Accept..or be an exception! Or how about accepting to be an exception?! You are accepted when you don’t except the expected..then how about enjoying each moment of dejection? A dejection on account of your being an exception is a dejection so blissful! A DEJECTION WHICH IS YOUR ACCEPTANCE..MY ACCEPTANCE!
I could live with the tears and still smile,
Trip a million times and traverse miles,
I could be a loser and still shelter hope,
Flop in the quest and still grope,
I could go blind, encountered with the pristine,
Go down the drain and still preen,
And I could hold a flower and caress the spine,
For I could live in the dark and still shine!!
And then she shuddered,
oscillating in sync with her fierce heart thumps,
she trampled on the truth and staggered,
but the truth stood right there smiling,
”lets’ speak never”,again he uttered,
and then again she shuddered..
And I don’t know what made me hold the pen and ink that blank sheet of paper , it seems to have a life now!!
Once upon a time it was all about us..
Gradually the “us” got shaken as “you” was nowhere to be seen when “me” looked out for him.”You” had left “Me” in a bin of hurt and pain. “Me” was in great trouble all that while as “you” was busy in his work..but he of course was doing all that for making a life for both of them. But somewhere down the line everything kept shattering inside “Me”. “Me” was crestfallen. She saw her friend break into pieces..she saw a father who played with a mother..she had thought he was a hero!! She saw a family in which every other person was hell bent on creating a mess..the stars said that it was her own family.Things were changing..”Me” was now awake all days and nights trying hard to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come..they would stay inside and pinch her heart..it would pain and she would flinch..and then she would think about “You”..tears came whenever she realized that “You” was not with her through all this..although “You” never meant this..for him he was always with “Me”..for “Me” “you” was too far away..she was burning..she had no idea what she was doing..she was infuriated and one day told “you” to end it all..she meant it..”You” took it casually..and thought it would pass..for he had never expected such a thing from her..she too had not expected this thing from herself!! But then she was dying..and then out of nowhere a bird came..that bird came to just pull her out of this state..things were still the same..but she had somebody who would listen to her..she was broken..but happy now..she was happily broken..broken in the love of “You”..time passed and she breathed “You” every passing second.”Me” and the bird became very very good friends..something strange developed between them..something more than friendship..but “Me” loved “You” terrifically.The bird and “Me” decided to stay away and abate this strange and unknown feeling.As they decided to abate it, two things happened.. 1. “Me” was sad again, immersed in the memories of “You”. 2. “Me” was missing her angel who had once pulled her out of this. They talked after sometime and she discovered that the bird had missed her too. As the time passed, they decided to stay as a good company and wait..they decided never to say “i love you” until either of them meant it..(that was a rare possibility..) Then one fine day..to not let anybody else think that “me” was broken and woebegone (her whole college and family knew..”you” didn’t know this) and to not let anybody else even try enter their lives to screw it up again (and isn’t that what we think when we are in pieces?), they changed their relationship status to being engaged to each other on a social networking site.Mind you, they were still not in a relationship.”Me” would imagine “You” written in place of the bird in that relationship status..she would cry seeing “You”‘s photographs.”You” saw the relationship status change and scolded “Me” emotionally!! He said that “Me” had duped him..she had cheated on him..and that he knew from the very first day about her relationship with the bird.He termed “Me” as an imposter.”Me” was broken again..and she lost faith in “You”. However, she still loved him..she loved him all the time.”You” was right initially..he was with her..or he had assumed he was with her..or he wanted her to assume he was with her..wanted her to find his presence in his absence. But he changed the moment he saw the status..”Me” doubted if he ever loved her, the same way as he was doubting her..he still does..and then now the bird and “Me” are together..but some part of “Me” still belongs to “You”..still longs for “You”..and the bird knows this..but she knows she is not a cheater..she can go back…but she wont..she never wanted those tears she cried and the pain she felt during the lonely days and nights to be compensated with “You’s” tears and pain that he is suffering now..she knows he is suffering now..but what now?!! She is still in pain..and will always be..she is leaving the country..but “You’s” memories and the bird’s existence is making her weak..making her live in death!!
And now when she reads a poem written by “you” stating “ONCE UPON A TIME IT WAS ALL ABOUT US“,
She hides the pang behind her smile and says:
“Yes you are right..
Once upon a time it was all about us..
When it was “us”..
and not just “you”..
and not just “me”!!”
A good author is one whose imagination soars high in the sky and feet caresses the dust!!
A Calendar Too Crowded
To start with, Sagarika Chakraborty,as she says and as I believe is not a feminist. And so I, sitting here writing a review on this book “A CALENDAR TOO CROWDED” (which happens to be a life in itself), am also not a feminist. Yes. This book is a life in itself. Wading through the perfectly woven words with the fiber of emotions, you will find yourself wondering where and which world the book makes you step in. Sooner or later you realize that it is the hidden picture of your very own world that the book depicts.
There are so many days that the governments all over the world have dedicated to female empowerment. That empowerment weakens as the girl steps inside the threshold of the house. An equal intensity of empowerment is required behind the doors. The book picks each such day and marvelously explains what actually happens and what actually is what we call as “THE DARK TRUTH”.
A Calendar Too Crowded is not a book. It is an album. It gives words to the music that never finds a stage and vice versa. It bears in itself the voices of various feminine souls that get subdued under the noise and shrieks of feminism; the voices of the souls that succumb behind the curtains of law. From the voice of an unborn female child to the agonies of an old woman; from the voice of a prostitute to the voice of her highly educated daughter; from the voice of a random girl found dead on the road side to the voice of the people that ostracize her; from the voice inside that makes a married woman reach out to the man she once loved to the voice that brings her back to her husband; From the voice of a woman who cannot conceive and has full support of her husband to the very same voice that surrenders to the narrowness of her husband, the beautiful words swiftly land into your heart and instinctively provokes you to take a minute out and think..”ISN’T THE CALENDAR MORE CROWDED THAN THE NUMBER OF FEMALES THAT EXIST IN THIS WORLD? IS IT NOT MORE CROWDED THAN IT’S EFFICIENCY IN UPLIFTING WOMEN EMPOWERMENT? IS IT JUST NOT TOO CROWDED?!”
To conclude, A Calendar Too Crowded makes you want more. A perfect blend of mature writing and poetry that beautifies the concept of the book. The most perfect non-feminist read for all. I would suggest you to lessen the crowd in your calendar of books and go through this calendar by Sagarika Chakraborty.
Sometimes..just sometimes..monotony is the most interesting thing you could ever imagine! For is not perfection a monotony? A monotonous myth!!
Once upon a time, I aspired to become an academic. Funny, I know. It happened during the early days of university; York; a sprawling tarmac woven with the occasional strip of green in Toronto’s northwest pocket. Enthralled by the study of literature and “The Art of the Novel” and Lionel Trilling and books I never knew existed, my intellectual life was given depth after years chewing on Hot Wheel track and listening to…