'Poorva, I love...'

He was, no doubt, a handsome man. Tall, good looking, well spoken with a heavy Brit accent, a nice broad smile. He was neither fat nor fit. He was quite particular about the way he looked. I think he shaved everyday because I never saw him with even a slight beard. I guess he used to get his eyebrows thread too. His hair was never out of place.

I never noticed him much till the time I noticed that he was noticing me a lot. Yes, he was way too much polite to me. He would make it a point to ask me everyday how I was. Depending on my mood, I would reply. But no matter how his mood was, his way of talking to me never became even slightly rude.

It was his birthday in a week's time. He made it a point to invite me every single day to his big day. He told me that I was special and he was looking forward to celebrating with me. A lot of his friends were going to be there. Everything sounded perfect, but my gut feeling said it was not.

For some reason, I could never think that he was special. I didn't go to his party. He rang me up at least 25-30 times, there must have been 40 messages in my phone, three of his friends came to my office to pick me up. But I didn't go. I didn't feel like going. I know I sound like a very hard-hearted person here, but I never do anything my heart says no to.

I thought he would be mad at me and won't talk to me for days. But my phone rang the next morning itself. It was him. His voice told me that he had been crying. A lot.

'I want to see you. Right now.'

'It's a Sunday. I am off, and have hardly got out of my bed. I don't think I can meet you.'

'I will come to your house. Give me your address. I must, must meet you.'

'Boys are not allowed here.'

'Ok. Come to the CCD near your office. If you don't meet me, I'll do something to myself. I want to say something to you. I have to. Please.'

'Tomorrow?'

'No. Right now. Please.'

I didn't want to be the cause for a grown-up man's suicide. Crime shows had taught me that police look for the last phone call made or received, the number of messages sent to one person, interrogate friends of the deceased etc etc. No boss. I didn't want to be grilled by the cops. And CCD sounded like a safe place. I crawled out of my bed, changed and left for CCD without having my breakfast. (Of course, who in the world would eat and go to Coffee Day?)

There he was. Smiling. Too glad to see me finally. His eyes were puffed. Too much alcohol and too many tears perhaps.

We went inside, my mind already set to order a Devil's Own and paneer tikka sandwich. But guess it wasn't my day.

'Poorva, can we go a bar please?'

'I don't drink. You know that. Tell me what it is. I have to rush.'

'Ok. Then can we at least stand outside? I need a smoke.'

He had started jumping on the sofa like a madman and everyone was staring at us. Embarrassed, I stepped out.

He took out a cigarette and two cans of beer.

'I got this for you.'

'You know I don't drink. And I don't like the smell of smoke. For God's sake, tell me whatever you want to. I want to go home. I am hungry.'

'Let's go to my home in that case. Girls are allowed there. I'll order anything you want to eat. Everything you want to eat. Just come with me to my home. Please.'

'No. I am leaving. Right now.'

He was on his knees by then. Yes, on the road, on the knees.

'Please Poorva, please. Don't go.'

At that moment, crime shows did not matter. Devil's Own and paneer tikka did not matter. Call records, messages, friends... nothing mattered. This guy was insane. I was petrified. I turned and started running as fast as I could. My athletics coach would have been so proud of me had he seen me then.

The next day somebody told me that he had left his job. A week later, I got to know that he was taking counselling at NIMHANS. After a month or so, he called me up for the last time.

'I am leaving India for good and going back to my parents in Britain. But before I go, I want to tell you what I wanted to, the other day. I promise there won't be any drama this time. I'll meet you whenever and wherever you want me to.'

'Okay. You can see me at my office at 4 pm.'

An awkward silence before I realised that I was losing my patience.

'You wanted to say something, I guess.'

'Yes Poorva. Just that I don't know how to say that. I have never said this to a girl before.'

Oh ya. And pigs fly.

'Okay. I am not going to waste even one more minute of yours. I will finally say this to you.'

I tried not to shift. I felt so uncomfortable. Believe me, I didn't want to hear what I thought and you think I was about to hear.

'I am in love. Poorva, I love him. So much.'

Go ahead. Read the above line again. I did not make a mistake.

'Poorva, I have been in love with him ever since I saw him first. We were a pair. I invited you to my birthday party because I was about to make a surprise announcement of our engagement that day. I hadn't even told him about it. I was forcing you to come because somewhere in you I saw a friend. You never tried to take advantage of me like everyone else does. I wanted you to be a part of my big day.'

I sat there, stunned. This was the first of its kind.

'The cake was ready. The champagne was there. All my friends had gathered in the hall. I went searching for him. I heard some commotion in one of the bedrooms and knew he was there.'

Tears had started trickling down his cheeks. He was shaking. I held his hand.

'I opened the door of that bedroom. He was right there... with my aunt, in the bed. I screamed. He turned and looked at me. Then he simply said, 'I am bi. Sorry for not telling you before.' I was shattered, Poorva. I wanted to tell you. I knew you would understand.'

He is with his parents these days. He has had counselling in London and is finally enjoying life again, thanks to his mom and dad.

I wrote this blog to apologise to him...

Sorry for not trying to understand you when you needed me.

KASHMIR oh KASHMIR!

The other day I was searching for an Indian map on Google to put on my blog along with my last post. But what I saw made me feel bad. Very bad.

I am not trying to boast, but I was quite good at drawing maps in school. My geography teacher would send in a message beforehand, instructing me to draw a huge map on the blackboard before class begins. I could even draw it blindfolded. But when I saw the Indian map on Google that day, I knew I could not draw it. In fact, I would never want to draw it.

Try drawing that Indian map I was taught in school, and you will always, always start from that solid head we have... Jammu & Kashmir. But look at the Indian map now. The head is half gone... as if it met with an accident. It's got a big dent. It pains.

On the left is India as it was given to us on 15th August 1947. On the right is the BBC map of India with Kashmir half gone. This and many such maps are available on Google.

I don't have much of Kashmir connection, except for two friends, a holiday plan and bhumbro-bhumbro. So why did half the Kashmir gone make me feel bad? Why did I fight tears? Why did I look at my Kashmiri colleague the next day and said sorry in my head?

This colleague of mine had once told me about the house he grew up in. It was huge. Enough for it to be converted into a High School now. He had told me that he learnt to swim in the Dal Lake. His first crush was a red-cheeked girl. They hardly saw the sun during winters. They actually used kangri which sounded like a weird thing when I read about it in my GK book in class 5th.

He also told me that he had wasted a college year because of migration. After that, he didn't say anything.

The other day I downloaded Google Earth on his laptop, and he took me straight to Shalimar Bagh on it. He was so excited. He hasn't gone back in 20 years. Only Google Earth takes him to his Kashmir now.

I know he is going to blast me for letting out his secrets to the world. But perhaps it's every Kashmiri's secret today.

That brings me to the same question again... why did it make ME feel bad?

I have always been a perfectionist. When I saw India's map that day, I realised the drawing had been ruined. My India can never be perfect without the perfect Kashmir, and I do not want to make an imperfect drawing.

For me, it was just a drawing gone bad. But what about those whose whole life... the past, the present, the future...

I am sorry. I really am.

Oh poor GANDHI!

Gandhi divided India. He could have done something to ensure a smooth partition. The Kashmir problem is because of Gandhi.

'Why don't you do a special feature on Gandhi for tonight's prime time?'

'Aah! It would be full of controversies, Poorva.'

I fail to understand why people talk about Gandhi without knowing anything about him. Or why lately people have started calling him a controversial man, blaming him for all things bad that happened to our country during the 1940s' phase. I thought he was associated to freedom, to goodness, to peace. In fact, as a kid, he was my favourite after Buddha. He still is.

When people around me started calling him names, I was hurt. I wanted to know who is wrong... those people or my favourite old man.

There is something very interesting about knowledge: if you know the full and proper version, it's good. If you don't know anything, it's ok. But if you know only half of it, it's the worst. It's like eating a half-baked biscuit which would cause stomach ache later. Either eat a full-baked one or don't eat at all.

My fondness for Gandhi grew when I was in nursery. I don't have a reason why. But when I grew up and got to know from people that the same Gandhi was a bad man, I was disturbed. This time I wanted to know why. Why do they say he was wrong?

I did some serious research that cleared my mind. Please read the next few lines only if you can read with a clear mind. Leave it if you can't. There is a lot of reading and only for those who can look at things practically instead of blindly following some rumour-mongers.

• Rumour number 1: Gandhi divided India

Gandhi never wanted to divide India. In fact, he was the only man standing when everyone else was hellbent on doing so. Gandhi had once famously said, 'Before partitioning India, my body will have to be cut into two pieces.'

The idea of a separate state of Pakistan was coined way back in 1933 by a man called Rahmat Ali (yes, it wasn't even Jinnah's idea). This guy wanted a separate state for India's Muslims so that they could be independent. The name Pakistan came from the five northern parts of India that he had in mind would constitute Pakistan: Punjab, Afghan province, Kashmir, Sind, BaluchisTAN. It was hence initially called Pakstan, and i was added later.

Rahmat Ali wanted Jinnah to take over this movement of a separate state of Pakistan, but Jinnah called it an 'impossible dream'. Later in 1937, Jinnah's Muslim League started having issues with Congress, and that's when he began working towards making this impossible dream possible.

• Rumour number 2: Gandhi should have divided India in such a way that Muslims should have gone to Pakistan and Hindus should have remained in India

Now this is something most people are not aware of and they don't bother to check the facts too: Sir Cyril Radcliffe, who was generally acknowledged as the most brilliant barrister in England, was given the task of dividing India and West & East Pakistan (now Bangladesh). And why did they choose him? Because Radcliffe didn't know anything about India, and that's why there was no chance of him getting influenced. The orders given to him were, 'divide the two nations based on the Muslim and non-Muslim populations, but keep other factors in mind as well.' He did exactly the same.

Now I don't understand how does Gandhi come in here. The man who did not want a divided India is being blamed these days for not dividing it properly. Seriously, irony couldn't have a better place.

• Rumour number 3: Kashmir problem is because of Gandhi

Two of my closest friends are Kashmiri Pandits, and that's why I particularly wanted to find the truth behind this rumour.

There is a little city called Gurdaspur in Punjab. While Radcliffe was on his mission Partition India on the map, he decided to follow the natural boundary line of the Ravi River. With this, he left Gurdaspur and the Muslim villages around it inside India. 

Had Radcliffe awarded Gurdaspur to Pakistan, Kashmir would have easily gone to them as well. Without this city, India would have had no practicable land access to Kashmir, and its Hindu Maharaja Hari Singh wouldn't have a choice except to link Kashmir's destiny to Pakistan.

So how did Gandhi come into the picture here?

There might be many other such rumours, but these three are the most common which I have heard so far.

Before I wrap, I need to talk about Gandhi's personal life as well. Nowadays, a lot of people say that he was a womaniser and that he slept naked with a few women or something like that. First of all, there is no proof of what happened inside his bedroom. Secondly, I don't give a damn if he slept with ten, one or none. 

All I care about is that he gave this country, this world a wonderful message of peace. He showed us the non-violent path. I am not against those who gave up their lives by resorting to violent means for our freedom, but why should I be against someone who did the vice versa?