never can say goodbye.

i shared my room with two people when i grew up-my brother and that man who stared with an icy stare,dressed in a black shirt and white jacket,the black man with super fizzy hair.the man in that poster behind my door.these were the days when "western music" had started infiltrating the impermeable membrane of rabindra sangeet around my family.
it was infront of this stare that we tried the moonwalk and failed terribly.those days international albums were sold for a princely sum of Rs 125.i had seen my brother walk to college and save up for the cassettes.
Dangerous was a song i was allowed to hear and dance to whenever i had been a good girl.
that poster was taken off when my room got painted.and my brother left for mumbai.
that man in the poster lost his fizzy hair and his skin colour.and the media said stories...
i remember having called up my brother and telling him that i am learning odissi,the same dance featured in the video of Black or White.he confused it with the malaysian dance,ofcourse.
they called him a pedophile,they called him anti-semitic,they called him a monster...but that man,for me,was a part of my growing up.and today he went away-taking a huge chunk of my childhood.
he could've been the peter pan of his own neverland...he could've always remained that little Illinois boy whose father whipped him with a belt each time his moon walking feet falter.
maybe,he wanted to dance like that little Illinois boy forever but the world couldnt let go of its whip that tried whipping him into perfectness each time his steps faltered.
RIP MJ.
you have been a hero to a generation which saw no heroes before you.

my maternal grandfather had made a pond in his house.as years passed,the people of his locality started using it to bathe themselves and gradually,the pond became a public pond.
i cannot swim in ponds so i have never swam in it.but my mother and all her four siblings had learnt to swim in it.
i can only remember one man whom i had seen swimming in it.a thin,bald,dark old man.i think i had seen him wearing a blue lungi once,it might have been some colour other colour also.i didnt know what his name was.we never exchanged words or pleasantries.
i came to know his name today.the day he died.
in the same pond.following a heart attack while swimming.they found his body hours after his death-floating along the sides of the pond.right where the coconut trees grow.his red towel was lying on that cemented embankment around the pond.it still is,perhaps.
his name,as i came to know today,was Neelu.

rant

no matter what N says,i've never been a brat.always ate what was given to me,always wore what was bought.i even wore frilly frocks till i was 13 and had mushroom cut till i was 10!
but it's crazy how,at 20,i 've turned into a complete brat these days!if someone orders a pizza i invariably end up craving for phuchkas and if ma buys me a tee i pull a face and say i want a kurta!
no,i'm not proud of it and i'm not enjoying it.
it's like having my ma inside me along with myself-it's like having equal and opposite forces of restraint and freedom withing oneself.
and it is killing me.
but today was fun.met some ten friends at this relief concert i attended.felt really nice.
and yes,i met someone after so long that i tried going down in an ascending escalator!
yes,this is a rant post.kindly pass.