5:15

I've always loved train journeys. Partly because of the chance encounters I have with interesting characters. On the one from New Delhi, I met Rahul. He's this guy from a lower middle class family and a master of emotions. He loves to love, he loves to fall in love, and then keeps groveling when he's in that love-sludge. We were discussing yesterday the two most important components for love. Since he's a technocrat, he prefers mathematical formulations. His theory is: love = attraction + respect/admiration + extreme fondness.
He also told me, like many others before him have, that I have no hope of falling in love with anyone because I cannot have all the three components satisfied for anyone. [No hope despite Barrack Obama being nobel-ed for his Hope Campaign and KCR going the Srimamulu way to get Telangana.]
On my train journey to New Delhi, I was left thinking about all this, and I delved deeper into Rahul's character. He's one of those crazy romantics, who may serve as the perfect mascot for popular cinema, especially the 90s cinema. I loved him in Yes Boss and Dil To Pagal Hai. But the one I'm referring to here is the spineless, obsessive and madcap in Darr. He's not a practical lover (if ever there is such a thing) like his other school-friends, who would treat love as a decision, and once made, they'll consider it blasphemous and unbecoming - to change such a decision. Unless, of course, the decision involves changing to someone who's perhaps slightly more endowed in terms of finances, or has a relatively settled life/certain future. That is so true. Why would a person like Rahul's friend do anything about the love she has for an illiterate, poor person when a person with a lot of cash, a settled life who can afford a flamboyant lifestyle, is in love with her? Apart from nipping it in the bud, of course!
I can think of all this myself only when I'm in a small town - a town where leading life fruitfully (fruit=wealth) is all one must look for. I completely agree with such a point of view. I am convinced there is no such thing as love. Those three things can never come together, and even if they do, it's impossible that they'll last beyond a flash. Maybe that's why I'm always in love - I do find those three components very easily, but they never last. The third one is the one which lasts the longest and the second one is the one which flickers the most. But what does one do when there are second and third components on a sustained basis, but there is no amount of the first?
Then I remembered what Alan Shore said in Boston Legal:
"Life's hard, love's harder."
And I expanded it:
"Life's hard, love's harder;
Falling in love even harder, knowing that you are in love is the hardest."
Alternatively:
"Life's lovely, love's lovelier;
Falling in love even lovelier, and knowing that you've fallen in love is the loveliest."
It's not about cynicism, it's about pragmatism.

Lightness

A classic Deepavali at home begins in the morning with getting up early and collecting the diyas from the ledges outside home, which were lit on the previous night of Choti Diwali (i.e., the night of the month of Ashwin when the moon had almost hidden itself).Then, scores of clerks and other employees coming home for some gifts, followed by family friends and relatives exchanging greetings and gifts all day round. A standard tray containing four plates – two of dry fruits, and two of sweetmeats, is usually arranged in the morning, and is served to everyone who visits. In the afternoon, when people are not expected, the postal greetings to various people are finalised, and would be mailed the following day.

Early evening: a Rangoli is composed at the entrance.

Real Diwali begins at around seven in the evening, when all the lights outside the house are lit, and the temple room is cleaned and re-decorated. Other important samagri (ingredients) like a large plate (thaal) containing a steel water container (lota), rice grains, sugar crystals, red powder (sindoor), sacred red thread (mauli), gold and silver coins, apart from the recent ingenious practice of keeping credit and debit cards (as representatives of cash ledgers) for poojan. There is a Ganesh-Laxmi idol, candles and diyas also present at the poojan. The poojan takes around twenty minutes, with the standard conclusion with an aarti. After the poojan, the entire house is lit, with candles and diyas in every corner of the house.

Thereafter, the family sits and chats, plays cards for a while. Till my father’s younger brother and his family arrives. There is excellent home-made dinner and lots of laughs and teasing. Then everybody retires to the drawing room where savouring the dessert (usually kheer), the adults discuss business, colleagues/co-workers/employees, family, politics, family politics, health, religion, children, food and cricket, while the youngsters-college, careers, movies, music, friends, food and sport, and the still younger ones - school, friends, playtime, playstations and food. All this is amidst heavy noise of firecrackers and suffocating smoke. I think I have been a privy to the discussion with all the three classes of people at each of the last four Diwalis. When I began to be recognised as belonging to the first class, when I actually fitted in the second. And well, the third has always been my favourite, though sadly it hardly has any members now.

Right now, I’m just sipping cheap dirty port wine, sitting alone in my room, wondering why I’ve been foolish and why I can't work even if I have been.

Mixed-Up Confusion

I have one of the most awesome beginnings to a trimester in Law School so far. Lots of mixing, lots of confusion and lots of mixed-up confusion. Old people have delighted, while the newer ones have disappointed. I didn't know that there are people out there whose head is more mixed up than mine - indecisive, irritating, but still lovely. But I must let go. Sooner or later, the state which I've dreaded in the last three months will come. i can feel it. It's quite sad that it will end in such odd circumstances.
Looking forward to The Philadelphia Story tomorrow.

So the alcohol's over. And no one has any cigarettes left. And I've officially lost faith. Though there's still a hope of getting it back.

The meeting didn't go at all as expected. In fact, there was no truth in most of what I said, but I think lies will only help the other person.
"Because sometimes, the truth isn't good enough. Sometimes, people deserve more."
Atleast I hope so.

I wish I were on heavy fuel. Maybe then I wouldn't have lied as much. Atleast not as beautifully.
Oh, and everything is off the record now.

It was strange. Almost unreal and creepy. And yes, very very trippy. I couldn't understand the point of the whole thing. I just laughed and laughed till my stomach started hurting.
Actually I should feel bad about it all, but really, I just can't stop laughing. Still! But I'm also left wondering what to do now.

This definitely has to go into my biography. Strange Brew!

I look from the wings at the play you are staging
While my guitar gently weeps
As I'm sitting here doing nothing but aging
Still my guitar gently weeps

Sometimes, I wish I could go back to that beautiful solitude that once used to be mine. The solitude which I can trust to stay. The solitude that keeps me free.

Ah, but our own dear contradiction is here!

"If I ain't dead already, girl you know the reason why!" Yes, in a very Yer Blues mood.

Get Back

It seems to be the season for elections, confusions and reconsiderations. So I think I’ll just join the bandwagon and take back my decision of ending this blog. It’s not because I have any good reasons for doing so, but I’ll revive this because I’m just bored and it will be good fun to post sometimes.
Since I’m in a reticent mood, I’ll just say that my mood has changed from I Will to I’ll Follow the Sun.

Oh, and Roland Garros begins in less than two weeks. Twelve days, to be precise.

The End

It was a most beautiful evening. With three friends. One of the most wonderful places I’ll come across in this town.

I think it’s also fitting to end the blog on this note. Times are changing. And this blog can’t really keep pace with it.

“Death opens unknown doors. It is most grand to die!” - John Masefield.