The Unfinished Jigsaw

How often do you hear about the greatest of friendships being blown up in the blink of an eyelid?
How often do you hear about two sisters who get enstranged?
How often do you hear about a girl who hates her best friend?

If you have, I respect you already. If you haven't, you'll hear about it now.
Because what you will read next, is a glimpse of what lies in the innermost chambers of my heart, one of the many factors that still makes me frown despite all the reasons for me to smile. No matter how perfect life seems 'in the moment,' there is always that ONE thing that nags your heart and bursts that short-lived bubble of joy.

Naila. Shireen. Farha.
My Powerpuff girls, my angels.
The people who knew the Nida as she was. The Nida with all her vulnerabilities and fears.
The three people who loved her irrespective of all her flaws.
Naila. Shireen. Farha.
The girls with whom my insecurities were secure with.

They were the people whose presence compensated for every deprivation in my life.  I wanted one sibling, God blessed me with three. That is what they meant to me- my sisters.
Although we met in the most unimaginable circumstances, we gelled beautifully.
If one was a confused jackass, the other was a smart ass.
If one was reserved and soft-spoken, the other was an out and out lame ass.
Like all philosophical stories, we faced good times and hard. From rofl moments to crying hard in each other's arms, we had witnessed every flavour of life.
We were checks for the person going astray, we were pillars for those reaching higher.
Together we fell, and together we rose. Against the world and it's discrimination, against narrow-minded people and  their suffocation. We were just beginning to understand the meaning of  'perfect.'
We were four extremes, brought closer by the extremities.
They were the missing links to the jigsaw that my life was. The last pieces that fit perfectly to complete the bigger picture. The final link to my Utopian dreams.

The question thus arises: What went wrong?
Why was the jigsaw shaken up and why did it's pieces go missing?

It happened on the 29th of June, 2012.
A competitive exam that sucked the last ounces of our affection towards each other.
Two of us made it, two of us missed it by a hair's breadth.
Thus came the fall.
Getting into a medical college is the one issue that is so hyped in today's time, that love, friendship and selflessness disappear into the din of frenzy.
I NEVER understood any of that.
I valued friendship beyond everything. I do not know if I was right in doing so, but now I feel I had overrated  the concept of friendship. I'd made them the central pillars of my life, while I was just another brick in their walls.
I miss the two of them. Whats ails me further, is that they do not.
I recall as if happened just yesterday, me walking up to my mom on the day of the results and telling her I wished to swap places with Farha. I wanted her to get through, because Medicine didn't mean as much to me as Farha did. I'd have gone into one of the best colleges in Hyderabad- CBIT- to pursue Biotechnology, a field that always held fascination for me. But being a doctor was Farha's dream. It was the sole aim of her life, and of those around her. It was her mother's long nurtured dream.
Here again, I was wronged. While I was concerning myself with the tragedies (sounds melodramatic? It was.) in the lives of my friends,  there was a whole new storm brewing in the background. And I was at it's epicenter.
While I was being congratulated with niceties and hypocritical pleasantries, I was also being held responsible for the unfortunate circumstances in my friends' life.
It began with a barrage of question posed by disappointed mothers.
"How did she do it and you couldn't?"
"She is the same as you, what then, is different about her?"
"See? Those two are now ahead of you, while you remain plateaued in failure."

That did it. The firewood was there, so was the coal. Now, came the first spark.
Like all wild-fires, this one spread too. I was being blamed!
I no longer recognized the girl who was my sister. The girl who figured in almost EVERY picture I have of my college life. My FarHawtieee.

No more phone calls, no more texts, no more Nimbuzzing....like we'd never met.
I was always told that people change with time. I never believed that until I witnessed it first-hand. Flipping through my notebooks pulls me down into memory lane. My notebooks have become what the Pensieve was to Dumbledore. I loved sketching Farha. Blessed with the daintiest of features, she was my idea of dusky beauty. Then there was me cracking stupid jokes about how I would clone her hair and wear it myself. She was the closest any girl could get to being prefect. Quite the envy in college ;)
This sketch still gets me tripping in laughter! Sitting through a boring Physics lecture and playing match-maker...only to realize, there was no one who could do justice with my girl. So I ended up proposing to her myself. :P

Ahmed Faraz, you give words to my dilemma:
Tum takalluf ko bhi iqlaas samajhte ho Faraz
dost hota nahi har koi haath milaane waala

I spent a miserable birthday in hope she'd come knocking at my door with that radiant smile I was starting to miss. She didn't.
Even the date of my birth seemed to be conspiring against me...1st of July, two days after those wretched results. I went to her, next month, on her birthday and parted by saying "I didn't want anybody else's birthday to suck as much as mine did, so here I am."
She smiled.
The formality with which she spoke with me last, flummoxed me. For in the  past, we had been abuse pelting maniacs. Time is a funny entity, and memories, funnier. They create a limbo right in the middle of reality and leave you to wonder where it is that you actually fit in.
I do not know how to handle situations like these. I therefore choose to resign into muted silence. If I was loved the way I am capable of loving, then my jigsaw shall fit in on it's own and in it's own sweet time.
I still pray, every single day, that her life falls into place. That she tastes the success that is rightfully hers. Most importantly, I pray for a miracle that will bring her back, and us together.

Till Death Do Us Part

Present day Ladakh, portrayed in all it's beauty. Mountains, the sweltering sun and spiraling roads carved in rock solid hills. A puff of dust and an officer in Khaki comes riding a Bullet like a man on a mission.  THAT very instant you will hold your breath and fall in love with Major Samar Anand.
Cool as a cucumber, hot as himself, he sets to work with his characteristic furrowed eyebrows. And what is it that he is doing? Defusing his 98th bomb.
And if that isn't enough to get you drooling, then watch him do it without his bomb-suit. Watch him face death in it's face, without batting an eyelid or breaking a sweat. Watch him and ask yourself, why he is "the Man Who Cannot Die."

                                 

What begins as the rhetorical question of why Samar Anand cannot die, becomes one hell of a story. Told with gusto, grace and a great degree of romance, the movie will make you believe in love and miracles.

Now settled in his tent, with a cup of tea, Major Anand fills out his diary. A dairy that keeps an account of each bomb he had rendered worthless. The dairy that- as we learn later- is his way of mocking God. Why he does that, is disclosed over the next 2 hours.
Enter Anushka Sharma aka Akira Rai, like a whiff of fresh air. She dives into ice-cold Ladakhi water for no apparent reason, only to be rescued by the Major himself. A brief resuscitation later, Samar zooms away on his bike, leaving Akira with a smile and his Khaki coat.
Back with her troop of documentary directors, Akira stumbles upon Samar's Diary, the one shoved in the jacket pockets. And from then on, page after page,  we see Samar Anand in the days of his struggle as a Londoner.
Working two shifts a day and singing throughout, he sure knows how to charm his way into people's hearts. And charm he does! One song and dance sequence later, Katrina aka Meera is fluent in Punjabi and irrevocably in love with Samar. Samar proposes  to Meera and she decides to approach her father and call off her engagement with Roger, a family friend. Fate doesn't agree, and Samar meets with a near-death accident, right in front of Meera's eyes. Meera, the damsel in distress, falls to her knees in a fervent prayer and begs for Samar's life in lieu of giving up the one thing she loves the MOST- Samar himself.
And thus begins their struggle, of staying away and still together. The struggles of living up to promises- one made to God and the other- made to each other.
It wasn't their time. It wasn't meant to be. Hence a dejected Samar Anand returns to his home base to fulfill his family legacy and we now see the birth of Major Samar. The intense persona, the definite signs of a traumatic past, the hallmarks of a man mellowed by life's tortures.
Concern for his safety had deprived him of his lady-love. He retaliates by plunging himself into unimaginable dangers each day. His life was his tool against Fate itself, he had bared himself to the wrath of Destiny.

                             

An eventful turn of incidents later, Fate sends Akira back into Samar's life. This time, with a camera, i-pod and a laptop. It was her Fitoor that had brought her back in Samar's life, but it was Samar's life that had made her fall in love. Love in the truest, purest meaning of it. A girl of the present times, Akira's ideologies of love had been blurred. But as she watched the Major work, each passing day, the fog was beginning to clear.
The most heartwarming moment in the movie was where Samar, after having defused a bomb, retreats into total privacy to sing. To sing the song he had first sung for Meera. To sing of a wanderer...Challa....himself...

Challa hansda phire
Challa ronda phire
Challa gali gali rulda phire
Challe tu sab da
Challe tera koi nai
Challa gali gali rulda phire
Challa ki labda phire

Akira confesses her love. Fate frowns upon this and Samar meets with yet another accident.
And if life wasn't complicated already, it gets so, now. A severe head injury takes Samar 10 years back into time. The Samar of 2012 now barely recognizes himself.  Now suffering with Retrograde Amnesia, Major Samar Anand is back to being a London newbie. Carefree, happy-go-lucky and insanely in love with Meera.
What follows next, is chaos. Not in Samar's life, but in the life of those around him. A cross angle between the present generation and the generation of the yesteryears, both Meera and Akira are determined to bring Samar back. Meera, at the price of defying her treaty with God and Akira, at the price of love.

You will laugh,  you will spill tears, you will marvel at the power of love as you watch Samar fight his battles with life. You will go weak in your legs when you hear him say, "Zindagi ke halaat toh roz humein maarte hain. To maut se kaisa darna?" And when you watch Meera and Samar embrace at the end of their tryst with destiny, you will think of Love as undying, unyielding and simply...beautiful.

He is the King Khan of Bollywood, and he leaves no stone unturned to convince you. You won't doubt him as he plays a 21 year, you will adore him as a 30 year old. You will not question how he switches from the Samar of 2002 to the Samar of 2012 within a matter of minutes...you will only drown in his dimples.
Katrina, as Meera, is stunning. A 'gori mem' nurturing a wild child inside. Sizzling chemistry between the two, especially in the track Ishq Shava. It's bound to get your feet tapping. :)
Anushka Sharma, as Akira Rai is refreshing. An absolute delight to watch, as she struggles with the concept of love. You will feel her energy, the fresh peppiness of a girl in her youth. Untroubled and unpolluted, beautifully presented in the song 'Jiye Re.' As she gropes in the dark with feelings she can't understand, you will want to reach out to her and sympathize.

                         
And finally, the man behind the lens who made us fall in love over and over again. Yash Raj Chopra, you've left behind you an entire generation that will sing your songs, dance to your music and quote dialogues from your movies for a long long time. This leads me on to think of  a famous poem by John Keats:
      
                                                  ~Bards of Passion and of Mirth,
                                                    ye have left your souls on earth!
                                                    Have ye souls in Heaven too,
                                                    Double-lived in regions new?~

                               Yes Yash Uncle, you have left us a classic to love! <3                                  

                            

When 150 hearts beat as one...PULSATION 2012

 What happens when you put a hundred and fifty people of different shapes, sizes, colours, countries and mindsets in a single room, and ask them to stay there for 5 years?
Optimistically, it can be a happy story where everyone unites as one big happy family. Practically, we just end up hating each other, a situation that worsens in a female dominated class.
What begins as a misconception about a certain someone, grows to become a rumour and ultimately, seals a person's image forever. Credibility isn't the criteria. Compatibility is. But who can talk of compatibility without a certain level of interaction? So all we can do to judge a person, is to go by how  they're dressed, their demeanor and vibes. NOT CONCLUSIVE.
So there steps in Pulsation, our annual college fest. Organization, competition, victory, defeat...hand in hand with truck loads of fun!What began with furious arguments regarding the naming of our batch ended up with 150 jubilant students screaming:

When we score, when we scream, you wish you were on our team
                             Gooooo Spaartaans!
                                                    
Spartans. Yes, that's what we all are. Warriors, of both the body and mind. 150 Spartans draped in dazzling blue...electric! 150 students standing tall with the flag fluttering into the summer wind, united under one big banner: SPARTANS-2012.                                           
                                                                       
Day one, I remember, kick-started with the usual drag of a march-past followed by speeches upon speeches under the harsh mid-October sun. Nothing to dampen our spirits though.
The evening saw an energy packed boys' Volleyball match, which we lost to our Postgraduate uncles.
The first match however, had lain the foundation of our girl cheer-leading squad and the ever-so-unique slogan that went on to become our winning mantra. A great fight by the boy Spartans, and a promise to claim the trophy next year. Amen.

                                     
The sporting fervour continued for another six days, and by 13th of October, team Spartans was proudly placed second on the Basketball front. The girls cricket team amassed immense support and respect, having crushed our reigning seniors, the Warlords of  2007. Coached under our very own all-rounder Mohammed Abdul Ashraf, both the girls and the boys team excelled at the sport.


                                                                                   
                           
  Football became another feather on out hats, with the seniors assuring us of the championship in the following years. Sometimes, as freshers, you only have to compromise and walk ahead.
Kaushik Dandanak emerged the star player. Ah! I see the big-daddies trembling at the name itself ;)What came next was probably the most enjoyable event during the fest. Kabaddi...naturally restricted to the tougher male species. Some epic moments, raw force and mind games...a game high on adrenaline. We didn't win, but we didn't give up without breaking a few backs. Haar kar jeetne waale ko hi Spartan kehte hain boss ;)

                                                                                
                                           
Boys' Basketball came as a silver lining, after the dismal performance by the girls' team. They bagged silver and the girls lost their throats. Syed Adnan shone as the play maker and Omer Qadri as the hoop-dude. Excellent ball control, quick speed passes and fantastic co-ordination did the trick. On the individual front, Anam Sultana- a dear dear friend-clutched a bronze in the 100 metres sprint. Proud girly moment.
                                        

                                          
                                                                                                                   
    
Nearing the end of our festive week, came the literary and cultural competitions. Triggered by Omer Qadri and myself coming second in Debate, the topic being:
"Should rural service be made compulsory for medical students."
Team Spartans had Nida Fatima speaking for the motion, and Omer Qadri speaking against it. Excellent rebuttal from Omer, and full points for speaking were awarded to me. Vying for gold next year, InshAllah.
The winning streak continued with me winning gold in sketching...a basic job that seemed to work.
The  winner's torch was then carried forward by Naila Iqbal, who claimed two golds, one in the Memory Game and another in Photo-editing. Neat, classy editing. Not over-done, but executed to perfection.


                          
                               
We summed up our days with a smile of happy contention. We succeeded in establishing our presence, gave to the college a mere trailer of the potential within us.  The full movie, shall be released gradually over a span of 5 years. But wait! That's not all!
Down with all the competitions, the Spartans settled back to watch the better looking classmates walk down the ramp. Such professionalism, such panache...I often wonder if medicine is the right field for them. Flaunting everything, right from casuals to wedding wear...they made the outfits come across even better than the designer's conceptualization! Mohammed Wajih, Abdul Raafey, Hari Prem, Mubeen Babu, Ansari and Anas bin Siddiq came as surprise packets with each new sequence of the clothing range.
The story is still to continue. Most of us, who had almost dozed off in the middle, were woken up for a pleasant surprise. Random people simply ran up on to stage and my favourite song began to play. Even before I could jerk myself up to watch...the crowd, comprising exclusively of my batch mates, began dishing out moves like Jagger! It was a FLASH MOB!
Beautiful in it's concept and immaculate in it's execution, the flash mob became the highlight of Valentino 2012. The mob saw the birth of amazing dancing talent, that was probably buried under years of  ignorance and textbooks. Commendable job, under the expert eye of Akram, the choreographer from TNT-2010.


                                                                                                                                                

               

                                   
                       The Grand Finale on the 15th of October saw a huge turn over of people, all dressed to kill. Decked up in typical Hyderabadi party wear, we sure made heads turn. The evening began with prize distribution, song and dance with small humour segments interspersed here and there. Habeeb Qadeer, a renowned stand-up artist on the Hyderabadi comedy platform performed for over 45 minutes, very energetic and very well appreciated as well. What added charm to the night was the Qawwali. Authentic Hyderabadi Qawwali, performed by experts in the field. They belted out some entrancing sequences and had the crowds tapping their feet in a bewitched trance. The naubat became the icing on the cake- very, VERY impressive.
With good food and great company, time flies! And so it did, by 11:30 pm, the evening was just beginning to gain fervour.
It felt like I was back to square one. 150 students in one hall, for the next five years. But after the week gone by, the cat has jumped over to the other side of the wall. It is no longer a bunch of kids involved in back-biting or gang fights. We ended up as good- if not great- friends.
The Spartans bid good-bye to a week full of merry making to walk right into the snare of the upcoming exams. But the shift in moods was undeniable. We ceased to look upon each other with hostility (if there ever was) and distrust. Misconceptions seem to have been brushed aside, and we became open to meeting up new people.
Team Spartans is just beginning to gel. It is only a matter of time where Team Spartans will cease to be just a name...it'll be an identity for the entire college to reckon with. A syncitium of sorts.This is me signing off, so until next time:

GOOOOOO SPARTAAAAANS!
                                                                                   

Writing: A 7th Sense.

My blog is for my people.
Anybody who adds to my life, anyone who helps me get by...is here.
I don't write because I want attention. I don't write because I want to be called as the 'girl who writes well' by the 'junta' I don't give a damn about. I write only because there are people who deserve to be written about. There are certain things I cannot just say, either because the emotions are too complex or too sensitive to be corrupt using words.
People write fashion, art, music and philosophy. I, write people.
I love literature because it helps me understand people and their reactions, which I would not have understood otherwise. Literature releases me from the shackles of silence. My pen, my paper, my blog...all  the instruments I use to make myself heard. Not as an act of cowardice, but as an act of intrepidity, an act of valiance that needs no propaganda. It's just my words, my voice. Everything I write is intimately interwoven with the reality of my life. Every word bears a part of my existence. Every sentence that goes into my writing, is a testimony to everything I face with each passing day.
The words floating in my head, although haphazard, put my life into focus. When I think, I think in the form of words. When I imagine, I imagine in the form of whole sentences. My writing is a mirror which shows me my life, and also to the ones who might wish to see.
I hold my writings very close to my heart and at a very elevated stature. My life is not an exhibition, it is not a fair, where you can buy, sell and have fun. My writing, is all that I have of myself.
My essays fill me with pride, like a mother who swells when her child excels. My articles make me aware of my existence, and the responsibility that one shoulders, when one deals with words. Yes, WORDS. The most potent tool of the wise. I love words, because of the clarity they bring to life. How seemingly unexplainable phenomena fit into our mind, how we grasp the exact nature of our surroundings...everything, in the form of words.

I write to discover myself. I write to understand the world. I write, because I must.

Of Nadal and a Prawn

*Please play the video and proceed to read*

They say that the ability to forget is the greatest blessing in disguise from God. Shit happens, you brush it aside. It keeps coming back to you and you try your best to ward it off. You struggle with it, you try to shield yourself from it, you try to run away. Each time, it only gets stronger.
Then there comes a point where you've exhausted your resolve. A point where you've reached your carrying capacity and can't handle more. A point where it is easier to just give up and say 'I quit.'
THAT is when it'll leave you. It'll fade into some recess of your mind and leave you to face the emptiness within. It'll create a void that is so intense, it'll shatter you. Though on the brighter side, the memory won't come back to haunt you. Those beautiful will memories walk away, and leave behind some nasty scars.

                                                   

I still recall so vividly how we had sworn to be the best of chums till the sun cooled down. Today, the sun shines on hotter than ever, over a friendship gone cold. There were promises of sticking together through thick and thin. We managed the thin, the thick got the better of us.
There hasn't been a conclusive ending to the friendship, not yet. We've laughed through the 'log phase,' smiled through the 'lag phase,' preparing now for the declining phase. It'll come, eventually. It doesn't need to be put into words, it needs no lengthy conversations. It is only a wedge that'll pierce deeper and deeper and finally split us into two separate entities. It'll happen so gradually that no one will notice. It will only feel like a needle pricking the heart, only a few seconds at a time, until the infarction sets in.

You'd been by my side when no one else was. You were there when I didn't notch up good grades. While I felt like running away from the rest of the world, I wanted to walk straight to you. When I stayed up all night, you made sure I never did it alone. Even if it was just a text message, you'd give me the confidence to put aside everything and fall asleep. The sun HAD to rise the next morning, right? You were happy, I was happy. You cried, I did. I've never felt a greater association with anybody else before. Both of us know a bond has been made, sealed. It is another matter though, that we longer acknowledge it. We choose to ignore it like it never happened.

I recall measuring my life in terms of  'your birthday,' 'your niece's birthday,' 'your sister's birthday,' 'your parents' anniversary...' EVERYTHING was prefixed with 'your.' It was only a year back, that the 'you' preceded the 'me' in my life. The 'you' isn't here anymore, it took the 'me' along with it.
My bestie, my secret-keeper, my 4am friend, my LOL friend...you filled in every spot! Though on the downside- I do not think I can ever find a replacement.
The present scenario boils down to me being grateful for the wonderful time together. My mother- always the biggest, unflinching support in my life- taught me to absorb all that is good and to leave out the dregs without much botheration. This advice today, gives me the motivation to go on. Things aren't like what they were before, but that does not mean they can't be better. I know you aren't here, but the memories you've left will outlive you. I will smile as I recall them, not cry. I will be glad it happened, not crib because it's over.

And for all I know, you will still be only a text message away. One day, you will muster the courage and say 'jaande jaande. Bol nadal, watsup?'
I'll fight. I'll ask questions, I'll make a scene. Only because I love it when you defend our friendship.
That day will come, a friendship as gleaming as ours, can never be dull for long.
Until then, I have treasure trove of memories to smile at.

Whoever said the capacity to forget is a blessing?

Me. My demons.

I'm tired. And I don't know why. I'm bored. And I don't know how I should tackle that. I'm worried, because I'm used to it. I'm low, because I just CAN'T help it.

I'm clueless. After having spent two filthy years constantly talking and thinking about 'marks', 'results' and 'ranks' my brain is starting to retaliate. I need a break. I need to unwind. I need a place not polluted by wretched people and their money making schemes. In the past two years, I believe I've withered- as a person. I've deteriorated. My talent has begun to rust. Ofcourse it's not important, because you can't measure talent in terms of marks. You can't assign ranks to talent. You can't say "Mr. A is a talent topper and Mr. Z failed in talent." It is quite humorous though that 'topper' is not a word that exists in the Oxford. It's only a matter of personal convenience. 'Bottomer' would be a nice antonym to go with it, wouldn't it?

If I say I haven't painted in two years, you'd laugh.

"Why is that so important?" You might ask.

Ironically, I wouldn't have the energy to explain.

I long to prop myself on my bed with a novel and read till I've exhausted every library in the world. But ofcourse, shouldn't I be spending that time over Physics problems?

I crave to feel the hundreds of tiny grooves that run all over a basketball. The muffled scratching of my pencil as it romances the paper as I pour out my life through it. The smooth strokes of my paintbrush that caress the canvass as I add colour to my black and white story. My Utopia.

How does one vent the frustration?

The pillow? Too soft. The walls? To weak. Tears? Limited.

Maybe I need to go deep-sea diving. Or on a mission to outer space. Oh I just need to get away from humanity.

I've had enough of dying in life...for once, I yearn to LIVE life.

The agression stems only from the knowledge, that NO ONE inderstands. I need someone to draw courage from, as the courage in me is fast dying. I want some one to say "Fuck the rest of the world, I'll see you through."

All I need to progress in life, is security. Make me believe it's garden so I can shut my eyes and walk through the Sahara. Make me believe my parachute will open at the exactly the right time as I jump off a plane. Tell me that there WILL be someone to hold me even as I fall.

        

I want to make mistakes. I want to make them on my own. I wish to learn my own lessons, not to be spoon fed.

"This is right, this is wrong"

No, thanks.

I'll figure it out myself. Experimentation is the path to discovery. I take my life lessons seriously. I've been reprimanded, even hated for my mistakes. Only if there was someone to love me for the lessons I drew from each of them.

 I have immense faith in the Almighty and His plans for my future. All I need, is a hand that I can hold on to as I face the unknown. I'm not afraid of what lies ahead. I'm just afraid to face it alone. Give me a hand and a hug- and watch me tranform into Hulk!