Rainy days and Mondays...

Nowadays I seem to have been allotted my very own personal little cloud that hangs over me all the time, assiduously raining over my parade. Very dutiful bugger of a cloud, I should say. Never a bright moment. And as a special treat, every now and then, it also puts up a little thunder and lightning show to make for an especially depressing time.

I think this is to make up for the months of bright sunshine I had last year. Hey, that means, I am due for that patch of sunshine soon once again! Yay!

I am smiling all day today

Today as I was on my way to the station to get to work, as usual, I was passing through the Honda car showroom. And this guy was standing there, having a coffee. He had a toolkit with him, so I assumed he was a mechanic or something. He said to me as I passed by, "Smile all day today. Trust me." I looked at him and said, "Thanks. And you too." He said, "I will." And I was on my way, and he was back drinking his coffee.

And the world was a little bit different. A little bit brighter, a little bit warmer (I actually had to take off my jacket after a while), and a little bit funnier too.

The loveliest music of all

For me, the most beautiful sound would be that of falling rain. I find it very soothing, relaxing. Just as rain washes the world, the sound of it washes away the grime and dirt in my mind, my heart, my soul. It says to me, “Stop worrying your little heart now. Lie down, read a book, or an old issue of Tinkle perhaps; make yourself a hot cup of coffee or Horlicks, and take a break from everything else, while I sing for you in the background.” I don’t put on music - not even ghazals - when it rains. I don’t want anything interfering with the sound of the rain.

So very often at night I have had some strange nightmare that in my sleep I struggled to get out of, but could not; feeling helpless, compelled to watch the uncomfortable scenes in front of my mind’s eye. And it started raining outside my window. The rain gently brought me out of the nightmare, without quite waking me up fully. Half awake, I say a small prayer of thanks to the sweet sound and fall asleep to better dreams. And the sound of the falling rain outside still in my ears.

Life is easy... too much so

Imagine a soft, cozy over-stuffed couch. You sink right into it. It feels so luxurious. You are watching TV, and have drinks and snacks at hand. It is so comfortable, you just don’t feel like getting up. You make a couple of half-hearted attempts, but your body refuses to co-operate. Eventually you might even fall asleep in it.

My cozy over-stuffed couch is my parents’ home. Life is getting a bit too comfortable. I tried getting off my ass once or twice. Half-hearted attempts. This time I am making sure I yank myself out of it and walk into the jungle out there.

I think it is dangerous to get complacent in life. Keep your blood hot and running. Take risks every now and then.

What is YOUR couch?

Make way for the king of our street

I had my first sitaphal of the season last week. It is my favourite fruit. It wasn’t very sweet but it was most amazingly fragrant. Almost like a frangipani flower. Do you which one is the frangipani? I am sure you have seen it. I don’t know what it is called in Hindi. I am assuming that you may not know what a frangipani is, because most of us know animals and fruits very well, but are quite bad at recognising flowers and birds. I wouldn’t be able to recognise a koel if I saw one, although there is one in our neighbourhood singing its head off every spring.

Speaking of animals, there is a local street dog in my mohalla whom I call Fatty because he is motu-motu compared to most street dogs. He is a study in calmness. He does not get into fights, does not run after cars, just walks majestically up and down the road or lies down on the footpath in a dignified way. Yesterday he was loafing about in the rain and was sneezing. Even the sneeze was so majestic. He puts into mind a king who has been unceremoniously dethroned, but does not let it affect his regality.

Even Amar would not have felt like kicking him. (It is a reflex action with Amar – he has to kick a dog if he sees one. I hate him for that. Otherwise I love him)

Ouch!

He not only breaks my heart, but proceeds to hammer away at it diligently till it turns to powder, taking care not to leave any piece unattended.

Memories

The carpenters are doing some woodwork in the office next door. I keep picking up those curls of wood that comes off when they slide that tool over the wood to even it out. I don’t know what that tool is called. I think a carpenter’s plane. I love the smell of freshly cut wood and I like to hold and examine a curl of sawn wood in my hands. It takes me back to my childhood. Not that I have any special memories of woodwork back then. Perhaps I used to play with wood shavings, I don’t know. But there is some vague picture in my mind of something packed in sawdust that used to come home when I was very little. I can’t remember what. I remember the smell of sawdust, but can’t get what was in the sawdust.

Other things I do remember are the sea salt seller, the cotton beater twanging his string as he walked on the street, the barber who used to come to attend to the men folk of the family (ours was a joint family then), the guy who got us rusk in big tin boxes, the dark room with its equipment where my father and uncles developed and printed their own photos, and the 60s style furniture, some of which we still have at our homes (all my uncles married and moved out one by one).

Oh, I got it! Slate pencils!!

On a misty, rainy day...

Coming from Pune by bus on a misty, rainy day. The bus went off the highway soon after it left Pune and passed through a colony of some kind, with bungalows and trees and peace. It was beautiful. I have never been through it ever again after that one time. It is almost like it was a mythical place I visited in my dreams. And like all mythical places, it was beautiful. The rain, the mist made it even more so.

Each time I go to or come from Pune, my heart gets restless around the time of the journey that I had seen the place the very first time. Nothing happens, I don’t see that place.

I have never made any enquiries or otherwise tried to find out what place it is. I don’t want the mystic romance I have come to associate with the place to disappear by hearing someone say that “it is a development by Pune Real Estate Wreckers Ltd. now also featuring five new 100 storey high towers with a clubhouse and artificial waterfall, 24 hours water and electricity (except Tuesdays), etc. etc…”

Will I ever come across that colony someday? Will I live there perchance?

To whomsoever it may concern...

A colleague is going to Australia for studies in Management. He wanted me to help him write a recommendation letter. I was more than happy to help him. I wrote:

To whomsoever it may concern,

Dheeraj Thakkar has had an excellent track record as a programmer. He has been under my employment for the past two years and in this period, company profits have doubled, solely due to his diligent and sincere work. His capability lies not only in writing programs for our clients, but also hacking into and screwing up the entire backend system of rival companies so that their dissatisfied clients come to us for business. Thanks to this resourceful and enterprising young man, we are nearly ready to take over the entire IT world.

Dheeraj Thakkar is an asset to any company, indeed to any country. Please don’t go by the photograph attached to this letter. He may look like a school kid, but he is legally an adult and is capable of doing everything an adult does. The ladies in my firm will endorse this. I have even heard rumours that the “Prince Dheeraj Fan Club” of which nearly every female of my firm (and quite a few males too for that matter) is a member, is planning to abduct Dheeraj as they cannot bear the thought of him leaving. Already a growing number of members of this club are performing various shows of their devotion to him like slashing their wrists, tattooing messages on unspeakable parts of their bodies, and so on. But he has promised to personally extract a promise from each of them that they will cause no trouble, so you need not worry about getting into any sticky situation once he is part of your esteemed University.

Dheeraj Thakkar is genuinely hardworking, intelligent, resourceful and bisexual. I was heart-broken when he let me know of his intention to join your University. But I do not wish to be selfish and keep him hidden in the dark recesses of my company. The world has a right to have a share of this bright and talented young man’s ass. May I especially recommend his skills in dot net and his ability to drink a peg each of tequila, whiskey, rum, vodka and sambuca in succession, and stand on one leg for a full minute afterwards.

Dheeraj Thakkar has no drawbacks or weaknesses I can think of. People may call him arrogant but I call it being assertive. His enemies may say that he is amazingly selfish and an opportunist, but I believe that they are just jealous of his success. In truth he has a magnetic personality and if people are happy to be crushed under his heel, why hold him responsible? He drinks milk thrice a day. Now what better proof of his blameless soul?

In conclusion, Dheeraj Thakkar is highly recommended for admission to your University. I promise that you will be at an advantage. If not as a bright student, then at least as a freak attraction in the campus.

Sincerely,
Bill Gates,
Microsoft Corporation

Wonder why he wasn't so happy with the letter... I had made sure there were no spelling or grammar errors. I even told him that the name and organization are very obviously fictitious and he should substitute them with the real thing. But that was apparently not what upset him. Wonder what else it was then.

One of my favourites

If I were to choose my favourite song lyrics (Hindi film), it would be “Is mod se jaate hain” from the movie “Aandhi”

The lyrics go like this:

Is mod se jaate hain
Kuch sust kadam raste, kuch tez kadam raahein
Paththar ki haveli ko,
Sheeshey ke gharondon mein,
Tinkon ke nasheman tak,
Is mod se jaate hain

Aandhi ki tarah udkar ik raah guzarti hai,
Sharmaati hui koi kadamon se utarti hai
In reshmi raahon mein ek raah to woh hogi
Tum tak jo pohonchti hai, is mod se jaati hai…
Is mod se jaate hain

Ik door se aati hai, paas aake palat ti hai
Ik raah akeli si, rukti hai na chalti hai
Yeh soch ke baithi hoon, ek raah to woh hogi
Tum tak jo pohonchti hai, is mod se jaati hai…
Is mod se jaate hain

At most points in time, I can associate with the lines; they mould themselves so easily to my circumstances.

Is mod se jaate hain, Kuch sust kadam raste, kuch tez kadam raahein
Everyday I make little wishes. Some seem to take forever to get fulfilled, while others are done almost instantly.

Paththar ki haveli ko, Sheeshey ke gharondon mein,
Tinkon ke nasheman tak, Is mod se jaate hain
Some of my longings can withstand any amount of beating, some break my heart very easily if something goes wrong, while still others are not even fully formed; just misty shapes reflecting a vague desire. But all are part of my present.

Aandhi ki tarah udkar ik raah guzarti hai,
Sharmaati hui koi kadamon se utarti hai
A stormy episode, perhaps replete with hot tears, angry words and confused emotions. Also sweet events that led me into new, undiscovered avenues of my own self, made me feel good about myself, taught me to love.

In reshmi raahon mein ek raah to woh hogi,
Tum tak jo pohonchti hai, is mod se jaati hai…
My favourite line… A silky life, and I, looking for the way that will help me reach you…

Ik door se aati hai, paas aake palat ti hai
Ik raah akeli si, rukti hai na chalti hai
Some chances seem to take forever to be given to me… and just when I find one within reach, it is gone. And sometimes a situation where I am so unsure of what step to take …shall I do this? …is the other approach better? Shall I go ahead, or should I give it up?

Yeh soch ke baithi hoon, ek raah to woh hogi
Tum tak jo pohonchti hai, is mod se jaati hai…
Sometimes I just take a break from everything, sit back and dream… surely sometime in life, something will take me to wherever you are… and perhaps that time is now.

no title...

I’m a dreamer… sometimes I’m the only one

I still hear a different drummer

I still fear loneliness on some dark days and bright nights

I may be a lone entity, but I’ll try to belong

Those lines on my palm seem to mock me, but I’ll continue to try

Ande ke mere funde

I just finished reading this write-up on egg cups. It spoke about the different kinds of egg cups, from simple wooden rings to whimsical rooster-shaped ones carrying the cup on their back with wings outspread. The article then went on to describe the correct, or at least the best way to eat a soft boiled egg, with minimal mess. A couple of days ago, I read this incredible recipe for scrambled eggs with tomatoes. When I am reading a book I love imagining the scene the author describes (often in an English setting) about one or more characters having a nourishing breakfast of poached eggs, or bacon and eggs, or a mushroom omelette, and so on. Eggs fascinate me. Fair enough you’d think. Some people have an irresistible weakness for chicken, some will do anything for biryani, some live almost exclusively on burgers.

Where I differ from these food addicts is that I don’t like eating eggs. I cannot stand the smell of eggs. And I once threw up when I was beating an egg for a cake and some of the yolk splashed onto my fingers. I don’t like that slimy feel. Waffles, cakes and pastries are among the few egg-containing foods that I will eat – provided they don’t smell much of egg. Oh, and scrambled eggs too, if they are hot and smothered so much in onions and tomatoes that the egg loses its identity completely.

I just like the look of eggs, not the feel and smell. Eggs look beautiful, the smooth shell, the golden yolk, the transparent white. I remember my housemate at university cooking instant noodles and in the end breaking an egg right into the steaming bowl. The egg would spread out slowly like a sun throwing out its reach, and simultaneously the heat of the noodles would make the albumen go opaque, the whole egg draping itself over the noodles. And sometimes, the yolk would run slightly, like liquid gold. It was mesmerising. And the words associated with eggs – omelette, soft-boiled, crepe, sunny-side-up…

I love watching and listening to eggs. But from a safe distance. The most I can venture to do is hold a raw egg, and perhaps draw a smiley on it. Anything beyond that, I leave to the stronger willed people of the world.

A matter of chance

Some chances I throw away; some chances don't come my way; some depart a moment before I can grasp them.

A certain chance was hovering in front of me. It was light and wispy, floating in the air: now visible and shimmering; now invisible, just a light fragrance to indicate its presence. It took me a while to even register its presence. The chance of finally recognising it, I did get. But when I wished for the chance of reaching out and touching it, holding it in the palms of my hands and examining it - it was gone.

What do I call this? A chance deliberately thrown away, or a chance not given to me?

Making a point

Keep going off on a tangent and eventually all the tangents join to form a circle. Most people don’t see the circle for the tangents though.

Most points go on to make a straight line leading to another point eventually. Some make little zigzags, but more or less stay on course before arriving. Others draw a complete sketch showing the meaning they intended to convey and some other things as well. Some go crazy on the way, trailing a completely haphazard path, going this way and that, rushing back and forth, leaving the other person bewildered. If they eventually reach the final point, at least the end is clear. Some don’t even do that. Start somewhere and end somewhere, both unfamiliar.

Some points go very slowly. Very, very slowly. They cannot be hurried if you want them to end at the logical place. They will stop to smell the flowers, admire the sunset, make a few observations on life and the world, rest a bit now and then. If you don’t chivvy them along, then eventually they will reach the final place. Some points make a long jump to the end. They don’t believe in wasting time leading a way. Now you are here, now you are there.

Some points are very reluctant. They need constant goading, and even then they frequently threaten to stop at the slightest provocation. They are a particularly fussy tribe, getting offended at the most unexpected of times. You can never be sure if they are sulking because you agreed with them or disagreed, encouraged them or criticised. Patience is the only way to lead them to the end.

A little bud died...

Broken relationships come back again and again to haunt me. I keep trying to build fragile relationships; fragile and sure to be broken soon.

All relationships need nurturing, especially when they first start to come out of the bud. Both people involved have to take good care, like you take care of an infant. Cater to all the whims and fancies, do silly things to humour it, lavish all kinds of gestures and emotions, and pamper it so that it slowly grows into a strong and independent entity. Then you can let it take care of itself. Sometimes I wish for a relationship to develop out of a seed that is too dry. I bury it in rich soil, water it carefully, and pray and hope. Eventually a little shoot emerges, frail and unsure. In my joy at seeing it, I have forgotten that it cannot survive with my efforts alone. The other person too has to look after it. Right now I am blind to everything except for that budding bond. I continue with all my labours, often changing my very nature in the trial. All the while it gets harder and harder to keep it alive and healthy. It takes more and more of my energy and slowly drains all my emotional strength. But I plod blindly on. I fool myself into believing that very soon the other person will realise the true worth of this relationship and start with their part of the job. It never happens.

And one day, I see. I see that I had been living an illusion. There was no budding relationship. I was watering and nurturing barren sand. I was just imagining that the other person would soon be part of my life. They were nowhere near my world. But strangely it does not matter any more. I suddenly don’t care.

Some relationships are more demanding than others. Some people are more demanding than others. I guess my demands were too much for the other person to meet. So it did not work.

I think I’ll take up gardening. It does not involve two people.

I broke a family tradition!

I wasn't well the past few days. Each time I go to the doctor, he tries out new experiments on me but never quite succeeds in finishing me off. Every new medicine brings out new aches and pains in my tummy and generally I am much worse off than I was before I went to him. Perhaps he is trying out all the latest drugs on me to test their potency level.

While I was on yet another course of medication, something struck me which I did not think of before. The names of the drugs. I wonder who comes up with the oddball names for all the thousands and... no, millions and millions of drugs in the world. I remember reading somewhere that the name of a drug should contain at least one syllable of the main component, or something like that. So you have Crocin, Metacin, Anacin and so on. Logically it means "ci" is the syllable they used from paracetamol. From here on, each new brand brought out has more and more bizarre names to make sure they don't sound too similar to competing brands. Some of the names are so ridiculous, it scares me to ask for them at the chemist. Tagon (tag on what?), Daflon (I almost asked for teflon), Stemetil and Deletus (is that Latin for delete? Delete as in 'die'?). There is mighty little room for creativity here, what with a hundred rules set down for nomenclature. I wonder if they hire people especially for inventing new names. If they do, I wonder how much longer those inventors stay normal before this out-of-the-box creativity scars them for life.

Anyway, let me get out of this deep search for meaning in life and make an important announcement. I have broken a family tradition. Most of my family is not very happy, indeed many are quite bugged with me. We Belmannu Raos have a few traits that seem to be almost a tradition. For example, many of us stand with our feet non-parallel, heels closer than toes. A very mild version of Charlie Chaplin. Contact lenses are another thing we all have. So if any guest of ours forgets their lens solution and case, chances are they need not go back home to fetch them. Also many of us, including girls have just a suggestion of widow's peak.

And the most prominent of our khaandaani traits is high blood sugar. High blood sugar is almost expected of all men and most women of my family (father's side I mean) after they have reached middle age. Now I fell ill and my blood test showed my sugar levels to be below normal. When my father saw the report, he did not even bother with the sugar reading. I too very nearly flipped over the page when something caught my eye. "LOW". Huh? What does that mean? Slowly I realised that I had gone and done something that no Belmannu Rao has ever done before. I am not saying that I was proud of this, but it was a first-of-its-kind phenomenon nevertheless.

I am going to frame the report for future generations to gaze at and stand in awe of the mysterious ancestor who dived to the depths instead of climbing to the heights.

Keep mailing

We'll keep in touch. Sure, it is not difficult, with the internet and assorted technology that has shrunk the world into an atom-sized place. But what if I want you by my side right now? Can any technology bring you to my side whenever I wish?

An insecure world

It is proposed that persons of Asian origin be identified as Indian-British, Pakistani-British, etc. A girl of Indian origin, but whose family has lived in Britain for the past 100 years asked, does that mean they will tattoo us with that moniker? What is happening to the world? Why are we all growing more and more paranoid, more and more insecure, more and more intolerant, destructive? Has the world really progressed much since the dark ages? What is true progress? Internet shopping? Mass production?

We are hurling our planet towards sure destruction. We are blatantly abusing nature in every way possible. Sure, we are heeding what the environmentalists say and are replacing wood with steel and glass. But for that, we are gouging out mountains instead of forests. And we are replacing them with mountains of rubbish. Why do we no longer find simple things appealing? We are getting more and more alienated from nature. Successive generations of children are seeing fewer and fewer flora and fauna in their natural setting. Few of us have seen a river as nature meant it to be.

As the years go by, people are supposed to be more tolerant of one another. But it is not happening in reality. Intolerance remains, but it has taken on a different shape. Earlier the reasons for intolerance were simpler to define: colour, sex, class. Today, it takes more than a word or two to describe the reasons for prejudice. Intolerance no longer shouts out loud. It has become diplomatic. Justice and peace are the mandatory tags attached to it. Intolerance is more scheming and plotting now. Everyone has their own ideas of how to run the world and they want all else to fall in line with them. Earlier there was mere mistrust of people who are “different” from you. As long as there was a clear demarcation, there was relative peace. Today, the rules have been issued. This is the definition of freedom and if you don’t follow it, you are a threat to the world. Everything is absolute today. Soon Einstein’s theory too will no longer be allowed to stay relative.

I am not saying that we will soon meet doomsday. Life has an amazing capacity of sustaining itself. No matter how bad things are, it will be many a day before our planet decides to call it quits. But is the current state of affairs worth it? Is this the quality of life we deserve? Will we ever be able to go back to the basics and live the simple life?

Love. The velvety, buttery feeling… sweet and a little strange… supposed to be good for you, very nutritious.

Just like soy milk.

Two weeks is but half a blink… and a lot of things happen in the space of half a blink. A life is snuffed out, affections fade, hope dies out after much struggle.

Two weeks is longer than a lifetime. The Aloe plant will not have grown a single inch yet. People whom I left waiting at the bus stop will still be exactly at the same spot. My thoughts about someone will neither grow nor diminish.