Inspiration is at home

I have many things to write, but nothing is in full shape. I observed, if I keep waiting for everything to take its complete form, I will loose them for new things. So I start here showing them in pieces.

At first, I believed in Santhi's comment and thought I really could write well. My thoughts even went far to take GRE and get taught by Chitra Divakaruni at Houston. But then very soon, I belittle myself reading some very young people at 18 and 19. I understood my excitement is just like.. when my mother tells everybody that she will let me be a doctor and then I would say jumping 'Yeah! I'll be a doctor' without knowing what it takes to be a doctor.

There is so much fight about the translations of Russian books. Some people like Constance Garnette and some like Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky. There is one guy who disliked a book of a particular translation but that has become his favorite when he read the other translation. Can there be really so much difference?? From this, rose my another fancy, to learn Russian! Believe me, I learnt the Cyrillic script. I liked the vowel 'Yah' which is the mirror image of R. But there is no going further unless you have a proper teacher.

I am hating my job and the people here. Specially Anil. It is mean of me to mention names. But I want him to see this. I want him to hate me and I want him never talk to me. I feel like shouting at everybody that I'm sick with them and I'm leaving for something better, probably to be a librarian. (Again I don't know what qualification is expected of a librarian..) But how would I pay for the house? I think, I won't earn much as librarian. I hate nanna for arresting my career to this earning job. I remember, two years ago, I told somebody that my present job is the best suitable job for me. I remember, I enjoyed it very much till Kiran was here. But then, could your lead effect your work that much? Isn't it a weariness of your own and who's_your_lead is just an excuse? Why am I prejudiced to hate anybody taking Kiran's place?

Hell with Kafka! Not only the first impressions are unreliable as he says. Impression is a possible-lie in itself. One can never be the same all his life. Man is weak of his character. He can neither be good nor bad for a long time. May be I'm thinking so, because I'm myself a weak person as a thief thinks everybody else are thieves at least once in their lives. Let me be like that thief. Having impressions is more infectious than love. It drives you through expectations, irritations, disappointments and ends in misery. Many times, impressions are transient and diluted with prejudices. Better not to have them. From now on, I'll try to meet everybody(even Anil) as I am meeting them for the first time only with facts and not with impressions.

I have got a strange dream. There is a writer, probably a future writer who considers everybody stupid, materialistic, un-lovable and of filthy character and considers himself an alien, not belonging to this world of puppetry. He thinks he cannot write well if he has to deal with and constantly be disturbed by these puppets. He leaves to the forests only to find the quality of his writing is degraded. He thinks, it is because of his inner fear for the wild and he is disturbed by the chirping of birds. He goes to the mountains but no luck. It has become much worse. He stops writing and goes in search of the reason why he is not able to write better. He finds a sign board on which he felt reading 'Inspiration is at home'. He strokes his head a little, and talks to himself.

How did I forget that I cannot write about trees, mountains and of birds for I don't know their language. It is my people I can love or hate and write about. I can write so much when that woman at the end of street takes out a coin but doesn't give it directly to the beggar but gives it to her kid to give it to the beggar. I can portray her either as a teacher of kindness or as a divinely drunken woman. I have the power to play with my characters.. but not here when I am myself in thirst of inspiration. I shall go back..to my home, to where I belong. I shall live among my puppets. I shall become the great puppeteer of these puppets.

There ends my dream. I think, you must have guessed who he is. I drivelled too much into my dream, and now I forgot what else I want to write about.

Old Women's Network

This was the first time I had ever celebrated Holi. It was very fun. Specially, I loved taking revenge on Harpreet. If only I knew, it would be like this, I would have joined Bhavani and Sujana in the Hostel 5 years ago and have had some practice. Though it was tough to get rid of those pink patches later, the trouble was nothing compared to the time we had. After an hour of violent holy celebration at parking place, I cleaned myself and changed the dress. I was well prepared for the evening.

Nashi called me as I invited her home in the morning. I almost forgot about that until she called me as it was not fixed but was only a vague plan. We planned to meet at Panjagutta. I left at once and went to Odyssey for Anna Karenina, Classic Library Edition. as Kafka's America is finished. A few days before, I made a call to Odyssey to find out if they have the CL edition. It feels good to read in those well bound books in brown covers. That anonymous receiver of my phone call said, they had it in Jubilee Hills branch and he would follow me up when they get it from there. That was a week ago. But I haven't received any call. I have checked it myself. They don't have it. I tried for any of Dostoevsky's and found none. "What! Not even one? Vikrampuri Odyssey is much better than this. They have at least few of Dostoevsky's. They play good music too. The boys at the counter were also obedient and not like this fellow whose is giving me nasty looks every time I squeeze my nose.." I thought.

I went to Himalaya Book Centre. Nashi joined me after sometime. I searched for AK, CL edition. They also don't have it. Then I instantly changed my plan of reading AK and wanted to read Notes from the Underground. But pity me! They also don't have Dostoevsky. Nashi consoled me saying that they might have arranged the books with first name and searched for 'F'. Nashi went to a lady who looked like who knows where everything is and asked for Dostoevsky. After many requests to repeat the spelling, she ran away somewhere completely unmindful of our presence. So we did her work and searched in the catalogue for Dostoevsky with both first and last names. He is nowhere to be found. I hate them all not for only not having Dostoevsky but upon that for having each book of Robin Sharma, John Grey and Sidney Sheldon and so like..

We went back to literature shelf in the corner with disappointment. Then I convinced myself, why do I care if the cover is brown or blue until the letters are always black on white? I picked up an Indian edition of AK and went for a last stroll along the book shelf.

Then Nashi took me little farther from the guy who was browsing at our shelf. She asked me "How is he? Did you like him?"

"What!?" I asked her to repeat though I have heard it clearly.

This is the effect after my mother had a private talk with her. She tried to talk it over, but I refused to listen to anything in this matter. Later, she sent me a very lengthy mail, must have spent at least 2 hours to compose that. But I cruelly left it half-read. That time, I told her that anybody who could appreciate Dostoevsky is fine for me just to escape further counselling. Now I found out, she took it seriously!

She hurried me asking "Tell me, If he is OK for you, I would talk to him.. Quick baby! He would leave."

I said "But he is not looking for Dostoevsky!"

She replied "That I will find out. See, he is there and I think he will mostly pick up Tolstoy first and know about Dostoevsky and appreciate him like you did".

"That's very less probable! he is not even picking up Tolstoy. Let's get out from here before you make me embarrassed." I sighed at her.

We took 49M and got down at Patny. Then she asked me something I am afraid of what she would ask me someday. Because two of my close friends have already caught me at it. I am happy for she asked me that. Of course, friends are the real mind spoilers at it, but I longed to be happily spoiled.

PS: Title means a network which spreads secrets and personal status of a concerned person to the whole world. (ade telugulo.. Gaali vaartha antaaru kadaa..) With this network, Nashi and me hoped for a day when everybody knows Dostoevsky better than Chetan Bhagath.

Ruined in reformation

Dostoevsky, Do you know that you have ruined me? If I keep believing in your reasoning, I'll loose my esteem and soon I'll loose myself too. Though you make fun of Madame Khoklakov, I'm like her, so many uncertainties, so much self-hatred but highly pompous. How aptly you made her say -The more I love humanity in general, the less I like man in particular. That's exactly the case with me. Kindness is not a service, Kindness is not a peace-maker, Kindness is a weakness. Don't we have to consider whether the other person is worth the kindness we are going to shower?? Without this kindness of yours, I atleast would have loved myself, but because of you, I feel trapped.. like a little mouse. Do you think with this kind of people, peace is possible? I say it's impossible even if you can make the Sun rise in the west. I hate you right now at this moment for making me take all the guilt upon me for you said.. everyone’s guilt before all and for all..

It's love again that pulls me here!

Ages ago, there had been a spark of love or something that was deliberately considered love. And it was put off as soon as it started out. Now, after many years, if he falls in love with somebody or somebody falls in love with him just before my eyes, am I supposed to feel jealous? May be 'yes' for a noble girl. But I prefer being myself to being noble. (It's my vanity to give statements like this. I know, it wasn't good when one is reforming oneself. But still, please excuse me this time. Let me have it for giving strength to the speech.)

Far from jealousy, I am happy for the two and wouldn't even care if they kiss each other before me. I would even like to let my present lover (just a fancy!) to fall in love with other women if they are of some matter (like a mother for a son I'd examine them first, I don't know why. but just now, I thought I have the right to do so). May be it's not quite true of my being magnanimous like this. But I would like to be like that. It feels good though it's painful.

I talk in disorder for I am very happy to be reading Dostoevsky(B.K) again. My jealous-less feelings are all generated from him for he described in such a detail what monstrous disasters, jealousy could bring and how good you can count yourself if you keep it away. Believe me, I would not have felt jealous about the former one, even if I haven't started reading it. I taught myself at least few things like this, without my teachers, without my parents and without reading books. See, I am such an egoist, you give me a moment, I start talking about myself. Let me take you back to the new love that sprouts.

I tell you one thing, may be it's place is not here, but still I tell you otherwise I may forget. I terribly pity them for I am secretly scared that it won't work out and is not worth trying. I don't want it be so. But against my wish, that's what is going to happen. I keep getting premonitions for few things and they certainly become true.

To you, only to you, a small note. You both are my dear friends. I can't see you becoming painful to each other for it pains me too to take sides even for a short time.

On the brim

Something must have instilled the hesitancy between the two friends, to which they were not used to before. Though they were hiding it from each other under pretense, they only could sense it. So they wanted to be done with this affair as early as possible, not to delay it until they are completely entangled in the game of love, and mainly to save their precious friendship that was built over years. They talked incoherently and wept together for the imperfections of the human soul. They both didn't like it to be that way. Still some stupid sensuality held them guilty. They gave instructions to each other to revert to be simple friends without much hurting.

The gentleman being well disciplined whipped himself not to do, what he was not suggested to do. The lady, who was though as disciplined as her mate was, couldn't come out of this emotional whirlwind because of a selfish hope. Fools, Empty heads! All women are so. How much ever they get offended, they continue to wag their tails and lick the boots of their masters (Ladies, these opinions are not mine, but of a sufferer). At first, even I didn't see any offense in this affair. These women are much complicated than the Life itself. (Sounding like Bertie??) But now I understood what it was. I'll tell you later, how it was shown to me.

When they re-discussed about their emotional status, the man was upset for she was not yet recovered. He was irritated and angry with her for loving him, but still composed and explained her why he was against this. He said,

Dear, I am not prepared to have another wound, at least one that comes from you. Please believe me, I really love you. More than anyone. But this love is not what you are now expecting from me. Remember Esmeralda! Like the fingers of the same hand. Like brother and sister. That's how I would love ourselves.

To this she replied,

Well, my dear friend, do you know what you are doing all the while to restrict me and yourself from causing wounds to each other? You are not being like my friend and my fellow finger as you promised but purposefully ignoring and hurting me so that I could hate you. But I saw your struggle. I saw how much you hurt yourself when you are hurting me. I saw everything. Now I started loving you more. Not as you are fearing about. But with a typical human heart, I love you for the similarity of the pain we are suffering like brother and sister.

His reply was this,

Friend, I used to be proud of you and boast of it to others. How we used to sit together and share things over. Even when we shout at each other and swear not to reconcile again, I know, it was not true. How peaceful I used to feel when you were with me! But now, I am too worried to speak anything. I should check if it would effect your feelings before speaking anything. Believe me, I am even scared to hold your hand which was just nothing for me before. I am somehow feeling guilty for all this though I am not for sure guilty. My friend, be kind and be like my good friend. Care me, but as if you don't care me (This phrase is stolen from my friends) Be angry with me when you are hurt not with pain but with real anger. Hate me for the stupid things I do. Then I would come back and ask you to forgive me. I love to do it. May be, that's why, I used to tease you. Do you know, now I want you to tell me about your crush and how you are mad about him as you used to tell me, then I want to discuss with you if he is OK for you or not. I am dreaming for something like that to happen. Don't analyze too much of my words. Many things are beautiful, when you perceive them with simple heart.

She replied,

Dear, I want to let you free, from my love, from the origin-less guiltiness you are experiencing and myself too. Till now, I didn't understand how our friendship could be a block. I considered it as an advantage, because it isn't formed to serve the purpose of something else but built by us with pure intentions. And we both knew it. Thrashing my hopes on you, you are expecting me to think of somebody else. Isn't a delicate way of rejection? Genius you are.. (Did you get it now? This is the offense I talked about earlier.) Forget it. Forget it forever like nothing happened. Let's weep together once for all and forget it. I like this friendship of ours as much as you do. I am also proud of it. I want to hold it higher in my life not in reach of its impurities. If something dirty has already stuck to it, let us clean it. No trace shall be left. No trace, anywhere. Let's freeze it in our simple hearts.

Now, the authoress of this story has nothing to continue, but feels happy to let their friendship overtake everything else. She is not sure if she is really happy with this ending or still pities her characters.

Scruple

Yesterday, how strictly I thought of not writing anything about pain, heart-breaks and so like, but today I couldn't control myself from talking about it again. I am such a variable and infidel with my own beliefs. It is exactly the same behaviour that is hurting me more. If it is concerned with others, I will know what is right and I stubbornly do it. Then, why I am not able to do it with myself? and why I am giving allowances of unreasonable desires? And later, how well, my conscience is reasoning those unreasonable temptations till I believe those lies. I think, I am not just one within me..probably two. One, extremely zealous about life, ready to embrace however it is and one, who scorns oneself each moment with fussy conscience. I shall throw out either of them otherwise life is hell-like.

PS: Later in detail.

Engagement of deception

I am just like you, a bit talkative, emotional, honest, intelligent [I think so ;) ] and sometimes over-confident. Then why me when I am no different from anybody? Why am I deprived of cherishing those days of youth. Why is it all filled with that person who promised me the moon but gave me up for a good-looking and dowry bringing rich lady. I couldn't convince myself that it is only because of money. I can't make him accountable for such an unforgivable sin. Isn't it unforgivable?? I looked at him so high and never would be able to imagine him otherwise. May be , not so high, because he started lying to me from few months, even when it is unnecessary. May be, he is testing if he could successfully bully me. Even after all this, I had a hope, a feeble one, that he is just faking but actually the person he presented to me along with his propositions.

After I heard of his engagement with that rich lady, I am shattered. There was nobody at home except my little sister, to whom I shall behold the stature of an ideal inspiration. So I busied her to watch her favorite show and locked myself in my room. I thought I should better talk to some of my friends. It was too late. But who looks at the clock to disturb a friend? I know beforehand what they would say. I know how typical their consolations would be.. But still would want to listen from them. All of them said the same thing but in their own style that he doesn't deserve me and that I shall be happy to have ridden of him at last. I suspect they are happy for what happened. They reminded me of their prophecies that we weren't a match. I talked to them as if I believed all they said.

I laid on my bed and remembered the days when we played as innocent kids but with a favoritism towards each other. I knew him by birth. Everybody was jealous of us, because we help each other and nobody else. I remembered when somebody made a mountain of suspicion out of our closeness with each other. I was badly insulted but was happy somehow. I stupidly enjoyed each moment my parents positively remarked about him and wouldn't talk to him for a day or two if it was a negative remark. It wasn't that I was angry with him for what he did, but I felt he should behave properly like a gentleman when my parents were around. I didn't know why I got that notion. Later on, when he proposed to me, I realized, though I never talked to myself regarding this wish, this was what I always waited for. Then everything was clear to me and I understood myself. I don't regret for missing the state of being in love and then day-dreaming for the day of proposal. Whatever happened to me is exactly the way I wanted.

I came back from my reveries because, after that nothing happened to amuse me. It was a skill of few to make you feel guilty before you ask them for an explanation. He got that. I was never happy with him again. But I tried to find happiness in the misery of my state. I believed in my love unknowing that it would thrash me someday like this. They say.. Time heals the wound. But I can't even bear this unreasonable wound till that time comes. It is painful and scorching.