Language

Language. Something that I have always taken for granted. Maybe, because I have always had complete command over the ones spoken around me. Having lived all my life in one place, I took language as a part of me – it was there but invisible, maybe in the background, silent and quiet.

It is only when you are put up at a place where you don’t know the language at all that you realize how big a role it can play. It is then that ‘language’ becomes the ‘visible’ part of your existence, gaining all the importance it deserves, mostly mocking you for taking it for granted all these years, at times being kind throwing a few familiar words in your direction, maybe having the same origin in the languages you have been speaking. It makes you feel primitive because you go back to using gestures with people. It makes you feel alien reminding you that you still don’t belong there. It looks at you in the eye, challenging you in a duel and it knows that it is going to win. It commands you to surrender to it, to accept its superiority.  

It can be irritating initially when you are amidst people speaking a language that you can’t make any sense out of. It is nothing more than a sound to you. Like a constant buzzing around you. They would suddenly start laughing only to make you realize that somebody cracked a joke. You try to fathom what they are saying on the basis of their facial expressions. Oh, he is being shouted upon. Maybe he is trying to explain something difficult. Did he say something so foolish that the other person’s expressions changed so much? Are they commenting on you knowing very well that you don’t know a bit of what is being spoken? Questions. All sorts. With only wild guesses as answers.  

That’s when you start observing the language. Keenly. Minutely. It takes time. It takes effort. But it’s worth it. It throws surprises in front of you everyday. You can accept it, be frustrated by it, revel in its beauty or have fun handling it. Maybe, it’s like understanding a child. It can be like a stubborn one, not letting you know what it wants and yet crying incessantly around you. And sometimes, when in a good mood, it might let you peep into itself, it might let you feel familiar in its territory.   

Every language has uniqueness to it, a particular manner in which it is spoken, the way words are pressed or emphasized, the way the tongues are rolled, the way the tone is pitched. Language – if you know it well – is like something that could be lying around you like the non-existent but useful furniture item, its presence felt and unfelt at the same time. Or Language when you don’t know it – is like that one useful thing that you need miserably but can’t remember where you put it last time.

Kakinada.  A small town in coastal Andhra Pradesh. That is where I have been putting up since last one month. That is where I had my first stint with an alien language; with Telegu.

Coffee date. With Myself and some untold stories

Wooden flooring. Wooden furniture. Muted colours and yellow lights. Sunday. Coffee date. With myself. And some untold stories.

Father and son in the diagonal corner. Quiet middle aged son and a cranky looking father. Giving life advices. Maybe finding faults in the way he has been working on his finances.

A newly married couple on their right. Their dewy eyes. The way her mehndi clad hands brush against his. Unknowingly. Or rather knowingly. The eagerness in him to see her eyes smile.

On the next. A college group of four. Too busy in their own selves. The only worry is attendance in the college enough to let them appear for the exam. Crushes. On friends. And teachers too. An overwhelming age. When everything seems possible. When your friends are your therapists and relationship experts.

Four friends again on the next table. Girl gang. Women who hold you at the time of your first heartbreak and also save you from your fashion disasters. Women who share the same impulse of buying shoes. May be bags too. Of choosing wrong guys as well? May be.

Farthest corner. Strangers. I can guess from the stiffness in their body language and also from the regular hot cappuccinos on the table. A chain marketing effort. There are pens and notepads. Ferocious scribbling. ‘For example, if you invest …’ a voice from that table.

Exactly opposite. An occasional look around the room. An occasional longing to hear what others are saying. But mostly in his own self. With his laptop and headphones. Like me. Probably a loner. Like me.

The place smells of coffee. And of untold stories. Only if you are keen to smell. The smell of brewing strong family bonds, of fizzy new love, of warm friendships, of promising business opportunities and of being complete in oneself.

Sunday. Coffee date. With myself. And some untold stories.

Addictions

People warn you against addictions. You hear your well-meaning friends say, ‘Oh you can have everything in moderation. Just make sure you don’t get addicted to it.’ Parents are on the lookout for saving their children from any kind of addiction. Alcohol, smoking, drugs – the dangerous words.  Precisely, because these things suck life out of you, gradually making you dependent on them. 

But there is something even more dangerous than these addictions.  Addiction of people. Why do we never get warned about 'addiction' of some such people in our lives? The ones who matter to you, the ones who fall in love with you, the ones you have 3 a.m. conversations with, the ones you sin with, the ones who warm up your hearts, the ones who don’t judge you for drinking vodka straight from the bottle in December, the ones who become your muses and much more. These are the ones you start getting dependent on. For your emotional needs. The needs of your soul. Something that your body doesn’t even notice. But the soul? The soul does.

The soul craves for these addictions when they leave you. Or when you leave them after realizing that you are addicted to them. Because you know these people aren’t good for you. Because you know they have the power over you. Because you can’t have them forever in your life. Because they aren’t for yours to keep. Because you can love them but never be loved in return. Because they are a part of your journey but not a part of your destination.   

Just like the physical symptoms of materialistic addictions, there are symptoms of ‘people’ addictions. The cravings. The cravings that leaves you empty, anxious, bruised. The cravings that sometimes make you cold. Towards everything. Mute the noise. Around you. Though the same cannot be said about the noise inside.

Your soul wants them back. Those addictions. You almost reach out. Again. Stopping yourself just in time. Realization. That though they give you a high by making you delve deeper in yourself, you know they are exhausting you. Though they build your imagination, you know they are wrecking you. Though they bring in heightened sense of emotions, you know they are making you numb somewhere.

Isn’t it is much better to get addicted to those materialistic addictions. Those materialistic addictions merely spoil your body. But the addiction of 'people'? The addiction of people damages your soul. The kind of damage that is worse than an ailing body. Because the body can heal. But the soul? The soul does not. 

Last day of the month

I really like the last day of the month. Apart from the obvious fact that the next day gives the much needed oxygen to my dying bank account, I also like this day because every month, we witness emotions. In their rawest form. Let me tell you how.

 

Every last day of the month, a function is held by my organization for the retiring employees without fail. Entire organization gathers in the auditorium without fail to bid farewell to the retiring employee, irrespective of the class or cadre they belong to. It is a formal function where details such as credentials of the employee, his service time with the organization, what places he was posted and in which departments he worked etc. are read out while handing out the customary mementos to them.

But what makes this day special to me is the reaction of the retiring employee. Being a government organization, these people have worked with the organization for atleast a couple of decades to say the least. Decades. In the same organization. With the same people.

While they are on service, some are sincere, others frivolous, some boring, others chatty, strict or lenient, some brood in quietude, others whine in open.

But on their last day, they are nothing but emotional. Some cry openly, others hide their tears in their silence. Those few minutes on stage tear down all the facades they have been holding all through their service life. And what you witness is emotions in their rawest form. The way most of them break down when an auditorium full of employees from every cadre applauds their years of service. Most of them, unable to speak anything, being too full of emotions, with lumps in throats when asked to describe their journey.  

Decades. In the same organization. With the same people. Colleagues who turned into friends and formed strong bonds like family. Arguments with some, jokes around others. Experiences. Good, bad and others. Moments – embarrassing and proud ones. I think all these would be flashing in front of their eyes. And I guess those small moments flow down from their eyes. Without hesitation. With gratitude.

That moment. To witness that moment from this side of the stage is anything but a humbling experience. 

G - Give Up on People

He:	Why don’t you give up on people?
She:	May be because I know what it is to be left behind
He:	So, you don’t give up on people because you are worried about them?
She:	No. Because I am also worried about myself
He:	Explain that now
She:	I know how it feels to be all alone and vulnerable and broken when you need just one person to stand by you, understand you or sometimes even just listen to you.  I know how it shatters you enough to never be healed again fully and not be able to go back to your naïve self when you loved with your whole being.
He:	Does it mean that you don’t give up on people even if they don’t deserve to be held on to?
She:	I just know that nobody deserves to be left alone when they need you. I will never forget or forgive that person who gifted me this brokenness. All I wish is not to become such a person for anybody else. This post is written as a part of April A to Z Challenge - 2015

D - Delicious Ambiguity

He:	So you have figured me all out, isn’t it?
She:	You think so?
He:	I think you atleast try to do that?
She:	And what do you think, have I succeeded?
He:	Nope. Not totally I guess
She:	Is it?
He:	Yeah. I am not that easy to fit into a neat little slot, isn’t it?
She:	Right. But that’s what makes you different. And special. If I could fit you into any slot, I wouldn’t have been this interested in you, right?
He:	Agreed
She:	By the way, I hope you do know that I haven’t put in much effort into knowing you?
He:	I know that. And I can't comprehend it
She:	Comprehend what?
He:	Well, you have been saying that you want to know me? And then you don’t put in efforts. Why is that?
She:	Because I like this.
He:	This?
She:	This. Delicious Ambiguity !!  This post is written as a part of April A to Z Challenge - 2015

C - Crap

He:	Don’t you get tired of listening to my crap all the time?
She:	No. Never
He:	I mean I get tired of myself. How can you not?
She:	I just don’t. Not once have I thought that you are talking crap and that I shouldn’t listen to you.
He:	I cannot fathom the reason how and why do you bear me every single time?
She:	I can fathom
He:	And what would that be?
She:	Familiarity
He:	Familiarity?
She:	Yup. The classic – Been there, done that kind of situation
He:	Care to explain?
She:	Well, I know that we all go through those dark low  times when we talk nothing but crap. And you know that you are talking crap but it still feels good that you have somebody who listens to that crap. And besides there are some people in this world whose crap is as important as their intellectual talks.

  

This post is written as a part of April A to Z Challenge - 2015

 

Much more than JUST a number on the weighing scale

BlogAdda's Spicy Saturday Picks

I feel anger rising within me as I write this. And I have a reason. No wait. I don’t have just a reason, I have reasons. I haven’t really ranted on my blog except for a few occasions here. But this rant is much stronger than all my earlier rants because of the way this topic has been attached to me since ‘I don’t know when’. So here we go.

I have always been on the heavier side of the weighing scale all my life. You read it right, all my life. Atleast from the time I remember. But that’s not the point here.

The point here is the general attitude of society towards people on the heavier side of the scale. The attitude where they think it is their birth right to make fun of overweight people. Just like the way, they think it is our moral obligation to be made fun of. The attitude where they think that being on the heavier side of the scale is a sin and hence we deserve to be made fun of. So go ahead, make fun. Because we are like this out of choice and find sheer joy in being overweight. Right? Wrong. I am sorry to break it to you that we hate being your source of free entertainment. And that nobody, just nobody likes to be on the heavier side of the scale, for being mocked for the way our bodies are made differently than yours and for the way our bodies react differently to situations and circumstances. And that when you pass a judgement or make fun of my body, it does not define me, it defines YOU as nothing more than an insensitive buffoon. And everytime I don’t react to your mockery, it is not because I do not have an equally sarcastic and demeaning comment about you, but it is because I do not wish to downgrade myself at your doltish levels.

Right from acquaintances, relatives, friends to colleagues to total strangers, I have been mocked for my body for the number of times I do not even remember with comments as stupid as the fact that I carry huge bags because I need to carry a large lunch box fitting my size. How lame. How stupidly lame. Or wait. There is something even lamer. Like the time when I was running around in the office for getting some work done. And pat comes the comment asking me stop running because the staircase could fall. Right. Coz you see, I weigh equivalent to crane capable of bulldozing an entire building. Wow. Just Wow. This is just the tip of an iceberg of the nasty comments I have heard over the years.

And then there is something equally irksome. The way everybody turns into so-called experts on my body. The way they think they have the right to suggest me remedies to reduce my weight. Because I have no clue how to do it and because I do not know how to handle my body and because they are on the right side of the scale, they obviously have more fitness gyaan than what I have and hence they are obliged to throw their bizarre suggestions for weight loss in my face. As if I am suffering from some terminal illness and they are doing their bit of social service by providing their valuable suggestions.

The more I think about such comments and instances, the more it angers me. Not just because they were said about me but more because of the way our society behaves and general perception of the people towards this topic. The way people have no clue that fat shaming does not motivate anybody to lose weight and that it affects people at much deeper psychological levels than they could ever imagine.   

There was a time when this mockery affected me for days. It affects me. Still. Ofcource not to the extent it used to. Because today I accept myself and my body much more heartily than I used to. And that does not mean I do not work towards making myself more fit. This just means that I accept my curves and my stretch marks much more today than I did earlier.

But not everybody can cope with fat shaming. Even I haven’t learnt to cope with it completely. But then why can't people understand that making fun of people for their overweight body is somewhat equivalent making fun of a blind person? Just like nobody likes to be blind, similarly no one likes being on the heavier side.

I have no clue why our society cannot take a heavier person just like everybody else. Why is there always a need to look down upon me, to mock me or to advise me? Why can't I be taken as just another person? Why can't I be seen more than just a body? Why does every other aspect of my personality hide under the fact that I am overweight?

Because I know that I am much more than JUST a number on the weighing scale.   

Image Source : Google

The 'Attachments'

You can't save me. Nobody can. I know you are concerned. I can sense that concern in your actions and words; sometimes words aren’t even necessary. I can sense that in the way you look at me when I say something really casual. But that 'casual' has deeper meanings which mostly people around don’t understand. But fortunately or otherwise, you do.

I also know you are attached. So am I. But that's the word I dread these days. 'Attachment'. You know why? Coz it weakens me. This 'attachment'. For people, this sense of attachment becomes their strength. It was mine too; at one point of time. Not anymore though. Every attachment weakens me today. Because of my inherent nature, I have the habit of holding my 'attachments' fervently, carefully weaving them in my thoughts and life, making a brilliant pattern out of them and with them, the one that only I can understand and admire. But I also know they are weak links inside me. I become undone like any woolen fabric when you pull a string of its intricately woven design. Because, every string is attached to another and it is the combined strength of these strings that hold the fabric together. My 'attachments' hold me too. But every single 'attachment' I seem to have is also like that string in the woolen fabric which has the power to pull me apart. And I dread, that at the end of it all, I am going to be nothing but a quagmire of unwoven strings, messed in itself to an extent where it becomes almost impossible to untangle it, to make any sense or purpose out of it.

I know you want to help me. But you shouldn’t. I have to fight my own battles. I have fought them till now. I know I haven’t won all of them. But I have fought, sometimes thoughtfully and sometimes otherwise. And I shall continue them. 

Besides, there is not a long way to go anymore. The destination lurks nearby. I can sense it, feel it, maybe I would be able to see it soon. But before I reach there, I need to pull all my strings back to myself, start the process of detachment and stop letting myself getting undone anymore. Because when it is time to leave, I do not wish to be held back by the combined strength of these strings.      

Written for Three Word Wednesday Week No. 407 – Brilliant, Fervent, Thoughtful