from these thousand of "me's"

What do we do when we are forced to read, not text books but novels… of a language that you can speak, but can’t read or write properly. I read! Apparently, this month is the “paap khandan” month, so I’m in the sin cleaning spree. Listening to all ‘good’ advice and ‘good’ suggestions, and of course finished reading one from that pile.

The book is all about Delhi and my saving grace too J I loved it! Took me back to Delhi days… memories! “Dad, why not St. Mary’s in Shilliong? It’s a good college, I would still be away from home na?” I asked. Mom was just against the idea of having me a drive away from home. In between, we already made two trips to Delhi and didn’t take admission. Finally when I took admission in DU, came back to Guwahati with a hope, they might consider my case and let me be home. The absolutely dumb kid had to go out to learn the tricks of this world. My last words of plea were full of tears, “Dad, anywhere in Guwahati plz plz.” The negotiation was going almost in my favour before my mom brought in the “condition.” “If you want to be here, you are NOT going to St. Mary’s? You are going to X College.” (I won’t name the college, but the college was for Janitors). I was still fine by that. Relatives and neighbours said, she made her parents older and poorer in fifteen days. I know.

I left and successfully studied to become a smart kid! Thanks Maa. I owe it all to Delhi. The 'good’ advice and ‘good’ suggestions were always ‘good’. Later, in Bangalore when I tried defying them, I suffered.

I became self-dependant too, applied my first lesson of self-dependency on my first date. As my feminism was at peak those days; I took my oldest crush to Nizamuddin and footed the bill from my first earning from BCL. We re-composed a folk-song “Humko lootan ko ayehe… Nizamuddin water contains 70% ‘bravery’. Then I started going to St. Stephen’s regularly and sat quietly in discussions and seminars.

Last year in Bangalore, when I wasn’t I was, I became racist of worst degree. This year, when I needed to become who I was, my St. Stephen’s days from Delhi came handy.

My love for dargah of Khwaja Nizamuddin Auliya remained, even today, when I break down in search of solace… I know that’s the only place for my peace. Ecstasy!

Inside this new love, die.
Your way begins on the other side.
Become the sky.
Take an axe to the prison wall.
Escape.
Walk out like someone suddenly born into color.
Do it now.
You're covered with a thick cloud.
Slide out the side. Die,
and be quiet. Quiteness is the surest sign
that you've died.
Your old life was a frantic running
from silence.

The speechless full moon
comes out now.

Rumi