Do we live?

We breathe, we eat, we walk, we laugh, we cry, we feel euphoric, we go through despair, we want people, we want to be alone, we win, we lose, we love, we hate and yes sometimes choose be in between. And thus we survive. But do we live?

This question has been hovering around with me for so many years. At the age of 6 I asked my mother, “Why was I born”?

“To be my daughter and give me company” was my mother’s reply. I was in total disagreement with her as I thought I was born to become Miss Universe. (You can read about it here). I was living to become Miss Universe.

Few years later I again asked myself the same question and left it unanswered. The woes of having an inquisitive mind is that once it goes on seeking an answer, it will rest only after finding. You can try to subjugate it, try to ignore it, try to crumple it but it will not stop bothering without meeting its goal. And when it does find its goal, life becomes more blissful and beautiful.

Few days back while coming back from office, I was feeling unusually intrigued about my future prospects. So much that I began talking to myself, going to and forth on every nuances and facets. I was completely unaware of the world around me. Two children walked past me. One was around 3 and the other 6. The younger one was in a bad mood with tears welled up in his eyes, face turned red and steps refusing to go ahead. I took few steps back and turned to them. The elder one kept his gaze fixed on the ground and whispering to the little one to move quickly. The younger one looked straight into my eyes and suddenly my whole being smiled.

The eyes gave u tears and acquired a tinkle, face left the redness and lit up while the kid gave away the smile I had not seen and felt earlier. I kissed the kids and went away. The kids unknowingly taught me something which my books could not. I truly lived in that moment, the moment of pure happiness, happiness that is not conditional and dependent. It stems out from your own being, your being which is devoid of any kind of materialistic values. It gives away the notions of worldly love and tells us to not just survive but live.

And yes, we do live.  

Letter to Yourself

So you turned 21 this year. Though I know you don’t feel a day older than 12. you still imagine yourself dancing with Tom Cruise in some Mission Impossible x, you still want to take every stranded puppy home, you still dream of wearing the Miss Universe crown, you are still Blossom of the Power Puff Girls, you still make notes and keeps journals and of course you are simply awesome.

But I know you don’t feel the awesomeness in you all the time. You get bogged down; feel defeated, purposeless and useless. The 21 years weigh on your shoulders like they were 40. You feel sad that you still don’t have written a book, people are not running into you to get autographed, there are countries left to travelled, books left to be read and written, coffees to be smelled and life to be lived.

Relax girl! You were good, you did well and you will do better.

Think about the time when you first stood on the stage, cried and ran back. You were three at that time. Did you think about it again? Did the thoughts of quitting flood your mind? No. you just went on it again only to capture it for the rest of your years. How proud it was for your parents to see you command the attention of everyone in the opening sentence itself.

Think about the time you fumbled in maths and algebra refused to form a way with your understanding. You hated mathematics for five years of your school life. Still you managed o score a 93 in your board examination and fought the phobia making maths a dear subject too.

Think about the days when you were going to start a new life away from the safe cocoon of home. You spent days and nights crying yourself to sleep. But that did not let you sway away. You worked hard and proved everyone of your worth within a few days.

Think about the time when you won your first national prize and followed the legacy with two more within a year. Remember you and your friend were up against the whole world and you guys won. You guys even started your publication “Skyline”. Though I agree it died a silent death. But you tried and created!

Think about the time when you edited a national magazine and unveiled it in front of more than 3000 students from all over the country. Aren’t you proud of it?

Think about the time when you handed your grandmother her first flight ticket from your own salary.

Think about the time when your father proudly tells his friends, “my daughter has my genes. She will never give up. She is a tigress.

And do remember what your grandfather once told your father when they were going through bad times.

“ Falak ko chaah jahaan bijliyan girane ki,

Humein bhi zidd wahin hai aashiyan banane ki.”

There is so much more to you girl that you yourself can measure let alone fill this letter with it. All I have to say in the end is

Embrace life with open arms, live every moment, love every soul, believe in your worth. Be you. Because you know what?

You are Bhawna Jaimini;-).

.This post is part of the competition on writeupcafe!

Sailing Over Lives: This is How It Is

The sun was shining hard on her head. The partly cloudy sky did nothing to sieve the heat. Iti laughed at her judgemental self after recognizing the events of the morning. The moment she met Shiv, she was clear and she knew what lay ahead of her. But here she was; walking back astonished and amazed and shamed at her outlook towards the less privileged people than her. Lost in her thoughts she continued to walk. Walking without knowing the destination was something new. A part of her was enjoying it and another part was sceptical.

And she was listening to none.

Iti spotted a Costa Coffee outlet and made it her momentary destination. Although she often complained about it being brutally expensive, she loved their outlets, the pristine white cutlery, the cappuccino mug kept at off centre in the saucer served with a cookie, and their policy of employing deaf and dumb people. She somehow felt as if she herself is contributing to their well being after paying for a highly over priced coffee.

The café was sparsely crowded. Iti was seated on the table next to the window. She always preferred to sit and watch the world go by. And she suddenly realised she was doing this after a long time. Whenever she needed a coffee outside her home, her laptop accompanied her and she too was smitten by his loyalty that she never deprived him of her attention. But today she had ditched him.

And she was not guilty.

The coffee arrived precisely after 15 minutes. The rich aroma was soothing to her senses. She poured half the packed of brown sugar into the cup and sipped the coffee and her phone rang. “It might be from the office”, Iti thought. She fumbled for few minutes in her larger than life bag before getting stuck to its screen.

“Neil calling”

The screen flashed the name. Iti gazed at the screen in excitement and horror and despair. Her last few years of life ran in her mind in mere seconds.

She pressed the ‘Accept’ button without even knowing.

“Hello? Am I speaking to Iti?

“Yes Neil you are”

“So you have not deleted my phone number?”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to meet me?”

“Why?”

“I need you here.”

“Where are you?”

“In Gangtok.

“What the hell are you doing there? Are you alright?”

“Yes I am all fine here. Can you come here?”

“When do you want me there?”

“Now!”

“Are you nuts?”

“Yes I am! I want you to take the next possible flight and come here.”

“Fine I am coming.”

“Call me after you have booked your tickets. Bye”

Call disconnected.

The last time they have met, she had vowed never to see his face again. And now was she was ready to fly miles just because he needs her. Perhaps he was the only one who ever needed her.

Iti took an auto and headed to the airport. Her morning became hazy and melted into the physical form of Neil. Perhaps this is what life is. She just was living it.

P.S those who are new to the series find  the earlier parts  here
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

"A Fine Balance" By Rohinton Mistry

Its past one o clock at night and I should have been in the bed two hours ago in order to be prepared to reach office on time tomorrow but here I am trembling and shaking, unable to move with the baggage of having read a saga of great misfortunes in the book “A Fine Balance” by Rohinton Mistry. I toiled with last 100 pages for more than week with a meek hope that somehow the author will contradict the statement made over and over again in the book, “everything ends badly”.

“A Fine Balance” is a story of four people and how their lives get intertwined with each other, yet their fate remains solely theirs.  Dina Dalal is woman in her forties, a widow and is trying hard to lead a dignified life without taking help from her snobbish elder brother Nusswan. She had always been the tough nut to crack for her brother with her indomitable spirits. She married a man of her own choice much against his will. Her husband died after 3 years of their marriage and she never married again.  She gets into a contract with a garment company and hires two tailors, Ishvar and Om. Om is Ishvar’s nephew and they belong to the Chamaar community. Ishvar and Om had come to city to ward off their past which stinks of ill-treatment, sufferings, burnt bodies and with them a whole generation of hope, love and happiness. For a steadier income, Dina decides to accommodate a paying guest into her flat. Maneck, Dina’s ex-classmate’s son enters the scenario.

Set in the emergency era, the story impeccably handles the details of the world the government creates for the poor and the world that is ultimately created. For person born in the nineties like me who had known nothing about those turbulent times, the book indeed drafts out the era with precision. And the precision comes out boldly with the characters the author has painted in bright colours even though their lives are painted in stale chalk powder.

This is not the book you would want to open and re read again as once you have read it, it will remain with you and direct your understanding of life. You will feel sad and will remain in despair for a long time, accusing the author of stealing you a happy ending. You will curse him for over exaggeration and will produce a catastrophe at the end of every misfortune. But you will surely thank the author for writing such brilliant novel which has greatly changed your perception of life.

P.S Please share your reviews on the book if you have read it.  

Tet-e-tet with Jerks...

It’s been 3 years since my dad whims about me acquiring a new skill to my list of possessions. And I am equally paranoid about the idea of giving up my whimsical navigations via DTC buses. He fails to understand my inclinations towards what I find amusing in the overtly packed buses where sometimes while travelling u can tell in a whiff what the person had eaten in for lunch or sometime u can easily make out the detail of the tiff he had with his wife early that morning. For me these concise voyages (I prefer calling them that) are much more than whiffs and tiffs. They made me acquainted with jerks and jolts of life which I seldom used to encounter.


   I still feel the whiff of the vivid memories of the day I tried to get a scoop of travelling by public transport. Though the circumstances were in prejudice against my act, it could stop me to assay for it. I was 14 then and being that was no mean feat. Notions of PETA and WWF were slowly carving niches into my brain walls which were coated with thick emulsions of lethal connotations. Apart from getting good ranks and holding president badges, saving the environment was high on to my fancy. Publicising the use of public transport could not be done without actually following the path of “Practice what you preach.” so I decided to en route my Olympiad exam on a DTC bus. It was a sunny day in January which brightened my spirits at the threshold of the day itself. I waited for the bus which would have taken me to my desired destination. It arrived 15 minutes later.

   A sudden stride of people engulfed me in their herd and started to run towards the bus. I was quite astonished to see the sudden transformation of people of cricket playing nation to the soccer’s one.
I too ran along and managed to board the bus which was so jammed that it was quite impossible to even move your eyelids (I pensively mean the statement). From shots of trifle jerks, I kept standing hooked to a seat (by no mean I was to get it). in a spurt, the bus took a sharp turn and made the passengers tossed up in the air. I rolled over to the rear end of the bus and fell on my knees. My eyes rummaged through the crowds for my dad but he was nowhere to be found. Disappointed I wanted to break into tears but suddenly it dawned on me that my tears will wipe away my new found companion “FREEDOM”. I was at no cost ready to be parted with it. I stood up without a single tear and moved on.

   I will always thank my first jerk for giving me the morsel of freedom. From that day I have developed an infectious liking to the jerks. They have become a part of me. I always trust their judgments and abide by them.