a few seasons worth

au revoir!

2010-05-31T10:05:00.000+05:30

it's been amazing having this space to myself... to dream, to write, to take flight. but it has sadly no longer remained my own. so like i do with everything else that moves away from me, i am giving it up.
i will of course have another little space you are welcome to. if you want to visit, just send me a mail and i will send you the directions.

a silence that speaks

2010-02-13T16:39:00.000+05:30

If nothing else, driving is one thing I have been doing a lot of since a couple of months. I have come to enjoy the solitude of being on my own, sometimes music accompanying, sometimes the silence. While you know the traffic patterns like the back of your hand, you still wonder how different drivers have different minds and different minds have different thoughts.

I am a strict follower of road rules. While earlier I was guilty of speeding at 120kmph on the sea link, the new rule limiting the speed to 50kmph has me following exactly that. When others pass me by, I couldn't care less. Rules are rules for me.

Today an ordinary incident left me with a strange feeling. Moving at a snail's speed at a bottleneck, I could hear the shrill siren of an ambulance. I checked front and behind and saw the ambulance stuck somewhere way behind hopelessly trying to inch forward. I made a little space and moved sideways... the cars behind me immediately took the opportunity to move ahead. I was raging. Rolling down my window I yelled and waved at every car to give way to the deafening siren.

Finally the ambulance moved past and I heaved a sigh of relief. Just then my eyes fell on a face peeping out of the back of the ambulance. An elderly woman looked at me blankly. In that slight second, that face spoke of a pain very very deep. In that split second that face appealed for faith. In that split second that face silently thanked the crowd for letting them go ahead. In that split second she cast a look that spoke of hope against certain defeat.

It's a face that will haunt me for a long long time.

for the love of life

2009-12-03T15:56:00.000+05:30

Life brings about myriad possibilities.

It amazes me how a day can sometimes stretch on and on and we fit in an unbelievable amount into it... every hour, every minute, every second goes on as we confortably taste every bit.

Then sometimes we wake up and blink and the day vanishes. Just like that. We have nothing to recall, nothing to account for.

I have gone through more than half my life. Whatever is left is flitting by as I watch. Is this the way it is supposed to be...? Or is there another way...?

The lives of others

2009-08-28T14:28:00.000+05:30

There is this strange connection that I have with people. The yearning to know, to meet or to avoid. I am most happy on my own. I could go on for days without meeting a single person or speaking to anyone and I get so used to it that I start enjoying it too much.

What I absolutely strive on and am unconsciously found to be indulging in is wondering about strangers lives. I am fascinated by homes. I love walking by lanes of residences in an almost hypnotised daze. I pass house after house, sometimes they are all part of a society and look the same. But not to me. Each house, each home speaks of the inhabitants.

Inhabitants who could be different from each other but form a closed unit. Couples that nobody knows better once they shut their front door. Things shared that only living together is privileged to.

Sometimes I get a glimpse of the insides and I see a beautiful story. In the nights, the lights at different windows fascinate me. Warm yellow lamps form shadows of mystery, bright white lights that promise to show much but doesn't. I feel happy and move on seeking more stories.

At home I just have to look out and I see different activities in the different apartments in the high rise across. The lights again influence my stories as I see a family at dinner or see a child watching a cartoon show with his mother. And then I look up and watch the night sky with a few scattered clouds and infinite mystery only to relive the same stories that I discovered as a 4 year old.

so i looked at the mirror and saw the mystic clouds..

2009-07-30T18:26:00.001+05:30

When you have time, you think about life. A few of my friends who have time like me are doing that along with me. We talk on the phone, we meet up, we spend hours talking about past and present lives. Surprising, these are successful women who are looking for meaning, for purposes, seeking clarity through confusions. And yes, everybody wants to get down to some volunteering work for the unfortunate or underprivileged.

So everybody has had some help in life. Be it going to a shrink, a tarot reader, astrologer, there is this uncertainly that seems to be pushing the younger generation to look for a solution. I suggested becoming a shrink or a psychologist is the career of the future. It's where the money is!

One friend took a course in counselling. So after the course she volunteered on weekends as a counsellor for victims of abuse, sometimes children. While she was doling out sessions in anger management and therapy for these victims of circumstances, she was finding the symptoms familiar. She slowly realised all these symptoms were present in her! That was that! She landed up at the shrink herself.

I wait my fate.

Smell of yesterday's dust

2009-07-06T20:43:00.000+05:30

It had stopped raining and the evening looked beautiful. Cool and clean as I walked down the little lane near my house. The cluster of little wet houses with a few people leisurely taking a walk and two little children running after each other was delightful. It suddenly took me back to a long time ago. I was surprised how two days can be so connected. Different times different eras. And it struck me why living here brings me a strange peace. Childhood tugs at my heart. A glimpse of a time gone.

As a child, all I wanted was to get out of that little town, live in faraway lands, eat different food, lead a different life. Now I am doing exactly that.

And yet. Life has come a full circle. I savour every bit of nostalgia. I treasure every memory and try to relive it. I find comfort in the simple food of yesteryears. I am most comfortable with early mornings, a childhood habit. And the rains, they have some amazing memories.

What is it? Age? That makes one look back so much? Are we done with creating memories and now just look at re-living them... or is it a content life... we need nothing more...

Really!

Where the answers were blowing in the wind...

2009-07-01T19:31:00.000+05:30

Parthenon

Apollo Temple and Oracle at Delphi

Ampitheatre at Acropolis

Monastery at Meteora

Street shopping, Athens

The Acropolis in Athen at night

Serving a gyro with a smile!

I didn't really believe the Greek guide when she pointed out a road far out in the valley. There was a crossroad too. Legend has it, she said, that Oedipus killed his father Laius, King of Thebes, just after the crossroad there.

And at Delphi, the place still felt so sacred. One could almost feel the power of the Oracle and the prophesies. This was the place responsible for changing the fate of man and nations alike in the olden days. I stood before the pillars that were the entrance to the Oracle and thought of anything that I may need the answer to... zilch! Why do I blank out at these times?!!

Beautiful people, beautiful places and amazing food. Life moved at an easy pace, with music, laughter, gyros, late nights and the acropolis towering over Athens. And then we went over to Turkey.

Bakhlava, kebabs, the majestic mosques and their beautiful minerets. We walked by the seaside, we crossed over to the Asian side and walked lanes and lanes of beautiful Turkish life. We got onto the Bosphorus cruise and at night checked out the amazing night life. But the most amazing thing was the sight of the sacred relics - the walking stick of Moses (yes, the one that parted the Red Sea!), Abraham's turban, the skull of John the Baptist, Prophet Mohammad's hair, his footprint on the famous stone, a handwritten letter by him...!!! I stared at it all spellbound.

And so another holiday ended. But it felt good to get back and get down to things I had lined up. Painting the house, making a few changes... something I had been wanting to do for the last 4-5 years. Changes that I need to take me to the next phase.

a fool's paradise

2009-06-04T22:19:00.000+05:30

Only fools quit their jobs and go holidaying in Greece. One day, it struck me that I shall be rushing to work every morning and coming back late every night and it will go on and on for years till I die. So I straightened my broken back and walked in to tell my gem-of-a-boss that I wished to leave. He gave me a world of options that I didn't deserve, to go on working. I was tempted but thinking again I realized it wouldn't be fair to look at options of working less when I still have so much to learn. So I did the unthinkable in these recessionary times.

Please refrain from thinking this time will be used only for leisures and pleasures. It'll also be devoted to strengthening the weak back, the one I cannot even sit straight with or stand or sleep. There is a constant pain that nags all the time. So I shall pay heed to "health is wealth" and concentrate on being ultra fit and able to run the marathon in Houston next year.

Till then I am off to explore a little corner of the world, Greece, with a few days in Turkey on my way back. Coming, anyone?

choose your colours and paint the rainbow

2009-05-25T16:33:00.000+05:30

Sometimes things are so impossibly beautiful that it gets difficult to accept them. Today is one such day. Perfect.

Fluffy clouds intermittently hide a blue sky, letting the sun play peek-a-boo. I get up and survey the mess in the house. Without a maid, it's getting difficult to maintain a squeaky clean home. Last night’s dinner mats are still lying on the dining table. The kitchen sink is half full of dirty dishes. The sunlight is passing through the green beaded curtain and each bead is looking like a jewel.

I get down to clearing the mess and cooking some food. And as any manic Monday requires I am rushing through breakfast, grabbing my keys and am in the car for the long drive to work. Driving to work is a tricky thing now. While some days I make it comfortably and walk in smiling at everyone, there are days when the tall glasses of water and juices I have in the mornings catch up with me. I pray for traffic to disappear and my bladder to hold. But on an over-one-hour drive, prayers need miracles too.

The now familiar roads allow the luxury of observation. The fiery gulmohurs along a stretch, the rows of streetlights aligned neatly when I drive on the extreme right. A little change in the road position and the alignment changes! And then the weather, oh, so beautiful! I love it that every day is different. I long to go with the changes... why should I be doing the same thing when everything else changes, when seasons too change...?

Shouldn't I have filled up my life when I am ready to exit this world? Forget the bladder, the backpain is getting serious. I need to take care of it, heal it once and for all. Or maybe I should just try and do other things and have the backpain disappear on its own. That's what happened the last time.

For now, the pleasure is in this gorgeous day and towards different planes ahead.

I have no idea...

2009-05-19T11:53:00.000+05:30

...when I went from hearing about my mom’s back problems to having my own.

Oh, to be old and happy!

2009-05-14T15:34:00.000+05:30

It's a beautiful morning. As day breaks with bright orange and purple slivers bursting through and the sky takes on a magical form, I set out for the park. The roads look peaceful and the few early risers are walking unhurriedly.

It's good to see the increasing number of people getting health conscious and making an effort to begin their day with some exercise, with a little time to themselves. All kinds turn up, some in interesting gear. There are some who catch up and chat about everything under the sun.

I watch the group of 4 elderly men who come everyday and have a ball. One is missing, usually 5 come. They come together, walk together and chat and laugh loudly. Well deserved retired life. Suddenly, an elderly man, the missing 5th, catches up with them and greets them.

"Huh?" They all look at him in surprise. "Why are you greeting us?"

"Because I am meeting you." He proffers and laughs loudly.

"But we had come together from home!" One said.

"No, I didn't come with you all today. I was late. Didn't you even notice?" the gentleman is a little upset now.

"Well... yes... no..." there was a bit of awkwardness.

I passed them and jogged on. While the incident was really cute and funny with white haired grandpas wondering how to put things right, I wondered how it was so important to have friends at this age. Their life seemed perfect, at least their mornings. At the rate I am going, I'll have no friends. Well, none to walk with in the mornings, none to chat up at parks and worst of all, even if I managed some friends, I will probably forget them when we have a group walk or a movie to catch.

And then there will be many a jogger evesdropping on our little sulking arguments and making fun of it on their blogs!

Deliver me from reasons why...

2009-04-30T12:53:00.000+05:30

Perhaps. Is there a reason for every season?

I look at myself in the mirror after running an eye pencil over my eyes. It seems like my face has changed. I observe the contours closely. I am growing older, the thought struck me. Going by a normal life span... how much longer? Another 30-35 years?

Enough time for anything that I may want to do, to achieve, to live the way I want. I take my mind back to the past few decades. Some bit is blank, some memories shine. A particular childhood thought springs. I wanted to grow up and live with a horse and a dog in a little house on the hills. I smile thinking how far I am from that. I don’t even think I will survive if someone were to grant me this childhood wish.

There is much that is common between my growing up years and now. I enjoy my own company. I don't make any particular effort to touch base with people and don't think about it much. It's like I am walking down a path and seeking freshness in the familiarity. I meet others crossing my path and am glad to see them. I also see others taking other parallel roads. I may wave out to them if they look my way but I will not go over and chat up with them.

I know it's not the right attitude. But this was how I was as a child and this is how I am afraid I am becoming. Sometimes I alienate myself from the family, the husband too. With him there is so much I have to talk, narrate, discuss but I don't get down to it because comfort lies in the silence. I get used to it. There was a word my friends used for me. Moody. I don't know if it's to do with moods. It's much more. For I am not unhappy or upset. I am just silent and it's beautiful. I have enough conversations inside my head.

And when the time comes, will I be wondering if I should have done anything differently? Perhaps.

Parellel lives

2009-04-04T15:53:00.001+05:30

My new office is in an industrial area. It's an old mill compound so the dilapidated buildings all around have a lot of history stored in every brick and blackened wall and roots and trees bursting out of every crack. They say you get used to things you use everyday, see everyday and grow fond of them too. When I first started coming here, I got lost every night trying to find my way out of the maze of alleys. No more. I have got used to this place and walk about confidently.

Inside the buildings the ceilings are very high and the passages dark. Walking along a passage gives a glimpse of the insides of offices. Swanky, snazzy places, some conservatively done offices, some of them are huge spaces where rows and rows of seamstresses work round the clock, huge spaces when shirts and other garments are packaged and neatly packed into cartons ready to be dispatched. So this is where our steeply priced branded clothes come from!

But outside, along the passage, it's dark, it's humid and like a furnace with the compressors of all the air conditioners hanging overhead. We walk along it swiftly to get into the cool confines of the office. In this very passage sits a lady everyday outside a closed door. I wondered if she was an unstable woman or have some problems to be sitting on the floor in that unhealthy and unhygienic place the whole day.

Bringing this up with my colleague revealed that this lady works in the office outside which she sits. She is a cleaning lady and no, they don't have space for her inside the office. So she sits outside and goes in to clean etc whenever the need arises.

How inhuman is that!! I was shell shocked. What can I do? I can't tell her to quit, she obviously needs the job and the money badly. I can't get her into my office and let her sit there. I can't go fight with her boss and tell him not to treat her the way he does. He will tell me to mind my own business and may fire her.

What can I do??

Journey to the End of the Night

2009-03-31T15:45:00.000+05:30

As I lie in bed wide awake much past midnight, staring at the ceiling, I get used to the darkness. Actually the night sky has its own luminous glow, a brightness that makes the nights surreal. I see everything in the bedroom clearly with some of this night light streaming in through the sheer curtains. I looked at the peacefully sleeping form of the man beside. We are together but right now he is in a different world.

Do I really need to sleep? I know I just have to let the comfort and the coolness of the night take over and close my eyes for sleep to come. But that would mean another night gone by and a morning that waits to awaken me. I try to hold on to my consciousness. To this moment which is mine. I cannot slip into nothingness. It is rest I need, of mind and body. It's what I am giving myself till morning dawns.

For those who try to keep awake, Redbull at dinner helps.

yesterday once more

2009-03-27T10:45:00.000+05:30

Something today reminds me of a time long back when the sun shone down on a house surrounded by a lawn outside, plants and flowers all over and a vegetable garden at the back. The vegetable garden had tall crops of ladyfingers, which had their ends proudly pointing to the blue sky. There was golden corn too beside.

On the other neat patch were vegetables strictly at ground level - rows of cabbages, cauliflowers, baby tomatoes, black chillies, carrots, lettuce, coriander... everything so beautifully growing and flourishing. Lemon trees, a mango tree, jackfruit, peaches and plums fanned the edge of the garden.

The memory carries the fresh smells that invigorate the senses. Every vegetable, every fruit, every flower and every leaf had its distinct fragrance. The sunshine, the natural smell of the plants and the earth, it's a mindblowing combination. The day that is so serene, the daily routine of life that is a pleasure, the happiness that is in the air breathed in.

Today when all the sunshine is wasted, sitting in a closed room artificially lit, artificially cooled, I am really really glad for the memories.

what is life?

2009-03-18T15:16:00.000+05:30

"How are you related to the patient?" The doctor asked me. After I answered, he says, "Okay I must tell you, that the survival rate for this type of tumour is very low. I haven't told him yet. But you must know, understand and decide. I suggest you read up and think out everything before you take a decision. It is going to cost you a bit too."

This is the first time I have been given such grave news. When you know that it could be just a matter of time... you feel helpless and small... yet you know you still have to go ahead and get the best treatment possible.

Hope and confidence are strange things. They give us this immeasurable strength which is actually capable of miracles.

waiting for the sun

2009-02-24T14:56:00.000+05:30

Something tells me I am narrowing my world.

I have a new job. I love what is in store, I like the prospects of what I can do. There is so much to learn and so many new ways to do it. I am widening my mind to accommodate the changes and am welcoming the newness.

At the same time, I get the feeling of sitting in a castle and watching the world. I get up in the morning and get ready for work. I travel a bit everyday and look at the different lives lived. I watch the girl sitting pillion on a bike and reading her novel supporting it on the back of the rider. I leave office in the evening and watch the same scenes reversed. I pass a dance studio and look at it longingly, knowing I will stop in there once my plaster comes off. I come home and look at my shelf of books, lying unread. I go to sleep exhausted, barely getting past two pages of what I read.

I dream of going to places. I dream of walking for miles with the wind on my face. I dream of watching a sunrise from the highest point on the earth. I dream of riding the wildest horses over the mountains. I dream of showing a child the colours of the rainbow. I dream of helping an old man write a letter. I dream of listening to the melody of a peacefully running stream. I dream about sleeping under a blanket of stars. I dream of meeting friends, watching people and their lives. I dream of watching the world change and grow.

As I set out towards yet another glorious day, something tells me I am narrowing my world.

toed in

2009-02-17T16:00:00.000+05:30

After I quit my job, there was too much excitement in my life. I went for my holiday to Delhi as planned and had a wonderful time. I caught up with old friends, one of who I had written about in one of my earlier posts and people had various interesting things to say. Well, facebook has taken over my life and one good thing that has come off it, was getting back with a lot of old friends.

More excitement waited for me as we drove down to Silvassa the same weekend for two close friends' engagement. It was beautiful. A huge moon shining, champagne, great food, jam sessions and dancing into the night.

Satiated I looked forward to my new job. And then I broke my little toe. The fourth one on my left foot. Nothing very dramatic. I just banged hard into the outer corner of a wall and this toe went crooked. No amount of pulling could get it straight. So finally, with the pain and the swelling escalating I went to the doc, who promptly got an xray, pulled the toe in place and put a huge cast on the foot.

So there, I was with a foot which didn't fit into any shoe. The next day I went for a second opinion to another doctor, hoping that he can remove the cast and give me something smaller and simpler. He didnt, but suggested buying oversized floaters with velcro which I can strap over the huge plaster. No good. A bigger size was too large for my good foot... and my own size didn't go over my injured foot. I did the next best thing. I bought 2 pairs in different sizes.

I have been enjoying the look on people's faces when they stare at my feet as I stand or limp by. For those who don't know me, look out for a huge foot in a size 8 sandal and the other foot in a similar size 3 sandal. Wave out or say hi. It will make my day.

The Colour Purple (apologies Alice Walker)

2009-01-30T13:16:00.000+05:30

Today is my last day at work. It's a bright and beautiful day. I pulled out my new shirt saved for a special occasion. A gorgeous mix of purple and mauve, rich and striking in satin, it's a feel-good piece that does wonders for your mood and your day. It was from one of the shopping sprees alone where the shopping bags go straight to the cupboard and the ignorant hubby gets to see them only when worn.

As I get a couple of things ready for my trip to Delhi tomorrow, hubby shouts across. "I am going for a shower and then I am having my breakfast. I am not going to wait for you!"

"Ya ya, carry on." This is a normal scene in the household at mealtimes.
Next I am showered, dressed in my new gorgeous shirt, say a quick prayer and look for the husband. I await the reaction... admiration... accusation of shopping too much… or hurt at having not been shown it before. I form plausible answers in my mind. What is he going to say to this vision in purple!!

He as usual is playing the piano while waiting for me.
"Okay, I am ready and I am not waiting for you!" I announce.
"Oh, you didn't slice the strawberries for me!" he accuses me.

"You didn’t tell me. I'll do it now."

"No, no. I'll do it myself. If only you would pay some attention. You never hear what I say."

"Oh, stop cribbing. I am doing it now."

"No, you never hear. You are always too caught up with yourself."

"Oh really!!" I stand in front of him and smile.

"Yes, now when you’ll be in Delhi, away from me, take the time to think. Think how much you notice anything about your husband, remember anything I say..."

"Sure! Sure!"

We have our breakfast together talking about other things.

Then he gets back to work and I pick up my bag, keys, say bye and shut the door.

I am wondering if he'll ever notice even if I don't wear a shirt in front of him. Oh, that he will!

The countdown begins...

2008-12-31T19:35:00.000+05:30

This year just flew past. Just a few more hours and it will be over. Never to come back again. It's been a good year, no complaints. A couple of tragedies, a few dark spots but at the end of the year what matters is we have survived it and with élan.

Personally, it gave me a lot... moving on too fast but it will be a while before I manage to understand the complex nature of time, before I can claim to have control over it. And like every year that ends, this one too has done its bit for me.

I have much to look ahead to in the new year. Personally, Professionally. I hope I can touch each of my dreams and desires as I go along. I hope each one of us can... As the day ends, the horizon seems limitless. And there is just that little shimmer that glows outrageously and you know, it's going to be an exciting time ahead.

bombay bleeds once more...

2008-11-27T11:57:00.000+05:30

Another joke. Yes, that's what it has become. The city reels yet again. This time it's gun totting terrorists who walked into restaurants, 5 star hotels and railway stations and started shooting at an innocent public. Some going back home after a hard day's work. Bombs blasted in several areas.
Panic spread all around and people started following up on friends and family to find out if all was well. Television channels flashed live footage of bloodstained streets and injured people all around.
The drama continued. By morning, schools and colleges have been declared closed. Most offices followed suit asking employees to stay home. A client asked me to enjoy a day at home while I am getting it. Is this what it has become...? A free unexpected holiday to chill at home. I refused to sit back... driving through empty roads, defying the terror filled atmosphere.
How long till we get back our freedom... our freedom of life, our freedom to live... our freedom to die, without getting killed... How long till the jokers are brought to heel...

Brilliant Blog Award by Bluespriite

2008-10-16T17:36:00.000+05:30

This is something that came in some time back from Bluespriite and I had been embarrassed to even acknowledge it. But like I said in the last post, you cannot displease a friend. So finally the award that has been given and got by every blogger has come to me too.

"Brilliant Weblog is a prize given to sites and blogs that are smart and brilliant both in their content and their design. The purpose of the prize is to promote as many blogs as possible in the blogsphere.

1. When you receive the prize you must write a post showing it, together with the name of who has given it to you, and link them back

2. Choose a minimum of 7 blogs (or even more) that you find brilliant in their content or design. (I have reduced the number.)

3. Show their names and links and leave them a comment informing they were prized with ‘Brilliant Weblog’

4. Show a picture of those who awarded you and those you give the prize (optional).

5. And then we pass it on!"

So for my two and a half readers, I have put this up but will not follow the rest of the rules. I do read a lot of blogs, some I have been reading for years, some others I have been collecting like treasures to brighten a dull day... and some have become a habit.

Blogs, bloggers, strangers and friends... all have become a part of my life... I can only thank them all for sharing their brilliant writings... for changing my life.

Bluespriite's tag

2008-10-16T17:07:00.000+05:30

Tags are not my scene with my erratic blogging but can't say no to this friend

The Rules:

People who have been tagged must write their answers on their blogs and replace any question that they dislike with a new question formulated by them.

People who have been tagged must Tag at least 6 people to do this quiz and those who are tagged cannot refuse. These people must state who they were tagged by and cannot tag the person whom they were tagged by. Get it? Now spread the love.

If your lover betrayed you, what will your reaction be?

Confirm, confront and then move away.

If you could have a dream come true, what would it be?

I would fly.

What would do with a billion dollars?

Give some of it away, spend the rest on myself, on others.

Will you fall in love with your best friend?

No.

Which is more blessed: loving someone or being loved by someone?

Both. Love itself is blessed.

How long do you intend to wait for someone you love?

I got my love without waiting, touch wood.

If the person you secretly like is attached, what will you do?

Chances of me liking someone secretly now is non-existent and I am too lazy to change the question.

If you could root for one social cause, what would it be?

Feed the poor, educate the young, stop child labour.

What takes you down the fastest?

Poverty, honesty, love.

Where do you see yourself in 10 years time?

I cant.

What’s your fear?

None. No, I think, loved ones deaths.

What kind of person do you think the person who tagged you is?

Bluespriite: Intelligent, fun, devoted, dignified and a tad shy.

Would you rather be single and rich or married and poor?

Why can't I be married and rich?

If you fall in love with two people simultaneously who will you pick?

The one who loves me.

Would you give all in a relationship?

Yes.

Would you forgive and forget someone no matter how horrible a thing he has done?

Forgive, yes. Of late I have been known to forget too.

Do you prefer being single or in a relationship?

I have got used to the marriage deal. I like it better.

People you want to tag:

I have no idea if anyone reads this anymore, so can't tag anyone.

What not to do when you are driving…

2008-09-30T20:04:00.000+05:30

The other day I looked down from my office window and saw a young life snuffed out under a dumper's fat tyres. These huge trucks have been causing a lot of accidents these days. Something needs to be done.

I stared at the spot. One moment, alive and speeding on a bike. Next moment, dead. Just like that. Life over, errand left unfulfilled, family left shocked and shattered. It could have been anyone. It could have been me.

Incidents like these make me sombre while I drive. I am a careful driver, make no mistakes. But I tend to multitask a bit. I am taking a moment to recall all that I engage in while in the driver's seat.

I make all my phone calls. Since this is the only time I get without getting interrupted I make necessary and important calls, those which I get no time for once I am out of the car. I use hands free of course.

Listen to music. Very loud.

Eat. Not proper meals but I often munch on fruits, sandwiches.

File my nails. I have done that while waiting at signals.

Apply makeup. I often rub cream on my hands when they feel dry, while driving. At times I spray perfume and sometimes I roll a gloss over my lips.

Paint my nails. Yes, I am guilty of doing that when I have been stuck at traffic signals and jams.

I don't know which of these is dangerous but since the accident outside my office, I am only listening to music and concentrating on the road.

...and a lovely time was had

2008-08-29T16:03:00.000+05:30

Sometimes a holiday can do wonders when all else fail. Phi Phi was amazing... Phuket was soothing... Bangkok was rocking. I share moments of a quick blissful break.

Phi Phi island where the white sands and clear seas gave a new image to heaven.

Moving towards mystical Maya Bay, a magical place where the cult movie, Leonardo's The Beach was shot.

Overhanging cliffs, white boats and a green sea welcomes one....

A divine sun sinking at Promthep Cape...

... and the whole world changes colour as the sun peeps out from below the clouds

An artist restoring a wall painting at the royal palace.

We went to Patong!

Club scene at Phuket

Coyote dancing

Long island iced tea at Cabbages & Condoms, Bangkok

Note the colourful lamps wrapped in condoms

Hungry lions being fed at Safari World.

These bengal tigers eye us for their meal.

And this was our meal.

While you rest... I am restless

2008-07-24T12:25:00.000+05:30

First it was Raj. It was the last Wednesday. The feeling was as surreal as they come. Okay I haven't seen him since I was a kid and since I was always left out of most of the games being the youngest. Like when we played hide and seek and dark room, I kept waiting and waiting inside wardrobes and cabinets for someone to come and find me. Nobody did and they went on to the next round without even remembering about me. And when it was time to split, the kids were rounded up by the parents to go home and then I would be found sleeping in a cupboard still hiding.

Raj was much older but then we all grew up.

Then it was S. That was last Saturday. Again unreal, surreal. He lived close by, came home sometimes especially when the old group met up. He and husband go back a long way.

Both young men died in car accidents. Separately.

Now smiling faces haunt me. Times lived and unlived disturb me. There is a thin line between the past and the present. Between what was and what could be. There are stories being shared... bonds being rediscovered. There are promises to meet and plans to follow up. There is a coming together of friends, kept busy by life's vagaries. And then someone said... "We must catch up more often. We were so close... now why does it take a tragedy to get us together?"

Why indeed...

I me myself

2008-06-16T14:03:00.000+05:30

A tag by bluespriite.

I am: realistically optimistic

I think: often of all the people who have touched my life and gone...

I know: a lot of things instinctively

I want: to die before all my loved ones

I have: realised happiness is a state of mind, for that matter most feelings are...

I wish: I can have chilled food and drinks once in a while without my throat giving up on me

I hate: insincerity, dishonesty, liars, dirty houses, messy beds, harsh lights

I miss: a time long ago when there were stars on a summer's night, with fireflies glowing in the dark and the midnight blue sky bursting with tales

I fear: ghosts

I feel: alone at times but not lonely

I hear: the sound of laughter, the tinkling of old memory

I smell: the freshness of washed clothes

I crave: sometimes for Mom's tomato & eggs that served as comfort food as a child

I search: for the girl I was, for the woman I wanted to be

I wonder: about how people would react when I die

I regret: a little about blogging with my real name

I love: travelling to unknown unseen places, and coming back home

I ache: when I see old people helpless, supportless

I care: much about saving trees, water, energy, food

I am not: as unapproachable or as unfriendly as people think me to be

I believe: I can change things

I dance: in spirit and how!

I sing: totally out of tune

I cry: during patriotic speeches

I don’t always: feel like meeting people or even talking

I fight: when I am wronged or I see someone helpless being wronged

I write: to feel better, to keep records

I win: silently... quietly...

I lose: my patience with certain people

I never: take anyone for granted anymore

I always: wondered what the future had in store for me... with whom... where...

I confuse: names, numbers and faces

I listen: more than I speak

I can usually be found: by myself

I am scared: to even breathe when I don't want a moment to pass, don't want the spell to break

I need: my space

I am happy about: the people and all that I have in my life

I imagine: Bombay with neat empty roads, a breezy summer and a snowy winter

I tag: Anyone reading this simply because it's been enjoyable doing it

Thanks bluespriite, it's been a good thinking exercise.

The reunion

2008-05-17T04:30:00.000+05:30

In between the arduous hours at work, I managed a week's refreshing break for a family holiday. I was looking forward to the 5 members of the childhood family being in the old family home sleeping on the old beds and just being together. Of course there were a few additions. The non-Indian sis-in-law and nephew with bro. And the 2 year old niece with sis. All of us flew together and arrived at home like a storm. From then on it was a riot.

Some highlights:

Nephew's first birthday was celebrated with pomp and pride and it seemed like half the town was invited. Everybody turned up to see the 'kids' (as we were referred to) after so long. Sis in law was met, measured and got the most compliments for being 'so Indian'. She of course smiled away and joined palms in greeting at every bald head and slow glait that came near her, not understanding much. The traditional clothes, with a baby on the hip who too was clad in a cute sherwani, helped.

Old aunties not allowing language to be a barrier got talking to sis-in-law. They spoke, she smiled. They pulled nephew's cheeks and asked "feed milk?" "Yes" she replied. "Bottle?" they enquired. "No, breast," she replied pointing to her chest. More brownie points.

Uncles and aunties who were smart and stylish, loving yet strict, have added plenty of wrinkles and walk much slower now. Most have lost a bit of their hearing. This includes the parents who both think the other has gone deaf and laugh hard. It's fun to watch all the elders speak to each other. Strangely they can clearly decipher what they are meant to understand. The moment they stare or look hard we learnt to talk louder. Some ask things to be repeated and some dont even bother and talk about things totally unrelated. A distantly related granny, much older now was visiting her daughter when we met her.

"When did you arrive?" asked Dad.

"Too much pain in my bones, my whole body aches now!" she replied, running her hands over her legs and arms.

"Oh, you must see a doctor..."

"No, I dont feel like eating at all... who's this, the older or younger one?" looking at me.

"The younger one, Ma!" screamed her daughter.

"What are you yelling for! Oh, you have grown so big! Have all the kids come home? What about your boy?" kisses followed.

"Yes. The son has come too with his wife and kid. I am inviting you for my grandson's first birthday party. Please come..."

"So when is your son getting married?"

We gave up and and left.

It's painful to see the neighbour's house lying locked and neglected. They no longer live there but kept the house planning to come back some day. The other neighbour's house where we played hide and seek and I ate a lot of my meals has been pulled down and the new owners built a huge ugly structure almost falling over our boundary wall.

I can never have enough of the beauty and peace at home. I sit out and watch the clouds floating by, look at the tea gardens beyond and all the exciting dreams of childhood come flashing back. Have I achieved any of them? Am I where I wanted to be, doing what I wanted to do? Maybe not. For they weren't lofty dreams, just pretty, possible everyday wishes. The horizon still looks stunning whether at sunrise or sunset and the birds flying past or in circles look the same. I point out birds to the niece and nephew. They watch with the same awe I did. These new generation kids looked stunned and confused with the constant cooing and twitter of birds and took a day to get used.

In the night when it rained and thunder and lightning lulled us to sleep, the niece shook her mother awake, "Mama! photo click!" The mother confused and groggy said "no, baby, sleep." Another round of lightning flashed and the niece whispered, "there, see, another photo!" The 2 year old niece has no earlier memories of rain and lightning. "Show photo!" was the next request from the digital age baby!

Niece, city kid that she is had not seen a cow before. She recognises a dog and responds with a "bow bow," a cat with a "meow" and when I pointed out a cow, she repeated 'cow' but accompanied with a "bow bow!"

I repeat again, Calcutta is an honest and friendly city. Upon landing at Calcutta airport and waiting at the lounge for the connecting flight to Bombay, I fished for my phone to make some calls, only to find no phone. I remember switching it off and carelessly tossing it onto my seat on the plane. So almost 2 hours later, off I went to the airlines counter, showed them my boarding pass and asked them to get my phone from the seat. And surprisingly, a few calls made here and there and the staff told me they found my phone! I thanked the Lord and the man who got back the phone.

If I ever had any doubts about SRK's popularity, they have been dashed. The screaming and chanting passengers at the airport when he came to catch his flight, were proof enough. But his entourage, including the Rampal boy with long hair weren't recognised at all.

Finally, it was a trip too short but sweet, leaving me regretful about the way life goes, the way childhood turns into adulthood and we leave home to seek a life outside, to seek our destiny. Leaving behind the very people we lived with throughout, a past we cling to hopelessly as we move further away into the future. Building yet another home when we still cannot let go of the old one. Yet it left me grateful that I got to live through some precious moments with the parents who I find a little older every time I see them.

22nd Feb 1998

2008-02-22T14:47:00.000+05:30

"Are you going to be late getting back from work tomorrow...?"

"Huh... no... I don't know... why? Any plans?"

"Ya, I wanted to take you out for dinner and a late night movie after that."

"Cool! I will come back by 8 or so!"

I was wondering why the plan came about. Maybe it was to offer some respite for my week after week of punishing hours at work. The hours are just getting late-r and late-r. The day before I reached home at 11.30 and I could see he was sulking a bit. I was working on the Saturday too and on a working day, the routine goes... wake up... rush to the gym if I don't have to run to work at 7.30am, get back... shower... rush for work. The evening routine is reversed. Get out of work late... reach home... shower... while he heats the dinner, eat (really late again, very unhealthy I know but I hardly have a choice)... try to read, watch a DVD... but fall asleep promptly much after midnight. The only time I realised I am not running and have some time to get my thoughts together is when I am driving to and from work. But I have been using that time for work related and other calls. So again back to zero. Sorry, I digressed.

Later I am asleep when he climbs into bed. Light sleeper that I am, I can make some legible conversation while asleep too.

"You awake?" He asked.

"Hmmm..."

"Do you know it's been 10 years since we first meet... we met on 22^nd Feb... and went for that movie... 'My Best Friend’s Wedding..."

"Ya... wow..."

"That's why I want to take you out tomorrow... we'll go have dinner... and then catch a movie... just like that day when we met..."

"You remember so well…?" I am almost wide awake now.

"I remember every thing... I am good with dates." I refrain from reminding him of the times he had forgotten his sister's birthday, his nephew's birthday and some more days. This was a good moment, not to be spoilt with trying to prove him wrong, I tell myself.

"Wow! It's been so long... you are really sweet..."

"And you know what... I am going to wear the same navy blue sweatshirt that I was wearing that day!" He said getting carried away.

"Are we going to Sterling for the movie then?"

"Nono, we'll watch it here and have dinner here..." he mentioned one of his favourite Chinese places.

"Er... are you getting me a gift too?"

"Yes, of course."

And I complain about THIS guy?!! God, punish me!!

care for coffee?

2008-02-06T03:45:00.000+05:30

No, the Goa road trip didn't happen. Blame it on the crazy schedule at work which is literally breaking my back. I need to go for that medical check up soon. But I am trying to get a few hours of sleep and trying to handle the freaky Bombay weather.

Last Sunday, we were driving around town. At one of the most sexy places in the city where a bridge over the sea is also in progress for the last many many years, we stopped to take in a few moments of pristine view in the late evening.

The biting chill immediately slapped us hard. The breeze was strong and I zipped up my jacket and let my hair block the cold pinch at my neck and ears. I warmed my hands inside the jacket pocket and watched hubby do the same.

"I think a steaming cup of coffee will clear my head. Should we just stop over at Barista?" He suggested.

"Good idea." I agreed as I settled on the low railing with my back to the sea and taking in the skyscrapers in front.

We saw more people huddled with winter wear and some gym types trying desperately to stick their muscled chests out, some bared like landscaped rocks till a low point in the body. What is with men cleavages these days!

We saw a young boy with a loaded bicycle stop near this group. He unearthed a huge kettle from inside a covered little stove from his back carrier. Taking out tiny plastic cups, he poured some warm beverage and was serving it around.

"Hey, street coffee after so long!! Let's have some. Wow! Imagine coffee coming to you here!!"Hubby exclaimed.

"Sure." I tried to match the enthusiasm.

He served us two watery sweet but hot cups of coffee for 10 bucks and moved on.

"Poor fellow, carrying the kettle and then selling coffee so cheap…" I went into my life-is-not-fair guilt trip.

"But he's doing brisk business. Have you noticed he's selling to everyone here." Hubby chipped in.

"Yes, but how much can this kettle hold? 30 cups… 40 cups? I mean he can't be making more than 150-200 bucks."

"Ya, but he would refill it and come back."

"But this is the only time in the day and only at this place that people would want to sip coffee. He has to refill really quick…"

Suddenly we both looked at each other and quickly upturned the plastic cups pouring whatever remained, down the slope.

We got back into the car, placed the plastic cups in the little garbage bag inside and drove off with a weird taste in the mouth…

the male power of driving

2008-02-03T14:45:00.000+05:30

We take off on the road quite a bit. Sometimes it's a long planned out trip and sometimes we just drive off and go on and on, enjoying the feeling. Now even though I regularly drive to work and other places, when we go out anywhere together, it's always the hubby who's at the steering wheel. Unless he's very tired or had a drink, especially since the bombay cops are strictly on the lookout for drunk drivers.

The latest was a plan to drive to Goa for the carnival. Suddenly hubby asked if we should instead be flying down as it would be easier and comfortable too. Plane tickets in a day? Yes, they are available and reasonable priced too, thanks to the huge choices of budget airlines.

"But I still think it's going to be better if we drive. We 'll have the car to roam around there." I reason.

"Ya, I agree. But I was just thinking if I am ready to set out tomorrow morning and drive 11-12 hours straight..."

"You know, we could take my car if you want. I am used to it and I could drive halfway too."

"That's not possible. I am never comfortable when you drive."

"What do you mean? I have been driving much longer than you. And on an average I drive much more than you, in the thickest of bombay traffic!"

"I know you do. No doubts about it, I think you are a good driver."

"Then what's it? Why dont you trust me?"

"I don't know. But I never sit still when you drive. I am too nervous. I am always waiting for my destination."

"Nobody can help you then!!"

I think some men are just meant to be drivers and drive their woman around!

the baby at play

2007-11-30T07:50:00.000+05:30

Kids love me and I love them. Specially the really small ones, who just learn to walk and say a few cute words. They take to me easily and I am often playing around with them or checking out their toys with them and giving them superman rides (where I lift them horizontally and run about). After some time, they love me with their heart and follow me around.

My niece clings to me, rather she thinks my whole purpose in life is to carry her around. She sees me and walks towards me with arms raised, sometimes smiling till her eyes disappear. I heave her up and perch her on my hip and after a minute place her down in a different spot. She loves being carried and holds out her arms to anyone who even looks at her. Adults, the suckers that they are, get carried away with a chubby toddler walking towards them, imploring to be carried. She’s kind of heavy, unlike my friend N's kid.

This 2 year old little girl now is like a fairy princess. Tiny, dainty and fragile looking, she is a light weight pretty baby with the most beautiful eyes. Again this baby too comes to me like a magnet. While all other babies are busy dancing and pulling off things, this one insists on being in my arms and playing with my hair. Except for the time when we were all sitting very formally in N's mother's very formal drawing room solemnly discussing about N's husband's accident with his male colleagues.

The little one tiptoed to me and climbed on my lap. I held her making her comfortable. She turned around to play with my hair. Then something else caught her attention. My chest. She looked, then placed a hand on my breast and squeezed. I moved her hand away and tried to distract her, noticing the men trying not to notice. She gave me a hurt look and placed her hand firmly again. I gestured to her mother, N giggled happily and ignored my murderous glances. The baby went on with her exploration. Then N's mother, bless her, noticed the struggle, and tried to take the baby away. The baby cried holding on firmly now. Everybody turned openly to watch the circus. I was mortified. Not knowing if I should let her be with me playing happily with my breast or let her be snatched away kicking and screaming.

Finally the child was carried away and I tried to regain my dignity. All was not lost but still… what a child can reduce you to is not funny!

the tag

2007-11-22T08:30:00.000+05:30

I am amazed at the confidence people have in me. With such a bad record of doing tags, I still have them coming in once in a while. Thanks guys. Two people tagged me lately. Asuph and Neville. I think it's the same tag. If I am not mistaken, it's about defining what I think constitutes a good writer.

I think I will go a little off track from the tag and write the way I see it. Firstly, my taste changes time and again. At different times, I like to read different authors, different kinds of books. Of late I am trying to get back to a lost habit of reading.

As kids, we read a lot. The best luxury or relaxation indoors was reading. Of course, we read outdoors too. Till my teenage years, I hardly read any Indian writers. From Russian to Japanese to English writers, from the classics to the modern, I read them all. What probably fascinated me most were the stories, the settings, the emotions and then the way the English language was used. Every writer set his story in a world much apart from my own. I perched myself in the midst of the different cultures, the times, the situations and the places. They were all alien and I was hooked.

At home, dad subscribed to Illustrated Weekly which I have no memories of except it was a large spread, then there was Sunday, and Reader's Digest which though still in circulation today has changed greatly in quality and quantity. As a kid too, I loved any kind of gossip and junk reading but there was a conscious effort to never spend money buying them. While travelling when others picked up a Stardust or a Femina, I would pick up a Reader's Digest or a India Today. I wonder why...

Slowly I discovered Indian writers writing in English. Writers setting their story in their regions which were familiar yet surprising me with local flavours. There was so much romance and mystery, sometimes the simplicity would move me to tears, sometimes the complexity and profoundness would leave me perplexed. For years I explored the Indian writers genre... writing from all parts of the world, and all corners of the country. Writers ranging from BC to the current times.

The wave of feminist writing was blowing subtly and I went on to read Toni Morrison, Alice Walker and the likes, spellbound. The strength, the conviction, the power, the beauty of their writings, were making me a new person. While the volumes of 'women writing in India', most of them translated into English, opened doors to the unending marvel of discovering the minds of women with a feminist bent of mind. Not in the bra burning attention grabbing way, but these were women who realised what it meant to be a woman, how different, difficult or easy it was living in a world with men alongside. Women who were conscious of what they wanted and how to get it.

Also native American literature with its rich culture fascinated me. Their larger than life beliefs, their names, the origin of their names, it was all fiction meshed with real life, history kneading into the present day.

Today I don't read as much as I would like to. The same books that raptly held my attention earlier no longer interest me. I have lost count of the number of books I have started and not finished in the last two years. Just a miserable few have made it till their last page in my hands. And then, the more I read, the more I realise how less I have read. Sometimes it scares me that I may just die without having finished all the unread books on my shelf. What an incomplete life it would be...

I don't know if this was how the tag was supposed to go, but having written this in two installments, I have gotten time to think and wonder why I have let a day pass without reading. Thanks guys, though I have rambled on, I really enjoyed this piece.

Another attempt to upload!

2007-10-18T23:48:00.000+05:30

A wet cold day in summer. The quaint little village has a fierce bubbling river that flows alongside.

A gondola ride through the lanes of Venice.

Love this picture... the statue of liberty with the eiffel tower behind!

that new year's eve...

2007-10-11T23:29:00.000+05:30

This happened on new year's eve. We were on our way to a friend's house whose birthday it was on the 31st. So we thought of celebrating her birthday and also bringing in the new year at her place and then going out to hit the celebrations in town later in the night.

On the way, hubby halted the car to buy some flowers for the host and while I waited, a little snub faced kid tapped at my window and pleaded with me to buy a balloon. Hubby got back, saw the kid, opened the back door and told him to drop all his heart shaped red balloons inside the car. The jubilant kid ran off with his earnings. We agreed no kid should to be selling balloons at traffic signals on new year's eve.

As we started off again, hubby kept adjusting his car seat. I noticed him quirming and stiffening but didn't mention it. As we reached the friend's place, they looked down from the 11th floor and waved. I got out, looked up and waved too and then signalled for someone to come down and help with some of the party stuff we were carrying in the boot.

I walked ahead while hubby followed and another friend rushed down to help. As I hugged the host and another friend at the door, she kept looking behind me.

"Where is she?" she asked.

"Who?"

"Your friend?"

"Who friend? Oh, my Delhi friend...? She couldn't come." I remember mentioning that I'll be getting a friend along.

"Couldn't come? Then who is she?"

"Who she? Nobody's come."

"But we saw her getting out of the car!"

"Who? What do you mean? It's just M and me!"

"Jesus, what's wrong with you? I swear I saw her getting out the back door when you got out from the front."

After much screaming and swearing, we believed that, while hubby and I got out and waved at friends 11 floors up, they waved back at 3 of us. A smartly dressed woman in black, with straight long hair got out from the car too with us. They assumed that it was my friend from Delhi who was supposed to join us and didn't really think anything much. Only when we insisted nobody else came with us, then did everybody stare at each other white faced.

I still think back and wonder what actually happened that night and if some lonely soul really took a ride with us, first sitting behind and pushing the car seat and then disappearing to some other party once we reached our destination.

a few of my fav pics

2007-09-08T15:23:00.000+05:30

Round and round we go... spiral staircase at the Vatican Museum.

Chameleons at a park in Amsterdam. Yesyes, they are fake!

A street performer in Paris, tapdancing. She plugged her ipod to a speaker and the street boomed with the music while she danced away.

A view of a London Eye capsule, the Thames and a Salvador Dali exhibition sign far below. Taken from our capsule on top.

Men Myths - Part 1

2007-09-05T08:55:00.000+05:30

Myth: Men don't bitch

Reality:

Male colleagues come back from a client's office.

"God! That place is full of women. I feel bad for the 3 guys that work there!"

"Why?"

"Imagine being surrounded by women with attitude all the time!"

"What attitude?"

"Bah! The general women attitude."

"Aren't they lucky males ?!!"

"What lucky! Poor things, seeing women everywhere every time!"

"Well, isn't it the same here?"

"What?"

"Just the other way round. I am the lone woman surrounded by all you men!"

"Yes, but we got just one woman with attitude to deal with!"

"Really! Whoever said men don't bitch should meet you guys!"

"Nah! We can't bitch because all men are dogs."

Huge uproar and guffaws follow.

***************************************

Myth: Men are easy going

Reality:

"It's past 6 and I am switching off the AC mains. Besides we should do something against global warming." I mutter as I walk out.

"No, don't!" A male voice protests.

"Well, I can't function on frozen brains."

I am back after pushing up the giant switch.

"Ah! Much better."

"For you!"

"No, there is a girl S is interviewing and I can see her shivering too."

"Where? What is she wearing?"

"I didn't notice."

Why not?"

"Why would I look at what a girl is wearing?"

Two male voices rise up, "But girls always notice that about each other."

"Well, I don't notice girls' clothes."

"Why not? What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing. I just DON'T, okay?"

"You would notice a girl without clothes?"

"Ya... no... just shut up... let me work!"

Loud guffaws and desk thumping follow.

traffic woes

2007-08-30T12:13:00.000+05:30

It's been raining quite a bit of late. While traffic gets chaotic and everybody wanting to reach wherever they are going in a hurry, there's helplessness, rashness, anger to be seen everywhere.

A few days back when it was the rainiest day in the city, the rickshaw a friend was traveling in got hit head on by a garbage dumper. With the rain pouring down in sheets, the fire brigade had to pull him out and the cops rushed both the driver and him to the hospital, bleeding all the while and unconscious. The driver couldn't be revived and was declared dead while the friend is still struggling with metal plates and stuff in certain parts of his body.

These days I have been traveling with my heart in my mouth. Since I haven't been driving to office for some time, I am at the mercy of rickshaws to commute. Once in a rare while, I find a careful driver who drives in line, who follows rules. The rest are all maniacs, out to avenge some misdeeds from their past lives. They race, they brake hard, they gleefully bump into potholes without slowing down while I hold on to the rails for dear life. I like to be prepared as much as possible. But I am still caught off guard when the driver brakes suddenly and another maniac bumps from behind with a little jolt. Then there is verbal diarrhea spewed from both ends.

Sometimes I wonder what causes this attitude in our drivers. Whether it's a BEST bus driver who honks angrily and threatens to crush you out of his way or the rickshaw driver who thinks the road is his racing ground, they are like angry monsters whose food has been snatched away. I agree they have a hard life and driving on Bombay roads from morning till night could be traumatic, but that's hardly an excuse for tormenting the humble public. For I don't want a nightmare on the road every time I step out. I don't want to check my lingerie every morning when I dress up, for if ever anything happens, I would never want to be caught dead with undignified underwear!

How much do I LIVE?

2007-08-23T23:08:00.001+05:30

People look at me in surprise when I say I hate sleeping. What is so nice about this whole state of being knocked out straight for a couple of hours? I was mentioning if ever a pill is invented which you can just pop and feel refreshed and rested, I would be the first one to buy it. In fact I have often dreamt of something like that.

Since I can recollect I have hated sleeping. If someone asked why or how could I feel like that, I would reply "I will be doing enough of that in my grave." And I would get some looks that pronounced me weird. I do believe the nights are so beautiful that it's a waste to spend them dead.

I think it's this whole state of being unconscious, of being helpless that gets to me. It is also to do with always having less time for everything. I think I am most greedy for time, wanting more for everything and then finally when things don’t fit it, I curse sleep that takes up so much time every day.

But it's not that I don't feel sleepy. I do, more so as age creeps up. I am beat at the end of the day. I try to go on till as late as possible… 2am… 3am… and finally give in knowing I will feel sick in the morning if I don't shut my eyes for a couple of hours. Thankfully I am an early riser. I love dawns... the time when the sun readies itself and we get a peep at it while it's dressing up to face the day. The time when we see light but see no shadows. I love every moment of the day and night. Whether it's 5pm in Bombay, or 5am in my little town or say even 1am in Mauritius, every time of the day has its charm. And I regret the time I am dead in bed, when I don't get to experience these moments consciously.

For these very reasons people find me crazy. Maybe I am. But I definitely don't fancy wasting over one third of my lifespan being dead when the event itself is called LIFE!

Roman Holiday

2007-08-19T17:06:00.000+05:30

I just got back from one of my longest holidays taking in the sights of Europe. Italy… Switzerland… Paris… Amsterdam… London. I thought of all those who reside there and whose blogs I read regularly. I imagined seeing Colours on the streets of Brussels as I walked about. Not that we would recognize each other since she's never seen me and I had just glimpsed a one inch picture of hers with her dozen friends. In Switzerland, I thought of Boo when I saw a young Indian couple with a little girl in a pram. In London I was too busy meeting friends and trying to hide from clients who knew I would be there.
It was indeed a lovely vacation and am glad for having been able to see the works some of the greatest artists thatever lived and walk on the same streets as they did.

A good enough reason for divorce

2007-06-29T19:23:00.000+05:30

Someone recently confided that she cannot bear to live with the man she married almost 5 years back. There's nothing they share, she says. Taste, interests, opinions, preferences, backgrounds… nothing common at all. I didn't ask why she married him in the first place then. It would have served no purpose.

And one more reason is that she feels let down. For he not going according to plans they made together about their future. Plans they made after she pulled him out of severe crisis and got his business back on its feet.

She is looking for a way out but is worried because of the one and a half year old baby they have. I remind her she needs to be independent first for she did give up working when she became a mother. Also bringing up a child as a single mother is not too easy.

I totally understand what she's going through. I know exactly what she means when she says that she cannot discuss even little everyday things like her music, her painting, with him, all of which she was so passionate about at one time. I admire that she has the guts to be honest with herself.

It set me thinking about the reasons that marriages are breaking up for these days. Not adultery (she forgave him that 2 years back!), not domestic violence, but something that's present in most relationships – lack of connectivity.

Abstract rant

2007-05-08T19:19:00.001+05:30

I must confess that we socialize a fair bit. Some think it's the ideal life to lead. Work hard, party harder. What else could you ask for? Friends with new babies in their lives envy the 'carefree' life we still lead. Others crib about other problems in their lives.

I have my share too. Don't want to digress to those but on the topic of socializing, on the downside, it leaves no room for quality time to ourselves. The conversations with the husband are often over the phone or while driving somewhere together. But we try to multitask, we try to fit everything in its place. I wont deny that the evenings spent with friends are great stressbusters and we look forward to them. So what if we don't get time to do grocery for the week. Yes, time seems to be the precious keyword here. There are things we can do without money but there's nothing we can do without time. That's how indispensable it is! I also know that in the last 7-8 years I have been more busy than any time in my life.

Surprisingly, as most of my posts reveal, I have more memories of the earlier years of my life than the last couple of years. Those were years spent with light hearted laughter and counting every new leaf on a tree and every new rosebud that bloomed. Days of hide and seek, and nights of dark room when parents jested and talked at leisure with other parents.

These are years that have shortened, and left me with too much to do, even to simply just carry on living. Of working manically and partying later to justify the severity. Sometimes there are observations of having too many friends but not recognizing enough relatives. Of not knowing the family well enough.

Maybe I don't. For I don't know the line that divides them. Family and friends. Who can qualify as what. As times passes, I am the only constant factor. People are in my life and out of it. Physically I mean. I am not with the same set of people I was with 20 years ago, or 10 years back. I have loved them and allowed life to change, fondly longing for them again.

But I also know there is no looking back. Today, this is my life, these are my people. They may not all be related by birth or marriage but these are who I share my life with, my dreams with. This is probably where I will one day take my last breath. And these are the very people who will hold my hand then.

God's own reasons

2007-04-28T12:14:00.001+05:30

I was walking back from the gym watching two little girls skipping towards me. While one just stared at me, one smiled shyly. I then saw a white snot-like line, marring her pretty face, running down her nose till the mouth.

"Wipe your nose," I said as I passed her.

She wiped hard, really hard, almost savagely, eager to please and smiled. Then the other little one opened her mouth and screamed, "It won't come off! She hurts there!"

I turned towards innocence on the almost perfect face and felt a tinge of deep pain and remorse.

An evening in paradise

2007-03-17T07:00:00.000+05:30

Evenings used to depress me. As a kid, as a teenager, as a younger woman. Evenings carry a melancholy hue that is hard to overcome. Especially the most divine sunsets. When the sky is different shades of crimson and the sun is a huge ball at its most beautiful, slowing sinking... taking with it the last traces of light. And then are a few magical moments. Moments of twilight, of dusk. Neither day nor night. When legend has it that magic takes place.

Yes, it does. My heart aches with the beauty of being in the moment. A moment I cannot hold on to or stretch.

When younger, I remember sitting on the steps of my house and watching the sky, the horizon. Mom would be taking a walk down the wide open lane and then a few of her friends would meet at our gate. The wrought iron gate which would be open. They talk and I would catch bits of their laughter floating in the air. I look upwards and watch a straight line of birds flying past. Another flock would fly by. I wondered why they all flew in the same direction, in the evenings. Far off, I see the faint outline of a range of blue mountains. Suddenly I yearn for something, a deep craving for something unknown. A person, a feeling, a physical thing. I would want to be somewhere else, in a distant land where horses raced in the sunset and vineyards bloomed with the sea beside. And as night sets in, Mom takes my hand and we go in, and I forget it all.

Then when I stayed away from home, the evenings would take me back home. To the same stairs where I sat with the same feeling. This time I would yearn for the blue mountains and the sight of the tall trees amidst the tea gardens. I often sat by the sea, the breeze sweeping back my hair. I would watch the glistening water and speak somberly to friends who sit beside in the same mood. Again an insistent ache, a gripping pain would haunt me. The salty air would hurt my eyes and tears rolled down, sometimes freely. Again the moment would pass, the magic would touch. And leave. I pick myself up and go back to my reality.

Today, evenings no longer have that effect on me. One reason could be I no longer see enough sunsets. In the dark when I step out of office, I carry with me a sense of calmness. I lock myself into the car, switch on the radio and start driving. At stretches where the road is long, lined with trees, and I just have the moon for company, I feel a strange oneness, a strange kind of welcome loneliness. As I reach home, I snap out of it and walk into the warmth of my cozy haven.

But I miss the pain of depression that so strongly swept over me before. I miss romanticizing the evenings that made me sit and stare into the horizon. I miss the hunger to go beyond the horizon. Even if for just one evening, I would love to live it all over again.

mirth-less

2007-03-05T22:47:00.000+05:30

It was Holi again and the usual revelry took place. Only this time after eating and drinking too much I fell into an abyss of sleep. Somehow things are not the same anymore. I cannot do without so many things. My sleep, the right food. I abuse any of it and the results are not too pretty.

I live on a plane that seems so removed. I no longer find pleasure in all that I used to. Sometimes the things that excite my friends piss me off or I find them silly. Some time back close friends visited with a one year old kid. Very smart baby. Can talk in single syllable which so thrills the parents. The mother, my close friend says, "Have you noticed, how well behaved she is. She doesn't fling sofa cushions on the floor like other kids."

"Yes, yes, I noticed that." I assured just in time to hold out my palm for the mobile phone the little one was smashing on my center table. And silently I wonder how my bedsheets, sofas, doors and windows, have all got smeared with tiny handprints of melted chocolate. While I give up and smile, the parents just run around with the camera clicking silly shots of a messy with chocolate kid.

Yes, these are the things a lot of my friends are occupied with nowaday. Other than whipping out a boob even in public whenever a baby protests and cries for it.

And then what about the jokes that the world finds so funny they laugh like hyenas while I watch whose mouth is bigger and whose teeth can start scraping coconuts. The other day, we had a spiritual lecture. A serious discussion where we were asked not to hold back, told to sit without folding arms in front, to let go and laugh when we felt like it. And some did exactly that. Whatever was said, they found it funny and rolled over in mirth. And I started getting irritated with all the laughing.

And on Holi, I watched my neighbour rub a handful of colour all over her friend's husband's face and giggle away. They both laughed really loud and I watched in disgust from my 8th floor balcony. I didn't find it funny again.

some nagging nags

2007-02-27T22:04:00.000+05:30

It's scary the amount of time that passed since I last wrote anything here. It's like life has gotten longer and I don't have enough time to go through it all. But certain things have stalled and certain things have regressed. And experiences have crept in.

On the surface, isnt it all meant to be like this? You work, you play, you holiday, you follow your routine. I enjoy my work. After work I enjoy my time. Meeting friends, attending parties of old friends and new friends. Taking holidays. Having others the way I want them to be. Perfect. Couldn't ask for anything more.

And then, the thoughts sometimes nag. Where will it all end? When will it end? And then what? Nothing. Yes, that's where it all leads to. Just a matter of time. What by the way is this time? How do we measure it? Why do we have to refer to it to go ahead or even backwards? Can we measure life by anything else? Like say, washing clothes. You are only as good as the next wash. And then the cycle starts again.

And then we measure life in terms of washing cycles! That might make things simpler. Rather than trying to understand and cope up to an illusive concept!

electric hair brush

2006-12-06T17:41:00.000+05:30

Those who have been reading for some time, know the kind of shocks I give to people and get from people. And today, I felt like yelling, "I have the power!" after leaving someone stunned and white faced.

Was jogging away happily on the treadmill, when the instructor comes up from nowhere and tries to flick back a strand of loose hair from my forehead. I know he has no business to do that. And he got the best lesson of his life, when he sprang back and I too felt a sharp bit of electricity pass through the forehead, and heard a 'bzzzz'.

He looked at me, eyes rounder and bigger than I have ever seen, mouth half open. I laughed evilly.

"Got a shock, huh?"

"Ya, man!! Something like current!"

"That was my hair! Here, try touching my arm?" I offered my left arm menacingly.

He didn't even move. Just stared at me.

"It's called static electricity." I offered with sympathy. I should know. "Happens sometimes. Chill."

"It's never happened with ME! Why then??"

"Just picks on certain people on certain days."

And then the rest of the session passed with me getting just instructions, never a push, lift or a helping hand.

2006-11-28T11:17:00.000+05:30

Sometimes a lot of things happen, a lot of time passes. You can either let it go or seize every moment. Then again, you could savour and treasure some of it while you wonder where the rest fit in. You could sit down and go through it all, a little analysis, a little prodding, a little smiling.

I did none of it. I have so much to say, everyday. But I am no longer capable of writing. I have no words, no skills, and no imagination. But all said and done, I miss blogging. Reading all over the net, and writing myself. I miss the interaction I have with the readers through the comments. Some of them have become really good friends. And for that alone, I'll attempt to write again and get back to something I so loved.

Little Hitler

2006-10-07T15:21:00.000+05:30

I was not a bully but when it came to M, I couldn't help it. She was a fat kid with a fatter younger sister, fair skinned with 2 coconut trees on her head, had rich parents and whined a lot.

One of my negative qualities that beats all others is not having enough patience. With certain people. This quality has been with me since childhood. So M wanted to hang around with us in school. I didn't care even if she did but I didn't like her yellow nails. They were untidy and stained yellow. Her right hand particularly. I remember asking her if food in her house had a lot of turmeric and if she ate with her hand for hours thus staining her ugly nails. I wonder how she passed the weekly inspections in school.

Oh, I remember she also had yellow teeth with layers of dirt. Like you didn't ever use a brush on them. It grossed the hell out of me. But I didn?t say anything to her about that.

Another of my quality is that I always attract people I do not like. The same people I have no patience for. M followed me around a lot. As a roly poly kid, she couldn't run about much, and when she sometimes tried to climb the walls and slide down the banisters after me, she hurt herself.

And then I remember the most wicked thing I loved doing. I would ask her to place her foot on a small step we had near the door of our classroom. She would do as told and I would stamp my tiny little foot on hers with a thud. She would yell in pain while I laughed and ran away. I could be a cruel child straight out of Lord of the Flies. She never complained and I got away with it all the time. Well, all the time because, she was stupid enough to let me do it everyday.

Sometimes I think back and wonder how I could have been so evil. While my mother proudly narrates stories of a rare kindness and sensitivity I possessed as a child, I keep wondering what brought about this freaky mean streak with M. I really owe M an apology. Sometime back I met her and recounted it all with due regret and guilt. She seemed to have no idea what I was talking about. She only remembers good times with me and how I have been a great friend to her.

I am thinking how some people can put even a dog to shame when it comes to loyalty.

R.I.P.

2006-09-28T15:00:00.000+05:30

Aamoi went to heaven today.

making my day

2006-09-25T16:17:00.000+05:30

The ironing guy comes everyday and these days I barely have two shirts to give him on a regular basis, since I have stopped wearing clothes that need ironing. Tough hubby tries his best to dirty as many as possible regularly.

"Aagle hafte aana." (Come next week.) I tell him as I take the crisply ironed shirts.

"Theek hai, bhabi. Aap phone kar dena." (Okay, call me up to collect it.)

"Accha, intercom pe?" (Ya, on the intercom?)

"Nahi, hamara phone number hai na aapke paas?" (No, you have our phone number, right?)

"Nahi hai, accha, number do..." (No... give it to me...) I grab a pen and the night before's pizza delivery bill, lying nearby.

"Aath..thaish... biyaalissh..."

I tried to remember my 2nd standard Hindi. "English mein bolo." (Tell me in English)

"English nahi aata, madam, mein likh ke doon?" (Don't know English, madam, let me write it for you.)

I give him the pen and paper, watch him scribble, and take it back from him.

"Aare, tumne toh English mein likha!" (Wow! You wrote it in English!) I looked at the uneven numbers written in English.

"Yeh English hai kya?" (Is this English?)

"Haan. Tumko aata hain. Kahan seekha?" (Of course! You know it! Where did you learn?)

"Toh mujhe English aata hain!! Madam, mujhe English aata hai! Sirf bolne ko nahi aata!" (That means I know English! Madam, I know English! I just don't know how to speak in English!)

I watch an 18 year old give me the most jubilant smile and go off with a new found pride and confidence, towards a whole new world ahead, waiting to be conquered.

Long runner

2006-09-19T22:47:00.000+05:30

Whenever I run for more than 20 minutes on the treadmill, the trainer puts up a public notice, "Treadmill strictly for 20 minutes".

So the other day, I catch up with him, "Why do you always put up this notice whenever I run a little extra?"

"Don't be silly, ma'am, it's not for you!"

"See, sometimes I really feel good sweating and don't want to stop, so I just go on. My body starts warming up only after 20 minutes..."

"Of course, ma'am, you are one of my best members."

"But it's not everyday. Maybe twice or thrice a week."

"This notice is for the others..."

"Who others? It's in my face."

"You know, the afternoon ladies never want to get off the treadmill. You don't worry, you carry on."

"Listen, I will pay extra for it."

"Ma'am, now you are embarrassing me. Please use it for as long as you want."

So I go on. For an hour sometimes. Against rules that are made, knowing fully well they are made for me. But I guess the trainer will have to suffer me till he gathers the guts to tell me on my face, or charge me more.

Or till, I am ready to move myself to another gym.

applying the dictionary

2006-09-11T22:51:00.000+05:30

My friend was sitting smugly in her new office. Trying to look very serious and important in the swanky conference room when she gets a call from her daughter's school summoning her immediately.

The 10 year old daughter's class is being taught to use the dictionary. And the daughter with a friend, after some self education, is going around school, asking eighth standard seniors if they were 'virgins'. A teacher complained that the kids called her a 'whore' too.

After complaints were made and heard out the two girls were rusticated for a day and sent home with the mothers.

The 10 year old daughter was last heard telling her friend, "if we learn bigger and dirtier words, we'll get a 2 day holiday, you know."

10 days - canned, stored and treasured

2006-09-01T10:51:00.000+05:30

There I was, 2 weeks of vacation ahead, and staring blankly. For once, I didn't go home. There was a reason for not going which I don't remember too well now.

Then out of the blue my friend calls and tells me to be part of a TV talk show. There was a reason for this too, I think. Maybe she didn't find anyone else.

"What do I have to do?"

"Just do what you always do. Talk, dhakkan!"

"Forget it!"

Then she happened to mention that the whole show was in Delhi, and they have booked the tickets and would take care of everything.

Why not! Just when I was lamenting that I didn't have enough money to take my own little holiday! So with another bored cutlet, I was packed and sent to Delhi where we were put up in a sprawling guest house. Well, so far so good. We were supposed to be joined by other participants from other corners of the country.

In the night, I crawled out from under the warm quilt to check the commotion that woke me up. The three others who had arrived before us were already in the living room in their pyjamas and looking dazed. The cause of the racket was, the Calcutta guys had arrived and were not happy with their rooms. The next moment someone said "hi" and I look up at the most gorgeous male I had seen in a long time. Smartly clad in jeans, brown leather boots and a beige jacket. I waved an oversized sleeve of my nightdress and looked down at my santa-red-socks clad feet. What do you expect at 2am on a winter night, I thought to myself, as I tried to smoothen my hair.

Morning dawns and at the breakfast table I realize the object of my admiration in the night looks even better in fresh daylight. We repeated names again and made polite talk. By the time we left for the studio, we knew a lot about each other. RG was Doon school product and promised to show me places I had never seen in Delhi. How exciting!

By the afternoon, we were inseparable, linked arms and all. We ate together and went everywhere together. The others made room to let us be together in the same car always. After the day's shoot we got into our press tagged cars and RG took me to cute little shops and showed me his family's locked house. At night, all of us sprawled in the cozy living room watching movies late into the night with me taking warmth under his blanket and sleeping on his arm.

Thus passed the days of rehearsals, shooting, laughter, and huge lunches on the sunny lawn. And evenings when we roamed the markets and made the long drive back to the guest house. The nights were fun. He went out in the cold looking for ice cream because I wanted to have some. I followed him and we walked on for 2 hours in the fog and silvery moonlight seeping through, without realizing it. A spark flew into my hand when I struck a match to light someone's cigarette and RG put cream from a tube and tied my whole hand in his handkerchief. And when visibility waned and walking in the dark got difficult, he picked me up and crossed the little uncertain patch. I laughed but loved him for it. The nights were freezing and beautiful. RG and I took long walks, our cheeks and noses numb with the cold, sometimes on the empty roads, sometimes on the lawns of the compound. He told me of his father's death and how it shattered the family. I held his hand and he held me close and we sat silently on a flat stone for ages.

He told me about boarding school and his dreams for the future. I told him about mine.

And suddenly it was time for us to get back to our lives. We hugged for the longest time at the airport and his eyes moistened as we waved ourselves out of sight.

I have never met RG after that. We haven't even kept in touch. There was no need to. It was one of those times that come into your life, make it richer, and pass by. Leaving you feeling special for having experienced something so beautiful. A bond formed, pure and exquisite. Without expectations, without promises. It was like a dream. It will always remain that.

Mars vs Venus

2006-08-28T19:18:00.000+05:30

I like to wake up early, he doesn't.

I love eggs, he's allergic to them.

I like planning, making lists, he doesn't know what it means.

I keep my money neatly lined in my purse, his money is all over his pockets.

I like the cars parked aligned to the pillars in front, he thinks the pillars are crooked.

When something falls on the floor I pick it up, while he walks over it.

I think the TV is already too big, he thinks it's too small.

When I check out sales at the mall, his feet ache and he urgently needs to use the loo.

When we reach the BOSE showroom, he stands there rooted with healthy feet.

I point out dirt on white fans and cobwebs to clean, he thinks it's the original design and looks good.

He hates exercising, I cannot do without it.

He thinks socks are disposable wear-and-throws, I argue they aren't.

I like dry flowers and keep buying them, he hates them and throws them out.

He laps up compliments. I am very wary of them.

I love adventure sports, anything heartstopping, blood-rushing; he doesn't go near anything where he has to sign that life-indemnity-or-whatever bond.

He thinks pretty women make interesting conversations, I do not particularly agree.

He doesn't notice books missing from the shelf, I notice and get livid.

I love spicy food. He can't handle it.

I remember every button on his every shirt. He doesn't recognize too many of my clothes.

I track transactions in my bank account closely. My darling doesn't notice damage and depletion in his account, due to usage of debit card by me. THIS I LIKE.

studytime

2006-08-24T15:24:00.000+05:30

Caught this boy immersed deep in his school books on the foothpath in front of the bank. Such dedication amidst the noise and the busy road! It made me capture the scene with my phone camera.

2006-08-21T17:24:00.000+05:30

Finally getting down to the tag passed on by Getting there. Here you are -

I am thinking about: my baby niece sucking her toe and giggling, oblivious of the fact the mother is traveling on work.

I want to: learn how to swim well.

I wish: I would die before any of my family or friends.

I hear: perfectly well now after an ear operation as a child.

I wonder: often about other people's lives and how I would have lived in their shoes.

I regret: not saying the right things to the right people at the right time.

I am: very restless and yet very patient.

I dance: a lot less now.

I sing: the same lines of a song I get hooked to, the whole day and irritate even myself.

I cry: while reading books, watching telly or listening to stories

I make with my hands: the best mutter paneer my husband claims to have ever eaten (not to be taken seriously as he claims that with almost everything I make!).

I write: to de-stress, to feel good, to keep in touch.

I confuse: dreams with reality, names with faces.

I need: a hug and cuddle everyday.

And finally: I am all grown up! (Feels like just yesterday when I longed to grow up, earn my own money and do my own thing) Though it's a different matter now I long to go back to those days again. Never satisfied, I tell you!

I am not tagging anyone but as usual would ask people reading this to give it a shot. Thought provoking.

Lost in time

2006-08-12T17:33:00.000+05:30

I no longer remember what he looks like. But his name and thoughts of him always unsettle me. It's a dull ache but the heart feels light and warm. I hear my mother tell me that he visited her some time back. He's been going to see her wherever he visits the little town.

We met at 7. I went for a coaching camp and while the others went home after training I had to stay on my own in the guest house. For I was the only out of towner. So he took me home to his mother and said, "She's all alone here. Can she stay with us?"

The indulgent mother agrees. An extra bed was moved into his room and I became part of the family. A family of 3 boys and the parents. The boys were curious and happy to find a girl in the house and hung around me most of the time. On my part, I was introduced to noisy arguments at the dinner table and massive consumption of food. The youngest, my friend, was the pampered prince and used his position well.

Later there are questions about my family and thankfully it was discovered that the families knew of each other. While my parents wondered about the people who were voluntarily playing foster parents to me, this family was glad to have a little girl in their midst.

That was the beginning of a home away from home. Of a very important person in my life. We grew really thick. We shared a comfort level that the bestest of friends boast of, and a sense of security and protectiveness that siblings can account for. The whole year as we travelled together, we had each other for company. Two young people tasting life in a grown up world. The happiness was shared, so were the tears. And finally we would come back home together.

We went for practice on his little scooter. And when it ran out of gas, I would push it all the way uphill and then jump behind him to enjoy the ride down. Then there were the beautiful dates with me dressed as prettily as possible, and he, in his neatest, and off we went to have a dinner all by ourselves. We behaved like grown ups and he always paid the bill. Bach at home, I, of course, pulled his hair and we argued till his mother came and put us in separate rooms.

When I wore a saree for the first time, he held my pleats while his brother ironed my blouse. I still draped the saree the wrong way and only realized it when friends saw me in the evening and roared with laughter.

Then a bigger world beckoned and I took flight. For a supposedly better education and to settle my restless heart. College took over and the conversations got difficult. Considering it was over snail mail, a lot happened between one letter and the next. They trickled to a full stop. And finally one day, I realized I no longer know the person I grew up with. I have not spoken to him in more than 14 years. He visits my mother and she passes on titbits about him.

It might seem easy to catch up. But it isn't. He doesn't seem interested and I also have stopped making an effort. I don't know why it has to be like this. I don't even know what else it can be like. But honest, it leaves my heart dull and soft.

When it rained cats, dogs and birds...

2006-08-08T15:51:00.000+05:30

Some more Steam Engine banter

2006-07-29T17:51:00.000+05:30

10 years back.

Steam Engine comes looking for me "Let's go to Vama's. There's a sale on at Benneton's."

"I don't want anything. I don't want to go."

"Hey, come with me. I want to buy a t-shirt. "

"So go."

"But you know more about t-shirts. You wear them all the time. "

"Yes. So?"

"Come and help me choose. I can't decide on my own."

"Ufff... okay."

At the shop, Steam Engine flits from rack to rack and holds several tees against her chest in front of the mirror.

"Hey, tell me, what do you like?"

"This one's smart. You'll look good."

"I don't like it. What do you think of this one?"

"Okay, but the neck doesn't suit you."

"Hmmm..., and this?"

"It's so transparent! I can even see the lace on your bra! Leave it. Check this one."

"Hmmm... but I like it."

"Listen you can't wear such transparent t-shirts and jump about in local trains and buses!!"

"Okay, I will wear a bra without lace."

"Don't act smart! You can't take it."

"Don't tell me what I can buy and what I can't!"

By this time decibel levels were rising alarmingly.

"You got me to help you choose and I am not letting you buy that slutty thing!"

"You shut up! What do you know about t-shirts!!"

"WHAT DO I KNOW ABOUT T-SHIRTS?!! Fine! Do your own bloody shopping! I am going!" I stormed out lest I did something heavenly like strangling her there and then.

Later, Steam Engine comes back and tells the rest of the gang about the whole episode. "What do you know about t-shirts?" She shouts across at me and laughs like a hyena. And for a month after that even though I avoided Steam Engine and didn't talk to her, she kept repeating the same story to everyone in front of me and kept on laughing. Till. Till something major distracted her - she broke her leg. But that, of course, is another story.

Steam Engine banter

2006-07-28T12:58:00.000+05:30

Steam Engine (SE) came over to spend the night.

I had SMSed her. "If you don't mind eating leftovers, come over. There's a grand spread."

Suddenly I saw a vision of SE sitting on the floor in front of my cupboard, cruelly pulling out ironed tops and kurtas. Rendering my cupboard unrecognizable.

A hasty SMS followed. "I hope you have a change. My sexy clothes will not fit your oversized bulk."

SE immediately called as expected. "Who are you calling oversized, smartie? I am fitter than you and I am going to wear your clothes to office tomorrow!!"

An hour later, SE stands ourside my door and calls me, "Hey, I am in the wrong place, reached the 8th floor. Which floor are you on?" I open the door and let her in.

"Leave those dirty sandals out."

"You sure? They are really expensive."

"Yes, yes, nobody steals such grimy sandals even if they are reeboks."

"Aaaahhh, I am so tired!!"

"God, you have gotten so fat, SE!"

"Have I now?"

"I notice your weight is always proportionate to your salary... what's that plastic you are dragging?"

"Dirty clothes... last night I spent the night at a colleague's place after finishing work at 2.30am."

"So did you finish your story?"

"No, none of the gigolos were picked up. So we finally went home, tired and sleepy. I am heading for a shower."

"Okay, give me all your dirty clothes... I will put them in the machine. You can iron and wear them to work tomorrow."

SE enters my bedroom and starts stripping.

"Give me a fresh towel. Do you have some good shampoo?"

"Hey, use the other bathroom."

"No, I am fine here."

"Huh! See, you won't be comfortable. It's wet. All our stuff is there."

"Good. Listen I have used this bathroom before. I am okay... wow, my favourite shampoo!"

In the morning, I go to the gym, get back, shower, let in my maid, clean up a bit, read the papers, grill sandwiches, squeeze juice and go to check on SE. She was snoring like a lion. By this time, hubby is showered and ready. And we eat a leisurely breakfast.

"Can you wake her up? I need to work now." (The guest room doubles up as working studio during the day.)

I open her door and holler, "Steam Engine!!! Wake up!! Dont you have to go to work? It's 10 o'clock."

"STEAM ENGINE!!"

"STEAM ENGINE!!!"

"Why you screaming? I am awake."

As SE roams around like a zombie with an iron in her hand and heading for the bathroom door, the maid quips, "I am making tea."

"Half a cup for me too please." requests the hubby.

"What about you SE? You want some tea?"

"No".

"Have some."

"No."

"Are you sure? Don't want a cup?"

"Is she making tea?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Half a cup for me then." Announcing which she goes in for a long bath.

SE is bathed and eating hot grilled sandwiches with lukewarm tea.

"Wow! Lovely! Is there any more tea?"

"No. But she can make you some if you want."

"No. Forget it."

After 5 minutes, SE goes to the kitchen and I hear conversation.

"The tea was very good."

"Hehe... ... you had it cold, madam."

"Yes, but I asked for only half a cup."

"Hmmm... hehe... ..."

"Why don't you tell her directly you want more?" I scream from the dining table.

"So good, I should have asked you for more than half a cup."

"hehe... ..."

SE comes out and makes a face at me "It didn't work."

After more quabbling, chatting, and eating, SE leaves for work after lunch.

This is a routine that happens every couple of months. SE and I, part of a much larger group have known each other for 12 years now. But we can never get by without sniggering and screaming at each other every time we meet. By the end of our time together we are abusing each other and promising never to meet again. A promise that is very ill kept.

My 5 weirdies

2006-07-26T16:55:00.000+05:30

At the rate I update the blog it's a waste passing on a tag to me. Here I will get on with the first of the two tags. Swathi tagged me into listing 5 weird things about myself and then passing it on to 5 others.

This wouldn't be interesting because all the weird habits or things in this house of two belong to only one person. And that person is not me. Tra la lala la. But I shall honour the tag and seek deep into my perfect self.

1. I always need curtains to be in place. When drawn, there should be equal distance between the loops and pleats. And guess who is always instructed to reach up and arrange everytime.

2. I eat with my left hand. I am never full if I eat with my right hand.

3. I still write old fashioned letters in hand. But strangely I never get down to posting them.

4. I am restless. I get up even in the middle of the night if I remember something like somebody using my bathroom and start cleaning it at that hour.

5. When my 7 month old niece is awake, I put her to sleep. When she is sleeping, I wake her up. (This would fall more under cruelty to infant than being weird, I think.)

Now the list has began, I can actually go on. But will not tag anyone. I will just ask people who are reading to give it a shot. It's a fine exercise, really.

The ice skater

2006-07-19T19:56:00.001+05:30

Some time back when there were a lot of people in the house and there was pressure to entertain them in different ways day after day, we ended up scaling new heights.

One afternoon, hubby and I walked into an ice skating rink and waved at our lot of people in the viewers' gallery. The only problem was that before that day, all the skating we had done was of the roller types.

Feet strapped into the heavy skates, standing on the razor like blade itself was an art. A balancing art we tried to master with arms stretched wide and fake smiles plastered on the faces. The audience cheered. Holding on to the walls and then the railing, I walked gingerly into the rink. Hubby waved his arms about and managed to move. Slowly and cautiously I let go of the railing and moved too. "Hey, both of you come over here! I want to get a pic!" said a familiar voice. I didn't look up.

We managed to come closer to the voice and stand next to each other. Photo session over, hubby found some confidence and started moving faster. Soon he was circling the rink and passing me again and again. I noticed while crossing me his arms and legs would swing some more. No longer able to let go of his moment of glory, he called out as he passed me for the 4th time. "Hey, look at me. Watch the master skater!!" And the next moment, thud!! His butt hit the smoking frozen ice hard.

And now as I rub iodex on his tailbone every night, I throw him a little pearl of wisdom which he is not going to forget in a hurry, "Remember darling, pride is always always followed by a great fall."

Peeping through clouds yesterday

2006-07-18T16:21:00.000+05:30

Growling dark clouds were chasing me. I ran as fast as my little legs could manage. The wind surrounded me, fierce and howling. The tall eucalyptus trees lining the road ahead bent over in reverence to a force they could do nothing but obey. Running didn't really require much strength as I was carried along by the wind.

As the grey dullness acquired a darker shade, I clanged the wrought iron gate open and sprinted up the driveway. Finally, home. A heart stopping roar of thunder hit hard and lightning streaked everything menacingly. I saw shattered glass lying about as Ma opened the door a wee bit to let me in. With the storms, windowpanes banged hard and broke regularly.

And then, from the warm and cozy comforts inside, I kneel on a high chair and watch in amazement the fury that unfurls outside. Suddenly it's an anti climax as everything is soothed by rain slashing down hard. Visibility becomes a uniform hazy blur and the rhythmic pouring of rain leaves nothing more to see. I get off my chair and head towards the plate of sizzling fries and hot cakes.

This is how childhood was. But even today whenever the sky turns grey, I unconsciously look for bending trees. I watch the clouds rolling by in wonder. I see the top of the hills disappear in a mist of cloud and prepare myself for deafening thunder. I rush and make myself some coffee to sip with hot samosas. I invite memories of a time lived in a little town with rains throughout the year.

And today, a little bit of childhood did come calling.

SLAP THE BLOCK!

2006-07-18T16:13:00.000+05:30

Time stopped for me. Life too almost stopped. So much has changed. Yet nothing has changed at all.

Good to get down to blogging again.

All the more since blogspot got banned. Does someone really think that blocking a site can help achieve anything?

Intellect beyond reason

2006-05-24T00:38:00.000+05:30

We were serious students at 20. A step away from tackling the world. Two steps away from making our own money. We had plans for the universe, for the way people thought and behaved. And when we died we thought we would have left a different and better place than the one we were born into.

Since we lived a lot on air we had enough time to shoot the breeze. As we sipped coffees and bit into sandwiches, we talked of living lives unbinding. We insisted on having our own minds, not giving in to social norms.

In came Mr K who pushed us towards our dreams. And laughed at us behind our backs. At a respected 45, married with kids and a couple of published books to his name, he was an authority on creative writing. And we clung to his every word. We were ashamed that Mr K thought us to be unsure and not ready yet to follow our paths. It embarassed us when M came back from sharing his bed one day and said that Mr K has offered to 'pick everybody's cherries.'

"Your friends need to loosen up. I bet they haven't been with any men. It's time they know what life is about. Get them to me and I could help pick their cherries." Exact words that were told to 20 year old M, who was the real writer among us and kept telling us "you need to experience to write."

Thankfully none of us took up his offer to help even though we were in awe of the man.

Now years later, I wonder why we didn't react some more. Why we couldn't stop the man from making such obscene offers all the time. Why we didn't do more than laugh when M narrated it to us. And finally why we didn't confront him and used some muscle power on him, trashing him well.

It infuriates me to think he could be still sleeping around with girls his daughter's age and some naive dumb girl must be waiting for intellect to get tranferred from him to her. But I hope one day there will be someone who will break his nuts before he can pick any cherries.

2006-05-17T13:25:00.000+05:30

Everytime I think of writing something, it's no longer enough. It's no longer what I want to write. It's just not what I thought a long time ago that I would be writing. It's not what I feel happy writing.

The mind travels to a time when there was a little diary and pretty pens with coloured ink that I always carried in my bag. And used all the time at the strangest of places. A local train, a platform bench, a 3am-glass-of-water-need turning into an hour of writing furiously. As the world sleeps, I sit silently on my desk by the large window and look out to the looming building and try to catch a glimpse of the sea beyond? the mystery of the night tells its own story. I listen.

Sometimes I walk out to the dimly lit long corridor and then find my friend M walking out herself. We go to the stairs and sit together. We weave stories. We talk of different lives. We wrap each other in fascinating webs of the most amazing tales. We talk of past lives, we live them again. Some real, some surreal.

And then when we know the moon has travelled to the other side of the sky, we go back to our rooms and sleep.

In the morning, it's another day. I try to relive the stories of the night but they always seem to have flown away. But while they lasted in the night, I tell you, I lived like no human had lived before.

An Obsessive Compulsive Disorder

2006-05-03T16:45:00.000+05:30

So I had been unwell. But in such a state, how do you deal with an OCD infected person?

It was a big medical centre, closer to home, that we went to. You have to queue up and pay the fees before and get a paper with the doctor's name and payment details before you even saw the doctor's room.

We were guided along a corridor and at the far end, there was a crowd seated against the wall. I knew they were all there to see the same doctor. They all looked like me and I was sure, felt like me too. Weak and feverish. Surprisingly they were all middle aged to elderly people. One old woman was on a wheelchair. I wondered what I was doing wrong to be getting sick at my age.

Just as we were about to sit down and wait our turn, a short perky nurse came and pointed to 2 chairs ahead. We walked there and sat. In some time, 2 patients came out the doctor's door. The nurse showed 2 more patients inside. Then she asked some others to shift to their place. And some others to take THEIR place.

After another patient had walked inside the doctor's door, she asked me and hubby to shift. I dragged myself. Then I saw the mad nurse ask an old lady to take another seat. The poor old lady limped and waddled there. I leaned close to hubby and whispered, "Bad case of OCD! Wants to keep rearranging things, including sick patients too!" Hubby nodded quietly, scared that she might hear and make us shift again.

I looked around and tried to figure out her criteria for the ever changing sitting arrangements. Was it age... or dressing... or colour... or even the way people looked... yes, right! She wanted to make sure how sick people were and how fast they could play musical chairs!! I smiled to myself. She caught my eye and pointed to another seat. I moved obediently.

She turned to seat a sick woman who was obviously very weak and came leaning on a man. I wanted to see whether she would remember where she sat me if I changed places quickly. I took a huge leap before hubby could stop me and landed on an empty seat just as she turned around. I looked at her in defiance. She lifted her arm and just then, a bell rang and the doctor's door opened. It was my turn to go in.

I smiled triumphantly at her and almost pumped my fist as I walked in.

bless you!

2006-04-14T17:40:00.000+05:30

So I sent my facial lady to my friend's house. I love the whole idea of being able to chill at home while someone pampers you silly. Massages your face and body, scrubs your feet and paints your nails. While you snore away to glory or just close your eyes and see heaven.

My friend whose house facial lady went to, persuaded her visiting ma-in-law to have her maiden pedicure.

And then, as facial lady got down to ma-in-law's feet for the pedicure, the elderly lady blessed her.

Pleasantly surprised, facial lady smiled and carried on. And for the entire hour that facial lady cleaned and massaged ma-in-law's feet, the elderly lady kept blessing her. And blessing her. And blessing her.

Join me. Say - awwwww!!!

"you are the best... you are the best... you are the best!!" It works.

2006-03-23T01:40:00.000+05:30

I am a woman in a state of pure bliss. These days I get to eat what I want, made at home, made by loving hands. I don't have a new cook. The title has been conferred upon the hubby.

I have to digress to explain this. This is the time of the year that hubby gets nostalgic. Not for people or place. But for food. For his favourite vegetable which of course we do not find in this city. Very tender baby drumsticks. We find only the thick giant sized fully matured ones here.

It all started when we got a parcel of this craved for vegetable sent from home. Severe long distance consultations followed and the cooking began. I got home from office and snacked heavily. Wasn't sure about dinner timings. I hogged my solo TV time and tuned into melodramatic soaps while gorging on mom's coconut sweets sent the week before. Yes, we have been that lucky!

So apart from "Hey I need to grind these! How do you run this thing?" and "Are you sure these yellow weirdies are called mustard seeds?" I was left undisturbed. Finally, my multi talented man managed to cook the wretched vegetable in the style his childhood was used to. In tomato and mustard paste. Under ordinary circumstances, I wouldn't touch it, but here I was lapping it up with praises in every mouthful.

And it finally paid off.

"You like it?" Expectantly.

"Amazing! Never tasted anything this good before!! Slurp!!!"

"Do you think, I really cook well?" A little excited.

"Of course, sweetheart! I have realised you are an amazing cook!"

"Seriously?" Just a question, hardly needs affirmation anymore.

"And it's not just these drumbloodysticks. My guess is that you will now make magic with all kinds of cooking!!"

"You are joking." I detected a pleased smile on his face.

"I swear, I am not."

"Okay, tell me what you want to eat. Anything. Just name it. Hey, from now no, I will make you different things, exotic dishes, your favourites, everyday!!"

"Wow! You are so good with everything you do! I am almost jealous of you!!"

"Yesyes." Confident air of finality. The world-is-mine-attitude.

And my blissful dinners began. These days, as I leave office, an SMS precedes me home, "Tonight you may make me mutton, dry and spicy."

when the heavens opened

2006-03-09T10:50:00.000+05:30

5.30 am, the alarm goes off. I toss and switch it off, give myself another 5 minutes and snuggle close to hubby. Then I am up in the dark,swagger to the bathroom and flick on the light. As I vigoriously brush my teeth, the lights go off and I am wide awake. The threatened loadshedding? I strike a match and light two of my fat white candles in the bathroom and get dressed.

I look out of the balcony. Buildings in the far off suburb are lit. There is a strange navy blue hue all around. I rush to watch the eastern sky. It's getting purplish, and then I see a flash of light. Magic. The white curtains in the house glowed with a bluish reflection. I pulled them open and saw my entire house bathed in a shimmery blue. The white floor became the sky. I sat and watched my plants and thought they smiled at me.

Another flash struck beyond the hills. It was lightning! A very light rumble. I wait for that flash of beauty again. A strange calm settles in as dawn decides to break. I watch the sky let out slivers of silvery light through purple grey clouds. A rooster crows far off and breaks the silence. I am glad it survived the suspected bird flu massacre.

Suddenly the lights come on and it's a bright new day. Magic lingers for a while and then quietly slips away. I sigh and head to the gym. That's when the heavens opened and the rains came pouring down. The smell of dust hit me. I danced in joy, along with the palm trees. When I walked out of the gym, it was a squeaky clean day and with fresh blossoms and the most refreshingly green trees. I revelled in the power of the heavens, to simply bring in so much beauty. For no reason at all.

On an afterthought, there was a reason. Hubby's friend, a young man full of life was very sick last night. Severe stomach pain landed him in hospital. But with the city's doctors on strike, he was unattended and left helpless. Not much later, the heavens opened up to welcome him.

a prayer

2006-02-23T00:14:00.000+05:30

Changes are subtly taking place. I love it all. Things long forgotten are stirring again. Each day is a new beginning.

But there are tough adjustments. Like making it to the gym at the crack of dawn. Waiting to pounce on one of the treadmills. And watching in amazement as new people walk in everyday. Gym in the morning means sweating alongside men. Some really unpleasant smelling ones with no sense of hygiene!

Lord, you have always stood by me in my hour of need. Now please show these men the true meaning of deodorants.

Love is waking up to a scarlet hue

2006-02-15T01:48:00.000+05:30

It's been long.

A new job, new perspectives, plenty to catch up on... and the blog suffers.

But finally there is peace in the mind, there is happiness in the heart. There always was. But for now this feels better.

I still recall writing the last valentine post, and here I am, a few days later, writing another one. Or is it really a year later? Such is the way I am riding on time.

It's been a lovely day. My man made me breakfast. Yes, it's something to gloat about after days of slaving away. The maid's on long leave and forgotten to come back. The usual surprise flowers woke me up. I got lovely additions to the wardrobe.

And finally, a lovely dinner, wearing new clothes from head to toe. Must admit I turned quite a few heads as I walked.

Coming up in the elevator, I sighed and planted a sleepy kiss on hubby. "Another valentine's day over... it's been lovely..."

"Ya, baby... hey what's this? OH MY GOD! It's the price tag on your shirt! You have been walking around with that thing hanging behind you!!!"

Knock! Knock!

2006-01-28T21:30:00.000+05:30

I dont like sick jokes, especially if it's not me cracking them!

On a lazy evening, when legs are entwined, the TV is the most interesting thing, and arms are getting tired of moving to and fro carrying sinful little delightful bites from bowl to mouth.

He: I could make you cry without you realising.

I: Reaaallllly??? Try me, sweetheaaaart...

He: Knock! Knock!

I: Who's there?

He: Boo

I: Boo who? (Then seeing triumphant look on the male's face) Sick! Sick!

He: See, now you learnt a new one! But I must tell you it'll backfire if you try it with a Black rapper. A bartender was all set to see his smart regular client in tears.

Bartender: Knock! Knock!

Black Rapper: Who's there?

Bartender: Boo

Black Rapper: Boo the who?

Bartender started crying.

Bodily epiphany

2006-01-26T20:58:00.000+05:30

These days I feel like Cleoparta herself. No seriously.

The reflection of the body that looks back at me from the bathroom mirror reminds me of the statues I had seen in Egypt. The best reflection is the gym mirror's as I see an immediate effect. I feel like Salman Khan himself as he pumps up before a shot and flaunts a bare, oiled body. And I feel a strange contentment. I refuse to look at the face for I will be flung far away from Egypt. But the body, yes.

The statues were so real life. Completely womanly with a little stomach that's by no means wash board flat. Little graceful imperfections. Sometimes even a slight slouch that only a woman can perfect. And yet so proud of it all. So unlike the impossibly endowed female statues of an Indian past. With impossibly huge bosoms, impossibly slim waist, impossibly well rounded behind and finally holding an impossibly seductive pose.

Statues in Egypt showed themselves off proudly. Quite like us. Or at least what we can aim to achieve. Lovely moments of lovely women, in a lovely era. Where life was filled with the best of food, games, wines, perfumes, clothes and healthy sex. None of which can be balanced today without the body and soul suffering the consequences.

And right now, I fear the body's taken over.

Bombay Bloggers Meet

2006-01-26T20:35:00.000+05:30

Melody asked me to spread the word around.

Bombay Bloggers Meet on Tuesday, 31st of January, 6 p.m. at the Carter Road - Cafe Coffee Day (Bandra West).

The full address is:

Shop No. 14/15,
Gagangiri Premises Building,
Ground Floor,
Carter Road
Bandra
Mumbai-52

I think it's the first one this year. Would be fun. So Bombay bloggers, get ready to meet the faces behind the posts!

I think you need to confirm your attendance. Check http://www.thevoiceinmyhead.com/ for that.

electrically speaking

2006-01-19T15:02:00.000+05:30

I am electric hot. If there is such a word. Not in the physically seductive sense. It's just that I get electric shocks all the time. From the most unassuming of things.

As a kid, I had a tough time, when any electrical appliance I touched was enough to raise my hair. I would heat the iron for a quick smoothening of creases and jerk back as soon as I touch the iron. The electric oven was another monster. Even simple lamps and bulbs gave me a shock.

So I gave up ironing. And cooking too was out of bounds for some time. More so because I got burnt a lot. I still light my gas stove with a matchstick. Because using a lighter sends currents through my body.

Then it got worse as current flowed out of door handles, TV screen, computer keyboard, just about anything. Initially my husband got a thrill getting me to touch his musical keyboard. He would take my forefinger and without warning keep it on one edge of the keyboard. And I would shriek. He thought I was doing it for kicks but later realised I was serious when I screamed like mad.

Then it got to people. I started getting shocks when I touched people or anyone touched me. Sometimes in between bouts of romantic notions, I would quietly creep up on the husband when he was playing and wrap my arms around him only to be shocked. I, of electric current types and he, normal scared types. And I would yelp. And he would yelp. "NEVER do that again!!!"

It was a problem in office. A colleage would tap me or gently touch me, and I would bolt back, prompting them to say, "sorry, didn't mean to startle you" and look at me oddly. Sometimes I tried explaining, "Nonono! This current passed when you touched me!" Only to be mocked, "Oh, didn't know I had that effect on you." First people were amused then I suppose it got tiresome. They thought I had gone loony.

Then for some time, things got better. The nervewhecking feeling was not so frequent. And I wondered if I was saved a death by electrocution.

But of late, it's back. And I suffer most in the gym. The treadmill seems to be getting a sadistic pleasure out of seeing me swing my hands wildly whenever I punch the speed increase button or downward button. The other women around think I am trying some new stunt. Weirdly even the rubber wrapped handles give me a shock. I keep my towel over it and then slowly get my hand on it. I tried confiding in a seriously-gymming-woman, hoping she feels the same. She smiled sweetly and I knew, if I ever came up in their conversations, I would be branded a nutcase.

The only pleasure I get is out of the vibrator*. I have long given it up myself. It anyways made me feel like 100 watts of voltage was passing through me. But I love to watch the others. A sight, I tell you, sure makes up for the electrifying shocks I had been suffering all these years. These women look like they are on the electric chair. Only there is no chair and they try to keep a straight face as every part of the body is violently jiggled. They actually queue up for the torture and derive a strange satiated kind of satisfaction as they wind up their routine with the vibrator. And watching them, I tell myself, the contraption has been aptly named.

*Edited to crush illicit thoughts - By vibrator, I mean a menacing machine at the gym, which has a wide belt and once strapped on, does some powerful pummelling to the body.

Bihu tales

2006-01-13T00:03:00.000+05:30

It's the night of feasting and then prowling the neighbourhood to whack anything that could be burnt in the bonfire.

Like Lohri, in Assam it is Bihu celebrated on a cold wintry day in January. Of course this is not the Bihu that brings in the new year. That happens in April. As best as I remember, this January Bihu is simply to feast at night, and burn the traditional bonfire with a prayer, first thing in the morning.

But in between the feast and the bonfire ritual, a whole night of activites take place. First families, friends and the neighbourhood gather to cook outside and eat around a fire. Plenty of singing, dancing and games take place as sweet potaotes and corn cobs are poked deep into the fire to roast. After dinner, teenage boys act smart and go out. The idea is to steal neighbours' wooden and bamboo fences to burn the traditional bonfire with. Now most neighbours are alert and sometimes even put up extra lights around their houses to spot prowlers.

We girls never went. Though I did have a friend who was supposed to be a star performer on these nights. She could pull off a job very neatly without getting caught. Of course, we held her in high esteem.

My brother was often a part of these groups. Peer pressure. All the stealing he was used to, was getting his own things pinched all the time. And we wondered why he was included in the group with such a poor record. And then we knew why. My darling brother contributed in a big way.

One year, when the group couldn't steal anything as people all over were alert, my stupid brother led them to our house! Imagine, his own place! They neatly removed the bamboo fencing from the front while my parents caught their forty winks. And next morning the bonfire at the club (where all the boys celebrated) was crackling happily, fuelled with our fence. My poor parents got a shock when they saw the bare lawn and flowerbeds. Some of the rascals had even lined the road outside with mom's treasured flowerpots. Much later my brother confessed.

The next year, the lad was warned not repeat his stupid act and threatened with dire consequences. Though of course, the parents remained alert this time. Son was last seen going out with his prized cricket bat to the club. Ahh... all well. The feast happened. All danced and sang around the fire at night. We were proud not even a twig could be flicked from home this time. And next morning the bonfire at the club was crackling happily. We wondered who were the poor victims this time. Much later brother confessed. Again. Remember the prized cricket bat? Martyr brother let it go up in flames just so his friends could have a bonfire to pray to!

2006-01-08T20:14:00.000+05:30

Someone in our house of two loses a lot of things. Regularly. The same someone lost a very expensive pair of designer goggles two days back. The excuse when growled at was very lame "Anyways I was tired of them. I am done with them now!"

And no, that someone is not me. If it was, I wouldn't be so upset.

Why is it always so difficult to tolerate someone else's mistakes?

Happy New Year!!

2006-01-02T22:33:00.000+05:30

As we drove back, it was a moment I have lived a million times. Yet the feeling has not waned. The setting sun spread a warm glow all over an open sky. The horizon looked mysterious and inviting and held the promise of exciting prospects.

When you are on the theshold of a new beginning, there is a feeling of freedom, of letting go of the past, of being in control. And it is the beginning of another brand new year.

It was the end of the first day of the new year. Yes folks, I took your advice and honoured tradition. We went for a picnic.

Of course, nothing was the same like it was 20 years ago. The roles were reversed. We were the adults occasionally shouting "dont go there!" and explaining "a hammock is called that because I say so!" We had none of the grace or knowledge our parents had. We packed chips, chocolates, cakes, diet pepsi, red bull, and designer goggles. We checked into a nature resort and ate food cooked by professional chefs. A far cry from the huge cauldrons hanging over crackling fires. But we did manage to have a good time. A day I hope I'll be able to recall 20 years later and blog about. That, ladies and gentleman, is an subtle indication of how long I should be sticking around in blogspere!

On another note, I realise I haven't been very regular here. The intentions are so clear but the actions just don't seem to follow suit. There were much interesting and nice things that happened and there was much to write about. But I'll let bygones be bygones and look at the year ahead. All of you have a fantastic new year!

Gaul revisited

2005-12-20T19:39:00.000+05:30

Christmas arrives in a couple of days. This year, I haven't yet felt the buzz. But sure I will, as we put up little stockings and do up our tree today. A real pine tree which has grown taller than me. The best part is I am not going to cut and kill it. It will stand in its pot and breathe and laugh as we fuss around it.

Add to it there is a chill in the air and it's making me walk around the house in granny socks. More for old time's sake than any real need of desperate warmth. Hubby finds them really ugly and calls me names. And I say he should have seen me long long ago when Christmas time had me in granny stockings, cap and muffler. And now for added value, I add the stooped shuffling walk too.

Oh, how the winters were spent with a heater which had coal pieces. As we huddled around listening to stories that loomed larger than life. In the night, the shadows grew bigger and took life as we watched in revered amazement. Hot dinners were relished using as little of the hands as possible. Taking off your gloves or taking out your hands from the cocooned warmth was painful. And today I wonder how the dishes got done. Slowly my heart fills up as my mom's calm face flash in front of me.

We longed to get into bed. The first minute of slipping under the heavy quilt was numbing and slowly as the warmth spread all over comfortably, there would be that dreaded feeling. Oh no! But how long can a bladder hold in winter?

The mornings brought with it a dew fresh day. Fog and mist covered the world. Cheeks are rubbed with cold cream as I cycle or jog down the lane. I cannot see much ahead and am glad for the cream that shields my uncovered face and lips. I wait for the sun. Sometimes it appears briefly, sometimes it doesn't. I can no longer see the outline of the blue mountains that are so clearly visible on a clear summer day. I don't even see the tall trees which are much closer, all around our little town. Maybe just a hint of it for that assurance of familiarity. I always wondered how the winter nights had a clear steely moon freezing everything in sight but the days were dunked in fog.

And then Christmas arrives and we celebrate it as always. Our parents never went to new year parties leaving us kids at home. I remember having a good dinner with family and friends and going to bed long before midnight. There was a reason for that. Because on the first day of the new year, we got up early and excited. It was the picnic day! A huge number of people got into a bus and drove off to the picture perfect riverside. We seemed to know all the kids and the all the parents knew each other. Checkered sheets were spread and while the elders got down to having their own laughs and organising the food, we kids played around or went to explore the wilderness further off.

And picnics those days meant that a huge feast was spread out with everything cooked from scratch at the site itself. So amidst much merry making, vegetables were chopped and chicken, ducks and fish were ready to be roasted. In no time there were fires burning and huge cauldrons hanging over them. The aroma carried for miles and we followed it back at lunchtime. Strangely I don't remember carrying water for all the cooking and cleaning. The crystal clear spring water was used and nobody had ever heard of water borne diseases till then. There was a lot of cheer and laughter. Much like a scene straight out of an Asterix comics, now that I think of it. And I think we did have a bard too. Except he wasn't called Cacafonix.

Egyptian tales in pics - 3

2005-12-09T23:55:00.000+05:30

1. The temple of Hashepsut. This temple cocooned by mountains is very majestic and well preserved even after thousands of years. I have a breathtaking arial shot but sadly the camera's acting funny while downloading.

2. Statues at the entrance of Luxor Temple. I was as tall as their toes!

3. These statues at the Cairo museum takes your breath away with their sheer size. They could not fit in the massive doors and had to brought in through the roof from where they were found.

4. The Valley of the Kings. After the pyramids (where they laid their kings to rest) were raided and looted, the early pharoahs decided to have their burial tombs at this valley, which was reached through rough mountain terrains, hoping they would be unfound and safe there. (Unfortunately, man did find them and today hundreds of tourists climb laboriously to admire the tombs of ancient kings!) One of my favourite places and the amount of climbing n crawling done here is unbelievable!

5. Mummified crocodile, over 4000 years old, at the Temple of Kom Ombu. When crocodiles on the Nile attacked the early Egyptians, they were advised by the priest to pray to the Crocodile God, Sovek.

Egyptian tales in pics - 2

2005-12-07T13:11:00.000+05:30

1. Everytime we got back from town, the liner would extend the walkway for us. (That's me in red with Beryl and David)

2. Belly dancer in action. She got me to jiggle with her but I just couldn't manage it. Maybe if I was dressed like her...

3. Cairo airport

4. Sefer tossing breakfast eggs for me at the Sheraton.

5. The cleaners left towel delights like this in our cabin on the liner. Really sweet!

Egyptian tales in pics - 1

2005-12-06T19:49:00.001+05:30

Everything about Egypt is larger than life. Their monuments, their stories, their beliefs.

Since everybody's been asking for pics, I'll keep posting them in batches of 5. (Blogger doesn't allow more than 5 at one go)

1. Huge statues of Ramsis II at the Karnak Temple. The statues are positioned like mummies. This puzzled historians as mummies and the dead are on the west bank. Temples are on the east and has statues in living positions.

2. Temple of Kom Ombu as seen from the deck.

3. Profile of the towering Sphinx

4. Entrance of Karnak Temple

5. The 2nd pyramid, Chephren. We crawled deep inside it. It was a strange feeling.

Finally walking like an Egyptian

2005-12-06T02:08:00.000+05:30

I am back from holidaying in Egypt.

I cannot even attempt to describe the feeling of stepping into an era when the mighty pharoahs ruled, when daily life was richer and much much advanced than today. A civilization that flourished 5000 years ago.

But I will still attempt. More of the experiences than the facts and figures.

The first thing that struck us as we landed in Cairo was its size. Huge and bustling with life. The women are sizzling HOT. They dress stylishly, cover their heads and drive very fast, sometimes with a slim cigarette between their fingers.

The Sheraton is a beautiful hotel. But going by 5 star standards in India, it lacks a wee bit in grandeur and doesn't intimidate you, thankfully. The food was good, though vegetarians will not have much to choose from. But we were there to explore, gawk, gape and admire. And we did just that.

The pyramids, the sphinx told their own story. But the Cairo museum is the master storyteller. Everything discovered, that could be moved without any damage has been moved there. The rest like the mummified body of Tutankhamun still lay in the Valley of the Kings.

We got a taste of Cairo's famed nightlife as we walked about window shopping after a long dinner where we were entertained by belly dancing and some amazing performances.

A 4 day cruise on the Nile was very relaxing. Beautiful cabins to sleep in, a lounge bar, a swimming pool, and a sun deck to lounge on were the best part. We didn't bother much with the other areas on the liner. As we sailed along the Nile, it was a journey through thousands of years of an ancient civilization.

While the ship docked at every port, we scampered with an Arabic accented, barely speaking-English guide to seek some more. The magnificent Karnak Temple, built over several centuries by several dynasties on 65 hectares of land. Close to it, the Luxor Temple, another monument of awesome beauty.

On the west bank lay the Valley of the Kings and Valley of the Queens. Easily one of my favourite sites, we walked across the valley to have a look at the tombs of ancient pharaohs that ruled history. Thutmosis III, Ramsis II, Tutankhamun.

At pretty little Edfu, we visited the Temple of Horus, the best conserved temple in Egypt. That evening saw us at the Temple of Kom Ombu, with the picturesque little town below. We roamed the streets lined with pretty little ethnic shops.

Sailing on to Aswan, the Nile turned more blue. We woke up to the sight of pretty feluccas all around, the gorgeous botanical garden ahead and the Agha Khan Mausoleum in the distance. We realized why Aswan is called the most beautiful city in Egypt.

After two more divine days of sightseeing, sunning and eating, it was time to head back home. As our newly made British friends from the cruise hugged us tight, invitations and promises flowed back and forth to visit each other. I admit the holiday was better with them thrown in.

As we flew back, the warmth of this land of mystery and magic was hard to shake off. The loud and friendly greetings of the locals, always looking for baksheesh (tips) rang in my ears as I smiled at my dependable cabbie in Bombay. And I sent up a silent prayer of thanks.

Salom Egypt!

2005-11-26T00:59:00.000+05:30

And finally bro in law left to join sis and baby in the US.

And finally I am off to Egypt for a holiday with hubby.

I am excited about walking on the banks of the Nile tonight. And tomorrow I shall stand at the same spot as Alexander the Great and gaze at the pyramids in Giza.

There is much to do and much to see in the next few days.

And when I come back, I will be a changed person having seen an ancient history. Not to mention the change in gait as I try to walk like an Egyptian!

living a lavender dream...

2005-11-22T13:58:00.000+05:30

Hubby filled the house with gorgeous orchids on my birthday.

A star is born

2005-11-19T03:50:00.000+05:30

This was my best birthday ever. I became a first time aunt. My sis delivered a little baby girl on my birthday.

We weren't prepared. She went to the US for a week on work, seven and a half months pregnant. She even wished me for my birthday and the next thing we hear was, she was uneasy, got hospitalised and delivered her baby there.

First we were shocked. Then overjoyed. Then reality sinks in. She is stuck there for the next 3 months at least. Bro in law is trying to get there as soon as possible. My parents back home are worried. Mom's going on repeating "I knew she shouldn't have been working and travelling so much. My poor child! Giving birth all alone in that strange country!"

This thus was my craziest party. I had no clue what was happening. Happiness gripped me as I struggled for sanity. The gang and some more turned up. I got lovely gifts and rude comments. Hubby wins hands down for drinking the most. Not that anyone was sponsporing a prize. But he probably felt nobody deserves to drink his booze more than he himself. The food was fantastic and the evening turned out lovely.

Thank you God, for a brand new scorpio niece, who all my friends are praying doesn't turn out to be like me!

no need to RSVP

2005-11-17T19:42:00.000+05:30

My friend R calls.

"So big bash and all, heh! Celebrating birthday in style!!"

"Who, me? No...ooo..."

"**** just called me now..."

Turning to the hubby "Did you call R?"

Nods resignedly.

R quickly hangs up, realising. " Listen, listen, I am getting late. Will speak to you later."

I just love the fact that all my friends can be so trusted upon to keep a secret.

So there. Hubby is throwing a 'surprise' party tomorrow. All are invited. Can sleep over if cannot walk home straight.

A juicy story

2005-11-08T23:56:00.000+05:30

The sun couldn't have been brighter. It was a typical sunday. When you donned a cotton sleeveless tee and capris, perched your goggles on your nose and went to the supermarket, and to finish all odd jobs left for the weekend. As a kid, we went for fresh veggies that the villagers came to sell under the bridge. We did grow our own but Dad had to make that trip. Then I washed the car with dad and the highlight was splashing water with the long hosepipe. Sometimes there was an oil massage in winter, then a shower followed by a lovely lunch.

Anyway last sunday, it was past noon when we headed back home. I waited as hubby again stopped to buy a door handle he wanted to fix himself. My left arm was tanned dark from sitting on the left side. It was getting very hot inside the car. On the side of the road I spotted a stall, under an umbrella which hardly served the purpose of shading its owner. An earthern pot, a tall steel can, an ice box and a tray of glasses. It was a nimbu paani stall, serving chilled lime juice.

A little lad, not more than 7 years old stood behind. He squeezed juice into a glass, dropped cubes of ice from the box, sprinkled salt n spice, poured water from the can with a long handled ladle, and finally placing an empty glass upside down over the other glass, gave it a good cocktail shake. Then with a smile handed it to his thirsty customer. I saw him make several glasses. Each time he pocketed a coin. Each time he would rinse the used glass in a little bucket of water and drop the lime rinds into a plastic bag. Very meticulous.

Three tiny boys walked close and started talking to him. They hung around while he served his customers. Finally he got a little breather and poured himself a glass of water to drink. The kids looked at him longingly. I saw him raise one hand and gesture to the three little boys to wait. The next moment he dug into the plastic bag and got out used lime rinds and squeezed them again. He added ice, water and made a tall glass of juice. He halved it and handed the two glasses to the little ones. Delight beamed on their faces. They downed the glasses, wiped their faces and went their way. The 7 year old juice maker rinsed the glasses clean.

Then came a big fellow and the little one stepped aside after handing over four notes and a few coins. The big fellow counted and recounted the money. The little one stood with an outstretched hand. Finally the big fellow placed a 5 rupee note and a coin into his hand. The small guy pocketed the money and with an air of someone who has conquered the world, held up his hand to stop traffic and ran across the street.

I was fascinated. Hubby got back with the door handle and I narrated everything. "It's really sad! You mean all he got was 5 or 6 rupees for standing in the sun and making juice!!"

Now I never thought of that. The little kid looked so happy with his earnings. What particularly struck me was his kindness and his confidence. And I am very sure this is one kid who will make it big one day, very big. I wish I asked for his name.

By the way, how many of us earned anything when we were seven, or for that matter even knew how to make lime juice?

more diwali musings...

2005-11-02T20:15:00.000+05:30

Diwali truly means food. And more food. It started a few days back. First we shopped a lot. We ate out a lot. Then we had people over for dinner. I wore a saree, lit all the colourful lights on the balconies. Then we ate, drank, talked, laughed, and ate again. Very late in the night, we would crash into bed and think of all that we would do and the stuff we would eat the next day.

Pallavi and Rocky arrived yesterday. On their bike. It is so good to see them after so long. Hubby and Rocky are like little boys again. In the night, they had a dinner invitation. So we dropped them and went off to play cards with the family and friends at sis's house. The food was terrific and hubby won all the rounds. Sadly the money didn't change hands. Everybody conveniently forgot and when I asked hubby on the way back to hand it all to me, he said he never got any! Sheesh!! We didn't even know some of their guests so no chance of ever recovering the winning money.

Anyway, since, these days I am trying to click pictures all the time, I am putting up one more. Of the kitchen threads which 2 people liked in the previous post (I sometimes am guilty of flogging a dead horse). And the painting beside done by hubby's little nephew.

Diwali lights!!

2005-10-31T13:52:00.000+05:30

I am again back to my efforts with the camera. I love this season. The twinkling little lights, the shopping, the sound of music and laughter from every house. I hate the crackers though. But I guess you can't have everything.

The first pic is from my bedroom window, the second from the front balcony. The lights look so pretty and everything has a festive feel to it.

The third pic is my bedroom balcony. I plan to put up some more lights tonight. The fourth picture is the building entrace seen from high up, all lit up. I spent a lot of time hanging over the balcony and watching the lights.

The last pic is from my kitchen window. The lights outside are not too clear but I liked the pic.

Happy Diwali to all. Have fun, guys.

the turning on memory's road

2005-10-23T01:30:00.000+05:30

The house is empty, the mood is melancholic. My ears ache to hear the familiar voices when the living room was rocking with loud music and louder laughter. Two weeks of doing things together. The whole family eating pizza and watching telly like 2 nights back, like almost 20 years back, except then there was no smoking joe's and we ate home made pizza. But silence stares back from every corner. I called them at home. Mom and dad. They must be missing us all too. I think of old times, of childhood, and my heart feels heavy with memories.

My leg hurts a wee bit more than my heart. A few days back it took a good fall to remind me, I was no longer nimble footed like the days of yore. My foot had slipped through floor railings outside my balcony and for once I was glad for my fat thigh, which got stuck and prevented me from crashing down to the 7th floor. I had been not-so-gently informed by all, that next time I try such a stunt, the leg might just break into two pieces. But for now, the bruises have turned a facinating purple with tinges of green and a fading yellow. As I pressed them gently and winced in turn, it gave me more reason to put up my legs and reach for comfort food.

But bruises are not new to me. All through school I sported them. At 10 or 11, after some consistent display of tolerable behaviour, I was rewarded with a shining new bicycle. After that began the pleas and tantrums to be allowed to ride it to school as did so many of my friends. Finally after a year or so, the parents relented. But I was to take the little road through tea gardens and people's cottages. The road where you saw a car, or anything with wheels, if you stood at the same spot for 20 minutes. It was so safe you could ride blindfolded, and you knew every person you met on the way, if you met someone, that is.

I sang lustily as I cycled along every morning. The early morning sun filtered through the trees and I played my own little game. I pedalled fully when I hit a sunny spot and pedalled half in the shade. Until. Until that turning that winded like an "S". Every time I turned I would unfailingly hit a deep ditch and land, cycle and all, on crackling dry leaves. It became a regular ritual and one reason I hated going with anyone else. I rode and fell alone in shame. Then I would get up, look around to make sure nobody saw and push the cycle till I hit straighter roads. And it was my little secret. Nobody knew I couldn't make that turning on my way to school. Strangely, I managed it on my way back.

I have often tried to remember but I have no memory of ever managing that turning without falling and one thing that nags me often is whether I will be able to get through it now. What I dream of doing is, take the same road again and give the S turning a last shot on my old bicycle (which is no longer with me). The lane is undoubtedly more crowded and may even have traffic signals. And the S turning may have become a straight concrete road. But still.

Anyway, so I had a permanent bruise that stopped hurting over a period of time. After the initial apprehension, the parents too developed an undeserving sense of confidence in my riding skills. My secret was safe. I was happy. My parents were happy. No reason not to be. Except, mom till today is still clueless that an innocent S turning every morning was responsible for the colourful display on my legs all through the ride-to-school days.

straight to my hips...

2005-10-14T11:32:00.000+05:30

I am exhausted. It was truly a festive week.

The festivities started with colourful little lights hanging from trees all over the city. The music was finally allowed to be blasted well past the earlier deadline. And little children looked cute and funny in traditional garba wear.

Navratri was on. So was Durga Puja. And the parents are in town. And that sums up to shameless amounts of food being eaten every day. Lunches, dinners, outings. The celebrations are getting bigger and bigger. The goddess looked grander. And. the. food. was. amazing. and sinful. I digress but one afternoon, after overstuffing myself on bro's delicious chicken, I was told it was the dollop of butter on top that made it so divine. Help! How do I turn bulimic? Or whatever it is that has one retching out all the happily devoured food?

Anita was in town on her way to holidaying in various countries in Europe. We did try to get her knocked out so one of us could fly off in her place. So dinner was had with cocktails and plenty of tequila shots. It seemed the right thing to do since Jaygee mentioned on her blog, that tequilas helped to lose weight. Late in the night, there was a vodka party to finish the vodka bought from Russia. Too smooth. The only way to know what it tasted like was to have it neat.

Now all that will be laboriously sweated out of the body to gear it up for Diwali. But let me not talk too soon. Cause the parents are still here and it doesn't take much to forget diet resolutions when mom gets down to cooking.

weight watchers!

2005-10-10T17:04:00.000+05:30

The whole bunch of us, the kids along with the respective other halves went to pick up mom and dad at the airport. I and my half were late, as usual. The plane was late too, thankfully.

I wore low waist tight jeans and a little top to show off the 4 kilos I shed. Nobody mentioned a thing. All hands sprung to pick up bags welcomingly heavy with food. Later at dinner, bro-in-law, who sees me often mentioned that I have put on a little weight "too much relaxing, huh?" I protested and turned to hubby for support. Dear hubs didn't disappoint me.

"No, no, she's knocked off a few kilos. Check her arms. They are slimmer. The gym is doing her good."

Everybody turns to look at me. Nobody says anything. Bro-in-law tries to prove himself right. "Okay, maybe the body is slimmer. But the cheeks look puffier. They are hanging."

I am not deterred. I pick up my share of goodies. Mom's delicious chocolate cake, laddoos, roasted cashewnuts, dried wild berries from my childhood, and loads of pickles. Hubby lends an assuring hand. At home, he decides the top I wore was wrong. It stiffly stood out and made me look a little 'wide'.

Yesterday, we had one of those mega family lunches at sis's place. I arrived cleverly dressed and remembered to suck in my tummy most of the time. After lunch, I sprawled on the sofa, just in time for dad to comment, "you are getting fat."

"Et tu, dad?"

Sis giggled her guts out and quipped "she's going to the gym regularly, you see!"

"Aah, then you must work a little harder." concluded dad. I made a 10 year old face and just stopped short of sticking out my tongue.

That's it. I decided, the members of the treacherous family are not worth my sweat. Okay, I will still sweat. But will wear a bedsheet or a burkha when I meet them next, to show my indifference. What do they know of triceps and the proteins contained in soy milk? What do they know of burning 300 calories after breathlessly pounding the treadmill for 30 agonizing minutes?

Anyway, Dad doesn't even understand why girls remove paint from their nails just to paint them again.

Bombay dreams

2005-10-04T18:55:00.000+05:30

A very close friend (who has left Bombay for greener pastures) asked me why do I paint such a pretty picture of Bombay. I never realised I did that.

I went back to reading my old posts and nothing seemed like it had been fixed for Bombay, nothing unreal.

Firstly there isn't much written about this city I live in. A few references in a few posts. And then I realised it's probably what has come through. A love for this city where dreams are made, where the stars shine the brightest. A city where the traffic never stops, a city that never sleeps.

Nothing unreal.

It's the way we live. It's the way we think. It's the way we feel. Honest.

rediff relief?

2005-09-28T18:27:00.000+05:30

My rediff mailbox is haunted, I fear.

The other night I dreamt of a close friend and woke up in a sweat. It all seemed so real. She was unwrapping delicious pizza and stuffed rolls for me to eat. And I was wondering in my dream why I thought she wouldn't be there. Why I thought I wouldn't meet her.

When I woke up startled and very disturbed I knew why. Because my friend died almost 2 years back. The dream nagged me for a major part of the day. And in the evening, when I checked my mail, I find 4 forwards from my dead friend's id. It blew my brains out. I panicked and screamed for the hubby. He came running and was terrified himself, I think. For he told me to just delete them.

As he was leaving for more work in the night, he muttered, "You should have read the mails. Maybe she's trying to reach you. You know her death remained a mystery..."

"Will you stop that!! It was junk, maybe virus! And thanks for taking away my piece of mind now!!" I yelled.

I didn't sleep a wink and kept some poor friends awake chatting the whole night. The next day there were more forwards. I deleted them too. And the next day, there was one from her father. It freaked me out. But I decided to open one and see.

Beautiful messages, some with pictures, spewing philosophy mostly about cherishing friends, the value of time and life itself. But who could have hacked into her defunct since two years account and taken the trouble to send pretty messages to people?

I think like this, and so reasonably because it's not yet dark. Come night and I keep wondering what she is trying to tell me... and... and I get so psyched that I almost start seeing her.

Hubby's useless solution is to get rid of the rediff id. And my refusal is understandable. It's my first ever email id which is all mine! Where I didn't need to add 123 or date of birth after my name to get an identity. I thought of blocking her mails. But felt I would be betraying her.

What do I do?

neighbourly tales

2005-09-17T18:40:00.000+05:30

My kind neighbour is a wife beater. And my maid is a big mouth.

See the connection? You are right. We share a maid.

After my jovial south Indian maid took up an extra job at the neighbours on the other side of the building, the morning sessions include little titbits from that house. Comprising husband, wife, a 9 year old daughter and a 9 month old son.

Since the usual stories she brings over are nothing very personal or juicy, I refrain from lecturing her on the ethics of a maid's job.

But the other day, as I shouted loudly from the kitchen to wake up hubby, she stands beside and tells me, "yesterday, they had a big fight."

"Hmmm..." I am preoccupied with squeezing a piece of lime into my glass.

"I am telling you, it was so bad, they were screaming at each other very loudly." She waits for my reaction.

"Really?" I immediately quit shouting at hubby. "Some people have loud voices and even when they talk you would think they were fighting if you didn't understand the language." I explained.

"See, Anna (implying my dear sleeping hubby) has a loud voice and it sounds like fighting when he talks." I continue.

"No, Bhaabi, this guy is a quiet fellow but she nags him a lot. Yesterday she was nagging him so much that he got really mad and dragged her into the bedroom and then beat her up." She knows she's got my attention now. "I was so scared."

I stopped queezing the lime out of shape and stared at it, horrified. My neighbours faces come to mind. Impossible.

"How did you know he beat her? And what were you doing?" I questioned.

"I saw them from the door. He was hitting her badly and she was screaming. I was minding the crying children. And later I saw her face all bruised and swollen." She replied.

Anger seethed in me. "Listen, why didn't you go in and stop him?"

"But I was scared, Bhaabi. This is the first time I have seen educated rich people living in big houses, fight like this." She looked at me almost accusingly.

I was disturbed. I went to drag the hubby out of bed to tell him. He was awake and had heard everything. There wasn't a thing I could do, of course. I made a mental note to be friendly to the wife when she called up to bitch about the maid or if I saw her downstairs. Usually I avoid talking to all the women who gather to chat and exchange stories in the evenings. They probably think I am too aloof or work too much, I let them think so.

I went back to the maid, "Listen, next time, anything like this happens, you are supposed to rush in and stop them, okay? Tell them, you are going to get in the neighbours, okay?"

I am hoping that my maid is making it all up. I bit my tongue just in time to stop another loud "How much longer are you going to laze in bed?" directed at the husband. Because I am also aware that if my maid IS making up stories, then the neighbours must be hearing tales about me beating up the hubby.

Sevens

2005-09-17T16:54:00.000+05:30

I am not too comfortable doing these lists and I usually run away when I see one. But I have been tagged by prerona and hope and love. So here goes my sevens.

7 things I plan to do before I die:
1. live well
2. travel
3. read more
4. laugh more
5. adopt a child hopefully
6. work up & maintain a toned body
7. open up a few dark secrets

7 things I can do:
1. cook
2. eat
3. get along with elderly people
4. help
5. see through people
6. cry
7. jive

7 things I can?t do:
1. sleep too much
2. make small talk
3. ask for help
4. refuse to help
5. bake like mom
6. flatter others
7. remember general things (particulars, I remember)

7 things that attract me to the opposite sex:
1. voice (but shouldn't talk much)
2. humour/wit
3. eyes
4. shoes
5. manners
6. sense of integrity
7. strong chest n good butt

7 things I say most:
I dont say much!
1. (hubby name in different tones)
2. Oh really! (drives hubby up the wall)
3. Cool!
4. helloooow

7 celebrity crushes:
Dont have any but I like
1. Johnny Depp
2. Sting
3. Mel Gibson
4. Sanjay Suri
5. Mohnish Behl

7 people I want to take this quiz:
Whoever wishes to.

There, as boring as can be. Phew!

People who eat sushi do not pack and get the leftovers home

2005-09-11T19:00:00.000+05:30

I have been out a bit. I see peoples' eyebrows change shape if I mention I have been busy. "But didn't you quit your job?"

"So I did. I had gotten tired of too much rest in office." That's what it seems like now, when I think of my days of slumping on the same chair for 9 hours a day and eating delicious hot meals at my desk, going out for walks, for coffee, or to Crosswords if I got bored. AND getting paid for it.

Now, there is plenty of running around, little odd things to do, watch movies, read a bit, go out, meet friends and no cheque coming in at the end of the month. But I am not complaining. Yet.

The hubby is still sticking to his busy schedule. We had plenty of family and friends around so it was a lot of eating out and later trying to balance the calories at the gym. Yes, trying really hard. When I cycle and my calves burn with the weight, I think of my 120 kilo aunt on the little cycle rickshaws back home. Poor guys, it must be a challenge for them, for their slim tyres. And I pant my way to redemption.

By the way, the gym owner is really impressed and wants me to join his taekwando (I don't even know how to spell the word!) classes. I am planning to convince him to start tai chi and kick boxing. That I would join. I have also been thinking of buying a sandbag to punch. But of course there is no place to hang it and it would punch us more in our little house, than the other way round.

Since with the busy schedule guy, we cannot go out too far or for too long, we do a lot of meals out. Trying out new restaurants. Eating at old favourites.

The other night, we went out to this really chic place. We sat on kitch sofas and peered at each other in the light of a little floating candle while Buddha Bar pulsated. The hubby sniffed a bit and declared he's feverish and would like a nice hot soup first. I scoffed and asked for chilled apple cider.

He looked at his large soup and saw pieces of egg floating. Did I mention he's allergic to eggs? "Can I have something without eggs in it?" he asked for another. As I looked at the pushed aside soup, the right side of the menu flashed in my mind. Over 300 bucks. I reached for the miserable bowl and alternated a chilled sip and a steaming spoonful. There goes half my appetite.

I asked the man before ordering each of his favourite dishes. And when they arrived he had a bite of each. When we were done, I surveyed the leftovers. The right side of the menu disturbed me again. I asked for the leftover sushi and barbequed spare ribs to be packed.

"Hey, that was really nice. We must come here more often."

"Yes. But you hardly ate. You must feel like high society ordering sushi and then just pecking at it."

"I almost did, untill you asked for it to be packed."

I learnt my first lesson on seaweed wrapped rolls filled with rice and pieces of sea food and veggies.