Friends in a Fort

The two friends, they hardly spoke. Sweet lemonade, sightseeing, and lots of awkward silence later, they decided to walk up the neat cobbled paths. Up the medieval steps, beyond the cozy yellow café, they sat atop the structure, watching the commoners’ lives unfurl below them. The cloudy sky was littered with brightly colored kites and birds and the unmistakable monsoon heaviness. A lone green parakeet gave them company, while they sat mostly in blissful silence…

…One pleasant August morning, he drove her to the fort. All the distance traveled just to show her a place she has been wanting to see, a place where he has gone only one too many times. Walking among royal remnants, they both had created their own tiny little universes, where they were immersed in their own thoughts. Nearing sunset, the day faded into the young night sky. They began their journey, homeward bound.

They were chasing the monsoon. She loved the rains, and she loved it even more if rained during such a road trip. She happily wished for raindrops trickling down the windowpane. The more practical among the two, he worried about how difficult the drive would become, if it rains. Barely a few meters away from her home, they were caught in the heaviest downpour of that month! It continued to pour as she hugged him and planted a kiss on his cheek, and it continued to pour while she stepped out of the vehicle and he started for his home. It almost seemed like the “fake rain” on a movie set. But the rain abruptly stopped—just as it had begun—as he approached home. Fate, it seems, had decided to step in and grant a little of each of their wishes. To give a perfect ending to a perfect day… for two friends in a fort.

The Flower Child’s Song

Waltzing through Life,
Buoyant with happiness,
Bubbling over with joy.

Flurries on a winter morning,
Her song on the radio,
A crisp new flower,
A never-fading smile,

These, her definition of Perfection.

The vagabond has found a hearth to settle in.
Her meanderings have slowed down to a halt.
Her music has found a brand new crescendo.
Her life is spun with a brand new fabric now.

Now, she doesn’t want to leave.
Now, she doesn’t want you to leave.

Stay here, won’t you?
Beside me, forever?

Amazing Chronicles of a SIMBLY South Journey

Announcement:

The follwing pieces are just excerpts from the a ten-day trip I made last Oct. I know it has been a year. And I know that a lot of details must have faded away. But this is going to be worthwhile, none the less.

Amazing Chronicles of a SIMBLY South Journey : ONE

26th October 2006: Bus to Nowhere
Seated in the mosquito-ridden soggy midnight bus, I reminded myself that this was a vacation. She was dozing off in the seat nearby, trying to rest her tired self. What else would you expect from a girl who sprinted across Chennai Central, like a shrieking hysterical madwoman, in the pouring rain—drenched—in search of an ATM? We were inside a luxury coach that played movies for the viewing pleasure of the overnight-journey passengers. The scenes from the highly dramatized movie were deplorable.

Two poor kids are standing in front of their dead father and sobbing. They are so poor that they do not have enough firewood to cremate the body. Drama sees new heights when one of the kids has a brainwave and uproots their neighbor’s fence for firewood! Oh, those scenes!

We had just had the dinner we had packed from Saravana Bhawan—yet another one—at the station. Our feet were blue, wet, and cold. I drifted into a deep slumber in a short while.

When I did wake up sometime in the middle of the night, I realized that the bus wasn’t moving. The drunk driver and the delirious assistant were having a huge squabble. The conductor was functioning as the negotiator in this whole affair. They had stopped the bus and moved out of the bus to settle scores, lest they woke up the passengers! Heated arguments continued in hushed tones, with the conductor peeking into the bus occasionally. During one such instance, he saw me wildly gesturing him to restart the bus, and that is how we got to continue our journey.

The rest of the night, well, whatever was remaining of it, was spent uneventfully. We woke up when the bus was dragging along some steep terrains of the dusty outskirts of Andhra Pradesh. We didn’t know where exactly we were. Her inbuilt navigational compass refused to work. I think feeling lost really puts her off. She craned her neck, tensed up and watched the trees running by and the dusty winding roads, looking out for some sign of recognition. Exasperated, she resigned, “All I can see are unreadable squiggles!!” Signboards that said, ‘Cyber’ or ‘Sai’ started making their appearance. Relieved, we now knew we were nearing Hyderabad.

The bus scrambled along winding roads through tiny townships. Grazing cattle and dusty kids. Market bustle and punctual schools. After that brief patch of civilization, we found ourselves in the middle of a desolate abandoned patch. And that is exactly where the bus stopped for a break. Under a solitary tree sat a man with a bored expression. He was running a tea stall and served some dangerous concoctions to his patrons. We coughed out the dust and swallowed the viscous liquid without thinking too much. Fearing a vicious attack on our digestive systems, we refrained from eating anything from there. The rest of the bus ride was uneventful (we weren’t exactly craving for an action-packed adventure either!), except for being subjected to further celluloid tortures on the DVD player.

We passed the Nagarjuna Sagar dam complex. It was beautiful. She said that this was one site she had not planned in my itinerary for my Hyderabad holidays. Oh well! We got down somewhere in the Old City. Her colleague, A, played angel that day, and decided to come pick us from the bus stop, and drove us home. His modest Honda City was surrealistically luxurious to our weary selves. She maintained polite conversation while I sank into the soft cushioned seats. But before I dozed off, we were already home. For a short second, we travelers almost kissed the smooth, white, tiled floor of her home. There was no electricity in the house. We thought it was a temporary power cut, until the distracting stench that emanated from the refrigerator caught our attention. She dared to open the fridge door.

White-haired coconut halves, fungi that almost seemed to bloom, and other food items on the steady path to rotting decadence, peered back at us. “Aww!” she groaned painfully. A left us in due course. We got down to cleaning up the fridge. On our hands and knees, we emptied the disobedient white machine. I couldn’t help but remind her that we were on vacation.

Evening wore off to twilight and further to night. We had cleaned, washed, and bathed. We drove down to a suave place called Fusion Nine and had a luxurious dinner. We pampered ourselves with fancy cocktails and exquisite delicacies. After downing a Sangreal and munching on some prawns, I was ready to curl up and sleep right there. Tomorrow is gonna be fun, she promised me.

Café Surreal

I was the last one to walk up there. Friends and strangers ignored me alike. But that was not rude or intentional. It is something that you do at Shiva Café. You simply shrink and look inwards. You immerse yourself in thoughts that are only yours. You absentmindedly lie on the floor-level seats. You listen to the waterfall gurgling. You try to talk, but you realize it would be too loud for the café. Rowdy boys are placated effortlessly. So much so that, they settle down for a lazy game of chess and some smokes and some coffee. There are flowers all around. There is an aroma you remember from your past and yet can’t seem to correctly identify.

There are massive glass windows that let you stare out at the rainy lawn. There are glow-in-the-dark stars and patterns stuck all over the café. There is a double helix-structured hanging piece, in brilliant green. Soggy seats that seemed cozy to me. I stretched lazily and almost caught my forty winks. Food arrived. And how it was attacked!

Up somewhere in the misty hills, we had trudged along a cobbled path. We were in what seemed like the never-reaching top of the hill. Shiva Café was where we finally ended up. I had sulked. I was tired. I was irate. And I was angry about the fact the one of us was adamant on going all the way up there for ‘just sitting around’. The mountain goat that he is! But now I am thankful to the Goat. For forcing me to trek up to Shiva Café. For showing me a brand new place in the already thrice-visited hippy haunt.

Places

Agar firdaus bar roo-e zameen ast,
Hameen ast-o hameen ast-o hameen ast.

If there is paradise on face of the earth,
It is this, it is this, it is this

A4 Block, Paschim Vihar
I stumbled around in the narrow lanes of A4 block, as a gawky college kid. There were evening outings with my toddler niece. I was introduced to Ram Leela and Aaloo-ki-Tikkis, here. Loud Tamil songs and Diwali fireworks; dirty Holi with rotten eggs and pristine ones with icy water. Friendly phone calls and long letters home… All this happened within A4 block.

Wimpy’s, Rajouri Garden
I have never been to this fast food joint. Numerous plans were made to meet up with different people, here, at different moments. But none of them materialized. Apart from the fact that I never got to see what this place was like, from the inside, I think Wimpy's has left an impact in my life. Oh, did I mention that this place got torn down, a couple of years ago?

Brar Square Cemetery, Delhi Cantt
Someone once told me that her first date took her to this cemetery and that she fell in love with the place, almost instantly. I found the whole idea revolting. A romantic date among the dead? What sort of a psycho was she seeing? Years later, when I spent my 20th birthday in the green lawns of this cemetery, I think I understood what she saw in this place. Because, everything seemed lovely, barring the fact that some of my own lay asleep in this very soil, now.

Sacred Heart’s Convent, Vikaspuri
On a June evening, I moved into the boarding facilities this convent provided. I was 21 and jobless. By the time I left this convent, I was older, wiser, and employed. There were rainy evenings spent in the room, alone, soaking in the beauty of solitude. Then, there were those foggy days when silence had driven me to a panic attack. Colorful co-hostlers, interfering nuns, sadist bosses, bittersweet romance, roomies, night-outs in the terrace, cleaning schedules, internet cafes, grocery store conversations, art of cooking, faith, exams, and escapades. Ah, memories!

Satyam Cinema, District Centre
Among all the multiplexes that I have access to, this one has the best acoustics. And I love it for being not too crowded when there is a western flick running. I spent several evenings or afternoons seriously watching movies, analyzing cinema while watching “back-to-backs”, observing other movie-goers, having fun dates, passing time, or simply hiding from the rest of the world, within the carpeted walls of this theatre. It’s pretty close to home. I often take a ride on the cycle-rickshaw after a film, and think about what I just saw. I have often wanted to visit Satyam and watch a flick, alone. But I have never got myself to do that. Maybe, I really don’t want to be alone – even if it is for a 3-hour movie.

C2B Park, Janakpuri
There are long winding jog tracks, and then there are shady lawns. There are dilapidated benches and then there is a gym building, framed in clusters of bougainvillea. For a couple of months, not too long ago, I used to board my office bus from the bus stop that is located in front of this park. While staying in the hostel, I used to come to this park, for walks. And when I got tired of walking, I would sit on my favourite bench and scribble stuff on my notepad. Kids would be squealing in the concrete skating ring, nearby. The cotton candy man lurked closeby. And when everything bored me, I would simply watch a microcosm of the world, unfurling right there. Children learning to cycle, elders taking health-imposed walks, lovers meeting, other watchers like me, well, watching…

***

Post Script
I confess. There is a post about Delhi, long overdue. It is the city where I discovered myself. I was neither born nor brought up here, but I decided to grow up, spread my wings and take my flight, from here. But for now, I thought I would make do, with talking about some of my places, within the city. Places where I found happiness, solace, and memories. Of course, they are never mentioned in the ‘Places to Visit’ sections, in travel guides. But, nevertheless, I thought I should talk about them.

Those Were the Days...

When we would wait by the window for Pa to come from work..
When Tom and Jerry played in the afternoons. And when it began, we would drag our parents too.
When bro came home from school, one day, in coloured clothes. They had to change his uniform because he had done the "unspeakable".
When Delhi meant ripe mangoes, Appu ghar, Thomas-Bobu, Cooler, Limca book of Records, and Maine Pyar Kiya songs.
When Kerala was a painful place to leave behind.
When carrying gas-masks and sealed water bottles to school was an everyday thing.
When Sam Sir was GOD for you.
When playing 'house-house' was the sole purpose of going back home from school...

Camp 26 Memoirs

Good friends. Friends. Acquaintances.

Great Ganga. White Water. Rapids. Waterfall.

Trek. Climbs. Falls. Laughter.

Paddle fights. Bonfires. Meaningless songs. Bus rides.

Huddles. Photos. Sighs.

Lines on Water

Is the incessant text messaging relevant?
What about the calls on roaming from Delhi to Manali to Rishikesh?
Just how important is the measly fretting over the cig that you smoked?
What about the time when the only coin I had, left for a call, fell in the pot, in the washroom?

Do these things really matter?
Not much, I guess.
But it mattered so much back then?
It isn’t the distant past.
Then why has these moments lost its relevance?

Like lines drawn on water.

Proposed? Disposed!

*This is the Laughing Out Loud Blogpost!*

With the sudden influx of so many networking sites, I, like 16 million other people, have also been hit at/proposed. You come across one case, you smile. Then you come across another one, you smirk. By the time you are on the 267th proposal, you dont even know where to look, anymore.

Allow me to elucidate. I am quoting some mails I have got in my humble inbox --

---EXHIBIT 1:
Hi from the land of BPO India i am R and let me tell you got really nice hair and eyes which made me go though ur entire profile so write back u seem to be nice person to know
R
Business proposal!

---EXHIBIT 2:
Hi...me 2 a delhilite wld lik 2 seek friendshp then pls pls reply yaarr
This was a desperate one!

---EXHIBIT 3:
hi how r u? i m P from coimbatore. i wanna be your friend. if you accept my friendship i'll be happy. plz reply. my e-mail id is *****

---EXHIBIT 4:
Hi Preethi
what did u do? How r u, give me ur mobile no. if interested in mobile 2 moblie chat. mine is 0000000, chat with me at yahoo messenger g@yahoo.co.in
I have seen ur pic & suppose u to be mentally & physically beautiful. Trust me i m there to take care of my self & my gud friend. I wud b having lots of love in my heart & respect 4 u when i meet u & accept same from u.
Making 100 friends in an year is not an achievement but making a friend for 100 year is an achievement.
Mai jyada nahi thode ki aas rakta hoon, dost ek bhale magar khaas rakta hoon.
BYE & TAKE CARE &GOD BLESS U
G
Mentally and physically beautiful? u me and my god frend? What was that all about??

---EXHIBIT 5:
Hi Preeti,
I was so bored at office and jus thought of sendin a msg. If u like to chat plz come online. U can reach me on yahoo messenger @ p@yahoo.com.
Urs Always,
V
Productivity dipping, fraaanship tipping?

---EXHIBIT 6:
hi,u look pretty good like a female as in da profile, :) anywayz watz dat let know quite keen
j
HUH???

---EXHIBIT 7:
preethi u smiless gud,,,am from oman, be my frnd
The inevitable gelf guy is here!

---EXHIBIT 8:
My name is R........ AM a kerlaite, now in banglore......... Wud like to make frdshp with u....... wud u mind being my frd.......
Yes, I do mind very much!

---EXHIBIT 9:
And....this is my personal favourite --
hi Preethi...
(Am luking 4 gud frenship wid whom i can share my feelings....I need a fren..I have everything yet lonely)
A couplet ...jus for u... hope u like it...
Koi ham-nafas nahi hai koi razdaan( confidante) nahi hai, faqat ek dil tha apnaa sa vo meharbaan nahi hai.....
Meri rooh ki haqeeqat mere aansuon se poocho, mera majlisi tabassum(smile) mera tarjumaan (intepretation) nahi hai...
Kis aankh ko sadaa do kis zulf ko pukaaro, badi dhuup pad rahi hai koi saayeeban(shelter) nahi hai...
Inhee pattharon pe chal kar agar aa sako to aao, mere ghar ke raaste mein koi kahkashaan( milky way) nahi hai...
Warm hugs:)
Please reply ...

***

Life is Beautiful!

The Date

Long, ebony dark fingers, all ten of them, spread on the stark white table. His palms were kissing the tabletop while he sat waiting for her sentence.
Guilt-free.

She giggled and continued to eat. He was trying to clear the air of suspicion that was created with her, ‘what are you upto?’ Watching the rush of moviegoers who burst out of the theatre’s exit doors a few minutes ago, he lazily scanned the melee for a known face, while she polished off the last bits of her grilled cheese sandwich. The weekend live-music band had already begun playing. Must be 9:00 PM already. “Let’s get going!” she declared. “The buses are scary at this time and I have to go all alone!” They walked out of the crowded mall, tacitly acknowledging the end of yet another date.

They hired a cycle rickshaw since the bus stop was quite a bit far away. All through the ride, she continued her cheerful endless chatter. He wanted to chat too, but it wouldn’t be cheerful at all. So he listened to her, removed his frameless glasses, nervously cleaned them, put them back on, and watched the night sky. She pointed out the newly risen moon. “It’s a moon piece!” she laughed. She was always happy.

Her bus was here. They had been waiting in the bus stop for 15 minutes now. She got on to the bus, turned around and waved at him. She sat next to the window and smiled at him. There were hardly any passengers inside. The bus had already begun to move when, he as an afterthought, chased it and got onto it. “Oh! So you are being chivalrous tonight!” she playfully punched his arm.

Her house was an hour away. It never seemed far enough to him. She fell asleep during the journey. And all he wanted to do was shake her awake and tell her a million things, all at once. But he would never be able to do that. She continued her nap, while he cracked his nervous knuckles. An hour sped by.

‘Bubye!’ She got off the bus, but not before she hugged him in the presence of strangers. He waved back at her, from the window, still crimson from the hug. His ears burned despite the October breeze. He was in love. He would tell her that, he promised himself.
In the next date.

At Work: Wordsmiths

R:
She used to say that I paint with my eyes.
She got married last night.
I burned all my canvasses.

Me:
I look at my henna stained palms.
Was it she who sat smiling,
Coyly before the holy flames?

R:
I am defeated.
A fake wordsmith.

Coffee, Anybody?

A lazy couch. Some lazy friends. And then there was me.
We were sitting in a coffee shop, sealed away from the busy world outside. Two of them were embroiled in a bitter battle to save their respective rooks and pawns. Another sat watching and actively commenting on each move. My patience level doesn’t allow me to concentrate on a game of chess, like hers does. I’d rather capture these moments on my camera, I thought. We waited for the fifth one to join us. He said he was on his way. The brown couch became a place of permanence. Were the shop people bothered with that? We did not know. We didn’t care to know. For, after a gap of eight years, when old acquaintances meet, the annoyance of a stranger working in a coffee shop is the last thing that would concern you!
One song after another, the radio belted out a lovely ambience. We ordered coffee. The game proceeded amid small talk. Other languid coffee drinkers ignored us. Nibbling on bitter coffee beans, I watched each of them. Age-defying as they seem to be, they had definitely cruised through eight years of life, without seeing me. I would have recognized them all, had I seen them in a crowd. I would have had things to talk about had I seen them decades later. I would be glad to spend yet another coffee-drinking evening with them, when time permits…
Rulers, we definitely rule!

Auld Lang Syne

The Last Day of 2006.

I got hold of quite a few chances, yet I missed many. I met many of my old friends this year, while I missed many others. I welcomed brand new friends into my life, while I bade tearful goodbyes to others. I laughed a lot more than I sat down to cry, this year. I took up reading again. (That should explain why I am writing a whole lot lesser! Excuses! Excuses!) Travelling, wandering, vagabonding. I learnt many new lessons. Warier and wizened, I continue. While many sweet-nothings fade with time and tide, some messages have woven themselves into my being.

Cherish Beauty!
Live Life!

Forgive me; I am in a mood to retrospect. As clichéd as this activity may seem, I don’t think it is a bad idea at all. Especially when you have quite a few things to feel glad about.
Okay. I will gloat for a bit. I began this year with a couple of resolutions. I normally never make such resolutions because I find the whole process daunting. But the fag end of 2005 really took me to my wits. And, sitting alone in the dark, on 31st Dec 2005, made a couple of resolutions. Three of them, to be precise—A new job, visit new places, and some work on the personal faith front. I got hold of that job within three months, and got down to drawing up an itinerary for the second task. (I got to see ten brand new places.) The faith fog, well, lifted gradually.

2007, it’s your turn now.
Carpe Diem!

To the Rulers

"If you do not interfere in politics, then politics will interfere in your life."
I guess these lines by Lenin, years ago, holds true forever.

Just got to know that Saddam was executed this morning. How much ever you try to not involve yourself in politically colored thoughts, I guess a headline such as this will make some impact in our lives.
Many of us have stayed in makeshift tin shelters and taken unending bus rides to Amman. Many of us wont forget the constant threat we lived in, while growing up and going to school. The Invasion did change our lives. I am aware that what we suffered/experienced is nothing in comparision to what his people suffered.
Anyway, I know this event will leave an indelible scar in each one of you, as it did to me.

***
From a mail to a group of schoolbuddies, this morning.

Red Ribboned Coward

I am conscientious.
I do feel strongly about what is right and what is wrong.
However, I have never really been vocal about many issues that I personally feel strongly about. I can attribute this cowardly behavior to the mass mentality that I tend to follow.
Enough of excuses.

After a seemingly normal Friday, today, after 25 years, 5 months, and 1 day of existence on this planet, I actually cried for a global cause. A cause that doesn’t have (at least that is what I think) direct implications to my life as it is, now.

I watched footages of people in pain.
It didn’t matter what the color of their skin was,
Or what texture their hair was,
Or what language they spoke.
I saw children withering away.
I saw multitudes with the Quilt in DC.

It’s the First of December today.
It’s World Aids Day.

Ramadan Nights

As she walked down the dusty lanes of the Irani market, the strong—almost acrid—smell of bakoor (incense), mixed with the heavenly aroma of shawrma cooking somewhere nearby, thrust itself into her nostrils. She ran her fingers over the rich carpets and the muslin robes. A cacophony of skull-capped children distracted her from the fabrics. The teeming Mohammedan bustle in the market—haggling men; unnoticed women; fattened animals—sheltered under the bright blue tarpaulin sheets that served as roofs. Turkish coffee and shai. Trained eagles and listless camels.

These were things that she saw ever since she could remember. These were affairs that she had taken for granted, for so many years. As alien as the culture was from hers, it was just as dear. Swimming in the tide of unknown people, she wondered if she would ever return to this country again. Would she ever experience this familiar bustle and din? But then, one suffocating evening, Joshi who stood in front of the bathroom mirror, changed everything for him and her.

He was listening to Handel. Staring intently into his cold empty eyes, he watched himself as he slit his own throat. He watched the thick red fluid blending smoothly with the running tap water. By the time she figured that something was not right, he was lifeless. They sent him back home in a wooden box, sealed from the world outside.

Now, seven years later, in another country, she sat down alone on the stairs in front of a massive red Mughal structure. On a full moon night, watching the glistening Iftar shopping, she transported herself to her Irani market days. And once again, it was only the bakoor and the Irani carpets that ever mattered to her.

The Vagabond

She stood at the unopened door, watching people bustling in and out of the metro train. Earplugs sealed her from the manic world around her. Wisps of hair flying about, others hanging limply, she leaned disobediently on the glass that had a sticker warning ‘do not touch glass’. She chose to ignore the papery admonition. Faint sunlight, softened through the glass windows, and streamed into the compartment.

She brooded over the numerous thoughts she had hoarded like an over-zealous squirrel. What is it that ties us down to mundanity? Muse never failed her whenever she was on a long journey. Her mind wandered, aimlessly poring over old movie plots. Armed men blasting into the vehicle, screaming women, frozen men, howling children, all silenced when they brandish their weapons. Money-less travelers left to fend for themselves… Her train of silly thoughts broke off here, her skin betrayed a sheen of freshly appeared cold sweat. The air-conditioned chill welcomed her back to the present.

She was leaving a couple of things behind. Among them was the comfort that stemmed out of familiarity. A never-used guitar and a PSR-260 that made her cry bitterly the last time she played it. The guitar will remain giving tacit company to the synthesizer until she gathers courage to touch them again. Chinese wall hangings and framed, smiling friends graced the blanched walls. A dusty wind chime—so heavy that it would need a tornado to make it chime—hung from an orange colored fancy light. A soothing Good News Bible and a prayer-wheel rest atop a glass stand alongside ginger-flavored, obese candles. An unused bed accompanied by a deep blue bolster. Raggedy dolls and jute bags. A faithful old radio. Color pencils. The hand-made velvet rug covering gleaming beige tiles. Bright yellow curtains that flirted with the Rajastani painting. Peeling plaster tactfully hidden by the borrowed bookrack.Her room. Her world.

When it got dark outside, and when the train began its stealthy descent into the underground station, she gathered her luggage—which was just a rucksack, really—and prepared to disembark. Her eyes stung while they accustomed to the bleak and balmy exterior. No one would be waiting for her at the station. She would just drop her travel token and walk through the exit gate, out into the Unknown. She absent-mindedly recited Walt Whitman while trudging out:

You road I enter upon and look around!
I believe you are not all that is here;
I believe that much unseen is also here.

Invocation

Please keep Boogley's father in your prayers...
It may be a small gesture, but I guess it can go a long way for a lot of people in grief...

Thank you.

Pursuit of a Soul

Looking around for my tonic of life,

I turn back, disillusioned.

Feeling helpless is the worst feeling, ever.

It’s bleak and foggy as I try to look beyond the immediate.

Steel cuffs frozen on wrists,

Imaginary shackles in a seemingly free life.

Dripping in dark hope and shadows of pretence,

Giggles of false gaiety, bitter tears tactfully hidden.

Will I ever see some light?

I continue my search.

Enamored with youth.