The Eternal Swayamvar

Swayamvara (Sanskrit: स्वयं‍वर), in ancient India, was a practice of choosing a husband, from among a list of suitors, by a girl of marriageable age. Swayam in Sanskrit means self and vara means choice or desire (which also synonymous with bride-groom). - Source - Wikipedia.

This however isn't really about marriage at all - however in a way it is. If you're confused, then think about the bride-to-be who has to choose between so many suitors! Now that you've thought about her plight think about the suitors and their situation too. What a high pressure situation to be in!

However let's deal with the pressure together. Let's begin with the suitors. If you were one of them, assuming you did like the girl and wanted her to choose you over the others - what is it that you must do?

Here's something that Will Smith said in one of my favouite movies called Hitch - "One dance, one look, one kiss, that's all we get, Albert. Just *one shot* to make the difference between happily-ever-after, and oh-he's-just-some-guy-I-went-to-some-thing-with-once."

Hitch is a love comedy about dating and relationships however there's some serious gyaan in the movie too. Think about it, better still watch it.

If you haven't seen the movie I'd recommend that you do and here's why - this is the story that actually speaks about reaching out to the heart and mind of the person to win the battle against competition. If you win that war of love, then no matter how many battles your competition wins - they will always come in second.

This is just like the story of the crowded market place, buzzing with choices and here's your brand trying to out-shout them to your target audience saying -Choose Me!

So now the bride in the swayamvar, in this case your target audience will ask you - Why?

Till you have a story to tell, a message, an offer that appeals to her heart and mind, you are going to be just another suitor and in this case just  another commodity.

However if your story/message/promise/benefit strikes the right chord in her heart and mind space - she is already rendered deaf to the pleas of the line behind you.

It is however important to remember that unlike a suitor who wins once, as a brand you will always be in the courtship period. The stages may vary and so may the effort however you have to consistently perform and deliver on the promises made. To my mind consistency and delivering on expectations once built is key to the long-term branding story.

Speaking of stories, it is critical for a story-teller to know his listener. So the story can never be told in vaccuum, it has to take into account the interests, likes and dislikes and other nuances that may help influence the listener. Influence and impact will only be real when the story stays in the corners of either the heart or mind. Get to know her ;-). As David Ogilvy said - "The consumer is not a moron, she is your wife."

Another thing that will help your proposal is if other people in her circle of caring narrate your story to her as well, we usually call them Brand Evangelists.

The ideal would be to change the game - hopefully from the suitor to becoming the sought after :-)


You've got a story? We've got a plan.

May the Best Brand win!

Sanchita Johri

The Glass is Broken!

The Glass is Broken

This is the posthumous story of the famous glass we have known for all our lives. The glass which was either half full or half empty.

While we all had an opinion about it and the debates about the pessimistic and optimistic view may continue for generations to come, the glass alas is no more.

In it's entire lifetime of just trying to be, I wonder if it succumbed to the pressure of always being judged! For a long time it waited for someone who understood it's plight to come along and just either empty it or fill it completely, but no one did, no one ever does!

So it continued being a silent spectator and a frustrated listener to the leagues of extraordinary gentlemen and women and their extraordinary theories about itself.

At first it was perturbed, then pretended not to care, then genuinely learnt not to care and finally it learnt to amuse itself with all that was being said with a Zen like beauty.

It existed, lived through it all and finally unaffected by the myriad of opinions - existed in peace.

The opinions- they still continue ;)

Sanchita Johri

Keep the Change!

I found a note in my pocket today and was thrilled as I had not worn this pair of jeans in a long time. The only thing was that this was a five rupee note, one that had become rare in everyday circulation like a lot of other currency over the years.

It set me thinking about how something that is part of our everyday life can be rendered archaic or just evolves into an avatar which is better suited to the times. The new ten rupee coin being an example, I even know children whose piggy banks are full for the first time in their childhood owing to its sheer beauty.

While the reverence for the old note remains, the sheen of the new coin has it’s charm and even plastic money will soon have to bequeath it’s legacy to the all new mobile money – Times are changing, so are habits, people, rules, regulations and everything that is today needs to be better and brighter tomorrow.

We live in a dynamic world, so no matter what you’ve done and where you’ve been, irrespective of having lost or achieved yesterday –the one thing to remember today in Scarlet O’Hara’s words from Gone with the Wind is - After all…tomorrow is another day!

Sanchita Johri

Not just a Pick up Line!

I know you from before - How many times have you met someone for the first time and felt that instant connection? I don't mean in a - I've got a crush on you - cheesy kind of way,but a genuine connection of the soul.

Vibes from a person or place can tell you a lot, that is if you take the time to feel them. There are some instances however where within the first few seconds you take a liking or dislike to someone rather inexplicably- they say your soul knows.I even read somewhere that the concept of speed dating actually capitalizes on this concept, in fact this is also mentioned in the book Blink by Malcolm Gladwell.

The point however is that while we may want a logical explanation for everything sometimes the illogical one is more interesting.

If you've read Many Lives, Many Masters by Dr. Brian Weiss you will relate much better to what I am saying.

The natural state of the soul is harmony they say and I have come to believe that it is true. I feel that loving comes much more naturally to human beings than hatred. I feel that hatred takes effort and so does dislike.

As a trainer with IBM, I dealt with several people and spoke about the concept of contamination related with transactional analysis and somewhere down the line realised that being judgemental stems from an insecurity of being in control. What I mean is that as children we didn't really think about casting aspersions on other people or even the way they lived their life, however as we grow older our instinct gets clouded by the list of do's and don'ts.

I realised I was convincing people more about acceptance of other people and cultures as everyone seemed to have an opinion about the life of everyone else! We were battling stereo types, preconceived notions and acquired beliefs and hoping a non-judgemental mind would triumph with acceptance. Acceptance which came naturally to all of us in the beginning of our lives.

Somewhere along the way we get so caught up that we end up losing the plot!They say the soul carries ancient wisdom however very few of us ever scratch even the surface of the reservoir.

We have been so much more than we know, that we have been to so many more places than we remember visiting and yet we feel limited by physical manifestations - of our own body and also the globe.

The soul is like a genie in a bottle, make sure you don't love the bottle more than the genie, else the plot of the story may change completely!

Sanchita Johri

By the Shore

This year I went back to Goa for Christmas unlike last year when I was there for New Years and a friend's wedding.

I sat by the seaside listening to the sounds of the elements with the seasoning of human voices and I thought about nothing at all as I stared into oblivion.

Actually I don't know if nothing at all qualifies as a figure of speech for explaining what I thought about.The mind is like the ocean you see, even when it is calm on the surface a deep sea diver will tell you a different story about it's depths. There are high tides and low and sometimes even whirlwinds and storms that differ in intensity and just like the visitors on the shore see a different avatar according to the time of their visit, so is the case with the mind.

It like the ocean is a passive witness to several stories unfold around it and an active participant in many itself. It stands the test of time and carries the load of ships and boats alike. It emerges victorious against some tempests and sometimes it drowns in it's own sorrow and then soars strong and happy like a falcon the next day to unfold legends as it expands it's wings to soar high like a wave waiting to touch the skies.

The ocean is deep and yet not equally everywhere, it is vast and yet you can capture a part of it in your palm and yet it will wash your feet with it's gentle wave like a giant who seems either oblivious of it's strength or too humble to be affected by it.

As I sat lost in thought, a boy with a pamphlet came over and anchored the sailing thoughts. He had come to check if I would want to explore some parasailing.He was carrying a little life jacket and assured me it was safe, so there I was heading right into the middle of the ocean on a motorboat to try something I had never done before.

The mind was nervous and the heart was in sync, I was venturing away from known territory to the flight of the unknown.It was going to be fun I told myself, so while I had to jump from one boat to another, trust my life on a parachute of sorts, I just knew it was going to be worth the experience and believe me it was.

The ocean seemed different from up there, till now I had always seen it from close from the shore, but from up above it looked like an electric blue blanket swaying in the wind. It seemed to speak a different language, a different world, it was however the same big  vast expanse which seemed orange in parts as it reciprocated the colours of the setting sun.It was just a different angle that I was looking at it from and it seemed so different.

Perspective sometimes changes the truth or should I say truth sometimes changes perspective, believe me - even the ocean is open to it :)
Sanchita Johri

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

Vegetables in Vogue

I never could have imagined that I would ever write about this…no not even because I’m a hard core foodie! I mean just think about it, the conversations of the kitchen are now making headlines and rightfully so as the grumbling homemakers concerns are just not hers anymore.

This really isn’t about the cartels formed by some colony cart-walas who seem to cast the prices of the day in stone and follow them like they were sent by the Lord Almighty himself! This isn’t even about the famous Mr. Onion who seems to have hogged all the lime-light posing on magazine covers, making special appearances in conversations of the high and mighty and even re-inventing the reason for why he used to make us cry! So all of you who love your Dal-Makhani with Naan so much more for the Onions in Vinegar which accompany it, please rid yourself of this sheer moh-maaya (worldly attachments).

Ok, ok I’ll come to the point…you see I have always loved Okra aka Bhindi and even refused to eat food without it while growing up. The reason I am so upset is that nobody cares about the dear lady finger anymore. I understand that the Onion prices are hitting the roof and soon a century but the Bhindi isn’t far behind (at least till yesterday in South Delhi =72/Kg). What will happen to all my friends, chefs and countrymen who love it as much as I do?

I even applied the logic of it being a lean vegetable and the Onion a well-rounded one and I understand that “curves are back”, etc but this kind of favoritism just won’t do!

Anyway on a more serious note, I was just thinking about how times have changed and the time when flaunting what you ate for dinner or what’s packed in whose lunch isn’t really far away! Imagine a conversation which goes, “Hey so have you heard that the party at their house last night had 27 dishes and all of them with Onions ;)” or “Did you know that Mrs. XYZ hasn’t bought any Onions for the last two months…Do you think they have a financial crisis?”

Come to think of it branded vegetables and fruits are already in the shelves of neighborhood supermarkets, so how far could ‘Vegetables in Vogue’, conversations be? Don’t believe me? Just answer the question -So which brand of water do you drink - Bisleri or Evian?
Sanchita Johri

A Balcony View

Sometimes it feels good to just stand in the balcony and hear either the silence or the world whizz by. Looking up at the night sky with the crisp nip in the air and the occasional sound from the tampered silencer of someones bullet going past, the master calling the name of his dog out on an after dinner walk and sounds of several footsteps making their way home trying to beat the pace of the dark.There's so much activity yet so much calm, there's a different melody to each night and yet there is a quiet.

The trees cloak themselves in the colours of the night and the lamp posts express themselves with shadows which if you look at long enough sometimes seem more real than the objects from which they stem. They seem to me just like the thoughts, the dreams, the nightmares which seem more real than reality...then I look away...from the thoughts and the shadows. So much transpires in a day and so much more just in our head and heart. There's so much more that we have lived,more than we realise... for there's a real world on the road, another inside our homes but all of us have a world that exists only in balconies even if the balcony isn't real at times... however the thing to remember most importantly is to always look up at the sky :)

Sanchita Johri

An Eyewash?

It's funny that I have changed my opinion about you. The first time I met you I thought I saw you, but I was wrong. I didn't see you at all and though I am taking the liberty of speaking for you...you didn't see me either. No it wasn't that we weren't looking it's just that we didn't see.You know it's just like the difference between hearing the sounds vs really listening. I didn't see you because someone else I knew had met you before .That someone I thought would have done the seeing for me, so I forgot...to see you...at least through my own eyes and you didn't see me either because I had built a wall...the wall of self preservation. If only all these self preservation walls could be painted and sold real estate would be so much cheaper :) Anyway coming back to things we can see and yet don't.

That movie that released last friday...yeah I figured you didn't see it...neither did I but our friends did and we took their word about it being a bore. I haven't yet been to that new restaurant that opened last month however most of the people I know have ...they didn't think much of it so I decided not to go. That review about the book which made you not read it and their opinion about that white jacket you love and now don't wear...yeah I know it's still in the closet. Well I realised that my eyes have been dependent long enough so I decided to let them earn a living. I began by letting go of reviews especially when they are about people I meet for the first time...usually hand me downs aren't the best option you know not when you want to make someone feel really special and when it's something as precious as OUR opinion about someone we know they really shouldn't play a part at all. That is just my opinion what's yours?

Sanchita Johri

Burning Absence

There were these old newspapers on the table almost golden with age and yellow with dust with a lamp by the corner and a diary covered in fading black for company. There were his spectacles on the desk, only the glass was not tinted…with anything.
The paraphernalia had become one with the table on which it lay and yet stood out so distinctly. They say that is what your relationship should be with the world…you must blend and yet retain your identity.
It was the quietest room I had visited in a long time, yet throbbing with sounds all of which can be heard only by the sixth sense. There was a calm, a very disturbing one and the sheer silence almost had a baritone voice. This room hadn’t been opened in years…there was nothing here that belonged to anyone who had any use of it, not a soul entered it except the mice who think that all such rooms have been bequeathed to them.
That day he had walked out in a hurry, he had read something but he wouldn’t say. He had rushed out to help someone he knew, he said he would explain later. The explanation never came and neither did he, this was the night they had set fire to the neighborhood. The newspaper was fresh, the news old and the fire will forever continue to cause more casualties than any newspaper can report in a day.

Sanchita Johri

And I died

And I died, stood yearningly at heaven’s door,
A deep voice spoke through the light through its core.

“Oh! Father let me in I cried aloud,
Let me out of this dark tunnel this shroud.”

The voice again spoke unto me,
“Your work on earth is over you are free.”

“Father free of pain, feeling and woe,
But alas! No place, nowhere to go.”

“Dost thou remember the hut torn down to build your palatial abode?
In that hut I your father lived which you did erode.”

“Dost thou remember the sick kitten dying of hunger and thirst?
But you were too busy for making more money, business came first.”


“Dost thou remember the beggar to whom not a penny did you give,
It was I your father whom you did not help live.”


"Doing no evil does not suffice to open my door
Doing good is the key which you need this hour."


"Oh! Father one more chance is all I ask,
I will live every moment do good in every task."

"It is too late my child to repent too late,
Your journey’s over and now this tunnel your fate."

"You were not evil nor any good did you do,
I give you not hell,but so not heaven too."

I stood an apparition wild and wandering,
When I awoke from this heavenly nightmare,
Realizing how my life I had been squandering.

(I had written this in 2001 and it was published in the HT City 18th May Lko edition in 2002)

Sanchita Johri

True Alibi

He knew he wasn’t going to make it on time; yet again he’d have to think of a great excuse about why he was late. Thinking of a new alibi everyday almost seemed like a KRA now. With the car keys in one hand, a sandwich in the other he just ran towards the car. He didn’t even have time to match his belt with his shoes, forget wearing the cologne!He left the dog at the door with eyes moist with either the morning dew or pangs of yet another day without a hug from the forever on the run master! He had a whirlwind of noises filling the car, some from the radio in the background and some from the scenarios that played in his head. Images from hoardings came screaming in as did the faces of vendors at red lights.

Why was there never enough time?The humdrum of the inside and the outside was disturbed even further by the cell phone ringing, it was mum, and he knew she was calling to check if he’d eaten the most important meal of the day. He just couldn’t take the call, there was no time, and he’d call her back later in the day.The conference had obviously begun; no one was in their cubicle, except of course the new girl who gave him butterflies in the stomach. He always wanted to say hi to her, but managed just about a smile everyday.

Today he didn’t even have time for that, all the noise hadn’t let him come up with a story which sounded less irresponsible than the truth. The truth being as simple as over lazing in the bed with the Winters setting in.Well it finally struck him like the gong in the ticking clock, after all today was his grandparents anniversary and he would say that he’d gone to visit them.( He promised himself that he would do precisely that in the evening after work). They had been calling him for a while now and he just didn’t seem to have the time. So as he adjusted his tie and walked confidently into the conference room, to his surprise he found it empty. As he walked back to his cubicle wondering if he had the conference dates mixed up, he saw his colleagues strolling in after a coffee session chatting louder than usual. Their glowing faces told him before they actually did that the boss had called off the meeting. The boss was going to meet his grandparents for their anniversary!

Sanchita Johri

Clouded Memories

It’s raining outside I don’t know what is more clouded the window or my thoughts, but there is a fog…a mist outside or maybe within. I am comfortable in the warmth of the blanket and the sound of the downpour reassures me of my blessings. Then again I don’t know if I would feel more blessed if I could just go out get drenched in the rain, play in the mud and sleep like it was the longest picnic of my life or am I blessed because I am comfortably sitting wrapped in a blanket shielded from the gushing rain outside.

As a kid all I knew was to roll up my pajamas and sing at the top of my voice in the backyard when it rained with the rain drowning out the noise of all the off key notes and the made up lyrics for a tune I liked and couldn’t sing to save my life but now I couldn’t do it…I don’t know which one got lost in all these years, the kid, the rain or the tune.

I could still remember the half punctured football we kicked around in the colony park marinated in the “keechad” and in those days we didn’t even have a commercial which said , “Daag Ache hain”, to save us from the aftermath at home. There is always this one house in every colony where the hungry gang of friends finds refuge in someone’s grandmother’s garma garam pakore and chai and we did too! It was us, our dirty clothes , our puppy eyes and rumbling stomachs that must’ve been the perfect package, come to think of it anyone would have fed us looking like that!
It is still raining outside but somewhere it had never stopped…

Sanchita Johri

Rise and Shine :)

So I woke up and found myself on a vast expanse of land. There were no clear boundaries, no human faces, no buildings, no trees…nothing at all. Just me, my thoughts and memories of the life/lives I had lived, the roles I had played and the feeling of distance.

Distance they say is relative to time and space, here there was none. Yet I had come far, there were roads I had travelled and yet I couldn’t see any of those neither could I see one ahead. I knew I had to walk but I didn’t know why or where I was headed.

There were familiar faces around me and yet they seemed so far away, they were…a reflection from the abyss of my mind. I didn’t know whether they were still a part of my present or would I not see them again, yet they were there if only in the realms of my mind.

There were no signboards nor any speed breakers, no direction no speed limits just space…There was so much I wanted to do but that was on known territory where I had an identity, on this ground I wasn’t sure it mattered. I wasn’t sure if anything mattered except memories of the conglomerate me from the life/lives I could recall.
There were flashes of incidents… the happiness, the fear, the pain, the joy all fresh yet as stale as if they never happened. I could have done better, handled them more objectively but I was blinded by the signboards, the speed breakers and the warning signs closing in on me on the territory I used to know. There were things to be done, targets to be achieved and there was a timeline to everything…Time…here it didn’t exist.

I could even recall the perfect family dinner, but of course I didn’t attend the whole thing, I had other responsibilities. There were people sitting around a table, there was peace, these were the people I had set out to achieve everything for or was it really for them? Today all they wanted was my time and I didn’t have it, we never do and we never will for every today will become a yesterday and tomorrow you may wake up in a foreign land.

Sanchita Johri