Cocknut Oeel and Lungi Lifters - a journey.

It was 9 'o' clock on a Friday night, and nobody had turned up yet. Silenty cursing myself for listening to P, i bided my time in my ex-office, with Khats keeping me company. 9:30 came and went, and still there was no sign of anyone. 9:45, 9:5... My phone rings. P is downstairs with a couple of friends. Phew.

I go down, meet the rest of them. Shouting, screaming, Machcha, Vatta, and plenty of laughter. Captain comes from the party he was attending, R arrives on his Enfield and with him, the guy whose send-off party it was. The minibus meanwhile circles M.G Road and reaches office. There's some more screaming, shouting, exchanging news and gossip, till we decide to put a stop to it and make a move instead. So we board the minibus - 7 of us. And we start our journey to Kerala.

Thrissur, more precisely. Where beefeaters are on the loose, toddy is as free-flowing as the little springs on the forest-covered mountains, and the men are mighty horny. No matter, P and I had been through worse; besides, we had plenty of men in our friend circle to keep us out of trouble. Men who were primarily Mallus themselves, men who were both calm and agressive depending on the situation, men who were protective of the women who were with them, men who were...smashed out of their skulls right now and utterly incapable of putting a sane finger to their foreheads. I decided to get to sleep after a while, considering that the next day we were going to explore Thrissur, its little toddy shops and authentic delicacies. My last thought before falling asleep was that tomorrow morning, we would be meeting the rest of the gang at the hotel where our accomodation had been arranged.

Fat chance.

I woke up at 6:30 the next morning to the news that Calicut had a bandh going, and no vehicles were allowed to get through. No four-wheelers, that is. We stopped at a chai shop in Sultanbathery, had a glassful of sweet tea and coconut biscuits (i should have guessed its ingredients were harbingers of what was to come in the following days) and discussed our woeful situation. The bandh was going to be on till six in the evening, and any vehicle attempting to move around then was being stoned. Depression hit us hard as the bus moved on so we could try our luck anyway. Mountain greenery whizzed past us, rubber plantations with plastic bags pasted on them to collect the adhesive stood tall and silent, tea and coffee plantations smiled their fresh leafy smiles. But none of it could cheer us up.

Abruptly, we came upon a clearing. Curiosity made us look out, and the beauty of it left us gasping for air.

Spread out in front of us was an endless sea of clouds, enveloping all land in sight. Mountains peaked out here and there, creating tears in the white fluff. Like an army marching forward, the clouds moved on slowly, reflecting the little rays of sunshine that could penetrate the layers high above. It's the kind of thing you see when you look out of an aircraft window, not on a road trip. But it was beautiful. A quietness embraced the entire place, the only sound coming from the rustling created by monkeys jumping around on the trees lining the slope.

We would have stayed longer and marvelled at the phenomenon, but we had to move on to try our luck at getting past Calicut before the bandh started.

Just as we reached the beginning of the road that led to the town, we were stopped by a bunch of very serious-looking men. Uh oh, trouble. But they were only warning us not to go further. We did, though, and got stopped again. It was the story of our lives that day, being stopped multiple times. Finally giving in to circumstances, we headed back the way we came to eat breakfast at a hotel in Kalpetta. Feasted on dosas with masala curry, puttus, idiappams and fish curry at 7:30 in the morning. Authentic Kerala food. Delicious. Deciding on exploring Wyanad (more out of force than choice), we headed to Pookod Lake. Pedalled around a bit, was fascinated by the dragonflies in various colours, tried shooting a very attractive water snake, gave up and went to eat lunch. For the first time in my life, i had fried rice and omelettes made in coconut oil. Uhh, no comments on either.

It started raining cats and dogs, and we sent up a silent prayer. The torrent meant that all those hooligans blocking the road and stopping our progress would be seeking protection from the lashing. So we could try our luck again.

And we did. We got stopped a couple of times, but that was it. The worst part of it was, the guys who were stopping us were not a day older than 25 and absolutely clueless about what it was they were doing. It was fun for them to threaten vehicles with huge stones in their hands all ready to be hurled at the windscreen. At one stop, the boys were in their early teens, and that much more aggressive in their youthfulness.

We were able to reach Thrissur only at 7:30 in the evening. The effects of alcohol had all worn off, our tushes were sore from sitting, our faces shrunk and our state-of-being positively uncomfortable. P and I were allotted 206 at Hotel Casino. We met with the rest of the gang in 312, freshened up and headed to K's for dinner. There were still eight strangers, there to attend K's wedding, and i don't think i spoke to any of them that night.

The party began at K's place, and continued at the hotel but i wasn't part of it - the desire for sleep outweighed all others. Sunday was going to be a long day. And a longer night.

We missed the main part of the wedding on Sunday, and reached in time to witness the endless chanting of prayers by the bishop and pastors (or were they fathers?). It was 3 before they decided to take pity on us standing-upright souls and wrap up for lunch. The food was great - there was appam, fish in coconut milk, fish in spicy-sour gravy, beef, pork, baked lobsters, salads, avviyal, rice and for desert...black forest cake with ice cream.

In a state of inebriation, we headed back to the hotel. Some wanted to hit the bed, others wanted to hit the beach. The latter bunch won - i guess it was more so because us women were quite adamant about it, and nobody had the strength to argue. Fixing the time of departure to the beach as 5, we headed to our respective rooms.

P and I were all charged up and couldn't get to sleep. So in the true (but warped) spirit of "When in Kerala, do as the Keralites do", we took some really cheap Mallu magazine-kind pictures, and made crank calls to 312 - where A, A, R and S were trying to get some sleep. Once in Kannada, once in pseudo-Malayalam, and once in a husky-ho voice. They gave up, they did. And came down to our room to have some chai, and then leave to soak up some sun.

Except that there was no sun. We reached the beach at 6:45 - by this time it gets pretty dark in Kerala. How we stumbled all the way up to the water in the dark, i don't know. But once there, we went berserk. I was at a distinct disadvantage - being short, overweight and half-blind. The result was that i was really slow to react, so constantly in the firing range, sometimes even surrounded by five people trying to semi-drown me. Like the women in Pirelli and KF calendars, we posed for some 'sexy' pictures. In the dark. The waves broke the ice for me, and by the end of the beaching, i was pretty familiar with the eight people whom i hadn't spoken to till then.

The next question was: Stop at a family BnR or get back to the hotel and party? We were smelling of the sea - an odour that smells pleasant only in dreamy novels and our imaginations - and coated in a thin layer of fine-grained sand, so the choice was pretty clear.

Back at the hotel, the party started at 9 and went on till the wee hours of morning. I was a madwoman that night, probably the maddest ever. But i had fun. And a cussing match with H, who i think was pretty stunned with my ability to hurl abuses with such ease. (Well H, to tell you the truth, i was sort of stunned myself.)

I had to wake up three hours after i got to sleep to attend another wedding. This one was in Kochi, and was going to take me 1 1/2 hours to get to. At least, that's what they told me.

Two and a half hours later, i was still on my way to the wedding. I was pissed with myself, the car driver, the day (it was Monday, and everybody was in a mad rush to get to work, schools and colleges), the whole world basically. I experienced a feeling of Deja Vu when my tushie started hurting. When i finally got to the wedding hall, i had missed the wedding. Great.

I saw the garlanding ceremony, and was part of the welcoming party for the bride and groom as they entered the mantap for the garlanding. I was highly embarassed because i had reached late, and Ash - the friend who got married - had taken great care to see that i wasn't left alone in the sea of strangers, and was fed and kept company. She also fired me a little for being stupid enough to leave my luggage back at Thrissur and not bringing it along because the airport was half an hour away from the wedding hall. Thankfully, it was her wedding and she got distracted quite easily from giving me any more grief.

So it was that i stuffed my face rapidly and embarked on my journey back. I was even more pissed now because i had just screwed up, true Nabila style - i had rushed to the wedding, i had rushed through the wedding, i had rushed out of the wedding and had still not managed to say bye to A, A, R and S who had a 3:30 p.m flight to Hyd. My flight was at 6:15 and i was still on the way to Thrissur at 2 'o' clock. And i hadn't packed before i left for Kochi in the morning.

I managed to make it back to the hotel by 2:45 and pack. Now it was time for Rush Hour 2 - i went to J and M's room - where M was trying to induce vomitting so he could bring down the alcohol levels in his body. J was panicking on my behalf and calling up the rest of the guys who had gone for a Kerala Ayurvedic Massage, to ask them to come back quickly so we could leave and i could catch my flight.

Poor guys, i quite rushed them. But they had their bit of revenge...at the bakery!!! Banana chips, that's all they were. But you should have seen these guys go at it - as if it were El Dorado, and they had to pick a sample of each and every gold nugget they could. They mused over which packet to buy: the 250 gram one on the left or the 250 gram one on the right? Siiigh...

4:30, and we were about 10 kilometres away from the airport. I was sitting coiled like a spring, while H beside me tried to make me feel better by saying, "Don't worry, you'll reach in time. I always rush in the last minute too, chill."

I didn't let them stop for toddy even. And good thing, that. Because their flight was delayed, and while i rushed to check-in and get my boarding pass, they zipped off in search of 'refreshments' without even saying bye. Except for J, who joined me at the check-in counter and then left to meet his cousin.

I landed in Bangalore exhausted but full of funny memories. Every minute was worth it. Here's a list of some of the things that have stayed with me:
- The sliced pineapples, raw mangoes and amlas soaked in salt water with chopped-up chillis. Very yummy.
- Coconut oil omelettes. Still can't get over it.
- Palam puri - sweet bananas chopped in half, coated with maida batter and fried. In coconut oil.
- Urli vada - onion pakodas, excpet they were flat as a mini-chapati and quite different in taste. Was it the coconut oil?
- Lungis everywhere - all males, except for the self-conscious odd young fellow, wear lungis which they proudly kick up and fold (sometimes) high over their knees. Doesn't leave much to the imagination. (Apparently, the lungis are colour-coded. As in, Hindus from different castes wear a particular colour of lungi, Muslims wear coloured ones, Christians wear another colour, and so on and so forth.)
- The clouds covering Calicut, the ones we saw from one of the winding roads at Wyanad.
- K getting married. I still can't believe it.
- The madness that happened at the hotel on Sunday night. And some.
- The new bunch of friends i made from Mumbai, who'd come for K's wedding. Surprisingly, we all got along instantly. No frills, no frowns, and best of all, no snobs.
- Kochi Airport. Everybody's so... chilled out. Even the security check people. They're all smiling and nice to the people flying. Even the air hostesses seem friendlier.

I'd love to go back again. To explore everything that i didn't have the time for in this trip.

Blooper consequences.

He called back! He called back just now! Phew!

Oh no. No no no no no.

What did i do? What did i bloody do????? I just called him after years, and i feel like scum!!! I shouldn't have, i shouldn't have! Blame my passport application for it!

I turned my room upside down, inside out last evening in search of my degree et al certificates, and found a couple of things from a phase of life that has never actually left me. It got me thinking yesterday, for the first time ever - how did i manage to do something like that? Where did the courage to do those things i did all those years ago, come from? And as always, i wanted to find out what he'd thought i was like then, what sort of an impression of me had i left with him. So i got to office today and shot out a mail to him.

Like that wasn't enough, i had an urge to call him. So i did. And his wife picked up. And it was awkward, not so much because well...it was a woman calling, but because it was a strange woman. Strange, since he didn't have my number stored on his phone!! I don't even know if the phone belongs to him or his wife!

He came on the line (i heard whispers in the background, something like him groaning at the thought of having to talk to me) and i could hear the place echoing, and a bit of traffic. So he comes online and says, "Hey i'm in traffic. Can i call you in some time on this number?" Oh God, it was so awkward. So, so, so awkward. I feel like the earth should split and i should get swallowed right now. I'm thinking his lie was fairly obvious, thanks to the echoes and the pause during which his wife communictaed to him, his voice replying in the distance. I'm taking it that he doesn't want to talk.

I feel miserable. More like, ashamed. I think i have this sado-masochistic streak in me that makes me do these things.


(I generously copied this from a friend's blog. It is exactly what i feel like right now.)

A for Abuse. (Statutory Warning: Parental Supervision required for people below 18.)

Isn't that something most of us have experienced in our childhood? Things that we repress for so long that they feel like a figment of our imagination? And that come back to us one day as we dwell and dwell on an incident of the past for no apparent reason?

I have been through abuse quite a few times in my growing-up years, and those times were pretty traumatic. They were all by complete strangers; in time i learnt to treat each as just another episode in life, and move on. These experiences are not something i am proud of because they have taught me something, yet i think about them from time-to-time as a third person would about a friend who's been through it. It was during one of these sessions that it came to me that i had experienced one such incident in all its severity when i was...oh, a toddler maybe. Around 3 or 4 years old. And my neighbour had put me through it.

The funny thing is, i never told my parents about it. Because it didn't feel like abuse then. I wasn't even old enough to think such thoughts. We moved out of that house and i met the guy 12 years later at another neighbour's wedding. Let's just say he completely avoided me, and by then i knew why. Even then, i never told my parents about it. What was the point then?

I was reading a book - Listening Now. I don't quite know how to describe it, but it's full of thoughts of female characters who play different roles - mother, wife, lover, daughter, daughter-in-law, sister... and the funny thing is, each one of them has been through some form of abuse or the other. All, in their formative years. Some, after they have turned into full-blown women. I think that's when it's the worst - because you feel the shame, the pain, the hurt and the desolation in full force. It's not something you can talk about then, because you will be held responsible for everything that happened to you. As a child, it's easier to deal with these things because these emotions are not fully formed then, and yet those incidents have an uncanny ability to taint your perspective about certain things forever. Like a dear, dear friend of mine was telling me.

She's been through some in her childhood, and she never realised these things had happened to her till she was in her late teens. They came back to her in her sleep. The night it struck me, she said, i cried till morning. After all those years, i couldn't remember anything except that this man took me to his room and the lights were switched off. I guess i understand now why i hate being touched. The good thing is, those scars have been blunted by the passing years, and she's been able to carry on with life.

Not so with another friend who seems to have had it very, very bad and refuses to talk about it. What rankles about him is his attitude - 'I have been through so much, i have seen so much' - a sort of justification for everything he does. Or doesn't do. To him i have just one thing to say - Buddy, move on. The severity of our experiences might be different, but when it comes to feeling violated, torn and dirty, we all sail the same hole-infested boat. We just chose to swim when the time came to get out of the flotsam. You should too.

Us abused but moved-on-in-life ones still have mechanisms to avoid further incidents - mechanisms that i shared with a friend yesterday, and discovered - to my amusement - that they were quite common. Like spotting a man walking the other way on the footpath, and moving as far away as possible; or slowing down to let the man behind you pass up to get ahead. Little, comforting security measures. My young cousin had one too. She'd just begun to feel the weight of womanhood upon her slender shoulders. When she walked, it was like she would cave in to stop people from staring at her sprouting chest. It distressed me, because she was letting the world get to her - a man's world, a world created by society, by everything her elders held sacrosanct. So i did to her what a man i completely love to this day did to me - told her on the face in all frankness that she coulcn't help what was happening to her, or what she had. So why not be proud about it? I remember it worked wonders for me, and i think it did for her too - i've never seen her slouch after that. I'm hoping that this incident sort-of broke the ice for her to come and talk to me whenever she feels like something wrong's happening to her. And that it helped her feel better about being a woman.

I do have plenty of other growing-up cousins too, many of them girls. And i constantly live in the fear that something might happen to them some day, and they might not be able to talk about it. I constantly worry about what i can do to make it easier for them, how i can watch them always without intruding on their privacy or their life, protect them. And then i think, i'm being a parent already. And i understand, for once, why there are so many rules and regulations garrotting a baby girl's growth into a woman.

P.S: I'm okay with talking about incidents from my life because i'm able to distance myself from them. They are extremely personal, yes. But they are used in this piece in an effort to reach out to all those who've experienced things of this sort, and to tell them, you're not alone.

...

Hunger's playing tricks with my mind. HELP!

Meet Red.

His innards show that he was conceived quite some time back in a Maruti workshop in Shivajinagar. But he was delivered on Friday, September 21, 2007.

He's christened Red. And i love him. Absolutely love him.

Seeing Red.

I have absolutely no respect for people who taunt or pass snide remarks for no reason.

In the past twelve hours, i have had such remarks thrown at me not once, but twice. And i must say that i'm fast losing respect for both these people. But that's really not what's bothering me. What's got me livid is that their words found their way under my skin - while they have no right to do it or basis for it, i'm assuming they feel churlish enough to say things that actually hurt and make you feel like scum from the bottom of Ulsoor lake. I can understand one's insecurity and the childish barbs that result from it, but i cannot understand the other's sarcasm. The sarcasm is still alright, the barbs are not because those digs have been happening for a while. I've ignored them this far but i can't anymore because they are really, really pissing me off now. So much so, that i have to get it out of my system so i can get down to finishing some work.

I could get even by getting down to their level, but i don't want to grow immature in the process. The satisfaction and pleasure of slinging words where it hurts most would soon be overshadowed by an overwhelming sense of guilt, and it's the guilt i can't live with.

Maybe i just need to talk to somebody about it. Maybe i will. But sweet heaven, if they try that thing with me again, it won't be long before they experience hell. Bloody, bloody hell.

Baby on board!

Sometimes you're just so glad things happen the way they do.

I didn't get an auto even after half an hour of waiting outside office, appearing to all and sundry on the roads like i was waiting to offer my 'services' to the right one who came along. Desperate, i thought of everybody who could possibly take me home safe, away from prying eyes. N's name popped into my head and i called her. Got an auto easily enough to her office. I told N about S being in town, and how i had been trying to get in touch with her. What ensued was a long-drawn phone call to S, where she claimed she didn't care if i bothered to meet her now, i 'didn't really matter anymore' etc. etc. And that's how we came to meet her last night.

S is close to eight months pregnant with her second baby. As we sat and caught up - S giving me these 'i-know-what-you're-upto' looks once in a while that and N adding fuel to the fire - S gave a start and said, "Hey, you want to feel the baby move?"

I can tell you, it is the most freaky sensation ever. Surreal. I could feel the little one's heartbeat go dub-dub (yeah, i know it's supposed to be lub-dub but what the heck)... feel her kicking furiously against mommy's belly, like she was practicing karate with her little feet. It was lovely, lovely.

I sort of know now why those macho men make those puppy-eyed 'awwwwwww' faces in the movies when they feel the bloated stomachs of their pregnant wives.

Alone in a crowd.

The story goes that one day, a poor woman was left behind by her out-of-town friends who watched a movie she was dying to watch too, without her. Sentimental psychopath that she was, the hurt at not being part of the foursome pricked her and rather than sit around and mope, she decided to do something about it.

Which explains how she ended up at a theatre on a Friday afternoon to watch the same movie. Sans company.

It was a completely new experience for her - she'd only dreamed about doing things like these alone, never actually done them. Having excused herself with some lame explanations from the place she was supposed to be at at the appointed hour, she rushed to the closest mall to buy herself a ticket to the movie. With two hours to kill before the drama started, she decided to do what she did best: eat. So she headed to the steak house in the mall and dug into an... omelette. Rather, an apology for one. From there, she headed to the only bookstore around and bought Lemony Snicket's 'A Series Of Unfortunate Events - Book 2' and perused it to kill some more time before the show began.

Undecided whether to buy popcorn or slush or nachos or Pepsi, she went with the option she was second best at: spending time in the ladies' room. Here, she clicked what she hoped would be one of her many entries into the Tasveer exhibition.

There done, she headed to the screen at which the movie was being played and prayed that the chairs next to her wouldn't be occupied. More so by men. Poor, poor woman, her prayers went unanswered. A bunch of pimply, lanky, college-going students filed into the seats beside her. I can handle this, she thought. They're just kids anyway, I'm way older than them. 20 minutes into the movie, she jumped out of her seat and scooted to the row above where there were plrnty of empty seats with a fabulous view of the screen. Sighing with pleasure, she parked her tush into the seat and watched the movie in solitude - laughing when she wanted to, shifting sides without worrying about disturbing people on either side of her (because there were none!), eyes agog at the slick transformations of the Cybertrons.

As the movie came to an end and the people spilled out, she couldn't suppress the smug smile of satisfaction at having done something so...ridiculously unlike her. It sure beat depending on others to watch a movie with, though. Besides, she enjoyed the alone-ness.

As she got into the auto to head home, she decided she would do this more often.

I love my Sony Ericsson K750i.

Unfortunately, i couldn't paste the SE blob on the title - that would have made it more in keeping with the campaign. (Alright, sorry, sorry!)

I started the day deciding that today i would transfer all the pictures i had taken with my K750i camera onto my PC in the office. Man, am i impressed.

The photographs have come out really nice. The resolution and picture quality is ass-kicking. The night mode isn't all that great, the pictures turn out quite grainy. Or maybe it's how i clicked. Anyway, this is a sample picture. (2.5x optical zoom, the max i could go. I was trying to take the eagle perched right on top of the tree.)

If you'd like to see more of these, follow this link to my flickr page: http://www.flickr.com/photos/7610705@N04/sets/72157601854312750/

Cloud Nines and Seventh Heavens...

I got back from Hyderabad half hour ago, after six days of rain-soaked, shot-glassed, palatable, super sonic, blissful pleasures.

We took the rains along with us the day we left - A, Amb and I. It poured non-stop for two days and the weather was absolutely gorgeous. What added to it was the locality and the home where i was staying - open, quiet, very residential. I bonded with cousins, visited relatives, got plenty of sarees, lazed. Moved bags to Secunderabad on Day 3 and the madness started. Dinners, lunches, UNO, Moksh, paya soup at ITC Kakatiya, Dublin - with a kick-ass DJ, for whom i even left a note, Lifestyle - where i picked up sexy shot glasses for A, Deli 9, office and its terrace, late-night TV, a chance rendezvous or two, blood-shedding fights...Woo hoo, it was one maniacal roller-coaster ride.

To top it all, i could take pictures on my return flight (i went berserk with my phone camera) - i saw complete fantasy parks in the sky, dinosaurs, giant turtles, men at war, the works.

Sigh. I regret getting back to work, but i return a happy woman.

Urge.

I want to get back to being who i was.
But then maybe i can't because this is who i'm supposed to be.
But then i'm not happy with being this,
so where does that leave me?

O Weekend Wonderful!

A good weekend after a long time. Good because i had a lot to do, and i enjoyed every minute of it - even the 'M' word comments that my aunts kept inserting subtly into our conversations.

Let's start with Friday night. I finished early, hung around waiting for an auto, spotted two colleagues going into Casa's for refreshers and joined them. (Warning: Only if you have a really sweet tooth must you try the Chocolate Marble Cake.)

Got home, dragged dad to a store that sold mobile phones. Bought a Sony Ericsson K750i (that too, after two hours of procastination on the 750, 790, 810, 20,000 blah blah...) and i absolutely love it. AND it has a camera!(Of course, my battered old Nokia 33 something is still my first love.)

Saturday i bunked gym. (Yes, i feel awful about it, but the back-to-back Salsa-Bellydancing-Jazzfunk classes today will be my redemption.) Went for Chak De India with chilla pilli in the evening, brought the theatre down with hoots and claps - esp. when our sobby SRK says, "Woh kya hai na, humaare hockey mein chakkey nahi hote." Lovely, one more cricket-hater. (As an aside, SRK's acting was commendable. The role suits his age more than the sloppy necking scenes with Rani in 'KANK'. Ugh. Oh, which reminds me, Kunal Kapoor is such a sloppy-wet on-screen pucker-upper - you have to see the trailer of 'Laga Chunari Mein Daag' to know what i'm talking about. Eeeeyuuuuuu, just thinking about it gives me the heebie-jeebies.)

Sunday had it's own list of things to share. Get a little presentable to receive Aunt at the doorstep (there was no way i was getting up early and going to the station to escort her family home), meet Mota-Langda (it's a joke R, do not take offense) and Langoor before they left for Hyderabad, go over to Ri's place for K's send-off session and sleep-over. The sleep-over was super fun. Not to mention some really creepy, crazy videos we caught on V and my (!!!) phone cameras.

Verdict: This is what great weekends are about. Although i don't recommend Sunday night glugging unless there's a holiday on Monday.

Coming up next weekend: A trip to Green Valley.

Midnight among the mountains.

It was midnight and the rocks were taking a break. They were wind-worn, moist with fog and tired of supporting the flora and fauna around them. Like that wasn't enough, men had peed on them through the day, rubber-soled shoes had trampled on their rocky surfaces (they got their revenge though, turning slippery at places) and the behinds of many a human had mooned them. Just as they breathed their relief at having been left alone, what should they hear but the srcunching of wheels on gravel in the distance.

Two mini-buses full of over-enthusiastic midnight trekkers had just arrived!

They were filing out of the bus, forming a circle and...wait a minute, what are they saying? "Dangerous Deepu, Smart Sreeni, Jolly Jason, Gullible George, Perfect Pallavi..." this wasn't making sense. And why were they moving their hands towards and away from their chest like that, was it some sort of self-stabbing exercise? And, OMG! What was that funny hip thing they were doing??

*-*-*-*-*

I refused to move my butt in the Juguju (my dance instructor's term for it is 'Rhonde', and elegantly so) and stayed put, watching the others in the circle: K shivering slightly - her wind cheater was brand new, smart, but highly lacking in providing protection from the cold; GK smoking on the side, his bulky backpack resting beside him; A with his camera; S laughing silently... and on the other half of the circle, all the techies trying to be cool trekkies. They wouldn't have been half as bad, if it wasn't for the fact that i heard two of them cracking Tiger Defense 101 jokes in the mini-bus - "What would you do if a tiger jumped over you? Catch its balls! Ha ha ha ha ha!"

We walked a kilometre on a road made of red soil to get on to the hill christened Kalwarbetta - one of the highest and steepest climbs in the Nandi range. At one point, it felt like the beginning of the Blairwitch Project - flashlights encountering void because they weren't powerful enough to penetrate the air to hit the hills on either side, fences made of dried, thorned bushes and sudden cave-ins of the road. To add to it, just before i left home my mother got weirdly emotional and asked me not to go because she had had a bad dream about me a few days ago.

The moment of ascent crept up slowly on us. It began innocently enough and i was thrilled to bits about actually doing it. By the first break, i couldn't catch up with my own breath, leave alone the rest of the fellow trekkers. The view behind was worth it though - much like the view key-jangling man in ET gets when he stands at the edge of the cliff/mountain. Two minutes later we were climbing again. I think it was at this point that i really began to lose it - my body began protesting, quietly admonishing me for not having gymmed that day so i could be prepared for the pain and shortness of breath. (K was humming songs all the way up. Kickboxing thrice a week must be much tougher.)

My vision blurred, my lungs gave up and i could only see darkness around me. (Duh.) A ray of light pierced the darkness and i heard the oracle speak, "Hey, are you okay? Do you want water? Sip it, don't gulp, you'll only get more tired." She was a vision of strength, stamina and motivation. Ashamed as i am to say it, i didn't let her leave my side through the rest of the trek. Her left hand pressing into the hollow of my back kept me moving throughout. In between, i lost my balance real bad and would have tumbled God-knows-how-many feet, but she was there to propel me forward. In short, i was a complete sissy.

Three-quarters of the way up, somebody shone the light on the oracle's face, and who should i see but Anita, a classmate from college! The rest of the trek was easy-breezy (!) because i had somebody to talk to. (P claims to know my year book by heart, that's how much catching up Anita had to do from me.)

After all the huffing and puffing, it was sort of an anti-climax when we reached the top of the hill because it came so abruptly. The once-erect fort of Tipu Sultan lay scattered in ruins, grass and lichen growing over the stones. It looked haunting and gorgeous. At least what we could see of it, because the fog was descending rapidly. We had three hours to kill before sunrise, and no tents or bonfire to keep us warm. Temperatures dropped so much that any minute Dementors would come flying at us out of the castle, wearing armours and crying "Tipu Sultan! Zindabad!". K sat huddled in seven layers of clothing (alright, five), P and GK constantly smoked, S was just standing and A for the better part of it was one among the circle of people who were playing games. I was walking around, giving K and P a hug (none for GK and S - the latter i didn't know too well, and the former was the 'mard ko sard nahi hota' types because he gave his jacket away to K), avoiding getting whammied by the wind and constantly thinking that i was possessed because i was seeing people where there weren't any.

Five 'o' clock came, and with it a strange vision of white floating cloth. As it approached us, we could just about make out the boy-man under the shawl asking us if we wanted water or biscuits. Five in the morning, in the middle of nowhere, selling water and biscuits? He was either a ghost or demented. The fog was still so thick that we could have happily cut ourselves big pieces of it and eaten it up. Which also meant that our chances of seeing the sunrise were next to none. Ouch, i thought, considering i was the one who'd told these guys about the 'full moon trek' and the 'magnificent sunrise' on Kalwarbetta. The guilt weighed me down along with the fog.

Six fifteen, and the sun still refused to make its presence known. Reluctantly, we started our descent. This time, i was exhausted but didn't give up. GK had said that the uphill climb would be terrible, but it would seem worth it when we started down. He was right - the world looked like something else from up there - virgin greens and browns, giant white fluffs moving in the sky casting shadows on the ground, water bodies sprinkled randomly... a part of Bangalore that was more hill station and less IT city.

Surprisingly, the downward journey seemed much, much longer than the climb. When i reached the base, i turned around and asked GK who was walking behind me, "F***, we climbed that much?" He went, "No." Pause. "We climbed much higher." Oh freak. Not bad at all.

In the mini-bus, our heads nodded off as our brains tried to shrug away the numbness. K was sleeping on my shoulder and my head was buried so deep in my chest that if the bus had jerked, it would have snapped and rolled over. I must have been snoring, because I felt somebody tap my shoulder - A, sitting next to me, half-asleep himself, did an imitation of brail and asked me to use his shoulder to sleep on.

Ten in the morning, i reached home, well-spent. Would i do a trek again? Yeah. Maybe. In a thousand years.

*-*-*-*-*

"*&!&#!@^$&^$&^)(!#%$%", cursed the rocks. Thank God the intruders were off, especially the fat-assed woman constantly panting and whimpering like a little child. Her name was just apt for her - Nitwit something. So thinking, the rocks and trees and earthworms relaxed a little, letting the early morning dew cool their temper. But the bliss was short-lived. Hordes of vehicles arrived, bringing with them some people, plenty of food and a bit of alcohol. Oh God! Would they do the hip-thing too??

Life is beautiful.

A papercup full of hot water mixing with tea leaves mixing with sugar cubes mixed with plenty of crisply fresh rain mixed with some Desert Rose. Heady, heady combination.

I wouldn't trade places with anybody else right now.

Reality bytes. (Dedicated to Kaykay.)

It was pouring last evening - like nature was dealing whiplashes to all of us on Earth because we deserved it. Every single auto we (K and i) asked wanted 150 bucks and more to take us to our destination. After much hunting, though (thank God, PK had a car and we just had to roll down the window) we found an autowallah willing to take us. I decided to not act like the aggressive woman i am and quietly got into the auto.

Two things struck me - one, that the driver had made no demands for any extra money while everybody else was trying to capitalise on the rain; two, he made a conscious effort to avoid puddles and not splash all three of us (him, K and me. Duh!) with dirty water. So imagine our surprise when, close to Cunningham Road, an impatient boor zips past in his car (a Maruti van too, not even a Swift or a Merc) and leaves in his wake three victims soaked in yucky water. K and i escaped with little damage, but the autowallah didn't. The right side of his uniform (and his face) was dripping. He cussed all the way - just because the boor had a car, didn't mean that he could do what he wanted; there was no cause for him to be inconsiderate and do what he did. In a way, what the autowallah said made sense. I felt sorry for him, riding in the cold rain with his uniform offering him next to no protection.

About a 100 yards away from my dropping K off, the auto broke down. Some clutch problem. So our man got out - bare feet - in the pouring rain, and got to work trying to fix the problem. I felt like a heel, sitting there cocooned while he ventured into water. There isn't much i could do, but that didn't stop me from feeling the way i did. 20 minutes later, he came back, gave me a smile, said that the clutch was broken and started the auto. I didn't pay too much attention to what he was saying because i was aghast at his state - it looked like he had just got out of a washing machine without the tumble dry feature!

As i sat there, feeling worse by the minute (no it wasn't my fault, but i felt terrible for the chap), i counted my blessings. Each and every one of them. It would be uncomfortable to live like that, and i'm grateful to God for having made me who i am, for giving me all that he did. It's like Kaykay used to say always: we sit and crib about little things like work, and how little money we're getting, life sucks and blah blah. And then when we look at people like the autowallah, their living conditions, the fact that they manage to smile through it all, and then we can't help but feel like the scum at the bottom of the pond. Makes us wonder who's the better off of the two. Us or them.

P.S: Yes, i do seem to be bestowed with the power to communicate fairly decently with auto drivers - that's provided i get to sit in their auto first. Struck up a conversation with him, found out he used to do welding work. Fell off from a buildign where he was working and hurt himself badly enough to discontinue the labour. Chose to ride an auto instead because, ironically, he thought it was less work, and his body can't take much strain. 30 years old, married with three children, was planning to give up riding and start a business of his own (I think starting a business without money in your pocket is a bad, bad idea, but i didn't tell him that). He didn't ask for an extra pie (sceptics would say that after the sob sorry, he wouldn't need to), and for just that i gave him a 100 rupee note. Better spent on decent drivers who don't ask for it than the goddarn leching, pompous pricks who do.

Senses.

No bellydancing on Wednesday. My instructor's dance company - Tarantismo - was putting up a theatrical dance show at Alliance Francaise. Yesterday was the first of a series of five shows, and i was there. (So were some of the Page 3 people, but they're not my concern.)

I hurried through my gymming like the world was on fire, and reached just in time to be shuffled into the hall. Five minutes of shifting seats from one row to another, and we were ready for 'Senses' - the name and theme of their performance. PK -who's going to be part of the troupe soon - was in charge of sound, lights and music. Her name was mentioned in the brochures being passed around - with a spello, of course. So her surname was actually printed Katari (In a sort of rustic hindi, it means knife). We couldn't stop laughing.

The show started with a brief narrative by A, with the rest of the troupe on stage. It's amazing how different people look with make-up and shimmering gold bodysuits on. Like the name of the show suggests, the dancers took us through the five senses - sight, touch, taste, smell and sound (not in order).

I found the concept extremely interesting. For 'Sight', the dancers performed blindfold. Perfect co-ordination, flawless dancing and formations - despite the temporary impairment of their vision, they didn't once falter or lose their place on stage. It was quite remarkable. 'Touch' was the longest piece - exploring same-sex love, broken relationships, the bond between a woman and her just-born, sexual abuse and man-woman happiness. 'Taste' could have explored plenty such situations and emotions as well but they stuck to food. 'Sound' was good fun - a melange of belly dancers (waistbands with coins and mini-cymbals in the hand), bharatnatyam (ghungroos), dandiya and a junior shivamani (!)

Smell was probably the most dramatic, and perhaps, horrifying. Of this, there's only one thing i remember feeling - a chill creep up my spine as A ended her narrative with "The aroma of lust, and the stench of a dead animal."

Entertaining evening, on the whole. I'm looking forward to more shows of this sort.

danah boyd.

I was sent this link today to browse through. I might sound unintelligent saying this, but being unintelligent is a choice i've made: she's brilliant. And not coldly so, if you know what i mean. Most people who are brilliant are estranged from the basest of feelings (Sex and hunger drives not included), but not her. I guess that what makes her breed of brilliance - the exceptionally high levels of emotional intelligence combined with what all of us refer to normally as IQ.

She has done so much, so much in her life so far - the list is quite endless. Makes me feel quite worthless. In one of her posts, she speaks of whether all of us have the opportunity to travel and learn but eliminate it because of our lack of interest, and perhaps she strove to avoid falling into the trap, hence she is what she is - well-travelled, an authority on virtual social networking, etc. I don't know about anybody else out there, but i felt like she was talking about me - i am one of those people she refers to. I could have travelled, i could have learnt. Rather than leverage my thinking capacity - which, i know without trying to sound pompous, is way above average - i decided to let it go. I could have been anything i wanted to be, i could have been as perfect as i wanted to be. But i decided not to.

Most people don't understand this about me, this desire for perfection. It has nothing to do with professional ambition, and everything to do with personal satisfaction, peace for my own soul. I don't intend to compete with anybody, i intend only to challenge myself. And keep challenging, till i know there's no more i can do. I want to be the person i can look up to and never find fault with. I don't know if that makes sense to anyone.

I've been a coward innumerable times and have given up just too easily on a number of things that i could have been great at, if i had just pushed myself. And reading danah boyd's blog just brought it all back with such incredible clarity and force that i'm feeling quite vulnerable right now. And there's nobody to blame for that but me.

Right now, i'm wishing that i could go back to doing all those things and carrying the same zest for life i had years ago. But i know that if i sit still for a while or find means of distracting myself, this feeling will pass. I'll be back to being the coward i am.

Losing my religion. Sort of.

I go for dance classes - jazz funk and bellydancing - that happen in the evenings on the terrace of a play school in Richmond Town. (Phew. Talk about endless sentences.) I met a little girl here whose Mommy was part of the Salsa class happening just before my bellydancing. I struck a conversation with little Tanishka to make her feel better about being left to fend for herself while her mother danced - school, friends, what she likes etc. A brief interlude of silence followed, where i didn't know what else to ask her. Out of the blue she goes, "You know, I'm a Hindu." Wha?! Assuming i'd heard wrong from her 4-year old mouth, i asked her to repeat it. And she did. "I'm a Hindu", she said.

I had asked her nothing at all about her faith. Naturally, no person would ask something of the sort from one so young. Yet, she thought it important enough to be part of a conversation she might have with anybody.

My first reaction was panic. I'm not sure she fully understood what she was saying, or the enormity of the statement she was making. It was scary that she was growing in an atmosphere where her religion was being drilled into her not just as words, but as behaviour and more importantly, as a foundation for her future beliefs and actions. Don't get me wrong, i'm not saying it's a bad thing. It's just that with the way things are going right now, i wouldn't be surprised if all this tutoring makes her something of an educated zealot.

This isn't just true of her, you know. I have my own cousins, all of them not more than 11 years of age. Already, when they meet their non-Muslim friends, they go chee when they see idols and all that. I'm stunned into silence, because it's such a wrong way to behave. Religion is something each of us has the independence to practice in our own way. Imposing one's beliefs on others is just so...uncouth, and such an exploitation.

And yet, is it any surprise that these things happen in our households, while the same occurs on a larger scale across the nation? Is it any surprise, when moral police from the religions fighting for domination in India hash and re-hash and ruin educational material, introducing conflict in content? Is it any surprise that each of us is religiously afraid of each other thanks to some bloody people somewhere who decided to start a fight and blow it out of proportion? I mean, think about this: for years, the Taj Mahal was admired for its beauty, and heralded by all and sundry as the one thing India and Indians should be culturally proud of. Suddenly, we have people who claim that the foundation was laid over an ancient temple. Innumerable texts and pamphlets were circulated, e-mails passed around. People had protests all over, and then they evolved into fights. The Raj Kumar protests are another example: the man died from natural causes, and Bangalore went berserk with grief. If it was possible, they would have stoned the Gods to death for taking away their beloved annavaru. Some places, buses were burnt and public property damaged. A boy was killed in some sort of stampede. His religious identity then started a semi-war between Hindus and Muslims.

It's like, people are waiting for an opportunity to bring out swords and fight in the name of God. And they're readying armies of the future by instilling thoughts in the heads of children as young as Tanishka.

It worries me no end. I hope i'm not around to see the last defining act of this degenerative process.

Garbage - Stupid Girl

One of my all-time favourites. (I vowed never to indulge in putting up videos and clips on my blog. Guess i have to chew on my own hard-boiled words now.)

Started out intensely disliking Garbage and their music, and then it just grew on me. I think it was the videos that freaked me out more than anything else.

Random thoughts that are not so random.

I met Y for lunch today. We got talking about things, like hair colour, when my maid entered into the conversation. And i told Y about how she was bringing up three children all on her own. She left her husband years ago because he was an alcoholic, beat her and gave her a lot of grief. Before the words quite escaped from my lips, Y said, "It's so funny that we are educated people, yet when it comes to marriage and domestic issues, we prefer to stay in it and sort it out."

It's true. I know of a couple - R and F - who've had problems ever since they tied the knot, but have stuck on for donkey's years despite domestic violence and what-not. And these are the same people who persuaded my previous maid to leave her husband when she came home at 1 in the morning with a bandaged head. She left him, and to this day the other couple do nothing more than applaud my maid's courage. Likewise my present maid too. They were proud of her for having taken the brave step of leaving hubby behind. Makes me wonder, who's really empowered?

Does all of this mean that educated people are cowards when it comes to opting out of dissatisfactory marriages? Does it mean that they've got much more to lose than my maid or somebody else who isn't so well-to-do? What stops them anyway, the fact that they have social circles who wag tongues freely to deliver whiplashes of hurt and misery? Or are they duty-bound to their families, the people who attended their glorious weddings and the people they are married to? For that matter, what made my maids leave their husbands? It couldn't have been easy for them, not with their social backgrounds where morality is held in highest regard and leading a 'pure' life is so much more important. (This, by the way, is fodder for another post. I believe that when people have nothing else to hold on to, they clutch on to their morality. It's subjective... and not open to debate.) Yet these women did it. And they survived. And today, they're happy. Happy. Did they do it because, like Y says, they had nothing more to lose? They had seen the worst in life, and there was nothing else that could happen?

Frankly, i don't know. Which is why it scares me plenty to think that if i get married, i will be joining millions of the educated class on the bandwagon. And predictably, i know where that will land me too.

Compliment. (Posted by Narcissa.)

"Bhishon Mishti."

Translated it means "very sweet", but i was fooled into believing it meant "God save the men."

Swoon swoon.

All sand, no ***.

So i went to The Beach last night. For the first time. Nice ambience - sand under your feet, a little artificial lagoon, seats made from coconut tree stubs, the works. U2, Sting and others strumming slow numbers, and i asked myself: What the heck am i doing out here with women?? I should be out with a man! I hate the DJ, he just kept on with those crooning voices.

Some would say i'm a bundle of contradictions, that i say i want a man and then i say no, i don't. Actually, i don't have a problem with men. Just with what they do when they are in my life - my focus is on them, i go out and see something nice and pick it up for them, i crib and cry that they don't call me, they don't love me any more blah blah blah. And i don't have a problem with commitment, just marriage - risky business, that.

My friend told me almost a year back that if i didn't find a guy by 24, i should begin to worry. Boy, i should be rolling on the floor right now, with spasm after spasm hitting me, panic stricken because of not finding a guy yet. But no, i choose to go out with friends when i can and then sit there and go all bleary-eyed as the women around me talk about "Oooooo my boyfriend" and "Mmmmm last night". Give me a break.

So now i fret endlessly every day wondering where the heck my man is. Alright, where the heck all the nice men are.

The day before i went out with my parents and saw one, one, in a crowd of thousands of men who looked yum. I've seen such a specimen of perfection - attitude-wise - only once before in my life, and that was nine years ago. Call it desperation if you want, but i couldn't stop looking at him despite sitting next to my mom and in front of my dad. When i mentioned this to my friend from office yesterday, specifying the time that had lapsed since i last saw someone like that, she had one remarkable thing to say:

"You know, there's only one place i've seen the most good-looking men."

All eyes and ears, i waited eagerly for her to continue.

"At the departure terminal in the airport."

Oh well, that explains it.

I think it's time to get my passport made.

Strengths and Weaknesses.

Okay, this is going to be fun.

I have a weakness for saris. It takes immense will power - and to some extent, being broke - to resist picking up a gorgeous number when i see one. A couple of weeks ago, i went out shopping with mommy dearest to Safina Plaza. It was a spur of the moment decision, and i went thinking i'm not going to spend blah blah. Mannn, there was a Kutch Exhibition and i couldn't keep my hands off the saris! I picked up two, came back home and showed my purchases off to my aunt who was visiting grandma then.

She looked at the saris, commented on how nice they were and dropped a killer line: So, when's the wedding?

Umm... "Yes, yes", she went on brushing aside my umms and aahhs, "You have only one year now. Then your market value will just plummet."

Ohmigod, she really, actually said that! My aunt, MY aunt! So educated, so well read, so sensible, so...Ohmigod. I was shocked, then offended, then indifferent.

For some reason i was just thinking about it again yesterday and it struck me as funny. Imagine, if i don't get married now, then i never will. Then i wondered, even if i do listen to her and say yes to the process of 'groom hunting', which man in his right senses would agree to tie himself down with me?

Just for kicks, though, i thought i'd list out things that could reflect my 'market value' in terms of who i am, and not how old i am. So here goes.

Strengths:
1. Loyalty (Woof woof!) - 'ex'es and my workplace are proof.
2. Adjusting - i'm sorry, but this doesn't apply to seating arrangements anywhere. My size doesn't allow for that kind of adjustment.
3. Good HR skills - bring on the maasi with a foul mouth or the Kasautiwali Kamalika
4. I can cook, and cook well (I think i should make this the top of the list)
5. Rare shopper (Hallelujah!)
6. Good housekeeping skills (That doesn't mean i keep cleaning up behind the man's mess)

Weaknesses:
1. Bald pates and french beards (well, i won't cheat but i am allowed to drool, aren't i?)
2. Cats
3. Extremely low levels of patience
4. I'm a wee bit too bold for people to handle
5. Need plenty of TLC

I guess that more or less summarises it.

The writer and the pen.

We are inseparable, you and i. Don't know when it happened, don't know how long it's going to last for, but for the present we are paired. So what if there are distances as long as the table between us, there's still a passion that keeps us together.

You reach out for me, lift me up...touch me, touch my soul...

Your nimble fingers guide me to empty spaces waiting to be filled, filled with words - deep, evocative, full of love and tenderness - filled with a testimony of the good times we've had, the intimacy translated into verses of immortality... With you, i can keep going on and on; with you, i can face the worst and still create something beautiful out of it...

The page is full. You stop. The immortality has come to an end. The cup of love is empty. The tenderness, abandoned.

You set me aside. Replace me with someone else. Someone with as much ink as i had before.

Signs.

Late last evening, i decided i would do this. Blog about the accident, and my reactions to it.

At 2 a.m on the 27th, i got a missed call from A and called her back. Hesitatingly - because she wasn't thrilled about waking me up that late (or early, depending on how you look at it) - she told me that R had met with an accident at around 10:30 p.m. Ro was with him, but he wasn't hurt. R had been severely injured and was in the hospital. The driver of the hit-and-run car had left him with a cracked pelvic bone and dislocated leg. He was bleeding profusely and he was in bad shape.

Torn between wanting to be there as a friend and not wanting to be there at the same time, i tried getting back to sleep after the news but couldn't. By 6:30 in the morning, i was halfway through deciding in favour of going - it was the right thing to do. So when A called me at around 8:00 in the morning, i told her i was planning to come but i wasn't too sure. She said that it would be a great help to be around (the fact that i'm in her bedroom, at the PC and typing out this blog works to the contrary), An might also need help with work. Okay, i agreed. I told my parents that i was leaving the same day. Surprisingly, they didn't put up a fight.

Then came the tough part - booking an air ticket. It was a Friday, and buses were out of the question. So were airplanes, but i decided it was better to save time and fly. Besides, i didn't want to risk second thoughts about going. The tension increased two-fold, and kept multiplying till i was able to secure a seat on board Air Deccan thanks to a cancellation. Money didn't even enter the picture, R was more important. So regardless of the fare, i booked it and reached the airport.

The flight was delayed by an hour. And the 'security check' line had more than a 100 people in it. Upon arriving at Hyd, i discovered that my check-in baggage had a certain essential part of its anatomy missing. I was extremely upset - it was my most compact travel bag that could manage to fit in clothes for four days. I asked myself this question as i was waiting for A to come and pick me up: What am i doing here? I wondered: the delay, the baggage, that continuing feeling of uncertainty...was all this a sign for something?

We went to the hospital directly from the airport. R didn't know i was coming. My entry was very filmi - like a long distance lover coming home to find the better half sprawled on a hospital bed in the throes of pain. I'm just being mean and unnecessarily brutal i guess, considering R and I are not 'seeing' each other or 'going around'. But i can't help it, that's how i felt.

Time flew by swiftly. I spent a restless, sleepless night because of lots of things. My imagination ran riot, and not in a nice way at all. (I don't care to elaborate on that.)

R's surgery happened yesterday. I spent all my waking hours at the hospital along with A, joining in on the banter: R, don't do this; R, stop cribbing; cracking puns around legs and hips and all that. At 1:30, he was wheeled into the OT. From then on A, Ro and I took shifts waiting for news of R.

A's cousing joined us. He was wearing a Google tee i noticed as we were waiting for the lift to come so we could go to the room and wait for the surgery to get over. On the back was written 'I'm feeling lucky'. Was that a sign too? Was R going to be alright?

The surgery lasted six and a half hours. When he was wheeled out, we were allowed to see him briefly before he was taken into ICCU. He was wrapped in a sparse bedsheet, eyes rolling and a low moan escaping through his furiously chattering teeth. As he was taken into ICCU, he let out agonising calls for "Anand, Anand." And we couldn't meet or pacify him because visitors weren't allowed inside.

I had my reality check then.

His accident had affected me more than i cared to show. I knew that if i spoke to anyone at that point, i would break down and cry. I kept my face lowered and my mouth shut tight. I don't know what the others felt about my reactions or if they even noticed at all, but i was beyond caring. His surgery was a success, and there was no chance in hell that i was going to break down in front of everyone.

I gave in to the after-effects of stress when RKK called me. My voice shook, then broke, then was interceded with sobs that i was trying to choke back.

Far in the distance, i saw the metro moving along, its reflection gaining speed across the surface of the lake. To my left from the seventh floor window, i saw traces of sparkling light splattered in the sky, remnants of a wedding firecracker gone cold. As i continued talking to RKK, i thought if this was a sign too. That time would move on, and everything would be alright. Perhaps there would even be cause for celebration soon.

'Kill Me' for the day.

Q:
What's a Coorgi with sexual fantasies called?
A:
Pornnanna.

The Mariana Trench of one's personality.

"All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. "
- William Shakespeare, As You Like It


The idea of things happening by 'chance' is an amazing concept. It can lead to things you would never have dreamt of.


Last week, as i was walking past him i happened to glance over my shoulder by chance. And i saw a blogger posting page open. Hmm, i thought. Next thing i knew, i was surreptitiously checking out the blog, the name of which i saw by chance on his PC.


I read it, and didn't really form an opinion. When i visited the blog again today, i rationalised the reason as one of finding out something more about him. (We met yesterday, by chance.)


I didn't find something more. No siree, i didn't. I just found plenty more.


A virtual open page that his life is. And an intimate, intimate affair (or should i say, friendship?) with a woman (or stranger?) stripped of the bed covers it must have been conceived in, laid out naked for the world to see. It seemed to have been an emotional phase in their lives - the only thing vulgar about it was my encroachment into their virtual private space (if there's anything of the sort), an Internet Voyeur. I'm ashamed of my act now, because i can see how deep the waters must have run on both sides. It was so... ambiguous, and yet the ambiguity was the very thing that tugged at the heartstrings.


I realised then that he is such a different man for eight (or more) hours every day, a mask covering his face.


There is so much more to him than what i, and perhaps a lot of others, see.


There is so much depth to his character that it scares me. I don't think i want to have anything to do with him.

'Kill Me's for all the days i haven't posted one.

Q: What do you call a woman with loosies?
A: Julaabo.

Q: If Oreos had medicinal value, what would they be called?
A: Cureos.

Q: What footwear do female plumbers wear?
A: Clogs.

Q: If Ozzy were a bird, what would he be?
A: Ozztrich.

Q: If a holy man is called 'Divine', what is a holy cow called?
A: Bovine.

Q: If Brad Pitt were perpetually hungry (for food), what would he be called?
A: Bottomless Pitt.

Greek Fish and Deja Vu.

I went to Spiga yesterday for dinner. I wasn't really sure what sort of ristorante it was, so i was pleasantly surprised at the cosy, laid-back atmosphere. Mood lighting, not too many tables, soft music, and to top it all, we got a table that was in a separate section, away from the crowd. Ideal setting for... depressing conversation. :-)

It so happened that RKK and i decided to go out for dinner, and after much research-cum-debate, we hit on this place. Now, he was sort of pining for a last look from his Lady Love (A typical balcony scene from Romeo & Juliet, if i may add. Except, she would be peeping out of a 4th floor window.), while i was longing for the company of a certain somebody who couldn't possibly have made it. I guess the mood just got carried along to the dinner table.

Then, when we reach the place, realise we only have cards and absolutely no money...it begins to happen.

Deja Vu...

Flashes from a past that's fled to the back of my mind, never to return...

A Naseeruddin Shah movie... a cobbled pathway leading to a restaurant on the first floor... passing a bed on display that i absolutely fell for... feeling light headed...apologising for not carrying enough money, so i had to be treated to dinner...

Just as soon as it came, it vanished. But not for long.

We got down to ordering food. I scanned the menu, decided on Greek Fish because it sounded appetising.

The service was quick, and we had just started on some conversation when the food arrived.

One look at the slivers of fish resting on a river of parmesan-mushroom sauce, with vegetables decorated around it..and we're back to where we had left off...

I had eaten the same thing... Greek Fish... I remember not finishing it because i remember feeling light-headed... and it wasn't just the aperitif i had ordered.

I remember the day because it felt like something was happening...maybe i was wrong. I wonder if i was the only one to feel that way?

To conclude: sometimes it's just very hard to get over things because they were beautiful experiences / phases of life and you want them to last. But when you realise you have no choice, you just have to let go. What remains of it are flashes of sweet-sour memories that strike you when you least expect them. A heady mix of Greek Fish and Deja Vu.

Bangalore - Ranchi - Bangalore.

G got married on March 7, 2007 and i went for her wedding to Ranchi. Travel took up most of our time, nonetheless the journey was enjoyable. I had carried a book with me - Broken Verses by Kamila Shamsie. I've read one other book of hers titled Salt and Saffron. But this book was... different, and not in a disappointing way. I finished it on my journey back to Bangalore, and it motivated me to write. After a long time. Here's what came of the effort:

"
March 9, 2007
Just after Guntakal
On our way back to B'lore from Gouri's wedding.

I'm fast coming to the conclusion that the world is just one giant exhibition. What else could explain the coexistence of a factory spewing smoke and a lush spread of rice fields less than 200 yards away from it? Or another industrial setup bellowing close to bare land on which endless carts of rich, golden hay provide shelter for the men who drive them?

This journey has been interesting, entertaining and in many ways, enlightening.

Godavari is vast, with bridges running over it. They serve a dual purpose, these bridges. Concrete above for highway traffic and rusty metal below for trains to fly over. Somewhere along its glistening water, a boat bobs into view. A man stands on it, feet resting on either side of the boat in preparation of hurling the net out to capture unsuspecting fish.

Thatched huts dot rice fields everywhere. Four stone pillars support a roof made of dried palm leaves. The entrance is about three feet high, and the overall effect is...well, it strikes me as being a romantic place to spend a night clear of clouds in. I've promised myself a night in one of these huts. Some day.

The sunflowers were magnificent. Like eager little birdies waiting for mommy bird to feed them, they turned to the sun for food. Their happiness at having full tummies was evident in their playfully swaying stems and flower heads.

Bano is one of the most beautiful stations i have had the good fortune to spend minutes at. There's no concrete, only the earth and shelter for people stopping over. Picket fence coloured white, in bold contrast to the sepia tones of the silk cotton tree. It was tall and full of flowers - huge, crimson and just so...sensual. No red-blooded woman could have resisted them. I picked one fallen from the tree to take home for my mom, and quickly jumped back into the train.

When seen through a canopy of the forest trees, or over the rocky hills, a sunset is a soft, rosy, yellow orb shining in the distant sky. You'd want to reach out and touch it, but wouldn't be disappointed if you couldn't because it seems to travel along with you and then, gradually vanish into thin air.

Static. It's been a sore point throughout the three and a half days i've spent on the train. I can't touch metal, or people for that matter, without having electricity sparking from my fingertips upwards.

We played antakshari on the train last night. Senior Citizens (excepting RKK, who we might as well count as one because he willingly went to the other side) vs. young blood. Kannada Carnatic and Hindustani classical vs. Bollywood songs. At 11:30 in the night. They almost beat us at it.

Prakash anna and Pratibha have been married a month now. It was totally cute to see them holding hands, kidding around, whispering sweet nothings over opposite berths and resting heads in each other's laps in turns. Makes me wish I could find enduring love too.

Uncle thought he could help me with that. He found a nice German boy on the train for me. Name's Andrew, and surprisingly, his accent's quite un-German. (not like i'm an expert at accents, but anyway.) He seems intelligent too. And boy, he's cute. Very cute, in a simple, earnest sort of way. (I think it's the beard and the eyes - a colour of brown that seems to absorb light and radiate it back as its own.)

There are more fields now. I think Andhra Pradesh is full of them. I don't think i'll want to see anything else for a long time. And i won't either, given that AP is such a bii..ig state. We've been in it for more than 12 hours now.

I'm in love with nature. It touches me like nothing else in the world. The joy it gives is unparalleled by any mortal happiness. I just may have established a love affair with it to last all my life. And i'm glad."

Let's leave this post unnamed. It is, after all, a post that talks about my bond with someone, a bond that was so ambiguous that it never really had a name. We never 'saw' each other, just did a lot of things together. At least, that's what i think. And then, a thread just snapped loose and the thing was lost forever.

I haven't been in touch with this someone for months now. Initially it hurt - it always does when you're enjoying something and it's abruptly pulled out from under your nose, so you can't have it any more. Now i'm used to it, simply because i don't think i need to put myself through the depression of being the one who leaves everything behind and keeps making an attempt to get things back to normal, only to get a kick in the guts. Now, i don't give a damn if i don't speak to this someone ever again.

But there's a catch. Sometimes, i miss those things. Over the weekend, i went to a Dastakari exhibition at CKP, and passed the Grand Ashoka. Automatically, my mind went back to an evening at Sutra, me so high and happy that i knew i was blabbering and didn't give a rat's ass. It was one of the best times i have ever had on an evening out. These thoughts were followed by a longing of sorts. A longing to go back to the way things were.

I never stop wondering why it turned out this way. Maybe it was something i did or projected. Or maybe the someone was just plain freaked out that i was getting... too involved maybe, or was just being a pain in the wrong place. I don't know. All i know is, sometimes i miss it all.

Happy New Year?

So the party's over, the alcohol's worked its way out of our system and the dance floor's empty. But exactly what were we celebrating? A year that held some 20-odd carcasses of children from Nithari in its bag of surprises? A year that unleashed a madman serial killer on Mumbai? Or the one that witnessed a woman being harassed and abused at a New Year Eve bash? A year that brought to light exactly how jaundiced Indian journalism has become?

I'm not much of a fan of politics, world affairs and everything else that falls into the category. My knowledge of the goings on in what we all hold in awe as 'the world' stops at Wired, Wikipedia and perhaps movies. Of course, when i have been forced to sit through it, i have watched news on channels like BBC, NDTV, CNBC and these days, Times Now. On the night of the 31st, though - or was it the 1st, i don't remember - as i watched the news in Hindi on NDTV, i was quite amazed by how low journalism had stooped to get those viewer ratings shoot beyond the stars.

To illustrate, the case of Nithari's missing children. 38 in all, and about 20 skeletons found. In packets, all sawed up. The accused, who has admitted to molesting and killing these children, is crying foul on the basis of a 'mental disorder'. What was even more apalling, the news channel narrated bits of conversation between the police and the accused, filled with the words 'rape' and 'sex'. The exact bulletin is beyond description in the way it was handled - almost as if the newsreader was gleeful about reading it out. Worse, the conversation kept being typed out on the screen.

Why did it have to happen that way? I mean, it was children we were talking about, for heaven's sake. It makes me angry enough to know just that, and hearing words like sex and rape doesn't add fuel to the fire, it disgusts me that those guys sitting in the studio are stripping those long-gone children of what little innocence they have left in their death. There were bigger issues here, like the class divide that probably prevented the police from investigating further into the situation, or the fact that they were to some extent at fault. Barkha Dutt was probably the first to even touch on these topics, but i don't think they got as much airtime as the whole conversation and constant news flashes of 'rape rape rape'. It makes me feel glad that i didn't get into journalism despite having dabbled in it for a while.

Then there was the episode of a girl being physically harassed at the new year party at Gateway of India. A Midday reporter was on location shooting photographs, unaware of what it was he was capturing - a girl with her boyfriend, suddenly surrounded by men who were feeling her up, pinching her and what not. It was probably the next hottest news after Nithari, on air across all news channels by the 1st or 2nd.

Once more, the photographs being showed in succession, again and again, as the barracudas moved in on her. Ask a question instead, did anything happen to the slimeballs, and the media draws a blank.

Interestingly, my grandmother had this response to the whole thing - why should the girl go out dressed like that, she's only inviting trouble; and why should she go out on new year in the first place? Points to be noted, she was amply covered and more so than most women in Mumbai apparently dress up when going out. Besides, should a woman/girl/teenager stop stepping out of home or going to parties just because there are sex-starved, lustful assholes of men lurking around every corner? How about fixing them for a change?

Half of January's passed us all now, and although these news snippets are not out of the media circuits, they've lost most of their steam. What replaces them - as i saw today as a banner headline, front page news, right on top of everything else in the paper - is something like 'Abhishek proposes, Ash says Yes!'.

So what is it that we are celebrating, again?

Deep in the Deserts of Depression.

You switch moods like a chameleon, hoping they will be able to see beneath the shape-shifting. Only to find that they're all too busy covering up their changing colours themselves.

You think the world owes you something for being who you are, only to discover that the world doesn't really care.

You believe that all existence is about procreation, and then cry your heart out over infidelities.

You depend on so many things to make yourself happy, only to realise that at some point it's all bound to leave you, all alone.

You knock on a door, expecting someone on the other side to greet you with open arms. Only, the arms are busy holding somebody else.

You trust yourself on being a strong believer of many things, only to find out that the heavens are merciless to those who believe they can write their own fate.

You keep wondering how to get out of this impenetrable pit of self-pity, only to learn that all it takes is will power to get over it.