Up, up and away..

The amount of times, I have shifted around in Bangalore… would put people to shame. And no, the shifts are not personal (new home) shifts.. they are due to office spaces. In PharmARC, we shifted 5 times in 5 years – quite a feat, that!

I just joined my new company.. that was in August of last year. This April, we moved bag and baggage and shifted.. from Diamond District (6km from my house) to MG Rd (double the distance).

And oh god.. it’s a pain in the ass, and all other wrong places. Right now, Bangalore governments are frenetically digging trenches wherever they set their happy sights on, to build the Bengaluru Metro. What were one beautiful serene tree lined avenues in various parts of the city, now look like the Rann of Kutch.. flat dusty plains, billowing dust storms. And since dear aforesaid govt. is digging with a damn spoon.. it looks like we will be stuck in this grimy, cement-sand-floating-in-air limbo, forever.

I’m taking 3 hours per day, on the road.. which means that the rest of my life almost peters out, over weekdays.

Who am I kidding!! As if I was a party hopping freak when I was living 5 minutes from work. Still, do give me my moment to gripe, people..

MG Rd has been dug up completely. All scientists.. please don’t bother observing moon craters..we have them right here. Walking is a problem, as there are now no roads and no pavements anymore. So one totters over piles of dirty and mud and sand, smiling apologetically to vehicles who are waiting for you to pass, and maybe fall, face first, into the ditch beside.

One doesn’t just ride an auto in BLR, one careens. Merrily, capriciously, blindly… the autowala doing his version of being Michael in the Grand Prix till I tell him, “hello bhaiyaa, bhagwan se itna pyar toh abhi nahi hai, theek se chalaiye”.

Lurching through busy traffic, this guy decides he wants to overtake..an Innova no less. So we caper along, till aforesaid misbegotten vehicle nudges us, oh so gently, into a mound of cement. So there I am, trying desperately to look calm and poised and serene, while sliding slowly but inexorably, down a seat with suddenly, a 45 degree slope. And in the middle of all this, the auto stalls with a choke and a sputter. My auto wala quietly says, “Shit!”

What else can I say, really?

I’m back folkses!!

All of us have times when we want to sink, and almost disappear. And I was going through that, last week. I think the shock of never being able to see Sasha again, hold him close, hug him tight till he yelps in discomfort, smell that doggie smell.. well, I can go on endlessly on this.. was too much to take and auto-recover from. So everything in life became tinged with this dirty gray tone, murky and dark.

And then… there are times when one jumps back on the proverbial bandwagon. when u dust off the, well dust.. and say “enough is enough”, and get back among the living.

I’m back, people!! And heck, it’s about time. Enough moping and whining and feeling sorry for myself. Enough of having expectations from certain friends, who don’t deserve all the time and thought wasted on them. And time to look around at all the ones who have reached out to me, and comforted me in so many ways, through these bleak moments. And thank god they are such a part of my life..

As for Sasha….let the beautiful, and they are all beautiful, memories remain…

Death is a lonely feeling

My sister died 3 weeks ago. She was a very distant cousin, living alone in Bombay, quite cut off from everyone. She was also 2 years younger than me. And while I’m not very traumatized by her gone, vis-à-vis if it had been a favorite cousin; I’m still rather shaken up by the fact that she’s GONE. And that suddenly among the 6 cousins, there is a blank space forever.

And my doggie passed away, as all those read this blog will already know, a week ago. And to say I’m facing this huge void right now, would be an understatement. I definitely prioritize my babies over my family, kya karein..

And when I have friends who I thought of as very very close, who don’t even bother to sms me when I’m at my most down, and then tell me that she contacted my mother because, I quote, “I thought she needed comforting more than you did”, I think something inside me dies a little bit.

Maybe people think that I’m that strong that I don’t need a shoulder to howl on, or that I don’t need anything, period. And it makes me wonder… did my sister feel just as lonely in Bombay? That when she looked around at family and friends there wasn’t really anyone there for her..

I wish I had the chance to talk to her once..now it is too late..

In Memoriam

The First Family: Tara (mom), Mishka (daughter), Sasha (son)
..and Leo (the beginning of the Second Family)

Sasha passed away last night
1992 – 27 April, 2009
17 years of beautiful memory


Tum Ho Toh
Tum ho toh, gata hai dil

Tum nahin, toh geet kahan

Tum ho toh, hai sab hasil

Tum nahin, toh kya hai yahan

Tum ho toh hai, sapno ke jaisa hasin ek samaa

Jo tum ho toh, yeh lagtha hai

Ke mil gayi har khushi

Jo tum na ho, yeh lagtha hai

Ke har khushi mein hai kami

Tumko hai mangthi yeh zindagi

Tum ho toh, rahein bhi hai

Tum nahin, toh rastein kahan

Tum ho toh, yahan sab bhi hai

Tum nahin, toh kaun yahan

Tum ho toh hai, har ek pal meharban yeh jahan

Jo tum ho tho, hawa mein bhi

Mohabaton ka raang hai

Jo tum na ho, toh phir koi

Na josh na umang hai

Tum mile toh mili yeh zindagi..

To all the Moms of the World

From ALL the children.. the tales would be uncannily similar, I believe…

This one was inspired during a chat with a friend of mine. His parents are here, and as with all of us living “out-station”, parental visits bring with them, their share of love and irritation, guilt and glory.
Parents sit and hatch the whole week during such visits. It makes no difference whether they are going Calcutta to Coimbatore, Amritsar to LA..

A parental visit has its own rhythm.. an unbroken cadence.
They come; they exclaim; they clean; they cook; they nag about health and marriage; they feed the friends who all suddenly descend on you with much love (it’s a lie, its all about the food, people).
They drag you out all over town over weekends to shop (like there are no stores whatsoever in the heartlands of Calcutta) - since they have gotten bored sitting at home waiting for you to get back from office, the week through (and all you want to do is sleep).
They give you breakfast in bed; and hot dinner at night; plenty of unwanted advice about life, work, men, health, friends, food, bosses, work, health, life… you know what I mean..

The other common factor of parental visits is GUILT. In dollops. You feel horrible that parent is here, yet work can’t stop. So, all you can do is pray that they will find something to do, while on their trip.
Moms, of course, get a free pass to “Harass Heaven”, as soon as they become MOMS. I suspect Dads would too, if they could be less immersed in the newspapers and cricket. Mine is a little afraid of my volatile temper, so that’s another plus. :-D

Ma, thankfully, brings her work. So, after she has finished flailing her arms about, and exclaiming about the state of my house, she potters around cleaning. Yes, this one is a REGULAR. And it makes no difference even if I have run around like the Whirling Dervish a day before, and collared my roomie also to help clean up the house.
Once she has happily checked expiry dates on every damn thing in the house, and thrown out most of it, she settles down to do her work.. finishes it too, by the time the trip is through. One visit, it wasn’t just her, but my other 2 aunts as well. Between the three mothers, my fridge started resembling Old Mother Hubbard’s cupboard in half hour.
“O my god!! Look at that mayonnaise, its 3 years old!
“And see this!! 3 bottles of the same sauce…all expired!!”
In my defense, milord… it was a busy three years.

Every trip is the same. Ma wakes up at the CRACK of DAWN...potters around a bit.. peers at my face... says "Am going for a walk, won’t u come?"
If I mumble back...pillow over my face, she’ll say "U sure? Sure na, that you don’t feel like it?"
And go off.
Then she's be back in an hour.. and say "Eesh, ki je shob raasta tomar barir shamney, haantai jai na”
The lady is used to power walking for an hour, each day by a lake back home.. what can I do, manufacture one here?
Then she's again peer at me and say "Chaa khabey?"
Of course, I’m STILL at the mumbling stage..and really cross by now
So I say no.
Off she goes.. makes her tea (Darjeeling, that she packs and gets from home, cause she cannot bear my Dhaba chai)
She also make my coffee, brings it to the bed (this is a really nice part, I must say) and says "Ei nao, coffee khao"..
Oblivious to my no-s..

But there's more.. the story doesn’t end there.
Now, willy nilly, I’m about one-fourth awake. She gets all excited and tells me “Ebar change korey treadmill ey uthey poro” and “Eki, eto kom walk korey ki laabh!!”
Once satisfied that I’m huffing and puffing away to her liking on that damn treadmill, she starts to cut fruits. Here, all people who know me and love me, and even those who don’t, know that I’m NOT a health food person. I have to "gird my loins and go forth into battle", when to have fruits.
So, there is Mom, looking at me with piteous eyes... and saying things like.. "Ami eto koshto korey kaatlam, tumi ektuuu o khabey na?"

By which time, one is goaded enough to walk out of the house, at a far earlier hour than you would, if u were home alone.
Amazingly though.. and yes, really, its amazing me too… I wouldn’t change her for the world. Well, mostly! Can I ask for some minor, teensy weensy modifications, though? :-D

Delhi Belly

(I’m plagiarizing movie names left, right and centre.. maybe I should go ask Anu Malik for a job)

Of course…Delhi is not all bad. As a matter of fact, it’s a wonderful trip…magical in snatches..

P. picks me up at the airport.. and makes me wait more than an hour for her before she lands up. Its old old friendship that makes me forget wanting to bonk her on the head with my heels, and makes me envelop her in a bear-hug of delight. Her hubby, S., is a very cool guy… this is my 1st meeting with him, but we are comfy around each other right away.

That night, they bundle me into their car and we zoom off to Defence Colony, appropriately called Def Col by the Punjs.. after 26/11, a lot of people are saying that all our Forces are deaf and dumb to the needs of the country. M. and V. have come down from the good ole USA.. I’m meeting them after 4 years, I think. Other assorted friends are also there, so it’s a big party/reunion of sorts. N is pouting.. he refuses to speak to me for all of 5 minutes.. because he was the only one of the lot who DIDN’T know I was landing up. I tell him it was supposed to be a surprise, I was supposed to jump out of a cardboard cake..but P. ruined it.

Nothing ever beats old friends.. the ability to catch up exactly where we left off..not a beat missed. We have known each other since Junior and High School..just counting the number of years that makes, makes my head reel. The whole night is tinged in my memory in shades of “warmth”. The lovely cream of the walls, a playful but bhishon bheetu (darpok) Lab gamboling in and out of the room, deep maroon couches we sink into, with out whiskeys, wines and paneer on sticks. And laughter, and hugs, and the old affectionate digs at each other’s expense.

The next day, I move into R.s house..she had sworn she would come after me with a knife if I didn’t stay with her - given the fact that she is a Jat, however much she protests she is not - I take no chances. R is glowing with what I can only call “newly wed happiness”.. a lot of that glow is attributed to her finally having her own house.

M. and R. are friends from my previous job, we were a group of 5 people who have managed to weather time and distance and keep the friendship going. M also brings his fiancé.. we warn her against M. and tell her “picture abhi baaki hai mere dost..soch le..isse shaadi karegi?? Time hai..bhaag jaa”. Must be true love…after all the stories we tell her of M.

R. and I go off shopping.. part of it is her gifts we friends are giving her. The other part is where I drag her off to Dilli Haat to soak in sun and ethnic funny little things to buy. She picks up a tortoise seat and I fall in love with a cycle rickshaw perfectly cast in the style they are, in Calcutta.

At R.’s house, our relaxed lazing-in-bed afternoon chat is rudely awoken by a monstrous din outside. Peeping out from her balcony, it is time for my jaw dropping moment - 2 bejeweled elephants, 6 horses, and a tonga - all part of the famous Punjabi wedding Baraat.

The two brides..yes, 2 - its a “buy 1-get 1 free” wedding - are weighed down in tones of the most ghastly gaudy jewelry and ghagra-cholis that one can possibly imagine. The two elephants look beleaguered - that’s the only word for it - shifting uneasily from foot to foot while hordes of snotty brats, screaming girls and chamkili aunties dance about, and teen boys in Pulsars wearing strange gold colored, androgenous kurtis roar by. I take loads of pictures, to remember it all by.

Yeh Dilli Hai Mere Yaar

Well, okie, so I stole the title from a song in the movie. But then, it is quite apt, considering we are talking about a city where the sword is most definitely mightier than the pen.

Pen? What pen?

Hopping over to Delhi last weekend for a quick trip was certainly an eye opener. The last time I had been to “Das Capitol” was way way back in the summer of..well, way way back. I was in my young teens, and Delhi was just another stopover on the way to a wonderful trekking trip in the Himalayas.
Confused memories of Bengali and Punjabi housewives in ghastly purple silk saris, laden with jewelry, rather like a Christmas tree, each out-doing the next. That was CR Park for you, at 10am in the morning on Dashami. Frankly, I could have cared less about the people and the place.

Thus, this trip was quite a novel one..seeing Delhi in a whole new light. The place still is all about “see and be seen”. Getting down at the airport, tired and crumpled from a really long flight, all around me were people vying to be Pg 3 starlets. Tight jeans, tight tops, shrugs…designer tags waving in the air, every which where. Girls from 10yrs old, to women of 60, all in impossibly high heels, tethering around. It was a shock for me, coming from BLR, where it’s a rather chilled out crowd. Delhi truly is the Fashion Capital of India. Note I say nothing about Style.

The feeling of wealth continues, on roads and in malls. At any given traffic light that we stopped at, all one could see a sea of Innovas and Hondas, a Merc or more. Small cars were few and far between. And the malls were a surreal experience. Firstly, the space..

Oh My God, the Space!!

It beat everything I have seen in different cities in India, so far. The Citywalk Mall my friend dragged me to, was HUMUNGOUS. Almost the size of Eden Gardens, Calcutta, this was 3 separate malls merged smoothly into one. Gleaming glass finishes inside, fabulous displays. International brands, some of which I honestly hadn’t seen in BLR, rubbed shoulders casually with our own local flavors. Excellent landscaping outside, lead to sunken places beside cool fountains where you could sit and listen to live performances by artists. Cafes selling cuisine from all across the world had happy over-laden shoppers dropping into them with (LOUD Punjabi) sighs of relief demanding imperiously for chilled Evian water (150 INR for a bottle, I tell you!)

Really, I will never understand the Punjabi mentality, specially the Sardar variety. Opulence is the name of the game, a larger than life persona.

“OYE, KI HAAL HOVE?” said in screaming tones into each others’ ears after they meet. Not withstanding that half of Delhi has heard that decibel level and can ALL shout back “BAAS, BADIYA” in tones of great enthusiasm.

This is not to say I don’t like the people..some of my very dear friends are Punjabi and I wouldn’t change them for the world. I admire their fearlessness and their ability to live life. While the rest of the Indian populace goes around carefully skirting the edges of life as they live it, the Punjs are out there, doing bhangra and eating aloo paratha smothered in ghee.