“The Boy in the Blue Shirt” - My entry for the Get Published contest

One can never really be prepared for the surprises life throws at you. It’s almost funny how things that you never thought possible just happen and you are left wondering, what hit you! At times you meet people whom you want to forget instantly like a bad dream. However when your paths cross again under different circumstances, you tend to realize that “Hey! There is something so special about…” This is what happened when she met him again ‘That Boy in the blue shirt’

In school they had common friends, moved in the same circles but were never friends. Actually it’s hard to explain what they were. She was the “Ms Popular”, always excelling in all she did. He was a charmer, a brat who was used to getting what he wanted without working too hard for it, a careless air about him at all times. Always ready to fight for anyone, with anyone, for any cause. Each was aware of the other but had nothing in common. Their paths never crossed till one incident brought them face to face in a head on fight. Both stood their grounds, friends chose sides and teachers had to mediate. They never spoke again, until a decade later when fate brought them together.

Siddhant Singh, now a young captain in the Indian Army, is as charming and carefree as he was in school. Aria Mathur a level-headed, smart and independent young woman believes in taking life seriously. One fateful evening their paths cross again, and they did not realize that, life would never be the same.

As the story unfolds, the two discover themselves and each other. In the age where mobile phones and emails were unheard of, the letters that they write to each other help them discover true friendship. Before the relationship moves to the next level, the Kargil conflict breaks out and Siddhant moves with his battalion to the front. Aria’s letters give him hope, an inspiration and the will to make it back alive. Aria realizes how deeply she feels for him but never truly admits that she is in love with “that boy in the blue shirt”, who made her cry in school. Siddhant is gravely injured in the war. Will the two now best friends confront their true feelings for each other? Will the letters that bound them in friendship also show them the path towards true love? This is a heart warming love story between two very distinct individuals who became the most unlikely of friends, but will that lay the foundation of an everlasting love.

What makes the story real

The story draws inspiration from the writer’s own experience of how two very different people forged a lasting relationship, despite a seemingly impossible distance to cover, threaded together with letters and thoughts which kept each of them focused on their own lives while they kept getting closer to each others.

 

This is my entry for the HarperCollins–IndiBlogger Get Published contest, which is run with inputs from Yashodhara Lal and HarperCollins India.

The long and short of life!!!

Relationships I feel are the hardest things to manage in life. Maybe, because it involves people and people have so many emotions, thoughts, preferences etc; each unique in their own way. I often thought of life as black & white. But as I grow older, I have realized the growing shadow area between black & white and how the grey area now seems to be the dominant one….Most often, the truth is right in front of us but then to most people, the truth is only what they are prepared to see.

We run away from confrontations because it’s probably easy to do that rather than confront the situation.

We all say ‘wish life was simple’ and I think it is. It’s ‘us’ that makes it complicated. Is it because we live in such a complicated world that simplicity is a long forgotten concept? People live with their egos closer to their heart than they let other emotions do…

A case in point is a dear friend who was seeing this lovely lady - A very successful, intelligent woman. They just kind of had a fight over some petty issue and each held to his/her ground. Both didn’t want to take the first step least it showed them as the weaker of the two or the one more desperate. Friends tried to patch things up but all in vain. And it made me think that compromising or adjusting has suddenly become all too tabooed. In the zest to hold your own, people are willing to let go of things and people that bring happiness and purpose in life. Wouldn’t it just be easier to let go off your ego?

Happiness is now a myth. Most of the people I see around find happiness in their misery. Blame it on life, on people around them, their fate, something they deserve etc. I see more and more people having such a myopic attitude towards life.

It’s important to live in the moment and make that moment livable too. If the moment in which we try to live is questioned on the how’s and whys and what ought to be or not, then it is probably better not to live in it at all.

A friendship they say is for keeps. Yet today how many of us have shoulders to lean on outside our immediate familial relationships? In a highly competitive and result oriented world, we seem to be drifting away from each other all the time. People are wary to get close. They want to maintain a distance. It’s not that the world is short of amiable individuals, but we surely have forgotten how to maintain positive camaraderie. In a mad rush to keep up with the fast changing pace of urban living, we fail to nurture and care for basic ties of love and warmth that binds us all together.

Everyday our life demands a lot from us, be it relationships, job, responsibilities etc. I am not saying that we should ignore those we do not like. I am simply saying - to myself, if no one else - to keep the bigger picture in mind. Things or people that do not matter, need not demand and get our valuable time. Don’t sweat on irrelevant stuff. It’s not worth it. But those that do matter, make sure you treasure them. A good relationship today is not one that just lasts but one that coexists with self-respect, individuality and allows your need to grow.

The days are long but life is surely short…So in the long and short of life, don’t forget to LIVE LIFE!!!!

The elusive “Makaan” – “Yeh hai Bombay meri jaan”

The song from the movie Gharaonda ‘Do Deewane Shahar Mein Raat Mein Yaa Dopahar Mein”; somehow resonates the way life has been for me for the past few months. It has been an uphill task to help a friend find accommodation in Mumbai. My friend was looking for a place closer to his office so as to save on the grueling travel time and the mounting transportation expenses (the taxi and auto fares in Mumbai have touched the roof). He had a fixed budget (though I persuaded him to increase which he did so very reluctantly J). Born and bought up in Mumbai, I spent 20 years staying in accommodation provided by the company where my father worked and then we purchased our own house. So I wasn’t sure about how to look for a rented place.

The search started on the internet. makan.com, 99acres.com, indiaproperties.com, magicbricks.com, quikr.com and the list goes on. It took about two days just to search the net and narrow down the choices. We needed a furnished flat within the budget which was proving a difficult combination. To top it, my friend is a bachelor. It’s surprising how many societies and owners refuse to let flats out to single people. In a city like Mumbai, where so many people come from other cities for further studies and jobs, single persons can’t find a decent roof over their heads.

Anyway after making a list of a few agents, taking down the house details, on a sunny Sunday afternoon I set out for the recce. The area we shortlisted was Prabhadevi, in the heart of South Mumbai. Our school was in the same vicinity so I was quite familiar with the area. A thin lanky fellow walked up to me and introduced himself as the property agent I had spoken to on the phone. He was 5ft nothing and looked no more than 15 years old. And I thought to myself what a great start this seems…Phew!!! All the buildings in that area are older than 30 years and there are no elevators. I went up and down some four buildings and saw about 6 flats but something was amiss in each. One which was fully furnished and well done up, but was 4k more than the budget. The other was so unclean; I wondered how people treat houses just because it’s rented and doesn’t belong to them. I almost finished half the bottle of sanitizer once I got out of that house.

I also realised that there is a huge difference in the details mentioned on the net and how the houses actually were. They say semi-furnished and all that is there is a lonely cupboard. Fully furnished in some cases meant only a lousy mattress, cupboard and a desk…

The first trip was a total waste. I had exhausted the first list. This meant going through the net again and searching for some more. This went on for the next 2 weeks, and all the property agents in that area knew me by name. I became the most sought after client.

From Prabhadevi to Worli to Lower Parel to Mahalakshmi, I must have visited at least 15-20 flats. Finally after doing the whole circle, I came across the same flat that I had seen on the first day but didn’t quite like. The owner agreed to rent it out in the budget we had and agreed to provide the flat with all the necessities.

So on a Friday evening, all excited to finally close this deal we met with the flat owner with a line of brokers tagging along. We seemed to hit it off well with the owner and after inspecting the house; we handed over a list of things we wanted rectified in the flat. When it came to discussion on the money matters, the owner demanded all rent payment in cash. Wow! That came as a surprise because I had told the agent that all payment will be by cheque. We negotiated hard with him but he refused to budge. It was such a dampener and I couldn’t believe that this was happening. It meant going through the same ordeal of looking again which I just couldn’t handle. All guns blazing, we couldn’t manage to change his mind.

Downright pissed, but not ready to give in so easily I started all over again. But nothing seemed to be working. Meanwhile my friend had got an ultimatum from his current owner to vacate the flat he was staying in. He was angry and frustrated and I was tired and disheartened. Is it really so hard to find a decent roof over your head in this city???

Somehow I don’t know why but my intuition kept telling me that I should try for that house again. I called the property agent and requested him to try again. Gave him some pep talk about how only he can handle it etcJ. It took a few days and many phone calls and going back and forth…the owner finally agreed to all terms and conditions and my friend moved in a few days later. Mission accomplished!!!

During my entire search, it become evident to me that housing apartheid exists so blatantly in this city. Every broker asked me a plethora of questions on the proposed tenants’ marital status, caste, eating preferences etc. It was funny because we were not talking about security concerns and that should be the top priority in renting out a house. Not whether I am a veg or a non-veg.

Many localities in Mumbai (and I think it will be true for other cities as well) have unwritten codes of barring people based on religion, vegetarianism, marital status etc etc.

I couldn’t agree more when I hear people say, in Mumbai city you can find yourself “roti” and “kapada” but only lucky ones get the “makaan” too! A big fight for every inch of available space and only the persistent win!!!!

The dreams my father had for me…

My father…what can I write about him. One of the most complicated but also the most genuine and honest man I have ever seen. Eldest of 6 siblings, he was a total rebel right from the start. And I am my father’s daughter in every sense. I have always been rebellious and have found it difficult to confine myself to the suffocation of rules, especially the ones whose reasons for existence couldn’t be explained by anyone, least of all the makers themselves. My father always inspired a resolve to challenge the norms and to never accept things just because they are supposed to be that way.

My father raised me and treated me like a boy. Not because he wanted one and had two daughters instead but because he wanted me to be the rough & tough kind, who could brave any storm. He taught me how to box since he was a professional boxer himself. He helped me develop the strength and wanted to make sure that when and if such a time comes, I not only defend myself but also knock down the one on the wrong sideJ

I learnt to play chess with him. Though, I could never beat him in this game it taught me to be patient, make my move only when I was ready and taught me the skills of anticipating an opponent’s move. Basically, it shaped my thinking and helped me to become a strategist of sorts.

He was an ardent reader. He had this huge collection of books…all classics…Though our house was small and the books took a lot of space but my father never gave away even one. He was the reason I took to reading at a very young age. But it was only when I started college that I was given access to the treasure that he had collected over the years. To this date, the treasure is safe with me. Sometimes when I miss him a lot, I just open one of the books and read it and I can sense his presence in those books.

It appeared in the conventional sense that my father had been a tad unsuccessful in most of his endeavors. But he didn’t fail in his honesty to himself and the fact that he never blamed ‘someone’ or the ‘system’ for his failures. He took full responsibility for his actions and for the outcome. This in itself was an inspiration for me...

I remember once having this conversation with him when I told him that he needs to find his zeal back and fight even harder. He just smiled and said that “You will make it big in life and then I will know I have succeeded”.

Like my father, I went through an intense struggle as a young lady, trying to find my foot in the door, defining who or what I am and where is that I want to be. The one promise that my father took from me was, ‘Make sure where I failed, you will succeed, and succeed calmly, strategically, using the panache and persuasiveness that I have taught you and on your own merit’.

So with that promise in my heart, I set sail on my journey. But even before I could start, I lost my father. A sudden illness and he left us. A big void was left in my heart. I couldn’t even get enough time to mourn his loss because I had to look after my family, I had to suddenly become “him” and I wasn’t ready yet.

The strength however came from the fact that maybe he went away knowing very well that he had instilled in me the necessary will and confidence to shape up my life in ways that he wanted me. From there on, my father’s failed attempt to set things right became my life’s objective. My father’s dreams forged my dreams, and through a kind of sacramental experience after his death, my father’s struggle became my inheritance…

All through my life I have carried a single image of my father, one that I had sometimes rebelled against but had never questioned, one that I now try and take as my own. An image of uncompromising honesty and the will to rise above the occasion with your head held high. In all of the ups and downs, that image has always helped me stay afloat and reach the shore.

So here I am, almost a decade after his passing hoping that I have proven every bit a daughter to my father and hoping that I have fulfilled every dream that he had for me. So dad, wherever you are and I know you are watching me…I hope you are as proud of me as I am proud to be your daughter. You taught me how to have the courage to keep standing tall no matter what…Your life and the way you lived it has been and will continue to be my beacon. It’s only because of you that I am what I am. And no matter how far I go in life and how successful I get, I will always be my father’s daughter!!!