Life,Actually

On Today...

2012-01-04T09:00:00.000-08:00

I coax sleep into my tired eyes
And mind
And soul
Wake up in the morning
To the same uncertainty
The day begins on a wrong note
Things happen
Things that I do not like
Things that daringly question my new-found belief
A belief that is supporting my sanity right now.
I almost break. I feel the tears stinging my eyes.
But I hold on.
I pull on
Not letting go of the goals that I have set
I do my bit to achieve every one of them.
Then
The day ends
I leave
To begin another journey.
I wonder if I will buckle,
Somewhere, in the middle of the rut
Of one journey after another.
Of one challenge after another.
But I know I can't give up.
I know I won't give up.
That is the other belief.
In the mean time
There is the warmth
Of unknown, unseen 'strangers'
Of the familiarity of family
Of the wagging tails of my dogs
Of actual jokes on Facebook that make me laugh,
Because they are genuinely funny.
I like that variety of laughter more
Than the kind that sarcasm or irony evoke.
And that is how it shall remain.
Oh
Did I forget to mention
The simple joy
Of a triangular block of Toblerone?
(The strongest chocolate by design, apparently!)
Anyhow...
In this way,
Piecing together bits and chances of happiness,
I get through Today,
And wait
To welcome Tomorrow.

I miss...

2011-12-17T23:58:00.000-08:00

Laughter.

Enthusiasm.

Expression.

Singing.

And so many other parts of 'me'.

Today...

2011-11-25T11:09:00.000-08:00

Well, quite simply, what marks the end of an era.

At least I think so.

(12:38 a.m., 26th November 2011)

Simply.

2011-11-04T11:56:00.000-07:00

...And they are only dreams
Dreams that remain unfulfilled
That do not kiss reality,
That do not even see it from a distance
But then,
That is how
Dreams remain what they are,
Simple, Untarnished,
Dreams.

One day,all this will come true...

2011-10-30T02:03:00.000-07:00

One day, the running around will cease to be,
One day, this city will have emptier roads,
One day, we will think of pollution in 'flashback mode',
One day, the fatigue will stop creeping in before it actually does,
One day, the air will be fresh and clean and inhaleable again,
One day....some day....some day in the future...
All this will come true.

Hah, now that is some serious wishful thinking.

What is your craziest dream?

The Child In Me...

2011-10-18T12:29:00.000-07:00

Devoid of inhibitions,
Fearless, Spirited & Free,
Another time,Lord,yet again,
Let the Child awaken in me.

Randoms

2011-10-10T11:08:00.000-07:00

I am beading my dreams together
One, by one, by one,
On a silken peach thread,
Most of them will remain where they are,
A few will sprout wings and fly...
Who knows where?
A few will break free and fall,
One,by one,by one,
And Life will go on,
Dream, by dream, by dream.

"For I Have Promises To Keep"

2011-09-17T23:49:00.000-07:00

I sit by my window, sipping a cup of piping hot herbal chai, staring at the rainy greenery outside. As the rain plays on its steady, pleasant rhythm, I subconsciously begin to hum a song I learnt as a child. A monsoon song that my Auntie Flavia taught me. And I am transported back in time.

She was the odd - one - out in all our get-togethers. While these social gatherings were usually excuses for my neighbours to parade in all their dazzling traditional finery, she always came in wearing flowy pastel dresses. She was also the only senior-citizen in the motley group of couples who mere much younger, couples who addressed her as Auntie Flavia. That is how I ended up calling her Auntie Flavia too, even though she was old enough to be my grandmother.

I do not know what drew me to her. Maybe it was the fact that I did not have a grandmother. Or maybe it was the fact that both of us had no contemporaries in the whole group. But I grew attached to her in a way that I secretly like to consider priviliged.

She and Uncle Frederick had been a childless couple, and shortly before I was born, Auntie Flavia was widowed. If she did have relatives, no one had never heard of them. But, like my parents have often told me, Auntie Flavia never seemed to complain. She seemed content and secure in the midst of my family and our other neighbours. Her most special affections, however, were reserved for me. Looking back, I realise I was much more than Auntie Flavia’s god-daughter. I was, in fact, Auntie Flavia’s way of filling up a void in her life.

Auntie Flavia was my Santa-Claus. Her gifts were unambitious, often home-made, but very frequent. Sometimes she made me cardigans, sometimes little handicrafts, and sometimes sauces and pickles. I loved all her little surprises, but what I enjoyed the most were her home-baked cookies. She could rustle up batches in the most unimaginable flavours, in the most intriguing shapes possible.

Once, seven-year old me proudly told her that my art-teacher had declared me the best “drawer” in class. She’d been delighted. “Will you make me a drawing for my birthday?” she’d asked, earnestly. I’d nodded. “Promise?”, she’d ventured, and I’d nodded again.

But her birthday came, and I remembered nothing of my word. It was then that she told me something that I was too little to understand at the time, but carry with me everywhere now. “Promises are little treasures,” she said, “Learn to keep as many as you can.” “Why?” I asked. “Because each time you keep a promise, you make someone happy and allow the person to trust you a little more. And, as you grow older, you will realize that few things matter more than trust.”

If you look at Life closely, you will realize that everyday, something or the other is changing. And you will discover that somewhere, some changes are getting to you. Suddenly Life seems different, and you want to run away from it all, and hold on to that one constant that makes you feel secure. That restores hope, simply because it is the way you’ve always seen it.

To me, Auntie Flavia was that constant. She saw me through some of my most challenging phases. Whenever things became too much to handle, I would run to her for comfort. The fact that her house remained brick-red, with the same doorbell, the same furniture, the same plants, the same antique piano, the same porcelain dolls, the same wall-hangings, the same unmistakeable freshness of the cookies and the same bedcovers I saw being rotated periodically, year after year, gave me a lot of solace. In more ways than one, Auntie Flavia and that house kept me going.

When I turned seventeen, my parents decided to migrate to Canada. Auntie Flavia was seventy-nine at the time. Knowing that we were the only family she had, and also how difficult her life would have been without me, we offered to take her along. I know it was a very difficult decision for her too, but she declined. “I am too old for a new country now,” she told my parents. “I cannot wake up in an unknown land. And besides,” she smiled wistfully, “I have promises to keep.”

All the persuasion that I could manage did not work on her. Eventually, we came to the eve of our departure. I went to her house for my last cup of tea before I left the country. Auntie Flavia brought me my favourite cookies.

“Promise me that you’ll come and visit me whenever you are here,” she said to me. “I do not know if I’ll live to see you again, but still, promise me you’ll come.” “I’ll come only if you promise to bake me your cookies again whenever I’m here”, I said, in what was probably a lame attempt to lighten our moods. “I promise”, Auntie Flavia said, a hint of tears in her eyes.

We left the next day.

Canada was a beautiful country, and we settled in eventually. Over time, we also made a new set of friends there. Once in a while, news trickled in from India.

One day, I heard from a former neighbor that Auntie Flavia was very unwell. Since I had some money saved up, I decided to travel to India.

It was a clear morning when I went to meet Auntie Flavia. Surprisingly, walking into that old neighbourhood, and past my own home of seventeen years did not make me as nostalgic as seeing Auntie Flavia’s house did.

I rang the doorbell. Once, twice, thrice. No one answered. Fearing the worst, I decided to walk over to another neighbour’s house to inquire about her. But just as I turned towards the driveway, I heard the door open.

I turned around. There she was, my Auntie Flavia, frailer than ever, but smiling. I ran up to her and hugged her tight, the tears flowing freely. “Thank you, God,” I kept saying in my mind. “Thank you SO much.”

I drank in everything - her familiar homely smell, the same furniture, the same plants, the same antique piano, the same porcelain dolls, the same wall-hangings,and the same unmistakeable freshness of the cookies. For a while, I was frozen in time. I could see myself, at different ages, running around from one room to another, Auntie Flavia keeping an administering eye on me all the time.

I held her tiny little palm, and asked her to sit down next to me. “Wait,” she said, and hobbled in to the kitchen. Five minutes later, she came out with a bowl of chocolate-and-roasted almond cookies.

“Just like I promised,” she said, with a twinkle in her eyes.

“I kept my promise too, you know,” I replied. Auntie Flavia smiled.

“You know, Frederick and I met at my Uncle’s anniversary party”, she began, all of a sudden. “He heard me laughing at someone’s joke, and decided right then that he wanted to marry me. He proposed to me soon after. Told me he would never let me feel unloved, even for a moment, for as long as I lived. I said yes, and we got married in a few months. Life was more beautiful than I’d ever imagined. And Fred lived up to his word of loving me incessantly. Even though we never did have children, I did not miss having any because Fred made me so complete.”

I wondered what had led to her suddenly talking about Uncle Frederick. But I kept listening.

“When Fred died, I did not think I could survive on my own. For days, I would go to bed at night, praying that when I woke up, it would be in Heaven, next to Fred. But that did not happen.

And then, one day, your parents moved into the neighbourhood. And you were born soon after. Between you and me, I think Fred sent you to me, because he wanted to keep his promise of making me feel loved for as long as I lived. Because after I saw you, Life seemed worthwhile again. You’ve been a wonderful child.”

We spoke throughout the afternoon, about our life in Canada and her life in India after our departure. Everything seemed just the same, like the good old days. And then, it was finally time for me to leave.

“Will you do me a favour, Chickie?”

I nodded.

“I haven’t been able to visit Fred’s grave in weeks. My health hasn’t allowed me to venture out. Will you visit his grave for me, with his favourite flowers?”

I smiled and said I would.

“And I hope they haven’t laid anyone to rest in the patch next to his grave. Remember how I had promised Fred that whenever I died, I would lie down right there? I had sort of ‘reserved’ that place for myself,” she added with a little smile.

How well I knew that promise of her’s.

I got up with a heavy heart. Something told me I would never see her again.

Auntie Flavia read my mind. “You’ll see me soon,“ she said. “I promise.”

I wondered what she meant, but I assumed she was just trying to make me, and herself, feel a little better. I hugged her tightly and left.

An hour later, the red and white roses in my hand, I walked into the graveyard. I knew where Uncle’s Fred’s grave was; Auntie Flavia had brought me along several times. But as I stepped up to the grave marked ‘Frederick Mascarenhas’, my face fell.

The formerly vacant patch next to it was now occupied.

Part anger and part sorrow gripped me. I thought I’d let Auntie Flavia down. I knew this was her last wish – that she be laid to rest next to her beloved husband. I wanted to scream out in anger at whoever had dared to occupy Auntie Flavia’s ‘reserved’ spot. The flowers still in my hand, I bent down to see who had been buried there.

And then I froze. It couldn’t be.

I sank down onto the grass, blank, weak in the knees. Her last words kept echoing in my ear - "You will see me soon. I promise".

In the distance, the sun was slowly setting, and the world was becoming darker by the moment.

One More Story...

2011-06-23T21:04:00.000-07:00

“Misha, did you know that Alamelu got married recently?”

Sometimes, life drops explosive news on you. The news is by no means unpleasant, but it causes your face (and your brains) to go through a series of psychological expressions before you can actually react. I’m thankful for the fact that this piece of news came to me at a time when no one could really see those expressions, owing to lack of sufficient illumination.

I guess I’m also thankful for the fact that there was no mirror around.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ *

I met her in 2004. The first time I saw her, her leg was bandaged. She’d been in an accident and was walking around with a limp. She was two years my junior, but taller and very lanky, and I remember being a little shocked at the (un)ambitious length of her shorts.

She was obviously in pain, but very cheerful. We hit it off pretty quickly. We spent the afternoon chatting, the conversation surprisingly easy and free-flowing for a first. And then, in a few hours, it was time for me to leave. We promised to keep in touch.

We met again a few months later – she was in town, visiting her father for a couple of weeks. This time, we bonded over shopping and lunch, the way teenagers do. We spoke about our closest friends, our families and our interests, and got to know each other a little more. After she left, we started staying in touch over the phone.

There was something about her that appealed to me. In her apparent innocence, I could see overtones of maturity. Perhaps it was because I knew that she had had a very difficult childhood; she had lost her mother at the age of three, and ever since, her father had sought refuge in chronic alcoholism. He had even remarried, for a brief period; her stepmother seemed straight out of a Grimm’s fairy tale.

I was actually amazed at her unrestrained appetite for life.

On one of her subsequent trips, just after the 2005 deluge in Mumbai, we discovered a litter of puppies in the middle of the road. Their mother was nowhere to be seen, so we brought them home, and took care of them for the next three weeks.

I was nineteen, she was nearing eighteen. Both of us were experiencing our first serious relationships. We would giggle and gush about our respective boyfriends from time to time over the phone. She met mine when he had come down to Mumbai, and I met hers.

Technically, she’d been my partner in crime, more than once.

One night, around the middle of 2005, she called me up, and started to cry. Her father’s alcoholism had taken a turn for the worse – he used to drink every night, and even had to be hospitalized a couple of times. That night, the way she put it, things had almost gone out of control.

My parents heard about the situation from me. Knowing that her father wouldn’t live very long, they discussed asking him if we could adopt her. I had already started to love her like a little sister, and was more than willing to go ahead with the idea.

Around the end of 2006, her attitude began to change. She started maintaining a calculated distance from me. At first, I thought she was genuinely busy, but then, it wasn’t really like her to not answer or return my calls or messages repeatedly. One day, a few months later, she asked me to stop “interfering in her life”. To “give her space”.

At the time, I was already going through a bad phase, professionally, academically, even personally. Her words were extremely painful. She was a very close friend, and I needed her to be around, but her sudden, uncalled-for acerbity made it easier for me to stay away. I resolved never to call her again.

We lost touch. I lived up to my resolution; she never attempted to contact me either.

One day, a common friend informed me that her father had passed away. I did not know what I was supposed to do. Ideally, I knew I should call her, but her turning away from me, and our friendship, had hurt me so much, that I did not have the courage to do so. What if she refused to speak to me again, or said something I wouldn’t want to hear, like the last time? That would hurt me even more. And I did not know if I was ready to get hurt another time.

After a lot of thought, I called her. She sounded strangely normal – not like a girl who had just lost her second parent, or who was talking to a former sister-figure whom she had told off so ruthlessly.

I kept the conversation brief and formal. A few days later, I called again to check on her. It felt strange, as though I was being mechanical in my actions, as if it wasn’t concern but obligation that was making me call her, but that was the least I could do.

That was the only thing I could do.

A few months later, I woke up one morning to find an SMS from an unsaved, but still familiar number. “Hi, I’m sorry for all that happened in the past,” it said. “You were one of my closest friends and I did not value you the way I should have. If you ever think you want to speak, re-establish our friendship, the way it used to be, let me know. I am only a call away.”

Part of me was seething from within. It isn’t that easy, I wanted to yell at her. You were heartless and insensitive and you do not deserve someone like me. How can you even think that a simple three-liner will help me forget everything and attempt to “re-establish our friendship”? Did I not deserve more? A more elaborate apology? I decided I’d not call her.

Two days later, I found myself dialing her number.

She told me she had distanced herself from a lot of people over the past two years. And that after her father’s death, she wanted to re-build as many ties as possible.

I empathized. But I could not spring back to my original self as easily as I had done earlier. I conveyed that to her, and she understood. Over the next half hour, we discussed briefly the highlights of the past two years, and when our conversation ended, her words, her tone, suggested that she wanted to attempt to make things up to me.

She never called me again.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ * ~

“Misha, did you know that Alamelu got married recently?”

Have you ever experienced a situation where you don’t know something, but really want to know about it, but then again, you don’t want to, because more knowledge will only cause you pain?

This was one of those situations.

I later learnt, purely by accident, that the boy was Canadian. He had worked with her father on a project; that was when they were first introduced to each other. They were married earlier this year. That is all I know.

I don’t think I want to know more.

I found her profile on Facebook recently. There was a picture of the couple, probably taken on their honeymoon.

She looked happy. As though the ghosts of those tough years of the past had finally been laid to rest.

I know I don’t need to know more.

Reminiscences In Red

2011-06-19T22:00:00.000-07:00

I spent the first sixteen years of my life in a house with a huge verandah overlooking a Gulmohar tree. Twice every year, once during the summers and once during the winters, the tree would burst into cheerful red flames. And the stone-grey ground below would be dotted with red petals, or occasionally even the whole flower.

I subsequently moved in to a new house. Unlike my old colony, which could only boast of limited greenery, my new apartment had a huge lawn with an assortment of trees. For some reason, though, there wasn’t a Gulmohar in sight.

I did not realize how much I missed the tree till I found myself staring at Gulmohars every time I passed them. It took me a while to understand that subconsciously, the Gulmohar was actually a link back to my childhood.

Even today, when I pass by a Gulmohar tree, I experience an emotion that is fairly overwhelming. Sometimes, I pick up a stray flower, bring it home, and keep it in a water-bowl. Otherwise, I simply look at the tree in all its red glory and smile, as if between us, we share a little secret.

I love the Gulmohar flower – its energetic red colour, the one white petal with little red dots that stands out proudly, the tiny red petals with their uniform yellow borders. I think it tries to tell us to be vibrant, unique and colourful always :-)

Not all memories are in black and white and sepia. Some are a cheerful red too!

Much Love,

Me.

Saying Good-Bye.....

2011-02-13T23:53:00.000-08:00

“Can I wake them up?” , I ask Mami. She nods her assent.

I step into the room that Bhalo Dadu and Amma now occupy. They are sound asleep. I know I have to wake them up – because I have to say Goodbye. Probably for the last time.

I touch Bhalo Dadu’s arm, and shake him gently. “Dadu,” I say, in a voice that is loud enough for him to hear. He opens his eyes.

“Dadu, I’m leaving,” I say. He tries to sit up as promptly as his ninety-four year old body can allow. He holds my hand, draws me into a hug, and kisses me. I kiss him back, once on each cheek, then hug him again. “I will be upset for a while, now that you are leaving,” he says. I do not know how to respond.

Then I call out to Amma, once, twice, then stop myself, thinking I should let her sleep peacefully. I know she is deteriorating, bit-by-bit. I walk over to her side of the bed, kiss her lightly on the cheek, and touch her head affectionately. Her grey-white hair has thinned, so much so that I can see her fair scalp glistening beneath. I take one last look at her sleeping form – her rani-pink bindi, the prominent streak of sindoor, her tiny little eyes, her swollen cheeks, which can fool people into thinking that she is still in good health, her shankha-paula, and her brown checkered housecoat. I hold her in sight for a moment too long, and then pull myself away forcibly.

Dadu attempts to get up so that he can see me off to the car. I ask him not to take the trouble. With all the obstinacy that he can still muster, he makes for the door anyway. I hold him around the waist, so he doesn’t fall. His tall frame, surprisingly erect even at that age, steps slowly towards the verandah.

I hug him one last time. I do not know what to say. Part of me wants to ask him to come to Bombay sometime, but reality strikes as harshly as it always does. I know that will never be possible.

And somewhere, I realise that even he is searching for the right words.

“Bhalo theko,” I say. I think that is all I can manage - asking him to keep well - as my last words. And I touch his feet, and step out of the gate.

From the glass window inside the car, I see Bhalo Dadu waving out to me. I wave back, but I’m not sure his line of vision goes that far. Suddenly, I realize that I want to tell him a lot of things, but I don’t know what. What do you say to a person, who can go any day? Or when you look at a couple, an eighty-six year old wife and her ninety-four year old husband, when you realize that they still have a marriage that has lasted almost sixty-eight years, when you see the shankha-paula and the sindoor still adorning the wife, can you really ask God for more? How much more life and health can you wish them, when He has already been so generous?

Mama starts the car. I suddenly think I’ll burst out crying, but I don’t. I look at Dadu for the last time; he is still waving.

Slowly, the car begins to move. I hear the gravel crackling beneath the tyres. And in a flash, we are out of sight.

Quotable Quotes...(10)

2010-08-26T12:27:00.000-07:00

"Life is only difficult when u have choices"

- Avi, 26/08/2010 [when I was (as usual) whining about something that hadn't even happened :P]

One Little Story...

2010-06-11T11:32:00.000-07:00

We met over our blogs. While looking for bloggers from Mumbai, he randomly happened to chance upon and comment on my work, and, just out of courtesy, I read his. It struck me as simple, nothing out of the ordinary. And yet, there was a startling, fresh hilarity in his posts.

I think that is how our journey began. He would comment regularly on my blogs, and I, on his. Then we chatted online, and soon, added each other up on FB. The first time we spoke on the phone, I found his way of speaking a little gawky, and it actually surprised me, this incongruousness between the polished English he used on his blog, and the tapori Hindi he used while talking.

Our phone conversations were effortless. He heard me out when I needed to speak, I lent him a ear when he needed one. Sometimes, I would try to get him to reveal more about his girlfriend, but he would keep mum. "Some things you say, some things you don't," he told me.

One day, I saw his girlfriend's photograph. "She is sooooo pretty!!" I told him. "Haan, I know," he quipped.

We bonded over F.R.I.E.N.D.S, How I Met Your Mother and a number of tiny little stories. The day we met for the first time, I gifted him a chocolate. He lent me his pen-drive, which contained a few F.R.I.E.N.D.S bloopers, and some Animax cartoons (another of his passions). "Tell me if you like them," he said.

I once asked him who his best friend was. (That is a childish question I ask a few people even now, just to get to know them better). He told me he'd never had one, because no one he knew came close to his definition of the term.

We met another time. I wish I'd known that my second meeting with him would be my last.

The last time we spoke on the phone, he was happy...deliriously happy. He wanted to share something with me, but I wouldn't let him. "It's too special," I said, "Keep it to yourself". And then, he said something that will remain with me forever. I don't remember his exact words, but he told me that his 'special news' was something he didn't want to share with anyone...but if at all there was one person he could say it to, it would be me. I think that was the best thing he ever told me. It was also the last.

**********************************************************************************

We had a funny friendship, you and I. You aren't the kind of guy I would fall in love with, but my friendship with you a was sweet little phase that will always make me smile. Sometimes, when I think of our last conversation, part of me is annoyed, because you never did say goodbye. But then, I look at the larger picture. I think that is something life has taught me. And when I look at the larger picture, I can see your happy grin. And then, I tell myself, that one little sacrifice was totally worth it.

Blah Blah...

2010-05-06T00:07:00.000-07:00

I start work on Monday. Frankly, I am super-apprehensive. (I would have used a more politically incorrect term here, but I still want to look like a good girl, atleast to my fellow-bloggers who have still not met me ;-) ) Anyway, so I do not know what to do at work. I will be in Banking; Banking, which is a word that has always, always turned me off. I do not know how the people will be, I do not know what my job will actually entail (beneath the flowery, impressive job description, i.e) , and I do not know if my work-place will be at Vikhroli or at Parel. Yes, I am looking at that too. I don't want any more exhausting train travel every morning and evening.

And the truth is, I hate times like these when I am so confused. I do not like being unsettled. But like R once told me, I am perenially confused. I don't know if I will ever stop being unsure, frankly. But I believe I've shaped up fine this way, so while I can handle it, I'll let it be.

You know what I really, REALLY want to do, like never before? Go back to learning music. Which means, classical music as well as a musical instrument. Maybe the guitar, or even the piano. I want to sink into these activities whenever my work-life permits me, and drown all my worries in them. Really.

Speaking of music, I've missed it big time. But you know what, I just realised, Life is like a game of Musical Chairs. You run, you run to get to a place that you fit in, and even if you don't, you just have to force a fit or else you are out of the game. Sometimes, you are so taken with the idea of finding a place for yourself, that you forget to listen to the music. You stop enjoying it. It is only when you are temporarily out of the game, that you are able to listen to it again. And you want to start running.

I have no clue why I wrote this. Does it even make sense? Confusion doing its bit again.

I'll see you later.

Much Love,

Me.

Just so I can start writing again...

2010-04-29T23:18:00.000-07:00

For weeks now, I have been giving in to what someone artfully labelled 'Writer's Block'. Sometimes I had nothing special to say, sometimes I wasn't very happy with what I'd written, and sometimes I just didn't have the enthusiasm to go on. But right now, there is a burning desire in me to just come back. Get back to this passion of mine. I don't care if this isn't good work...I just want to know that I have triumphed over a bad frame of mind and done what I should have done long ago.

I think I'll just put in a few updates here, since I still need to get some thoughts structured before they can assume a form on this virtual space.

To begin with, this week started off on a HORRIBLE note - I lost one of my batchmates in an extremely tragic car accident. He wasn't a close friend, but he wasn't a stranger either. We had worked together and were the hi-bye type of friends, and I don't think I ever saw him minus his genuine, warm smile. His death made me want to re-connect with friends all over... I wanted to ensure that everyone was okay. Also, in the last ten months, I have lost three of my batchmates very, very suddenly, and it makes me so uncertain about life. How do we forget that the only certainty in life is that it will end one day? Why do we not make the most of our time with everyone around us? Why do we not hate less and love more? WHY ARE WE SO STUPID?

I had to abandon Whiny. Whiny is a stray I have taken care of for years. But things were getting unpleasant with her in the colony...she had attacked Lily, another stray I have pseudo-adopted, and if I hadn't reached the scene in time, Lily might have died. After a brief stint in hospital, Lily came back to the colony, but lived in constant fear of being attacked again. So much so that she was afraid of leaving the building premises, and had started answering her calls of nature inside itself.That would eventually have caused the residents to revolt. I was given a choice: either abandon Lily, or let Whiny go. For the first time, I felt like a mother would, if she was asked to choose between her babies. And I am not exaggerating or trying to sound noble. I am just saying it like it was. So anyway, I had to choose, and I knew Lily couldn't survive on her own; she was too timid and too bulliable to manage. And so I chose Whiny. When I dropped her off, she seemed so terrified of the new place that she didn't even come to me for what was probably the last time. I wanted to hug her, tell her I was very, very sorry, but she wouldn't come to me. I did the only thing I could do - leave. I want to go back and make sure she is okay, but how do I know I'll find her the next time I go there? Whiny won't hate me, will she?

On the good side, Oscar started his sessions as a Therapy Dog. The kids loved him. And it was lovely spending time with the little ones. Spending time with innocence. I had actually forgotten how innocence felt. How do we forget something that we are all born with? I can't wait for his next session.

Purvish moved back to Bombay this morning. I'm so happy for him and Ritu. Distances may make the heart grow fonder, but not everyone is wise enough to use that cliché to their benefit. Purvish and Ritu are, but I'm still glad they can meet often now.

I shopped for Shwetu's shaadi. Damn, I can't believe my best friend is getting married. But she deserves every bit of the happiness she is getting. And I'm so happy for Asha Aunty, Shwetu's mom. Things were really difficult until long after Uncle's death. I wish Uncle had been around to see his princess getting married...but I guess he will be there, it's just that we won't be able to see him. After all, I'm pretty sure he made Prasad come Shwetu's way. God bless them all.

I went to Mahim Church for the first time today, thanks to Jenny and Judy and Aunty. Churches are so beautiful - they remind you that there is a thing called serenity. Sometimes the chaos around you does its best to make you forget that, doesn't it? And it is always lovely to see Jenny and her family. Looking at Judy makes me wish I had a little sister, really. And I love the person she's turned out to be. Also, may I proudly add, I'm glad I'm one of her sister's friends she likes! :-) I met Ruffles and Apu too (Jenny's dogs). They are sweethearts. And something about Ruffles's eyes remind me of Whiny, I realised today. It's not just the fact that they are honey-coloured, like Whiny's; the same trust, the same unfaltering love oozes out of them, too.

I am going to Shirdi on Monday. FINALLY. It's a beautiful feeling.

I am trying to catch up with a lot of friends this week. Once HDFC begins, I doubt I'll have the time. Besides, friends and family are always therapeutic. I need to see them, and I'm glad I'll be able to soon.

Oh and yeah...I saw Shai's dad on TV. I feel nice to know that I am friends with a celeb's son!

There... I think I've emptied my system quite a bit. I feel better now. And this time I'll make sure I don't stay away for too long from blogging. That's therapeutic too, you know, just like family, friends, dogs, books, chocolate - and a few other things.

That's about it for now...I'll see you soon, people!

Much Love,

Me.

"Nani"

2010-03-15T03:23:00.000-07:00

Her old, shriveled face bursts into a delighted grin as we walk in. First she engulfs Mamma in a humongous embrace that reeks of motherly love. Then I feel the two frail arms snaking around me, squeezing me into a tight welcoming hug. Over the next few minutes, I witness an old lady metamorphosing into a little girl – her delighted shrieks, her adorable enthusiasm, her joy on seeing my mother, and my mother’s daughter – me.

Nani, I am asked to call her. Because that is how her grandchildren address her. Almost immediately after we have entered their cozy duplex apartment, Nani begins her journey down memory lane, recounting little anecdotes of how Mitali (Mamma) and Dolly (Mamma’s best friend – and Nani’s daughter) were always inseparable. How often the families met, either at our ancestral home at Colonelgunj or at the Army Headquarters, in Allahabad. How both Mitali and Dolly had beautiful hair – and how well Mitali has managed to maintain it. How much fun those good old days were. Nostalgia, nostalgia and more nostalgia.

Then, over dinner, she asks me what I like to do. How I spend my free time. I tell her that I write. Her eyes light up, reminding me of a little girl once again. “Tum likhti ho, beta? You write?”, she asks me. “Main bhi likhti hoon. Maine kuch kavitayein likhi hai, tumhare Nanaji ki death ke baad…Tum sunna chahoge, beta?”

I nod, partly because I am genuinely interested, but more because I see an earnestness in her eyes that I cannot refuse.

The next morning, as I enter her room, her face brightens up again. “Can I read my poems out to you now, beta?” she asks, almost as if she’s been waiting to do that since our conversation at dinner. I smile, nod, and sit down on her bed. At once, she pulls out a sheaf of yellowed papers. Then she pauses. “Beta, tumhare Nanaji mujhse bahut pyaar karte thhey. Jaan dete they mujh par. Jitne din wo thhey, bilkul mujhe Rani banake rakha unhone. Kabhi mujhe koi taqleef nahin hone di unhone. Main unko bahut miss karti hun, beta. Unhi ki yaad mein maine yeh kavitayein likhi hain. Zyaada kuch nahin hai, tukbandiyan hain bas”, she says. I ask her to go on.

Then, one after the other, she recites poems that are simple, but straight from the heart, and therefore beautiful. For those few moments, she isn’t just Nani anymore; she is a woman, a wife, who is still very much in love with her husband, who still dreams about him from time to time, who is probably waiting for the day their souls will reunite in heaven. At one point, she is overcome by his memories, and her voice breaks, and I am worried she’ll begin to cry. But she regains her composure, and finishes reading all the poems. “How did you like them, beta?” she asks, reminding me again of the little girl who asks for approval for one of her childlike creations. I tell her I loved them, genuinely meaning what I say.

Over the next two days, I witness Nani in her different moods. Nani when she is worried, Nani when she is annoyed, Nani when she is lovable, Nani when she is ecstatic. One day, I catch her baby-talking to someone on the phone. Curious, I ask Mamma who it was. Mamma smiles, and tells me that it was Rosy Mausi, Nani’s younger daughter, who is due to arrive that afternoon. Why the baby-talk, I want to know, when Rosy Mausi is a mother of two grown-up boys. “Because she is Nani’s youngest child”, Mamma explains. That strikes me as funny, but also very endearing. Then Rosy Mausi arrives, and once again, I witness that little girl in Nani taking form, this time at the joy of meeting her “baby” after a gap of one year.

The night before we leave, all of us – Nani, Dolly Mausi, Rosy Mausi, Mamma, Dolly Mausi’s son, Saurabh, daughter-in-law, Sakshi and I - get together in Nani’s room. Saurabh Bhaiya and I bring out our video-cameras, all set to capture those moments for keeps. We coax Nani to sing. She obliges us, in her aged but still surprisingly melodious voice, with Geeta Dutt’s “Na jaao saiyaan”. Thirty seconds into her performance, she bursts into peals of laughter, remembering some incident about Nanaji and the song. Then she sings a number of other songs – most of them Punjabi folk numbers, and Rosy Mausi sings along with her while Dolly Mausi makes funny faces to entertain us. Then, when Saurabh Bhaiya plays the video on their TV, Nani gasps at how old she looks. The day ends, amidst feelings of love, captured memories and laughter.

The next day, Mamma and I are scheduled to leave Ahmedabad. Nani feeds us one spoon of curd each, as a good-luck gesture before we embark on our journey. And she asks us to come down for her grand-daughter’s wedding. We say our good-byes, and leave.

*******************************************************************************

I do not know when I will see Nani again, because schedules are tight, and times, uncertain. But I do know one thing – for those three days that I was in Ahmedabad, I witnessed an old lady on one end, a little girl on the other, and a young woman somewhere in the middle of them; all three of them blended into one person - Nani.

Much Love,

Me.

Quotable Quotes...(9)

2010-03-13T22:17:00.000-08:00

"Abhi tera 10th season chalu hai kya? To TV pe aate rehne ka"

-Shai-guy, 9th March 2010

Emni...

2010-02-14T10:43:00.000-08:00

All good things must come to an end. Because better things must come your way.

Much Love,

Me.

Then and Now - A Journey Through The Years..........

2010-02-05T22:30:00.000-08:00

Flashback 1 - Junior KG.

We are an assortment of noisy four-year olds. And we are practising for a play. Lalita plays Bobby, a girl who falls asleep while studying, and then meets Emperors of historical significance in her dream. Sahil plays Emperor Akbar. Anirudh and Nachiket play two more kings (I do not remember who).

Flashback 2 - Class 4.

Omkar sits behind me, and Sahil sits behind Omkar. Sahil is tall, lanky and nerdy. Somehow he reminds me of a clown, I'm not sure why. Anyway, I turn around, grab the notebook on Omkar's table, scribble some gibberish in it and give it back to him. Omkar looks up at me, and shouts - "DRAKY, THIS IS SAHIL'S BOOK". I haven't a clue what 'Draky' means, but I'm embarrassed and a little freaked out about writing nonsense in Sahil's book. But he's nice enough to not yell at me.

End of that academic year, Sahil leaves school. Someone tells me he is moving to the US.

Flashback 3 -Vacation after Class 10.

Online chatting is the new fad. All of us are exchanging e-mail ids and chatting online morning,noon and night.

One day I get a request from someone called Sahil. I have no idea who it is, and it simply cannot be the Sahil I knew from school, but I still add the guy up. A little while later, he springs up online. And as it turns out, it is my former nerdy classmate. Except that he doesn't seem so nerdy anymore. I'm surprised he still remembers me, and a host of other people from school.

Then we both get into the same college - R.A.Podar. We become classmates once again. But this time, I'm the nerd. I am inside the class all the time, sitting through b-o-r-i-n-g lectures, while Sahil, under the able guidance of his older brother Nikhil (a senior well-aware of Podar rules and regulations, and how easy it is to break them) royally bunks one lecture after another and hangs out in the numerous eateries nearby.And he has an uncanny penchant for Idli-Vada-Sambhar, I don't know why.

Flashback 4 - Vacation after Class 12.

I am leaving Podar to pursue Mass Media. At his end, Sahil is recovering from a nasty bout of dengue. Somehow, during that period, we begin chatting on the phone frequently. Both of us are nursing our own broken hearts - those that are born out of childish crushes. And in those three months, former-nerd Sahil becomes a very good friend. Very often, he asks me, "Yaar Tanushree, mere ko koi kyun nahin milti? What is wrong with me?" I always laugh it off one way or the other.

In June that year, I join KC. Sahil stays on at Podar. We are in touch off and on.

Flashback 5 - Final year of Graduation.

I am at a gift-shop, trying to pick something up. Sahil has met a wonderful girl - Simran - at the gym, and has really started liking her, and I know he will ask her out that night.

My phone beeps. "It's a yes", says the message. I am so happy for him.

Flashback 6 - Vacation after Graduation.

Sahil decides to do his MBA. I decide to do it too, but more because I can't figure out what else I should do with my life. We both enroll in the same coaching classes. And go write those horrid mock-exams together.Neither of us make it the first year. The second year, both of us do. Two different colleges, but both in Mumbai.

The Present

4th February, 2010

The day before Sahil gets engaged. I ping him. "Kaisa lag raha hai last day of bachelorhood?", I ask. "Bahut Bura", he jokes. "All the best", I say. And then I add, "N I love you, okay?" "Yes, I know - I love you too", he says.

And then, I ask. "Sahil, will I ever find someone, just the way you found Sim?" (And in my mind, I smile at our role-reversal.)

"Of course you will, sweetie. It'll all happen at the right time.I don't know when, how, but there will be a time when everything will automatically fall into place - effortlessly." I thank him. "God bless you", I say.

5th February, 2010

Sahil and Simran just got engaged. When I went up on stage to congratulate the couple, I said to Sahil, "From Junior KG to Engagement!" Sahil grinned. "Arre, this is still Junior KG only!!" Then we posed for a photograph, and I left the stage.

Even as I write this, I smile, constantly. It's been one heck of a friendship, this journey of ours, from being four-year olds to being twenty-four year olds. It is funny how our paths kept crossing - but I'm glad they did.

And oh yes, now I know the answer to Sahil's question - "Yaar Tanushree, mere ko koi kyon nahin milti?" And I am sure Sahil knows it too. ;-)

Much Love,

Me.

Of Teachings and Learnings......(1)

2010-02-03T11:17:00.001-08:00

Very often,it is only when one door closes, that you notice the many others that are waiting to be opened by you.

Quotable Quotes...(8)

2010-02-02T20:52:00.000-08:00

"I think my baby (when I have one) will have obesity issues."

- P, 3rd Feb 2010, after she 'overnurtured' a couple of plants :-)

Quotable Quotes...(7)

2010-02-02T20:48:00.001-08:00

"Kameena Saala........."

Iti, 2nd Feb,2010.

Just...

2010-02-01T08:56:00.001-08:00

This is not how it was supposed to end.

Music...

2010-01-23T11:46:00.000-08:00

I miss my music.So bad.

I sing so badly now.

I want to sing like I used to.

The Journey Called Life :-)

2010-01-22T21:52:00.000-08:00

Downpours and Drizzles,

Sulks and Giggles,

Binges and Diets,

Wrongs and Rights,

Storms and Breezes,

Plains and Creases,

Highs and Lows,

Blessings and Blows,

Tears and Laughter,

Before and After,

The Big and The Little,

The Mind Strong and Fickle,

Harmony and Strife,

The Journey Called Life :-)

Much Love,

Me.

Mahi Way...

2010-01-12T10:53:00.000-08:00

Saw this programme on TV called "Mahi Way". SUPPPPPPPPER CUUUUUUUUUUUTE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Couldn't get enough of it!! :D

We need your prayers......

2010-01-10T11:24:00.000-08:00

Hi Friends,

My family needs a lot of your prayers and good wishes for a certain something...could you please oblige us? It would be really nice of you all to do so...

I'll pray all of you are happy always.....

Much Love, and heart-felt thanks,

Me.

Happy Birthday...

2010-01-06T09:33:00.000-08:00

Happy Birthday To You,

Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday,

Happy Birthday To You...

:-)

Once upon a time,we were best friends...

2010-01-05T10:45:00.001-08:00

She was curly-haired, spontaneous and spoke in spurts. I had a "boy-cut", was less witty and more talkative. She was one of the 'new girls' in school that year.We met on the schoolbus, and became what two seven year olds so endearingly label 'best friends'.

Every morning, I saved her a seat on the bus. We would sit next to each other and gabble in a way only two third-graders can. Sometimes, I went over to her place to spend the day, sometimes, she came over to mine.

Months passed. She gradually made other friends. Our exchanges trickled down to occasional smiles and hellos. And then nothing at all.

Years went by.We finished Grade Three, then Four, then Five and then Six.

In Class Seven, after a routine reshuffling by the board, we landed up in the same section. But both of us had our own circle of friends, and we seldom crossed paths.

One day, about a month after school started, someone came and told me that she would be leaving school soon, because her family was moving to Philadelphia. Soon after, I overheard a few of her close friends discuss something animatedly: a farewell party that she had invited them to. I was not on the list of invitees.

That evening, I did what I did whenever I was upset - I went to the terrace and cried my heart out.I recalled our frequent interactions of years ago, when we were still giggly seven-year olds travelling together to school and back home everyday, oblivious to the distances that were soon to come.

When I went back home that evening, Papa understood my frame of mind. He drew me close and said, "I know why you are so upset...it is because Prakshi did not bother to invite you to her party, isn't it?"

The tears came rushing back to me. "No," I blubbered. "It is because she is going so far away."

**********************************************

Twelve years thence, I am more mature, more balanced. But at the core of it, I still value relationships the way I used to when I was a kid. To many, it may seem like an atrocious idea: here was a girl who had clearly turned her back on me, hadn't interacted with me in years, but news of her going away to a faraway country still hurt. What was I, crazy? But then, that, people, is me.So what if she hadn't cared enough to invite me to her party?

Recently, I found her on Facebook. And I sent her a request. She added me up. It felt good to see her after so long.

Obviously, she doesn't matter to me any more, because it's been eons since I saw her. But once in a while, when she crosses my mind, I think back of the time we giggled all the way to school and back. Because once upon a time, we were friends. Best Friends.

Much Love,

Me.

...

2010-01-04T10:29:00.000-08:00

Here they come, the tears that I managed to hold back for so long.

Suddenly, today, they protested...and I had no choice but to let go.

I wonder how and why things change directions.

Will someone read this and call me stupid?

I do not care. Because I care way too much anyway.

I do not want to be called a weakling, because I am not one.

Here they come, the tears that I managed to hold back for so long.

Suddenly, today, they protested...and I had no choice but to let go.

"Celeb-ratory" Conversations...

2010-01-03T12:03:00.000-08:00

Many years ago, when I was still a schoolgirl (and a typical one at that), my sister chanced upon a certain celebrity's phone number and passed it on to me. Now, I will not reveal who the celeb was, but I can tell you that she remains a very highly respected actor even today.

So, after dilly-dallying for a fairly long period of time, and several bouts of indecisiveness, I finally mustered the courage to pick up the phone one day and call her up.

She answered.

The typical schoolgirl that I was, my enthusiasm obviously showed.So I was scared I would offend her unknowingly. But to my delight,she was warm. And incredibly patient with my queries.

My conversations with her continued for over three years. I would ask her about showbiz, her roles and her family, and tell her about my school life, my interests and my family.

Then one day, she changed residences. And with that changed her phone number. We never spoke again.

*****************************************************

Every once in a while, I think of those times. And whenever I do, I am amazed by her down-to-earth persona. She was an established actor; she did not need to humour my whims. But she still did, because she cared enough to make a little girl smile.

I never did manage to meet her in person, but it is one thing I really want to do. Maybe someday, I will get a chance to interact with her again. And then, I will let her know how very special she made my childhood. And my life.

Much Love,

Me.

Adieu '09...

2010-01-01T11:54:00.000-08:00

2009 was a year that will always make me smile. I think, in the past few months, I've grown up in a way I really needed to. I feel wiser; I feel like I know myself much better now than I did a year ago.

This was a fulfilling year, so to speak.I did a lot of good work academically, I blogged a lot more than I did in the past two years and I formed new bonds with new people and redefined bonds with some old friends.

I also made my own share of mistakes, like I always do. But I guess now I just know how to deal with them much better.

I surprised and shocked myself like I'd never imagined. Maybe it was thrill, maybe it was my genuineness. Nonetheless, the woman staring back at me from across the mirror smiles knowingly; like she understands more about life now than she ever did before.

Life sprang surprises on me too. And quite a few of them. I think I learnt from them that when you become indifferent to something, no matter how important it was to you at some point of time, it walks up to you on its own and gives you what you deserve.

I unearthed a few forgotten talents. I started working on a few of them, and I realised that some of them needed desperate sculpting.

I travelled. I saw new places, and met people. And I shopped.

I learnt certain things about male psychology that will always help me. And God knows how badly I needed such lessons.

I sang in front of an audience after ages.

I understood that an apparent 'lack of expressions' can convey much more than words or actions.

I took risks.

I wore a saree to the Pujo for the first time

And, most importantly, I felt like 'God's Child' after years.

I wonder what 2010 has in store for me. But whether good or bad, I know that one year later, I will have learnt much more than I know today. And I look forward to all that learning.

Much Love,

Me.

.

Quotable Quotes...(6)

2009-12-31T11:17:00.000-08:00

"If the end of the world was a fixed date... US would have finished 10 hours later..."

-Akshat Bhaiya, 31/12/2009 (GMT) / 01/01/2010 (IST)

Just about getting there...

2009-12-31T11:09:00.000-08:00

Wanted to finish 50 posts for 2009. As against the 3 and 2 posts that I managed in 2007 and 2008 respectively. Thought I'll be done before the clock strikes twelve, but then I missed my own deadline, and so I convinced myself that completing the golden jubilee before daybreak was still technically okay. And in any case, it isn't 2010 all over the world yet!!

Cheers,

Me.

Quotable Quotes...(5)

2009-12-31T06:15:00.000-08:00

"I guess sometimes you laugh at others' dreams simply because you have forgotten how to dream yourself"

- Nakul to Mehek, in Nishant Kaushik's 'A Romance With Chaos'

Moments when I grow up...

2009-12-30T20:41:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, 'big' troubles bother me. And I go into the 'Why Me?' mode. I begin lamenting. But then, unfailingly, I come across a situation that gives me the opportunity to understand that I am better off than many others; that there are people who have troubles that are actually BIG, and not 'big'.

It is in each of those moments, that I grow up a little more.

Much Love,

Me.

A video......and some more.........

2009-12-21T11:44:00.000-08:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bzEjYZnZSqE&feature=player_embedded

This little something made me feel,that the little times I've done "wrong" (cheating on scores et al) is not sumthing I shud regret,because that's how life is.A little sugar,a dash of spice,sprinkles of laughter,a few hiccups in between,some faded photographs folding in at the corners, bright and fresh memories, some burnt rotis, cakes that turned out successfully,jobs that suck,friends and family that make u happy....and so much more.........everything put together,when we look back,is our journey called Life.

Much Love,

Me.

Quotable Quotes...(4)

2009-12-21T08:22:00.000-08:00

"A Lion would never betray his Wife...But a Tiger Wood!! ;-) "

- Unknown

Mistakes, Actually...

2009-12-21T05:36:00.000-08:00

Have you ever made a mistake?
Laughed out loud and received glares in return?
Cheated on a test and felt guilt bloom in you?
Barely studied and screwed up on an exam?
Forgotten a chore your mom assigned to you?
Promised to diet and then binged to the core?
Not walked your dog when you were supposed to?
Wasted your time on the phone when you should have been doing something more constructive?
Splurged on clothes,food,accessories and the like?
Left your room in a mess?
Switched off a paranoid alarm, and gone back to sleep?
Not gone to gym when you should have?
Burnt food that you were very enthusiastic about cooking?
Missed a bus or train?
Not paid your bill on time?
Eaten so much ice cream that you croaked for the next few days?

Has any of these things ever made you feel guilty?

************************************************************

Imagine this to be the last,the very last day of your life.

You know you have only a few hours left to live. To sort your life out.

And now look back. And think.

Will these things seem like big mistakes even then? Or will you feel that they weren't ever that big a deal? That the moments you spent worrying about them, could actually have been spent thinking happier thoughts and doing happier things?

************************************************************

There are things in life that have a way of sorting themselves out. Don't worry about them. If something doesn't, or continues to irk you from time to time, it is something you need to repair. NOW. So go ahead and do just that, right away. Don't wait for things to keep going downhill.

Life is nothing without a few shortfalls. If you go wrong, you learn, and if you learn, you know you're alive. So go ahead, go ahead and 'make a mistake'.One way or the other, you'll learn.

Much Love,

Me.

Small World, Big Wonders........

2009-12-19T09:56:00.000-08:00

Isn't it funny, endearing even, how at times, two people you know from completely different places, and totally unrelated episodes of your life, happen to know each other? It always makes me smile...it is like a sprinkle of magic in my everyday monotonous routine.

I know they refer to such occurrences as co-incidences, but I'd like to look at them as Big Wonders. Big Wonders, in a Small World.

Much Love,

Me.

Quotable Quotes...(3)

2009-12-17T13:05:00.000-08:00

"U know, sales of pharmacies world over would go up if they sold a dose of you"

- Polo, 18th December 2009 (when I said something that made her feel better :-) )

"D"

2009-12-17T08:31:00.000-08:00

I need to see you so,so, SO badly.

Five years,almost.

I hate the fact that we are unemployed.

I hate the distance between India and Canada.

Those were beautiful days, weren't they?

Please come soon.

I love you.

Quotable Quotes...(2)

2009-12-16T07:27:00.000-08:00

"Love is a very simple thing.It is like liking something forever. Like this icecream cone.Only in a bigger context."

-Shreenika, 16th December, 2009.

Nostalgia...

2009-12-15T20:21:00.000-08:00

Little images dash across my mind,
Fragments of my life randomly come face to face
Twenty-four years, millions of memories,
Some clear, some foggy,
The sweets Didu made for me,
Vivid green and pink,and full of love,
And games of Blind Man's Buff with her...
The fragrance of fresh rain and moist mud
And the excitement of the first day of school
The peach coloured walls of my home at Lucknow
And trips to Universal, some alone, some with company
The Gulmohar outside my room
That cheerfully burst into floral flames, year after year,
'Ojo' pepsicolas, in Orange, Chocolate and Kalakhatta flavours,
Candy, her coat first jet black, then peppered with age,
Drifting off to sleep amidst the noise of vehicles at Vandana House
Coloured idols of God,repainted by Kaku every year,
The snails perched on taps at Mahanagar,
Both scaring and fascinating me,
The shelves at Colonelgunj,unchanged year after year,
Photographs remaining where they have always been,
The black-and-white TV at Didi's house,
Which she claimed turned to colour while I was not around,
Pixie and constant smiles,
Mamma's looooong loooong hair,right down to her knees,
Swaying playfully as she walked,
Me perched atop Papa's shoulders,
Literally 'on top of the world',
Papa ducking to enter our building's low entrance,
Me gliding in easily, and feeling proud of the fact,
Not realising that it was because I was too short,
Purple shoes that Mashimoni got for me,
A size small, and therefore tight,
'Candy Park' and 'Khelni Ghar',
A green phone on top of the shelf,
"507100".

So many more thoughts
So many more memories
And so many more to come.

Much Love,

Me.

Quotable Quotes...(1)

2009-12-15T09:00:00.000-08:00

Reminiscences...

"I look out of my window, and see a group of kids sitting where we used to...only,it isn't us......"

-Adi, 15th December,2009

Tanu - Sri :-)

2009-12-13T11:34:00.000-08:00

She creates subtle magic with her words; she does the same with her silence too.

We became friends over tasteless breakfasts, cups of excessively sugared coffee, a bizarre internship experience, potential and discarded magazine articles, blogging, and most of all, Music. And, I would have to confess – she came into my life right when I needed a friend. Almost like a Godsend.

As friends, we have experienced, and enjoyed, the congruence of thoughts. And we have had our moments of disagreement too. But I know that happens wherever there is the warmth of love, of true friendship.

There have been times when her inexpressiveness has hurt me, bothered me, confused me. Probably because I am conditioned to thinking that expression and speech go hand in hand. But she teaches me, slowly, steadily, that expression is not about being verbose.

She does not speak it all out like I do. She does not talk unless a question is put directly in front of her. She does other things that befuddle me. And yet, despite all that, she makes sure that whenever I stay over at her place, I get the sole pillow in her room. She spends hours staring at photographs of her baby nephew (the current man in her life), babytalking away to glory. If I drift off to sleep, she drapes a sheet over me. She can suddenly be overcome by a rush of affection and hug me tight, for no apparent reason. She knows exactly how much space to give, and when to interfere. She takes time out to listen, and to advise. She cares enough to chide me when I do something wrong – even when it is something as trivial as wearing accessories that can turn into potential fashion faux pas. She obliges me when I ask her to teach me songs, or help me with complicated Bengali lyrics. She does not tell me what I want to hear; rather, she tells me exactly what I need to be told, whenever I am en route to thinking an immature thought or making an incorrect decision. And she does a million other things which gently speak of affection, of concern. And that is how I learn, that love isn’t about being vocal. More often than not, it is simply about being Sri.

Much Love,

Me.

The Wait...

2009-12-08T09:36:00.000-08:00

Everything
Seems like so long a wait
I give up,
Then I begin to hope again...
And then I give up once more.
When will the wait come to an end?
Will the wait ever come to an end?
Is this only so that something better comes my way?
Who is to say?
I try
Oh, so hard,
To do other things that make me happy
But there are times
When I feel
Like I'm fooling myself.
Will the spurts of my optimism
End up looking like conniving illusions?
Or will it be worth the long,long wait?
I do not know,
Nor do you.
Maybe someone up there knows,
But I guess He has other problems to solve at the moment.
So I begin to dare
Dare to feel that glimmer of hope again.
Someday,maybe someday,
My hope will not let me down.
And the long, long wait
Will be worth it.

" Rahul "

2009-12-05T10:26:00.000-08:00

Dear Rahul,

I am sorry I did not leave you a scrap, or write on your wall, the way others did. The truth is, I simply couldn’t. I could not ask you to “Rest In Peace” the way everyone else did, I could not ask you to take care, I could not ask God why He did that to you. Did you think I was unfair? Or cold? Did you wonder why I kept visiting your Orkut and Facebook profiles, why I kept looking at all your pictures?

You weren’t my closest friend. But you were a friend. We acknowledged each other with smiles and the occasional short conversation. And ever so often, you added a smile to my day with your comments on my FB posts. Even as I write this, it bugs me that I never took the time out to specially write on your wall. I am so sorry.

Do you remember the day all of us went out to eat at Galleria, Rahul? That was the first time we actually spoke. Amidst parathas and schezwan rolls. Today, I passed the same green benches that we all had sat on that afternoon. A group of friends was sitting there today too. Oblivious to the shocks that life can suddenly bomb on them. How unpredictable life can be.

I do not know what else I can say. Fragments of memories flow erratically in my mind. Of how I always thought that you bore an uncanny resemblance to a friend of mine. Of the time you “photo-graphed” all the notes I had made, as against “photo-copying” them, so you could refer to them before your interview. Of the last, the very last time you wrote on my wall, on the 19th of November. Ironically, your words were “Facebook se kabhi retirement nahin milegi”.

I struggle to find more memories. But we had very little of them. Maybe that is good in a way – for then, the main thing I remember is your smiling, happy-go-lucky face.

I miss you, Rahul.

Always,

Tanushree.

Happy Birthday, Sri!!!

2009-11-29T06:55:00.000-08:00

There is Melody in your voice,

There is Music in your name,

Priceless is your Laughter,

Like the Freshness of Rain…

Your eyes light up at simple joys

Your words have a mind of their own

Your smile can break through darkness

With you around, one is never alone

A friend like you is a Rarity,

Someone we will always treasure,

And on this birthday and forever, Sri,

We wish you Happiness beyond Measure!

Wishing You The Best Always,

ALL OF US!!!!!

On Mistakes...

2009-11-27T10:49:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, you make mistakes. And that is absolutely alright. I wouldn't have learnt so much if I hadn't made my share of mistakes...and what is more,I still have LOTS of learning to do!!

Much Love,

Me.

Just...once more...

2009-11-26T10:32:00.000-08:00

I'm going away......away.......away..............

Silence...

2009-11-25T04:59:00.000-08:00

Probably for the first time in my life, I do not want to speak.I do not know why.

I have tried Speech...now, I want to try Silence.Maybe because that is the only way out.

Much Love,

Me.

The New Season In Our Lives...

2009-10-13T11:33:00.000-07:00

This is what they call the ‘Placement Season’. Maybe I should’ve put those two words in capitals – it is kind of a big deal, you know. All of a sudden, I can see the students of my batch being segregated on the basis of ‘Placed’ and ‘Not Placed’. Those who are placed are happy and relaxed, those who aren’t are anxious, fidgety and en route to becoming frustrated.

All these months, I kept telling myself that I wouldn’t allow this placement stress to affect me. But the strange bit is that with the onset of this ‘new season’ in our MBA life, the pressure is more than palpable. It is still early, I know – college goes on for four more months - but since education today is all about ‘relativity’, the creation of this pressure, this stress, is also something that comes about looking at others.

Some of my batchmates will get placed early enough, some will get placed late, and some of them will not get placed at all. That is all, and that is absolutely okay. I do not want to get stuck in that rut of “i-did-not-get-placed-but-he-did-and-therefore-i-must-be-dumb-the-selection-procedure-was-stupid-the-whole-thing-is-a-farce-why-was-i-rejected-what-will-become-of-me-now”…you get the idea. I want to remember that this is just a teensy part of life. I am capable enough of getting a good job, and making it on my own; a few random selection procedures cannot dictate or define my caliber.

Do I sound confident, or do I sound defensive? Again, that is a question of relativity. The fact is, I don’t really want to care. Everything will happen when it has to. All I can do is work hard. And I know I will.

Much Love,

Me.

just...(one more)

2009-10-08T10:43:00.000-07:00

I love you,God.Lots.

:-)

"Words"

2009-10-03T12:09:00.000-07:00

There are things I want to say. But then,silence has its own virtues...and lack of expression, its own bliss.

Much love,

Me.

The Siamese Triplets

2009-09-22T08:58:00.000-07:00

We were called the Siamese Triplets – Jennifer, Prarthana and I. Because that is how we were, inseparable.

They were the divas of our batch. Pretty, popular, intelligent, talented, famous, every guy’s dream. And I was their relatively ugly, scared-to-show-her-face, hopelessly-unsure-of-herself batchmate. But despite all our differences, we bonded over little schoolgirl issues – exams, homework, peer pressure, pimples, Elle 18 nail-enamel shades, the latest movies and chartbusters, gossip, dirty jokes, crushes, and heartbreaks.

There were also those days, months, rather, when we drifted apart. Class 10 was probably the most difficult time for me. Jen was the House Prefect, Prarth was the Games Prefect, and I was the quintessential nobody, who could, at best, try her hand at random cultural activities. I don’t know if they went away, slightly swayed by that popularity, or I walked off, overcome by my inferiority. But then we pulled back again. And I’m glad we did. I will, in particular, remember one incident throughout: the three of us were studying at Jenny’s house, and a professor of ours called her up and invited them over for a party that he was throwing for his ‘selected’ students. He knew I was there with them, but clearly ignored the fact and did not bother to invite me as well. My friends did not accept the invitation either, and explained to (the clearly upset) me exactly why they had been called. (I’ll let the reason remain a secret here). And therefore, why such an invitation was irrelevant to them. That day, I realised that we were way above such trivial issues.

It has been eight years since we passed out of school. And even though we do not meet regularly, I have no complaints. In the interim, Jen was away for a couple of years, for her M.A. But I don’t think either of us felt the distance. She remains one of my biggest confidantes. We kept our bonds intact over phonecalls while she was in Hyderabad, and over coffee-conversations when she was here. Prarth and I have kept in touch too – not often, but I can still safely call her one of my best friends, because we always pick up where we left off.
Tonight, Prarth leaves for London, to do her post-graduation in Architecture. As we hugged each other good-bye this afternoon, I warned her to stay in touch at least from UK, because she can be painfully lazy when it comes to socializing. And that is when she said, ‘I know now that we are going to be in touch forever. If we’ve come this far, we can go on till the end’. I know that is true, and I’m proud of it.

The Siamese Triplets haven’t had the opportunity to meet up for a long, long time. And I do not know when they will. But I can vouch for one fact – whenever they meet, no matter how old they are, their topics for discussion may change, but conversation will still be effortless, because at heart, they will remain the same giggly schoolgirls that they were, not so long ago.

Much Love,

Me.

Eureka!!! :-)

2009-09-08T11:39:00.001-07:00

You know the best way to feel happy when you are in the dumps?? Well, just think of someone who badly needs to smile, and be the cause of that someone's smile right then. Try it, and get back to me!!!

Much Love,

Me.

just...(part 3)

2009-09-06T14:05:00.000-07:00

And I will be Me...Forever.

2009-09-03T00:15:00.001-07:00

Distances
Have their own virtues
The virtues are greater than the vices
And the sooner we realize this
The happier we will be.

Everything in this world
Is part of a plan
A well constructed process
That will keep unfolding
As we go on.

On those days
When you are low,
Do not be afraid to dream of hope,
For darkness means that light is ahead,
Waiting to welcome you with open arms.

Have fun,
But remember, there are hopes someone has from you
Just the way you have hopes from someone else
Try your best not to disappoint
And God will do His best to keep disappointment away from you.

You may have cried yesterday,
But that is alright,
For Life is a blend of the Sweet and the Spice.
And besides, has anything that ever made you cry,
Not made you stronger?

I might not be able to change things for you in a big way
But I’ll be glad if I can make one little difference
Or rather, be that one transition from your frown to your smile.

No matter what
Everyday, in your own little way
Be your own best friend
And I promise you,
You will smile.

Most of all,
Do not ever, ever forget,
Come what may,
That there is a God.
He doesn’t just stay up above…
He is everywhere.
And He is doing His best
To make things better for you.
Because you mean a LOT to Him.
If he delays your smile,
It just means,
That he’s strategizing better, so you can smile for longer.
So give Him the benefit of doubt
And soon, what you most need,
Will be yours to keep.

There is only one thing that remains true
Happiness is always yours to keep
So smile, because there is no dearth of reasons,
Smile, simply because,
Life is Beautiful,
Or en route
To becoming more beautiful than it already is.

2009-09-02T23:29:00.000-07:00

The happiest truth of life, is that no one can ever forget how to laugh.

2009-09-02T23:05:00.000-07:00

To err is Human,to forgive,even more so.

Much Love,

Me.

College Days - Part I

2009-08-30T03:40:00.001-07:00

I can’t believe how fast time flies. It feels like it was just the other day that I was struggling with my Mock-CATS. The frustration I felt back then was so strong, I can still almost reach out and touch it. But that is a different story altogether.

It seems like just yesterday that I received my IBS interview call letter. It was the 31st of December 2007, and my parents were thrilled that I had received my first call. “See, this shows that the New Year will be very lucky for you,” they said. Now that I look back, I think they were right.

I remember the day of my interview. It was raining like crazy, and in that biting cold weather, after cursing the illogical rickshaw-wallahs of Hyderabad, my father and I got into a crowded bus to the IBS headquarters. Ten hours later, I had my confirmed call letter in my hand. I was going to join this college. My MBA was about to begin. FINALLY.

And now, here I am, five months away from graduating. But now, I do not want to leave. I do not want this to end. I do not know where and how a year and a half just whizzed past. There was a time when I thought that MBA will ruin my happiness because I did not think I had the remotest aptitude for it – my fears worsened when my colleague at work told me, while I was preparing for CAT, that I will never make any friends in MBA.

But you know what? Everyone was proved wrong. Me included. Because I can vouch for the fact that my MBA is the most amount of fun I have had so far in my academic life. It hasn’t been the smoothest ride, but had it been one, I wouldn’t have been the changed person I am today.

And about what my colleague said, I can only smile when I think of how incorrect she was. I’ve met the most amazing people here, and I know most of them will be friends for years to come.

I know college life is still not over, and there is a teensy chance that, God forbid, my remaining months here at IBS may not be as much fun, but I just know that no matter what happens, I will look back on MBA, and smile. Because I will remember these moments – moments when I realized that God loved me enough to prove everyone wrong.

Much Love,

Me.

Hi,Blog...

2009-08-09T13:15:00.000-07:00

Hi,Friend...just wanted to thank you for being so patient with me even though I don't use you enough.Even though I am unable to do justice to you. You've helped me feel really good,and very connected to Life ever so often...and even though I can't spend enough time with you, I want you to know that I will always value you like crazy,even if I have my own share of hiatuses.

Love you,Blog...thank you for being there always! :)

Always,

Me.

The Irony of Life...

2009-07-27T13:17:00.000-07:00

Of all the things in this world, Life is the most unpredictable, and Death, the most predictable.

...

2009-07-25T13:42:00.000-07:00

I cannot sleep over fights.Never.

Sometimes,I think it would be absolute bliss to care a fuck.And I aspire to be there someday.

Far,Far Away...

2009-07-16T20:51:00.000-07:00

I don't like it when people go far away. And I don't mean emotionally...I just don't like them to be so far away that I cannot get up and go meet them in fifteen minutes flat.

Most of my relatives have lived in a different city-sometimes even a different country.Some of my closest friends too. And the funniest(sarcastically) bit of my life is,that as long as I am not particularly close to a person, the person lives close enough.And then, soon after we are inseparable,somehow or the other,the person has to move away.

I know many of you will vouch for the uncontained thrill of seeing a loved one after really long.But I would still prefer having all of them by my side.And hanging out with them whenever I could.

If I were given one single wish for a lifetime,a power that I could use at will, I would change the rules of the Atlas.

Much Love,

Me.

again,just...

2009-07-11T14:21:00.001-07:00

what was it someone said about happiness?

On Aalap, and Relationships...

2009-06-17T12:56:00.001-07:00

The very day I met Aalap for the first time, I managed to induce a strong sense of fear in him. That was a little over five years ago, but he is still as scared of me. Actually, even more, if that is possible.

Aalap is my junior from school. And we met through a common friend, Deneb. The day we met, we were at Deneb’s birthday party at this posh restaurant, and I was exhausted because I had just finished my first year final exams. All I wanted to do was to go home and SLEEP like I had never slept before. But all Deneb and the guys could do throughout, was tease me about something or the other. And I was too darn tired to retaliate. Finally, after the meal ended, and I almost got up to leave, everyone decided to order dessert. By then, I had positively lost it. I was exhausted, I was terribly sleep-deprived, and my juniors, many of whom I was meeting for the very first time that day, were taking my case ROYALLY. The only person I knew really well at the party was Deneb, so when we came back home (READ: AT ONE-THIRTY A.M.), and Deneb came to say good-night, I slapped him H A R D. And stormed off home.

I did not know it back then, but Aalap had witnessed the slap, and already decided by then that I was someone to be terrified of. So the next time he saw me, many months later, he was scared to even come up and say hello.

We became friends after Deneb migrated to Canada. Our conversations increased, and we found we had a lot in common. He even wanted to do Mass Media, just like me. In fact, we became so close, that I would often wonder how and why we were so connected.

I should mention at this point, that before Aalap was born, his parents had another son, who was just a few days old when he passed away. One day, Aalap and I were discussing birthdays, and how we knew a lot of October-borns. “My brother was also October,” he said to me. “He was born on the 2nd of October 1985, and he passed away on the 26th of October 1985.”

I froze.

“Are you sure it was the 26th of October, 1985?” I asked him. “Yes, my parents told me, and I’m guessing they would know,” he quipped.

And then, I told him. “Aalap, I was born on the 26th of October, 1985.”

For a while, neither of us said anything. Honestly, right then, I felt weirdly guilty, and I have NO idea why. It was as if I felt responsible for his brother’s death.

And then, Aalap said something I will never, ever forget. “You know, maybe God decided to take my elder brother away because he wanted me to have an even better elder sister.” I cannot tell you how relieved, how ecstatic that made me feel.

And that explained the connection between him and me.

Last year, Aalap and I had a fallout of sorts. He would not stay in touch, and that would drive me mad. In fact, it has been almost two years since I saw him last, and we live fairly close. He did not make any effort to call up, to apologise, and that really hurt me. I thought I did not matter to him any more.

But then, I called him one day, and he confessed how he had picked up the phone a lot of times and dialed my number, but cut the call before it could come through. All because he was scared of how I would react.

**********************************************************************************************************

Even though Aalap and I had our share of friction and lost out on a lot of quality time, I realized some really important facts. I understood that no matter what, things will always remain the same between us – we will always remain this connected – no matter the distance.

And the other - In today’s times, often the sole reason why a broken relationship is left broken, is one’s ego. It is just one small three-letter word, but it has the power to wreck the strongest and the best of bonds. And if we leave this monster out of our lives, and our relationships, we’ll be happier, and therefore healthier people.

Someday, when you have the time, think about someone you loved, but lost. It could be anybody – a lost love, a friend, a parent, a relative, anyone. And think about whether it would be worth your while to bring the person back into your life again. More often than not, it will. I promise you that.

For now, I better conclude this. I need to finish up with my assignments so I can be free on Saturday. You see, Aalap’s coming over, and we have a LOT to catch up on.

Adios!

Much Love,

Me.

Laughter Challenge-d?

2009-06-11T06:58:00.000-07:00

People tell me that I have a 'funny' laugh. Often, when I am in my element, laughing away at a joke, others stop and stare at me momentarily, shocked. Family and friends even signal me to key down.

But do I ever oblige? HAH. My laughter is genuine, it is my own, and it is ‘funny’ because it is straight from the heart and not subdued by the fear of what ‘others’ will think. I cannot curb or change my laughter to please some random people out there.

For that matter, I can’t even put in an ‘LOL’ while I am on online chat. It isn’t the true me, you see. “Hahahahaahahahahhaahhahahahahahahaahhahahaahahhaa” is the true me.

Have YOU ever heard me laugh out loud? Trust me, you should. It’s a treat!

Much Love,

Me.

Soul Sisters Forever!

2009-05-31T01:34:00.000-07:00

[I wrote this for Shweta before her Engagement.Hope you like it!]

Once upon a time, Destiny waved her magic wand, and two little nine-year old girls met outside a school administration office. One of them was a student of that institution, the other, an aspirant of the same. Destiny waved her magic wand again, and the two became classmates. Destiny continued playing her part, the bond between the two kept strengthening. And one day, the two little girls knew that they would always be inseparable, in mind, spirit and soul.

It wasn’t always a smooth journey; distances threatened their friendship ever so often. First their classes changed. Then the schools did. Then they began living in different cities. So every now and then, the tensions crept in. And did their evil dance.

But the two girls, soul sisters already, pulled on. Always. And today, not so little any more, they keep showing circumstances, that together, they can defeat every crisis that comes their way. So the fights may come and the fights may go, but their friendship goes on forever.

Today, when you are on the threshold of a new life, I can only hope that you know how exhilarated I am for you. You have given me, and everyone else in your life, such simple, yet such beautiful joys all throughout, that I know God can never, ever deprive you of happiness. And so, even though no words can express how much you mean to me, here are a few lines for you…

You have been there by my side through it all –
The laughter, the tears,
The happiness, the fears,
The sugar, the spice,
The naughty, the nice,
The good, the bad,
The sensible, the mad,
The anger, the fun,
The rain, the sun,
The long silences, the incessant talks,
The maddening runs, the leisurely walks,
The fatty foods, the killing diets,
The BFF talks, the BFF fights…

I thank God for giving you to me one day…
For you are one of the best things that happened to me
And I will never cease to be grateful for our Friendship,
It is something I will cherish beyond Eternity…

So here’s wishing You and your Soul mate,
A lifetime of Happiness and Love,
And praying that the Lord Almighty
Showers you with His Blessings every day from Above!

Love & Prayers Always, Tanu :)

The "Perks" In Life...

2009-05-25T11:40:00.000-07:00

On my way back home from college today,a little boy and his elder sister walked in to my compartment to sell some trinkets - kerchiefs, ID card holders and some really pretty mobile pouches. "Bargainaholic" that I am, I decided to buy a few pouches if I could get them for a good price. The little boy, who must have been about six years old, quoted a price of fifty bucks for four pouches.And I happily agreed to buy them.

And then I realised that I had a Chocolate in my bag,a Cadbury Perk that Durgesh had given me in college. Impulsively, I took it out and offered it to the boy. He grabbed it with a delighted grin - an expression that will always remain in my mind, and will always be beyond description.

For a while, he kept staring at it. It was probably something he had never held in his life,until today. "Yeh kitne ka hai?" he asked me. "Pata nahin, mujhe kisi aur ne diya hai", I said, even though I knew very well that it cost ten rupees. Maybe I just did not want to 'quantify' that moment, or his delight.

I asked him to share it with his sister,who was a very pretty little girl,but he mischievously (and possessively) shook his head at my request. I hope he did share it with her,after all. Then he got off at Mulund, waved out happily, and my train chugged out of the station.

Sometimes, strange things happen to you, and they generally happen for a reason. I don't know why Durgesh gave me that chocolate specifically today, but I do know that if he hadn't done so, a little slum kid would have been deprived of a lot of delight. Because a ten-rupee chocolate to him is what a BMW, or a mansion, or even the touch of a loved one, for that matter, is to you and me.

I don't know how many points God gave me for my little deed today...but I can tell you this much - today, I walked out of Thane station with happy spring in my stride. And a delightful grin as well.And to tell you the truth, it wasn't so much of me 'Perk'-ing the little fellow up; it was quite the contrary.

I'm so happy I made a happy memory!

Much Love,

Me.

just...

2009-05-19T14:50:00.000-07:00

I'm tired.really,really tired.

And I love you,God.Big,warm hug.

Being My Father's Daughter

2009-04-22T22:40:00.000-07:00

I have seen the difference in the expressions. When I say IIT-IIM, the eyes and mouth open wide in wonder, and a “WOW” escapes the lips. And when I say IBS, the forehead creases into a frown, and a clueless “Where is it?” is what I invariably hear.

Some weeks ago, I met a girl from another branch of my college. She was also interning at L & T, so we just got talking. Among other things, we discussed our families, and the moment I told her that my Dad is an IIT - IIM, she said, “What?? And you are in IBS? You should be ashamed of yourself!!”

I laughed it away then, but right now, even as I put it down, I can feel tears springing up in my eyes.

Okay, so my father is an IIT - IIM. And any guy with even half a brain can say just how smashingly brilliant that combination is. Even as I speak of it to someone, I can sense the admiration in the listener’s eyes. And simultaneously, I can see this hint of disbelief, probably of mockery even, that someone like me is my father’s daughter.

Unlike my father, I did not like Maths and Physics in school. I was, still am, petrified of those subjects. It was probably this fear that prevented me from scoring well in them. But I loved the languages that we were taught, and was very keen on pursuing literature post school. Somehow, commerce seemed to be a more “lucrative” option then, and so I took it up. The outcome was disastrous – I could NOT take those dry, tasteless, juiceless subjects. Over the years, I have seen that commerce students and engineers possess a certain aptitude for logic and analysis – I lacked that totally. To make matters worse, because I had a good score in my ICSE, I got through to Podar, supposedly the “best college for commerce”. And I was disgusted with the professors and the dilapidated infrastructure there. I remember sitting up at nights, crying away, because I hated what I had to study. I wanted to drop a year and take up Arts just so that I could go to a better college and study language and literature. But I stayed put.

Finally, when I was in Class 12, I went in for an aptitude test. And it showed, not surprisingly, that I had tremendous inclination for the arts – media, literature and language. I put in all I could and finished off with my final exams, and succeeded in scoring an 81%. Okay, so that isn’t an amazing score, but it was a massive uphill task for me, what with subjects I can still puke on.

Mass Media was the most enjoyable part of my education ever. I loved every minute of what we were taught. We had subjects like Creative Writing, Cinema, Photography and everything else that I could positively gorge on. And so it’s no surprise that I scored well throughout.

But then, graduation came to an end and MBA seemed to be the most ‘suitable’ course. Honestly, I was never very sure of it – but because I did not know what else I could do here in India, I started with the coaching classes.

I don’t know if this makes me sound like a loser, but I felt like I was back to being seventeen again, where I just did not enjoy what I was studying. Apart from having Maths to deal with, I also had to study English - something that I had loved throughout - in a very different, very uninteresting manner. But I kept at it. Ultimately, after long months of struggle and frustration, I got accepted at IBS Mumbai.

I know that IBS - M is not even in the same orbit as IIM – B. Sometimes, when I compare myself with my father, I feel ashamed. And embarrassed. I could never have the same perseverance, the same go-getter attitude that is so characteristic of him. He is a workaholic; I work just as much as necessary. He has happily sacrificed a lot to be where he is today and to give me such a comfortable life; I find it extremely difficult to give up things I love. He is exceptionally organised; I am just the opposite. He is a perfectionist; I am laidback. He is an accomplished artist; I draw like a four-year old.

But sometimes when I ponder over how I have always been so different from my father, I think of all the good things I have inherited from him. To begin with, it is from him that I have learnt to have a drive, a passion for executing all my responsibilities sincerely, regardless of whether I like them or not. (At the cost of sounding immodest, I’ll say that I wouldn’t have been a good student throughout, if I had just given up). My love for languages has been his other gift to me. My love for books is a third. My love for animals, a fourth. A liberated attitude, the need to be extremely clear and precise in expression, and emotions towards inanimate objects like old writing pads and letters are some more. Most of all, it is his simplicity, his sense of humility that I find in myself. And there is so much more than I can enlist.

For all that I am, weaknesses, radically different interests et al., my father has accepted me and cherished me. When he is strict, I know it is because he wants only the best for me. So no matter what happens, to me, my father will always remain a Legend. I can say effortlessly, that I am the luckiest daughter in the world, to have been born as my father’s only child. I don’t think anything I ever say can explain how much he amazes me, and how much I respect him and admire him. To me, he will forever be the benchmark – I will always measure any man who is important enough to me, against my father.

And you know what? Honestly, the mockery, shame and embarrassment that I have had to deal with because I am not an IIT-IIM, or even remotely close, is an incredibly small price to pay for being the daughter of the wonderful man, the phenomenon that is MY father. I Love you, Papa, and I am SO proud to be YOUR daughter.

How I changed one of 'Those' Days to one of 'These'...

2009-04-13T13:15:00.000-07:00

Strangely, cooking always stirs me up a great deal. I can’t really understand how and why, but the thrill it gives me is reason enough to put these questions at bay.

So today, after enough of fretting and feeling jobless, I decided to make something. Or, rather, BAKE something. And within minutes of writing the previous blog, I had started my research. I found a recipe online for a different type of chocolate cake -‘Molten Chocolate’, it was called - and decided, on the basis of the easy availability of its ingredients, that I would try it out.

And so we began. Here’s how to go about it, just for your reference:

You will require:

• 3 eggs
• 170 g of bittersweet chocolate [even regular chocolate will do]
• 1.5 cups granulated white sugar
• 125 g unsalted butter
• 1/8 tsp white vinegar [or cream of tartar]
• 1 tsp pure vanilla essence

If you have the ingredients in place, it shouldn’t take you more than 45 minutes to an hour.

1) First separate the eggs – yolk from white.
2) Mix 1/3 cup of the sugar with the yolk. Preferably, beat it in a mixer.
3) Add the vanilla essence to the sugar-yolk mixture, then beat it again.
4) Take the egg white and whip it gently till it becomes frothy. Then add the vinegar to it and whip it up again.
5) Heat the chocolate and the unsalted butter together till they melt, then mix them well.
6) Add the sugar-yolk-vanilla essence mixture to the chocolate-butter mixture.
7) Add the egg white – vinegar mixture to the above mixture.
8) Take small moulds (to make small pies) or a big dish (for one big cake) and butter the rim and bottom.
9) Sprinkle the remaining sugar on the sides and bottom of the buttered moulds / dish.
10) Pour the molten mixture into the dish, and place it in the microwave for about 10 minutes.
11) The sides will swell up and become crusty, while the centre remains soft.
12) Test with a knife to ensure the cake isn’t sticking to it. If it isn’t, your cake is ready!! Yay!
13) You can top it up with whipped cream or vanilla ice cream. But it tastes great even minus the toppings.

Mine turned out to be slightly different from the picture, (it turned out to be a really soft cake instead of one with a molten centre) probably because I used a microwave and not an oven. But it still tasted really nice. Personally, I think if you are making one single cake instead of many small pies, slicing it will be really difficult if the inside is gooey.

So, this is how I turned an ‘almost-wasted’ day into a really happening, productive one. Wonder what I’ll try the next time I’m bored and lazy!!

Much Love,

Me.

2009-04-13T06:19:00.000-07:00

There are days when I am raring to go, all ready to face the world. And then there are those days when I feel totally jobless. Even when I have plenty of jobs to do, that is. Today is one of those days. I feel like doing absolutely nothing. Nothing at all.

I need something that zaps me up and gets my creative juices flowing!!!Pronto!!!

"Moonlight Mischief"

2009-04-09T00:33:00.000-07:00

At about 4 a.m. this morning, I woke up for some reason, and felt this really strong bright light straight in my eye. Who in the right mind, I thought, would switch on a light so strong at this hour??

And then I realized. It was no light; it was the full moon, in all its shining glory. I jumped out of bed, hunted in the dark for my spectacles, found them surprisingly soon (I can’t manage to locate them even in broad daylight) and put them on. Aah, what a lovely sight. So beautiful, so serene and so mesmerizing. I could just keep looking.

I wanted to take a picture, but I knew my camera wasn’t good enough to capture the magnificence of the scenery. I really wanted to wake Mamma up to share my moment of delight but I knew that she would have trouble falling asleep again, if she was woken up in between. So I kept looking at the moon, specs on my eyes, till I drifted off to sleep.

I still don’t know how or why I woke up at that precise moment, to find the moon saying hello with that mischievous brilliance – but I’ll tell you this much, I’m a complete sucker for all things natural – skies, clouds, rains, greenery, sunsets and sunrises…you get the drift. For some reason, I think God decided to wake me up to involve me in one of his creative moods. I am so grateful to Him for that. And I’m still smiling.

Much Love,

Me.

Aah.............Bliss.

2009-04-04T12:10:00.000-07:00

Silver wisps of dreams in my eyes
Smooth sunshine on my face
Thick, white and blue waters alongside
Cold, wet grass beneath my feet
Cotton clouds up in the sky
A rainbow smiling from above
The breeze tousling my hair
Half a cube of chocolate melting in my mouth
Aah…Bliss.

On Expectations...

2009-04-04T09:08:00.000-07:00

Expectations. Keep away from them. They’ll beckon you sweetly, even seductively, sometimes, and then throw you from an allegorical altitude in such a way that you crash. HARRRD.

Expectations. Keep away from them.

On Statuses...

2009-03-31T03:38:00.001-07:00

Theoretically, ‘Status’ refers to a ‘rank’ or a ‘position’ or a ‘grading’ or a ‘standing’. But thanks to Instant Messengers, the word seems to have taken on a new definition altogether. For example, even as I type this, Sumi’s status reads ‘Zapped!’, Suraj’s reads ‘Sleeping’, Vidhya’s reads ‘Working…’, Neha’s has her blog link, and most importantly, mine says ‘The Eye Has It’, because my left eye has gone all weird and red and I think it might be conjunctivitis.

So, limited status options are passé; today, statuses have varied statuses and roles to play. Sometimes they tell us how or what one is feeling right then, sometimes they are meant to puzzle and evoke related questions and sometimes, they are there for plain amusement.

A certain friend, ‘A’, shall I call him, had a weird question as his status today. It said “Am I Fickle-Minded, Rude…and blah-blah and RANDOMLY SICK?” I immediately pinged him and asked him why he wanted to know something like that. “Because someone told me I was like that”, he said.

I particularly think statuses give one away. Highlight one’s insecurities too, at times. Like when ‘A’ told me why his status was like that, I immediately asked him what he perceived himself to be. I told him that one idiot denigrating him did not mean he ought to demean himself. Luckily, he realized. And his status is now something much more cheerful. 

Some smart ones stick to the template statuses, but other frivolous, zany, spirited and most importantly NUTTY souls like me prefer to design their own spicy catch-phrases. The best part about a status, I think, is that it gets people to notice you - and talk to you. There have been times when I haven’t spoken to someone for a fairly long period of time, but a beguiling status message has persuaded me to start a conversation with the person. And we have started having more regular conversations post that, courtesy - that one intriguing status.

It’s strange, and sweet, how one simple invention can play such versatile roles. I have no idea whose brainchild it was, but kudos to him or her. Mr. or Ms. Status probably did not even realize the significance of that one little brainwave. As for my status currently, you can say it is “Clueless as to how to end this post”. So I guess I’ll just sign off, leaving you all to ponder for a minute about statuses and their consequences!

Much Love,

Me.

Dil, Dosti Etc.

2009-03-30T13:15:00.000-07:00

Watched Class of ’84 yesterday. And it was, like they say, “Paisa Vasool”.

The play begins when seven friends meet up as a group for the first time in twenty-two years after their eighth friend dies. And they talk, reliving old memories, burying old hatchets and digging up new ones. Although it has no storyline in particular, it tells many stories in that short span of ninety minutes. It talks of adjustments in marriages, of unconsummated love stories, of prolonged singlehood, of successful and unsuccessful careers and their vices, of secrets untold, and a lot more. But most importantly, it deals with friendships. Not just how they start off and end, but also all that happens in between.

And, as always, I was forced to think.

I am twenty-three, and not thirty-nine, like the characters in the play. And yet, I know I don’t have to wait for sixteen more years to witness the ups-and-downs in friendship. But, when I look back sixteen years later, I will definitely ask myself how much of a role I had to play in keeping, or breaking, any relationship that I experienced.

People say that I ‘nurture relationships beautifully’. That I do the best I can to keep them intact. The general idea is that to maintain a bond, one needs to give unconditionally, and give happily. What bugs me is that this is exactly what I have been doing, for all the relationships that matter to me - and yet, not all of them have turned out successful. In fact, sometimes when I think of all the ties that soured in the last two years, I actually start questioning myself, and my integrity in them. It pains me like crazy when I think of those friends…of Ally, of Aalap…and…maybe even Ron. I don’t understand why, despite my best efforts, these bonds withered away. Sometimes I wish, like a stupid little four-year old who lives in the world of fairy-tales, that a beautiful fairy would come down from the heavens, and set things right with a simple swish of her wand.

But then, I wonder…have I ever, ever done anything, to initiate this disintegration? No matter how hard I struggle to find a ‘yes’, I always fail. And I know that when I look back, at the age of forty, or even earlier or later, this ‘failure’ to find an answer in the affirmative, is something I’ll always be proud of. Because somehow, despite being an only child, and having most of…heck,let’s face it, ALL of my whims and fancies fulfilled, and sitting like a queen on the lap of luxuries, I have been lucky enough to value everything and everyone in my life. I do not build relationships for my own vested interests – I build relationships with those I love, because they deserve to be loved. And if they turn away, yes, it does hurt really badly, but I have a feeling, that someday, when Ally, Aalap…and…most definitely Ron…look back on their lives, and think of me, they will wish that it was one bond they had kept, and not allowed to wither. I am not saying I will have the last laugh; friendship is not about laughing at someone when you know you are right and your friend is wrong. But I know that I will never feel guilty.

I know all my blog posts are, and all of them in future will be, stuffed and encrusted with emotions. To many, I probably sound like an emotional, idealistic idiot. Maybe I am one. But my absolute loyalty, obstinacy and genuineness go hand in hand with my emotions, my idealism and my idiocy – like it, or lump it. I’ll admit unabashedly that at times when my relationships go sour, I feel like I am a very wrong person. But that feeling passes in a while. What remains, is the confidence that some years down the line, when I look back on all the people in my life, I will not be the one harbouring guilt. Because come what may, I will remain the person who knows how to value relationships and people. Forever.

Much Love,

Me.

Just Sometimes...

2009-03-08T11:59:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, just sometimes, I wish I could erase it all. Like the delete function in a computer. So that there would be no memories, none at all. There will only be Bliss.

Sometimes. Just sometimes.

The Helping Hand

2009-01-24T08:37:00.001-08:00

When you think life has given you a good reason to cry,
Find a reason to Smile on your own.

When others pull you down and low,
Think of every single time you shone.

When your days are Cloudy and Bleak,
Go in search of your own Sunshine,

Whenever you feel you’re going through the Blues,
Think of all the times you were on Cloud - Nine.

When bad times rain down on you,
Create your own Rainbow Bright,

When everything around you is pitch dark,
Be your own Beacon of Light

Because what they always say is true…
You have the ability, the strength and the charm,
So do not wait for someone to pull you out of gloom,
For “The Best Place to Find a Helping Hand, is at the End of Your Own Arm”

Much Love,

Me.

Slides and Joy Rides...

2008-10-13T11:02:00.000-07:00

One of my earliest childhood memories is that of sitting in the darkened drawing-room of my grandparents’ house (henceforth referred to as ‘that’ house) with my whole family and watching a slide-show of old photographs. My ‘whole family’ consisted of my parents, my uncle, my aunt, my little cousin and of course, my grandparents. These photographs were usually clicked on out-station trips that the family had made; someone had come up with the priceless idea of converting the pictures to slides. And thus had started the ritual of sitting down for these ‘trips-down-memory-lane’. Every once in a while, post-dinner, the compact little projector would be brought out, placed on a table and my uncle would play narrator. One-by-one, he would guide us through the slides, offering brief descriptions of each of them.

The years passed by and the constitution of my family changed. After a prolonged illness, my grandmother left us at the age of seventy-five. I can’t place a finger on how things changed after her death, but they did. Somehow, somewhere. Three years ago I lost my grandfather too. Like any other family, we moved on. But our busy routines snatched away the pleasure of those frequent visits. And, needless to say, of the slide-shows that had formed an integral part of my life.

Recently, some relatives happened to visit us and we had a family-get-together in that house. Post dinner, someone came up with the idea of a slide-show. And all of us readily agreed. In a few minutes, we were all ready. After a gap of six or seven years, here we were, sitting in the same darkened room, our eyes glued to the wall. As images of the yesteryears flashed on the wall and disappeared after the respective narration, I experienced that same childhood thrill, that same excitement; for a brief period, it was as if my grandparents had come back, that they were sitting in the same room and reliving their pasts as well.

In that span of forty minutes, the family vacations of long-long-ago became tangible realities - my grandparents, both young and spirited; my father and my uncle, men in the prime of their youth; their trustworthy blue ambassador, a dependable companion who took them wherever they wished to go. And decades later, in the present day, we all sat face-to-face with the yesteryears.

Why those lifeless bits of film are so important to me, some may ask. And I have my answer ready. There is so much about the past that I have witnessed only through these slide-shows, for instance, my father’s pet rabbit, Bunny, who died when my father was in doing his MBA, our palatial house in Nainital, which is today practically in ruins, birthdays that were celebrated with extended family and friends, and so much more. To me, these slide shows are like time-machines, or, more precisely, like the ‘Pensieve’ in the Harry Potter Series.

Tomorrow, the constitution of my family is bound to change further – some people will leave forever, and some will come in. And someday, when we are having another get-together, with both old and new family members, I will ask, make a special request, for the projector to be brought out again. So that we can, as a family, relish another beautiful rendezvous with the yesteryears.

Times Like These Make Me Believe That Mr. God Exists...

2008-04-01T07:07:00.000-07:00

Don’t get me wrong; I believe in God just as much as chronic alcoholics believe in alcohol or chain smokers believe in cigarettes. (Stupid analogies, but they communicate the intensity of my faith). But then in one’s life, there are times when one questions the existence of that Power. Regardless of the strength of one’s conviction in Him.

I had been questioning Mr. God for quite some time. Maybe it was escapism; I refused to take the blame for all the things that had gone wrong and therefore comfortably shifted the charge to Him. These ‘things’ included Papa’s moving away to Hyderabad for an assignment, my post-graduation plans still being on hold, MICA abandoning me and a lot of other stuff.

And soon, miraculously, God did take heed. He saw me sulking and pouting and He heard me questioning Him. And He took action. No, He did not stop Papa’s shifting to Hyderabad, He did not get me a (magical) call for a post-graduation, and He DEFINITELY did not get me shortlisted for MICA. Instead, He made me win a prize on Zapak.com. A Garnier Gift Hamper worth about six hundred bucks. The hamper arrived three days ago, during one of my ‘über-low’ phases. And it was pretty loaded…there was their new ‘Mattifying Fairness Cream’, their new ‘Pimple Zapper’, an ‘Exfoliating Facewash’, a ‘Deep Clean Gel Face Wash’, a ‘ Pore Purifying Astringent’ and a ‘Daily Treatment Crème’.

And you know what? For a few hours, I did forget all those potential downers. For a few hours, I was all smiles, proudly displaying my new acquisitions to everyone who was around and calling people up and telling them. For a few hours, I was a child again, basking in the glory of having won a contest. And I thanked Mr. God for having taken some time out from His busy schedule just to gift me those broad grins.

Looking back, I can think of a lot of instances when the grins have come in at a least expected but most needed time. This one time, for instance, when I was really low, I decided that the only thing that I could do to feel better was to go to the temple. There, in those peaceful surroundings, I prayed and prayed for the peace to somehow enter my mind too. I wished desperately for one good reason to smile. (Yes, I know I sound terribly defeated, but that is precisely how I felt back then.)

After I finished praying, I got up, and with my eyes transfixed on Sai Baba, I started walking out of the temple. Backwards, mind you, for someone had once told me to never turn my back on God. And suddenly I felt my leg getting caught in something. In someone else’s leg, actually. And before I realized it, I had fallen REALLY REALLY CLUMSILY on top of this really thin man (poor soul!). Needless to say, the entire lot of devotees there started staring at me. And the next few moments were filled with sincere apologies from both of us (strangely the man asked me if I was hurt) and dollops of embarrassment. I hurriedly walked out. My face must have been red with embarrassment.

The funny thing is, once I started walking back home, I began seeing the funny side of the whole situation. And before I knew it, I was grinning. And I couldn’t stop grinning. Passersby on the road must’ve thought I was crazy or something. But the very thought of the atrocious way in which I had fallen only minutes ago was way too hilarious for me to control myself. And then I realized: I had asked God for a smile, and He had given me a grin immediately, probably as a stop-gap arrangement. The purpose of visiting Sai Baba, therefore, had been temporarily served.

*************************************************

Sometimes, when you are going through a similar phase when you want to scream and shout out to Him that you don’t deserve what you are getting, and you aren’t getting what you actually deserve, wait for some time. For a LOT of time, if necessary. But trust me on this one: He will gift you your broad grins too, all in good time. Your grin might not be for the reason you desire, but it will be good enough for that moment. As for the real reason, that will come your way too, in some way or the other. I know it is still too early for me to comment on this so confidently, but something prompts me to. Because some days when I am low, and questioning the existence of God, I either happen to spot puppies, or see a rainbow, or get an unexpected phone call from some one close, or find some other reason to smile. And then I know. I know that He exists, and will watch over us ALL the time.

Much Love,

Misha.

2007-09-28T23:35:00.000-07:00

Pixie and Me

Inspired by ‘Marley and Me’ (refer previous post), I decided to dedicate this particular entry to my dog, Pixie. This morning, I sat indulging in my favorite activity – thinking – and I thought yet again about how similar Pixie and I are. People usually tend to draw comparisons between themselves and their siblings; I draw comparisons between Pixie and myself. And even though we aren’t quite the same species, I am amazed at how much we have in common.

Both Pixie and I love people. A house full of immediate family members or guests delights both of us equally. The only difference is that Pixie wants to gobble up all the attention by seating himself strategically in the middle of everyone.

We both love going out with Dad - he on long walks or drives and I on book-shopping expeditions.

Both of us gorge on sweets.

Both of us are EXTREMELY fussy about our eating habits.

Both of us love to sleep.

Both of us are pretty demonstrative about our bad moods.

Both of us love photography – I do the photographer’s job and he does the modelling (and HOW!!)

Both of us love pillows.

Both of us try being adventurous and return with dog-bites.

Both of us love being pampered.

Both of us find the same people irritating (it’s true!!!)

Both of us can get extremely obstinate.

Both of us love Public Displays of Affection (to a certain extent, however) on ourselves.

Both of us love acting like kids.

And finally:

Both of us love Parle-G biscuits!!

That’s all for now, Folks!! See you later…..

Much Love,

Me.

Of Dogs And Humans

2007-05-21T21:45:00.000-07:00

Dear all,

I just finished reading a book called ‘Marley and Me’. Authored by John Grogan, ‘M & M’ is all about the experiences of the Grogan family with its Labrador retriever, Marley. Now, Marley is all the things a pet shouldn’t be; he is destructive, disobedient, messy and in serious need of tranquilizers most of the time, but as you read on, you realize that everything apart, one thing that doesn’t change is Marley’s loyalty. Despite thick and thin, despite good and bad, and despite the changing behaviours of his caretakers Marley the dog continues to stand by his best friends-his family.

The Grogans, John and Jenny bring home a little yellow ball of fur shortly after they get married. What encourages them to bring home a puppy, apart from the fact that they are both dog-lovers, is that neither of them has taken up the responsibility of ‘nurturing’ a living being per se, and they both feel that before they start a family, raising a dog would be ‘good practice’. Shortly after that the subject of the book comes home. And from there begins the story of ‘the world’s worst dog’. A MUST read for all dog-lovers.

The book isn’t only about the unforgettable canine, though. It is interspersed with the life of the family; of the tough phases the couple’s marriage goes through, of blood-curdling incidents in the neighbourhood, of the author’s career…in short, the author has compressed about thirteen years of his life beautifully in this three-hundred page creation.

The book touched me in many ways, so much so that towards the end, when Marley is about to die, I started crying. I remembered the time my first dog Candy had died and realized, yet again, the value of my present dog Pixie, who is also in the evening of his dog-life.

Speaking of the book and giving in to the emotions that are surging within me now, I really want to share this little something with you. In today’s times, when you have such few people you can actually, seriously count on, undying loyalty and unconditional love are synonymous to heaven. When I look back on my twenty-one year old life, I see many things, both good and bad. I see people who have stood by their family and friends no matter what. I see people who have left them right when they needed them the most. I see the laughter and I see the tears. But what I see most is the need for loyalty and love. In everybody.

Some days when I am really low, I try and feed biscuits to stray dogs. Or else if I am broke or feeling stingy, I simply call out to them and stroke them affectionately. Either way, they accept my gesture with all their heart and soul, not once demanding anything more than that love and concern. And the best part is, the next time I walk down that same road, even if I don’t see them, they see me. And they come to me on their own wagging their tails away to glory. They recognize me, and tell me in their own special way that they love me because I have spent a few minutes of my life trying to make them feel loved and cared for. They always have time for me, and when I don’t have time for them, they understand. They come back another day, all prepared to forget my lack of attention and finding no need to forgive because I have committed no crime according to them. In other words, they harbour no spite. And that is the basic difference between them, the ‘silent’ species, and us, the ‘intelligent’ species. This might sound funny, but if even a fraction of the humans in this world can be as clean at heart as these ‘dumb’ animals, the world will become a much more beautiful place to live in.

Thank you for your time.

Much Love,

Misha.

Santa Claus: Myth or Reality?

2007-04-29T01:28:00.000-07:00

Four months ago, on Christmas Day, I reached Bangalore for a short, but much-needed vacation. After the initial gleeful welcoming screams of my ten-year-old niece, Meghna and my five-year-old nephew, Akash, I learnt eventually that they were a wee-bit upset. The reason? Santa Claus hadn’t visited them that day. One probable reason, according to both the kids, was that Santa Claus had visited them at the stroke of midnight at their residence, but since they had been away until Christmas morning, Santa hadn’t found them and had hence decided against giving them gifts that year.

The reality, of course, was that my brother-in-law hadn’t been able to pick anything up for them in good time, since he, my sister and the kids had themselves been out of town,vacationing, until they had returned to Bangalore that morning. Sensing the kids’ disappointment and knowing that buying them something before the day ended was imperative, he left the house on the pretext of finishing some errands, returned in some time with the gifts, and hid them in the kids’ room.

A little later, Meghna squealed in delight- she had chanced upon the gift-wrapped parcels. “Santa DID give us our gifts after all!!!!” she shouted. (I have to mention, at this point, my brother-in-law’s feigned expression of surprise. One would have thought he believed in Santa Claus himself!) Anyway, the brother-and-sister duo then eagerly sat down to open their gifts. And I witnessed all this- a silent, much-amused spectator.

Initially, I must confess, I had found it all a little stupid…considering that I had learnt about the non-existence of Santa Claus when I was just a little older than Akash. But in hindsight, I realise the value of that one blind belief, and of the immense happiness that it carries. All year round, children long for that one occasion when they can bank on the red-robed, white-bearded jolly Grandfather-figure to grant them their most heartfelt wish. Someone they have never really seen or even heard. And even someday we learn that Santa Claus is but a fictitious figure, don’t we all wish to believe in someone, in some Santa-Claus-equivalent, who will grant us our wishes? All our lives? And I realize why this happens…it happens because no matter where we are, no matter how old we get, and no matter how many ups and downs we experience in life, we never, ever, cease to have wishes. The wish may be small, for example, craving a tiny bar of chocolate, or it may be big- a house, for instance. Or it may be neither…maybe just a tiny power nap, or a holiday, or the glimpse of a loved one, or of the touch of your beloved…whatever the wishes may be, they are there. And they are inevitable. Can we remember a single day when we haven’t wished for anything?

Sometimes, if we are lucky, we come across our own version of a Santa Claus, and our wishes are granted. However, more often than not, they do not transform into reality…they remain what they began as. Wishes. Plain and simple, genuine and heartfelt, Wishes. And we feel a little, just a little, a teensy bit dejected. But then, what would life have been, without wishes, both fulfilled and unfulfilled? We think life is reality. But, in reality, is it any more than one big wish? And, let’s face it; at the end of the day, don’t we all crave to believe, just once more, in someone like Santa Claus?