A MISSING KNEE-JOINT

Confession: I am a very bad blogger. I don't give time to my blog, I have even stopped posting at DOV. And every time I do come up with some or the other excuse. What's my excuse this time? Last year, I was busy getting an internship, this summer I was busy having fun in Bangalore and now I am busy preparing for my placements. Told ya, I have excuses all the time!!!

So as a compensation and a token of sorry, here's an incident I would like to share with my darlings. This is the story of an accident I had once while travelling. Even though, it has been seven years since then, all the incidents are still clear in my mind and haunts my dreams till date....

I went to the railway station today. It’s been more than a year since I have been there. The place brought back old memories.  For the last four years before I joined college I have been there every day- at 6 in the morning, 3 in the afternoon and even 12 at night. I live in a small town in the suburbia near Kolkata. The place is really secluded and I had to travel 16 miles every day from Monday to Saturday (I was regular to school and didn’t miss school unless I had some sort of emergency). For tuitions I had to travel nearly 35 miles four times a week which even included Sundays. Dude it’s really painful when you go to bed at 1 a.m and wake up at 4:30 am for catching a train. For the last four years I never enjoyed my breakfast or dinner as I was always in a hurry and it was just thrice a week I got a proper lunch. I really thank my mum for all the pain she took to make me good food everyday even in such a busy schedule.

But there’s one incident which is still vivid in my memory. One that’s been a nightmare for me, one I can never forget. It was the night of 3^rd June 2006. Time 2 am. I had been to vellore with my family for my medical treatment and was returning then. My train was scheduled on 2^nd June at 11 pm. We checked and found out that it was running late. According to home rules I am supposed to go to bed by 11 pm (my daily train journey had not started yet). I was feeling very drowsy. Due to some wrong signboards and also a bit of our own mistake we were standing at the wrong position at the platform. When the train came we saw that the engine came and stopped before us. It was scheduled to stop for just 2 minutes at the platform. It was a long distance express train, so you can imagine how long the bogies can be. Our compartment was the 22^nd from the engine. We didn’t give it a second thought and started running as fast as we could. My mum and dad had heavy trolleys with them and I had lots of food packages in my hand. I was wearing shoes a little big for my feet because they were the only comfortable ones I actually had. When we were midway, my dad stopped and he was panting (he was a heart patient as well as diabetic). My mum was having troubles balancing the trolley she had. There was a ticket checker standing nearby. My dad asked him where our compartment was. There was hardly and voice coming out of his throat. It was another 10 bogies away. We again started running. One of my shoes flew off and I spent 10 seconds searching for it. I was finally running with food packages and my shoes in my hand. 

When we were in front of the 18^th bogie, I was too tired and climbed into that one and told my parents to do so and we would get to our compartment in the next station. My dad told me to get down as the signal was still red. As i was getting down I slipped and my legs went halfway below the train. My parents with the help of a few other people strangled and got me out of there. I was shrieking in agony. No one knew why I did so as there weren’t any visible external injury. I somehow jumped back into the train. My dad again urged me to get down. I was still crying and shouting. People in the compartment were sleeping and they got disturbed. Their anger could be seen on their faces. I was crying and shouting at the same time. My hands were clasped to my right knee. My parents who were down on the platform didn’t understand why I was doing so. But they sensed that I might have got hurt in my right leg. My mum came up and tried to help me get down. Instead of standing up and helping her I quickly grasped her hand and placed it where my hands had been. I could see the terror on her face as it turned blue. She turned towards my dad and said in a choked voice, “her knee joint is missing!” 

My dad didn’t believe but quickly came up with our entire luggage and tried to see what the problem was. He saw that my knee joint had been dislocated. He quickly searched it out and, by applying a little pressure, finally got it into place. I was still in a lot of pain and felt the weakness in my leg, but the sudden hot rush of blood was comfortable. By this time the train had already started moving. A few passengers who could sense the trouble of this thirteen year old girl came forward to help. The next bogie was the pantry car and the internal gate was closed. They shouted and pleaded to open the gate. ”There is a patient here who has a reservation in the AC compartment. She can’t walk. Let her in”, they all shouted. But it was in vain. After an hour the train stopped and there was another platform. But this was not the station where the train should have stopped. After a little doubt everyone decided to get down here and get to the right compartment. Two men tried helping me getting down but there was another dislocation and I sat down again defeated. After 30 seconds we tried again and I got down somehow. One person helped me cross the pantry car and get to another compartment. Then walking through the interlocking gates we got to the compartment next to ours. Since ours was the AC compartment, again the internal gate was closed. My dad got down to the platform and talked to the ticket checker. He showed him our ticket and tried to explain my condition. He understood and opened the gates to let me in. It was already 3:30 in the morning but I was too tired and sick so I drooled off to sleep. It was a two days journey and I even got a doctor in our compartment the next morning who gave me some temporary medication. After we got down at Howrah station, we didn’t take any more chances and took a cab back home. My parents had already informed my relatives and there was a doctor waiting for me at my place

While running that night for catching my train, I had never imagined that it would be the last time I could ever run. I sometimes think that what else could have happened if our luck wasn’t on our side. One of us could have missed the train and there was just one cell phone with us. The train could have started moving while I was under it. What would have happened if I couldn’t get out? What if it was not a dislocation but a fracture?

But the big question was how different life could have been if that incident had never happened?

I wouldn’t have been afraid of trains. I wouldn’t have weak legs. I could run to my heart’s content as other people of my age do. I could have got 30 instead of 28 in my physical education practical exams during class 12 boards. I lost one mark for running and the other for long jump. I could have been in the basket ball team of my college. I wouldn’t fall down and get hurt one day while returning from college to my hostel and my friends didn’t need to drag me back to the hostel.

Life would have been so different...................................

Is it true?

Is it true that there's nothing that binds me to you?
Is it true that there is no plan in all we do?
Is it true that no cosmic strings make us move?

Is it true that there's no one keeping tab on us?
Is it true that there's no love, just lust?
It is true that we just turn to dust?

Is it true that no universe conspire to keep us together?
Is it true that there's no friend, no matter what weather?
Is it true that life is just a treacher?



image courtesy-weheartit.com

Sensuality is You

The moment she walked into the room there was a blast of  femininity in all its magnificence and is absolutely mesmerizing to those around her. She possesses a certain sparkling quality that radiates from the inside out.

She was known as wild and free. Never afraid to speak her mind out. A mystery for some and envy for many.

She lived for the moment, never brooding over the past or worrying about the future.

She wasn't termed as "sexy" but there was something very magnetically attractive about her. 

Bubbly, talkative, still secretive and mysterious.

She had an innate gift of flirtatiousness  playfulness and compassionate softness to her.

She makes everyone around her feel very special. 

She has that effect on men and women alike. Demure, quiet yet energetic and mischevious. 

She was radiant, magnificent, valuable, splendid jewel. 

Her sensual aura attracted men of all the ages to her.

She is the marvelous, elegant 84-year old Grand-mom who majestically is seated in my couch with a shiny diamond nose-ring on her.

Sensuality isnt about age, It isnt about s-e-x, Sensuality is not a naughty word. Its about feeling good inside, doing what you want. Its about connecting, helping, feeling of making others feel special

Sensuality is an attitude, its a personality. 

Sensuality is You

The summoning of the re-incarnation

This post is closest to  my heart and I want you all to read it and be a part of it as it explains those hidden emotions of every woman who have been away from home and their loved ones.

******************

She woke up to the usual morning, with the birds playing euphonies the enigmatic sun rays embracing the earth surface but, even the intense gracefulness of nature failed to win a smile of composure on her face.

She wandered in her abandoned house like an erratic spirit seeking for salvation. She folded the quilt in the neatest possible way, placed it at the tail of the bed & puffed the pillow.. She grabbed the hair chopstick from the side table & crafted it in her hair. The tiny chopstick performed a mini-martial art inside her tresses and then rested still. Ending the daily morning chores in timely manner, she walked out of the bathroom, dripping water from her hair, on the soft snowy carpet. She looked like an ordinary girl, like any woman in a perfect morning look, beautiful and vulnerable. 

Fifteen minutes later there stood an entirely different individuality in front of the mirror, a lean, mean, and a numb, corporate dame. She attired herself in a perfect pin-striped black business suit. She pulled out the shirt’s cuffs from the sleeves of her suit's jacket & examined herself again in the mirror. She felt like a mannequin..

She saw a bitter woman, not fancied by many owing to her solid rigid lamination she wore on her true self. She saw her inner age a decade older than she really was. She knew the reason why she was loved before and why she was hated now but, she didn't understand what to make out of her. If she was a winner with an attitude of a loser or vice-versa. Her eyes she saw were an ocean of grief. She tried hard to find the girl she had in her some years ago and she failed miserably. She landed her eyes on her diary on the work desk, opened the usual last page & read to her, her self-written sonnet to begin her day. And that was her daily routine:

When the early venture of the dawn seemed thence blazing,

I glimpsed out of the window and entireness appeared so right

The demons in my creeds kept staring,

When the tear in my smile seemed outright,

I yearn to shed the outfit of stress; wish to own a cactus dress,

Like the shining armor of yours, my knight.

Stroke my hair before you desert my mess,

I am the warrior alone to embark my fight.

The rampant chaos is my melody I cherish,

The anguish is the moon of my dark night

When all the sufferings once will perish

My languid spirit will endure in bright.

The rain of my ancient memories will downpour,

With the beat of the drums, I'll march ahead for my war.

She felt a profound feel of boldness together with courage and she was composed to encounter the day. She adored her camouflaged cactus dress & smiled. A dress to keep everyone away with the fear of her thorns, as for the one in thorns can never be pricked.

While she walked on the streets of the foreign land, she tried to read those cold faces as they passed by. She wished she could peek deep down in to their souls & see if they were like hers, frigid from outside but, entirely distinct from inside. The unfamiliarity in their eyes pinched her and she always searched for home. She kept swaying on the street like an invisible flow of wind or like Richard Ashcroft in "Bitter Sweet Symphony". 

As close as she was getting to her destination she was feeling a sense of attachment, a sense of belonging, a sense of tranquility. She tried to seal her soul, like one would close their eyes & thought how bizarre her journey was. The guiltless happy childhood-decade expired in a blink & the time from then never craved to move ahead. She thought of the fact of separation from the loved ones, for education and then the separation for money and then there will be separation for the rituals & the hypocrisy of the mankind called Marriage! The bunch of orchids in her hand surfaced the irony in a more absolute way. 

When she walked more on the street, she questioned her existence, not in this world but, in the city where there existed no part of her own. She recollected the time when she runs to keep the pace with the people. She recalls how she tries to await those friendly eyes but, finally end up embracing all the coldness with a fake warm smile & with a moaning heart inside.

When she was less than a feet away from her destination, she took a deep breath, closing her eyes & swallowed the silence which rode around. It was her homecoming. She entered in to the soothing serene ambience & it tempted her.  She pictured the anguish & cries the place accumulated inside it. She saw bouquets and she saw tombstones. She saw life inside each & she saw death outside them, ironically. A feeling of people inside with life & outside with death occurred. Demise embossed in the form of names. She knew which one was calling for her. She walked swiftly & knelt down as the earth beneath magnetized her.

©mycactusdress.blogspot.com

With the most elegant way, she blew the dust from the stone & placed the orchids in the centre. She didn’t feel the need to pray, she didn’t feel the need to have the selfish chat with God, where she could ask for more. The gushing breeze blew her hair & she could hear them as the unsaid prayer. She swallowed all the emptiness of the place & merged them with the one inside her. She was the murderer, the person behind the death of the one inside the tombstone. After spending few unspoken moments with the dead, she stood up & felt again the same sense of boldness & this time, assembled with blackness. As she started to leave, she turned back for the final time, for the final closure & generated the first genuine smile of the day while she read the tombstone.....

¨ME¨

The anguish is the moon of my dark night

When all the sufferings once will perish

My languid spirit will endure in bright.

The rain of my ancient memories will downpour,

With the beat of the drums, I'll march ahead for my war

Dhara

Topic Of the Month

        I m just sooo happy with the response the last topic got. Not only did the posts come raining but also the comments were interactive and warm. Just like what Darlings of Venus needed!
        I hope the next topic sees as much response :)
        I wanted the next topic to be something that makes you all voice your opinions and also bring out the armor of creativity within.
        The topic I chose is "Sensualism" ( go google it to find all the meanings that it implies) :D
        What am I looking for?
         Well going by the posts last month, you all are masters at fiction and poetry :)
         Fiction, poetry and art (yes please, no sensualism without art!)
       
         Please note that it is "sensualism" and not "erotica" :P 

My version of the movie Raanjhanaa

Raanjha: A man who sacrificed the world for his love Heer

People who have seen Raanjhanaa, God Bless..
People who haven't seen Raanjhanaa Lucky you, You are already blessed!!

This movie Raanjhanaa has Sonam Kappor, Dhanush, Abhay Deol, Dhanush's bestie, and a girl, Bindya who is crazy about Dhanush.

This guy Kundan (Dhanush) is a crazy ass "lover" of  Zoya (Sonam Kapoor) from the time he is like 10.
He proposes her a million times when they are in school. Threatens a "yes" from her by slitting his wrist in the rickshaw in school-going age... Stalker personality personified

She is sent away from her village to Delhi and comes back after 8 years. She has gotten over a silly childhood joke of a bf and doesnt remember a thing about him until he starts mentally torturing her by popping up anywhere and everywhere. Zoya rejects him on the pretext of religion him being a Hindu and her being a Muslim.

Height of nut-caseness is when he uses, this girl who is crazy about him, Bindya to click obsene pictures with a prospective groom who comes to see Zoya for breaking the alliance, thinking that this might get Zoya to him.

When Zoya tells him that she is in love with another guy (Abhay Deol-Jaljeet/Akram) who is into politic thingies in her Delhi college. This crazy-ass dude, tried to drown her in the Ganga with his "Bajaj Chetak".

Out of persistence of his lady love, he tries to reunite the couple by sweet talking her professor father into Zoya marrying her boyfriend.
And out of revenge for  rejecting him, the "heart-broken" Kundan asks Bindya to marry him on the same day as Zoya's wedding and in real gives a rats ass about his would-be bride's feelings.
Bindya is ecstatic because she has been in love with Kundan ever since eternity.

On their wedding day, he sees that in a newspaper Zoya had lied to him and her family that her boyfriend is a Muslim, when the truth was the guy is a Hindu.
Impulsively, he drives to her house and sabotages her wedding. Knowing this villagers beat Zoya's boyfriend to death..
Kundan doesnt reach his own wedding venue, Infact he forgets about his wedding and ruins Bindya's life.

Pleading guilty, Kundan takes Zoya to her boyfriend's house in Punjab, where its revealed that her boyfriend died due to the beating.
Heartbroken Zoya, flees to Delhi to fulfill her boyfriend's political dreams..
Obssessive Kundan, lands to Delhi again to steal the limelight with his street-smart dialogs.

A rival political party is kinda shaken up with the student party and the woman CM comes to "negotiate" with Zoya, her being the party leader.
She asks Zoya to get Kundan shot in a big rally.

One of the police guys, who is in good rapport with Kundan, informs him about the blast that is to happen in the rally. Still, the "lover" Kundan goes to the rally on the insistence of his "lady love" and gets shot an ddies

Life ruined,
Zoya
Jaljeet/Akram
Bindya
Kunda's priest father
Prospective Groom guy

In this whole bird brain plot, what exactly makes him Raanjhanaa (Raanjha).

This movie promotes stalking, obsessive lover traits, wrist cutting and threatening, using friends for your advantage, idiotic impulsiveness
and still this movie has got like 3 and a half stars.

Raanjhanaa Summary: First half supposedly smitten and romantic. Second Half politics

Washed again..

                   "So you mean to say that you want to leave me?"she mouthed the words, dreading the reply.
                   "Yes, I can't be with you anymore." he replied coldly.
                   "Don't you love me?" she prodded further
                   "Oh please! Don't start it again." he brushed her off.
                   "Why? Tell me why? Why did you keep tagging me along for 4 years?" she cried out.
                   "Just look at yourself! For God's sake you are creating a scene at the bus stop! You keep torturing the life out of me. You have drained me Maya. Please let me go" he shook her, holding by her arms. 
                    It was pouring. They were in the bus stop shelter. She had broached the topic again after a tiff with him. It was hard on her to give up on anyone let alone her own boyfriend of four years. They fought often over little disagreements which escalated to furious accusations and then she said something terrible, he reverted back with something more offensive and she would ask him if he wanted to leave her which he always replied in affirmative. It made her mad. Mad with rage. Mad with frustration. She would break down and blame him. He would feel sorry for her and try to calm her down but she wouldn't relent. After hours of nonstop fight, they would both give up and move on. Move on as if nothing happened. Their friends thought they made a terrible mistake when they would see them so mad at each other but would be in for a shock when they saw them so mad  for each other a few days later. Their relation was what could be called volatile. Yes that was the word- Volatile.
                     She stood beside him. He didn't look at her. They stood there for a long time. It started raining heavily. The small shelter was getting crowded by people who took a chance of not bringing the umbrella and street dogs! She knew he was getting desperate for his bus. He hated dogs, specially the roadside ones. She appeared to be in a trance. She leaned outside and reached out her hands. The water dripped on her palms.
                    " The water has travelled down the roof. Might have had bird droppings" he said.
                    "Eeew.." she pulled out her hand. 
                     She looked at him but he wasn't telling her. He was talking to the small girl who had her hand in line of the roof. She was dejected. She had forgotten that just moments back he had ditched her. Maybe their relation could take only this much. Maybe her love was smothering him. Maybe he had fallen out of love with her. Maybe he had found love somewhere else. Maybe he was already cheating her. The possibilities were many but she wanted to accept none. She couldn't face the harsh reality. The venom in her veins was gushing at full speed. She wanted to confront him. Ask him who the bitch was! With whom was he cheating her? Why wasn't she enough for him? Why did he always ignore her after a fight? Why did he not love her?
                      His bus was approaching the stop. He went out of the shelter and boarded the bus. He didn't look at her even once. Their love had just dried up in this rains..
                      Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. This was what it came to? Was this the end of everything they had? Her mind was a jumble. She needed to clear her mind. Think of it another day.. She walked out of the shelter and on to the street. She tread through the flooded streets. Streams ,through her cheeks, dripped down her chin. She was not sure if it was the rain or her tears. IT was a concoction of sweat and salt. Rivulets of water flowed through her body, branching and branching further to drench her completely. She trembled in the cold or maybe her weeping made her shudder. She lugged her body ahead but the fatigue was getting to her. She just wished she hadn't been foolish enough to start off in a huff. There was no auto in sight.
                      " Just stop" someone screamed at her.
                      She looked behind. It was him.
                      "Are you crazy? What are you trying to prove by walking here in the rains?" he shouted.
                      "Why do you care? I will do whatever I want!" She snubbed him and kept walking.
                      He paced to pull her back.
                      "Because you get cold every freaking time you get drenched you fool" 


                      They were in her house. She had changed into dry clothes and was drying her hair. He brought in coffee for both of them. She sat propped against the pillow.
                     "From where did you just find me?" she asked snuggling against him.
                     "I saw you walking but the bus had already started. Got down at the next stop and waited." 
                     "So what about our break up?" 
                     "God!! You still need an answer?" 
                     "AAAAACCCCCChoooooooooo" she sneezed into  her towel.
                     'Idiot, ofcourse I love you!" he laughed at her.


Not exactly fiction :P 

Downhill the memory lane

                 "Is there anything else we need? I think we are done." Mom answered her own question.
                  " Chalo, let us take an auto" volunteered the bored-of-ladies-never-getting-down-with-shopping brother.
                  " I think we can walk down. We really don't have so much bags today" I said.
                  "Is it okay?" she asked bro.
                   " See the road is downhill. We won't get so tired. Besides where do we get to walk in such clear roads in city" I reasoned.
                   "Ok" he gave me an exasperated look.

                     The house is literally at the foot of a mountain. The road starts at the market and goes downhill to our house. The sides of the roads were once jungles housing every wild beast of the region. It has now given way to mellowed down greenery and houses in between the large stretches of palm trees. Nevertheless the trees and the green is denser in the monsoon. Of course the rich red road is now tar grey. Walking on the road, one can see the bright houses of the countryside, large pastures with grazing cattles, a small tributary of the river flowing in a canal, a stream that is live when the rains are in excess, small shops by the roadside with old folks sipping tea or drinking soda sitting on the bench outside.
                                             

                        The three of us walked down happily. Dark clouds gathered above us as the winds started planting sloppy kisses on our cheeks. The rustle of the leaves, roaring clouds, the flying of the blue sheets over the roof of the shops made a symphony to welcome the drizzles of rain. At first, it was gentle like an ardent lover slowly consuming with passion. We walked through the pleasant showers. Three people in two umbrellas. We were about to start our climbing down when the rains opposed our movements. It became difficult to march forward against the force of the rains. Besides, we were getting drenched. We found a small shop by the road which had a large tin roof which could shelter us for sometime. We stood there waiting for the rains to slow down. 

                         " I told you it was a bad idea. See now we have to wait here!" bro said.

                         " Yea, we should have taken the auto." Mom joined him.

                         " Haww when did you both say that! Anyway it's not to late. We can walk back to the market and get an auto." I replied

                         " No no, that much if we walk, we will reach home. Better we stay here."

                         "Ok.." I said.  No more suggestions! 

                          

                      We stood there watching the water reach our ankles. We watched the winds scurry the rains here and there and making criss cross patterns of showers. We observed the ripples created by the raindrops. We watched the people in the shop on the other side of the road. A woman cooking sambaar in the shop. A few people taking shelter in that shop. The auto streaming through the puddles like a steamer.  

                       "Look! look at the auto splashing water! Here's another one! See" Mom was exclaiming like a 5 year old.

                       The rain sort of calmed down and we started again. We descended a few steps downhill and the rains lashed out again.  This time more breezy. All we could see was the dairy where a couple of men sat with registers tallying the exchange. Logs of wood lay in the front yard of the dairy. 

                       "Mom, let's wait here" I called out.

                       "No!! Let's keep walking. We will reach and anyway we are drenched. Won't make a difference." 

                       " Arre!! What if we slip and what if the rains get heavier. Mom think!! There is no shelter all the way till home!" warned my brother, skeptical as usual.

                       "Nothing will happen. Let's just slip through fast." I volunteered. 

                        

                       We paced with little steps, splattering water like little kids, walking one behind the other making a train of those childhood days so that we don't slip. Hurrying like little chickens. A few bikers passed us, smiling. We didn't care! 

                       "You know this road was just mud when I was a kid. Green algae grew here during monsoon. We used to come back from school at this time. We used to sit on the road and just slip all the way down. This was our natural slide. Longer than any at your Water Kingdom!" 

                      " What?? Mom you sat on road and went home sliding!! What fun" I was really jealous! Whatte childhood :D 

                      " You see that stream there? I used to go there to play and bathe in the water. It is only there during heavy rains. Otherwise its just stones there." She seemed to be nostalgic..

                         We reached the last bend in the road that led to the house and also the steepest slope. We could hardly control our steps. IT was like our legs had a will of their own and we felt ourselves drift in the narrow rivulets flowing with the road.. What joy!

                         "Bachpan yaad agaya!!" Mom shrieked in excitement.

                         Best monsoon :) 

                          

A love's ache

The soft bed, the cozy comforter and fluffy pillows give warmth amidst the monsoon chill. Seeing the empty space on my side brings back the cold.

The rain drops incessantly patter against the window. The absence of your sizzling touches pricks me.

The temptation of getting drenched in the rain is asleep. Without you, the fun of getting wet is a far cry.

Our favorite reading spot near the window beckons. Occupying it without you seems like a sin.

Our hot chocolate mug remains empty. There is no appeal in the steaming chocolate when you are not there to share.

The chill breeze flows into the room and sends shivers throughout my body. It cannot level with the sensuous tremours that your naughty smile creates in me.

The leaves are swaying in a dance with the breeze. They are no match to the dance of your eyes.

The naughty wind ruffles my hair. Your gentle hands playing with my hair is what I am longing for.

The view outside the window is peacefully pleasant. The missing image of you leaning against the window swallows the peace.

The house looks beautiful with the onset of monsoon. It does not become a home without you wandering around and chiding me for being lazy.

The earth's thirst is quenched. My thirst for you is still burning.

Monsoon is our favorite season but it is not as beautiful without you. Come home soon, my love. Without you, the beauty of monsoon remains just as memories.

Until later,

Keirthana :)