One More Story...

“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.

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 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.

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“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

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.....

“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)

"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...

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...

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...

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.