Mirror

Mirror,
Mirror,
On The Wall.

Have you ever
touched your reflection and
wondered
what is it
that you really see?
The masks you wear,
The smiles that
are plastered on your face.
The constant, looming presence
of an unacknowledged void.
Inside.

Threatening to reveal it's ugly blackness
In that moment of
Trepidition,
Weakness

A white lily
Hides darkness underneath
Peel the petals
And see for yourself
The yellow sickness

Does it hurt if I touch you there?
Does it burn?
Does that pretty smile twist to show a searing pain hidden
Inside

Your pale skin
Is cheap casing
For the simmering rage hidden
Inside

Perhaps you forget
Your mirror is never truly you
It's only the
Outside

Inhale.
Count to five.
Exhale.
Manage
               Your
Stress
               Your
Monsters
               Your
Scars

How do you manage
The maddening thump
of a heart
about to explode
out of your chest?

Take the paraffin and set fire to your mirror
Maybe in the embers
You will find the elusive truth
That runs away from you.

Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust.

The Invisible Muslim

I wrote this article a few days back for a competition of sorts. A few of you have already read this. I have been trying to think of new, interesting stuff for the blog but I feel strangely inept these days. Ah well. Since I want to continue with a good thing.

I realize that when you read my name at the top of this page, your brain takes special notice-for a second, but it does. No, don't feel guilty. Mine would have, too.

            It’s difficult for me to define my identity under one particular label but yes, Muslim is one which the world around me and I seem to relate to-at least, culturally. Perhaps the markers of the typical Muslim can’t be found in me. I wear skirts, I don’t cover my head or pray five times a day. But I also don’t drink alcohol or eat pork. The black taveez peeping through my collar, the surahs I find myself reciting unconsciously every night before I go to sleep, the way I pronounce kh from my epiglottis and yes, my name-the Muslim in me never leaves me.

Muslim intelligentsia is a shrinking class in today’s India and by virtue of studying in a “fancy’’ college and my above-average understanding of English, I can safely assume myself to be a member of the club and therefore, qualified to make a comment on the socio-cultural understanding of Muslim identity in contemporary India.

People have admitted to feeling uncomfortable talking about politics with me. Discussing Muslim identity is anathema. Their uneasiness is almost comical for me to observe. So often, I have come across friends who go, “It doesn’t matter to me that you are a Muslim, I think of you as any other person.’’ Perhaps, they don’t realize that I don’t mind being seen as one. I don’t want to erase that part of myself. However, I do mind, and vehemently so, if you develop a bias against me for being one. When I passionately declare how much Muslim weddings bore me, a few well-meaning friends are scandalized.
“But you mustn’t say that about your own people.’’

I find it annoying that people find my identity such a taboo, that they never want to engage with or debate on it. But it is not their fault, it is just the manifestation of the counterproductive response that society’s anxiety to paint everyone in one colour, to reassure itself, generates. The rhetoric of “unity in diversity” makes sense only when we acknowledge the diversity. This acknowledgement will make us more sensitive, thoughtful citizens. Maybe then you, my fellow well-meaning, secular Indian, will share my anger at the deliberate mis-representation of Mughal rulers in Hindi TV serials as 'pious' and 'religious' Muslims, proinde 'Islamically ordained' to committing evil and barbaric atrocities or be disgusted at the implicit communalism in your aunt’s statements that go, “Inke yahaan toh aise hi hotey hain sab’’. Only when we learn to celebrate these differences, do we truly understand each other. There is nothing wrong in thinking of me as a Muslim. In fact, accept and appreciate me, in all my distinctness, as one.

Candy.

I hope they warned you
Against pretty girls who wear
Vanilla and alcohol scented perfume
They always spell trouble

She's a real rage among the boys
Their sick pink tongues
Set wagging
By a wink
Of that dark eye

Thin fingers
Curling red nails
The ash on the green grass
The cigarette smoke's
Delicately formed tracery

Empty beer bottles
Heart shaped sunglasses
Her breath tastes like bubblegum and
Budweiser

Running
Searching
Restless
Seeking
The Unknown

Driving the cars faster
A rush grabs her
No time for taking a breath
No breaks
No commas
Only a single, definitive
Full stop.

The Mandatory New Girl In The City Article

So yes, in five days it's going to be a month since I have begun my course at Lady Shri Ram College, Delhi University. Things are very different now- a lot more hectic than I imagined them to be.

Delhi is beautiful. I have loved, loved the city ever since I was little and the prospect of studying at DU excited me so much because I felt it would give me the opportunity to explore the city on my own terms. In the first month, that hasn't happened. It's scary living alone in a new city-one I don't really know. I don't understand where most places are but I am slowly getting the hang of it. Delhi is like this popular girl I admired from a distance and we are now gradually becoming friends. I don't know her too well yet, but I am fairly confident that this friendship will last.

I have only really gotten to explore Delhi with family, at least for now. My only ''outing with friends'' yet included taking the Metro for the first time (everyone in my coach probably realised that it was my first time there considering I was the only person who looked thrilled when the doors opened automatically and made my enthusiasm very clear by continuously repeating loudly about how exciting my five minute journey from Kailash Colony to Nehru Place was.) and eating chain store food at Epicuria. Does going with my PG mates to the colony market to buy essentials like Maggi and hair conditioner count?

Making friends at the PG has been a lot easier than making friends in my department. My roommates are all wonderful people and we make an interesting, eclectic bunch-with varying sensibilities and tastes but a very strong bond joins us. I am quite lucky, that way.

In college, it's a little different. I am sure that the fear of being left out is eating up a lot of people inside and not just me. I am slowly getting to know people. Everyone is new, unsure, hesitant, conscious. Yup, even the super confident ones. Trust me.

God bless Shruti and Ananya, the reassurance that there presence is-it cannot be explained in words. There are so many kids here in LSR who have nobody from their entire state joining them here, I am lucky enough to have two of my best friends in the same college with me. I miss Adeeti (who ditched me and went to Hindu. Traitor.) so much. I still haven't met her. Or Vanya. Please remind me that we live in the same city.

LSR has smart girls. Some really dumb girls. Some really beautiful girls. Some really interesting girls. It's an interesting space. The intellectual atmosphere of the college is pretty vibrant and I find that really exciting. The time table is quite relaxed for my section and I just have three professors this semester-two of whom are pretty cool. Literature comes naturally to me because I love it so much. I feel comfortable studying it. The talks, the events, the societies-there is always quite a fair bit going on here.

The buzz of activity makes me feel a little lost sometimes.

But you know what? I think I'll get the hang of things. I'll find my way.
Slowly but surely.

Why I did what I did.

College begins day after tomorrow. I have already bid farewell to Ranchi, I am done with the admissions process and my parents will leave me at the PG accomodation on 21st evening. I have packed my stuff and for the first time in my life, bothered with things like bank accounts, clutches, cupboard space and deadlines. I am utterly exhausted. My brain feels fried.

The unbelievably callous handling of the DU vs. UGC tussle over FYUP by the government (achche din yay!) caused a one week delay in announcing the cut offs for various constituent colleges of the university. On the evening of 1st July, I found out that I was one of those kids who were lucky enough to get through  History Hons.at Lady Shri Ram(I got through Journalism and Sociology as well but I preferred History over the other two). Many things happened between the 1st and 3rd of July-a screaming match with the LSR office staff over my originals, some serious cross country running to fetch original marksheets, a trip to to the mall to buy formals for the St. Stephen's interview, a visit to Stephen's for the actual interview (which was really quite meh, my interviewers were eating pakoras), I was finally done with admissions at LSR on 3rd.

I love History very much. William Dalrymple's books and old buildings are two of my favourite things in the world. But I have always wanted to study one subject at the undergraduate level- English. My love for literature has been loyal and unflinching.

I was not getting English at either colleges. There was no chance of getting English at Stephen's since the day the college irreparably broke my heart after announcing their English cut offs. My 96% were 4 marks too less. I was hoping against hope that they would only raise their cut offs by 0.25 from last year's 95.75% but the cut offs shot up to 97% shattering my dream of studying English at St. Stephen's. I was eligible for the History Hons. interview. I remember how I had gazed at my laptop screen for ages when I saw the name St. Stephen's College in the sender's column of my mail after the completion of my application process. The second cut offs at LSR were equally disappointing, they declared their English cut off to be 96.5%. One evening later, I come to know that I have been accepted into St. Stephen's History Hons. as well.

Now, St. Stephen's had been THE DREAM. I spent days and nights dreaming about studying in that college. It wasn't as though I was confident of getting the top colleges in the country, I had even applied for not-so-posh places like Christ University (no offence to Christ kids) and viewed St. Xavier's College, Ranchi as a possible option. I was threatened with the possibility of having Doranda College as an alma mater by my parents everytime I was glued to my phone instead of pouring over coursebooks. Hell, I even believed them.

St. Stephen's was almost like some secret fairyland. It was where I would escape to when the lessons in school got too boring or when I could not sleep. Now this place of my dreams was for real, it was so close. They wanted me. It was actually happening. The august institution felt that I was worthy of it. In moments like these, I would ideally flail my arms and scream (which I eventually did) but I was burdened with a weight so heavy on my shoulders, that I actually felt them crushing under it. My analysis of the previous year's trends had led to me to fairly accurately estimate that I would get English Hons. at LSR in the third list. I knew that I was going to get English in a college that was academically as prestigious as Stephen's, a college where I consider myself extremely lucky and blessed to have been accepted to but a college I didn't really dream of. Not because I considered it any less than Stephen's but because I was too busy fangirling over something else.

I almost did not want to get through the LSR third list now. It was too much, I wasn't expecting such a situation. It was a problem of plenty and I could not make this decision. The one time where I really wanted my parents to force their decision on me, they backed off and said ''No.'' I had to make a choice now. On 8th evening, the LSR third list was announced and I got through English. I was both pleased and troubled. Librans are supposed to suck at decision-making and here I was- testimony to claims made by jyotish types. By now, I had asked everyone for advice-parents, friends, teachers, my brother, seniors, cousins and even the parents of those friends. I was tossing coins, making multiple pros and cons lists and alternating between being a hyper energizer bunny and crying my eyes out because of the sheer mental stress this whole thing was causing me.

I realize my #ArtsKidProblems might seem more than ridiculous to far brighter kids who are struggling to get a decent medical college or those trying for Economics Hons. at DU but here I was, stuck in this awkward middle position, unsure of what I was going to do with myself.

''Ro rahi ho ki IIT Bombay le ya IIT Delhi aur baaki bacche tumko aise dekh rahe hain ki qatal kar de.''
-Raza Kazmi

I guess a moment of clarity came when I started crying at the thought that I would not get to study English if I chose Stephen's but I still wasn't sure. My friends had opposing views, my family was putting on a very poor show of how they had no favourites when they obviously preferred Stephen's, one friend had told me about how LSR is sometimes called Ladies Stephen's Rejects, another one felt that saying no to Stephen's was a historic moment and my chance to tell them to stop being so full of themselves, somebody else was shoving the India Today Top Arts Colleges Rankings(where LSR stood No.1) in my face whereas I enjoyed torturing myself by going through the alumni list of both colleges-my head was literally spinning.

On the suggestion of a friend, I decided to speak to a voice of reason and meet a faculty member at St. Stephen's. My mom and I made our way to the staff quarters at St. Stephen's that hot afternoon and rang the bell of Dr. Rohit Wanchoo's (H.O.D, History Department) residence. In a supremely awkward moment the affable-looking Dr. Wanchoo, whom I recognized from my interview panel, stood at his doorway with a rather confused expression facing a girl who could hardly raise her voice to explain who she was and what she was doing at his residence along with her anxious-looking mother. He was fully within his rights to say, ''Well, what can I do about this?'' and turn my mom and me away. Instead, he invited us into his cosy and brightly decorated sitting room and I propped myself on a comfortable chair. There was this everyone's-favourite-uncle vibe to him as he sympathetically listened to my predicament. He explained what History Hons. would all be about and tried to help me judge whether I was better suited to English or History. He had no airs, there was nothing condescending or mean about him. He didn't try to impress upon me any ideas that Stephen's was the better college or that he looked down upon LSR. He also told me that Stephen's was definitely on top of the pecking order but, in the end, if I cared about what other people felt more than how much I loved my subject, I should join Stephen's but if English is my first love, I should go for LSR. He was even kind enough to help me out with administrative and technical aspect of the admissions procedure.

Finally, I chose to go for English Hons. at LSR. Many people will consider me foolish for choosing the course over the college, others will say I did the right thing. But frankly, I do not care anymore. I just know that English makes me happy in a way reading about the Harappans doesn't. I am not making a statement by ''rejecting'' Stephen's. I have the highest regard and esteem for the institution. The people I met there were extremely kind and helpful. I have decided to go for LSR simply because I am this girl who is happiest when she is curled in a corner, reading something and sighing over it. That was the motivation that drove me to make this decision. I am not kidding. Academically, both the colleges are at par. I am excited about LSR and what these 3 years hold for me. 

Jeffrey Eugenides says about Madeleine in The Marriage Plot, ''She'd become an English major for the purest and dullest of reasons: because she loved to read."

That holds true for me.

Fangirling over Films.

Today, I met some friends for lunch and my two best friends went ''Whenever I hear her talk about films I just go hmmm....'' and giggled. I responded by making my usually grumpy face, grumpier.

I just saw Before Sunset (which was amazing but I love Before Sunrise more). After almost violently recommending the trilogy to Adeeti, another one of my ever suffering best friends, I have decided to write about my love for movies.

When I was a kid the television was pretty much my favourite thing ever. (I know this makes me sound unimaginative and stupid but which of you hipsters didn't feel the same way about your TV?). Our ugly, black, bulky but wonderful Aiwa was probably the thing my brother and I have bonded and fought over the most. He wanted to watch cricket while I preferred music channels and dancing to ridiculous early 2000s Bollywood numbers. The inevitable conflict of interest would result in serious hand-to-hand combat sessions between the two of us. After he would get tired of us trying to kill each other and listening to my continuous bawling, in some sort of unspoken compromise, my brother (who would  take great pride in successfully overpowering his baby sister. Congrats, Bhaiya.) would change to Star Gold or Zee Cinema and on rare occasions, HBO/Star Movies. We would watch a film-any film. Films were something we could both sith through, in peace. I have seen things like Koyla and Karan-Arjun with my brother. Aunty No. 1 was and still remains one of my favourite films. I remember on the day of Holi, the whole family saw Sholay on Zee Cinema. I loved it. I loved every moment of that long, dated but brilliant film.

Bhaiya and I still adore Hera Pheri and Chachi 420.

Hazaribagh was a really small town and in those days, films wouldn't release in the local theatre months after their actual worldwide premiere. I remember how we waited a month for Lagaan before someone found a pirated CD in some store. We rented it and finally saw the film. I loved it. I still remember laughing very hard when Guran says ''Lagta hai apni Amma ko yaad kar raha hai.'' when the umpire points towards the sky to declare a batsman out, the thrill of the final cricket scene and the euphoria we all felt when the villagers won the match.

That film doesn't move me as much as it did when I was younger. It is so difficult for films to remain fresh after so many years. Lagaan was still great though, I will always remember how I felt when I first saw it.

I was five or six when I saw Josh in the theatre and I don't know why but I still love that stupid film. I was lucky enough to watch some great films like Fiza, Mammo, Zubeidaa and Sathiyaa with my mom. It is only now when I am older that I realize that they were actually really good films. But most importantly, how can anyone from our generation have had a real childhood without the monstrosity that was Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham? I rolled my eyes, even as first grader, at the sheer impossibility of the lives they were leading in it. I loved Kareena's pink lehenga though and I could do a pretty mean dance rendition of Bole Chudiyaan for anyone who bothered to show half-hearted interest. So. Much Cringe.

I was obsessed with Kuch Kuch Hota Hai till I was six or seven. If it was ever on air, I would make a fuss and force everyone to watch it with me and it didn't matter that it was the eighth time I was watching it-I just HAD to watch it. The film is absolutely ridiculous but Shah Rukh Khan as Rahul was pretty much the definition of  ''COOL'' for baby Zehra. He still is. Hell, he even wore a necklace declaring it to prove that. No judgement, please.

My father enjoys movies. I remember watching The Godfather and The Good, The Bad, The Ugly with him as a kid and not understanding anything that was going on but still, staying put in my seat and watching everything that was going on screen very, very carefully. My father and I watched Gladiator together as well. I was awed by how elaborate and grand yet effective everything was in that film.

There is something about cinema that has always fascinated me. I love, love, love films. I adore them. I feel almost as though I can breathe films. My parents used to be both, bewildered and embarrassed, by how much I could talk about them. I mean, there are prouder moments for a parent than their daughter blabberring on for hours to aunties who'd come for tea about how Kal Ho Na Ho is the most perfect film ever made. But they never really stopped me from watching movies as long as their content was not creepily adult and I wasn't watching them between 7 to 9 pm, which was studying time.

But I actually developed an actual taste in cinema beacause of satellite TV and the internet. So I watched Thelma&Louise, An Education, Erin Brokovich, Breakfast At Tiffany's, Catch Me If You Can, Vertigo, Runaway Bride, Se7en, Amelie and so on. I initially watched random foreign films because I was bored and then because I wanted to seem cool. But somewhere along, I actually started enjoying it. The subtitles worked for me. I realised that good cinema doesn't really require you to know a language. It just requires you to give it attention and sometimes, with foreign films, a little patience.

I have a handful of friends who fully understand my passion for cinema (special people who watch slasher movies with me and scream together) but most of my cousins love films as much as I do. I think its a family thing. Yasir Bhaiya, my eldest brother, would buy DVDs from stores in Delhi and give them to me. I spent my summer in 2012 watching another cousin's movie collection. It was pretty much one of the best summers I had. My sister and I always have detailed Skype discussions on everything we watch. When we all get together, we can discuss a film for hours.

Even when I was a kid, I had known that cinema was always way more than just entertainment for me. Films help me think and make sense of the world. I feel for characters and situations as though they are real people. I can relate to other people's struggles because of them. One can say that movies help me become a more sensitive individual. It is a lot like reading, if you think about it. You learn new things from good movies. It doesn't necessarily have to be facts but often it is just a deeper understanding of the human mind or society's condition.

I am far from being a connoisseur and there is so much I need to watch, so many genres I need to explore before I decide to call myself an expert but I can't stress upon how important it is to make kids watch GOOD movies. It makes them smarter people. Everyone talks about how important it is to read, which of course it is, but it is also just as important to make your kids watch good films. I love books and reading so I keep debating with myself over what medium is more effective-reading or cinema and I can never make up my mind. I have realised that both films and literature have had an equally lasting impact on me.

There is a lot I have learnt from movies. Things that I will remember for a long, long time.

Anyway, this is basically because I just saw Before Sunset.

Life Lessons from a Nobody.

I don't know why this matters. I am very well aware of the narcissism factor involved in something like a blog.

''I have an opinion. Its very important. I have a blog.''
But here are a few life lessons I will impart to you because I am very wise, okay?

The best people I've met, at least those I like to call ''my kind of people''', are those who can laugh at things. Most of all-themselves.

I think nothing is more refreshing than being a little irreverent and politically incorrect. Being stupid and silly and just ever-so-slightly offensive. Of course, no one likes a prick and there is a fine line between sass and just plain rude. However, I feel it is important that we don't take ourselves too seriously. 

When I meet a new person, and crack a joke or say something incredibly stupid, I watch the tense, self-conscious expression on their face break into a genuine, happy laughter. That's one of those amazing things to watch human beings do-loosen up, break the ice.

Our lives are so fast and can be so droll. There is so much negativity around you, so much that can pull you down. But one of the small things I like to take pride in, are moments when I manage to make people laugh.

I also believe very strongly in being honest about my feelings. I may disagree with you, strongly. Often people are surprised that I choose to voice my opinion with such gusto. But I am just not one of those people who will nod vaguely and say yes if someone goes on about how women have certain role in society and their role should be limited to that. Sorry, but I just cannot do that. 

I guess I am just one of those people who believe that it is really important to have an opinion on things. The ability to stand firmly according to your principles is one I respect. In a country where we are creating far too many all-I-want-from-life-is-IIT youngsters, it is really important to have people who think, who question, who create. Because it is people who do these things who actually manage to make a difference. And I hope I can make a difference.

However, as this very badass best friend once said about a certain classmate,

''Ma'am, she is entitled to an informed opinion, not just any opinion.''
This is the problem we seem to have today. Social media has given everyone a voice. But it is now a shrill cacophany of views, ideas, thoughts and rhetoric. How do you dissect the sensible from the stupid, the profound from the shallow, the truly revolutionary from the farcical?

Perhaps this is why debating is so important. It is critical that one actively inculcates within themselves the ability of hear both sides of the story and logically evaluate an argument. Debate, if we choose to go deeper, is central to our existence. It is the power to question an idea and/or reject it that creates something superior or causes the initial thought to come out even stronger. The more I learn, the more I read, the finer and more articulate my argument becomes.

And I love it when people engage in a non-hysterical, non-rhetorical debate with me. Prove me wrong, I won't mind that. But don't scream and do absolutely ridiculous slogan chanting when you see that you have no answers.

''What is more stimulating than debate?'', said Mrs. Bhattacharya in class once.

I may or may not be slowly turning Bengali.