The Closet

I sat down today in front of a cupboard that looked very different from what it looked about a month ago. It wasn’t a new cupboard, just the things inside-they were different. It was however a cupboard that I opened every day and yet it seemed to be so new, familiar but changed.

This cupboard stood in the same place, had the same exterior but the inside had changed over the last month. Winter had finally slid in silently through the crevices around, the weather had changed. The change in season had led to a complete over hauling of what I call my private space, an external change that had transformed the interior reality of something that didn’t look altered on the outside at all.

This cupboard which housed the summer wardrobe so comfortably, with the pastel hues of scarves and white linen shirts was now bereft of all the pretty colors of the spring. It stood there ready with the all pervasive dark shades of blues, grays and blacks ready to battle the gusts of the wind and yet I knew that the summer would displace them all soon again.

It really is like one living in the midst of change, just that it is more amicable to embracing change with doors open unlike most people. It doesn’t fuss over letting go or letting the new in and yet it doesn’t look too proud in Spring nor too glum in Autumn. It just stands there ready for the next season, circumstance or transition.

It made me think of the people I meet and how they have changed over the years, just like the cupboard. Some people who I adored for their sense of humour or zest for life had somewhere along the years given in to the bitterness and the harsh winter that life had shown them, whereas some really serious people had evolved into the happy charmers whose laughter beats many a background score.

However, there is a difference you see - to adapt, the cupboard changed with the weather but never really changed, the people changed with the weather however they really did change.
Season’s Greetings – let the bonfires always ignite the very best in us!
Sanchita Johri

Erosion

He often thought about his gang of friends, the awesome foursome he couldn't imagine his life without. They were inseparable or at least till about 10 years ago.

He never could forgive Harry for marrying his ex-girlfriend, even though he was dating someone else by then. It just wasn't the thing to do to a friend. That was the end of it, no meeting at their hangout to plan the bachelor party, no phone calls, no bike rides...it was well another kind of break up!

Sahil and the others tried convincing him several times and even though his heart didn't ache - he knew that something had been hurt. That something at that age was his best friend and was above all else - including his gang.

So while his friends had the time of their life, he sat sulking in a corner of his rented PG in North Campus staring at the cigarette butts that had run out on him as well.

He had decided that those guys were just not good people, they didn't understand him nor care for him. They just weren't worth his time anymore.

He of course didn't fit into their plans post that as his new Bhabhi wasn't to happy to see him either and life of course moved on to new first jobs, cities, friends and priorities.

Ten years later he still sat staring at the cigarette butts which lay sprawling in his cut glass ashtray in his corner office, thinking through the smoke of the one in his hand about times that could have been...

He wondered where those guys were and if Nikhil had been able to fulfill his wish of marrying a Madhuri look alike, his mouth still twitched into a smirk at the thought of Rahul living his dream life which was to be well settled with wife and two children latest by the age of 26! Sahil was considered the sorted one, the one who had all his plans in place from post grad to perfect retirement at the age of 35.

Over the span of his averagely long career, he had met so many people he liked, got along with, etc, etc.. however no matter who they were, they weren't ever going to be his band of boys. There is a back slapping familiarity and a comfort which is a by product of empty wallets and tabula rasa hearts!

There was a college reunion today and he obviously was too busy to attend it and really who was going to turn up from his batch anyway. So he sat in his office lost in the silence of the past when his secretary intruded into the silence with a message. He had some clients waiting and she wanted to know if she could send them in. When suddenly for the first time in a long time someone walked right into his cabin without knocking followed by two -three others...it was them, he knew. There was an awkward silence and then so much noise that it really was hard to tell if they were talking, crying or laughing.

People are never black or white, it is usually the weather that casts a shadow and those who value people over opinions always have faith that the sun will shine again.
Storms should never be stronger than human bonds :) when the sun shines and when it sets...

Sanchita Johri

The Blind Spot

He took the same route to office everyday even though it was the longer one. He didn't quite think about why - but there was something that made him not change or try the other one.

He saw the same scene of a man beating or pushing a beggar boy and though it bothered him he never gave it much thought . I mean why would he it wasn't any of his business.

He would reach office and head for his morning chai break and observe the little boy at the dhaba growing thinner by the day and the scolding from the owner only getting louder. He would occasionally hand the boy a packet of biscuits on the sly.

He'd drive home and wait for the guard to open the gate while the guard would kick a sleeping dog or pelt him with stones till the dogs whimpering could be heard in the neighbourhood. After all the guy was only doing his job and it wasn't like it was his pet dog!

The woman who was the help at home would share her troubles with his wife while doing her chores and while what he heard troubled him it really wasn't any of his business.

He'd usually unwind in the evenings chatting with his children and that was the most important part of his day. Today however there was something different about their conversation. His 6 year old son was more quiet than usual and his 8 year old daughter had a sad distant look. He didn't know what to make of it till his wife barged into the room carrying his sons white school shirt. The shirt had blood stains on one shoulder and the children had hidden it in the huge pile of laundry.

After a long chat his daughter now in tears told him of how one of the school staff would beat her brother everyday on some pretext or the other and the children were scared to tell their parents. She even told him about one of their neighbours who worked in the same school and was aware of this brutal beating but did nothing to stop it. His wife by this point was fuming and immediately decided to call the neighbour to confront him.

The expected answer from the other end was a simple one liner - He 's not my son, it really isn't any of my business!

Beyond Dimensions...

This is the story of a room, actually a one room set...

Meet Aryan, he is a twenty something painter who just moved into this little one room set. There's a translucent white curtain fluttering in the window, some oil paint tubes thrown around the old newspaper and a whiff of fresh paint that fills the air.

He's been at this painting for a while now, he keeps staring at the canvas as if there's something not quite right.It's the eyes, he just can't seem to get the expression right.

He'd first seen her at the flea market and it was like the moment had frozen in time. There was something about her eyes,he knew he had been enslaved. He knew he wanted to keep that expression alive even if it meant only on canvas.

He'd seen how her husband had dragged her by her hand and how she looked everywhere for help, but he knew that he was more helpless than her.There was so much colour around him yet he could see only the black of faint shadows.

Here he was, in control of the brush trying to capture what he had failed to at that time and once again he felt he was failing. His tears still stain the walls of the one room set.

The curtain is still fluttering in the window, there are lots of bouquets on the table next to it.
A newly married couple has just moved into this one room set.

She hasn't stopped glowing from the sweet nothings he whispers into her ears and he has a spring in his step. His friends from work are coming over for dinner and the whiff of roast she's making adds so much more warmth to their already cozy home. She's even put a bright wall paper on one of the walls and decorated the dining table with her mum's hand knit table cloth.

It's been a few years since they moved in here and are soon expecting an addition to the family, the one room set is too small.

Someone has changed the curtain, there are some modern venetian blinds there now. She's a single girl who is new in town and is all set for success. She's got all the new age straight lined furniture and the attitude to go with it. The evenings are usually filled with aromas of scented candles, the best wines and ofcourse the sound of meaningless gossip. She is soon off on her way to the big city, the neon lights have caught her fancy.

There's a gang of teenagers who've rented the place. They have all sorts of gadgets and gizmos. They say they want to be the next Zuckerburg. They work all night sleep all day and seem to treat the one room set as some sort of quarantined planet. The window has no curtain and is never opened.

These were just a few of the stories that have carried themselves in and out of the one room set. The one room set however has defined dimensions and yet has moulded itself to allow these stories to unfold.

It is after all one big room - who or what enters it can change even concrete with fixed dimensions :)

It never really is the story of only a room ;)

Sanchita Johri

Bowled Over

So the World Cup is over and you are all set for the IPL to begin. Ummm what? Did I say the World Cup was over? Oh! I meant the match is over, the cup is ours and the hangover of the win…well that’s here to stay :)

The country is proud, the players happy and the sponsors gloating, this WC will always be special for reasons which go far beyond the victory.

I never thought I’d ever love the game, I mean love watching it. If you’ve spent even a bit of your childhood in this country like I have, you have definitely played the game in some colony park or street ;) I could however never have imagined that I would actually take a day off to watch the match live at Mohali, cheer till my throat hurt, get upset everytime Nehra dropped a catch and even sadder when they dropped Nehra due to his fracture in the finals (Need I mention replace him with Sreesanth?).

The fact that everyone prayed Sachin would make his century but wished harder that the team would win ( Usually both happening isn’t seen very often),the sigh of disbelief in the stadium when Yuvi got out for 0 in the semis and screams of joy evertime he took a wicket when bowling, are sounds that reverberate far beyond the walls of that stadium.

Most lunch breaks at office leading to the semis were like a Math class where everyone was trying to hone their permutation and combination skills and some had even started sporting the role of the soothsayer. Who would win and who would lose for India to play in the semis or who should win and who should lose for India to play against Mr. Afridi who is upset over the heart ,it’s size and other matters!

Well the Cup is ours, Sachin’s collection is complete, Dhoni’s captaincy acknowledged and the disappointments and achievements all leveled with the sound of the nations applause ( read as dancing on streets, fire crackers, parties (personal and political), bollywood glitz, etc, etc).

Speaking of Bollywood Glitz how can we forget Aamir sporting a moustache and a certain Miss. Pandey being in the limelight for plans of sporting nothing at all ;)

Well I don’t know if we managed to change the game but what I do know is that we managed something bigger…keeping the faith.

Here’s to a nation that has it all to achieve anything, most importantly achieve anything as a team.

Sanchita Johri

No Agenda

He had taken a day off from work. He wasn't ill, neither was anyone at home, there wasn't a wedding to attend nor any distant relative waiting to be picked up from the station.

The day was his, he wanted it that way. It was going to be like a Sunday not the grown up Sunday but one like when he used to be ten. This wasn't a day to take care of bills,pending chores,investments or even thinking about the next steps. It was a day with no agenda, the Sunday for a ten year old.

He slept late, had brunch instead of breakfast, lazed a little longer in the sun and then went out for a stroll...not to a particular place, just close by noticing things with a curiosity he had renounced as a luxury for the young.

It was almost as if this was the first time he was seeing his neighbourhood. The houses, the name plates, the gulmohar trees, the little chocolate boutique and the playground. It was almost like walking around aimlessly in the colony park swinging his cricket bat as a ten year old noticing every little thing that caught his eye while he used to wait for his gang of friends to come out and play. The playmates and the games had all changed over time, the thing however that was lost was the zeal or maybe it just wasn't unadulterated like it used to be.

He stopped at the coffee place to treat himself to the taste of the aromas that had captured him as a passer by. Even the coffee tasted different or maybe because he wasn't gulping it down between reading files and conversations over the phone.
It was almost evening and he would usually at this time entertain himself looking at the cars as part of a traffic jam but today he stared at the sky changing colour..the myriad of hues was just stunning. He reached home in time for dinner. His family sat there talking, his wife looked up at him with a knowing smile and he returned it. She had made his favourite roast with mashed potatoes and garlic bread. He ate every bite with all the time to taste the love and the flavours and then spent the rest of the night chatting with his family about nothing at all.

The next day he was back at work ready to make up for the day of lost work productivity and being the responsible provider with the fervour of a ten year old ready to swing the cricket bat into action!

When was the last time you did nothing at all?

Sanchita Johri

The Mind Curator

Every spark that caused a flame, every flame that caused a fire, every fire that created havoc - there is one thing that diffrentiated them all - the intensity.

They say that energy can neither be created nor destroyed yet it can be conserved and spread.Try holding a thought in your head - a memory of something that makes you angry and hold it for as long as you can...the energy of that thought will engulf you, however had you not thought about it at all, the energy may not have been generated or would it?

You can now unclench your fists by the way.

The power of thoughts truly amazes me.The fact that I can be sitting comfortably in a sofa sipping a hot cup of tea staring outside a window and at any moment transport myself to any possible place by the sheer power of thinking about it. I mean I could physically be sitting anywhere and yet run through a field of blooming mustard, feel the wind on my face, hear the birds sing, the waters whisper, the trees sway and sing the Animal song by Savage Garden. I don't even need to close my eyes leave alone see my smile in the mirror.

Then again I could think of a dark gloomy sky with empty grey roads and trees bereft of leaves. The mere thought saps the joy from my soul and what's amusing is the fact that I would still be sitting in the same sofa sipping the same cup of tea.

Think of your favourite childhood haunt, it may not even be there anymore...however you can visit anytime you like...you just did! The worlds we weave around ourselves are always going to be superior to any HD experience any television can offer. These are worlds which have infinite dimensions, colours, interpretations and never have a beginning or an end. It is truly art in the most abstract form and the galleries of the mind so much the richer for it. If you've seen the movie Inception...you know :) if not, then you must ;)

These galleries seldom run out of canvas, the colours never fade and the doors never shut. There is one thing however that all artists should bear in mind and that is that every abstract painting may be your creation however the minute you are done with it there is a thief called reality who will choose some and make them his own. The only way to protect yourself is always choose the brightest colours, the happiest ,the most positive ones...so that even if they leave your gallery...the pride of creation is yours to revel in :)

Let the power of positive thinking be no secret no more :)

Sanchita Johri