Deal with your break-up!

Traveling from southern part of India to north-east, again to south and back home. Blogging in this rigorous schedule almost became a myth of my life. A promised musical-blog up to come but before that let’s have a bit of fun prior to valentines day. Let me remind you of those exes who promised to betroth you past many 14th February. To those souls who said, ‘I can’t live without you.’  Ask one question this time, ‘Are you dead yet?’

Okay, jokes apart let me get serious on this business.

After repetitive episodes of love and un-love, he came back to the peace of your life eh?

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So what now? Keep him? Or overlook his existence and carry on with your life? Well, that would definitely be the most complicated task if you feel you still love him.

 

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Okay, give him a chance and make sure he puts all of his effort to make things right. But if you feel he is wasting your time, un-love him and move on. Cheers*

 

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But like my case, if you re-meet exes of an ex, i.e your ex before your recent ex, what would you do?
Give him a chance to emotionally crumble you down once again?
Okay ‘good-luck.’

 

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You might have the tendency to look at the messages which he wrote to you when he was in love with you, why don’t you just format your phone? Remove the pictures you’ve taken together? And replace your folders with selfies with your best friends.

 

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Best people!

 

Dogs? Women’s best friend, do you have one? Yes!
Why do you even worry about the lack of companionship? You have your dog with you, just know that your pets are better than your exes.

 

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Shop for yourself, shoes? Yes, like your head might be fucked but your shoes should be admirable enough to carry on. Just get those damned shoes

 

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And you might pause in a name while scrolling down your contacts in your phone. Delete the number without any hesitation.

 

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Press that damned delete button! 

Happy living

 

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Ta da! That’s it for now.
See you real soon.

I hope you enjoyed this post. Don’t forget to like and share. Also be generous enough to subscribe. 🙂

Thanks for reading!

Forehead tinged with vermilion.

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Random picture from google, thank you.

I don’t wrestle with the hue of colors signifying many things but I always wanted to be dressed in RED in my wedding. Any girl wants to look good while accepting a man as a spouse for the remaining duration of life. So did I.

Beauticians and hairdressers were called to deck me up, manicure, pedicure and facials were done. Hair adorably adjusted and I like a mannequin added with fineries was gaping at the reflection on the mirror against me. I was nervously acquainted with a confused timeliness of oxygen and carbonic acid; I was inhaling from the aperture between my jaws and upper lips and exhaling from my olfactory organ.

Everyone was waiting for the barat or the groom’s team to arrive and when a loud sudden music was heard in a dozen of vehicles I turned unconscious, like I inhaled a kerchief damped in chloroform.

Before I was decked up, I was thinking about the step I chose, will I be happy with him? I questioned myself, I dint know how to move on when I still loved Varun. I often thought what Varun’s version would be about the wreckage of our relationship. I wondered if he still loved me, wondered if he knows about my engagement with a random man.

Times I thought about him, my heart used to get heavy, and when I thought about him, I also used to think about how aloof he left me and that’s how I used to feel that I should move on rather than thinking about a betrayer.

I opened my eye in an ATM booth, lying horizontally in a red sari, I was confused, unable to understand when and what had actually happened. I suddenly heard the sounds of a gun, firing in all possible directions. There were around 14 masqueraded mobs outside and I was already in a state of panic anxiety attack.

I was crying helplessly, expecting someone to rescue me.

But at home, the rituals were ready and the bride was being called to complete the knot tying ritual but no one there thought that the bride’s state of affair was like encountering the wrath of a mob.

‘She is inside the booth’ said a voice from the mob.

The masqueraded man carrying a gun dialed a number from his mobile and set it in his speaker. He slowly approached towards me.

He pushed the jammed door in an effort to open it and as he pushed it inside the voice from the receiver turned audible, ‘Hello?’

Hello! What next?
She is inside the ATM, crying helplessly.

I couldn’t figure whom he was talking to but the unidentified speaker just spewed, ‘kill her!’

No, No, No, what have I done? Why do you want to kill me? I said

The masqueraded man fixed his gun, ready to pull his trigger. I was still pleading for my life.

Listen, wait! What do you want? Why do you want to kill me? Tell me? I’ll give you double of the money. But tell me, please! I begged.

Suddenly the jammed door was violently pushed.

Varun? I exclaimed.

He ran and jumped on top of me.

Boom* he took my bullet which hit behind his heart, he bled…

Sirens blew and the mobs were gone, it was a three minutes-episode and Varun was lying dead in my arms, when I was decked as a bride.

Cops flooded in the ATM booth and started with the investigation….

To be continued…
stay tuned!

Love,
Varinka Turquoise.

 

5 things every migrant will experience in Bangalore.

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Bangalore. (representative picture)

So you’ve shifted your base to Bangalore and looking for a job? And you still have some time in your hand to see the real city but you are new here? Let me help you!

Layman say that this city is bit expensive as compared to any other, it is indeed true but there’s a lot to explore and experience in this place from shopping to weather. Believe it or not, you can sustain here even if you are unable to meet your financial obligations coz aloo-bondas you get here is so cheap-just 2 rupees. 😉

1. First thing a migrant does here is, get himself/herself a job around Manyata Tech Park.

Because this very tech park embrace many leading companies starting from Microsoft, Concentrix, IBM, Nokia Networks, Philips, Atlas Copco, to AXA Business Services, etc, etc, etc. (the list is still endless)
And it’s a cool place to work.
BPO’s? okay?

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Manyata Tech Park. (File photo)


2. Want to meet old friends who are already settled in Bangalore? – They will no doubt call you to MG Road.

As famous as the great India Gate in Delhi- Brigade or MG Road is the location which everyone has visited once in their lifetime. Hanging-out there with old friends will definitely leave a hole in your pocket though. Do not go during your insolvencies. But yeah, Taste of Tibet will take the Northeasterns to the core of nostalgia coz of the steaming bowl of thukpas (noodles) and momos.
Oh! So you have enough cash? You can rock your night in Le Rock or club in fusion.

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M.G Road (File photo)

3. Once you start earning, you’ll visit Commercial Street every once in a while for a fine thorough shopping.

Allen Solly or Wrangler, you get to see such outlets everywhere. But those pretty trinkets in the narrow lane of Commercial Street, darn! You’d want to own them all.
Guys, you’ll end up shopping for your girlfriend or sisters.

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Shopping in commercial street is fun, really!

4. Bakeries

No, not that type of bakeries you see in your hometown which has so much to do with beautiful sitting arrangements. Here, if you want to drink tea, find a place, sit, drink, get up, dust your pants! But you’ll see lots of employees dropping by, just to drink a glass of tea and one gold-flake-lights. (smoking is injurious to health.)

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5. Couldn’t survive in the scorching heat of Chennai? Heya! Bangalore is 22-28 degrees.

So you made a right choice by shifting your base to Bangalore. I sleep without fan (AC is out of question.)

The thing that you can’t resist is Bangalore’s weather. It’s so cool that sometimes you get a thought to go to Delhi just to dry your cloths. At some instance, it takes 2-3 days for your cloths to dry crisply :p

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This is peace. 🙂

So come, stay in Bangalore!

I hope you liked this post. Don’t forget to hit a ‘like’ on this blog.
Thank you.

Love
Varinka Turquoise.

Dear Dad.

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I was so small that your thumb was the only thing I could grasp,
Your hand was so big for my little palm to fit in.
and your piggyback was the most amazing thing in the world.

I didn’t want to grow up and worry about being employed one day,
neither did I want to turn into an adult.
I just wanted to be that silly inquisitive kid and follow your footstep.

Dear dad, many years have passed, soon I will get married and go away.
How I wish I could still dance in that cute yellow frock
that you’d gifted me on my 10th birthday.

How I wish Ma to still come to school and take me home,
and you to wait for me outside home,
so that you could carry me and take inside.

I remember how you hassled to make lunch when Ma was away,
and each time I opened my lunch box in school,
I would find sweet bread and unevenly spread jam.

Dad, you are still very special, still a hero.
Although my palms are grown bigger
know that it’s just a sign to hold you forever.

(This poem is a tribute to the real hero of our life.)

© Nisha Varinka Chettri

 

 

Love hurts!

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Representative picture. 

 

It was a sultry Monday afternoon Varun had just parked his motorcycle besides Varinka’s two-wheeler. He always used to park his ride beside Varinka’s. As soon as he removed his helmet he saw a lady dressed in black saree coming towards him. It was Varinka. She was his best friend.  He liked her, but never expressed his feelings. She was looking prettier than pretty. She always looked great in saree. She looked stunningly beautiful that day. He gave her a faint smile, which she ignored and walked towards her ride, and left the parking lot in a jiffy. Varun winced, aghast at her actions.  His phone rang; it was his manager for he was late for a meeting.

After the meeting, Varun dialed Varinka’s number but her phone was switched off. So he left her a message on WhatApp. An hour later he received a message from Varinka, which read that she wasn’t feeling well and wanted to spend some time alone. Varinka could ignore the world, but she never ignored Varun. They had a fight last night, Varun out of anger asked Varinka to stay away from him. This hurt Varinka. She was the beat of his heart, the sunshine of his life. He tried his best to get her back.

He couldn’t sleep that night. The next morning he decided to wait for her at the parking area. As he was waiting for her, a sweet known voice called his name.. It was Anita.. Anita once ruled Varun’s heart. They both were seeing each other after 6 years.. His heart skipped a beat and before he could even utter a word she hugged him. He was in the arms of the girl he once loved.. Anita once dated Varun’s classmate and later went to becomes Varun’s heart, his everything.. She left for Bangalore for her graduation and got into a relationship with a guy she first met on Facebook…They weren’t in contact ever since..

Varinka arrived at the spot and parked her ride at a far distance..  Varun was kinda lost and he didn’t notice Varinka. Varinka once again vanished from the spot in no time.. Varinka now occupied Varun’s heart and mind.. He thought it was Varinka who had hugged him.. “Varinka i love you” he uttered.. “It’s me Anita” said amused Anita, it took few seconds for Varun to come back to reality, he pushed her away and asked her to leave. Anita had ignored him for the last 6 years

Anita had a breakup with her bf just few days back and she knew she possessed a special place in Varun’s heart. She now wanted to be with Varun. She didn’t know about Varinka. Varun hated Anita as much as he loved her. But Varinka had taken over Anita’s place in his heart. Varun took his cell phone out and called up Varinka. Varinka answered this time and told him to stop calling or texting her or else she would change her number. There were tears in Varun’s eyes. Anita wiped it off with her handkerchief. A heartbroken Varun asked Anita to leave.

Both Anita and Varun left the spot.

6 months later…

Diwali was around the corner. Varun got busy with work. Varinka on the other hand got a new job in Kathmandu and was supposed to join work after Diwali. Varun came to know about this from Varinka’s sister. There is nothing like the gut-wrenching pain of knowing that your best friend in the world has to leave the town and go away to another one. He was happy for her at the same time sad for himself. They weren’t in touch since the last six months. Varun had deactivated all his social networking profiles.

Varinka now had a new phone number. Anita on the other hand had opened a clinic in Kalimpong. She was now again in constant touch with Varun and knew everything about Varinka. Anita came to know about Varinka’s job and she promised Varun she would help him get back Varinka before Diwali. Anita loved Varun but she never expressed herself and chose to help Varun instead. The last six months had been really tough for Varun. He had lost interest in work. His health deteriorated. He’d forgotten to smile. Anita tried being his pillar of support and love but failed. Anita knew she’d lost her place in his heart and promised herself to help him get back Varinka.

It was St. Josephs Convent’s Alumni Day. As it was the school’s 100th year, a grand program was organized for the alumnus and both Anita and Varinka were invited. They both hailed from the same school but hardly knew each other. Both attended the program. It was here that Anita met Varinka and recognized her at the first glance. Varinka knew about Anita, Varun never hid anything from her. Anita greeted Varinka. Varinka too recognized Anita and gave her a faint smile. Without wasting a minute Anita initiated a conversation. Initially they talked about school and their jobs. The conversation became friendly. The waiter offered them a drink each. “Vari” said Anita. Only Varun used to call her by that name. Varinka knew what was coming ahead and acted as if she didn’t hear anything. She then made excuses of being late and tried to skip the topic. Anita a bit tipsy by then held Varinka’s hand and told her of what Varun had been going through for the past six months. She even showed her his picture. A guy with a great physique now looked frail; his ever glowing smile had faded away. He hardly shaved. Varinka cried deep inside. But she pretended as if she didn’t care. “Look Anita we have better things to talk about”, said Varinka. “But why are you doing this to him?” asked Anita. “He was the one who wanted me to stay away and now I’m moving to Kathmandu and most probably I’ll not be coming back again.” said Varinka now with tears in her eyes.

Varinka had been diagnosed with cancer. No one knew about it, not even her family members. This was the reason why she’d been ignoring Varun as she too had fallen for him. Waiter offered another drink. “He’s dying every day, Please don’t do this to him” pleaded Anita. “I just have six more months”, Varinka said in a sad low tone. “Six more months? for what?” “I have blood cancer and it’s in its third stage. I ain’t got a job. I’m going away from everybody, from Varun- my love.” Varinka started weeping. An astonished Anita could feel goose bumps on her arms. “What? Since when? How? Are you serious? Does Varun know about it?” “Nobody knows about it and promise me you aren’t going to tell about this to anyone…….

 

Note: My dearest friend tried scribbling a story of my most adored characters, Varun and Varinka. And majority of my other readers don’t want the two V’s to be estranged, I’ll either ask him to complete the story or anyone of you can give a conclusion. Thanks. 🙂

Seven Indianisms ruining your life!

Nisha Varinka Chettri.

I finally made a point to blog after quite a while, i hope you find this post useful.

Like technology, language too has evolved to an extreme of translucent point giving emphasis on ‘Indianisms.’ Is it because of the most hazardously used ‘little knowledge?’ or is it because we are running short of words? I’m still looking forward to get enlightened about the history of Indianisms.

Who would be the founders? (I’m interested to research about it)

And I am also trying to understand the idiom ‘To err is human’ or should it be ‘being born as a human is to err?’

Indianisms has been in style and accepted when used verbally but honestly it does not sound cool and if you happen to be using it in your write-ups, you seriously need to change your trait.

Driven away with the local-lingo, one of the most widely heard or used indianism is ‘Your good name?’

‘Hi, what is your good name?’IMG_2955

(My parents were wise enough to decide a ‘good-name’ for me; else I would think twice before telling my name?)

As if anyone would answer, ‘My good name is Nancy and my bad name is Neelambari Niladhari Sharma!’

Few others below:

Only this very word has suddenly turned out to be popular like a potato. Yes, because you can add it in anything.
Aloo-Matar’ ‘Aloo-Gobi’ ‘Aloo-Paneer’ ‘garlic-bread with mashed potatoes.

‘I will leave once my friend calls; I’m waiting for that only.’
‘I like to sing, dance, play guitar and write poems and you?
‘I like to read only.

Repeat again
‘don’t make me repeat again.’

Ironically, this sentence filled with redundancy is frequently used by the teachers, trust me.

Teacher: ‘If you talk after getting your question papers, I will
take away your answer sheet.’
Student: ‘Ravi, what is the answer for number 4?’ (In whispers)
Teacher: ‘don’t make me repeat again, I’m telling you I will take away your answer shIMG_2695.JPGeet.’

I saw it with my own eyes‘Guys, Divya maam and Malika maam are fighting in the staffroom, I saw it with my own eyes.’

Oh! ‘I just saw it’ would be enough, wouldn’t it?

Simply! This is my favorite, ‘hey Raj, what are you doing?
I’m simply sitting.
‘Sorry, I was simply saying.’

Xerox copy (instead of photocopy) – Please understand the difference between a company/brand and your task, latter, which is to have a photocopy of your assignments.

‘I have to get a Xerox copy of my voters-ID’
It happens only in India?

Open your hair– as if my hair resembles to a door. Ask me to let my hair loose!

I hope you are aware of what inidanisms are and how hilarious it sounds when spoken; you probably may not want to use them now.  😉

Thanks for reading. 🙂

 

Plight of being born as an artist in Kalimpong

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Representative picture.  

I look at Kalimpong; I look at the people here. Is it small place with small mentality? Who respects the work of an artist here? And if an artist is young, damn! You’ll end up finding yourself in the porch of anxiety-disorder soon.

I know few awesome musicians like the guys from the band-Doodles, they speak about change- a positive change in this society. They want to transform Kalimpong in a better way, but change here is just political…. How sad!

Did anyone encourage them to repaint this town till now? (I mean the ones who warm their chairs in their offices)

No.

Did anyone support them?

No.

Because the ones who can support are busy giving press conferences- promising things that are never going to happen here even in years to come.

I’m not speaking about politics or politicians, I don’t really care who wins the election. I didn’t even cast my vote!

Few months back I was called to edit a book, I did. I don’t know what happened after that.

Many months ago, I was called to write a script. There too I was exploited ergonomically.

Dude! What about My time, my effort and my energy?  Who is going to appreciate and acknowledge that?

We artists too have things to look after, we might need another lens for mastering the art of photography, we might need to add some more guitars and guitar-accessories, and we do have bills to pay. But the scene here is more like, ‘Bhai we have a small function, please ai dinu hos na, photo-soto pani khichi dinu hos’ (please come to our function, and take some pictures as well.)

Are photographers that jobless here? Who will pay them for your pictures?

Or to the musicians, ‘bhai bholi ko program ma ayera eso ek-dui wata geet sunai dinu hos na, audience lai alik entertainment huncha ni ani tapaiharu ko pani publicity huncha’ (please come and perform in tomorrow’s program so that the audiences are entertained, you will also be publicizing yourself at the same time.)

Dear musicians, if anyone tells you this hereafter, don’t forget to get-up and shove their brainless head with the same guitar that you are carrying (make sure it’s an electric guitar.)

And to all the amazing poets, if anyone invites you to recite a poem in any function for free, please, rather make an anthology and sell it, it’s worth more than their cold Dhanyabaad!

Common! We have to eat and survive here as well.

We are the ones who really don’t rely on the funds coming from the government; we do things that we are passionate about. We want to change the system here. But other than a handful of youths, who all are interested to be the change here? No one!

I have slowly understood that Kalimpong is not the place for artists and this is the reason why the excellent ones are in other cities.

I’m afraid that K-town, one day will be left with no youthful artists, then the same chair warmers will be giving press conferences about the same thing because they just preach and not practice and the condition of this little town will be worst than ever before.

I used to wonder why eminent personalities like Tulsi Ghimeray and Binod Pradhan who hails from Kalimpong does nothing for their birthplace, only to realize that people here paid no heed to such talents which gradually drifted them away to other places. I’m glad that they chose to leave Kalimpong else it would be like the story of our lives— Lots of creativity in mind and not able to execute because we are not given that place or a platform, forget about place or platform, least people can support, but No.

What Divyas Bardewa from Doodles said got in my pipedream, ‘Aray khada (alternative of a garland) ra dhanyabaad ta katti thupri sakyo, (We have ample of khadas and thankyou’s) but we as an artist, never got that respect from the inhabitants of Kalimpong.’

This is the sad reality of the place we love so much, we want to do so much for this sleepy little town but our efforts are considered void and our age are disregarded or overlooked by the senior civilians.

Has time really come for the artists of Kalimpong to pack their bags and migrate to new cities where their talents are appreciated? Or will the people change their mindset and welcome the artists here?

It’s now upto them!

But above all-NO ARTIST SHOULD WORK FOR FREE!

Support artists and share this post-Thank you!

Love,
Varinka Turquoise.

Life of a woman in a nutshell.

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Alarm 7:30 am.
Snooze!
Alarm 7:35 am.
Snooze!
Alarm 7:40 am.
Snooze!
.

.

.
Alarm 8:00 am.

Shit! She would utter and grab her brush, brew a cup of tea for her and prepares breakfast.

She takes a quick shower and gets ready to work.

She reaches office and starts working till she opens her Tiffin-box in her lunch break and enjoys her food which she cooked along with her breakfast.

She would work again till her evening tea arrives and leaves office after punching her last thumb impression.

She’d take a cab home, after reaching she’s get ready to attend a funeral of a neighborhood.

She’d come back home and start cleaning the rooms, cook, do the dishes, laundries, fix the gas, call the plumber, sweep the floor, mop, garden, painting and ultimately sleeping.

*She also has to keep that ‘Namastay-uncle’ relationship with all of her neighbors, socialize, attend weeding/funeral, birthdays and festivals every single time while you sit by the couch and play fifa.

The next day she would start snoozing her alarm and repeat the entire schedule every day.

Well that’s the power to be a woman.

Cheers to all the amazing powers
Happy Women’s day
Love- Varinka Turquoise.

 

Autumn passed really quick.

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Before meeting the fictional Varun 😉

Chapter 6

 
Autumn passed really quick. (I am still thinking for an appropriate name of the chapter)

Varun was wearing a black leather jacket and blue jeans, his abs was visible from his white thin t-shirt and his physique was too admirable that any girl could drool for.

We spent most of the time together for we both were associated to English dailies where 15-20 other reporters belonged to Nepali or Hindi newspapers.

“Months already passed making today some first week of January” said Varun while I was unfolding The Telegraph’s Metro section in the park that morning.

“Huh? So? 2014 is gone, did I complain? I answered.

“Try being soft and calm sometimes, being straightforward is good… but not always” said Varun as he sounded little serious, he looked stranded too.

“Did you eat something Vaun?” I asked maintaining a cool tone of my voice.

‘Challo we’ll eat some donut in 3C’s’ I urged.

He slowly stood up and followed me through the bustling street of Dambar chowk, half of the road was filled with SUMI boys where Main-Road seemed congested as always. There’s a state bank’s ATM opposite to 3C’s, where people are always queued. There are many cash withdrawing machines in the town but people prefer ‘that’ particular money extracting booth. Varun looking at the length of the queue asked me if things were okay. I told him that it was just a line where people are waiting to withdraw some cash.

I pushed the transparent door of 3C’s inside and quickly glanced myself to the mirror in the right hand side, I was looking okay. We took the table next to the window and asked the same Chinese faced girl, (who wore the same red t-shirt and check apron,) two cups of hand-made coffee, a sandwich and a donut. I ate half of his sandwich and he took a large bite from my ring shaped fried cake with a chocolate topping. He was hungry.

He spoke very less and listened more, I always feel like a chatterbox when with him.

Hey, what’s wrong with you today? I asked when I observed the furrow in his eyebrow which had a noticeable expression of disapproval.

Nothing Varinka, you know my tenure as an intern in TT is getting over next week, don’t you? He questioned.

Yes, I’m so happy for you. So what have you decided? I’m sure the editors of TT are really impressed with your work, I asked.

“It’s not that Vari, it’s not about work all the time, it’s about me, it’s about you; it’s about us, this time” said Varun in a firmer voice.

I still didn’t know what did he mean, did he like me? Why was I never aware?  I started talking to myself in my mind.

“My training is over and now I’m placed in Khaleej times of Dubai” added Varun after taking another careless sip of coffee.

I didn’t know how to react; I showed him my happiness and congratulated him. I didn’t want him to know that I was choked from within. I didn’t want him to know that I liked him.

Phone beep*

I ignored.

Message from a senior colleague* Inferno smoldering in Pedong, half of the town turned to ashes, answer my call, we are waiting for you and Varun in the cab, where are you?

Shit! I uttered and stood up grabbing my bag, Varun was astound to witness my haste.

‘What happened?’ He asked.

I held his hand and dragged him out from the chair, ‘We need to go to Pedong now’ I said while I left a hundred rupee note on the counter and left through the transparent door.

‘Its 120 madam’ shouted the counter boy.

I quickly returned and paid 20 more bucks.

‘Sorry’ I said and ran out.

Varun was still confused, when I made him run towards the 8-10 seated cab which was waiting for us next to David-Gas.

We ran from main-road to david-gas, while running I perceived myself as Roshni running a marathon. I was a bad athlete since school. I was probably the last to hear the starting gun in the sports-day audition in St. Josephs Convent. ‘It’s okay Varinka, you can go back to your class’ used to be the prominent sentence in every annual audition. In other words, I never used to get selected in anything, not even in the clumsiest spoon-marble race.

It was a red colored ecco car. We had 16 eyes gaping at us; I didn’t know what impression they had in those 8 thick minds, me sticking to Varun or vice versa.

We were driven quickly and we saw Pedong turning into ashes. The victims reported that a fire broke at midnight due to short-circuit in a sweet shop.

The circuit in a shop slowly spread to the neighboring shops and flamed everything into ashes, nothing could be saved besides lives, everyone is safe but all of their hard earned wealth along with their houses have been burnt, said a victim who was still sulking, everyone jotted down the incident in the slip pad and I started taking few pictures.

The politicians arrived and declared huge amount of cashes that night, I don’t know if the victims actually got to lay a hand on the physical money or it was just an announcement.

‘Same shit! Fuckers! Vicky whispered. Vicky and I were together in high school, he was known for his hazel pair of eyes. And now he was settled in Pedong, luckily his house was 4-5 yards away from the fire. He was supposed to get wedded in another one month.

He was angry. You know, these fuckers will do nothing, it happened 12 years ago too. What did they do? They didn’t even provide one damned fire-brigade shit here. Now they talk about giving money. Fuckers. Spewed Vicky

‘12 years ago?’ I asked.

I was a kid when a huge fire broke out in St. George Hostel in 2002, I vividly remember that night. But tell me, how hard is it to provide a fire-station here? He was still angry.

They estimated the total loss of 7 crores which turned into ashes that night. Books, computers, laptops, mobile phones, cloths, shoes, blankets everything was burnt in those closed shops.

‘What people could save was just their life’ Vicky murmured while he was still shaken up.

All the reporters started their own investigation in the spot; Varun was totally out of sight. We later packed up and assured the victims that things will be all right with time. I bade Vicky goodbye and left saying that I would ring him up soon.

We decided to stop in Algarah for lunch; Algarah is a small place, smaller than Pedong where we couldn’t even get momos. So we ended up with bowl full of hot steamy waiwai soup.

The roads from Algarah to 14th Mile was very bad, everyone got jerks that day. Varun still looked intense, dwelling in a deep thought. All reporters seemed tired and nobody talked, the car was suddenly like a meditation centre and just to kill the silence driver-daju played some songs from his pen drive, till then Varun was asleep on my shoulder.

The song was an old Tulsi Ghimeray’s hit, while Varun was asleep the song went on like. ‘Jhajhalko leyara ayecha sawaan, feri akha ma’

That was when I realized how Tulsi wrote the lyrics or the entire screenplay of that movie; he once narrated his story of struggle when I went to interview him. He told me that he had no one to write a lyric for his first movie ‘Bansuri’ and he couldn’t pay everyone, moreover the one whom he expected, couldn’t write up to the mark.

I remembered him saying “bansuri was really difficult, I dint have money to hire a screenplay writer or lyricist and no one would do it for free, I struggled. I was forced to write myself, it was similar with the lyrics, no one could write the type of lyric I wanted, I constantly thought about the last sawan (monsoon) and its reflection replicated my mind, that’s when the type of lyrics I wanted was formed, ‘jhajhalko liyera ayecha sawan feri akha ma’ See, everything is possible when you try, isn’t it?”

Everything is fucking possible when we try, people don’t try and that’s how we have only a handful of influential people here. People give up easily; I too give up easily at times.