To an imaginary lover

My dear Hotness,

It was magical when we first spoke - your silly, self-deprecating jokes and PowerPuff Girls song rendition really had my heart skipping a beat. And when we met, multiple times, it felt so simple to be with you - because you gave me space and I didn't feel the need to name what we had or rush into a commitment like with the guys before you. I didn't have to apologize for my work habits or my smoking habits, I felt like I could reach out to you when I needed and you wouldn't play games - just be, and let me be.

But as much as I treasure your friendship and company, I can't do this anymore. I'm not a stickler for commitment (I think it takes time), but the last couple of conversations with you have left me feeling terribly disoriented. It's good to know that you've found someone who's special to you - your "girlfriend", who gets your polyamory, who you think could be the one, who you fast for and who you're "promised" to, but I don't get your continued ability to be with other people - though I'll attribute that to my limited ability to understand the full gamut of human emotions and thoughts. So no judgement for you (believe me, it's true). But I just can't be in this stalemate anymore. I wasn't really seeking your love and loyalty from Day 1 (or even Day 100), but I can't be with someone who can't even imagine loving and being loyal to a single person (me) especially when it appears they've already found true love elsewhere that transcends anything that I can hope to offer. 

It hurts, it hurts a lot to do this. And I know I'm going to regret my decision once or twice (or maybe forty two times), but I have to do this (or maybe I don't, but if there is an alternate, acceptable path, it is hidden from me). This in no way changes the respect and affection I have for you - nothing can ever take that away. My will has wavered a lot in saying this to you, but here it is - I can't see you anymore Hotness, I aspire to be more than the n-th person in someone's life. 

Best,
Just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her

Letters to no one

Chomu,

You're probably feeling confused right now, and maybe even a little scared (though not as much as me, I assure you). No one knows how to run away from emotions and reality better than me - I've been at it since I read Harry Potter.

I didn't know what to say to you or what not to say - just because, I don't even know what I'm feeling or thinking, and for the moments when I think I do, it changes to the opposite after all of 5 minutes. But I had to write this to you because I thought I would pass out if I didn't tell you (or down a bottle of whisky instead). So before you tear this and throw this away, read it, in its entirety and forgive me.

I care about you. I don't remember how or when we met. I don't even remember how or when we became friends, but I cannot forget the day it all changed (no it wasn't when you think it was). And though I don't know what it means for us and our friendship, I do know that I want you to be okay...I want us to be okay. 

It was quite abrupt and unexpected when you declared "yeh sab galat hai" the first time we kissed in the rain (I don't even know how long we were there in each others arms, or how we got there). I remember it being no big deal, despite you dragging me by the hand and dropping me home without my bag or phone. I vowed never to speak of it again and I was succeeding (it was no big deal) - till you held my hand, and invited me into your arms again that offsite night. And later, it broke my heart to say to you that we could never be friends again, and the tears in my eyes weren't fake - I couldn't bear the thought of having ruined what we had - the playfulness, the affection, the laughter and warm hugs. 

But like a roller coaster ride, it didn't stop, till I was upside down (mentally and physically). The night on the beach, when you said you were at peace, for the first time, it was like my own voice, giving words to long denied thoughts. And I know you weren't lying or drunk (we weren't born yesterday). But the next day, when I finally decided I couldn't pretend anymore, you retreated into a place where I couldn't follow you. I know how important one's space is, I detest people who take up mine, so I didn't insist at first.

I can guess what your fears may be (though I really don't know what they are) - that I'm older (and wiser :-P), that maybe I'm not pretty enough, that maybe I'll take away your freedom, that maybe you're not ready to be with someone, that people are going to be judgmental or not accepting of this. No one understands that better than me, because I feel the same fears and like I said at the start, I probably feel them more intensely than you do. But I realized a long time ago, the only thing more crippling than my fear, was the fact I did nothing about those fears. 

So, I have to do this now. It hurts, quite a bit, not knowing what you're going through, not being able to talk to you about it - I really wish I could understand why "yeh sab galat hai". Because, in my eyes, what's really wrong is not being able to share what we really feel with each other - especially since you know I have never judged you or how you act. 

There are so many years ahead of us, and I would rather not lose you by my side, but if I do, I would want you to know this - we can either move forward or we can move apart. But this place we're at, we're nowhere, and it won't last. 

I won't pretend to know what's "sahi" and "galat" but I know, that if it felt right in every moment that we were together, it cannot feel right when it's all over. I'm not a thief, I don't take what's not mine.

But I felt like you were. It felt like you let yourself be mine.

Perhaps I'm mistaken, but I had to say it (before I down a bottle of whisky). 

Yours,
Deepanshi
"Kabhi kabhi toh lagta hai apun ich bhagwan hai."

Lost and found

I thought I lost my creativity, till I found answers in the ancient scriptures of Krishna,
Followed by CK specs that went amiss after a night of bizzareness I can never explain,
But made up for in the shaded glory of the grandest victory, called RC...
And I missed my flight back home,
Only to find that in solo trips I found a new, more beautiful me...
And I pined for those who weren't open to being loved,
Till I found adoration and respect from perfect strangers...
And I missed friends who were lost to other lands,
Only to find some coming back to make new memories with me.

In life, you lose so much, but gain some of it back - and so we move on, to live another day, another night, to remember.

Follow

Follow the night, and meet me at the end of the road
End of the road, where there's nothing to hide
Nothing to hide, about the vacuum in this shell
This shell, that lusts for solitude, and to be lost in others
Others, who revel in the dark as me.

Follow the melody, and meet me at the edge of the cliff
Edge of the cliff, from where I can fall and fly
Fall and fly, away from the fallacy they call rationality
Call rationality, and tell him I need him again
Again, I'm stuck in the tune, singing to a soul that's not there.

Follow the scent of zest, and meet me in the abyss
Me in the abyss, navigating waters not known to them
Known to them, ghosts of a past that chain the frail
The frail, that follow the lights and sounds of acceptance
Acceptance, that is unwelcome and unattainable.

Follow the wind, and meet me where the whisperers lay
Where the whisperers lay, reciting their false prayers
Their false prayers, that tell tales of a hell and heaven
And heaven, here I come looking for you
You, complete me, like rain drops on lips.

On Howard Roark - Is he the hero everyone says he is?

I recently read a someone's review of The Fountainhead in which said person written in length about the beauty of the heroes and philosophy and I could not but help pen the following down -

Yes, indeed, The Fountainhead is one book that shaped my early teenage years and thinking, it still does continue to do so well into my 20s. And perhaps, Atlas Shrugged is better exemplification of Ayn Rand's true philosophy, more so than The Fountainhead, but it is true that this book has some of the most unique and interesting characters in all her works. The problem lies in her portrayal of these “unrealistic” heroes and villans. 

The truth is probably (as I have observed in my life) that Howard Roark is not a real person. It is possible for people to try to emulate him in some misguided quest for liberation, but practically speaking, people like him do not exist. A deeper look into her life reveals that she actually fell into depression after writing her magnum opus - Atlas Shrugged, because she herself struggled with the conflict from not being able to consistently and incessantly think and feel like her "heroes". Why? Because they aren't real. Yes, some of their qualities are present in people around us, but those characters, they do not exist and (perhaps) never can. One can argue that Ayn Rand didn't want to show us real people, but how people could/should be. Roark is a solemn man with ironclad beliefs and doesn't succumb to the weakness that plagues others. No one is Howard Roark for the same reason that nobody is Christ or Shiv or Mohammad or whatever God one believes in. 

Ayn Rand argued in favor of rationality and rejected religion, but her protagonists seem to have these deity like qualities that seem neither realistic nor achievable to emulate over the length of a lifetime. The truth is, Ayn Rand "romanticizes" her characters' stoic qualities to deliver a stronger message than reality ever can - and that's where the problem is. People take the characters' behavior at face-value and jump headfirst into these appealing, yet harmful behaviors that further isolate them from what makes them happy without questioning it beforehand. That is irrational. 

Hence, while The Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged continue to be one of the most personally influential books in my life and have served for many many hours of beautiful intellectual debate among friends and colleagues, I cannot ever endorse the view that Howard Roark is the perfect man or that is Dominique the perfect woman. 

Consequently, they are but art, exaggerated, distorted, to pander to the abstract longings of our mind - to derive meaning in a life that is but without.

Who is the better Holmes? Elementary vs. Sherlock – My take on which is better and why

It’s been two months since I’ve been hooked onto Elementary and as I await the final Season 7 (perhaps making it the longest running Sherlock Holmes series ever), I felt the urge to pen down my thoughts on it and share it with the world. It is no doubt one of the most heretical interpretations of ACD’s work and the institution that is Sherlock Holmes and yet probably, I must admit, the best. No way, you say. Benedict Cumberbatch was the best, you say. Allow me to explain.

This contemporary take on Holmes unveils its lead as a modern day recovering heroin addict, addled with the inner demons of guilt, lost love, troubled familial relationships and inability to conform to the traditional social “tact”. While both Miller and Cumberbatch find solace in a dispassionate approach to crime solving, believe that they are smarter and better than others and view the people around them as hardly more than data points, there is a more nuanced, relatable approach to Miller’s Holmes.

So, as I re-watched Sherlock, I was surprised to find myself almost repulsed by Cumberbatch’s Holmes giggling upon hearing of a serial murderer on the loose (A Study in Pink). While Miller’s Holmes, demonstrates more of a “frenzied passion” to solving crimes and ensuring justice at all costs, Cumberbatch’s Holmes is only driven by the puzzle and the need to solve it, designating him and the “movieish” episodes to just that – a puzzle to be solved. And the viewer is left, like Watson, to exclaim sheepishly, “Fantastic”. Miller’s Holmes gives a character to root for, to believe in and to see evolve. Cumberbatch’s Holmes continues to tiringly pride in his superiority without ever exploring the inner workings of a “high-functioning sociopath” and the journey before and after.

This brings us to the debate of Watson vs. Watson. Elementary truly takes a leap of faith by casting Lucy Liu in the part of a female Watson, and I was very skeptical to be honest, if this could truly stay true to the original relationship of Holmes and Watson, but again, Elementary wins out. From the moment Joan Watson steps into Holmes’ house, she establishes herself as more than an idol-worshiping sidekick which Freeman’s Watson hardly ever rises beyond in the BBC version. Joan not only grows to be a true “partner”, often providing the critical insight into solving cases or solving them on her own, she also helps bring out the previously unexplored parts of Sherlock’s personality in terms of guilt, anger, resentment, isolation, empathy and enables his journey in dealing with a lot of these real emotions (of course without turning this into a soap opera). And while we see her character arc develop as well, she never takes away from Holmes' limelight or descend into orthodox feminine story plots. Freeman’s Watson on the other hand, slavishly admires his Holmes and his ability to deduce astounding facts from the minutest of details and is relegated to the part of a “wife”, tolerating the arrogance, lack of concern (and sometimes evoking the tiniest empathy in Sherlock) – this is probably why he is often the butt of “gay” jokes. He is less of a partner, and more of a bystander caught in the hurricane that is Sherlock. Quite the opposite, Joan develops a true friendship with her Holmes based on mutual respect, learning from each other as their journey progresses (contrary to Cumberbatch’s Holmes that often declares his Watson an “idiot” or “vacant”).

At last, we come to Moriarty. Well, the Moriarty angle is truly a very interesting approach in Elementary (no spoilers), one that deviates entirely from the canon, but definitely provides some compelling material. Though I must defer to the crazed, obsessive Andrew Scott who made the character so much more fun – a super villain worth his stock, in Sherlock.

So, while I must admit that big names, Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman had me (like many others) prostrating over Sherlock, over time, Elementary has won the true respect of yours truly. Sherlock is more faithful and Cumberbatch’s deep voice and conspicuous arrogance perhaps lend him to higher adoration as a "high functioning sociopath". But, at the end of the day, Miller’s Holmes and Liu's Watson are truly more “organic” and “chemical” in their nature, ironically, much more than “elementary”.