudhi had made lunch for them both that was tucked possessively under her overcoat. Mukut and Sudhi usually would meet up and have their lunch together. It was a habit and a superstition.


The train was mildly crowded, the real crowd would build a bit later in the day, a reason why Mukut insisted on an early train. They sat hunched together at a corner, unimpressive and unobtrusive. Mukut made sure that they never attracted too much attention, he liked being ordinary and avoid close scrutiny. 


“Sudhi, do remind me today to talk to Balahari-babu today,” Mukut said, “He is yet to return our money.”


“His shop is doing well, he told me last week,” Sudhi assured him, “I think he’ll pay us back within the next few days.”


“And will probably give us free paan for the rest of our lives.”


Sudhi joined him in his laughter with the ease of two individuals who had been each other’s support through the worst in life.


At the station, the boarded a red-yellow Minibus that was almost empty and huddled at the back seats. After a few minutes, when the bus had started to move, and the conductor had given them their tickets, Mukut took out two dirty packages wrapped in plastic and handed one to Sudhi.


In similar actions, across from each other, they started setting their hair, Sudhi smudged some black color under her eyes, Mukut rubbed some color to his hair and brought out a stick.


After a while the conductor called out, “Park Street!”


Sudhi and Mukut got off and walked to an old banyan tree. They took off their overcoats and stuffed them into the dirty plastic bags and pushed them aside. Underneath the overcoats, Sudhi wore a red and yellow, dirty and torn saree and Mukut sported an ugly, brown shorts that showed off his skinny legs and a grey vest full of holes.


As the dirty, bereft woman walked right and the limping old man dragged himself with a stick the other way, Sudhi called out, “Suniye, put some more ash in your hair, okay ji?”


Mukut just nodded to show he understood, as he limped over to a man getting off from a white, glossy sedan and said, “Baba, do din se kuchh nahin khaya, allah ke naam pe kuchh de de… Baba…” [I haven’t had food for two days, in the name of God, please give some thing…]


Another day had just begun. 

It was a story in the newspapers a few months back in Calcutta, that beggars had actually been giving out loans to small businesses and of course, small bribes to the police in ‘their area’. Some of them also have constructed houses for themselves in the outskirts of the city. Indeed, begging seems to have become a lucrative “profession” nowadays. So, it made good fodder for a fiction-like blog post. Smiles, Guria.
Posted in Creations, Novelette | 2 Comments

I am The Most Popular Blogger

Posted on November 11, 2010 by Guria
If you count the number of comments I get.
Seriously.
Don’t scroll down and check. I mean it. Nopes, still not lying.
Of course, you have to count the spams and the mysterious, link-less anonymous comments that escape the spam filter.
Getting a normal, decent, blogger’s comment, mind you blogger does not equal reader, is a rarity. Every morning when I get an update in my email, “Subject- [Maverick Misfit]: New Comment on ….. “, my first reaction is Delete. A couple of times, i have actually deleted real people’s comments too! A common dilemma of a has-been blogger?!
And no Word Verification either. No, not because I love getting these words from the Anonymous but in hope of the ones who would once upon time read would come back and leave a word to me, saying ‘oh yeah, i remember you, you used to be my favourite’! In this fast world, writing one another extra word (that too dictated), besides the ten-worded sentence… sorry boss, not so much time!

But seriously sending indecent links in much descriptive paragraphs about stuffs, that me as a girl will never need (and we sure are not going to suggest them to our boyfriends) makes me wonder what ‘they’ (whoever ‘they’ may be) intend to achieve, sell or want. Recently, even more strangely, I have been getting spam comments from Anonymous with no links and having weird comments about the blog, obviously totally unrelated to anything. Now what do these people (or things) want to get?

Or is it to make people like me feel popular and remembered. Keeping up a steady flow of bogus, worthless, meaningless comments spamming my inbox just to make me feel un-forgotten? Sadly, I’m not that detached from reality!
Posted in Bloggers, Laughs | 5 Comments

Part 5: Go with the Instinct?

Posted on November 9, 2010 by Guria
Killing is never a solution.
I don’t know what had come over him the last few days. Till a week or so back, everything was fine. Well, as fine as it could be for two strangers, a man and a woman, engaged but not to each other, living together.
It was shameful what I was doing. But I had no choice. I had to convince my parents and I had to lie. It was not a good plan but it was the only plan. And impossible without Sharan’s help. It helped that his fiancée understood, and trusted Sharan, as I didn’t want to increase the number names in the list of the people I will have to hurt eventually.
Sharan was a jewel. In another life, I might have been besotted with him, and wouldn’t have been happier. But this wasn’t another life. Though at times, when I would hear him talking to his girlfriend over the phone in whispers, I would feel jealous. Jealousy of what, I feared to analyse. But in the dark of night, reliving our shared laughter while working in the kitchen, I felt secretly glad that he was mine for the time being.
Well, except for this week. This week his girl will be here, living with us.
Sadly you don’t choose who you fall in love with.

——————————————
“I don’t know what was wrong. I can’t pin-point it, Dhruv. But I think you should go and stay there for a while…”
“Mia, I told you it was a bloody bad idea… Why did you agree to it in the first place? You must be crazy!”
“You don’t understand, Dhruv….”
“I bloody well do. This is going to be…”
“Dhruv, Sharan is not sleeping with her, okay?! It is not that!”
“Dammit Mia, how are intelligent women like you so blind?!”
“Dhruv, please… listen to me! It is not that. You know Sharan. You have been together since forever… No Dhruv, let me finish… It is nothing like that. I am a woman and you think I didn’t think of these? That girl is not lusting after Sharan, trust me and neither is Sharan, thank God! But it’s something else. They are perfectly civil to each other but there is something cold, almost foreboding in the atmosphere. When Sharan was with me, he was perfectly fine, but there’s a chill in his behavior, so unlike him, when that girl is nearby! Please Dhruv, talk to Sharan, find out what’s wrong… You are his best friend… Please?”
“Mia, you are so blind… It’s nothing but…”

——————————————
I never thought Maina would sic Dhruv on me, or that she would be so astute to sense that it was required. But Dhruv wasn’t as smart thankfully. Or sadly? He thought it was the usual sexual tangle. As much as he loved Maina, he was too loyal to his oldest friend. And it made it easy to stay loyal to Maina and confess of being ‘just a man’. His evident expectation of my confession shrouded his senses. He never realized my lie.
And that was necessary. I didn’t want Dhruv to distract me, or Maina to get caught in the crossfire.

Killing is never a solution. Till it is the only one.

I apologize if the ‘Series‘ format is making you impatient. Honestly, this was an outline that I had been building upon and hadn’t taken into being read so closely! I hope you will enjoy reading in parts as they come as this is not really a short story but an attempt at a story about the complex nature of the human mind (even in the most uncomplicated individual). Thanks for your interest so far. It fueled me  to keep writing and inspired me to see Sharan’s story to the end. Love, G.

Posted in Creations, Novelette, People and Relationships, Series | Leave a comment

Part-4: When Hell Comes Knocking…

Posted on November 7, 2010 by Guria
Was it because I had been thinking about her? Should that have made a difference when I had never forgotten her in the first place? Or was it a much simpler reason? Like Punishment. For a man engaged to one woman, one for life, lusting after another woman, a passing acquaintance and in love with yet another woman, an impossible dream?

Even thinking about myself in that accurate, demeaning description couldn’t replace the shrouded fear with shame. Shame, be damned, I thought. I am not the only man in this world to be wanting different things at the same time and not knowing what I wanted at all… At least I wasn’t the cheating manipulator. Yet.

It had all started with a simple favor to a girl’s family without a prospective groom for their daughter. You might think it’s strange and even ridiculous, but what was strange to me was that the girl was pretty and sweet. Why would they need me in the first place?

Living with her day in and day out, as much as it irritated me, made me conform to some unknown reality. She started to grow on me. She was not my type. But then, call me a man. But whatever it was, I knew my affection wasn’t harmful. And the lust, easily controlled, was just of a man deprived. We all have lived through that. 

At least it was all harmless, till one day, I called out to her from the kitchen. The dal was boiling over and I was busy with the bhaji. So innocuous a setting and so poisonous a revelation it was!

Avisa came in frowning, a naive, adorable combination of the confused and the curious, “What did you call me?”

I looked at her quizzically and she asked again, “I thought you called me something like, Meher?”

I burned my fingers in the hot frying pan, and didn’t feel the blisters or hear her shout. I didn’t feel the pain as she shoved my hand under the flowing, cold tap water. All I could feel was that the harmless had ceased to be so. To me, and to her. My lust wasn’t just a lust anymore, it had become a juxtaposition of what I had wanted and never had, to what was easily available. And added to that volatile mix was a sense cruel of justice, one of vengeance. The ugly inside me had reared its head, and taken control and I had not known.


There was no way I would have called her Meher, if it wasn’t the primary thing in my mind. And there was no justification to what I knew was now inevitable.


You could see me from afar and say that I am rotten. But then. Step into my shoes, and say it again. Maybe you will see the justice.

Posted in Creations, Novelette, People and Relationships, Series | 7 Comments

Alive!

Posted on November 1, 2010 by Guria

I wake up everyday
To another sun ray,
That makes its way
Slowly through the window
Coming to greet the morning
A special, bright ray
That was born only for me…


I walk in the rain
Facing towards the heavens,
Humming soundlessly
And smiling,
The wet drops on my face
Make me happy
That I lived to see
Another wonderful day…


The gust of wind
Blows by me
As if telling me
Don’t walk, 
Run with me…
You’ll see
You can fly!
Only if you simply
Believe in me!


Everything around
Ahead and that I cross by,
Looks more beautiful
Every time!
It’s just that
I feel special
Special just by being me
And,
I am happy
Happy being alive!

Posted in Me | 8 Comments

At the end…

Posted on October 23, 2010 by Guria
When you reach the end of your tether, when you are tired of being strong, and all you want is to give up, the only thing you know while staring fixedly ahead at the unknown dark path lying in front of you is that you can’t give up! Weakness beckons, wild ideas chase themselves around in your head but you know you are stranded exactly by who you are…

What do you do when you are not enough?
Posted in Uncategorized | 17 Comments

Why does anyone read me?

Posted on October 7, 2010 by Guria
What the heck is this thing?! It befuddles, it drives me crazy! Why would people bother with me who doesn’t even talk back? With someone who is anti-social, reclusive, introvert, lazy and rude? Why do people come back to a dormant, burned-out has-been?
Is there love in this virtual world? Is it that illusionary and indispensable attachment even in this unreal world? Why does coming back into this orange and blue pages of my dashboard and editor fell like homecoming? Why do the faceless people with strange names and almost fictional personalities feel like family? Why do people come back here to hear me rant and weave and spin ugly tales? And why do I feel happy when they do? 
What is this world? Why is it so wonderful?
How does it never fail in banishing my loneliness?
How does a wasted addiction, a obsessive fixation do that?
Posted in Bloggers, People and Relationships | 14 Comments

Reflections on Mahalaya

Posted on October 7, 2010 by Guria
I so want to stop, just that pause before I run to all that I love but cannot stop and wait for time to catch up with me. Or is it me that’s running behind, trying to keep up with the time that I will never reach?
Is it the people, tied together with the invisible strings of affection and dependence and pulled apart by ambitions and wild dreams, that won’t let me be? Or is it my own loneliness that won’t let me die alone or the urge to be witnesses to each others’ lives that won’t let me be alone?
Or is it just the taken-for-granted that stayed inviable while in front of you till you really couldn’t see it anymore?
There’s a happiness when dreams come true but life’s more exciting when they tell you I have better plans for you… call it luck or destiny or divine intervention (that Someone above your head who’ll never let you fall as you are His child) but it is something to really think about… to land up somewhere better than what you could have ever planned for!
All you can do is Hope and never lose that Faith.
Family, friends and love sustains and makes you wanna run harder, faster to that big destination even while you savor the journey. Seems like a contradiction but it is what drives us, drives me… ambitions and the selfish me pales in comparison.
And then there is the lure of Home…..
The season of celebrations pulls me from half across the globe. A mimicry of the real thing, a faint shadow to keep the restive heart content… nothing can compare to the pangs of not being or the sublime joy of being in Calcutta during the Durga pujas….
There are people I miss too, virtual and real, getting lost in the cycles of the sun trying to reach out onto the other side of the world, I feel I age faster and connect less. But I will eventually… one day I will catch up with time again!
Do I make any sense? I don;t know. All I know I have this in my heart, rains and shine and all that that makes me human and fuels me to keep moving. Some things you never give up on without making the best deal out of it. A bittersweet mixture of things that you can;t have at the same time…..
Making plans of how I am going to change the world and how I am going to make my world…..
And at the end of the day it seems, I haven’t grown up after all…….
I am glad.
Oh, but I understood priorities and learned what is the actually real thing. It is not what we think it is.
Does any one miss me? I miss “the misfit girl”… it’s so hard not to be “maverick-ly” me!
P.S. Shubho Mahalaya! Lots of Love and Best Wishes.
Posted in The Other Side of the River | 3 Comments