Carpe Diem!

Bumbai

2011-05-10T09:37:00.000-07:00

It’s Friday night. And I am missing Bombay. It’s noise. It’s monsoons. Its drama. Its suburbs.
There are flashbacks in my head. I’m sitting at a bus stop outside Xaviers and waiting for 119 to get home. I’m with my friends outside Marine Plaza, sitting on the promenade, singing ‘leaving on a jet plane”. We aren’t singing well. But we don’t care. Not one of us.

We are a shameless bunch of people who have recently found eachother. We have things in common. I have company in unapologetically stuffing tissue paper and facial wipes from restaurants, cafes and on many occasions, the Taj.
My house (if I may call it that) was at a place I couldn’t ever afford in Bombay. It faced the sea in town. The hall had many windows and made for the best place for poets, lovers, writers and alcoholics. From the fourth floor apartment the glistening sea front kept me anonymously unaware of the perils of the shanty that was right at the fringe of the shore. Coming from a place I hadn’t been exposed to ‘bastis’ I would always be curious to peek inside those tiny huts to see what they did for entertainment. They had television sets. And radios. And washing machines even.
The college being in town, I got a chance to explore townside. Weekends at Mondys, Regal, strand, marine drive, nariman point, Apls, the cross tucked away on fashion street, mahalaxmi race course, ghettos, the clubs that are too unworthy to mention now, Kala ghoda, NCPA. I think I must have my cot behind the counter at VT Barista even, for the entire year I was in college. Then soon after student life ended and the fervor to work started brewing inside me, I took up a job at an agency that doesn’t even exist today. It was a run down, tiny advertising agency in lower parel. A good reason to hang out at phoenix mills. I was moving further from home. And slowly being prepared to make a tiny ant-hole of my own. I shifted to my favourite suburb-Bandra. At the time I shifted there, I didn’t give it its due share of importance. I mean how was I to know back then, that Bandra is where everyone who doesn’t live in town (south of Bombay), wants to be in. Or that there were rhyming jingles and jokes written about it. Or that the locals from there would give away their address at social dos with their nose pointed toward the glitzy chandeliers.
I was earning an embarrassing salary but didn’t relaise it until I went to give a bundle of clothes to the laundry outside the apartment. I mean after the house where everything from food to cleaning to cooking was taken care of by a domestic help, I didn’t imagine the real world outside the artsy sobo. Atleast not when I insisted over a telephonic conversation with mom that I want space and privacy and that I am moving out. The tiny place I lived in Mount Mary church steps was my first experience of living alone. I did it up with little pictures on the wall, with my belongings strewn all over the studio and with a borrowed stereo that played my music. It still never felt like my own place. It could never be the house I grew up in and I knew it never would come close. But what I didn’t know is that despite the house, ill start liking my life in it.
Soon I got a job in another agency back in town and started using the local train. While my new pad taught me how to avoid conversation with the land lady, the daily train commute taught me the importance of carrying a body spray handy at all times. I was finally learning what it means to have a breaking back pain while one retires to bed. And how well one can sleep thereafter.
I made more friends in my new workplace. Friends, who spent Christmas with me, took trips together and whose birthdays I was expected to remember. Never mind if there was no home-made meal waiting for me at home, there were friends to go out and grab a burger with. Soon I realized that my initial hesitation to go out and eat alone seemed juvenile to myself. And just like that, I figured out the neighbourhood and moved to another house in the same building. I liked it there. I liked my job, on most days.
I started liking the mucky monsoons in Bombay. Despite the toe infection it gave me, I would give the credit of my first anesthetic experience to the monsoons. After all, before the toe surgery and many visits to Holy family, I’d always managed to avoid hospitals like Osama did, the US army.

I liked how my neighbourhood would swell with joy during Christmas and how American express bakery was selling marzipans delicacies wrapped in packs of immense joy. And those four years there replaced the town side Barista and disposed me to Candies on every weekend. I loved the place I stayed in. Despite my building looking like a earth quake survivor or that it could be soon signed for a rehabilitation project by some big builder any day.
I moved my job and the moved my home. My new home was not so far from my old neighbourhood. And my new office looked swanky. I made new friends again and learnt new roads. I got stuck in traffic jams on Tulsi Pipe road during ganesh Chaturthi and I saw the serpentine line of people outside Lal bagh ka raja.
After so many years of living in a city that made me most aware of my losses and blessings, I can not summarize this love affair in a blogspot. I surely can’t do it in many either. But it will always be a place I made some close friends who I wish, accompany me on family holidays when we’re middle aged. It’s going to be where I had my best college life, outside of college and in it. Where I learnt professional conduct (or the fact that how unimportant it is in my life). And most importantly, found love. So Bombay, if you’re not too busy this weekend staying up making inebriated speeches to a pool of happy faces and going to a fancy hotel for pizza and coffee to sober yourself down, I am saying thank you. Did you hear me? You fishy city, I really treasure our wakeful nights together.

scraps from the hills.

2010-06-25T03:01:00.000-07:00

Sitting across a golden coloured Monastery (which is primarily dipped in ice-cream colours from head to toe) I plunge into the pool of thoughts that are waiting to be written on this paper. A crispy golden sheet is looking up to me. Not a co incidence (or maybe just the exact opposite of one) I’ve just heard the distant news of my first Gold award. And as opposed to contrary belief, I don’t feel like shouting YAY. A humble thankyou, perhaps. So many times over that if I knew any other way of saying it, I’d have already used it by now.

Okay enough said, it’s time to divert the traffic of thoughts to this narrow lane in McLeodganj. Inside the honey brown ambience of café Oogo’s. The waitress just came by to collect the order I’d left on the table and happened to peer into my notepad. And, with a broad smile she said, “your handwriting is very beautiful”. Without a thought I replied, “Thankyou. So is your café.”

You see my point is that I’m really good at changing topics. See earlier we were talking about the golden theory and now just a few lines ago I brought up the waitress. And now, we’re discussing ‘topics’. By now I’ve thought of so many random things to diverge, that I can now look forward to my doctorate on this subject.
Fluorescent makes me happy. It’s got this distinct energy of colours that is easy to spread. And considering the choice of colours on the monasteries, this town seems to have that in abundance. Soon after being here, I realise that the Tibetan religion confuses me (like any other religion). Their god’s seem to contradict their emotions. On one side the Buddha sits high, with a striking contrast of frowning eyebrows, angry eyes and a repressed smile. What mood he really is in, is beyond us to decipher.
Inside the temple of the Dalai Lama this afternoon, I felt a mix of vibes. A particular goddess grabbed my attention as she stared angrily at innocent spectators, from her high throne. Adorned in a crown of silver skulls (people she may have devoured for dinner the night before) she gaped downward without a change in emotion. I slowly felt my optimism diminish. She wasn’t going to break into a warm smile and invite me over for tea or to share her assorted goodies (Pringles, Oreo cookies, juice and candied fruits) that her devotees had placed at her foot. I had to move on quickly as it can get a bit unnerving to be stared at by a ferocious woman, with multiple ferocious faces and angry eyes bulging from her socket.

**********8
McLeodganj

From Dharamshala, we went to McLeodganj. It was almost as through the hills had been sliced to make way for a winding road that would allow for people to take complimentary joy-rides. The kinds that the biggest of fete cannot offer. Mainly because it’s not everyday that you hang on to dear life while the metal box that you are seated in, makes its way through narrow lanes that are just about as wide as an elephant’s backside. I’m pretty sure, Jumbo the circus hero would’ve reconsidered his trip to the hills and opted for a Hawaian holiday instead.
Anyhow, so as we went along, I was starting to realise that apart from the idea of a highway, even the idea of a traffic jam here, differs drastically. This realisation dawned up on me when I saw the bus conductor pleading a black mule that had blocked our way. Refusing to let us pass by, the mule was one arrogant donkey who was probably abandoned by his folks and was angry at that. After repeated honking and much commotion that it managed to cause effortlessly, it stepped on the edge. Finally, that swine will know what it’s like to be in that spot.

As the metal box speeds further with a potential to win an F1 race, I feel my stomach tighten and my head going dizzy. But a zephyr distracts me as it hits my face like a refreshing splash of clear water. It indicates a bent. A very steep bent.

Further ahead, there are a bunch of cows grazing at the side of what they call a ‘road’ here. They’re pretending to be serious like the traffic cops in the city. But as we can all see, they are just as idle.
They look back at me and I get a feeling that later at a cow’s tea party, my horrified face will be a topic for them to laugh at.
We are finally at McLeod and my conclusion is that the hills are that they are like life. You can guess, assume what’s on the other side of the bend. But you can never be too sure.
Before the metal box that we are in, halts, I see a man dressed in a uniform attending to his first offender of the day. It is a disobedient buffalo.

McLeod has a cheery happiness. I decide to remove my rose-tinted glass to confirm. The tint remains. It’s a masterpiece of a landscape, painted by the greatest artist of them all.

The aged-but-functional tape finally stops. Welcome, I whisper to myself.

********

We’re sitting in a rooftop restaurant. The sun is seeping through the wrought iron roof overhead and falling on us. Because it’s mellow and doesn’t touch me too much, I am comfortable. Nasar however, is going to feel the heat in a while, I predict.
We turn our faces and conversation toward the monastery across. It is under construction. On going there earlier, we had discovered that it has been under construction since 9 years. It’s covered in ice-cream colours. Imagine those serene colours holding their cause in the middle of the violent hammering of nails.
An old painter who looked like he’s meticulously working on his final masterpiece, decided to play teacher. He had been there since 5 years and was now much too familiar with the Buddha. As I looked up at the humungous golden statue of the Buddha, he almost seemed to look down upon us. Our man, went on in awe about the natural paints he’s been using on the statue and credited the beauty of the Buddha to the golden plated head on the idol.

I bring myself back to where we are. This rooftop café. Sunshine has finally started to hurt. With a big gulp of our beverage, Nasar and me pretending to be philosophers, invent the ‘Yolk’ theory.
It goes like this. We are but particles of a yolk. It’s golden and all alright, but it’s also the most cholesterol-filled part. In short, it’s unhealthy. And we are fat with all things unimportant and unhealthy. We need to swim to the whiter side. Of life.

After these cryptic discussions, I say something that I find difficult to understand later. McLeodganj is like my new, blue overflowing pajamas. You don’t feel a thing until you sit down and rest a while. And when your mind is devoid of all things, you feel its silky smoothness and delicate softness.

I realise how scraps of paper become so important to me. It’s like I’ve subconsciously predicted their use and have saved them for a later day. Writing on this food bill from last year, I just reinforce its preciousness.

The ‘No problem’ shop and the ‘Chocolate log’. Where the shop names are such as these, you know you are amidst a crowd very different from your city folk. It’s another thing that you may get into problems of bargaining inside the ‘No problem’ shop. But then again, atleast the owner envisioned a shop where he doesn’t permit problems. And dogs. So I walked inside and came out within 15 mins. With a hefty bill.

********
Dharamkot

The town seems to be engulfed by silence a long time ago. The faint resonance of trance from a neighbouring room tries to break this pattern of serenity that we are slowly getting habituated to. Or rather, getting inducted into. But the music only propels us further and acts like a catalyst to make us creatures of this lovely habit. This metamorphosis of restlessness and tiredness into tranquility and imagination comes easily. Our room is a fluorescent shade of sea. I use this comparison loosely because I think I can get away with it here. After all, one can’t refute the fact that the sea wears the garb of many kinds of blues and greens and goldens.

Getting accustomed to this room that is reminiscent of the sea and overlooks the hills, is not much of an effort.
As I work my pen limitlessly and Nasar absorbs the words of his novel with exactly the same spirit.
This place is clearly meant for writers, readers, artists, chocolate shop owners, singers, weed smokers, farmers and people.
I just looked up to stretch my neck and saw an Israeli father walking by, carrying one kid over his back, and three alongside. A thought crosses my mind. Maybe they’re holidaying here or maybe they are a part of the drug mafia. All four of them.

This room is not furnished with a television. There’s a bit of electricity and a notepad. What else did you expect from me? A tap dance performance, maybe, had a chance. But because there isn’t a mirror here either, I shall continue to write. I mean how good is a tap dance performance if you can’t see it, right?

*******
Over the last couple of days I’ve noticed that I’ve been waking up on the shy side of noon. Something about this place discourages me to sleep away. The air is pure and crisp, the landscape is resplendent with mellow sunshine and the birds are playing my favourite kind of music. Ideally this would encourage me to dive deeper and deeper into a good slumber. But I am compelled to lie awake and Nasar teases me with muffled snores. I just want to be awake to made sure I don’t miss out on what the birds outside have to say.

We have a guest in our room. It’s a cup of tea. It walked right in through the window and made itself comfortable on the bed. Apart from distracting me from my frantic speed of writing. I take a few seconds to reflect on my writing speed. On the computer and on the keyboard. I’m so used to typing that writing feels like a slow luggage train. It’s passengers, my thoughts that are not on schedule and yet, blissful cheerful about it.

Suddenly, I am diverted by two quilts right in front of me. It’s strange because they have maintained their peace and lived there, at the foot of the bedside, for a long time. And now I am distracted by them. One is a bright orange, with flame smeared over it. The other is pink. The kind that can shock you and wake you out of sleep if you see it the first thing in the morning. Other than these two aesthetically selected things, the room is plain.

I am thinking of chocolate.

*******
We’re in a café called the Milkyway. It begins to drizzle. There is a group of Isrelis right near us and they fill the place with their laughter. Sharing a joke (or a toke) and depriving the world of its humour content.
As the rain falls on the ground, a sweet fragrance rises up and makes its way to fill my lungs. The fragrance is like a tonic. It’s energising and taking over my being. It’s almost like I’m losing to it as it pushes its way inside me. At one single moment, my eyes, ears and nose are engaged in pleasure.

******
This morning I beat my record. I woke up at twelve for the first time in days. It wasn’t like any other morning in June. It was the peak of summer and I was enveloped in a soft orange quilt. I remember instantly succumbing to its softness last night. It wasn’t freezing outside though, but I had taken a liking to this monster-sized quilt.
In conversation with Nasar, I learn that I had been mumbling in my sleep through the night. Maybe the quilt and I had become really good friends after all.

*********
I have a habit of walking out of the bathroom while brushing my teeth. Usually, I open my closet and stare, dazed with plans of deciding what to pick. But reach nowhere.
My spectators are mostly my roommate and other friends who have stayed the night before. They feel subjected. This morning, as I walked outside, there was no closet to pick from. Nor were there any friends to let out a sigh of disgust. I conveniently skipped my fat travel bag and flung open the room door. Soon I was outside, scrubbing my teeth, making eye contact with the Dhauladar range Pine forest. They seemed to care little and ignored my habit. I must say, the hill folk are really kind.

I think that the hills are really conducive to writing. Their very expanse teaches you to open up your mind the same way. They silence provokes you to talk to yourself. And more importantly, listen.

*********
Day 3- Naadi village.

This place is infiltrated by Indian tourist families. Even though the Dhauladar range right in front is breathtakingly awesome, it is hard to overlook the empty wafer packets and crushed water bottles strewn at our feet. We walk past the slush of mud that once was the glistening Dal lake. From the well of memory inside my head, I dug out the last time I had been here. The lake was in its youth and it made me wonder if it ever predicted this to be its future. I hoped that it’s happy and gushing with life once again after the place is renovated.

We walked until we saw nothing but the pine trees. Trees that made us look so insignificant and miniscule, without offending us. There can’t be much said about those trees there. You must just go there to greet them yourself, and let them do the talking.
I roamed around endlessly pretending it’s my backyard. Nasar and me even marked our own separate territories like Lions do.
I remember looking up at the few sunrays that had filtered through the dense blanket of green overhead. It was awe-inspiring beauty. And we were a part of it.

Finally, when we’d have our fill, we came down to a chai shop that was in the middle of nowhere. I imagined the shop owner quickly setting it up as he saw us walking down. And thought how he’ll fold it up and go elsewhere just when we’re done.
In conversation with Kaku, it’s owner, I realised the distinct perception he had about the city we came from. It was the land of Bollywood stars. It wasn’t the city with the highest real estate. Not the hub of Indian advertising. And nor the place with the highest transit population in the country. It was just Bollywood. Kaku was satisfied with that much knowledge. Behind the steam that arose from the kettle, I noticed pictures of Bollywood stars. Pictures yellowed with the passage of time. Pictures where the stars looked like they don’t any longer. And they were the only precious pin-ups that he decorated his shop with.

On our way back to McLeod I enjoyed the complimentary joy ride. We were two satiated children.

**********

One thing happens when you say goodbye. And that differs depending on whether you’re the one leaving or staying back. I decided to take back something from my hilly-holiday. But the tree didn’t fit my bag. So I wore the garb of the hills and carried on with my little scraps of paper.

Raising a new generation of the refined gene pool.

2010-05-17T01:47:00.000-07:00

I must first make it clear that I am all for the Mixed Breed. There are pretty good reasons why.
Not many of us are multilingual are we? Or did you all visit grandparents living in the extremes of the country during summer vacations? Well, If you’re a child with parents from different cultures you should feel blessed rather than confused.
Here are some winning combinations. And why they take the prize.

Combination: Bengali + Marwari
This combination works well because: There will always be a variety on the dinner table. On days you want to eat some bhaal machi look no further than your own dining table. Your dad loves to cook (when he’s not philosophising). Your education fund will be right there in place when you’re 18. Primarily because your mother will save each penny since ties the knot with your father. Otherwise, he probably would’ve spent it all on a fine Sunday morning, ordering another ‘Raam and coke’, while the debate went on. He’d have spent it, if he knew about that secret saving account your mother has.
Your summer vacations are be colourful. Mainly because you will have grandparents who are complete opposites. While one set educates you on the importance of fasting for teej, you can go to the other, and enjoy crispy fried fish while the Poojo goes on. That’s fun.

Combination: Mizo + Sardar
This combination works well because: You will not fail to amuse the world. Ever. Because sometimes you will talk in a hyper-nasal tone and just when your audience is confused, you’ll pat them on the back, real hard and laugh out loud (Chal, koi nai). Real loud. So, naturally you may be the laughing stock. But at least your hair will always be the best in class.
All your friends will look for excuses to drop-by for notes or just to say ‘hi’ cause they’re probably passing by. Be careful, it’ll always be around lunch-time or dinner-time (sometimes, even at breakfast). Get the point dummy, it’s not for your notes they want, it’s the food on your dining table. The Tandoori meets Thupka. Finger licking fatness plus healthy bland broths. Another obvious reason could be tips for that perfect hair. Always keep your suggestions ready.

Combination: Tamilian Brahmin + Rajput
This combination works well because: So, you could grow up and become a Journo or just remain jobless and live off your ancestors. There’s one side that will have ambitions- fluffy as Idlis, waiting for you before you exit your mother’s womb. While the other side of your fam, will be drinking in merriment on their way back home, lugging a fat Black Buck. You will be torn between two world, even before the onset of adolescence. Over-ambitiousness vs baap-dada ki Jayezaat. Lungi vs Cravat. Dosai vs Lal maas. Your life is speckled with adventure. And so shall it be.

Combination: Malayalee + Kashmiri
This combination works well because:
Anyone would know that it is best to pair a Mallu with anyone but a Mallu. Mainly because they don’t make XXXXL seats for vehicles yet.
Well, moving on, this combination is good because it combines beauty and brains. Of course, you’ll go wrong with the food on the menu with all those cashews absurdly stuck in your Karimeen. But then you’ll be so pretty that all else will be forgotten.
You can immerse yourself in the news while it is being created right there, in your backyard. You, the master of tough languages, you are lucky to have your foothold in the extremes of the country. Care to invite the others for a summer vacation??

2010-03-23T23:38:00.001-07:00

Brain. Such a gullible fool. Easily gets conned into doing things that the heart secretly desires.
Labours frantically, without a wage. Gets dictated and deceived by drugs and occupies itself into blurring faces, dissolving rage and churning thoughts.

It’s the appendix inside our body.Waiting to burst and spread its poison.
It helps us to think of things that will forever remain questionable. The stupid dreamer. Whatever the human race believes in can disappear in a poof with just one single question that you may hesitate to answer.

So, my suggestion to people of the world is- Use it less.

2010-03-03T01:14:00.000-08:00

Writing movie reviews isn't one of my talents. So i'll just make do with some rambling.
I saw Kartik calling Kartik. Twice. I liked its dialogues. More than anything else, i liked Farhan Ak.'s acting. Before this movie, i never imagined he could play such a difficult role, so convincingly. (I must confess that I got goosebumps in more than one scene.)
Apart from his good acting, he looks stunning. But you'd say, 'So what? So does Deepika." All I can say in his defense is that he can act.
If you haven't seen the movie yet, then stop reading now. The things that follow may be a real spoiler in case you plan to watch it later.

An IIM topper, a south-Indian bred boy, an underdog. That's Kartik Narayan. He toils day after day in the tiny cubicles of a construction company. The girl he has written 3000 emails to, doesn't even know he exists.
Everything in his life is speeding downhill. (On a side note, how many of us have a stock of sleeping pills in our bathroom cabinets?) Anyway, so this guy decides to end his life but is interrupted by a call. A call that changes his life. (Also, the tag line of the movie).

The voice on the other end claims to be his well wisher. It talks him out of guilt of killing his bother years ago (something his therapist could not manage). It tutors him on how to 'get the girl' and it basically morphs his personality from meek to mean. Here, i'd like to point out that this transition is played brilliantly by Mr. Akh. The scene in which he strides into office, in what looks like a fine-cut Hugo Boss suit, is absolutely notable. The expressions are perfect. And so is the Farhaan Ak’s presence on screen. His new found self is oozing with self-confidence and charm. Something more suitable for a man with such qualifications. You may even start liking the person on the other end of the phone who is responsible for this pleasant change.

Well, so Kartik’s life starts to change in his favour. The girl is his. The promotion is his. But power comes with a price. His secret caller must not be revealed. When Kartik does tell his to-be wife about his secret friend, the next call from his secret friend is not so friendly. It’s a warning. It’s a declaration of destruction and downfall.

The voice of the other end has made some devious calls in the night. The next day Kartik is fired. To makes matters worse, the loving girlfriend is hurt and turns away from his. Even his bank balance is wiped out. There seems no other way but to flee. Kartik leaves for an unknown destination, blinding himself to the world around him to get rid of the mysterious caller. He lives a disconnected life, leaving Bombay and all its memories behind. And of course his telephone.

But when a stroke of fate leads him to get a new connection in his new residence in Cochin, he spends the night panicking about the return of those haunting calls. However, nothing happens.
Relieved he returns home and sleeps a sound sleep. But the calls return.
Meanwhile, back home the therapist explains to the estranged girlfriend the reason behind all this mess. Kartik is actually a schizophrenic living with a split personality disorder.

What I really liked about the second half of the film, and the first, was the sound track. It totally compliments the tone of the film. Kudos to Medival Punditz and Karsh Kale for their efforts.

The movie ends on a happy note (with the only scene of the film I didn’t think was necessary). The couple is married and we see the damsel reading a book that is titled ‘understanding schizophrenia).
Over all, my claps are for Farhaan Akh. for acting so well.

Money. It stinks.

2010-02-04T08:52:00.000-08:00

Money has that stench. It’s the murky reminder of a gone era.
The fading paper tucked in the murky rag of a rag-picker.
The catalyst that enables man to sin.
The faint whiff of success. And loss.
The stimulant, temptation that results in disaster.
The reason peace treaties are denied.
It’s an album of lost heroes. And the hero itself.
Sometimes the god. And sometimes the offering.
The cure for stalled projects. The universal language.
The green the world wants to see.
Money. It's the smell that stinks long after it's burnt.

Running wild 2010

2010-01-11T02:54:00.000-08:00

1st jan:
While we wait at Bandra terminus, we are already happy and thankful for confirmed tickets to Rajkot.

2nd:
Reached Rajkot early morning and walked hungry and dirty, towards the Bus stop. We book our tickets to Junagarh in a local bus and stuff ourselves silly with fried green chillies, Dhoklas and deep-friend Pakodas.

Early morning bus ride from Rajkot to Junagarh. Leaving the comfort of our air conditioned train, we are now being shaken and stirred as we try hard to get used to the absence of leg-room in the bus. Apart from the diverse landscape outside, we are distracted by the glares of diverse people inside the bus. A family of three, is particularly fascinating. The mother and son look like Africans and the father, clearly a Gujrati. They too seem to find us amusing and unusual and reciprocate by staring back.

After a while, the bus attendant alerts us about our stop. We get off with our bags at an IndianOil petrol pump from where we walk about a kilometer towards the Maneland jungle lodge.

As we enter inside, the rooms with stone walls and the spacious-unkempt surroundings seem welcoming. I feel like a traveler lost in a desert, happy to find an oasis. I was just plain thirsty and needed to go to a clean restroom.
Pleased with our room, we throw our bags and take turns to shower.
For lunch, there’s Gujju food. And for that moment in the heat of dry Gujrat, our excitement about gulping cold Chaas was at par with spotting Lions. We wash down our oily food and call for a Chagda (what used to be a motor-bike but now runs as the local rick) to head out for the safari permit.
Dressed in sun glasses, Colourful jackets and sneakers the locals have sharp eyes to spot us as clueless outsiders and we are easily duped into paying 100 rs for a 2 KM ride. We wait in line for our permit. First, patiently. Then annoyed by the rowdy men cutting in the line. Finally, after a mini-brawl with the man-behind-the-counter we get a safari permit for a route where it is just as impossible to spot Lions as it is to see a Penguin do the tango.

We were now inside the dry, deep and under-explored Gir forest. Only 20% into the trail, I was smitten. The initial oo’s and aa’s started to diminish as we kept seeing many Deers on our way. Now, there’s one thing I learnt about them. They’re friendly and are probably breeding like bunnies inside the forest because they are plenty in number. And that they hang out with Pigeons.
The landscape is dry and when the sun starts to dip, you will thank god for the things he has made. The bare trees, stand there quietly, their branches stretching skyward as though reaching out to touch the sky. I stood there fascinated and overwhelmed as I pictured the trees as people raising their hands towards the mighty power in heaven, praising him.

The same night at the lodge there was something unusual planned for the guests- a tribal dance performed by Gujrati speaking Negros settled there for years (rechristened by us as Nejjus). We were subjected to a bunch of silly half clad men with painted faces, dancing too close for comfort. It was getting monotonous and even their somersaults to pick up thrown 10 rupee notes weren’t amusing us. And then, this one very lanky guy came right near us and swiftly picked up a very horrified/blush faced/ shocked Nasar only to parade him around as Shikha and me laughed as though Mr. Chaplin gave us a private performance. Soon after, it was time to hide inside the cocoon. So off we went and retired as a preparation for the early (very early) morning.

Day 3- 3rd Jan

At 5 AM what our incessant cell-phone alarm couldn’t do, Shikha managed with professional ease. We sprung out of bed with a deadly breeze. It was time to wrap oneself in jackets, mufflers, quilts. And head out to greet our friends in the wild.
Our very efficient driver (who was already our friend by now) had taken a ‘good’ route and something said that it is the right day to be optimistic.
We left a dusty trail behind as we forayed into the chilled, quaint and deserted jungle. Ahead we saw a Neel Gai, Sambar and Leopard. A Leopard! Now let me take time to tell you why it’s a really big deal. Since Leopards are faster than Schumacer on a good day in his Ferrari, they are rare to spot. And no, they are just too prude to loosen up and pose while you go camera happy. So to see one clearly, is a good enough reason to open a bubbly (except, Gujrat is a dry state. I will enunciate on that later).
So, by now we were already confirmed as lucky travelers. And then to reinforce it, God heard my secret prayer and we saw a Lion, right after a kill. Nevermind that it was from a million miles away. Nevermind that we personally couldn’t click a picture of its bulging tummy (inside which was a very sorry Buffalo). We could hear its roar. And honestly, if I try and think about it, I can still hear it inside my head.
Well, unlike that Lion that was lying there lazy, enjoying life after a big meal, we weren’t so satisfied. We wanted an upper closer experience.

So, as soon as this safari was done with and we were back to our lodge, over some really deep fried vegetables and sweet curries, we contemplated another safari right after. The thought of a quick round three was not equally exciting to all three. So Nasar stayed back to nurse his back and read while Shikha and me hopped like eager Beavers towards the jungle. As we made our way into a new unexplored trail, I had just about to start feeling like Mr Jim Corbett himself. What’s that- A green footed yellow Pigeon. And look- a heard of wild bores. Woah, 2 Leopards together.
Our open Jeep vroomed ahead as the leaning tree branches seemed to part and make way only to engulf us into the belly of the forest. The guides in Gir (luckily) have spent time together networking over chai and that means that if one of them spots a rare sight, chances are, he’ll be happy to share the link with his friend. So it didn’t hurt when our guide was over friendly. We were informed that ahead there is a content Lion, undeterred and unmovable. And there it was. Hair streaked black, lazing beside a river unaware of the effect it had over its many spectators, closely observing every breathing movement made by it, through their guarded Binoculars. Excitedly we scurried inside the little space our parked jeep allowed us to find the best angle to scrutinize the Lion. Our breathing was silent, words were whispered and eyes were unblinking as though we'd spot an ET. At such moments a digital camera can be rendered dysfunctional. For it does not have the capability to capture the silence in the air, sense the tension of the animals and gauge the awe of the tourists around the beast.

We gathered ourselves and picked up or jaws and drove ahead. At this point our Guide felt that he’s done his duty to show us the marvelous sight and that now we could happily just stroll around and leave from there. But by now we had picked up a trait from the blood thirsty animals. Once you taste blood, you’ve got to have it. So we pierced our amateur eyes inside the camouflaged foliage of the jungle to see if we could find what we were looking for.
What we saw was a local Maldhari man attending to his heard of Buffaloes. And while he was talking to our guide who was trying to squeeze out information regarding his fresh discoveries, we noticed that the cattle started to go in a different direction.
This was not because they wanted to take a de tour and stop over to say hello to the Deers grazing nearby, but because they had sensed danger. A classic case of animal instinct right in front of our eyes!
As our driver sped the car wildly through the forest, a by-stander would’ve surely thought we’re escaping from untamed forest fire. We clung on to our seats and showed our co-operation towards rushing at the spot where the so called Lions were. And then everything faded into oblivion as we fixed our eyes and nailed them on to the two Lionesses’ with 5 Lions cubs (of which I could only see 3). The cubs (which weren’t tiny at all) were playing just like little kids would. Their mothers sat there yawning and turning to look at us as though we have interrupted their conversation. It was awesome. I was sure that God put them there so we’ll go back knowing the wonders he’s created to inhabit the beautiful forest.
That moment made me picture young people sitting around in some park, in a residential colony in the crowded city of Bombay in search of freedom and space, whiling away their hours (just as we would if we were there), looking at nothing substantial in particular. It made me like these efforts we had taken to start this year. It made me a tad bit wise to value my time while on a trip.
The topsy-turvy ride, the chill, the layer of dust settled on our bodies, the empty stomach- everything became meaningful and bearable.
And with that knowledge, we ended our safari. Quietly we headed out saying bye to the beasts inside, the fossilized leaves strewn all over, the golden Rubber trees and the bare dark one with branches raised high.

What followed was a verbal essay of the best safari so far. I could almost sense Nasar go ‘Tch’ inside his head so for his sake, we changed the topic.

Day 4:
The night before, we had slept with a half-certain plan to leave for Diu and then head to Rajkot. The cheap water sports were our main attraction there. The next day we drove to Diu and as soon as we got there, did a quick round of the motor boat. I went on the water ski, twice and the water scooter. These sports were cheap but not as thrilling as imagined they’d be. After all, from the limit to where we’d go to the speed at which we’d go, everything was controlled by the instructor. He refused to hear my request for a longer ride. I was disappointed but then again; it made me more interested in another trip with the same agenda.

It was now time for lunch and we welcomed Koliwada prawns (after three days of vegetarian Gujrati meals), chicken curry and rice. And beer. Right after we finished chomping, it was time to head toward Rajkot. Being opportunistic, I took a beer can to go. Now, this was the biggest blunder of all times. You don’t carry back even a teeny weeny can of beer especially in a dry state that has undercover bootleggers all around. Of course I should’ve taken a tip or two from the swaggering local men I encountered in the state of Gujrat. They were doing things the right way. My inexperience caused me to shell out a WHOLE 1000 rs. at the check-post. I secretly pledged to not return to Gujrat (at least not for a long time).
Delayed by the asinine, corrupt government official at the check-post, we were now racing with time to make it on time for our 5:40PM train. And (phew!) we did.

With happy smiles we ate the last of Theplas for dinner and slept with a promise to travel more in 2010.

It's Christmas. And i like it.

2009-12-24T06:05:00.000-08:00

I feel undoubtedly, happy. Because Christmas is a day of hope. It's an announcement of safety. It tells the world how lucky they really are. And how beyond they really should be looking, in life. It is the celebration of everlasting life that everyone gets to live. Irrespective of what/who they are.
Christmas is the red of homemade wine. It's the marzipan sweets that melt in your mouth and make you smile.The glittering green tree. The snowflakes. The carols that play in your ears long after they're sung. And everyone should enjoy it.

Merry Christmas to all.

xoxo

Lujuria- Lust

2009-12-21T22:15:00.000-08:00

Even more than mathematics, lust may the universal language. In its most elemental form, lust can be tantalizing, enthralling, contagious. But just as often it can be awkward, off-putting, messy- grotesque, even. There’s typically an edge of desperation to lust, which makes it terribly, (really, terribly) compelling. And it has tragicomic dimensions, too, which are easiest to discern in creatures (witness the family pet in heat, McDonalds customers wolfing down giant cheeseburgers, or crazed shoppers fighting over bargains), even as we recognize a bit of ourselves in the graceless spectacle.
Humans bring momentum, cunning and infinite variety to lust, stretching and distorting its contours. Lust begins in our imagination as a sexual thing – an oddly pleasurable form of temporary insanity, in ideal circumstances a madness indulged with a loved one- but for many of us, it can have everything or nothing to do with sex. Lust is, or becomes about power. About acquisition (of money or objects or people). Control. Wanting. Devouring. And the most interesting thing of all is what happens in the space between desperately wanting and finally having (or not having): the manner in which we succumb to our lust- and whether or not we allow self-gratification to be perverted into self-destruction.

-COLORS mag.

Sing away the monday blues.

2009-12-12T02:07:00.000-08:00

If Mondays weren't Blue then Fridays would bear good news.
A declaration of things to come. A short distance between yearning and seizing. A proof that distance does indeed make the heart grow fonder.
You could celebrate your Friday in anticipation of Monday. Go to TGIF even.

The pointless Sunday brunch would take a backseat because The Power Lunch would be the fashion again. Overrated weekend getaways would die just like the alarm bell that's put to an abrupt end every morning. Weekend- just a ritual between a man and his work. The assassin of much needed Power nap and the obstruction between the beautiful collision of coffee breaks and brewing ideas.

Finally, Monday marking the beginning of the week would attain a whole new meaning. And so would the colour blue. When you'd have prime time news and pleasant voice messages to come home to. When you'd get a good night sleep. Over ideas.
Headlines, appointments, latté.They’re all at their freshest best. On Monday. A day like none other.
There’s a reason it’s the first day of the week.
Hail Monday.

2009-11-30T07:13:00.000-08:00

I've reaslised that i'm no good at poetry. And that whatever attempt I make to moonlight as a poet, will mostly be met with little or no success.
Also, unlike my writing, my poems are probably understood by one person alone.Me. And after a while, i lose that audience as well. So, i'm not seeing much point in this anymore.
=)

The Leprechaun arrives

2009-11-27T01:07:00.001-08:00

A room filled with glitter
from the dust that floats
above the lowly ground
Over the dust, rests a crown,
of self manifested pride.

A knock on the door
A shiver on the ply
Who is this who meets my unexpecting eye?

The leprechaun stands there unannounced
With bags parked on the floor.
Unspeaking, on the ground.

The room’s unsettled
You’re unwelcomed.
But we’ll find a place where you can stay.
After all, this is a friendly town.

The leaves outside are fluttering
This isn’t autumn, and of course not spring!
It seems a bit nippy.
But a Leprechaun
a bit like a hippy had been wandering around.

Does he get a welcome, in this tiny township
Does he mix with the crowd?
Get used to the flurry
Or packed to leave in a hurry
Whispers a goodbye, flying above the lowly ground.

2009-11-17T07:19:00.001-08:00

You are not your bank account
You are not the clothes you wear
You are not the contents of your wallet
You are not your bowel cancer
You are not your grande latte
You are not the car you drive
You are not your fucking khaki's

- The Dust Brothers

2009-11-10T22:59:00.000-08:00

Ha! So I notice that you have been very obedient. But I didn't ask for a cyclone now did I? I've already had an overdose of people using 'November Rain' as their status messages, now all I can hope for is that there isn't a popular song with 'Cyclone' in it.

2009-11-09T22:20:00.000-08:00

Bombay, this is one big reason you make me mad.
You won't let me curl up in comfort and hide under a quilt. You won't let me have the pleasure of drinking tea fresh out of the stove. And of course I will always see so clearly the things on the road I may want to be blissfully unaware of as though im i'm in a dream.
Bombay, instead you mock me with a silly drizzle on a Tuesday morning.
Let me get this straight. You better give us some rain as a consolation if not the winter. Okay? Okay.

2009-11-05T04:40:00.000-08:00

Hello wall. You look pretty fancy today.
Fancy giving me a smile back.
Of course you wont.
Since you don't have a mouth.
And you know how I know that?
It's cause you never talk back.
But you are the best wall there ever will be.

Because you are strong.
And yet you are silent about it.
That's a rare quality.

blue

2009-10-21T05:17:00.000-07:00

“The movie lives up to its name. It leaves you feeling blue.”
-Arundhati Mishra

“You’re a fool. Not the makers of the film. They are warning you through the title of the movie and you still go ahead and watch it!”
-Arundhati Mishra

Well, forget the fact that the film lacks a half decent script, its appalling that they have spent bucks to put this crap on the big screen when environmentalists are pleading for funds to protect the rain forest.

Now, before anyone in their sane mind even toys with the idea of watching this movie, let me tell you that you won’t just be killing time. You’ll be brutally axing two hours or more of your life, while those two hours helplessly battle with their end but only because you have paid money for the ticket you’ll decide to sit nevertheless for the air-conditioning while you finish your popcorn and that black aerated liquid that is bottled in the slum suburbs of Mumbai.
(I’m sorry I had to break this news harshly, but I’m sort of angry and it’s all because of the movie.)

Well, there are some things that will haunt me for a long time, before I can submerge this traumatic episode underneath the shelter of some wonderful cinema. To put you to speed, the movie is basically about Sethji (the coke-head with a hard-to-miss-protruding-belly, Sanjay Dutt), his lady love Lara Dutta (the very obviously bronzed and stunning girl who does nothing but hang around Sanjay Dutt’s arm in the Bahamas), Zayeed Khan who plays Sanjay D’s daft younger brother (because he doesn’t have any movies lined up for the rest of his life) and Akshay Kumar who is a filthy rich person living in a penthouse in the Bahamas, giving away Ducati bikes randomly and picking up chicks from nightclubs. Oh wait… there’s a villain too (forgetting the guy’s name). He abducts Lara Dutta. Schemes with Akshay k who, according to the evil plan is supposed to get Sanjay D to dive into the deep blue sea to fish out a treasure for them so they can become even wealthier. The schemers want Sanjay d to get to the bottom of the sea and get their stuff cause, “even the fish don’t know the sea like Sanjay D, who is the best diver in town!)

Err..just remembered there’s Katrina Kaif also in the movie. Well, there’s nothing to say about her except for she has really long legs.

The producers have paid a huge amount to Kylie Minogue to do an item number for the film. If I didn’t think she’s brave and cool for battling cancer, I would have to write a whole new page about how her career is going to the dogs and how hideous she looked while singing “get jiggy wiggy with you boy with Akshay K.”

Lara D was a good choice for the film. She did her job well. Got a lot of whistled from the rickshaw walas gaping at her cleavage in the movie hall. I think Sanjay D must stop doing so much coke and go on in life (when he’s outside the prison) driving his Audi Q7 around Pali Hill. Akshay K has acted well and could give a few tips to little Zayed (on how to get a good haircut).

So now I’m out of words. This whole exercise seems pointless now and I think I’ve let most of my anger out by now.

On another note: I also watched Kikujiro (Japanese). A good respite.

ladies and gentlemen.. Adam Levine.

2009-09-10T02:08:00.000-07:00

Some days are good for fishing. And some days are good to wear purple and go for that interview that you've been postponing. But when you see the sun shine like this(recollect this morning please)you know it's a perfect day to DO YOUR LAUNDRY.

I didn't manage to do that BUT.. but..but i'm trying to bring a bit of goodness into my day by listening to Adam Levine... and staring at his face as I fill my ears with his insanely superb voice. =)

2009-09-08T04:31:00.001-07:00

I’ve been wondering why people these days (including me) mindlessly, go about asking around “Wassup”? It’s certainly not the influence of beer commercials. It has to be something more. Like lack of things to say instantly when you see someone. It’s the casual, non implicative, the un-thoughtful “wassup?” that you utter on your way to the restroom to avoid that awkward glance from your co-worker. It’s the substitute of a long, uninteresting and banal conversation with your brother’s friend who is using the computer at home, to trash some villains. It’s also the appropriate greeting for your neighbor while you’re on your way back home after a long day and just can’t wait to get inside to settle the provisions you’ve just purchased.
The point is, in the cases discussed above, you rarely expect an answer. In fact, you sometimes don’t even bother waiting for a reply. A brief monosyllable, heard faintly while you go about your business will suffice. But a long conversation that requires the ‘asker’ to stand and wait and listen and wait and listen and wait… certainly not happening.

Sorry to hurt your feelings but in most cases it’s a passing thing. (When you say it on the phone, it’s different. Then, you and the person you are engaging in a telephonic conversation with are probably out of topics. Or it’s usually applied right after the phone has been answered. My best advice is, hang up after the point is made.)

So the next time you really want to have a meaningful conversation, please refrain from starting it with the very very silly “wassup”. It hardly means anything and does not give (at least me) a feeling that you really want to know what is really on with my life/work/mind/day/orwhateveritis. Ask me the question you want to ask. Because if truth be told, I sometimes may not have an answer to the vague, ambiguous, frightening, "wassup". So be nice and speak it out silly.

insoluble truth

2009-08-31T04:35:00.000-07:00

You can tuck it under the carpet. Choose to close your eyes to it. And even your ears.
Sugar-coat it with white lies and prettify it.
Use euphemism and make it sound ambiguous
But no matter what, the truth always comes around.
It's like sand. It can be stirred in water and make it muddy.
But eventually you'll be glad you can see it.

2009-07-23T03:47:00.000-07:00

For me, it is almost customary to talk or write about any trip I take. So keeping up with the tradition, here is my excerpt.

In a random conversation with Payal, on chat, she mentioned that she really wants to go to Pondicherry this year end sometime. And like the rest of the world, even I wanted to go there. Just after sometime, my boss called me in his cabin to tell me that because my senior had backed out, I was to go to Chennai on work. So, it happened that easily. =)

The next afternoon I was in Chennai, with Pondicherry in my mind. The pilot warned us that the temperature outside was 33 degrees- an unexpected and unpleasant degree for those currently spoilt by the nippy weather in Bombay.

So I and the unfamiliar art guy reached our comfortable service apartment that the company had booked us into. I was dizzy with the heat and vaguely remember that before I passed out, I was glad to turn the ac on.

Day 1. Thurs.
We reached our office to find out (much to our horror) that we are actually called to work on something completely drastic, from what we were made to believe in before we took our flight there. So clueless and confused, I decided to sit around, enjoy a good lunch (at 5 in the evening) of some spicy Chettinaad food. The day was meant to pass by and tomorrow I’d consult the client’s website as my savior and guide.

That night we went to meet some people, who knew a friend back home. And it was nice to meet them to understand the city better. With hopes of finding some city info. insights and inputs, we entered their house with some beers.

Day 2. Fri.
Was mainly about waking up really late and reaching office. doing 2 corporate av’s. and heading out.
Post work, we met our new acquaintances and went to a mallu food chain called Kumarokam where we ate a lot. I was slightly disappointed with the beef fry there. You will also be, if you eat it from Kerala. =)
So then we ended the night again early with some drinks. Headed back to our service appt. to get a good night sleep that will refresh me for working on a holiday.

Day 3. Sat.
Finished off work by afternoon. Met the Chennaiites who picked me up in their car and drove me around the city showing off famous places and structures. I had my lunch at Pupil, this small rest. At Besant nagar beach. If you go there, you can safely order a beef burger and enjoy it too. We went past Marina beach and Citi centre. Spensors, which is a BIG deal for anyone who’s from Chennai, (because it’s the city’s largest and the oldest mall) didn’t hold my interest much. We went to the ECR (east coast road) and straight in to the crocodile park. Yea, there’s one huge place where they’ve got Crocs of all regions and religions. You can even get to hold one, a two month old croc and see them jump at the meat thrown at them by the keepers there.

This whole drive was tiring indeed and I was glad to reach to my appt. to shower and get ready for 10 downing street- an English pub, very popular and not so English. Unfortunately, just as were had started enjoying ourselves, the cops came to shut it down early because of some religious celebration that begins on that day. So we took our party to a beach house, about one hour away from the city.
There I was with lots of unfamiliar faces relying on my beers to get me by. Unfortunately some prick had it while he was chilling in the pool. For most of the night I sat drenched and cold (some drunk girl pulled me in the pool, leaving my hand bruised and me, annoyed) trying to shuffle between the 12 passable songs on someone’s ipod. There were whiskey drinking competitions and there were shady Canadians. There were flirtatious college kids who later puked all over themselves. And there was a bunch of rowdies who drank themselves silly. So the night was filled with spiked drinks and fake accents. At 8 when I finally reached to my appt. I’d had enough. All I needed was a trip to Pondi and some good sleep. And of course a good cold shower and breakkie.

Day 4. Sun.
Woke up and headed out as soon as I could to Koyambedu bus station. Took the first bus to Pondi and slept off in the bus, in anticipation. Woke up thirsty and saw a local Tamilian woman seated next to me, staring at me. She wanted to know the time and I’m glad I got that cause it wasn’t any help trying to explain that I don’t understand anything else that she might want to ask me. So we tried our best to communicate and then I gave up and stared outside the window into the beautiful, dry spaces outside.
Finally, I reached Pondi and took an over charging rick to the Aurodhan- an art gallery converted into a hotel, right near the Aurobindo ashram. I checked into a n expensive terrace room as I was uncertain if I’d get another reasonable place. Atleast, now I know where to go. (the best option if to stay in one of the Ashram guesthouses for Rs. 150 a night. Cheap and safe.)
I headed outside my hotel towards Aurobindo Ashram. I made it just in time to see it because at 6 they shut the gates for visitors. I realised that meditation and keeping shut is not really my thing. It was beautiful and had a lovely selection of cactus and flowers but after roaming around I went outside. On the streets again, I entered Adya Arya Bhavan, a pure vegetarian rest. Overpriced and crowded. I ate my first Aaalo chaat (expecting it to be south Indian in some way, I was disappointed. It was very Delhi.)
Longing for some local knowledge and information, i decided against my original plan of not calling this man whose no. Shikha had given me. So I called this Tabla teacher (who is an acquaintance of my friend here) and introduced myself. After an hour of shopping for incense sticks and talking to shopkeepers in an effort to absorb as much local news and strolling around, I was at the Sunday night flea market with this stranger. We discussed Bengali art and his story of landing in Pondi. He told me about his 9 year old daughter who speaks fluent French and about his ‘foreign students’. About the tight Ashra schedule and how one can have all their meals in 20 Rs. organized by the ashram…etc etc.
Back in the flea market, everything was dirt cheap and I happily bought my clothes for the next day. My damages after buying 2 t shirts - 40 Rs. =) After a while, I headed alone to the beach and enjoyed the cheer around. There were beautiful, clean and simplistic houses that were built in French style. There were happy people riding their bicycles as outsiders like me tried to get a good picture of them.
Finally, at 8:45 I went to Sea gulls (a terrace restaurant). I ordered some very dodgy looking Hakka noodles and a large Signature. Enjoying the breeze and my own company, I ate/drank in silence, thinking and often smiling to myself.
After this, I walked a bit, but my bag was too heavy to carry around, so I took a rick and went to Casablanca (a huge retail store). they didn’t allow me in despite my repeated pleading. At 9:30, I was late for to enter the store but of course it wasn’t late to get a couple of breezers to take back to the hotel. So I stopped by and went to my hotel with two cheap Lemon breezers. Watching tv and sipping on my cold drink, I called it a night.

Day 5. Mon.
Woke up. After a quick shower I rushed out to meet the Tabla player who had arranged for a taxi for me. My plan was to head out by 10, for Auroville, visitor’s center after which I was to go to Mammalapuram and then straight to Chennai. Just in time to pick up my bag, shower, If I wanted to, and head for the airport. I secretly hoped I keep up with his schedule.
After having upma, my last meal in Pondi, I met my guide and new friend, the very polite and very Tamilian taxie driver. We communicated mostly in sign language but to his credit he made a good effort to speak by using all his eng vocabulary. We drove peacefully in the heat of south india. I slept off reading a boring book I’d taken along with me. On reaching Auroville, clicking pictures along the way I entered into the shop. And got scared seeing the price tags and came out buying pot pourrie because I really have a knack for spending my bucks on unnecessary things. By this time I needed a snack and went to the café after collecting my pass for Matri mandir. If you’re going there, here’s a warning. If you think that cheesecake in the glass shelf out there is anything as divine as the one you see outside the Osho ashram, think again. It’s small, inedible and it costs 45 Rs. The moral is, not all ashrams that have white people hanging around, know their cheesecakes. Here’s another tip. If you’re in a hurry, like I was, you can skip the 15 mins long documentary that you have to watch before collecting your pass at Matri Mandir. But you have to think of a very good reason to tell the keepers there. I managed. =)

Now I was walking towards the open gates of Matri mandir. I entered into this huge space with trees and a massive dome. It was beautiful. Look at pictures for reference. I can’t give you too many details because I didn’t go inside it.

I went back to my taxi and we sped towards Mammalapuram. On reaching there, my taxi driver ji and me took a stroll together, inspecting ancient ruins like excavators on a study tour. It was really gorgeous and hot. If I wasn’t feeling so dehydrated, I’d get more pictures (of myself) clicked around those huge pillars. The carvings were interesting. I can bet I saw a carving of a cat being worshipped, on one of those walls. Obviously I walked away.
After gulping Pulpy orange in 2 sips and being coaxed into buying 3 beeded necklaces from a woman outside the temple, we headed back in full speed to get something to eat. I wanted a good, heavy meal (non-vegetarian only). Because of miscommunication, I ended up eating dosai from a pure veg Aiyar rest. We were now on our way to Chennai. And I was baked and looking forward to the rains in Bombay.

Did a quick stop by in Chennai at a cyber café and took out a print of my ticket. Headed to my appt. to pick up my bag, cool my face in front of the ac and watch some television in the solitude of my room. Stopped by to say bye to the few people I had met in Chennai, and bought some last minute Mysore Paak packets at the Chennai airport from the Shri Krishna shop. I boarded my flight at 8 30 pm.

Bombay wasn’t waiting for anything or anyone. It was raining when I landed because of which I landed one hour later than expected. And reached home to sleep and energise myself for a routine day at work.

surprise test.

2009-06-24T23:08:00.000-07:00

So this morning when I went to the passport office, I knew that it’s difficult to get things done in the first go. Something told me, I’ll be back again. (That feeling was right.)
After everything was kind of figured out, I took a cab from the passport office to get to work. The weather was lovely I was enjoying my ride. Being stuck in traffic just didn’t seem like a problem.
When I finally reached office, the friendly old cab driver gave me my change back and said, “best of luck.” To which I immediately responded with a smile and a “thankyou.”
After the cab pulled away, I realised that he’d wished me “luck”. Did I really need it? Was that supposed to mean something I didn’t know about yet? Am I missing something?
And then a certain sense told me- Every single day we put ourselves to test. We take tests e.v.e.r.y.d.a.y. Small tests and sometimes big. And we also fail miserably. Because these tests aren’t about scoring big numbers (algebra and trigonometry are childsplay in comparison!)
This is when you do a bit of introspection. Did you lose your patience in the local train while travelling to work today? Or was it the taxi guy you gave a tough time to, because your white linen pants were sprayed with muck because of that speeding punk biker? Did you pass brushing your teeth before sleeping last night, on account of being lazy? What about that dessert you had after being stuffed? You failed everytime you gave in.
Now, this is the good news. Some of those tests we put ourselves through aren’t really that important. Imagine you break that promise of brushing your teeth after you’ve had a nice chocolate soufflé for dinner and sleep, what’s the worst that will happen? You’ve given in to laziness and gluttony and also carelessness. So what? After all, when you’ve done this a few times (read: million times) for 10 years, the worst that could happen is you lose a few teeth to cavity. And, that tooth fairy will pay you some more annoying visits. She’s not that bad you know. You’ll make friends with her. And also with the dentist.
So set some priorities. If you’re consciously making an effort to ‘not be angry’ then try your bloody best to not be. Under no circumstances should you give up or give in. And that is it. If it makes you think that every time you break a vow that you made to yourself, then you’re failing these small little tests that life throws in. if you think you’re give up smoking, then really make up your mind and do it. The important thing is to try. And doesn’t everyone in the world know that to ‘err is human’. So, be a bit considerate with yourself when you fail. Do a few push up’s. Don’t be so tough on yourself and ground yourself. I’m sure you’ll get by with a little help from your friends.

Got milk? (easy question to answer!!!)

2009-06-09T09:50:00.000-07:00

Client servicing is thankless. The client can be anal, use your head as a chair and park their behind on it (who knows, maybe even fart/shit) and of course feel free to pull out your toe nails and pour lemon juice over the wounds, slowly. The point is, you can’t say “NO way, YOU WHIMP”.
You are expected to listen. Even if your ears get sore. It just makes me wonder, why someone would even do that job? But I guess some animals were created to bear the burden of others, while they sip on Mojitos !
To add insult to injury, there’s the creative department. Sometimes, just to revel in the joy of torturing the servicing person, the creative guy comes to work. That could also be the reason of his/her existence.
Of course, there’s no need for them to listen to the servicing people. They can kick the servicing guy around, just because their cat peed in the dining hall. An illogical argument can be triggered by a bad lunch the creative had, or an indigestion problem. It could be because he supported McCain and Obama won. And of course a bad hair day is a valid enough reason too. (If you’re still asking for a reason, give up and go home.)
The deal doesn’t end here. On a Sunday when the servicing person gets time to bathe, and is singing in the shower, the phone will ring. And most chances are it’s the client. Time has no meaning. Love has no meaning. Life has no meaning.
Let me explain why with a few Definitions:

The client: a living horror.
The creative: a bigger horror.
The Client servicing exe.: A mistake his/her mom made.

I have been trying to figure out why someone would do this to themselves. I still haven’t. I think some questions can’t be answered. Remember that look on your mom’s face when you asked her why your nosey tastes salty. Did she have an answer?

an overdose.

2009-06-02T00:02:00.000-07:00

I’ve just been curious to know whether or not tea can uplift your mood, like coffee can. Tea is good. Especially if it’s flavoured- think cardamom and cinnamon.
But what’s even better, according to my taste buds, is Coffee. Now think hazelnut infused frozen frappe.
Coffee has that something that tea doesn’t. Like Jude Law has that something that Adam Sandler doesn’t/can’t.
There’s taste, smell and sound (that of the coffee machine or the beating of the spoon against the coffee mug while making a frothy paste). All a tea takes is a boil.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I like tea. In fact in most places I always drink tea. But it’s cause I prefer coffee so much more than it hurts me to see it go wrong.
The sugar can’t be too much. You have to hold the milk just right. And of course the Coffee powder has to be the right amount. The point is, it’s blasphemous to go wrong with coffee. You don’t try making it if you can’t.
On most mornings, I owe my calm to coffee. Like when I’m reading about Archie tying the knot with Veronica Lodge, or the U.S army soldiers videotaping their female collogues bathing, nothing else works better than coffee.
But while I’m praising the brew so much, let me remind you that coffee is like sunshine. And just like too much sunshine burns, too much coffee stains your teeth.

Inspiring another comic. (that will hopefully take my world by storm)

2009-05-28T03:10:00.000-07:00

Until recently, Unicorns and People (and Sea horses) were the few species that eluded comprehension in my mind. But now there’s a recent subject. It’s the Arcane Arachnid.
In the quiet of my bathroom, bored of the magazine in my hand, I was sitting and looking around. Counting tiles and observing why the blue is fading on some of them and not on the others. My eyes were curious to find something new that I may chance upon in the room, when I noticed a Spider trying to climb up the wall. And just then, without my permission a few thoughts came marching inside my head like an army. Full of inane questions. Something asked me if I’ve ever wondered whether Spiders are happy or downright miserable (not even sad). No one really cares about them much. Well, except for scientists, musicians (maybe), painters (not) and now more recently, me.
I mean did you ever wonder if Spiders can laugh, giggle or cry. Do they want to just curl up and die on some days? Do they have dinner parties behind your fridge in that rusty corner where you and your maid haven’t ever bothered to peek. Do Spiders love other Spiders?
Spiders have great potential of becoming legendary. They have of course, inspired one of the world’s greatest comic stories. But have you wondered how? Imagine, they don’t even make a sound and have still made so much noise in the world of comics. Spider man came out of a Spider and then overshadowed it with all his wondrous works (all of which is only fantasy in Stan Lee’s head). The teeny Spider kept spinning his web in the solitude of the dark, dingy, upswept corner of your house.
I want to announce that I’m going to start a comic strip and my hero will be the plain, simple, dark, unpopular, inspirational, neglected Spider. Without any frills. Just the way they are. Here they will of course not be climbing sky scrapers and rescuing bimbettes. They will not be taking out their masks and kissing girls, while they enjoy a head rush hanging upside down. Nor will they be wearing glasses and walking around like geeks in the day time. (As I write, I realize that I may be seriously ticking some people off here. So I’d like to pause here to say sorry with a radiant smile.) All I intend to do is to make them popular (in the small set of people who may support me because they’re my friends) by bringing out the other side of Spiders. A side that’s not sunny side up. Where they are as real as well, they aren’t. It will be based purely on what I think, they think; and you think, they think(in that order). Let’s wait and watch what really happens to this.
Who knows this will turn out to be big(er) one day. I propose to do this with a friend and still haven’t mentioned this plan to him. I hope the Spider manages to charm its way into our books.

The music submerged into madness and died a screeching death.

2009-05-19T04:15:00.000-07:00

Bad dreams can leave you with such a bad taste. A taste that spoonful of Nutella cannot erase. A lingering burnt smell that Vaporub cannot subside. And a heavy heart that cannot float to the surface to swim in the moonlight.
And yet the strangest part is to have no recollection of it at all.

Cats.

2009-05-15T05:37:00.000-07:00

Ever remember writing an essay about them in school? Well, if you do, then shut up. Because I don’t care and I don’t remember. I’ve tried to understand why and have concluded that it’s mainly because I find them pretty insignificant as beings (for those who’re wondering why we’re talking about them, it’s because I want to reinforce their insignificance).
Firstly, I don’t understand their reasons for all that arrogance. They’re evidently not in the league of the Big Cats. Imagine there’s a grand feast in the cat universe. Now, where do you think the pussy cats will be seated. Of course they will be the ones serving. Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not being prejudiced here; all I’m saying is that in comparison they’re so miniscule. And are likely to be relished at the table by those they’re serving.
No matter how hard they try, they do not have the class/ panache or the charisma to be like their victorious predecessors. Cats are uselessly walking around our land, pretending to own it. I think they should be kicked out or gobbled up by the Big Cats.

Remember those people who flash their expensive cell phones while they’re inhaling second-hand-chauffeur-breath in their Mercedes. Well, the point is that they really do have a cell phone to flash. What on earth do the cats think they have. What? I asked one of them. It didn’t have an answer. Simply looked away and walked, shaking that silly little rump. How convincing is that!

I once read somewhere (and totally second that profound statement) “Who would’ve thought that behind those luminous eyes there is no soul.” On observation you will see that Cat’s really do have eyes that to some people may come across as mesmerizing. So, here’s a point to ponder over. Centuries ago, Eve was mesmerized by the serpent to eat and apple and we still bear the repercussions of that.

Some fool said and believed, that Cat’s have seven lives. Imagine living a pointless existence once and then multiplying that by 7. Bad theory. In my opinion they don’t deserve even the one they have.

God, please bless the land where people relish Cat’s for dinner. Or lunch, supper, breakkie, tea… you get the drift.
Anyhow it’s been too much time writing about Cats. So without wasting a sec…….

ps: i HAD to write this. I think i beat a world-wide record by writing about Cats (the most unimportant, neglect able and hopefully for some people, delectable animal).

Why Muffin trees can't really be your best friends.

2009-05-12T01:42:00.000-07:00

http://www.muffinfilms.com/tree.html

While the summer lasts…

2009-05-05T01:15:00.000-07:00

Summer is not my most favoured season. It’s the opposition that I’m with. Winters, not the cold-gray London kind but the hot-chocolate-sit-on-the-couch type, is what I really fancy. Monsoons would win the prize but they lose by a tiny margin. There’s just too much fuss (over limp hair, over shoes, over closed skin pores, ruined picnics, white Kurtas and other such things.) Of course you enjoy the season more if you’re sipping cardamom tea and watching the rain slap against the fluorescent green lawn, through a French window.

Summer, contrary to what it sounds, is not such a happy season. You get burnt in the sun and never feel powder fresh (except for the 5 mins. that you really are). Your energy gets greedily sucked by the merciless sun, in the form of swollen beads of sweat. And, you get sick. Salmonella tastes your food before you do. Candle light dinners make your make-up compete with your dessert, in a ‘melting’ competition. You’re lucky if you don’t wear make-up like me. But then again, no one can do w/o eating, right.

So, here’s a little message to all the celebrities in the world. Before you name your 5th adopted child Summer, think again. After all, in this part of the equator it’s not the most arousing season. If you want to argue, then take a trip to Rajasthan and then we’ll talk.

for my earphones.

2009-03-24T05:32:00.000-07:00

Drowning every sound
your lovely voice filled my ears
there was room for your endless chatter...
about heartbeats, shaded birds or a silent tears

So long, bygone
You’re the one I loved to hear

I could take you with me on a beach holiday
We never did go, but i know it would be fine
While the sun shines, we would make hay...
Sit by the fire and sip on some wine?

So long, bygone
You’re the one I loved to hear

Now when the music is blaring around
I miss you even more
I'm thinking of your hushed sound
This ode to you, flows out from a heart that’s sore

So long, bygone
You’re the one I loved to hear

Ps: This poem is dedicated to my lost earphones.
I hope they come back someday. Sigh.

2009-02-17T05:55:00.000-08:00

A one sided conversations that I hear at work, that make me rethink the real worth of the work I do.

“Tv set around the head???”
“Precisely the point.”
“different option???”
“I don’t understand.”
“Tell him to FO.”
“I don’t understand the problem.”
“Can’t proceed??”
“Layered?”
“So You think it’s layered?”
“No way.”
“Okay.”

And then I see them... those ads. And stay.

are we running out of real issues?

2009-02-13T10:56:00.000-08:00

In smog city, when there are a REAL issues that the world is turning a deaf ear to...look what some people are busy doing.

MUMBAI: The Shiv Sena has told its shakha pramukhs in the city to launch a protest against Valentine's Day celebrations on Saturday. The public outburst against the Shriram Sene's recent mayhem in Mangalore has not dampened the party's enthusiasm for moral policing.

"The Sena has, for long, been protesting the festivities. We will go ahead with our action plan on Saturday,'' Arun Dudhwadkar, `vibhag-pramukh' of south Mumbai said on Thursday. (does he really feel smart after making that statement!!?)

Pointing out that Sena chief Bal Thackeray and party executive president Uddhav Thackeray were "stridently opposed'' to Valentine's Day celebrations, Dudhwadkar said, "The guidelines have been set by Balasaheb and Uddhav-ji. There is no change in the party's policy. So Shiv Sainiks will launch a series of protests against V-Day festivities,'' he added. However, the Sena official refused to reveal his "action plan'' for south Mumbai.

"I can only tell you that several leading departmental and book stores have been calling up my office throughout the day, wanting to find out about our plan. I told them that we would go ahead with our protest. Now, it is for them to draw up their course of action.'(where were these guys during the terrorist attacks, again?)

Asked if the Sainiks would barge into city colleges, Dudhwadkar was non-committal. "Let's see how it works out,'' he said, adding, "While we don't wish to disrupt campus life, major celebrations will not be allowed anywhere.' (there, that's a mature outlook. Maybe it'll even solve our AIDS problem.)

"The day is against Indian culture and tradition. We were opposed to it in the past and there is no change in the party's stand on the issue,'' said Joshi. (of course in a city where English is the first language, this is a moral stand we must take.)

"The usual practice is that we call on the leading stores, malls and brief them about our protest plan. They cancel celebrations on their own. This helps defuse the crisis,'' Parab said, adding, "This year too we will follow the same strategy.'(and, what a terrific strategy it is in a country where we're supposed to have democracy!)

2009-02-02T03:05:00.001-08:00

So, I’ve just finished reading Kari - Amruta Patil and I think it’s extremely dark and beautiful. It’s like a sad song that you like singing. That gets you down but you still sing it. Melodiously.

The writing is what I fancy in particular. I haven’t read another writer who has seen everything so differently. Things that we things are too common to write about, like living alone, or auto rickshaws wading through the narrow city lanes in monsoons, are all captured with their essence. Honestly with appropriate words.

There are times when I stopped reading the book and started listening to the storyteller.
The ink is spread thoughtfully on each page and the interesting illustration compliments the writing.

There are few lines from the book that I’m putting up here. For those of you who usually don’t pick books on recommendation, this might be my convincing argument. For those of you who do, you must’ve already figured out by now… but still.

“No one else could call a colt a flower. And no one was such a flame-thrower acrobat with pans and knives as was Ruth. The grotty kitchen turned into a secret garden around her. The house fit her perfectly like a crystal slipper.”
- Kari on Ruth (her love interest).

“For some people, one coupling is all their hearts can hold. They mate for life like blue-footed boobies. Others mate as beautifully with one as with another.
-Kari on smog city girls.

“There are settling girls. There are unsettling girls. The ones who seem to have it in them to be flyers are the ones who seem to want to snuggle into settling. The ones who look as settled as old housedogs, want to twist their way into flying. Necessarily, you must be defensive about being the settling sort of girl.”
-Kari on girl complexities

Figs are dark creatures too, skin purple as loving bruises. A fig is one hundred percent debauched. Lush as a smashed mouth.
-Kari on fruits that she’s too broke to buy and relishes at a friends place.

“The circus is in my head. Not in my life.”
-Kari on herself.

2008-12-31T02:26:00.000-08:00

As the year zips past me, I get this really good feeling.
A feeling that you get when you strip a candy off its wrapper.
The one that you get when you smell fresh warm muffins…
Something that kills you with anticipation.

I have a feeling that it’s going to be a good year.
A fresh start.
Something that will lend me the courage and the understanding to let bygones be bygones.

Something that will be awesome because I’ll live in a fresh way.
Changing a few things I must…. by doing a few things I must.

I’m excited to make some plans which will only take shape in the middle of the New Year!
I’m looking forwards to things…

a city left unexplored, Sulemani wedding and lots of mutton

2008-11-18T03:51:00.000-08:00

Early morning we reached Vadodara station. We were there for my friend’s brother’s wedding. It was a traditional Sulemani wedding and I knew it will be quiet an affair when the young girls of the family surprised made their frequent visits to the train restroom to smoke cigarettes.

As we headed for the place we were going t stay in, I was drooping off and couldn’t care much about the dusty streets of the city at all.

After regaining consciousness, and finally settling in our service apartment in the outskirts of the city, we headed for breakfast in the huge dining hall. Just after having my first breakfast there, I realized that every meal that will follow in the course of our stay, will be special. Afterall, how many times have you shared your plate with complete strangers? How many times have you eaten from a plate as big as you?

Well, what followed in the next two days, (briefly) included eating lots of mutton- Biriyani-khurdi- paya- bone soup- keema- I don’t remember what else. There were prayer ceremonies and then there were the not so holy sessions of sneakily smoking. Our room had given home to the many habits the Jamat kids harbored.

There were only 2 opportunities we took/got to venture out into the city to explore. Both weren’t very successful. However, there were a few things I experienced/saw, that are worth a mention. One lazy afternoon a few of us went to Kirti mandir and luckily, caught a painting exhibition. The place didn’t seem to excite me much but because we’d come so far from where we were staying, we went inside to waste some time. And I must say that some of the paintings on display were very impressive. It made me wonder, whether the artists really do get their well earned and deserved fame and acknowledgement.

Vadodara also has this huge statue of Shiva in the middle of a pond like thing, while you’re going towards on of the main markets. It’s very random, but looks gorgeous especially in the evening when the sun is setting.

We also managed to go to the marketplace and ate our hearts out. We ate unidentifiable gujurati snacks from the streets, we tried out a few Chivdas frm a shop we were buying things from and we ate paan. Lots of it, many times.

I remember after the wedding ceremony, we went in the rickshaw in search of paan. And obviously there was nothing open in at that hour. But miles away, we finally got one shop. Open. But what really made all that exploring worthwhile was not the paan, it was the ride through the city at that hour. It was 12:30 something and I couldn’t stop gazing outside and enjoying the city’s old world charm. Maybe it was just the hour, but I’d like to believe that this was the place where one can picture Versace’s skinny models with painted lips- red, purple, pink and yellow, green shoes and long lashes, sashaying down the dusty roads for a fashion shoot, as the amused passerby’s gape at them like one would see an amoeba in a science lab. I could picture the kings and queens of the fashion world, bringing colour to the faded façade of the city. The charming old, unkempt city. Very dusty and very quiet. (Atleast at night).

The Sulemani wedding took the cake. It was so varied and new for me that it became the priority and the city was forgotten, and kept away for another time, maybe.

insanity in the name of faith.

2008-11-16T23:19:00.000-08:00

http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/articleshow/3718149.cms?TOI_mostcommented

It is rather unfortunate that in a day and age when people need faith and hope the most, certain people are out to destroy their only chance.
What religion means to many can not be understood by anyone…but here are a couple of questions to ask yourself today- “what is your religion?”.
Here’s a question I want to raise- “if religion means you should stand in front of a statue and pray, does that act really give you hope/ peace? Is that your faith?”
What happens to having a personal relationship with your god? What are you really doing and running after. What are you preaching? Will this search ever end?

In a country where we proclaim freedom of speech and thoughts, why is it that certain people are still not really allowed to choose their own way, their own calling. Why can’t it be THEIR personal choice?
Today I want to state that any such hideous act where people are curbed the right (which is so personal) to be with their god (because THEY believe it is their god) should be condemned.

2008-10-23T01:57:00.000-07:00

There’s a small window in my office pantry. Every morning I go to the pantry and get myself a cup of coffee and that is also my moment to gaze outside and see the sunshine.

I realize that watching the sunshine, makes me much happier than being in it.

Which makes my frequent trips to get myself some coffee and refill my water bottle, quite interesting.

Now, there’s a building construction going on there just outside the window. It’s getting me to realize that in the months to come, sunshine will be the last thing I’ll see when I look outside.

It's strange how these small things become so much a part of our lives.

sun shiny days.

2008-10-23T01:54:00.000-07:00

There’s a small window in my office pantry. Every morning I go to the pantry and get myself a cup of coffee and that is also my moment to gaze outside and see the sunshine.

I realize that watching the sunshine, makes me much happier than being in it.

Which makes my frequent trips to get myself some coffee and refill my water bottle, quite interesting.

Now, there’s a building construction going on there just outside the window. It’s getting me to realize that in the months to come, sunshine will be the last thing I’ll see when I look outside.

2008-08-21T04:56:00.000-07:00

Nichita Stãnescu A Poem

Tell me, if I caught you one day
and kissed the sole of your foot,
wouldn't you limp a little then,
afraid to crush my kiss?..

early morning hues

2008-08-18T04:08:00.000-07:00

The best thing to happen to you early in the morning
(if there’s any such thing, that is) is a sumptuous breakkie- eggs and bacon, melted butter on toast and pancakes and to wash this all off, a nice cold glass of orange juice. Well, atleast that’s that for me. Unless of course you wake up and find a hidden gift in your old bag.

So, I woke up day before yesterday, slightly dizzy from the over doing of the night before….really sickly and walked to my dressing room. I still don’t remember what I was looking for, but I know I was surprised when I dug into my bag and something random came out of it. Waking me up and replacing the pillow marks on my face with a smile. It was a small maroon coloured pouch, the kind our grandmothers used to keep jewellery in. inside it was a small green necklace and a note that worked better than a good early morning breakfast (the kind I mentioned earlier)!

My cuz had thoughtfully left me a gift that she’d bought from her first salary and after years she’d written me a note tht was so full of love…it made me feel so special.

So here’s to early morning surprise gifts that make ‘getting out of bed’ worthwhile.

the big snatch and the blue toe.

2008-08-11T05:55:00.000-07:00

So I was coming home in a rickshaw about 8:30 something and two bikers came near close and snatched my fully loaded bag. They fled so fast that I couldn’t even see their number plate. So basically I went straight to the police station to lodge an FIR, knowing that I’ll never get my bag back. ]

Until 11:30 that night I was at the police station dealing with the cops who already seemed too tired with me. And then, hope came ringing on my cell phone. Someone called someone to tell me that my bag is at Dadar police station and that I can come and collect it from there. And the cops at Dadar station also reminded me at 1:30 of the same. So the next day I went to collect my vandalised my red bag… the one that had only one torn wallet without any money or cards and ONLY one old picture of an old boyfriend that I had never been able to get myself to throw out. Not to mention that they left my yellow umbrella inside, intact. It was a bit of a surprise, because I Love my Yellow umbrella (since yellow really works wonders when the sky is grey outside).

The day after that brought along another problem. My toe got infected. With puss. And within a day it was swollen like a small lemon. Clearly this was turning out to be a sour experience! On my way back home, I stopped by at Holy Family hospital- the one place in Bombay where I can walk in for a check up. Because since I’ve shifted here, I’ve fallen ill a few times, and every time I’ve gone there…so by that logic it’s my family hospital so to say. Anyhow, getting back to the point, I went there, and to know that I’m in trouble. So, turns out that the doctor will be operating on it and taking out the entire puss and maybe even the toe nail. And the way she said it, I was wondering if the doc will be pouring lemon juice over it after that for his personal pleasure.

The next morning I was a nervous wreck. I remembered this moment in my childhood, when I was bitten by this sort of domesticated dog. With flesh hanging out from my knee I limped to my parents to tell them what had happened and my father told me the driver will take me to get my shots. On hearing this, I wailed until my mother stepped in to say she’ll accompany me. As all this was going on, my cousin from the U.S of A was explaining how this is a clear crime case against the dog owners. “They should be sued and should go behind bars to not get their dog all the necessary vaccines”, she insisted.

My reverie was broken when I was waiting in the queue to meet the doctor. He inspected my wound like a scientist would look at a UFO and told me that all it will take is a minor surgery. And I don’t know what on earth is a MINOR surgery. To me every surgery is major! Anyway so there I was in the operation theatre after a few hours… sick in my stomach also, by now. Under the light my eyes hurt badly and my toe was being watched by one doctor who had a mask on and 4 nurses. A pulse checker was clipped to my thumb and that scared me a bit more. This didn’t look Minor to me in any way. However, after the 2 small pricks of the local anaesthesia that the doctor gave me on my poor toe, I was in a rare state. I was stuck somewhere between consciousness and sub consciousness. My toe was numb and my entire foot was restless! It was a great feeling. Except for the time I asked the doctor if he’s forgotten to take out the needles form my toe. I recall feeling every single cut he made and as he scooped out the infection from inside it, I remember only feeling those cuts and no pain that would usually go along with it. It was wow! The next few days I indulged myself in the painkillers prescribed to me. I was happy. When the effect would wear off, I knew it was time to take another one (Any kind would do!)

Clarity amongst clouds.

2008-06-13T04:28:00.000-07:00

Early morning on 4th june I headed straight to Bombay central station to catch my train to Kolkatta (Geetanjili Exp. That actually leaves not from Bombay Central but from VT station.) Arriving half and hour before time I was relaxed until I asked a stranger which platform does the train leave from. Of course after I found out that it leaves from platform no. 18 from VT station my first reaction was to run like a mad hound towards the taxi stand outside. Thankfully I found an overconfident taxi driver who boasted about how he’s saved lives (and journeys of so many other fools like me, who don’t even know what station they’re supposed to leave from.) We headed early morning to VT station at breakneck speed to make it just on time. And that we did. Phew! I rewarded him with Rs. 150 (usually it would take about 50 bucks from Bombay central to VT but Michal Schumacer deserved much more.

So finally I got into the train with my bags and sat on my unreserved chair, scheming of ways to bribe the TT and smiling at fellow passengers all the way through so they don’t mind me sitting on the seat while they sleep at night comfortably.

The journey had begun.

So here I was in the middle of 2 gujju women who only took a break from staring at me when they went to piss in the dirty toilet and this Bengali mother daughter combo who gave me cold stares from time to time. I made sure in my head that I will stick to my only saving grace, my book, to avoid any conversation with any of these women. But we in India are chatty by nature and so after a few hours I was asked personal questions like where do I work, why am I traveling alone and where will I stay. The whole day passed somehow and just when it was dinner time in the train and I was eating the terrible train food, we heard about the strike in West Bengal due to the oil price hike. I knew just then that my bad luck hasn’t ended by almost missing the train. More was to follow.

In conversation with the Bengali aunty, I was told that I will be stranded somewhere near Kolkatta (Tata station or some other) and will not make it to Cal so I must figure out a way to stay the night there. I was told scary stories and all the women joined in to target me. All this was bringing me down more so because I didn’t even have a seat to sleep on for the night. After dinner I knew that everyone will be pulling down their seat and resting their devilish minds until morning. While I would just be scurrying for space like a lonely rat.

As (bad) luck would have it, after a few hours I was on a berth with a village girl from MP who was traveling with her father. I slept sideways for some hours and so did she. In the wee hours of the morning she got down with her father and I had some space to myself at last.

The next morning I was sitting in the same compartment with new faces and the Bengali aunty had got down at a few station before Howrah because of the strike. She had her options ready. I was wondering what I will do incase I’ve to spend the night at some un known village before Howrah. But I couldn’t wonder for long because my plans were interrupted by this pesky Bengali guy. His name was Nasir. He chatted with me like he’s just out of a Vipasana course and hasn’t spoken to a soul since a long long time. I gave him hints by digging my nose into my really boring book (girls of Riyadh) but those weren’t signal that Mr. talkative understood. Nasir spoke to me about my work, got tea for me…and when we were stranded on Ghatipur station before Howrah for hours in the heat, he was my companion. He got me samosas and the price I had to pay in turn were conversations with him. Eventually the train left the station (I suspect we were stopped not because of political reasons but cause the train driver wanted to have lunch with his friends there!)

Reaching Howrah station after about 7 hours from the scheduled arrival time, I knew I had time enough just to get a roll before I catch the Kamrup Exp (my next train to New Jalpaiguri Station which was also running late thankfully!) so me and my new friend, went and got some rolls from the crowded station and eating those oil soaked rolls made me really sad. It reminded me that I had better plans if my train had reached on time (12:30 in the morning). If things were alright, I would drive past the howrah bridge and Victoria to eat a hearty Bengali lunch at the famous and modest Suruchi restaurant in Cal.

Anyhow, I got my next train to NJP station and this time I had my own seat. I was happy to see that my trip was already getting better. But I had no clue that it wasn’t until I reached NJP station and waited from 8:30 to 2: 30 for my friend Debabrat to join me there so we could carry on to Sikkim. (Apparently this time his train from guwahati was delayed because of the damn strike). =by the time he finally made it, I had made friends with the local shop keepers at NJP station. I had slept like the rag picker kids at the station and changed my t shirt in the waiting room there. However, I couldn’t get myself to eat, or crap there. (it takes a lot of courage to do those things at a railway station cause of the lack of sanitary conditions). But to kill time I read, spoke to the shopkeepers and slept sitting with my head on my bag. Finally my long lost friend arrived and I was just happy to see a familiar face so I didn’t complain at all…we just headed to Sikkim to meet his girlfriend…even though I was feeling sickly because my bowels were at war with me by then. So we haggled with the local taxi drivers outside NJP to take us to Rangpur (a village in Sikkim) so we could go to meet Debabrat’s girlfriend at her institute in Majitar (another village there where the ATM machines don’t work most of the time.)

We paid three times the usual fare to Majitar (the local guys were making all the money they could because of the strike) and reached her hostel in the evening. It was a beautiful campus but I was thoroughly bored in the company. The couple had met after 3 months and suddenly I realized that I was with the wrong company. From now on I was the official ‘kebab mein haddi’.

Finally after they met all their friends and I had showered and crapped in her hostel bathroom, we were happy and ready to leave. We went to this really shady hotel the girlfriend had booked. And after exchanging some pleasantries I headed to my single/dirty/scary/dark rat hole to retire for the night. The next day was going to be good… I prayed.

Early in the morning we headed to Darjeeling and from now on it got better. The journey was great…we were getting closer to the clouds, then we were amongst them and then finally in Darjeeling we were above them.

Darjeeling is like an over packed heaven that is eventually going to morph into hell after a few years. But for right now, it’s just a busy tourist destination which also happens to have the purest air I’ve breathed in a long long time.

We searched, trekked and lugged our luggage and ourselves to the hills and finally after a bit of searching we found this nice hotel which looked really ugly from the outside. It was called Silver Cascade and I know that when/if I go to Dj I will stay there again. I bargained with the sweet Tibetan owner and she gave us a good discount on the already cheap hotel rates she offered us.

After dumping our bags in the hotel rooms, we had a quick shower and headed to get a good lunch. That’s when we stumbled upon Shangrila..which is just down some hill.. (you can’t really remember the road names in Darjeeling unless you’re a Tibetan yourself). Well, there I saw this really interesting picture of the last supper. What made it interesting was that instead of Jesus and his disciples, this time it was these Tibetan monks. I had Dansberg (a beer that I had for the first time in my life…and it doesn’t taste like Carlsberg at all) and Thupka (the only way I can describe it is : a broth like dish with boiled bland veges or meat particles that look really suspicious and also smell like nothing else you’ve ever eaten. However, it’s supposedly very good for your health!) My friends happily ate it for me and I stuck to a safer option by ordering chicken the next time.

Lunch was over and we headed out to this temple. It was really beautiful and we were greeted by monkeys eating lice out of each others bodies and staring at us. One of them was even drinking 7-up out of a can. How advanced!!

The air was scented with incense and was amazingly pure and clam. If you looked up, all you’d see was colourful flags with Tibetan prayers written on them. It was as though the whole sky was one big colourful cloth. The Tibetans believe that the wind takes the prayers to the gods, therefore they put these cloth pieces on trees and ropes high above so that god (who might have some wax in his ears) might be able to hear the prayers sooner.

Our next stop was a rock garden where there was nothing to see. Absolutely nothing except for empty water bottles and chips packets etc..that the tourists had eaten and thrown away. We waited there for sometime for some sort o a cultural programme to start, but it wasn’t the right day. The love birds took a walk while I sat alone on a bench and gazed around. After sometime we left.

And on our way back to the hotel we went through the market.
Later at night we had our dinner at Gelnnery’s which is my favourite place In Darjeeling. (I know im talking like I go there often even though I’ve just been there twice.) There was a live band playing there and my new fav beverage, Dansberg was available easily there. (I don’t think there’s anyway a wide choicew in beers in this state). We ate some good food and clicked some pictures as we shook our heads to the local band playing some rock music. We left after a while when the music was over and some guys at a table near ours started talking about us girls, (my friend on the table understood a bit of the local lang and didn’t seem too pleased about what they were saying about us). So we headed to the hotel and slept. That was the end of day on in Dj.

The next day we woke up at 3 am to go to Tiger point which is famous for the sunrise. On the left are the Himalayas (the Kanchanjunga and the rest of the hills are covered in snow and are heavenly) and on the east is the sunrise.. The Tiger point is so high up that it’s said that you can see the sun rise from below your feet. But that just wasn’t my day. There was way too much fog to see the sun or the Himalayas. So we sat there until 7: 30 and had a cup of coffee in below 1 degree temp. And inhaled some really pure air. It was a treat for the diaphragms.

We went back disappointed to a famous monastry where we met these really cute laamas. A particular man who looked liked a goon, annoyed me a lot when he started harassing those laama kids by asking them to sing aloud their prayers. Of course they ignored him and later he made up his own version and started singing in his horrendous voice “ohm buddheshwaraay namah”. It was an insult to their religion and I didn’t take it too well… but my friend stopped me from giving him a piece of my mind. Later we noticed that those laama kids were chanting their hymns and I secretly hoped that they are praying for that shallow man’s sanity.

Our next stop was another monastery. It was beautiful and what really impressed me was the beautiful architecture there. The old priests sat there paying and rotating the big wheels and created an atmosphere of peace all around.

After all this we headed back to our hotel to get some sleep since we’d been up too early that day. The sleep was blissful. I didn’t remember how long ago had I been alone on this massive bed wrapped up in a massive quilt…just staring at the tv as I dosed off…to some unidentifiable music in the background.

After waking up we went to the market in search of a big meal. We were really hungry and the weather was perfect for some hot soup. So we went to this Chinese restaurant and this time I stuck with safe choice by ordering American chopseuy. However I was wrong about the soup. Remember not to call for veg wanton soup in the north east. It’s usually a clear broth with drops of oil floating on top (looks very unappetizing) and some leftover veg momos thrown in for effect… even they taste bad by themselves, so imagine the soup.

The lunch ended with a heavy downpour and so we ran to the nearest shop. Big Bazaar it was. Imagine the extent to which we’ve commercialized these exotic places…
I stood under a shade there a stared dreamily at the rain as I shivered. Later I walked alone to the market and bought some gifts for friends and family. The market was so colourful and you can really bargain so that’s a great thing. There were Kashmiri shops and Nepali shops. It all got me excited. By the end of this whole shopping, I was famished and decided to go to Fiesta (a small café at mall road) to get some hot DJ tea and a sandwich. I sipped my tea as I read my new fav book, Holy cow by Sarah Mc Donald. It’s hilarious and engrossing..just what someone sitting alone in a crowded market needs to avoid stares from families as they whisper and think aloud what a lonely little girl is doing in this holiday spot all by herself.

When my tea was over and I was done with the hushed voices and stares around me, I headed to meet the lovebirds in the hotel. It was a long walk when the sun was setting and I enjoyed the solitude. After all it was my last walk alone before we left.

Later in the evening we went back to our fav spot in DJ, Glennery’s. This time, we sat in the restaurant on top. The meal was great… although I must say that these guys do not know anything about making chapattis.

We went back to the hotel and chatted and my friend spooked me out by narrating something scary and so I crashed in their hotel room..(I must’ve crushed all their plans for privacy and felt bad, but couldn’t do anything else.)

The next day we were back in Siliguri and the drive to NJP made me sick so I threw up en route. We bribed the TT to give us seats and the train journey was okay but once we reached Guwahati (around 4:30 am) it was time to say bye to the lovebirds. After a few hours they went their way and I sat alone for 2 hours at the station to kill time before any cyber café would open so I could get a print out of my e ticket. I went outside and took a rickshaw to Cotton college, assuming that there will be a cyber café near the college… but it was too early for them to be open. The rickshaw guy dropped me off at a bus stop where I was to take a bus to the airport…and since there was too much time left for the bus to leave, we chatted up. I told him about my trip and how it’s unfair for rickshaw drivers to dupe innocent travelers like me. He told me how his only bad habits are eating Gutka cause he doesn’t drink or smoke or gamble. We were friends already, so we went to have tea together. He seemed very concerned that I hadn’t eaten anything since morning and I looked really sick. I bought him chai and he in turn got me 2 center fresh chewing gums (with the fare money I had given him). He had a big heart. When I was sitting in the bus, he tapped on my window and have me some churan before saying bye. Finally I left for the airport. By now I just couldn’t wait to get home.

As if the train delays I had been through weren’t enough, even my flight to jaipur from cal (I’d taken a connecting flight from Guwahati to jai) was delayed by 4 hours. It was great to be back home…when I did get back..after a long long wait.

And now I have a bad flu. I’m sick as a fly drowning in chardonnay.

Happiness or a ham sandwich?

2008-05-23T03:52:00.000-07:00

Which is better, eternal happiness or a ham sandwich? It would appear that eternal happiness is better, but this is really not so! After all, nothing is better than eternal happiness, and a ham sandwich is certainly better than nothing. Therefore a ham sandwich is better than eternal happiness.

- Smullyan

http://www.paradoxes.co.uk/#dracula

2008-05-23T03:38:00.000-07:00

Venice is sinking slowly under the sea because its built on 118 islets and is joined by 400 bridges.

Tibet is the highest country in the world.

and before something happens to it, I REALLY WANT TO GO TO THESE TWO PLACES.

2008-03-24T07:03:00.000-07:00

After a while, I finally let myself go. I’d been thinking a lot of taking a trip to Bangalore and this long weekend seemed perfect. So I just booked tickets two days before Thursday and left.

The moment I stepped into the city I fell in love with it’s weather. Everything around me was green. It was like a shade card of greens spilled everywhere.

So, while I sipped coffee standing outside the airport waiting for my friend I wondered what the next two days will be like.

After sometime I met Divya and we exchanged pleasantries… and headed straight to the Shiv temple. (which gets its fame for the 65 feet long Shiv statue it has)

That moment I kind of figured what my trip was going to be like!!

The next place we went to was TGIF and thankfully we reached well before the happy hours could end. Half an hour later I was lugging my bag happily in the rain walking towards BBQ nation (rooftop!!) it was blissful. Everything except for the songs that the live band played there.

This was the end of the day. we headed home and slept.

Day 2

Woke up late and thought I was early because I didn’t see the sunshine. Went outside and saw that it was drizzling and it was about 11 something. Ate aloo paranthas and then went out for shopping. Stopped by at infant jeasus church. Walked on the overcrowded mucky streets in oshos. Went to hard rock café for a bit. After an hour we were strutting away at brigade road. Saree shopping at Nalli didn’t take much of our time. And because the city boasts of its pubs we decided to head to someplace where we could sit and maybe have a beer or two. So we went to Guzzlers- a famous city pub, one of the oldest.

Later, for dinner we headed to Rendezvous. This small restaurant with very good food.

And because Bangalore doesn’t have much of a nightlife we were left with nothing much to do except for maybe go to a friends place and chill. So we did and then went home and slept.

Day 3

Whizzed by. Woke up. Went for lunch to Little home where I feasted on crabs, prawns and ghee rice. (yum!!) after which I had a maghay paan. Went home and then stepped out for coffee. After which I almost went out or dinner with my friends future family and their family friends. But thank god for making cousins. I met Samu at a nearby restaurant and we spoke a lot. Time flew and soon the couple was back. We left soon after. Went home. And then ;ater me and divya went for coffee to the Leela Palace. It was nice. We chatted and almost caught up on the last 2 years (??)

After this, there was just no time left. i went and packed and after a 3 hour nap I was in a car to the airport. Early morning I was in a flight on my way back to Bombay and as we cut the coulds and sped towards the city which would end my holiday, I hoped for one thing. If only I could’ve packed the weather in my bags.

a story i wrote.

2008-02-13T03:26:00.000-08:00

I dedicate this story to my friend Christo who has been my inspiration. From whom, my idea came. And to Nasar, from whom came the drive and eagerness.

xoxo

the beginning...

The faint lights from the neighbours building fell on their pale faces. Christopher and Johan sat on the terrace. They blew out smoke rings and intentionally tried to evade their problems. John kept his mind off his job hunt and the choice of offers he’d be making soon. And Christo’s biggest worry was the lack of activity that causes some worry at least.

Two childhood friends sat on this Saturday night unaware of the world around them. Slightly aware of their own lives and high on not just alcohol.

Christopher has always lived his life with his parents. He went to the local school where high brow kids came. He skipped college and went to take a vocational course, just because he had to get a job. He took his degree and never did go to work. He was the only son, of two nagging, very concerned and busy parents.

Most of the time, he felt that he didn’t fit in. He drank a lot. He smoked like a chimney and got three tattoos. One was his girlfriend’s name. Soon after, she cheated on him and they broke up. He kept quiet most of the time, and became an easy target for all his friends for a banter.

Johan was one of those friends. They studied together and lived close by. He frequented Christo’s house and spoke to his mom, more than her son did.

Taking a big sip of his golden whiskey, Johan asked his friend “what would you give your life for, in order to change it?”

And then there was a pause. A long silence that engulfed the moment. And before he could say anything… his cell phone rang.

“When are you coming home? Do you intend to at all. I really think It’s time for you to be with people who know what responsibility means. You’re 25 and you’re not behaving it at all…”

“NOT the best time. I’ll come in sometime. You sleep. Bye.” Phone disconnected.

Johan looking at his annoyed friend and asked, “Tell me Chris, what you think of your mom. You both are always arguing. You’re so drunk dude. Don’t go home like this. I’m sure she’ll fuck your happiness is she sees you like this.”

“She’s a headache. I won’t even speak. I’ll go home and crash.”

They sat for some time. Had a few more sips. And before they knew it, the whiskey bottle beat Christo to something. It got empty first, while his head was still infested with various thoughts about love, life and misery.

There was a silent prayer said that night.

A rusty key opened a wooden door. And two dirty shoes entered. And Johan walked in slightly sick and extremely drunk. Christo’s mother sat inside, watching tv without actually watching it. Flipping through the channels late night, as she waited for sleep to arrive.

Seeing Johan walking about in her house like a zombie, she asked him angrily, “where is Chris?? Have you left your friend in the gutter? I must call your mother to tell her what nonsense you both are up to.”

And he just replied with a puzzled look. “Mom, have you been taking your sleeping pills or something?”

“Huh?? I don’t appreciate your tone Johan. I want to know where Chris is. I want to know now. Is he out at some other fiends place?..... you’re too drunk to make any sense of it anyway. I’ll just call him to check.”

The phone rang.

The ring came from right next to her. From Johan’s faded jeans pocket.

She flared up even more.

“Okay. So you’ve exchanged your cell phones also. The joke’s over. Your games must end now.” She marched towards the door. And came back hastily to pick up the car keys from the table.

“Mom. Seriously I don’t get what’s going on. I really don’t there’s no time for this. Well I’m going to sleep. See you in the morning.”

“Johan, this isn’t funny anymore. I want to know where my son is. You two have gone totally out of hands. I’ll have to inform uncle if you don’t tell me right away. Tell me if your brother’s at home? I’m going there right now to pick up Chris. Are you coming along?”

“Firstly, stop calling me Johan. I don’t even know where he is now. And secondly, I don’t talk to that man much, but I still call him dad, and not uncle. And mom I’m not even going to respond to your other question. How the hell will I know if Johan’s brother is at home? I don’t even know where he went. We were just drinking on the terrace for god’s sake. I don’t keep a check on him.”

Her face was turning pale. And the traces of anger on her face were now replaced with fear.

“Listen, this bull shit is getting out of hands. Just tell me where is Christopher.” She nervously dialled her husband’s number. It didn’t matter that he was on a ship. In Glasgow. It didn’t matter that he wouldn’t be able to understand that his wife thinks that her son’s friend Johaan claims to be her son Christopher. It didn’t matter that he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.

The phone rang but there was no answer.

“You’re going mad mom. Please don’t freak me out. ……. Okay wait, see this picture, since you refuse to recognise me.

He walked to the cabinet and picked up an old album. Wiped the dust clean, and opened it to see the faded picture.

And he saw himself… only 14 years old. A lanky boy with an oversized sombrero. And a pale face. Sitting between his parents. In the background, there was a famous fountain.

“Look. Now tell me this also never happened.”

Mrs. Fernandes looked amused. Confused. And slightly sick.

The prayer was answered. Now Christo was Johaan. And vice versa. They were now going to lead different lives. The lives that they always only heard about, as stories. They were now going to play roles in that story now.

good morning...everyone.

2007-09-03T22:24:00.000-07:00

Today morning, I had three rupees thrown at me. It wasn’t particularly for any fault of mine though. I reached Bombay central station and there were no cabs around so I waited with my umbrella open, in the rain…some 15 mins. After which the traffic police guy saw me and took mercy. He finally decided that he should be of some help. So he hailed a cab from some corner of the taxi parking. And an old man in a cab drove up to me. He looked at me angrily and asked where I wanted to go. Because he was really angry, that he had to take me, at such a short distance, he drove his cab like a snail. I didn’t say anything. After reaching I gave him 20 rs. (it was 13, but I had no change). He kept it in his pocket without even giving it a second thought. I waited for my change and finally gave up and asked him. He said he’d have to go back without a passenger. i told him that it wasn’t right and that I wanted my change back. So he gave it to me by throwing it at me. And I quietly walked out. Because today morning I didn’t want to fight with someone who looked like he had one leg in his grave. I simply walked out, even after all that insult. (for no fault of mine). And now I’m writing about it. How silly of me!

The week that was.

2007-08-20T23:35:00.000-07:00

It was around 11 at night. As I walked down the the Indira Gandhi Airport in Delhi, I realized I’d left something behind. And no it wasn’t my bag, it was just sleep.

I was excited that my sister is finally leaving single hood and at the same time I was sad that there will be someone else that she will be constantly talking about rather than listening to my senseless stories of my life in Bombay.

Night 1
Well Mini and Manyu came to receive me at the airport and thankfully there was just Rohan with them and not a huge gang. (well I didn’t really expect a huge gang to come pick me up in the middle of the night, leaving Tini’s dinner party in GK…you see I’m not that popular with my cousins as my sisters are!)

I really wanted to meet everyone. My cousins from far far away who probably didn’t know who I am anymore because I’ve been busy living my life in Bombay, while they visited the rest of the India contingent in Delhi. My cousins whose kids probably still don’t know my name (even though we spent one full week together.)

Well, I was surprisingly not feeling tired at all. The long wait of meeting everyone and getting used to the feeling of being home, had not yet sunk in when the few of us who were wandering the streets of Delhi that late at night, decided to go get some beers, someplace. So we went home and quickly got dressed up to go to this place (the name of which, I don’t remember now). But sometimes bad luck just follows you like a mongrels incorrigible curled up tail. And this time it did. We’re in the capital of this country and we don’t have a place to go to for some beers….so we went somewhere and ate to our hearts content. Yes, in the middle of the night we ate a lot…at Yellow Brick Road. After which we just went home and slept.

Day 2
The next morning we went to Neemrana.(it’s en route to Jaipur, from Delhi and is beyond comparison with Alibaug, Manori, Lonavla or any such place). This truly awesome fort used to be the king’s residence and it’s now been converted into a hotel for people who can spend some green money to stay in it. It was flocked with tourists and people from Delhi who just wanted to get away.

We saw some Folk dances in the evening, come of took a nice swim in the lovely pool and then we all went to this huge room (where my cousins were staying) and spoke until midnight. It was nice. Talking about our families, the people who matter so much to us and briefly about our lives. (with some vine in our flute glasses.) At one point Tini and me saw something black, flying happily outside the window and it freaked us out. And just then Nitin bhaiya (my cousin’s husband) freaked the daylights out of everyone, when he surprised us with a “boo”. Imagine being scared like that just when you think the person is asleep cause he’s been lying still since hours on the bed and he suddenly decides to greet you with a loud “boo”. Anyway that really did lighten up the mood!! (we went smiling to our beds post that.)

Day 3 & 4
We reached Jaipur and did nothing but loafed around at home. Went to C-72 (my grandparent’s house). Had breakfast at SK’s place. (btw he’s my granddad’s youngest bro who is also known as a sleaze ball!) The highlight of the day was watching old videos (10 years old maybe) of my cousin whose now in college. He was then only an overexcited child and jumping around my aunt’s house in New Jersey and singing all Shak Rukh Khan’s popular songs in his cute American accent (without realizing that he’s been taped and will face the embarrassment of watching it with all his really grown up cousins someday!!)

Day 5
All the girls got Mehendi put on our hands and when Bubbly di (my cousin) got a Mehendi like a tattoo on her arm, we followed suit. Btw now it looks like I’ve got some skin disease on my arm. Anyway, so now on day five there was only one more day left for the engagement ceremony. And we realized that we needed to get our act together. What would we do as a family to make the whole party entertaining for those people who’re coming from Delhi in a bus!! There were a few dance performances that we had planned but nothing was ready. So Bua was panicking and so was everyone else. Mostly the day was spent in practicing dances and making slide show presentation (of Mini’s and Manyu’s growing up years. Thank god we changed that last frame title from ABBY- ASH to MANYU AND MINI!!!).

Day 6- the day!!
We were all set. Everyone looked pretty in dressy salwar kurtas, glittering sarees in the middle of the day. Ready to welcome our new relatives from Delhi. We stood at the door step with flowers in our hands to throw some on everyone who walked in…and inside Mini sat in the air conditioned room (so her makeup satys intact) with flowers in her hair and butterflies in her stomach. Soon she would weigh a little more, owing to the big diamond that she’d wear on her finger. She was nervous and damn excited. I don’t think she knew that time that she was finally entering another territory. She was getting ENGAGED.
So after sometime she was sitting there, gushing like a wannabe bride, smiling that gorgeous smile and not caring about the ladies who were sitting on the gadda around her...gaping at her pretty and happy face in awe. The pandit said a few things, and BAM…she had a ring on her finger and yes, even Manyu had one his. Hehehhe well…they both were now officially a couple. (officially- to my mom , grandmom, aunts etc etc…)
There was great lunch that didn’t eat much of…there were loads of people in my house walking all around so comfortably, that it made me uncomfortable. It was still fun. Because my sister looked so happy.

At night we had a grand party where we had our 7 dance performances. Cute little Shreya got excited about the dances and decided to stay on the dance floor till kingdom come. Andy song a superb song – Phoolon ka taron ka..ek hazaron mein meri behna hai” and basically all the kids in our family was involved in some kind of a dance or song number..after which we all happily unwound with champagne which was passed around after the toast was made. We ended the night with some sparkling spirit and not just the one that we drank. We went home for an after party where after years we all sat on the terrace of our house and chatted and got high on things that I don’t want to mention here…. It was all too good. I didn’t realize the next day the house would be quiet. I was actually catching up on sleep the next day when some of my cousins and sisters fled back to Delhi…so many people were gone in just one morning…

Day 7
Basically I was just eating a lot and feeling all sick with the thought of getting back to Bombay to my house where I’ll have to unpack all my things. I hate unpacking, btw. So that was the end of a week long soirée. That was the end of hanging out with my family until we can all gather this way again after a couple of years maybe. It was incredible.
(I will post some pictures as soon as I have access to any.)

ps: I may have missed out some things taht made the whole week so wonderful, but tehn again i can't sit and write 10 pages can i? Well maybe i can, but right now my brief description shall suffice. =)

I sign off with love for my lovely family in my heart...and the longing to get back together at Mini's wedding next momsoon.

Do you want a partner (or cash)??

2007-08-08T04:33:00.000-07:00

No thankyou.

Neither of these movies are worth a watch. Seriously. Just wanted to put in a word cause I’ve noticed sometimes people need reminders. Also, incase you still want to go ahead and watch Cash (becasue the makers have duped you by potraying it as an action flick) be prepared for anythign but that. Shamita Shetty plays a supposedly smart cop but never gets it that her own boyfriend is a criminal. Anyhow, i guess certain things are jsut inexplicable! i wonder why she thinks he's ehr Mind blowing Mahiya. (ewwww- it's Ajay devgun tryign his best to look young and keep pace with the slightly gayish Zaheed K.

Well, Isha and what's his name... don't even deserve a mention. (seems like someone's been skipping acting classes). Dia Mirza looks pretty. And there's nothing else that comes to mind regarding her role. That's it i guess. Oh wait, there was Suniel Shetty also.... i wonder why he was tehre though.

Seriously want to go and watch a nice movie now.

ANYONE UP FOR TEH SIMPSONS?? anybody??

year counts. Glenfiddich.

2007-07-20T02:25:00.001-07:00

a day is a step
a year is a Tango.

a day is a tourist
a year is a traveller.

a day is a chance encounter
a year says Love

a day is frustration
a year is a melody

a day is a lump of clay
a year is whatever you want it to be

a day is a thought
a year is a philosophy

Every year counts. Glenfiddich.

An ad that really sank in. Something that i saw today and loved.

welcome the Rockstar!!

2007-05-10T06:33:00.000-07:00

Well I haven’t somehow written bout my trip back home. Let me just say it was great to be home this time more so because of my new born nephew. He’s ADORABLE. This little boy, came out skinny leaving all the fat to his mom. (btw she has teis eautiful glow on her face after the delivery and she looks damn cute with those maternity jeans and all those clothes!)

After re-christening him JaiV/ Jay (from Jayativardhan) I settled down …. I sat with JaiV and forgot about taking a bath or having my lunch. Simply gazing at him seemed like a better thing to do.

Anyway, I later took a great shower. Realized I’d been away too long from a luxurious bath in my over sized bathtub. Missed it so much!

The few things that made their entry into the list, during my entire trip are-

JaiV (no I’m not going to repeat this one over and over again!)
Ghee soaked roti’s
Fresh orange juice for breakfast
Watching tv (confession…coffee with Karan- Rakhee Sawant episode)
The supposed basketball court submerged in a pool of water
The fluorescent green plants and trees after the rain on 5th.
The rain on 5th
The silence during the power cut after it rained
Not working
Not making my bed in the morning and cleaning my room

But the number one highlight of my trip does remain the cute boy; I’m in love with these days. Yea yea, he’s bald, toothless, has sharp nails that he scratches himself with. But he giggles in his sleep, stops crying when he listens to music(anything, anytime. Everytime). And headbangs on his mommy’s shoulder when on the other hand she expects him to burp. Oh the day his mom said “I really want him to learn classical sangeet when he’s a bit older” and with all that headbanging he’s doing right now, we don’t really have to take guesses about where this rock star is heading!

Miss seeing him early in the morning.

wohoooooo....

2007-04-24T04:08:00.000-07:00

My sis just delivered the much-awaited baby. IT’S A BOY!
His wannabe rajput and truly political parents named him Jayativardhan.
Imagine something that’s really tiny, having such a long name. Phew.
Anyhow, I realized how my AWESOME (dream-come-true) Goa soirée seems so non-exciting, since I’ve heard bout the new member in our crazy family.

But nevertheless my Goa trip calls for a post. (since i don't have my new born nephew's pic, i'm gonna make do with this kickass pic of mine, from Goa!)

It was fun. That’s one word to describe it best. I didn’t come back a psy devout (As my cousin suspected), but I came back once more, deeply in love with that place called Goa.
The ever-welcoming place. The place of my retreat.

We went in a huge group of 25 and then more joined us later. Yet I had so much time to myself. I just loved it. Sipping the cranberry flavoured vodka, as the sea swallowed the sun. Nice company I must say. Martins lunch is another unforgettable thing that happened to the Goa thing. Superb food.

Spoke to people I barely did earlier…spoke very little to those who are famous for being chatterboxes. Was nice.

Everything was nice. The trance didn’t matter after a bit as I’d love any music with so much energy flowing all around. Although till I could enjoy it, I loved it. It stayed within for a long time later.

Oka done with Goa.

Back to being excited bout being an AUNT!

could it be worse?? (ofcourse it could.)

2007-04-13T05:54:00.000-07:00

My life is defined by awkward moments. Period.

Hugging someone when the person doesn’t reciprocate (because the hug is unexpected), forgetting someone’s name and the trying to form every sentence carefully so that I somehow don’t have to address that person by their name, leaving a dirty sanitary pad at a friends bathroom, even worse, leaving it on the window right next to the soap dish so that it has the bleakest chances of being missed, getting down on a platform at a station in Goa and getting into the train and being told by a really old woman to take care of my skirt(my skirt was stuck inside my innerwear, when I took a stroll on the platform.)

My memory fails me right now...but there are loads of more of these incidents…when my ears become red and my knees feel shaky.

And today yet another thing happened.

On a really crowded afternoon, in a really crowded mall I was going down the escalator and then, someone turned back and walked up those stairs that get you down. And impulsively, I did too. And then obviously I fell down. I hurt my knee so bad that I just stood their facing the people who were staring at me from above and went down with the elevators, without any reaction. It hurt so bad that I wanted to cry out loud. Especially when I felt that huge bump, and after realisation that I’ve spilt my chilled coke also. (First of all, I rarely drink coke, and when I do, it spills on the most unexpected place- escalator).
Anyway after a bit my friends took pity and got worried when I didn’t move, and they came down that SAME ESCALATOR. One of them insisted that I put up my jeans, but I didn’t want to expose my unshaven legs and more than that I didn’t want to see how bad the bruise was. But I did see it later. And now I’m limping. I can only hope it gets better so I can shake that leg once more. (sigh).

wishes at the moment

2007-03-16T06:42:00.000-07:00

i wish a cold wouldn’t block noses
and little girls didn't worry bout their weight
i wish coffee didn't stain teeth

i wish rolling was an art (that i knew)
and my head didn't hurt right now
i wish i didn't have to listen to Shaggy(ever)

i wish a fly wasn't dirty at all
and the world worshipped only ONE god
I wish money didn’t exist

I wish people weren’t nosy enough to peep into my computer right now
And they’ just leave the hell out of me alone

I really wish I’d get chocolate right now.
and the whole world liked colors.
and it was okay to ramble

and and...

(to be continued)

Ask me what a foghorn sounds like???

2007-03-16T02:47:00.000-07:00

I know because me blowing my nose sounds a bit like that. My head has a perpetual pain. (I’m actually getting used to it now!)

If I sleep on one side, I risk blocking my nose on that side and along with it, that side of my head too.

It sucks to wake up in the morning when the first thing you do is try hard to breath in through your nose, and that doesn’t happen. So then you do what you do… breathe through your mouth.
Well, it’s nice if you get a double scoop of raspberry and yogurt ice-cream. It’s really not nice if you get migraine AND sinus. (together).

Leave alone both, I can’t handle one on a normal day.

Brave, eh?

2007-03-08T23:19:00.000-08:00

If you think you are brave, then try walking through the Shauchalaya on the railway platforms, without holding your breadth.

Well, those who are used to traveling by train to or beyond Bandra, might be ok with that one. There is one section en route, where it seems like the whole city’s sewage unites.

God help you if you’re stuck next to some obese fisherwoman. Obviously FA is just too FA from her hygiene regimen!

Over the years I’ve realized that being a part of Bombay means being ok with

1) The stench of dry fish in Colaba
2) Women poking you in the train, as their paunch pushes you to the edge of the running train (and you secretly pray for your life)
3) Your cell getting lost anywhere, anytime.
4) Being ok with your washed and hung to dry clothes, not drying for days.
5) Walking into office with wet jeans, all folded way up till the knees and muck on/in your shoes.
6) Vada pao for dinner.
7) Celebrities craving for attention. (not everyone is lucky)
8) Holi day not looking really like 'Holi' day and Christmas day looking like... (well there's a whole month dedicated to that day.
9) People talking in their respective, very typical accents. (Wat men. this no, is no, really out of reach. you bugger. when you're goign for mass men? what this is?? and the famous 'Aavyo choo...' and a really loud... 'kai zalah?' 'shembood, shamboor... so on and so forth..)
10) people assuming you wil know Marathi. Even though it's not really IMP. to know it AT ALL.
11) Shahruck Khan is wow. (that might be appicable for most parts of teh country.)
12) Washing machines can't be put inside bathrooms, cause otherwise there is no room for peopel to bathe.
13) Colleges looking more or less like commercial buildings. And houses looking more or less like match boxes.
14) Roads getting dug up. All teh time.

the silent poem.

2007-03-05T03:09:00.001-08:00

The cold from the marble floor is seeping into me through me feet as I walk barefoot….
Even my sisters’ hands fail to transfer any warmth into me, as she holds my hands, inot her soft pudgy hands.

The sound of mom walking towards the room is a sound that brings relief to me. It’s a bit like poetry in the middle of silence somewhere.

No one knows what to say after sometime, and neither does anyone know what to do. Only mom runs around taking care of all the people. (some people who were’nt even wanted there).

Sometimes there is a sad poetry in silence. Atleast I could hear one on the 1st, as I lay on the bed trying to fathom the loss I will feel forever. Once more.

I ‘might’ be a total Antithesis To a Girl.

2007-02-21T04:14:00.000-08:00

Okay. This morning....
something really big came and sat on my omelet sandwich I was eating for breakfast, I left it half way through…then it sat on my hand...and I ran to the loo to scrub it with Dettol (wondering where all the fly must’ve been before it visited us here). Thinking I’d lost that monstrous fly somewhere in this huge office…only to find it happily eating away the sandwich I’d abandoned.

Anyway, I chose to ignore it and go ahead with work. BUT when it came on to my desk again, I just couldn’t help but plan it’s demise. Yes, girls with a heart don’t do THAT-said my friend, but since people already think I don’t have one... I can happily go ahead and think all these morbid things( phew!)

So what does one do when something big and dirty is flying around their head? You kill it with a notepad that’s next to you. You put the notepad to a better use and you put the big fly to rest.

And after it died, I got to hear something from my friend. She told me that I ‘don’t have a heart’. What am I supposed to do, save all the flies, reptiles and rodents?

Oh did I mention anywhere…. I DID not even kill. (although I thought of it.) :)

the rain that woke me up today.

2007-02-12T05:46:00.000-08:00

The rain that woke me up today, was just about perfect. Not to cold, not too warm.. just slightly nippy.it made me want to call my sister who I haven’t spoken to in a long time. It made me feel like blowing kisses to her unborn baby. (Whose name I’m still trying to think of).
It made me call a friend much before I actually wake up every morning. It made me want to tell him beforehand…without knowing that, “it will be a beautiful day”.

What a pleasant way of waking up early morning..
When the rain set sun free to play.

can you imagine no...

2007-02-09T01:39:00.000-08:00

“Can you imagine no love, pride, deep-fried chicken…your best friend always sticking up for..even when I know you’re wrong..Can you imagine no first dance, no freeze-dried romance, 5 HOUR LONG PHONE CONVERSATIONS, the best soy latte that you’ve ever had and me”
-Train.

this is a story about your bladder

2007-01-17T08:54:00.000-08:00

command your bladder
it might not listen

command your tongue
it might not stop

command your troupe
they might retaliate

command your brain
it might still think

command your nose
it might still drip

commanding my bladder
it's unaware

it just wont listen...
i need to be cautious
i need to care!

live the life....

2007-01-16T08:00:00.001-08:00

What if someone made your decisions.
What food you must eat. And where.
Also when and with who.

What if you picked your own clothes
Only to please others.
Wore the colors other people think suit you.

What if every ambition you have
seemed like only a dream to others.
A dream too far from reality.

What if you wrote keeping the reader in mind.
Spoke with the listener in mind.
And dressed with the viewer in mind. And there is no parity.

What if others have such strong opinions
that yours don’t stand a chance.
Everyone on their fingers, wants you only to dance.

What if you only smile cause others are.
Your heart feels sad cause others are crying.
You are so silly you miss out every good chance.

What if you were living a life of a a rat
What if you had no feelings of your own
what if you found out that you are remote control.

What if someone knew that your smile isn't true.
Not even your laughter or your tears too.
And in this huge drama, you're an actor sans a role.

A dedication to a dear friend....
written on one of those days when i'm feeling out of sorts.(smiles finally).

the Apple boy says....

2007-01-12T05:42:00.000-08:00

No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don't want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life's change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true.
Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.

- Steve Jobbs

i've noticed ...

2007-01-09T06:28:00.000-08:00

I've noticed that sometimes we can't help but expect things from people...
and then after that, feel bad that those things didn't happen the way we thought (in our overworked little heads).

I've noticed that it hurts if you can't fit into your favourite pair of jeans and your newly bought t shirts are too tight too soon.

Iv'e noticed that wearing some colors makes you happy.

I've noticed that it feels nice when someone appreciates your creative work, when you are hiding it from most people cause of the fear of criticism.

I've noticed that the office looks dull now that they've removed the festoons.

I've noticed that it's getting monotonous to use the words...'I've noticed'.

so bye.

cannonball

2007-01-06T04:43:00.000-08:00

Stones taught me to fly
Love taught me to lie
Life taught me to die
So it's not hard to fall
When you float like a cannonball

Stones taught me to fly
Love taught me to cry
So come on courage!
Teach me to be shy'
Cause it's not hard to fall
And I don't WANNA scare her
It's not hard to fall
And I don't wanna lose
It's not hard to grow
When you know that you just don't know

A must hear: Damien Rice.

Of transparent red curtains and the bustle and the breeze.

2007-01-03T01:48:00.000-08:00

What a way to start the year…. 1st morning was stupendous. Without realisation, the party place transformed. From one huge ball of enormous energy and with psychedelic colors thrown around for not just effect, the new year sky was now calm. Maybe it was a bit in the mood to snooze just when it knew the bright sun will pay her a visit.

The headbanging community was now pulsating on something beyond last night’s tonic. Well lets just say it was another kind of ecstasy.
Chai finally looked down upon the used up beer bottles. (That now lay wasted and disowned). Afterall people had had enough of them already. And discarded that stuff for the same reason.

And after all that deafening pulsating music from the night, none of us wanted to waste energy in haggling with the cabbie. Not even a word, except for “how much will you take for the cab ride.” Surprisingly, not even in the mood to argue about the escalating fares.

Went back to the hotel room. And just when everyone else plonked to bed, I stayed up in the balcony watching the pale sky through the red transparent curtain. Just when some people might’ve been singing songs inside their heads, I was bursting with energy. Still. (Even after 7 hours of non stop dancing).
So much so that I didn’t want to sleep and stare at the walls. I had to feel the breeze. The salty breeze of the 1st morning of the year. Chilly and a whole lot of fun. (I thought of even running on the beach, but then again thought otherwise as it would leave the others disturbed when I’d ring the bell and break their dream sequence.)

Ok, from here onwards I shall go back to the first day of my Goa trip. The train journey from Goa to Bombay passed by fairly quickly……chatting about how some of us can’t use certain kind of loos and all crappy things about crap. (One of us had a cold war with her bowel movements…so we were subjected to discussions of that sort!).

Did I say the journey passed fairly quickly? Hell no. I remember we were restless and dirty and desperate to step on the beach sand and it took us so long to reach our hotel at Madgaon.

Anyway we finally made it. Spent the left day bathing and enjoying some cranberry flavoured drinks. Later went to the beach. Partied. Sat right next to the waves, with candle light lighting our faces. As we giggled, spoke and gorged. Walked on the beach.

The next day woke up really late and shifted to our new abode at Candolim beach. Spent most of the day walking at the beach…with cranberry flavoured drinks in our hands…we even went to that insane extent of sipping a customers newly bought vine (At a liquor shop). When we finally got to the beach we sat at a shack listening to music and enjoying the bustle and the breeze!

Later that night we went to Brittos, and now I know that ONE MUST NEVER ORDER SORPOTEL THERE. Desserts are awesome though.

The next day was lazy as hell. Whiling away at the beach was our plan of the day. Later that night we went to one of my favourite places in Goa, Infantaria. There one of our friends went to a stranger firangi and borrowed a Cigar. Which by the way, no one smoked!!! We ate desserts till we wanted to throw up and never come back there.

Only to return there the next day….i went there for what I can conveniently call breakfast. (That was the time in the afternoon I’d woken up!)
And then ate like a piglet. (Now it’s even showing!!)

That night we went to a rave at Hiltop. At first we were sceptical cause we had to pay a lot and since it was the last day of the trip for some of us, we were broke! Anyway… we entered praying we wouldn’t get bored ..but the first one hours or so passed like a snail. We were bored and I was amused just watching people (even though it wasn’t my first rave!) the place was insane.

People there couldn’t hear anything else but music, couldn’t feel anything else but joy, couldn’t see anything else but psychedelic colors. Later we joined the wagon! We were now, them!
And then suddenly I felt the music too. I enjoyed it so much that I even believed that it was me who was controlling it. I felt like I can control the lights. The way people there are moving. Everything!
Chai was what we ended this one big party with. One hot cup of tea flavoured with silence for breakfast on our 1st morning of the year!

the ghost of mathematics...

2006-12-27T00:49:00.000-08:00

When I was younger, I was really bad at math. Well, now, many years later, nothing has changed.

I would learn equations (quadratic and linear) and understood geometry a bit so banked on that to pass my exams. Scored 32 on 100 in my 10th boards and I know for sure I got grace marks for good handwriting and the double lines I drew after each sum. I remember how i used to open my notebook and mug up theorems etc.etc... hoping that i get asked the same qestions in my exams.

After 10th I was glad that I could nicely do away with math as a subject. But it never really leaves one, does it?

Everytime I buy something, I’ve to calculate. If it’s a big amount, I just pretend to count and then nicely smile (which is mistaken for confidence) and keep the change in my wallet.

Guess when you’re bad at math, giving a smile works best.

you've just been tagged!!!

2006-12-18T05:37:00.000-08:00

Okay…Diana has tagged me and that means I’ve to spill out certain things about myself that not many people know about me….

So here goes…

1) I’m a terrible public speaker… I clearly remember once in school I had to read my essay that my English teacher had LOVED and since she thought it’s really well written she wanted me to read it out to the class and I made the lamest excuses to get out of that situation…well that never happened…. And as I read it my legs shivered, my ears went red and my palms were sweating. I did a repeat of that one in college, when we had to talk for 3 minutes in front of the whole class about our passion. I got so nervous that I forgot everything that I would otherwise say!!!

2) I mumble and giggle in my sleep sometimes…(and sometimes I talk clearly too…) I once even shook hands with my friend in my sleep and once I put my hand up in the air as though shaking it with someone… and when my friend asked me what I was doing I said “I’m shaking hands with the black man!!”

That one freaked me out as well…. But trust me it’s nothing serious… tell me you won’t stop talking to me after reading this!! Please.

3) I once laughed so bad that I pissed in my pants… okay… confession time… that has happen more than once… okay…just for clarification….that happens mostly when I get once of my ‘laughing fits’, not otherwise so much.

4) I’ve got two stuffed dogs… and their names are Pashu Pati and Prem Prakash. They’re both twins and are Dalmatians.

5) I once forged my mothers signature for my report card cause I flunked in my math exam and I was scared to show it to mum… she obviously found out later and was really mad at me. I did that a lot of times without her finding out for my unti tests though! (So full marks for that one atleast!)

Okay…people…. I tag everyone who reads this….post..
There is no way I’ll ever know who all did go through this one...but big fuck… everyone, this is confession time… lets get started!

while she brushed her teeth...

2006-12-14T04:58:00.000-08:00

Did you look in the mirror this morning
You sure you saw you?
Or was there a person trying hard
To fit inside your pretty shoes?

She entered the bathroom
And began to brush her teeth
In her head there was a song
Without a rhythm or a beat

She took a cold shower
and put on some bright clothes
aware that running will reach her faster
to the train’s she so loathed

she was breathing too fast
confused bout where to go
almost out of breath now
but still so unsure

then it struck her real hard
that she doesn’t really know
where exactly she’s running to
and where she was to go

so she stopped right there
and realized that now’s the time
to unpack her bags, sing out loud
She knew now she must unwind!

about a girl

2006-12-05T06:57:00.000-08:00

A really brave girl with a timid soul…
Just too much of a child but still getting old.
So full of contradictions
So unsure…
Too aggressive but still scared of gore.

I know you’re searching for the real me
But I’m so full of contradictions…
Why can’t you see?

I know I get excited
I know I always count…
But they’re only chickens
You don’t have to frown

It’s ok if I fool myself
Cause that’s what everyone is
Even if we don’t know it
That’s what we really are

From where we are right now in life…
Sensibility is way too far

a drunk man who know one knows...would've bled himself to death.

2006-12-01T02:37:00.000-08:00

What would you do if you see a drunk @#$%^& on the road bleeding himself to death...lying unconscious there...with people walking past through him??

1) Would you just pass by and pretend that you didn’t see…
2) Run fast before anyone notices you around, and thinks that you are not compassionate enough.
3) Or would you (Actually) go to the hospital and urge the lackadaisical staff to help you get him help.

Well, just two days ago me and a friend were walking to the station after work, at around 10 : 45 and we saw this guy who was lying on the pavement, sozzled out of his wits…and was bleeding so bad tht we thought he’d die if we left him there.

So we went to the hospital close by (Nair hospital at Bombay central) and searched for the casualty ward.

We wanted to get some help to help that guy. The casualty was at the extreme end on the hospital compound (I’m not sure why…but maybe they like giving people a bit of an exercise before they actually come there during emergency situations!)

So, we reach there and break our heads over trying to tell those guys in the hospital office to get their Asses moving before the man dies. What surprised me was the lack of interest and the ‘not understanding the gravity of the situation’ bit. (maybe it’s a common thing for them, but it was new to us!)

Finally the man at the desk told a cop about it and the guy made a call to the nearest cop station and asked for assistance. Convinced we walked hurriedly to the same road and stood there.. and stood there and …stood there some more… and before we knew, it was 11:30 ish….

In my head I wasn’t THAT sure if anyone will come there also…but this is one of those times when you want to prove yourself wrong…
So we made a couple of calls to the cop station and told them we’re waiting and asked why they’re still not there and within some mins after that, we saw a cop van parked near the man. There was a huge gathering there…or passer-by’s who were there for the show. (no one had stopped before they threw any lights on the wounded man.)

And when my head was hurting and my stomach was churning and I was feeling all nauseated by just looking at the cops putting the ‘wounded guy’ on the stretcher and into the van…someone passed by and asked “mar gaya kya?” and In my mind I wanted to slap the hell out of that guy for talking like that…for being so uncouth and for his lack of respect for soemones life…but I think I didn’t say anything except for an angry NO. (and I know if it was someone I know, I would’ve verbally beaten the guy into pulp for asking).

So finally the deed was done…he was taken to where he belonged. Our faith in the Mumbai Police restored. I remember telling my friend with a smile (mins after this..) “Mumbai cops are second to the Scotland Yard…. And even though it’s with reference to the intelligence, I just felt like praising them for what they’d done.

As we sat in the train, our minds were flooded with loads of questions. We asked ourselves if we’d still do what we did if we were just by ourselves. Would we have the strength and the courage to do all this..to run around and to wait at that hour without knowing for sure someone will come to help…when everyone else was least bothered, would we still have that same compassion or the strength to help someone you don’t really know…

I think if we hadn’t done THAT we’d not have slept peacefully at night. Im sure I’d lie awake thinking how we let him bleed to death. It would raise a lot of questions and those questions would make me uneasy.

Btw talking about uneasy…there is this strange odour in hospitals that makes me really queasy and also brings loads of memories that aren’t very pleasant….

Btw that’s for another time…cause I need to take a break from all this heavy stuff…

Can't miss the mascara goop!

2006-11-07T23:04:00.001-08:00

Painted lips, poker straight hair and really low slung jeans (with something pink peeking out), long lashes (and if you look carefully, you can't miss teh mascara goop)...

I don't know how every other girl is looking like every other girl these days.
This morning me and a friend of mine (Ekta) were talking about girls, in the train ... the girls who are always are 'oh so prim and propper'.. those who are so delicate that they can't take the heat, the cold, nothing. The ones who look visibly uncomfortable in the trains( even though they've travelled in them since 10 years or more, surprisingly THEY'VE still not got used to that!!) ..

Ever noticed how very few people smile in the trains in the morning. they've got these grumpy faces like they've been screwed by the whole damn world and they're making faces at those in front of them thinking "my sweat is smells definately better than hers!!"

I have observed several times and trust me it's true... MOST girls in bandra have a t shirt which says 'VON DUTCH'. I've seen more than four women on a single day wearing a t that says that or carrying a bag that says that... (if you want one yourself, you can check out hill road shops/road side stalls..and can get a good bargain on them too!!)
I'm not saying that it is nice to look shabby or better still, 'dress like a man'.
But girls, BE NORMAL.

Seriously, batting your psuedo eyelashes will not make you look smart and yea sitting the whole day on your ass and applying layers of make up won't help either. (it might get you some dumb man to run behind that same ass though!!)

Me and a friend (Diana) were once talking about how women are getting sucked up into creating an image of themselves.. an image which is 'just not them'. How they think it's cute to be dumb. and how they're tryign so hard to 'Dumb' themselves these days.

Also, it's amazing how teenage girls aren't looking like teenage girls at all. I remember my mom never allowed me to wear lipstick when i was that young! i had to be happy using glittery pink 'Lip smackers' or something that smelled fruity enough to temp me and keep me happy. No nail paint either, cause she said only college goign girls can do all that... (and i'm glad she didn't let do all of that...cause atleast i could be like a child and run around and mess up my clothes and not worry about anything!)

And it's really not cute when little girls these days knows that Mac is not just mispronounced nick for Mc Donalds, it's also a cosmetic brand!!!

*I just want to inset a line here from a song that i really like...
"Dont read beauty magazines... they really make you feel ugly"
- Sunscreen, Baz Lhurman.

Too Pink.

2006-11-01T02:18:00.000-08:00

Well... this one is not going to be about the color pink. And as opposed to what people think... i am NOT obsessed with the color. (infact i hardly liked it..until i relaised i did actually like it)

For starters, i haven't understood why men are conditioned to NOT like pink or associate themselves with the color. (if girls can like/wear teh color blue, why can't men like/wear pink?)

Secondly, i confess i might be a little too fond of it lately, but i'm not sure why. Yea, i bought a pink bag,(but it's not flourescent...those who think it is..need to make that trip to the optician) I like to call this PINK, the 'pretty fuchsia'.

It's nice to see a color like this in the morning..and and and..ladies..it goes with almost all teh colors that you wear..well except for a few. (like those of you who wear yellow t's and orange pants can't pull off the 'look' with the 'pretty fuchsia')

Thirdly, it stands for a lot of things. .. it talks about a mood, it could be anything from happy, sad or rude.

Fourthly, there is *A SONG by a famous band about this color... (so why can't people like this color?)

Fifthly, as a child i used to read a comic book called 'pinky' and billu...but then again it has nothing to do with my new found fondness with this color.

lastly, the fact that i wrote a post about this color DOES NOT mean that i love it a lot. Sure i like it but my favourite is blue. (apart from the 'pretty fuchsia')

ps (the third point dosen't make sense to me also..so leave it at that)

Just like when you crave chocolate and you go to a barista and stuff yourself like a glutton with those dark chocolate tempations..and you get so sick of them that you can't eat them till err..another week..(for me the haterd lasts for a day..btw) ...this phase shall pass too..

And that will happen when i wake up to see that all the clothes in my cupboard are pink... and suddenly it's not a pretty pink but a freaky pink.. i will get over it.. but until then..
i shall enjoy being PINK!!

* Aerosmith- PINK!! listen to it.

excuse me? i can see yu through the periphery of my eyes..

2006-10-26T00:29:00.000-07:00

recently while travelling in the train (on a long distance journey) i faced a huge problem. the problem was that for no fault of mine, i was the focus of two people's stares. there was a mother with her daughter, and both refused to look anywhere else, but me.
i didn't know what to do..i tried distracting them..i'd suddenly look out from teh window and for a minute i'd even trick them. they'd look out too but again would fix their stares at me. (i wonder why) i even went to the loo mirror to see if ther was soemthign on my face that was distracting them.
at first i ignored them and tehn later, i started smiling at them, thinking they'd stop cause now they knew that i know they're looking at me. later i got really bored and kinda used to it.. and so i thought of how i can keep myself from staring back at them and leave them alone in their business! so i took out a book from my bag and read teh entire book..finished it at around 9 30 and when i looked up i knew they'd still be looking at me.. and yes, they were.
i'll never know the reason but i do know that it's a habit that i hate...

it's not delhi winters, it's jsut my red, burgandy, yellow winter socks... my santa muffler and my garish winter caps..

2006-10-19T02:23:00.000-07:00

a runny nose is bothering me...
and right now someone is chatting up with me (continuously)
even though i want to pee.

sometimes people want to sing..
and they have no money and ther's no bling..(bling)
they're good old merry fellas living on teh streets...
even if you're a stranger, they don' mind taking treats.

when it's cold in delhi & the wind's a bitch...
playing havoc with your hair..
(you're looking like a ghost now..tch tch..tch..)

There are a dozen peircing knives..
Delhi's cold wind's a bitch..
I'm sorry (dear readers) i've got no advice..
i know...i know.. that's a hitch.

my nose used to turn red, and numb and icy.
i couldn't make out sweet from soemthing really spicy.
i kinda liked that..
and now thats what i loath..
i can't get to wear any of my winter clothes.

sigh.. it's good im going home..
before the winter starts..
i must wear my winter clothes..
even if i like someone's really bad art!
i have these red, green and even purle & yellow stripes

oopss....
and now it's looking like im writing a poem..
but it's not Delhi that i'm missing
someone please go tell 'em.

it's just about the peircing winter chill out there..