Little spurts
Sometimes in routine'ness of 3pm chai
or the rareness of driving somebody's new Activa
Little thoughts of you in fuzzy words

Good.
Explanations would be tricky

If not the body
atleast the mind
jumps stations,
bridges,
and blinding city-lights
and lands next to your coffee cup and vacant chair..
To talk
lots.



Specially written under difficult circumstances of a moving train, a laptop bag slipping off from the lap every 2 minutes..and dodging the inquisitive glances of fellow-travellers. For Pintoo :)

It was a hotel lobby. Too many white-washed doors in that rectangular space. The first door I knocked on, was the right one. The one where I was supposed to report.


A fat African lady sitting near the entrance smiled at me. She was wearing a red and white frock which came upto her knees. Her hair was tied in a bun which settled neatly behind the pale blue bandana that she sported. The bracelets tinkled as she fidgeted with the papers on her desk.


She handed out a couple to me. They seemed like the lyrics of the song that was being recorded in that same very room. I looked up to see a whole setting of musicians and a lone singer clutching the microphone close to his mouth. Looked like he was romancing it.


I walked across the room looking at this scene. And right where I sat, beside me, was a face staring into my eyes, like it had been following my route since the time I had entered. He had the cutest face ever. I had never before in 22 years, had the ‘love at first sight’ experience.. but this one seemed to make up for it. And surprisingly, he felt the same. He looked at me like “This is it. She is the one”


So there we were sitting on a brown sofa looking at each other and before I knew the recording had come to a close. People were packing their stuff and leaving the room. The cute guy walked over to the African woman and mentioned something to her in a low tone. She quickly nodded her head and rose to walk towards me.


I had, by that time, vacated the sofa and occupied a chair at one end of the room, beside a window. I still had those papers. And the cute guy selected a spot right opposite to where I was seated but at the other end of the room. The fat woman had dragged her maroon chair to our space and placed it right at the centre. She plonked her huge body over it..and instructed us to read and learn our words. Both of us had our heads in our pile, but occasionally both looked up to see how the other was doing. The only hindrance to this exercise was that the African lady was shifting in her chair every other second. Sometimes she blocked my view, sometimes his. Finally, at the end of 5 minutes- he spoke- “Maria, could you please not move your chair. It creaks”


The woman looked suspiciously at him, and then at me. Her fat lips broke into a mischievous smile and she mentioned something about ‘going and checking over Bob’. I didn’t know who Bob was but I was so grateful to him ;)


Just when we were alone in that room, the both of us heard a strange sound. It was of a cat- purring. He asked me if I heard it too. I nodded. For some reason, he was looking at the ceiling..as if a cat would be suspended in mid air. But then, that gave me a reason to be smarter than him, as I finally found that there was a kitten stuck between two cupboards across the room. I pointed that out to him.


We moved towards the spot and he gently lifted the vulnerable animal out of the nook. I was looking at him, all this time. But when I saw the little kitten purring louder than ever, I realised how pretty it was. It had the skin the colour of champagne..and big round eyes. He brought it closer to me. I stroked its fur..and rubbed its ear lobe. “You like animals?” he asked. “Ya. I like them”


We placed her on the window sill and she seemed to be enjoying the fresh air. “So what are you going to do now?” He asked. And when he asked these questions, he smiled. That almost led my heart to beat faster, and my mind to grow numb. I realised how horrible I was doing..but I really could not help it.


I brought my mind back to his question. I think I had wasted too much time. He sensed my discomfort and suggested- You want to help me find her a home?


I looked back into his eyes. And smiled. That was real. “Sure”


And like all the typicality of a movie- love had happened..and it did not even take an eternity. We walked out of the door, a kitten in tow..

Friends

A basketball court
and an evening sky..
Maybe autumn leaves
and heaps of bags piled in a corner..

Signalling to the unfamiliar
that we are hanging around..
in the corridor
just follow our voices...

:)

Mis Perfect

Wearing Indian wear completely bogs me down by evening. I can wear a kurta over jeans and be fine, but throw in a proper churidar and dupatta over the same kurta and I am a harrowed individual. The whole activity of managing the extra piece of attire and flinging it over the shoulder every 2 minutes fatigues me.


I wear heels sometimes. I have to walk carefully, take small steps..and by evening, I am cravingg for my flats.


It's a matter of shame that being a girl, I still haven't attained a level of comfort and ease with certain clothes meant for my gender. I have seen girls of my age carry themselves so brilliantly be it Indian or Western choice of clothes. I envy those girls..and when I am done with that, I watch them carefully. How they don't fidget with their accessories, how they apply the right make-up..how they do their hair! I try to learn..


But I still suck! I wore a sari recently. I was my enthused best for the first 1 hour, co-operating splendidly with the new stuff. And then came such a low mood swing..I realised I couldn't climb stairs easily. I had to lift the sari slightly higher to be able to see my feet while climbing up...I was wearing 3inches of heels to add to that...I felt like an ostrich every time I walked.
And not to mention the jewellery and make-up. The bangles, the neckpiece, the ear-rings..everything added weight to my body and it seemed like there were just too many problems happening at one time.


Usually in such social gatherings, it's not just the external appearance...you have also got to talk well, eat right and basically be your girlie best..which I so cannot pull off. And all around me I spot women, superbly comfortable in their traditional wear, too oblivious to 'problems' like mine and actually enjoying themselves.

And I too want to be like one of them


I realise now that there is no way out of this. I have to brave the hype around the Sari..have to understand make-up and learn to carry myself confidently in what I choose to wear.

One good point about these disaster grooming attempts is that I manage to build up on my own style in the process...I could change the way a dupatta is draped or choose to roll up the sleeves of my kurta, like a shirt. I like such twists..but just when to be different and when to conform is a thin line, and I'm learning to balance that..

Octobre

October can be tragically romantic or just one of those typical summer months. My take on October completely depends on the weather. From the past few days, it has made me very sombre and nostalgic. The air is winterish and a cold wind blows occasionally, esp in the mornings..and late nights. And when the sun shines in this theme, it's most cherished..I love the warmth.

But it brings in some pain..some grief.. And I have to deliberately avoid some songs while travelling, because I know I'd be dripping tears hearing those. Why, someone may wonder! Well,winters every year have been very special for me. I have had my happiest and saddest times..and the weather brings back every memory so vividly, I just can't tell you. My entire self-concept of me being a kinda detached person than most, proves wrong..and I feel pathetically sensitive...

October brings in my grandad's death anniversary. So when I am thinking of him more than I would normally, I feel slightly weepy and lonely. And the human mind loves to wallow in self-pity so one has to be slightly careful. Inspite of knowing that I still fail...

During such periods work is temporary cure. While at a project, the mind functions at its best, pushes its limits and gives excellent output..and the tiredness after the completion comes laden with a deep feeling of emptiness. I don't know whether this happens to all..or its just me..but I feel a void I can't ignore.

Octobers can be scorching hot too. The summers don't ignite any particular memory in my head..so the times when October burns I am living it like any other month. This pecularity of my life is in a way predictable hence aovidable, one may believe. But what perplexes me is a certain program that my mind has learnt..some associations it has made that I am completely unable to unlearn..to erase..to 'format'...

In this way, the barrier-less view of the sky...of the moving clouds..of the sunset(which otherwise would bring a smile) puts me in that barrel, barrel of melancholic liquid..and I am living the October blues

Bombay

Let local trains remain an integral part of my life. I wouldn't mind that.

Dadar station @ 8.30-9am is my favourite. That is when I realise everyday that I live in a bigg city. There are so many people going to work. Train after train pile in newer heaps of these humans..all going somewhere, coming from somewhere...Definitely must be a big city!

Bombay has a sound. A bombay sound. And at these places precisely you get to hear them. I wonder if it's the soles marching forward determinantly..or the chatter in minds and mouths..or the quick swirl of the kurmura with the sev while running for 8.26 BO fast..I don't know!

The boot-polish walle have their sound. They want to some gather attention..esp when the train hasn't arrived for 4-5minutes. Ofcourse the railway announcers have their own distinct space in this pool of sounds. It mixes easily with almost anything. There could be a speeding fast train or complete confusion when a 12 coach enters instead of a 9..the announcer's straight line sound is as melodious, as acknowledged, as essential...

Porters make noise too. Heavy loads on heads and hands. Bent bodies. And sometimes torn footwear. Young and old with weight to carry..for god knows who! Their souls send that sound, which I can never miss when they pass by me..

Women have dabbas. And those dabbas have some good food packed for the journey. The clank of steel in train coaches. Hungry engineering students, hungry office girls- thin, reedy and weather-worn eat contently...and choose to space out while staring outside the window.

And then ofcourse we have sounds from Men hanging one after the other, coach after coach looking in a set direction. Making sounds, waving hands and shooting looks. And ladies brave one pair of eyes and then the next and the next. Like a role we have to play..

I could go on you know..and then I will struggle for an end. I don't have any smart last words. I just know that Mumbai locals or the entire activity of travelling in this city is a center from which an understanding begins. The understanding about the place where we have a home and a social association..

I fill some of it in my ears...some I shun, thanks to my ear-phones...but the connection renews itself every now and then. And before I can change my mind on that, I end up every morning on that Dadar western-central bridge..dodging various hurdles to catch my train, wading through scores of bags, shirts and duppattas...making a tiny Bombay sound of my own :) 

Fingertips

Flinch at the thought. Imagaining how it feels to be complete. It's too promising, smooth...sly...creeps under your skin. But in a few moments, you will drop it. Just a thought it is, right? I don't think that thought now. Don't describe it. No details. Planned details.
Natural.

***

First wedding observed closely. Intricacies, the planning..the running around of people. Like everyone working for a purpose- a common purpose. Mamas, masas, chachas

The Girl...her preparedness. Her reciptivity. Eyes on her...her gentleness..

A slight peep on the nature of relatives. Their behaviour. Then a discussion on observations. People stating what they disapproved...criticism, satire- in one room. Women.

Together then isolation. Dancing in a group and then sitting alone near the window in the bus. Enjoyed both.
***
Temple. Coldness- serenity in every stone. Nooks and corners to visit. Pray to one idol and then the next. Tell it, your heart's desire. Make promises. Roll in the fulfillment of making a promise...
Feel pious. God is looking...small signals. Till nest time...and it will be soon

Taste of this prasad is matured. Not too sweet, not too divine...it's a lil plain and a lingering sweet..made for humans we have become. Fake sweet.
***
I loved reading for its own sake. I would travel with the pages...laugh,cry,feel! I would not allow sleep, hunger or humans to interupt this space. It was so mine. And it was not for declaring or counting...it was for love itself. The love of reading.
Right now, it remains a word on my c.v.

***
Smiling without reason. Maybe you look like a fool...maybe you look cute...

***
When I walk those paths, the stories captured in those streets surface up and fill my eyes, nose, ears...and I can see us at the chaiwalla or strolling in the juhu galli...
I can hear your jokes, your sillyness
I can smell the weather then, the brush of autumn leaves on those roads.
The tale weaves me. I step willingly into my robe of naivety and believe you..love you..and want you all over again.
Will I always feel this way?
Will separating from you, always bring in more realizations of how much I really liked you?
***
Friends. On phone, in coffee shops, in rain-drenched outings...

Colored stones. Greens, blues, reds...against my ochre

***

Feeling Phony

It is a type of a social phobia. I don't talk on phones. I am afraid to have a telephonic conversation with people, especially people I know.

I remember, during my school days I would be at the phone for hours. And we were 7 friends...so you can imagine how time had to be alloted to each one. Besides it was the landline, so there'd always be an adult in the background reminding us "It's already an hour since you've been on the phone..I need to call xyz..talk to your friends tomorrow,anyway you meet everyday"..The works.
Even in JC, I would refill my card days before the month end. I don't know why but gradually, my telephonic activity started decreasing. And today it has reached a point where it is almost zilch. Barring a few calls for work to friends.

I was looking at my bill for this month and I was shocked at the number of calls I have made. Barely anything! That made me think. Do I do this on purpose? Well, kind of.

Telephonic conversation scares me a little. Now, someone would think I'm weird to have this kind of a problem, but it's true. I face difficulties keeping up with phone communication. For one, I worry about awkard silences and overlapped talking. I have observed that generally either I am a part of a awkwardly silent moment or a confused situation when both parties are talking at the same time. It makes me feel like I lack rapport with that person, and that is not a very good feeling.

Second issue would be  calling up at a wrong time! I have a history behind me of calling people when they either in the loo, or are in a party, movie, funeral....thankfully people don't pick up calls when they are making out!

So, I fear embarassment.

I also fear running out of topics. I mean, it isn't my responsibility alone to keep up the conversation, but I fret over my contribution. That is why, when it comes to making professional calls I am all set, because there is a planned content and clarity in purpose. But when it's personal, I am lost.

Don't know an appropriate end, because I am not exactly working on it neither am completely ignorant of my troubles. So, it's somewhere there...on hold!