Kahani Rangon Ki

Rang bhi ajeeb hote hain
Ek insaan ko naa jaane kitne nazaare
dikha dete hain

Safed kapda neeli syaahi mein doobe huye
nehlaya jaaye laal gulaal se
socho kya hoga?
Gehre baingani ke upar kari jaaye
paawan peele ki bauchhar
socho kya hoga?
Kabhi socha hai
kaali raat mein zagmagate taaron ke neeche
hari pattiyaan kya sochti hongi?

Rang bahaut he ajeeb hote hain
Ek insaan ko naa jaane
kitni kahaaniyan
suna dete hain

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Sink!

Sink
Dark Screaming Soul!

Waves after waves
of grey silence
black and white
screech of melancholia

/Bring it on
Come on, now/

Sink
Dark Screaming Soul!

Thumping the chest
cold vibrations
down the spine

hot head brewing
foul fumes of
false salvation

/Too strong to carry on/

Sink
Dark Screaming Soul!

Hey Little Kid! – 2

Hey Little Kid,

You are fine.
Doing all right in life.
But you are killing yourself.
You smoke a lot.
You have tried to quit, but you are not able to.
You are under a lot of pressure.
You are emotionally unstable.
You are lonely.
Your brain is always working.
You barely sleep.
You eat well.
You eat healthy.
Songs are your best friends.
You listen to songs all day.
You have stopped responding to emotions.
You are more patient than ever.
You work with logic and reason.
You need to stop over thinking.
You do not have an emotional outlet.
You are consumed.
You come across as a happy person.
You are happy for people.
People make you happy.
You have started learning guitar.
It makes you happy.
You invest a lot of time in others.
You try to escape reality and succeed.
Don’t do it.
It’s not good for you.
You feel strongly for things.
You don’t do it.
You are easily confused.
Your mind is full of clutter.
Clear it.
You recently went through a bad breakup.
It was the right decision.
Get comfortable with yourself.
Do not stress yourself.
You write a lot.
You read a lot.
It’s your happy place.
You are glad you do it.
You find inspiration in the little things.
You love fairy lights glowing in an empty dglass bottle.
You cook everyday.
Cleaning utensils gives you relief.
Do it.
It’s paramount you are happy.

Listen Little Kid,
You’ll be fine.
I’ll write to you again.

Caught Unguarded

There are moments in life which take you down. They rip you apart. A storm catches you unguarded. And you die a little bit inside.

Abhay was sitting inside a close-boxed cubicle in a bus swiftly moving on a highway. He was cramped for space, yet somehow managed to fit in. Outside the window, all he could see was mounds of rocks, some trees at a distance and the moon shining in all its glory. He slid the window left to let some air in, and the speed with which the wind gushed in, took him by surprise.

It was a dark & chilly October night.
Abhay had his head tilted towards the window. He was loving the way moon was playing hide and seek with him. It got lost behind the mounds and reappeared a few seconds later. If it were small in size, kids could actually take it for a twinkling star, he thought to himself. His hair fluttered with the wind, when suddenly “Prem’s Theme” started playing in his earpods.
Abhay’s heart sank. It broke. He gasped for air. The music was suffocating him. All the happy memories came back crashing on his chest like unapologetic waves of a furious ocean. His heart broke into a million pieces.

He felt cramped for space. He felt claustrophobic. All he wanted to do was jump out of that bus because he couldn’t take the sudden pull of emotions that were tying him down.

Tears had eluded him yet again. All he could do was cry. Cry on the inside. The feeling was indescribable. It felt like someone had actually ripped him apart.

It was him. He did it all to himself.
There was darkness all around. It had engulfed him in entirety.

The only light that shone was that of the moon. For the moon had always been his guiding light.

“Good Night, Abhay”, the moon tried to comfort him.
He couldn’t sleep.
That night, he died more than a little bit inside.

Summertime Sadness

image1 (3)Today I am going to tell you a story about two people.
Two people who can’t stop loving each other, and perhaps are destroying each other in the process.
One of them is a really strong person, but really doesn’t say much. The other is really strong willed, but does not know what to say when.
It’s a little more complicated than that, but I’ll tell you just the happy bit of it.
Have you heard of the story of the dreamer and the realist. It’s quite like it. The dreamer, who’s soaring high needs the realist to show him the ground and the realist really wants the dreamer to take him to the sky.
So these two birds, they went through a really rough patch. They fought. Over and over. There were expectations involved. No one said anything to each other. But you know what was constant- the longing.
It was always there. Even if they agree or not. They both know that they still love each other; but no one dared to say the words when they last met. I know where the hesitation was. The problem was trust. Once, the trust was broken, it induced fear, quite rightfully so.But you couldn’t take it away from any one of them that they still cared for each other. Oh! They do.
To clear the fog of misunderstandings, the two met yesterday night.  A fancy Italian restaurant followed by a Tall glass of coffee and cigarettes, and a really long night of bitter-sweet memories, that none of them wanted to end.
The only sound that jingled the perfect silence that they shared was the sound of water. Waves after waves gushing towards the rocks, splashing as if sending currents of joy in the air. The two lay there, one on the lap of the other.

What is love, Amar?
-It’s like having the ocean in your chest. Holding it together hurts a bit but it’s exactly like sitting in front of the ocean, taking the breeze in and feeling like there is no end to this feeling.
Do you feel it?

Desire

 

IMG_5323

I still have the taste of
your luscious lips on mine
Your heavy breathing as
I linger down your neck
Your chest rising caressing mine
sending currents down
our spines
Our toes intertwined and
my grip on

your palms really tight

It’s a perfect sultry evening
Oh! Darling,
Let’s fuck.

01:17

01:17
21/12/15

I sit here all cozied up in this supremely warm blanket smoking a smooth Dunhill switch. I can’t help but wonder how did I end up where I am right now. I mean smoking is something I was absolutely sure I wouldn’t indulge into. It doesn’t help much, and yet.
There’s also that feeling of absolute disgust when I think of looking at myself in the mirror. My mind has started acting contrary to reason. The whole idea seems farcical.  Who have I grown into and what am I actually doing? Where do I plan to go next?
It’s all but a simple labyrinth coming across as a rather difficult maze. And honestly, I am not confused but lost.

image1 (2)
Image Courtesy: Author

18:08

18:08
19/12/15

I should be happy right now. I mean look at everything around me.
These earthy stone steps leading to the beautiful blue waters of the lake- surrounded by lush green hills on three sides, and soothing music accompanying me while I walk on this amazingly colorful tiled promenade. There are bright white and yellow balls of lights as far as I can see. Maybe that’s until where I want to walk.
There’s a longing. And perhaps the need for warmth on this chilly winter evening  is adding to my lone self.
Maybe that’s why I am not happy.
Maybe that’s why I don’t want to walk until the bright yellow and white balls of lights.

image1
Image Courtesy: Author

Consumed

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I last met you
a few months ago.
I remember the night
we walked under a
mesh of golden lights
and how it had
rained that day.
Do you remember that
couple making out while we
sat on the beach
drinking beer?
I  kissed you that night
to remind you that
I am there.
I would always be.

Alas!
Look at me now
reeking of unburned cigarettes
almost dying to hold
on to the palpable sense
of our being.

Stay!

In this one life we have, we live a millions lives. And each one of these million lives we live is embraced by that person who’s had an impact on defining you, making you you.

This post goes out to that one person who crawled into my life only 21 years too late and became the most significant part of my living within three years of their presence. There is not even an iota of bad memories that I share with her, but a world full of happy moments and experiences.

I stared at her for 5 minutes from afar while she (unaware of my presence) was sitting outside the Departure Gates waiting for my Arrival.

“I thought you were 6 feet tall. But hey, am I taller than you?” are the first words she said to me in person. And from there began a friendship wherein sarcastic insults were fired at each other like bullets; absolute care was shown whenever not needed; love was showered upon at the most absurd times; and well, forehead kisses were reborn.

She’s the one who I feel very strongly connected to. There’s that one person who you are so bonded to that you don’t want them to be away from you, this is that for me. I don’t know who to thank for sending this bundle full of love and pure genuity in my life, whom I won’t be able to thank enough ever. Thank you!

Oh! What a fucking mess!

Even In Love – 2

It was a sultry late summer evening, and a sliver of moonlight spilled into the room.
They were silently sitting on the sill of the bay window looking at the beautifully decorated Ganesh Chaturthi pandal through the grills.

“Do you remember I asked you to teach me how to dance when we last met?”, she said with a smile on her face.
“And you must remember that I tried. In front of random strangers. IN. A. TEMPLE!”, Abhay couldn’t help but laugh.
She jumped onto the floor, “Let’s do it right now. Teach me how to dance.”

‘Can you feel the music
Beating in your heart
All the little notes were
Dancing in the stars’

He took her hand and put it on his shoulder, and placed his hand on her lower back. 1-2-3-4 1-2-3-4 Abhay counted and they both got lost in each others eyes. It did not seem like she did not know how to dance. She twirled, tried to stretch out her hands as gracefully as possible. There was a terrific bounce in her body.

The setting was perfect. Abhay could see a grand bokeh of lights outside of the window, and even the leaves were fluttering in sync as both of them tapped their feet. This was their first dance together, and he knew this night would never come back. He did not want to stop. He shoved her so close to him that their lips almost touched. Both of them were breathing heavily, but neither of them cared.
Even the LED lights were dancing now. They flickered 1-2-3-4 Red-Blue-Yellow-Green. And in the absolute joy of this moment, they kissed.
They knew this would be one of the sweetest memories they’d always cherish.

‘We’re headed for the sunshine
That’s the way to go
It’s looking like a good day
Won’t you come along

Give a little love it’ll all come back
Throw a little out it’ll make you glad, oh, oh’

lean in

Image Courtesy: Google

One Month

One month ago today, at this very time, I made promises.
Promises which I know I will keep for I love the person who I made the promises to.

One month ago today. at this very time, I played a song on my phone.
A song which always reminds me of the person I was listening the song with. I still play it once everyday.

One month ago today, at this very time, I was standing in the middle of the road. I was standing hand-in-hand with the person, and I can still feel the warmth in their shaking hands.

One month ago today, at this very time, I actually realized how much this person meant to me. My heart filled with warmth listening them talk in Hindi.

One month ago today, at this very time, I wanted the entire world to freeze, but us. I just wanted to sit there with this person. In their presence.

One month ago today, at this very time, I left a huge part of me with this person. I wish I hadn’t taken that taxi home. I wish I hadn’t left on that jet plane.

One month ago today, at this very time, I broke two hearts.
One much much more than the other. Soon to realize that the other would not heal as fast as I thought it would.

One month later, today, I know I made a mistake.

Resort to Books

You know what I want right now? I want the entire world to freeze in this moment. I wish we weren’t in this situation. I wish life could be simple for our love. I’m ready to take a hundred things harder for this one thing I have with you. If only.


“You know you wouldn’t like to go.”

“Sometimes I would- tonight I’d go in a second.”

“Well, you’d have to be very much tired of life than I think you are. I know you.”

“I’m afraid you do. It just seemed an easy way out of everything- when I think of another useless, draggy year.”

“Yes, I know; but to tell you the truth, I’m not worried about you; you seem to me to be progressing perfectly naturally.”

“No, I’ve lost half my personality in a year.”

“Not a bit of it. You’ve lost a great amount of vanity and that’s all.”

“Lordy! I feel, anyway, as if I’d gone through another fifth form at St. Regis’s.”

“No. That was a misfortune; this has been a good thing. Whatever worth while comes to you, won’t be through the channels you were searching last year.”

“What could be more unprofitable that my present lack of pep?”

“Perhaps in itself… but you’re developing. This has given you time to think and you’re casting off a lot of your old luggage about success and superman and all. People like us can’t adopt whole theories, as you did. If we can do the next thing, and have an hour a day to think in, we can accomplish marvels, but as far as any highhanded scheme of blind dominance is concerned-we’d just make asses of ourselves.”

“But I can’t do the next thing.”

“Between you and me, I have only just learned to do it myself. I can do the one hundred things beyond the next thing, but I stub my toe on that, just as you stubbed your toe on mathematics this fall.”

“Why do we have to do the next thing? It never seems the sort of thing I should do.”

“We have to do it because we’re not personalities, but personages.”

These days I have a lot of questions about my life pertaining to a lot of things. These things involve love, life in general, friendship, profession, career, future blah. So instead of driving my pressure cooker of a mind crazy to find answers to all these questions, and before it bursts due to all the accumulated pressure, I have resorted to books; to find answers to all these questions.
How?
I pick up the book which is nearest to me, think of any random number and turn to that page. I read out the first sentence of the page, and mostly it makes a lot of sense in context to the question that I want an answer for. If it doesn’t or if I want further explanation, I read the whole goddamn page. Believe you me, it’s the best way to find an answer to any question you have. Even if it does not answer your question per se, it’ll definitely leave an impact on you. Try it. It works.

BUT I DO

Are you human if you’ve not cried in more than 5 years? I think not.
Reflecting on myself, I see a person who’s rarely moved by emotions. A person who does not really get affected much by anything. And honestly, I really do not understand the root cause behind the same.

It was 5:20 am at Chhatrapati Shivaji Airport on the 21st of September when I shed two tears. I did not want them to stop; I wanted to let them out and flow like a seamless river. But tears failed me again. Believe you me, those two drops that came out as real tears and not just water, if they were so liberating, I do not know how it would have felt after a good(?) cry. 

It’s maybe because I do not want to feel vulnerable and weak; but I do. I feel the need to be vulnerable. If you’ve not been vulnerable in front of someone for a really long time, you’ve not actually bonded with anyone in that time frame. You’ve not been yourself with them.

It was around five in the evening, on the 19th of September when I lost control of myself, and my senses and my body did not beat at a common wavelength. I was sweating like a pig in a Mumbai local, and a minute more in that train, I would have collapsed. It wasn’t the crowd. It wasn’t the heat. It was my anxiety disorder that kicked-in. What was the root-cause behind that, I still do not know. That was the first time I really felt vulnerable not in front of a thousand people, but one (let’s call them XYZ).And at that point of time, the vulnerability did not mean a thing because regaining control was more important.

That vulnerability, though, brought with itself a new wave of energy. It made me feel more comfortable with the presence of XYZ around me. There wasn’t that bubble of privacy that they would burst if they came too close. The walls had collapsed and the mind was free.

It was early midnight, around 12:30am (20th of September) when I was in bed with XYZ. I always thought myself to be a more passive (than active) person. But much to my surprise, I was much more than active. Was it in the heat of the moment? Perhaps not! I have taken impulsive decisions in my life (and regretted taking them), but this wasn’t one of them.

I do not know if that night changed anything in me except the fact that I was further destroyed emotionally. It might be good and/ or it might be bad. But I know for a fact that it would be a task to gather my individual self together. And I know for a fact, that right now I do not want to gather my individual self together.

Because maybe, all this vulnerability, absence of the tall walls of personal space, lack of individuality, and my emotionally-wrecked self will conspire as one and come out in the form of a rather meandering river of tears. And maybe that would bring about a transformation in me.

It’s 02:29 am, 8th of October. While I am typing this right now I know that all the things I have written above do not really matter to you, nor would they mean anything to you. All I want to say to whoever is reading this is that you must give yourself the liberty and freedom to cry over the tiniest of things possible. Feel weak and broken. Let this feeling grow on you until the point you feel liberated. You will, I am sure. And that is when you’ll know you’re ready for the next challenge life has to throw at you.
I am not ready yet, but hopefully, I will be.

As footnote I want to share a part of this really interesting conversation I had with a person on Tinder (surprising, but yes. Tinder is not always about flirting and setting dates). Here goes:

Person: Well I’ll let time decide that coz you see we won’t ever reach the right place in life before the right time. I have a lot more nerves to break and let it in till I reach my limits.

Me: The question remains; Do you want to reach the limits or take it head on already. Why let something totally break you apart, and then you work to heal your broken self.

Person: The answer remains that life is too short to follow a middle path. It’s better to feel everything that a thing has to offer. Let it all in let it make you and let it break you. And unless you do that you don’t grow. I guess self mending is like  meditation to connect with your inner being.

Ecstatic!

For some reason unknown, I have this really happy and satisfying feeling waving around in my stomach. Every 5 minutes, a current of joy takes control of my body. My brain is an effervescent mix of fruity flavours, and every thing pleasant. My hair wants to be played with. My eyes are full of glee. My lips want its sweetness to be shared. My nose is feeling ticklish. My ears want to be whispered into. My fingers feel as fresh as ever. My lower-body is full of excitement. My toes are inkling, and my legs want to sprint. Every damn muscle in my body wants to stretch. And every damn bone in my body wants to dance.
Do you know how I am feeling right now?
Ecstatic!
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Source: Etsy

Ramblings of a Lost Soul – II

What do you see around yourself, young man?

I am staring at a wall. I have been doing that for the past ten minutes.
It’s enlightening.
Even though the wall is blindingly white, I see a lot of grey areas, and a pitch black spot.There are some patches which are really striking my eye.
Writing this is making me lose my concentration, but it’s really important to put this sight into words.
In one of the grey patches on the extreme top-right corner of the wall, I see a green spot. An infinitesimally small green spot.I have lost myself so deep in this green spot, so much so that it’s now looking like a black spot.
I think this is the pitch black spot that I confused as a green spot, or maybe it’s the other way round. Like I said, writing this down has totally shifted my focus. But it’s really important to put this feeling into words.
I do not know. I am not liking the emotions this wall is evoking in me.
I think I am going to have a nervous breakdown.
It’s really enlightening.

SHE #1

bahara

She stood there for she wanted a few moments with (by) herself.
She longed to find herself amidst the vastness of the sea.

She did not want anyone’s foot to make an impression on the wet sand beside her’s, for once.
She wanted to break free; freeing herself from the shackles of his gripping shadows.

‘I am not going to let this bring me down’, she thought, encouraging herself.

The sun decided to shine on her during the wee minutes of dusk.

INEVITABLE OBLIVION

Oblivion was calling
and she feared to take a step forward.
She was subtle,
belonged on the surface.
Feared depth,
Feared height.
Hated falling too suddenly
and rising too quick.
Innocent like a pearl,
Peppy like a bubble.
Like rain in winter,
Rainbow in summer.
She was rare,
Because she glittered, brighter.
I guess She longed for a calling.
That would awaken her soul.
She decided to hitchhike
past the walls she had built around.
Break them down,
put a fire to the rubble,
and walk around the ashes
hand-in-hand with herself.
After all, death is inevitable.

Footnote: I was half-asleep in the bus when Srishti handed me her phone with a few lines written in the memo pad. She insisted for me to take it further. I had no idea about the context and who/what I was writing about. It took me more than a while to think it through, and words finally started to surface. Srishti structured the whole poem, and showed me the final piece. I was taken aback after reading it. It made sense to me. But I still had no idea about the context of the poem until a few days ago when Srishti told me all about it. 
The ‘She’ in the poem is Srishti’s closest friend (more like a sister) who recently tragically passed away. After getting to know about her a bit, all I can say is that I am honored for I was made to write about such a beautiful person. I pray for her happiness and for her to be at peace wherever she is. And I am sure she’ll be blessing her best friend and showering all the love on her. This is a bond much deeper than friendship. :’)

Raindrops on Window Pane

There’s this thing about raindrops on window panes;
This thing I am really fond of;
When I see them trickle down, I run my fingers down with them.
Even though there are headlights of cars beaming through the window pane,
It feels like the world around has ceased to exist.
It’s just the raindrops and me, and that feeling is indescribable.

Ramblings of a Lost Soul – I

17 August 2015 | 18:37

What do you see around yourself, young man?

I see eight college kids. 5 girls. 3 guys.
The guy in the green is carrying handbags of two women. There’s a tall guy in white who’s a little awkward in general. Then there’s the guy in blue, holding hands with the woman in black.
All the women have their hair highlighted blonde. The woman in beige is really pretty. There’s a woman wearing cat-eyed frames which I really like.The girl in pink is wearing blood red lipstick. She might be with the guy in green.

I also see a really old man sitting on the side table waving at someone.
He’s got a black umbrella and a brown bag which I love. He’s joined by a very tall guy who has a black and white checkered umbrella. He’s young. Maybe in his late twenties. It’s been ten minutes they’ve not talked to each other.

Meanwhile, a group of 4 people are sitting on the table beside the table of the above two men. The two woman are chatting. One of the two guys is hogging on fries, and the other guy is sitting blankly staring at the woman in white.

The table right in front of me has been occupied by seven people. A really pretty woman just asked me for a chair that was lying empty around my table. I let her take it. The woman in blue on this table is really beautiful.
The table is otherwise not very dynamic, they’re just eating.

All the lights have been suddenly switched on. Beautiful lamps like from the time of the Britishers.

The guy is still eating fries. The other one still staring at the woman in white. The people on the side table have still not talked to each other at all.

There’s a man standing on the opposite side of the gate wearing a TShirt  that reads, ‘I Recycle Men’. I am a little amused by that.
The janitor has been constantly staring at me staring at my phone for the past half an hour.

The men on the side table have left. The four kids on their side table are about to leave. I am about to leave myself.

As I get up to vacate the table, a woman (same as my age, I guess) asks me if I am done. I tell her I am and she takes my seat. I walk out of the place.

I look inside through the exact same gate, the woman who took my seat is sitting alone sipping coffee from the brown cup and reading a book.
Perhaps that’s what I should have done while I was writing this on my phone.

This is the view from where I sit.

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NOT SCARED, BUT SCARRED

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Allow me to hold you!
Allow me to hurt you, strangle you, and rip you apart!
Allow me to soil myself with your sins!
Allow me to set you on fire!
Allow me to wash my hands in your ashes!
Allow me to hold you!

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Hold me!
Corrode me!
Tear my flesh apart!
Relish on the pungent sweetness of my blood!
For I am taken!
Taken by you!

Even In Love

She was taking a shower and Abhay was sitting on the bed listening to the splashes of water when suddenly these words floated from inside the bathroom to his ears-

“Jo bhi hai rookha-sookha
Mann mein wo bolo toh
Kholon raahein baaton ki, baahein ho”

The lights were out and just a few rays of sun seeped in from the half-clad window. He could see dust particles dancing in the air, leaves fluttering in the breeze outside, and half-a-dozen sparrows sitting on the wire mesh.

The tune of the song had really gotten into his head now, and the words had taken over his mind completely. It had been 3 years of knowing each other, and this was their first meeting. The feeling was weird for most part of the previous two days, but Abhay was completely overwhelmed. It was sinking in.

He had always been the one with more words. “Dare I say it was easy for me to tear down the walls I had built around me and actually talk about my feelings and emotions”, Abhay thought to himself.

She walked out of the bathroom bare-feet. Her hair a little wet.
Abhay could but stop himself from saying it. He did. He wanted to. It felt right.
He let her lean in and kiss him. She felt it too.
He had never done this before, never did he think he would have done it.

The breeze had calmed down. The birds were now ten in number. The leaves looked greener than ever.
They felt it too.

lean in

Image Courtesy: Google Images

Freedom- The Quote and a Bonus Poem Challenge- Day 1

So, I was challenged to write a poem every day for three consecutive days. For a person like me, it’s really a huge task. But nonetheless, I am ready to take it in my stride and complete it.
I’d really like to thank Crestfallen Leaf (Tell me your name, already) for challenging me. He’s a real great writer and poet himself. Take a look.
Crestfallen Leaf

The Quote
“The battle you are going through is not fueled by the words or actions of others; it is fueled by the mind that gives it importance.”
― Shannon L. Alder

The Poem

Walking past a myriad sequences
Of pride and honour
Stuck in a labyrinth
Dissuasive turn-ends
Misleading ways
Harbouring a plot twist
Convincing blueprints
Conniving movement
Detersive coalescing maneuver
Liberating the jeopardy

FREEDOM!

Nominees for the day:
Chester Maynes
Mischief Memoirs
WORDS ON A BLACKBOARD

The rules for this challenge are:

1. Each day for three consecutive days post a quote (any quote – you can even come up with your own) and a poem to accompany it.

2. On each day nominate 3 bloggers for the challenge.

3. Don’t forget to thank the blogger who nominated you.

Hey Little Kid!

Hey Little Kid,

You are fine.
Doing alright in life.
You’re really thin, but healthy.
It doesn’t bother you.
You have come a long way in life.
You’ve grown exponentially as a person.
You do not miss school.
You love both your colleges.
Yes, you’ve gone to two for undergrad studies.
You’ve had failed friendships, and failed relationships.
You have fallen. You have been hurt.
But you’ve never complained.
You are blunt. People think that’s rude and mean.
You do not care about their thoughts.
You’ve grown more patient than ever.
You put matter over mind.
Logic over emotions.
You collapse on yourself.
You like how you rise after that.
You do not open up to anyone.
So, you don’t have deeper and meaningful bonds.
You have people who hate you.
You don’t care about their hatred.
You have a very few people who love you.
And you absolutely love those people.
You have made a connection much deeper than friendship.
You will cherish it for life.
You have stopped reading.
You will start that again.
You write. You write rubbish.
But you love the rubbish you write.
You do not care about public opinion anymore.
You do not fear judgement from others.
You judge yourself.
You have grown stronger.
You are very weird.
You are not driven by sex.
You do not wish like doing it.
But you are very dirty.
You are very weird.
You won’t love anyone more than yourself.
For you, your happiness is of utmost importance.
Even if it involves hurting people.
But you will always put your pride at stake for people.
You do not like fighting. Physical or verbal.
But you kill people in your dreams.
It is unhealthy, stop doing it.
Everyone is nice.
You do what you will.
You wish not to get married in life.
You want to live alone.
You want to travel alone.
You do not like being lonely.
It kills you.
You are blank-faced about things.
People think they have figured you out.
You do not tell them otherwise.
You will grow fond of food even more in coming years.
You love exploring food.
You love clicking food.
You love architecture.
But you do not want to work as an architect.
You love to write. You write rubbish.
But you love the rubbish you write.
You will think a lot. You will overthink.
It is required. You must think a lot.

Hey Little Kid,
I have a little work to do now.
I will write to you again.

Muddled Nachos

Abhay was going through the menu card to decide on his order.
*Pasta* *Pizza* *Garlic Bread* Not Italian, he thought to himself.
He tilted his head a little, glanced across the table, tilted his head back to its place and started to read the Mediterranean section.

There was a thick air of discomfort around the table. Abhay kept the menu on the side, took a sip of water, and sat leaning back on the red-plastic chair.

It was the third time that the waiter had come to take his order. “What can I get you?”, he asked politely.
Abhay was now staring across the table. As if into nothingness. He had a million things on his mind, yet he looked blank. He was struggling to gather his thoughts together, and string words to phrases. It was a rarity; words failing Abhay.

“Sir, have you decided up on your order?”
A hand came in from the left, entangled their warm fingers with Abhay’s.
“Oh! Parmesan and Mozzarella cheese”, he responded turning his head towards the left, “Muddled Nachos”.

Paper Shoes

Walk in my shoes.
UK 7 / EUR 41

I do not like anyone wearing my shoes.
I want you to have them for today.
I ask you to walk in my shoes.

It’s not for an experiential insight into my life.
I want you to get used to them.
I want you to get comfortable with wearing them.

They aren’t suede, leather, or cloth
Neither casual nor formal
My Paper Shoes
I need you to have them forever.

Poison And Wine

pnw

You, be as sharp as young wine
I, I’ll be your aroma and your bouquet
You, if you taste like young red astringent
I, I’ll breed you to finesse.

I, if I am as venomous as green poison
You, be vicious enough to kill me
I, if I am toxic to the tongue
You, be pernicious like black adder.

If I am poison, you be my wine
And if I am wine, just be mine.

Image Source: Internet

The Kid and The Balloon Seller

Abhay sat there, on a grey stone, wondering as to what the kid and the balloon seller were doing.

His head bobbed up every 10 seconds as he saw a different coloured balloon soar in the sky.
With majestic mountain ranges in the background, and a perfectly sunny day, that is how he had decided to spend his time. A book in his hands and a yearning to get back to where he came from. All but he couldn’t take his eyes off the scene unfolding in front of his eyes.

The balloon seller was filling gas in the balloons one after the other; he handed them over to the kid one by one; the kid without even looking at it, would hold the thread, stretch his arm a little, and let go off it.
They did that for as long as there weren’t any balloons left with the seller.

Calmly looking at all of this, the only thing that struck Abhay after a little while was how the kid was just looking at the balloon seller and was not even remotely interested in the balloons he was letting lose in the air. The kid had a meek smile on his lips, an innocent smile in his eyes.

It was very peculiar. Abhay was a little surprised as to how a kid just about 5 years old was loving the company of a balloon seller and not balloons. How the balloon seller did not bother about any money which he might not get later. How the whole of it wasn’t making any sense to him, but it felt right.

Abhay went to look a little closely, the kid was looking directly into the balloon seller’s eyes and the balloon seller in the kid’s.
The balloon seller only had darkness in his vision which was being lit a little bright after every balloon the kid freed to soar high in the sky.

Abhay smiled.

Not Abuzz

The last time they had a chat on Whatsapp was a week ago. The conversation had ended with a double-ticked ‘Hahaha!’ message from Abhay. Since that day, religiously, Abhay scrolled down his Whatsapp contact list, tapped open the window and saw the status flash ‘Online’. He pressed the name tag, read the status which hadn’t changed for almost two weeks; zoomed-in on the display picture, gazed at it for a while and closed the window with a smile on his face. He did that not just on Whatsapp, but on facebook and Instagram as well. He thought he had fallen in love.

Abhay is one of those who knows how to initiate a conversation with anyone. And once it has started, he gets lost while talking. He does not hesitate in sharing his life with a virtual face he has gotten close to. It is more like a routine for him. His friends often tell him that he leads people on. He disagrees mostly.

It was a warm Wednesday night. Someone was playing drums in the vicinity. Abhay was a guitar person but the E string of his guitar had broken a month ago and he hadn’t got it replaced. Even the weather did not feel right. He switched off the lights, curled up under the bedsheet and started scrolling down his facebook timeline. All he saw was posts shared by his friends on love. How two lovebirds were vacationing in Goa, and how the other two sat serenely looking at each other when sun shone brightly on them. One post read ‘You must love in such a way that the person you love feels free. -Thich Nhat Hanh.’ and there went by the night reflecting about his past.

Abhay remembered how he had never felt free with anyone he had ever loved. He *thought he had ever loved. He couldn’t help but wonder as to how acknowledging someone’s personal space was the most important thing. The thoughts escalated quickly from acknowledgement to ignorance. He got cramps in his stomach just thinking of the number of people he had ignored in his life and how very conveniently he had rescued himself from those situations. It was now he realized how it felt to be ignored by a person you felt for. Not to be acknowledged by that person. He felt horrible.

For the last time that night, he opened the Whatsapp window; scrolled down the contact list; tapped-open the chat window; saw the status flash ‘Online’; zoomed-in on the display picture. He was in love with a virtual face which was every bit real. And for the first time he did not want to get rescued. He wanted to fall. He wanted to feel the fall.

The dense black sky outside was starting to turn grey.

I AM

A lot of people often think that when a person says (s)he is bisexual, they are just confused. *False Alarm*
Half of the gay people think that bisexual people are straight people looking for fun. So they dismiss any possibility of dating a bisexual person. On the contrary, most straight people think that bisexual people are closeted homosexuals. Hence, they woudn’t date any of us.

Just to clear out this air of confusion, we are people who get attracted to both females and males alike. That does not mean that we want the best of both worlds. No. Like everyone, we also long for a person who will unconditionally love us. And that person for us can either be a woman or a guy. It is as simple as that.

As for me, yes, I am bisexual. When I tell this to people, they snap out. They think that I am joking around and it’s just one of those stupid things I keep blabbering about. I know exactly why. It is because they have always known me to have girlfriends and not boyfriends. They have listened to me talking about only women and not men. Well this is for all of you out there, take me seriously when I say I am bisexual. I like men too. There’s a possibility that I might end up with a man. And if you have any problem (read: any) with this, come talk to me; we shall find a solution to YOUR problem together.

ps- This is neither an announcement nor a coming out story. I do not believe in the very concept of coming out. This is just me embracing my sexuality.

Thank you for reading. Have a good evening. 🙂

Ishq di Fakiri

“Romantic and Amarinder Arora, there’s just no equation between the two.”, Kriti laughed.
And I couldn’t agree more.

I am a person who has never been in a very intimate relationship. Neither physical nor romantic. I am twenty two and it’s just sad they say. I haven’t emotionally invested in many people.  I belong to that breed of humans who like to go out alone, eat alone, watch a movie alone and have an amazing time doing it all. To some, this might imply that I am a loner. Yes, I have been a loner almost all my life. I have liked and embraced solitude. But this in no way implies that I do not hang around with people. You would spot me chatting with a bunch of people almost always. I like to talk and I am a sucker for good conversations. This lone thing has also gotten me into dating people and subsequent relationships with some. But that is where I begin and end.

Most of my relationships have failed. The reason being intimacy issues. I get awkward when someone leans towards me for a kiss. I am a sucker for kisses. But that doesn’t mean that I’d kiss you hello or kiss you goodbye. That’s just not me. I get awkward when someone wants to hold hands while walking. I do not know what to say when someone I care for is crying in front of me. In these situations, even talking doesn’t come to my rescue.
There’s a saving grace, though. I love hugs. Hugs for me are as intimate or more than any other form of intimacy. I connect with hugs and hugs connect me with people. That chest press gives me the happiest feeling. Even the tiniest of hugs will leave you with a certain kind of satisfaction. They are made for all occasions and all emotions.

Like everyone else, I long for love too. I long for that person who would respect this aspect of my personality and will be equally comfortable with it as I am. I long for that person with whom, at the end of the day, I know I’d have the best conversation ever even if we do not talk. Someone with whom even silence is golden.

Honestly, I like being this person. I am comfortable as this person. Although I wouldn’t change myself for anyone or anything, I promise I will start emotionally investing in them, when that person does come along,  That just might bring out the romantic in me. The best in me.

The Broken Spectacle

photo(18)

He stood up and the
wood creaked. The bolt had
loosened and the nut
nowhere to be found.
He walked past the
enamelled door. The crack
on the window not too
sharp. He descended the
grey-stoned staircase. The high
of the last step deeper
than normal. He ran on the
undulating field. The stones, but
not hurting his feet.

He fell.

_____________________

Image: Author

Run by Night

So Lost

‘Ring after ring, I exhaled the edginess out. Puff after puff, I inhaled the cravings in. The cavernous room was clouded with a thick layer of smoke and it reeked of Marijuana. I held both the speakers close to my ears. They were bursting loud sounds of ecstasy in my mind and my body was slowly giving-in.’

I had not slept in three days for some reason, and I wasn’t feeling much in the mood for anything. I kept away from people and even lashed out at some. I rarely do that. The only thing I know is I was not doing well. I was in a bad state of mind. I was distressed.

Within fifteen minutes, I was swaying to the beats of Netsky. For a moment, I  felt very light on my feet. It seemed as if I was all set to defy gravity and set sail for the stars when suddenly I tripped and came crashing down to face the reality.

I kept staring at the tremulous face in the mirror until the dancing eyes got lost in the images of his thoughts. In the thick of myriads of realities, those eyes saw what my eyes refused to see. Those eyes saw love in my eyes. Those eyes called for an awakening. For my soul’s awakening.

The red LED lights hanging on my wall matched tunes with Advaita’s Hamsadhwani playing in the background.
“Sometimes I don’t know why I feel this way… Am I just a state of mind? Fighting the demons hiding in my head… And dreaming dreams of angels.”

With a heavy head and only one thought to mull over, I slept like I had never before.

____________________

Image: Masoom Parmar

On Beginnings and Endings

IMG_20141228_183154
The dying sun still had
some power left. He wasn’t
going anywhere until the trees
bore some leaves. His northern
light performed on a
boundless orange sky.

The crackling branches tried
to touch the sky, while the roots
gave strength to the
trunk’s stability. They were
hiding mighty wonders under them.

I was left charmed by
the melody of birds singing.
I could sense the
earthy smell of beginnings and endings.

It was an awe-inspiring sunset.

___________________________

Image Courtesy: Shubham Sant
His instagram handle: crazy_backbencher

Musings

Isn’t it strange that we occasionally, unexpectedly, find ourselves returning to past spaces?
This thought ran through my mind after I returned to Delhi day before yesterday. It struck me how I tend to go to all of these specific places in Delhi. My visits are incomplete if I do not spend quality time at these places; some all by myself and some with my friends.

The first place that I head to is Dilli Haat. I absolutely love watching the old man weaving yarns at the entrance of the complex. My favourite thing here is to read a good book sipping the woody tea at Navdanya. Sitting under the illuminating lights, you can strike a conversation with some of the people around. They are mostly warm and friendly. That is the thing I love about Dilli Haat; you can always chat with random people about various things and get inspired. I’d highly recommend you to go there during the festival times, walk around, talk to people and get closer to the better things in life.

photo

The next spot is Cha Bar in Cononaught Place. This place is love. I mostly go there with my good friend Divya, and sometimes all by myself. The place lets me be myself in entirety. Half of the poems that I have published on the blog were writting on the napkins of Cha Bar while eating Alfredo Pasta and drinking hot chocolate. It’s like a paradise for tea lovers for they have a vast variety of teas from around the globe. The very reason why I love going there is because of The Oxford Bookstore. Who wouldn’t like to go to a place brimming with books? Though it’s almost impossible to find a seat here, it’s a perfect getaway. ps- Three cheers to Sonal (our favourite Cha Bar staff) 😀

photo(13)

A visit to Delhi is incomplete without paying a visit to the ever-so-crowded and host to one of the best food-trails you’ll find in Inda- Chandni Chowk. I take a metro from Green Park to go to Jor Bagh or CP, and end up in Chandni Chowk. This has happened innumerable times. For me, it is one place which has beautiful architecture, lipsmacking food and a diverse religious influence all working together perfectly. This is the place I relate to the most. :’)

photo(15)            photo(14)

Last and most definitely the place where I unexpectedly end up everytime is Connaught Place. I can never get enough of this place because it is here that I feel a part of Delhi. With mutton patty from Wenger’s in one hand and a black (cigarette) in the other (from the panwaala beside Blues), I walk aimlessly in the inner-circle of the arcaded market. Funnily, my mom has her own theory for my love for CP. She says that when I was in her womb, she used to go to CP everday for she had those sudden craving for Keventer’s milk. And how she used to absolutely love the plain cake of Wenger’s bakery. She tells me how even she used to walk aimlessly with dad on the then less exploited paths of CP. Maybe it is all connected, maybe not. It’s difficult to describe the feeling in words. It’s love and affection in its purest form (like Carrie’s love for Manolo Blahnik’s or Seth’s love for Chrismukkah).

photo(16)cp

My connection with these places has strengthened because of distance, I reckon. The more time between two visits to these places, the more I cherish them the third time. I’d like to thank Delhi the most for all of this. I am a part of this city, and it is an invaluable part of my identity.

My love affair with Delhi has just started.
_________________________________________________________

Images Courtesy: Author
Image 6: Internet

Lonely

If you asked me what I did during the long weekend, I wouldn’t have an answer. Perhaps I’d say I was lying on my bed all day long for 3 days. I drowned myself into books. I wrote when I wasn’t reading. I saw three beautiful movies. I hogged on the Abbie’s dark chocolate, and drank iced tea. Not much to my surprise, I over-thought about everything that was happening.

There’s a bedsheet covering the entire window pane of my room. I did not know if it was day or night. If it was raining outside, or the sun had finally shone. All I could see through the ventilator was that little white bulb shining brighly in all its glory. Because of the brightness of the laptop, I could see the pair of jeans still hanging on the wall. I could see the two chairs full of my clothes, a table cluttered with various bottles, and a guitar with 5 strings reclining on the opposite wall.
I couldn’t help but wonder how dull my life had become.

I was a person who was always ready to take on the world. I would go out alone, walk around the city, meet people and make friends. I would go to the rooms of various people in my hostel and talk to them about interesting things, or rubbish sometimes. I was one of those who would entertain the guards on duty in the night. I would go out and feed the dogs at 3am when I heard them weeping. But all I was doing was thinking about all of these things lying in my room.

I wondered how many (or all) of us do not want to be exposed in front of others. Talking about myself, I know how I wear different masks of emotions than what is actually going on. Sometimes it is because I do not want the other person to get worried. I realized how just below the surface we’re all raw and exposed. We cannot lie to ourselves about it.

I won’t lie to myself about this.
I did not want the world to see the vulnerable side of me. I was nothing but lonely.
I am lonely.

Cure Of My Love

I was asked to write the lyrics for a romantic song by one of my friends. The whole composition is still under production. I’d be really glad if anyone of you would convert the lyrics into a song with your own music. I want to hear various versions of this. If you do make a song out of this, please mail me the link for the same to arora.amarinder@gmail.com I’d be highly obliged. Here goes.

ll Be a cure of my love for you, sweet lover
Be a cure of my love for you.

Like raindrops give respite in the summer,
showering the happiness on you.
Like the cool winds feel in the eve of spring, lover,
be a cure of my love for you.

Be a cure of my love for you, darling lover
Be a cure of my love for you.

Like the withered leaves fall of the trees in earthy autumn,
making the pictureque for you.
Like the lights glow brighter in the lazy nights of winter,
be a cure of my love for you.

Be a cure of my love for you sweet lover,
be a cure of my love for you.

Artwork: Leonid Afremov

Reminiscence

06/01/2015
Habibganj Station
Bhopal

“Dilli se chal kar, Agra Cant. aur Jhansi ke raaste Bhopal aane waali gaadi number 12002, Shatabadi Express, apne nirmit samey se 4 ghante ki deri se chal rahi hai.”
The voice from the louspeaker broke the rare silence at the railway station.
It was a very dull and chilly winter day. I had got my usual honey-oat Sub packed for the train journey to Delhi. The weather forecast wasn’t very appealing. The train was bound to get late as the route was densely covered with fog.
I had already travelled for 36 hours in the train in the previous 2 days. I knew this train journey was going to be gruelling because past the scheduled arrival time of the train, I start getting irritated, especially when the destination is home.
Anyhow, as the train was late, I decided to retire in the waiting room (my first time in one). It was a modest room with dust-covered framed-photographs of exotic locations that M.P. has on offer nailed on the walls. There was enough room for a skinny person like me to find a corner to retire.
A 30 something guy was sitting awkwardly in a corner lost in his mobile phone; an older guy (sitting right next to me) was telling his daughter why tea is better than coffee (even I nodded in agreement); a young couple were trying their best to make the baby sleep, all in vain. My eyes, though, froze at the sight of an old-lady sitting in a relaxed posture knitting woolen sweaters for her grandkinds (I guess). Looking at her, I was reminded of my grandmother. How she used to sit in the exact same position on a charpai on bright winter afternoons and knit beautiful little woolen boots for all the kids. I transcended back in time.
ReminiscenceA five year old boy running pointlessly playing with the ball of wool that his grandmother was knitting with.  The sound of the striking knitting-needles, dadi shouting at me for I entangled the threads; half on the charpai and half on her head.
I can still hear the echo of her words, “Laija ainu yahan se, Rama. Sarr kha gaya hai mera moya jeya.”
I used to laugh my guts out because the sound of punjabi words made me feel extremely ticklish. Sometimes, they still do. It is one of those thing which I have absolutely no control on. I miss her.

Dadi left us for the heavenly abode six years ago. I watched everyone cry but I couldn’t. I knew she was going to be with me.
She would call out my name, and slip a 10 rupee note in my pocket to buy chips. She would be there to feed me carrots and guavas when I’d return from school. She was, yet she wasn’t. I miss her.

I looked at the old-lady looking at me with a gleam in her eyes and a beautiful smile on her lips. As much as I wanted to talk to her, I couldn’t approach her. I smiled back. A tear trickled down my cheek as I left the modest room.
The train had arrived.
__________________________________________
I know you’ll always be there with me, Dadi. I love you.
Avi.

Calling

Serenity

Yesterday night I dreamt of water and how I loved being around water. The sound of the waves hitting the rocks. The cool breeze whispering optimism in my ears. The current of strength that ran in my body because of the sheer splendour and aura of this place was immense. I do not know why I was dreaming of water but it did leave me encouraged. It left me with that feeling of being free; of being at peace; of being empowered.

Image Source: Author

Life: Self-Esteem

We all face problems of self-esteem at certain times in our life. Isn’t it? We feel inferior to a lot of people around us and it bothers us. We curse ourselves for no reason and in the process, some people even end up harming themselves. The ultimate goal of the self is to protect an image of its integrity, morality and adequacy. Right? But at what cost? We start with being honest to ourselves and align to our own values, morals and ethics. More often than not, in the name of these morals and values which we set for our good, bind us and restrict us. So, we end up crying because the instilled values won’t let us be rude to anyone and hurt them. Holy mother of god.
Is it morally correct? Let’s talk.

Like A Puppet On A String

This is a counter version of my previous post ‘Just A Puppet On A Lonely String’.

Yesterday, I was listening to my routine playlist on the ipod when suddenly these words came out of the ear-pods ‘Like a puppet on a string.’ This was one of those songs which I have had in my playlist for a long time and I usually always skipped it (for no reason at all). So I actually replayed the whole song again to realize that this version of the puppet on a string lies on an entirely different axis. This is a happy song and mine was certainly a sad poem.

I was looking for similarities between the poem and the song and I realized that the way both of these have been written is quite alike. Albeit we both highlighted either sides of the story, she managed to make it a merrier version of an unspoken love story whereas I focussed more on the hardships of ‘LIFE’.
“I may win on the roundabout
Then I’ll lose on the swings”
The lines above are my favourite from the song. It signifies how equilibrium must be maintained in any relationship even if it requires losing. I won’t take this philosophical think tank further, coz I want this to be a happy post. 😀

Here. Give Sandie Shaw’s ‘Like a puppet on a string’ a listen. It’s lovely.

Just A Puppet On A Lonely String

It’s after almost a year that I’ll be publishing a blog post. This has been in the drafts folder for a long time now.
A month of the new year has gone by, and I think it’s time that I start writing more. I often lose track and stop blogging, but I hope I’ll keep on going this time.
Here goes.

Go left, move right
Skim through or sway light
Aren’t you just a puppet on a lonely string?

Turn up, back down
Wicked face or a deep frown
Aren’t you just a puppet on a lonely string?

Sit hunched, lay straight
Posture sharp or a lazy trait
Aren’t you just a puppet on a lonely string?

aaa
Source: nickflakner.com/

Contextuality In Light Of IIM, Bangalore

“Contextuality is the study of consciousness which is deeply connected to what we feel in and around.” – Samruddhi Chaphale
Like our conscience is relative to everything around, originality and quality are relative aspects to our consciousness.
Therefore, for me, ‘Contextuality’ and ‘Relativity’ go hand in hand.

Taking an example from the discussion that happened in our class;
An old Chawl building, where let’s say my grandfather used to stay might be fitting to the context but with time and need, the chawl now functions as a very new concept of nuclear modular design.  This, very precisely points to the fact that contextuaity is a portrayal of inter-connectivity between time, space and people.Considering that the change is mandatory, it does not mean that we lose our foundation which is the stronghold of any building in any context.

To go much deeper into the meanings and forays of this word ‘Contextuality’, I have done a detailed study on one of Balakrishna Doshi’s most famous pieces of architecture, the Indian Institute of Management, Bangalore. Moreover, I have done a study of its counterpart in Ahmedabad designed by the great Louis I. Khan to establish the context pertaining to the program of a management campus and it’s working.
The website of the institute says, and I quote, “The campus is a destination and a pilgrimage for students of Architecture and practicing architects, with the architecture of the academic and administration blocks becoming a case study.”
There might be just one out of a thousand people who’ll disagree with this, but I am not one of those.

In one of his interviews, B.V. Doshi said, “In Fatehpur Sikri, the presence of the buildings is strongly felt in spite of their being relatively small, a factor of special interest to me.”
This cemented the fact that Doshi derived inspiration from Fatehpur Sikri while designing the IIM-B campus.
Getting on with the study.

Bangalore’s climate is very comfortable and the city is full of lush green lawns and tress. So Doshi decided to include ‘external spaces’ in the campus in order to create a link and connect with the outside. The local traditions of pavilion-like spaces, courtyards, and ample provisions for plantations are holistically incorporated in the campus.

What is ironical about the building/ campus is how it creates a sense of ‘dichotomy’ in my mind. The local touch of the elements is amalgamated (?) with long and unusually high (triple storied) corridors.
Personally, when I think of open spaces, greenery, lawns, et cetera I sure do not visualize a majestic stone structure in the name of an educational building juxtaposed to the lush. Yet, when you look at the rough blocks of local gray granite or exposed concrete relative to the lawns, the rigid lines of this dichotomy seems fairly blurred.

IIM-B in the material context is a tribute to stone. The stone texture allows the Climbing Ivy or Kalati (stone climber as called in Kannada) to grow to hug the wall, which adds to the already infinite greenery and is very suitable for Bangalore’s Climate. Stone wasn’t used merely because it was a material of the old times, but because stone is a symbol of power. (Knowledge is power)
With the established notion of knowledge is power, the following few words will give a glimpse of what a management institute deals with.

“Management is nothing more than motivating other people.”
This quote by Lee Iacocca is very significant when it comes to the functionality of a management institute which can be obtained through various resources, like architecture.

But before moving on to the functional aspect of the campus, I’d surface on what is a management college and how does it work.

Management is considered as an act of getting the things done through the efforts of other people by means of constant motivation. It is dynamic in nature and serves the very important aspect of achieving a particular goal with effective utilization of resources at a minimal cost facing the challenges of change and growth to bring about stability in society through innovations and inventions.

To establish the program of a management institute I studied the program and functionality of Indian Institute of Management, Ahmedabad and IIM, Bangalore alike.

IIM-A is the most coveted management institute of the country. Designed by Louis I. Khan, this building is what I call the pilgrimage for students.
The building program of the campus is divided into the administration zone, library, class rooms, kitchen and dining area, hostels, library, staff quarters and a water tank.
The class rooms in IIM-A are arranged linearly with the furniture laid out in a semi circular manner. Double corridors are provided outside the class rooms to avoid disturbances and the interaction spaces are provided between two class rooms. Moreover, there is an open courtyard surrounded by the library, class rooms and faculty offices. It is called Louis Khan’s plaza in honor of the architect. Louis Khan with IIM-A, was forced to deal with new conditions of a climatically extreme zone with obstacles like glaring light, heat and weeks of monsoon rains.
To tackle these problems, he gave porches light wells, ambulatories as double shell outer walls to filter the sunlight and create autonomous spaces for direct light. Moreover, he was able to produce rich quality and give a strong character to the buildings with the combination of traditional and modernity by using unfinished brick mass with visible concrete piers.
Now, I’ll turn my focus back to IIM-B. Since it is the building under concentration, I’ll talk about it in more detail as compared to its counterpart.
The entrance to the building acts as a buffer space between the administration area and the academic area. The main section of the campus that houses the administration offices, class rooms, laboratories and a library is arranged as datum along a longitudinal axis. The admin block is a G+2 structure and is easily accessible from every building. The class rooms are semi circular or rectangular in plan, and are well lighted and ventilated. The windows are recessed so as to prevent the use of chhajjas. To enhance the interaction between the teachers and students, the seminar rooms have semi circular furniture layouts.  The highlight of the whole building complex lies in the fact that the library has natural lighting which reaches as far down as the basement. Interestingly, the staff housing is designed on the illusion of unity in diversity as these quarters are provided in grades, like A-B-C for general staff; D-E for faculty staff; F for directors. The campus with its notion ‘Healthy minds dwell in the healthy bodies’ span a multitude of sports facilities, including an art gymnasium, a tennis court, an indoor badminton court, and a swimming pool.
The beauty of IIM’s architecture lies in its transition spaces. The corridors are designed sometimes open, with pergolas, or covered. This gives the whole structure a very nice light and shade effect. Courtyards are provided as interaction spaces. Some of them are covered with glazed skylights to allow spots for casual eating, and relaxing.

This analysis, I believe, presents a very clear picture of how IIM, Bangalore’s spatial designing is very strong in functionality and its comparative study with IIM, Ahmedabad erases any doubts from our minds as to why both of these institutes are best in every aspect or scheme of things.

As I mentioned earlier as to how originality and quality are relative to our conscience, now I’ll discuss this in light of the sustainable edge that IIM, Bangalore possesses.
IIM, Bangalore has a robust in-house program of water management. Earlier, the campus relied exclusively on groundwater but due to declining water table, this system was established. Capture and re-use of water on campus forms a major part of the water management initiative at IIM-B, as do efforts to conserve water at source. Bio-urinals and water-efficient toilets are all but rolling out in the whole campus. Rooftop rainwater is also captured in sumps, which is re-used in toilets. Apart from water management, waste management system, an on-site bio gas plant and solar water heaters are in use.

Why do I talk about sustainable edge is because IIM-B is a perfect milieu responding to the niche idea of contextuality interrelating time, space and people.

I’ll conclude this essay by Doshi’s words himself that ‘Indian Institute of Bangalore’s buildings is established by a modest relation between the sky, the ground, and the backdrop of the lining corridor, very much like the umbilical cord and the extended family. One is separate, and yet connected, even though tenuously.’

And this is how a building becomes of all ages; Timeless.

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