Na trital, na jhaptal

Since this story does not require any introduction let me get straight into it. Many years ago, actually only five, that is, in my second year of college I woke up to the fact that I had been involved in minimal extra-curricular activities that involved singing. Actually it began with a dream one fine morning. The dream was a real incident that had happened a little more than a year ago. That was the time when I had shifted to Bombay and my mother had come down to settle me in my hostel. The scene was pretty dramatic and it was between me and my mother. I was seeing her off at the railway station and her advice to her younger sister, my aunt, was to be strict with me. After that she and I got a few moments to ourselves when it happened. I expected her to say “I trust you and I know you will stay out of trouble. Be good. Study well and do us proud” but No! She said “promise me…promise me you’ll participate in Indian Idol this year” The train was about to leave and it had almost started moving. I said “yes amma, I promise. I will participate in it and with your prayers I WILL become the Indian Idol”

Needless to say, my resolve to not be known as a singer (again) did not allow me to go as much as anywhere near the microphone in my college. Hey, college is all about image building right? And thanks to this brilliant theory of mine I ended up doing a lot of other things that I would have never imagined before. But in my second year, the promise that I had made to my mother started nagging me no end. Finally I decided that I would participate in some group singing competition (morbid fear of singing solos) in the next college festival that came. And yes, It happened to be everyone’s favourite Malhar or in a Sophiate’s case, not-so-favorite-but-it-still-happens-to-be-the-most-popular-college-fest-teeming-with-boys-who-are-like-angels-forbidden-in-Sophia-grounds. Any-hoo, unaware that I was till the very last minute of the auditions I came to know that the only spot left for singing was in the Qawwali troupe and the person who told me this took my audition in front of a bania store outside college on her way home. So there, I was in the Qawwali team. Practice began zoron-shoron-se and Kajra mohabbat wala became our anthem for the next ten days.

Disaster struck when a couple of days before the event we came to know that a percussion instrument was mandatory. The only instrument we poor poor bathroom-singers could handle was the tambourine which did not quite fit the bill. Someone suggested we hire a tabla player but the budget committee refused to give us any money (bi*^#es). Something had to be done. We couldn’t withdraw and neither could we sing without a tabla player. Woe to that moment when I had that brilliant idea. I remembered seeing tablas in the store room, procured them and took them to Sr. Ananda, the only person I knew who could play the tabla and asked her to tune them for me.

Just in case you are wondering, no, I do not know how to play the instrument. The only way I can play it is how aunties play the dholak at weddings.

So the day finally came. We looked resplendent in our parrot green costumes (courtesy- Maganlal Dresswala) and our topis made us look like real princesses from The Arabian Nights. We went into the room and tried to seat ourselves as inconspicuously as possible because we knew how exactly we were going to perform (our two lead singers from the opposing teams were heavily dependent on their papers for the lyrics) and of course, Ustad Tess Joss was the tablist, how could things go wrong?

One look at the judges was enough to make me feel depressed. Judge no 1- hot Malayalee boy, seemingly from the music industry, Judge no 2- girl with a sweet smile with hair as long as Rapunzel’s who I was sure was a singer. I’m not being racist but I do not like making a fool out of myself in front of people prettier than me. On top of that, the group that performed before us were pros at everything they did on stage and their performance also included a jugal-bandi between the opposing sardarjee tablists. After their performance we got onto the stage. Let me say that we had the brightest and the classiest costumes and our entrance had an aura of confidence. But the list of our strengths ends there. Before starting I looked at the judge- Miss Rapunzel. Seeing me behind the tabla she gave me the look, the look that said- show these guys that a girl can play the tabla too. Show them! Show them! Show them! I nodded back, promising that I would deliver.

The singing started. It started off well, except for the sloppy tabla beats. In my mad attempt to avoid looking at the faces of those expert sardarjee tablists sitting right in the front I put my heart and soul into making the taal coming out of the tablas as tolerable as possible. And then it happened. The lead of one of the teams forgot her lines very obviously which broke my attention and I started beating the smaller tabla harder. To my horror and before I even knew it this tabla rolled off its stand and kept rolling ahead till the lead of the team on my right stopped it and pushed it towards me. Although this made the singer forget even more lines, at least the tabla was back in my custody and while the singing part went on dutifully, I, very humbly, kept the tabla back in its position and continued playing (talk about sportsmanship spirit). The song was coming to an end and by this time I had simply given up on trying to play the instrument. So the last part of the Qawwali was a capella! Wonder why they’ve never tried it in real…

When we finished singing I looked at the judges. Honestly, I felt sorry for them. You could see that they were dying to laugh but couldn’t because of the position they held in the audience. The rest of the audience however was not so kind. We were greeted by a stunned silence and muffled sniggers as we came down the stage.

This story usually generates a humungous amount of laughter whenever I narrate it and although it makes me laugh equally hard now the day that it happened was perhaps the most embarrassing moment of my life

Dear Hrithik,

You are undoubtedly one of the finest actors in the industry today and every movie of yours is looked forward to with great anticipation by both public and critics. There was a time when I did that too. Let me remind you of January 14, 2000 when you rightfully became the heartthrob of the country with Kaho Naa… Pyaar Hai. Guess which of the two roles you played people liked more. Yes, the shy Rohit who won people over with his simplicity. I have watched every interview of yours between 2000 and 2005 and I guess I saw Rohit’s simplicity in the real you which was one of the main reasons why I loved you so much. Like a real fan, I have, with my friends enacted every scene from KNPH, especially the island scenes and oh, the one in the end where Raj tells Sonia “kyunki main tumse pyaar karta hoon. I love you”. Can you believe that to copy the same effects from the movie I stood in front of the AC and made somebody switch it on at the right moment so that when whoever played Hrithik made that statement my hair would be blown back by the wind in the way Amisha’s did in the movie? Hell I even know that long speech you made at the end in Yaadein word-to-word! I even watched your shittiest movie Aap Mujhe Achche Lagne Lage thrice and Na Tum Jaano Na Hum still remains one of my favourites. I took songs and dialogues from Jodhaa Akbar as case study in my translation classes. I know your first few movies sucked quite a bit until the start of your new phase which brought about some really good movies like Lakshya, Koi Mil Gaya, etc., but I still loved them all and I loved you the most. Gradually I grew disappointed with myself because I began to feel that my love for you had waned. I have not watched Kites or Guzaarish. In fact I do not have a track on how many of your movies have come out since then. Now, all I know is that I’m justified in loving you less. One look at your Provogue posters made me cringe at the fact that this is the man I had

lost my heart and soul to eleven years ago. Let me tell you, you look like a monkey there. And while you look classy in some of those posters I can see and feel the clear loss of the Hrithik I and most of the girls of my generation knew and loved.

I do not have a favourite actor now. The prestigious post will always be kept vacant for you. I sincerely hope you come up with more of Jodhaa Akbars and Lakshyas to fill it up.

Yours in love and anticipation,

Tess

In praise of Appi

Without any theological training, I, a child, grasped the incompatibility of God and shit and thus came to question the basic thesis of Christian anthropology, namely, that man was created in God’s image. Either/or: either man was created in God’s image — and God has intestines — or God lacks intestines and man is not like him…” Shit is a more onerous problem than evil. Since God gave man freedom, we can, if need be, accept the idea that He is not responsible for man’s crimes. The responsibility for shit, however, rests entirely with Him, the Creator of man.- Milan Kundera

Bombay and her people are used to a lot of things that people outside it may find weird. I mean, where else would you see people use cutting chai as a dip for French fries or refuse to step out of their homes at the first sign of monsoon or brag about the bargaining process involved in their buying of a factory reject of a branded bag from Colaba Causeway?

If you ask my godfather, who by the way is a big cynic, he’ll define Bombay in two words- shit hole, literally! Having lived in Bombay since the moment he was born I can only imagine what the poor man goes through when he compares the Bombay of his childhood to the Mumbai it has become now. Anyway, this is totally not what I wanted to talk about. The Bombay I know has always been kind to me teaching me hard lessons the subtle way, so you can imagine why I’m in love with Bombay and probably will always be. So much so that when people tell me that Bombay’s dirty I think they are seeing things because I have never thought the same of this place. No, it is not a matter of me being so used to the muck here that it does not seem dirty to me anymore. I just have never felt that this place is dirty since the day I stepped here. Nevertheless, this is a sorry yet light tale of how this dirt, after almost six years of humble existence in the city, got the better of me.

After a really long day in the University that included three consecutive 2 hours sessions with no lunch break, my friends Candice, Harsha and I were walking to the railway station relieved that we could finally go home and sleep. Now, I, owing to my mild OCD (or that’s what they say) walk with my eyes on the floor, especially if it has a pattern. I could have got too engrossed in what we were talking about because that day I did not pay attention to the yellow tiles between the red ones I was accidently stepping on and before I knew it my foot was in a pile of shit. My immediate response was to laugh like a blanked out idiot but good sense kicked in just when these two turned back to see why I had stopped.

Yes, it was human shit if you were wondering and thankfully it was not warm but I’m pretty sure it belonged to a vegetarian or someone who hadn’t had non-vegetarian food in some time. You see, being pretty obsessed with shit (not just me but all my cousins), helps me make out the kind of person one is by the quality of their shit. I stood there motionless unable to believe this had happened to me while Candice and Harsha giggled away to glory until I had to tell them to bugger off and get me a bottle of water. The next three minutes were quite humiliating with people walking by and smirking at my soiled foot that I had unassumingly kept at a safe distance from me- as much as I could. When I looked down at my poor foot to see how it was faring I got further befuddled at the sight of pear-sized flies fighting over shit- on my foot. That is when I started trying to rub my foot on every little mount of mud I could find on the generally clean footpath. Despite all that and the water treatment that soon followed, the yellow sunshine managed to shine forth from the minute striations of my floaters.

Appi (the Malayalam word for shit) is probably my area of prime interest. In fact Appi is my favourite phrase of expression. You may easily catch me saying it once every 3-4 minutes. According to inspirational speakers like Rhonda Byrne, Mike Dooley, etc., the idea that your mind conceives and manifests in thoughts and deeds is what you will ultimately get. I am assuming that by introducing Appi into my normal day vocabulary and reading the theodicy of it by the literary gem Milan Kundera it is I who ‘summoned’ Appi into my life.

As I sat next to Candice in the train I found myself rejoicing the fact that I had finally had a physical experience of Appi that did not belong to me. Strange but I guess that’s what the city does to you- actually value even the worst experience and make you feel better for having had such an experience in the first place. As for me, a yet another lesson I’ve learnt tells me that Potty potty pe likha hai kuchalne wale ka naam. J

Corn, Cheese and a bowlful of Chick-flicks

They say love makes you go crazy. I wouldn’t know about that. Most of my committed friends still seem sane to me but yes, there is a major difference I see in people after they get into a relationship from before they got into it. It’s the overload of corn and cheese! Yep, and not being a great fan of either of these doesn’t do me much good.

They say ‘Tess, you need to fall in love to understand!’ Ya ya, I get it. You’ve finally found the one, s/he who makes the best in you come out; you know this is what you had been waiting for your entire life. See, I don’t even have an argument here but all I’m trying to put across is that it’s annoying how people who you’ve always known to be level-headed, simple and the no-nonsensical types suddenly turn into love-emitting, emotion-radiating, sugar-vomiting idiots leaving you to wonder why you became friends with them in the first place.

When two of my really good friends hooked up I was really happy, you know, I loved spending time with them but the day they started dating their behaviour changed so much that today I cannot think of spending more than a couple of hours with them in a coffee shop. Even in these two hours at least about ninety minutes are spent in these two love-birds calling each other coodle-names (fine, I invented that term but you get the point right?). Please call, but not in my presence! As much as I still love spending time with them individually, being with both of them simultaneously is like attending a cheese fest- the one that specializes in Cheddar.

I don’t think I’ve mentioned my Sistahs before, my very own Sisterhood of Peripatetic Pajamas. I consists of me (of course), Jane, Chaddi (yeah, we call her that) and Nads. When one of these started dating, she seriously cut down on 90% of the time she spent with us. Annoyed as we were, we slyly started hoping that she’d stop dating this guy. Hey, friends should come first right? Ok, if not first, at least don’t ignore them. Now that they’re no longer together, she’s back in the group again…not like she was ever chucked out :P But there, this is what I really hate. In the process of being there for your partner some people completely forget their friends. Learn to strike a balance. As for some (like Chaddi) who know how to manage both worlds, I salute you guys. Think about it, you may get to spend your entire life with your respective partners but your friends won’t hang around for long if you ignore them. And yes, love will keep you alive, so you may think, but when the goings get tough friends are the ones you would want to turn to and you’d be all lonely if you don’t find any at that point of time.

So yes, what I’m trying to get at is that, if you’re my friend and wish for my mental well-being then do not in my presence kiss, be cheesy, call coodle-names, feel each other up or do anything of the sort that would make me feel like taking the closest garbage dump and empty the contents on your heads. Holding hands however I would tolerate…that’s quite cute. And ya, corny’s cute at times. Just don’t overdo it J

The Boy-Girl Thing

The other day a good friend told me that girls are complicated ‘coz they bring drama into their lives. I admit I agreed with him at that time. The reason being, I was mortified about the fact that I was the one who had lately been causing all the drama in his life. But since then I’ve been thinking…a lot!

Is it really us who bring in the colour and the drama? Have men ever considered the fact that maybe before they came into our lives we had uncomplicated and simple lives too? Maybe they are the ones who provoke us into over dramatizing (as they call it) things. Maybe they cause us to think in a way that we’d never before and act accordingly. Maybe they just mess around with our head the very same way we do with theirs.

Is it really that difficult for them to see that men and women are different? Isn’t it obvious that both parties can never think in the same way? Consequently aren’t sparks and explosions expected to happen when both these worlds come together? So what do you do when you don’t know how to deal with these skirmishes? Obviously you can’t sit back and say that you don’t want to be friends with that guy anymore (which by the way is what I did, foolish that I am). Complications are a part of life and we need to learn how to deal with them. It never has been easy when two worlds have come together and it never will.

People say it’s all bullshit when it’s said that a guy and a girl can never be best friends. I guess I’m not one of those ‘coz I completely agree with this statement. Three things can happen when a guy and a girl are best friends.

1. They fall in love like it happens in every movie (it’s true I swear I know living examples)

2. After few years of being close they cease being friends at all because of the different directions life has taken them in.

3. Here is the thing that I like the most. Although they remain in touch, they don’t really remain best friends. S/He becomes that good friend of yours who has an overall idea about what’s happening in your life but that’s it. You live your own life now and have other things to worry about.

Both men and women have charms of their own. But unfortunately both these species detest each other in general. They are drawn to each other by curiosity, lust, money, envy, admiration, etc. Oh, you don’t believe me? Trust me it’s true. I may have a boyfriend who is ‘not like other men’ and is the epitome of niceness, fidelity blah blah and I may have never had a bad experience caused by a man but tomorrow if my best friend Jane gets dumped by her moronic boyfriend, sooner or later, one thing I’m sure I’d tell her is ‘all men are like that!’. So you see, it’s in our very nature to cuss, not trust and abhor men.

Women are emotionally charged a little more than men and men are (most of the times) more rational. So when both of these find their typical qualities lacking in the other they can’t help but feel that the other one is dumb. It would have been ideal if men and women had the same qualities. But then that would get boring, wouldn’t it? And what’s life without all these nok-jhoks? I’m reminded of Virginia Woolf’s theory of androgyny here.

Men and women emotionally, mentally and physically have been fashioned in a way that despite all the complexes and differences they compliment each other. They complete each other. If men are the lock, women are the key! They will never agree with each other. They will always have fights. It’s because solutions cannot be arrived at until matters are discussed and disputed over. Okay, am I losing the point here?

Anyway, there’s an important point I need to make. I just stated that men and women complete each other. I mean that they don’t really have to be men and women. They can be people predominantly with any of these characteristics. If you’re a lesbian, you don’t need to be with a man to feel complete. All you need is a woman who has characteristics of a man but the sensitivity of a woman. The same applies to gay men. God bless them. Honestly, I think they are the best friend a woman can have. Not only are they sweet, they are sensitive too which is a manifestation of feminine nature in them. Why am I thinking of androgyny again? I think I’m inspired a lot by whatever little I know of Woolf.

While men are more on the face, it’s easy to know when a man is trying to charm a woman; women on the other hand are deadly. Their ways of charming are numerous and you don’t realize until the very end that you’ve already fallen for them.

I know people who’ve known me for even a considerable amount of time think that I hate men. That’s so not true, but that’s besides the point. But on a more serious, sub-conscious level I do understand that I’m caught in this very conflict which mankind will never be able to escape. So my fellow sisters who think men are bastards, dogs, assholes and God knows what all, I think we must just come to terms with the fact that just like we can’t change neither can men and learn to live with it. After all if men are dogs women are bitches too. I’m certainly sure we’ve wronged them many a times.

I can go on and on and on and on and on about this but for the sake of not sounding redundant I conclude.

Let there be peace J

And then came the Angel

(A peek into the convoluted mind of a singleton in the city of Mumbai)

For some weeks now I’ve been thinking about the pathetic state of my blog that I had so lovingly created 4 years back and somewhere along the line I decided that I’d start blogging as soon as I had something really intellectual or philosophical that I’d like to discuss with the few who read my blogs and get to know what they think about my thoughts. But there’s something that happened yesterday and today that has forced me to pen or rather type it down. It’s very unlike me to publicly talk about such things but the fact that I’m doing it shows how much of an impact it has had over me…so much so that I’ve been breathless since last evening, breathlessness being something that I have to go through everytime I’m stressed, worried or scared. Quite wierdly though these are not the emotions that I’m going through right now. On the contrary, I’m in love!

Ok! It’s not really love but it’s definitely more than a crush.

We were told that some high-fundoo conference had been arranged by our English Dept. and being students of the host University we were all expected to be there and some of us (including Candice and Harsha, my closest friends in class, and me) had duties early in the morning before the conference began. So there we reached, much before anyone else did and started arranging the conference kits around one of the two tables in the reception area. That’s when HE walked in. Let me put it this way. He didn’t at all look like what I’d expected ‘my man’ to be. Seriously, I don’t think I really care about looks, anyone with an awesome personality would be well liked and admired. But he, had long (well beyond his shoulder), straight, awesome looking hair. Before I could see further I had to look down as I felt like I had just made the mistake of looking directly at the Sun, the Sun being the source of life and warmth, for me that warmth felt more like radiant heat! Geez! How corny can I sound? I literally was blinded by this Sun’s joie de vivre( which means glow, just found this word in my thesaurus, ha!), I can’t really recall being able to see anything else for the next few seconds until I heard Harsha say “Did you see his hair? My God! It’s so nice.” Thank God! Harsha was only captivated by the sight of his hair. However Candice and I had a whole eye-conversation and realized what we were thinking was the same. I said “ Behave Candice. You’re married. Leave him for me!” She said I could take him as long as she could look.

As soon as my lecturer arrived Candice and Harsha were sent off to fetch some things and because I was on registration duty I sat at that table. The reception area was empty now with him sitting on the other desk, just two and a half metres away from me. There was awkward silence of course, since we didn’t know each other and being hopelessly inept at starting a conversation I was left making use of that time to analyze him. His looks, as I implied earlier was screaming for attention. Long hair, no layers, just a plain straight cut, fair-ish complexion, a beard not very thick, medium height, well-sculpted lean frame, awesome hands, nice fingers (guys pay attention, this is how an average girl checks you out). In fact, he reminded me of Orlando Bloom from the Lord of the Rings. Yup, that’s exactly how his forehead looked although his face was not that extremely good-looking. You can say he had a very pleasant face even with the lack of something as vital as a simple smile. Agreed he didn’t look anything like the kind of guy I like (dark-ish and well-built) but he was dressed exactly like how I’d like ‘my man’ to dress, a long kurta and churidar. He looked perfect…like an Angel!

Candice came back and helped me with the registration, which I know was an excuse for ogling at him. I really didn’t mind because I was dying to talk about him and we were so sure that he knew we were talking about him. Anyway, the first session began and soon he was out of my mind. Later, towards the end of the session Candice (with whom I was constantly communicating through scribbling on paper on the pretext of taking notes every now and then) told me that she saw him checking me out. It was impossibly difficult for me to believe that because knowing how I look that couldn’t have happened. For those who haven’t seen me, let me tell you I’m not really attractive. My beauty lies in the fact that I have very typical tribal Indian looks, a consequence of having been brought up in Orissa but yes, I have a very likeable nature. I’m extremely good to people I like which is an indication to those who dislike me that I dislike them back! But anyway, owing to how I looked I couldn’t possibly figure out why he would want to check me out. But Candice’s conviction and the way she enacted the whole checking –out scene convinced me of it. This is where I believe the lukka-chuppi game began. I must admit it could all be a figment of my imagination but as long as I believe it, I’m happy. Nothing else matters.

Optical communion ( a phrase I love and never hesitate to use, R. K. Narayanan’s gift to me) is what I believe is the first baby step that in the long run leads to a relationship or on a slightly less serious note, something pivotal in the course of attraction. That is exactly what we shared. Stolen glances, frequent and quick eye-to-eye contact, ok, I don’t think I’m good at writing romantic stuff. But with deep grief I have to say that these optical communions between us were just a matter of split seconds. But they happened and nobody can take away from me the blissful joy that my silly heart was flooded with because this happened. It went on. When we were done for the day, I walked out of the hall and as soon as I entered the reception area I felt and saw through my super-sensory peripheral vision that he looked up and immediately down to avoid being caught looking at me and as I was exiting through the door, someone said bye to me and when I looked back I saw him again looking up, maybe, to see if there was a possibility of another optical communion. Sadly there wasn’t because by now I was too embarassed to look into his eyes. He soooo knew I had been looking at him throughout the day.

I went back to Jane’s place to stay for the night. She, being my best-est friend, I narrated the entire day’s activity to her. She gave me awesome pointers on how to break the ice with him, pointers that were honestly much complicated than the ones Candice gave a little while earlier. I was at loss regarding who to follow- Jane, who like me had never been in a relationship or Candice who has immense knowledge when it came to love and experience to go with it considering she was in a relationship with her husband for 6 years before they finally got married two years ago. Candice was definitely a safer bet. (For the sake of convenience and to keep his identity hidden I'm going to address him as [Orlando] Bloom from here onwards.)

So as decided, I arrived a little earlier than I was supposed to so that I could say a simple ‘hi!’ to him whenever he came in. To my horror I found that I was the first person to arrive there after the guy who had the keys to that place. I called up Candice and was about to scream out “Bloom’s not here” when he emerged out of the kitchen area. So, he was early too. No, I’m not going to assume anything. He worked there after all. So instead of saying what I was about to say, I said “I’m the only one who’s here”. She promised me she’d be there in 5 minutes. In the whole process I completely forgot that I was supposed to say ‘hello’ to him. Sniff. Thankfully people started pouring in soon afterwards.

Today’s session was a lot better than the previous day’s. It was just a small group of us students, our professors and the speakers and ofcourse him sitting around the large table. We both sat in such a way that we could look at each other from right across the table. More optical communion followed.

Lunch break.

We retuned to the hall in time for the next session. Since Candice and I were the last people to enter we didn’t get much of a choice for seats and I was appalled to find that the seat left for me was right beside one of the speakers! Eish! This also happened to be where Bloom was sitting earlier. He entered and sat directly behind me. He soon got up and went around the table to be seated right where I could see him the best. Candice argued that this was because he wanted to maintain the optical relationship that we had all this while. My deluded mind didn’t really see fault with her argument. In fact I was very happy. He could have sat anywhere else but he chose to sit where I could see him well. Eeeeeeeee…..Ahem!

The session continued and soon came to an end. I’m not proud of it but I must say that most of the time I’m hopelessly optimistic. I had thought that something might happen (a conversation, exchange of phone numbers, etc.,) since there was so much that happened between us but soon it dawned upon me that it had all come to an end and I might never see him again.

I aimlessly hung around the reception along with my friends holding on to the last shreds of my diminishing hope. Nothing happened. I left the building with a really heavy heart. My only consolation was the fact that he had come to me in the morning before the sessions began to ask me if I had my professor’s phone number and that he had to call her because she hadn’t come yet. Atleast I got to talk to him, atleast I heard his voice, atleast during that course I maintained eye-contact with him for a longer period of time.

It’s not the first time that I’ve developed a crush on someone. In fact a year ago I was considered to be quite notorious for walking around wearing my heart on my sleeve. But there was something different about him. He was like an angel who walked into my life for the briefest period, caused me great pleasure and gave me memories, if not for a lifetime then definitely for many months, ok, weeks maybe…

There’s no chance that this could happen but I don’t think I’d really mind if he reads this someday. I think more than anything else, he intended to derive cheap thrills by being my eye-candy…Bloody men! They do this all the time…like I always say, men are bastards…

But…

If only…..

Crooked Fingers

I’d known him for long. 2 years and 8 months to be precise. But we hadn’t ever met. And yet this stranger was one who knew me the most. It was a bond built over months and months of endless conversations. I never wanted to meet him coz I felt things were perfect the way they were and I didn’t want things to change. I felt it was the same on the other side too. That might have been the reason why neither of us had insisted on a meeting. No wonder I was surprised when out of nothing a plan to meet up late that Saturday materialized. I found myself pacing up the office corridor. I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to meet him. I knew things would change forever yet I found the courage to walk towards VT station where he said he’d wait for me. And then we met at the Coffee shop…a conversation that lasted for 4 hours! There were a lot many things we spoke about but only one thing that I distinctly remember. Well we were running short of things to talk about in the middle and the conversation drifted to hands. I couldn’t tell him then but I now say hands of different kinds have always fascinated me. And then, I don’t know what me say it I produced my hands before him and said “don’t you think I have good hands?” He looked carefully and without thinking even once said “No! You have crooked fingers.” I was annoyed. I knew my hands weren’t pretty but the least he could have done was be a gentleman. Nevertheless I appreciated his blatant honesty.

Things went on…many more meetings followed…many more nights spent talking to each other.

And then one day he called. “Tess, I’m leaving.”
“Where?”
“Ireland. I’ll be gone for good. Don’t know if I’ll be back”
“Why?”
“This is no place for me Tess. I’m leaving.

The chill in his voice hit me.

“Won’t I ever hear from you again?”
“I don’t know Tess. Lets hope for the best. Goodbye. I’m thankful for the gift.
“The gift?”
“Yes. The gift of knowing you…bye.”
“Goodbye.”
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I entered Badshah at Crawford Market with my sister to have a glass of lassi.
“So hows he?”
“Who?”
“You know who I’m talking about”
“Jane, he’s gone…”
“Gone?...where?”
“He’s gone. Won’t be back.”
“Hmm…he was right….you do have crooked fingers…”

Chak De...!

I’m always smiling! It makes me look like a fool but I don’t really care. It’s amusing the way people react when I walk on the streets, especially when I walk through the galis of Changampuzha Nagar- where I live in Kochi.
I remember when I used to walk back from tuitions long back smiling foolishly as usual without any reason, some people passing by would stare and then say things like “girl/beta (if it’s an elder)…why are you smiling?” and I’d stupidly reply “just…!”

The logic is simple. It’s giving someone a moment’s happiness. God knows what the person you come across might be going through. It’s a way of bringing some positivity around them…an assurance that things would be fine- making them forget their worries even if it’s just for a second. At the end of it you feel nice for having made someone smile.

I came to Mumbai 3 years ago. True, coming here made me grow up, true it showed me a lot of things that I ought to have known but it also made me unknowingly stop doing something that I always did. And I realized that towards the end of my second year in college when I went for Mass one Sunday evening at St. Stephen’s, Kemps Corner. There’s this time during the Mass when you give peace to people around you. Now this is the time I always get irritated during Mass when in Kerala. You’re supposed to say “peace be with you”. Now you can’t do that until you look into the eyes of the person you’re ‘giving’ peace to and people in Kerala do not look into anybody’s eyes and if there’s no one standing beside them, they give peace even to the walls thinking that they are supposed to give peace on both their sides whether anyone’s there or not. They forget Jesus wanted them to be in peace with their fellow people and not the air around them. So anyway, I haven’t seen such stupid behavior among people in Bombay.

So there I was standing in the Church ready to break down any second coz the last few days hadn’t been the best days of my life. Added to that, the fact that an overload of projects, assignments and dangerously close deadlines had left me with no time to resolve issues that needed to be tackled for peaceful living. Yet when the time came to give peace, I wore the best smile I could and turned to the young woman who I vaguely remembered as the mess cook’s daughter who had a cute 1 year old. I looked at her, smiled and said “peace be with you”. Later when the Mass was ended, I knelt down praying things would go back to the way they were when I felt someone’s warm touch on my shoulder. It was her. The one I had given peace to. She said “I had to come back to tell you this. You’ve got a beautiful smile. Keep smiling!” and she walked away. I was stunned. I turned to look at Jesus, tears rolling down and smiling at the same time. I don’t know what made me cry at that moment, but I was touched for some reason unknown. I smiled and smiled and nothing could keep it from growing wider. I walked back in peaceful silence wondering when was the last time I smiled. It occurred to me that I hadn’t in a very long while. I saw a woman walking past me with her baby tucked comfortably in her arms. I smiled at her she smiled back and so did the baby. The infant’s smile made me realize there was so much of beauty around that we failed to see coz of whatever shit we were in.
Back in the hostel I literally smiled through all my problems realizing that it was the lack of smiling that had really brought me to a stage where I was. In college it was no different. It’s amazing how a gesture as simple as smiling can really change things around you.
Today, when I walk and come across someone who looks not so happy I give them a big smile hoping somewhere deep down that very soon they’d find someone who’d bring back the smile into their lives, just like it happened to me…and if the smile-bringer happens to be me, I couldn’t be happier!

Main KKusum

Okay! I’m in the mood to whine.
So lemme start.
As a kid I used to watch all these K-serials, especially the ones like KKusum and….(damn! I don’t even remember their names anymore) and ya, like all those girls who watched those stupid serials, I wanted to have a life like these protagonists too.
Yeah! I wanted to be KKusum!...talk like her, walk like her and most importantly, have a job like hers where I could work as hard as she did.
Ok now, I have a job too but I don’t find anything in my life even remotely similar to hers. Firstly, I must say she’s a superwoman. To have a job like that and at the same time manage a completely screwed up family teeming with constantly scheming in-laws is no child’s play.
What really leaves me wondering is how come she’s considered the best employee in the office and yet she’s always outside office solving either some friend’s personal problem or at her maayka taking care of her constantly ailing mother. Dude! When does she work? And how does she manage to bunk office so often? Only I know how much I get shouted at when I bunk office for genuine reasons.
Another thing…she always finds time, no matter what, to go on dates with her man during the same office hours. I’m jealous! How come I don’t get to do such things? Not like I have someone to go out on a date with (koi pooche tab na!) but even if I had I’m dead sure it would have been difficult for us to make time for each other even once a fortnight!
All I have to say is….KKUSUM…YOU SUCK! I CAN’T BELIEVE I LIVED ALL THESE YEARS WANTING TO BE LIKE YOU! But now that I can be like you…I don’t want to…why? ‘coz I hate working! And I hate behaving like a responsible person!
Given a chance I’d sit at Marine Drive all day and stare at the sea…which I think I’m gonna do soon… ‘coz I’m quitting…very soon…yay!
I’LL BE FREE….at least for a month…!
I’m gonna love it…and for some reason I don’t feel like a loser…coz it takes some guts for a lazy bum like me to stay in a city like Mumbai on your own, without a job and still be happy and carefree….okay I’m not gonna brag…not like what I’m doing is something to brag about…I’m just making myself see why I should be happy.
Ok. I’m happy now. I’m done with the whining so I’m gonna shut up now.
I’m satisfied….phew!