Do you remember the first time we spoke? A hesitant hello. Some static. Then rush of words. My hands shook a little but I hid it with exaggerated swagger in my voice. You were nervous too I am certain. For you faltered over my name once. I blushed till my ears felt hot. Somewhere we fell into native tongue. 30 minutes non stop. Then you said maybe I should get on with my day. It was a Saturday. Same day two years ago.

My house burnt down.

Now I can better see

The rising moon.

- a haiku by Basho -

Seed

Life

Hope

Love

what I am reading right now...

I have just started reading Adechie's book having read Purple Hibiscus before. Hauntingly raw. No, I haven't got to the gore yet. So far it is a tapestry of bare human emotions.

You alone will kill the lunatic in your head that led you to reckless desire.
You alone will pick the pieces and put them back together with glue.
You alone will tell the truth to your parents.
You alone will ask the boss to reconsider the plan to replace you.
You alone will tell yourself not to cry even when no one is watching.
You alone will build that wall. Yes, alone.
You alone will be the key to your survival.
You alone will love yourself once again.

@airport

I just did something that I have never never done in my life. The very thought mortifies me to the core. The questions – how COULD I? - is running repeatedly in my head. Though I have managed the immediate fallout, the fact that I have committed it doesn’t change one bit.

Well, I missed my flight. Big deal, you might say. Now, I missed it while loitering inside the terminal after security check. This must be one in a million case. I got up at 5 to get packed and ready much before time. Even reached the airport early. Till security check it was peeerfect. Then without looking at the watch (yes, I have started wearing one precisely for that reason!) I strolled into the book section of the 1st floor departure terminal. Picking up books at random I read atleast 10 back covers. Finally I decided to buy Chariots of God? By Eric Von Daniken completely unaware that my flight has left with my 04A seat vacant. Slowly I amble to Gate 10 and sit down only to realize that the entire bay is empty. Still I didn’t think of looking at my watch. The airline lady at the gate smiles and says “Ms. Bose ? Your flight has left 10 mins back. We called your name repeatedly”. Crash Boom Bang! I have a 20 member team waiting for me at Hyderabad with whom I have a training session! When is the next flight? 1.30pm. What?? 4 hours! "M’am we will check if there is availability for that flight." Airline lady smiles vaguely. I feel she has overdone her face. Too much red!! (panic makes me notice the most irrelevant detail) Anyway, after a bit of running up and down the stairs and easing cash out of wallet I get my fresh ticket and go through security check once again with the lady officer looking puzzled. "Madam you passed the Security sometime back. Didn’t you?" Now it’s my turn to look sheepish. Yes, I missed my flight. She shuts up and smiles. Thank God for small mercies. So here I have parked myself at the cookie shop. 2 more hours to go.

Just now, while I was writing this, I met my ex-boss and his closest crony. They are headed for Pune. Good luck I said. He asked for my business card and said he would be in touch regarding a business proposition. When you become an ex-employee the power equation shifts dramatically. And well what can I say..I am lovin’ it! Now, 1 ½ hour to go…

of reading and reminiscence..

I read the last page and closed Ghosh's ‘Dancing in Cambodia’ and let out a sigh. I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath for so long. I found the collection of travel essays as intriguing as they are moving. ‘At Large in Burma’ filled me with nostalgia since like Ghosh I too have heard stories from extended family having old and deep rooted ties with Burma. But unlike him never have bothered to commit them on paper to create a concrete memory. Curiously, reading about Pol Pot made me wonder how distorted psyches like his develop within the framework of civil human society, the effect of libertarian education on ‘radicalization’ and why we repeatedly let genocidal idealists get their way. But one thing, demented as they are, something has to be made out of their unwavering dedication to their ‘belief’. Most of us are too pliable to give in to the rigidity of a belief. If you smell admiration, it isn’t so. Just wonderment at human nature and a reminder that we are all anything but mortal.

I am not sure what hurts more. The notion of losing you or the dread that I might have already lost you. I have always thought letting go wasn’t that difficult. After all, I have had to let go once too often and have always survived. I believed my self to be the ace in handling deception, desertion and defeat. I could swim through it all with my armour of indifference and artifice. Then you happened. With you I learnt to not take myself for granted. I learnt to live a little. I learnt to give myself to a moment without holding back. I learnt to dream again. The dreams that were once laid to rest and the new ones, we dreamt together. Today, I will hurt without healing. Break and wouldn’t mend. Let go without moving on. And I know I will wait. Even if it takes forever. Cause our destinies are together. And one doesn’t fight fate.

you

Watching the rain in the morning, I sit on the unmade bed and think about you. You always said rain in Mumbai looks pretty. So I watch. The silver streaks on the glass wall of my room making patterns of abstract fantasy. The horizon stretching grey sheet that hijacked the blue sky. Weekday morning rush of multi coloured umbrellas on the road far below.

But all I think about is you.

I missed you on the empty seat next to me on the plane. I missed your blissful sleepy face on the pillow next to mine in bed. I missed you cuddling up with me under the sheets while still half asleep. I missed your open-capped shampoo bottle in the shower cubicle. I missed nuzzling my face in your towel that always smells of you. I missed having my clothes next to yours in the wardrobe. I missed our slippers getting all mixed up under the bed. I missed sharing a cigarette with you after making love. I missed the roughness of your stubble and the softness of your kiss. I missed you lying naked next to me and talking about your favourite author. I missed our long calls on silly childhood whims and ghost stories. I missed sharing your ipod ear piece and listening to our favourite songs together. I missed you teasing me till I burst in frustration, that seems to always amuse you. But most of all I miss your smiling eyes that say, I love you.

I am reading Murakami’s ‘Kafka on the Shore’. I am reading it despite the popular reviews agreeing that this is not Murakami’s best. In fact some go on to say it is disappointing (while searching for the image in Google today, I read a few reviews). But as with the rest of the books that I read, I never read a review/research a book before reading it. Usually I am led by instinct. Obviously not a very rational way of going about buying books. But then I am not very rational even otherwise. For most of my life I have been led by instinct. I am still reading the book and I am not disappointed. Probably because I started it with zero expectations. But any way the running theme of the book is Fate and how we are led by it and there is nothing called free will with dark shades of a Greek tragedy loom large. The book begins interestingly enough. A mysterious WWII incident, talking cats who adore Puccini, a curse that ties the fate of all the characters, an alter ego dressed as a whiskey brand, a ‘spirited’ pimp who is the KFC guy, a painting that inspired a song track and of course women who are all nubile and pretty. Yes, it is dragging a little towards the middle albeit ‘metaphorically’. But there is a kooky sense of unrealism that draws me to it which makes me wish I could read the original Japanese. (Cheesy translations like ‘Jeez Louise!’ is as un-Japanese as it can get’).

How can you not love a man who is willing to bear your heavy cross without even a question?

How can you not love a man who finds you beautiful when you know you are at your worst?

How can you not love a man who has made your happiness his mission?

How can you not love a man who inconspicuously slips in a wad of money in your hand when you are out shopping with his family, at once indulgent and protecting your pride?

How can you not love a man who reaches out and holds your hand gently every time you cross a road together knowing you are capable of crossing it alone anyhow?

Finally, how can you not love a man who finds your noisy snoring cute? Yeah he said so.

no answers

Is it wrong to choose your life over others? Even if the others are whom you owe your life to? Does it make you a pathetic self seeking pervert? Is it wrong therefore to take control of your own destiny without being at the mercy of time and circumstance? Is it so hateful an act to seek what is forbidden to you? Is it wicked to take a chance at happiness? Is it treachery to try to change the course of your life through grit and hope instead of fate? Is it audacious to demand more that what is destined? Who sets the boundaries and who makes the rules?

What she must do:
Focus on her work. God knows she needs the money.
Pay more attention to her responsibility.
Get her finances in order.
Have a plan to cope.
Build that wall.
What she wanted to do:
Retire.
Build a home.
Love unconditionally.
Belong.
Learn how to paint.
What she does:
Gets misty eyed during an office meeting.
Prays for strength.
Blames herself.
Promises to never tempt fate again.
Tells herself to keep faith.

All she ever wanted was that little place in someone's heart where she belonged.

She was drowning. The swirl of sparkling green salty sea water was all around her. And the silence. Deafening and final. A moment ago, her father was holding her and nudging her to jump with the oncoming wave. She was with her family, visiting Puri for their summer holiday. A moment later she was underwater. Her father wasn’t holding her anymore. At seven, one doesn’t really get scared of dying. But she felt lonely, for the first time. Suddenly all alone. The water around her was filled with froth and bubbles whispering eka eka eka.

The protagonist from her favourite author says, ‘You don’t know which way to turn to climb out of loneliness. So you turn which ever way you can.’

of breaking

As the glass shattered with a soothing clink into innumerable twinkling pieces on the cool granite, she wondered what heartbreak sounds like. Is it like the unimpressive thud of a heavy stone sinking in the opaque green of a eutrophic pond, silent and easily forgotten? Or does it shatter like an expensive crystal chandelier crashing majestically, regal even till the end? Or does it rip silently like a scalpel slicing fresh cadaver on a post mortem table, neat and almost bloodless? Or does it sizzle like butter on a heated frying pan, at once pleasant and enticing? Or does it break like the frightening crack of bones while burning at the cremation pyre, loud and defying? She has never been able to decipher the sounds of frozen hope, broken dream and an aching heart. The euphoria of last week seems to evaporate like finely ground camphor till all that is left is the nothingness of reality.

a love story

They were meant to be together. But since they last met, their lives have taken separate twists and turns till at the final bend they found each waiting for the other. Like the old forgotten prophecy, once more, they realized they belonged together. This was the day he was to bring her home. The anticipation was palpable. The nervousness was making her slightly queasy. Her happiness was finally within her reach.

Before she boarded the plane he said softly, “Today I did something I have never done before”. “Tell me, please!” she insisted. “No, you got to wait and see for yourself” he laughed.

It was late but he was waiting for her at the airport and they held their hands together all the way home. With no appetite for dinner they longed to be alone together. Switching the bedroom lights on, he stepped back. Lying coyly on top of the chest-of-drawers, was a bunch of yellow roses, a large box of her favourite chocolate, a card with ‘Thank you for your unconditional love’ written in red and a heart-shaped key chain saying ‘I love you’. Overwhelmed, she forgets to tell him that she has never been loved like this before.

madness and tranquility

Well I'm shamemeless

when it comes to loving you

I'll do anything you want me to

I'll do anything at all.

And I'm standing here for all the world to see

Oh baby, that's what's left of me

Don't have very far to fall.

Garth Brooks

bogus vote, books and bootlegging

It was an extra ordinary Saturday. For one, it was the election day here. A day to decide whether once again the aam janta would be held at ransom by shared arrangements of power and the subsequent ‘betrayal’ during the post election horse trading. Anyway to move on with the day, the honest, hard(ly)working me worked as usual. Then decided to catch up with my best bud over lunch who incidnetally had exercised his franchise but didn't know who he voted for. Too much pressure he said. Yes, I believe him. The lunch proved to be an exercise in patience since we realized a tad late that most of the eateries serving alcohol were shut. Now, I don’t understand this but I shall leave it for later. We managed to find a table at the over crowded Only Place thanks to my charming ways (hmm!). And yes, there were the red checked table cloth, the afternoon heat, the whirring fan that did nothing for the heat, the kissing couple who fed each other morsels from a plate (yes, morsels), the man at the next table who wanted fresh butter on his steak(!) The meal turned out decent including the blueberry cheese cake, which, those who eat out with me know, is my current favourite dessert.

Lunch done, we decided to head for Blossoms and try our luck. (Blossoms is this cult book store on Church Street that usually gives fantastic deals on new and old books). So we went in to hunt, completely swathed with the smell of fresh and used books. I got lucky with one each of Ishiguro, Garcia, Kafka, Tolkien (promised myself I shall initiate someone into it) and Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni. No, I am not giving away the titles yet. I wanted to pick up Anjum Hasan’s Lunatic in My Head but the lady was helpful enough to take down my request with a promise to call me when it arrives. (update: she kept her promise and I am picking it up today!) My buddy picked up a few old Grishams and the adorable “Marley & Me” We reach the counter to pay for our loot. Before Buddy Boy can grab his wallet I shove my plastic at the man at the counter. Buddy Boy protests, but the supercilious I say ‘Owners keepers!’ Buddy Boy goes quiet and starts to look uneasy. Oh, how silly, I think, gloating at my instant wit. The POS machine emits funny sounds and gives up. ‘Disconnected’ it flashes. While I am convincing counter guy to try again Buddy Boy slips his card to the man and keeps his eyes away from me. This time a smooth swipe and the machine obviously likes him and prints the slip for signing. I feel a smile slowly creep at the corner of his mouth. The counter guy hands me the packet. Buddy Boy slips in his hand and coolly takes over the parcel from the man and turns towards me and whispers, ‘What did you say just now? Owners keepers…eh?’

We don’t speak till we reach the neighbouring Beer Café and order coffee (no alcohol service remember!). Then he bends close to me and grins ‘But there’s a lesson in this.’ Flushed with embarrassment I run my eyes over the fat packet of books that he now gets to take home. He says slowly, drawing each word so that there is no wayt I miss a single one, ‘Remember, there are many a slip between the swipe and the sweep’ followed by a cheshire grin. So, you are going to hold this against me for the rest of our lives. It was a statement. Yes of course, he says. And rest assured your grandchildren will know about your foot in the mouth wit ha! He is right. I know he would do that to me. Please can I have some of the books? But he has already moved on to other things. Life, lovers, parents, friends, property, travel plans pass us by till dusk appears. Time to go I say. He too had to meet up a friend from out of town. As we walk down to our cars we talk shop some more. No, I have no books to take home. We say bye and I get into my car. Before I slam the door, he hands over the book packet with a smile. Grin. Thank God for best buddy!

Later the same night, I get an urgent call from Buddy Boy who proclaims eternal love in exchange for a promise that I wouldn’t refuse a request. Ok, what is it now? We are having a boys’ night out and we do not have any booze. We scanned the entire city but nothing. Can you please sneak a bottle from your dad’s bar cabinet? We are waiting at the entrance of your apartment block. Fantastic! Not only will I be a thief in my own home, but a bootlegger too! I can go to jail!!!! Fine, I will see what I can do, but gimme some time! Finally, wrapped a Red Label in a lingerie store bag (to deflect suspicion) and met them downstairs. The gents thank me profusely and head off to the party. So now I am hoping my dad doesn’t find out and neither the cops. But as someone says, ‘It’s your good deed for the year and you are absolved of all sin that you may commit this year’. So I am taking it in the right spirit. Wait a minute did I say spirit?

dream of the blue turtle...

Once upon a time the turtle of hope built a fortress around her heart. No I wouldn't let anyone hurt you he cooed. But the foolish heart had other plans. It slips past the old turtle and went to town swinging to its own tune. The turtle woke up dissappointed. How could she? Did I not tell her how wicked the world was? And so the heart found out. Burned and battered it returned. The turtle soothed the hurt, washed the wounds until the heart was good as new. Stay inside the turtle warned. But foolish she always has been. Slipped out once again, flushed with freedom and singing a strange new tune...

wisdom@poorabednes

Change is constant. From a moment to a minute, from a year to an evolution.

We all are evolving physically towards death and emotionally towards redemption.

She cried in her bed leaving ugly wet splotches on her cold pillow that irritated her cheeks. For the first time she didn’t dwell in what brought them about and let the tears roll in quiet dignity. Was she overwhelmed when her little one surprised her with a poster saying 'I Love Mommy', in her bedroom? Was it knowing that someone is disturbed and she cannot give a tight hug to say you will feel better soon? Was she jarred by a stray stranger praising her eyes, little knowing the sadness they have seen? Was it the ‘Your smile lights up my day’ message her workmate wrote on chat, unaware of the effort it takes to smile through it all? Was it even the fall out with her best bud and the hurt and disappointment she knows they both feel? Or was it the shinning tinsel of raindrops under the halogen light that she stayed back to watch after everyone left office? It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was the sense of release. She knew she will feel better tomorrow. She always does, eventually.

Today she is like a confused mess of overdone spaghetti. Mangled, hard and lumpy. And wanting to hide under the lid. The strange yet familiar emptiness is back. Not the unhappy one that causes tightness in her chest. But one that makes her dizzy after retching. Like something bad is over but not sure what happened instead, was good either. There is a faint surge of anticipation too. Like something good is happening but not immediately apparent. So the dancing rain drops on the glass didn’t excite like always. The lunch didn’t prompt animated conversation. The tasks just sat on her desktop waiting for her attention. The promise of a surprise at home didn’t enthuse as much. All she wants is to get in bed and pull the blanket over her head like when they were children, imagining they have disappeared from the world for a while. If only wishes were fireflies…

if life was a song..sing along!

The best part of my work day is the drive to work with the radio on. Today was totally amazing. What amazed me follows:

Rotterdam by Beautiful South (brilliaaant song! The voice just glides echoing a tinge of melancholy….‘Rotterdam or anywhere Liverpool or Rome. 'Cause Rotterdam is anywhere. Anywhere alone.’ Love it love it love it!)

No Particular Place To Go by Chuck Berry (Ohh this is my ‘pick me up’ song – absolute fun!)

Moondance by Van Morrison (Mmmm. Romantic. Eager. Just something you would want to hear on a Saturday morning when you want to be curled up with a warm someone)

Sometime Love Just Ain’t Enough by Patty Smyth and Don Henley (Yes. A sad song. BUT it is just so MY song ‘But there's a danger in loving somebody too much and it's sad when you know it's your heart you can't trust. There's a reason why people don't stay where they are. Baby sometimes love just ain't enough.’ Henley wrote this for me. I know.

‘New life devolves day by day

As friends and neighbours turn away

And there’s a change that, even with regret, cannot be undone’

Sorrow ~ A Momentary Lapse of Reason ~ Pink Floyd

While dealing with change both big and small she has learnt to adapt. And she has learnt to let go. Of prejudices and vanity. Of pigheadedness and servility. Some say she has let go of reason and sanity. But she is learning to forgive. The one that hurt. The one that judged. The one that doubted. So that she is free. Free to live a moment. Free to dream. Free to make a mistake. And free from the guilt of failure. Her entire life she has been trying to be someone else’s idea of who she should be and it has only led to misery. Yes, times are changing. And change is painful. It is also scary. She doesn’t know what the future holds. But she has lived in fear for too long to remain scared. This time around she will not let it slip away without living it if only for a while, like many times before. Her aborted love, her unfinished book, her halted career, her abandoned paintbrush, her stifled spirit. Not any more.

some enchanted evening

What would you do if you could hold on to moments as fresh as dew wrapped in the softness of desire? What if in the montage of emotions expressed and withheld these moments held the meaning of life together? A tender kiss after an absorbed conversation, a touch of hands where none was required, a glance to catch a fleeting smile, the jest of a locked bookcase, the thrill of a shared fantasy, a drive to no where special, an unspoken promise in silence. Would you live them forever? Or would you let it slip away unknowingly?

dive

She did something unexpected this weekend. Escaping from her life of errands, expectations and dreaded monotony she flew off to her own world that beckons with bewitchment. She had been drowning but the escape hatch opened just in time and she surfaced for a handful of sweet emotions, familiar contentment of being, freshness of belonging and an embrace that promised forever. Many would judge her differently though. Flee as she did from her reality if only for a while. But one will understand how she had been torn between love, responsibility and duty and why she chose love above all else.

The struggle of who she is, who she ought to be and who she hopes to become leaves her flayed. Please God, don’t let her give up.

Loneliness hits her in spasms. Like the sharp shooting pain that makes it impossible to pretend that it will go away sometime soon. Unlike the dull throbbing heartache that one gets used to eventually, this doesn’t even give her room to prepare. Her recent exhilaration seems mythical – equally untrue and ancient. To be honest, she is familiar with this darkness but it catches her unaware every time. Damn. Be reasonable she tells herself. Hasn’t it dragged her to its pitiless belly before and then suddenly left her there to grope her way back to sunshine? And she has always found herself a little wiser when light finally dawned. So she waits silently trying not to resent it as it washes over her numbing her mind and reaching for her spirit.

november rain

Scrubbing the kitchen top she looked at her hands. Through the soap suds clinging to her skin, she noticed the brittle serrated nails that were stained yellow from the turmeric. The inside of her palm felt rough as wet sandpaper. The dry skin around the nails was peeling off like corn husk. Her finger tips were rough from the cuts left by the use of the kitchen knife in inept hands. She did use the baby lotion sometime but on most days between cooking, cleaning and caring for the baby she either forgot or was too tired to make the effort.

In the quietness of the night a voice from another world came alive. Your hands are so soft, Mo. I would never let you use them for anything except to caress me. IK said. And they had laughed before disappearing in each others arms. And knowing him he would never have let her. But her parents were vociferous in their resentment. It was a matter of family honour. She couldn’t marry someone of another faith. She gave up the fight when a family crisis took up everyone’s attention. She went back to offer IK her friendship. He had shrunk back as if she had struck him. No never. He had said. I can never be your friend you fool. I love you too much for that. And he had gone without looking back leaving her with dead guilt and a dull ache somewhere between her ribs.

Soon after, she moved with her family to a new city. She met AD. A bright eyed, pony-tailed bohemian type who listened to jazz and painted abstract expressionist illusions. AD, who on the second day had told her, I like your ass man, while he was teaching her how to develop a photographic plate in the dark photolab of the office. She had joined this advertising agency right after university. He was her only friend in the new office and the new city. A fresh freedom beckoned and they hung around together after work on most days. Galleries, exhibition, music festivals, an odd movie. Their stipends didn’t allow any extravagance. Once sitting at Casa Piccola, he had held her wrist lightly, keeping her from taking her lit cigarette to her lips. You have beautiful hands. Just looking at you holding the cigarette turns me on, he said winking naughtily. And she had sat still, holding the burning cigarette in her fingers till the ash scattered all over the table from a sudden gust. It would have been easy to lose herself with him. But her grandmother’s words echoed. All a girl has is her honour. Never lose it over foolish hedonism. So she held back. Partly because of her still healing heart and partly seduced by the idea of this illusive ‘honour’. AD and she had remained friends till she got married to Sanjeev. Infact, AD was there as guest at her wedding, all dressed up in formals and slicked back hair. I am happy for you he had said with a boyishly charming smile. She knew he meant it.

Sanjeev and she had an arranged marriage, initiated by a common family friend. Her father wasn’t particularly happy. Think again, he had told her before they printed the wedding card. But the hurt and guilt of losing her love had made her determined to marry the first man who agreed to their proposal. And Sanjeev was ok. She knew he didn’t love her, forced as he was to give up his relationship with a woman his family disapproved. But she believed she could spend their life together in a new city with compromise and companionship. She was wrong again. Just like the softly rupturing soap bubbles on her now soaked skin, her happiness too has disintegrated leaving a coarse dryness in her heart.

It was just a routine flight back home. Familiar airport. Familiar airline. No delays. Thank God. I rarely make conversations while traveling. Let’s just say I rarely converse with strangers even when I am not traveling. I don’t stop to chat with airline counter girls no matter how cute they are like many gentlemen I notice doing, holding up the entire check-in queue. Nor do I pour over the next person while waiting at the security lounge asking inane questions like ‘Do you think the flight will be delayed further?’ I spend my time at airports usually reading a book (I am not obsessive about checking mail/male!) and observing amusing contradictions like an Indian handicrafts store stacking Barbie dolls on the display shelves (yes Sir, at Pune airport) or a men’s clothing store inside security lounge (I thought women were compulsive buyers!).

Anyway getting back to today’s story. (See how easily I get distracted like a child catching a glimpse of shiny toffee wrapper!) Standing at the check-in queue, I try to ignore the nudging baggage trolley behind me. The owner of the baggage obviously mistook the trolley for a Playstation. Finally I give the counter girl my ticket printout and frequent flier card expecting the usual greeting and standard questions. Unexpectedly she says, “You have a very nice name”. The suddenness of the remark dislodges my cultivated poise and I smile despite myself. It turns into a grin by the time she hands me my boarding card.

Sitting at my window seat and feeling the familiar queasiness during take off I remember how, recently while buying a mobile phone the receipt spelled my last name as 'Boss' causing someone to rib me endlessly. I remembered too how some years back, while stopped by the traffic inspector for driving on high beam, I was playing for his sympathy (a helpless mother with a child!) and three year old Ro sitting next to me was doggedly spelling out my name and our address as I tried to cover his mouth with my palm. Also how, after I moved to Bangalore I have surrendered to the mutilation of my name without even a whimper. Now, it is almost always my company who lunges forward to correct my name while I remain blasé. Lost in the name game I reach home to find my mailbox spewing letters marked to Mister Piya Bose. Sigh! I know I can’t win.

She held him tight. It was time for goodbye. It was wonderful with him. She was on top of the world. Which is precisely why she knew she had to leave now. Why, he asked quietly. She kissed him and smiled, "You are my greatest high. But.....I have vertigo."

They were together from they can’t remember when. In joys and tears, doubts and fears they haven’t left each other alone. Through petty jealousies, unreasonable anger, blinding insecurities, hurtful secrets they have always found the other to be there when the storm settled. People wondered about them. How can two be thus bonded. Well wishers admired and detractors called it a sham. They read each others silence and filled the space in the others heart to reach the true spirit. Thank you Smirnoff.

we're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl...

Tom, Jerry, Mary and Ann. Four swift-tailed friends of Ro. Unfortunately Tom died in a misadventure and the other three remain still, over fed and over loved by Ro.

She is caught in a whirlwind again. This time knowingly. She has chosen a path that might lead her nowhere at all. But then life for her was never about doing the rational or reaching a destination. Wedged precariously she decided to give one more chance to her wicked heart that tricked her before and trust her impulsive imagination and let herself free in the tumultuous twist.

Alice: Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?

The Cat: That depends a good deal on where you want to get to.

Alice: I don't much care where.

The Cat: Then it doesn't much matter which way you go.

Alice: …so long as I get somewhere.

The Cat: Oh, you're sure to do that, if only you walk long enough.

So she decided to go along and see where she gets.

what we are inside is who we are, what we are outside is what we have become...

six degrees of separation

It was over a nice lunch that she choked. A new acquaintance in a new city was narrating a story of a boy he had heard through somebody else. A boy who was labelled a loser. A boy who apparently jumped from a tall building with the intention of ending his life only to survive and cause more trauma to people around him. The callousness of the narration hit her hard. She listened without blinking. Scared that the welling tears might just give way. Trying desperately to swallow the knotting lump of hurt rising at her throat she chokes. The spicy lunch went bland. She wished for some chilies she could bite her pain into. Restrain, she has learnt is a great virtue. Pushing down her lunch she went through the motion of niceties. Oh yes the lunch was super. The chicken with basil was amazing. This was one of her favourite restaurants. No, she was too full for dessert.

The hail storm on the way home, numbed the sensation a little. In silence, she reflected on the day she had almost lost him. When he gave in to a friend’s dare to walk on the parapet of the nine storey apartment’s terrace. He was his parent’s golden child. Topper of his class, he lived his exceptional talent with humility and grace. He played four different instruments with equal ease and had a voice that could break hearts. She wanted so much to hear him sing Desperado strumming his guitar lazily as he had done many a morning at home. Why didn’t he let her record his voice? It's just a shadow. Keep me in your heart instead, he had said. Over the next few years, he triumphed in his own quiet way amassing material success that most will only dream of. When he died suddenly without a fuss in the quietness of the night, his bereaved parents decided to donate everything that he had to a trust on condition of anonymity.

His only flaw had always been his fierce loyalty to his friends. But she knows it wouldn’t have broken him to know they thought so little of him. He would have probably smiled and said, Let it be, Didi. Their limitation isn’t their fault.

I met Mathew on my first very day at work. New-office-nervousness gnaws me like a manic itch as I watch the rest of the office going about their business and pretty much ignoring me. I am not one of those who takes to a new place like fish to water. I am, if not cold, standoffishly silent in the beginning. And yes a bit shy too.

Suddenly, a warm smile and a head full of curly hair. Good morning M’am. Coffee? Wow! He is holding a cappuccino with a letter 'P' drawn on the white froth. How did he know? I am still amazed. He just smiles broadly. From then on, Mathew and I have got along like we have always been friends. He became my lucky mascot. No morning at work begins without meeting him first and sharing a few words. I have rarely met someone happier or with a warmer smile. And yes, he speaks English with no trace of any 'MTI' what so ever. Soon he became my poster boy for what Customer Service is all about.

 

This is his story. Mathew was left at a church in Mangalore when he was about 18 months old. He doesn’t remember his family and was brought up in the orphanage run by the church. Mathew is also partially autistic and was diagnosed with major impairments in basic social relationships, limited imagination and extremely rigid patterns of behaviour. He has no formal education and has been trained by the Spastic Society through whose rehabilitation program, he found work as an office assistant. I stumbled on his story a few weeks after I met him, when I proposed moving him to a mainstream admin function. Apparently, he has a history of violent episodes which disqualifies him from ever being given larger responsibilities.

But somewhere, I feel all of them have got him all wrong. His benefactors, his doctors, his trainers, his family, even. If one looks into his eyes, one can surely see the genuine human being, that the rest of us can only hope to be. Live Long Mathew and keep making the world an awesome place for people whose lives you will touch!

A day like today...

reminds me why I love Bangalore! The sky is a halo of luminous grey. The unending stretch of cumulonimbus threatens to pour but doesn’t. The air has the caressing nip which is just right for a light woolen.

This beautiful day would make you wish for a long drive in an open vehicle and cuddling up to that special someone. Or stay in bed warming in a cozy hug and wishing the day never ends. Sigh!

It is also a day that makes my mom suddenly worry about, what according to her, is my erratic meal timing. To seal the argument in her favour, she promptly packs a breakfast of whole wheat bread and baked beans with onions and fresh coriander leaves as garnish. My work mates polish off the sandwich and now want the recipe.

Incidentally, I am still on a high from last night’s dinner which I had cooked. Stir-fried veggies with lemon grass and prawns and mushrooms in red curry. My efforts ended at two-course, thank you! For dessert, we had fresh strawberries with vanilla ice cream. Dad liked the stir-fried veggies. Ro loved the red curry though it made his eyes teary. My mom liked both. Honestly, I screwed up the red curry and over cooked the veggies but well I never aspire to be a chef of any repute. However, for someone who cooks once in about two years, I was glad I remembered how to hold the ladle. And thanks also to the one who not only gave the recipe but also followed up at every stage of the culinary creation.

today's view

entrapped

It’s raining again. Wild drops cascading down the curved glass creating interweaving hasty streams of lurid ecstasy. She longs to touch the tangled mess of the wet rush but her fingers meet the coldness of the glass wall instead. The torrent runs free outside her reach leaving dancing shadows on her fingers. Isn’t it you who chose to live inside…safe in your bubble? They taunt her. No, but I want to be with you…wild and free! She cries. Sorry, too late. We don’t have the time now. And they leave her standing by the glass wishing she was someone else.

dilemma

The good thing about staying alone in a hotel room is that you have the TV remote all to your self.

The bad thing is that with the rush of choices you suddenly don’t know what to watch!

right @ this moment

someone is reading James Herriot in a cold airport

someone is writing a poem that doesn't rhyme

someone is watching the rain by the window

someone is having seafood at a fancy diner

someone is drinking beer in a noisy pub

someone is missing someone dear

someone is fighting heartbreak

someone is suddenly lonely

and all waiting for dawn

It rained.

A few drops first

while I was picking vegetables.

I watched

as they made muddy lines on my dusty xing.

Drove home

with drops caressing the windscreen

threatening more.

Then it poured.

The drops turning

nonchalant and cold.

As I stood by my window

grey sheet

muddy street

Tomorrow’s sunday.

pest control

I have been traveling cross country in my singular person for both work and play. I am equally at ease with the idyllic calm of a vacation paradise, the murky pollution of the metros to the confounding obnoxiousness of our small towns. There is absolutely nothing that will change my unperturbed state. Not the horribly delayed fights, cheating cabbies with no sense of direction, check-in assistant who gives you window when you specifically ask for aisle seat, security lady who feels you up with glee, hostess who despite your explicit request wakes you up to ask if you would have vegetarian or non vegetarian meal, pesky co passengers who unapologetically ask for your refused share of airline food, hi-tech bath fixtures of hotel rooms that leave you dumbstruck, TV remotes that compete with a missile launcher in complexity, Nothing bothers me. Except the men.

If you are a woman who travels solo, then you are already aware of the perils this species pose. So far no antidote has worked. Trust me I have tried. I don my abandoned wedding band whenever I leave for the airport. I have tried to look dour and dreary. I have buried myself in a book to escape. It hasn’t worked. Usually it begins innocuously enough. ‘Traveling to Bangalore?’ ‘Is the flight on time?’ ’I heard there is an airport strike from midnight.’ ‘How is this book?’ Then comes the obvious ‘You are traveling alone?’ ‘Where are you staying?’ followed by the unmistakable offer for coffee. No thank you. I don’t want to share my book, coffee or space with you.

There’s the on-your face-type, who wouldn’t think twice before asking a completely strange woman ‘Join for coffee?’ ‘Can I drop you home?’ And then there are smooth operators that probe with stealth. ‘I like your choice of book’ Like Hell! For all I know you have a lifetime subscription of Penthouse. Anyway do I look like I care? These subtle types are the most dangerous. Before you realize it they would not only know your birth chart and family tree but your vital stats as well.

Now, the tragedy of this whole thing is that I am not the glam-doll-Page3-wannabe type that one would feel an uncontrollable urge to talk to nor the attractive young things that are ubiquitous at airports these days or the dashingly smart woman executives who are out to prove a point. More often than not I am lugging my monstrously heavy laptop and wearing a grimace for an expression. Unless you are telling me that men of all ages like to chat up scowling members of the opposite sex, please enlighten me on what’s going on.

growing up

“Mommy she tried to kiss me! Soooo gross!!!”

My jaw fell open. He is only seven damn it.

“Who?” I ask struggling to breathe.

“Bhagyashree!”

“And what did you do?”

“Shobhit and I ran to the Boys loo”

“Then?”

“She couldn’t come in because girls are not allowed there”

“Who is this girl?”

“Gross…Mommy! I hate her!”

“Why?”

“She is always after me…”

“So?”

“I don’t like her. Will you please tell her not to kiss me?”

“Just ignore her Sweetie. She wouldn’t bother you” Which I thought was sensible advice.

However, my learned friend would have said “Dude, enjoy it while it lasts!” But I happen to be the mother.

@ the coffee dispenser

Nan: Guys, boss isn’t wearing a bra again!

Pee: What?? I thought I was the only one who notices such things!

Meg: You cuckoo? Everrryone knows it in office…

Nan: Specially when she is wearing a saree!

Ind: Yeah this is so embarrassing. I had a review with her today and her pallu kept slipping…

Pee: I guess she is a feminist…

Nan: Feminist my foot! She thinks she is this hot-bod babe!

Ind: I tried very hard to keep my eyes away but well this was so obvious…

Nan: Yeah! She is showing off her assets….which is sooo gross, man!

Ind: We should give her a Lovable voucher for Boss’s Day…!

Pee: It’s a free country. Besides, our corporate dress code doesn’t mandate underwear.

Nan: Right! Does it mandate joggling your assets?

Meg: Hey, let’s call her Jiggle Jo!

Pee: Maybe we are jealous…

(Nan, Meg and Ind get ready to slaughter poor Pee)

Pee: Think about it Guys, It’s much better to have a female boss who shuns bra than a male boss who loves wearing them!

Disclaimer: All the characters depicted here are fictitious and has no resemblance to any person dead or alive. The writer claims indemnity from all forms of law suits.

carpe diem!

It’s a new day. A new beginning. The air at 6.30am was crisp with a sharp chill that you notice only when you breathe deep. There is no adverse trace of last night’s indulgence or insomnia. There was an exciting freshness in the gait during morning walk and a fresh insight into a relationship that was earlier aborted. It could be because of a number of things. The beer-binge with Ms. Pretty Lady and Mr. Faker Shaker the night before or the perspective sharing till 2 in the morning or Carpenters at early dawn. What matters however, is the excitement of a clean start.

Yeah baby. Let's rock!

Diary

26th Feb 08

9.10AM: Texting best pal as I hit ORR (Outer Ring Road), on my way to the Airport for a 9.50 flight. Shit! Fat chance I am going to make it!

9.45AM: The security lady looks at the boarding pass and smiles. “Apni bangalee?” “Haan! Ami bangalee and I am late!” The PA girl is announcing my name. Last boarding call for passenger traveling on…damn! Of all the times this one had to be on time!

9.55AM: Squeezed between a teen reading ‘Rescued by a Sheikh’ at the window and a burping gent carrying two mobile phones that ring alternatively. Groan! Remember to be on time if you want your choice of seating.

10.15AM: Pleasantly surprised with the in-flight music menu. Dark Side of the Moon. Nothing better to block the burps next door!

10.20AM: Burpy decides to watch a comedy sitcom and laughs loudly. There goes Floyd!

10.30AM: M&B girl wrestles with the climax scene and coffee finally droping the coffee on me. For once I am glad they serve lukewarm coffee in flight. Burpy tries to help and extends his napkin. Before I can say thank you, he burps on my face. Help me God!

10.55AM: Hauling my case to the taxi. Mental note: Never agree to ferry parcels for others and manage only with cabin bag.

11.50AM: Yawn! How can meetings be so boing?

2.00PM: Aloo paratha at a tiny dhaba run by a punjabi proprietor who calls himself ‘Uncle’. I am glad we decided to try this out.

5.00PM: An angry text message from Dad. ‘HOPE ALLS WELL.’ Ooops! I forgot to call home again.

7.30PM: Leafing through books at Landmark@CitiCenter. Decide to pick up a few. Anyway my bag is empty after unloading the parcels.

8.30PM: Meeting an old workmate for dinner. We decide to go for chinese on the 3rd floor. The palate disappoints. Our conversation is solely ex-office bashing. He is someone I call a professional friend. The only thing common is our old workplace. I was never inclined to know more. So by the end of the meal we didn’t have anything to talk about.

9.25PM: I walk to my hotel, relieved. One more peripheral relationship serviced for this year.

27th February 08

1.37AM: Get some sleep! It feels good to be wild. Tch!

6.08AM: It’s the alarm. Damn this is criminal! Snooze for another hour please.

7.00AM: Get up! Now!

9.30AM: Coffee please.

11.00AM: Mid term reviews. Poor sods.

11.30AM: Wake up and smell the coffeeeee!

2.00PM: At Uncle’s Dhaba again. The same aloo parathas. Still tastes yummy.

3.00PM: I need to remain awake.

4.00PM: Airline girl calls to inform that the flight is delayed.

4.30PM: They ask me to summarize the meeting. Why can’t they let me sleep??

5.00PM: Airline girl calls again to inform further delay. Shit!

6.00PM: The taxi guy suggests a different route.

6.30PM: The flight is delayed by another hour. Halleluiah!

6.45PM: Settle down with coffee (yuck!) at the waiting hall. The next lady is working a suduko and canoodling with someone over phone. ‘Coochie, what plan for tonight?’ Coochie????

6.50PM: Inward thinking. Exploring my raison d’etre. The ageless bond of a nameless relationship comes to mind. It ends up worrying a most important person in my life. Press the brake girl, before the other breaks.

7.10PM: Announcement for security check.

7.15PM: A gent cuts the queue and slinks to the spot before me grinning in self glory. If only looks could kill.

8.30PM: Bejeweled Bangalore tantalizes. Snaking traffic glitters like lusty sequin chains choking the city to a slow death.

8.45PM: Finally home soil.

8.50PM: Mad rush at the baggage conveyor. The earlier obnoxious gent stands guarding with his trolley the only gap in the sea of waiting people. How will I reach my stuff??

8.51PM: I spot my case. Request the airline personnel standing closest to help. He pulls out my case and hitches up the handle for me. ‘Oh! Last in first out!’ the pesky gent quips. Goodbye, Loser.

fish tail

I say thank God for the fish! I must have written earlier that I am fish fanatic. Oh yeah baby. I looove my fish! Fried, curried, sautéed, minced, diced, filleted. My friends called me sushi in college. I am particularly partial to fried fish of any dimension and origin served with no distracting garnishing. Cosmic soul mates if you may. The fish fried-just-right and ready for you on a platter and you inch forward with rising anticipation. Will it be soft inside or crunchy? Does it have a subtle flavour or a strong aroma? Is the texture smooth or coarse?

Therefore, Goa has been a dream, specially since Bangalore does disappoint true fish connoisseurs. Talking about Goa, it has this cool south asian eatery called Nation of Noodles, tucked away in Calangute. It’s rarely that one sees so many global cuisines jostling in roughly one square mile area as in Calangute. I am not a classic gourmet, but the falafel and bagel toast was one of the best I have had so far.

There have been many embarrassing moments but the top of the list still is the time I went shopping with my three year old in tow. Forum Mall Westside sale. Choc a block with people. I was rummaging through the foot ware sale while my boy walks up to me holding a ferarri red lacy bra from the neighbouring lingerie section and says, “Mommy's red?”

Sensing all eyes turning, I freeze. Then I try to play it down by ignoring and before I can quietly snatch away his prized possession he turns to the crowd and wraps the bra around himself and says, “For my Mommy”. Giggles are audible. Particularly from the men. I have a strong urge to disown. Finally I appeal to the sales lady who quickly plucks the ‘flame’ from his hand much to his dislike and motions to haul the pesky kid away. Since then, I have never taken him shopping except for regular stuff like candies and colour pens.

The entire Saturday was spent on getting my handwriting analyzed by an expert and later whiling away time with some of the funniest people I have met in a while.

The handwriting thingie (the cute employee engagement girl’s idea to pep up the office) didn’t reveal anything new (stubborn, persistent, rebellious, empathetic, imaginative blah blah) except the fact that I am also terribly sensitive, a fact I dispute vehemently. Damn! It’s not easy being a closet crybaby.

Later the same day, I met up with my best bud and his recently acquired pal. A few beers in Koshys turned out to be a laughathalon of the kind that leaves you smiling even after you reach home. All courtesy a techie from Goa with ambiguous sexual leaning and a straightforward sense of humour that makes him an extremely endearing company. So there we were talking about Hesse and Ishiguro, Goa and Nagaland all wrapped in a bizarre amusement that you can’t isolate or identify yet it settles in a happy cloud all around you.

And then we met a college mate of my pal who, refused to recognize him even after sitting at the table 2 feet away for over 45 minutes till another classmate walks in and smiles a hello. What followed was my pal getting besieged by his old mates, the kindest of whom said, “My God, what happened to you?” Cest la vie. Oh, one of the friends had baked absolutely delicious pastries that we gutted with delight. The drive back home was peaceful. Unlike happiness that leaves you empty when gone, this was strangely fulfilling. Thank you.

I Spy

Three air tickets of an airline to three different cities booked on the same day. The airline boy calls on her cellphone, “Madam, we are holding a booking on your name for Chennai, Mumbai and Goa on 19th. I called to confirm where have you decided to fly on that day?” WOW. This is it girl! Like in gangsta-movies. The pretty mole gives the airport cops a miss and zips to an unknown destination under alias. Tralalaa!

Cocking her right eye brow, Code Name Lithium purrs in her sexiest deep voice, “Ohhh, where do YOU want me to go, Darrling?”

Airline boy mumbles inaudible. Code Name Lithium smiles knowingly. Poor boy. An innocent victim of her fatal charm.

Trrrring. It’s the desk phone. The traveldesk girl calling to apologise for the goof up just when Code Name Lithium was warming up for her next sting. Sighh! The world isn’t ready for her yet. She slides back to her guise of a bored office-goer fighting to keep sleep at bay while waiting for the day she will reveal her true self.

valentine, victory and vermicelli

In the morning, got caught in massive traffic near Forum, Koramangala and decided to take the other route via Christ College which amounted to harakiri!

Result: late at work, rescheduled meeting and a sulky boss.

It’s mid day now and I am still struggling with a presentation and behind schedule for four calls and a dozen emails. But I have already managed to receive a few V day wishes, forward ten jokes, have five cups of coffee and upset my best buddy with my cynicism. (It was the coffee, I swear!).

Oh! If you are wondering about the title, it’s nothing significant. Just random words starting with V that came to my mind while I was fuming in traffic in the morning.

P.S. The cute girl from employee engagement team has distributed red paper hearts to all and asked us to write the name of the person whom you admire the most in office which will be tallied e.o.d. to rate popularity. Groan!

digging for gold

Despite this, we went for Fool’s Gold. My pal had seen the promo poster and thought he loves Kate Hudson in a black bikini. So this was making up for forcing him to grit and bear 1408 last week.

On the plus, beautiful locale. Beaches have never been my hot spot (I burn easily). But sitting in a near freezing theater, the Bahamas were the only thing warm.

Now, the only thing close to gold is Mathew’s hairless chest. Mathew’s personal trainer must be mighty proud since the entire storyline hinges on his shirtless chest! Bravo! As for chemistry, Tom Hanks and Wilson in Cast Away were hotter together than Mathew and Kate. So, you are adequately warned to keep the money in your pocket and not be tempted to buy the ticket. Oh! as for the bikini, there is just that, the bikini, and nothing else there. Grin.

It’s a wet cold typically grey Bangalore morning. Such mornings make her wish for someone special to curl up to with coffee and crossword. An emotional anchor. A polestar in her night sky of uncertainty. She misses a warm smile at waking. An occasional hug. Someone to say, ease up, I will take care of everything.

But these moments pass quickly. She knows a relationship isn’t for her. It has never worked. And a lot of it has to do with her. Her life had many dimensions and a relationship usually doesn’t survive all that for too long. So she has got used to her ‘alone but not lonely’ way and she isn’t unhappy. It’s just the trick of light in the morning that make her wistful.

The King and a room

“It’s an Evil fucking room” was the scariest line of 1408, the horror flick based on Stephen King’s novella. Before we could proceed through the movie, my best friend sank in his seat stuffing his fingers in his ears. I got busy watching Cussak, who was cute and my friend, whose expressions were cuter. Agreed, King isn’t for the faint hearted, but frankly, I am disappointed. I am a Stephen King fan. I love his books. They are what I call mind spook. They give me goosebumps. But I never liked any film adaptations of his novels. While Carrie was passable, Dreamcatcher was down right ugly!

Coming back to 1408, it has all the chills (literally!)and cheap thrills (bleeding walls, talking spirits, moving furniture, impaired electronics et al) but it wasn’t scary. Hell, even the entertainment quotient is just average. The cocky cute hero turns into a pathetic shivering jelly brain. That’s the essence of the storyline. I don’t know about my friend, but watching this wouldn’t keep me up in strange beds in strange hotel rooms when I am traveling.

learn to be still

It hasn’t been an easy week. The emotional roller coaster has been particularly nasty. One that leaves you queasy and makes you wanna throw-up. And throw-up she did, on friends and family who bore the brunt of it. She withdrew without any explanation from anything and everything that meant something to her. Her parents got worried that she sunk in books all day shunning meals to avoid dinner table conversation. She over heard her dad asking her mom, what’s the matter with her? Only Ro was relieved that she was not at his case like usual. Her best friend tried to help but she shut him out without an apology leaving him hurt and withdrawn. It was only at her work, where there is least emotional attachment that no one noticed anything different.

Now when she is done with her grieving, she began to notice the wrecks she left at the wake of her withdrawal. Her mom still looked sullen. Her dad seemed a little distant. Her best friend was remote and who can blame him. Thankfully, he hasn’t given up on her completely yet. It is only Ro who maintained normalcy going about his school talk just like any other day.

She feels guilty to have left her loved ones behind in her dive for inner quiet. Her ability to withdraw has always been retorted with anger and resentment. Unable to understand her stillness, Sanjay had called her an automaton. She didn’t feel bad then, knowing that his inherent inability to comprehend her, lies in his failure to understand the need for silencing the chorus in her head.

There are so many contradictions

In all these messages we send

How do I get out of here

Where do I fit in?

Though the world is torn and shaken

Even if your heart is breakin’

It’ waiting for you to awaken

And someday you will-

Learn to be still

-Eagles-

ostrich

The problem of getting in a shell is that when you emerge out of it ready to face the world, there’s no one waiting. It can get a little disorienting.

Oh no daarrling! We don’t have the time or inclination to wait up for you to work the cobwebs inside your head. There are way too many of them, love. Besides, we have enough of our own, no? So bury your head all you like, but bury it at your own risk pluzzee! And better not take it for granted that the world in general and people in particular would be waiting with a smile. Understand?

Hey you, I heard you don’t care. No one does. So why should you?

Hey you, don’t worry. I will get ’un-used’ to you.

Hey you, for the first time you made me angry. Earlier I just cried. Stupid me.

Hey you, got any idea of what I am going thorough? Nah. I will spare you the gore.

Hey you, I am through with giving. But I always have some to give you.

Hey you, I would have walked to the end of earth with you. Now I am too weary.

Hey you, I wanted you to appreciate me. But it doesn’t matter anymore.

Hey you, I wouldn’t grovel. Even a bitch deserves respect.

Hey you, thanks for caring. Cause once you did.

Hey you, I will always love you.

obscured...

It will be a low slow day. She just knows it. Loneliness always makes her lazy. But loneliness isn’t anything new to her. It’s her one true friend through life. And she likes it too. So why is it making her low suddenly? Maybe it’s the ‘Big girls don’t cry’ on radio on the way to work. Maybe it’s the 'Dark Waters' she watched late Sunday night. Maybe it is the gloomy stillness of the grey morning. Or maybe because she didn’t know why she hadn’t responded to her best friend’s message yesterday.

Inexplicable loneliness is something she is dealing with right now. Reminds her of the lines from a Floyd song.

Heaven sent the promised land.

Looks all right from where I stand.

Cause I'm the man on the outside looking in.

Waiting on the first step.

Show me where the key is kept.

Point me down the right line because it's time.

To let me in from the cold.

Turn my lead into gold.

Cause there's a chill wind blowing in my soul.

And I think I'm growing old.

plane speaking

Now, I am not as lucky as Reno, so despite warning from well wishers I decided to fly Indian (now known as Air India). If you travel often, you get used to flight delays which these days are as common as bird flu. You would be surprised if it wasn’t delayed. However, the shiny new airlines with their smiling young things inform and apologize for the delay. As customers, we have matured over the last decade and expect at least that much. No more are we ‘swalpa adjust maadi’ with the public sector’s apathy to service. So I wasn’t really prepared for the no-information policy of Air India. Customers shouldn’t be told of anything. It’s a favour we are doing by flying you dude…remember that. The wait was for over 90 minutes and this was after security check. While all other airlines announced the status of their flights, we were left to God’s mercy.

Then all of a sudden we were on the bus to be carted to the craft. But wait, the passengers need to be ‘sweated’ while the crew ambles about. A free sauna, anyone? So forty odd people were packed in a shabby bus and left at the tarmac sweltering in the hot sun. No information again. Some more time later we board the craft and see that the tyres were being changed. Fine, safety above all else. We are ok with that. People all around me got busy on the phone to re-schedule all previously arranged appointments. One young man kept spewing fs and bs, as if that’s going to help any. But I guess all the airline personnel were his dad’s age and he was probably reluctant to take up the service issues with them. See, how the older retirement age works in their favour. Anyway, finally we took off smoothly. Thank you.

Mid-air the pilot apologized for the delay blah blah. Caged in an aluminum tinbox, thirty thousand feet above ground, there’s nothing much one can do but ignore the apology. Along came the food. Of course you don’t have a choice, we have only vegetarian. No thank you. I usually avoid airline food. But the man sitting across the aisle quickly asked, can I have hers? From the look of him, he didn’t look hungry, but what do ya know. Fine, I relax in my seat happy that I was alone in the three-seater.

But it didn’t last long. A young lady, with a new born infant in her arms asked me to move to the window seat. Just asked. No reason. No request. I move to the window quickly sensing her impatience. She settled at my aisle seat and turned towards my window and started suckling her baby. I suppose I was gaping. Not at her mammary but at the sheer ease with which she did it. I am a mother and I support breast feeding. But this was such a smooth operation. Quite like a FBI agent pulling a gun out of the holster in a TV show. Impressive. I was left with little choice but to look out at the toneless azure outside the window while the baby chuckled with delight. I am convinced that is a boy and thus begins his life long fascination with this particular woman’s appendage. Oh I am such a boor!

Anyway, coming back to the flight, we reached safely only to wait out at the tarmac once again after deplaning for another aircraft to take off before we could walk to the terminal building. But for the first time in my life, my baggage was the first to arrive on the conveyor. Halleluiah!

empty spaces...

On the drive to work I was listening to a popular radio channel where the RJ was quizzing the listeners about space. You know, Space...The Final Frontier...zzzoooooppp! This was good, I thought. Finally they are talking about something sensible, instead of how to make your boyfriend jealous etc etc. Hope dies soon enough though. Ok Ok! Here are a few answers for you to decide whether Bangalore tops in the number of bozos per square kilometer.

RJ: What is a satellite?

Caller 1: Hmmm…it’s like the cable TV! (Whaaaat the @#%?)

Caller 2: Well….satellites are these space thingies that go round and round I think.

RJ: What is an orbit?

Caller 1: chewing gum!!! (O-M-G!)

Caller 2: Orbits are lines around which planets go round. (Dude??!!!)

RJ: What are asteroids?

Caller 1: They kill people…I don’t know how. (Shit#$$%)

Caller 2: Rocks in space…you know…they are parts of something huge I guess..

People! Wake up! I wanted to scream. But well it’s the radio you know, and no matter how much you scream at it, it just screams back with more giggles from the lady RJ. Before I smashed my radio, thankfully they switched to John Mayer’s Your Body is a Wonderland.

update

It has been a tumultuous weekend. I was on the rollercoaster interfacing a sequence of actions that I could not grasp fully or react wholly. It’s like watching a movie with finger pressed in fast forward. It didn’t help to have Neelum Saran Gour’s Sikandar Chowk Park for distraction. It is a good book (I am sure) but the doses of desperation, despondency and decay require an equally conducive mental frame which was unfortunately missing. So I shall withhold my comment on the book till I read it completely in a more amicable mood.

I also spent my time doing a ‘housing project’ for Ro’s school assignment. He had wanted to make a tree house while I was telling him the merits of a tent (which is a far easier to make). Finally, we settled on a less complicated apartment block only to realize that he wanted a swimming pool and garden to go with it. So Sunday afternoon was spent shaping tricky thermacol sheets (you would know the pain if you have ever tried it!), colouring them suitably and pasting them with precision. It has been a long while since I have done this and unapologetically my back gave up before we could complete. Groan!

I spoke with someone after 18 months and we managed to have a civil conversation. This was uplifting in a strange way. This, promises to end a part of the acrimony that has been there for years now. We both have our guards up still but with time and dialogue we may learn to trust each other a little. In the process, I gave up things that hold some meaning. I learnt to let go too. With a new beginning, things would probably have more perspective than before now that we have to share responsibilities. The lessons from the past 10 years have been:

Never compromise on basic values.

Don’t be led by emotion alone.

Ensure you are heard when things are not right.

Don’t sulk. It achieves nothing.

No one can appease everybody. So don’t sacrifice yourself for greater good. There is no such thing.

Martyrdom isn’t a sure shot way to sainthood.

Have the balls to take tough decisions even when it hurts and don’t be afraid to be the bad guy.

who me?

We were having lunch on Saturday, when she said “You look like you party hard!” This caught me by surprise. I don’t exactly look the type. No, really I don't. I prefer solitary activities like reading and am pretty orthodox with my music, plus I am zero on fashion trends. Not your stereotypical party animal eh!? I wanted to ask her what gave her that impression. But I hardly know her to get into that kind of intimacy. Perhaps I should have asked. Just to be able to understand how the world at large views me. It’s not that I consciously cultivate many avatars, but they seem to exist nevertheless.

we are like that only

The band was there. So were the twinkling lights and cameras, the little black dresses and the sequin sarees, the many hued cocktails and the fine scotch, meandering conversations and the mandatory 'siren' kids. It was my school alumni dinner.

Met a few batchmates, but remembered none. A few business cards but not a single familiar face. We talked about teachers and their pet peeves. We talked about secret crushes and hated bullies. We lived nostalgia.

Moment of the night: When the MC mentioned that ours was and still is the biggest school is Asia, Ro turns back open mouthed and looks at me with new respect.

Let down of the night: When S introduced a batchmate and he tom-tomed his superior ranking in our much-hated school practise of academic segregation. "Ohh!I was in D2", he said dismissingly. Everyone knows that D1 and D2 were supposed to be the 'brains' and their combatic spirit could easily put Ponting to shame. They were bred to be snooty, pompous, egotist fools whom the rest of us hated with zeal. Meeting one such specimen after so long brought back that odium. "Ohh! how nice. You must be in Microsoft's board by now. I heard a few from D1 has made it there." Bite me if you must, but I couldn't let him walk away with glee. Typically I am not such a bitch but some people just inspire.

A little more smiles and small talk over dinner. Then batch photos. A few byes and goodnights. Finally it was over.

This was my first concious effort to work on renewing old contacts and a promise made this year to network better.

The last two days I was in a city that I am getting to dislike immensely. With every visit the resentment grows. My disappointment stems from a couple of factors. (OK I AM biased and you can call me a bigot!)

Their regional pride nothwithstanding, the average man on the street is positively rude to visitors and hold the unreasonable expectation that he/she should know the local language. The autorickshaw drivers are known egotists. And this rule holds true in all Indian cities that have this species. But here, they are absolutely the best in class. First, they wouldn’t run their meters (I wonder why they even have them!) and anywhere in the city would cost in multiples of fifty, irrespective of the physical distance. 1 km = Rs.50/-. 2 kms = Rs.100/- (if he likes you!) so on and so forth. One fellow tells me that under ordinary circumstances he would charge Rs.50/; but since the route to my destination has traffic snarls, he would charge me 30% more. I asked him whether because of the traffic, the distance to the place has increased? Or, should I ask my destination to move to a less congested road? Or, should I visit my destination ONLY when the road is empty? This of course had no effect on him since he feigns to not comprehend my language. At this point, I actually stomp my feet to the amusement of the people standing at the nearby bus-stop. Finally, I get to where I had to go after a little drama and giving in to the fellows demands.

The city has no ‘josh’. Absolutely none. If one wishes to go and shake a leg or chill out, the options are limited unless you want to get stared at and share your space with locals who wear more gold on person than what my entire family owns. This is applicable to both genders. And I am not kidding. I had a co-passenger on my flight, who had all his fingers encased in gold. By gold I mean rings that are large enough to make the metal detector go crazy. Then he had a bracelet which was as thick as the steel pylon they use to hang suspension bridges. Then a necklace of equal thickness. Finally, he flashed a gold coloured Nokia! When we walked towards the terminal gate after disembarking, El Dorado walked with us shining like the second Sun. I was very tempted to ask him if I can take a picture with him but chickened out.

Last evening an old acquaintance who met after five years said “You haven’t changed!” I wanted to ask him what changes were he expecting! But thought it would rude.

identity crisis and the loss of fame....

One of the highpoints of my visit to Hampi was being mistaken for a bengalee singing diva :)

We noticed that after the first day at the hotel, the service was exceptional. We barely entered the restaurant to have a host of service persons and the restaurant manager attending to our every need. They insisted on reserving our preferred table for every meal. My father was very impressed. He reveled in it and assigned it to his ability to befriend the ‘common man’(by which he means all living things!). This constant repetition of his celebrated PR skills peeved my mother no end. Every meal would begin with sermons on PR and “This is what all of you should develop as a life skill” and some such phrases. We all give him his due for he has been a ‘sales guy’ all his life, but his cheshire grin and self glory was getting a little out of hand and I feared an impending rejoinder from my mother that would quickly spiral things out of control.

But help came from the most unexpected quarter. On the last day of our stay, two of our regular waiters came to me with a note book asking me to give my autograph. Stunned, we all turn towards the now grinning duo. They call me by the celebrity’s name. My mother is the first to recover. “No she isn’t her, they just look similar”, she says suppressing a laugh. Ro isn’t going to give up so easily. “Sign it anyways Mommy” he whispers audibly nudging me a little. All this while I am trying to figure out what is the politically correct reaction. I decide that a polite smile would be the best in the situation. Realizing their mistake, the waiters leave apologizing shyly. My mother turns to my father and says, “So much for your PR skills!” Ro is openly gaping at my father’s face, waiting for a reaction that could immensely add to the morning’s entertainment. But is disappointed when my father passes the bait and goes back to his egg and toasts. I am grateful that we were spared a life long session of sermons. Breakfast done, we reach the car. Robbed of my 5 seconds of ‘almost fame’ I must have looked a little sad. Ro hugs me and says, “It’s OK Mommy. You are not that fat” Sharp kid this.

damp squib...

Saturday afternoon. Battling, by now legendary Bangalore traffic, we reach where we set out to reach. The colourful canopy, the dust, blaring loudspeakers, the smell of elephant excreta. They were all there. Which was very reassuring to say the least. Though the high ticket price left me a little surprised. Yes, Ro and I were at the Circus. Jumbo Russian Circus, no less! As for Jumbo, there were a few pachyderms doing the usual tricks. As for the Russian there was Zarina. All blonde and lithe having an enticing way with multiple hoolahoop rings that spun around her at a will of their own. For Ro, this was his first taste of a ‘live’ show. He loved the Fire Breather, but wasn’t too impressed with the Trapeze.

What was missing though was the innocence. The midgets weren’t funny. The animals looked strained. The gymnasts were able yet dispassionate. The commentary at best boring. Left me with a strange feeling that it was me who lost something over the years.

first rambling of the year

One of the things in my most wanted list has been a dimple on my cheek. Absurd yes but I wanted it nevertheless. My grandmother was a beautiful lady. Not in the classical Bengalee way but she had powerful, intelligent looks that made her look almost regal. Her oval face with almond-shaped eyes, a sharp straight nose and a small delicate mouth all exuding intelligence and a tinge of arrogance. And her honey-coloured skin remained as smooth and flawless till she died of cancer in her mid seventies. And she had a dimple on her right cheek that gave her disarming charm when she smiled.

She never spoke any tongue other than Bengali even with her Jewish American daughter-in-law. While all grandmothers gave their newborn grandchildren gold coins or at least silver bangles when welcoming the newborns to the family, she had given me a red rose from her garden saying “May your life be as beautiful as this flower...” (as narrated by my irked mother). But for someone who learned to read and write after marriage (tutored by my loving grandfather) she spoke rather well. I am sure if she was born in the current era and had the right exposure she would have rocked the corporate world.

Theirs was a love marriage. My grandfather’s eyes fell upon this non-traditional beauty frolicking in the village pond in Barishal (now in, Bangladesh) and fell in love. The fact that she was amply endowed and lissome had a lot to do with it too I guess (Amen!). My grandmother along with her other siblings were brought up in her maternal uncle’s household after her mother died and her father remarried. Her aunt and uncle were well heeled and childless and therefore there were no dearth of love and affection or good life in their household. My grandfather’s family wasn’t rich. In fact, their lone claim to fame was that he was the first graduate in his village. But education to a Bengalee was as valued as money itself if not more. Therefore, when his father approached her uncle with the proposal, it was a match made in heaven. They only got sneak peeks of each other on the path to the village pond and love happened, just like that. She told me when I was at an age to see boys, that she was completely enamoured by his strong, silent looks which later blossomed to love for the honest, principled and loving man. (Look for a man like that, she had said) And then they were married off.

I am yet to see two people more in love with each other than them. There was never any overt display but each took care of the slightest need of the other. He would make the morning tea for her and ensure that the cream from the fresh-boiled milk mixed with sugar was served to her everyday at lunch because she loved it. Rub Amratanjan on her forehead when her migraines became severe. Helping her to wrap her saree in the modern way when they had to go someplace in the city. Little acts of kindness. And they spoke louder than words. There was nothing that could separate them from each other. Not his cranky mother, not the hardship of rearing their eight children, or the frugal household budget nor his frequent transfers to remote villages (he served in the Police and retired as DGP). They stayed by each other till he died of Parkinson’s in his late eighties and she a year later.

Coming back to the dimple, two of my cousins, both younger than me, inherited her dimple though not her looks. I remember standing in front of a mirror and freezing my smile at an angle that gave a slight hint of a dimple. This I did for months without any visible effect and then blaming the Gene God for playing dirty and cheating me off my rightful inheritance.

God bless us all...

Another year passed by. Quietly. But for the de reguier “What are you doing tonight?” and “What’s your New Year resolution?”

Answer to the first. I didn’t ‘do’ anything out of the ordinary last night. Worked through the day. Went home and spent time with folks. Drank a little wine and cooked a decent meal. Missed a few people in my life. Slept before the midnight hour with my mobile on silent. And I woke up minus any guilt of not ‘doing’ something special.

Answer to the second. God bless them who make resolutions and stick by them and even those who don’t. As for me, I have never made any resolutions, which is why I never have to stick to one :) Freedom eh?

There was a time when ‘New Year's Eve’ seemed like a special day with whirlwind of activities as we raced each other and the world to make the most of it. Parties. Friends old and new. Dancing through the night. Pounding hangover(groan!). You get the picture. It was a night that everyone talked about through the first weeks of the New Year. But somewhere over the years it stopped being the center of our existence.

Like this year. Close to the year-end, I spent a wonderful day with a friend. We talked. We bantered. We shared a take-away meal. We relaxed. We even planned an adult radio show together called ‘Lewd Rampart’ (don’t ask!). A complete useless day you might say. But easily one of my best days in many many years. Reconfirming my belief that any day can be special as long as you give it a shot.

So that was that. One more year down and one more year to live, love and celebrate.

Getaway...

We had been to Hampi and loved every minute of it. The ruins of the capital city of Vijayanagar empire were awe-inspiring despite the dust, heat and callous fellow visitors. Shall write about it soon.

stray observation of the day

You will always find one abandonned chappal on the roads...never a pair!

stray wisdom of the moment

The only brands you need to wear are the ones on your clothes.