Anaahat

New dreams behind my eyelids, new eras, new things to look forward to new places, new people, new days and new evenings. As exciting as it may sound, change always brings a glimmer of fear fear of faltering, of not working out. It also brings that sweet anticipation, butterflies in my stomach, pulses racing, and a blanket of illusions on my eyes...

While I struggled to keep up with the pace of Mumbai, running for the trains and fighting with autowallas, the famed spirit-of-Mumbai was slowly growing on an ‘outsider’ like me. Reaching my workplace at Mahalakshmi took me on streets lined with shaky two-storey huts where people would cook, bathe, play with children, fight, live (and die) on the extended footpath. The words ‘local’, ‘fast’, ‘slow’, ‘east’ and ‘west’ brought new meanings in my life. And without my knowing, I began a self-discovery of becoming a Mumbaikar like thousands become every day. The discovery happened on that fateful day, when the bombs ripped through Mumbai’s overcrowded local trains. I was stuck at work in Mahalakshmi when the news of the seven blasts came in. I walked down the deserted E Moses Road looking for a cab. With the networks jammed and not a single taxi willing to take me, my frustration knew no bounds. Thankfully, some guys bullied a cabbie and I got in with a couple of other panic-stricken women...

What do u wait for everyday? Everyday you open the inbox expecting some new mail. Who is going to mail you? Who do u expect? No one is going to mail you. The replies you get are merely that – replies. A mail because you sent. Something that is conditional. If you do, so do I. And if you fail to do, I care less. Everything in this world is conditional. Everything with a price tag to it. Everything because of something. Why do you want something unconditional? Why do you desire it? Why can’t you live like everybody else? Maybe they stifle these desires too. Who knows? Who knows what they want? Who knows why these wants are there? Who knows why you are reading this? Why am I writing this? Why are you intrigued? Why do you want to read the end? Is it because somewhere what I say strikes a chord inside you? Something I ask, you wish you had asked. And that you would have found the answer too? Or is it because I am telling you to read? And then long after you finish reading this, your mind ...

I will leave the key with you Someday I will leave myself with you For you Someday I will leave all that I meant and all that meant to me Like, unlike anything, When the breath catches in my throat And leaves through the pores of my skin, When I won't realise the end or the last glance When I breathe once, The last time, I will leave my heart for you. Something I never gave while I was alive For the fear of fears, for something I will lose Someday I will leave it all for you. One day. I took your words and I took your glances Your touch and your feelings Today I leave it all for you.

Maushi's husband passed away. So, I went to visit her. Her small room was 8ftx8ft. A kholi as they call in Mumbai. A small kholi in the middle of one of Mumbai's slum. A kholi I reached after tracing a narrow path running parallel to a small gutter. A maze of small such rooms made of tin and cardboard sheets stood supporting each other in this huge throbbing city. I entered the kholi and saw her sitting on the only bed. Maushi is tiny, perhaps 4 feet tall. And says she is 69-years-old. She looked shattered. She hadn’t eaten for days. Her son looked heartbroken to see his mother broken. Seeing them struggling with pain brought tears to my eyes too. The pain of death that each one of us know and suffer at some point in our lives. I sat with her for a few minutes as other mourners vied for her attention. Before leaving, I hugged her. She held me tight as if she wanted to breathe no more. I stroked her hair that day and wished her pain would wash over her soon. While leaving I tr...

I know a cool lady working in an air-conditioned office taking home a fat pay: Harini. She is 28 years old with a 4-year-old child. Her husband is very supportive. He brings in groceries, takes care of their child when this cool-lady-working-in-an-air-conditioned-office-taking-home-a-fat-pay comes home late. He even feeds the child and puts him to sleep. Talk about modern-day-women’s-liberation. There is another cooler lady, Swati. She is 40-years-old and is a Managing Director of a big company. She has two grown up daughters who fend for themselves. When she had daughters she took time off work and devoted 5 years for them. After all a mother has a very important role to play. And she found a mid-way to satiate her want of a career and also to give time to her children in the important years of their life. Again, talk about modern-day-women’s-liberation. We women feel good when we hear of such motivating stories of modern day women. Don’t we? We feel good that we are born in this ...

They all disappeared. The people, faith, relationships. Booom! Reduced to rubble, they were gone. Things which I thought can never happen to me, stood at my door and grinned. Waiting to shatter me into a thousand pieces And more. Just like that. Who would have thought this would happen to me? The smooth sailing would be stormed? The happiness, intimacy, money, and all necessities and extensions of necessities Who would’ve thought, this would happen to me... But it happened. And just happened like that. A hand which pressed delete, A virus that ate your system And I just watched waited, hoped, that the damage was not all that bad.

There is chaos all around. Noise of cars and scooters. Of rickshaws and of buses. Of railways and of people. There is complete chaos. Chaos so much so that no one is heard and no one has the time to speak. And then there are those untouched souls with a clear purpose of touching the noisy hearts with an innocence and words and confusion difficult to describe.