What does a guy say to that?

“It’s the Taj Mahal, it’s a monument of love. People find that romantic.”

“It’s a tomb. There is nothing romantic about a tomb. It’s like a fancy graveyard. Why don’t people take their girlfriends to the graveyard?”

“Oh come on, you know the story. The Emperor had it built for his fav. Queen, and when he was imprisoned by his son, all he wanted was to be able to see the monument so he could be close to his love.”

“Cough.gullible.cough”

“What?”

“Dude, he was an Emperor. He wanted to build something to show off his wealth. And please, you think he knew a thing about love? What, he got workers’ hands cut off after they built the monument. Didn’t think they had someone at home who loved them?”

“He wanted it to be unique, just like his love was.”

“Hey, there was nothing unique about his love. Strip away the mystery and mumbo jumbo, and love is just like all the other emotions... Totally common. Think about it... Love, greed, hunger, anger, sorrow, joy. You find them everywhere. Every human being experiences them. Nothing unique about a King falling in love. If you want to buy into that idea, of course.” 

You scoff.

“Yeah? What makes you think he didn’t love her? What about spending ten years staring at it from his prison?”

“Umm, did I mention he wasted a load of money on building that thing to show off? Of course he spent ten years rueing his mistake. If he had used that money in better governance, he wouldn’t have been imprisoned. And his wife died in childbirth. Her fourteenth kid in fifteen years, or something. Not romantic, just sad that the woman had no say over her body, that he had no control over his lust and that he tried to use her death to glorify himself. Oh and it's a totally valid case for birth control!”

“Wow, that's harsh. And so politically incorrect. So I take it you don’t want to visit it?”

“Says who? Of course I want to visit! It’s a beautiful piece of architecture. I’m just not interested in buying the romance that people try to package it with. That’s like saying the pyramids are romantic.”

“You do realise that people do say that the pyramids are romantic?”

“See, you just proved my point. They’re tombs as well. Tombs of Kings with egos bigger than mountains. Nothing romantic about self aggrandisement!”

“Do you ever take anything at face value? Ever just appreciate something for what it symbolises or just let it have a sentimental meaning?”

A secretive smile... an almost blush... a grin. Your hand in mine.

“Yeah, sometimes. But not when I’m with you. You’re too much fun to argue with, even though you don’t counter half the rubbish I spew, even when I know I’m being ridiculous, and even when you have valid rebuttals. It keeps me happy.”

What does a guy say to that? 

The Alphabet Tag

It's been a while since I posted here, so when I recently got tagged on one of those chain-tag things, I figured I'd put my answers up here. About time this place got some action. Maggie, my blog thanks you :)

So here's an alphabetic list of inconsequential things about me:

A: Age
31

B: Biggest Fear
Having to deal with this mess of a life alone, maybe.

C: Current Time
8:15 pm

D: Drink you last had
Coconut Water

E: Every day starts with
Figuring out where I am, and what I have to do, and then water.

F: Favourite Song
Don't have one. I like music. I like a lot of different music.

G: Ghosts, are they real
Sure, why not.

H: Hometown
Don't actually have one.

I: In love with
Lemon tarts

J: Jealous of
Nah, that would take too much energy.

K: Killed someone?
I hope not. That would be most inconvenient.

L: Last time you cried
Probably last week at the end of a movie (Taare Zameen Par) when they have that art competition. That sequence always makes me cry with happiness, cause it has all these people sitting around drawing and painting and playing with colour. Nothing better.

M: Middle name
Don't have one, unless you count 'Tataiya' (wasp), which is what I called myself after a wasp stung me as a kid. Random fact: I've been stung thrice in my life by these little yellow stingy things.

N: Number of siblings
One

O: One wish
World Peace. For real. And for people to have a little more sense. And for desserts not to make you fat. Those are all parts of the same wish.

P: Person you last called
Mom, cause she's still in school and it's night.

Q: Question you're always asked
These days, 'most everyone asks how dad is. I don't think I inspire a lot of questions.

R: Reason to smile
Waking up safe and healthy. Oh, and trees.

S: Song last sung
Don't remember. Probably some old hindi song that was on TV and I sang along.

T: Time you woke up
9 am today, I was being lazy for once.

U: Underwear colour
Beige.

V: Vacation Destination
Right now, I'd love to go somewhere with a nice, peaceful beach.

W: Worst habit
Procrastination. It just makes the work pile up and then I get stressed.

X: X-rays you've had
The last one was probably of my right hand, when I'd broken it, many years ago.

Y: Your favourite food
No one thing. I like most good food. I'd choose homemade Kashmiri food over almost anything, though.

Z: Zodiac Sign
Taurus

Right, so I'm not nominating anyone, cause I don't feel like it, and cause I'm eating a burger that is asking me not to do it. And maybe a little bit cause dad has been talking to me non-stop in the background and it's giving me a bit of a headache.

Things I Love About Summer-4

Every year, around mid-Feb, there is a definite shift in my mood. It's not all in one direction, though. For some reason, every year at this time, I feel as though things are spiraling out of control, that I can't deal with people anymore, that nothing is worth the effort. At the same time, I feel a peculiar peace when I am (preferably) alone, near a tree or two. This is when spring shows up, scattering life all around. Trees have those adorable fresh green leaves that darken as the days pass.

Flowers start blooming, splashing colour across the otherwise rather dusty landscape of Delhi. It helps get through these few months of the year when I feel most non-social. Oh, Bouganvillea, in white and purple, pink and red. Such a joy!

However, that is all about spring. By the time summer hits, the green isn't tender any longer. It's heat-hardened, deep and usually covered by a layer of dust. And still, the flowers bloom. There are some flowers I always have associated with summer. No, Amaltas isn't it for me. Over the last twelve years, Gulmohar has, however, crawled in and made a place in my heart. The flowers are unusual and pretty; even the leaves are pretty in a delicate fringed way.

But way back when I was a wee kid, it was Hibiscus that was the summer flower in my mind. I associated it with summer holidays, though I dimly acknowledged that it seemed to flower throughout the year. That wasn't important. The flowers were there in summer, so that proved my summer-flower hypothesis.

I also found it rather intriguing that it was called 'China Rose'. I couldn't understand why it would have another name when 'Hibiscus' was sufficiently fancy. I also didn't know that it came in any colour other than that deep, dark red. Over the last fifteen or so years, I didn't see it much around where I live now. But during a recent trip, there it was, red and summer and memories, calling out to me.

It's not like I don't like other flowers. But these are summer for me.

Things I Love About Summer-3

The title of this post may be just a little misleading. See, I Love Lemonade. But that is true all year round. Lemonade could be counted as one of the things I love about any given season, as long as I have a lemon or two at hand.

Lemonade is one of the things that make an otherwise annoying day bearable. It relaxes me. It makes me happy. It even cures headaches.

Lemons are also pretty. This is important; a lemon meets the most exacting requirements for the perfect food... it looks good, smells divine and tastes refreshingly tangy.

Life giving you lemons? Make lemonade. It's awesome!

Things I Love About Summer-2

That I wake up early and it's already light outside!

In this light I can see dust particles swirling around lazily. For some reason, that always makes me smile.

It's summer, and I can chase sunrays, stepping only on patches of light or shadow. It's summer, and in the summer morning, I can hear birdsong in the trees just outside my window. It's summer and maybe time for a few more freckles.  

Things I Love About Summer-1

For so many years, summer meant two months of vacation - no school, no homework, just a lot of time to play, read, dream and have copious amounts of lemonade. Not much has changed. Of course, I can now take time off from work any time I like, but vacations during summer are still special. To uphold the fine tradition of Summer Vacations, I make it a point to go places where I can read, dream and have copious amounts of lemonade, uninterrupted by mundane matters.

Last May and June, I visited Shimla, Ajmer, Pushkar, Goa and Shillong.

Summer rain in Shimla                                                                                       


                                                                                  Goa

This year, so far, I've been to Ladakh and Lansdowne.



                                                                                              Ladakh
   Lansdowne 

This is me being a regular tourist. It's what regular tourists do, visiting mountains in summer. I am also skilled at being a regular tourist visiting the seaside, but more on that later, perhaps. 

One morning, on the beach

The woman was definitely angry. Oh, she was trying to hide it, camouflaging her stiff shoulders under the soft fall of her shoulder-length hair. But that grim look about her lips? Those highly glossed lips spoke of gritted teeth and possibly some amount of gnashing as well. But the woman was not bad looking, for all that. Just not the person I'd like to spend the morning with. And unless I was mistaken, that was what I would end up doing, unless I moved in the next thirty seconds.

But I was comfortable. The umbrella shaded the deckchair at just the right angle, my cushion had worked its way down my back to just the right spot, and the glass of lemonade in my hand was delicious. I was comfortable and the view was delightful and I really did not want to give all that up because of one potentially annoying woman. Or maybe I just wanted to know what was eating her.

So I took another sip of my lemonade and looked out to the sea, watching the waves rushing onto the beach. They were just about ready to recede when I became aware of movement to my right. An evidently overstuffed beach bag was dumped unceremoniously next to my own, raising a little puff of dust that managed to irritate me. I am not fond of dust on my bags. I did not raise a dust about it, though. 

She sat on the deckchair. She rummaged about in her bag for something. That poor bag was so stuffed that some other stuff fell out. She pulled out a bright pink scarf that almost made me smile. It was so exactly what I expected her to own. She pulled out a tube of cream and then pushed it back. She pulled out a bottle of lotion. She pulled out a thick book with a bright cover. Why was everything about this woman so bright? She might just start annoying me if she didn't stop her distracting antics. We both knew why she had come down to the beach, and it wasn't to read. But then again, why should I make her life easier?

That thought, tempered by another sip of that wonderful lemonade, cooled me down. This would be interesting. Something to tell my friends. Maybe something to blog about. Who knew?

She seemed to pause for a moment, and I could have sworn I felt her glaring at me. Then with a lot of jangling of bangles and swishing of sundress, she made herself comfortable. I was relieved, to be honest. The way that woman had been going on, I thought she would spend the entire morning packing and repacking that beach bag of hers.

“Such a lovely view, isn’t it?” she gushed. Aha, there it was, the expected and entirely trite opener.

I merely smiled. I knew I had to save my breath for later.

“We just arrived last night. You must have been here a few days already, I guess? I mean you seem to have taken the best spot here!” she trilled with a slightly fake laugh.

I yawned and said, “I’ve been here three days.”

She took that as license to further our acquaintance.

“Are you here alone? I mean you seem to be here alone. Most people don’t like holidaying alone, do they? It’s more fun when you are with someone, isn’t it?” Clearly, she was getting at something here, and subtlety wasn’t her strong point.

“Apparently it’s a matter of opinion,” I replied, deciding not to snub her outright. “You are not here alone, I guess.”

“Oh no! I’m here with my husband.”

Ah, there it was, that possessive lilt on the last word, that slight aggression leaking into her tone. Now we were getting somewhere.

“Really? That’s nice for you, I’m sure,” I replied.

“Oh yes, we got married just a month back. You know how it is with newly-weds,” she gushed, her lashes doing a poor job of masking the daggers her eyes were shooting at me. Maybe she needed false eyelashes or something.

“I am not married, so I can’t claim to know. But I’m sure you are very happy,” I replied with a bland smile.

It worked. She could barely contain her indignation. “I am! We are! It is the best thing that has happened to us! It’s not surprising that some people are probably jealous of us.”

Suddenly, I was tired of waiting for this annoying woman to get to the point. She was clearly not averse to ruining my entire morning with her pointless chatter and bright pink scarf. Besides, I was never a great fan of veiled barbs and conversations conducted entirely in another person’s mind.

“Is that what’s worrying you, then?” I asked.

“I’m not worried. My husband and I couldn’t be bothered by such people. Everyone knows that some people just like to make trouble. Let barking dogs bark, that is what I believe,” she said, pursing up her lips.

“You take such a mature view of things. But I am still young. If this wasn’t our first meeting, I would have said you were trying to warn me off, strange as that may sound,” I commented, crossing my ankles and sipping my lemonade.

She gasped. She obviously hadn’t expected me to fight back, in whatever war she had brought me.

“I am younger than you!” she asserted. Oh right, that is what she would get out of it. But young wasn’t always a good thing, and it was time she learnt that.

“You look it! How old are you?”

“Twenty-two,” she replied, looking a little mollified. “My husband is a businessman. Maybe you’ve heard of him.”

Oh, is that how she was going to play it? It was time to end the charade.

“Sheetal, do you want to stop pretending you don’t know who I am? And if you want to keep up this cloak and dagger pretence you had going, then maybe we could continue in the evening? I rather like having a peaceful morning,” I said, looking straight at her.

She seemed riled. “How did you know who I am?”

“Facebook,” I replied succinctly.

She drew in a breath. “So you have been stalking him, have you? But you better stay away from him. I don’t care how long you two were dating and I don’t care how well you think you knew him. You stay away!”

I thought she looked a little hysterical. She certainly sounded that way. So I just raised an eyebrow in this way that I have, and asked, “What makes you think I am even interested anymore?”

“You are here. You found out we were coming here, didn’t you? Listen, it’ll be better for all of us if you just go away.” She seemed to think she had reasoned everything out so logically.

But someone had to burst her bubble, and preferably before breakfast. So I took it on myself. “Sheetal, get a grip. Ask your dear husband why he chose this resort for a holiday. He knows I own the place.”

“Y-you own the r-resort?” she stuttered. This was news, it seemed. I felt a little bad for her. I had been pretty naïve at twenty-two myself.

“The island, actually. But that is really not the point.” Actually it kind of was, but I didn’t want to say it out loud. I sighed and stretched. So much for a relaxing morning on the beach.

I got up, slung my bag over my shoulder and looked down at her with a grin. “Don’t look so horrified. Tell Madhav I said hello.” With that, I walked off, leaving her gaping.

So the morning wasn’t a total waste. I may have been upset a year ago when we had broken up, but this morning, my unholy amusement at the thought of him having to spend his life with Sheetal as his wife actually made up for it.

Pop Corn

Reclining into the plush red chair, Anusha let out a sigh of relief. She briefly closed her eyes and allowed her smile to stretch into a grin. Yes, this was bliss. An afternoon away from work, away from friends, away from family, away from life as she knew it.

She opened her eyes just as the room was plunged into darkness. She felt the still-tense muscles of her shoulders relax. A moment later, the large screen before her lit up with reflected light.

She enjoyed the entire experience of watching a movie in the theater, including the previews, the crying babies who would invariably wake up hungry and cranky at the most critical part of the movie, and of course, she loved pop corn. It seemed to smell and taste a thousand times better here than it ever did at home! Plus, she had not quite managed to pull off caramel pop corn at home. Buying it at the movies was so much easier.

Sitting at the back of the hall, it was easy for her to scan the other seats. She noted with some satisfaction that the hall seemed to be pretty sparsely populated. She enjoyed movies, and she could be a little vocal sometimes. Somehow, the people sitting around her didn't always appreciate that. But today she could laugh, cry, exclaim or dance if she wanted to. The nearest people were a couple sitting three rows down, who were already so wrapped up in each other it was embarrassing.

"Excuse me, miss," said a diffident looking fellow wearing a purple and black uniform. Oh, he must be one of the staff here. "Would you like to order any refreshments? I will serve you at your seat."

She stalled him before he could rattle off the list of food and beverages they served. She knew that list off by heart anyway. "Just a pop corn combo, please," she smiled.

He was back before the previews and advertisements were over, so she tipped him more generously that she would have otherwise. With the popcorn to her right and drink to her left, she focused her attention on the screen once again.

She had picked a sappy romantic comedy. It wasn't entirely because she needed a break now, and this was the only movie on in the afternoon. It was also because she was just tired of how boring and correct life was, and how boring and correct she had to behave at work. A stupid, unabashedly sappy movie would help her zone out completely. For the next two hours, she would be that stupid, romantic heroine, would live that stupid, romantic story. She needed the escape and she didn't feel the least bit apologetic.

Ten minutes into the movie, she was completely immersed in the lives of Mandy and Pete, the unbearably sweet couple on screen, whose worlds had just collided, in the way that only happened in movies. Fifteen minutes into the movie, she had already identified the potential threat to their potential relationship.

It took her another two minutes to realize that someone was now sitting in the seat next to her. She would have had no trouble ignoring them, except that the person smelt extremely good. In a very attractively masculine way. But she reminded herself, he was probably gay; they seemed to be the only men with any sense of hygiene these days.

And yet, there was a prickling awareness of this man, that ran all over the right side of her body. She couldn't help casting a surreptitious glance in his direction the next time she grabbed a handful of pop corn. Which she almost dropped all over herself, because, wow, the man was good looking. He was even dressed smartly, what the magazines would call casual chic. Damn.

She got involved with the slightly insipid plot of the movie for another ten minutes, in which time the hero made plans with his bumbling best friend to woo the heroine, which were clearly doomed to failure.

"Excuse me."

A low, deep voice interrupted her plot analysis. It was the man sitting next to her. As she turned her head towards him with an eyebrow raised in query, he offered a small smile and held up the pop corn and drink the young fellow in purple must have just got for him. She took the hint and removed her pop corn onto her lap.

Another five minutes passed in silence. The movie seemed to hold as little interest for the man as it did for Anusha, though. She was constantly glancing at him, so she knew for a fact that he was doing the same to her. Sure, she was used to attention. She was nice enough to look at, her own mirror said so every day. But she didn't think she had ever distracted a guy from a movie this stupid.

The next moment, their gazes caught again, and this time, neither looked away. He smiled tentatively, and so did she.

"Mandy is going to go out with the other fellow to make Pete jealous," he whispered.

"No, the other fellow is going to make Mandy think that Pete is trying to woo the horrid cheerleader," Anusha countered.

"That's as maybe, but Mandy will go out with the other guy," he insisted.

"Hah. We will see. I'll get you caramel pop corn in the intermission if that happens," Anusha said.

He didn't reply, but then, he didn't need to. Mandy went out on a date with the other guy. Before Anusha could do more than groan, the lights came on. Intermission!

She stood up, and to her surprise, so did he. He followed her out of the hall, said, "Caramel pop corn," grinned, and walked off.

She couldn't help the grin that lightened her own face, or the challenge in her tone as she called out, "Hey!"

He turned.

"Anusha," she said.

"Dev," he replied, holding out his hand.

***

Her hand still tingled minutes later, as she stood in line for his pop corn. She was back in the hall in record time. Anusha didn't remember enjoying a movie so much in a very long time. Dev and she seemed to share the same irreverent sense of humour. Beyond that, she sensed that he was here for the same reason as she was... to escape reality and the baggage that came with it. She doubted if he had had much clue what movie was playing when he had bought the ticket, and she wasn't wrong.

All too soon, the movie was almost over, as was the pop corn. They were sharing the tub she'd bought during the intermission, and they both reached in for the last few bits. As their fingers brushed, they both jumped as though burnt. Dev's ears seemed to have turned pink, though it was difficult to tell in the dim light. He silently offered her the remaining pop corn.

The movie over, they both exited the hall in silence. Standing outside, in the soft light of the late afternoon, he turned to her.

"So, that was fun."

"Yeah, that was."

"Want to watch another one next week?"

"Same time, same place?" she joked.

"Absolutely," he said with that grin.

They were trying so hard not to stoop to the level of Mandy and Pete sappiness, that they watched five movies together before he finally asked her out for a real date.

The Mob

There was an ominous rumble in the city, mirrored only very weakly in the sky's attempts at a storm.

In a brightly lit spot, they had gathered, to try to shame the darkness into a yet darker place. It was a moot point, whether darkness was any sort of an answer. But then, no one really cared. This was a triumph.

So many had come, leaving the comfort of home and their habit of dissociation. No, today was a day for association. They felt enthralled at the change they were sure they had wrought. They had given up the safety of anonymity for the thrill of being in the firing line. And fired at they were. But that just fired them up even more.

This situation had escalated from a bunch of simple people enjoying their first vocalization of protest, into an inflamed, wronged group of protesters who now had more reason than ever to protest. The war had been ideological at some level earlier, but now it was personal. It was personal and it was so much larger than that. It was a mob.

It had thought behind it, inasmuch as the individuals that made up the mob were guided by thought. But subtly, they were guided less by thought and more by the perception of what everyone else was doing. Even the half-hearted protests became laced with anger. There was so much anger. Subtly, they lost selfhood in favour of an identification with the larger body they now made up a part of.

Even when they went home at last, that identification would not fall away from them. There would be meetings, there would be petitions, there would be debates and everyone would air their views, share their perspectives, and solidify their beliefs that the situation was terrible, and that it was their duty, and our duty, and everyone's duty, to join the movement. Join the mob.

No, it was not acceptable to have an ideological position contrary in any way to that of the mob. It was a movement now, except that it was still a mob. It was good to agree with the basic premise of the mob, but it was not acceptable to identify the root of the problem anywhere other than where the mob had identified it. And it was definitely not acceptable to prefer a different course of action.

The people began to forget their individual ideas, in the comfort and familiarity of following someone else's ideas. It was easier to focus on cohesion when they could leave it to someone else to plan their path for them. Besides, there was no time to waste in thinking, in mulling over possibilities... it was time to Act!

But the picture of the act is not one that I have the heart to paint. Nor is the aftermath. Their anger will die. They will tire. Life will catch up with them. They will turn into what they fought against. Their individual character will remain untouched. In taking on the garb of the mob, they made it possible to dissociate from their own actions easily enough.

They will move away from the darkness they have wrought. They will then consign it to a dark place, until they can highlight it as the darkness necessary to appreciate light. It has happened before, and it is likely to happen again. But still there is no light. Still, it is night, and a stormy one at that. 

It's Only Words...

Sometimes it feels like words should be music. When you walk into a crowded room full of the noise of voices and the noise of laughter pitched too high, so that it's impossible to make out what is being said by anyone, do you ever wonder what would it be like if the words were music?

I sometimes phase out the meanings of words. I forget for a while, that there is a meaning attached to a set of syllables strung together. Then it becomes just a stream of sound. It's soothing, when you don't have to process what the other person is saying. It's wonderful to just let it pass by without hanging on to it, trying to look ahead and plan something - a reply, even - around it.

Yes, I probably have done that more than once when we were talking. No, I don't think it made much difference to understanding your point of view. Your tone says as much as, if not more than, what your words do. Maybe I understand so well because I heard what your words sang out, rather than what your lips said. Maybe I just like the sound of your voice.

Doesn't it happen to you, that the sound of someone's voice makes you tingle? Maybe it was someone you passed by while walking down the road, maybe it was the child with the voice that sounded like the sweet chime of a bell, clear and pure. Maybe that's why I don't speak so much, because I don't have a thrilling voice. It is also why I listen more intently.  

Roverandum-1

I suffered for the longest time, from the most insufferable sort of wanderlust. I lusted to wander. But wander I could not. I was too young. I couldn’t be allowed to roam alone. No one had the time to travel aimlessly with me. I had no money. No one had any to spare for me to spend either.

So I spent years and years wondering when I would experience the world. I read about places, hoarded postcards and watched movies. Anything to get a feel of different places, people, cultures… I tried to familiarise myself with different languages, on the off-chance that some day, it might come handy.

Slowly, it began to seem less likely that I would ever go anywhere fun or do anything fun or meet anyone fun and maybe just have fun. When I decided to work, I thought it was the end of life as I knew it. To some extent of course, that was true.

Within a month I realised that I couldn’t stay cooped up in office. A deep restlessness surged within. It dawned on me that whether or not I was ever able to travel the way I wanted to, there was just no way I could stay put for any appreciable length of time in one place. So after a short period of self-inflicted torture, I packed up, became a freelancer and sat under a tree to work.

Then one day, when I had just about tucked up my dreams of traveling and put them permanently to bed, they were woken up with a sudden jerk. Dusted off, brushed down and freshly laundered for good measure, we were in business again, it seemed. All the hurdles had melted away and all I had to do was leave. So I hopped about in delight and onto a plane.

Of course, dreams and reality are never exact mirrors for each other. I found that out soon enough.

…To Be Continued…

On Romance

It just happened.

After years of dreaming of what it might be like

How it might happen

It took things in its own hands

It just happened.

And I watched.

It swept me up and carried me away,

In a blink everything was new

The world had changed around me

As I watched.

It seeped into me.

It looked like nothing at all

And yet I wanted nothing else

I could see it in everything, feel nothing else

It was already within me.

Why are there any questions?

If it is, it is

When it wasn't, it still was, waiting

And now you say it can't be

Why ask at all?

And the interlude ended.

That's when Romance took over

Stayed with me, in me

I see it still, all around

A new interlude every day.

Memory is awake now.

It has sharper features, stronger feelings

Deeper colours, hazier edges

Messier recall and tidier highlights

Memory may yet take over.

Yet, that first moment, sharp as a knife

Cuts through questions,

Through doubts, even memories

There throbs the heart of all romance

In that moment, it lives.

Back!

And suddenly, one night, out of the nothingness of too much work, too much stress, too much everything (but too little food), rises a lazy memory of who you are. You want to part your hair down the middle and make two neat plaits, and the stress of looking good is suddenly beyond you. All you want in life is suddenly clear, because you can actually see it in front of your eyes. It's coming to you on its own, and the happiness you get out of doing what should have been a dry chore hints at there being something inherently perfect about this seemingly messed up life. And after months and years when you blocked out songs because of associations you hung on them, its a revelation when a certain kind of movie or song, just doesn't bother you anymore. A movie you last watched more than ten years ago keeps you up half the night, and gives you a headache the next day, but flicks the switch in your head or heart that opens a door to another place, somewhere you used to go before, but for some reason or the other, just forgot the way to. New people bring new experiences, but they also bring back everything you thought you had forgotten, and though it isn't clear to you how you ought to classify those memories now, it's nice to have them handy. It's nice to have you back.

Here and There :)

Early in the morning, as the mist over the mountains thinned into an indistinct haze, a solitary plume of smoke rose in the distance. Considering what a busy hill-station this was, the sense of tranquility that seemed to soak each passing moment was unexpectedly invigorating.

It was beautiful here. Climbing up, high above the plains, everything became ridiculously simple and uncomplicated. The view was stunning up here, the very air seemed sparkling with some strange magic.

Breakfast was a leisurely feast, the marmalade somehow essential to the setting. Do cane and marmalade actually go well together? Food... it's all about food at the end of the day! What we feed our bodies, what we feed our minds, what kind of mess we cook up with our emotions...

No, no! This story is not going to be all about food; that just happened to be on my mind (as usual). This story is about one of the many other things that usually are on my mind. The occasional mystery, for instance.

It all began some months ago, at a popular hang-out in South Delhi. There they were, five young boys, dirty, unkempt but supremely confident of their place under the sun (for that is where they spent most of their time). The bags in their hands may have been stuffed with rubbish, their brains crammed full of instructions to scavenge and claw theirway through life, but for that one moment, they were kids having fun.

Fun.

This needed looking into. It had been a while since fun had thumbed its nose at me so unexpectedly. It was like a sign that said: Catch me if you can!

Well, I'd like to, ofcourse... who wouldn't! But hey, all around me, there were people, cars, noise, smoke... the works! It seemed to be a trifle overcrowded for something as simple as Fun.

So I thought of going some place that messed up my senses less. Luckily, some friends wanted to go visit Humayun's Tomb, so I tagged along!

The monument was beautiful as ever, though pretty well swarming with tourists. The smaller tomb of Isa Khan was comparatively quiet. Yes! Good place to contemplate things, or merely take a few pictures without worrying about getting twenty random people in the frame!

The sun was already starting to yawn a little, and I had a long way to travel, so that day's investigations had to be abandoned. A new day and a new plan would solve the mystery, I was sure!

I spent the journey home thinking of bed and how nice it would feel to relax each part of my body, dreaming about what I would dream about when asleep!! Of course, that is not quite what happened!

Yes, we ended up at the mall.

A mall can be a fun place to be. There are brilliant lights in all colours, people of all kinds to watch, and of course, lots to eat! Bro was home after ages, so even though we were both rather worn out, we washed our faces and sallied forth. 'To the Mall', said he. To the Mall, it was.

While I savoured every spoonful of the chocolate ice cream he was treating me to, Bro flirted a little with the nearby billboard. Discovery of the evening: Laughter goes deliciously well with ice cream and chocolate sauce!

It so happened that Bro had some other news as well!! 'We're off to Bombay tomorrow,' he said. Perfect!! I called up my friends in that city to tell them the glad news immediately!

Friends are fun!!! And my friends in particular tend to sport rather nice footwear.

Ah, I digress! So, bro and I reached Bombay, and just because the autos there are so much of a change from the ones in Delhi, we started taking photographs almost as soon as we sat in it!

*Ting*: Sound made by the meter. Also a sound I rather like! Additionally, a sound that makes me happy, simply because it means I'm in a different part of the country and that I'm travelling!

Evening is, of course, the time to traipse around Bombay, and we did so, meeting the recently-red-headed one and doing all the touristy things possible!!

The sight of lights on water was like the sparkly paper on a gift. Of course, we'd beenenjoying the city for a while before we got to see the pretty wrapper, but still totally worth it!

Tired, but very happy, we called it a day.

The next morning, we were traveling again, this time by road. The road from Bombay to Shirdi is sometimes a nightmare, cause the people who drive trucks, buses, vans, cabs and the occasional motorcycle on that road seem to delight in trying to overtake other vehicles just as some huge bus or truck rounds a corner towards them, full speed ahead!

A could of trips down, you become immune and really start enjoying the scenery. You are liable to pick up a little marathi as well (I now know how to say 'there's a school up ahead': pudhe shaala aahe).

What I particularly like about that part of the countryside is the shape of their bullock carts. Unlike what I grew up seeing in UP, the carts here are a beautiful curvy shape, with nice large wheels that somehow look very romantic! Maybe the fact that I first saw these in the moonlight has something to do with it!

While at Kohrale, a small sleepy village, I met Lakshmi the blind cow, who could only see food, or so the guys who were taking care of her claimed! She was quite a sweet thing, happily eating all that was put before her, and trying to take the occasional bite from us tasty little morsels. That blissful day soon passed, however, and we had to go back. That's when it started to rain!

The droplets of water seemed to have washed the entire earth clean and she was resplendent in all her green finery as we sped back to the city.

Soon, too soon, we were back in Bombay, and then in Delhi, where the erratic rainfall kept us wondering!

I was happy to be home, but the short, swift trip had left me buzzing with energy. I thought this would be a good time to write to my sister in college down South!

Apart from the random thrill I get from using inland letters, it's the thought of how happy it makes me to receive letters that had me writing to her. Telephones and emails made a lot of what i wrote to her redundant, but i guess the essence of that moment reached her through the ink on the paper!!

That brings me back to the beginning of this story... the hills and the tranquility.

Sitting with my feet dangling in the cold, fresh water (rushing down to be worshipped and desecrated in equal measure), my mind went back to those boys in that busy Delhi marketplace. Fun. I had my share of fun in my random quest, not when I was trying to, but in between the searching, traveling, randomness and rain drop chasing. That felt good. That explained life for me.

I'm tired now! Rambling is fun, but makes you sleepy after a while!

circumstances beyond control

There are always things you want to control, but can't. The weather, for instance. When I was in Dehradun, the weather improved in Delhi. The day I came back, it was as hot as ever! The one day I forgot to take my umbrella along, it rained. The weather... what is one to do about it?

Then there are people. Of course, people are contrary by definition. The only reason some people are around you is so that they can do their bit in irritating you out of your mind. And however well you may plan your day and your life, you can count on people to behave contrarily and ruin all your plans. Your perfect day has every chance of being marred by people who don't think anyone has a right to the 'perfect day', who perhaps believe that 'perfect days' shouldn't be allowed, that they make people too happy for their liking. I dislike having people around me who frown upon happiness. I dislike having to deal with people who are so grim that they make you lose your pleasure in life. They are real life dementors, and they don't think about it long enough to realise it.

Everyone has this life as an opportunity to share love. Instead, some people frown upon love, even though they may be benefitting from it immensely. People are contrary. They are beyond one's control. The only control you have is over yourself. You can choose to make yourself happy and you can choose to create love. You can choose to live Now in this beautiful moment and maybe that way your plans won't get scuttled, because the only plan is for this very moment.

Disbelief

So when did this happen?

When did delight turn right around

How came irritation in its place

Or is this a new way you've found

To denigrate a pure emotion

And believe the noise around?

How come you care

About some stares

some random opinion or gossip

Why are they so important to you

that you rant you rave you shout

For something simple that they don't get

But hey,

neither do you, now.

There are sunny days and cloudy days, rainy days and sultry days. There are days you wish would never end and there are days you wish had never dawned. Sometimes, the same day becomes all of these.

The last few days were hot and sunny days, merging with cloudy and outright smokey days, not to speak of loud and disturbing days. That's what happens when it's rally hot and you are forced to close all doors and windows to try and keep out the din being made by a truckload of road repairers with wives and children in tow. The people noises were hardly audible above the constant thundering of the strange machine that spewed smoke like twenty factories together.

It was so bad, cause we couldn't breathe, our eyes hurt and itched, and the added heat from the burning tar barrels and the gigantic machine just about defrosted our fridge for us. Looking at the women and kids made me feel worse.

While the women either shovelled some sand or gravel or whatever it was that they had piled up, or sat in the shade of some trees, the kids were all over the place, pushing barrels, sitting on sand heaps, beating stones with sticks, looking grubby and happy.

Why were little kids allowed on such sites? Because their mothers had to come too and where would the kids go? Why were some of the kids helping in the work? Because there wasn't anyone to ensure that they didn't, or that they went to a school, neither were their parents interested in that option. Considering that most of them are seasonal migrants, schooling is patchy even in cases where they do get sent to study.

There's a very nice case of such kids being taught by a couple of university students outside a temple nearby. The difference between the schooled and unschooled kids from this fluid migrant labouring group is pretty sharp. On days when people feed the poor outside temples, there are some who descend on them in a mob formation, with the kids being taught by their parents to beg, hide the food they got the first time and come again to ask for more, to lie about having already been fed, and to fight off any other people who might get a grain of rice more than them.

The other group is of kids who are begin taught by the university students. The understand the meaning of a line and seem to get the concept that everyone will get equal amounts if they don't try to grab. They are polite, the older ones teaching the younger ones to say 'thank you' and going off in an orderly fashion after they have eaten. They tend to ask politely if they may take some for their families, and surprisingly, even their parents seem to curb the tendency to socialise them in the 'beg and grab' technique.

Pre-Midnight

There is less than half an hour to midnight, and as I wipe away the sniffles from my cold and rather pink nose, I have finally made up my mind.

Tomorrow is less than half an hour away, while my pen is close at hand.

A new year will begin in less than half an hour, and a few minutes later it'll face its first eclipse. My diary will have faced it's first scribbles for 2010 before that. More startling things will, of course, happen in the days to come.

Snacktime

Yes, indeed! Winter is snacktime, and almost-winter is even better! Half of November has already slipped by, and the nip in the air is back, though you thought it would never make it, considering the heat of summer (which looked like it planned to stay forever) and all those nasty climate-change rumours.

In short, it was time for one of those famous samosa-jalebi parties. There are few things more satisfying than fresh, hot jalebis and samosas on a chilly evening when however bravely you might wear capris, you tend to have the prudence to team it with socks below and poncho above.

As we set out to get the goods, my nose felt cold and had, I was sure, turned a nice shade of pink: a sure sign that the weather was just right. And voila! The particular samosa-jalebi wala we patronize was surrounded by a happy looking crowd, ordering everything from pakodas to chowmein! And oh, it was the ultimate theli-wala-chowmein... you could tell just by the smell! As dad made his way through the crowd, I placed myself strategically, where I wouldn't get jostled, but would still have the aroma of that wonderful chowmein wafting by.

There is just no way I can have samosas and jalebis without thinking of nani and the numerous samosa-jalebi parties we had. I remember one we had in Calcutta, shortly before they shifted back here... through the hallucinations and confusion and everything, nani wanted to have a samosa party! She's passed her love of all things snacky and yum to me, I suspect.

As dad handed me the packet, complaining that his hands were sticky, my hands made an involuntary dive into the packet to grab a jalebi before it had the time to lose even half a degree of heat. And so, throughout the drive home, I was munching on jalebis, and then, to offset the sweetness, on the crisp sides of the samosas. No wonder I don't lose any weight.

However, as I see it, it's ok, cause I may as well enjoy it while I can. You never know about the future, specially with all the 'end-of-the-world' movies they keep making every so often. Even if they manage to save the world, suppose they don't manage to save any of the good samosa-jalebi walas??

The future according to astrologerical people isn't any more promising... if there are foreign climes on the cards, then I should actually devote every possible moment to savouring things like this, that I just know I will crave for if I can't have!!!

Interestingly, as I wrote all this, I remembered samosas being made at home in Baraut. I think that may well be one of my first memories of it!! There was always something being tried out there when we were much too young to appreciate most of it. I think I ought to try it too. I might need it in those foreign climes on a dull and cheerless day!!!

Rambling

Why should it be so difficult to realise what we are doing? While we are doing it, I mean. Why is it that it all seems to make sense and have a logic of its own and even an inevitability of some kind, but in the end, why does it all turn out to be a fabric created by own imagination, coloured by our own fanciful palette, tasting faintly burnt, specially around the corners?

While its always nice to hope that it won't actually turn out that way, why does it feel like it might? After all, it wouldn't be a really bad thing, except for the burnt around the corners part of it... that's going to be called regret, I believe. For the rest, it would be experience (though the experience may be nothing more educational than one page filled with colour for a two year old. How many pages of scrawled colour make for one pretty picture, after all?) and there is always the possibility that if I have to get it wrong, I'm getting it wrong Now, thinking that it'll turn out to be all wrong Later.

It's past three in the morning and I'm just home after a rather long movie which I quite enjoyed, though it could have done without about three or four songs that made it drag a bit; that explains why I'm rambling, though it doesn't give away Why I'm rambling thusly (wink wink)

I'm a bit disappointed with Archies Gallery. After making such a hue and cry about Daughter's Day and etc., it turned out that the only piece of merchandise that anyone would have been tempted to buy was not exactly merchandise at all. There was a nice long poster on the window of most AGs saying 'My Daughter, My Hero', with a rather cute cartoony girl under the slogan. I wanted that poster. I had already decided to stick it on the door of my room. And it isn't even merchandise... just promotional. Blah!