They are people, not stars, not God

 For a very long time, I have wanted to write about this topic but I'd either be stopped by my own inhibitions or by the "let things work as they are" mentality. Any Indian who has grown up watching Bollywood movies or simply kept his/her ears open knows about the Bollywood's who's who. We have grown up that way, even if we liked or hated Bollywood, we have byhearted their names and would obviously greet them(least of all) if not beg them for autographs or selfies if given a chance. 

From time to time, we keep getting to know different news feeds related to them - be it who's dating whom, who is pregnant, who's going to Hollywood, who married whom, and believe me now the news is so multifaceted that it's impossible to categorize it let alone think about its credibility. But as long as it is gossip, to just listen to watching TV, or via social media, we enjoy it. Talking about Bollywood stars doesn't harm them no matter how ridiculous or malicious the topic is. It is because being famous is their profession, they get paid for it - it directly impacts the extent to which they can influence people and the influence may be good or bad, they don't care about it. It does harm us though, but we don't realize the harm that very instant. We realize it years later when something happens that opens our eyes and we look back and think how die-hard fans we were of the celebrities growing up and how that misled us in life.

3 months ago an incident like that happened. On 14 June, the news broke out, Sushant Singh Rajput was no more. A brilliant and intelligent man, who achieved what he set his eyes on since the beginning, academics and showbiz alike, who starred in a movie based on mental health and suicide, was claimed to have committed suicide at his apartment in Mumbai. Like most Indians, I was also stunned to hear the news and couldn't sleep properly thinking something like that happened to such a popular Bollywood star. Then later, some of my friends told me that they heard on the news that he was suffering from depression for 6 months. It was equally hard to believe as was the news of his passing away. Soon I could see all Bollywood related people putting all sorts of RIP messages. The format though remained the same - RIP <name>, will miss the <any activity they claim to have done with him>, <string of emojis><a selfie with the person>. For a few celebs who didn't post anything, fans started hurling abuses at them of being too self-involved to write about the loss of someone from their fraternity. A few celebs also started posting about mental health and running campaigns, hashtags, etc. to follow. A few weeks later when the news had died down, somehow the case was opened. A few things didn't add up and made it hard to believe that it was a suicide. Some more time passed and out came the ugly truth of Bollywood.

Soon as anyone would comment on anything on Aaditya Thackeray or Salman Khan or Sooraj Pancholi being involved in a party that had happened a few days before the fateful day, there would surface some creative strategy to silence those remarks. And it's shocking to see how many different tools are there for PR agencies to use for any purpose they want - be it uplifting someone's reputation or tarnishing it beyond repair. And its the outcome of these strategies that we as an audience think that someone is dumb or someone is genuine at heart or kind or generous etc. There are many actors about whom you'd hear all good things but go to Quora and check questions like "Who is the rudest Bollywood celebrity ever?" and you'll see a very different perspective. There are also some actors who were doing very good at a point in their career but they had a tiff with some powerful Bollywood name and they lost all their movie offers and soon faded away. When we think about those actors, we somehow just conclude that either their acting deteriorated over time or they got busy with their families because that's what we're made to believe and since thinking like that about someone who is just famous and not a personal connection is harmless we stamp this explanation and move on.

The reason Sushant Singh Rajput's death feels so personal though is that it just brought to light how huge the impact of the influencers is on us since we were kids and how much we were misled ever since the beginning that now no CBI and no NCB and no news channel can break the truth to us. We have just realized that no one is to be trusted, not even ourselves. What will happen in this case would probably just be a mere competition of power and truth but it does incite anger among people with new shocking facts about the celebrities we worship emerging every day and brings us to question ourselves. We write hate comments on the celebrities' tweets or hurl abuses at their selfies but just like it didn't affect them back when we'd gossip about them to pass time, it wouldn't affect them now regardless of their involvement in this case. The only way to actually make something palpable happen here is if you unfollow and stop worshipping these celebs.  They are people, not stars, not God. If you don't watch their movies or view their posts on social media, and completely boycott them, they'll realize the harm they've done, and face the befitting punishment for it. But that said, this is definitely a movement and it'll take time for justice to prevail and for all of us to learn our lessons and improve.

The Reveller

I’d wake up every morning because I had to,

I’d sip tea with a word or two,

do I think of the dream or dream the thought?

It was the only way the time could move.

Every day I’d see the world lit by

an entity whose horizon I just couldn’t chase,

for some precious memories were now buried

with their shackles deep in my heart.

Could there be a melody that could clothe

what I just couldn’t find words for?

Could it take me back to my happy place

with the company of the one in a million?

Could it make my tears of happiness and pain

shed back to the brook they came from?

Could it trace the steps before they met

and paint them a better fate?

It must have started when the lines between

memories and yearning blurred

by the life that had had dismay,

and the sheer devotion of time to its pace.

When I had borne enough to bear

and thought enough to think,

the dream that was barely there,

started to manifest.

The might of sculpting what I’d call my own,

the treasure of subtleties I could pick

how bliss and relief spiked thenceforth

and brought us back, for once albeit.

By the veiled collusion of truth and false,

it was just as I had longed for

Do I think of the dream or dream the thought?

It is the only way the time can move.

The Two Faced Man

Still remember the day when the whole world seemed to be falling apart, it was the worst day of my life. I was in another city, away from family, away from friends, away from anything my mind could find solace in, and before I could contemplate my ways out of the situation, a sudden force thrust me back into the deep pit I had fallen into. It seemed like the day would never end and all agonies of the world were thrown up at me all at once. There are situations in life, when you just know that you wouldn’t be able to handle things on your own, when you need someone, if not to give you a solution, then just to be with you so you realise it’s the same world that made you happy, that is the only source of your strength, that is familiar to you or had been few days ago, and that small ways solve big problems and if nothing works out it’s time that heals the gravest of wounds.

Yes, I felt like killing myself, but my heart resisted, for there was one waiting – for there was a hope of solace that could resurrect me back to how strong I was. And my heart never gave up on him. Some bonds strengthen due to abundance of time and some bonds strengthen due to scarcity of it. The latter ones are the special ones because they leave an impact that not many understand, perhaps just the people who are faced with it. You know it will end at some point of time, and that is where it continues, in its own unique direction, to make you realise that wherever life takes you, this memory – that is engraved in time, no amount of lie, ignorance, pain or agony can take it away from you because you have lived the moment this memory was made – this memory will ensure that you don't fade away, it will ensure that you live to the fullest because you have experienced what time does.

You are never good or bad if you are good or bad in someone else’s eyes. It’s queer how a person who was so important to you, becomes a stranger all of a sudden – but sudden is relative – because its time that builds emotions and behaviour with bounderies so obscure that sudden is no where to be seen. So a person is two kinds – one who was/ is with you, in his air that actually belongs to both of you, familiarity that makes life easy and happy and the world looks alright – and second is the stranger that he was before you met him, the only strangeness being becoming strangers after getting acquainted because of the added memories that never leave you. You’ll abhor an estranged bond the same way you abhor a stranger because it takes an unknown, unforseeable route but stronger memories will make you respect this stranger for the sake of time and the good world. That’s the two faced man.

Missing Time

I woke up to a very strange morning. The cool winter breeze was blowing and birds were chirping which made room for a typical morning but my bed surprisingly was upside down and was stuck to the ceiling! I remember that distinctly because I did try to manually swing the fan a little bit, just for fun. Then I could hear my alarm ringing which, contrary to everyday, didn’t sound annoying at all today. I may have tried a dance step or two too while I was up at the ceiling. Then by the support of the walls, I manoeuvred my way down and was standing on the floor alright which gave me a strange happiness. I am sure I had to go somewhere because I completed my morning chores quite deftly and put on my favourite pair of jeans and got ready. I also noticed that I had this black watch on that I loved, which was gifted to me few years ago by my sister, but I had lost it somewhere. So it was quite strange to suddenly find it wrapped placidly around my wrist. I hugged my mother and kissed her on her cheek like I do before going anywhere but peeking in the drawing room was the slight view of my bedroom where my bed still stood upside down. But I gave an assuring smile to my mother and bid her goodbye.

I started walking down the road and to my surprise most of the people who were walking by were people I had already seen or met in college or school or somewhere else in the past and I exchanged greetings with all of them. I could hear some of my favourite songs playing in the background and I knew this day was going to be great. Just as our life slowly graduates from one phase to another, I felt like crossing the street to reach a place which seemed like a spot reaching which the background music would fade away. It looked like a peaceful place and I was instantly intrigued. When I tried focusing on it, it appeared like a spherical source emitting a mystical white light which looked chaste yet extremely powerful. Soon as I put my step forth, a big car arrived. It was resplendently black in colour and I don’t remember what model it was but it was the most extravagantly beautiful car I had ever seen in my life. I even tried to look through its tainted glass but I couldn’t figure out who or what, sitting there killed me!

There was this sudden realisation and I am sure I felt a thump in my chest, which happens when you hear a sudden, tragic news. Yes I was dead. But then how can I feel myself thinking, talking and living right now – is what I couldn’t figure out amidst the eerie fog that had appeared and obliterated the white light completely. I realised somehow that I had to think fast to make it happen; and so it happened.

The canvas got painted with my thoughts that seemed to pour down as innocently as a tear. I saw my family having lunch together. They were happy seeing which brought a big smile to my face. Next stop, friends. Soon a carnival began with songs that I couldn’t understand, but sounded groovy yet divine in my head, and numerous people I had never met, dancing and having a gala time. It was as if the stars had descended on the ground. Soon a person grabbed my hand and drew me towards a crowd and we started dancing. Grooving together there, were all of my best and close friends and I felt like I would explode with exuberance. I couldn’t stop smiling and at that moment, I knew I didn’t have anything to tell them because I felt they already knew – it was the time to feel what wasn't felt – dance, laugh, sing, revel in that time that was so unpredictable. At that point I didn’t feel I had a single regret, complaint or shortcoming to be sad about at all. I could see all the people I had known or met at some point in my life dancing and being happy together and there was nothing more I could have asked for.

 Then another hand pulled me to a pretty face and I knew this would be a lover’s dance. We danced together, close, and waltzed to each and every corner of that terrace we had ended up at, where I otherwise used to visit at evenings or under moonlight to think about the stuff going on in my life. But there was no worry now – not even to see the lover’s face; I felt like I had already seen the world, like I had already touched the zenith of happiness, I felt it was time.

And then my phone’s alarm rang and I found myself curled up in my bed which looked perfectly normal on the ground now. I rose from the bed and I had this slight pain in my hand and when I looked at it I saw the marks that a watch leaves when you tie it tightly on your wrist. I had a sudden urge and I rushed to the terrace of my place and after a while of scanning every corner I found something on the spot which I think was roughly above the ceiling of my room where my bed had gotten stuck. It was my lost black watch.

Who was he?

"175 bucks for a single ride and just 50 for pool!"

"So which one's she going to take? Tune in 10 minutes later to your very own show to find out!"

Sakshi's friend joked around with her. It was a crazy winter evening and the day couldn't have been worse - with accidentally spilling coffee on her denims to getting yelled at by her boss in front of her teammates - she had already deemed it the most pathetic day she faced that winter. But so is life, every second you calculate, judge and decide only to fiddle around with that decision later.

"So I don't have 175 bucks in cash, it's already 9pm and I'm sitting with my friends from night shift, my parents wouldn't stop calling to give me a minute's time to book a cab through my almost discharged phone and I can't even have a cup of coffee to calm myself!" Sakshi said in utter frustration.

"Look at you dear, you're going completely crazy. Don't worry, just tell me if you want to go single or opt for pool and I'll book a cab right away through my phone. By the time the cab arrives, you can put your phone to charge here, and talk to your parents so they would stop worrying." Sakshi's head was spinning; she took a deep breath and sat down to decide what to do. As her home was right by the street close to her workplace, she figured sharing a cab wouldn't be a bad option as she would get to deboard first. So she made her decision and 5 minutes later the cab arrived and she bid goodbye to her friend.

The driver wished her namaste which is always pleasant to hear even when you aren't having a good day and Sakshi felt like she was already coming back to her senses. The driver started the trip. There was a lot of hustle and bustle around as it was a rush hour. Was there anyone amidst this traffic who had a worse day than her? Sakshi started thinking. Would her boss even for a second think if his decision to rebuke her was wrong and that he had ruined someone's day completely just so he could get a work done? Perhaps not. You may not remember making someone sad but you can never forget making someone happy.

Few minutes later, the cab stopped at a spot and a second rider entered the cab. He was dressed in an off-white shirt that had a big stain on it, with few buttons open revealing his thin front, and a shabby black trouser with a pocket torn to the extent of revealing an equally torn wallet and Sakshi couldn't breathe in the awful pungent smell he had brought in with him. She soon realized that he was drunk and it sent chills down her spine as he sat next to her. "Please open the windows sirji", he said. "Before your odor chokes me to death" There was some serious talking going on in Sakshi's head.

"He is drunk for crying out loud, so much that maybe even the people sitting in this jam in their cars can sense it. He is dressed like a cheapster - and isn't he cold, endorsing that see-through shirt in this freezing weather, and where do such people get money or internet connection to book a cab - where is he even headed to anyway - maybe a dark, notorious street somewhere where his friends or local goons have gathered to talk about the number of girls they eve-teased today over drinks and bidis."

 Sakshi zipped her jacket up to her neck and held her purse closer. Soon a myriad of thoughts started vacillating in her head. "What if he tries to touch me, I haven't even bought a pepper spray yet. What if he starts abusing in the middle of the road and creates a scene, how will I reach home to my already worried parents? Should I not have opted for pool? Should I inform my friend in office?" Soon as she looked down at her phone, it made a sound and got discharged. "Do you need a power bank madam?" He spoke in a squeaky yet feebly sensible sounding voice taking out a power bank from another one of his pockets. Sakshi gave a nervous smile and took it from him accidentally brushing against his finger. She later wiped her hand on the car seat cover and left the "and why would you do that" question in her head unanswered.

The next few minutes she spent closing her eyes and praying to reach safely and opening them only to see this man seated next to her enjoying the outside view occasionally taking his head out of the window and enjoying the wind blowing right in his dark brown unkempt hair. It made him smile. He didn't have a pretty smile though, just the weird gross kind that arises from yellow-black teeth piercing through dark creepy faces when they assume that you were staring at them in utter admiration. Sakshi was amazed. It made her smile and she had a "thank you for existing" look on her face for that time when he was looking away. Soon, as she had anticipated, her destination was reached first. She handed him the power bank and thanked him for it and got down from the car. Soon as she started to walk, she heard a voice, "Have a nice day madam". She turned back and with a happy smile said, "Thank you" only to realize that it wasn't her fellow rider but the driver who had wished her that. The fellow rider was still swooning in his new found admiration of the winter wind. And Sakshi felt like there couldn't have been a better way to lift her mood that day that she had deemed the most pathetic day of that winter. But then so is life, every second you calculate, judge and decide only to fiddle around with that decision later.

[This story obviously is fictional but I hope a man like this exists amidst the people who stare at us every day. And when a day like that would happen I hope we can feel perfectly normal around them rather than giving them the “thanks for existing” look.]

  

Kis baat ka dar?

Jaane kis pal se kis pal ka dar
Jiska ant nahi shuruwat nahi
Jiya hu itna dar dar k
Kis baat ka dar tha yaad nahi

Beet gaya jo bura kal main usko
Dar me zinda rakhta hu
Darwaze se meelon duur ki dastak
Ghar me zinda rakhta hu

Anjaan sheher me khoyi khushi ka
Gham nahi fariyaad nahi
Jiya hu itna dar dar k
Kis baat ka dar tha yaad nahi

Sehmi umeede soti hain
Jahan nikalti thi duwaein dil se
Chhoot gyi kismat ki dori
Armaano ki satvi manzil se

Beeti khushi pe fir thirakna
Pal do pal ki baat nahi
Jiya hu itna dar dar k
Kis baat ka dar tha yaad nahi

The report of her life

“What’s news today if it’s not sensational? The crimes are the same- murder, rape, robbery etc. but they can only keep you glued to the newspaper if they turn out into a huge spiced-up whodunit that doesn’t revolve around a couple of strangers but someone from the inside who kept a record of everything to plot it and make it look like an ambush. As long as the culprit isn’t unveiled by law, media mustn’t abstain from garnering a certain heat to the case even if it involves disclosing the names of the witnesses or related people and making little stories around them. A cold-blooded murder of a girl, allegedly culminated in perfect stealth by her own parents, sounds more like a news people would like to read.” On her way home, Namita kept rewinding her boss’s words in her head. It was hard enough to live up to her expectations let alone competing with other writers for it. She had taken a break from a terribly hectic day at work as usual. Everyday rebukes had pushed her to the verge of losing her job. She reached home to her 10-year old son Krish. Only a persevered wish of seeing him in the middle of the day could keep her going in her tough times. Normally he’d scream at the top of his voice and run to the gate to greet her, but that day he had a dismal look on his face. Namita hadn’t seen this coming.

 He took her by her hand and led her in. Each step made her more nervous as to what (else) was wrong that day. She scanned left to right, from one corner to the other suspiciously; everything looked the same except for the kitchen. She entered in. There was a shiny golden cloth kept on the slab and she cowered away a bit when she saw what was placed on it. It was an 11-inch large blood stained knife. It looked dreadful enough to let its own wrath wield it. She felt her heart beat starting to race. She turned to Krish, held him by his shoulders and hastily checked him head to toe. He was fine. Then in a squeaky voice she asked him, “Where did you find it?” Apparently amidst a quiet locality in Delhi that Namita lived in, this drunken goon who had stabbed a kin over a money issue with a knife, had thrown the knife wrapped in a cloth under a tree, an hour before Krish returned from school and, intrigued by the flashy cloth, picked it and brought it home. “But why did you bring it home? It’s a bad omen!” Namita asked vehemently but she knew there was no answer coming.

 “You are not going to tell anyone about this knife and mom will throw it away on her way back. Promise me.” Despite Krish’s assurance she had to drink a glass of water or two to gulp down to her gut what had actually happened. After feeding him lunch, picking up a bunch of items (including the knife) and dropping him at her sister’s, she headed off on her scooty to home, but realising it had been too much for the day and she needed to think things through at a rather lively place, she drove ahead towards CP which was 15 minutes from her place.

She reached CP and parked her scooty. She began strolling about for a while looking at the busy city life breathing around her. Memories from her marriage flew in before her with the pleasant breeze. Life had been so beautiful and full of happy surprises then. Even amidst the busy work life, the little family time she could get would be so worth the wait. And how blessed she felt that little Krish was born when life was so cheerful and wished that with the sweetness of days that passed by, he’d grow up into a wonderful person. If only she had seen a bitter divorce coming, she would have lived those days with more enthusiasm or perhaps repaired the faults before they could ruin her marriage. Dramatic was the way how happy surprises turned sour. But she had made her peace with it and didn’t let it make her life, as her boss called stuff like that, filmy. It had been just another nail in the coffin of “lived happily ever after”. Post divorce, she moved to Delhi with her son when he was just 5-years old and had ever since struggled to keep up with the vicissitudes of city life.  “You can only enjoy it till it sucks you in.” She said to herself. But she had to disperse away the thoughts. There wasn’t much time. She had a deadline to meet and a knife to dispose.

She entered a Starbucks cafe nearby and ordered a coffee. It was work time, time for the notepad and the strongest weapon at her disposal, a pen her father had gifted her on her first day at her new job, to come out of her bag. And out came the notorious knife, if only there were a weapon to stab this one with, but to its luck and might, just a cover. She sat in the Starbucks cafe, sipping her coffee and staring out of the window. The blood stained knife lay next to her handbag, covered with her blue silk scarf. She had to clothe an incident she had to report, in the most pretentious, scandalous and deceptive words possible. She opened her scarf to the point where she could wryly gaze at the knife. It felt like peeping into the mind of a criminal. What could he be most scared of while in absconding? What twist could make this the most coveted report? For a while she meticulously dug the brains of the criminal and her boss to find the plausible solutions. After a few minutes of extensive contemplation and drawing inspiration from the knife, she started writing the crime she had to ‘sensationalize’ for the next day’s print, highlighting overtly intricate details of the weapon (also a knife) that went missing and could lead to the culprit. This was her last shot and it had to be the best.

After writing and reviewing it a couple of times, she packed up everything, scooted off to her office and handed it over to her boss. She took out the portentous knife, still covered with her scarf, and imitating her boss, spoke to it, “you better make it sensational!” If only the knife could smirk back or hide a little better behind its cover when a few suspicious eyes pried around. But her bossed looked quite impressed and even though she (like most working people) hated her boss, for that moment her happiness meant the world to Namita. She came back home picking up Krish in the way.

“So how was your day?” Krish popped up the quotidian question that usually Namita would ask. “Pretty hectic. Did you have fun at your aunt’s?”  She didn’t want to scare Krish by telling him that her career, his future and their shot at leading the same happy life they used to years ago were hanging on the verdict that will be narrated by the next day’s print. They had dinner while watching news on TV. If she was lucky maybe her report could make it to the news channels, she thought to herself. After the dinner they went into their respective rooms. She washed her face. All she needed was a good sleep to prepare her for the next day. She called out to Krish, “Good night sweetie.” “Mom!” he called out. “What now?” She rushed to his room. “Why didn’t you throw the knife away? You said it was bad omen.” Little Krish held the bag containing knife in his hand. She took it away from him and assured, “I’ll throw it away tomorrow.”

The next day her wish came true, the story did make headlines and was even printed on the front page in huge letters. The knife that was barely meant to make it to a hideously small section of the paper till the previous day, stabbed its way to a news report that little Krish would have never expected to hear or read. And yes, it was all over news channels too. The news read: In a first of its kind scenario and a fresh twist to the ongoing schoolboy murder case, a newspaper editor, Namita Sharma has been taken into custody for allegedly possessing and hiding the murder weapon she was to report about.On and on it sparked off a series of ‘filmy’ allegations that could lead to solving the murder mystery that had been bemusing the investigators for over weeks and triggered a plethora of possible motives and connections of this controversial editor, who couldn’t explain the knife, to the biggest murder mystery. Even Krish was questioned about the knife but he kept the promise he made to his mother. Somewhere at the bottom of that report were hints of a plausible DNA test of the blood found on the knife to be conducted by forensic experts that would eventually ascertain the truth. But for all Namita knew, saving her job came at the cost of losing her job and much more.