My Chewing Gum Life

Picture this:

My mother handed me a Sweet Mint Flavoured Center Fresh and after a flash of tongue-and-tummy thought,  I told her I have stopped eating gum. I completed my lunch, washed my hands and resumed my couch potato position and my eyes suddenly fall on that very Sweet Mint Flavoured Center Fresh which remained on the bed where my mom handed it to me earlier. After another flash of tongue-and-tummy thought, I tear open the wrapper and put it in my mouth, promising myself I will not chew it, but only taste it, till it completely vanishes. After about two to three attempts to roll the hard gum in my mouth without biting the exterior for the soft gel inside it and the chew part, my reflexes give up again and I bite the gum,  gulp the awesome new Sweet Mint flavor,  chew the gum for some time and finally spit it out after the juice is over. 

I thought I will hate myself, like I usually do, for not sticking to my commitment (or was it one really?) but I did not. Instead I am here typing my thoughts as to was the juice worth the squeeze.

You know what Bhavdeep, the juice was worth the squeeze because I really enjoyed the new Mint Flavoured Center Fresh and I spit the gum it out when I felt like spitting. Why do I have to think much into it? Why should I care into things?

Isn't life such so? I mean, a Chewing Gum of events meant to be enjoyed to the core by chewing them as they are meant to be. Bite when its meant to be Bitten, Chew when meant for Chewing, Swallow the taste as it flows and Spit the residue.

Why hold myself with stupid beliefs and mannat and dhaaga. Aadats aka Habits are not a one time thingy. They are cultivated over a practice.

I hold myself from sex and I sleep or hug or almost fuck over a single physical companion and then I call it love.

I hold myself from masturbation and I spill over a hard lonely feeling and that too with a bad porn effect.

I hold myself from life and I frustrate myself in that very damn hold that I feel tired and exhausted.

Life is like a Chewing Gum. Bite it, chew it, gulp the flavor and spit it out. There is no point in stretching it beyond what it is meant to be. There will always be a better flavor and if you are honest with the bite-chew-gulp-spit theory, you will do find one that you will call as forever favorite. Favorite becomes habit but its up to you to make sure that the flavor matters more that the habit and you never stretch the gum beyond the flavor.

Else it will again be the same -  Hold back, Question the tear of the wrapper and blame the time for presenting you with that packed gum.

Chewing Gum never comes with an expiration date but over the time, it does lose some of its good taste yet remaining safe to chew. So is Life. There is no such expiration date but over the time, it does lose its fresh youth yet remaining safe to live. 

Tear, Bite, Gulp and Spit.

Live, Love, Life and Laugh.

Because in my heart I know, that the juice (of life) is worth the squeeze. That's what Moral Fiber's all about.

Digital India and Me

At the Digital India Dinner on 26th September in San Jose, California, Prime Minister Narendra Modi's spoke eloquently about the undeniably and almost unimaginable importance of technology in our life. The premier's every international visit has always been pride for all its citizens, both in India and abroad. But with great power, as in from Digital India, comes great responsibility.

The addiction to gadgets in my life can be easily gauged by my recent actions on a very regular and average day of my life. On my way to office in Delhi Metro, I noticed that my mobile's talk time balance was low and needed instant charge. I had long left the good old days behind when in such a situation, I would need to find a recharge shop. I clicked open my PayTM app on my mobile, clicked on my app wallet and recharged my talk time within  few seconds. I also recharged my 3G balance which was also low, again using the app wallet.

Shutting down the app, I decided to switch off my mobile phone for some time. I had reached Rajeev Chowk Metro Station during this time and I would have not missed anything online as the reception is always terrible here and the upcoming few stops.

I kept the mobile in my shirt's top pocket but I was in for a 'counted' rude shock about my addiction to phone when, despite switching off the phone myself, my subconscious reflexes moved my hands into my pocket, pulled out my phone and click on the unlock key - not once, or twice but for a total of three times in less than two minutes inside the metro.

Every time I put my phone back in my pocket, surprised but when it happened for the third time, I was shocked.

How bored I was in the metro within less than two minutes of time span

or

How addicted I am to my phone

or

How lost I was I don't even have control over my own actions??

It definitely did not good to my self esteem, especially since the act of switching off my phone was my own doing. It's like my subconscious awareness fell like nine pins to my mobile addiction.

AND WHAT FOR?

There was no life consuming phone call or email or message that was waiting for me. I did not even have any music stored in my phone that I wanted to listen to either. Even the FM reception did not work in those few stops for which I wanted my phone to be off - all for a little break, I suppose.

Similarly, it is the reality or even the idea of leaving behind my mobile charger at home that is more scary than anything, including my wallet. 

Life is indeed a scary preposition to our comfort; especially when material needs start dictating our life that we can not see ourselves without them.

Like PM Modi said in his speech at Digital India Dinner,

"Google today has made teachers less awe-inspiring and grandparents more idle... The status that now matters is not whether you are awake or asleep, but whether you are online or offline. The most fundamental debate for our youth is the choice between Android, iOS or Windows."

My mother recently whatsapped me this quote which read,

"Your cell phone has already replaced your camera, your alarm clock and your calendar. Don't let it replace your family (and friends)."

No doubt PM Narendra Modi's push for Digital India is an incredible policy for India and we all need to root for it. Lest we forget our responsibility in this unimaginable power, I don't have anything else to say but to act, both consciously and subconsciously.

Hiccups

Circa Early 2012

Mandheer and me at Geetika's place after her Grandma's passing. Over a casual chat about life, Geetika threw on me the question of when do I see myself 'settled'. I was  23 then. With a little (justified) thought, I said at the age of 25.

At age 25 (in 2013), I was working with News24, albeit as a Non-Paid Intern, but getting appreciation for my work and boost from one and all to keep working harder and honestly.

Now Circa 2010-11, over another casual chat, Nikhil (again from my Graduation college) spoke, or shall I put, sarcastically spoke (as I understood) to me in my own house, in my bedroom, that by the time we are both 30, we will see who is the better successful one of us two.

My 30 is yet to come.

What baffles me, and much surprisingly now, is how the meaning of 'settled' and 'successful' change with different situations, among different time of our life.

When I first cleared my Competitive Exams for Grad School with Straight As and a Shining Picture with my Score in the Newspaper Advert for my Finishing School, I felt 'settled' and 'successful'.

Getting admission in the Best Grad School for BBA (Banking and Insurance) was a success for me to go to my Senior school and share the news with one and all. Turning 25, I happily and successfully recounted my words on being settled with a Job. But did it satisfy me when I was actually living these moments. Will turning 30 satisfy me with my apparent future scheme of things in life and how much will I ponder on the comparison thrown in my face years ago from that age, with someone who holds no importance or a part in my current present.

Its strange but things such as these do pop up regularly in my mind while doing the scheme of life and how much happy I am in the moment phase.

My first stipend as a Paid Intern had given me the biggest rush of blood in my body. My first salary cheque as a Trainee was even more celebratory moment for me. My completing one year as a Trainee on 1st Feb this year, Thrilling.

But why did the moments which were being seen as 'settled' did end up making me feel 'empty', rather 'satisfied'. I was a mess within months of turning Trainee as I could not see myself grow from there. Yes, we can not anticipate future feelings, but why those aims that we strive for, leave us empty hearted, at least they did me.

Now, as I see, I really did not have anyone to share my dreams with, while I was struggling but never wailing to achieve it. Nor did I have anyone to celebrate my success, as per my own admission and record.

I barely felt a half hearted hug from mom when I handed over to her my first stipend when I wanted to cry my heart out of my struggles and this small moment of achievement which was huge for the lonely me.

Nobody really cared, if I try to recall, about me turning Trainee too. I was at home on 13th August 2014 when I received the SMS. I showed it to mom and it was congratulations and the moment was over within less than 5 seconds for sure. I still remember the biggest smile was on Tarun Sir's face when I bumped into him on street after years and shared the info with him. It felt assuring to be alive. Rest all, "how much will you be paid", "when will this increase", and likewise.

I broke down on stage at ISOMES over receiving Best Actor Award by Arvind Sir because I wanted to. It was probably the only time I broke in public over a sense of achievement. I just never got the response otherwise for every achievement by me to even well up, forget anything otherwise.

I know no one has walked in my shoes to understand the catharsis I was going through every such incidents of achievement. But I can not hold wishing to have a few of those in your life, who can celebrate even a .1 kg increase in my weight. I know I work my mind around positivism a lot for same.

Today I really look forward to finding that one thing where I can scream my frustration. I am not depressed. Its just frustration of expectations that is building inside me.

Hiccups; how otherwise life pans out, just for lack of an ally.

Hiccups; how broken I am today also, failing many times but even getting up for half hours morning walk in park gives a sense of achievement from what I did otherwise.

Hiccups, as a pat on back do matter a lot. No words, just a hug assuring I am not alone.

Tiring thinking

I clearly remember my days in office when in late night while roaming around an empty news room I used to get goosebumps feeling, if I may borrow words from J.K. Rowling but in diametrically different context, "Is this all real or is it just happening inside my head?" To which, Dumbledore responded to Harry with, "Of course it's happening inside your head, Harry. Why should that mean that it's not real."

That feeling rejuvenated my senses to no end and it felt great and so satisfying to pack up. I never wanted them to end. But here I am today, yearning for those moments.

To put it direct - I miss those moments.

• Why and where did I lose such surprising precious thoughts?
• Have I been complaining, whining too much of late about work environment and people?
• When did my work became about people from being about ideas?
• Is this person I am today really me?
• Do I like being who I am right now?
• Do I love being myself?

Its said, change is the only constant; and that change is good. But then why I am so tired. There hardly goes a day when I don't think about my amount in my wallet and my bank balance. Its so tiring me. I was so not in this profession for money.

These questions are tiring me.

I guess I am alone and its the loneliness that is speaking, correction, showing in my thoughts. Its about two and half months I came out to my family. Mom and dad did not question me once and now I can not stop thinking that the only person to give me same reaction was Siddharth. For these three, it was like I never shared anything. Is this good or did I want them to ask me...talk to me...make me cry so that I lose up all my anger, fear and frustration?

I did share my coming out story with few 'friends' but I feel so unsatisfied with their response. They told me its good that whatever happened. Some new ones asked me how it happened and even though I did tell them, honestly, I myself don't know how it happened. It just happened. But even after all of it, I feel really empty.

So what is really missing in my life? I am failing at being a 'man' but why and oro whom am I doing it for? I do know I want to prove it to world that I am a 'man' but why and when did I took up this thought, this so-called challenge that I just keep on failing and failing at.

To be honest, I am so tired that I can not even think. I actually so don't want to think about it. I am already tired of failing and failing, again and again, to control my urges and stragely now I don't even know for whom I am controling these urges for as it has been so not for me anymore for the longest time since I can recall about it.

I have many times contemplated that one should not bar himself from anything around him for that is the real test of controlling one's urges, no matter how bad or intimidating they may be. Or should I just buy a boxing bag and gloves to get my frustration all out. Tire myself not just mentally but physically from any anger in me and then get a good night sleep.

Something to think.. correction.. ACT upon!

The Suicide Letter

जब जब दर्द का बादल छाया..

जब ग़म का साया लहराया.

जब आंसू पलकों तक आया..

जब ये तनहा दिल घबराया..

हमने दिल को यह समझाया दिल आखिर तू क्यूं रोता है.. दुनिया में यूं ही होता है ।

यह जो गहरे सन्नाटे है.. वक़्त ने सब्को ही बाटें है..

थोडा ग़म है सबका किस्सा.. थोड़ी धूप है सबका हिस्सा..

आग तेरी बेकार ही नम है.. हर पल एक नया मौसम है..

क्यूं तू ऐसे पल खोता है.. दिल आखिर तू क्यों रोता है ।।

Its weird how I am beginning a suicide letter with a positive thought but If I may put it as a mere coincident that my phone's playlist began with same during my writing, yet no one can ever disagree that isn't every suicide letter started with the most positive light of one's life..

Dear Mom Dad..

Add to same the immense strength and great self-understanding it takes to write a suicide letter; the second greatest an individual can ever show in life, the first being at the time of the actual act of committing suicide.

However here I stand struggling to write one suicide letter of mine; all in a public declaration.

I write same, keeping in mind a very thought provoking motivational quote by Gore Vidal, an American writer and Public Intellectual (whatever the latter means):

"Write something, even if it's just a suicide note."

So here I formally, informally begin:

...

Dear Mom Dad..

I love you a lot, no matter the many times I have hated you, felt embarrassed by even your existence in my every breathing moment. You are my mom and dad and will always be my mother and father. And your undying love and wishes for me is what makes me angry and extremely temperamental in my expression of love for you and to an extent, with bhai also. I know you all love me and maybe its just not you.

Papaji, Maanji, Naniji, and by God's grace many others I am blessed with in family and friends. Like Priya, who has always been at the end of my moods, the most among all my friends and yet stood by me, wishing nothing but the world for me. And this love and bliss is what has always driven me to end my life because I am tired of not even knowing who I really am to decide how to reciprocate. Frustratingly strange indeed when I wrote in the beginning how it takes "immense strength and understanding it takes to write a suicide letter".

Ever since the past few years when I first developed HOSH in my JOSH for life, I have just wanted a normal life. Yes I have dreams and career goals but I want to be normal. And I am not able to understand what is normal to me, what is natural to me. This suicide letter germed from same insecurity; of the war in my soul to know the real and natural me.

I am living a dream career which I recognised by exploring my own strenghts and weaknesses through work and many bruised fallings but at the end of the day I enjoy my time in office to the extent that can leave workplace with a meditation state of mind, heart and soul. But as I age, I fear all wrongs I wished in anger in my life. I fear living a life from a plague thought tongue of past. I fear my sexuality taking my life. I fear being gay.

"I fear being gay."

Shocking, is what I am now feeling as I continue giving words to my thoughts. Never ever did I use this sentence, even in my worst nightmares. Then why did it came in my head to find a typed memory?

After years of struggles, from sixth standard, to be precise, to the moment before I wrote these four self-shocking words, I was thinking that I have made peace with me being gay, which is by the way just a part of my life in the gamut of emotional diversity in my character and personality. But Now I stand more tired than ever.

I am not ashamed of myself. I feel scared, disgusted from me fearing the wrongs that my true self can bring upon in questions and, God forbid, in taunts (also) to all my loved ones.

I really wish I could swing permanently in life but even after tremendous torturous periods of excruciatingly mental and physical pain (that continue till this very moment as I write), I do know this is me - not completely gay, not really gay, but just gay. And I don't want this to be the 'only me', which I feel is only possible if I let myself go from the worry.


Dear Mom Dad..

Writing this letter, my mind is inundated with the thought that truth be told I have failed in a lot of things in life but why when it comes to suicide, all my reasons for suicide are always and always falling on my most private part of life - Being Gay!

It's human nature to worry about the unknown and this feeling can never be curbed, I guess. I do also worry about the unknown as I am also human. But why is it that every time I worry about something, it is about me Being Gay at the crux of all worries.

Its like my whole life is absorbed in just these four words:

"I fear being gay."

I want to share this suicidal part of me, but not to transfer my worries but only to release my worries. For the Buddhist said it wisely, "Till we don't empty our filled cup of mind, we can not explore filling it with anything new. And anything poured in the filled cup will only spill on the sides and it will show in serving."


Dear Mom Dad..

I love you and I only wish to see you happy and proud of me. I don't know what the future holds and how much, buy my present is here for you. And its full of insecurities I have been dying to pour my heart out.

I fear driving, because I think I won't look good driving.

I fear my friends, because they were only filled with lies by me, lies which were very well crafted, to hide my true self.

I fear going out even in our neighborhood meeting the neighbor,because I think I won't be able to stand as a proud man, despite my little achievements.

I fear all our relatives, including you, Mom and Dad, because I won't be the perfect child who grew up to be traditionally married with children, upholding the family's honor.

I have started to fear my office mates because they think I am the perfect catch for a girl because of what I am in front of them but isn't half truth also a stab in the back?

I fear internet, becuase despite it giving me tremendous space to grow, I may got over the lust for sex, but I feel helpless in watching porn. I am addicted to it and it shows on my health. I watch it feeling all I am not in terms of a man. Strange but true, I fear I am not a man - even a gay man. And yet,

"I fear being gay."

Dear Mom Dad..

It was about three years back when during a documentary shoot for a gay aquaintance I realised how happy I am when I am really myself.

I had to speak in front of the camera how I feel about the straight people around me; sort of like tossing the coin on the question of how straight people feel about gays around them. I was told to be funny in my replies but oblivious to how to be funny, I just went with the flow.

By the end of my shoot - in central park - all in open, I was smiling and so were the two girls in production team, the straight cameraman who was my age and the other gay stud who was next in line to be interviewed.

I still can not recall when was a time before this moment when I felt happy about my self as I was feeling that time. I still remember even the straight camera guy became very relaxed with me after the shoot, during the lunch. It made me happy about myself/

The documentary never got made because of some unforeseen circumstances but I am glad I did muster up the courage to shoot, even though it was way more rebel than courage; for Priya and Manish did warn me of 'future' consequences if the documentary, being made for film festivals, became public.

The shoot remains one of the best and definitely the only memory I have of being "out of closet" without any fear. Then why do i fear being gay?

Dear Mom Dad..

The shoot was in April 2012. So technically it will be three whole years in three months from today since that happy memory. And thus it has been since, that I have been trying to come out. But alas sigh...

Dear Mom Dad..

You have brought me up in a very 'responsible' state of mind from my very childhood, and for that I am eternally thankful and emotionally indebted to you. So it excites me and scares me in equal and extreme level that I wish to give you all the happiness in future. It kills me every closeted moment of my life that I won't be able to give you a daughter-in-law and grandchildren in the traditional way. It kills me even more seeing bhai not doing anything to fulfill that dream from his side.

I am scared because of bhai.. but am I right to be same for him? Am I being too selfish to put the responsibilty on his shoulder or am I justified to at least expect this little from him?

I have this faith in me that I will find my true love forever. The day I will find peace with my true self, I know I will find him. Just like one of my most favorite quote for life,

“When a person really desires something, all the universe conspires to help that person to realize his dream.” 

I don't want to come out in anger and frustration, and a temporary state of mind. I want to be happy and satisfied with myself when I come out; with a genuine emotional coming of age understanding and acceptance of self.

I don't need a job security to come out.

I don't need dropping hints to come out.

I don't need my forever love to come out.

I don't need the world to be accepting of gays to come out.

I do need to drive my new car out of my garage and into the traffic, without worrying about the red lights in my path or the rash drivers who may hurl abuses on my for my driving ability and may even leave scratches on my car.

I just need to drive my car. I really do, but I am scared.

"I fear being gay."

Dear Mom Dad..

I want to share something today; something I am not able to control and is killing me, keeping me awake all night.

I feel alone in my room. Very lonely. It's like I need a hug and I don't have. I never really hugged you as a child and I have now grown up feeling an absence in me. I think of hugging you so many times but I just can not.

I feel because I was brought up listening "the responsible child" adjective for me, I unknowingly developed a shell of emotionless person who can take harsh decision even without the blink of an eye.

Mom you yourself did tell me I am heartless but I guess that is how I grew up. In obscurity, especially during my middle and high school days, alone in the second floor room - not into sports - in my dreams - and even struggling with my initial days of puberty when I could only think and feel gay.

I really used to blame you both for ignoring me and turning me gay but with better sense I really realised that it was no one's fault I am gay. I mean, I have pondered over my past to such lengths that it is futile for me to even think more about my past.

However I can do share how I have grown up as a gay person.

Phase 1: REBEL for LUST:

I started as a rebel. I was young blood. I really wanted to get the first sex thing out of my system. After a few unplanned innocent encounters with school mates and in relations, I was the sex freak who just wanted it at any cost. I like the attention I was getting from the gay circuit.

Phase 2: GREED:

The rebel streak grew into challenger when I quite literally wanted to get anyone whom I can not get by going every extreme. It was during this time when I was first proposed of love and the idea of moving in with that person with his new job in a new city (not Delhi). I got scared here and ducked that person, even though he was the sweetest. I still feel really bad about how badly I ignored him to get rid of him from my life. I wish I can wash my bad karma from this incident; I really I already have.

Phase 3: OVERCONFIDENCE KILLS:

This I would like to say the time I got a bit matured from the love incident. I started to think who I am and what do I really want for future with such a character. But the start of self observant nature brought the most painful and temperamental side of me. It really confused me; making me run for sex to punish me for my deeds. I was never happy in sex during this phase. I cried a lot, cursing Waheguru, feeling like an atheist. It really made me lose some of the golden opportunities during my stint at BVB. I could have really scaled great heights with the support of the college teachers and my friends but I failed to capitalise it. It was extremely painful.

Phase 4: FIRST TRUE LOVE:

This was after my BVB and a few freelancing work when I fell in love for the first time. I proposed him over phone, saying the most non rehearsed lines that, "you made me love those things in me which I have always hated as you love me completely." Our relationship was really short, not even a month. But it was our every night conversation which made me fell alive like I had never been. But then he cheated, I shouted in anger and pain and agony. It really felt like the end of the world.

Phase 5: NO TIME FOR SELF:

This started just after the heartbreak. I was lucky to get start my theater the very next morning of heart break night. I let go all my anger in theater, got myself completely emersed in this professional life, from weekend theater to daily round the clock 7 days a week, 365 days an year theater. Occasionally I started exploring gay party circuit, trying to find like minded persons to laugh with also. So it was all work, even the parties were extreme work..with lots of drinking and drugs (the lighter ones only) in life.

Phase 6: REALISING BUILDING CAREER:

I loved every minute of theater. It made me confident about myself, introducing me to a Guru for life, friends and team mates who never lied to me. But I had to end it to begin what I really wanted to do for life, as a career. If only wishes were horses and I could have never grown old, I would have never left Asmita. But being brought up as a "responsible child", I had a responsibility to be a man of successful career and life. So I left with the biggest lump of heart in my throat. I had decided on journalism after many lists, both in mind and on paper that had many options which were scratched to a final one. There were options like Acting, Modeling, Porn Star, Traveller and Politician that still remain on the list as I hope to achieve them with dedication and a clarity of mind. But all this took many months of self loathing, a short stint at gym, a not so happy but inspiring time at a call centre and many heated rebel moments at home.

Phase 7: FINDING LIKE MINDED by BEING LIKE MINDED:

It was a probably the most confusing, yet my first true Coming of Age Phase. Some two years after BVB, I first realised my overconfidence in my abilities and a strage relying on luck when I went for TVTMI interview without any preparation. Rahul Kanwal Sir failed me badly. But mom dad suggested ISOMES through an advertisement on News 24. I went there, along with Indian Express, cleared both with average to good self analysis but chose News 24's ISOMES for I wanted visual media. The college started good but it started falling apart, with exams and strange fight on self presentation and sexuality. I realised I wanted to be with like minded and only interacted with gay friends, even without sex. I was almost hating the straight guys. But realisation of my actions through my straight friends and teachers, all oblivious to my gay self, made me this time act on changing it all. For the first time I was being with the world in all its imperfections. I was learing and growing and not scared of failing for I knew I will only learn from even that unwanted failure. I was actually growing up normally. I made friends in college that I still love, because they accepted me in my imperfections. I started my career in journalism and earned a goodwill of hardworker, even if not the most talented. Slow and steady to not just win but even enjoy the race with my past negative self.

Phase 8: LAYING PATH FOR COMING OUT:

After an amazingly lifting phase, this one will without doubt remain the most unexpected phase of my life. Unlike in the previous phase where I wanted to stay only with gay friends and contacts for I was hating how straight people treat and mock us, in here I was hating to be in and around straight world for I was hating myself to not being myself and whom I truly am. Hating for being not being myself. Hating to lie and hide about myself, as if I am ashamed of it. All of it probably made me unconsciously feel,

"I fear being gay."

I am however fighting this fear, meeting friends and relatives by finding all the courage I can. I am struggling and I really need strength to not be a failure, else this suicide note chance of becoming my farewell letter in reality.

I really want, correction - I really need to begin my Phase 9 with all my loved ones around. I want my parents, my bhai, my friends, Papaji, Manji, Naniji, Mamu, Micky Mami, Mona Masi, Lady Maasi and everyone - all in the pink of their health. I dont want to lose anyone. I am scared but I am really praying. Please Babaji.

Dear Mom Dad..

This letter has become quite a long one, but what is this meek length in front of the more than 26 years of my life, which today stands at 9671th Day of my Life. I need to do a lot of things but I need patience more to do everything right and just. Forgive me everything for the past; I really love you.

“Everyone believes the world's greatest lie..." says the mysterious old man.
"What is the world's greatest lie?" the little boy asks.
The old man replies, "It's this: that at a certain point in our lives, we lose control of what's happening to us, and our lives become controlled by fate. That's the world's greatest lie.”

Dear Mom Dad..

You will always be loved. Please forgive me for taking this step. The Phase 9 may be OUT PHASE but for a 10/10 with Phase 10, I know it will be FORVER LIFE.

Please forgive me. I don't want to feel nervous, ashamed, disgusted. This suicide note is my heart to you, which loves you a lot, no matter how rarely I may have said so to you in person. If I able to think even this much, it's because you are my parents. Sorry for letting you down in any and every way possible. I never really breathed for it.

Your son

Bhavdeep Singh Chadha

Protect Me From What I Want?

Frustrated; yet Hopeful!

If someone tells me this, and asks me to try finding an english word from the limited vocabulary I know of, I will use the word 'Bipolar' and this scares me to cries of the soul even as I continue typing every single character of this post.

I have forgotton account of the number of days since I have been coming back from work and end up feeling lonely in my own house, in my own room. For the longest I have been telling myself and few ears that I could that anything and everything wrong with my life is because of my bad Karma; and that God is testing me to extreme, That supreme power won't give me so much of pain if I could not handle it, or if I did not do this bad in my life. But its frustrating; it feels like every self belief being sucked out of my system now.

रब्बा मेरे कभी दर पे तेरे, कभी बुला तेरी चौकठ पे..

देदे और जो दर्द हो बाकी, रुला मुझे रज रज के..

Don't know how much of life is left for the saturation point of my inner cries. I don't want to sound like a whiny kid. Just yesterday only, I had those dreamy though at work that "Is this all really True or a Dream". Definitely not the first time and I hope it never ends because it does brings a smile on my face. I am living my dream and I hate co-relating my dream life with a "But". Its frustrating.

Over the past few days, even as I continue to feel completely shatteered at my helplessness to come out (pun intended) of my dilemma, I have been thinking of ways to share my true self. However questions continue to loom on in my mind, for instance:

Am I being selfish?

Will it be too much for others to accept?

Will I be accepted or will I only make my family really sad?

Will I end up inflicting a lifetime of worry?

How should I come out straight (pun again intended)? 

Should I continue my abstract writing?

Will a video sound dramatic, show off?

Who Am I really?

A recent simple and single thought of making a table of "what I like about myself and what I hate" had made me the most scared till date, I guess; even more than those memoirs I have previously penned or planned to pen. The scare is so deep as of now that I have been hastily trying to even ward off my thoughts feeling that I won't have anything to like about myself; anything that is visible to the world. Transient occupied for the physical part by being shallow?

I am just so tired. I think why me and why I can not be normal but..

Then I think of the two recent thoughts that have been helping me survive a severe breakdown.

First:

"Never act permanent decisions on temporary feelings"

However I am struggling really hard to know what really are my permanent feelings. Are my emotional outbursts temporary, because of loneliness and scared to go out in the world outside my cocoon and stop being scared of getting a bruise and just play like a child becuase its playing is what that every little child wants to, no matter how shabbily dressed or muddled up in dirt. Evening means playing.

Second: 

"Cinderella never asked for a prince. She asked for a night off and dress. Like not once did she says, "I want a prince to come and rescue me from my situation." She just wanted to look cute and turn the fuck up at the party."

The above is not a new thought I came across but don't know why I did not remember it. I mean, it speaks so much volume. Isn't it a most worthy extension of be getting love for being who you are, every ounce of yourself.

Writing every single word above is suddenly making full sense of the title of this blog. I only have to understand to whom is the title addressed to. It is a short film's title that must have given an nth view today, just before beginning this blog post, but somehow I felt I noticed little emotional moments I never did before. Maybe when I do the same with myself, I will know what really are my temporary feelings and what permanent self defining.

I am sure that day I will know what I want. Protect Me From What I Want, no more that day.

The Storage Room

Sitting in that very room that defines my understanding of loneliness in life as much as it describes the birth of the untamed dreamer in me, it's like an emotional ride of being myself. I was probably in eighth or night standard, on the thresh hold of my puberty, both sexual as well as emotional,  and we had moved on the new furnished first floor residence from the second floor where we were initially living for many years. It was then when I started finding my recluse hours here. No one questioned me, I never questioned myself. It was like my dug out from the outside world. I try to think, think real deep, why I first thought of this room as my saving grace but I never get it. It was just that this was available, empty and I just wanted an escape from everyone around me. There have been umpteenth times when I have wished had there been someone to sit with me and talk to me about being the recluse, but it never happened and this past has only been stuffed into a similar figurative room that has piled up to a clustered storage room.

I remember coming in my room of comfort and escape just after having my lunch on returning home from school. It had the old bed (which is now sold), the old study table (which is still here), the old Almira of my mother (which still finds a space here) and me. The empty walls were being used to design crazy simple stuffs I like, from stars and balloons to (in huge scribble) VIVA!. It was 2002, about 12 years ago!!

My school days were routine - come back from school by 2:15 in afternoon, eat lunch, change, move upstairs, stay here, go down in evening for milk, return upstairs, stay here, go back down again for dinner and sleep. This started changing to taking my school bag upstairs and doing home work here and then studying for tests in the room, then bringing that rickety old transistor to the new audio-cassette-CD-radio player to upstairs and dancing like a lost but free soul in the confines of this hollow rectangular room. I even shagged for the first time here; not to mention the mute cries I screamed my heart out. The number of times I dream designed and redesigned this room's architecture is unparalleled.

It's been 12 years since. I may have moved out, but the stuffs still lay piled and even many new memories and unsaid thoughts that never let me go and grew from the sapling sown in this room. And the dreams that once made me live through my loneliness have now started to tie, bog me down so hard that its difficult to watch my favorite television shows, movies and music videos.

I don't remember when I last went through a normal TV viewing time at home, alone or with someone from the family, when while watching it I did not rush back in my mind to my dreams and how perfect they were, compared to the imperfect life being flashed in front of me. A work colleague had remarked in jest to me that how nothing is good for me when I was talking about Finding Fanny movie. Now the film is not perfect, per-say, but how a rank stranger who has little idea about my personal life is able to catch my trait so minutely does makes me cringe.

I do not say I want to be mysterious, someone no one can decipher. That is long over in the past and I have moved on to just wishing being simple, living simple. But I surely does not want to be a cynic. Being simple, now it feels, is easy. I really don't know if it was initially difficult as I am not able to jog those old thoughts right now. But how do I not be a cynic without losing the sight to see how things can really be perfect? I am finding it difficult; even more as I write it down that I seem to have turned towards pseudo perfection, a word I feel I am the first in the world to coin and not a good thing about it.

This pseudo perfection is crippling me even more rampantly ever since I got promoted to the post of a trainee employee in my first job in my dream career of journalism. It makes me sniff smile as much as it amuses me my level of thinking. From no more pocket-money (the stipend I was getting as a paid intern was like a pocket monthly allowance only) to having to withdraw money from my salary in my saving's account in the bank to thinking about savings for the future and maintaining proper documents for the income tax returns, life seems to have turned around so much in just one promotion that it is is unbelievable. Sweet but something even I never thought is possible to feel. Two months over as an employee and the change has yet to settle in for my every week-off has been fucked up in thoughts surrounding it and no one to share it. Thereby all these fears are piling up in that old storage room.

However, a first among many firsts is how I would like this road to my life journey be. I have to stop piling secrets, especially with most being completely unwarranted. Every new moment I will live will be a virgin and it can be be fucked up or made love to - all by my own actions. For past is a journey we travel to live in present all the way to a future that lies in out own actions. How many times I have moved randomly thinking about this day and now a little bump in acceptance is making to regret the dream. This is so not done. The storage room is to be cleared and by my own actions.

 

I'm gonna give all my secrets away...

Khoon Chala...

Few days ago, over a casual desk conversation, a friend in my department at work remarked what his father told him about success and failure. He said that failure is not having to succeed in delivering the required effort." The sentence may be very simple and straight forward but so was my remark. After acknowledging the truth in the sentence, I added that the definition of failure is different for different people. What may be failure for one, just might be a learning experience for the other.

I have always, as far as I can recall, tried, if not fully-confident, stuck with "every so-called failure is an experience to improve and succeed" statement. It have never been easy. To be brutally honest, a part of me dies with every failure. I try to 'rise from the ashes' and get back to a new beginning but it has never been easy. Its heartbreaking and there have been so many painful heartbreaks that I have lost the ability to cry over it now.

I try to begin anew, looking to find omens for that new beginning time period. It is sometimes reminiscent of an old history, or with an aim to achieve a particular number of days a goal or just about anything amusing I can film so that I can "equate" that new beginning as "written in destiny". But despite hundreds of such "omens", every failure (read, FAILURE) is killing for exactly one reason - TIME LOST, HISTORY RECORDED and TOO MANY INSANELY AMBITIOUS GOALS STILL HANGING IN PERPETUAL SUICIDAL UNCERTAINTY.

I do know that I am so not the only one facing this dilemma but then again my ambitions are also just that - MY! So I have no right to compare myself with anyone else; lest I am okay with the current state of life that success fails to entice me. That is so never going to be.

So from this very moment - will I rise to the success?? will I make omens instead of trying to find ones?? will I absolutely stop to sound whinny in my thoughts and I writing??

Its all in my mind. Why must I even get myself to be struck at cross-roads of failure and success when there has absolutely not a single moment in my ambitious life I can remember when I did not know I will get struck at such crossroad if I move ahead with A particular thing!!!

This memoir, this rambling of whining thoughts just has to end here. Sit up, accept the face of truth and start making omens. Stop thinking who I want to be, start believing what I want to do. The destination is just future but its the journey that is present.

कुछ कर गुज़रने को खून चला, खून चला..
आंखों के शीशे मे उतरने को खून चला..

बदन से तपक कर.. ज़मीन से लिपट कर..
गलिओं से रास्तों से उभरकर.. उमड़कर..
नये रंग भरने को खून चला, खून चला..

खुली सी चोट लेकर.. बड़ी सी टीस लेकर..
आहिस्ता.. आहिस्ता..

सवालों की उंगली.. जवाबों की मुठ्ठी..
संग लेकर.. खून चला..

Listening Chinese Whispers

My childhood is full of games, outdoor yet bored games, that I used to play with the neighborhood kids - no matter our age difference. It was not about the gender pressure, nor about any competitive status quo of group type. All of us from a group of adjacent houses; we were all in it together. These childhood memories include hop-scotch (aka stapoo), piththoo, maaram-pitti (aka ball-the-opponent), gilli-danda, chhupan-chhupai (aka hide and seek), nariyal pani, ghar-ghar (aka house), vish-amrit and many more.

One such game, whiich was mostly played when we tired to run, just wanted to sit yet laugh together was Chinese Whisperer, or as we called it growing up - KAANA PHOOSI.

It was one game where we deliberately made up sentences to confuse the other, one that would even more confuse the last-in-line participant. The more the confusion, the crazier we would all laugh and laugh inhibited. However, the main rule of the game was - words once spoken, won't be repeated again, even if its to correct oneself.

Life is like being in a 'chinese whisper moment' when travelling in Delhi Metro. And I travel in it very frequently. So I, or for that matter everyone, especially those traveling by themselves, are always participant to our childhood game every moment in Delhi Metro. Some whispers amuse you, some keep you smiling all along and yet few times it does irritate or even disgust you.

Like just now (as I write this memoir), this guy (probably in his college and definitely straight) standing next to me with his friends just randomly sang a line from a song to himself - a song which for me is my song for my latest crush.

"zindgi de dite tenu saare hakk ve.."

And he has repeated it once, apart from singing few more lines, again during the metro ride. Both these moments will definitely keep me smiling to my heart's content. *bliss* :)

However, these unsolicited chinese whisper in metro unknowingly also helps one grow and mature.

As an individual, I have been the most wreck when it comes to my physical being. Not that anyone challenged me on same course, just that I have too many dreams and goals to threaten me. Yet, I am no quitter. I maybe emulating tortoise walk but I am walking good.

This post holds its sapling from this conversation between a girl and a guy I 'overheard' in metro on way to office. Both, dressed sharply in white shirt and black trousers, seemed like first year students of MBA, who just started their post-grad classes and, as my imagination psyched, they seemed on returning back from one of the many MBA colleges in Rohini. Oh and yes, both were very good looking - the girl had this neat and long hair, perfectly tied over her head and then let lose behind and the guy, very attractive body, not cut but definitely healthy and toned, and face and very simple yet sexy hair, wavy up the front, a style I would have loved to have my hands feel. Very MnB, not dark but everything and both the guy and girl together surely looked a picture couple. (Oh, I am being so sane. :p )

Despite their features, which as I stated in the beginning how much appearance mattered to me, it was their conversation that took me to deep thinking. They were talking about making friends in class - for the guy!

For the vane me, I would have blindly thought of the guy to have made good friends easily, but he was talking about not finding 'the' guy classmate with whom he can bond as friend. The girl suggested a guy, whom she had interacted few times and he replied back with a dishearten sigh as if he was questioning his own 'friendship' capabilities.

Being a chinese whisperer aide to the two's conversation really held my mind. As to how much of my run for vanity justified and whether my social need for friendship really needs matching the high standard of physical looks.

In school, the looks part never did matter. In fact in college, where I liked shopping for clothes and bags and footwear, I did it all because I my heart liked it. If I have to strongly analyse my first run towards vanity, it was when I joined PG course in Media, because it was all about camera, and looks and achieving that perfect frame. In a sense, I was of the same (visualised) age as the two I was over hearing. Hmm..

But as I think about it now, it was the very same time, i.e. joining Media industry, when I became all-on-my-own. No family support, except financially which again I only took to the extent as I was dependent. I sacrificed every shopping need, every flamboyance and maybe my fun personality.

Was I right in going the path I went. I did struggle a lot, mostly emotionally and psychologically and everything I really never wanted and would have hoped for a edit in past.

Yet I can never let go that it is my this struggle that has shaped what I am right now. I don't really like all things from my past but I must never regret it. Friendship is very important, in every relationship, and I am sure my being a chinese whisperer aide ain't that bad, even if it was the twos look that caught my attention.

I did grew mature from my habit to being a non-welcome participant in kaana-phoosi, a childhood game which become even more dearer now. Who would have though my sneaky nasty habit would mature me someday. :p O:)