Not To Jinx It, But...

...life is good right now. And i'm quite surprised by how content i'm feeling. Maybe it's something to do with putting up lamps all over the house and revelling in the soft light every evening that lends itself to a calm and happy state of mind. Or it's the fact that i've been spending quite some time in the kitchen revisiting my love for cooking and feeding people (while knowing that it's not a daily affair). It could also be the fact that regardless of everything i've been through in the past, I seem to have landed on my feet (in your face everyone who thought otherwise. Ha!) and haven't made the biggest mistake of at least a couple of lives. Of course, it might simply be the new medication i'm on. 

Whatever the reasons, i'm not complaining.

Edge of the Cliff

I'm standing here, at the edge of something new and exciting.
It has the power to be life altering. I don't know.

I'm standing here, not alone, yet all by myself.
Sometimes i wonder how i got to this point, this place. This edge.
And then the doubt comes back.
The fear.
But still i stand. Some part of me refuses to back off.
To accept defeat.
All i know is that i'm about to jump.

Ready to soar.
Willing to let the wind take me where it will.
I might fall.
But that only means i'm not strong enough to brave the skies.
And conquer them i will.
Some day.
One day.

Alone

He was envied by his colleagues and loved by his friends. His presence made any party more fun to be at. His was one of those charming personalities you read about in books and success stories. Wherever he went, he left behind a trail of unbridled laughter and fond memories. Everyone he met believed they held a special place in his life. Over the years he'd become, for a lot of his acquaintance, that one constant in their lives. He was their anchor, their shoulder to cry upon, the one person they knew who could be counted upon. 

And yet, he was alone. Disconnected from everyone around him. Sure, he knew a lot of people. But did anyone know him? Did anyone know who he was behind the smile and the one-liners? His fears and hopes? His frustrations and joys? Where could he turn to for support? Who was his anchor? On difficult days, where it seemed like all he ever did was help others through their problems, the weight of the world would descend on his shoulders and envelope him in a shroud of depression. The feeling of loneliness was never more magnified than at such times. Left alone with his thoughts, he felt he was definitely going crazy. The despair, the feeling of giving up, that gnawing sensation of having no one who cared enough. The morbidity of the situation came upon him like a hailstorm in June, leaving him breathless. No sane person would feel this way surely? 

But maybe it was normal to feel this way. Maybe he had to be insane to not want somebody by his side. to know him, not for his fabulous lifestyle, but for who he was once the parties were over and real life began. Maybe he had to feel this way so that he knew what he was missing. The one thing that would fill that void he'd begun to sense more often than before. The last piece of the jigsaw puzzle. The anchor in his life. The shoulder he needed. 

These Adults

I’m older than you so I know better. Experience is what counts. These grey hair count for something you know. You learn from your grownups.

I grew up being indoctrinated on this. From school textbooks to morals of stories and even random gyan dropping by the grandparents, everywhere I went, this is what I heard.

Today, I question that. Ok, so I questioned it a long time back, but today I think I want to write about it.

Even as I type this, I’m witness to a society meeting happening in my living room – the only neutral place in this set of apartments. 15 minutes into the meeting, the decibel level went beyond the legal limit allowed in a gentleman’s house. And in the one and a half hours that followed, not only did the yelling increase, the language worsened. At one point I was afraid these 45 plus men were going to resort to physical violence. If not broken bones, a couple of slaps definitely. The youngest member of the society is maybe 32 years old. He kept being slammed by the building bully as a “balak”, a child. The oldest member, an octogenarian, periodically reminded people that all the stress would kill him sooner than his time. The bully’s ally used his lung capacity to the fullest obviously thought that the best strategy would be to out-shout everyone. And the aunties who came along just sat there nodding whenever their husbands spoke.

And the conclusion? Nothing. Why? Isn’t it obvious? Everyone here is an adult. They’re all experienced. They all have grey hair (even if it is under Godrej hair dye). And they all think they’re grownups. So who will listen to whom? They’re all convinced that what they know is best. Of course, it is also obvious that a lot of them are operating from insecurity and stupidity – making them more obnoxious, annoying and dangerous than anyone else in the room, simply because not only do they not understand anything, but they also don’t shut up.

So here I am. Keeping a tight check on my tongue and my tendency to say the right things at the wrong time (or the wrong things at the wrong time). Otherwise I would love to tell the fat uncle to get off the pure silk, hand-embroidered cushion he was sitting on, shut his trap, pay his dues and remember that being the size of two men doesn’t give him two votes.

Or the right to drink two glasses of the mango shake I served.

Major Flaw

I think the human mind has some major flaws. For one, it doesn’t let you forget. It may make it seem like you’ve gotten past something, and even wiped it clean out of your memory. But it’s just a trick. Your mind is playing with you. It forgets nothing. It lets you forget nothing. Just when you’re least expecting it, it surprises you. And not the balloons and cake and a bunch of your friends hiding in the dark kind of surprise. No. It’s the dark alleyway with a predator around the corner waiting for you silently type. It’s the kind which keeps you awake for hours at night. You associate with it a racing heart, a blind panic and a feeling that every particle of you is in emotional pain.

Sometimes I can understand why denial is such a powerful tool. And why it might be tempting to use it to the point of clinical disturbance.

But I guess, the human mind is more resilient than that. Damn it.

Of The Past and The Future

So we attended a wedding a couple of days back and in the first half hour the Fellow was convinced he’d lost all motivation and will to attend such dos anymore. Why you ask? Because the only girl he has to look out for now, is me. No more scanning the crowd for the hottest chick in the crowd, no more engaging eye contact and definitely no more flirting in an attempt to get her phone number. Oh, and following a girl you met at a wedding, some 200 odd kilometres just because she was uber-hot, that’s a total no no now.

And so, all through the evening, the Fellow kept shaking his head looking trapped. Till he had a brilliant idea. He decided that since he can’t use his years of experience and valuable knowledge to his benefit anymore, he will pass it on to the next generation of young men looking to woo girls at weddings. And this is exactly what he did, ably assisted by me (the woman’s perspective I was).

Thus the only 2 bachelors in our squadron were told to kindly stop hanging out with us married folk, and go spend time with the bride’s friends. At first they were, well, totally sissy about it (apparently they were extremely fearful of getting slapped) and it took a lot of glares and head jerks in the right direction for them to even be within 3 feet of the girls.

And then a window of opportunity opened. One of the girls went all the way to one end of the ground, and sat by herself looking at some annoying kids play. Now, as a girl myself, I knew this was a cry (demand) for attention and was probably the best time for any guy to make his move. And this is exactly what we told one of our young bucks. Not entirely convinced with our reasoning, he nevertheless took a deep breath and did what we told him to, and 15 minutes later came back grinning and thanking me! Apparently the girl wanted to see the city, this being her first visit here and he offered to take her around.

This was it. This was all the encouragement the Fellow and his friend needed to pass on their years of experience forward, and for the next 30 mins, gave this young chap tip after tip after tip. They had so much to say that the poor recipient finally asked them to pen all of it down. And I don’t blame him. From celebrating his birthday one day before the girl left (and 5 months before his real birthday) to convincing her he had dinner coupons to the Taj (and then arranging the payment with the management), they had quick tips for everything!! They even told him the kind of car/bike he should take. And the icing on cake was, that the Fellow being his senior officer got him the next day off so that he could take the girl out!!

Yesterday the Fellow came back home looking all triumphant. The girl has postponed her return journey and will be spending a few days more here.

I now plan on writing a book on all the tips and gyan the Fellow and his friend have accumulated over the years, on how to pick up girls at weddings and other social situations. All I need now, is a catchy title.

Insightful Theory - I

At present I’m engaged in a battle with my immune system, which, I’m convinced, hates me and is constantly on the look out for ways to destroy me. This time around, my downfall was the rains – actually the sudden onset of the rains, bringing about a sudden change in the temperature and weather conditions – leading directly to an insane allergic cold. All of last night, yesterday and all day today, I’ve been leaking brain lubricant (if I may quote Calvin here) and setting a new personal record for the most sneezes. This is apart from the fever and the frog-in-throat voice. Oh, and there is the drug-induced sleep and body-cant-decide-whether-to-feel-cold-or-hot-problem too.

However, even through all my nose-itching and sneezing bouts, one thing managed to penetrate my foggy brain – the Fellow remained by my bedside, bringing me tea and medicines and even pressing aching limbs as and when demanded. He even managed to compliment me a couple of times on how nice i was looking (one of the many advantages of being married i tell you!) And then, after one head pressing session followed by a long nap, i had a sudden epiphany - the Fellow really, really, really loves me. Not the rainbows and unicorns and holding hands in the coffee shop kind of love. The real kind.

Of course I knew that already. But now I’m super-sure about it. Look at it from my view-point – if, after seeing me in this condition of absolute blah, unbathed, sounding like a dying Cher, cranky, whiny (more than usual), coughing like I’m dying of phlegm, surrounded by used up tissue papers, a nose like Rudolph, in a semi-comatose state thrashing around the bed covers like they’re strangling me, sneezing in the most unlady-like manner possible and then grunting and snorting to complete the picture, so on and so forth, the Fellow can still be by my side and be my primary TLC-giver, he’s here to stay. Right?

And so, my insight for today is that anyone looking for a serious life-long relationship should first do the sickbed test.

Fall seriously sick. Look your worst. Sound worse than that. Don’t try remember your manners and the fact that you were trained to be polite. You’re sick. The world should revolve around you. Demand attention and care. And then have a prospective partner take care of you. If he or she sticks by you and nurses you back to health, you have a match! If your unkempt, sick, smelly and very rude condition is not scaring them away, hold on tight and don’t let go. Such love is unconditional I tell you. I mean, if your snot doesn’t have him/her running for cover, then nothing will.

Profound na?

Of course, it will be important that once you find such a person, have them fall sick and see if you can bear looking at a sallow, unwashed, thermometer bearing face for 3-5 days. I mean, we can’t have you being in the pink of health and then dumping the poor chick (or guy) at the first sneeze, now can we?

Of Soul Mates

(Day 70 of 112)

I think the mother-in-law is a soul-mate. If I was to be all filmy and dramatic I would say I love her because she is the reason the Fellow is here blah blah blah. But I’m not the drama queen kind (most of the times at least). What I am is practical and the reasons I think Ma is a kindred spirit (ala Anne of Green Gables) are just that.

To begin with, like me, she doesn’t have the concept of a power nap. Both of us agree that the best way of taking a nap is for a couple of hours (at least). Secondly given a choice she would also sleep in till late morning and doesn’t expect me to go all Indian bahu on her and get up at the crack of dawn. Yay for her. And me.

Next is the fact that the both of us talk. A lot. When we’re together we’re never out of topics to discuss. This suits her and me very well since the Fellow and the FIL are more the quiet type (and no, it was since before they got married so it’s nothing to do with us).

Also since both of us are in the field of education, we have a common enemy in ignoramuses and morons who are ruining learning for children. And believe me, there are quite a few of them out there. So this shared passion we have keeps us going for quite some time (much to the amusement and relief of the FIL who doesn’t have to listen to Ma’s school stories anymore).

Finally, and this probably is the most important reason why my soul recognised a mate, is that Ma, bless her, has a bedside drawer full of chocolate and candy. This hidden stash is for those times when you absolutely have to have something sweet. And since these times occur with alarming frequency (for both her and me), the knowledge that the drawer exists is a relief and an indisputable pleasure.

So there you have it – 4 reasons why the MIL and I always have a blast. After all how often do you find someone who appreciates the value of sleep, talk, education and chocolates as much as you do?

When You're Happy And You Know It...

(Day 66 of 112)

…write a blog post.

I don’t want to jinx it or anything but I’m seriously in a cheery mood today. Maybe it’s the liberal doses of cough syrup I had last night or the fact that I haven’t laughed so much in a long time as I did yesterday. Fact of the matter is that I resemble a Cheshire cat right now, big grin and all.

If this happened too often I’d suspect a manic disorder. But I guess once in a while it’s a good thing to have this feeling of unexplained happiness. It’s a gentle (if slightly obvious) reminder that all’s fine in my little world. I mean, even with missing the Fellow and all that, if I can feel this content and satisfied, something must be going right. Right?

And so all morning I’ve been wondering how best to define this mood. So far I’ve not had any success. I’ve played around with a lot of ideas and am still not sure, though the song ‘Ek ladki ko dekha to aisa laga’ comes pretty close as far as analogies go [Note: the lyrics of this song never fail to amaze me. It has to one of the best written songs as far as Bollywood goes.].

But in the spirit of being original (I hope), the closest I can come to describing what I’m feeling is the unbridled pleasure and laughter that puppies, rainbows and bubbles bring. I could expand this list endlessly (as people close to me would know), but as much as I love to go on and on about most things, there are times like this when i believe that some things are best felt rather than said.

So here’s to feeling happy and knowing it.

Teenage and Conflict

(Day 56 of 112)

The place I live in at the present can best be described as a teenager – someone going through an identity crisis. Just like a teenager is somewhere in the confusing space between being a child and being an adult, so is this place somewhere between being a small town and an average sized city.

You know adolescence has hit when the physical changes become obvious. I’m not going into the details here but suffice to say a teenager begins looking different probably before he/she thinks or even does differently. In the same manner, this place is undergoing a physical change – buildings, malls, shopping complexes, multiplexes, restaurants, hotels, wider roads, highways and all that jazz. This change is definitely creating the equivalent of hormonal imbalance here and the result is that the people are left feeling conflicted.

The conflict is exactly the same as it is with teenagers. In the case of teenagers, they don’t know what is expected of them and most times end up doing the wrong thing – behave inappropriately, either too grown up or not grown up enough. They want to remain children because that’s what they know. But at the same time want to experiment with being adults because, well, they’ve always worshipped the adults around them and perhaps dreamt of doing grown up things. The same is happening here in this place. While everyone would probably be more comfortable with their small town life, they want to see how it is to be a city, all grown up. They have dreamt of doing city things and can’t resist the opportunity to experiment.

So this place where I live is in the throes of an identity crisis. They want malls and multiplexes. But they also shy away at the prices at these malls and multiplexes. They want a Pizza Hut and Dominoes here but prefer eating pizzas that come with amul cheese grated on top. They want fancy eateries with ‘english’ foods but are not comfortable eating in a kitchen that also cooks non-vegetarian food. They want a Mc Donalds but prefer the Marwari vada-pav.

They want to seem modern but can’t seem to stop staring at a girl who drives her self around, confidently independent.

They want to become an adult, a big city, but before that they have to go through that dark place called teenage.

Familar Strangers

(24th July, Day 43 of 112)

I met up with some school friends last night, most of whom I hadn’t met in nearly 10 years. Unsure of what to expect at the beginning, I came away from dinner smiling and nostalgic.

Even though it had been a long time since we’d last known/met each other (and really, how much do you really know about people when in school) yesterday did not have any of the discomfort or awkwardness attached to meeting almost strangers. I guess this was because we spent our formative years together, battling the worst years of our lives together – adolescence.

Last night made me very sure of one thing – being in school together redefines friendships and relationships. It doesn’t matter how well you knew each other in school or how many friendship bands you exchanged. The fact that you walked the same corridors and suffered the wrath and eccentricities of the same teachers creates a bond like no other. Of course it helps that any awkward silence can be overcome (very successfully at that) by asking “so who else are you in touch with?” or “so what is XYZ person up to these days?” These are guaranteed ice-breakers which will ensure lots of gossip (the fun and well-intentioned kind I think), laughter and reminiscing.

Conversation is generally never lacking when old friends meet up. There is too much to talk about – teachers we liked (or actually disliked), punishments we were put through, classmates that we all remembered (some fondly, some, well…, quirky experiences we had with each other (and remembered for no apparent reason) etc. Then there is also the catching up to do – ten years worth of it actually. And though one may gloss over the boring bits, the success stories and happy parts make it to dinner.

Ten years is a long time. Last night made this abundantly clear. I mean, ten years back we were a bunch of bratty, snooty, lazy, smart alecy, and pretty much your run of the mill youngsters (oh and we were also the despair of our teachers and parents. But that’s a given).

Yesterday we were an architect, a taxation lawyer, a dance guru, a designer, a television producer/director and a psychologist turned writer.

Ten years back we were classmates, housemates, teammates. Yesterday we were familiar strangers. It felt good.

Change

(Day 22 of 112)

(Warning: Long Post)

I was never a very good student. Mostly because I couldn’t be bothered to try. My mother of course developed hypertension by the time I got to class 10. I blame my teachers. They would keep telling her I could do better if only I wanted to. At 15 I didn’t want to.

Somewhere between then and now I changed. Along the way I tried because I wanted to. And my reward was success. But what has been more rewarding is the pride I see in those who knew me as a bratty teenager. Those who struggled to make me recognise my true potential when they could have given up on me. My teachers. Actually this post is about one teacher.

No, this is not going to be one of those corny teacher adulation posts that make you want to roll your eyes in disbelief. In fact the teacher being discussed and I didn’t even get along when I was in school, not least because I apparently tested his patience beyond control and because he had very little control. And also because student-teacher relationships in school never extend beyond the classroom (except when being punished and made to stand outside the classroom)!

But somewhere between then and now this teacher too changed. I don’t know what brought about this change. I wasn’t even ready to believe it when I heard of it. And then I met him again. By a curious twist of fate, I was back at school. Only this time I was a lecturer responsible for training teachers, and he was now the principal.

After an interesting first meeting (where he seemed totally shocked that I’d managed to get through college and beyond), we started the process of rediscovery. While we would always remain student-teacher, something was different now. No longer were we in the classroom and no longer could the teacher scare me by simply calling out my name.

Over the year (and even after that), both of us realised how much we’d grown up. For me it was quite literal, bringing with it maturity, knowledge, self-confidence. For my teacher it was a growing awareness of anger and rage (among other things) which were being counter-productive (or so I conjecture).

This recognition of how much we’d changed forged a new relationship I think. I was finally able to accept that this was a teacher who only ever wanted to help the students. The manner of doing it may have been different (one not palatable to an adolescent’s hormone and rebellion riddled brain). My teacher was also able to understand that it was never my life’s mission to make classroom teaching difficult. It was just who I was, and still am (inquisitive, talkative and someone who can't hide what she's feeling to save her life!). With a changed relationship and changed outlooks, both of us were finally able to appreciate and more important, understand each other.

Interestingly, these changes have made me so comfortable with my teacher now that I find myself part of serious discussions, many of them ending with me emulating a motivational speaker and being all wise etc. Even more surprising (in a happy sort of way) is that he listens to me and maybe even remembers some of it too.

Today, I value this special student-teacher relationship, albeit formed much after I left school. I may not have handed out any Favourite Teacher trophies to my teacher when I was his student. But I know now (or rather hope) that he knows that trophies tarnish. What we share now is much beyond any token of appreciation. It has its basis in respect, admiration, pride and above all, change.

Extremes

Excited. Grinning. Happy.
Giggling. Laughing. Cheery.
Jumping. Amused. Lively.

Morbid. Annoyed. Grumpy.
Mad. Pissed. Cranky.
Depressed. Listless. Grouchy.

These are the extremes in me
There are days when i wonder
which emotion will i be.

And now looking at
the sad poems i write
Its no wonder there
isn't a reader in sight!

Reasons Why I Don't Like Growing Up

a) I have to have an answer to “what are you doing these days?” and apparently ‘nothing’ is not good enough. Hmph.

b) I can’t throw a tantrum in a restaurant when my food is late (I mean I can but as a grown up its just filthy manners) and I’m ravenously hungry!

c) I can’t get a Happy Meal in McD (because I want the Kungfu Panda toy) without the cap wearing dude getting judgemental and giving me weird looks.

d) In the ladies room at theatres, I have to give up my place to a little girl squirming and hopping behind me! (Ok maybe I don’t have to, but I’m a decent person, and I didn’t want my new shoes getting wet!)

e) People in stores address me as ma’am. And I don’t think it’s out of politeness. Grumble mumble.

f) I can’t address shopkeepers and the like as uncle anymore…they’re probably my age! (This is really sad coz the uncle bit really helped in bargaining).

g) I have to be really neat in having an ice-cream cone (not that I want to be messy, but I envy children their fun and abandon).

h) I don’t get to have big birthday parties with balloons and lots of cake and wafers and loads of presents and even a clown playing party games.

i) The whole village and its uncle is wondering why I’m not married yet.

j) My friends get married/get jobs and leave the country to move to another time zone!

k) I don’t get to meet my friends as much as I would want to because all of them are also growing up!

l) My life becomes so mundane and routine that I can come up with this list without too much trouble.

Good Old Days

PS: Feel free to add to this list. I know i have loads more.

My Very Own Peach Tree

Kung-Fu Panda leaves in the audience a renewed love for a certain black and white, bamboo loving endangered species, an increased fascination with a gravity defying, nerve paralysing, quick silver martial art, a craving for Chinese food and a desire to have your very own peach tree – at least figuratively (though a real one wouldbe just so much fun!).

But we do have that figurative tree to go to. I go there to be with the million and twenty five thoughts in my head. I go there to think; sometimes to stop thinking (it can be such a trial!), I go there to cry (a good bawl is just so helpful sometimes); to talk to myself (no one needs one more reason to call me cuckoo). I go there to breathe. I go there when I want to concentrate; when I need a break. I go there when I'm happy (to jump around in peace); when I'm restless. I go there when I just want to be!

My peach tree: one corner of my building terrace that looks onto empty grounds and lovely Gulmohar trees (yes I live in Bombay and trees do exist as do empty spaces); sometimes it is that tiny space between my bed and study table where I can scrunch up and sit. When I was in college, it used to be my window where I would sit with my feet resting on the box-grill for hours on end (or at least till my posterior got numb). Many times my tree is my shower. And I know that for a lot of people the peach tree is their porcelain throne. Well, each to his own I say.

So in a way, everyone has their own peach tree. It may not be as pretty looking as Oogway's tree, nor would it be laden with succulent fruit, or blooming with flowers that shed their petals at opportune moments. In fact, barring those who have access to lone trees in the middle of nowhere (like those in Forrest Gump ) none of us really even have trees. But we do have our windows, and showers and terraces that we can stake claim to as our very own......