mobius_tripping

Time flies

2011-06-07T06:43:00.000-07:00

A long long time ago..actually, one year, I walked into MT to be one of its elite members, on this very day.

Was I nervous? Yes, of course.
Was I excited and dreaming of a better tomorrow? I would be a fool or unnatural, if I wasn’t.
Did it live upto my expectations? Partly. But, I will leave that discussion for later.
However, this bit really isn’t about deciding merits and demerits; it is however, about remembering a year gone by with fondness and exasperation, mixed in, in equal quantities.

A normal day at MT starts at the crack of dawn..6am. The cell phone alarm starts ringing in my ear (I had placed it on the pillow the night before to ensure waking up on time)..."Welcome to the Hotel California...it could be Heaven or it could be Hell".
"How appropriate", I mutter, rolling out of bed to look blearily out of the window. I don't think I had seen that much of "dawn" for a long time.

7th of June, 2010 was a cold windy day, and at 6am, there was no one else in sight on the road. The tall tree in front of my window rocked back and forth on its hinges, birds fluffing their feather, and huddling together to keep warm.

When I reached West Campus (and this was going to Home for the next few years), I was straightway given a tag and dumped into a 3 day induction program.

Now, this Campus, which is referred to as MTW, Lovely Greens, Place of the CCD, Village/Gaon, Hell, UN-Civilization (it really depends on the time of day and the mood) is really really far from anywhere. I have a sneaking suspicion its closer to Mysore than it is to Bangalore. Needless to say, I had NEVER travelled quite so far to go to work; my previous company was a stone’s throw from home.

So to say that it came as a shock, was a minor understatement.

However, once I got over my entire “Yeh Kahan Aa Gaye Hum” theatrical hysterical moment, I started appreciating the surroundings. The road wound itself through lovely small villages, with little hillocks popping up on either side, green palm trees swaying in the breeze as far as the eye could see. Cows and goats meandered about, dogs lay sleeping in little patches of sunlight and ducks ran about, cackling loudly. It could only happen in India!

The 3 day induction is a good idea, all said and done, as we get a chance to a) gradually "get into the company", and b) to know and make friends across BUs. Since my getting to the back of the beyond had taken me a horrendous and unplanned for 2 hours, I was a trifle late. By the time I got tagged and sent off with a wave, a movie had started and I was left groping in the dark for a place to sit, which WASN’T someone’s lap. (don’t laugh, this happened to a friend of mine at a movie; I don’t know who was more horrorstruck - she, or that girl-slash-seat’s dear boyfriend.)

When the lights came back on, leaving you feeling dazzled for that brief moment, I looked around at my neighbors. Who, I might add, were busily getting their HR paperwork organized. Me, of course, had to be unique, and wasn’t carrying any papers. In my defense, I had sent along about 20 odd documents via mail as they had requested, and thus didn’t think they would require it all over again. I was stumped. The solution: to revert to my most “Cultured Managerial Tone”, and tell them that I didn’t “expect” further paperwork to be required. And the HR were most obliging, I must say, to let me give them the papers by end of week.

On an aside, that tone really works.

That day I made my first set of friends, and put a little root in the MT network, which would see me through till whenever.
Sushma – my first neighbor.She looked at me, smiled politely, then went google-eyed at my tattoo. A nice sweet Telegugirl, or so I thought. Now, I definitely know better.
Poornima – who won my heart by asking for a coffee break, when HR asked us whether we had further questions. She deviated the attention from me, without my papers.
Akansha and Anusha – who were definitely the more quieter, politer versions of the 3 of us. I corralled them during the coffee break, which happened a lot faster on that first day thanks to P. and that was it. After that, we sat together the rest of those 2.5 days, and have been sitting together ever since. Aks is the youngest, so gets teased the most, while Anu is our voice of reason, more often than not.

Some parts of that induction left me feeling quite thrilled to be a part of this great organization. The other parts were completely anti-climactic. For example, the Information Something Session. Now, I do realize that in a 9,000 member company, human intervention is at a minimum, and Intranet is the way to go.

But, HELLO!
We were all Lateral Hires, coming from other companies, with 2-10 years’ experience behind us. The instructor started in a sonorous monotone, “GIGO – something that is Data becomes Information. We store the information carefully else it would be a problem - GIGO. Heh heh heh!”.
We were hardly going to need to know that bit..we ALREADY KNEW IT!

By the time he finished his “Heh Heh”-ing, I was out like a light. I did try really hard to stay awake, even going to the extent of holding my lids between my fingertips. But before I realized it, I had slid quietly and gently down on my seat and was off to la-la land, having pleasant dreams.

I woke with a BANG, literally, as my seat flew backwards and hit the railing behind me. I flew up with a jerk, and I could see my beloved friends almost stuffing hankies in their mouths to stop rolling on the floor, laughing hysterically.

What could I do, except look around furtively with a red face and an embarrassed grin, and wait for the coffee break. Thank god, the Instructor didn’t blink an eyelid and carried on that monotone.

He should be grateful I didn’t snore, to add insult to injury. Besides, it was a post lunch session.

Random-ness

2010-04-07T01:00:00.000-07:00

Little specks of grey and light dance across my eyes,
Like shards of dark and bright across a window pane,
On a lazy Sunday morning.
Sitting with a cup of coffee, looking out of the window,
Waiting for the rain to come.
The earth is dry and parched and calling.
The coffee grows cold in anticipation of something…
Something.. Anything.
I tickle the ivories, rather, tinker on them.
Fingers falter, remembering old tunes.
The finger of the right move only when the left don’t.
What are they scared of, I wonder?
A mis-step? A lost sound? A piece of myself thrown away?

Sound of Music soothes me, always has, since I was 6 years old.
I can sing along to every song, I know every beat, every rhythm and rhyme.
“I have confidence in sunshine”…
“And somewhere in my childhood, I must have done something good”.
I find it harder now to believe, however.
Cynicism is a dangerous thing, makes you think dangerous thoughts.
Bright lights, splashes of colour, white oblivion.

Quiet thoughts, big dreams, my very own Bucket List.
Sitting in the Acropolis awash in moonlight,
Hearing music that comes from the stones, centuries old.
Diving in the cool Pacific waters, exploring hidden treasures,
While waves wash over me, and Nemo shows me the way forward.
Watching people read my book and love it, I need no other accolade.
The urge is strong, the soul is fast, but alas, the mind is weak.
Sitting peacefully with my dog gambolling around me,
All love, and eager eyes for long walks, and drool-ey licks.

Right now all I want, really, is a room somewhere,
Far away from mostly everybody.

Hydrabad-ey Hottogol

2010-03-26T05:52:00.000-07:00

Part III - Vici (though, more aptly titled - And I couldn’t believe my eyes)

My last day in Hyd and I throw hysterics (the wonderful thing about friends is that they actually let you get away with them). I want to go see what all the hoopla of Hyd being an old city filled with historical impact is all about, much to the dismay of Abhi who tries his best to dissuade me.

Again, a totally different picture of Hyd all over again - a city that resembles North Calcutta or Old Delhi in its flavor. More steeped in the past, than any other characteristic. What strikes us as we come to the old area, is that it is a predominantly Muslim city – masjids at every corner, women covered in black from head to toe, kohl rimmed eyes peering out into the world. When I see green flags with the sickle and star, proudly displayed every which way you look, I get a jolt of surprise and shock.

1st stop – Falaknama Palace
The name in Urdu means “Star of Heaven”, and it is supposedly one of the finest palaces in Hyderabad. Also referred to as 'Mirror of the Sky', it was designed by an Italian architect and took 9 years to complete. Needless to say, after hearing all about it from friends, I was excited to make a trip. Winding down thin roads, choc-a-bloc with traffic, people, juice sellers, cows, carts and cycles, we finally arrived after an hour at the gates of the Palace. Only to suffer a major anti-climax as the Palace is now closed to be made into Taj Group of Hotels. Which means, the next time I want to go see it, I will have to shell out 500 INR for a tiny cup of coffee.

2nd stop – Charminar
A massive square structure towers above us. The oldest mosque in Hyd, it is made of Granite. 4 minarets, one at each corner, ululate without fail at dusk and dawn. Apparently, once upon a time, each of the 4 arches faced the 4 major roads of the city.

Charminar is set amidst the bazaar – Laad Bazaar, Chor Bazaar and Begum Pet (pronounced how a Bong would say pet in Bongland :-D). Shops selling pearls, glass bangles and women’s shoes jostle for space between vendors hawking papaya, watermelon and green mangoes. There are people milling everywhere – Muslims for devotional prayers, families who are picnicking in the grounds below, foreigners with a gaggle of “let me help you sir, see this, fine building sir” behind them. It is crowded, colorful, chaotic, dirty and vibrant, all in the same breath.

Each minaret of the Charminar has a double balcony, which one is allowed to climb up to, to gaze in admiration at the panoramic view below. When I was taken to the stairs, I immediately had doubts. 149 step, set so steep so that one has to CLIMB rather than walk up the steps. Adding to that, they are through the minaret, so you are going round and rounds in tiny dizzying concentric circles with millions thronging before and after you. Woe betide all, if one person slips; it would be the domino effect performed live. After you climb down from the top, you have to pause for a bit before you can walk, as the legs, they are a tremblin!

Once up there, it was a different world. The sounds and smells below filter away, leaving you to gaze out over the city. Everything shimmers in a heat haze, imparting a distinctly dreamlike quality. There isn’t much else to see really, except for the beautiful carved frieze running along the entire inner walls of the monument. Pigeons nestle in the alcoves cooing away throatily to each other, fighting for space in the nooks and crannies. The sad part of the whole thing was that we, as a nation, don’t take pride in our History or Culture; there are “TV wanted- call Abbas” and “Bunty loves Bubli” pen marks carved out all along the walls. Total desecration.

3rd stop – Salarjung Museum
As we walk in, a cool breeze blows towards us from the gulmohar lined avenue; at least I think they were gulmohars, the pink flowers. It’s a breeze we welcome, after trudging all over Charminar, and the a/c ed atmosphere gently beckons us inside. Salarjung Museum is the 3rd largest museum in India, housing collections belonging to different civilizations dating back to the 1st century.

Here I have to admit, that this probably was the worst letdown of a museum that I have ever come across. Maybe I am spoiled by the wonderful Museums I have traipsed through in UK, which hold you spellbound the whole day, with the sheer amount of beauty and information put together.

Yes, the Salarjung collection is huge and has some astoundingly beautiful pieces. However, the very essence of what a Museum represents was lost - these are places which ideally are meant to impart and increase your knowledge base, not merely showcase wealth.

The artifacts weren’t marked, so one had no idea of knowing the specialty of the piece. Those that were marked went from the sublime to the ridiculous. Imagine a Ming vase, where the marking reads “Blue Vase from China 18th Century”. That’s it, full stop, end of information. Like we couldn’t tell the color.

In the European gallery were hundreds of chairs lined up neatly, with no idea of which was what period, came from where - France, UK or Spain, for example. It looked like a very uncared for furniture store, peeling brocade on jittery falling over chairs, the only signs displayed being “Please do not sit on these”.

All in all, a place I would recommend in a heartbeat, for any serious Museum aficionado never ever to go to.

Pit Stop – Paradise Restaurant
Lunch at 5pm. This was surely the highlight for all of us greedy, hungry, bone achingly tired people.
Paradise is known to all gourmets in India, if not by taste, then by name. I had heard paens sung in its glory and was determined to sample the food for myself. The most divine biriyani and succulent kebabs, aromas wafting through the doors as we alight from the cab. It was opened in 1953 or 63, and from those humble beginnings has grown into a 3 story gleamingly clean palace which occupies an entire street block, and has 3 other equally huge outlets all over the city. I only wish it couriered to other cities. Replete, we head back home to freshen up, pack and head to the station to get back home

Overall, a brilliant way to end a brilliant trip.

P.S.: so, the title is my way of saluting the master, Satyajit Ray. For the Bengalis who have read his books, this should be self-explanatory.
Hottogol is a Bong word which implies..err..shindigs, shenanigans, samba! :-D

Hydrabad-ey Hottogol

2010-03-26T04:20:00.001-07:00

Part II - Vidi

One day of sitting about doing nothing is about all I can take. Saturday morning dawns late – around 11am – since the previous night is spent in talking away; Alka smiling sleepily at us while she listens to us ramble on, head nodding in part concentration, part contentment and mostly tiredness.

Abhi also arrives to partake in breakfast and “city darshan” plans, doing his best to dissuade us from going anywhere. He is the epitome of the quintessential Bong - lazy, friendly, loves friends and food, and generally fun to hang out with. He is going to make S’s home his “adda” for the next couple of days. After a brunch of the most fab parathas, we head out.

Our choice of locale – a mall called Inorbit ( mall names never ever make sense; its like all the marketing is targeted in giving it a name that a) rolls easily off the tongue, and b) sounds hip to the “cool brigade”. The choice is simple, find a place which is A/C and scurry into it.

As the city is carved out of hills, the car takes us through rambling roads and undulating plains onto our destination. I revise my initial impressions of Hyd on this trip. This is truly the Technology Sector, tall gleaming buildings, all chrome and steel and glass. Big names of IT MNCs litter either side of the roadways, set among beautifully landscaped foliage. There is an immediate “wow, impressive” factor for this part of the city.

This of course is what you would find anywhere you went - any Tier 1 city is India today has exactly the same IT landscape, with wide clean roads and huge buildings. What sets Hyd apart truly, from anywhere else, is the location and the scenery. Looking down from the Mall, where we sit sipping our coffee and taking the mandatory pictures, the eyes travel across to a huge lake/reservoir called DurgamCheru (Ma Surga Lake). On the other side of it, far away, rise steep hills, where one can see houses, resorts, offices dotted about, amongst the rocks. That is of course reflected this side as well, with all offices’ recreational spaces opening out on the lakeside. There is this tranquil air about the whole place, a moment frozen in cool serenity. It’s a sight for sore eyes, and I believe that anyone having the luxury of seeing it every day would be a happy camper.

In the evening we go clubbling. What with Blr closing shop at ridiculously early hours, the people of the once famous “city with best nightlife” now have to go to other places to enjoy themselves without being thrown out at 11pm. IPL, the latest buzz to hit Indian cricket is on. This is Season 3 of a format people laughed at, when it was first thought of – I personally liken it to “blink and miss” cricket in 20 overs. However, the excitement runs high in tamden with our drinking, with bets being placed in favor of your own team.

Thankfully, and much to my crowing delight, I win!

Hydrabad-ey Hottogol

2010-03-26T04:04:00.000-07:00

Part I - Veni

The journey starts like all journeys do..with anticipation. I’m going to catch up over a long weekend, with some of my closest friends in their new house. I even baked a cake for the occasion (it’s a perfect present - one can indulge in it with alacrity). Wriggling around to achieve the maximum level of comfort in my Volvo A/C ed bus, on an overnight journey, I find myself wishing “why can’t they make a damn A/C bus colder, for chrissake?”

Oh well! No one ever said there’s gain, without the add-on pain in the posterior, literally.

My first impression of Hyd is caught behind half closed eyes, peering sleepily out of the window. It’s nice, quiet.. peaceful; dawn light weaving in through lazily floating wisps of fog. The roads are almost totally empty, with a few lone-wolf trucks rumbling on ahead.

The city leaves behind an impression of aridity, a veritable dustbowl sitting in the midst of huge rocks strewn haphazardly everywhere. Immediately, it strikes me that it is as far from Blr as it can get..less people, less traffic, less hi-fi places, less buildings in general. It probably reminds me in a way, of what Blr might have been like 30 years ago, a small sleepy town on the eve of “development” rather than smack dab in the middle of chaos.

Sachin’s house is almost near one end of Hyd.. a place called Kondapur which is near the Tech City. There isn’t much junta around here, the hustle and bustle of the city is left far behind. Chatting with him and his wife, over a cup of adrak chai made by Alka, it is a good moment. We never realize how much we are starved for our closest, till we are face to face with one.

Catch up with A., once S. goes off for work very reluctantly. I do try to do my duty as a best friend and try to persuade him to stay, of course. A. is the perfect hostess; she packs me off to freshen up and rest, while she goes off, oh so competently, to whip up breakfast for the 2 of us. Then it’s time to chat about all and sundry – life, love, marriage, work, hopes and wishes, highpoints and failure – we are really getting to know each other “properly” this time around, rather than as the “best friend” and the “wife”.

Hyd is HOT..a dry heat that settles into your skin and leaves it parched and cracked. Water almost sizzles on the body and disappears while taking baths, giving me to reflect on all the Physics I studied ages ago. It leaves one inert to do anything the entire day, unless you have forced yourself to escape the cool confines of the house already. In the afternoons, a lassitude sets in among people, they buzz lazily like drones searching for food in the hot sun.

S’s house is huge and carefully thought out and built; but as he dryly mentions, not constructed by a very intelligent man. The halls and bedrooms are huge, the kitchen almost even bigger. The loos are tiny, in comparison. Since they are in the process of still acquiring furniture, most of the house stands empty, reverberating with sound when we speak. Opera singers would have a blast singing here, I wonder.

The whole house is pink..a delicious frothy pink with white pillars. It reminds me of a strawberry shortcake, lovely white cream drizzled with threads of pink color in it, and folded neatly to make sweet sweet icing. As a child growing up in Cal, I seem to recollect our own house walls being a pale pink at a point of time. Thankfully, post that, we have moved into a more neutral all-white color scheme, with the occasional large muddy pawprint left as a decorative statement of valor by our overly energetic dogs.

Up, up and away..

2009-05-08T06:42:00.000-07:00

The amount of times, I have shifted around in Bangalore… would put people to shame. And no, the shifts are not personal (new home) shifts.. they are due to office spaces. In PharmARC, we shifted 5 times in 5 years – quite a feat, that!

I just joined my new company.. that was in August of last year. This April, we moved bag and baggage and shifted.. from Diamond District (6km from my house) to MG Rd (double the distance).

And oh god.. it’s a pain in the ass, and all other wrong places. Right now, Bangalore governments are frenetically digging trenches wherever they set their happy sights on, to build the Bengaluru Metro. What were one beautiful serene tree lined avenues in various parts of the city, now look like the Rann of Kutch.. flat dusty plains, billowing dust storms. And since dear aforesaid govt. is digging with a damn spoon.. it looks like we will be stuck in this grimy, cement-sand-floating-in-air limbo, forever.

I’m taking 3 hours per day, on the road.. which means that the rest of my life almost peters out, over weekdays.

Who am I kidding!! As if I was a party hopping freak when I was living 5 minutes from work. Still, do give me my moment to gripe, people..

MG Rd has been dug up completely. All scientists.. please don’t bother observing moon craters..we have them right here. Walking is a problem, as there are now no roads and no pavements anymore. So one totters over piles of dirty and mud and sand, smiling apologetically to vehicles who are waiting for you to pass, and maybe fall, face first, into the ditch beside.

One doesn’t just ride an auto in BLR, one careens. Merrily, capriciously, blindly… the autowala doing his version of being Michael in the Grand Prix till I tell him, “hello bhaiyaa, bhagwan se itna pyar toh abhi nahi hai, theek se chalaiye”.

Lurching through busy traffic, this guy decides he wants to overtake..an Innova no less. So we caper along, till aforesaid misbegotten vehicle nudges us, oh so gently, into a mound of cement. So there I am, trying desperately to look calm and poised and serene, while sliding slowly but inexorably, down a seat with suddenly, a 45 degree slope. And in the middle of all this, the auto stalls with a choke and a sputter. My auto wala quietly says, “Shit!”

What else can I say, really?

I’m back folkses!!

2009-05-05T23:16:00.000-07:00

All of us have times when we want to sink, and almost disappear. And I was going through that, last week. I think the shock of never being able to see Sasha again, hold him close, hug him tight till he yelps in discomfort, smell that doggie smell.. well, I can go on endlessly on this.. was too much to take and auto-recover from. So everything in life became tinged with this dirty gray tone, murky and dark.

And then… there are times when one jumps back on the proverbial bandwagon. when u dust off the, well dust.. and say “enough is enough”, and get back among the living.

I’m back, people!! And heck, it’s about time. Enough moping and whining and feeling sorry for myself. Enough of having expectations from certain friends, who don’t deserve all the time and thought wasted on them. And time to look around at all the ones who have reached out to me, and comforted me in so many ways, through these bleak moments. And thank god they are such a part of my life..

As for Sasha….let the beautiful, and they are all beautiful, memories remain…

Death is a lonely feeling

2009-05-04T03:26:00.000-07:00

My sister died 3 weeks ago. She was a very distant cousin, living alone in Bombay, quite cut off from everyone. She was also 2 years younger than me. And while I’m not very traumatized by her gone, vis-à-vis if it had been a favorite cousin; I’m still rather shaken up by the fact that she’s GONE. And that suddenly among the 6 cousins, there is a blank space forever.

And my doggie passed away, as all those read this blog will already know, a week ago. And to say I’m facing this huge void right now, would be an understatement. I definitely prioritize my babies over my family, kya karein..

And when I have friends who I thought of as very very close, who don’t even bother to sms me when I’m at my most down, and then tell me that she contacted my mother because, I quote, “I thought she needed comforting more than you did”, I think something inside me dies a little bit.

Maybe people think that I’m that strong that I don’t need a shoulder to howl on, or that I don’t need anything, period. And it makes me wonder… did my sister feel just as lonely in Bombay? That when she looked around at family and friends there wasn’t really anyone there for her..

I wish I had the chance to talk to her once..now it is too late..

In Memoriam

2009-04-28T04:34:00.000-07:00

The First Family: Tara (mom), Mishka (daughter), Sasha (son)
..and Leo (the beginning of the Second Family)

Sasha passed away last night
1992 – 27 April, 2009
17 years of beautiful memory

Tum Ho Toh
Tum ho toh, gata hai dil

Tum nahin, toh geet kahan

Tum ho toh, hai sab hasil

Tum nahin, toh kya hai yahan

Tum ho toh hai, sapno ke jaisa hasin ek samaa

Jo tum ho toh, yeh lagtha hai

Ke mil gayi har khushi

Jo tum na ho, yeh lagtha hai

Ke har khushi mein hai kami

Tumko hai mangthi yeh zindagi

Tum ho toh, rahein bhi hai

Tum nahin, toh rastein kahan

Tum ho toh, yahan sab bhi hai

Tum nahin, toh kaun yahan

Tum ho toh hai, har ek pal meharban yeh jahan

Jo tum ho tho, hawa mein bhi

Mohabaton ka raang hai

Jo tum na ho, toh phir koi

Na josh na umang hai

Tum mile toh mili yeh zindagi..

To all the Moms of the World

2009-04-14T05:54:00.000-07:00

From ALL the children.. the tales would be uncannily similar, I believe…

This one was inspired during a chat with a friend of mine. His parents are here, and as with all of us living “out-station”, parental visits bring with them, their share of love and irritation, guilt and glory.
Parents sit and hatch the whole week during such visits. It makes no difference whether they are going Calcutta to Coimbatore, Amritsar to LA..

A parental visit has its own rhythm.. an unbroken cadence.
They come; they exclaim; they clean; they cook; they nag about health and marriage; they feed the friends who all suddenly descend on you with much love (it’s a lie, its all about the food, people).
They drag you out all over town over weekends to shop (like there are no stores whatsoever in the heartlands of Calcutta) - since they have gotten bored sitting at home waiting for you to get back from office, the week through (and all you want to do is sleep).
They give you breakfast in bed; and hot dinner at night; plenty of unwanted advice about life, work, men, health, friends, food, bosses, work, health, life… you know what I mean..

The other common factor of parental visits is GUILT. In dollops. You feel horrible that parent is here, yet work can’t stop. So, all you can do is pray that they will find something to do, while on their trip.
Moms, of course, get a free pass to “Harass Heaven”, as soon as they become MOMS. I suspect Dads would too, if they could be less immersed in the newspapers and cricket. Mine is a little afraid of my volatile temper, so that’s another plus. :-D

Ma, thankfully, brings her work. So, after she has finished flailing her arms about, and exclaiming about the state of my house, she potters around cleaning. Yes, this one is a REGULAR. And it makes no difference even if I have run around like the Whirling Dervish a day before, and collared my roomie also to help clean up the house.
Once she has happily checked expiry dates on every damn thing in the house, and thrown out most of it, she settles down to do her work.. finishes it too, by the time the trip is through. One visit, it wasn’t just her, but my other 2 aunts as well. Between the three mothers, my fridge started resembling Old Mother Hubbard’s cupboard in half hour.
“O my god!! Look at that mayonnaise, its 3 years old!
“And see this!! 3 bottles of the same sauce…all expired!!”
In my defense, milord… it was a busy three years.

Every trip is the same. Ma wakes up at the CRACK of DAWN...potters around a bit.. peers at my face... says "Am going for a walk, won’t u come?"
If I mumble back...pillow over my face, she’ll say "U sure? Sure na, that you don’t feel like it?"
And go off.
Then she's be back in an hour.. and say "Eesh, ki je shob raasta tomar barir shamney, haantai jai na”
The lady is used to power walking for an hour, each day by a lake back home.. what can I do, manufacture one here?
Then she's again peer at me and say "Chaa khabey?"
Of course, I’m STILL at the mumbling stage..and really cross by now
So I say no.
Off she goes.. makes her tea (Darjeeling, that she packs and gets from home, cause she cannot bear my Dhaba chai)
She also make my coffee, brings it to the bed (this is a really nice part, I must say) and says "Ei nao, coffee khao"..
Oblivious to my no-s..

But there's more.. the story doesn’t end there.
Now, willy nilly, I’m about one-fourth awake. She gets all excited and tells me “Ebar change korey treadmill ey uthey poro” and “Eki, eto kom walk korey ki laabh!!”
Once satisfied that I’m huffing and puffing away to her liking on that damn treadmill, she starts to cut fruits. Here, all people who know me and love me, and even those who don’t, know that I’m NOT a health food person. I have to "gird my loins and go forth into battle", when to have fruits.
So, there is Mom, looking at me with piteous eyes... and saying things like.. "Ami eto koshto korey kaatlam, tumi ektuuu o khabey na?"

By which time, one is goaded enough to walk out of the house, at a far earlier hour than you would, if u were home alone.
Amazingly though.. and yes, really, its amazing me too… I wouldn’t change her for the world. Well, mostly! Can I ask for some minor, teensy weensy modifications, though? :-D

Delhi Belly

2009-03-18T05:41:00.000-07:00

(I’m plagiarizing movie names left, right and centre.. maybe I should go ask Anu Malik for a job)

Of course…Delhi is not all bad. As a matter of fact, it’s a wonderful trip…magical in snatches..

P. picks me up at the airport.. and makes me wait more than an hour for her before she lands up. Its old old friendship that makes me forget wanting to bonk her on the head with my heels, and makes me envelop her in a bear-hug of delight. Her hubby, S., is a very cool guy… this is my 1st meeting with him, but we are comfy around each other right away.

That night, they bundle me into their car and we zoom off to Defence Colony, appropriately called Def Col by the Punjs.. after 26/11, a lot of people are saying that all our Forces are deaf and dumb to the needs of the country. M. and V. have come down from the good ole USA.. I’m meeting them after 4 years, I think. Other assorted friends are also there, so it’s a big party/reunion of sorts. N is pouting.. he refuses to speak to me for all of 5 minutes.. because he was the only one of the lot who DIDN’T know I was landing up. I tell him it was supposed to be a surprise, I was supposed to jump out of a cardboard cake..but P. ruined it.

Nothing ever beats old friends.. the ability to catch up exactly where we left off..not a beat missed. We have known each other since Junior and High School..just counting the number of years that makes, makes my head reel. The whole night is tinged in my memory in shades of “warmth”. The lovely cream of the walls, a playful but bhishon bheetu (darpok) Lab gamboling in and out of the room, deep maroon couches we sink into, with out whiskeys, wines and paneer on sticks. And laughter, and hugs, and the old affectionate digs at each other’s expense.

The next day, I move into R.s house..she had sworn she would come after me with a knife if I didn’t stay with her - given the fact that she is a Jat, however much she protests she is not - I take no chances. R is glowing with what I can only call “newly wed happiness”.. a lot of that glow is attributed to her finally having her own house.

M. and R. are friends from my previous job, we were a group of 5 people who have managed to weather time and distance and keep the friendship going. M also brings his fiancé.. we warn her against M. and tell her “picture abhi baaki hai mere dost..soch le..isse shaadi karegi?? Time hai..bhaag jaa”. Must be true love…after all the stories we tell her of M.

R. and I go off shopping.. part of it is her gifts we friends are giving her. The other part is where I drag her off to Dilli Haat to soak in sun and ethnic funny little things to buy. She picks up a tortoise seat and I fall in love with a cycle rickshaw perfectly cast in the style they are, in Calcutta.

At R.’s house, our relaxed lazing-in-bed afternoon chat is rudely awoken by a monstrous din outside. Peeping out from her balcony, it is time for my jaw dropping moment - 2 bejeweled elephants, 6 horses, and a tonga - all part of the famous Punjabi wedding Baraat.

The two brides..yes, 2 - its a “buy 1-get 1 free” wedding - are weighed down in tones of the most ghastly gaudy jewelry and ghagra-cholis that one can possibly imagine. The two elephants look beleaguered - that’s the only word for it - shifting uneasily from foot to foot while hordes of snotty brats, screaming girls and chamkili aunties dance about, and teen boys in Pulsars wearing strange gold colored, androgenous kurtis roar by. I take loads of pictures, to remember it all by.

Yeh Dilli Hai Mere Yaar

2009-03-03T00:59:00.000-08:00

Well, okie, so I stole the title from a song in the movie. But then, it is quite apt, considering we are talking about a city where the sword is most definitely mightier than the pen.

Pen? What pen?

Hopping over to Delhi last weekend for a quick trip was certainly an eye opener. The last time I had been to “Das Capitol” was way way back in the summer of..well, way way back. I was in my young teens, and Delhi was just another stopover on the way to a wonderful trekking trip in the Himalayas.
Confused memories of Bengali and Punjabi housewives in ghastly purple silk saris, laden with jewelry, rather like a Christmas tree, each out-doing the next. That was CR Park for you, at 10am in the morning on Dashami. Frankly, I could have cared less about the people and the place.

Thus, this trip was quite a novel one..seeing Delhi in a whole new light. The place still is all about “see and be seen”. Getting down at the airport, tired and crumpled from a really long flight, all around me were people vying to be Pg 3 starlets. Tight jeans, tight tops, shrugs…designer tags waving in the air, every which where. Girls from 10yrs old, to women of 60, all in impossibly high heels, tethering around. It was a shock for me, coming from BLR, where it’s a rather chilled out crowd. Delhi truly is the Fashion Capital of India. Note I say nothing about Style.

The feeling of wealth continues, on roads and in malls. At any given traffic light that we stopped at, all one could see a sea of Innovas and Hondas, a Merc or more. Small cars were few and far between. And the malls were a surreal experience. Firstly, the space..

Oh My God, the Space!!

It beat everything I have seen in different cities in India, so far. The Citywalk Mall my friend dragged me to, was HUMUNGOUS. Almost the size of Eden Gardens, Calcutta, this was 3 separate malls merged smoothly into one. Gleaming glass finishes inside, fabulous displays. International brands, some of which I honestly hadn’t seen in BLR, rubbed shoulders casually with our own local flavors. Excellent landscaping outside, lead to sunken places beside cool fountains where you could sit and listen to live performances by artists. Cafes selling cuisine from all across the world had happy over-laden shoppers dropping into them with (LOUD Punjabi) sighs of relief demanding imperiously for chilled Evian water (150 INR for a bottle, I tell you!)

Really, I will never understand the Punjabi mentality, specially the Sardar variety. Opulence is the name of the game, a larger than life persona.

“OYE, KI HAAL HOVE?” said in screaming tones into each others’ ears after they meet. Not withstanding that half of Delhi has heard that decibel level and can ALL shout back “BAAS, BADIYA” in tones of great enthusiasm.

This is not to say I don’t like the people..some of my very dear friends are Punjabi and I wouldn’t change them for the world. I admire their fearlessness and their ability to live life. While the rest of the Indian populace goes around carefully skirting the edges of life as they live it, the Punjs are out there, doing bhangra and eating aloo paratha smothered in ghee.

Slow down, you move too fast…

2008-09-05T03:40:00.000-07:00

31st August 2008. Had joined the new company for 10 days, and I still felt curiously redundant in my new role. Not that I WAS, since whatever suggestions I dgiven out so far in management meetings had been taken positively. Rolled out the plan last Friday to the senior members of the team; the reactions ranged from very thrilled to very interested.

Pretty nice guys, and I’m getting to know each of them personally, slowly and surely. Of course, I realize they will never be my “yaars” the way PharmARC people were, and that’s to be expected; I’ve come in as their Head, and so they are bound to have those mental constraints, at least for the time-being.

I also realize that only time will tell of the true colors of the relationships. The ones who act thrilled and so very nice, could easily be maska maaro-ing, and backstab me hollow; the ones who are reserved today, might turn out to be my biggest allies in troubled times. These are the risks we take in the game; the only hope is that life and my previous experiences over the past 5 odd years have managed to stuff some common sense down my gullet.

So, back to main topic.. why then, after all that, WAS I feeling curiously redundant?

Well, for one, at PharmARC, life was all about contingencies and deadlines and playing leapfrog helter-skelter, in projects. I don’t think we ever waltzed leisurely with the client, even when they wouldn’t have minded us to do so.. we were always insisting on the more energetic troubled tango. Lol. Fast paced and exciting, indeed yes, but gave no time to take a breath. I remember always feeling guilty if I ever left office when there was sunlight outside.

Here, we have a 9 to 6.. and we actually FOLLOW it, which leaves me eons of time to do my own thing. While I’m reveling in this, my mind is obviously a little slow in catching up (comfortably), with such a drastic change. Everyone works at a normal pace, without hyperactivity and hypertension. That still seems alien to me. In office, we are not running for everything, every time. There is no need anymore, WPP had “arrived” a long long time ago.

The second factor that causes such redundancy is the fact that the Meritus Bangalore set up is still small (30 odd) and dependant on MindTree for the tech stuff. Thus, between left hand and right hand, they are often waving wildly in the air without meeting, rather like 2 blind bats trying to do a handshake during a storm. Thus, what could take 2-3 max in a large office, still takes about 8, in a small one. Never had to face, and wait for “Support Functions” to do their jobs on time before.. it was a smooth process.

Will get used to it, will get used to it. And then….will change it for the better. Halleluiah!

A Major Food Group

2008-09-05T03:25:00.000-07:00

I have a special fondness for the open air Barista on MG Road. The big orange umbrellas, shards of sun making weird patterns on the tiles, the wind getting tangled in one’s hair, the cigarette smoke curling lazily above our heads to dissipate with gusts of blustery weather, the foot-tapping music that makes me want to get up at random moments and dance around, and the high intensity of energy that fills the air.

It’s not just the coffee, I admit. I’m drawn to the whole experience. Sitting there for hours on end, discussing anything and everything, drinking cup and cup of coffee, taking it in turns to ensure people don’t ask us, albeit politely, to leave.

Close friends and family, body language relaxed and easy, laughing hysterically at god-alone-knows-what. Talking of things that one talks about only with those we are close to, knowing there is no judgment, no pressure.

Then suddenly, the conversations veer off on a tangent. The posture changes… urgent, eager, private. Listeners and talkers, simultaneously. It’s a closed circle, low tones directly stating different points of views, ways to figure out tight situations. And after a while, that’s over. People watching, languid moods and peaceful silences take over.

When I was a little girl – well, littler than I am now, at any rate – I had this poster in my room. As far as I remember, some of us friends had made them…yes, MADE.. it was our own thoughts and desires, regurgitated forth in all its squiggly glory on fancy paper. It said, simply,
The 5 Major Food Groups
- Caffeine
- Nicotine
- Protein
- Alcohol
- Cholesterol

The parents yoyo-ed between disgust, suspicion and amusement for a while, finally settling on the latter.

Those food groups didn’t really change over the years.. they merely increased or decreased in order of priority and percentage over time. Today, I can happily claim I’m a coffee addict. It’s almost indescribable. The smell of roasted coffee beans in a perfume shop, the aroma of freshly made coffee smells wafting in the air. We had this ritual in my old office, where we friends would gather in our open air cafeteria, first thing as soon as we all got into work. Each of us had our preferences; my poison was caffeine to get me awake and charged up to face the day. It never failed.

I think I will introduce that in my new job; feel almost “half of me” without it.

Friends are for kicking one's butt..

2008-08-20T22:48:00.000-07:00

Was totally and absolutely in a dilemma.. I had got an offer from IIMB for an Executive MBA Program, and at the same time, a new and hyped up role in a new company (more on that later). And they were both the stuff, my pipe-dreams are made of. But clashed and collided in a multitude of ways and dates, and all of those horrible things that were giving me nightmares.

I was on the verge of walking away (heavy heart and sniffling) from the IIMB program, thinking I wouldn’t be able to deal with it. Maybe the time wasn’t right, maybe I was better off with prioritizing only the job, etc etc.

Then spoke at length to P. and P. last night, and smsed back and forth with K., who all talked me into fighting and thinking it out, and finally saying YES to the IIMB. They think, and thus, now I think, I will be able to juggle both.

A huge, HUGE hug to P. and P. and K. for the motivation..

AAAAAAARGH!!!

2008-08-20T22:36:00.000-07:00

Frustration to the hilt. The CFO is out of town on work, my financial induction happens on Tuesday, and till then…. zilch (how long CAN one Google, man!!)

Which means, I’m sitting here.. I can’t network (Facebook, LinkedIn, et al), I can’t chat (no Skype, GTalk, MSN, yada yada), I can’t mail (MindTree's Internet Access Policy does not allow access to this site as it has been categorized as "Web-based E-mail"), AND I can’t view most sites (MindTree's Internet Access Policy does not allow access to this site as it has been categorized as "Entertainment").

Of Course I Want Entertainment!!

Anyone would want entertainment if they had to sit hour after hour looking at a wall, with no one around. Innumerable cups of coffee, multiple phone calls, angst about IIM or not alongside new job and all that, notwithstanding. Specially when I ‘m used to, and almost thrive on, frentic activity.

P.S.: Sigh!! I think I’m having hysterics. The next week I hope, brings better things to come..

Just another day in paradise..

2008-08-19T23:52:00.000-07:00

Sitting here, in my new office, on my first day – no laptop assigned to me yet, no access card, no desk – in short, no nothing. Met some of my “team to be”...have a team lunch thing as well, in a while, to meet the rest of them all.

“And in the dangling conversation.. and the superficial smiles”

Paul Simon knew what he was talking about, for sure. Though, in all fairness I must admit that this is expected. In all offices, the first few days, for the new employees are generally stilted, and fraught with tension.

“Will I fit in?” “Will they like me?” “I hope I’m doing the right thing” “I wonder whose head I stepped on, to bag this job – unfortunate, but bound to be true”.. and so forth.

I was experiencing deja-vu actually.. laughing at myself, as I was walking down the different cubes, introducing myself to different people. How often in the last 5 years, in my previous company, have I seen people going around doing the same, and then smiled politely and forgotten him/her in an instant as soon as they passed?

I’m currently placed outside the team facility - remember, no access card? – and its all quiet.. so very quiet. Each time the door opens, I hear snatches of conversation and laughter, till the door closes again, and I’m left with good ole me. It's a lonely feeling.

A wave of nostalgia hits me, a veritable tsunami. Nostalgia for my old office, where I was a “dada”, untouchable, un-putdown-able. Walking around hands in pockets, whistling any tune that came to my mind, me knowing everyone, and everyone knowing me. I know I got away with a lot of stuff that others couldn’t dream of saying or doing.. simply because of the bonds I had forged over time.

I’m remembering the times in the cafeteria, drinking innumerable cups of coffee, the wind in our hair, the papad flying across, end to end. Friends telling me, patiently "Sri, coffee khatam kar" as I would get engrossed in conversation, and the coffee would grow ice cold in the cup. I miss the Dumb Charades with F. and S. guessing phrases no other person could think of.

“I tot I taw a puddy tat a teeping up on me”

Shouting out loudly in laughter with friends.. as R. would put it “gir gir ke haasna” .. all the others would turn to look at us and grin at our craziness. My heart to heart talks with S., the quiet one of our group, who I always look to for confirmation on things that matter. And beating M. with a shoe, when he bugged me too much.. which was really very often.. on the Delhi Calcutta divide.

Maybe that will happen here.. maybe not. Only time will tell. Till then, I’l maintain a casual pose, stick one hand in my pocket and cross my fingers.

A Trip Down Memory Lane

2008-07-10T23:13:00.000-07:00

What DOES one feel, at the threshold of resigning from a job?

A job where I have been at, over the last 4.5 years.. a job that I’ve been with, since the inception of the company. When we first came together, we were a band of 8 enthusiastic, upbeat souls.. ready to face any challenge that was thrown at us. Our bosses were 2 young guys, “fresh” out of Wall Street and other big names across EU and US.. but totally green behind the ears when it came to running an organization.

We were all recruited out of pubs and coffee shops, guzzling beer over papers and handshakes (Siraj never let me live it down, as a matter of fact). As soon as we came onboard, Anu and I were chosen to choose colors, designs, hardware, software, et al, at different moments. Off we would trot, with the CEO’s money (even in those days, one had to REALLY work to persuade him to part with it, even for the greater good) to buy furniture and various decorative bits and pieces, for our office “relaxing zone”. The fact that the Zone was bang in front of our bosses’ glass walled cabin, escaped our notice till the n-eth moment.

The first day I walked into the office, I was met by a cigarette puffing guy, salt and pepper hair, wearing these brightly colored Bermudas; I realized later, that he was the President. Ushering us very nicely into his cabin, to discuss a project, he wound up, telling the team “this presentation needs to be orgasmic”. Needless to say, for the other team members, all good little Southie ones; they simply preferred to have a collective coronary instead.

It was a good thing that we were ready to take on the world…for the universe, it seemed at times, was thrown at us. Amit and Siraj were hard taskmasters.. they even had a dictum “3 strikes and you’re out”. Each of us would shiver and shake in our shoes, every time Amit had to review our presentations. He could make us feel very small indeed, with his “Ye KYA hai, yaar? This is BULLSHIT!” drawl. Siraj was known to reduce people to tears, with cutting remarks “Is this the BEST you can do? I mean, if you can’t, tell me… I can do it myself.”

Looking back, and specially looking around the current recruits swarming the organization, it was the best training that one could ever receive. We were learning every moment of the way.. the domain knowledge, the ability to analyze, the importance of key takeaways and titles that made sense. What the clients wanted to hear, and not necessarily what we wanted to blather about, on and on. How very important it was to have “Quality, and Pristine Look and Feel” almost as part of the air we breathed.

But more importantly, we learnt about how not to give up, how to look adversity in the eye; how to come crashing down, and then dust ourselves off, and perform even better. A few of us faced challenge after challenge.. and swore that we would always come out of it, smiling and victorious. I realize, with rather with an element of shocked surprise, that I have a whole lot to be grateful for.

Not always in the best of ways; but these guys pushed me to new limits, challenged my creativity, defined new roles when I least expected them. And in the process, helped me become a far better professional today, than I was 5 years ago; with an entire new and varied skill set range, and an ability to adapt to any new situation without batting an eyelid.

And for all that, and so much more, Amit and Siraj, I truly truly thank you…

The Bong Connection…or, As You Like It

2008-06-25T01:49:00.000-07:00

The last weekend, was one that reminded me forcibly, of my Bong-ness. Not that I’m ashamed of it… but neither do I wave my Marxist red state - Tagore spouting inheritance like a flag. It is just another thing that is an integral part of me, so much so, that I don’t really bother about it.

Alliance Francaise had put up a play over the weekend. All we knew about it was that it was on Shakespeare. Titled “Shreds and Patches”, we weren’t quite sure what it would be about, but priding ourselves on being adult discerning population, who like assimilating new experiences, we were eager to see it.

Turned out to be a one man show about “MY Shakespeare”..or rather, the actor’s own interpretation. The Actor.. I don’t know his name.. it wasn’t mentioned anywhere on the programme. All I can say is that he reminded he forcibly of a dear “brother figure” Babuda.. from the shadows of my past… and that I’m going to call this guys A. for ease of use.

When A. opened his book and talked about his first brush with Shakespeare, I was stifling my snorts. He was a Bong, of course.. only a Bong would get “The Complete Unabridged Works of Shakespeare” as a birthday gift. I should know… I have the very same book at home, sepia toned paged made brown by a child’s dirty thumbprints flipping through it. I love reading – anything I found was grist to my mill. By the time I had hit my teenage years, I had gone through the entire book.. don’t ask me what I understood though.

The play drew interesting parallels with today’s day and age, and characters and speeches of the famous literary guru. It rambled, turned on its own head, soliloquized. My friends who went with me…hated it.

So then, why on earth did I like it so?

Because it reminded me of my school days.. when we would have two-period-long Eng Lit class, with Sumita Mashi (also my English teacher right through middle school) vainly trying to explain Kubla Khan, Xanadu, Macbeth and As You Like It.

I remembered a summer afternoon, just after lunch break. We 9 friends had stuffed our faces with all the garbage we could find in the canteen. It was Eng Lit class; a one-and-a-half-hour long phenomenon where we would strive to read (AND comprehend) Shakespeare. Undoubtedly, we were giving in, without much ado, to slumber that was calling to us.

Suddenly, we were jerked back to awareness, from full fathoms five. A deep voice was emanating from the speakers..Sumita Mashi had gotten the tape of the play of Julius Caesar, and was making us listen and “feel” the words. The whole class sat and drooled over Mark Anthony’s voice… “Friends, Roman, Countrymen…lend me your ears”.

Shakespeare colored a large part of my growing up years. He took shape in our parodies in the Teacher’s Day plays, he controlled us in the form of verses learnt – for fun… “I know more than YOU do” (in retrospect, I can only say that we were all mad as hatters).He appeared like Macbeth’s Ghosts, in my dreams, before my ICSE.

Strangest things have ways of reminding us of loved ones and memories of wonderful times…

Part VI...herendethelesson...

2008-04-25T05:49:00.000-07:00

Oh, I feel SO much better!! I think multiple factors have contributed to the positive emotions…

Writing about it. To be able to vent it all out on paper was cathartic in a way that is inexplicable to a person who doesn’t use written communication the way writers do. Can I call myself a writer? I blog, at least… I agree I have a vast way to go before “author”. Anyways, with the jotting down of thoughts, I was able to untangle the veins; and, in a way, play therapist to myself.

Speaking to people, either intimately connected to the whole incident; or to other friends, to get a feedback on thoughts and generally to bounce ideas off them. In a way, the latter were a tangible living breathing extension to my writing. The difference; here, I was not venting, I was using them to probe deeper into my own psyche.

Spoke to S… the one person in the group I thought I could speak with. It isn’t that the others didn’t want to listen, but that I didn’t know what to tell them. They are all very intelligent, but S. has a huge amount of empathy, that made him the perfect choice. The other 3 make a joke out of everything.. even did that with my depressive frame of mind. Left me quite speechless, really!

It was difficult to start; frankly, I was petrified. I didn’t want to think of a scenario where he would all walk away, after hearing my POV, but I think I had to take that chance. And once I did, it became easier and easier, to get my words out, to connect the dots in my brain to make squiggly shapes and straight lines. Slept well, nightmare free, after ages…the night I spoke my heart out to him. Now, he has to give me his thoughts, since I have asked him for it…don’t know when that will be, though.

Finally, a mental peace with myself, a lack of guilt about who I am, and what I want from life. A sudden spurt of maturity brought on by sadness and soul searching, to take a long good hard look at myself. Some things I liked, some things I gasped at. And I realize that is it okay for people to move in different directions; and that helps me see them in a “less judging” light, too.

Older, wiser..hopefully better!!

P.S. ..people who read Asterix will "get" the title of this blog..others, i suggest you start ASAP.

Part V

2008-04-25T05:46:00.000-07:00

the wonders of ADDA...

So, after much soul searching and self-same pop psychoanalysis (yes, my education and 5 years of learning Psychology FINALLY comes of use :-D) I realized that what I was missing was intelligent conversation. We are all great at small talk, I’m sure; but I needed that thread of mental stimulation running through all the mundane things we are often so wrapped up in.

The Bongs have coined a term for it, as they have done, inevitably, with lots of other stuff.. it’s called ADDA.. or the “fine art of socializing and relaxed conversation”. Being natural talkers, we talk of everything under the sun; meandering through idle gossip, sports, food (a Bengali’s national pastime), international and local politics and cultural affairs. And the tone varies from discussion to debate to outrage and back again. They are usually accompanied with “chaa and shingara (tea and samosa)” or whatever snacks are available.

The whole concept is, I think, one of the most refreshing things, of all times. And that was what I was missing – the sheer dynamics of conversation, the crackle and sparkle of verbal communication. All we were talking of, within our group was a teasing that had gotten boring since it was unaccompanied by anything. And that got to me; here we were 5 intelligent beings, who, when together, had none to contribute except hysterical laughter at zilch. It made no sense at all. And it threw me into depression, as these 4 are people I’m extremely fond of.

Well, to cut a REALLY long story short, I backed off a little bit, to give myself and them, some room; then decided to get together with other friends as well, such that I have a range of communication with a range of people. And it works. I had a long adda this morning about random stuff like rock music, drug addiction and religion. Thus, by the time our group convened, I was in a happy mood. And that has continued through the day.

Fingers crossed!!

Part IV

2008-04-25T05:42:00.000-07:00

yes, the parts dont match since im not putting all my "basket-case dairies" online...that would be just too wierd :-D

Had a long chat with F. today, as we were walking to the bank and back. While in the beginning I didn’t know her all that well, I find a lot of similarities surfacing, as time goes by. Love for dogs, reading, same kind of music are certain threads of commonality.

Of course, the rest of the gang think “paka raha hai” when/if either of us start on our conversations about either…or about something that interests. I don’t understand…how can a group be so thrilled/proud of NOT amassing knowledge, of discussing something new?

Anyways, back to the chat.. we both decided to amass our feelings of dissatisfaction (about anything, really) in a positive manner. So, now plan get off my butt, and do what makes me truly happy; be it writing, painting, listening to jazz over a bit of wine and cheese, learning a new language, re-learning Math (that was one subject I loved once upon a time, far far away), pottering around with clay, or going for meandering trips in a dinky lil car (yes, I’m planning to buy one, and currently, cash strapped, its going to be very dinky indeed :-D)

Essentially, it’s all about me finally growing up to realize that life isn’t about sitting and thinking of all that I want to do, but going out and doing them.

Olé!!

Crash and Burn!!

2008-04-22T06:34:00.000-07:00

Part I (yes, an ongoing saga about me going mental)

What does one do, when the foundation of a relationship gets rocked? Are we expected to take a good long hard look at ourselves, at our surroundings, at our friends, and make the perfect sound judgments? And are we asked to walk away unscathed?

It was a horrible feeling – in the middle of my nice, normal, perfectly peaceful day – to suddenly wake up and realize that the interactions with friends at work, and beyond; those I consider my emotional support; were suddenly leaving me hollow. So, over the next few days, I was sinking into a pit of acute depression, feeling irritated one moment and guilty the next, not wanting to face the fact that people I loved, I was beginning to almost run away from. Believe it or not, I spent an evening in a pub, COMPLETELY silent. And to those who know me, that they will agree, is a about face of my general persona, if there was one.

These poor people didn’t know what had hit them; they kept asking me for explanations of my behavior. What would I tell them.. that I myself didn’t know what had hit me too? That I couldn’t find any rational reasoning for my blues? I must say, they have been quite ok, about putting up with my volatile behavior.

Im hoping I will find a solution, as soon as possible...dont want to remain a basket case for too long. And as I do, this post in going to take on a mirror/couch role...

2008-04-02T02:35:00.000-07:00

Watched two Hindi movies in 4 days….that too, in the hall, not at home…
That’s an amazing thing for me, given that usually I have to be dragged, kicking and screaming, to see a movie…specially Hindi flicks…

1…2…3….Go, Going, Gone
The first one was 123…. It was, without doubt, the most traumatic experience ever… a horrible, atrocious movie…without a plot, without any sense, without any acting. The music sucked, and the girls wore hankies for want of a budget.. and danced - really badly - around their heroes. I sat through the first half of the movie cursing my friends loudly, and threatening to strangle them; and as soon as the intermission came, we looked at each other, and made the speediest exit ever, known to man..

Fast paced action
The second was a refreshing experience…. Race, which all my pals were raving about. So, three of us went to catch a night show yesterday, starting the whole thing off with a kebab and long island iced tea laced dinner.. a slight buzz, very pleasant and useful too, in case the movie turned out to be a bummer.

But we did have a pleasant surprise… Saif was eminently watchable – drool worthy, really; the dialogues smooth at times, and full of innuendo at others; Anil Kapoor reinvents himself with every role, the plot fast and slick, with just the right twists at the right places. The only deterrents were the item numbers, and the item girls (read heroines) who had no role, and even less acting ability. But, all in all, good time-pass, as the Bangaloreans call it…

2008-03-28T06:57:00.000-07:00

It is such a joy to be able to write again.. even if it’s my mindless mutterings.....

Ruffling Our Feathers..

2008-03-28T06:48:00.000-07:00

Bangalore is beautiful… the weather, that is. The city, I can’t say the same about, much to my dismay. The promenade where I would stroll down with friends and sit on the steps with chai and moongphali…is now a pile of rubble…eagerly, desperately awaiting the new Metro.

The weather…. turbulent winds and rain are sweeping the city. Random outbursts of thunder and lightning through the day and the night. I am cursed…it always starts pouring as soon I step out of the house. The autowalas are having a field day, hawking up their prices by 3 times, and getting it too, from hapless stranded people.

When I go out to our open air cafeteria with friends, to have our customary morning-evening cuppa..I have to tear myself away to come back inside. It is such bliss to feel the wind in my hair, to inhale big lungfuls of air, moist and sweet-smelling from the earth. I miss those days when I could dance in the rain with my friends, and we would come home to the knowledge of clean towels, piping hot coffee and samosas waiting for us.

Now, I will have to get my own towels and tea. And if my mother even heard about samosas, she would kill me… or get my aunt to do so. How the mighty have fallen!! :-D

The weather matches the mood in office. In Pharmaceutical marketing, there is a concept of a drug moving through different phases – I, II, III, Registration – before it can be launched into the market. It is safe to say that the entire middle management levels are in the latter two stages… chance mila toh “bhaaago”, as epitomized by Bollywood’s very own SRK, in his latest feel-good-dancing-around-trees flick.

We all watch and we wait… and meantime, we have come full cycle….

It is the best of times, it is the worst of times; it is the age of wisdom; it is the age of foolishness,
It is the epoch of belief, it is the epoch of incredulity; it is the season of light; it is the season of darkness.
Charles Dickens – A Tale of Two Cities

The years, that were…

2007-05-28T01:51:00.000-07:00

Long ago and oh so far away
I fell in love with you...before the second show
And your guitar, you sound so sweet and clear
But your not really here, it's just the radio

8 years ago, on a bright sunny Sunday, we got a frantic call from my aunt. Her dog, Lucy, had gone into labor, but due to complications, we were going to have to do a C-section on her. Needless to say, the whole extended dog-loving-crazy-family I proudly call mine, rushed pell-mell over to the vet’s.

And half hour later, one “teensy weensy” golden colored pup was born.

He wasn’t breathing back then, and had to be revived with a drop of brandy, at which he “woke up” gasping and spluttering. And my aunt told “Kishoreda” to place him in my arms straightway. From the day I brought him home, and he tottered around my room, scaring the heebi-jeebis out of Sacha, who couldn’t believe our perfidy, it was the start a wonderful love affair.

That brandy truly defined his personality. We called him Leo, after Leonardo Da Vinci.. Ma, being a physics person, thought that it would beget great brains. Sadly, he was more Leonardo DiCaprio… tall, handsome and really really blonde. J

All of Leo’s swaggering about, though, was at home, with people he was comfortable with. We would call him for ages, but he would deign to come, only if he felt like it. However, all his arrogance disappeared outside the house. At the Vet’s, for example, people would be exclaiming over how pretty he was, and he would keep backing into us, and struggling in vain to fit that huge body under our chairs, with looks of complete disapproval at strangers.

The one “person” he ADORED, was Sacha.. our older dog.. who adored him back in return. They would spend endless hours with each other, doing the doggie equivalent “sitting around and chatting”. Wherever Sacha would go, Leo would faithfully follow. One was a tiny Spitz, the other, a humongous Labrador…David and Goliath…yet, the two dogs never ever hurt each other.

Ma loved him and spoilt him, as she always has and always will, with animals. However, she was always a little grieved that he didn’t ever “behave like a dog”, i.e., he did what he wanted to do, how he wanted to do it. He also behaved like the perennial cat.. would come to hug us if he wanted, and if he didn’t, he would shrug us off, and even lift a lip to show he meant business.

With me, it was unconventional. I didn’t really have a hassle about him shrugging us off when he didn’t feel like being hugged.. I am, in a way, the same type. So we left each other alone when we didn’t want to be bothered, and hugged each other when we did. Mom used to tell me, when she was really upset about my lack of emotion, “Ur just like Leo, ur not like Sacha”… I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry..

I went by the honorable adage of being the only one, who he would permit a lot of indignity from. My favorite de-stressing technique used to be sitting there on the floor, dragging him close and checking for ticks, cleaning his nails and ears, and generally spending quality time with him. After a while, he would lie there, upturned, legs paddling away happily in the air, a blissful look on his face, while I scratched his stomach or his sides.

He died yesterday morning. Mom drove down with him to our farmhouse, to have him placed among the flowers, so that he will always be with us.

When I write this, I realize that I will never hug him again, or rap him on the nose for “grr-ing” at me, or see that thrilled “I’m a god” expression on his face when he successfully bows for his biscuit. I will never hug him tight, and feel that fur in my hands, and use him for a pillow at night.

And my heart is splintering..

Shifting Sands

2007-04-26T01:30:00.000-07:00

April come she will
When streams are ripe and swelled with rain;
May, she will stay,
Resting in my arms again.
--- P. Simon

April and May were the months of shifting.. shifting from one house to another, an office to another. Both new spaces being at Marathahalli, and both old spaces being at opposite end of the world.

Struggled with a mountainous amount of furniture, and thank the Lord that there were friends who helped me pack and unpack, through two weekends. My new flat mates moved in last Friday. We get along great, so I’m very happy with general setup.. fingers crossed. :)

The house still looks like a tornado hit it, tho, with dust huddled together in odd corners, and kitchen utensils and various masalas being dumped randomly on granite shelves. Dust mites roll across the great prairie we call our living room, friends tell us to open the fans, so that the dust will shift away and hide under corners. The same people want to come and play cricket and TT in our living room, so I don’t put too much weight on their words of wisdom.

But it’s been worth it. The house is white and light and spacious. It is so big that one almost rattles around in it. My furniture, which seemed too much, at my old flat, now seems pathetically less.

Come dawn, and sunlight filters in from all angles, hitting my face across slanted shutters. Stumbling sleepily out to the open kitchen, we throw open both balcony doors, and feel the heat and wind on our faces, as we drink our coffee.

Evening brings with it a cool cool breeze, the curtains dancing in the drafts of air, wind chimes doing their tinkling dances. Flopping down on the bean bags and floor cushions, this feels like home.

There’s a nip in the air...

2007-03-16T02:28:00.000-07:00

Our lives and loves come back to bite us in the ass.. in my case, almost literally.

Woke up today, all happy and chilled, unaware what was to befall. Pottering around the kitchen, with my cup of coffee, pausing now and then to look, google-eyed, at the strange people parading through the Oprah Show, I stopped, hearing some whining and screeching outside my flat. Opened the door and found 3 humungous (the perfect Bong word would be “humdo”) men, with bamboos, trying to corner a shivering little puppy, who had got in, by mistake, and was now crouched, desperately trying to meld into the foliage.

I saw red..naturally. Ran out, in god-knows-what-I-was-wearing, to fight the puppy’s battles for him, and in very incoherent Hindi, told the guys something to the effect of “Would u like it if you were beaten?” and “God hasn’t sent us here to beat up others” yada yada…

And managed to get puppy out, pick him up, and talk in “baby voice” and get him outside. Which was going FINE..till one idiot man hopped out in front of us, with a damn bamboo. Puppy panicked, and bit the hand that carried it, dropped to the ground, and disappeared somewhere.

Well, called up zillion doctors (there has got to be some advantages of working in a pharma oriented company) got details and got vaccinated, all within the hour. 3 more injections to go, in next 21 days. Slight twinges of pain traveling up and down arm, but otherwise all fine…so, STOP PANICKING, MOM :-D

This had happened to me, 3 yrs ago, when I woke up in my P.G. and found a little squirrel paddling away, half dead, in the pot. Fished it out (as I couldn’t possible flush it away and live with myself) dried it in the sun, with my towel. When it recovered, it bit me on my finger, for all my pains, and ran away.

I seem to see a pattern emerging..

Salaam-e-kick-in-the-butt

2007-02-04T23:03:00.000-08:00

As I’m sure you can tell - I’m not impressed with the movie at all. Had to sit through it, late nite show Sunday, and I wept through the disastrous remake of “Love Actually”.

The jist:

3.5 hours and 12 songs
6 couples…each worse than the next. The love stories mostly made no sense whatsoever, and each person was a wasted role
Rich and bounteous locales… namely London, upper crust Delhi society, and potshots at Rajasthan, Taj Mahal and rural Haryana (I think)
Hopping randomly between couples, and songs breaking whatever story/pace they could have hoped to have had
Blonde chicks wearing ghagra choli and dancing at Trafalgar Square, London, while Priyanka Chopra ran amok in between the Baywatch babes, wearing a satin nightgown
John Abraham.. all he did was run like crazy trying to find his “beloved” who has amnesia, and howl at the moon
Anil Kapoor looked at his watch all the time, throughout the movie and lusted after a cabaret dancer type thing..
Govinda saying (this is how you have to pronounce it)...“Mai-dum, I Laaabh Oo” to a foreign chick…

The fun part:

In the movie, one Haryanvi couple, who’s primary ambition is to finally consummate their passion after marriage. The groom kept saying “kurr, kurr”. The dialogue was, errr…well, I don’t have words for it actually.. it went something like this..
“Aag lagg-ing ji.. in the backside”..
No, that MERELY means that there was a actual fire burning away, behind them, in the “suhhag raat room” or whatever you call it..
The red lights in the movie hall flickering on and off, at the very part where they are talking of “Diwali ka raat mein hum dono”
The movie reel getting stuck at the point where the doctor explains short term memory loss. So you actually had to hear the same dialogue thrice, almost as if YOU had partial amnesia..

Which reminds me.. have to ask my Jatni friend if “kurr, kurr” is a mating call particular to that region…

play me...

2007-01-18T20:53:00.000-08:00

read Scout's blog, got all excited, and wanted to see what my own Tarot was..just for kicks really.. and THIS is what it came up with..very nice and flaterring, even though i say so myself :-D

You are The Sun
Happiness, Content, Joy.

The meanings for the Sun are fairly simple and consistent.

Young, healthy, new, fresh. The brain is working, things that were muddled come clear, everything falls into place, and everything seems to go your way.

The Sun is ruled by the Sun, of course. This is the light that comes after the long dark night, Apollo to the Moon's Diana. A positive card, it promises you your day in the sun. Glory, gain, triumph, pleasure, truth, success. As the moon symbolized inspiration from the unconscious, from dreams, this card symbolizes discoveries made fully consciousness and wide awake. You have an understanding and enjoyment of science and math, beautifully constructed music, carefully reasoned philosophy. It is a card of intellect, clarity of mind, and feelings of youthful energy.

2007-01-18T20:51:00.000-08:00

You are The Sun

Happiness, Content, Joy.

Child with eyes like black pools

2006-12-30T19:12:00.000-08:00

Last nite I dreamt of a little child. With tiny fingers that curled around one of mine. Black hair, and eyes, limpid pools of black.

There was no deep ache in my gut, that signified she was mine. But the way I barked at my mother, when she told me how to apply “Johnson’s Baby Oil”, told me that she was. :-D

It was a strange dream, as I have never been particularly a “baby-person”.

I wonder what it all meant...

In praise of idleness

2006-12-30T19:10:00.000-08:00

Spent a lovely week, culminating with the 31st of this year, at my aunt’s place.

It is a lovely place in Whitefield, so much more a haven than “just a house”. With verdant gardens, and lily pools where goldfish frolic. A little turtle pokes his head out from the fronds and enjoys the morning sun. A catfish called Mao (only the Bongs will understand the joke, I think) who swims out to the surface when his name is called, and gobbles up the fish food. I think he is the only “pet” fish that I know of.

I spend the days in relaxed bliss, being looked after, chatting to Dida. The only blips on my radar are the loads of office work, and the daily commute to the city centre.

I wake up in the morning, and coffee appears magically by my side, whenever I stumble downstairs, groggy and half-asleep.

Meandering out into the garden, I collapse on a reclining chair, soaking in the sun. Dida sits by me, and discuss all and any random topic. She thinks I know everything. HAH!! I know zilch, as I tell her, I only know how to say what I know, in a convincing manner. I suspect it’s a genetic flair, got from a late grandfather of mine. At any rate, she loves hearing me speak. :-D

With my own Didubhai, as I used to call my late Gran, I didn’t spend as much quality time with her, as I could have. I was growing up and she was too slow for the pace, I felt back then, for me to slow down, and hold her hand for awhile. Now that she is gone, and I miss her fiercely, and I regret all those moments, wasted, vanished.

So now, I am softer, gentler with the Grans I have left, cherishing the time I spend with them. I think, I hope, that Dida enjoys my company.

Light and dark

2006-12-30T19:08:00.000-08:00

In the light, I’m strong, invincible…I know no fear, no boundaries. I carry the weight of the world on my shoulders, often for others’ too.

It’s only when it is dark, that the insecurities creep up my spine. I doubt, I wonder, I’m no Superwoman.

Sometimes, in the twilight hours, my pillow comes away wet.

Woman overboard

2006-12-05T05:28:00.000-08:00

I bought and I bought and I bought… tons and tons of books, in November. I think I went to town, telling myself it was all valid since I hadn’t bought anything for a long long time. Am happily ploughing through the lot, right now. Winter is the perfect season for curling up with a book, snug under blankets, steaming hot coffee and some munchies by one’s side.

The list:

Jonathan Stroud: The Bartimeous Trilogy (BRILLIANT read, but more about that later)
The Amulet of Samarkand
Golem’s Eye
Ptolemy’s Gate

Bill Watterson: The Authoritative Calvin and Hobbes. This marks my 8th C&H till date.. slow and steady buying.

Asterix comics I had left.. this completes my collections (O Happy Day)
Obelix and Co.
Asterix and the Class Act: this one’s a compilation of 14 short stories.

6 Enid Blytons (don’t laugh).. Bought the mystery series…a favorite of my childhood, my friend bought some others. We both discovered we have moms who threw out (i.e., gave away to random people) our books, when they thought we had outgrown them. Which we might have, but there is something very comforting to settle down with those books once in a while, and invite old memories in :)

2 Chetan Bhagat’: I know he is being touted as something mind boggling, but found both books okie. Good flow of writing, witty and fast. But quite forgettable, really. Feel free to disagree with me :)
5-Point Someone
One night at the Call Centre

Louis Theroux: Call of the Weird. All about alternative societies, aka people who believe in aliens, people of the red light areas, people who are Ku-Klux-Gang members. Very interesting read, in a whole new perspective.

Salman Rushdie: Shalimar the Clown

Allan Sealy: The Trotter-Nama. Had read it ages ago, loveod oit, now got it for my own.

Kiran Desai: The Inheritance of Loss

Bulbul Sharma: Stories from a Himalayan Village. Lovely, gentle.. reminds me of the multiple holidays I have spent growing up, in different Himalayan villages

Best Women’s Travel Writing: a collection of lovely prose, by women all over the world, traveling all over the world.

3 Georgette Heyer. Her mystery/murder set. Who would have thought a lady who wrote about Victorian romance, could pen intrigue, with such flair.

..And how the west was won..

2006-12-05T05:27:00.000-08:00

As mentioned, was in a really bad mood with the way the party got hijacked. Also, to add to our frustrations, the mails kept coming in, saying “sorry, can’t make it”. And the exasperating thing was that they were coming in from the nice people (yes, I’m prejudiced, so what!!). The irritating elements were still in full swing to attend.

If that wasn’t enough, the Sec went ahead, booked buffets and god knows what, where we “had” to pay up thousand bucks, no matter what, etc etc. no wonder, we were all smouldering.

So, we put our plans into action.

1st, we had to find out who all were coming finally. Sent around the sweetest girl to tell them about high prices (that was true). So she smiled nicely at them, said “so ur not coming, right” and marched back before they got over their bafflement and could protest otherwise.

2nd, we sent out a mail to all, saying the party was cancelled, due to random reasons.

3rd, called the admin people, who had hijacked our party in the first place, saying that it was cancelled, please “un” book the tables, etc.

I’m going into politics soon..

Mood – gleeful, chortling

You put ur left foot in..

2006-11-29T00:41:00.000-08:00

It all started with a friend of mine rhapsodizing about some gals in her company doing regular “girls nite out” at random places all over the city.. how cool, how much fun, etc etc.

Carried away with all her stories, we 3 friends, in the company I work in, planned a similar venture. Had initially thought of calling a select few friends, then the 2 others made faces at me, and called me “prejudiced”, and “bitch” and a variety of such other loving names.

So, we threw it open to all the girls in the office, with an edict to “come if you can, no issues either way”..

And got the SHOCK of our lives, when dear “Sec to the Pres” happily told the Pres, and HE wants to join us, thinks it’s a great idea, specially that his dear wifey is out of town. And now we learn, he is bringing some of his sleazy (I’ve met them before at office party) friends aong.

This is one of those silent “WHAT????” moments. I mean, if this isn’t the HEIGHT of ass-kissing (by the Sec), I don’t know what is! If I would verbalize all the swear words, that I’m feeling right now, the page would catch fire..

Thus, now, in sheer desperation, we have opened the invite to a lot of other guys in office, as 1 President with 20 women, on a drink-dance-and-make-merry outing would be just too strange..

What a situation!! I could KILL that woman, I swear!!

Mood – really bad, ass-kicking, pissed off

Glimpses of a City

2006-11-21T04:25:00.000-08:00

What the Lonely Planet says of Nairobi:

Nairobi is a spirited city with a hint of danger.

Kenya's capital is cosmopolitan, lively, interesting and pleasantly landscaped. Its central business district is handily compact and it's a great place to tune into modern urban African life. Unfortunately, it's also a great place to get mugged. Security, especially at night, is a definite concern.

Originally little more than a swampy watering hole for Maasai tribes, Nairobi grew with the advent of the railway and had became a substantial town by 1900. Five years later it succeeded Mombasa as the capital of the British protectorate. Today it's the largest city between Cairo and Johannesburg.

What it DOESN’T say (whatever I remember, in random order):

1. Nairobi looks like a city out of a developed nation, not a developing one. Tall gleaming building, sparklingly clean sidewalks, little cafes where one relaxes over coffee and croissants, and multiple-shades-of-pink faces everywhere. Its only when one really looks hard, that we see the non-white ones. An overwhelming impression I carried with me from Africa, to be honest, are of the whites there, throwing around their money. The blacks are still serving them and calling them “sir”, but this time, they are extracting the full dollar for it. And more power to them, too!!

2. Suddenly, out of nowhere, there are forests! In the middle of the city. Rising tall and dark, on either side, as we drive down from one point of the city to the other. Beautiful shades of dark green foliage, little streams flowing with burbling sounds, birds flitting from branch to branch trilling to each other. These forests are carefully maintained, i.e., no cutting is allowed. It grows wild, within a particular area.

3. It’s a city of a million dichotomies. There are either the extravagantly rich or the exceedingly poor. There is practically no “middle-class” at all, unlike other cities. Villas are passé, and Mercs and BMWs and Pradas the cars of choice for the affluent.

4. People who don’t travel in aforesaid Pradas and Mercs, travel in Matatus and City Hoppas. I assume the words are derived from the words Matador (van) and City Hoppers, respectively. Both can happily be called “angels of doom”, and one can totally understand why, when you see these wildly careening around corners and screeching to a halt in front of the bus stands.

5. There are huge slums in Nairobi. But these are contained, not scattered about few houses at a time, like in India. And they’re CLEAN. If I hadn’t been told Kibera was a slum, I wouldn’t have recognized it for one, while passing. Neat little 1 bedroom houses, whitewashed and gleaming, form which people come out in droves and head off to work.

6. The common man, on the road, is so well dressed, that they beat us hollow, any day. The men walking out of the slums, wear blazers. As Joel, my sister’s chauffer (and our guide around Nairobi) put it, “people might be lazing the whole day, not doing anything, but from 9am to 9pm, they’re perfectly attired”. Women go to shop for groceries, dressed to kill. Little fashionable skirts, colored and braided hair, and they are off wheeling trolleys through the aisles and picking up groceries. Jaw-dropping sight, really!!

7. Consumerism is at its height in Nairobi. Nowhere else, not even in India, where pre-teens are doing the moonwalk to Channel V blaring out its discordant tunes, or truly believing that “they don’t need no education”, have I seen a 15 STOREY tall poster, proclaiming Coke to be the drink of the future.

8. Nairobi has no industry at all. Their main income comes from tourism, and they have taken that to a fine art. Each and every little thing shows it, from the level of hygiene maintained at all times, to the cuisine and the shopping. Money also comes from the freight industry. The huge industrial buildings in Nairobi are only used to “put things together’, i.e., trucks, et al.

9. The “Little India” in Nairobi, is chock-a-block, stuffed to the gills, crammed with…the Gujju community. They are about 20% of the population there, and control 80% of the city finances. Big cars, full of youngsters dressed in the latest MTV hip fashion, roll in, to have chaat and tikkis at the “Bombay Choupatty”. Sunidhi Chauhan looks smokily and seductively down from stalls selling tapes of Hindi films, and remixes blare away. However, and sadly, the Indians everywhere are dirty. The place is immediate recognizable, since it’s the only place where people flick personal dirt around the place.

10. Nairobi is a very laid-back place. I saw people on a weekday, lazing around and sleeping in parks, while lovely and exotic looking birds pecked the ground around them. The newspaper vendors sit and happily read those papers themselves, without bothering to sell their wares. At the garden cafes where one has lunch, people sit for hours with a beer and a book, on weekday mornings.

On a side note, these cafes were brilliant. Excellent food, great locales, people serving you, with lovely smiles lighting up their faces. . Best of all, they allow pets in the garden. Imagine.. a chilled beer, a good book, the sun warming your back, and a dog sleeping at your feet. That, I think, is my idea of near-perfect bliss.

November

2006-11-16T03:13:00.000-08:00

So I’m waiting for this test to end,
So the lighter days can soon begin,
I'll be alone maybe more carefree,
Like a kite that floats so effortlessly.

But I’m about to give this one more shot,
And find it in myself,
Ill find it in myself. -Azure Ray

We’re shifting.. AGAIN!! To be more precise, we’re being shifted..

It all started when our Dearly Beloved Clients (from now on, called DBC) ran out of budget spectacularly, at the end of October. And thus, DBC decided to suddenly pack up shop. One balmy Monday morning, we found a “termination of services” mail in our inboxes, effective from next year February. As if Monday-morning-blues were not bad enough..

Thankfully, this doesn’t mean that the whole team is dissolved out of our own company. It however means that now our team is amalgamated, willy-nilly, into a bigger (note, not better) team.

This is scheduled to happen in February, after the current contract was dissolved. Lightning bolts struck us when we were told we would be shifted by end of this week, into the new setup. Which really, is hideous, with less space, bad light, no facilities set up yet, et al.

Yes, ok, so I’m grumbling. Add to it, the groans, the moans, the whines, the whimpers…

If my team was despondent about the client thing, this is probably the final nail to the final coffin. None of us want to leave our spaces behind..more importantly, leave our friends in this office, behind.

I know, speaking from prior experience that we WILL settle in just fine, shake our feathers down and fit right in. I should know, us having changed 3 buildings in the same office, over 3 years.

The only really happy people are my friends who are already there, and are looking forward to us being there too.

On my to-do list right now:
Think positive
Remain calm

Let the games begin!!

Olé!!

2006-11-16T01:25:00.000-08:00

So, if you remember, I went on the “African safari” thing. The entire fun and frolic of traveling on these safaris are the jeeps. These are vehicles, where there are seats only on either side, beside the windows, i.e., the rest of it forms a long aisle. This allows all people freedom of movement and peaceful viewing. Also, the jeeps have the tops neatly scalped off, and set at a higher level, on hinges. This allows excited populace to peer over them, and point to, say, the lions, in thrilled sibilant whispers, while the lions look back dreamily and contemplate “what if I could eat that one?”

Then of course, we have the drivers, who think they are grand prix drivers. Ours, in particular, thought he was Michel Schumacher’s long lost kin. That would have been good, if the roads we traversed, were smooth highways. However, this was through the savannahs, so there were NO roads at all, just a lot of bumpy terrain. So, there we were, tearing through scrub and bush, without a thought for our bones. Rocky Road will never be “just another ice-cream” again, for me.

Our jeep members consisted of mom and myself, and 2 Spanish couples. These two sets were the strangest, and really, the unfriendly-est Spaniards I had ever had the misfortune to encounter. Not only did they not speak to us (they couldn’t, knowing minimal English, and we having as much knowledge of Spanish, as we had of Greek), they didn’t speak to each other as well, if they could help it. Thank god I have some really wonderful Spanish friends, or else I would have been put off that race, for life.

However, one couple, who had come to honeymoon in sun-burnt-lobster like bliss, offered endless amusement to us. The jeep did not allow them to be joined at the hip all the time (they made up for it, whenever we were not in the jeep, though). So, they decided to be joined at the hands, to make up for it. Now, the jeep having that aisle, hubby dearest had to stretch over and hold his wife’s hand. Thus, whenever our driver would swerve to avoid a huge rut on the road, or some not-so-unassuming piece of shrubland, he would fall off his seat with a large bump, and say “OLA!!”

He never learnt from it, though. Up he would get, wincing a bit, and the same thing would commence. For 6 whole days. Hysterical really…

The ties that bind..

2006-10-16T08:24:00.000-07:00

Watched DOR over the weekend. It had been much hyped, and the director is an old favorite anyways…

A story, one could even call “simple”, if it weren’t lifted from that, by the clean sketches that Nagesh Kukunoor etched.

2 women, one strong, the other soft, both in very happy marriages. The husbands, going to Saudi for work, become friends and roommates, till a freak accident kills one, and police suspect foul play. So one sets out on a journey to save her hubby, thru a “maafi-naama” that only the other woman can give, and ends up making amazing friends along the way.

Lovely and haunting music, spectacular locales (H.P. and Rajasthan) and truly amazing acting by each and every cast member made it a movie worth every penny spent and more.

The only irritant was N.K himself, who has developed a penchant for doing cameos in his own movies. Thought it a bit forced and artificial acting, and in the smoothness of the fabric of the movie, it jarred. He is infinitely better as a director, a role he slips into with ease and finesse.

Out of Africa

2006-10-16T08:09:00.000-07:00

The muse is dead! Long live the muse!

Yep, she’s back. Yes, it did take a trip to do the trick.

For those who knew, and those who didn’t.. I was off on an African Safari, to Kenya.. sort of a birthday gift, albeit rather an extravagant one, to myself.

Had two weeks of the best time EVER, and will keep writing about it, in bits and pieces. Will also try to upload the pictures on Flickr soon, its just the sheer number of them is bogging me down a bit.

randomness..

2006-09-24T23:03:00.000-07:00

It seems like I haven’t written in “forever”. My muse, or whatever it is that makes us do what we do, had taken a long hike. Not that I’m overflowing with genius right now, but I have decided to MAKE myself write.

So, will put up random scribbles for a bit, till I get back into the flow of things. Bear with me.

All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go..

2006-07-07T12:22:00.000-07:00

... but I'm not.. not quite ready to let go, that is...

Ma called today. It seems S. isn’t well.

S. is my dog, more like my baby. Tho, he definitely Ma’s shadow more than he ever was mine. Now 14 years old, he roams around the house, not seeing as well as he used to. Sometimes, one has to call him LOUDLY, as he doesn’t hear that well either.

But whenever I hear that he isn’t well, it always leaves that cold feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach. I know that we all have no control over life and death, but if I could hold him tight and shield him from all the pain and hurt and “going”, I would. Maybe THIS is the level of emotion that we read about in Indian mythologies. Pick any random one, and the wife is following her usually errant husband into depths of hell or wherever. Could never understand it...

A friends sms-ed, to ask me how my mood is, before chatting any further (he knows me well). Said I was ok.

What would I say? Would telling random people that I suddenly feel “needy” and depressed make me feel better? Would the scared feeling, almost like a tangible lump in my throat making it difficult to breathe, be smaller? Could he do anything about it? Would he even WANT to?

So, I write it away, knowing these letters won’t be left feeing jittery and nervous and uncomfortable at my displays of intense emotion. And for once, I pray a lot…

Rain

2006-05-11T05:45:00.001-07:00

Monday, some-date, April
Today was the first rains of the monsoons, in Bangalore. Now, one has to be living in India, to understand the greatness of this concept. In India, the summers come a-charging, white hot heat that blazes down and burns into the skin. So when it starts to rain, the world is happy. At least THIS part of the world is. In England, they probably don’t view the rains with the same joy.

The rain comes suddenly. The first inkling we get of it, when we come out for our coffee break, are the little puffs of cold wind that chill us to the bone. The treetops lean into it, and the leaves murmur madly, almost trying to fly off in the gust. The air turns into one of excited expectancy, like little children getting ready for the “coolest birthday party on the block”.

The wind speed picks up, its blustery weather now. The clouds race pell-mell across the sky, each hurrying to get there first. It’s grey, turning almost black. Billowing across, these are the huge black thunderclouds that carried Zeus and Thor, kings in age-old mythologies, off to war.

And then the rains start. Little droplets, which tell us of better things to come. Some of us run out, pell-mell too, onto the terrace. The remaining boring lot, look at us like we have lost our minds. I open the windows wide, and lean out into the storm, feel the rain on my face, and revel in it.

It’s a welcome end to summer.

That same week, Friday
It has been raining everyday now. In the mornings, it’s hot, searing. Then at 4.30, like clockwork, the sky turns grey. Clouds sweep the sky, gathering like an angry herd. The then, when they judge that the timing is right, the heavens burst. It usually takes about 15 mins, each time, for the whole thing to orchestrate.

The problem is that this weather makes it very difficult to work. This is the ideal weather to sit down on a comfy old chair, wrap something, or someone, around oneself. Grab a steaming mug of coffee, maybe some munchies, and your favorite book, pages old and faded. And of course music playing in the background, in my case, Floyd, U2, and such like.

I run back home as soon as I can escape from work.

You'll remember me when the west wind moves upon the fields of barley
You'll forget the sun in his jealous sky as we walk in the fields of gold

Sting croons in the background. The lights are off, the windows wide open. The rain pelts down outside, and inside I’m toasty warm. There is total quiet, the kiddies in the apartment block have been hustled home by their mothers. The stillness is broken only by the sounds of nature. The rain pelting down on the concrete outside, and hitting window panes with a cracking sound. The sudden gusts of winds that shake the trees, and make the leaves dance a whirlwig. Occasional lightening splits the sky wide open, tears it apart, and I wait for the sound of thunder to follow. I drink in the smells.. of the rain carried in the wind, the wet earth, the trees awash and green.

This is a time of utter quiet and tranquility.

cityscapes..

2006-04-28T06:09:00.000-07:00

last part of the tales...

Chennai has changed over the last 3 years, or so my friends tell me. I don’t have much frame of reference, so I’m just going with the flow. Honestly, I don’t even want to know much about the place. I have been here two days now and I’m dying to go back home. To Bangalore, with the whispering winds. Only my friends keep me from running, screaming for the hills.

We go shopping. Spencer’s Plaza one day, and a hideous monstrosity of an architecture, called City Centre, the next. It is, perhaps appropriately, bang in front of the very odorous city fish market.

A. and I proceed to get a little crazy. After all, we have been window-shopping buddies through college, and now that have a little money to splurge, that too, in each other’s company, we really go overboard. I had been told of the wonderful leather in Chennai, and so proceed to buy 4 bags and 3 pairs of shoes. If my mom saw me shopping, I think she’d have a coronary. J

Meet up with S. and S. at the coffee shop. They bring along another friend. For guys in banking, they are still the chaotic, crazy people I have known since years. We have a blast, sitting around, talking shop, and random trivialities.

Café Coffee Day, I find, is the same everywhere. Characterized by bad service, and worse pop music blaring across hajjar speakers, it is difficult to make oneself be heard. I’m definitely a Barista aficionado, with more comfy seating, and better music, and definitely better coffee.

There is a lot of good natured “dissing” of each other, and the cities we frequent. While waiting for our dinner reservation, the guys light up. I do too, it’s a casual gesture. It’s only when I catch random people, of all ages and classes staring at me, that I realize that for all the “hep” attitudes, this is still a place steeped in conservativeness. I suppose they are amazed by the sheer audacity of a woman taking a puff, on the road. Once again, I’m thankful I’m in Bangalore and not Chennai.

The city HAS changed though, I have to grant. The city looks younger, more “spiffy” from this angle. Teenagers over the world are the same really, and Chennai is no exception. Daughters have escaped their mother’s coconut scented clutches, and are out in droves, all capri-ed and short-topped. They sit around in casual elegance, with the city coffee shops, bright eyed and bushy tailed, and wile away time with their friends. In shopping malls and coffee shops, at least, there is no longer the flower wielding, oil slicked public I had encountered, as early as 2 years ago.

All in all, its an illuminating set of experiences.

Chronicles Continued...

2006-04-25T08:06:00.000-07:00

When I’m out walking I strut my stuff yeah I’m so strung out
I’m high as a kite I just might stop to check you out
Let me go on like I blister in the sun
Let me go on big hands I know your the one
Body and beats I stain my sheets I don’t even know why
My girlfriend she’s at the end she is starting to cry
Let me go on like I blister in the sun
Let me go on big hands I know your the one...
Violent Femmes › Blister in The Sun

The Chennai hits you like a two-ton truck speeding down the freeway. It blinds the eyesight, and leaves you gasping. From the time I’ve got here, I’m breathing in a furnace.

Sleep doesn’t come easy, I keep jerking awake, feeling stifled and smothered. I wake in the night, drenched. A. has flung a leg solidly across me. It kills, I swear. We have fitted ourselves into what I call a 1.5 bed.. too large for one, too small for two. I grit my teeth, and almost as abruptly she moves away. Blessed relief!

I cant imagine how she is so fast asleep. Snoring too. I guess its an acclimatization thing. I keep getting hotter and crankier, till I cant take it any more. “A. is the a/c on? Doesn’t seem like it. can I turn on the fan too, please?” A. has a cold, she has been heavy eyed through the evening. In a resigned murmur, she says yes. I put the fan on, with a sigh of thanks, and fall back into bed.

R. bless him, is awake, or at least makes sure he is, so I wile away part of the nite smsing him, till I finally fall asleep. He likes Chennai tho, and wants to relocate for a year, to learn to be serious or whatever. I tell him I can’t bear the place, so he laughingly tells me he will come to B’lore over weekends to meet me.

We get up in the morning, lazy, relaxed, slovenly.. whatever our minds make us. Opening our eyes, smiling sleeping across the bed at each other, we go back to sleep again, when I finally open my eyes, stretching lazily like a cat, its 10.30. I’m already covered in a fine sheen of sweat, droplets beading my arms and legs.

Guzzling back water, that seems to have turned hot during the night, I fall back yet awhile, while A. makes us tea, and if I whine long and loud enough, coffee for me. Indolence, rarely got, and well spent.

Almost all the clothes I got for my trip remain in my bag. All I can keep on, and that too, barely, are my shorts and spaghetti tops. The enchantment of an old relationship, I think, as I drape myself in inelegant poses over A.’s furniture, is that one can do just that.

Mis-aligned tops, hands wipe away water splashed over skin. A fly, somnambulant in the heat, is buzzing lazily around the window. It spends more time just sitting there, than making any real attempt to fly out. Its burning outside, if I close my eyes and pretend, I can almost hear the tar slowly dripping, melting down into little black puddles. I’m desperately trying to keep cool, in this blasted heat. What would I not give for a bathtub filled with ice cubes, right now.

I’m glowing, skin turns almost translucent in the heat. Skin stretched, taut over muscle. I can almost see the sinews stand out, in clear definition. Feathery green veins whisper across my skin, I become absorbed in watching them form paths along my hands and thighs. Would the heat make my skin totally lucent, I wonder.

I DO shriek in dismay, however, when I first come across them. A. brushes it away “No one asked you to be so fair. Shut up and chill! It will be fine”. I grumble, but do as she says. She’s right, the lines fade away in a day, leaving only a faint murmur behind.

The Chennai Chronicles..

2006-04-25T08:02:00.000-07:00

...this will happen in bits, as its too long and too "separate" to write together..

Southward Ho!!!

From the very onset, there were upraised eyebrows. And some loud guffaws. “what, ur going to CHENNAI? In this HEAT?..Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you”. And more jokes to that effect. O what we suffer for our friends..3 of them, who had been badgering me for over a year to visit them.

The trip started off, not with a bang, but a whimper. Standing at the bus stop for an hour, after which 4 of us assorted travelers were bundled up onto the bus, by a kid from the travel agency. As I sank into cushioned AC comfort, some random instinct made me ask my co-passenger what time we would be reaching Chennai (ok, so he was young and cute, and I was making conversation :-D)

To our total consternation, he looked at me wide eyed, and said “This bus goes to Hyderabad”. At which point we all scrambled down the steps, retrieved our baggage, yelled that the idiot guy, and returned en masse, on sit on the steps of some ramshackle house , and wait for the correct Volvo.

Gave way to hysterical laughter as I thought of how I was almost unknowingly carried off into the land of the famous biriyani.

Purge, purge, purge

2006-04-02T23:05:00.000-07:00

Wash out, flush out, get rid of and remove. Eliminate, eradicate, and do away with. Cleanse and purify.

My system, my thoughts, my feeling, my emotions, my soul. Air the cobwebs of my mind. They clamor, jumping over each other to be heard. Let me out. Type frantically till my fingers ache, and I’m exhausted.

Catharsis. Write, write, write, and pour it all out. My very own “Anne Frank”. My non-judgmental one. My friend, my foe, my lover.

And when it’s all over, slip into quite solitude. Deep breathes, and pools of relaxation in an imaginary Zen garden.

The voices are silenced. All is well.

Takeoff from a sms –Part 1

2006-03-19T19:42:00.000-08:00

Sms 1. It said “tui nijey A-Z korchish in an alien city! Would give you a bravery award for that”

It was from an old old school friend, who I have grown up with, shared 1 rupee chaat and (back then) 5 rupee coke, and Cookie Jar goodies with. We had ridden the school bus together, and run after it, while we were both busy gobbling up aforesaid chaat and other forbidden fruit.

Those were the old days. Today, she is a mom of 2 boisterous boys, running a very successful boutique, and by her own admission, totally harried.

Today, I’m living in B’lore, away from family and other loved ones, whom I miss terribly (specially when there is nothing to share, momentous or otherwise), with a good job, acquiring all the material things I want, and by my own admission, equally harried.

That sms made me come to a screeching halt. What WAS I doing really? Ya, I had the job, I was making it on my own professionally (touch wood), I was on my way to buying my car (my first big investment.. the others will come a long way later). But I didn’t deserve any awards, or even any pats on my back.

Life, as I now am living it, and as are all my friends around me, sadly, is merely “work and home, home and work”. And no, there is no work-life-balance so spouted by new age gurus, evident in my life. I hop out of bed, hop into work, sit glued in front of the laptop drinking zillion cups of coffee, and leave office not before 9.30. After which I simply come home and crash.

An “A-Z” would be if I would sit up and take more control of my life, live a healthier and fitter life, dust those cobwebs away form my mind, and get a grip. I would go out there, do the courses I want, and also those I need. I would re-invest time in my old interests like music and dance, like DOING them, not just having a “couch potato” interest level. I would grow my own wings, fly wherever I want to, without any qualms, visit the world and revel in being alive. And when I do even ONE of these I mentioned, I will go and claim that award from her.

Till then, tomorrow is just another day.

..and the leaves that are green, turn to brown..

2006-02-28T07:08:00.000-08:00

The times that I miss home desperately, is when I get sick. That may be a huge thing like chest pains and being wheeled to the ICU (yes, it happened) or small things like virals and stomach infection (no, not bird flu)

What one really misses is the feeling of some one watching your back. To know that there is someone there, to pamper me, hand to foot, and mentally and emotionally cosset me, when I’m feeling I can’t take a step, or that I just want to collapse from it all.

I remember when I was a kid, whenever I was ill, my dida (gran) would sit beside me, in a dark room, for hours on end. Her touch on my hair was so gentle, it would inexplicably comfort and soothe. I don’t think I have ever felt that kind of tender “giving” love in a touch, from anyone else, and don’t think I ever will, now that she is gone.

Even when I was older, facing ups and downs, teenage angst, adult fears.. she would be there. By that time, age and illness had forced her into a wheelchair. She became pretty good at circumnavigating around the house, on it, and so, would wheel into my room, and stroke my hair till I would calm down. I miss her unbearably, more than I thought I ever would.

Today, I can’t afford to collapse. Even if I was to be dying (ok, so I’m melodramatic :-D) , there still would be too many arrangements to make. Or at least, call Ma back home, and make sure she’s not falling apart (which in itself, is a mammoth task). I always tell my mom what happened to me, only AFTER I get better, so as she wont have hysterics back home alone, without being able to o anything about it ASAP. My mom hates feeling helpless, and I think that is what she feels when I get sick, us being so many miles apart. So, I try to prevent that as much as I can.

Maybe that’s what’s the hardest. As we grow up, and go through life, the “taking on the mantle of responsibility” becomes a heavy burden. Roles get reversed, lines get blurred. So, we put on our brave faces, act like we’re untouchable, unstoppable. And we move on.

Things I have RE-learnt over the weekend

2006-02-26T21:39:00.000-08:00

That I can actually cook ‘typical Indian” stuff. Butter chicken, no less, which was gobbled up by my team mates. And also salad, which I make well. The rest of the spread I happily left to R. who whipped up a storm in the kitchen and came up with a whole “North-Indian lunch” menu.
That I’m house-proud. Woke up on Saturday at 9 am, to clean house, for aforesaid guests. Which is saying a lot, as my usual time to surface over weekends, is around noon. Got “oohs and aahs” of appreciation by friends, who teased me mercilessly about how I had cleaned the house just for them. Tho, that’s ok, as now they all want a house like mine :-D
That my house looks like a dream, when spotless. The camera that S. got, and took pics of us, with a timer, captured the afternoon mellow sunlight filtering in thru the blinds. And the tall green fronds framed in the doorway.
That, while its great when good, given the choice between “no sex” and “crappy sex”, I will now know to choose the former… any day…

Mine, mine, mine…

2006-02-22T00:30:00.000-08:00

A random thought that took off, from a conversation, and general musings..

Acquisition is the most basic force that drives us all. Irrespective of who we are, what we are, where (or not) we have reached.. sex, age, caste and creed…

People go shopping when they’re “blue”, or even if generally bored.. they wander into a shop, vowing determinedly that “no, I will NOT shop”, and then proceed to buy up anything and everything in sight. YES, I speak from experience, people :)

And this is not a “girl” thing. I have a friend who says that he often has a… I quote… “specially if I go into a frenzy to quire & own”. Though, with men, its mostly about the latest gimmicks and gadgets.. the I-pod, the camera, the cell with fancy attachments one uses once in a millennia.
But whatever it is that we buy, we feel great.

Or to move a notch up the expensive scale, the house, the car, etc. yes, they are investments, I agree, but basically it’s about hugging that feeling of “Ooh, this is MINE” close to you chest, and feel your heart swell with happiness, pride, or secret gratification.

So why do we really get such a kick out of, say, being a part of a couple? Apart from the very natural factor of the lovey-dovey scene, and the obvious other benefits that come with it. Deep down I think its also because there is something rather exultant about thinking “he/she is mine”.. which boils down to acquisition at the very end.

A stray thought...

2006-02-21T23:41:00.000-08:00

This line IS me..

“Sarcasm is pure truth hidden in the open”

- Anon

Finally, it maketh sense

2006-02-19T23:03:00.000-08:00

Was watching a program on Discovery channel, which was discussing the vagaries of “Sex across Species”. No, not just the act of it, but also the concept of “gender and DNA”.

Apparently, females of every species produces lesser “eggs” in her lifetime, than the male produces sperm. In context to that, the show said something there that stuck in my mind.

“Quantity versus Quality,
Male versus Female.”

Loved it.. totally loved it. :-D

Hail, hail the name we own..

2006-02-13T23:19:00.000-08:00

I hadn’t heard our National Anthem, in years, not being a type, who wakes up fanatically, every Republic Day, and switches on the TV to see our guards march past. I think the last time when I really “heard” it, was when I “sang” it, an odd 10 years ago, at our school Founder’s Day. With pristine, WHITE uniforms, starched till it almost crackled, we would stand, shoulder to shoulder, backs straight, and heads held high. Our school song, and the national anthem, lead the general proceedings. And damn, did we feel proud of all that we symbolized, with those two refrains.

Last nite, I heard it again. On TV. Zubin Mehta and his orchestra. He began the show with the Anthem. For a moment, I just sat there, slack-jawed, as I hadn’t been expecting it. Then, some deep inner being kicked into place, and up i scrambled. And even though I felt weird standing there alone, I couldn’t NOT do it. And I’m glad, for it proved to me, that I’m yet not overtaken by the blasé-ness of our times. I know many people, even some who are good friends, who wouldn’t have bothered. I’m ashamed to say that I honestly don’t know what I would have done, if in a totally public setting, with none others standing.

Guess it sometimes takes a grand old man, and a team of wonderful musicians from far-flung Bavaria to remind us of what our families and our schools taught us, in our innocent days. And what we still hold precious.

this is a rant

2006-01-31T06:51:00.000-08:00

I have an idea what fanatics feel now.. how an obsessive hate drives people to maim and kill. My dear dear colleague, after screwing up on work, and he does it really well, believe me…was creating a racket. So asked him to pipe down a bit, as I couldn’t think straight.

To which, his answer was “u think? Wow”.. in a tone that mingled contempt nicely mixed with condescension.

Counted till about a million, till my curls bounced with the electric current around me. Didn’t deign to reply (too much) as I believe some people don’t have the basic intelligence to comprehend even a retort. I would call him the missing link, is it wasn’t such an insult to Darwin, the big bang and all of that.

I think if I had a good sharp knife, and an opportunity, I would have of all that precious hair from the Punj head of his. And would feel damn good if he was blown up by rabid gun toting freaks, from wherever. Please note here, that this is NOT against Punjs in general, I have some of my closest friends of both sexes, in that category.

However, not this one.

Home (in Calcutta) is..

2006-01-25T06:55:00.000-08:00

..my doggies. They are my babies, and what/whom I miss the most, in Bangalore. Everything, and anything else, including family, friends and sundry loved ones, comes in a second by a wide margin. To be greeted at the door by tails wagging so fast, its almost a blur, hear whines of petulance/love which mean “where were you all this while..its so wonderful to have you back with me”. Fresh clean fur I bury my face into, and draw a deep breath in. Only another animal lover may be able to understand and appreciate what I’m rhapsodizing about right now.

..being woken up with bed tea, at random hours, depending on my whims. And the kind of biscuits I like.. little flaky and crisp. Gitadi, who has worked with us for years, asking me what else I would like, and then in the same breath telling me “don’t eat too much.. u’v gotten a little plump”. I love her concerned understatements.

..Calcutta sunshine. I sit in what was till a year ago, my dida’s room, and a year later, is now just another room. I bask in the crisp sunshine that filters thru the windows. It makes nice geometric patterns on the floor. A storybook, churan to pique my taste buds, a good book, and I laze like a cat in the sun.

..books. Old books, from almost another era, opening a floodgate of childhood memories. Of a relaxed, stress free life, lay days spent on my stomach in bed, feet kicking the air, reading voraciously. Enid Blyton, Tolkein, Christie.. anything I can lay my hands on.

..reunions. With friends, near and far. Friends lost and found again, after years and years. Those who sailed mighty seas to study, work, live.. and when we meet, it’s a jumble of joyous faces, bear hugs and delighted exclamations. Its like the years melt away, and we pick up where we had left off, in some cases, as much as 12 years ago. The group is now much bigger, as most of us have significant others who have mostly meshed within the lattice of the group, with a gentle and happy ease. And there are solemn promises to DEFINITELY keep in touch this time around.

Road Trippin'

2006-01-13T01:21:00.001-08:00

Neil Diamond croons on my headphones. A relaxed sigh and my thoughts flow through my fingers.

I’m on my way to Shantiniketan. The land where once Tagore made poetry, under a famous banyan tree. In the recent and less famous times, it’s the place where my aunt has a divine farmhouse, where we escape to. I’m going there after two whole years. It will be a good experience, I think.

The road is long.. and wide. Smooth and sinuous, it winds along roads that glimmer in the sunlight. Both sides of the highways are marked by fields. Clad in autumn colors, they are shades of gold and brown and very dusty washed out green. The lack of water is evident. Sometimes the fields give way to a copse of trees, all huddled together as to escape the sun.

Shonajhuri gaach. Tall thin trees, with square-ish leaves. A whole forest of them, on either side. Leaves glinting gold in the light. Inviting shadows that beckon one to stop and stay a while. I seem to remember the forest stretch being more than this, though.

The heat haze gets to you, and the road shimmers in the sunlight. Suddenly, you think you’re driving into water. But Moses, we are not…

The wind whips through my hair, and it’s a tangled mess as I run my fingers through it. We stop at a random point, to refuel with lovely piping hot coffee, and samosas. My sister’s joke about a “somash’ (a Bengali grammar thing) runs through my mind, and I laugh silently to myself.

Our car screeches to a halt in surprise. A procession of camels. Easily an odd 200 of them, walking across in stately procession across the road. A very unusual sight indeed, on the NH1. They are better suited to the sand dunes of the desert, than to the dusty roads of the city. And through it all, they still manage to look elegant, carrying themselves with an odd lanky gaited dignity.

And I say to myself, it’s a wonderful world..

Road Trippin"

2006-01-13T01:21:00.000-08:00

I’m leaving on a jet plane…

2006-01-05T02:02:00.000-08:00

[a bit I wrote while sitting at the airport, disgruntled]

….Only, not quite. The flight has been delayed by a whole fucking hour.. thanks to some strange flight delay from the Calcutta end. It’s miserable. I’m sitting at the lounge, feeling most piqued.. and that’s an understatement.

All around, are passengers in transit.. as the case should be. People who I saw sitting once I had first walked into the place are all gone now. a whole new horde have come in to take their place.

And with all my luck, this new horde brings with it.. kids.. all around me.. swarming.. yelling for “mamma, teetos”.. that’s cheeto’s for the uninitiated, being fed chocolate by dear mom and granny.

Into the valley of death, rode I..
Babies to the left of me, babies to the right of me, babies to the front of me..
Hollered and thundered..

I’ve chucked my shoes. Sitting with laptop comfortably on my knees, and busily tapping away. It’s a way to vent, without VENTING..

Not that I have anything better to do. I have, in a flash of brilliance, put my bag, with all cash and cards, into my luggage, which is now happily along with other luggage, wherever. So, I cant even buy a book or a coffee.. THIS is true urban riches.. the woman has a laptop, but no money.

People around me.. all looking ahead with blank faces, and dazed expressions. When they get tired of that, they look around surreptitiously, to see, what other people are doing. Bangalore is probably the place where one sees the maximum foreigners.. all in a state of flux. Tall white, short white, fat and thin white.. and the occasional yellow, blank and brown. What I have to give them is that ability to carry off the worst outfit with shabby-chic flair. In front of me is a tall blonde woman with this ghastly skirt, and top. If I wore it, my own mother might disown me. However, on her it looks pretty good.

A kiddie stuffing her face with peanuts peers with great interest into my laptop. Maybe she thinks it contains the more important secrets of the universe. If she comes too close and tries to touch my laptop with saliva coated fingers, and I wont be responsible for my actions.

The boombox just told “passengers traveling to cal that “they will be served snacks at gate number 3”. Immediately, mass exodus to gate number 3. Bongs just cant get enough of food.. even totally crappy flight food.

Currently, I’m ok sitting here tapping away.

Poush Mela

2006-01-05T01:50:00.000-08:00

It’s just past midnight. Family is pottering around me, getting ready for bed. A husky contralto sings ‘500 miles” on the CD player. It’s been a long day, and a good one.

Arriving at the farmhouse, to be greeted with cocktail sausages and beer, is enough to get anyone’s’ mood on an upswing. A gentle, relaxed conversation later, washed down with lunch, and 40 winks, we were off to the ‘poush mela’.

This is a humungous affair, held in Shantiniketan, around Dec-Jan. It coincides with the “dhaan-katar shomoi’ (when the crop was cut) and signifies festivities for all around. One has to get down from whatever transport that one is using, and hoof it quite a way inwards, to the actual field, which hosts the mela.

The sound hits you, before anything else does. Songs and recitations, made sonorous with the mike. Its interspersed with announcements by frantic people, who have gotten separated for their group, and is trying to locate them at such-and-such place. As we draw closer, the rhythmic beats come to our ears. The streets are lined with men selling little drums. One boy starts beating out a rhythm. A few others pick it up, and soon there is a interwoven percussion being flung across the street. Deep beats, and short staccato bursts of sound, they make me want to tap out a quick rhythm with my feet.

Voices and people accost me, all at the same time. A happy, yelling, jostling crowd, that sweeps me along, without even trying. I look around to make sure that I can see at least one more of our group. Moving from stall to stall, fingers made happy examining little trinkets, silver and brass jewelry, little dolls and unusual ganesha morthis made of wood, metal, stone and terracotta. They are indigenous to this area, I have never seen any like these. I buy up things, for my friends and family and me, till my wallet tells me I have nothing left. I promise myself, to come back tomorrow, to see more stuff.

We are the World!!??

2005-12-11T23:25:00.000-08:00

Nowadays every second person one meets on the Bangalore streets is white. By white, of course, we mean white/cream/yellow/brown/black and a few shades of gray in between. Anyone who isn’t Indian, out to “experience” the great Indian whatever-they-think-it-is, and stopped in Bangalore by the lure of a dirt cheap (by their standards) KFC or Benetton.

Most of them settle in pretty well, smack their lips like the “Southies” over a idli sambar, boogie the nite away at some random pub, and enjoy their time.

However, met someone a while back, who has, or at least had, a decidedly myopic approach to India. It was all “dirty, and ugly, and he actually wanted to go elsewhere, but landed up here by fluke”. Lovely European intonations, very musical, but the words were unpalatable. Remember being a bit irritated at his views about this place.

So, it came as a horror as I walked down Shivanagar Market area this morning, with people throwing buckets of mucky water on the roads, in everywhich way, to find myself muttering “bloody Indians!” and other expletives that would make a sailor blush.

Does this make ME a un-patriot, or is it merely a growing testimony to an era of people whose allegiance is only to themselves?

neurotic ramblings

2005-12-11T23:22:00.000-08:00

Have resolved to talk about anything and everything, in this blog.

So, whatever random neurotic thoughts I might be having, will from time to time, be reflected in this space. And god knows, I might be another late 20-something, wise ass, weird bordering on strange, Bridget Jones’ Diary, in the making!!! :-D

the truth about cats and dogs

2005-12-06T02:19:00.001-08:00

I have a dog at home. He is this humungous sized, typical blonde, slightly vain and eminently cuddle-able Lab. My mom, in moments of true irate-ness, swears that he is a cat in disguise, as Leo has the remarkable habit of living life only for himself. He growls deep in his throat and does a bored rendering of “lifting the lip into a curl” when one wants to drag him close and cuddle him, unless of course, HE is in the mood. The only one he cant do without is his older “brother” , Sasha, a Spitz.

Most unlike a dog really!!!

And now, in Bangalore, there’s a cat. She belongs to my neighbor, 2 doors down, a slim sinuous feline. And she’s most unlike a cat I have ever known.. I think she’s a dog in disguise. She has taken a fancy to me and my house, for reasons unknown. So whenever the door is open, she comes scampering in, till I drag her out of under the bed and send her homeward.

When I get home, and she’s around, she comes running up to rub herself against my legs till I bend and pet her. And then stands up on two hind legs, purring up at me in impatience for me to open my door.

She’s also the only cat who I have known, who plays “tooki”(hide and seek in Bengali). So, if u stand behind a pillar/wall/door and want to beckon to her, all u have to do is “hide” behind it and say “tooki”.. and she comes running.

Walk Tall

2005-12-02T05:50:00.000-08:00

Saw a little girl in the bus today.

She got on, as the bus trundled through the streets, from what can be called as a "lesser economically well off" area.

Frayed socks, typical black school shoes from which both her big toes poked out of holes, a uniform too sizes too large for her.

But the uniform was spotless, the socks pulled on without a crease, the shoes polished till they shone. Her hair was neatly oiled and pulled back with 2 ribbons, as is common among all good little Southie girls.

Amongst all the pushing and shoving, she stood there holding the back of the seat, with a steady hand. And there was a sparkle in her eyes, a smile on her lips, and excitement at the thought of a new day, of playing with her friends at school.

Leena D, of class IV b, as her school bag proudly proclaimed…may you go a long long way.

And here, there be Dilberts..

2005-11-16T06:32:00.000-08:00

Quick office update.

Have settled down amidst bilious pink walls. Poor R., who had just landed in B’lore, ran around getting plants to decorate the office with. Which led to some of the more.. erm.. hideous members of the fraternity to arrange themselves artistically around foliage and take numerous pictures.

We also have 3 clocks which range askew on the walls, and show wrong timings on India, US and Switzerland. And more importantly, a huge TV, where people watch enraptured while India looses match after cricket match.

We have no windows, so we actually call up friends at the other office, and ask them “is it raining?” 9am and 9pm are one and the same. Pathetic, really!!

A little counter, fondly dubbed as the “canteen”, storing our tea/coffee/lassi/assorted biscuits etc. is where we escape to, when in severe need to “let it out into willing ear”..

We are ALL uniformly Dilberts. We clutch and we cling, to our little cubicles, and even our own chairs and stationary, having hysterics when they are removed (our water jugs even have our names written on them).

Life is beautiful, or so says Roberto Benigni..

Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy, Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry

2005-11-14T22:18:00.001-08:00

Sat in the bus today to come to work, bright fall sunshine on my shoulders. A motley crew crammed into the vehicle, an old woman with leathery skin squeezed me towards the window.

If I concentrate hard enough, it’s almost like our mountain bus trips at 4am, sleepily getting into the bus to go from one place to the other. People, faces split in wide friendly smiles, connections made because you share a same love and wonder for the land.

The Bangalore roads fall away, and up rise steep mountains on one side and the gorge on the other.

The mountains beckon…

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens

2005-11-14T22:16:00.000-08:00

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages tied up with strings
These are a few of my favorite things...

In random order.. mine..

Raindrops lashing my window panes, the sound of thunder as I sit sipping delicious hot coffee..

Soft baby whiskers on puppies, their cold noses snuffling in surprised enquiry..

Packages.. wrapped up in any paper.. I love surprises.. but my mother is terrible at them, her patent words are “I don’t know what you would like”..

My honey colored Lab and my baby white Spitz.. hugging them close can drive any blues away, miss them with a deep rooted ache..

Not strudels, but chocolates…with dark bitter centres, melting in my mouth.. and god only knows what “schnitzel with noodles “ is…

Crisp winter mornings bundled up under blankets, and I don’t have to get up for another hour..

Treks up mountains, nose and cheeks pink in the cold, smelling the crisp air, reveling in the quiet..

Rolling in hysterical helpless laughter with old friends, at nothing in particular..

Dum maro dum..

2005-11-14T07:56:00.000-08:00

Religious fervor can only be understood, when one lives, travels and learns in the heart of South India. On my trip to Tirupati, with a gaggle of office mates.. which we shall comment on at greater length in another rave/rant party… we found ourselves with 24 hours as god had decided against giving us darshan.

Deciding a day in hand in worth two in the..well, whatever, we fell to doing our own bit of sightseeing. After much arguing… I found myself resigned to running around multiple other temples that seemed to be EVERYWHERE. In an effort to placate me, I was told that we would go to this place called “paapvinashanam” which was a WATERFALL, where one would also be able to wash away one’s sins, as the name suggested..

If any of you have seen Charlie Chaplin movies, you will know what I am talking about. As we walked down huge stone slabs crawling with people, saw an area where men would stand in line fully dressed. Each would go into a little room, and from the other side, would pop out a guy, wearing what can only be called “chaddis”.

By this time I was mystified AND skeptical. And my skepticism didn’t fail me. Paap-whatever turned out to be a huge wall, in which were embedded 5 PIPES.. from which sprang water. Millions of ghastly looking men, swarmed around in their underwear, vigorously having a bath under aforesaid pipes, in a concentrated effort to wash away god-knows-what sins. The Lifeboy ad put to shame…

Sigh!!! It WAS a trip all right…

I dream in Sepia

2005-11-14T07:54:00.000-08:00

Have decided to record bits and pieces of those dreams which some people who read this, can identify with. Last nite, dreamt that P., my coz, and I were wondering in some rag-tag flea market. And discovered, in this delightful little bookshop, with dusty panes, and fading sunlight coming through the windows, and an old man pottering around after us, while we took in the wonderful smells of old books.. these old old notebook sort-of things, which were relics of P. and my past.. childish scribbles, recording random things.

My dida teaching us both English, on a weekend afternoons, from fairytales/storybook like text..

The two of us struggling manfully to write our own version of an M&B, about a female oceanographer and a man on the team, who calls her “boss”.. even at age 10/12, we were well on the way to emancipation. :)

And sepia toned pictures of the two of us, in an assortment of other people, pigtails and scruffy elbows, at diamond harbor, gorging on eelish maach.. P. did we EVER take pics that time?

In real life, I wouldn’t, couldn’t, for the life of me, remember our handwritings of all those years ago. But here it was like crystal..

The subconscious is a wonderful thing..

Last nite I dreamt I was in __________ again..

2005-11-05T02:20:00.000-08:00

Last nite I dreamt I was in __________ again..

That’s a famous opening line in a famous book, tho I forget which right now.. if someone remembers right now, please enlighten me.

I think it was a confused entangled dream sequence with rain and family et all. For those of you who are unaware, various bits of the country are suffering under deluges.. one keeps wondering if a bit of land will suddenly break off and float off into the Indian ocean, like cream in a mixing bowl.

Anyways, I was back at home in Calcutta. Hugging my doggies and feeling so very happy, when suddenly, out of nowhere, came a little toddler with curly hair who just HAD to snuggle up to Leo (MY Lab).

“God knows where my mother had been hiding this brat of hers”, I thought irritably. “What audacity, doesn’t she know these are MY dogs, and she has no business to be here?” Wanted to rap her, for cutting into my time with dogs..

Looked out of the window, and the road in front of my house was gone, in its place was a beautiful, shimmery green expanse, gently undulating as people walked thru it. Faint dark shadows of roads that once were, could be seen in the semi-depths.

Spied didubhai (my pet name for my gran), wearing shorts and a t-shirt, cap perched jauntily of her head (similar to her attire at the beach) waving to me.. I think my dream must have caught up with her AFTER she finished her “dead float” :). Went down to the road, and brought her back home, with her on my back, like the “old man of the sea”.. not a very flattering allusion, but I’m talking of the mere posture here, people.

Back in my room, which, by the way, my mother has lovingly reconverted into a living room, the MINUTE I left home… and looked down to feel and wetness around my ankles. My room was afloat. Looked out of the window again, as I heard waves crashing into rocks below. We were perched on a little ledge, and our house had become a little hut, being buffeted by gales. Behind us stood a little helicopter, to carry us away to safety.

It says a lot of things about a lot of things, that my reaction was to pick up Sasha and Leo, and leave aforesaid kid behind. Remember dumping didubhai in the copter as well. I must have been really irritated, that I don’t remember Ma.. she must have been behind with strange brat. :-D

Came back to wakefulness with sounds of rain lashing my window panes.

an old old tale

2005-11-02T20:48:00.000-08:00

Well, first there was the Pujos.. Shosti I was at work.. my concession to the celebrations was manfully managing a slithery chunni of a new churidar.. Saptami I took off.. and just went to the parlor, spent 3 hours there being pampered, and slept.. then in the evening, non-Bong friends came over, to experience “pujo”.. needless to say, it rained so heavily that the "maath" was floating in a sea of red muck… so, came back to the puja near my place, where they proceeded to gobble up fry, chop and mishti.. and came back to my place, ordered in food, and played taboo till 3 am..

Ashtami was the day our entire office set out for a corporate offsite, which was to last 3 days.. we left in the afternoon, for a place near Banerghatta.. we were staying at the Jungle Lodges.. so there we were, in timtimey light, getting relaxed.. a lot of drama stuff incorporated to get us “comfy” with each other.. role playing, trust exercises, so on and so forth.. very interesting.. winding down with lots of beer and kebabs over a campfire, while strange jungle sounds happened around us..

The next day, we were given some stuff to figure out our strengths etc, and also to see how well we collaborate/compete… needless to say, the 2 teams collaborated well within themselves, and competed really badly.. we became quite horrible.. tried to walk a plank, and slipped twice, after which my poor back refused to let my mind dictate it

After which, we were given this exercise of designing, building and executing a raft.. we had to plan how to build it, make it, and sail across a huge lake with it… 6 people to a raft.. so, we had this brainwave of building one designed for speed.. rather like a Kerela snake boat.. what we forgot to take into account completely was the fact that it was also the most unstable.. I was one of the “rowers ….so ¾ into the lake different people just tipped over.. the ones who knew swimming, practically refused to get back on, so we backstroked back to shore.. a very long haul…

Sat there dripping… with ACHING appendages.. I didn’t know so many muscles existed.. then went for a midnight walk in the forest, and pointed out constellations to each other..

Came back to camp around 9.30.. changed, went to campfire, guzzled more and more beer.. danced on the way to dinner.. then tried planchett.. 4 of us daring souls… we had gotten fired up by the stories I told of Ma’s planchett-ey days…obviously it didn’t work…. So we went for another walk through the forest at 1 in the night… intrepid explorers all….

Next morning, a particularly boring session with lots of “self- back-patting” the bosses.. where we all in different stages of “nod-off” then back home to sleep…

Lots of new friends made, and old ones renewed.. overall, very eventful..

Note:
Maath: a large park-like area, where usually pandals are built and pujas held
Mishti: the ever-so-famous Bengali sweet.. the most famous type being the rasogulla
Timtimey: light.. coming usually from a hurricane of sorts.. the ambience lends itself particularly well to ghost stories

if only I had a hachet

2005-09-26T01:59:00.000-07:00

So, it was my birthday weekend.. well, technically on Sunday, but what the hell, I deserve a little pampering..

So, dear cousin of mine, invites family friends over to my house, and tells them, in a somewhat grand gesture.. “Come over, I will cook”..

She repeats the same dialogues to another family friend.

She then proceeds to write a blog about how I made HER cook for the teeming masses, as it were…

And very happily chooses to ignore the fact that she made me shop (while she read Archie comics by the dozen) chop, clean chicken thingys, fry, etc etc etc…

Revenge, when it comes (and it will), will be dire and sweet..

the shift

2005-09-19T02:50:00.000-07:00

I have not shifted so much in my whole personal life, as I had to do, in this one office. Let me explain. When I joined this company, we were a small bunch of 11 hardworking, enthusiastic youngsters. We had a huge expanse of grey-blue carpeting all to ourselves, and would happily rattle around there. Lots of windows, lots of light and fresh air.. we thrived on it.. makes us sound like a bunch of plants, don’t it?

Then we moved, literally across a plank, into the next building. By this time, we were a large bunch, getting larger by the day.. about 100 odd employees. Not bad, as things go. The office was nice and large, light colored walls, embossed pillars, etc. We sat at our desks, and became quite Dilbert-ish about our spaces.

Today, we walked across the gangplank yet again, back to our old building, but on the top floor. Not all of us, only a select few. Amidst the curiosity of what the new office is like, a general sadness fills us all. We are leaving behind close friends, whom we have shared our “goods and bads” with. People we have literally grown up with, in strange office parlance. We all promise to meet respective workmates for lunch” and “coffee breaks”.

Getting ready to move. All over, are stragglers, lugging accumulated junk across 7 floors..3 down one office, and 4 up again. There is a reluctance to leave the old, the friends, the light. It will take a day or two, for all residual scrap to be cleared away completely.

The office is gloomy. Dark wood, strange pink walls, the smell of fresh paint pervades the air. No natural light, no ventilation (except for the receptionist, who gets to have that prize). The power is off today, as finishing touches are being given, so no ac either. But they have shifted our machines, so we don’t have a choice but to follow. I can only hope I will loose a few pounds by sweating it out.

This must be what civilization is all about.

Pages from a diary

2005-08-02T23:50:00.000-07:00

So, two nights ago I had a seizure. After 6 long trouble-free complacent years. To top it all, I was in office, for the world and sundry to gasp over.

Sounds ghastly? Well, yes, it was. My first attack was when I was 9. My whole extended family had hysterics while I had hysterics. Looking back, I can make wise-cracks about it, but at that time, it felt that my world had shattered.

Over the years, it happened 3 more times. Monday was the 4th eventful one. My medicines had become a part of me, much like my spectacles, and I never even bothered to “realize” it. Along with time, I had to face a lot more than a blackout, there have been heart problems, high BP and sundry other ailments I have faced. So, I “shatter” a lot less nowadays.

Though, I agree, a few cracks HAVE appeared in my armor now. My smug, self-satisfied air of “I’m taking care of myself REAL well” has taken a severe beating. It will take about 24 more hours for my Cheshire-cat grin to be firmly back in place.

Maybe I’m paranoid. What really gets my goat is to be treated like an invalid. I keep telling people IM FINE, but people take time in believing that. This illness is one that makes you go “boom” internally, for whatever time it takes, and then, within 24 hours, u’r up and jumping around, and yes, PERFECTLY NORMAL. That, I think, is sometimes a little hard to digest for others, because they are looking at you with expectant eyes, WAITING for you to put on a show or something.

The pro to this whole mess…
a) it was in office, I had people to take care of me
b) it was late, so, not ALL colleagues saw me having the seizure

The con to this whole mess…
a) it happened in office
b) it happened at all…

Having been-there-done-that… and faced it, and writing about it, for the world to see, is a catharsis of sorts.. I can come face to face with my mental blocks about my illness, and shrug off stigma. Hey, if Steve Waugh can have it, and emerge a winner in more ways than one, I’m in good company :)

A deep realization comes about my well wishers, my friends who love me, and have surrounded me with care.. I don’t know what I would do without them.

The blackness also comes from within.. a frustration .. what did I do wrong, what could have gone wrong, why me again, etc etc. The frustration builds as I had been given a clean bill of health by my doc, for the last 6 years and never dreamt this would happen.

My doctor tells me “you seem fine, absolutely no problem… but ur crash dieting brought down ur blood sugar levels to a dangerously low point, so ur body reacted”. So, we all make mistakes. Good that I made it now, than later at a more critical point in time. I just wish god had a nicer way of nudging me along in the right direction.

sugar and spice and everything nice

2005-07-05T05:49:00.000-07:00

My grandmother, or didubhai as the whole brood of grandkids used to call her .. what can I say about her, and what can I not? My childhood revolved around her and her days around mine.

My earliest memories are of her waiting patiently, unwearying in heat and storm, for me, at the bus stop where the bus would drop me off after school. In my younger days, we would walk back, hand in hand, me chattering incessantly about school and other sundry topics..

As I grew older, of course, so did my sense of self importance and indignation.. “Was I a kid that someone would pick me up from school?” I raved and ranted, in righteous anger. So, she would bribe me with “dosh paisar badam, aar dosh paisar hojmi”, every single day. Its hard to imagine how much largesse could be got in those times, with 10 paise. In the end, greed won…and so did she.

We were born in idyllic days, days spent in going to school in the mornings, afternoons spent listening to stories about didubahi’s childhood and her trips.. “oy beratey jaowar golpo ta ABAR bolo”. And then in the evenings, she would herd all the cousins down “keyatola lane” to take us to ILSS, where we would swim from 6 to 8, with didubhai running around the pool to make sure we 5 were all right..

The minimal studying I did, was all with her, in my baby years, with her teaching me English, and Bangla and spellings. With math she somehow managed the basics, after which ma, thankfully, took over... and then, when I would win the spelling tests in school, didubahi and I would fight as to who would get the credit for it..

Halcyon days, touched by love, and light and wonder, stories of “shikar, jongol”, interspersed with some mythology, from all over the world, and “the little mermaid” of Hans Christen Anderson. She was, in a lot of ways, responsible for my love of literature - like Scheherazade, she would leave the story just as it was getting interesting, and say “aar parchi na, bakita nijey poro”

She was a grandmom I could display to all with pride, and certain smugness. Who else had a dida, who would wear shorts and get into the massive breakers of “Purir shomudra”, or wear jeans and be on horseback during a trekking trip at the age of 70, cap tilted rakishly on her head. And who would, while deep in pujo of her beloved Gopal, who, by the way, traveled everywhere with us, in his little Air India bag, would say “chandan, amakeo jeno ektu diyo”- we called it “karonbari” after that. When I went to my Tirupati trip (for larks, not religious fanaticism) this April, all I could think of was her, and that I was in the land of her Gopal… maybe, I was doing it for her.. god knows.

As I grew older, we drifted apart. Caught up in a whirlwind of life, I usually had less time to spend with someone, for whom time had slowed down. Always impatient, always running.

Memories come crowding in, jostling, pushing, shoving to be let out, to be given centre stage. My mother tells me, “write a few words in her memory”.. and once I start writing, I cant seem to stop.. words become pages, and its still not enough.

bohemian rhapsody

2004-12-02T03:11:00.000-08:00

Last weekend.. we decided to play "bohemian rhapsody".. so 11 of us.. friends form office, randomly packed up our bags, and headed out to "God's Own Country (that's Kerela, for the uninitiated) for a miniscule weekend break..

It was a dark and stormy nite.. well evening anyways.. so we arrived at the famous Majestic Bus Terminal, at 7.30, straight form office.. all wet and tired and ravenous.. and proceeded to eat everything in sight...

A 12 hour all night bus journey.... not pleasant by any standards.. driving through the night, jolting out of sleep every time I JUST gotten comfortable...

We were taking the Mysore highway route to Kerela... I woke up around 1.30, due to a biting wind coming through my window... to look outside and find that we were going through a dense forest. We had chosen a "full moon" weekend for our trip.. the leaves were filtered sliver in the moonlight.. it was magical.. very like the Enid Blyton stories we read in our childhood, where the fairies would come out to play..

Yet another time, I was woken up by a friend.. she was doing a "bhatakti hui atma" routine in the ½ inch space of the bus aisle... peered out of the window.. and was awestruck... mountains looming over us, blue-black in the moonlight.. far, far away one could see little pinpricks of light, coming from villages. The bus drove up and down winding roads, taking us from one crest to the next..

We all woke each other up, to gaze in wonder at the world... everyone was quiet.. the rest of the passengers were fast asleep.... dappled silver light, just for us..

Wrapped the shawl tightly around myself, opened the window.. and drank in the sight of mountains bathed in moonlight, forests dark and dense below us, in the valley... passed little villages, consisting of three houses, two shops and a masjid, with a spotless courtyard.. took me back to my trekking days in the Himalayas, and bus journeys just like these, meandering through hills and vales..

Passed through Calicut.. a signboard sprang out of nowhere, selling Johnson N Johnson marble tiles, told us of the fact.. was wondering how much it had changed since my cousin was here.. and trying to see whether IIM was anywhere in the vicinity, and which was the road that she used to stumble back late at night, after getting peacefully drunk with friends J

In a way, this bus ride was the highlight of the trip... the journey was magical...stared dreamily out of the window, and fell asleep with a smile on my face..