Strangers on the street.

Everybody has their own stories and secrets. We wear our faces like masks, trying to hide all the dirty secrets, the broken dreams and everything that we're ashamed of and don't want to share with the world. 
Sometimes, when you look at people, you wonder what their story is. When I look at the people in these pictures, I feel like sitting down for a long time with them and asking them to share a just a small part of their past with me. That way, their faces wouldn't always be a complete mystery to me. 

These are pictures of people that I took in Ahmedabad, during my internship there. I had a wonderful time in the city, despite the lack of booze and non vegetarian food. For some reason, I thought the people here would be hostile towards me and wouldn't be okay with my taking their photo. But they were absolutely great about it. 

Election Day, 2014. ALL I SEE IS VOLDEMORT.

Today is an immensely important day in India, isn’t it? It’s election result day, a day of great consequence in this country which is so fraught with political tension all over. My entire family – my parents back home, aunt, and my grandparents in Calcutta have all probably been up since 6 am, glued to their television screens, listening to the Arnab Goswami’s of the world rattle on the trends. They’re probably calling each other up every half an hour to discuss the situation. My family can get quite high on politics when they want to. My Dad calls me at 8 am today morning, sounding evidently excited and tells me to go watch television. He tells me that there’s going to be a giant screen in his office today along with tonnes of pizza and lots of enthusiastic, overexcited colleagues. He tells me a while later that everybody on the train is discussing the elections as well. All this enthusiasm, excitement and anticipation that you see on the streets of the country today is really brilliant, isn’t it? It makes you feel like the country is alive and wants change, like it believes in change.  

I’ve been wondering if it’s always like this every time there’s an election or it’s just this particular year that there’s so much thrill and interest in the elections. It’s also a monumental change to see a bunch of people my age actively taking interest in the political scenario of the country, even if it’s a small bunch. It’s probably about time we learn to not be so oblivious and ignorant about everything that’s happening around us. 

I’ve never been very involved in politics in the past, but this year, something about the situation pulled me to it. Today a certain political party has come to power or rather, a certain man has come to power. I can’t seem to be capable of comprehending what people see in this man. I can’t see why the people aren’t frightened of what’s just happened. How can people look at his dead, unfeeling, cold eyes and still trust him to bring change? How can people not see how inhuman he comes across as? How can we not see how ridiculously narrow minded and orthodox he is? They say that he wants growth and development? How can somebody so non progressive in their thought process, somebody so narrow minded and caste-obsessed bring about the progress of the nation? I don’t see it, or maybe I just refuse to and I’m biased. But, I don’t regret having this bias. 

India really is a fascinating country, with all its diversity and culture and languages. But this country scares me.  It scares me because of this very diversity and how everybody is somehow desperate to create divisions within the country because of the diversity. It scares me because we say we’re a democracy but each and every area or field of work is riddled with caste barriers and divisions of all sorts. I’m scared for all of us, for how stupid we’ve been. All I see in this man we’ve elected is VOLDEMORT. That’s all I see.  We probably just elected Voldemort to be our PM, who is expected to bring about change. Although, Voldemort is more likely to turn India into Nazi Germany. That’s change too, isn’t it? YAY for us. This man is also highly capable of declaring this country as a dry country. That itself might create riots of some sort! I’m also scared because this man is so obsessed with economic growth, that he’ll forget all the gazillion other issues that India has – the poverty, the illiteracy, the gender bias, and the environmental issues.  I’m scared and I’m helpless and frustrated.

I saw this Facebook post today that sums up why I probably wrote this article; and why today is a horrible, dark day for all of us who want a happy, free country, not one that’s biased on the basis of religion and caste, sexuality and so many other things.  

“Sorry atheists, freethinkers, beef eaters, LGBT community,

We gotta leave.
India will be Bharat.
Cows will be worshipped (even more).
Cow eaters will be beaten.  
Atheists will be kicked out for "insulting Hindu sentiments." LGBT community will be harassed for "insulting Indian culture."  
Muslims will be sent to Pakistan and Bangladesh.

Because abki baar Modi sarkar.
But hey! Don't be sad. Modi will give us jobs.”

WHAT HAVE WE DONE?

The eyes from the past.

He had this gleam in his eyes. She thought she understood that gleam. She thought his eyes had stories hidden in their depths, stories she would do anything to know. She also saw the fire and the determination in his eyes. She saw the sadness that would come over them like a blanket sometimes. She saw the mischievous glint. She saw the depths of his knowledge sometimes and it made her feel small and irrelevent. She could see it in his eyes when he was deep in thought and absorbed in whatever he was thinking about. She saw the happiness and innocence that came over his eyes when he smiled that occasional child-like smile. Sometimes she saw this calm, calculating look that intimidated and annoyed her to some extent. Every now and then she saw an understanding, loving look that she adored so much. She especially hated it when expressions that she didn't recognize would flash across his eyes and it would leave her feeling flustered and unsettled. She didn’t like not knowing, but at the same time, she liked the element of mystery that came with those black pools he had for eyes. 
They say your eyes are the windows to your soul. Then how can they betray you? Had she gotten it wrong the whole time and misunderstood those countless looks? She grew tired of trying to understand. 
Despite everything, she missed those eyes - the eyes from the past.  

Home, wherever that is.

Home. I’m not sure I know where that is.

Everybody seems to have this one place that comes to their mind when they think of home. Home is a place where they’re comfortable and happy and surrounded by people who love them unconditionally. It’s a place where you can be yourself and nobody would ever judge you for it. It’s a place where the food that your mum or dad has cooked gives you this strange feeling of homeliness and comfort you can’t find elsewhere. The food brings back memories of its own and takes you back to your younger days. 

I’ve had many homes throughout my life – homes in different cities, different houses in the same city. Is home really a place? In each of the places I’ve lived in, I’ve felt at home in some way or the other. I don’t think home is a place. Home is when you’re with people you care about and people who care about you. Home is happiness. Home is where you have happy memories along with the sad ones. But they’re memories nonetheless, aren’t they? Over the last year, I’ve been away from home. It takes you out of your comfort zone and brings out different shades of you. You realise the added responsibility that comes with staying away from home, you realise how much you start missing your mum’s food; you start missing countless things that you never thought you would ever miss. Slowly, I grew to like the new home I had though. I’ve concluded that home isn’t a place; it’s people - it’s family and it’s your friends.  

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Today, as I sat absorbed in the work I was doing on my laptop, a friend I’ve only known two weeks came up to me and asked me to write him something. I assumed he wanted help with something he had to write for his work, so I asked him what he wanted me to write for him. He said that anything would do, that he just wanted me to write something for him. I think that’s the most pleasantly surprised I’ve been in a while. I asked him to be a little more specific because I was still quite confused. He replied saying that I could write about my home, my friends, anything that makes me happy. I don’t think I can express how happy this made me. Nobody, nobody has ever asked me to write something for them. It’s the nicest feeling. I wrote this for him. He’s been away from home for a long, long time and I’m sure he misses home more than anything. He made my morning, he did.

A happier place

I’ve always thought a person feels older when they’re around people who are younger than them. I thought that’s the way it was supposed to work – when you hang around older people, you feel much younger and much less mature than everybody else. Just today, a new friend of mine said that he feels younger when he spends time with young people, and older when he hangs out with his other older relatives. That led to an argument or rather, a discussion of our conflicting ideas. I had never thought about it that way. But, now that I think of it, he’s right, isn’t he? When I spend time with a bunch of people who are older than me, I probably involuntarily change my mannerisms and behaviour to fit the norms of the group. I can’t behave the same way as I do with friends my own age. I can’t make strange noises, funny faces, say crazy things and generally be mad. I can’t have the same conversations. I automatically grow older and behave in a more mature manner without even realizing it, although the whole time I’m internally grappling with the fact that I’m so much younger than the group. When I spend the day reading out stories to my 4 year old sister or watching The Lion King with my 8 year old brother, it’s probably the opposite story. I don’t think it’s hard for me to turn into a kid when I’m with them. In fact, I think that comes quite naturally to me and I genuinely enjoy their company. I love being a kid more than anything else, probably because in a kid’s world, there aren’t any responsibilities and the world is just a happy place with fun people and of course, chocolate. But l always remember how much older than them I am and it makes me wish I was younger and the world only consisted of family, friends, school, summer holidays, badminton, story books and again, chocolate.

This friend also said that when you’re younger, you tend to be so much more creative. He said it’s extremely important to always feel young. The world and it’s horrible, cruel system with this web of manipulative people haven’t yet gotten the best of you when you’re young. You’re still happily oblivious to the outside world. I think you can be the most creative when you’re happy, although I’ve learnt that happiness can mean different things to different people. I may have been happier as an oblivious child, but that doesn’t mean everybody was. I don’t ever want to be caught in the web of adulthood. Adulthood, growing up, becoming mature – it’s all a trap, I’m sure of it. I may be growing up and learning the ways of the world but I don’t think I want to. I want to always keep that oblivious, happy, crazy child in me alive – the child that only sees the good in the world. 

Behind the doors

I love how doors of old houses in Calcutta are so colourful and vibrant. They make you feel like there’s an interesting story quietly hiding behind the ancient locked doors. They're always oozing so much character and spirit, unlike the drab and lifeless brown doors of the flats we see today in other cities. They make you wonder whether there were families with their own tales of happiness and sorrow living behind the walls, once upon a time. They make you want to know what those stories were.