Waltzing

..So a large part of me was aww-ing the first's others around me had.
I was reveling in the lost glory of all the nervous interpreting and wondering, the confidence seeping in, comfort settling down, and the cheek-warmingly endless smiling.
Knowing-not-knowing is one of the biggest highs I have experienced.
And so, a part of me - wishing - I could start all over again...

Till a mundane cyber conversation, sitting amidst computer terminals and deadlines of all kinds, later - three years was three years, for a reason.

time, relatively..

How long? or how many times..before something qualifies as a habit?

Aww-inducing!

Hearing someone snore, over the phone, 5023 miles away is one of the most comforting things in the world.

Inexplicable..

...in a moment of weakness.

There are those that are loved. I think I take them for granted now. The second rung come and go, I think. There was one there and I think you're in passing here.

Do you think of me at all?

The realization

Of course, it's all okay. Transitions and new beginnings are fables anyway. It is just the moments of wanting to flee - the crowd, the inexplicable notions running into each other and collapsing and the self - that make me want to pull the covers upto my chin and sleep in.

I cannot bear to think that the next nine months will not resolve everything. That the insecurities will not be dealt and put away on the shelf. I took it for granted that you just stop questioning yourself after a Master's degree. I cannot bear the thought of dealing with myself till am 85 - sitting on my rocking chair, knitting jumpers of self-doubts and undermined confidence.

You follow yourself everywhere. So where does the new beginning start?

I cant say no and I cannot speak up. Sentences interspersed with blah blah because the apparent coherent me upped it and left for Spain. Or maybe, she was never there.

London was where I came to do what I wanted to. When the hell did the ghosts of the obligatory past colonise the spaces for me?

The new me never shows up. Everyone around sheds their old skin effortlessly and metamorphises into the butterfly. I haven't even built my cocoon yet.

For today..

For all the conversations. beers. walks. riverside. colour. songs. sighs. hugs. moments. strangers. associations. buoyancy. denim. frozen noses. light. ash. autumn leaves. faces. nostalgia.
For today. That had noone and nothing other than me.
For the exuberance. together.
For the time that I will never be able to explain. without. or post facto recall.

It's been a while..

Sleeping at 5am never did anyone much good. But the autumn leaves and cider and smoke blowing out from the mouth, reeking of memories, did wonders. There has always been something about the night.

I'm the fray now. In the centre, if you like. Running.

Walking the walk I have learnt to love. Windows that sometimes go by in a flash. Those that I briefly glance at, smiling at the familiar me.

I like the old buildings. Don't quite like the alleyways I overlook.

I've learnt to be frazzled. But never let it seep in. It's ephemeral, you know.

I've learnt to make my peace with myself. At least on the good days. Make my peace with my awkwardness, latent aggression. and even with being on the periphery. I've made my peace with waking up to a grey sky. With 'alone'. I've made my peace with falling hair.

I sometimes yearn for listeners. Sometimes, I wish I remembered the stories I have tucked away.

I'm sure about my security blanket. After a long wait, I've found the circle around me.

I'm testing my ability to perform under pressure. But this year it's supposed to be a 100%...

London

I'm big on the comfort factor. Comfort in terms of letting go. In terms of not having to watch my step. In terms of my favorite shawl on my chair. I measure everything on the comfort scale - passion, chemistry and the rain.

Comfort vis-a-vis the self has been the most elusive.

From the absolute to the relative, comfort has moved from Che to a silver maruti to a photograph of a scrabble board on a cream wall in Central london.. it has been mushroom soup on a first day and it has been huddled in the middle of overwhelming affection. Faux leather blue sofas in a once-smelly kitchen and a second hand duvet cover. Hot dogs and books under a bridge. A now-torn map. the din of the tube. There were the impersonal headphones and of course, a boat on the Thames.

the fabled new

I'm the girl in pink amidst the sea of black and grey. I'm thinking of dyeing my jacket an inconspicuous blue.

I like my freezing nose and the familiarity in the alien. I like the long walks and the 'look left' on the asphalt. I like the feeling of wanting to draw on warm, charcoal-y smoke each time I'm outside for very long. I like the feeling of extreme fatigue each time my head hits the pillow. I like watching the people dotting the square. I call it Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, for some reason.

I like that I'm dealing with change even though it seems like my head doesn't know it yet.

This one's for me.

For strings
For midnight advice at old coffee haunts
For shoe purchases and watching the world pass a deserted market by
For movie-lines and their significance in popular culture
For 9am keeping with tradition
For closing distances in food
For so-sure that it's scary
For so-much..so-much
For floating time warps
For teaching calm
For taxi-ing before take-off
because clean slates never anchor.

the me, without

For the stranger without.
The need to be with someone arises squarely from wanting to tell someone about ourselves.

Lately..

..So lately..

I have bought books I do not need. Loved looking through piles in the old bazaar. Through the sweat. Through the romance novels I cannot (I have tried, but I just cannot sift through the complications) read. Through budgeting for my much-hyped fly from the coup. Looked through swanky bookshelves - mentally ticking off the titles I've always wanted to read. And those I know I should before I'm 25. I do not want to be caught drunk saying Das Urteil, What??

Oh, and one title I totally loved was "Life..and Changing Socks"!

Filling silences in every conversation is annoying. But what when you still go back to those conversations? Why do you?

Also, this one is long overdue..
7am scrabble. 1am and 3am drunken squabble. hangovers. feet on dining tables. crimson and jam. terracota and green. balcony. dove. 4am toothbrushes. tears in 002. trying and laughing. trying and fighting. heard of. seen now. saree at sunset. italian and beef and fried chicken and chinese and appams and KPs and eggs. bread buys grocery store tantrums. entrances. imaged. TC rooms. post office-induced exasperation. goosebumps and traffic. bakery? cluedo and prickly carpets. beer and beer.

But I only like choosing crayons.

Today's a blue moon day in all its glory. Slothful, gnawing, cathartic.
There were notions and issues that gushed out. Of blueberry muffins and familiar smells. Of coloured tshirts and ipod speakers. Of tantrums that will be left incomplete.

Pullin' the puzzles apart. and the shoebox and combination of words.
I absolutely hate it when every cliche and every song, seems true.

So..how can I cross the bridge if I never want to come to it?

Totally unconnected. But I wish life lived in Bangalore. I'd even settle for Bombay. Probably.

unemployed speak

Sloth is a lifestyle choice I highly recommend. That, and a good dentist and you're done till you're 40.

P...for our Perceptions

..So I wish relationships had rules. Like Science. I know I would love to analyse, hyposthasise and then sign off with a flourish - "hence proved". People and people. distance, time and space. Morality breathes down some necks. Suits some others. Is it? Isn't it? For comfort? intensity? too much comfort? where does it start and how does it end? for those that fit images and worse still, for those who don't. P was never wrong, but the discomfort lasted for days. It shook comfortable notions that fit. Giving in is perhaps so much easier than bailing out. Or maybe bailing out is better than falling in.

Postscript: Just had one of the nicest, most thought-provoking (i hate this phrase!) virtual conversations with P (albeit it lasted all of 7 minutes..but like all our conversations when did duration matter..). I like the fact that limits and lines are being questioned. But to constantly look for newer perceptions, does one conveniently escape from those that don't suit one's state of being? Mind games are easy to play - looking for perceptions and people to fit into one's lense of being. Corny as it may sound, it's easy to miss out on the spot closest to the foci.

beyond the postscript: This creeps into my head when i least expect it and makes me feel like im the one on the perception-discovery trail. Well, maybe I am. But I conclude, and I think this is the perception I "see" now, that its wrong to mislead other people's perceptions in order to look for yours. Lying and hurting don't exactly fit into grey. One's self-discovery trysts aren't exactly doing other people any favors.

A long post..and I feel terribly boring and old.

...And of course writing is supposed to be therapeutic. and I've felt like offloading a very crowded mind, and musings that came in fits and starts. But..the inability to express myself has become a real fear now.

I express too late. or I express too little. Greet mails, which I have been waiting with fervent prayers and buried tensions, with a regular hmm..and shut myself in when people outside my head revel in my glory. I introspect too little. React too late.

Srinagar happened. And despite piled up work commitments and the chaos therein of dealing with cranky others, coiled up self, technological breakdowns, meals served late, being taken for granted, sulky evenings and corners I painted myself into - it was beautiful. First night, being in a hotel with dark corridors, door with broken latch and bathroom floors not witstanding, I think I liked being by myself in a completely alien space. Brought a lot of insecurities to the fore and, I think, inspite of all my attempts to push them beneath the book I was reading, I dealt with a couple.

Srinagar also made me realize how much our rational frameworks are flawed and stereotypical. Dealing with people, hiding 'inside' yourself is never easy. Providing ground for discussions on media modules and political perspectives were both scary and revealing. Four words generating completely different understandings and analysis from different people. There is an arrogance of victimhood that is real and boxes in the head run deep. The two plus two rationale does bring out multiple choice responses.

Srinagar, as I discovered, also does not shut down at sundown. The city comes alive on the Boulevard, at Chhalli point and every turn of the road. Kebabwalas, with aromas announcing their presence a mile away; bhuttawalas and the JK police, replete with their bulllet-proof jackets - each interspersed every five feet. There were three blasts that occurred the first day, but we needed worried relatives from other corners of the country calling, to inform us. The city, does not allow blasts, to bring life to a standstill. Or perhaps, if they allowed life to stop with each blast, they wouldn't have a life at all. Friends my age in Srinagar, who took me out when they felt I was working too hard, told me in passing, that their generation can identify the type of gun on hearing the gunshots.

I looked at each person I passed - our shikarawala (who we jolted out of blissful slumber at 5am), a friend who grew up in the region and then moved to Delhi, another young female friend (who my stereotyping head greeted with a pleasant surprise when I saw her driving around the city late one evening) - wondering how the two decades of violence had affected each of them, their perceptions and their families.

My work the last one year has made me tremendously aware of conflict and violence, and the extent to which it seeps into people's lives - insiduously or abruptly. Social relations, friendships, evenings out, faith, within and without were dictated by the sides you took, or perhaps that which you didn't.

Srinagar was also Dal Lake at 5am and the floating market. Eggplants and lotus at 5.30am. Smiles and scales. Humdrum ran into exotic. Cafe Arrabica was another favourite. Penne and expresso with dates on the next table. It beat Big Chill any day. Greta Garbo and high beams.

So this week is my last at work. I never thought I had the capacity to stick it out for this long. 9-5 deskjobs were not my thing. I didn't thing they were cool enough. Sure, I had my problems with this place - the underbelly (which I was initially naive enough to believe, didn't exist), and the dynamics. I learnt how to delete the extra also's and how to count backwards. I met people from places I read about.. and from those that I had stubbornly fixed notions about. I learnt to look outside my own head and I learnt to think. And I've also learnt that I can write 16,000 words in three days.

The past two weeks I've made my peace with so many things. With my security blanket(s) being out of reach. With being blue and red. With playing ostrich. With being thin. With bad songs on the radio. With compulsive liars. With empty vessels. With birthdays.

I had a terrible case of the birthday blues this year. and age still has nothing to do with it. But birthday surprises, and hearing from people I thought had flown to Pluto, treated me well. I think am re-thinking birthday notions now.

I still haven't figured out a lot of things that I have been attempting to deconstruct for the past month. Black and white are so much easier to deal with than grey and slate. I wish I had the luxury of distance - observing people as subjects makes life and introspection a lot simpler.

Also, perennial "PMS" is my current project.

Syncretic and the metaphysical. and the head.

I carefully looked for a groove without a thread and then double-knotted it. Then attempted to untie it and tie a simpler knot - making it easier for whoever unties it. The thick, red threads representing people and their selfish musings (or not) and prayers of floating hope.

There I stood, jostled and hustled, amid degrees of faith. Of muttered prayers and dialogues of want. A millenia of spaces existed under the awning. Each looking for their own comfort from the sacred. With colour and the rain. Amidst Dama Dam Mast Qalandar. Prayer verses wrapped in soft brocade, nestled, sheltered from the teeming masses. The fine print filtered out. With strands of hypocrisy woven in. Men and Men through marble latticework. And one moonlight clock.

For the construct called religion. and for the thread, the bible in the bag, the self in the census. and the withins-and-withouts in the head.

Disconcerted

..for all the grey's that I now see there is. Perceptions change colours.
Because talking to P was introspection for me, though solely for her.
Why is sitting on moral high ground so difficult?

sorting and distorting

On one of our many (now few) 'sojourns' of kurta-buying and comfort-food-eating Sh said that she believes that if one spends enough time with a person, it is possible to fall in love.

In-conversation. In conversations. Emails of endings and beginnings. Pampering. of hearts and heads. Through vacuums and crossed-wires. Between lines. and damning the expectations.

There have been questions flying back and forth in my head. Part of a larger question. For distance. and the mediating I have done recently. About hyped connections and fuzz. Mirages of comfort shared. or lack thereof. For not seeking. yet finding. For seeking and not finding. For choosing when there's really no need to. For finding onself and for rediscovering.

For the common sense I have prided on imparting. But because this time I did not have too many answers that convinced.

For being unfair. For black and white and charcoal grey.

Monogamous in one relationship and polygamous in the rest? For post-modernism in relationships.

..damn! I rant!

...so I wish I knew how to read time better. the months and dates. From the blocks on my fingers that i need to touch to tick off the maybes from the must-be's. For the time that I want to spend. together. From "last week of Aug, or wait, maybe first week of Sept."

Grrr..for not wanting to be brave.

Grrrr...for all the restlessness that makes me go from book to celluloid to upside down on sofas. and ...for the season finale of Grey's Anatomy. ..for not being judgmental. and..for limbo even though say it isn't so...for justifying to the self...for an insanely high telephone bill...for all the men on two-wheelers on Delhi roads...for all the men who decided to rant and slam at the auditorium gate for not being let in at a sufi concert. Grrr..to bimbette TV channel crews who thought that made a news-story...to birthdays, i've never liked them...for i-wish-i-knew-why. Grrr..for 8 hours everyday...for not being able to say no.

As they say...

In an sms from M:

Calvin to Hobbes (one sunday afternoon on the topic of new year resolutions):

I'm fine just the way I am. Why should I change? In fact, I think it's high
time the world started changing to suit me! I don't see why I should do all the
changing around here. I don't need to improve. Everyone Else Does.

Of a democratic polity. and me.

I participated in an “alternate” space, which for a while, I have called my own. With sub-sets of spaces of inspirational people and spaces that looked beyond binaries.

Sometimes, the alternate falls into the same rut as the 'mainstream'. Politics is about the personal. And sometimes, collective politics becomes exclusionary. Replete with unmistakable hints of incestuous alliances, and “part of the movement” also embraces egos, alter-egos and super-egos.

The politics discourse is often partitioned into that for the classes and the masses. Here, language, for me, posited as within or without. My ghost for the day was having to communicate something that I believed so strongly about, in Hindi. I had psyched myself into believing that my inability to communicate would be seen as clinching the suspicion that my involvement was superficial. I apparently am the urban “Pepsi-Cola” peoples, and will allegedly fly the patriotic coup. I felt strangely like an outsider. Of course, I rationalize it by thinking that it was my own sense of insecurity or some sort of complex that cropped up.

If you’re part of the same space, do you still have to gloat? Are new members in a collective supposed to “fit in” to the uniform? Doesn’t inclusively also mean that those from the 'mainstream' are also welcome; after all, isn’t that a sign of the success of the alternative? Or maybe I’m wrong. Maybe, to fight to larger battle, one cannot afford to laud the exceptions. The larger space continues to exist without them.

Precipitation Perspectives

For all the green earth. spray and muddy puddles. for redder red. and squelchy shoes.
I may be fired for blogging from office. But — and it has to be said with all the melodramatic hysterical gaiety i can muster — my world's a better place when it's raining.

inebriated inconsequential rambling

I have lost faith in my ability to communicate in English. generally. Just one of those things that popped into my head as i was drying my hands. I have started emailing bullet points to my closest friend. Punctuation, i've discovered, (especially commas) are not my forte. But dry research papers and annual reports aside, bullet points are fun. Especially when you trust the other person to fill in the right words at the right places — replete with anticipating your change in expression! (me to G: Bullet points let us talk about totally disconnected ideas in two successive sentences..and cover so much about our lives, physical spaces, and the weather!)

***

I've been rolling along from one day to the next. Not drenched in monotony or anything dramatic. Just. Dumbing down the introspection process? Playing ostrich to the world at large? Is it the heat? Today was particularly the worst. It seemed like the world was playing itself out in slow motion. (me to P: i've been sleepwalking through a lot of things..conversations..emotions..premonitions..)

***

Oh and also, not quite related but..I've figured that hospital waiting rooms provide the perfect context for a sociological study on "Patriarchy, the Indian middle class and their sleep patterns."

***

Premonitions are draining.

***

And I've rediscovered Skype and Scrabble!

pfft..

Can all questions, posed to the self, be answered?

As they say...

Friedrich Nietzsche:

One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star.

-----------------------------------------
In that case, I'm breeding a constellation.

..And because I would not trade my insanity for anything in the world..

Inexplicable
the cosmos conspires
for apparently when Greek Gods and Hindu mythology dictate
through all the thunder and premonition
crossing lines of faith etched
brick arcs drawn with measured precision
and guarded with careful pride
Through layers of introspection
and masked sensibilities
for clattering reflections
for the spoken word
for the conflicting vaccum
and me

TPs?

Some of us discussed Focault. Others discussed fractions. And the funniest part is that these conversations were never mutually exclusive. I remember drunken singing in a bathroom at 4 in the morning. I remember lots of chocolate cake. I also remember golgappa bowls and photo-coasters. I remember walking down dark streets of vasant vihar after saying farewell to 1 out of 3, singing like the world did not matter.

And invariably I will always remember the laughing. The context changed. Amidst the red bricks at the Cafe. sprawled across corridors. Through games of pictionary. Pizza Hut and the vodka shots at TC.

There was nizamuddin. Shared bewilderment and forgetting to cover heads. There were films that were made, along with posters and presentations. There were walks in parks among bottles and bottles of erasex (that's what whitener's called right??) at 8 in the morning. There were episodes of Friends. and Charlie and the Chocolate factory and Madagascar. Midnight Maggi. There were also surprise parties that were pulled off. Our CVs bear the marks of our common interests. And our birthday gifts were invariably six months late. And it took us three years to get a photograph "where all of us have our eyes open AND are looking into the camera"!!

There was the Middle Class in Pakistan and there were numerous others.

By the end of it we knew us all. The one who got drunk the fastest. The one who was always late. The one who hated hugs, but who we co-opted. The one who hyperventilated the most. The one who hated Subway. The one who always called a spade, a spade. The one who loved Pepsi. The one who ate dirty chowmein, and the other who ate manchurian rice.

The last time we met was over glasses of wine. 6 red, one white. We discussed relationships. The mile-high club. and bookstores. and a hammock. :D

And I remember the comfort. Shared and nurtured. sought and sought-out. Things were not always smooth. 7 invariably broke up into 2s and 3s and 5s and then some. I know I messed up at places. regrets and tokenisms. egos and gratitude. nights we would remember, and those we always will.

Distance happened. Physically and otherwise. And I write this now because through layers of MAs and MScs and jobs, gmail worked. as did facebook and orkut of course (even though stubbornness and laziness ensure that ALL of us together are on neither!). There were 27 emails exchanged over fiction. There were others about Focault, I believe. There's a resurgence of meeting and conversations, I think.

There have been conversations. Some of the comfort sometimes seems missing. At other times, somewhere we know that it'll always be there (cliched?). In a conversation with SH, (and apparently all of us still have numerous staccato conversations about "us seven") we wondered if we would still run to each other, just? Without a reason? Call, just?

There is an immense sense of pride (I sound old when I say it of course!) over ideas growing in people. Over tremendous work being done. Over people who you're proud to know. And there's respect and gratitude.

And apparently we never shared a meal at Big Chill. There's where we go next girls :)

Postscript:

And i forgot to mention the names: apt and saved in phone directories.

AJ..your happy post!

My pessimism notwithstanding..things around for me will change..for good.

The largest part of me remains ungrateful..and yes, i need aroma candles and the couch and the shrink (AJ! it sounds wayyy different from the context we discussed it in!)..

In my defence, there are many slips and cups and lips i know of. and my realist sensibilities go into overdrive.

It was surreal at one level to see people around me revel in my glory. it felt good. and it felt twice as scary. Emotions and realities that were unfamiliar.

There are stepping stones and there are first steps. And I know i will be a little broken if i find them missing.

Say..cheese sticks and crushing on a former teacher. Life felt good six hours later :)

Of longitudes in the head

Sometimes..
I wish I could box myself in
obliterating the need for
momentary
confusion, bitchiness, moodswings
exaggerated perceptions
sometimes..
its nicer to just pull away
sometimes..
I wish I could pretend all the time.

Postscript:
Melodramatic me!!
AJ read it out and well, it sounded funny once the anger and irritation had subsided..
She also reminded me of shiny disco balls and feet-dipped in pools this weekend..and despite AJ-budday-induced predictions saying my new year resolutions will not be fulfilled, things are not so bad afterall.
As for boxing in. Im still going ahead with it!

research and reality checks.

First there was anger...head-smacking anger. then there was disbelief. extreme sadness. and then after a point it gave way to desensitization. almost completely.

There i was sitting..for the better part of my working week..reading testimonies, commentaries, articles, first-persons, directives..on the Gujarat pogrom of 2002. The race towards barbarism. The winner takes the holy land. God save his soul.

There were stories untold and re-told. feminist analysis. of how systematically, deliberately, brutally, inhumanely the woman's body became the symbol of victory/defeat; of soiling the other community; of leaving "our" mark on "them". foetuses torn out and burnt. throats slit. bodies violated.

And we just watched.

There were children. hundreds in number.

And we just watched.

and then there were photographs. my facade of desensitization gave way. images broke down the wall that so effectively blocked out words.

Its been five years now. the silver lining being the hundreds of organizations working in the region. painfully, slowly..surely. Justice. reconciliation. who said building peace was easy? who said forgiving was easy?

And we still just watch.

Sometimes extreme hatred for the religion i was born into surfaces. sometimes just shame. We protect the holy-cow, but kill the human. The utter hypocrisy of it all.

Modi was cursed. and counter-cursed. How does it matter..he still walks free.

As i gathered. Little has changed.

I thought about all the people I knew. And stereotypes of the "other" reiterated even in seemingly rational, liberal minds. Would they be part of the mob? Or worse still would they turn a blind eye to it had they been there?

We had plenty to talk about at our ubiquitous living room discussions. We have reams of research. Plenty of books. Images.

..And we've moved on.

mis amigas..this week

Met Bonu after agesss today. Practically spent the whole day together. Catching up. Filling in. Sounding out...you get the idea..

Its wonderful (something I've taken a while to get used to, no doubt!) that my relationship with most of my closest friends (hail the gmail/gtalk revolution as well, of course!) is based on picking up and dropping off..flying in and flying out. And we still yap like kms never existed. Work. Ambitions. New phones. New work places. Essays to be submitted. Mean boys. Nice boys. Boys who are hard to get rid of. Pretty places visited. Expectations. Museums. Lounges. New creative talent sought. Chocolate. Bling. Chess.

-------------------------------------------------

Watched the short film she's made. Had read the script beforehand; had even tried helping her out with the title..But had no idea it would come out so well. As a first, its certainly something I'm super proud of.

The credits rolled. and i sat with a lump in my throat.

Dealing with the process of change per se, she has most sensitively, and almost seamlessly, inter-woven the story of change in printing technology with change in her own familial vocations and the values and affiliations therein. So there are frames of printing machines and letter presses juxtaposed with family photographs and musings. Lingering Impressions, she's called it.

The film in itself is a tremendous project. But i know for me, it was more than that..i was revelling in our shared experiences and overwhelming we're-nappy-pals pride!

---------------------------------------------------

Have also been dealing with insecurity lately. A trait i do not entertain, acknowledge or own up to. I blame it on global warming-induced dust squalors and early scorching summers!

---------------------------------------------------

Pudd's wise words when i needed them the most:

There's humour everywhere..in small things..and in people who annoy you.

You always know best, Puddsie!!

Yes..it was another weekend!

a mindnumbing whirlwind of a weekend..
sat through seven steps around the fire. caught a cold. broke my phone. was let down. cried.A LoT. slept at 5.30 am three times over. escaped family wedding to go to TC (my happy place :D). played hide-n-seek with a four-year-old. drove to DLF. drove to Rohini. found solace in 15-minute ISD phonecalls. walked up-n-down through a maddening Sunday night Sarojini nagar shoppers crowd coz i wanted to think. fought through layers and piles and stacks of accusations of expections unfulfilled. learnt that i cannot make ALL the people happy ALL the time. drove a policeman around in my car to prove that i had not jumped the traffic light. was told that i was "the best-est TONU in the whole world". used dirty green kajal. sang tunelessly. swore at the wrong people. danced on a barstool. put my foot in my mouth.
------------------------------------------------------------------
Had a second cousin get married from my house. So the Great Indian Wedding played out from my living room. and my bedroom. and the kitchen. and even the staircase.
Found strangers in my room. and their children. and empty muffin packets full of ants.
Its crazy. fun in bits. not so much fun when i have to take shopaholic cousins for an afternoon out in the sun for two and a half hours and she buys a belt. that's right. two hours..for a freakin' belt. or when I have to stay up till 5.30am and make tea four times during insane hours of the night. or when i need to walk around in 4 inch heels pretending to look very pretty but when i feel like my ankle will die. or when i have a huge, and i mean HUGE, problem with the dynamics of a Hindu wedding ceremony (or any wedding ceremony for that matter) and realize that my ranting has been recorded for posterity on the obnoxious, ubiquitous-at-weddings, annoying-light-flashing-in-eye video camera.
I watched..mother and daughters cry. chaos reign. suitcases being packed and unpacked and repacked. tempers rise with fatigue and the heat. egos clash and burn. sarees being worn. the electricity go off at the wedding venue just as the groom arrived. fish being wrapped and unwrapped and dressed up. lots of family. some liked. others not so much.

Do i always post after the weekend?

Saturday night began under starlight..yemenite-rajasthani-ethiopian music..israeli lead singer..backpackers, sadarji uncles, fat aunties in sarees, hippies, yuppies and us..shared space on mattresses..
concert on the greens. with strobe lights and lots of space. man with the multicoloured turban and wooden castenets (the kartal, i think) from rural rajasthan dancing with gay abandon..with the girl from perisan-israel..

Sunday night i met bengalees..of all shapes and sizes..on the mount. there was colour. there were loud, musical voices. there were big round red bindis.
tiptoed over the marble inlays set for people remembered..like i have done since i was 3 - names and relationships etched on stone..freezing people in time, in a house of worship.
there was incense. and someone rang the temple bell right behind me.
We're in the year 1414, im told.

This weekend. I also found out i'll be losing 3 more people to distance.

A regular hmm..

We're so darn good at stubbornly following a dream,which after a point we make ourselves believe, is the only way life can go right.

Sealing an envelope, I catch myself thinking, I'm probably the clown in the ring right now..

Reveling in the aftertaste

four days. coffee stains. penne twice over. familiar bickering. car rides and familiar drives. airport pickups and drunk stories. mornings of faith and lots of newspaper supplements. favourite bookshops and a new blue blockprinted skirt. cyber conversations with happy details. "bone-marrow squeezing" hugs and homecoming. old friends getting jobs at favourite magazine. new friends dancing in the dark. MC's pickled olives. hope-inducing emails. loungy afternoons and chick-flicks. beer and lal chai. "Music and Lyrics". ECG and under-weight. eye-squinting grins over three heads. black or khaki or bluey-green or clowny-pyjama stripes. squatting on carpetted floor with nachos and laughing eyes. barefeet on wet grass. tantrums at the black market. nostagia o'er unexpected group emails. curfews and rebellion. "The Barn Owl's Wondrous Capers". a chiffon-sareed wedding thrown in. overwhelming head-whirling. book inscriptions. two phones playing the same song. "Prince of Persia." one completed application. realizing that the "now" and the people therein are ephemeral, and being okay. lots of leg-pulling and tons of gay abandon. ulaan bataar and nelson mandela and ferozeshah. lots and lots and lots of laughing.

--------

I love the aftertaste of a good weekend. Wont lie and say that it helps me yeii-yippee headlong into work and weekdays..but i think i'm sufficiently fortified to face to-do lists and pending word-generation.

anklebells and people

Went to dance class after a month and a half. Most days, even when I am home, I'm too lazy to wake up before noon and bathe and go and dance. But on the sundays that I do manage to that, it seems perfectly worthwhile.

...I have concluded, that the pakhawaj is definitely my favorite percussion instrument. (Other than when certain very cute men are on the drums, of course...but I'm digressing.) But..like I was saying..dance class provides me the perfect space for introspection. the rhythm, accompanying ghungroos, and feet-on-floor-stamping notwithstanding. the standing in line. remembering lessons on posture from 783 classes (or more?) back. scrunching up hair tight. mechanically dancing to familiar rhythm; desparately trying to recall the not-practiced new footwork. memories of old smells, walks and conversations, clusters of academic commitments and pending tasks, jostling for space with eyemovements, coordinated neckmovements and mudras. and of course, lest I forget, taal. The rhythm never failing to strike a chord. through the layers of preoccupation, and practiced nonchalance.

...Dance class has also helped me interact with people out of my "incestuous" circle of social interaction. Different views and counter-views. world-views. I have married friends. friends who have eloped. friends who are workoholics. friends who have never spoken to the opposite sex. have even had friends there who are female-swamis married to australians. All brought together (this phrase always makes anything sound like a pretentious grand plan) in a large basement and bound by the dysfunctional tape recorder. and of course comfortable dupattas and the love for silver earrings.

Postscript:

I've been walking around all morning (including time spent at the dance class where the accompanying music goes like this: "tha ri kit tha dhi") singing John Lennon:

Imagine all the people..living life in peace..

and i have no idea where that got into my head from. It's started to get a little annoying now.

Of heads full of If's and But's

Do i want to take the long way home? pretending its planned; but actually hoping the road map drops onto my lap at the next fork.
Safety nets are always way too unfulfilling..
I often wonder if its worth taking the long way round my head - to touch my nose.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------

I could not decide, on my own, the colour of my curtains...Should i dig deeper?
(RhB finally chose blue/green/white. I was half-inclined to run back to the familiarity of my red.)
----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Driving back home at 4.45am on Sunday morning. I loved me. But i wish i was a little different. discontent? fatigue? complexes. Content high having spent time with chadd budd and good company at TC..
Yet dealing with an unfamiliar, dysfunctional clutch and a sudden urge to junk the listening project...
----------------------------------------------------------------------------

I loathe compulsive liars. But they seem to be all around. and they lie so effortlessly. The next time someone's fake, I wish I can just 'pluh' them and dunk their heads in soup.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Costa Coffee beat Starbucks.
and I'm a sleepy narcissist.

And so..

..I firmly believe that there are only two kinds of people in this world —

Those who litter.
and those who don't.

Stochastic

Throat ache. a single tear. fourth bench in the park. white kurta on photostat-floor. annoyance. third wedding. solitude. gramma's gold bangles. slippery ambiguity. new pillows. shut eye and the indecisive wisdom tooth. two seven-year old boys. punjabi bling. blue plastic balls and feel-good grins. perfumed shampoo. stress. 1-2-3-smile-flash-holddd.

..sometimes..i wish i knew what i was thinking.

Completely trivial.and the Weekend.

Witnessed a mongoose chase today. Could not for the life of me remember the plural of mongoose — mongeese? mongooses? mongoose?

-----------------------

In the last few days, a lot has been accomplished by way of thinking. planning. working. under pressure, no doubt. because, shame-facedly, that is the only way I function.

-----------------------

Looked at old mails..

To:

replete with delarations of love. new year resolutions. end of year musings. bitter chocolate cake receipes. snatches of conversation attempting tentative familiarity. lyrics of songs - 'when you get the choice to sit it out or dance'... 'And down this beaten path; and up this cobbled lane; I'm walking in my own footsteps once again'... 'The Jesus of Suburbia; from the bible of 'none of the above'. meetings fixed. interviews sought. detailed accounts of first times and no times. apologies where they were too cowardly. Reminders: "I AM ALIVE." A lot of good writing - 'Again: Why is reality always at such a sharp contrast with my imagination?' .. 'where time stops with the pigeons and my last stubbed cigarette' .. 'orange pancakes vs. the tube train.' Thank you's..for all the advice doled out from my life; for the cover-ups; for the two hours; or the pink notebook. Smiles - "Look! My first car!" Essays and excerpts. anthropology and legal jargon. William Butler Yeats.

CC:

replete with Fwd:s and no love lost. shared information. "you will be held accountable." reminiscing. joint-studies. shared trips. photographs and moralisation.

BCC:

replete with hidden "this is what i sent to X." and numerous "now you know"s.

----------------------

I wasted time just as well as I used it. lingered. focused. gingerly nudged. looked at the spirally crack on the left corner of my roof. stayed off the Internet. loved it. took a walk just when the ideas in my head were going join the imaginary dots of my wishful academic sensibilities. re-used color..off the cheeks. grinned at blue ears and buffoon-ish prized asses. went through sheaves of paper. circled. marked with pencil. arrows. eyelashes. organized. in my head. MS word. sub-folders in the mail. called. spoke. laughed. Laughed Out Loud. Ctrl + S. played parent. Lied. and then didn't. thought in Sanskrit. looked at the future. and it was okay.

-----------------------

Postscript:

Forgot the highlight of my weekend! Watched "Love Actually" for the nth time. My fondness for the movie completely depends on the current state of clustered thoughts. I loved it the first time for all the red in it!..and coz i went with eight other women, with a range of opinions on "love" and the various men in the film! Then went through phases when i thought it was juvenile, overdone and pretentious! However, the only constant thing remains my absolute adoration for Andrew Lincoln (Mark) walking out of his house (leaving Keira Knightley and pie!) with Dido playing in the background. Have loved the song always. and well..my personal record for replaying the scene at one sitting has been..umm..eleven!

From the inbox.

..coz i got mail..coz this is my most favourite email ever..coz very few people have the ability to honestly write for themselves..coz very few people can write so amazingly well..coz i absofuckinlutely adore the person who wrote this to me..

Narcissism
(Excerpts)
You know how u talked about finding ureself..How u were so afraid - ud never find that peace, that calm that comes from the satisfaction of having identified ure identity!! Well...i think i can say i had it for a while..but i lost it again. I suppose its important to lose it to find more about ureself. Its only wen u walk on new territory that you feel the need to re-discover.

I refuse to be stuck in any rut
I refuse to be one of the other ******ers - who party without any limits; who walk with blinkers, who hate the rain
I refuse to be like the people i know who have suddenly stepped out of home, and are dying to party
I refuse to be like the people who are going to parties JUST to socialize, coz u know how important networking is.

But i also refuse to be like those people who sit at home all day and wallow in self pity...or some pity
like those who sit here and crib abt politics,
like those who keep using words like 'multiculturalism'
like those whose lives revolve arnd one person, one activity, one event!!!!

I love the rain, i love my salwaar, i love my sneakers more, i love my earings as much, i love my socks, i love my skirts, i love dancing, i LOVE music, i love walking, i love the sun, i like taking the bus, i love crying, im in no rush to look for myself, or to make friends...
.......

...and so i think im in love! I found love n I dunno if this is the first, fifth or the 100th, but i didnt think i could fall in love again!! but i still havent found myself

So i sway from skirts to boots to sneakers to sweats!
So i sway from library to lunches with large groups to dinners alone to home parties to dance clubs
So i sway from the internet to walking on the street, to forgetting my phone, to the newspaper on the pot
So i sway from pirated movies to film festivals to movies in the theatre to streaming espisodes of sit-coms
So i sway from family to self to friends to networking..and i will continue to sway till i find what im looking for!

Love always!
P.S - if you read this - reply back with ure experience - if you feel differently or similar to the above!
This is a survey for lost-ness!!!!! haha

A typical night at the movies..

Glitzy lights and the nouveau riche. Rs. 160 (plus Rs. 30 as "convenience charge") for mudcaked seats. flashy cars and dilapidated realities. broken roads and cloistered dreams. cover illustrations and cheap bestsellers. tuna salad cravings. loud music and shwarma. no Bryan Adams for once. raised eyebrows. tens seconds of odd fame. meeting old acquaintances. cute attendant at the snack bar. shhh-glares at the backrow. the ubiquitous quick buck. a swish of the hair. "couples". jumping queues, actually, the lack of queues. "this or that". whispered phonecalls. dolby. celluloid moments jostling for space with languid afterthoughts. crumbled chips. dropped between seats. good salsa. a tug at the shawl. goddesses and begging bowls. ubiquitous lewd men. jarring-getting-under-my-skin horns. "generalisations" and essentialism. binaries. the Great Indian Dream.

PS: photographs by YB (with SH & TB). February 2005.

"The story of us!!!!!"

PS: it DOES get bigger when you click on it!

Oft-quoted

From Sabrina (1995):

"Illusions are dangerous people; they have no flaws."

The subcontinent dances

The bomb went off at 11.53 pm, i believe.
Some would like to think it'll be the new symphony for the waltz..
Someone should tell them we're doing the tango.

ego, id and time

There moments in each of our lives that essay definitive changes in us. Some are preceded by the drum roll..we know they're round the corner..others seem to imperceptibly walk through us. I also know of people who wait for those moments with perfect poise and bated breath..ready to jump onto life's next ladder..and then - yet - time-warped and obdurate, remain in limbo for life.
Also..
Is identity nothing more but the egotist image of the self?

postscript: gas bags, pigs and complexes can fly!..who would've thunk?

being in limbo..and i hate stamps.

From DM..because we were in collective limbo:

Subject: :) last mail about the limbo

hum intezaar karenge... hum intezaar karenge...
tera qayamat tak...
khuda kare ke qayamat ho, aur tu aaye!

Made us grin through what was to teach us a lesson or two about international politics..and disappointment. It's ironic how journeys to places a half hour away have come to generate so much of enthusiastic curiousity and places on pedestals in the head. Well, first round to realism...and the waltz.

As they say..

Will Durant:

It is a mistake to think that the past is dead. Nothing that has ever happened is quite without influence at this moment. The present is merely the past rolled up and concentrated in this second of time. You, too, are your past; often your face is your autobiography; you are what you are because of what you have been; because of your heredity stretching back into forgotten generations; because of every element of environment that has affected you, every man or woman that has met you, every book that you have read, every experience that you have had; all these are accumulated in your memory, your body, your character, your soul. So with a city, a country, and a race; it is its past, and cannot be understood without it.

of lessons learnt..some of them at least.

The most unlikely people teach you the strangest things. You pick up lessons, wisdom, vocations — by rote. and on hindsight. Early lessons. eating with chopsticks. assembling a lantern. tying shoe laces. respect. or lack of. doing the macarena. cynicism, stereotypes are internalized in a jiffy. and with the hourglass, the lessons proceed. changing tyres. losing friends. conforming. rebelling. putting up the right fight. fighting right. not fighting. taking decisions, or how to, is an important lesson. curling hair. switching gears. prioritising. fork in the left. the knife in the right. playing safe. existence. relative crises. lexicon. commitment. making PC. holding your breath under water. regretting. not regretting. restraining. letting go. wearing sarees. dancing in them. liking the wall-side. breathing. straight backs. there are things known as dustbins that are meant to be used. surviving. discovering the meaning of "epistemology". making the bed. using CD writers and gas lighters. dotting the "i", crossing the "t". interrogating. keeping quiet. changing bulbs. "thickening" skins. not lying. making salad. making pasta. listening. straight talking. painting rooms. keeping secrets. keeping cool. keeping faith. forgiving. following the heart. pushing. deleting extra "also's".

Random musings...

* It's will power or nothing.
* Locking up a house, even if it isn't yours, is one of the saddest feelings in the world.
* Too much churan is not always a happy situation.
* "I feel so happy I could burst" is a truism.
* Perfect weekends come more than once.
* I wish they made smaller thumbs on gloves.
* Pay attention to knots.
* Keeping a "lists" diary may not be such a bad idea.
* Can being a control freak drive people away?
* I do not like dissertations very much.

Na?

Sometimes..you don't want advice
Sometimes..
..all you need is a hug.

Sometimes I wish..

* Constructed religion never existed.
* Men who believe that they have the right to whistle/hoot at, push, brush against, own, molest and more, a person of the opposite sex should implode and go up in smoke.
* Men who believe that a loo is anywhere they decide to pee should also go up in smoke.
* The world never shrank.
* Possessing territory did not matter.

de buenas tardes

It's been one of those evenings. When you drive with the window down, loving the perfect breeze that's making your hair do its very own jig. It's not too cold. When you actually feel like smiling at all the people who overtake from the left. When you're in a chaotic crowd, and yet feel wonderfully alone. When ideas pop into your head like it's the next big race. When you're in the presence of great minds, listening to new approaches and discourses that make you think, yet you're dong some thinking of your own. When the smell of your favourite cologne passes you by. When you meet an old friend and laugh over a hilarious memory. When you actually think you're looking good. When you get five warm hugs in quick succession. When you get green lights all the way home. When your thought process makes perfect sense to you. When you suddenly realize that you know tons of wonderful people. When you find your favourite sweater that had mysteriously disappeared all winter. When your research doesn't sound stupid to you anymore. When you realize that the person you are closest to is the best editor ever. When they play "the reason" on the radio. When you think hope is not a completely futile idea. When you get 1am ISD calls and fours hours of internet time with people you absofuckinlutely adore. When you admit your not-so-great traits to yourself, and laugh at them. When it ends with the perfect cup of coffee.

My life will be sorted when..

* I drink more water.
* I spend more time OFF the internet.
* I stop wrecking havoc on my thumb.
* I learn how to prioritise.
* I get a new pen drive.
* I speak to myself a litte louder.
* I get a new loofah.
* I stop tying my blanket up into knots.
* I stop losing earrings.
* I finish my dissertation.

'The snowflake'

From Pudsie. My prism. My madhatter, sorter and alterego.

To me.
-----------

I look outside the window and see a snow flake
I see you in the snow flake
You’re my snowflake
Falling down with such fragility
Not afraid to hurt
Not afraid to melt

You’re the snowflake that fell on me
You used the power of touch
I felt your sharp edges, and your cold
You made me feel a new feeling
Many new feelings
Made me realize
The cold shook me up!

Then u melted, and I felt your warmth
Felt your softness

You became a part of me,
And then I was comfortable
My skin absorbed what you had to give
You’re a part of me now

You asked me to write for you?
Everything I write, I write for you and me
You’re inside of me now
And will always be.

Where ever I go, the snowflake will be in me.

With love

P.S – You’re here not to be, but to make others be.
You are what others need to survive.
You’re the snowflake that enlightens and comforts.
Don’t struggle to search for you
You were formed through a complicated process
Of warmth and cold
You’ve learnt your lessons
And you know now
That greatness lies in the ability to change forms
Rigidity never got anyone anywhere.

Its time you fall on others
Let others find you

1.27 am. 4th Feb 2007. London.

*sigh*

I miss G and G.

The story..

..of protective families. of ungratefulness. of centrally-heated offices. of favourite silver kolhapuris. of last-minute panic attacks. of coffee and beer. of working under pressure. of number-crunching. of the "roving eye". of greed. of falsehoods. of swollen toes. of lack of artistic talent. of a lump in the throat. of hugs. of vinegar-cheese maggi. of watch straps. of a favorite ring. of dance classes skipped. of superstition. of checked boxers. of impatience. of dreading dinner. of pretence. of taking more photographs. of swear words. of intrusive curiousity. of music in bad traffic. of social butterflies. of sneezing fits. of shorts in quilts. of red. of arial. of faith explorations. of clenched fists. of hairfall. of worry. of eternal sunshine. and the spotless mind. of summer in winter. of the brick wall. of regrets. of secrets spilled. of cravings and dishonesty. of chai without sugar. of the smell of smoke. of bravado. of men in uniform and men in rock. of chess and poker. of lutyen. of chaos. of cottonwool clouds. of premonitions. of skin on the thumb. of fuzz-inducing smiles. of compulsive spending. of open-ended questions. of good intentions. of right breathing. of flirting. of pores. of centred-selves.

paradigm shift

I have always wanted to point out the exact day that winter gives way to summer. I think yesterday was it.

*shudder*

dysfunctional traffic lights and delhiites.
being the only woman in a mega traffic squabble.
five-feet long cars and five-inch gaps.
explicitives having references to mothers, sisters and the anatomy of the female, being flung all around you.

Afterthought:practising conflict transformation..and the satisfaction of totally kicking some MCP ass. :p

My favourite word..

Hmph. Simply..Hmph.

Five things I saw today..

Them Clones in concert
American Pie Five
old age
blue flowers on cacti
pretence

The Ego

Colour my contradictions so I may blend in
Unobtrusive and fragile
For my perfect, impatient moment
Will stand the test of time.

Hmm..

Getting to know people you thought you knew all about is one of the best feelings in the world.

As they say..

Charlotte Bronte:

Life is so constructed, that the event does not, cannot, will not, match the expectation.

:(

I cry tears of self-pity.of exaggerated loneliness.of stressed out syllables and perennial writer's block.

Today, I could do with..

Thirty-six hours in my day.(I wouldn't complain if there were more).A professional SOP writer.mint chai.A vacation.A neck massage.Time out with a good book (without feeling guilty).Someone washing my hair.My erstwhile absolute-comfort with solitude.A laptop.Meditation on top of a slide in the park.Tobasco-slathered potato wedges.A new copy of Roget's.A drag on Gudang.Meetha paan.A To-Do List.Appam.The smell of wet earth.A professional dissertation writer.Carol singing.A new wallet.Some silver polish.Sleeping early.Movie tickets for Guru,Happy Feet,Holiday..hell..any movie ticket!Salsa dancing.Crackling Spinach.Perspective from the Dalai Lama.Driving on 5th gear.Phone credit.Organizational skills.An ice pack.My favourite hymn.Functional library cards.Airline tickets to Bangalore.To London.To Ahmedabad.To Bombay.To Pleven.Prayer.Patience.A Time-machine.

From the inbox

From my two favourite people in the whole world. They often mirror what I'm going through. Without consciously realizing that they do.

"..but what about all the time in between? each day past is a day lost, and
not in some melodramatic way. its not happy or sad. its just- gone.
irretrievably, irrevocably. the protagonist of the book i read on the
plane is a writer. but he writes stuff on demand, like for ad agencies. he
says tht its nothing to be sad about, its just his job. like some ppl
shovel snow for a living, he writes for a living. he calls his job
'shoveling cultural snow'.
Am I shoveling...snow?"

--------------------

"I cried about where I would, if ever, find that support, and if I should look outside of me at all
I may not be sufficient for myself
I will not find it in one person,
But I may not have the energy to sustain many support systems...
But then..I smiled..because of all the support systems I have,
Because there will always be some people – I can call anytime with a crisis,
And I know that they’ll be there – with or without the sustaining."

the profound and the pretentious..

When I was younger, I used to always wonder how "adults" could end up messing up their relationships so much. Why they made things so bloody complicated. Why they didn't just say what they were thinking, or why anything else mattered when two people cared about each other.

Now, increasingly I realize, that I wish things were that simple. I've realized that people's relationships with those around them are not determined by who they like and who they don't..but by how much they reveal and how much they conceal, from whom.

Distance between people increases effortlessly..sometimes sneaking up on you, when you least expect it. And the space growing in between lies filled with lacy webs of ambiguity. Suddenly, I'm stuck between wondering whether to hug someone I thought was a really close friend, or to just smile and nod.

Afterthought:..is too much introspection a bad thing?

"In transition"

My catch phrase lately.or mantra as they say.Its been my state of mind for a while now.my current state of being.self-induced.partly circumstantial.

And I'm allowing it to rule me. Its affecting my relationships.my associations.my attitudes.I put too many things on hold. Trips to visit outstation friends. Commitment to work. Heck! even buying a new phone! On one hand, its convenient. I am a procrastinator.(wavering in my pride of late!) On the other hand, I think, mentally, I need my next milestone to come through soon. I've set my heart on it for a while now. And have assumed that everything needs to (and will) revolve around it. The flip-side of that of course is that if it doesn't come through, i will be quite lost for a while to come.

one is taught not to put all ones eggs into one basket. pin all one's hopes on (to?) something. all of us have traces of superstition creeping into our minds, the first chance it gets.

Pessimism assumes the perfect defence mechanism. preparing oneself for the worst. stamping out all signs of desperate hope that things will come through.

---------------------------

In transition. Yet I seem to be the only one left behind. While everyone has desperately, ambitiously, doggedly moved on..hoping to figure out what exactly they set out to do in the first place. Metaphorically. and literally.

In transition. Goodbyes and hellos. watching the hourglass. waiting. the shrinking world greedily swallowing my security blanket away.

----------------------------

In transition. Too much to do. Too little time. the perennial cliche.

Afterthought:
I use too many full-stops! reflection of finality or even decisiveness? I wish.