Epiphany

While brushing my teeth today morning, the meaning of 50 Shades of Grey suddenly hit me smack in the face. I suppose what E. L. James was trying to say is that in life there is no black and white, there are just so many shades of gray. I am assuming it refers to the shaded (shady?) preferences of the characters. And I thought, wow, that's deep. I just wish the term was associated with something less pornographic in nature, so it could have been used in daily parlance without eliciting raised eyebrows and giggles from the audience.
And then it was time to rinse my mouth and wash.

Until next time,

Naina

A Working Title

There are days you look forward to, and then there are days. Lately, there had been more of the latter. Every day was the same. Shalini would wake up, get dressed, and go to work. There, she would sit all day, staring out the window, waiting for something to happen. If it were a good day, the girl from the next cubicle would stop by for a chat. If not, well, there was always something happening outside the window. Once in a while, her boss would summon her, and hand her some mundane task to keep her occupied. At times, it involved doing an inventory check, which was dull and took up all day in a dark basement, at other times, it involved interacting with some of the other juniors in the team, which took up just a few hours. The past few weeks, she hasn't been handed any work at all. She sighed. The street was deserted outside today. She wondered if the boss had forgotten she was still there. And then she wondered if there was anyone who remembered she was there. At that thought, she slumped into her chair. Was it supposed to be like this? In her quest to earn a living, was she supposed to forget living? She looked around her, and realized there wasn't a single person in the room that she cared about. Nobody whose presence had made an ounce of difference in her life. Nobody who she looked forward to seeing every day. Did she really want to spend all her life among strangers, pretending to be alive?
It occurred to her how truly unhappy she really was. It was close to evening, and she hasn't spoken all day. There had been no one to speak with. Oh, wait, she had spoken with her mother on the phone. The thought comforted her a bit. She wished she could crawl into her mother's lap and weep right now. She took a deep breath and calmed herself down. She checked the time, gathered her things and walked up to the boss. He was leaning over a paper list, marking things off with his pen.
"Arjun?"
He looked up at her with a look of mild surprise.
"Umm..can I take the rest of the day off? I don't feel too good."
A look of relief passed across his face. "Sure, if you're not feeling too good by tomorrow, don't worry about coming in. Things are anyway quite slow here. I am sure one of the others can fill in for you."
For some reason, the last words made her feel worse than what she had been feeling earlier. There was probably nothing worse in life than being made to realize how completely and wholly replaceable you are in other people's lives. She quietly nodded her head as Arjun went back to his list and walked out of there.
The moment she stepped out, a gust of hot wind hit her in the face. It was sweltering outside. No wonder the streets were empty. She took another deep breath, and started walking away from the building. One step at a time. After she had covered sufficient distance, a kind of dread came over her. What next? Go home and do what? There wasn't much to do. She couldn't bear the thought of lying in bed staring at the ceiling. It was then that the first tears started rolling down her cheeks. She felt miserable. She wished she could run away from it all, and start fresh. Maybe, take the path less traveled. She wished she had taken the time to think about her next step before jumping into this job, so melancholy, and so far from everyone. She had reached her car, she got in and closed the door. It was a second hand hatchback, something her father had got for her when she moved out of the house. It was the only saving grace for her in the city. It allowed her the kind of mobility and freedom she needed right then. She drove out of the parking lot, into the blue nowhere. She had no idea where she was headed, she just knew she wasn't going home yet.

END OF PART I

Part II

The Wait

I looked at my watch. It was 4.30. Nikhil had said he would reach at 5. Stupid flight, why did it have to reach early? I couldn't wait to meet him again. It had been eight months since we last saw each other. The distance had taken every ounce of our good will to keep things going smoothly. He was always busy. Sometimes, it would be early  morning by the time he got to sleep. I smiled thinking about the next four days. We had all the time in the world.

I looked around for a place to sit and wait. I spotted a small café right outside the gates of the airport. I heaved my bag onto my shoulder and stepped out into the evening. Though the sun was still high in the sky, a cool breeze was making my skin tingle. I smiled with delight. I bent down and rolled up my jeans to my knees. What were a pair of skinny legs around shirtless men and bikini clad women. I was free to walk around in skimpy clothes here. I was free. I walked into the café and found myself a seat by the window. A little woman came and handed me a menu. I ordered a caramel frappé with two helpings of whipped crème. She smiled and asked if I would like a biscotti with it. I shook my head and smiled back at her. This much sugar would be enough to keep me up all night. While I waited for my coffee to arrive, I texted Nikhil to let him know where to find me. After staring at the screen for ten seconds, I switched the screen off and sat back. A big man was sitting across the room from me, engrossed in a book. I could not see what he was reading from where I sat, but I suddenly wished I had brought something of my own to read. I resigned myself to nothingness, and let my mind wander. I thought about the past few months. Things had been really tensed between Nikhil and me. He would be tired from all the work, and I would be crabby because we hardly got to talk.  When we did get the time, I would be all cool and aloof, because it made me mad that we hardly spoke. Sometimes, I really don't understand how the female mind works. I mean, I know he is busy, I know he isn't doing it deliberately, and I know I shouldn't be mad at him for it. Yet, there I was, being a jerk. It reminded me of the time when we were kids, before we got involved. The time when we were "just friends". It was an unspoken rule, that we would start texting each other the moment we got home from college. And if ever there was a day when he was busy, and was unable to text, or respond...well, I had no right to be mad at him, but I could express myself in other, less flattering ways. I would go all Brit on him, and pretend like I was too cool to care. It amazed me how, even after all these years, I was still capable of getting angry over something so ridiculous.

The lady brought me my coffee, the big man got up and left, I checked my phone.

Nikhil: See you in a bit!

I couldn't help but smile. Hurry! I replied. I couldn't contain my excitement.
I picked up my frappé, licked a part of the whipped crème off. Bliss! If Nikhil were here, he would have grabbed up the glass and licked up all the whipped crème, holding me off of him with one arm. I would have been left with just the coffee and a broken heart. I figured if I was fast enough, I could get to the bottom of the glass before he arrived. I took a few more sips and put my glass down, wishing time would move faster. I looked around listlessly, humming a random tune. The guy behind the counter was leaning back against the wall, his arms crossed across his chest, his left foot vibrating to the tune of boredom. I like that, tune of boredom. I suddenly realised my own left foot was shaking. But mine was shaking to the tune of excitement. Ta da da, ta- ta ta da. Dee daa. Ta dee da. I caught myself in the middle of shaking my head to the made up tune. This won't do. I was, after all, sitting in a public place. I looked down at my watch. Gah! He was late. Again. The idiot. I picked up my coffee again, and finished it all up in one big gulp. I picked up the phone and sent a whiny "Where aaaare youuuuuu" to Nikhil. I had just pressed sent, when I spotted him from my window. Jogging across the parking lot, looking for a small café outside the airport. Tingles. He found it! He looked into the café, saw me standing at the window, and his face lit up to reflect my expression. As he strode into the café, I came around the table, calm and composed, but with a big buffoon like grin on my face. He rushed into me, and caught me in his arms. I nuzzled my face in his chest, taking in all the warmth of his body, feeling his heart thumping against my chin. I felt him loosen his grip on me, grab the coffee glass from behind me, and finish off the last dollop of whipped crème that was left in my glass.
I smiled, I was home.

On Knowing

Oh Fathers up above,
What is it that you know
That I can't still learn?
My morning has just dawned,
And by the time the day is gone,
I will know more than you had ever done.

~Naina Taneja

The Coup de Grace

His eyes followed her around the room. She was flitting around like a butterfly, laughing and giggling all the way. Her hair was beginning to come undone. Her eyes looked tired. Her dress looked shabby. Yet, she laughed without a care in the world, oblivious to his attentions.To his eyes, she was perfect. He was overcome by a mad desire to confront her, to speak with her, to have her smile for him. He felt he could not leave the party till he had made that happen. He wanted to hold her attention, dazzle her and possess her. Yet, how could he? He had no premise to spark a conversation with her, she was unknown to him. He was just another person at a big party. He shook his head and ordered another glass of wine.
While sipping on his wine, he saw the man at the next table staring at her, smiling to himself. He felt a sudden surge of anger towards this stranger. His only wish at that moment was to tear the man's face away from her, and punch his teeth out. The stranger caught him staring, they smiled at each other and looked away. He was puzzled by this sudden rush of emotions. He knew nothing about the girl, he had never spoken with her, had never even laid eyes on her before. How could he, a grown man, fall so hard? Maybe he was drunk. Something at the back of his head told him he wasn't.
She had decided to put her unfinished glass away and try her luck with some food. She was not getting anywhere with that either. She had begun talking animatedly with a nerdy looking toad. The toad leaned in closer, trying to hear what she said. The butterfly and the toad, he thought bitterly. She suddenly looked up at him and caught his eye. With a gesture of her head that was almost non existent, she blushed a deep red and smiled at him. His heart went wild, his stomach churned. He didn't know if he could keep standing any longer. He managed to smile back at her weakly. She was still red when she looked away to focus her attentions back on the toad. She was no longer herself, she was painfully aware of him. He smiled to himself. He had all he needed now. He walked up to her, looked her in the eye, and asked the toad if he would mind excusing her for a while. She looked amused and scared, all at the same time. For some reason, that pleased him. He had her undivided attention now. He wasn't letting it go.
He held out his hand to her, she took it.
"Amer."
"Anya."
Awkward smiles. They were both acutely aware of the other, neither had spoken another word. To him it felt like he had known her all his life, she was not a stranger, but a lover, a friend, a companion. She was everything. None of it made any sense, so he stopped trying to see sense. All he wanted to do now was to hold her close, hear her talk and watch her laugh. But she looked like a squirrel, alert, ready to run at the first sign of trouble. He would not give her the chance. So he waited. She took a deep breath, then beckoned to him with the nod of her head towards the door. He followed her through it. It opened out into a small courtyard, dimly lit up by lanterns. She looked ravishing in the light. His heart was pounding. At that moment, he felt complete. Nothing but her presence could bring relief to his aching self. Everything in the world was just as it should be. He touched her arm and pulled her close. He could smell her breath, feel her hair brush against his face. Her skin was soft. If only he could have her by his side forever..
Suddenly, there was darkness all around. He could see the stars. She withdrew from the embrace. She looked up at him, and smiled, ever so sweetly. She was no longer blushing. He looked on her face in mild surprise. There was no longer any pain. He looked down at his chest, where her head had been, there was now a dark stain, growing in size. It came from within, the stain. He knew he should be angry, he should at least feel cheated, but he only felt love. She had released him from his misery, he was free. As he caught sight of the silver in her hand, he smiled and thought, at least she is still here with me.

***

A little about the origin of this piece: The title of the post came to me first, the story followed. I am not sure if I have been able to convey the darkness the way I meant to, but I do hope it leaves you a little unsettled. As per Soumyashree's reactions (she gave all the right ones), my words came through. Please leave some comments behind so I may know what is good, and what isn't. I have no idea how this piece is. I just fell in love with the title when I started off. If I remember correctly, I first read about a coup de grace back in school, there was this rather nice and saddening story about two boys caught in a war. One delivered mercy to the other, only to discover *major spoiler*. 

And FYI, if anybody is, in fact, following the blog, I am caught up between work and study at this stage, expect delays in posts!

Looking forward to some feedback, however bad (or good), here is me, wishing you a Good Night.

Naina

To Nim

And off we set at 5 in the am, for our holiday in the hills minus my sister. Her place has been taken up by an ice box full of some cumin flavored coke. ( not cocaine, before you run ahead of yourselves). I keep looking at it, waiting for it to grumpily push my leg and tell me to stick to my side of the car. But it doesn't seem to have the correct amount of enthusiasm. I expect its grumpier than she is when dragged out of bed early in the morning. It's too cool to care. (That was a joke right there in case you missed it).
Not much has changed since our first trip out to the hills that I can remember. The Carpenters are still playing from the car speakers, I am still sitting behind mum, and I know, by the time I am done with this post, I shall be sprawled across the back seat, fast asleep. The only difference being, Nim won't be here to fight with for the appropriate amount of leg space, nobody is going to laugh when I fall down inside the car, and nobody will be taking pictures of my mouth drooling and wide open while I sleep. The last bit made me realize how lucky I am that she doesn't frequent social sites. I think I would have had a very scarred childhood had she been on Facebook.
Time for a nap. For once, I shall be sleeping peacefully, without the mortal fear of being clicked at my worst. Bye Nim, we all hope you'd be home soon.

Kafka on the Shore: My Thoughts

Found this in my drafts. Missed publishing it for some reason.

I had written this review long back for a book discussion. Putting it up here now.

***

August 14, 2013

This is the only Haruki Murakami book that I have read so far. I don’t think I shall be picking up any of his other works any time soon. He uses a lot of “magic” in his books. Stuff that just doesn’t happen in real life. And he tells his tale in a manner where everything odd about life is acceptable. I wouldn’t call his work fantasy, but it’s not quite non-fantastical either.

The book begins with the story of a 15 year old runaway. And it ends with nothing solid. It’s not like an open ending, it’s just nothingness. You won’t find people arguing whether his spinning top fell in the end or not. If everything you just read happened in the boy’s head or if it happened at all. You just have to accept what has been told to you.

He just blends everything into one piece, like the random ramblings of an old man.

The first few chapters took me by surprise, I kept wondering how to see the book, is all the magic “Real” and acceptable? Or is it supposed to be odd even in the book. After a point in the book, you just stop wondering and accept it for what it is. When I was discussing the weirdness of the book with my sister, the only response I got was, “It’s Japanese literature, what else can you expect”. Like that explains everything.

I still don’t have any opinion on how I feel about the book, but I would definitely recommend reading it, if not for the story, for its completely different style of writing.

***

June 3, 2014

I read Metamorphosis some time back, my first Kafka ever! It suddenly made sense, the naming of the protagonist in Kafka on the Shore. I am now ready to pick up another Haruki Murakami book, and maybe, once I have decided I have read everything I could possibly want to, go back and re-read Kafka on the Shore. All the strangeness in the book.. maybe Gabo had more influence on the world than I had previously imagined.