Begining of the end

Tomorrow the calender page turns over to May marking one whole year since I started blogging. 

Yes, thescarletrealm is now a year old. One wouldn't say it is alive and kicking, certainly not flourishing, but it has stuck by my side. By my side in a year, that in many ways, has been my worst yet.

A year that has seen tears and shame and anguish and loss. And in its own inadequate way, it has stood in as a mute confidante. Been my companion when I wasn't lonely but definitely alone.

Yes, May marks a year of endings and of doors shut softly and firmly on the past.

Ode to Mr. B

I am not someone who is given to easy admiration. Even way back in school, when one had to write essays on "My Heroes" , I was at a loss.



It is not that I am a perpetual critic. I appreciate good work, I compliment people a lot. But it takes a lot for me to admit I admire someone.


And Mr B. is one person who has my unrestrained regard.


Mr B. is not a corny name I came up with for anonymity. It is what everyone at work calls him - behind his back. Yeah, people say a lot of things behind his back.


He is the doyen at work with a razor mind that can zero in on the tiniest details that everyone else misses out. When Mr B. asks you for information, then you check twice, thrice, have a cup of coffee and clear your mind and then check the fourth time and only then - only then do you venture giving him the answer.


And if you are a newbie and you think you can get away with a glib response, "Ha ha". Thats the first and the last time you'd do it.


Because by the time Mr B is done with you, you'd tuck your tail between your legs and go dig a hole to hide in for the rest of your professional life. No, Mr B is not one of the nasty managers who are sarcastic or offensive. He just quietly and persistently makes you trace your line of reasoning , exposing the follies and finally leaving you agape at his astuteness.


And that is why he is not everybody's favourite guy. Its not hard to imagine, is it.


To be honest, he does have his share of foibles. On the rare chances that you have an idea better than his, it is extremely difficult to get him see your point of view.


But a manager's mettle is tested only during the bleakest outage and that is when his leadership shone through.


And today, Mr B. was let go. Made redundant. And that is not a euphemism. That is the word that best explains how the best, brilliant and hardworking lose jobs just because of a currency multiplication factor.



_

WRB

I went to a girls' school and did not have to pay any fees thanks to Maharashtra government's scheme of free secondary education for girls.

After my XII, I was lucky to get admission in IT in a Women's college. Boys with the same rank as mine certainly did not qualify for the same branch in an equally good college.

I am a good example of how reservations bring unfair advantages to sections of the society that don't need the benefits.

I could have afforted to pay the fees and was privileged enough to be able to secure a college admission solely on merit.

So yes, I agree with some of the arguments made by the staunch opposition to the Womens' reservation bill. Whether the bill in itself is going to directly empower women is a different discussion. But my attempt today is to justify the idea that such measures gradually break gender sterotypes.

Brinda Karat says, "women today are still caught in a culture prison. In the name of tradition, stereotypes are imposed and we have to fight these every day." And we do not even have to look as far as a woman leading a village panchayat for examples of the change reservations can bring.

Quite a few of my batchmates in college were allowed to study away from home staying in a hostel only because it was a Women's university. The alternative for them was to live with family, study in the town college and probably compromise on opportunity and exposure.

Many people still have an iron clad perception of what an 'Indian' woman should look like or how she should behave or in whose company she can be or how she should live her life.

Seeing more women in positions of influence will broaden the frame of reference and dissolve orthodox notions that women are held to.

_

_


Sometimes being there for someone is not being there at all.


_

Deja-Vu

He loosened his tie as the cab rolled on slowly in the traffic. He threw his head back and shut his eyes. What a week. He had not expected the trip to be this busy and taxing. Every day had drawn on till late, leaving him listless and heavy headed with barely enough energy to crawl back to the hotel.



He had not taken the guys out for drink. He could not head out his favourite pub and play pool. He had not called his old buddies yet. But today, today he had taken the afternoon off. Work was almost over and he was leaving tomorrow. Besides, how could he not? It had been 4 years since ...




He jumped out of the cab at the park and quickly strolled in. It was late in the afternoon and a hot day but the skaters whizzed past him relentlessly. A quick scan around and he slowly smiled as he realized she was late. He bought a sandwich from the vendor and sat down on the bench.




As he slowly looked around again, he could see the signs of change. The fancy outdoor theatre, the new jazz bar, the imposing modern sculpture. It was all too alien and all strangely familiar. The place reminiscent of a time when they dreamed and believed in soulmates. Sometimes, it is astonishing how much of our past lives we can fold and seal away until a fragrance, a picture , a song brings all those memories back in full flood.




This was a first. He would be waiting by now. She paused on her way to look at the glass windows of the ticket booth. The face staring back at her was anxious. She smoothed her hair down and dabbed on some gloss as she entered the park. "I should calm down", she thought for the tenth time. But she had been nervous since the sms earlier that day.


And then just as she spotted him, he turned and looked right at her. She could see the streak of grey had increased but he still looked young. "Ah! Men are so lucky. They always look like boys", she thought. And as their eyes met, the years of exile melted away and she broke into a big smile.




"Her hair is still the same" a voice spoke in his head the instant he saw her. He stood up and walked towards her slowly. And when he saw her smile, it was as if nothing had changed. A small knot deep in his chest
dissolved and he smiled back at her radiantly.




"Hey"


"Hey, how are you?", she said.


There was brief pause as they held each other's gaze.


"You look the same", he said.


"Yeah, same but older".


"Older is wiser", he countered.


And pat came the reply with a sly smile ,"yeah if I had a clump of grey hair I'd like to believe I am wiser too".

And then she saw the sandwich on the bench "Have you eaten?"

It was his turn. "Is that the first thing you can think of to say after four years? "


They laughed and walked towards the row of street food stalls and tables.


"How is everyone at home?"


"Fine"


"Hmmm.. everyone says I'm fine.."


She nodded.





And then they started to talk. About everything. Everything they had held back all this while, everything they were desperate to share but resolved never to. About anger and frustration and hope and hurt and happiness and shame and victories and downfalls. Thoughts they both knew only the other could understand.


And as it grew darker, the voices died.


They got up and walked to the edge of the water. And , maybe for the last time, sat on the hard ground, holding hands, the water lapping at their heels.



_

Everybody Hurts

Mark Twain says, "The worst loneliness is to not be comfortable with yourself."

I think it is the worst punishment.

How bitter it is to look at the mirror and see a person you have lost respect for.

And even on the brightest and sunniest days in future, the image will be a haunting reminder of how you were at the lowest point in your life.


_

Electric boots and a mohair suit

Benny and the Jets on 27 dresses again.

Why do I love this song so much ?


Is it the slow pulsating rythym  or Elton John's voice as it floats effortlessly over the high note at "magaziiine".


The song is great for all moods - brassy and brazen , or sad and soulful , or sultry and sensuous.


_