findingpegasus

caught in a web

2006-04-20T01:53:00.000-07:00

How do i tell you,
that sometimes all i long for is a long warm embrace
you and me caught in a web of transformed reality

At the crack of dawn

2005-11-21T11:27:00.000-08:00

The inevitable has been done....just cleared out my mailbox...
I've only seen it in movies before. The big cardboard box, and piling in books, files and your favourite picture in that lovely photo frame. Well, this wasn't really as much....there is nothing to take back home from here.....other than memories...some nice and some not so.

It's time to leave. I'm used to the packing-and moving routine, and I have been looking forward to this change. Yet i am feeling a little, sunken-feeling-in-my-heart sorts. What's the word for it again? Sad, not quite. A little uneasy, perhaps, about leaving this place that had become so familiar. After all it is my first job...and this place helped me grow up. To throw idealism to the winds and learn to get by in the real world.

I may have huffed and fumed about it, but it's taught me more than i could have hoped to learn anywhere....not just about the profession, but about people and myself. I'd like to think that if not now, at least a few years later, i will be able to appreciate the past year and a half here.

Tomorrow is my last day here. In less than 48 hours I'm not going to be a part of this office...these people.
In less than 48 hours starts the same old routine of finding my feet in a new place, scurrying around a bit and making myself some space, setting goals and mighty dreams.

And it's going to be so much FUN, i just can't wait.

Now is as good a time as any

2005-10-18T07:46:00.000-07:00

I have a whole new life waiting ahead of me....and yet I'm finding it so hard to wait the few hours to hear all about it?
Good news should never be conveyed in minute capsules....it's hard to wait for the next one, particularly when you know there is more to come.
I feel like a five-year-old child who knows there's more of her favourite chocolate in the refrigerator, but has to wait until the next day for the day's quota.

Poles apart

2005-08-23T10:20:00.000-07:00

Prejudice is such a strong word to associate with children. As adults, we somehow have the right to our prejudices, our sympathies. But passing them on to our children...how right are we in doing that?

On the train a few days back, I heard a 60-something man and his 30-something daughter tell three kids between 6 yaers and 12 years " anda trainlle full muslims irrikku, anda side'll pohathe" roughly translated as "that train is full of muslims, don't go anywhere near them.

How can we blame a small group of people for polarising our world. When we teach our children to distinguish and discriminate on the basis of caste, colour, religion and language, how can we expect to live and experience a true democracy?
We love to revel in our diversity, but will we ever be one country- one people?

Silly me

2005-08-22T12:58:00.000-07:00

Sometimes i do stupid things....
And then moi must think up of ways to set things straight.
God, next time, please to be giving a little sign, a nudge, a sock in my face when there are chances of me messing things up.

Last night...

2005-08-07T00:37:00.000-07:00

I dreamt of you and me last night...and of the first time we walked down that tree-lined road.

I still remember how you looked when you led me through that first dance. The sound of your voice when you'd pick up the phone and say my name. I remember your smile and how happy it made me when you came home. How excited I was to see you again after so long.

I dreamt of you and me last night....and of that last teary goodbye.
The books, the songs, the long car rides. The tears, the smiles and all those sighs.

And in that dream late last night,
I dreamt of you, and me by your side.

5,6,7,8

2005-08-05T04:05:00.000-07:00

Counting on fingertips, then on toes. She knew when she was three that numbers would always jiggle up a different tune in her head. And then one day she forgot to count. There would be no more skips to the beat of drums and swaying to the lure of the flute. All she heard was the involuntary clicking of feet to the regimented call of the trumpet.

And then one day, an unlikely acquaintance, an expensive restaurant and bad food took her to a place she had only dreamed of. She went, loved what she saw and promised to go back for more. Never mind the swollen ankle and a sore back

2005-07-30T04:30:00.000-07:00

I look out through the blinds at a cloudy sky that is waiting to break the shackles and drench the earth. How calm, peaceful and clean. I look back at my computer screen, the clutter of knowledge and news instantly sucks me in.

I suddenly feel very aware of every sound in the room...the click-clack of keyboards, the constant chatter of a colleague, an occasional sneeze, the shuffling of feet....the involuntary movement of my fingers on to the budget window, secretly demanding an update on a report, more words to fill my page with.

I stare motionless at the screen occasionally, a little voice in my head whispering, urging me to get the hell out. I smile back hesitantly, and get back to work.

But I want more. I want to be able to want... and have all that I want.

Promises like pie crusts...

2005-07-30T04:07:00.000-07:00

It feels strange that broken promises don't hurt anymore.

Have I just got used to things going wrong?
Or have I become so insensitive that I don't care?

But on the brighter side...it doesn't hurt anymore.

2005-07-06T05:28:00.000-07:00

I walk blindfolded through narrow streets,
the sun, i can see, burning every inch of space.

I trip, over life that stuck a stone in my way,
"Get up, dust off the dirt, walk on," she says.

And then there's today, with a smile on my face
Can i dare sing "Oh, Happy Days"?

Thank You V!

2005-06-28T05:40:00.000-07:00

I've known you for so little time and yet it seems like all eternity has been squeezed into those few moments we spend together. You know that even though i screw up my face every time you pull my cheeks, i actually like it. That if i'm angry with you and you pretend to be mad yourself, i completely melt. That i like it when you join in and sing with me...and tell me little stories when you've had enough of my prattle. You know things that i dont know about myself.

I've known you for so long and yet i've never thanked you for doing one of the most important things in my life. For being there like a guiding star when i needed to find direction, an inspiration, a purpose, a goal. I may not have found any of these, but now i at least know that i need to look for them.

I've known you for so little time but you've let me live out my whole life again....especially the years that i missed out on when i was trying to grow up. You took me back many years, to when i was just a little girl. You showed me who i was then and how i have changed. You made me feel the innocence that i had left behind when i was three....the energy and enthusiasm that was missing from my teen years.

I've known you for so long that i did not even realise when you gave me back the voice that i had lost somewhere along the way. When the sound of my own laugh stopped sounding alien to me. Now i wake up every morning with a desire to be happy. Because you taught me that i'm too important to let anything steal that smile from my face.

I know I've never thanked you before for everything that you've done for me....but I want you to know that I live each day on the dogma that you never realised you gave me.
Thank You. If these two words could sum up what i have learnt in all the time we have spent knowing each other, i'd say them a hundred times over.

I'm trying to find a new life and so are you, and our paths may never cross again. But before we both go our own ways, I want you to know how much i appreciate what you've done for me... how much of an influence you've had on my life.

Thank You for teaching me to smile again.
Thank You for helping me find ME.

Of cops with Italian accents

2005-06-19T03:14:00.000-07:00

A few days ago on my way back from work a cop stopped me. As i was opening the visor on my helmet, he says "blaa". Obviously stunned by what he had just said, i very politely said "excuse me," and he says "blaa madame, blaa"
Aha...he means "blow." Apparently this cop believed that his olfactory nerve does a better job than any breath analyser. So I did as i was told, dint protest too much about his really bad breath, and went on my way. Of course once i got home and told some hyperactive cousins about it, we disected every bit of the incident and rolled with laughter well into the night.

Now i thought that was the funniest thing a cop would ever say to me....until last night. Here's the conversation with a cop who thought he had a lovely Italian accent.

Cop: Stopping stopping...(once i slowed down my bike) Why u putting lighting off?
Me: (since i had a good day at work, i thought i'd play along) Me not offing saar..."malenalli bike wet aagide saar (my bike got wet in the rain) full loose contact happening."
Cop: Aa okay okay....u taking helmet out.
Oho, girla....(for a minute there i really though he called me a gorilla)
Me: (of course you idiot, what do you think a man would be doing wearing a salwar kameez and driving around town at night for) yes saar...
Cop: you having license to drive?
Me: yes saar, DL saar...I showing?
Cop: no need no need. You are how much age?
Me: 23 saar
Cop: Aiyo, maydam...you are looking very small i saying.
Me: thank you saar....you will see license? i have to go home saar.
Cop: What you are doing 23 years in night?
Me: (i swear i stared at him for a minute trying to figure that one out) Oh, i am working saar
Cop: Where you work ma, call centre-aa?
Me: No saar, i work with newspaper saar....i am journalist
Cop: Oh Press-aa? Kamraj, solpa daari bidi...madam pressal kelsa madtare (make way, she from the press)....Sorry madam, hogi neevu...good night.
Me: Saar you dont want to see license, papers??
Cop: no madam....press no, nothing problem...go, go

And now, I'm actually looking forward to the next time a cop stops me...

Thought for the day!

2005-06-10T06:11:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you don't have to say a word to hurt someone.
Silence can be just as cruel...and sometimes more.

A moment forever

2005-05-25T03:32:00.000-07:00

She walked on to the dance floor gingerly, still sceptical about letting go completely. It was not the first time in front of such a big crowd.... so many strangers.
But he was there... for the first time. He would see her every step, hear every beat, and be witness to every twirl of her skirt.
But when the music came on, she could see from the corner of her eye, a smile break out on his face, just to see her so happy, inhibition less, innocent, and believing...of every lilt in the music, every change in the rhythm, every note of emotion.
And she saw in her mind, how he walked up to her, held her hand and guided her steps in a moment forever. He was so far away as he sat by the side and watched her dance….and yet he was in her every step, every beat, and every twirl of her skirt.
Even after the music has stopped, his words keep the rhythm alive in her. He whispered in her ear later that night, “My heart beats to the rhythm of your feet. Don’t ever stop, for he may too.”

MAY-hem

2005-05-13T06:20:00.000-07:00

It's been a long time, not just since i've written, but also done a lot of other things. Like slept, eaten at sane hours of day, talked at a decibel level that my dog cannot hear, and used my phone for what it was meant a.k.a..emergency calls only.

The middle of May is here and it's brought with it not just mayhem but also the blissful realisation that the last two weeks have been some of the best i've had in a while. Cousins must truly be recognised as the most amazing entertainers in this world.

Ms. Nitrous oxide and her mad-nut ways continue to fascinate the sleep-drenched eyes of an innocent three-year old. "Poochi why are you laughing so much?" she asks innocently as A tries desparately to stuff handkerchief number four into her mouth to stop herself from waking up the neighbourhood with her hysterical laughing.

The night dies young in my house....but then again i might be tempted to ask "what night." I think i've forgotten what it means to sleep. Havent had more than a couple of hours of it each day...and note that i say day....cos night is when the work-devils are stuffed into little chests and stashed away in the cellar. We all turn four the minute the clock strikes twelve and play out our own fairy tales, never mind that the three blind mice are eating up the pumpking that was meant to be Cindarella's coach or the big bad wolf has decided to be a prince and live in a well, disguised as a frog. Childhood takes on a new meaning at times like this and all the "adults" at home can do is shake their heads in disbelief and say "and these women will be married in a few years!"

Hah, we're one up on them. Atleast we know how to ensure that the twenty-four hours in a day takes as long to pass as it does to try and read pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis (courtesy the Oxford English Dictionary). Running and catching never seemed so much fun even at the age of 8...and fitting into the laundary basket was never this easy (don't ask, it's a long story...maybe it'll inspire another post soon). Has a game of dark room ever turned into an ice-cream eating contest? I doubt even the most innovative souls came up with that one.

Work happens in the middle of it all....phone calls in the middle of the night continue to elicit cat calls from the girls....no amount of "it's my friend" helps shut them up...and even the "wait till it's your turn" doesnt get them to pipe down till i can explain to the person at the other end that insanity doesn't run in the family. Everything from pillows to water bottles and open bags of chips are sent via air mail...the dog does a quick duck and me a display of my "i can be a cricketer" skills to stop my mom's favourite fruit bowl from becoming a heap of glass. All's well that ends well, but of course that was before P decided to walk on air....

The end result...a hoarse voice, tired feet, some ready-to-tear pillows, soapy house (blowing bubbles can be a lot of fun), a very clean digestive tract (blowing bubbles can be a lot of fun if you dont swallow soap water), and a very happy me.

Two weeks from now, all the madness will be gone....like it never was a part of real time. We'll become sane and normal and boring once again...A and P and R and Me will have to wait another year, till the mad summer sun gives new meaning to bheja fry. But for now can someone please tell me how i can get my dog off the sun-shade. It seems he's had enough of living in a madhouse.

2005-04-28T04:40:00.000-07:00

I asked you for a few hours of your time,
and you left me soaking in the essence of your life.

Will you ever know?
Will I ever understand?

There really aren't many more pertinent questions in this world, are there?

Where's my window of opportunity?

2005-04-24T22:36:00.000-07:00

Why does life get so complicated when we grow up? Is it not possible to live one's whole life with child-like innocence, when the most troubling event is as simple as not being able to save a piece of chocolate for the weekend?
Do such things as monotonous work and depressed friends and life-altering events have to become a part of us.

If there's a way to get outta here, will someone please show me the door?

Airborne

2005-04-07T04:45:00.000-07:00

Strangely, after saying what i had to say, i feel amazingly light. Not empty, just light...like i was floating on a cloud. I seem to have no more illusions of the past, of now or of where i will be from here ahead.
Funny how all it takes is to say what's on your mind, to make the shackles of life willingly loosen their grip on you.
I'm sad, and yet I am so happy!

Goodbye, my dear

2005-04-05T05:14:00.000-07:00

I wrote this post a few days ago...but wanted to wait a while to post it. Didn't know if i would have the courage to stick with the decision i had made. Often enough i've told myself that i need to close the doors on this part of my life. I take that first step...and then two days later come running back home. It was home...safe and comfortable, where I didn't have to fear about being lost, cold...alone.

But this time my two days have past. It has been hard....but i've trudged past that hill. I'm setting my eyes ahead...at a new beginning, at a new life. And the hope that's carried me through, i'm sure will keep pace with the newfound skip in my step.

It's time to move house once again. Had to get on with the inevitable cleaning out of cupboards and getting rid of everything from 12-year-old bus tickets to movie tickets of a date long ago.

For someone who gets very emotionally attached to pieces of paper, plastic or metal that can remind me, 25 years later, of a time well spent, i did something remarkable today. I threw a lot of it away.

I've kept every single thing that reminds me of you and our times together.....that first card you gave me, the little notes we scribbled to each other, letters when we laughed and letters when we fought, that floppy of mine that you always threatened to break. And that book from school that you thought you had lost...it was with me silly, i just never told you.

I re-lived those memories today, of long bus rides and movies on the sly. Of walking home in the dark and catching up on days past. Of shared sweet-lime juice and gorging on leftovers. I re-lived those memories....one last time before I opened out the windows and let life find me anew.

I'm sorry my dear but i have to let go. I've held on to you too long to allow me to get on with my life. I want you to know that i still care about you and miss having you in my life. But this i really had to do. Today, I threw away the letter i wrote to say how much i love you.

Goodbye my dear, but I hope we will always be friends.

Homecoming!

2005-03-25T14:29:00.000-08:00

I never ever thought it would come to this. But as i sit here in the middle of the night, wondering what the hell to do, the radio instinctively plays the song in my head.

I've been wandering around the house all night
wondering what the hell to do.
Yeah, I'm trying to concentrate
but all I can think of is you.
Well the phone don't ring 'cause my friends ain't home
I'm tired of being all alone.
Got the tv on 'cause the radio's playing
songs that remind me of you.

Baby when you're gone, I realize I'm in love.
Days go on and on, and the nights just seem so cold.
Even food don't taste that good, drink ain't doing what it should.
Things just feel so wrong, baby when you're gone

I keep driving up and down these streets
trying to find somewhere to go.
Yeah i'm looking for a familiar face,
but there's no one I know.
Oh, this is torture, this is pain,
it feels like I'm gonna go insane.
I hope you're coming back real soon,
'cause i don't know what to do.

Baby when you're gone, I realize I'm in love.
Days go on and on, and the nights just seem so cold.
Even food don't taste that good, drink ain't doing what it should.
Things just feel so wrong, baby when you're gone.

So, take a cue from the song....come back real soon.

A mastercard moment

2005-03-03T05:39:00.000-08:00

When you've just spent four hours with someone and they call back two hours later just to find out what you're upto....that's more than priceless.
The love's coming through honey....you just don't know it yet.

Pa

2005-03-03T04:55:00.000-08:00

After a long day that went wrong in every way possible, it felt worth the trouble when i reached home and saw dad wait up to talk to me.
Had dinner with pa last night after more than two weeks. And felt like the luckiest kid in the world when he saw me off to bed and said "don't worry kiddo, it's not the end of the world. Don't let work get to you so."
That my dad could sense that something was wrong without me saying a word....it's never happened before...left me lying awake in bed a long time. And perhaps for the first time the tears in my eyes were cos i was happy.

Bling...blink...blank

2005-03-02T04:11:00.000-08:00

Why do people always question silly thoughts that come in my head?
Perhaps it's sillier still that i tell people about the silly thoughts that come in my head. Even so, can't they just accept that sometimes i need to escape my obssesively logical compulsions and be fritty...and flippant.....and plain childish.

Two days ago i wanted to have strawberry ice cream with mint sauce...yeah yeah i know it sound awful but all i wanted was to see how it tastes....when people can have pepsi and fanta with tomato sauce, i don't think my ideas seem so whacko.

Last night i wanted to jump off my terrace....i'm not the least bit suicidal....but just to see how it feels to float like a feather unto eternity. It's not like i really would have jumped off....it's just the thought in my head....and i think it was completely unnecessary for seven friends to call and find out if i was ok.

Right now, i want to walk along a long empty road....away into the distance were i can get lost in solitude....not have a person around. Just the sound of dry leaves being trampled upon to drown the confusion in my head. I mention that i want to go live on pluto for a bit so i dont have to see so many faces each day and all hell breaks loose. Is it so difficult for people to understand that sometimes i need to be alone? I'm not being a recluse.....i only want some space....and freedom from the responsibilities that i never chose to take on.

If you're listening, give me the life you promised me once. The people, the places, the words, the faces.....they'll mean more then than i can even imagine now. Give me two days of ME....a little indulgance of the ego.......some pampering of my soul.

...

2005-02-23T05:29:00.000-08:00

I normally don't like putting up things from other peoples' posts. But the more i read this, the more i fall in love with it.
I had to put it up, so that everytime i opened my blog, i'd be able to see it and sigh.

It can be very embarrassing
to sit outside the doctor’s clinic
(between a man with a splinter in his thumb
and a woman with a mote in her eye),
waiting to be treated for a grazed soul.

Cupid shoots arrows half-heartedly in all directions these days.

Sometimes i wish the arrows would just go all the way through and end the uncertainty. It's the tiny trickles of intermittent love that cause more lasting pain.
Its difficult to breathe when the life sap's being sucked out of me....like chillies laid out to dry, in the unrelenting sun during the day and by the eerie silence of night.

Cosmic connection

2005-02-11T03:30:00.000-08:00

Staring out the window
there's darkness all around.
The world sleeps soundly below,
ignorant of the tempest
that in my life abounds.

He came from nowhere
and turned my life on its head.
It was a mid-winter-night jamboree,
of words promising dreams
that from another life had bled.

He speaks as would my messiah
reading me poetry i want to hear.
More than this i never have wished for,
our words resounding in togetherness
making worries all disappear.

I listen to his nutty prattle
and pretend I know what he's saying.
All the while searching his unsure voice,
for hidden desires in innocent words
and the inevitable they are delaying.

I look out the window at that lonely star
as it watches over a lonely world.
Discovering from across cosmic oceans
the knowledge of his being
that in my head does twirl.

When I look in his eyes I see,
coming true, the dreams i told you about.
And yet on such a dark, dreary night
the words...the warmth...the tenacity
they come from you, not he.

Glee...Glum

2005-01-27T03:08:00.000-08:00

Through every day of the last three weeks, there's been a tiny voice in my head telling me that this euphoria must come to an end. I ignored it, stuck my tongue out at it, squashed it under my feet, and even drowned it in the noise of laughter and life. But it was smarter than I was, and it cuaght up with me today...happy at tricking me into thinking all these days that this time the happiness is here to stay.

Why does it feel today like every smile of yours was there to mock me, trick me, cajole me into thinking that life was so perfect.

Why does it feel today like the glint in your eyes was not one of teasing humour but a cheap trick to assault my senses.

Why does it feel today that the songs of togetherness that you sang to me were but empty words uncaringly uttered par force of habit.

Why does it feel today that the laughter that once flowed effortlessly now echoes eerily in routine conversation.

Why does it feel today that the happiness has come to an end, that the smile has left my face and you...you have left my life.

Why does it feel today, like my eyes are not willing but my heart wants to cry.

Why?
Why?
Why?

tick....tock....tick....tock

2005-01-13T04:57:00.000-08:00

It feels like the last ten minutes of the last exam...when you've finished answering your paper and don't know what to do. The teacher wont let you leave and there's nothing more to write...after all when two and a half hours of racking your brains to remember the anwswers dint help, what can one hope to achieve in the last ten minutes. You cant even pass notes to your friends...they're all either busy writing or have fallen asleep with boredom.

So there's nothing to do but wait...wait and dream of the glorius days ahead. Days of lazing and sleeping late into the day....days of freedom, movies, games and two summer months of fun in the sweltering heat.

Its a holiday tomorrow....one of those rare luxuaries that the office affords overworked journalists....and there are so many plans for the day that it feels like i have an eternity to fill before i get back to work. And now i cant wait to start off on my holiday....i feel almost like a child made to stand in a corner who cant turn around....until, until the bell rings.....thats when i win my freedom, my time and my bright-eyed visions to make this the most memorable day.

But there's no bell in the office to herald my release...just a "saar, hyderabad-karnataka release maadi." And there's a good two hours that separates me from their use. And there's a whole night ahead before a new day dawns. Will this night bring me more to cheer about in my eternal holiday of tomorrow.... or will i just swallow the thought everytime it springs up unrepressable from a corner i never knew existed.

I have but one thing to say to myself now. May the jol be with you!

2005-01-06T05:07:00.000-08:00

I read this a while back on somebody's blog and it was too close to home to just ignore. Read and enjoy...

He loves me / He loves me not
No one has the right to look so beautiful. Glittering eyes and liquid bone structure. What am I saying. How can bones be liquid? I feel like I am swimming in his features. Or is that just my senses?
I feel poetry raging in my skull, hammering its way to my soul. But the words disappear when he is not there. So am I to be bereft of even the power of recall- helpless in wordlessness?
What of this feeling in the pit of my stomach?
What of this huge wave of despair that threatens to engulf me because soon I will not be able to see the light in his eyes?
My world tilted on its axis and it will never be the same again.
A little less bright; a little more monotonous; a little something gone from my world, but not the memory of this moment. And everything connected with it reminds me of him.
The moment that came and went like a hurricane.
I seem to be normal but I know my heart is stunned. I ask "Why me?"
There is no answer and no one can tell me what happened —because this is not supposed to happen.
There is no justice to this. I am forever dumb. I saw, I loved, I despaired, for there never was any hope. And now that he is gone...I am too— in part.
The irony is that I drove him from me. I brought him back and he stayed but he stayed to mock me. The gleam in his eyes that told me he knew. That he was laughing at me. And he stayed to tantalize me…to drive me to a fury of longing...to a point where I no longer cared that he knew what he made me feel. He would come to me when I beckoned. Stay by my side when I wanted. I didn’t have to tell him. He knew.
My senses screamed in revolt because they imagined they were free to feel...but not more than that. So I looked and felt and saw and smelt and heard...but could not touch. No more than two feet away he would sit— still and secretive -and let me gaze upon him. He knew I needed to look and wonder, all on fire; while he was cold, cold depth of ocean.
And then as simply as that he is gone.
My body shakes with the torment. My stomach roils with the knowledge that he has left in me. My heart weeps in fury, feeling damned.
And all I feel all the time is longing. Pure and simple longing. I close my eyes and see him in my mind’s eye. All there- in the flesh. And open them to find him unavailable and unattainable... forever not mine.
I just made the mistake of falling in love.

Once smitten...

2005-01-05T05:38:00.001-08:00

I was looking forward to a quiet evening...no tamasha, no change-my-life events. But I was to be wrong...again. I've never smiled so much in one night...thought i never would. And now, i just can't stop smiling.
Five days of grinning like a stupid cheshire cat (and i dont even look as nice), and i've got everyone around thinking that i've gone nuts. Of course i've gone nuts....after all someone's cajoled me into arching those lips skywards.
Strange how you find happiness in the most unexpected places.
Thank you, for showing me love and laughter in the new year. I hope you and this smile never leave me.

The dance of Shiva

2004-12-21T05:00:00.000-08:00

It's been more than a week now. And yet when I close my eyes I can see myself dance....moving to the beat of the drums...played at breakneck speed by the deft hands of a master. The ecstasy of a trance, an out-of-body experience almost.

But i can feel my feet moving, my pulse keeping time with the beat, coaxing the blood to flow to my head, forcing my arms to move. Passing me through that looking glass into a world where every rhythm is recognised by the body like it were it's own. I can feel the beat in the veins in my feet, guiding my every movement. Challenging my feet to stop dancing like it would mean the end of all existence.

And when i open my eyes i see him, almost purposefully hiding behind the carefully arranged drum set. He has no connection with my life...he's just another celebrity I went to watch.....but when i see his hands moving over the drums of heaven, I feel like the sound is calling out to me, waking up the hidden beast within. I feel like he's taking me back to the day when i turned my back on myself, my life, my soul. I feel the suffocation I felt that day.

After more than a year and a half i let the rhythm take over thought....take over my mind....take over every throb of my body. And when i close my eyes, I find myself there....on a stage where i have no face...where I am but me, a dance, a movement, a rhythm, a beat. My body aches from the slightest movement but move i must, else my life sap will run dry. All a mirage that awaits the batting of an eyelid to vanish from perception.

Questions abound every time I think of my past. The tinkle of anklets, the clang of cymbals, the mridangam, the trumpet, the violin strings....they haunt me when ever i close my eyes. When, oh when will my feet touch the ground...how long must i endure before I can give up....when shall the linoleum floors bleed the rhythm from my body.

Will the tandav be born again in me?

I wish

2004-12-18T04:28:00.000-08:00

I wish I were the morning star
so you'd see me everyday
looking for radiance to fill your mind
and joy in every ray.

I wish I were the clay you mould
with soft and tender hands
blending colours and your hopes
into every grain of sand.

I wish I was the paper
thoughts on which you draw
soaking in the picture of your life
and going aw aw awww.

I wish I were a floating leaf
on a stormy windy day
brushing against your eager face
like a memory from far away.

I wish I were an angel
so I could watch you fall asleep
pouring dreams into your tired head
and happiness forever to keep.

I wish I could write better
for there is so much more to say, but
these silly flights of fantasy
they stole my words away.

Bovine intervention

2004-12-16T06:50:00.000-08:00

It seems like cows and all animals milch have a strange sort of attraction towards me. Perhaps i was one of their species in a life long ago. But must this sort of obsession, I ask, continue to haunt me for more lives than one?

First i dismissed it as mere bad luck or some sort of strange coincidence....but when a cow or buffallo attacks you more than thrice a week, there must be more to the story than i can figure out. I first discovered that i was a most coveted target for raging buffalos (is there an e in that word??...and oh yes they can get really angry) when i was in the eighth standard. I was in Chennai then and my house was in a complex on a road next to the Koovum river. Now, though the "river" may sound right out of a novel set along the Siene, let me assure you that the Koovum can only qualify as a paradise for mosquitoes....and of course the buffalos. Anyone who's been to Chennai knows that it's anything but a river...the stench assaults you a mile away and if ever you have the misfortune of having to walk along it then make sure you have a clothes pin at hand.

Back to my story now.....So my journey (barely that but makes it sound more dramatic doesn't it) back home from school included a 10-minute walk on the very road....although when you're with friends the brain doesn't much care for sights and sounds unpleasant. And we were never once troubled by the lazy water babies (in case you've lost track, we're still talking about the buffalos). But one day i had to walk back home alone....and thats when one of those hairy creatures, seeing the opportunity at hand, decided to make a run for it (and literally).

Well, i screamed...if you could call my supersonic screech that. I can assure you i was more scared than when i saw Poltergeist for the first time....I brought everyone around out of their houses...'cos you see I'd never been chased by one of those creatures before that....hell i never even thought they could run. So there i was, at 3.30 in the afternoon.....screaming and running down the road like a mad woman...with this huge black maverick that seemed to have forgotten what it's name meant ( refer the Oxford English Dictionary for a detailed description of the word bovine).

That was just the beginning of my fear-chase saga with all forms of cattle. Of course i'd laugh my head off once the animal disappeared but it's bloody scary to have a two-horned, 300-kg "thing" chasing you.....and anyone who knows me will tell you that i'd not match the size of even one of it's hoofs. From then till yesterday, i have had numerous "not-so-nice-to-meet-you" encounters with them. Sometimes they decide to cross the road when i'm driving at like 70kmph with no brakes on my bike, at others they decide to get up from the road just as i'm passing them so they can swat their dirty tails in my face. And it's just my luck that all the cow-herds in Bangalore have to, just have to, leave their cows to graze near my house.

Will I ever rid of these creatures from my life? Maybe breaking a couple of coconuts at the shrine on Nandi Hills might help calm the bovine intervention in my life.

Lost in translocation

2004-12-15T06:02:00.000-08:00

And she left...
When i heard we'd be working in the same organisation i was damn thrilled....at least there was a possibility that one of us could get transferred to where the other person was, i thought. When i heard we were posted to the same place i was more than ecstatic...it cant be true...no one can have so much luck, i said.

Six months later i think i was a little too hasty in my celebration. But in these last six months we've shared so much of our lives. You know i've never been so open about some of my thoughts and fears with anyone before. We've cried and laughed...had crazy conversations about abstract thoughts...we've spent hours trying to figure about what makes us tick. Thoughts about laddoo and dreams about dolphin...we've imagined how it would've been to stay together...how different our lives and stories might have been. Hurried calls at 11 a.m so we could catch the 12 'o' clock show...trying to ask each other questions without embarrasing the other too much...sms-ing each other from across the table...trying to explain why we think what we think and confusing ourselves more and ending in a complete muddle.....e-mailing each other though just a door separated our seats...

I'll miss not being able to hop across for a chat...not being able to drawl over the phone while still asleep....not being able to make secret plans for dinner....or bunking work and watching stupid movies. I'm gonna miss all the crying and the jokes and the laughing and the yarns, the highlights of the day and the frustrated darns...I'm gonna miss you so much girl....
"It's not like i'm never coming back," she said. "Chennai is only a few hours away." But my dear dear Mytreyi, make sure that WE dont get lost in translocation.

Hanging on to a moonbeam

2004-12-08T05:48:00.000-08:00

It's the worst thing in the world when you are happy, excited about new beginnings and your friend is going through a really rough time. When you feel guilty about being able to laugh out loud, make a fool in front of the world, scream and shout, when all she can manage is a teary smile at your really awful attempts at humour...only to make sure she isnt being rude.
Why is it that our best times coincide with hurt and turmoil in the lives of those close to us? I wonder if there'll ever come a time when everyone I know is happy....when pain doesn't seep into my ecstatic head vicariously.
Today, happiness is just an illusion in the vast deserts of pain...

2004-11-18T05:02:00.000-08:00

Read on a report from Gulbarga last night:
"When asked whether the delay in submitting the recommendations by the expert committee mar the efforts to start the crushing operations this season, Mr Manjunath declined to comment and said that he had no briefs to answer the questions."
I wonder how my friend edited the report with a straight face...i was laughing about it even three hours later...one of the perks of being a journalist....you get to take home some free laughs along with your pay packet

Mooomeee!!!!!

2004-11-07T21:41:00.000-08:00

Venue: Airport Road, Bangalore.
Time: two nights ago. 10:35 p.m.

Cow (second baby one on the way) and calf trying to cross the road....mama manages to get across fine. Poor baby gets stuck in traffic. Lucky calf barely misses being hit. She/he stands in the middle of the road, eyes wide like it was hit by a cannonball (it dint have a choice now you see...the maruti that almost rammed into it had its headlights on on high beam).

A guy gets out of the passenger seat of the car and tries to shoo the calf away. Mama cow gets damn wild now. you can see the krodh in her eyes. Ever heard of a raging bull....then this was a sight to see. She charges at the guy and "THWAAACK".....hits him right in his butt. TAKE THAT FOR MESSING WITH MY KID.
Silence all around and a millisecond later....THUD. The cow mooooos really loud, walks up to her calf and walks it away. The car driver is laughing uncontrolably.....the guy gets up, dusts his butt and gets in the car....the car doesnt move...the driver is still laughing.
A bike stops by and asks the guy, " Are you ok?" the guy nods and fifteen odd people go home happier.

Sometimes a little comedy is all it takes to sleep well :)))

Love's labour lost?

2004-10-31T00:54:00.000-07:00

I stood on the marina and closed my eyes
waiting for the bear-hug and a whispered, "please dont cry."
For the warmth of the breath that breathes laughter in my life
but all i ever found, was a deep sigh of strife.

I opened my eyes hoping that i'd find you by my side
Meaning it when you say you'd be my friend tonight.
Alas! the sea, the bay, the ocean
that separates you from me
saline sprays of water,
and time-an eternity.

The city rushes past, as i lean out the window
a neon blur of emotion, a picture of a place long ago.
The buildings, the parks, the people
that once knew your face
lost in the multitude of strangers,
your name- an indelible trace.

A picture of you and me, sits pretty in my head
walking the long winding road, conversations and silence shared.
The laughter, the sunshine, the music
a gift from up above
lured like an insect to pest-o-flash
this place- a haven of love.

Four years and more have rolled by
since you looked in my eyes and smiled.
when popcorn, pepsi and a horror flick
a strange sort of romance had styled.

Still, I hope in that moment
when you will hold my hand and say
the past bears doubt on the present
but of the future, i'm here to stay.

Those saline springs of memories
upon the cheek shall then drop
and the silent whisper of togetherness
will make time, eternal, stop.

My very own Roadies show!

2004-10-26T12:45:00.000-07:00

I took a break from boring monotonous work (so it's only been four months, but thats enough time to tire of anything) and ran away to chennai last weekend. Thought it would help me find that winged white horse i've been searching for. Dint succeed in tracing the mythical creature, but sure had many an adventure there....

It all started with my journey there. You know how they say that the best way to see India and learn about its people is to get on Indian Railways and travel the country. Well IR wasn't so cooperative, so like an absolute spoilt brat, I got my dad to buy me tickets on an a/c bus. But hey, at least it was KSRTC....so I was sure that I'd have as good an experience as on any train.

Now I'm normally not one who loves to make conversation on moving vehicles. Actually I like talking....I'm a egotist u see, I love the sound of my own voice....but the problem is, I normally just read a book or fall asleep....how boring, I know.

Anyways on this particular day I was quite determined not to sleep (the will dint last too long, but that's an entirely different story) and actually talk to people and generally "observe". But you see, I think someone up there (finger pointing skyward for those who don't know exactly where....Actually even I don't know why I'm pointing to the sky??...ok drifting drifting...) doesn't like me too much. That's why, every time I make grand plans (or in this case a little teeny weeny one) for myself, something just has to go wrong.

I had quite a range of "co-passengers" on that bus. This middle aged uncle with his really big moustache and the pot belly. He could barely fit in the seat when the guy in front of him pushed his seat back. And his moustache....it was really strange...unlike most men with big moustaches who keep turning it upwards...aka Mohanlal in many a mundu-pokki malayalam movie...this one was headed in the opposite direction.

Then there was the guy sitting behind me, desperately trying to calm his crying child, lest someone throws her out of the window. I found out later that he really was fussing over nothing. Guess he dint know that I really don't mind kids tugging at my hair...cos you see that's what she was trying to do. And when he like pulled her away the poor thing got damn upset and started to howl. All the while, I think his wife was just sleeping...dunno how cos this kid was bawling really loudly.

The guy sitting across the aisle from me was a character by himself. Always on his cell phone, with its really loud ringtone, and him always talking so so sooooo loudly. In his "oh-so-wannabe Yankee" three fourths and sleeveless t-shirt (in an a/c bus for God's sake. So what if we were going to Chennai, it was still cold). And he hadn't even shaved his pits....yuuuucccccccccckkkkk.

And how could anyone ignore that boisterous woman, who from the time she walked into the bus made it absolutely clear that her old maama had to be taken care of....and not just by her. She sat in the last seat while her uncle sat somewhere in the middle of the bus. "Neenga inge vokkarungo maama...backle romba jump aagum." ( that's you sit here uncle, it'll be too bumpy a ride at the back). And she kept walking down the aisle every chance she got, to make sure that her maama was absolutely comfortable. "yadavadu saapadringla maama," " thanni vennuma maama," "curtain moodidunga, veyil varum maama." ( would you like something to eat? Water uncle? Close the curtains, the sun will hit your eye.) Aah she was loud.

And how could I forget the guy sitting next to me. I have to say that the journey was quite a stinker...this guy could really do with a better deo. But then, the air conditioning sorted that out in a bit. He was really strange. After the initial...."oh you're reading Upamanyu Chatterji" and the "can I have some water please" and "where do you stay in chennai" he was amazingly quiet. He kept mumbling to himself throughout the journey.....almost like he was rehearsing lines for a play....but said nothing more. But u know his phone kept buzzing (incoming message) every three and a half minutes. I'm not joking....through the 6 hour journey....and I actually timed it.

So see, I'm sure I dint miss out much by not traveling Indian railways. I guess there might have been many more interesting fellow passengers but I think I had had enough for a day. After all, I still had the next three days in Chennai to encounter strange new experiences.

What's in a name you ask?

2004-10-12T06:52:00.000-07:00

Politics and Rosh normally dont mix on a bright sunny day. Though i try to stay abreast with whats happening around....the job demands it you see....i'm probably the last person to be drawn into a political debate. But this much has to be said for Indian politics. As much as you try to run from it, there's really no escape from its reach and consequences.
And this I realised last night. I was watching the news and my cousin....remember the two-year-old one.....asks me, "Chooci what is Sonia Gandhi saying?" And I'm not exaggerating when i say that everyone at home turned to her like she'd said something most blasphemous. Not bad, I think, for her age. The poor soul doesnt have a clue who Sonia Gandhi is, but i'm still surprised that she recognised her and remembered her name.
Oh, but i must say, she's quite good with recognising faces.
She looked at a picture of Irfan Pathan in a magazine this morning and asked who he was....and then said "Show me Rahul uncle's photo"...(yup manu, i've turned her into a Dravid fan as well.) So i showed her a picture of Sachin and said it was Dravid. Madam of course refused to believe me...."I want brilliant shot uncle ma" she said (that from the Hutch ad during the world cup)...and everytime someone hits a four or a six, she has to scream "Brilliant shot"....thankfully for cricket, she's not partial to the men-in-blue...she knows a good game when she sees one...
the girl's really good. But her diplomacy makes me wonder if it's plain curiosity or a political streak that i see in her. hmmm....I wonder who she'll ask about today....Veerappan perhaps!
What's in a name anyway. After all, they all really do smell the same

when a blogger is caught in a time warp

2004-10-02T06:31:00.000-07:00

BLOG! BLOG! BLOG!

It's too much stress. There was a time when i thought i'd never run out of things to say. That mainitaing this blog would become a necessity....like breathing or eating...or living. But now there's a new dilemma. How does one know what to write? I'm no genius to let my fingers do all the talking. But seriously how does one know what to write....who to write to....what to tell and how much to hide.

Suddenly the purpose of the blog seems to have turned a little bleak. Is it a web journal....of life and thoughts and fears and dreams. But i'm such a private person why would i want someone to read about my life. In all likelihodd i'll never meet the people who read this....if some one's reading it that is.....and yet the fear of revealing too much....communicating too much....

So much anonymity that you can write what u want and yet not mean it....so much space...so much freedom. Isnt that what we're always trying to achieve?? Someone wrote on their blog once...that it could be the first step to writing a book. Is that what i want? To write....stories for people to read and enjoy.....but that's not anonymity. And even if ur a ghost writer, u still are famous arent u.....then the purpose of the blog or in future tense, the book?? a rather strange question mark.....so much meaning and so little sense.

See what i mean about there being too much pressure to blog....this time i let my fingers do the talking....and there you are....a mighty mess of a simple question.....Why am i blogging?
Hopefully the next time there'll be some clear answers.

For now William Shakspeare telleth all when he says, "Confusion now hath made his masterpiece!"

It's a hit

2004-09-29T03:32:00.000-07:00

Every aspiring journalist waits for the day her first article is published. And how we dream through journo school that it would be this big expose on a really huge scam thats gonna rock the country. And yet we're happy to see those five lines on a press conference.

It's true...i've finally been published. I pinched myself quite hard on Saturday morning to make sure that it really was mine....who would publish the crap i'd written. But it really was me. And the "yippee" and the lil skip repeated on Tuesday. My claim to fame...two articles on eating out in Bangalore. And just like any other newly-found "celebrity," calls and commendations came pouring in...ok thats an exxageration, but what the hell...

I never thought that any of the people i knew even read the hindu.....but what a pleasant surprise when my friend's mum messaged saying "great article rosh." At home, the scene was quite the same. "roshu where's your article?" my grandmom would ask every 3 seconds...."cut it out and stick it on the fridge," someone else advised....."you should have explained a little more about so-and-so dish," an uncle advised.....

That thing they say about being mobbed when ur famous....it's true you know....considering that there's quite a crowd at home......13 at last count, including my dog.....it was but natural that i'd be mobbed. But i love it....and am waiting for the next time. If there's anything like being addicted to success, this sure must be it.

On my way to work, one of the schoolkids in the building walked up to me and said, "Roshni akka, nice article." I didn't even know the kids name...

Voices

2004-08-31T04:23:00.000-07:00

It's truly fantabulous how a voice can evoke a million memories....how it can cajole you into living and reliving an entire lifetime of events, experiences, moments.
I know you're reading this and i want to tell that I miss your voice.
The way you try to sing under your breath.
The little squeek that it gets when ur arguing.
The way the 'ee' of your sorrys are barely said.
The way you say my name.
I want you to know that I miss your voice.
That I miss you.

Don't Quit

2004-08-16T06:22:00.000-07:00

It’s strange how the world has a way of reassuring you about things to come.

I woke up this morning, feeling absolutely lousy…the kinda feeling when your arms weigh you down…like they were made of lead…your heart seems to ache like someone stuck a knife through it. Like you were walking under this dark dark cloud, that threatened to burst any minute, and drown you in its downpour.
Like you were sitting at the edge of a lake…a lake that was being sucked into a blackhole…and even though you want to just let go and be done with all these mysterious feelings of being in a strange world, of going through the day like a modern day Frankenstein, of being let loose by the compulsions of being, conforming, existing in a pseudo ecstatic world, its almost as if the grass on the edge of the lake were programmed to hold on to you…come what may. "you cant die yet…you cant get away that easy…it’s a big bad mean manipulative world and you have to, just have to, live and suffer the way all mortals do."

But the world has a way of reassuring you about things to come.

I got out of bed and tried to get on with yet another day of routine in-activity. Read the paper…about floods waiting to kill, of bureaucrats getting away with murder, about the law catching up with felons, of farmers dying of hunger and the Olympics being witness to the clasps of thunder, of bulls and bears and animals oh-so-rare.
It’s true when they say that what goes around comes around. It feels like nothing has changed in the last 20 years…a newspaper from the 80s would tell you of the same things….the names might have changed, but the people are the same.

Yet the world has a way of reassuring you about things to come.

with nothing remotely interesting to do, i decided to open up the boxes of junk that i had accumulated over the years....i went through them hoping that i'd find something that would make my day less morose, happier, brighter....something that would help me get through the day without tearing my hair out. I had to get through this day.... and let the weekend try and cheer me up.

And it's amazing how the world has a way of reassuring you about things to come.

There's this one poem that i really like. I read it first when i was in class seven... I wrote it down immediately...and pinned it up above my study table. Back then it was something that provided enough motivation to get through that last exam....to forget about that swollen ankle and run that relay the next day....to stay calm, learn to accept defeat and promise to do better next time. This morning i found that piece of paper, all yellowed and delicate from siting in a box all these years.
It was the world's way of reassuring me about things to come.
so here it is for all ye to read...

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,
When the road your trudging seems all uphill,
When the funds are low and the debts are high,
And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit
Rest if you must, but don't you quit.

Life is queer with its twists and its turns,
As everyone of us sometimes learns,
And many a failure turns about
When they might have won, had they stuck it out.
Don't give up though the pace seems slow,
You may succeed with another blow.

Often the struggler has given up
When he might have captured the victors cup;
And he learned too late when the night came down,
How close he was to the golden crown.

Success is failure turned inside out
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt
And you never can tell how close you are,
It may be near when it seems so far;
So stick to the fight when your hardest hit,
It's when things seem worst that you mustn't quit!

Oh, and yes i did have a great day after that. Was it the poem or was it just me? Guess I'll never know. But now that poem is right back where it used to be, pinned to the corner of my mirror...and oh yes, deeply entrenched in my head.

Broken...

2004-07-29T07:22:00.000-07:00

My little cousin walked into my room this morning and woke me up with the sweetest "good morning choochi" (thats roshni chechi for short...my other cousins call me rochi and she could never say it right...oh by the way, she's 2 1/2 years old).
I love the way she climbs into bed and cuddles up with you, and chatters non stop in your ears, telling me about what some boy said in the bus or what her favourite Nirmala aunty taught her at school the previous day. And then she'd say "I go to school choochi, you get up."
So anoushka walked into my room theis morning and went through her usual routine, the difference being that she was a little extra naughty today...pulling my hair, tying to play with my cell phone lying on the bed side table, pretending to be "shaktimaan" and shooting me, jumping on the bed determined to break all the springs, yelling and screaming and trying everything in her two-and-a-half-year book on How to wake up sleeping cousins. and on occasions she uses it on poor appu as well....oh, he's my three-year-old dog. Actually they make quite a team these two. I think sometimes that when no one is looking, they exchange notes on how best to be naughty...'cos sometimes the things they do seem so similar...really, i'm not kidding.
Anyways, thankfully today, appu was snoring away in some hidden corner of the house. So naughty-anoushka decides that the only way she can get my attention is if she breaks something...like my nose. Unfortunately, her aim aint that good. And instead of hittting my nose, she banged her head on the bed-side table, and managed to hit it just hard enough to make my favourite photo frame leap through the air and C.R.A.S.H.
That got me out of bed alright...and though she looked very sorry about it, the glint in her eyes tempted me to think that perhaps her aim wasnt that bad after all. I examined the remains of the porcelain frame and decided that nothing could be done about it. So i got a broom from the kitchen and scooped up the pieces. But for some strange reason i just couldnt throw it into the dustbin. And now it lies in my cupboard, all wrapped up as if it were the pieces of my heart.
And i realised that thats something I've never been able to do- throw away my things, even those that have outlived their utility. Whatever was i hoping for, that some great person would discover a glue that'll let me put together that broken frame...yes i have heard of feviquik, but it's not the same...u'll still be able to see all those cracks...or that when i woke up the next day i'd find that i've been given the power to do what i want...that in true Bewitched style i'd be able to wiggle my nose and voila, the frame would be as good as new.
But it's hard to throw things away, things that remind you of people, of good times, of special moments. I have every scrap of paper, every note that i've exchanged with friends during class...pages of my notebooks where we used to have written conversations when the teacher was rambling on about quantum mechanics...my badminton racquet with the guts all broken, cards that my friends gave me, since class 4...the shells that i used to play with when i was 5...even the tattered-and-sewn-many-times-over cabbage patch that me dad got me when i was in the hospital. And all these things have travelled with me through my father's nine transfers.
So i look at the broken frame and decide that it's time to get over this obsession...i pick it up, still all wrapped up...if i open it, i'll never be able to throw it away...walk over to the kitchen and before i can change my mind, i throw it in.
But you know what, some 7 hours later, i'm still thinking about it...about how lovely it looked when i unwrapped it on my 14th birthday...how the picture of our "gang" stared up at me...and how for that moment life had seemed so perfect. I just hope my mum hasnt cleared the trash out...i want to hold on to that frame, even if it is in pieces...more than i've ever thought it possible. For all the good times, i want that frame...as a reminder that i once thought life was perfect...

O.K. So i'm a sentimental oaf....hang me for it...

When it rains it pours

2004-07-27T03:20:00.000-07:00

Have you ever wondered how it always rains when
a) you are late to work
b) you forget to carry your jacket
c) you wear white
d) all of the above

just a thought...

2004-07-21T04:48:00.000-07:00

There's a song playing in my head right now...

"The hills are alive with the sound of music"

Shit, my legs are aching to dance. What the hell am i doing stuck in an office, staring at a computer screen, editing crappy stories about someone inaugurating toilets?

My aunt claims to know

2004-07-18T03:09:00.001-07:00

I was on my way to work and almost got killed by a fast-food delivery bike. I finished my usual round of cursing the guy in a million languages and looked up just in time to be able to read the receding letters on the back of his bike... M A R R Y B R O W N.......MARRYBROWN, that's the chicken place, from Madras.....

Madras.....sigh....hot madras, dirty madras, stinky madras..... filter coffee madras, late night bus rides madras, lazing on the marina madras. I have such wonderful memories of madras.....Madras, my home Madras.

It's strange that people who've never lived in the place always complain about how it's always hot and stinky. "The minute you pull into the railway station, you'll know from the smell that you are in madras. You can't miss this place even if you were knocked out cold, the stench will definately wake you up," my aunt always said on our over-night train journeys to the city.

But little does she know of the wonders of this city. What does she know about walking home from tuition and discusiing pregnant pauses with friends, of sitting at broken bridge and dreaming of things that might never be. Of watching movies by the dozens in 10 rupee stalls in the poshest of movie theatres. Of staying awake all night singing songs and listening to poetry.

Of waking up early to face another 14 hour day. Of having joint study sessions with the boys and freaking the servant out. Of planning for countless vacations that we never end up taking. Of slumber parties and boys, and girls and heartbreaks. Of bus rides and train rides that were and never were. Of the circus, the beach, the museum, the war memorial. Of posing for photographs and capturing one. Of watermelon juice on the terrace and cinema classes.

What does she know of passing notes during the most boring of classes, and stealing moments to stroll under the tamarind tree. Of playing volleyball in a free hour and getting screamed at by the principal every second day. Of dissecting frogs and swallowing sulphuric acid. Of rainy days shared under a single umbrella and teary goodbyes under a star sprangled sky.

What does she know of meeting at fruit shop and eating and hot breads. Of laughing at GGs and weeping at Wangs. Of talking over the phone and playing pool at Q-shot. Of drinking on the sly and dancing without music. Of comforting friends and fighting with them.

What does she know of walking the beach trying to save turtles. Of getting chased from the marina by cops at 2 am. Of "lets play something" and Johnsons classes. Of ijeekaltoo and bombarding. Of bajji and forever pregnant Suchi. Of Bindu and Radha and Geeta and Sri.

What does she know about Madras when she's never lived there. What does she know...

Kids!

2004-07-17T12:09:00.000-07:00

My cousins had come over for dinner tonight. Did the usual bit of "it's been so long- how have u been- look at you, you look amazing- hows your husband" conversation. Bored with inane adult conversations, i turned my attention to my little nephew.
As a rule Rohan hates any attention from anyone above the age of three. His logic is that if he can't dictate the terms of a conversation, then there's no use having one. Rohan is 10 years old and in class 4. He told me the last time we met that all the girls in his class were scared of him. That he was the dada of his class.
I liked to think that i was the exception to Rohan's three-year rule. It made me feel nice that I was his favourite aunt...that he'd talk to me about school and what he liked when all his mother could get out of him was an irreverent "NO", or a rather hostile "GO AWAY". Rohan was clearly a strange kid.
We like to think of Rohan as a walking disaster, and everytime he comes home, my aunt always goes to sleep weeping over some lovely crystal vase or lampshade that rohan broke. The minute we hear his voice in the lobby (and he has a pretty loud one too...u can hear it all the way from timbuktu), we scamper around trying to hide everything within arms reach that is breakeable. There's no telling what this boy could do. If you told him that something was would break, he would purposely smash it against the wall to see if we were telling the truth. "But they always lie to me," he says pointing to his parents. "That' why i'm testing if you are saying the truth."
But that's not the scariest of Rohan's antics. We live on the fifth floor and have quite a big terrace. One day we found Rohan walking on the parapet. I think his mother died ten times over when she saw that. "Mama, it feels like paragliding," he said when she screemed at him through tears. Ask my dog and he'll tell you just what Rohan is capable of. The poor thing hides under the cot when he hears the kid's voice. He once starred in one of Rohan's rather late diwali magnum opus...he almost had his tail set on fire.
Sometimes I wondered how I had managed to get so much information from Rohan. On this day he certainly did not feel like talking much. "Hi Rohan, how is school? Is Natasha still trubling you?" I asked. Natasha was his bench partner, and as you might have guessed, he couldnt stand her guts.
"She smells wierd, like she slept on flowers. I wish the bees would just eat her up" That's strange, I thought to myself. The imagination did sound like his, but on a normal day, he'd be more creative and hope for her to metamorph into a huge sunflower that turned to the sun every morning and one day ended up getting burnt, because she dint listen to him when he asked her not to turn to the sun today because there was an eclipse.
I thought he must have just had a rough day at school. So I waited a while and tried again. "Hey Rohan, do u want to go play some games on the computer?"
"Fuck off, you know I hate computer games," he retorted.

And I think to myself- Oh bly me! what a blasphemous generation it is that follows in our footsteps.

I learnt last night...

2004-07-17T03:57:00.000-07:00

Every nite, on my way home from work, i stop at the traffic signal. It amazes me that whatever time i leave the office i always get caught at this particular signal.
And every night, i see this beggar....cradling her infant in her arms...hoping that someone would feel a little charitable tonight. She walks from car to bus and extends her fragile and cupped palms, straining her ears to hear the clink of a coin when it falls in her makeshift palm-bowl and meets her skin-covered bones. She sharpens her senses to try and feel the cold warmth of the coin....and yet tries to desensitise herself so that she doesnt have to deal with the wailing child in her arms.
She walks up to me every night, the bawling babe in her arms, and looks me in the eye, asking that i understand her pain. "i'm not aking you to take me home. Just give me a coin so i can feed my child," she seems to say. And every night i shake my head and look away. She never complains, she never curses, just comes back the next day like i was a stranger to her life.
As a rule i never encourage begging. "These people are able-bodied and can work," I tell my brother everytime he feels the urge to reach into his wallet and relieve their misery, albeit temporarily. "It's a matter of principle," I tell my dad when he asks me if i have a coin to spare.
"You are very selfish Roshni," my mom screems from the passenger seat of our car. "She's out in the rain, getting wet, while you sit in the car, happy and dry, talking about principles."
And through all that I've stayed quiet, and unmoved. But the night before last, her eyes had a strangeness about them. Like she had lost the will to live. She barely extended her hands, and her usual routine of touching someone's feet in appeal had all but disappeared. Her eyes spoke to me again, "If you had a heart you would know," they said.
Involuntarily, my hands dipped into my bag to pull out my purse. I opened it, took out a 20 rupee note and gave it to her. She looked at me, in surprise, in awe and then in relief, happiness and ultimately in indebtedness.....
Last night, i stopped at the signal once again....she looked at me and smiled, mumbled thanks in a strange language. She walked past my bike, and moved to the cars behind me. I called her and asked her name. She said "Maya." I dreamt last night that it was all an illusion.

I went against my principles, and yet I was......happy?
I'm waiting to see her again tonight....and see the glint back in Maya's eyes

shhh....u'll wake him up

2004-07-16T12:29:00.000-07:00

01:05 a.m
staring at my red foot warmers....waiting to wake up from my drunken slumber.
wind in the willows
dark moon
i turn on the lights,
good night he says...