The Rebelle blog

On my way back home tonight, a little too early than my usual time I came across beautiful bright lights put up in small alleys to celebrate the festive spirit that dominates this season. Looking up from my reverie, I saw a soft glow of red and yellow twinkle lights overhead. It was so magical. That moment transported me in some dreamland of happiness as I walked with a big happy smile plastered on my face. I met an acquaintance on the road and couldn't shut up admiring the brightly lit skies. Can you believe, it just took some lights to spread cheer within me! I also felt a little foolish after a while as I kept my thoughts engaged in this material happiness, but I couldn't care less about it. That moment mattered a lot. It felt like my childhood came alive. But in my childhood I never remember seeing such an extravagant display of lights and flashy street decorations. Things were a lot simpler then.  I think as times have changed, things have left their indelible expres...

On this day today, exactly eight years ago I met somebody who since then has become an essential part of my life. It began with a discussion on 'Illusions' and turned to literature, human existential crisis, historical references and has continued till today. We discuss, talk, argue, write long mails to each other attacking and defending our views on topics that range from Mughals, Indian History, Societal degradation, Art, institutions of marriage & companionship and a lot many things. This friend has influenced and channelled a lot of positive thinking into me. I usually talk of Keats and beauty and truth in the same breath while my friend carefully fragments beauty and truth as ideals and groups Keats with Gulzar. We meet only once a year and that meeting lasts for about an hour or two in which we cram Atticus & Morrie, gender stereotyping, political hoodwinking, architecture and social accountability whilst savouring the absolute pleasure of our brief meetings. ...

“What is family? They were the people who claimed you. In good, in bad, in parts or in whole, they were the ones who showed up, who stayed in there, regardless. It wasn't just about blood relations or shared chromosomes, but something wider, bigger. We had many families over time. Our family of origin, the family we created, and the groups you moved through while all of this was happening: friends, lovers, sometimes even strangers. None of them perfect, and we couldn't expect them to be. You can't make any one person your world. The trick was to take what each could give you and build your world from it.”  This quote is from Sarah Dessen's YA novel, Lock and Key . I have often looked into this quote and her words to understand the concept of family. One of my very first and also favourite childhood movies is The Parent Trap . I was 13 when I first watched it. And till- date it remains one of the few movies I can re-watch and go back to. At that impressionable age ...

It is completely amusing that I read this following poem in another blogger's Poem-a-day subscribed blog posts. While it does speak of love's longing and yearning, it also essentially sums up that everything we have lost was because its time had come. The purpose in our life was fulfilled and that's why we lost days, love, friendships, dreams, things/people who were closer to us- this is the classic clichéd way of explaining certain events in life. I certainly don't subscribe to them. Yes, we lost things and people. But that's about it. It should not make me cold-hearted to feel that what was gone shall be lost forever. That is why we have memories. This poem however is different. It should be seen as something that laments the going away of events and people, but it also renews hope in a way as you read it. After all, WE live on hope and faith that will surpass all sorrows and pain to lead us towards new beginnings of growth and creation. This is a philosophi...

It's chaos all over in my head. Or wait, why do I feel the need to classify it as chaos? This never ending dimensional crisis to our personalities has put me in a fix- literally. One of my best friends from school, someone I know since I was six years old was going through such a big crisis in his life. He called me a few years ago when my number was the only one he remembered and my advice mattered to him, and I didn't respond then. How guilty do I feel now on learning that he needed my help. A simple gesture of listening to his problem on the phone could have bought him some peace. But I was adamant over something back then. We had had the biggest fight over something that in early 20's felt like it mattered a lot. Friendship is a vague term, a place holder actually. There's nothing like friendship that lasts forever, or a friendship where everything is perfect. No, nothing of this sort exists. We constantly evolve and grow out of our immaturity and keep balancing o...

Lilting music, violin sounds and a mellow afternoon- my idea of perfect time for a refreshing cup of tea and a good book that's about to end. Having spent three years with such luxury I'm spoilt to the core and often long for these afternoons. I remember my professor's warm conversations during thesis, and lazy walks through Fort. I have spent every waking moment with Orhan Pamuk and his Istanbul. Then there were times spent listening to the great Usha Uthup- she's a delight. Everything is so fresh in my mind, Her feminist decoding of 'Bindiya Chamkegi' is original and important and should be heard by every young impressionable girl. We live in such fractured times. I came across this book of Greek mythology and a dictionary on the same while looking for some other books in my collection. While going through them casually, I came upon markings in my handwriting on comparisons with other book characters and my exasperated comments. I remembered my obsessed tri...

I am a Bajaj Kid! I belong to that generation of kids who grew up riding on Bajaj Scooters and listening to '....Buland Bharat ki buland tasveer- Hamara Bajaj.' And, what fun memories do I have of our scooter! I distinctly remember the time Dad bought it home. I was Four years old, and stood in the doorway eagerly waiting for my Dad and Uncle. It was getting dark and then, I spotted them. Don't remember much from the night. It is blue-coloured and the number plate is 8847- I remember Dad once told me the trick to remember the number plate. He asked me, What is the height of Mount Everest? It is 8848 m. Isn't it an easy number? he asked. I never once forgot it since. Years later, I however, had some trouble memorising our Car number plate. There was no logic there to help me. I have fond memories of travelling on the scooter with Dad during summer holidays. We would ride outside Nashik and then stop by the roadside under Gulmohar trees. Dad would help me pluck the fla...