I have a secret

I have a secret that I will take with me to the grave. 

Through out our lives, there is so much that goes on in our head. There are so many things we do that we think should be buried deep within us, it could be anything, stealing, affairs, addictions, how different are they from each other anyway? But I truly believe in letting it all out before I pass on from this world. 

So, you see? When I say that I have a secret that I'll take with me to the grave, I am fighting against myself and what I stand for. Honesty, fearlessness, courage...I am willing to turn of all the light around to protect the darkness I hold in my heart.

I have been taught by my guides that one must never take that darkness with them to the beyond. To start a fresh journey old luggage must be dealt with. It has no use. In fact if you decide to take the same luggage, the same burden with you, you will travel the same road again and again until the weight is gone. 


Today I stand at crossroads. I feel like a student who left the school but all her knowledge is of no use as she has succumbed to the force of this physical reality. 
I don't know if I can enjoy the warmth of the sun when I have given my heart to the dark night. 


Secrets haunt you. You can't forget it or ignore it. It's a vicious circle, one day it'll stand in front of you, waiting for you to confront. How can the past be left behind if you choose to carry it with you.

It scares me to think that a part of me is out of control, reckless, inappropriate and dangerous.


Am I the predator or the victim? 

Sin, guilt, neurosis; they are one and the same, the fruit of the tree of knowledge.- Henry Miller

Faith

I have been walking back and forth for awhile now

Waiting for the wise one to appear

I hope someday I’ll see their faces

They’ll smile and tell me the secret

And the doors to another world will open

I’ll finally be out of my miseries

I’ll be loved by my own unconditionally

And forever be remembered for my bravery. 

My Broken Glasses

I wish I had rainbow on my lips, glittering skin and rosy-coloured glasses on my eyes, walking down the street.  But the bitter sweet confessions rolling out of my tongue attracts only silence. Is it the rumblings in my head or sounds cars in the distance? Or is it the wine of my thoughts that have dragged me out to witness insanity? Corners of the street I stand like a shadow of humanity; on the silver sheets of dreams I talk to mirrors, addressing to all of the fraternity. 

I am deeply concerned about nothing.

Social Networking sites are not only useful for finding your long lost friends or making new ones, in a "developing" country like India it is also a tool to bash the government.
Granted there are lot of flaws in our  system but how is moaning about it online will sort out anything?

I can only speak about Andaman. A lot of people have been posting their so called "concern" about things like internet connectivity. I understand the pain of having a slow internet, I really do. I know what it feels like when all your friends are liking and commenting on a picture and the picture won't load for you.

But in a place like Andaman where load shedding is as common as house lizards (very common), who care about internet connectivity? Forget electricity and internet, you know how long its been since I have tasted a fresh piece of fruit? People don't understand how hard it is to live in these islands.  I make it sound like it's really bad, but unlike many others in India, I got a big roof over my head and food to eat even if it's not super fresh. For that I am thankful.

I really don't like to talk about the condition here because spend more than half of the year outside India, I feel I have no right to have any opinions. I have very little information about the current affairs in these islands but I do know complaining never helps. Venting can only take a load off your chest (I do it often) but hoping it'll start a revolution is just stupid. Please remove this fake mask of concern and shut the f**k up. You are not concerned citizen of this country you are just a smartass who knows too much and does very little.

PS- I am complaining about people who complain. How very original of me. 

Mishka and Nemo

 Mishka was always the slow one. Her sister Nemo was the first one to climb the stairs but Mishka took her time to learn things.  It’s been few weeks that I have returned back home to Andaman, watching Mishka and Nemo play together was my favorite way to spend time.

Today Mishka passed away. She was only few months old. The kid in my neighborhood says she got hit by a car last night. I cried when i saw her sprawled by the side of our garage. Death generally never makes me cry. 

The relationship between dogs and my family is complicated. We have stray dogs who prefer to stay around our house, they have free will to go anywhere but most of the time they choose to stay in front of our house and bark at people who tries to enter the gate. In every few months, mostly when I am in England, my mother would call me to let me know if anyone of them has had babies.  Not all the babies survive more than few days.  Those who do are lucky, like Mishka and Nemo.

A couple of days before my sister offered to take Nemo off our hands. But I refused because I didn’t want Mishka to grow up alone. Now that Mishka is gone, I don’t know what to do. My mother suggested that we can still give Nemo to my sister.

It’s hard to let go of Nemo. But it’s harder to see her without Mishka. I wonder if Nemo misses her like I do.  Perhaps it’s best for Nemo to go to my sisters. I want Nemo to live and I am scared if she stays here with me, one night she will go out on the street and end up like Mishka.

Nemo has always been the clever one. But I have to think of her well-being. I guess this time it’s best to let go. If they still want her, I’ll let her go.

I have no pictures of Mishka (she was a black puppy with brown patches around her eyes and nose , Nemo is light brown puppy), this blogpost is the only way to keep her memories alive. She will not be forgotten like others who passed away. She was not a pet but she was definitely not a stray. 

PS - Boori is Mishka and Nemo's mother. I have mentioned them here. Bella is no more with us. 

Lips Of Steel

They say her heart is like still water, you can see the reflection of beauty or beast. 

But the best thing about her is her lips, a pair of sharp blades,  every word she says will tear you apart.

She’ll sell pieces of your heart in the name of honesty while you bow your head and stand half-hearted full of shame.

Don’t go running when the truth overpowers your ego. The truth is, little ego is a necessity.

Resolution

I don’t need to look behind my back before I shout from the mountain top

I don’t need to dust the dirt off the road I choose to walk on

You have tainted the sound of being

I’ll still find courage to rejoice. 

Sorry, you are too Andamani for me - The Sequel

Andaman is like mini India. We have people from all over India living here. Everyone knows someone who comes from another religion or state. There are locals, like my family, who moved to Andaman from mainland India long ago (pre-1942) and then there are settlers.

Tonight my family was invited for a dinner in a non-Andamani house, in a very Andamani street. When I say Andamani street, I mean you can smell the cow dung and the ocean all at the same time.  I have already described a typical Andamani house but this house is different. This is a house with sculptures of beautiful women and what looked like a cupid. The house was built on the graveyard of money, for crying out loud there was a waterfall in the living room! This beautiful piece of architecture was built by a local, now rented by settlers, both parties happen to be our family friends.

Just after few minutes of entering the house, men deserted us to meet their lady of the night – alcohol. And we females had to make our piece with fruit juice, sausages and salami (sausages and salami is not very Andamani but we were in navy house, that means unlimited supply of imported goods).  I’m pretty sure all the ladies in the house have had a few drinks in their life but tonight we were good Indian women who can only watch men getting drunk and loose and then moan about it. The thing that annoyed me the most was that we were not even given an option of an alcoholic drink, not even an elegant glass of wine? It was either mixed fruit juice, lychee juice or orange juice.

There were 4 kids running around creating mayhem which saved us from a lot of awkward silence hovering in the air. Food obviously was the reason we all were there. Let me tell you, this is an unspoken law of Andaman, or maybe even the whole of India, when it comes to food the host must be persistent and the guest must be resistant. We all obeyed the law.  As a guest, if you had one serving of food, you win but if the host has managed to feed you three servings then you lose. Two servings is a tie I guess.

At the dinner table our hostess told us stories of her home in mainland India. She told us how women were only responsible for kitchen and men controlled everything else. She mentioned that she was taken aback when she learned how liberal my family was. And then she said something that I thought was very contradicting; she said she believed that men and women must be equal and everything must be 50-50 between them.

Here I am, sitting with the woman who believes in equality between men and women and yet there is nothing that is happening in the dinner party that seemed to follow the same notion of gender equality. All I saw was the typical men drinking at some corner and women making small talk and watching over the kids. These are the so called ‘modern’ people, young settlers who can save Andaman from its monotonous life.  I expected everyone to sit together and have a mature conversation but of course I am shooting for the stars here.

I guess there are some things that will never happen in Andaman, like I will never be able to have a cigarette outside my room because good girls don’t smoke, they probably don’t even know what it is…is it the white thing hanging from their fathers mouth?

Or maybe I am being pessimistic; it takes a while to grow into another lifestyle.  Maybe being modern (the term itself is very controversial in India, but that’ll take another post to explain) in Andaman is like buying a fancy car, it looks pretty…but you can’t drive it in the rocky roads of Andaman. 

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