Too Difficult to handle???

What is more difficult to handle than a misplaced old, favorite book when you want to read it, a ton of clothes to wash, a sink-full of dishes to clean, pouring rain when you have just put on your best dress?? No idea?? Well, I will tell you. A pissed off Dad.. Trust me, worse than the worst hangover, Worse-er than a grumpy bear with a sore head…

A trip to Shillong can never be complete without a full fledged, all day long shopping spree. Hence imagine my state of mind when told that I had only an hour and a half to shop - bags, shoes, sandals whatever I want.. I know.. it was sheer panic.. The whole of police bazaar, Glory plaza in just an hour and a half? You gotta be kidding me right??

Anyways, an hour and a half it is then. I did not want to waste any time cribbing, so off I went, dragging Ashu, my mom, and dad, who till this point of time was in a pretty ok mood, (ok.. maybe just a little tired) but seems to be getting a little edgy, apprehensive and moody at the sound of the dreaded S word (Shopping).

My first stop, the flip flops and flats shop. The guy at the counter SURE knows what would flip ME out - Cute Red Flip flops, the lightweight, Thai ones, with cartoons painted on them. I was sold. “185” he says. “No no, I’ll give you only 100” I retort. I am warming up to this. I rarely get to bargain in Bangalore, and I am just starting to have fun. Suddenly I hear Ashu Ahem and Err...Nudged by him, I turn to my dad who looks at me like I have suddenly sprouted horns. “What??” I ask. “Have you lost your mind?? 100 bucks for a hawai chappal? They are not worth more than 40 bucks..“ He screams. I look around for my mom for help. She seems to have disappeared. Ashu dear refuses to meet my eye. Left alone to face my dad’s ire, I just smile my sweetest smile at him, and give the guy 100 bucks, grab out my brand new, not to mention, Cute chappals and walk out, before things get murkier.

Maybe he is just tired or maybe its the travel. Hell, he might be hungry, I should hurry. I can feel his temper rising by the minute, his eyes following me as I walk from shop to shop, indulging myself. Not for long though, as I lose myself in the pleasures of running my hand through scarves, trying on shoes, checking out bags. Suddenly, I stop. The most stylish & chic pair of sandals stare at me from a store. I can hear them calling out to me. I try them on, and they fit. I absolutely have to, have to have them. “750 Rs Madam”. “Not more than 400”. “Ok lets settle at 450 madam”. I look up happily at Ashu, who is pulling out his wallet and yawning at the same time. And then, I make the mistake of looking at my dad and I remember exactly why I promised myself never to take my dad along when I am on one of my wild shopping sprees. Foreseeing a lecture on how I have enough shoes to shod the entire population of Ghana, I put my head down and mumble “Its ok. I don’t want them.”

Now coming from me, that IS a BIG thing. Hubby dear’s yawn is frozen midway, he looks as though he’s been struck by lightning. “WHAT?” “I don’t want them”, I say nonchalantly. “Lets go..” I notice the relieved (or is it smug) expression on my dad’s face, and though I am a little disappointed at not picking up the most sexy, suave pair of sandals I had ever set my eyes on, I convince myself I have done the right thing.

As I mope around, wondering if I will ever find a pair of sandals that elegant and at that cost ever again, I notice Ashu trying to catch my eye. I go over to the corner where he is standing, and let out a silent hoot of joy.. he’s secretly got me the coveted pair of sandals. “Quick!! Put this in your bag!!” Isn’t he a sweetheart.. I am thrilled to bits. Now I know why we are still going strong after close to a decade of being together. …Hmm, or maybe, wait a minute.. Maybe it was just him being cautious, coz a pissed off father in law and a sulking wife, are definitely a lot more difficult to handle than a dozen missed deadlines, grocery shopping on a lazy Saturday afternoon, BESCOM disconnecting the fuse coz you have forgotten to pay the electricity bill and, pouring rain when you have just spent an hour washing the bike..…

Nutty friends and all that jazz....

This woman never ceases to amaze me. Just when I think I’ve got her figured out, she goes and does something absolutely crazy and so unlike her. “How could you do that??”

She’s as cool as a cucumber while I am left flabbergasted at the stunt she’s pulled.

She’s at Java City listening to the Sunday evening live jazz, on her own. The place is packed and nobody seems to be in a mood to leave their seats. She spots a quiet, unassuming loner, pretty much like herself, at one of the corner tables. He catches her eye, and slowly picks up his bag from the seat opposite him. He shrugs and nods to the empty seat. She pretends not to notice, looks around and waits for a while. Finally, giving up she walks up to him

“Is this seat taken?”, she asks.

“Nopes”

“Mind if I sit here?”

“Nopes”

She settles down for the evening’s performance and forgets about Mr. Nopes sharing the table with her. In a few minutes as the band takes a break, she steps out for some fresh air. “Hi! I am so-&-so from mumbai”. “Hi. Wts up? Wt brings u to blr?”


As the jazz and the evening progresses so does the conversation.. the weather, politics, music, books, movies.. Finally, its time for the last song and as they pay their bills he asks “Err.. I was just thinking of getting some dinner, and probably a drink. Would you like to join me? I could drop you wherever you wanna go.” Alarmed, all her senses on high alert, she gives him her most icy and disgusted look. “No, I need to get home. Thanks for the seat, gnite”

She steps out and decides to have one last smoke, one for the road.

“Come on yaar.. Get a life….”


“Are you nuts? You went out partying with an unknown stranger? For all you know, he could have mugged you, cut you up into pieces and thrown you somewhere and nobody would have even known you are missing.” I couldn't believe it. I wonder how an almost 30 year old, usually level headed, cautious and responsible woman like her could even think of doing that. I shudder to imagine what her family and friends would say to her, if they so much as got a whiff of this.


But then, concern and fears aside, as I look at her I realize I am looking at the slightly eccentric, carefree, stubborn and crazy girl I knew and haven’t met in years. As I smile and shake my head in disbelief all I can say is “You go girl… May I see more of you in the days to come….”

My Best Man....

I am being followed… its pitch dark, there’s a deafening silence around.. nobody I can call, nowhere I can go.. I quicken my pace.. my heart ricocheting off my ribs. I look around and I’m still not alone.. I break into a run, I am running for my life.. I turn around and its still there, right behind me. Suddenly I’m grabbed from behind and pushed to the ground. I fall.. fall through an abyss of dark, dismal shadows. My screams are caught in my throat, I’m choking over my breath. This is it.. I think I’m gonna die… I crash down to the bottom of the abyss onto a wet pillow and a disarray of bed covers and sheets. Terrified, shaken and wide awake, I sit up on the bed trying to get a grip on myself and the lonely darkness I feel within me. One of my worst, recurring nightmares…Its 3 AM and a couple of glasses of water and an hour of sitcoms later I am still shaking. The rest of the night passes by as I toss and turn in bed, coaxing, threatening and pleading my brains to shut off & let me go to sleep. Before I know it, its morning.. time to face another day, and for once I find no strength, no enthusiasm in me. I just wanna curl up and hide from everyone and everything around. Everything seems to be going downhill, and there seems to be absolutely nothing I can do about it..

My phone rings and I distractedly pick it up. “Princess, are you okay? I couldn’t sleep last night. I dreamt that you were in some kind of trouble. I know you are going to get irritated with your old man, but just humor me this time, ok? Is everything all right?”

My old man, my Papa.. All at once I find myself a five year old in cutoffs and a blue tank top, standing on the bed, screaming at the top of her voice “Papa, I’m scared.. there’s a monster under my bed..” All at once I see him rushing into the room, lifting me off the bed, into his arms. I go back in time to the feeling of being the world to someone .. more important than the intricacies of daily life – career, money, primitive and irrelevant traditions, more important than ego tussles, and everything else. I remember how he sat up the whole night by my side, talking to me, re assuring me, making sure I slept well, abandoning his much awaited, yearly Toddy and sea food get together in Kerala with my uncles. All at once, I am transported back in time.. I am sitting on his shoulders, the next morning, and we are in the paddy fields surrounding my grandmom’s house, happily chasing dragonflies.. the sun on our excited, laughing faces, the cool breeze fanning through our hair... “I would never let any monster come anywhere near you. You tell the monster that the next time he hides under your bed. Ok?” “Yes Papa!!.”

“Yes Papa!!.” I hear myself say and smile. All at once, the day doesn’t seem very difficult anymore. I know I mean the world to one person and I cannot let him down!!

There are days.. & then there are days....

There are days and then there are days... Got up late, mad rush to make it in time for the office cab, almost missed bfast, got stuck in rush hour traffic, reached late for a meeting, had a ton of work to finish before lunch,rolled up my sleeves and got down to work, work, work.. worked thru lunch, thru coffee breaks, even thru rest room breaks... finally by 6:30 I am done with my tasks for the day. rush to make it in time for the 6:30 cab with my growling stomach reminding me that i havent eaten much since dinner last night. Fret not, i tell myself.. lets go home, fix me a drink, cook a nice yummy dinner & relax,watch a movie, enjoy my evening... Battling hunger pangs, i reach home, shower, change, and get ready to enjoy my lonely evening (Ashish is out of town, in case u r wondering..).. I open the liqour cabinet and gosh.. I cannot believe my eyes.. I am out of Daroo. Hell, no.. Its ok, i tell myself, lets make do with Litchi juice, dont get yourself upset over such a trivial thing.. remember u intend to enjoy ur evening. Okay,i refuse to get upset.. lets cook me some pasta... Humming to myself, i put the pasta to cook on the stove and step out onto the balcony to enjoy a smoke. Shit, I forgot my juice in the kitchen. As i walk in to get it, i'm greeted by a horrible smell. wt the hell is that.. I smell LPG.. Yup.. I am out of cooking gas, which means my pasta is not even half cooked. Damn.. I remember my mom's advice to give the cylinder a nice shake to get even the last bit of gas to burn. But shake as much as i could, Swearing as loudly and in all the 8 languages that i know, i cannot get the damn thing to turn on.
Hell... My hunger knows no bounds now.. so does my frustration.. I take a few deep breaths, and count to 10,to calm myself as i walk out to the balcony to finish my smoke.. Only to find that my last cigarette burnt out before i could even get to it..
Well, I have had enough.To hell with "I'm not letting anything upset or frustrate me today". Am calling it a lousy DAY & putting an end to it, by going to sleep. Hopefully tomorrow is a better day.....
Like I said, There are Days & then there are days.....

A matter of Love and Death....

Breathless, spell bound and awestruck, I stop right in front of it. Before me is the most beautiful scene I have ever set eyes on. A Roman couple, blissfully in love, engrossed in each other to the point of oblivion. A look of peace, happiness, surrender on her beautiful, radiant face. Indulgence, pride and infinite tenderness on his. Time seems to have stopped for them and nothing seems to matter, just that moment, as they nestle in each others arms. Above them, their protector, Cupid embraces them with his garland of roses. I cannot take my eyes away from the three of them, the couple blissfully unaware of anything but each other, and the little cherub watching over them lovingly.

Suddenly, my gaze shifts to a sinister looking, cloaked lady in green looming over the lovers and their benefactor. Who is she? Why is she armed with a pair of shears? And why is she set to snap a thread that seems in some way connected to the two lovers? What a contrast between the figures. I can feel the warm, happy glow that had enveloped me as I watched the lovers give way to an icy cold shiver. One look at the cold, dark expression on her face, and I feel a lump in my throat. I start to hear a high pitched scream “No…” and realize that if I do not stifle the rising lump in my throat, I will cry out loud. Who is she? What is she doing here?

She is Atropos, the oldest of the three Moirae - the Greek goddesses of fate and destiny and the daughters of Nyx, the night. Her sister Clotho spins the thread of life for each mortal. Her other sister Lachesis measures the length of this thread. It is Atropos who chooses to end the life of each mortal by cutting their thread with her "abhorred shears."

That explains the two threads entwined together and the ominous shears ready to sever them. That explains the inflexible and inevitable expression on her mysterious face. But which of the two lovers is going to be snatched away by death? Which of them will be left behind to spend a forlorn life, laden with memories, lovelorn and devoid of all hope? As my misty gaze wanders back to the love and passion resplendent on their unsuspecting faces, I cannot help but wonder who among them will really be dead – the one who ceases to live or the one who has to attempt to live without the other.

----A visit to the Ringling Museum of Art, Sarasota bestowed on me an experience I will never forget. I cannot remember anything that has moved or touched me so much and with
such intensity in recent times. The painting I am talking about is named "Roman
Courtship" and is by Sir William E. Reynolds-Stephens, 1862-1943. The painting is a
copyright of The John and Mable Ringling Museum of Art, Sarasota, Florida. Though I
have not been able to find a link to the picture, I am going to attach a photograph of it that
I took at the museum. Please note that all copyrights for this painting belong to the The
John and Mable Ringling Museum of Art, Sarasota.

Montage of Memories

"Montage – a mosaic, medley, hodgepodge, mishmash

Montage is also the art or process of making a composite picture by bringing together into a single composition a number of different pictures or parts of pictures and arranging these, as by superimposing one on another, so that they form a blended whole while remaining distinct."

So much similar to memories, right? We all have our share of memories – memories of friendships, smiling faces, conversations, love, laughter, fun, fights, making up after fights, journeys, destinations, the first kiss, the first salary, the first drink, the last day of school, the last cigarette you promised yourself you would smoke.. Well, I guess I can go on and on.. Though the moment might pass, you hold on to the memory of it. Like a bag of goodies, you tuck it away in a safe corner, to go back to once in a while and sift through its contents, marveling at how much joy the memory of a moment long gone, can still bring back.

The idea of a sequence of posts - Montage of Memories came to me on one of my fun, weekend trips. Writing a travelogue seemed like too big an effort, and too clichéd. So I thought of putting it all together, a montage of all the fun, frolic, friends, one liners, journeys and destinations that make trips, or rather any occasion so very special.

So here I go making my Montage of Memories.. Coming soon - the first of the series Read on…. And do tell me what you think….

From heated chattugams to Unstoppable weighing scales...

“Edi penne, I am running out of patience.. Either you finish whatever is on your plate or I am going to heat my chattugam and whack you with it…”

One of the many threats (Oh, Believe me she could be creative!!) my poor mom had to resort to, to ensure that her spoilt brat of a daughter would eat whatever she had so painstakingly and lovingly slaved over in the kitchen.

To be fair to her, my mom is an excellent cook. Her cooking is the perfect balance between yummy, finger licking fare and utterly healthy, nutritious food. Her only problem though, was that she, the poor thing, was blessed with a daughter who was the fussiest eater in the whole universe. So the omlette was never fluffy enough, the Sāmbhar was too spicy, and “Why cant you make tasty stuff like so-&-so’s mom?” was a common refrain.

To add to it were the snide comments from friends and relatives that she had to bravely put up with; because you see, her daughter, thanks to all the fussy eating habits, was a lean, scrawny, underweight kid. “Why don’t u feed her some fruits? All you can see of her thin face are her big eyes..” that was my Aunt, the self proclaimed dietician who herself was, I kid u not, close to 20 kgs overweight. Her son, my cousin, used to call me a bag of bones held together by a T-shirt.

And, how can I forget my next door Bong neighbor who was blessed with 2 chubby boys, forever hungry and ready to gobble up anything she would put down in front of them. I have a feeling those monsters were let loose on Somalia or Ethiopia before they became my neighbors. That explains the acute shortage of food the poor kids there AND in the neighboring countries were facing. My mom, however, did not think so. To her they were the paragons of good behavior and were such a boon to their mom unlike the brat she was blessed with.

Anyways, thanks to my mom’s friends, our relatives and of course Sengupta Aunty, my childhood was rife with mom’s attempts to feed me stuff that would, according to her, make me put on some weight. All I remember of such forced mealtimes are my annoyed, helpless mom sitting next to me, a plate of her latest gastronomical creation guaranteed to infuse some “pachcha” into her “melinju, onangiya daughter” and of course, the ubiquitous chattugam. But alas, all in vain. In spite of all the butter, the mashed potatoes, and god knows what else, I remained, to her despair thin, gawky & well, underweight.

I wasn’t complaining though. I could eat all the junk I liked and not bother about whether my old, favorite T-shirt would threaten to burst at the seams the next time I tried it on. Because I knew for sure, it would not.

Sigh, All that seems like ages ago…… Now, I just need to look at a bar of chocolate or a plate of French fries, and I can feel the extra pounds piling on. A couple of years back, the needle on my weighing scale started exploring areas beyond my constant weight of 48 Kgs, and unfortunately has not stopped inching to the right ever since. Then, till a few months back, thanks to my mom-in-law’s lip smacking and scrumptious undheu, daal gosht, theplas, and other delectable gujju dishes my taste buds were amply exercised, but the needle’s expeditions knew no bounds. To add to it, was the occupational hazard of working for a software company, where for most of the day you are sedentarily sitting on your butt, allowing the layers of adipose to gather around you.

To give myself some credit, I did sign up for aerobics. And I loved it. Not just because of the weight I managed to lose, but also because I love dancing. It is the perfect stress buster. But thanks to my crazy working hours and the infamous bangalore traffic, by the time I reach home form work, I am so beat, all I can think of is rustling up something in the name of dinner and hitting the sack. (I sometimes feel sorry for A. After 26 years of coming home to delicious, mommy-cooked food, it must be tough to come home to a not-so-great, wife-cooked dinner. Full marks to him though, for never once complaining. Anyways…)

So, two weeks ago, after a cleaning session, as I was wrapping away all my Martin Luthers… hey, wait a minute.. Never heard of Martin Luthers? Ok, for the uninitiated, Martin Luthers are all the clothes you stash away into the deepest, darkest corners of your wardrobe, hoping that you will, some day lose enuff weight to fit back into them. Why are they called Martin Luthers? Well, from his famous speech “I have a dream…..” Still didn’t get it? Well guys, come on, do the math…

So as I was saying, two weeks back, after a cleaning session, as I was wrapping away all my Martin Luthers and feeling fat and out of shape, I decided to stop cribbing and pull up my socks and do something about it. So there I was, pulling out my yoga mat, cleaning my jogging shoes and working out a schedule for the GM diet, all set & determined to lose some chub.

And then, after a lot of diligent jogging, yoga and a healthy low carb, low sugar, fruit, veggies and grilled chicken diet later, imagine my delight when the weighing scale actually went on a decline to not 1, but 3.5 kgs. And, I finally manage to pull on one of my Martin Luthers. Well, it still doesn’t fit as well as it used to, but, wow, I am impressed with myself. Need to go on with the yoga & jogging bit for a little longer, and it will be just purrfect.. I am sick of the diet though. Trust me, there is nothing more painful than sitting at a table watching your friends munch away happily, while all you can eat for a week, is bland, boiled or raw ghas phoos. But still, I do intend to watch what I eat, at least for a coupla days more. At least, till I can fit into that favorite, cute, little Red top of mine…

:)

Relying on the unreliable!

“Why do u rely on him? Is this the first time something like this has happened?”

Ouch….. Touche…

This from my patient and lovable hubby dear (who is currently out of town, or rather the country) as I raved and ranted about being left stranded in a mall late one evening by a friend for whom I nurse a massive soft corner.

There are very few such people for whom I nurse a soft corner. I am usually very protective about them; turn a blind eye and a deaf ear to most of their faults and caprice. I am always prepared to defend them to hell and back and much to my own, and hubby dear’s chagrin, find myself making excuses for them, even if I am at the receiving end sometimes.

This was one such occasion. I would never have heard the end of it, if I would have tried to defend or make excuses this time. Especially after the trouble I had getting back home that day. So in the greater interest of world peace, I just kept mum. But as always, his dialogue did get me thinking. Soft corners be damned, I hate it when people are unreliable. I hate it when they make plans and promises they cannot keep, are inconsiderate enough to oh-ever-so-casually cancel plans at the last moment and, worst of all, are irresponsible enough to not even inform you about the change in their plans. Is it that they believe my time means less to me than theirs does to them? Even worse are the people who do it over and over again…. And I definitely was not pleased with myself for being in the same situation again.

Anyways, for once, I decided to listen to my more sensible better half (I can almost see him glow now) and in future, try to look out for myself rather than rely on somebody I need to make excuses for or defend to myself later on. After all, a soft corner doesn’t necessarily mean a reliable corner, does it?? ;)

Happy Birthday!!!

The routine's been the same for the past 8 years. A week, sometimes two, of sneaking around, figuring out if there is something he needs or there is something thats caught his fancy; a whole day of calling the gang up, making plans, ordering the cake, buying a gift; turning up at 12 am at his doorstep with an eggless cake and a few lopsided candles..

This year, all that seems so long ago. I still cannot believe he is gone. I still cannot come to terms with the fact that i will not land up at his doorstep on the 1st of October this year, singing happy birthday at the top of my voice and laughing at his slightly embarassed and indignant face.

So at the stroke of midnight, as the 1st of October dawns, i sit here, thinking of him and all that he meant to me.... no, correction, all that he MEANS to me. I think of how much i miss him, his laughter, his friendship, the feeling of knowing there is somebody you can count on. I also realise how important it was for me spend 8 years of my life knowing him, being his friend and having him as a friend.

This year there is no sneaking around, there are no eggless cakes to order, no midnight trips to his place. This year i wont see his face light up on opening presents, i wont hear the flick of his lighter as he lights up a cig, there will be no irate and embarassed voice asking us to stop howling happy birthday.... But.... even in the absence of all this, he will still be on my mind today, just like he was all these years...

Happy Birthday Tiks! Here's to another year of celebrating You....

The Grass is greener depending on what time you look...

Hubby dear is leaving tomorrow for the US for 4 loooong months, and yours truly, has taken the day off from work to help him with the shopping and packing, and of course, intending to spend some quality time together before he leaves.

Over a lovey dovey breakfast -
"I really need to go to office for a while sonu. I have a couple of meetings to attend & then I am free. I will meet you directly at the mall so that we can quickly finish off shopping come back home & pack!"
There, that explains the extra special, early morning sweet nothings! Though apprehensive and cynical about the whole “plan”, I keep my peace not wanting to start the day on a wrong note and agree to meet him at the mall in a couple of hours.

An hour and a half after I reach the mall -
"I'll be just a little longer. Got a little more work to finish! U start off, I’ll be there."
This, after the umpteenth phone call. I am stranded in the men's section of a popular store. Confused and dazed, I look around.. What do I "start off" with? Its already 2:30 pm, and there is a ton of work to do. As panic sets in I look to my hastily scribbled shopping list for help. "Formal Shirts" it screams. Fine, Shirts it is then. I move to the shirts section, checking on the price tags, the displays and the brands, and, while I am at it, checking out a couple of cute guys in the vicinity. Ahem...
Anyways, after an hour of sleepily browsing through shirts in a zillion shades of blue, I give up. As I contemplate whether to hop, skip and jump over to the more interesting and inviting ladies section, my phone rings...

"Okay, I am leaving from office. I will be there in a jiffy!"
As I brace myself for another long "jiffy", I find that I have strayed into the men’s inner wear section. Hey, that rings a bell. I consult my shopping list, and yes, we need to pick up stuff from here too. Chalo, lets "start off" with this. At least I will have something to show for the two hours I spent walking around the store.
As I wonder how limited a choice men have when it comes to this category of clothing, I slowly become aware of a volley of uncomfortable coughs and clearing of throats behind me. I turn around to find a whole congregation of men, staring at me, with expressions varying from curiosity, amusement, amazement and even, irritation on their faces. "Excuse me! You are blocking my way!!" says the short, bespectacled, indignant guy who seems to be the most irritated of the lot; as if I ventured into someplace I was not supposed to, as if I had violated the sanctity of that section, exclusively set up for the male clan.
I mutter a half hearted "Sorry Dude!!" under my breath and as I walk away, I remember all the old jokes and the laughs I have had at the expense of "Moti, married Aunty-types out shopping for their husbands". I strain my ears to catch any such laughter at my expense from the gang of men gathered there. Thankfully I hear none...

But not before I realize how life always comes full circle. From childhood thru adolescence to adulthood, we experience and in most cases, actually enjoy exactly the same feelings, emotions and stages of life that we have frowned upon or ridiculed or criticized sometime in the past. I remember watching “Gone with the Wind” for the first time and wrinkling my nose in disgust at Rhett Butler kissing Scarlett O’ Hara. A couple of years later, I happened to watch it again at an all girls, sleep over party, and I remember the whole lot of us swooning over the passionate and soulful kiss…

“Sorry I am late .. I had so much work and the traffic…”
Sigh… Rhett Butler will have to wait as I turn around indignantly to look at my truant, now apologetic hubby, trying his best to give me the sheepish, lopsided grin that he knows very well, is guaranteed to let him get away with most of his mischief. Sighing, I find myself warming up to that smile and I can feel the married (though, mind you, not moti... OKAY, maybe just a little) aunty-type take over now.
I smile at him & hear myself say “U nut.. Come on.. There is a lot of work to be done!!!”
Life has never been better, Touchwood!!!
Everything else will just have to wait….