first flush I

While putting the old photoalbums back in the book shelf after the painting job, she flipped open one of them partly on impulse and partly out of curiosity. She had forgotten what images this one has stored. As she turned the pages, his face grinned back at her. Impishness shining in his eyes. There they were. Nearly two decades back. Back when she wore her hair pulled back in a severe plait that made her scalp go numb. When a camisole was enough for her modesty and a red-framed glasses helped her see better. And she was taller than most boys in her class. They had gone to the neighbourhood park which was their usual haunt on a Sunday afternoon. When the rest were busy feeding the fishes in the pond, she had sat down on the bench watching the clouds take familiar shapes. She loved doing this.

A sudden yank at her long plait had broken her reverie. It was him. While she was still grimacing from the sudden hard pull, he lifted the glasses sitting heavy on her small nose and hid it in his hands leaving dirty splotches on the lens. She had gotten angry.

“I wanted to see your eyes. They are beautiful” he had said before she could yell at him.

While she was getting ready to tussle with him for her glasses, in one sweep he had pulled away the pink plastic band that held her thick plait together. Still holding her glasses in the other hand he had run his fingers through her hair, tousling them gently till it framed her face.

“You are pretty” he had said looking intently.

A strange jolt ran from the tip of her hair to her toes. She had started to shiver. Wordlessly he had put his arms around her and held her close. With her head on his rapidly beating chest, she could feel the heat of his body.

“I feel funny” she had squeaked.

“I feel funny too” he had said, his voice quivering.

no Moonlight and definitely no Valentino

For the last couple of days my home has become the hopeless temple of doom. The furniture has been disheveled and paintings torn down and the curtains stripped.

All in the effort of giving the walls a fresh coat of paint.

The icing, is that the painters speak ONLY Tamil and completely ignore my mother’s desperate appeal for sense in this chaotic madness. They go about their work with a sense of purposeful glee putting my mother’s years of good housekeeping in absolute disarray.

With the rising dust, there is also my father’s rising temper to deal with. His tolerance for ‘unsettling’ situation like this is zilch. So my poor mother is caught between the thumb-sticking painting crew who take deliberate pleasure in turning to dust my mother’s years of hard work and my father who is as agitated as a fizzy drink in a shaker.

As for me, I head home barricading myself with a rare stoicism and the determination to resurrect my abode once again from the heaps of rubble and paint-splotched dust.

But still I lust for a handsome painter who would sweep me off my feet and dust me away gently....sigh!

Chance Observations:

Most beautiful sunsets are usually also the most unexpected…it stuck me while staring out of my Jubilee Hills office window towards the Hitech City yesterday.

Where else will you find a 'Flyover Bakery', except for below a flyover? (Yes, it's there I swear!)

India wins matches when I am not watching.

Have you noticed that FAT is just one french fry...oops one line less than EAT?

Chance Encounter:

Almost met the Andhra Chief Minister. Well almost. As his motorcade passed infront of my office delaying my trip back to the hotel by about an hour!

Chance Hope:

Though they have closed the Sparks in Bangalore sealing forever the last happy memories with bro....they still have it in Hyd...

Chance Wisdom:

Every smile is a new beginning.

Shaken and not Stirrred!

I was never a fan of Rakhi Sawant. I don’t like sex bimbettes who shake their booties in front of one and sundry primarily because I don’t have that kind of booty to peddle in public or private and also because I like a little refinement and a certain degree of sophistication.

I still squirm inside a little when someone uses cuss words particularly in my native tongue. I have a visible grimace when someone spits or pees on the road or when men adjust their underwear and scratch their over-rated body part/s in public. Now you can call me naïve or stuck-up depending on where you are coming from, but it’s a genuine issue with me.

So from my limited exposure to Ms. Sawant, I wasn’t impressed. She has this crass, on-your-face attitude that I didn’t find too palatable.

However, to celebrate the arrival of a new TV in the house, I gave in to my mother’s desire of watching Naach Baliye 3 together. Now, I am completely not exposed to the NB 1 or 2 so I thought it would be interesting to watch. And as it was, it was Rakhi and her partner Abhishek’s turn to shake their stuff. The concept they pulled up was awesome, and that’s thanks to the choreographer. But the way she handled the post-dance review and spoof she made of Amitabh and Hema Malini was quite a treat. It was her completely unapologetic approach without crossing over to impudence that impressed me. All celebrities carry a lot of artifice. Specially the wannabe lot. It’s a part of their trade. But here is this woman talking about her impoverished background without an iota of guilt or even pride. On listening one wouldn’t feel sorry or ever want to patronize. It was so damn matter-of-fact and narrated as an enjoyable anecdote that one would smile rather than feel sorry. Usually we either use impoverishment as sympathy lever or wear them like a badge. In contrast, this approach was so refreshing.

Yes, I like her now. And yes, I am trying to get home on time on weekdays just to be able to catch her on NB 3. Cheers!

Lightbulb of the Day

A smart lady friend carries a pair of flat slippers in her rather sexy laptop bag along with the laptop of course. When quizzed, she said that she ‘needs’ to wear stilettos in office to match her outfit/s but when she is leaving for home she would rather change in to her comfy flats while she prances around to catch the auto-rickshaw driver’s attention!

This is rabid discrimination. And deserves a legitimate protest eh! Doesn’t the auto guy have a right to see PYTs in stilettos?

And just maybe, that's the solution to the menace of auto guys refusing to go to a destination of your choice rather than his choice!

Gandhi and the Japanese

Yesterday was Gandhi Jayanti. As usual the State did its bit. Prayer meetings, discussion on Gandhi and his philosophy, book releases, launch of some poverty alleviation program or other. The politicians did their bit too. Churned out sound bytes and more sound bytes. Particularly Mr. Kumaraswamy, who refused to resign and facilitate transfer of power to the next government who are just dying to claim their 15 minutes of fame.

But how does all this affect us, the common people?

All liquor stores are shut and none of the restaurants serve alcohol, atleast officially. What usually happens is that the lovers-of-the-bottle stocks up enough to run Oktoberfest at home.

Personal experience: I had planned a japanese lunch with a friend at Harima. But lo behold! I reach their minimalist-designed sliding door, to find it shut. Unbelievingly, I tried to slide the door open only to notice a tiny sign stuck on the door in English and Japanese saying “In honour of Mahatma Gandhi’s birthday, we are closed for today”.

This was a surprise. I have worked in India’s booming ITeS/BPO industry and I know how we fail miserably to negotiate with our foreign clients to stop work on our national holidays. In my last organization, we had managed to get 15th August and Diwali as holidays for our people. But mostly, organizations work with shutters down and give free lunches and sops to dull the blow of working on a legitimate holiday.

Knowing the Japanese stickler for heritage and national sentiment, I should have been better prepared for the proverbial shut door.

Finally, we ate at a Mediterranean lounge–style restaurant located at the floor below, which served a decent buffet.

Have you heard the song Shopping by Barenaked Ladies (yeah, it’s a band!)? If you haven’t, don’t bother. It’s a pathetic song with an equally pathetic tune. But the lyrics....

…Well you know that it's going to be alright

When we go shopping

It's always lalalalala...

Shopping spree begin

It's always lalalalala...

Everybody wins

So shutup

And never stop

Let's shop

Until we drop…

Oh, I am a great believer and practitioner of Retail Therapy. Nothing gets me up from the blues quicker than a half-hour spent shopping. It could be for anything and it could be for anybody. Given that I am not particularly bigoted, I would buy the monthly grocery with as much enthusiasm as a wedding trousseau. Neither am I an overtly self centered shopper and therefore, when I am not working, I am most certainly running errands for my family and best friend who have entrusted their hopes and dreams (i.e. lists) with me (sometimes even via email). And I do this with a sense of purpose and pride. While it also goes to prove I have moderately good taste for folks to trust me with my judgment.

But I am a pretty impulsive shopper and that isn’t limited to stuff for myself. I have bought things for friends and family that I just happen to see on my way to somewhere else. Mostly it delights them but this impulsiveness is not without its downside. I am a sucker for shoes. On my mother’s last count, I came close to our Jaya Amma’s horde. To add to her misery, I am not very experimental. Which means there are pairs of shoes that look similar to each other and try as she might she isn’t able to fathom why one would buy shoes that look like true copies and the same design in three colours??? Now, the difference is only for the discerning, but who is going to tell her that. If that wasn’t enough, she also thinks I have way too many clothes than I would even need and she has put a deadline for me to donate 1/3 of my wardrobe before she lets me sneak in another set of clothing. Mothers!

But no such problems with the man in my life. I went shopping with Ro, yesterday. I realized men are absolute cuties till they grow up :) He was patient, enthusiastic and very encouraging. No complaints, no hanky panky and he loved everything I bought for him. I must remember to enjoy this now, for this bliss wouldn’t last for long. Before I know it, he would be asking for a debit card and instructing me to not bother with his shopping specially clothes. Till the ‘teenage devil’ takes over, let this mother be.

Well as to how I view shopping: It’s my own little contributing to this nation’s booming economy. Little yes, but every drop..oops rupee counts isn’t it? tralalala! Disclaimer: This is most definitely not an invitation to send your respective lists :)

At maya, my new haunt, filled with amazing conversations bordering on the incredible, rib-tickling fun and someone who knows me more than I know myself :)

Ohhh...it's so good to be home!

last evening @ maya

Caution: Don't get fooled by the on-the-house cocktails on Ladies Nite! One drink called Barbie Doll (yeah!) had only watermellon (no not juice...but chunky pieces of it...!) and only a whiff of vodka. The other, is imaginatively called Tamarind Martini...for those who like their rasam with a hint of vodka. Strictly for the brave hearted south indian ladies!

P.S. It was a lovely evening....no smothering crowd, tasteful music, new age decor, polite service. One doesn't need conversations in a place like this. The place fills that need.

Be careful what you wish for, Cause you just might get it all...and some you don't want

High Point:

We won! Winning by the last thread of our collective underpants...but nevertheless we won. That's what matters...at the end. Unfortunate for the Pakistanis that their man-who-could-have-got-them-the-Cup got impatient and tried an absolutely ridiculous shot to get caught.

Low Point:

Winning the T20 World Cup doesn't excuse the Boys in Blue for not singing the National Anthem at the beginning of the final match. It was shameful that none of them even made an attempt. This is the World Cup and you are on national television representing your country in a match that's easily the 'clash of the subcontinent' and here you are not even trying to lip-sync with a song that represents your country's pride, honour and among other things, identity. One can't afford such gross indifference. Lets teach them the anthem, as it should be sung, before they go on the next tour.

insight

He : We are similar.

She : No we are not.

He : We have both been wronged...so how are we not similar?

She : I didn't give up on the world but I gave up on the most important thing, you didn't.

He : What?

She : Yourself.

alone but not lonely

Sitting in an airport security check-in lounge, I realize how comfortable I am in strange yet oddly familiar hotel rooms, waking up in comfortable but unfamiliar beds, among unknown surroundings and the security of being a nobody.

The gypsy in me feels appreciated...finally.

One day in the life of Mumbai

Location: Dadar MSRTC’s ticket queue
Setting: Pouring sheets of rain
Time: 8.15AM
Red umbrella uncle (irritated): “Chippaakte kyun ho?”
Black windcheater uncle (surprised): “Kaye?”
RUU (raising his voice): “Bola na…duur hato!”
BWU (sniggering): “Kyun ladki ho kya? Bolte duur hato!” RUU (now shaking his dripping red umbrella): “Dhakka kyun diya?”

BWU (shouting and gesturing animatedly): “Tujhe dhakka deneka shouk nahi mujhe….baarish mey kya road meye kharre rahe??! Ladki kahin ka!!!!”

RUU: (erupts in anger and folds umbrella and shakes it dangerously close to BWU wetting the others enjoying the verbal entertainment): “Kya bola tu??”

By now the smiling public realizing the peril mediates and pulls RUU and BWU apart and in this tussle all of them get drenched to their bones and cursing cusses at each other and the wildly incessant downpour.

Some on says “bappa moriya” under his breathe.

Direct from Mumbai

I have lived here 10 years back. I was familiar with Bandra and Bandra alone, never felt the need to explore the rest of the city except for some much dreaded trips to Navi Mumbai...and some social visits to Lower Parel. The city sure has changed and how.

I am stunned to see Sakinaka change into a 8 lane concrete road with modern structures housing tech companies everywhere.

The airport's newly inaugurated terminal is totally cool!

The rain and the ensuing traffic mess still remains the same. Some comfort that :)

turn-offs for the day

1. people who chatter noisily inside an aircraft with complete disregard for the mental health of the co-passengers.

2. people who don't listen to the inflight announcement for seatbelts and expect the flight attendant to come and request them personally.

3. taxidriver who refuses to ferry passengers stating the distance is too close. You can walk, he says!

4. mumbai rain. incessant and thoughtless. It clings to you like a stubborn stain that doesn't go even after several washes.

ganapati bappa moriya

Ok so he acts as ganesha in the skit put up by the kids of the apartment block and directed by yours truly. He has a three-line part at that.

Alls well till he gets worried about the fact that no one recognises him (or so he thinks!) since he has the mask on....

So Mommy had to promise that next time around he will have a 'maskless' part and one where he gets to do a 'fight' scene. Makes me wonder where he got the 'negotiator' gene from!!! Heck I could learn a few tricks too...

Mumbai Pune Expressway on a rainy morning!

Last week was filled with positive experiences of various dimensions.

I visited the Mahindra Pride School, Pune as a part of our new sourcing strategy. In other words, I was looking at a fresh source of talent pool to feed our ever-growing need for people, who would be loyal and help reduce my turnover cost. I went in to evaluate a possibility but I came out transformed and amazed. I met Pruthvi, who at 19 has the responsibility of running her household. Bright and dazzling with confidence, she told me in marathi laced hindi “Mujhe kuch banna hai”. I met many others like her, who had dropped out of school mostly to support their families financially. What was striking was the way they said ‘HSC fail’ while talking about their academic achievements. With confidence and pride. Most of their peers, in their communities haven’t even seen the interiors of a school. Veenitha told me that she joined the 3 months hospitality course in the school, to build a career in the hotel industry, which will help her to bring up her five year old daughter. Widowed at 25, today she depends on her parents for support but has pawned her only pair of gold ear ring to pay for the conveyance to and fro the school. She said she chose hospitality since it’s a very respectable industry which surprised me since I have met IHM (Institute of Hotel Management) students who refused to pick up ‘jhoota’ plates from restaurant tables saying it’s demeaning. She also told me this is far more respectable than working as a domestic help that she has been before joining this course. The pride that reflected on her face at the opportunity of a better life was unadulterated.

I have worked with NGOs before, but mostly with relocation of refugees and the work had involved counseling and helping them to rebuild their lives. So depravation wasn’t new to me. What was new was so much positivism and hope concentrated within the modest walls of the school.

I have decided to work with them and help the faculty in chalking customized English language skill program that would get them ‘job ready’ quicker, since most of them have excellent communication skills. I must mention that they have excellent faculty members. I met the former Head of Training, WNS, who decided to give up a very successful but high stressed job to work with MPS.

The other amazing experience was the drive down Pune-Mumbai Expressway on a rainy mist covered day. As the bus curled through the Ghat section, the drenched lush slopes hugged the grey clouds that hung like a veil, trying to keep the ethereal nature out of prying eyes. The tunnels added to the mystery of the journey. This has to be the prettiest highway in India at least.

All in all is all we all are..

Yes my posts are getting dark and depressing and I run the risk of being written off as a tragedy specialist…coming to think of it is not such a bad idea after all!

Anyway, reading this on a friend's mail forward, one cannot help but wonder. There is this famous bengali movie, the title slips me at this point, where Aparna Sen tells Shoumitra Chaterjee who was her screen brother-in-law about her juvenile attempts for suicide probably expecting empathy in return but the brother-in-law nonchalantly tells her, puffing a long necked ciggie (oh all bengali heroes smokes)“Ohh, everyone tries to commit suicide at least once in their lives...good that you tried”.

So here’s mine. I flunked in Hindi (yes yes!) in the midterm exam in std. 7. Couldn’t tell Ma. Dying was a preferred option. Tried jumping off the terrace of our 3rd floor apartment. This terrace opened towards the backyard of the building and therefore ensured privacy. I stood there for over 5 minutes leaning over the edge, trying to find courage. I didn’t.

I couldn’t decide whether to wear my glasses for this once in a life time jump. If I did, I knew the shattered glasses would hurt and ruin my eyes if I happen to survive with broken bones. (something told me being crippled and blind was infinitely worse than being failed-in-hindi) If I took my glasses off, I couldn’t see a damn thing from the top and I wanted at least to be able to see where I was jumping.

Then Ma called. The game was over. I confessed. She assumed I was trembling out of the fear, guilt and humiliation. Till date I haven’t told her how close I was to losing it.

After, being through life and growing wiser I thank myself for holding back and being gutless. There are many of us who can’t. I pray and I hope for those who are on that brink. If I can lead someone away from that brink I would consider my life post the failed attempt, worthy of living.

ghosts

Yesterday I came back to a city I never could love. The memories of it are filled with anxiety, overwhelming bitterness, pathetic disillusionment and an all time low in self esteem. To say I was wary of stepping in this city again would be an understatement. Plain truth is, this journey back here has been uncomfortable and the first day was filled with a sense of persecution. The memories clawing at my heels like a desperate stalker. From touch-down, I couldn't shake the feeling of being followed, being watched, being judged...

A day after, it feels much better. Though the night was disturbed with interrupted, disjointed and twisted dreams, the morning has cleared the unhappiness.

Circumstances may have changed and therefore the unhappiness quotient, but it’s not as easy to rework the memories. They surface with odd clarity at times they are least desired.

But through all of this, finally, I am coming to terms with a reality that has long eluded me.

Happiness and a sense of freedom.