The Rebelle blog

1998- what an amazing year! That was the year we moved to Mumbai. Everything was new for me. I remember my very first visit to Dr. Bhau Daji Lad Museum and meeting a painter there. She signed a photo of one of her paintings displayed in the gallery there. I was a wide-eyed 10- year old girl in awe of all the new sights in front of me. We also visited the Nehru Planetarium and Chowpatty on my first Mumbai visit. But, most of all, what I remember from that year is the introduction to some amazing kid movies I had the opportunity to see on TV. Earlier, before moving to Mumbai, I wasn't much interested in movies or TV and also, there was a limited access to DD programs.  Star Movies, I believe, broadcasted kid movies on Sundays. I watched The Parent Trap, Father of the Bride, Honey I shrunk the kids, Richie Rich on a Sunday movie marathon that spanned weeks. I vividly remember being glued to the TV set and still recall visuals of the light and colors from these movies. The s...

Write only if you cannot live without writing. Write only what you alone can write. - Elie Wiesel. I read this and instantly my lack of writing here in February became clear to me. Incidentally, I lost a thought today and hard as much I try to remember it, I just can't. I am quite in a tumble over this. Where is it gone? Will I never be able to recall it again? One of the major culprits is this bad habit of thinking twenty different things that the mind conjures up at the most inopportune times. I am also amazed at the way systems function in our world. There are a hundred thoughts running through my head right now. I am at once thinking about work, people, life in a perspective and so many things I ought to do but I am not.  A few minutes ago, I was telling a young friend who will turn 25 in a few days about the vitality of our hearts and that old age grips those whose hearts become old. What does being old even mean anymore? It's just a time stamp on our existence. Pe...

हळूहळू मनावरचा ताण सैल झाला. उन्हात बसले, हसले, काही जुन्या गोष्टी आठवल्या. क्षणात सकाळपासून दाटून आलेलं मळभ दूर झालं. आधी छातीत धडधडलं, हात थरथरले, मग काहीतरी माझ्या आत निवळलं. आपल्या मनाला सतत एखाद्या टॉनिकची गरज असते. ते टॉनिक मी बऱ्याच दिवसांत प्यायले नव्हते म्हणून हा सगळा उहापोह. शब्दांमध्ये काय विलक्षण सामर्थ्य असतं! माझ्या मनाला उभारी देणारे, त्याला मोकळं करणाऱ्या मैत्रिणी भेटल्या. क्षणात किती बदल झाले. माझ्या खांद्यांवर एक अनामिक ओझं मी वाहत होते, ते हलकं होत गेलं. आपला आनंद, मनःशांती आपण स्वतः शोधावी लागते. विनाकारण विचारांचं ओझं आपण घेऊन फिरत राहतो.  ऊन जसजसं वाढत गेलं, तसे मनातले दुःख वितळत गेले. आपल्या अवतीभवती किती सुंदर जग आहे. आपण सगळं विसरून केवळ स्वतः मध्ये रममाण होत जातो आणि मग त्या सातत्याचा देखील कंटाळा येत राहतो. नवीन काहीतरी करण्याची उर्मी विरून जाते. जसा आनंद शोधता यायला हवा, तशीच स्वयं- प्रेरणा देखील आपण जागृत करायला हवी. फार गुरफुटून गेलोय आपण एकाच ध्यासाच्या मागे. सगळे करतात, पूर्ण जग तसंच चाललंय म्हणून त्यांच्यासारखे होण्याचा आणि करण्याचा अट्टहास आत...

We need Change! We need a Revolution! We need to claim our rights! and the lists of 'needs' keeps on increasing. Could we truly be two different entities in a singularly obsessed world of irregularities? You contradict me point blank and I retaliate with equal ferocity. There's a moment in being when the world stops by for a minute and a soul strikes out. Just the two of us, we can make it try. We need more than one for stirring change.   WHAT IS CHANGE? Seeing the world bending to our whims, catering to our arrogance, bowing in front of us- it is more than this- in our understanding of falling down, bruising our egos, faltering in our steps. Learning from these comparative narratives of metamorphosis. I am surrounded by chaos. An unending whirl of noises and voices confused in their paradoxical worlds enwrapped in a neverending trail of sorrows and disappointments. I feel happy when someone else corresponds to my sense of mangled turbulence. It's all chur...

This is my first post in the new year which has become old now by a month. I can't believe how quickly January went past in a blur. Not really a blur, since I am able to recall each day from it. I started a new job, new work place in a new town, new people and so many new adventures to begin with. I can hardly contain my enthusiasm as I rewind back to exactly thirty days ago. Life is amazing. it always introduces us to something resourceful if not what's necessary. While I am working at a new place, with new colleagues and plenty of new things to teach and learn every day, I am extremely happy to choose this opportunity. My learning graph seems to have expanded and so has my sharing graph. I am happier each day facing a multitude of events, mostly small but impacting in their own nature. I have taken to exploring the environs around my new workplace and to my delight I stumbled upon a beautiful sight one morning. A riverfront with old tall trees lining narrow paths of a m...

It's Christmas and I spent a lovely afternoon watching Piku. Long ago, my aunt watched this movie in a theatre with her son and daughter-in-law, and then telephoned me and said that Piku reminded her of me. This was around 2014, I think. I was so amused that I don't remember asking her what specifically made her say that from seeing the movie. Strangely, I never got around to watch Piku back then. Today was one of those holidays when a movie seemed to be a cosy choice for a lovely December afternoon. Calcutta exudes such a raw charm in the movie. I am just back from the city too. It was cold and wintry and raining for all the four days I was there. We took a short road trip through the city and onto the suburbs, 65 km from Howrah. It was 4:30pm and the skies were losing their light while the air began to get chilly. I feel like I hovered over myself now that I remember the visuals from the journey. Even today, when I close my eyes, all I see are the yellow cabs, red...

Early in August this year, I went to a book exhibition with Shree and we spent a delightful four hours amidst all that treasure trove. That day, I had to let go off a few books including Ruskin Bond's The Writer on the Hill and I regretted it for a while.    Last Saturday, while strolling through the familiar lanes of Fort, I found myself walking towards Strand Book Stall and once inside, lost in its charm. To my delight, I saw a lone copy of Ruskin Bond's anthology of selected fiction and non-fiction nestled among Harry Potter's new shiny editions. Mr Bond shines from anywhere. Before anyone else came to claim it, I pounced on it and held it close. Many of the stories are from his books on Dehra and Mussoorie. I have read them all before, have them memorized since my growing years. His charm never fades away. December reads are always special.  This year is coming to an end. I can still recollect the first day of 2017 and how I spent it. Every single detail. Yet it...