Expressions

Posted on June 10, 2010 by Guria
My Freedom
© Maverick Misfit by Guria


Posted in Creations, Sketches, You | 17 Comments

Hidden

Posted on June 5, 2010 by Guria

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 11; the eleventh edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

I always have a smile on my face. I share your happiness and laugh with you. I laugh with you when I am not happy. I laugh with you when there is a storm of sadness killing me from within. I reveal the smile; while my sadness is hidden.

I leave everything behind and come with you. I leave everything behind even when I don’t want to. I leave everything behind because I am asked to. Nobody sees my sorrows, nor they notice my pain. My duty is all that matters, my emotions stay hidden.

When I cry and shed a tear, you think it is a tear of joy. A tear of joy to express my happiness. A tear of joy to celebrate your success. Joy is all that you see, tear is all that remains, while the truth is hidden.

I am the pillar of my family. I have to be strong enough to face the challenges. I have to be strong enough to take care of the weak you, I have to be strong enough to take care of the weak me. If you break down, you are human; if I break down, I am weak. My support is all you need; my weakness must always be hidden!

You see my face to judge my beauty. You see my clothes, to judge my outer self. You look at me and smile. Your smile is for the person I am not. You smile is for the person you want me to be. My mask is appreciated, but my inner beauty is forced to stay hidden..

People call me mysterious. But I am merely the person I have been forced to be. My mystery is my sadness and weakness, my emotions and my thoughts; each and every reaction of me you don’t want to see. Each and every reaction of me that you are scared of. Each and every reaction of me which you want to believe that it does not exist.

All I want is acceptance. All I want is acceptance of my wishes. All I want is acceptance of ME – the way I am – my individuality. All I want is an acceptance of the person that I am and not the person you want me to be.

I want you to be proud of the REAL ME and the HIDDEN ME. I want to be the same person from outside and from within.

I am a woman and I want to be myself. I am a woman and I want to feel proud of being one…

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Posted in BAT, Contests | 30 Comments

Apologies

Posted on June 3, 2010 by Guria


It is always said, and rightly so, that there is dignity in saying ‘Sorry’, there’s strength in accepting that you were wrong. There is pride, there is good education, and there is honour in being able to apologize. But on the other side of the same coin, it takes equal values, upbringing and honour in being able to accept an apology. 

Studies indicate -and once you think about it, it sounds true, too- that in close relationships between men and women, women calm down with an apology whereas men may get more heated on an apology because to them it subconsciously means an admittance of guilt. But this is in the gender make-up and mostly, if not always, applicable in the relationships of a parent-child, spouses etc. Which is not what I am talking about.

An apology which is not necessarily done out of guilt but of accepting a wrong is always applauded. And so should the ability to receive that apology with head held high, lack of gloating or loss of temper and just a regal nod of head be equally applauded and appreciated.

To maintain one’s dignity even when in the right, more when an other person is wrong is a show of integrity and honour. And they really have my admiration and respect as much as them who can admit being wrong have. Both takes character.


Posted in Observer | 13 Comments

55 Fiction #4

Posted on June 2, 2010 by Guria
If there is one thing I’m terribly awful at, that’s a 55-er… How much ever I enjoy them, for the life of me, I can’t write one. This is for none of those who enjoy 55-ers, but my own feeble attempt at consoling myself!



———-Family Woes———-



He had to leave town, and with his family. He didn’t know where he’d go but somewhere where his respectability wouldn’t be questioned, for sure!

“Damn it, Dad. Why did you have to do it to me?”

He had had done enough explaining why his wife was his grandmother, and his step-daughter, his step-mother!
Word Count: 54 (:P)
Posted in 55-fiction, Creations, Laughs | 18 Comments

Scars : A Tragic Love Story

Posted on May 30, 2010 by Guria

This post has been published by me as a team member of Inscribe Tribes for the “Super 6″ round of Bloggers Premier League (BPL) – The first ever unique, elite team blogging event of blog world. To catch the BPL action and also be part of future editions and other contests, visit and register at Cafe GingerChai




She had always wanted a girl. But nothing could have prepared her for the surge of feelings that imploded in her when her husband had placed that small bundle in her arms for the first time. The perfect pink face scrunched up as she wailed, the tiny little toes, the little fingers curled up in a fist and the shock of black hair on her head – Laura had never seen anything so beautiful. And to think that beautiful creature had come from her… Laura was unaware of the tears streaming down her face even as she laughed and smiled at her little daughter.

But like an incandescent flare that burns brightly only to burn itself out, her all-consuming happiness burned, shrivelled and turned to ashes.

Just a bunch of teenagers broke a traffic signal and Laura’s life changed. Her husband and 2-week old daughter were gone in a heartbeat leaving her wounded, scarred to mourn.

The only other miraculous survivor of the wreck was her 2-week old son. The other twin.

***

He planned to get enlisted. And he wasn’t to be deterred or swayed. Turning a deaf ear to his family’s pleas and reprimands alike, Sam walked out.

Marianne caught up with him on the sweeping marble stairs. Yanking him by his arm, she forced him around and snarled into his face, “It’s about Laura, isn’t it?”

He looked at her with little regret, calmly removed her hand and turned away.

‘I pity you, Sam… I pity you and your obsession with your mother! You never did grow up… you never did learn!” Marianne called out softly to his back.

“You can break off the engagement then, Mari… I won’t hold you to it.” Without looking back, Sam continued across the huge lawns and eventually disappeared behind the huge oaks.

Marianne could only gape; transfixed, numbed.

Having never known her own mother, she wasn’t the best judge but still she wondered, “What else can having a mother who doesn’t love you do to you?”

***

It was Sam’s last weekend at home. He was busy with his last-minute arrangements. There was nothing much left to pack, but much to arrange for the plantation, his plantation, while he was away… and if he never came back.

A discreet knock sounded on the door. His mother entered. At a little over forty, she looked much older but with the hauteur and pride that befitted the dowager of Ridgelow Plantation. Her once-acclaimed beauty and vitality were now mere chapters of a happier and forgotten history, Sam thought with a pang.

“Hello, Mother. You needed me?”

She didn’t say anything right away but calmly surveyed her son’s sparse room.

“So you really are going to go through this farce.”

Sam’s lips tightened. “I am joining the Army, Mother. I’d barely call that a farce.”

She let that pass. “Nothing anyone can say will change your mind, is that it?”

“Do you want me to change my mind, Mother?”

“Of course, I do! Who will look after this plantation, your legacy? I want you to stay, marry well and look after your inheritance.”

Sam smiled, with a tired, rueful shake of head, “You have to do better than that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about… What can be a better reason than that? Fine, then stay for Marianne’s sake, Samuel.”

Sam laughed, “I think she can do better than a loveless, arranged marriage.”

“I don’t know what you want, Samuel! Do whatever you wish, I won’t stop you!” Laura remarked coldly as she strode out.

Sam watched the door close behind her, the pain now an old friend. “If only you understood, Mother.”

***

“I just wanted to let you know, the train was on time and we stayed till it pulled out.”

Marianne sipped on her wine seated opposite to the woman who could have been her mother-in-law. In another lifetime.

“Thank you, Marianne… I see you are not wearing your ring anymore.” Laura observed.

“I didn’t, Laura, if that’s what you are thinking. Your son did.” Marianne said with bitter laugh.

“I don’t think he cares if he comes back or not…” she added quietly.

A heavy silence descended.

When suddenly Marianne broke out, “Would it have been so difficult for you to ask Sam to stay back?”

“What?! I did…”

“No, Laura, asking your Son to stay back?” she cried. “For you, and not the estate? Is it too much to want your mother to love you?

“I lost! I lost my love because you couldn’t love your own son, the child who lived, all for the memory of a dead one!”

“Marianne!”

“I’ll never forgive you, Laura. Neither will God… Never!” Her voice dissolved into tears.

Laura stood up and walked away towards the tall windows. The only sounds in the room were of Marianne’s heart-wrenching sobs.

“After the… that… that fateful day, I would stand by Sam’s crib, scared to touch him. I’d stare at him all night, a silent vigil, afraid that he might stop breathing. I wouldn’t hug him, never played with him, never allowed him near me… But I’d watch from afar.

“I couldn’t have lived if I lost, again. To me there was no choice… To protect myself from another heartbreak… I had to refuse him, refuse loving him.

“I can’t change a thing, Marianne. I wish I could but I can’t. It’s not left in me.”

She turned to face Marianne, almost pleadingly, eyes shining with naked pain and said in a cracked voice, “But to the woman who loved Sam, who loved him best… please understand, Marianne… I can’t turn back time, I wouldn’t change a thing, probably never will… but I loved my son, I loved him till my heart felt it would burst with it… I didn’t want him to go…

“But I couldn’t tell him, Marianne… I couldn’t!”

Marianne could only stare as the arrogant, cold and formidable woman dropped to her knees in front of her, and wept inconsolably.


Word Count: 997 (Whew!)

Winner of The Tragic Love Story Category at Cafe Ginger Chai
Posted in Contests, Creations, Love, Novelette, People and Relationships | 32 Comments

Capricious

Posted on May 27, 2010 by Guria
A drop of a sunlight filtering in
And you think it’s poison, within
Smiles, laughter and infectious joys
And you skitter about, thinking aloud
The impending clouds, and shattering ploys…



I’m more dark than what seems. I bring light into lives only to hide the darkness I hold behind my back. You couldn’t fight me, because I turn your biggest demon, I’m what you are scared of. I am happiness. And if I am here, the darkness couldn’t be far.


You don’t know to be happy without me. You need me to cross your path and say, “I’m here.” And even then, your baffled stare never wavers till you blink and break out into that tentative, doubting smile.I will be there, but never do I have you full faith or attention. I can always see the darkness behind me in your mind, thinking. The fickle me.

Funny thing is, I don’t choose to be there. Only you can bring me in you, only you have the power to dispel all the darkness and yet, you think it’s the whimsical, restless me who is flitting about and away.

And I think, it is the fickle You.
Posted in Darkness, Philosophy | 12 Comments

Catharsis Part-VI: No, I am a Bangali!

Posted on May 18, 2010 by Guria
Pathetic is all I can say! Loud and clear. I am upto my neck with work and I am loving it?!! Something must be wrong with me! The 90% humidity and 40˚C temperature is not hindering my stride either… Well, that may be ’cause all the labs are air-conditioned. But still, I should be more loyal to my own attitude!
So I am enjoying lab, the people whom I work with, a lot. At home, in silico, I am what I always wanted to be (among the hundreds of other things), an editor in a brilliant Editorial team for a dream of a magazine. My two co-editors are the two most amazing and talented individuals who could only be complemented by the also-talented me (of course!). Sometimes three is the perfect match… Especially when there is one guy, two girls and the love that’s always present in these kind of equations, is between the two girls. No better working combination than that!
But if everything is so happy-dovey, then why a cathartic post? After all irritating people are omnipresent, and the secret to happiness is to avoid and ignore.
Prior to our magazine with infinite number of minute details, in the two short weeks when we had finish most of the stuff, Neha (the creator, and my lady-love) and I escalated from our usual 30 minutes-average-a-day to a 50 minutes-average-a-day talking on phone. We could always converse in English but we are typical Indians, yaar! And no false pride either. So Hindi it is, interspersed with my English words when I trip. Obviously. I am actually not bad. Ask Neha. And Shrikant. (Even if he is a co-editor, he’s too honest to lie)
Now get outta my house and enter my lab. Two of my seniors (only two) are non-Bengalis who understand Bengali perfectly, even if they don’t speak it all the time. But we are a really friendly (a reason why some sects of Indians’ attitudes baffle me) set of people… We will always try our best to speak with non-Bengalis in their languages. So, Hindi it is. Again.

Now what happens. In my lab, frequently we caught ourselves speaking in Hindi to other Bengalis. We had completed explaining our thoughts, six-seven sentences in a row, paused, looked at each other, wrinkled brows and exclaim in unison, “Why am I speaking to you in Hindi??!!!“
Like working on computer, any computer anywhere, any kind. I am a blogger, who blogs in English for heaven’s sake! But no, I have completely associated computers with Hindi! Now I write Ds instead of Rs, and even though Guria WON’T ever change to Gudia, most others have. I actually have problems chatting with my Bong friends with English-typed Bengali words. I have to now, hmm, ahh, and then type! And Hindi? Waah, that’s the Language Enabled in my fingers nowadays. Not a break in my stride while typing!
Even worse was my fiancé telling me, let us talk in Hindi since I am a regular at it nowadays, and then switching back to Bengali because I was too fluent for him!!
But worst of the lot was me absent-mindedly answering my poor Mom (who had said to a shopkeeper in Jaipur while buying shoes for the absent me, “Mera beti paanch naambar ka joota porta hai“) – “Kya hua? Wahin pe toh tha naa!“. My poor, poor Mom got so shocked out of her wits that she forgot all about the food I was not supposed to eat.
N.B. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention: I am a hard-core Bangali. And the catharsis was to remind myself.
Posted in Calcutta and Bengali, Catharsis, Laughs, Life | 15 Comments

Does Crying Make You Weak?

Posted on May 16, 2010 by Guria
Are there only black and white,
And never any shades of grey? 
Or is it just me who never can be right?
Or is it me, hard-headed and thick,
Who hurts the one who means everything?
Hurts the one who means the most?
And gets then hurt, wounded, bruised too.
I think I am no good-
Or may be just not enough…
Trying to be perfect and true
Losing it all, like the spin of a wheel
Am I pathetic or just undeserving?
Or is it just not meant to be me,
The harder I try, the deeper I fall
Into a crevice that’s all my fault?
I want the most, I want the best
But it never falls in with the rest…
I keep trying, and I keep trying
But at the end of the day, I wonder,
Am I not enough the way I am?


N.B. I had removed this previously, as I was writing about me and for myself, and was so off-base, a fact I understood when I mistakenly hit “publish” instead of “Save”, and read it on my blog page. But then i thought, why waste another piece of complex-conflict-made-more-complicated in Drafts. So here it is! Love, G. 😛
Posted in Creations | 4 Comments

Retreat

Posted on May 12, 2010 by Guria
Stark and desolate night beckoned
The lonely eyes receded into tunnels.
The Light brought Shadows, so dark
Scary and creepy, so deep in contrast;
The tunnels were empty, never alight
The Darkness, born in the mind, hid-
Hid them all, the ones haunting the night.
The blood and the gore splashed across,
The eyes were witness, bright yet blind.
The strength to accept had gone amok,
Refusal, denial and mind in a block,
To retreat within, to construct a shield
Away from the world too scary to see,
Away into escape in nothingness, lonely-
The lure of the night, the pull of the mind,
Away from monsters, where I can hide.


N.B. I recently read a book, and read about how people, especially children, withdraw into cocoons after being witnesss to something drastic and terrible, often betrayal, that they cannot reason out, or withstand. They all go into a happy place, their happy place, without the monsters, receding from the real world too tough to bear. To bring them back takes diligence, dedication, love and wonders. G.
Posted in Creations, Darkness, Verses | 7 Comments

Cruel

Posted on May 10, 2010 by Guria
Cruel, cries the Mind
As it struggles with the pain,
Inflicted so mercilessly,
Thinks the Mind,
In its moment of respite
In mindless bitter gain.
The Body screams in protest,
When the mind bends again
Cruel, it cries in agony
And succumbs as well,
Locked bodily in its hell.
The Heart was resilient,
So it was just a whisper-
Cruel, the Heart says
Just with a trace
Of its breaking faith-
A breaking heart–
Just before it splinters
Into a thousand shards!
But the Soul remained silent,
Unmoving, yet vigilant
A soft murmur, an utter 
Against the wind,
I understand, it says
And I forgive your sin.
You can hurt my brothers,
But never touch their soul
Cruel, you may be-
But I have my peace
We will have our escape
For you, there won’t be any.
Cruel, it said sadly
As it flew yonder away.
Posted in Creations, Heart, Life, Verses | 12 Comments