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?

2009

I may have to live with some new experiences in 2009. No, I am not going to (thankfully, cause I think it has already overdone with) talk about the Mumbai attacks (not unless I actually plan to do something), or talk about resolutions or list of places I intend to travel in this year. I am going to write about somethings, that on the face of it looks small, but sinks down and these are the things that come back when you lie down on the bed, in someone’s arms or alone and well… think about them (what else can one do I suppose?)

Y doesn’t like X – We talk about female intuitions, so powerful and sometimes so accurate. What I have realized is we are all humans after a point, our gender doesn’t differentiate us. When it comes to a relationship, if you love someone deep enough, you instantly gauge if something is different. Maybe he feels it? My female intuition says so. Why is it that he always frowns when X messages, or doesn’t like the funny anecdotes or jokes I read out from X’s messages? I think male intuition works as well.

X found out my blog – yes he has, yes he read everything, yes it is my stupidity (I mailed him a post… forgetting the existence of Google) and yes he likes it (well I would too if someone wrote a book on me!). What do I do? Well, it ranges from being embarrassed that well, whatever you think or fabricate (now I shall have to insist on some parts being “fabricated” isn’t it?) is on display to the person you never wanted to show it to (other being Y) to cool nonchalance and actually asking “How you find it? ofcourse it is not you, just a little inspiration you see …” (My pride always rescues me, who says pride goes before a fall?)

Object of my affection – this has been the most weird experience of my life. X called one morning to say he has had the most devastating experience of his life. My genetics command that my thinking process goes from worst to better, now ‘devastating’ can’t be good so my thoughts ranged from what if he lost his job to what if he has been diagnosed with AIDS? (Now that really freaked me out). What I got to know later that his ‘love’ of his life got married and didn’t tell him. I also happen to know that the ‘love’ apparently had a breakup three years back but X being X still pinning for her felt his world has ended. I felt his pain, but I draw a line on being the sounding board or a shoulder to cry on from my object of affection for someone else! I am sorry X, I know you will read it and you won’t like it, but you won’t say it. (But then it is my blog, my thoughts, you discovered it and well…live with it). An aftereffect that he may be missing in all his mess is it has somehow made him more approachable, more demonstrative and I can say more human. I think the whole world revolves around hope. More than money, love, power it is the hope of getting the love, money and power that keeps us kicking and when that goes away, survival kicks in. Maybe same is happening with X, he says hope is gone, so what does one do when hope itself is gone? He reaches out to whatever he can cling to… shreds of comfort, people and maybe past memories until hope comes back (and it does). So while he struggles and clings, I just pray it happens sooner than later. As for me, I wonder, does he love her or the memory of her?

I don’t know how will 2010 be when I ponder on these points… will they be there still? Or will I choose to drift away? I know if I was X or for that matter Y, I would have stored myself in a box, placed it in a remote corner of the heart and would have thrown away the key…

Meow Meow

After much thought and deliberation, I think my esteemed cat – Freddie should get a mention in this not so esteemed blog. Why a cat? Well, to start with, after last weekend, I thought I should write on the a tirade on

- Our neglect of responsible citizen duty
- Sadness on such a beautiful Taj Colaba building destroyed (where I attended umpteen conferences, wonder what happened to Crystal hall and ball room? Will they look the same again?)
- Fear of stepping inside Oberoi again, where 90% of my client meetings take place
- Frustration on the government laid back attitude and lastly
- Anger. Anger on why? Why this senseless massacre?

But then, I thought, what the use of writing this is? Unless, I actually get up and do something to resolve any of these points, am I not being one of those million people in India, who are going to dissect it to death, then just shrug and say it is hopeless and carry on with their hum drum lives? Anyways, instead I decided to talk about something more cheerful. Something like my cat.

Did I mention in this blog before that I have a cat? I think not. His name is Freddie, four legs, green eyes, whiskers, black ears and tail – the whole works. Apart from an essay on him, I can also say now (and with a considerable amount of envy) that he is soon becoming the most privileged member of our family.

He is allowed to sit on the dinning table (something I was never allowed to, for the sheer fear that it may break into two) at gran ma’s place. He came home one Sunday afternoon, when after lunch I was too full and lazy to actually get up from my chair to shoo him away. Y took pity on him and gave him milk to drink which he greedily gulped away and started meowing for more. Maybe it was written on Y’s face that he is sucker for all things feline and more charity ensued. What followed (and which is now a set pattern) was Freddie comes everyday, he sometimes even sleeps in. Everyone at home has mellowed to him- including me…

All events of our life have a trickle down effect. We may not realize it that time but it is true nonetheless. With Freddie, it has been the same. I buy more milk. I eat more vegetarian – not because I really want to, but because whenever there is a non vegetarian dish being made, I invariably end up giving half of what I eat to Freddie. I may cook vegetarian food, for him its fish/prawns/meat everyday. He even has a thing for butterscotch ice-cream! (Branded cat I say) I don’t go out so much cause I worry he will stay hungry. I am sure if not anyone else then Menaka Gandhi will be proud me. My friends think he is extremely cute (I think Freddie thinks he is good looking too, going by his airs). S and P went gaga over his picture and B wanted to know if I am getting him back to Mumbai. Y gave him the ultimate honour last month. Freddie became ‘Freddie Chutiya’.

I don’t know whether it is a common Indian male or rather any male phenomenon (didn’t find any research on it) that the more they like something or someone, the more they use profanity for it. Like when I saw my best two buddies meet after six years first thing they said was “salee MC/BC (I hope you know the full form) kahan the itne saal kami**” I had a hard time keeping my face from turning beet red. This was a few years back. Now (thanks mostly to taxi drivers in India), I don’t even bat an eyelid. So I think Freddie has made quite an inroad to Y’s heart and the name has caught on... even Freddie responds when we call him Freddie Chutia!

Thinking on these lines I think I can safely put it in my Christmas wish-list that I definitely don’t mind being a cat in my next life!

Rain on my window

I woke up to the sound of water. It was raining. At first I thought it was the terrace water tank overflowing again. My landlady has this habit of putting on the water pump at oddest hours, sometimes in the middle of night and suddenly you are jolted awake to the sound of falling water. I yawned and looked at the watch 11:45 pm. Well, not that late. The sound was much softer than gushing water and pulling the curtain, sitting on the elevated verandah next to my bed, I saw minute droplets of water spraying on the glass window…

I love rains. They make me nostalgic, happy, pensive and romantic in equal measures. My earliest memory of rains is jumping deliberately into water puddles in an oversized raincoat (to save my school bag as well from getting wet) and splashing the brown muddy water all over the white uniform. I used to love the fact that we were allowed to remove our wet and queasy shoes and socks at school on rainy days. The rough school floor always had a strange comfortable feel to it. The phone beeped, breaking my thoughts.

X had messaged asking if I was sleeping…

“I am a one man woman, I can’t even think of breaking someone’s trust”, I retorted to D. We were lying on the bed, too full after lunch at my place. The stillness gave some time for the food to settle into the inter-molecular spaces and allowed us to move again. “Hmmm… it is hard to remain in one state, be it for a human, or a feeling. You never know…”
That was four years back.

Now I surprise myself into wondering how can one person love two people at the same time? And if it’s wrong why doesn’t it feel wrong to be with X, why does his touch feels so good, or why when he kisses me, my knees give a funny feeling? I feel the same way about Y. Sometimes I wonder is this what it feels like…bittersweet… when you have tiny cracks in your glass wall.

“No, I am awake. Looking at the rain.”
“I miss you”
“Me too”
I wish I could kiss you X, feel your lips over mine, feel your skin, the way you smell immediately after you shave, the mixture of aftershave and soap, I wish I could hold you tight. I also wish I could go back in time and have my perfect glass wall again.

I sighed and went back to bed… Y was snoring softly. I spooned into him and snuggled into a deep comforting sleep.

Correspondence

From: iambeautiful<iambeautiful@gmail.com>
Date: Nov 13, 2008 1:36 PM
Subject: How could you?
To: tunawhatcurry@gmail.com

Dear “Fishcurry”,

Not that I want to call you “dear” but unlike you I still believe in politeness. I can’t even say that I was happy to see you at T’s wedding. I was planning to come but then thought maybe you would be too busy to attend family ceremonies (you never care a damn about family get-together do you?). I can never understand how such good people as Ma and Dad (yours) can give birth to such a wild child. I am ashamed to say that you are my sister after what happened last night. How could you? Even though she quite enjoyed meeting my other two exes, I am shattered! And what about this “I haven’t reached that stage yet? What the hell were you girls talking about?

I have spoken to Ma (yours) and she has promised me that she will call you and ask you to say sorry for your behaviour. This is just not done. Dad (yours) is just too busy to pick up my phone and listen to me. And don’t think just because I am writing to you I have forgotten how on Ma and Dad’s (yours) 25th anniversary, you displayed our old family photographs, one having my naked picture in the group! I still get livid thinking about it. It was extremely embarrassing, staring at my naked picture sitting on the potty and showing bum. I have still not forgiven you.

How could you be such a bitch!

Thanks but no thanks

G

From: tunawhatcurry@gmail.com
Date: Nov 13, 2008 2:36 PM
Subject: Re: How could you?
To: iambeautiful

Dear Dear G,

Since you didn’t want to call me “Dear” in the first place, I thought writing it twice will suffice for both of us eh? When did you last have your medical checkup? You should try Zen meditation… will lower you BP (I think you must be having it? Shouting like the way you do?)

You still even remember that 25th anniversary party? You were 2 year old in that pic and all two year old bums look alike. So don’t worry, no one knows except the “family” as you call it. As for how I got into …err… being that will be best answered by Ma and Dad (mine). Although my personal opinion is Dad (mine) will be shocked that a 30 year old still wants a biology lesson. All I can say to help your cause is Ma (mine) had a lot of rumballs when she was pregnant.

Your current girlfriend, apparently is a lot more intelligent than you, and you will be pleased to know one of your exes (that she managed to bump into, I DID NOT push her) is her batch mate. We are going to see some interesting times aren’t we? And don’t worry they only told me that you haven’t gone…err… all the way yet. I think you took those moral science lessons too seriously. Whatever you say I am happy to note that we share the same gene pool and I am always there for you…

Yours truly,

Bitch
P.S. Are you gay by any chance? All hints point to it.… you can tell me. I would love to have a gay brother. It’s “handsome” not “beautiful”.

My lovesong

Sing me no songs of daylight,
for the sun is the enemy of lovers.
Sing instead of shadows and darkness,
and memories of midnight - sappho
(Now who was sappho? google :) )

Deflower? anyone?

Dave Letterman (don’t ask me who he was, but someone very farsighted I suppose. You can always google him) once said,” Humans are the only animal who can have sex over the phone.” I beg to disagree. They are the only ones who have it on the internet as well. Now before all your twisted thoughts get active, this doesn’t have to do with naughty websites or actions but has to do with naughty words…

I was sitting at D’s place, with a fruit juice in hand (I am trying to stay away from alcohol, end up confessing my ‘ever’ dying love to X in drunken state). She was on her laptop typing furiously and the ‘katkatkatak’ of keyboard was almost giving me a headache.

“What are you working on?”
“Oh nothing… just like that…talking to an old friend”
“Hmmm…”

I picked up my copy of M&B. It was eight years after I picked up a M&B at the airport (Mills & Boons for all deprived romantics) and thought maybe I should read to see how they are writing nowadays, whether it is the same younger trembling women and macho, tall dark, sexy hunks (who also happen to be millionaires and great kissers). How come real life is so different? I mean the one who is handsome doesn’t have money, the who has money has mistresses and the one who has both is gay. Life is unfair tell you. I found the same soppy romantic stuff page after page. I guess some things never change or may be we don’t want them to. M&B kept my romantic fantasies going when I was a high school kid and I am sure by the way it sells, they are still doing a good job at it.

“I am just so disgusted, it is just hormones, and no one actually loves someone like forever!” D said declaring in mid air and almost throwing her laptop aside. That jerked me from my steamy kiss and most probably err… the bedroom scene and I looked at her from my glasses (I had a meeting in Mumbai and had flown down. Glasses always add an extra touch. X was busy and I had an evening free. D was also free, for a change she had no date, so I went down to her place to enjoy her big fluffy bed and to sleep in with the AC blasted at artic temperatures, and you value AC when you live in a city like Mumbai. Callous but true. Besides there is something so snuggly to sleep in a chilly room under soft warm blanket.)
“What happened?” I asked.
“These men, they just want one thing all the time”
“Food?”
“Duh!!! Sex”
“Ah. And what brings it on?”
“Hold on, I need to check on our microwave pasta, I smell something burning”

I took the opportunity to snatch the laptop and check my mail. Her G talk was still open and she was having err… what can only be called cyber sex with some bloke is US! I like a good girl closed that window, and like a bad girl couldn’t help noticing words “deflower”, “womanhood” and “manhood”. It was funnier to me than eeeeky. I thought those words had gone away with the M&B novels I read 8-10 years back. Does anyone use “deflower” nowadays or for that matter know its meaning? (Incase you don’t know, you know where to go – Google). I also noticed how D connected more on an emotionally level. Even for a verbal and may be a casual encounter the words focused around “hugs”, “kisses”, “feelings” and the man, the US dude, was pretty graphic. What is even more interesting is how men and women connect even on the internet. For all those long distance lovers, there is no other way to make out, but even in words, women focus more on emotions where men are more on – what else but as they had put it “manhood”! (And you thought I was going say food). I wonder which gene mutation made us so fundamentally different. I guess, I can say at some level it is true that sex is equally between the ears as between the legs for a woman. But till it sinks in with the majority of the opposite side, I guess there will be more “Hail womanhood, my manhood beckons!” to be heard, errr… read about.

Live to Eat

On Thursday everybody in the office had three things on their computer screens:
a travel website giving weekend options
rakhi card websites
online games and orkut
It was the last working day of the week and everyone- including me was looking toward the long weekend – Friday to Sunday, official holiday. Gods are being kind and we have Independence Day, rakshabandhan and Sunday all in a row!

Unlike my colleagues, I was not going out anywhere (since I figured I am going to bump into the same lot there too- everyone was fleeing to weekend retreats). I have no brother in town so rakshabandhan too was going to be limited to phone calls, I had my itinerary ready – sleep, eat, watch TV, read, listen to radio, sleep, eat… basically the order kept on repeat. It was a jolt, therefore, to find out that Saturday (today) was going to be a busy day.

Saturday early morning got two phone calls – my landlady decided to celebrate her 25th marriage anniversary (now I really salute all you couples out there… I can’t even think how I will stay alive for 25 years … forget stay married). It was a dinner invitation. Gran ma called next. Last week being Y’s birthday, she wished to take us out for lunch. Now even though I planned to rot at home like an alligator, I admit, I was surprised and relieved. I won’t have to cook food and no utensils to wash- Yippee! Today was going to be a great day…

It is close to eleven thirty now and I came back from that dinner an hour ago. And I feel like a python, yes a python that has swallowed an oversized prey and can’t move. Much to my embarrassed and surprise (at my eating capacity), I ponder over the list of trash that has gone in:
- breakfast – aloo puri
- lunch – galouti kabab, mutton kadai, chicken curry, biryani, rice, rabri, fresh lime soda
- dinner – chana dal, cake, lachcha parantha, mutton korma, malai kofta, fish roll, sandesh, icecream and rasgulla.

Phew! No wonder more than love, money and world peace, all I want right now (as I clutch my growling tummy) is pudinhara!

Gene Pool

I took my grandmother out. I thought she looked tried of life’s banality and needed a break (or maybe it was me), but together we went. We had stepped out of a book launch – a translation in Bengali of La Douleur. My French was rusty and I can’t even understand Bengali to save my life, so I sat there, with a fake smile counting the minutes ticking by and was the first one to flee (I didn’t even try out the flavoured tea they were offering) with gran ma in my tow. She is much more sociable than I am. It was her friend who translated that book. Mrinal Sen was there, he also knows her. I was quite thrilled for that one second to be among old people who were sparkling like precious antiques.

We wandered around aimlessly for a while, taking in the sultry, humid weather mingled with dust, honking horns and neon restaurant boards of Park Street. I asked her what she wanted to eat. She said she was game for anything, it took her to a Spanish bar and pub (atleast that’s what it said), it was first time for me too. It turned out to be a pleasant surprise- futuristic décor, eye tonic staff and good music. I think gran ma was much more thrilled than I was. Maybe she remembered her Canada days… to my surprise she asked for the drink menu and ordered a beer. I ordered a frozen watermelon margarita- something I had never heard before- and found myself staring at a huge fountain of crushed ice topped with margarita mixture and watermelon juice. By the time I could finish even half of it; my gran ma was on her second mug.

I was feeling woozy in head but relaxed and nice, I commented,” This is new you. I never thought we would have such a nice time. Now I also know which side of the gene pool I inherit. My dad’s family never even touched alcohol. They were pure vegetarian Brahmins…”

“I know darling. But I am happy you go after our side. We are more interesting,” she replied and winked.

It is strange how naïve we are as children. We have this perfect world around us and as we grow older, we start spotting cracks, blemishes and let’s say how imperfect our world really is. The final straw comes when we ourselves realize we are not perfect and become more tolerant of ourselves and maybe others. Learning how to see and not really see at times.

When I was a kid, my gran ma was someone I had most fun with. She still is a hugely entertaining person. A free spirit…but apart from just humour, jest and vitality, now, after 20 years, I also see the sadness of leaving her alcoholic husband after 20 years of marriage, of losing her sister to malaria- the deadly of all kolkata diseases, of going through the harrowing time of breaking the news to her second daughter that she was adopted… still as she herself says,” I don’t care what happened in the past, I am here to live my present, my future.”

My maasi had the perfect marriage in my eyes, I remember, 15 years back, they were posted in Dehradun, Mausaji is in the defense services. I was 13 years old and had gone to spend the summers. They had this huge old house with lots of servants. I got whatever I asked for breakfast and used to see from the window the couple sitting in the verandah sipping tea and gazing each other adoringly (yuck! Should have known then… it does sound sickly sweet). Ten years down the line … I knew enough to realize that my Maasi was having an extra marital affair and my Mausaji was too artificial in life to do anything about it (I think, he too was having an affair… pretty convenient say?). Talking of extra marital affairs… I am the not the one to pass judgements anyways.
“Why are you giving such a funny expression?”

That jolted me back to present and I asked her, “Do you think I have taken the dark side of the family too?”

“Well dear, everyone has a dark side, some people accept it and live with it and some try to hide it. It is a double edged sword, but everyone has to deal with it”

“How come ma turned out to be so different?”

“She had genes from your Nana’s side I guess; they were always prim and proper. He was too except for his alcoholism,” she replied winking at me.

I smiled at her spunk. Thankfully somethings still remain the same.

Tale of two cities

I was looking out of the small window and saw rain striking the glass obliquely, making slant watery lines as they got washed away due to high speed. It was shaky and I clutched the handles of my seat inspite of going through the drill innumerous times. I always get butterflies when a plane takes off. It is the mild version of the giant wheel for me. (It is also a scarier version, since have seen enough programmes on Discovery Channel on airplane crashes). I was flying from Mumbai to Kolkata. Nowadays I try to live a double life in its truest form. Shuttling between Kolkata and Mumbai. Work is divided, friends are divided, love is divided and even lovers are divided between these two cities…

“God I missed you”
“Well… doesn’t feel like it. You hardly call.”
“I always reply to your messages”
“Should I say thank you?”
X kissed me on my forehead as a reply.
“You know I am a married woman”
Kiss on the cheeks
“You also know that I have a low opinion of men”
Kiss on the eyes
“I have decided, I am going become a nun”
He silenced me with a kiss on the lips.
“You can’t become a nun dear when you kiss like that”
“Hmmm”
“Feeling guilty?”
“Hmmm. Lets go out; sitting with you here can only lead to one place.”

I just looked at him while sipping my tea. I think we both realized how much we missed each other. I was leaving in an hour – to Kolkata. I said, “So, till we meet again. Miss me”.

Is there a way I can have my cake and keep it too?