Conflict

We were talking about conflicts. He and I. We started with discussing the political kinds and moved across religion, love, marriage, society and finally settled on internal kind. I was lying diagonally on mattress beside the bed and he was lying on his stomach, on the bed, looking at me. I was meeting him after nine years. A lot has changed since we last met…

“What are you thinking right now?” he asked

“Hmmm… how do you handle if you body, mind and mind are in conflict?” I replied.

“Mind and Mind?”

“Yes, some people may say heart and mind, but I prefer mind and mind cause that is what is happening right?”

“I don’t understand… explain.” He said adjusting the pillow under his chin.

“Let me try. Now that X and I are no longer together and it has been some days. One part of my mind congratulates me on handling it so well, keeping it neutral, some resemblance of moving on, but other part still stays there. It is like there is a conflict going in me. The ache stays. My life is divided yet running parallel. What I don’t understand is why the mind easily tricks you to coexist with two sides. The dull ache stays with the world fading in and out. He has become like the aroma I get every evening as I stand in my balcony from my neighbour’s kitchen. It wafts through, even when I desperately don’t want it to, envelops me and makes me crave for food. I can’t see it but it tempts me, even irritates me on my inability to stop, not to smell, not to feel hungry. It scares me. What if this will never become better? The heartache will creep up on me and rot me… like a wall with termites. Slowly but steadily.”

He turned on his back and stayed silent. I could see his cigarette smoke going up and disappearing but at the same time suffocating me with the pungent smell.

“And…?”


“And the next moment I feel as if I am really moving on, life feels more cheerful, I hum to myself, smile at strangers and feel tres passionnée towards Y and feel at peace with myself for doing the right thing. If it’s so right, then why does it hurt so much?”

“You have really started thinking too much. I never knew you were so profound,” he replied keeping a poker face.

Unsure of taking it as an offense, jibe or compliment, I asked with a smile,” If I am boring you so much, why didn’t you say so?”

He removed the pillow from under the chin and spoke staring at me,” You know Coco Chanel said – ‘Jump out the window if you are the object of passion. Flee it if you feel it. Passion goes, boredom remains.’ But to answer your question, no, you are not boring me and you have not become a bore. Yet.”

I turned on my stomach and replied staring back at him,” Then I am sure you must also know what Confucius said?”

“What?”

I smiled at him. Again

“He says ‘Virtuous people often revenge themselves for the constraints to which they submit by the boredom which they inspire.’”

He threw the pillow back at me.

The Guy Gift...

Rat, this is for you… after much thought and consideration (for a change) for the likes and tastes of Y; he received the following gift yesterday. I can safely say, judging by his reaction, that he was mighty pleased! (This can also serve as a ready reckoner for all you beer buddies in India, who look for variety beyond Kingfisher and Haywards...)

1. Peroni

2. Asahi

3. Hoegarden

4. Becks

5. Stella Artois

6. Schneider Weiss

7. Guinness

8. Leffe

9. Amstel

Cheers!

Randomly...

Y, sensing my low mood, has given me a surprise shopping spree. Yippee! Shopping time today with S. I love him for being to nice to me sometimes… nothing works like retail therapy to cure your blues :)

Have been reading this book called ‘Chai Chai’ by Bishwanath Ghosh… it makes me feel pretty nostalgic about home. He has captured the simple and somewhat peculiar lifestyle of small towns beyond the railway junctions- their only claim to recognition. The description of hot moong dal pakodas and garam chai actually made me remember the feel of eating them piping hot near Bhopal Lake on rainy evenings and made my mouth water…

I am joining belly dancing classes… I may not know dancing but I sure have a belly!

I never thought buying a gift for a man is so difficult! Going berserk searching for a meaningful gift for Y. He deserves one, simply for putting up with me last weekend. Now that I have regained my sanity back, I feel like giving him a big hug (of course it will shock the daylights out of him). Books, clothes, CDs, shoes, accessories are ruled out! Any ideas?

Checked my account today, barring Y’s credit card that I can use today for shopping, it is actually negligible. Still 6 days to go…Eeeeee!

Two Heartbreaks and a Wedding

It was a long weekend. Like a scene from Richard Curtis’s ‘Four Weddings and a Funeral’, I witnessed ‘Two Breakups and a Wedding’ within 48 hours. Right now, on a Monday morning, I am sitting in front of my comp, with a steaming cup of tea and wondering if a thing seems as light or serious as we think it to be. On Friday, it really felt like I was dying. Right now, it feels a bit different.


- 3 days back/ Friday night/ 8pm-

“Hello… (sniff, sniff)”

“Hello? What happened? Why does it sound like you have been crying?”

“D, it’s finally happened… X and I are no longer together… I think it maybe final this time” I replied trying to make coherent sounds through my tears. It happened over the weekend. As they say in politically correct language- we mutually decided it wasn’t really working for us. Correction. It was working so well for us that our conscience started to rebel. We decided to block each other on G chat, delete each other’s numbers, etc…

“But sweetie, you guys were not together since last 2-3 weeks, what happened?”

“Yes, we met again and made up, only to break up 15 minutes later. I am hurting like my heart is in a shredder!” I bawled, wiping my raccoon look (thanks to the flowing eye make-up) in the taxi.

I saw the driver giving me a ‘Sorry lady, but the conversation is too interesting not to be overheard’ look. I clear my throat and said to D now is the time when I really, really need the vodka swimming pool to drown in…

- 3 days back/ Friday night/ 11pm-

It fell like my mind was ringing. My whole body felt so light, but my heart felt heavy and numb even in my drunken state. D put on some peppy numbers and I gave her a glare through my red eyes and runny nose. I hated all peppy numbers right now. The ringing was even more prominent right now… I realized it was actually my cell phone ringing.

“Allo” I could feel my tongue revolting even at the thought of forming a sentence.

“Hi, this is P, I need an urgent help”

“Aal I can do is geeve you a foffle right nof sweethearf”

“Are you drunk? My god! I didn’t know you drank so much! You are slurring”

(In retrospect, I think if P would have known before that I have had my experiences with alcohol, he would have had invited me to his ‘daaru’ (booze) parties long back)

“Anyways I don’t have much time Tuna fish… who is with you right now?”

I handed the phone to D and roll over on the sofa cum bed…

- 2 days back/ Saturday morning/ 9 am
I felt like there was a tunnel being drilled in my mind… something was ringing and which each ring, the intensity of the drilling only increased. I tried opening my eyes, but it felt like someone has stuck them with fevi-glue…

It was fourth time I finally located my cell phone and was about to throw it off with its continuous ringing that P’s name flashed on the screen. I remembered vaguely talking to him the last and picked the phone.

“Hello”, I croaked. (I realized to my horror that instead of speech the only thing coming out was a series of croaks!)

“Wow, you sound nice”

“Well, you sound cheerful”, I replied in an accusatory tone.

“When are you reaching the mandir? It is already 9:30am and you have to be there before 10:30 am, common get up and hurry!”

“Mandir? What mandir? Where do I have to come?”

My each sentence was hurting my jaw and scraping my throat.

“Tunafish! You forgot! Didn’t D tell you? I am getting married today! S ran away from home and came to my house last night. She was crying, saying her parents will never agree, so the only way left is to get married as soon as possible today before it snowballs”, he screeched (atleast that’s how it sounded to me – screech- in my worst possible hangover ever).

I wondered how could gods be so unfair? Here I am crying my eyes out over X and NO ONE is coming to my rescue!

“Hello? Hello? Are you there?”

“Yeah P, I am here. Tell me what I have to do and where I have to be?” I sighed resigning to my fate of playing the happy guest even when all I wanted to do was watch sad soppy movies and cry over my cornflakes.

“Love you Tunes, here take down the list of things u have to get to the mandir…”

- 2 days back/ Saturday evening/ 4pm

The ringing of the cell phone just irritated me further. My hangover was still, well… hanging over me like a dark cloud, I was hungry, irritated (had to smile deliberately at the wedding when all I wanted to do was sulk and wallow in my inky blue depression) and was really aching for a hug from X. The ringing of the cell phone didn’t exactly reduce my troubled state.

“Hello”, I snapped.

“T… I just have had a breakup. Can you come and meet me? Please?”

That was H, my cousin and perhaps the only one who knew about her on/off boyfriend.

“Oh! I thought he has come to Mumbai for 2 days specially to meet you? What happened?”

“He just stormed out of the house, bags and all, after a big fight. I don’t ever want to see his face again!” she replied between her sobs.

I sent a mute complaint to god – Why me? Why today?

“Baby, but what happened?”

“Shopping”

“Eh?” I guess I will never be able to excel at man-woman stuff; I even had proof of it now.

“Yeah, he wanted to spend all two days shopping and when I said you go alone, he sulked and we had a big fight and he walked out!”

This was all I could understand between her fresh rounds of weeping. I promised I will reach there in half hour…
- 1 day back / Yesterday afternoon/ 2pm

I think I was past giving any attention to my cell phone anymore. My eyes were on fire from crying and my throat felt like someone had taken sandpaper and rubbed it with a vengeance to rectify all my sins. It felt like my heart had become a gaping black hole and sucked all my energy, emotions, love and feelings. I felt numb inside and outside and still ached. The sudden unfolding of events had swinged my state like a pendulum and I just wished I could disappear listening to Bryan Adam’s ‘Cuts like a Knife’ that was playing on the stereo. Well at last I admitted it to myself. I so wanted X…

- Today/ right now/ 4pm

I logged on to my email and chat account. I was surprised to see he had not blocked me yet. I couldn’t bring myself to block him out myself, and so I just sat and thought… random thoughts about him, him and me. It’s funny how things become clear when u sit calmly and think (yeah yeah, no rocket science this, but hard to follow). X will always be in my life, whether I accept it or not, he accepts it or not, is irrelevant. Even if don’t meet each other ever, that just becomes geography. The thoughts may never go. I spoke to him then, requesting him to stay friends and not with a pained heart but a genuine fondness. I don’t know what life will bring for us; maybe we will get together again, maybe not. Why lose such a good thing? We started as friends; we come back again to being friends. For now, the circle is complete.

Laterally Confused

“Please don’t laugh when I ask you a question… I am genuinely confused!” I said to Y over the phone.

“What is it?”

“You promise, you won’t laugh?” I said, trying to take a long breath to relax…

“Yes I promise”

Could already feel him smiling at the other end…

“Err… If I am standing facing the clock in my room, which side is my left?”

“Huh?”

“I said if I am standing facing the clock in my room, which side is my left?” I said shifting my phone to the other side and feeling more and more embarrassed by the minute…

“You don’t know?”

I could feel his grin now.

“Of course I know! It’s just that suddenly, while putting on my contacts, I have forgotten which is left and which is right. You know I know.”

“Ok… (I could hear him desperately trying to stifle a laugh) the side on your window is right… you want to know which side is your left now?”

“Very funny! Thanks and bye!”

This conversation that happened today morning has been upgraded easily to one of the most embarrassing moments of my life… Am I losing my memory? Gosh!

Dumpsville 2.0

Sitting on the stairs, accidentally locked out of my own flat, one can think a lot of useful and not-so-useful thinking (well, until my neighbour – who has been given a spare key for such occasion- returned, I couldn’t think of anything to do). I thought about last 4 months… they went in such such a whirr… it feels unreal. Moving back to Mumbai, searching a new house, not being able to write (yes, I am sorry and yes now I have discovered there IS such a thing called writer’s block) and falling out with X (or so it seems).


It’s strange how our mind works sometimes. I had imagined it more than a hundred times – eating, bathing, doing yoga, listening to music even sitting on potty, how X and I would fall out if things come to that. My mind made endless permutations and combinations of all the words, expressions, situations and perhaps tears that would come into play. I was surprised.

Not sad, not ‘I want to sit in some dark room and weep my eyes over sad movies and into my cornflakes (I prefer cornflakes over popcorn)’ depressed, not suicidal (gosh never! - not for a man Darling), just surprised. One day we just stopped talking, I tried to figure out what’s wrong once, then accepted the fact and just left it to be. I wouldn’t be honest if I said it didn’t hurt. It does, a lot, but as I explained it Dumpsville, it is most probably my ego and pride that has taken a beating.

On the positive side (yes, there is one, I am a firm believer of the silver lining theory) it gives me plenty of time to do yoga (that is what I am into nowadays), try new foods, movies, books even people. I spend hours lying with D discussing everything under the sun, listening to Duran Duran’s ‘come undone’ and always concluding that it will take a little time, might a little crying to come undone…

I don’t even know if it’s a fall out or there is a Dumpsville.3 lurking around somewhere, but then in this world even heart break comes with a price tag…

MJ Re-discovered

The automated sliding doors of the metro closed behind me with a whoosh! I just made it to the 8:45 am train to office. Inspite of the weather bureau’s assurance that the monsoon was going to hit anytime now, it still felt muggy and humid as ever. My cell beeped. It was Y; he had messaged that Michael Jackson was dead – died last night due to cardiac arrest (for once he was ahead of me in following the news). It felt weird – Michael Jackson – the king of pop – no more. By reflex (now it comes automatically) I messaged X, knowing his love for music, I assumed (correctly) he will be kind of heartbroken.

I still remember how we used to dance to his songs after coming back from school, throwing our school bags on the bed and switching on the music system (It was the advantage of having both the parents working. Although it also meant getting scolded each evening for the mess I had created in the room and not finishing homework). Dad had given me his old tape player and it was one of my most prized possessions. There were no CDs and mp3 downloads were unheard of. I used to save all the money I used to get during Diwali, Dusshera, holi, even Christmas (any opportunity to get some money was welcome, as the list was too long to ever get over) by uncles and gran ma and use it to buy cassettes. A major investment was made in buying brand new, shiny and polythene covered cassettes of ‘thriller’. In 80s MTV meant Michael Jackson. We even used to tease our friend Michael Patrick that Michael can never sing and dance as real Michael Jackson can.

My sister and I have spent endless afternoons trying to perfect the moon walking dance step with ‘thriller’ and ‘Black or White’ playing in the background (rewinded again and again). My mother used to love watching his videos, where in one of them, he transforms into coins in front of an Egyptian queen. That was his peak. Then came the child molestation scandal and he faded away.

Like the overused rusty cassettes and old broken tape recorder, his music too disappeared from our lives. His music was replaced by newer boy bands like Backstreet Boys, Boyzone, rediscovered rock bands from my dad’s collection.

Years later, today, when I heard the news, I desperately craved to find my old cassette again. I can’t stand listening to Backstreet Boys again (not meant to be offensive but just the truth), but I can listen to the king of pop anytime. On an impulse I went to Music World and bought all his old songs that I have grown up listening too (now they came in shiny CDs). His death has made his music even more precious… inspite of a tragic personal life, his music, I guess, inspired a whole generation.

Now with his “you are not alone” playing in the background I can’t help thinking like a snake that sheds his old skin for new, we too forget old things for new. Fortunately, some old memories, feelings, people and music linger on- just peeking around the corner to be rediscovered again.

when will I know that I know?

B and I jostled through the crowd at the Esplanade station on Saturday and made our way walking through the pavement towards new market. She had come for a holiday last week and was going today. We had to collect bandle cheese and a tea pot for us before meeting one of her friends – A for lunch. Newmarket in Calcutta (I still like Calcutta much more than Kolkata or Kolkatta) is also one of the few places where you get bandle cheese – a dried smoky flavoured cheese in a shape of ball that need to be immersed in water ten hours prior to eating. It tastes really good though.

The sun and humidity touching 90% was driving me crazy. I could feel a steady trickle of sweat running like a canal from my neck to my back.

“I think if it doesn’t rain today, I will die”, I exclaimed, wiping my dripping forehead with the back of my hand. “Oh! Why doesn’t it rain?”

“Don’t worry. You can sit under the AC once we reach Marco Polo (that’s where we were supposed to meet her friend A for lunch).”

Two hours later, we entered Marco Polo, wet with sweat and almost faint in the heat. A was sitting there at the reserved table. I ignored a twinge of disappointment. I was kind of hoping to meet a handsome, dashing guy who would provide me with ‘eye tonic’ after such a ‘hot-as –hell’ shopping trip! He was more of a next door uncle type that too with a moustache! There went my hopes of a flirty afternoon.

From what I had learned from the background was that A was like a ‘chaddi-buddy’ (can be read as very close friend) of B’s ex and he went on and on about him, oblivious to B’s discomfort. I guess from his talks I could make out that he still thought she was ‘the one’ for his friend. That made me wonder – how do know you know? ‘The one’ that is? If you would have asked me 8-9 years ago, I would have said you know because it’s like a lightening and thunder strike. You just know. I would have also said it was the result of reading soppy romance novels on the sly. But is their really lightening? Or is it more like the rain? You feel it gradually and when it comes, you may or may not be prepared. You may even take the pain of opening your umbrella and avoiding it altogether. And what if you even recognize it, and even get together - will it bring happiness? Or a new set of problems altogether?

When you have a serious crush on someone, you automatically think getting him will solve your problems. Just his kiss on lips on yours or his hug after a long day or waking up beside him makes you forget everything and seems like the solution to the big bad lonely world outside. Who would think that after a while this may not seem enough? The insecurity will creep in, the emotional roller coaster ride will make you go up with giddy pleasure and love and equally low with an inky blue blob of depression. And then when you would want him to take you in his arms and profess maybe undying love and for some marriage, babies- the whole jing bang – its time to give it a second thought baby.

Thinking all this while playing with the rice on my plate, watching B clearly squirm, not wanting to remember her ex, I thought when will I know that I know? Sighing I looked outside the window. It had started raining.

Aila! It's a storm

I have taken a cab back home. Don’t know whether it’s a good decision or not. They said the metro is running erratically. The winds are raging against the window. The leaves are swirling all across the city. It’s my first storm. Aila (prounced same as Sachin's Aila) they have christened it. The closest thing I have witnessed earlier was the floods in Mumbai in July 2006, but that was water, now I witness another element of nature – air.
I stop my taxi to let a wet, dripping man in. He looks at me strangely noticing the piece of paper and pen and furious scribbling but then is grateful. He feels a bit awkward seating with me, he settles down in front near the driver. I smile and he smiles back. “I have been asking for a lift since 45 minutes”, he says. I nod. I found a cab after getting soaked to the skin, waiting in dirty brown water swirling around my calves. The taxi crosses a Maruti Swift smashed flat by a tree fallen on top. I shiver. I just hope to reach home soon. It’s still half an hour away. I see more trees fallen as well as billboards and traffic lights bend and broken. Strangely, in a perverse way, I feel one with my surroundings – broken (hearted).
“So till where you want to go?” I ask him.
“Garia”, he says, looking worried.
The traffic moves slowly. We do more small talk. He has been married just a year back and his wife is really worried at home. I smile and say don’t worry, you will reach safely. The weather has made us friends. Just then a billboard smashes with a boom just a few feet ahead of us. I have had enough, I make the cab stop. I decide to walk back home in the rain. My friend looks confused. I pay the driver and tell him he can take it ahead to Garia. It is too windy to notice his reaction and the driver speeds away cursing the weather. My paper flies away. I curse too. The road towards home feels longer and the rain with the wind feels like a whip lash on my face. I notice many people walking in the middle of the road, avoiding the trees and lampposts. The taxis and buses honk continuously in frustration to wade their way among the sea of people. I think it is two kilometres down, I see him again standing beside the road. A huge tree has fallen across the road and traffic is stopped. I roll my eyes and shout to make my voice heard through the wind.
“You won’t reach your home standing here. No one will come to clear the road right now. Why don’t you walk back?”
“Theek achche (Alright)” he replies back in his Bengali accent and joins the crowd.
I reach home in two hours, feeling every muscle of my body ache. It was more of a trek than a walk, fielding huge fallen trees, avoiding swinging traffic lights and billboards. Feels like I have been in a cement grinder. I am exhausted- physically and mentally. I take a bath and sleep. My last thought hovers around X never called to ask if I am ok…

That was yesterday. Today I woke up to sunshine. It looked as if yesterday was just a bad dream. But the broken branches and leaves swept in neat little piles beside the road suggested otherwise. The paper said around 20 got killed yesterday and toll could be higher. I wondered whether the Maruti Swift driver was one of them. I wondered whether he reached his wife safely. I forgot to take his number or his name so all I can do is wonder. I took a cab to office and saw many cranes picking up trees from the roads, clearing the way. It made me kind of sad… these were huge trees, at least 20-25 years old, gone in an hour. I wonder whether trees miss each other too?

I just say a little prayer for everyone in this world. Humans are nincompoops against nature. Life is more so.

Please don't disturb (and don't be?)

I would want him to wake me up with a kiss and hug me and look into my eyes. I would want to start the day with he making love to me and whispering in my ear ‘I love you’. But this is what I want, and as ‘wants’ go, this is usually not I have.

 

In reality I was sitting across him eating my breakfast at Mondegar having a discussion on being ‘disturbed’. (The reality before that was, well yes, he did make love to me and then told me later I am stinking (well what more do you expect living in Mumbai in a muggy weather and first thing in the morning… smelling of strawberries?). It did make me sprint and take a shower though, and we came down to eat breakfast at Mondys as people of Mumbai call it.

 

He claimed that for being a good writer you have to be disturbed. If you see all good ones, most of them were/are disturbed. He further claimed that he was pretty disturbed too. I simply shrugged as I think some of it is simply fear of facing the facts that stare at him on his face. We fell silent after that, he sipping his coffee, I enjoying the warmth of my tea cup in my palms…

 

Does being disturbed make him a good writer? I guess, after all he does write well, but I wondered whether the corollary is also true? I don’t think so. Besides how disturbed is disturbed?

 

This was two weeks back. Now lying on my bed during a power cut (this is slowly becoming a regular feature- nothing better to do in this heat) and staring at my glow stars I have stuck on my ceiling, I realized that ‘disturbed’ may make for good writers but bad lovers. May be because being ‘disturbed’ sometimes means drowning in your spiral of depression and self pity. When two people entangle (I won’t use ‘fall’ as maybe between us it was/is never intentional) in relationship, how does the gray area of understanding work? And if everything has to be ‘understood’, then why do people talk, write and think about affection, the great stress on spending time together, the golden rule of communication- being in touch? As D says the foundation or the love or hate in any relationship is just like a prime piece of land in the middle of the city. What it finally turns to – a mall, high-rise or slums, is in the hand of the land owner.

 

I also wondered whether this is really the end and are we drifting apart? When one feels something for the first time, the impact is much more. And if not, why does the heart ache so much? (And it really doesn’t do one bit for my ego).

 

It’s almost funny that the man I started calling jokingly X, is slowly drifting away from me -  maybe becoming an ‘ex’

 

Smoke

“I like the way the smoke rings rise and expand, and finally disappears into a blue spiral. I think I can go on watching them forever” I said to Y. He was smoking and blowing smoke rings towards the ceiling.

It was dark – power cut- and we were lying on the bed staring at the ceiling. It was too hot and humid to do anything else. I could see the cigarette smoke as a blue haze hanging below the ceiling. It suffocated me a little but I didn’t want to him to go.

“How do you make them?” I prodded him again on receiving no reply to my earlier statement.

“It’s not difficult. Takes a little practice, that’s all. I learnt how to do it when I was twenty years old”

“I want to learn too. Give me a cigarette; I want to see if I can make some too”

“You smoke? I didn’t know that. You never told me.” He said, his voice skirting on accusation. Not because he thought I have started smoking, but perhaps because I didn’t tell him.

“No I don’t smoke. But I want to try”

“Hmmm. Don’t”

I could hear a mosquito buzzing nearby. I hate the Kolkata heat in summers. It zaps the energy out of you and the mosquitoes make it worse. Even though I am the one of the few lucky ones to have an AC, but a power cut makes you realize the futility of owning sophisticated appliances that need the electricity to feed them.

I turned to look at him, my eyes adjusting to the darkness to make out his profile. I resisted the temptation to trace the outline of his face with my finger. Y is handsome, what they call, ‘conventional handsome’. Straight nose, fair skin, big eyes, strong jaw, the works.

“How did you know we will be together?” I whispered, in the darkness, afraid to break the rare current of cozy company I was feeling.

“I knew. I always thought so even when we were not together. I am sure of what I want.”

“How can you be so sure? Love is never constant, isn’t it?” I asked.

“I don’t want to argue but I just know. I am happy with today and so I know it won’t change tomorrow.”

I can’t follow his logic sometimes, but then it felt good to be needed. I guess however we deny and claim to be unaffected; the demonstration of being loved and needed is one of the most basic needs of a human being. It satisfies one of our deepest desires, more than any expression of physical love or amassed wealth, it is the simple declaration by someone that they love us and need us, which makes a difference.

Naturally, I thought about X and the stark contrast between the two people in my life. I wondered how it will end. I realized somewhere I didn’t want it to end. As Y said, even though it's not perfect, I am happy with today so until it doesn’t changes tomorrow, I will count my blessings.

Sisterly Love

“Hello”, she said over the phone.

“Hello”, I replied in my best voice I could muster

“Is this you? What happened to your voice? You sound like the villain Ajit!”

I could hear her laughing over the phone.

“Gee! Thanks for the concern. Makes me feel so much better! I am picking up random numbers from the phone directory and addressing unsuspecting strangers as 'Mona Darling’ now”, I snapped back, offended, hurt and coughing.

“Looks like with your throat, your disposition’s gone too. I feel sorry for Ma. She has to suffer a sick and cross tempered daughter during holidays” 

I could now hear giggling too.

“Grrr…” (It was all I could manage to say as my throat revolted at that moment and any voice stopped coming)

“I just called to say I am having ice-cream, your favourite combination – butter scotch and black currant. You enjoy the vacation and get well soon!” she trilled on the phone and hung up.

Grrr… Why are younger siblings always such a pest?

What a Bore!

“I am bored”

I have said this phrase over and over again in my life since childhood (right now, writing this post, I want to say it again). Why people get bored? Is there a way out? Thinking of the last almost twenty seven years of my life now (yes, I turn 27 this April, happy birthday to me), this phrase has meant many things in my life.

At 9 years – it usually meant Ma I am hungry and no I don’t want Maggi. No. I don’t want upma also. No, I don’t want puri also and no I don’t want to go out also. No TV, no book, no chocolate (usually it ended with me howling when my poor mother reached the end of her patience and gave me a much deserved slap).

At 13 years – being bored usually meant I hated the homework, I found Sharma aunty a big bore, especially when she started gossiping about the neighborhood and I had to make tea for her. More than anything else, living in a modest two bedroom flat with a television set in the living room (most convenient for anyone to see), it meant no watching television in the afternoon. Now that was really boring!

At 17 years – “I find this colour too boring; no I don’t want that saree to wear for my school farewell party (wearing a saree was compulsory for the students who were passing out of school). I want a new saree!” This followed a trip to the local saree shop where I yawned and said I like nothing and I am getting bored and no, I don’t want to shop- basically just wanted to sulk and be a pest.

Met X and Y once I moved to Mumbai… then “being bored” took a deeper meaning:

With Y, it usually meant showing indifference when angry. He once said that when I look at him and yawn and say “I am bored”, I resemble my pet – Freddie, who for sometimes has lost interest in whatever is in front of him and wants to go out and roam free (that caught my attention alright, but then, my pride being at stake…I yawned again and picked up a book to read). Being bored also sometimes means please take me out, I feel restless and I envy your peace with life and I definitely want to be pampered J   

With X, it takes a totally different context as for a change, he is much more bored most of the time than I am … so “I am bored” usually means I have somewhat idea right now…what you feel always, but I don’t mind feeling different, like I do when I am with you. It also means somewhere, someway I am connected.

Dictionary says the word ‘boredom’ is ennui, usually results from too little stimulation, motivation, and interest. I think, maybe it is the feeling that arises when your mind and heart run in different directions, you don’t know what to do and time seems endless… how boring!

I feel like...

I'm the darkness in the light
I'm the leftness in the right
I'm the rightness in the wrong
I'm the shortness in the long
I'm the goodness in the bad
I'm the saneness in the mad
I'm the sadness in the joy
I'm the gin in the gin-soaked boy 

I'm the ghost in the machine
I'm the genius in the gene
I'm the beauty in the beast
I'm the sunset in the east
I'm the ruby in the dust
I'm the trust in the mistrust
I'm the Trojan horse in Troy 
I'm the gin in the gin-soaked boy 

I'm the tiger's empty cage
I'm the mystery's final page
I'm the stranger's lonely glance
I'm the hero's only chance
I'm the undiscovered land
I'm the single grain of sand
I'm the Christmas morning toy
I'm the gin in the gin-soaked boy 

I'm the world you'll never see
I'm the slave you'll never free
I'm the truth you'll never know
I'm the place you'll never go
I'm the sound you'll never hear
I'm the course you'll never steer
I'm the will you'll not destroy

I'm the gin in the gin-soaked boy 

Who am I? 

- lyrics of the gin soaked boy

Love on the dark side

“I found it weird. Can’t understand these characters at all. Weird”, said S today when chatting over the papers. We were discussing our weekends. I just smiled. I saw DevD on Friday, then again on Saturday and planning to see it today too. Can’t say I share her view.

 

“Did you ever have an affair that you were not supposed to have?” I asked keeping my paper down.

“No” she replied

“Do you have a boyfriend?” (I know she does and they are what you call a “coochie coo couple”. Gives me diabetes, and no, I am not saying it because I am envious.)

“Yes”

“Have you ever wanted a man bad enough inspite of having a boyfriend?”  

(She really gave me a dirty look this time)

“No!”

“Ok, just one last question, have you ever in your life felt what it is to love someone who doesn’t love you back. Atleast, not so much?”

“No way, why will I fall in love with a man who doesn’t love me back?”

I smiled.

“Then you won’t get it baby. You don’t qualify.”

 

Yes it’s true. I think I can safely say if you say even yes to any one of these question, chances are you will love the movie. I had qualms on watching it with X. “We both know who we can identify with, so I don’t want to feel worse (read not loved enough, sucker for sad men and ego in a million pieces)”

“It’s just a movie. We will watch” he had quipped.

Ha! Coming out of the theatre, we knew why we love it so much. In addition to being wacky, darkly witty, it captures the essence of dysfunctional love that exists in so many quasi couples…and between us.

 

Looking at the bright side, all you ‘Chandas’ out there (me being one?), there is still hope. It feels good to see that even if Devdas may never stop loving Paro, he loves Chanda too (“such a slut”) and can’t survive without her too.

 

Go enjoy the trip on the dark side. I will too again today evening. 

Nuclear explosions of the culinary kind

Some people cook awesome food. Not only lick your fingers, you can happily lick your plates too. It’s that tasty. My Ma also falls into that category (and I guess all moms do). Unfortunately I don’t. If given a chance I can easily burn water as well.

Looking back, my culinary timeline looks something like this:

11 years old – tried making puri, after watching Jhumka (who used to come in evenings to cook) the previous day. One advantage I always had was since both parents were working, I only had my paternal grandmother to keep an eye over me in the afternoons after school. And she preferred keeping her eyes closed in deep sleep between 2-4pm. Without digressing, the puris came out like rock plates, the oil and dough wasted, and I was left with a burned hand. I still remember my howling gathered everyone from the adjacent flat. I was forbidden to go anywhere near the gas burner without supervision. Sharma Aunty gossiped about it for a week.

13 years old - made Maggi for the first time. Everyone liked it (atleast they said they did). Got really enthusiastic and next time experimented with it adding egg, and vinegar. Even my dog refused to sniff. High hopes of eating it.  

Was too traumatized by rejection to try my hand in anything other than play video games for two years… also got addicted to watching afternoon cooking program on DD (we didn’t have Travel and Living in those days to teach us world cuisine and cable was new, too expensive and absolutely unaffordable). 

16 years old – after gaining enough theoretical knowledge, baked a cake. Started the recipe from scratch. Actually churned the butter out of the cream and made the batter (after all, that’s the sign of a real, gourmet cook). 15 minutes into the oven, the batter started making strange noises and to my horror the cake started rising. Now cakes are supposed to rise, even breads, buns and biscuits are supposed to do the same. But if my kitchen was a Roald Dahl book, my cake would have risen like that a mountain. Back to real world, it was scary cause 1. I was doing it after 3 years and desperately wanted to succeed 2. I had used up all my pocket money in buying the ingredients and if this didn’t go well, I was going to be broke 3. I was scared of Ma, it was suppose to be a pleasant surprise for her but the way it was going, it looked otherwise 4. It looked like the oven was also going to burst if the cake continued to have its way…

And then there was the nuclear explosion of the culinary kind. Thankfully the oven didn’t burst, but the cake did. It committed suicide by erupting like a volcano and oodles of vanilla scented liquid (which was later classified as ghee) started coming out. The dead cake deflated into a dense ball and with it, deflated my hopes of becoming a good cook. 

After much analysis by Ma and my pest younger sister over peals of laughter (much to my chagrin), it was inferred that I had not churned the cream well enough and put too much baking soda. The ghee was used to cook gajar halwa and my dad commented slowly over the dinner table that the halwa tasted like vanilla essence (I wanted to creep below the table and disappear)

21 years old – tea, omlette and Maggi were safe zones now. Time to move to higher pastures I decided. Baked chocolate éclairs for my first crush. The cream and icing came out fine, but the bread…err… no comments.

In last two years things have been on an uphill though. But if the record is anything to go buy, I am sure X may decide to kill me over eating home cooked food for straight three days. Incase you do X, you can have my world movies that you are searching the shops for… 

Sneak Peak

I lie down on the bed. I am exhausted. Emotionally. Mentally. I try to sleep. I check the watch. It’s nine thirty. Too early to sleep. Too late to stay awake. In the conveyor belt of my mind, I check each tag of the luggage it carries to check which ones mine…

Sleep.

Try to sleep.

Sleep

Sleep

X

Y

X

Y

X

X

Confused

Darkness

Love

Hate

Hate = love?

Close your eyes

Empty the mind

Sleep

Sleep

Fill the emptiness

Fill my darkness

Fill my heart

Close your eyes you fool

Close

Last kiss

Smile

My eyes close and I am still smiling…

Home Sweet Home

Yipppeeeeee!
Finally, going home after a year. Although parents are currently staying in another city 3 hours away, Bhopal will always be my home. Few things on the agenda:
1. Check if Aunty (they make one in a million like her- in extreme hurry!) still wears those hideous nightgowns all throughout the day and has the latest gossip on current love affairs to potato prices
2. If Panchmari is still as beautiful as it was when I went camping from school. Maybe, this time I can afford to stay at a nice hotel instead of that makeshift camp between mosquitoes, smell of faint cow dung and coconut oil smell lingering from the hair of my classmate sleeping a few inches away.
3. Does Pradeep uncle (I was always confused, whether pradeep was his name or his son’s name) still run the library at 10 no market? I used to borrow M&B novels on the sly when I was 15 as they were forbidden by Ma (how I wasted my pocket money giving rent on Nagraj/Dhurv/ Doga comics and later M&B).
4. Eat piping hot Jalebis from Chappan Bhog at 7 am in the morning with Poha. Only people living in MP can understand the sweet joys of eating hot Jalebis after every mouthful of Poha.
5. Do teenage school girls and boys still roam around the small lake near the hotel management institute in a strange form of immature mating dance? The nervous smiles, eye locks, swishing bikes and Kinetic Hondas, girls preening like peacocks in their best evening clothes and boys showing off with a dummy guitar on the back (come to think of it now, I doubt if that time Bhopal even had a decent guitar teaching institute).
6. If R eventually got married? Or rather where is he? He never kept in touch once I left for Mumbai, I took so many rides sitting behind, on his bike (left brakes deliberately put included).
7. If A has become a father? How strange life is… at one time I used to wait to just catch a glimpse of him and now, not even one string in my heart will flutter even if he vows to spend an eternity with me.
More than anything else, I can’t wait to see if home still feels like home…

Yours Honestly…

I was trying to talk to X. He was not in the mood, answering in monosyllables. I think he can express everything between ‘ah, hmmm, well and okay’. So simple and convenient. If it’s a trick question like “Do you think you will love me, when I am old and senile?” it can definitely be answered by a “Don’t know”. I also pondered should I even write this? (I know you are reading it X). Should I tell him it hurts to hear these words sometimes, after spending intimate moments, facing his typical indifference? It also leaves me confused. If it’s not there, then why does it feel like it? But then, just for today I have decided I will say, write and speak the truth and nothing but the truth, so help me god (if there is one out there…) cause if it comes like a scene out of ‘liar liar’ and I may not end up as lucky as Jim Carry does. It also answers my dilemma I guess, of debating whether to even write this when I know my thoughts are just a url away…

So here goes the confession of a lesser mortal-

I think marriages are outdated. Any relationship doesn’t guarantee commitment, even if you love someone, so why legalise it anyways? Alexander Woollcott may have been my long lost ancestor. His words “Everything I like is illegal, immoral or fattening” just reinforces my belief. I think I would have been happiest in my life living in sin. But it doesn’t mean I don’t want love. I firmly believe in love, but I think you don’t necessarily have to be binded by love. And yes Mr. Woollcott, I don’t think I am ever going to get slim and have a longer life by throwing away excess weight (even if I starve and kill myself to death anyways to be slimmer and live a little longer)

It breaks my heart to see even my own female relatives (forget about Indian women in general) don’t even have the wish to be liberated. They really love their unequal relationships. I will cook what my husband likes, not wear what my husband doesn’t like, will ask my father to get permission to go for a party. Too scared to break the mold? Or too happy actually to do anything about it? (Someone please tell me, because frankly, I don’t seem to be enjoying the role-play of Ms. Duty)

I like flirting; I think it’s a dying art. Most people automatically link it to sex, whereas it can definitely mean some interesting conversation.

I love it when X pampers me. It’s true. Maybe he is just doing it to get me in a good mood and get me ‘you know where’. But yes it makes me feel wanted, loved. I wish he could open his heart and feel this wondeful feeling of being loved again. And yes, I can’t take a shower without going beet red… you know what lies beneath that phrase X.

I feel sad for Y sometimes. He, being Y, can’t imagine the concept of emotions, people and life changing with time. For him, an emotion expressed at a moment is frozen in eternity. It’s like as you say in Hindi “patthar ki lakeer” (literal meaning- line of stone). How I wish he could see what it feels to be like to change your moods, wants and thoughts as you grow. But then I love indulging in wishful thinking.

I also envy Y. He, being Y, can easily take people for what they are. For him, there are no double meanings to life, what is said is there. The emotion expressed at a moment is frozen in eternity- he can relive it anytime he wants. Fall in love again anytime he wants. But then is it again a wishful thinking?

Sigh! Even honesty doesn’t clear the mind nowadays. Maybe what I really need is the eternal sunshine of the spotless mind. Any honest directions?