*Sigh*

NEW AGE.
She seems so cool, so focused, so quiet, yet her eyes remain fixed upon the horizon.

You think you know all there is to know about her immediately upon meeting her, but everything you think you know is wrong. Passion flows through her like a river of blood.

She only looked away for a moment, and the mask slipped, and you fell. All your tomorrows start here.

- Neil Gaiman, Strange Little Girls

And the reports say it's weather worth dying for.

It's been pouring cats and dogs in Bangalore for the last couple of days. The torrents started sometime last week, at a time when we had just gotten out of work and the smokers were happily smoking in the designated smoking area.

The sheets of rain were like a water symphony, with wave after wave rythmically brushing past the high-rises. I did take videos of the whole thing, but due to compatibility issues (stupid Windows), i cannot upload or play them.

So i'll jut have to show you pictures instead.

It just got worse...

...near zero visibility

...the lake opposite the office swelled and heaved, but fortunately didn't claim any lives.

If this is the aftermath of super bright, sweltering days, then i have only one thing to say when i look at the sky: Bring it on!

My life was nothing but Curd Rice, Tender Coconut Water and Pill popping, until this morning.

8:30 a.m: One eye shivers open while the other remains obstinately shut. Will power solely responsible for pulling me out of bed.
9:15 a.m: Squeaky clean and ready to walk to the post office diagonally opposite home. Good news awaits there.
9:20 a.m: Tempted to play Medusa and turn the post office official into stone, but that would only mean delay in receiving...
9:20:49 a.m: ...my PASSPORT! I have a passport! A Republic of India Passport! Yippeeeee! Shiny, Blue-black, enclosing 36 pages of unstamped travelobauchery (that's short for travel debauchery) and a beyond-pathetic picture of me. I. Have. A. Passport. After seven years of dilly-dallying, pshawing, who-needs-a-passport-ing, and aggressive peer pressure, i finally have it.

9:35 a.m: Stil can't wipe the grin on my face. It's like the travel bug in me found freedom.
9:45 a.m: *Ring* "Hello Madam, I'm calling from Flipkart. I am downstairs with your shipment." Oh, my heart momentarily stops beating and then picks up double-time.
9:50 a.m: With shaking-in-anticipation hands, i unravel...

...the book that i have spent a good four years hunting for. I first laid eyes on it at Reliance Time Out and didn't pick it up because i didn't have the money. The second time, i had the money but the copy that Blossom Book House had was not pristine. (Yes, i'm very particular about my books being in mint-condition when i buy them.)

Imagine my joy when i discovered that not only was this copy in superb condition, but it was also...in hardbound cover!

Oh, if only i could faint like a damsel wrought with extreme emotion, i would!

A million thanks to Flipkart and the Indian Government for brightening up my day and making me forget my sickness.

5:46 p.m: I can't stop grinning.

Sometimes, feeling restless is a good thing.

Because when you just can't take it any more, you are forced to do something about it. Like get off your ass, rediscover the joy of things you had forgotten you loved to do. Like cook. Or take pictures. Both of which i did last evening.

The weather was just way too lovely to stay indoors. So after having laptopped for an hour, i headed out in search of flowers that i could shoot. My agenda was to ride around R.T.Nagar, looking for the one place where i was bound to find my lovelies: parks. We have plenty in our area, but i knew there were two close at hand, sorry, wheel. The first was disappointing: there was just greenery. I hit paydirt at the second one though, close to my old, old, old home. Plenty of people around, but surprisingly it neither bothered me nor made me conscious. Once i started, the world just faded into spots of colours waiting to be photographed.

I wound up in about 30-45 minutes. Then i stopped on the roadside, capturing branches pregnant with blooming Gulmohars against a greying sky. It was awesome. The wind in my hair, the smell of rain in the breeze, swaying reds and greens, a wide road lined with Gulmohar trees... it was the perfect dusk. And just as i was winding up, the sky went out of control and unleashed a flurry of raindrops. I zipped back home, half blind in the rain and wet to the tee.

And then, because i was on a soul high, i cooked. Palak Paneer. I almost called the ambulance for fear that Dad would lick his fingers till there was only bone left.

And then, like a good girl, i slept early. Nice, deep, undisturbed sleep.

I woke up hungover from last evening's goodness. Now, i can't wait to get that restless again.

You'll find pictures from my park parade on my other blog, http://www.madaboutflowers.blogspot.com/

Ten days in Hyderabad...

A good part of my days was spent here, playing scrabble, accompanying smoker friends, holding miscellaneous conversations, reminiscing and escaping from reality. I love the way A's done it up. There's a sense of peace and happiness about it.

The rest of my time was divided between:

Staying in at the Sunny Side Up office through the day (pictures of the office coming sometime in the future; that place is way too funkily cosy) spending time amidst a riot of colours, predominantly Frangipani-white and Grass-green...

...and going out on drives and to faraway places in the night, catching a glimpse of photographic delectability like this one:

Of all the memories in my head, more than a good half of them are owned by this city. No surprise that i feel so much for it.

Ugh.

Miss Independent

Miss Self-sufficient

Miss Keep-your-distance

Miss Unafraid

Miss Outta-my-way

Miss Don't-let-a-man-interfere, no

Miss On-her-own

Miss Almost-grown

Miss Never-let-a-man-help-her-off-her-throne

So, by keeping her heart protected

She'd never ever feel rejected

Little Miss Apprehensive

I said ooh, she fell in love

What is this feeling taking over?

Thinking no one could open the door

Surprise! It's time to feel what's real

What happened to Miss Independent?

No longer need to be defensive

Goodbye, old you, when love is true

Miss Guarded-heart

Miss Play-it-smart

Miss If-you-wanna-use-that-line-you-better-not-start, no

But she miscalculated

She didn't want to end up jaded

And this miss decided not to miss out on true love

So, by changing her misconceptions

She went in a new direction

And found inside she felt a connection...

- Kelly Clarkson, Miss Independent

So...

"Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love."

Neil Gaiman, a man after my own heart. That's exactly how i felt when the Boy happened to me. It still hurts sometimes.

Speaking of pain, my bestest soulmatest friend lost his father 13 days ago. I ran as fast as i could, stayed as long as i could. What i couldn't do is make it better for him. I wish people were bestowed with that power, though; the power to make things better for those who are dear to them.

I also couldn't stop thinking about why it was that i never interacted with his father too much. With anybody in his family, for that matter. I mean, i've met parents of all my friends and get along with them pretty fine, pull their leg and kid around and visit them and pamper them sometimes, but i can never say that about his parents. Somehow, i think that if i did have the opportunity to get to know his dad, i would've constantly been reminded of mine, and his going away would have been more painful and scary.

Anyway, it's over now. And all i can hope is for his father to be in a nicer place and at more peace, and for him to have the courage to let go and not hold it all back.

Fingers crossed.

Despair is watching your loved ones grow old.

My dad is all of 73 years. And he's beginning to grow painfully aware of it. I can see it in his eyes, the stoop of his shoulders. His knees are giving out, and despite the doctor's orders that he should walk and climb stairs as much as possible or the fact that he follows those orders to the tee, he still can't do it without wincing. For a handful of months now, he's been gradually losing his hearing. Now, he strains his left ear to hear.

He's been retired for years now, but has found a new job - accompanying the driver to drop my mom to school. And i think he looks forward to it every morning and afternoon, even though he mumbles under his breath everytime he has to shake off sleep to do it. It gives him something to do. Last Saturday, i accompanied him to pick her up. Dad always locks up after everyone and comes downstairs, taking each step slowly while we're already downstairs, Red's engines revving. He locked up this time as well as i went downstairs and sat in the car, and we were on our way by 12 p.m. We first went to the mechanic's for a quick check-up of Red, headed for her school and killed time while she finished locking up the school and kicking everybody out, and then went to Grandma's.

I was shocked to see my grandmother; her cheeks had hollowed out, her face and body were beginning to be mere skin and bones. I felt something squeezing my heart and making it beat anxiously. What could i do to stop the process? What could i bring back, how could i make it better, what could i do other than visit her more often? We spent some time there, went shopping and returned home at around 6:30 in the evening.

Dad was slow in getting out of the car, Mom was busy directing the driver to not break any of the stuff that we had shopped for, so i ran up the stairs to the first floor with the keys in my hand to unlock the grill that guards the doorway to the house. Usually, when we go out, we keep the door unlocked but latched, and just lock the grill because that's heavy-duty enough to give miscreants a very hard time at breaking and entering. This time was no different.

When i reached the top of the stairs, though, i stopped abruptly. The grill was wide open. The lock hadn't been put.

I couldn't breathe for a full ten seconds, and prayed with every ounce of devotion i could muster that the inside door be locked. This was because sometime earlier, somebody had unlatched the inside door from outside the locked grill and mom got all freaky and insisted that the inside door be locked as well, if we were missing for long periods of time.

So i moved towards the inner door, unlatched it, and pushed. The door swung open inwards.

It would be safe to say that i was momentarily lifeless as i went into system arrest and the colour drained out of my face. The house had been left unlocked. For six and a half hours. Enough time to rob us clean without any trouble on a sleepy Saturday afternoon.

I ran in, quickly scanning every room, looking under beds and diwans, behind doors and in the balcony, on the terrace stairs and in the kitchen passage to make sure there was nobody hiding. And then i checked everything else. My laptop was untouched. The TV was still there. Mom's jewellery was intact, and so was mine. Nothing was stolen. Phew.

When dad came upstairs, i asked him about the unlocked doors. A look of total bewilderment - how is it possible, i had locked it... didn't i lock it? - replaced by irritation momentarily, and then sadness. Anger at himself.

He was crestfallen. He came in, still wondering how he could have been so stupid. He beat his forehead, and he was close to tears. He just sat there on the diwan, and concentrated on blinking away the tears shimmering in his eyes, not letting us see that he was really worried about his memory going. Slowly, quietly leaving him. Deserting him, leaving behind only forgetfulness. Emptiness.

I couldn't take it. I can't take it. I can't. First my grandmother, now my dad. I'd rather die before all of them than see them go through this transition.

I hate you, Cycle of Life. I loathe you.

I'm Julius Caesar, and my Ides of March lasted all month.

My day started at 5:30 a.m because i was attending a Webinar on Mobile Marketing. Somewhere in the back of my head, i thought that maybe i should work from home today and then discarded the idea faster than rotting food because there were meeting scheduled. So ho hum, i bathe, wear my jeans, crunch down on some junk food and head out.

I get my bike out with ease. Enjoy my ride to work. Stop at a petrol bunk to tank up. Give this git of a 19-year old guy trying to cut across a dirty look and a sarcastically polite "Can i please go ahead of you?". Get on the bike, ride out of the bunk and... BAM!

Next thing i know, i'm on the ground, lying like Madhuri Dixit's tawaif step in the Devdas song Maar daala.

I skidded on sand. Gravelly, beige, dirty, dry, stony sand. I was trying to take a short turn and merge into the ongoing traffic, and in my attempt, i slipped. The bike fell with a bang and so did i. I think we've got a lot in common that way, the bike and I. We are both heavy, we both fall hard when we fall, and we both go flying. I did, so much so that as i slid across the gravel, my shirt flew up and the dirt grazed my stomach. My flat-out left palm got scraped and my knees got badly bruised through my jeans, but i'll only know the full effect of it tomorrow morning. Thank God for the helmet on my head, and the fact that i fell away from the traffic. The bike's suffered the most damage, poor thing. The left headlight's gone and there's a clean cut on the top panel.

I'm pretty shaken up by the incident. After checking for bruises and serious damage, I quietly gave the bike for servicing and came back home.

Don't know what it has been this month, but things have been terrible on the physical health front. First the pain in my left arm, the tummy aches, my allergy, and now this.

I bet Caesar had a less painful death despite his 23 stabs.

*Sigh* I hope there aren't going to be any more of these now.

When it comes to Pasta, simplicity isn't my cup of olive oil.

I've had a serious craving for pasta since yesterday. In general, i've had it for a really long time but last afternoon, i watched Spaghetti Aglio Olio being made on NDTV Good Times and i couldn't get it out of my head.

Last night, after visiting the doctor, A and i went to The Palmyra at Palm Meadows for dinner. Having been switching between crying and moaning and pitying myself all evening, i decided to treat myself to something that would cheer me up instantly: Pasta Aglio Olio! The chef who took our order nodded, A conceded that it was a good decision, and i smiled. Life was beginning to look better already.

When it arrived, my pasta was delicious. Three little disappointments, though: the chef had put bell peppers and zucchinis in it, there wasn't enough salt, and the pasta wasn't spaghetti. Aglio Olio is the simplest of all, with just olive oil, chilli flakes, chopped garlic, a little basil and salt going into making it. (Apart from the pasta, that is.) And i was really, really, really hoping for just that.

Today, the craving for Aglio Olio hit full force again. Since i was working from home and hadn't had lunch, i asked Mom to pick up the necessary ingredients on her way home. Fully anticipating that she would bring back spaghetti, i lost it when she got flat pasta. Argh. Never mind. Craving. Must. Be. Fulfilled. And so i set about making Aglio Olio.

Let it be said that the Aglio Olio was a flop, to say the least. Even Aishwarya Rai's acting in Dhoom 2 had more character than the Aglio Olio did. On second thought no, my pasta wasn't that bad.

Thankfully, i had decided to make a second batch of pasta for Mom and Dad - Pasta Arabiatta - because Aglio Olio would've been too tasteless for them. Smartly, i just transformed the Aglio Olio into Arabiatta, with cream for more flavour. And, surprisingly, finely chopped red and yellow bell peppers.

It's fab, and i'm eating it right now. Even Arshad Warsi's acting in Ishqiya didn't have as much character and flavour as my Pasta Arabiatta does.

It's a major slump in my state of being right now. It's anti-social time again. I don't want calls, i don't want e-mails, i don't want favours and i just don't want any bullshit. I need silence. Outside and within. I need my allergy to go away because if it doesn't, it just might push me to kill myself. I need to provide answers to a lot of questions. I need endings. I need to stop being so bitter, that feeling which seems to have flooded over the boundaries of sanity and taken control of my senses.

I wish for love. I wish for peace. I wish things weren't so complicated, and maybe they aren't.

I wish i didn't feel like bawling my eyes out or wanting to bitchslap most people around me. I wish people would stop pretending. Stop believing that everything's okay. I wish they would shove their attitudes, egos, hangups and deceits up their asses. I wish they could be more decisive. Stop fucking around. Stop screwing everybody up.

Today, i feel miserable. More miserable than i did yesterday. Today, i feel like a piece of shit. A waste of God's efforts, like A Guidebook To What You Shouldn't Be.

Today, i feel vulnerable, in need of some warmth. And maybe somebody to hold me like they'll never let me go, that their world begins and ends with me, that i'm everything to them, as i cry in their embrace.

301st post, and a new blog.

I crossed 300. Wow. Hard to believe i actually had so much to share with the world, considering if i'm left alone with people for two minutes, i don't know what conversation to start with them.

Anyway, i've started a new blog. It's called madaboutflowers and features all the photographs i have taken of (duh) flowers. I'll slip in trees and buds and insects and soil into the portfolio occasionally, but until then it's just nice, happy pictures of nice, happy flowers.

Go see, and tell me how eez.

An awesomeley good Wednesday and Saturday have gone by.

It was an eventful week, to say the least.

For starters, how many of you have shared space with a Lord, knighted by the Queen of England herself? How many of you have even breathed the same air as they?

Well, i did. On Wednesday. That's when i met Jeffrey Archer.

Yes, THE Jeffrey Archer.

I assume that many of you will just 'Pshaw!' the whole thing, but i kid you not when i tell you that he is probably one of the greatest story tellers of all times. Forget that his British uppityness and superiority get in the way, forget that he comes across as slightly arrogant and rude and curt, forget all of that and think about the books he has given us. I only recently read Kane and Abel, and i can tell you that that book is going to stay with me a long, long time. (By the way, the 30th Anniversary edition has a different ending - Mister Archer rewrote it.)

And he's not just a storyteller in his writing. You have to hear him speak. It was quite fascinating to be able to meet him, hear him, laugh at his anecdotes, hear his stories. It was, like the Brits say, Mahv-lus.

The rest of the week went by fairly Blah-ly. Then came Saturday. I got a call from K asking if i wanted to do brunch at Windsor Pub, and i did. It had been a long time since my last brunch; besides, Saturday just seemed like a Brunch Day. So we went to Windsor, ate and drank and made merry. And then decided to continue doing just that.

Our route map was something like this:

Windsor ---->Hard Rock Cafe ---->Plan B ---->Tavern ---->Home ---->Bed

Only one word can describe Saturday post-3 p.m: Woohoo!

I love. Like, really, really, really, really love.

So, Goa.

I'm back. In one piece, physically and mentally.

And it was fun!

I stayed at Golden Eye (Hello, James darling) on the other side of Calangute - a side that i had possibly never seen before. It was cozy, comfortable and private.

I ate a lot of everything, and drank a lot of everything else. So much so that i have now developed a severe allergy to something - i cannot figure out what - and have to keep popping Avil till i can get to the doctor.

I got a temporary tattoo done above my ankle. A butterfly. It will go away in a week's time, but at least i know now that a tattoo looks good on me.

I was part of the crowd lining the streets of Panjim for the Goa Carnival. Desi Mardi Gras at its best, i should say. It was fabulous fun, and i took loads of pictures in my excitement.

I explored new eating places. Must gos include Molly Malone's near Calangute Market (on a Friday night, please. That's when Polly plays and his live music must not be missed), Mum's Kitchen at Panjim (Interesting Calamari Rawa Fry and a yummy Chicken in red masala and coconut milk with Sanas) and Sea Shell Inn at Candolim (beautiful ambience, lovely food, lovely music). Oh, and i also had Chocolate Chip Mousse Ice cream from Baskin Robins.

I jet ski-d. For 15 minutes. It was amazing going over the waves and landing with a thump on the water, wrestling our way through the constant ripples.

I hated leaving.

Two hours to go...

...before i get onto the bus to Goa.

Yes, i'm journeying to the beach side alone for the first time.

Yes, i'm a little freaked out.

No, i'm not freaked out about what may or may not happen after i get there.

Whatever has to happen, will happen.

Either ways, you'll know by Monday.

So have a great weekend, world.

Bye bye, Perfume Sprays. Hello, Ittar.

I did two things after a very long time today.

First, i took parents out for dinner to the Russell Market Taj Hotel. It's the kind of place where you can expect to find the shadiest, most murderous of local - but well-known and very sought-after - thugs doing serious damage to gastronomes in their fight for Bangalore-style Biryani. Served piping hot (not during dinner though; if you're nimble enough, you could try your luck between 12:00 p.m and 1:30 p.m every afternoon or during Ramadan), it's coveted by discerning taste buds with a favouritism for Biryani.

Second, i bought Ittar from a store on the way back from dinner. If my mother's eyes were a SUV, they would be a Rover. They find the quaintest of shops and sift through the clutter to spot stores that are inconspicuous treasure troves of useless indulgences. This wasn't entirely useless, though. She ended up picking some really strong fragrance while i looked on, completely fascinated (thanks, Vir Sanghvi, for bringing back the romance of the Ittar) and stoic about not buying any because i needed to save up on every penny i possibly could this month.

When the shopkeeper finished selling his wares (bottled in cut crystal vials, no less) to my succumbing mom, he turned to me. Oh no, i thought.

"And what fragrances can i show you Madam?"

Knowing fully well that it would be of no use, i nodded my head from side to side to indicate nothing, thank you. My mouth had other ideas.

"Uh...something light...", i said; then, thinking that words like 'summery', 'fruity with a bit of zest' and 'fresh' might be totally lost because they are complicated definitions, i settled for the one word that would sum it all up:"...something citrusy, please."

Gah! Well, at least that would distract him from the memory of my flying kurta that revealed my stomach in all its bulging glory as i passed by his shop earlier. (Stupid summer wind.)

Thirty seconds later, surprise, surprise. He showed me exactly what i was looking for. How could i not give in? How?

So i picked up the 212 essence of the 212 Sexy etc. fame. And one more named Wish. (So does that make anybody who praises my Wish fragrance a Well Wisher?)

Then, as if to compensate for the display of my navel, he gave me a trial vial of Dunhill Blue that i liked. "Use it Madam, and if you like it, you can come back next time and buy it."

Yes of course, and i'll be sure to wear the longest trenchcoat i can find, buttoned up all the way to my neck.

Good thing, anyway. My Davidoff Cool Water's slowly evaporating out of disuse. And i do want to try getting back to wearing Ittar every day.

Yeah, i'm traditional like that.

Do you believe in premonitions?

I don't know, i'm not sure. Since Tuesday, though, i have begun to lean towards being a believer. Here's why.

On most nights, i sleep dreamlessly. On the nights that i do dream, the visions are mostly not good. The scariest dream i have had is more than a decade ago, but i still can't seem to get over it; i have dreamed about something happening to my family's belongings, and have woken up next day to find that it has actually happened; and i've had flashes in my dream that almost seem like they are pieces of a puzzle that don't belong to the past or the near future, but sooner or later they do become reality. That's how bad and spooky my dreams can get.

A couple of months ago, though, i had a dream that i just couldn't explain away or get over. It involved my best friend. And a little boy. And a Tsunami.

I didn't wake up feeling terrified, just extremely uncomfortable. I think we managed to escape the destruction by getting to the airport of the place we were at.

Two days post the dream, i forgot about it. Life moved on.

I made travel plans with friends, went to Hyderabad, then to Hampi. Life was normal.

I made plans to go to Goa on the first weekend of March. Then my best friend called and told me that she wanted to go on a trip with me.

Now, the last time we travelled together was in college. After college, she got married, got busy with her husband, blah blah blah. So the fact that she called now and wanted to go somewhere - just her and me - was a big thing, and i didn't want to say no.

So i ditched plans to go to Goa, and started planning for other places. We considered Mangalore and then scrapped the idea because her husband wasn't comfortable with it(!) So we thought about it, and decided that the most feasible option for both was Goa. I agreed heartily - that's where i was planning to go anyway.

I started looking forward to the trip again, but that changed on Tuesday. Because the dream came back to me.

My best friend and I were going to Goa.

In my dream, that's where the Tsunami had happened.

And i've been feeling a little scared and a little uncomfortable ever since.

It may or may not come true. There is, after all, no little boy featuring in our lives. I think, in my dream, that the little boy was my best friend's baby. But she's not a mommy, and not going to be one anytime soon either.

If it has to happen, it will. I'm taking my chances and going anyway. Maybe i'm challenging fate, battling destiny. I don't know! But i'm going. And i'm going to make sure i say a proper goodbye to everybody before i do.

Bloody hell, i should've taken those swimming lessons.

William Blake's speaking my mind...

"...And I watered it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine.
And he knew that it was mine,

And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree."

There's going to be blood on my hands this year. Or maybe a severe injury. To hope, to pride, to two-facedness, to spinelessness, to false impressions. To acting up, to pretending, to denying happiness.

I keep it all in, and it just grows and grows. Bloody hell.

This time, last weekend...

...I had cleaned my entire room. I mean, entire. I dusted and swept everything in sight (and hidden from it).

...I arranged all my books - only close to 180, i am sorry to say - neatly, along with several other little things like a Santa i got for Christmas, a Happy Meal Pinocchio, candle stands, book marks, matchboxes, a reading light, a puzzle ball, a Happy Meal guitar and a tourist pass to the Rann of Kutch.

...I cleared the top of the shoe rack to make space for a vase, a candle lamp and another vase/holdall.

...I glammed up the dressing table with fairy lights.

...And i made this for the wall space over the shoe rack out of beads, lace, wire and more beads:

So now, during the day, the shoe rack area looks like this:

And in the night, it looks like this:

I'm liking very muchly!