The Nouveau Blog

Woke up third day in a row with a scratchy throat. The viral was still showing resistance. I realised it would be another "quiet" day for me. Now, for a talkative me, not being able to speak is like the worst punishment I can give myself. Soon, started getting bored. Couldn't go to a friend or call anyone since my voice has left my side for now. Couldn't walk since the anti-biotic induced bitter taste in my mouth has prevented me from eating anything substantial in the last three days and has rendered me weak. On top of that, a very good friend of mine had managed to offend me immensely last night. So, when I finally woke up, hungover with medicine, alcohol (in cough syrup) and sadness, I decided it was time to change.

Now, I know change is the essence of life. Nothing is ever constant. Blah blah blah. I looked around me in eager anticipation; wanting to change the first thing I could. Within 70 seconds I was disappointed. Making physical changes to either the room or to me would be too much of a stress. So I had to resort more "virtual" changes. Hence, the nouveau look. Comments on the visual look and feel are welcome.

Another Fictional Story

The following story is written in a non-linear narrative style. It was just an attempt at experimentation. If it's difficult to follow I shall put up a simplified, linear version.

She tried hard to control those tears in public. She succeeded. Those large black eyes brimmed with tears. But she didn't let the world see it.

She was an only child. She was not just an only child of her parents but she was the only child in the entire extended family. And like most such single kids, she had her share of pampering. But she was a strange child. It was impossible to know what she thought. She lived in her own imaginary world.

She could hardly wait to be alone. Even as she stood with her back to the door of the restroom, she dissolved into tears. It came as a flood.

Even while she grew up, she never threw tantrums. When something hurt her she just drew into her shell. She found it difficult to make friends. Instead, she spent hours reading.

She met him purely professionally. She'd met hundreds of people that way. She didn't know it'd be different this time. As in-charge of recruitment, it was her duty to chose people she thought was competent. And she found him competent.

Through primary and secondary school she was revered. Never loved, just revered. She was the one who had answers to everyone's problem. She could make teachers postpone or even cancel tests. She could solve petty fights between friends. She could sort out issues of jealousy. She could be the best shoulder to cry on. She could advice a broken heart. And through it all, she would remain above it. No one ever saw her show extreme emotions of any kind- she never showed anger, was never overjoyed and never cried. She was known and admired by everyone around her. Yet, she never had any friends.

It all started the way it always does; the break at the coffee shop, the innocuous after office drinks, the occasional party at a colleagues, the gossip near the cooler. And somewhere in between the harmless banter and shared frustrations, they became friends.

She'd been dating Shekhar since her Post Graduation days. He was her senior and though she never felt any particular love towards him, she had realised by then that she'd be disappointed in any relationship she undertook. Her problem was that she'd been alone too much. Her problem also was she expected too much out of any relationship. Having failed before, she decided the best thing for her was this compromise.

High school changed her life forever. There she met Purab. Purab touched a chord somewhere within her. He, for the first time, seemed interested in what she wanted. He, for the first time, seemed interested in her, the person. He taught her it was ok to be happy when chosen as the class captain and it was ok to be sad when she received her first fail grades. He taught her it was ok to smile and laugh and even cry. He brought her alive.

Shekhar was an Investment banker. He hadn't asked her to marry him yet. But they both knew it would happen soon. It wouldn't be a romantic, candle-lit affair. It would be a practical decision taken with cold precision.

People around them were confused as to what they thought of each other. Some thought they were romantically involved. Others thought they were just overtly sociable. Most thought they were great friends. She thought so too. From meeting up as part of the entire team to the more intimate friends group and finally to meeting one-on-one for coffee and conversation, they grew close. They could share the small joys and pains of life with each other. They could discuss work. They could discuss films. They could even spend hours discussing things they wouldn't even remember later.

High school was a bed of roses for her with Purab. They were never a couple. They were just best friends till they reached a point where people just assumed that they were a single entity. And with the rest of the world, she started believing the same. She assumed that they'd just be together through life. And then high school ended. She joined college nearby whereas he flew out of the country on a full scholarship. He promised her they'd keep in touch. They did. But the frequency kept dwindling. And then they didn't anymore.

Fate had its own games to play. A new project came up and they were staffed together. This just meant more time together. They spent longer hours in office. Sometimes weekend too. At other times, there'd be chatting on the phone. It would always start as work. But they never noticed when the transition was made and the conversation shifted beyond work and reach life itself.

After her fiasco with Purab, she became weary. But unfortunately her heart had learned to open. So when earlier she was content, now she felt something missing. She slowly drew into her shell again. That was before she met Aryan.

Shekhar finally brought up the topic of marriage. She knew it was inevitable and never particularly felt anything about it. She was just waiting to get it done and over with. Like another of those things on her to-do list. But when he did bring it up, she wasn't so sure any more. For a fleeting instance, his face crossed her mind. She felt a longing she hadn't felt since her college days.

Aryan was in every way an opposite of Purab. He was caustic and sarcastic. He was cynical, narcissistic and rude. But when he though the world wasn't looking, he could be quite caring. And towards this broken girl, he felt a special connection.

The both of them were working late in office that day. They had a deadline that week. After finally deciding to call it a day, they ducked into the all-night coffee shop to grab the missed dinner. Sitting there, maybe through the tiredness of the day or maybe the pensive mood he was in or maybe just because it was that solemn time of the day, he told her he liked this girl. Her name was Chandra and she was a new joinee. She had noticed how Chandra had become popular with the guys around. But this she hadn't expected.

When Shekhar asked her, it was more by way of formality. In fact, they were driving to see a film when he asked her if December would be the right time for the wedding or would she rather have it some other time. As she looked out of the car window at the rain swept roads of the city, she realised what she was doing was wrong. She didn't love him. Thats when she turned around on her seat and told him she doesn't think she wants this and calmly asked him to stop the car. Then she proceeded to alight and take a passing auto home.

Aryan would do small things for her that helped heal her wounds faster than diamonds or love songs could have. When she missed class, he was there to give her notes. When she was bored, he would walk to the tea-stall across the gate from college. When she would fall asleep in the library, he would wake her up before the librarian could spot her. He made sure she remembered when she had a test and made her study for it. He improved her grades. He made her do something she was good at but had given up on, writing. He encouraged her and soon turned out to be her biggest fan. Without realising it, she was soon dependent on Aryan.

She knew she was wrong to expect him to say anything to her since he thought she was engaged to Shekhar. That evening she intended to tell him that she'd left Shekhar. And just then he told her about Chandra. He went on to ask her for help. She couldn't refuse. He was too good a friend.

Shekhar kept calling her. She refused to take the calls. Relentless, he came to visit her but she refused to see him; or to reply to his many messages and mails. She knew Shekhar deserved some answers but she didn't know if she could provide them just yet.

Even as his attraction towards Chandra increased, it was clear to everyone who knew them that Chandra just wasn't interested. Additionally, knowing him so well, it was clear to her that Chandra wasn't even right for him. But when she tried to tell him, he brushed her off. Blinded by love, he was sure of winning Chandra over. She felt helpless. She decided to let fate take its own way.

With increased confidence, she started doing better in her exams. She even started topping the class. That's when Aryan became aloof. She sensed a growing distance and begged him to tell her what was wrong. But Aryan steadfastly refused. At last when she realised, she purposely messed up her exam for Aryan. He topped. But he looked at her answer sheets and found out the truth. And now with his ego more bruised than ever before, he just refused to talk to her again.

They were at an office party that night. He kept making a fool of himself over Chandra. People egged him on but laughed behind his back. It hurt her to see him that way. She went to where he was standing with Chandra and her group of friends and tried to pull him away. He just brushed her away. Insulted, she turned around to walk away. But swallowing her pride she went back to try again. This time he just turned around and asked her to leave him alone. Then he nonchalantly went back to his flirting. Quietly, she turned away.

After Aryan and Purab she had decided that she will never again take a chance. She would not risk her heart but play it safe. That's why she decided on Shekhar. Shekhar was dependable and stable. And he would never want her to love him with all her heart. That is all she needed to keep herself from greater pain.

They were in the office pantry that day. Everyone was ribbing him about his great night and his flirtatious ways. Without realising the malice, he smiled in a self-satisfied way. And then he saw her. Looking at her in the eye, he blamed her for trying to take him away from his love and playing the spoil-sport, especially when he was making such giant leaps. He accused her in front of all present of sabotaging his chances with Chandra. He continued relentless even as she used all her self-control to not cry just then.

Once in the rest room stall, the flood gates opened. She cried hopelessly and uncontrollably. She cried for a long time. And then for quite some time after that, she just sat on the floor quietly. Then she quietly stood up and washed her face of all tear streaks. She patted her hair in place and applied liner to replace the layer just washed away. She smiled a bleak smile at herself in the mirror. It never reached her eyes. Then she took the phone out of her bag. Even as she left the rest room, she placed a call through to Shekhar. December was acceptable to her.

Trepidations of a romantic

I am an incurable romantic. I think thats my biggest botheration. I even have a theory behind this. I think my romanticism stems from watching too many movies and reading too many books. And even there, my choice has always been the romantic-comedies or epic romances. Even the music I like would be love songs and ballads. And into this strange neo-reality I live in, throw in my desire to be a movie maker one day. So as a 'wannabe' movie maker I often imagine my future movies. And I'm not exaggerating when I say that each of those turn out to be a romance. So, all these things together, has made me reach a stage where, even at 23, I do not understand what is a "real" romance.

This incurable romantic in me has led to multiple problems in my life.

Firstly, in the true spirit of innumerable chick-flicks and rom-coms, I can't see a cute guy without losing my heart to him. Of course it doesn't help that I never blip on their radar. I mean, their radar is usually tuned into the hotness quotient of girls (not something I claim to score highly on) or tuned off completely. I mean, seriously, there are these guys who completely burn you with their intensity and make you swoon. And they do it with complete ease, with tremendous nonchalance. (As an aside, all those guys who are dying to make women fall for you, let me tell you women love men who doesn't seem to try at all.) So, getting back to the point, these guys who are cute, who are successful (success brings an allure) and who appear to know it but couldn't seem to care less about it makes my heart skip a beat.

Secondly, the best friend syndrome. I mean, how many times have we (assuming you watch rom-coms) seen the girl hanker after an un-gettable guy when the man of her dreams has always been next to her. I mean, its a staple of these movies for the girl to finally get the man she craves and then realise at the last moment that the guy she really needs is right next to her. So, having seen countless such movies (must be more than 100 at last count), I now preempt this situation by looking around. And just as I start to go weak in the knees over this super hottie, I jump a step forward, look around and decide which is the friend who is actually meant to be my hero.

Thirdly, in real epic-drama style, I love men who are chivalrous but chauvinistic. By the way, please note, I am all for women's empowerment and equality. Its just that my favourite hero of all times is Rhett Butler. And what he brought to the table was chivalry and chauvinism, two sides of the same coin actually (just my opinion, no intention to hurt anyone). So when I find men who do small things for you... well who wouldn't like it!

Talking of Rhett Butler, fourthly, I also love men like him- tall, dark, powerful, strong (I know its totally different from the chocolate boy hero of the first point or the quiet guy of the second point, but then who said I have to like only one kind of men?).

Finally, the incurable romantic in me has led to expectations of roses and candlelit dinners and lovely surprises. Now, any sane person will tell me that it doesn't happen in real life. I mean, the rare candlelit dinner is a possibility. But violin in the background when he looks deep into your eyes? Really? Or a single red rose everyday? REALLY?

So, analysing the situation, I realised that the problem was more deep-rooted than earlier thought. I mean I'd DIE if a guy was to give me a flower everyday or hold the door for me all the time or pull my chair out for me or stand up every time I had to leave the table! Thats like so seventeenth century!

Having gone around in a circle and arrived back at square one (as an aside, that sounds like such an oxymoron!) I started to think exactly what did I want. Who would be my ideal guy? I don't think he needs to be all that good looking or chivalrous. Yes it was important for him to be sensitive and also understand me. Basically be a friend. And have a similar bend of mind so that we could take the important decisions in life together... And just then, somewhere in my mind, a tiny voice (like one of those two tiny fairy and devil things that exist in everyone) whispered, "There you go look for an ideal guy again." I realised that I truly am an incurable romantic and that was to be my biggest botheration.

Not a Girl, Not yet a Woman - A Photo Essay

After a gap of about a year, I finally had my camera fully functional again. I was itching to take pictures. I was in Goa, a paradise for people looking for subjects. Yet I was drawn to a subject, or rather a model, who has remained my favourite over time - my sister. As I looked at her through the lenses, I realised with a start that my baby sister had actually grown up quite a bit. Looking at her, I was reminded of a song which was very famous when I was still an adolescent in school (though I profess I do not like Britney or pop songs much). That is the inspiration behind the title of this photo essay. Here's presenting various emotions and moods of a teen-aged girl over one day.

Presenting my sister.

At her fashionable best. Ready for a day of fun and frolic. Summer is here.

A flower seller catches her eye. She buys herself a garland of bright orange wild flowers.

The flowers are indeed very bright and eye catching. Good accessory.

"Makes me look rather like a Hula dancer doesn't it?"

The rain has stopped finally it seems.

A young touch among building built more than two centuries back.

Lighting a candle.

In deep prayers.

The beach is where she belongs.

The sea stretches out endless behind her.

A candid, quiet moment. Deep thoughts through her mind.

A fun moment at the end of the day.

A random fictional story

I never had vertigo. I had gone trekking, climbed mountains, had even reached the top of the clock tower in college and could look down without feeling any dizziness, just the exhilaration of heights. But as I stood on that height of a mere three-and-a-half feet from the floor and looked down, I felt nauseated. Maybe it was the narrow standing platform, a square of only one feet by one feet. Or maybe it was the drug flowing through my veins. Or maybe it was just an outcome of my general depression. It was then that I closed my eyes for a second, perhaps to steady my nerves.

That momentary closure of eye brought forward a collage of images, memories of the last few days very vividly.

It was the phone call that started it. Yes it was. That phone call. Was it only yesterday? It seems like a whole era had passed by. I don't remember that conversation that well. Just snatches... "incompatibility"... "no time for each other"... "too busy"... "too late"... "best to end while goodness last"... I heard it all with surprising passivity. Maybe I was too numbed to react. Or maybe I was too far gone to care. Or maybe, simply, I already knew this. It hardly came as a surprise. I don't remember what I thought at that point. I don't remember why there was no tears that night, given my emotional disposition. The image that I do vividly remember from last night was the mouldy ceiling, that particular corner with its disgusting bottle green patches, the exact point I stared at for the entire hour the conversation continued. And possibly even for hours after that.

I think he did try to say he was sorry. He said he had no way out. He was claustrophobic. Or something like that. But I don't remember that part well. It was all hazy. I just stared at the ceiling, unaware of anything. And then the world formed around me again. That minute I gained clarity. I knew what I wanted to do.

I rubbed my hand around my neck. It hurt there.

Actually it went much before that phone call. I don't think I can put a time or date to it. It started with the small signs, things that one cannot put their fingers on. The mild irritations, the small fights. They slowly escalated into big fights. We shouted at each other, called each other names, cried, fought. But it happened so gradually that I cannot now make out the difference. The fights died down suddenly, unlike the gradual escalation. What followed could be best described as a lull. A long, stagnant lull before the final storm. Of course I didn't know it then. I took the indifference as actually a welcome sign, a relief.

Now, with the benefit of hindsight, this phone call seems like the most logical step. And this the most likely conclusion.

A tear escaped my shut eyes. I slowly opened my eyes and looked around. My specs were lying on the bed. I told myself that was the reason everything was turning blurry. I lifted the back of my palm to wipe my wet cheeks.

Even through the blurred vision I could see the objects on my table lying in a disarray. The cheeky face in the picture made me smile even through my tears. My sister's face smiled back at me from the silver frame.

I can remember those summer days clearly. I can remember those green fields as we ran after each other. I can remember the jokes we privately share. I can remember the smile that lights up her face even when I come home now. And the tear she sheds in private the day I have to leave. I could suddenly feel the love we felt for each other running through my veins, warming me.

I smiled in spite of the situation.

On the table also lay the sunflower. It was impossible to miss the brightness even through my bad eyesight.

Yesterday morning I had picked it from the bouquet lying around. It still looked fresh. I can remember the good natured ribbing that followed because of the flower.

I suddenly felt protected.

I felt different. Maybe the effect of the drug was wearing off. Maybe I saw the bright side of life. Or maybe I was just not depressed anymore. In spite of the situation, I smiled. Life was all good.

I wanted to get off the uncomfortable foot stool. And I wanted to do it fast. Anyway I had gone far enough.

At that moment I lost my balance.

The unsteady stool tipped over. I had had no time to remove the rope. It tightened around my neck before my feet could reach the ground.