Cowboys, Soccer Players, and Blue Birds

Vacation months were simply fabulous. Sure we had our holiday homework and chores to do. But even then, there was so much time to while away.

The summer days were terribly hot and it was inhuman to let any child outside to play. So we were to sit indoors and device ways to keep ourselves engaged. At least until sunset. We woke up late. And we spent some time in front of the TV watching the Quran reading and the Kuwaiti Folk Dance programmes. What kept us waiting were the cartoons that were aired right after these two items. Tom and Jerry, some Japanese cartoons, Heidi, Little Princess, and Daddy Long-legs – all these were dubbed in Arabic. We didn’t really understand too much, but they were cartoons and we wouldn’t miss it for the world. The Kuwaiti TV channels began their western programmes much later in the day. Around 4pm. That is when sitcoms like Saved by the Bell, and Charles in Charge, were shown. This time, in English.

We were not allowed outdoors, but we still could play in the corridors of the building. Cricket was not a big thing back then. Not to the Indian kids born and brought up in Kuwait. Instead, we used to read Nancy Drews, Famous Fives, Secret Sevens, and Hardy Boys. And as a spin off, we formulated “secret clubs”. There was a janitor’s closet at end of the corridor and one day, we found the door was unlocked. Seven of us bundled inside the tiny room and decided this is where we will have secret meetings from now on. We had a name – the Blue Birds club. The name came from the school bus we used to take to school. The big yellow school buses made by the "Blue Bird company”.

We used to play cowboy-cowboy. Nothing sophisticated… We were cowboys and we used to imagine we have horses and that we are riding them everywhere we go. So instead of walking or running around like regular kids, we would “gallop” everywhere J It probably came up from the Westerns we used to see in Eastman color. We did not understand a word. But we loved watching them.

Sitting on the half-broken building wall, we fervently discussed about Captain Majid and his incredible soccer team. Captain Majid was this Japanese cartoon about a soccer team. We used to watch it – of course, in Arabic. When we were fired up sufficiently, we scampered off to the open space to play, while some of the “grown ups” made membership badges for the Blue Birds club. I don’t remember the names of most of my playmates from back then, except a girl named Meera. And that was probably because I did not like her all that much. These were the pre-Gulf War days, some 20 years ago. Today, when I see an old episode of Small Wonder or when I hear the theme song of the Mickey Mouse club (M-I-C-K-E-Y…remember??), all these come rushing back to my mind in disjoint snippets. I feel nostalgic and I try to Google and YouTube them out.

Sadly, that is all I can do now to become a Cowboy, a Japanese Soccer Player, and a Blue Bird all at once.

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Links
CAPTAIN MAJID : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SNNuWt7wsZo
BLUEBIRD SCHOOL BUS : http://www.harrydavis.com/long009.jpg
OLD KUWAITI TV SHOW : http://www.youtube.com/watchv=n9H3Iu91csc&feature=related
LITTLE PRINCESS : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q322I2DJfn0

Family Photos and Yadda Yadda Yadda

The other day, I shared some photos of my family, with the people here at work. And this is what transpired…

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Absolutely beautiful.....but more importantly.....are any of your brothers single, employed, independently wealthy....looking for a slightly used, overweight, 40-something with 2 boys??

Just have them email me at "the_catch_of_the_day.com"
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LOL :)

Will pass on the message to the men. And the family :)

Oh K -- some of those brothers are here. In Jersey.
Just thought of letting you know !
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You won't believe it......K just stormed out of the office, saying nothing more than "I have to fill up the car -- I'm going to New Jersey!" Does your sister do individual counseling?? If so, I am in desperate need....:)
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Lemme call up their wives. Would be good to let them know that they can expect K over for dinner :)
My sister also takes sessions of group therapy. And for "us", I am sure she will give us a great discount!
Hooboy.. she is going to need some therapy herself, IF she gets to know how things are out here. She STILL doesn't know about your kids!

I was WRITING a letter to mom. I want to share an excerpt with you guys:

Things that make me happy to be HERE in America:

1. M sold his babies and he is still walking around scot-free.
2. R says I can drive a Polaris 4 wheeler all over the place by fibbing that I work for a landscape company.
3. Underwear can be discussed without getting shot at.
4. I am expected to film a Bollywood video out here at my place today. But K has offered to oil me up with her exotic stuff instead :P
5. K and M have mastered Sign Language to communicate with their temporarily mute friend.
6. RABBIT TRANSIT has honored me with Rider of the Month award. Now my bus seats shall be clean :D
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If you are serious about sending the excerpt, you won't have to worry about the cost of a ticket back to India....you're parents will pay to SAVE YOU!!
===
I am really enjoying my freedom w/o the kids! I just came back from a quick whirlwind trip to Bangladesh where I made a cameo appearance in the latest Bollywood music video titled "Another One Rides the Bus." I played the bus driver that sings and dances when new American riders get on the bus for the first time. I've already been invited back to do another video for Beyonce's upcoming single "Psycho Taxi Driver!!" My new life as an entertainer is so exciting -- but I'll always remember my friends! Watch for me on the Star+India and Colours channels, now available on DishNetwork.

Lunch Talks

So we were out running errands one of these days during lunch time.

Two of them went to grab a quick bite. R and I went to the Pharmacy and then stopped by at the bank. We were supposed to pick M and K from the fast food joint on our way back to work. R suddenly hatched a master plot. She called up the food joint. The guy at the counter picked up, expecting a routine order of a cold sub or a salad. But this is what he got to hear -- "Hi, I am calling to let you know a news about one of your customers named. He is in there right now having lunch. I am his sister. His wife is having a baby! Can you please tell him that she is in labour and that I am coming over to drive him to the hospital?"
A hysteric counterguy did not waste any time in rushing to the floor and declaring loudly "Is there someone out here by the name of M? Well, sir, YOUR WIFE IS HAVING A BABY!!"
Now, M is a seasoned player. He has known R for years now. He knew only too well about this than to react. So he sat there eating his salad. His fellow customers were shocked at how callous he was about this whole incident, and they glared at him. One old lady even went up to him and told him what a prick he was.
"Well, I am not the bastard's father!"
*Collective Gasp*
Mind you - M is a single man with no wife, let alone a baby :)

His face was worth a million bucks, when they got into the car. R and I were in the parking lot waiting for them, we did not dare to go inside the food joint. There were two cops sitting in the joint and having food, and they came out to the parking lot when they saw the commotion -- so we fled the scene.

Do you think it is a federal offence here if you call up a food joint and tell them that one of their customers' imaginary wife is having an imaginary baby?
I guess we would talk about this over lunch tomorrow.

About Cabbies and Bunnies and Everything Else that Matters

Let us take a moment here and talk about the modes of transport available in the where I live. Oh yes, we have the huge swanky cars with umpteen cylinders – the gas guzzlers – zipping down the highways. And we have superb motorcycles that make heads turn. You can even spot Amish buggies clunking down the lane. Yes siree, I live in the only American state that has Amish settlements.

But nothing prepared me for the scarcity of public transportation here.
“Buses? Who would wanna take that?!”
“Umm – me? I don’t have a drivers’ license yet.”
I always get the deer-in-the-headlights expression when I say that sentence. They are ALWAYS unprepared for that one.

So, I thumbed through the yellow pages and found a couple of cab numbers that I could rely on. Reliability is not their top priority here – for these cabbies. I live in a suburban area where every household owns a car or two. Who the hell would want to take a ride in a stuffy taxi? Well, I definitely could use a ride!

Here are some hard facts. There are FOUR cabs serving this county. And there are four cab companies and there are four drivers, namely, Grumpy Lady (GL) Driver, Indifferent Guy (IG) Driver, Chatty Dangerous (CD) Driver, Rehab Relapse (RR) Driver. Not much of a list to choose from. And it is difficult to keep track of who works for whom because they quit a company overnight. I used to call up IG the most because, well, he is indifferent. But then, one day I called him to hear this: “I don’t drive no more taxis anymore lady. Call some other bas***d”.
Hmmm.

GL was rough and terrible to even sit next to. I moved into my apartment a day before Halloween (that is Americanized… a day after Diwali is more like it…) I dragged in three boxes past the door and tried to put them into the car’s boot. She didn’t flinch. She sat in the driver’s seat and solved her daily crossword. I hated her instantly. And I swore never to call her up again.

CD is not too bad, if only he would stop turning around while chatting and driving at those dangerous speeds. My eyeballs would go deep into the eye sockets every time he revved up the engine, and would pop right out when he slammed the brakes. I am just newly insured, with no desire to visit the hospital or lie in a pristine coffin in a fancy funeral parlour any time soon.

And that is how Rehab guy and I met. Not very romantic, I admit. But this is how I got to work. I would sit in the backseat while he drove and spewed hate literature about discrimination and monologues about how life isn’t really as pretty as it seems on TV.

Television, I thought, now there is a neutral subject I can bring up with this chap.
“I don’t watch TV. Just too much violence. I have a life equally violent. I don’t need to watch it for entertainment.”
G-U-L-P

Over the course of five days, I got to know that he is a sketch artist with no money thanks to the economy. They all love to blame it on the economy and I have trained myself to nod sympathetically and make the appropriate grunts of disapproval. Gosh, I sound like a husband! Coming back to the Rehab guy. So, he goes for classes to a de-addiction centre and is “graduating” next week. I asked him if he has managed to stay clean and he told me that this was his second session after relapse.

After a week of being driven around I wasn’t too sure about continuing this. Money wasn’t much and frankly, I was beginning to worry that strange people knew where I live and where I work. That is when I turned my attention to the second mode of public transport – the bus.

* * *

Allow me to introduce you to the quaint ways of the Rabbit Transit, in other words, the county’s mode of public transportation.

York County has a series of buses plying its roads crisscross, from the suburbs to downtown and back. You can never get lost if you take one of them, because they all go in loops. The bus stops are marked with a bunny picture and a helpline number that will help you identify what bus goes where.

These huge buses are red in color and have–get this—a BUNNY TAIL PAINTED ON THE REAR END OF THE VEHICLE. It is almost always empty and it almost always makes a stop at all the major shopping complexes and similar such outlets. Most of the drivers are women. Not that there is anything wrong with that. They are a chatty lot and they love to read while at work. A very dangerous trend, I have to note.

So, you think you can get a ride on the Bunny Bus? It is not as easy as it sounds. They are so hard to spot. When you are sitting in a car and going some place and when you are not particularly looking out for a bus… that is when you spot the maximum number of these buses. I chased the evasive bunny for days.

One evening, I was determined to hop on to one of them buses. Hop on… that’s a nice way to say that you are boarding a bus. Not to mention, a Rabbit Transit bus. I walked out of the office building and walked in the direction that one of the Rabbit maps directed me to. I did not see any bus stop for yards and miles. Just when I thought I would die of exhaustion, I got to one stop. While catching my breath I noticed what a desolate little spot it was. Not a single human in sight. Why would someone board a bus from here?

I stood there for an hour, it rained, the Rehab Guy ditched me, and finally, a colleague came and got me. She dropped a sad, cold, wet, and stinky me home. That night, while munching on a midnight snack (yes, one of those American vices that I developed), I decided that I HAVE to get on one of those Rabbit buses. Sunday would be a good day, I decided.

I went through the complete drill of waiting for an hour-and-a-half and got a bus. No, in fact, Rabbit Transit rewarded my wait with TWO buses. Oh, I get a choice of routes. I am delighted. I take in the musty ambience inside the bus. The lady behind the wheels gives me a guided tour of the area, since I am new in town. How did she know? I did not know the bus fare and I fumbled with the quarters and nickels and dimes and dollars.
I got back home after three hours.

No points for guessing how I got to work this morning. Oh and did I tell you about the survey I had to fill out, at work? Funny Lady and Funny Man came up with a strange little survey that I had to take. Sample these questions:
1. Does the bus you are riding have a bunny tail, or not?
2. Are the seats clean?
3. Is the bus hostess friendly and serving you complimentary cocktails?
4. Does the person sitting next to you smell?
5. Do you have a sworn affidavit of your identity while traveling on the bus?
I should stop, for now. My bunny ride is here.

Small Sticky Notes

I am dealing with a new country and a new continent. I am dealing with air that feels different and trees that look different. I am dealing with non-spicy food and spicy political shows. All in all, I am dealing with change. During comparatively stressful times such as this, humor—specifically at the workplace—helps!

So when I walked into the warm little basement of the office, guided to my workspace in a bare cubicle, I was not expecting to be shown some showgirl costumes stashed away in the locker, or the saucy headgear for those really trying days. I gave an unsure laugh, not sure if that is the reaction they were looking for. I was welcomed to the fold with a couple more crass jokes and free laughter. I am relieved.

I walked around the cubicles and found funny notes all over. I found pictures of happy and hilarious moments. I am in an Americanized Bay26! This is like the mirror world or some parallel universe where everything that’s exactly the same is happening to a different set of people.

I am taken around town during lunch hours, I am given tacky books to read and make book reports of, I am shown secret haunts where things are on sale for throwaway prices. We walked into a store and tried on all the funny hats and made all the necessary noise in there that would be enough to raise some eyebrows and a lot of concern.

Oh and the other day, one of them happily slipped a—ahem—condom into my hand. I wasn’t sure what I should say about her concern about my new life. But before I was required to react she squealed, “Oh look where it is made! INDIA!” I did not know that Latex was such a huge industry back home. Then why such an explosive population?
Hmm.

The apartment hunt is on. And it is a big project out here. They are all looking. And how so! Calls are being made, I am taken around to see places, recommendations for me are being made, I am constantly given tips of how to negotiate with landlords. Furniture places, discount coupons, contacts, carpet places… everything is discussed.

Welcome to the USA.

* * *

So, I found an apartment and settling in was, delightful, to say the least. But coming back home to face the four and many walls with the feeling that there isn’t going to be another human being in the house – that upsets me a bit. I have been watching movies back-to-back and have taken up to calling up people near and far. And I sit and wonder what do people here do in the evenings. It gets dark by 5pm. So, that pretty much restricts a “life” out here in the suburbs.

One startling revelation was just how much Americans LOVE their television. Cut off the cable connection for a few hours and you will get to see berserk, panicky people tearing their hair and screaming down the street. Ok, so that was a highly colored picture that I just painted, but truth be told, these guys are glued to their televisions. They discuss shows and more shows during lunch and coffee. They discuss the dimensions of their televisions with such passion. And no one owns just one set. There has to be at least two (one for the living room and one for the bedroom). The extravagant ones have units fit in the kitchen and the basement. And the loony ones have one installed on their fridge door. Fancy having dinner and staring at your refrigerator door throughout the process. Now, that is why I used the word loony. (Also, because I want to use that word. It is a Monday.)

People at work are shocked to know that I do not own a TV yet. I am shocked that they are shocked! Suddenly, the fact that my apartment is echoing because there is no furniture in there, and the fact that I am sleeping on the floor, diminish in importance. “Egad! You don’t have a TV??!” They, being the helpful souls that they are, discussed more television with me than ever before. And then there were deals about which one of them will loan me a TV. I turned down the offer as forcefully as I could. But I had to give up. There will be a 13” and/or a 23” settling in my apartment soon.

Oh well, the apartment won’t echo all that much, I reckon.

* * *

I am beginning to wonder if I should keep a log of some sorts. To record all the crazy things that transpire at work. If I did keep one, today’s entry would go something like this –

Nov 03, ’08: Lady at work reveals that she has an enormous uterus. Funny guy covers his ears in dismay and starts singing church hymns to chastise himself after THAT piece of news. Friendly lady laughs uncontrollably and almost rams her vehicle into a truck – with a terrified me in it.

Later today, at the Diners, Funny man introduces me as his third wife, his new bride. Funny lady plays along and introduces the remaining two women as his first and second wives. Oh and what a jovial bunch we all are. She said, “He married me for my brains, her for her breasts and the third one for her exotic beauty.”

I think I choked on my soup.

I got a pair of Christmas Green hand towels from these guys. A tacky housewarming gift. I was beginning to worry if they would gift me the ugly office clown. I hate clowns. They are scary. This little clown sits and bobs its head and sings “It’s a small world after all” Eeks.

Did I tell you that they think I would make a good waitress at Hooters because they think that I am—umm—well stacked?

Hooboy.

PS: Folks at work have been so good to me. So, today I got them incense sticks. One of the delightful scents is "Frangipani"… and Funny Guy likes to call it FrankyPanky :)

By the Bend of the River

They say that life is a journey. So, I sit down by the bend of a river and take a break. I mull over thoughts and people and moments. I think of nights when I sit bolt upright, sleepless with an exciting happy thought. I think of how loving people can transform into an actual physical pain. I ponder over inner demons and personal battles that are solely for me to fight. I resolve to go back and sort things out and then move on; or find an alternate path to settle scores. I think of learning to accept and co-exist with my nightmares.
Whatever suits me fine.

I remember how, when there is no release for pent up emotions, we seek solace in Gods and their kin. That brings me to my non-Abrahamic Gods. The ones I seek to adopt along with the One I am to love and worship. My thought turn to those gods who play terribly powerful roles, in deciding the twists and turns of my fate, whether I like it or not. Those gods who make me believe in a happy rainbow and a fretful rainy afternoon, that all is good. I think of the constant clash between Indian and the Judaic thoughts that invades my heart and mind.

Then, I drift away again --

I float in the foamy silvery waves of Rishikesh; I sit alone in the dark while others drank in the good times. Not too many unhappy thoughts were in my head, a lovely moment being at peace with my solitude. I then clamber the craggy heights of the Valley of Flowers to see tearful pilgrims trudging along dusty paths, along with mules. I drink dew off wild flowers and watch a pair of lean arms clutching a camera and making a few moments timeless. I lie in the meadow, the grass tickling my ears. I close my eyes and take a small nap. I wake up inside a crummy bus to Satpuli. My Own sits there right beside me, snoozing, deserting me to continue in my own thoughtless thoughts. I reach Shiva Café and find her lying cocooned in her own green shawl. I find him sprawled on a low seating, satiated with whatever he was up to. His blue tee shirt merged to my pink. Pinks and Blues and Greens. I wished that we would never grow any older, or move an inch further.

I went to many places at once.
And all this by the bend of the river.

L.I.F.E

A personal journal entry dated: 01 Feb 2006

* * *

It is all about ups and downs.
Some moments are frothy with mirth. That is really the best way I can explain that feeling. Happy songs on the radio, work doesn’t seem all that drab.
There is a whiff of a distinctive deo that reaches your nose from God-knows-where. You have a smile on your lips.
As though you have just been secretly kissed.
You are just plain happy. In a non-irritating way. In a non-interfering way.
I guess I should gauge the way I have lived life, by noting the frequency of such moments occurring.
I should be blessed. For, there are many such moments.

Notes from the Continent Down Under

Disclaimer and Acknowledgement:
These are a few heavily-edited notes of e-mail exchanges between a good friend of mine, and me, over a series of recent days.

Thank you PAM for not suing me while I unabashedly use your lovely prose on my blog, with the sole purpose of increasing the hits on my weblog. Muhahaha!

* * *

It's chilly and windy here.
I have managed to remain a vegetarian. :)
--
You have a couple of weeks more to go - Let's see how many animals you will eat!
--
I walk home down the hep, organized streets along with the suited-and-booted crowds, all the time pining for the chaos of Delhi. Then I reach the hotel and face the four walls.
--
I totally know the feeling.
I had started writing a lot, during those days. It's a sight to see - the morning office goers. They wait at red lights minding their own business. Then, when you hear the pic-pic-pic sound and when the lights change you resume your walk. All of them crisp and purposeful. I did pine for familiarity too, but I did not miss the lecherous looks or the dust or the Himesh songs. I missed the familiar scents, the trees, and the morning reading-in-the-bus routine.
--
Yesterday was one of the windiest days in Vic in recent history. Wind speeds reached 130 kmph in several parts of the state. The town of Bondorrah had a bad dust storm. A TV station managed to get hold of a farmer Donald, who said he was driving down a country road and couldn't see a thing. A radio station said a guy was on a motorbike when it was blown right off. I am not exaggerating when I say that at one point, I could not walk for the sheer force of the wind. Some trains were cancelled; power was out in some parts of Melbourne. Sounds like Bombay during the monsoon, doesn't it? My clients insisted that I take an umbrella home, and offered me a huge one - that looked like those things they put up outside restaurants.

The people are disarmingly friendly here, at least the ones in the office - touch wood. Having lived for a long time in circumstances where I am left alone in one corner of Bay 6, and approached only when someone needs help, I found this unnerving. Also, given my somewhat introverted nature, I realized that acting extroverted all the time was downright exhausting! Yesterday, when I was having lunch on my own, an employee - a blonde :) - who sits not far from me came over and struck up a friendly conversation. She "Hi Merlee", and said how windy it was, and discussed AFL, and cricket, and what a creep Ricky Ponting is, and how she wanted Harbhajan out, etc. I was waiting for her to ask me for advise on her design document, or a review, or something - but no. It was all so disappointing - she just wanted to talk to me! And today morning, she asked me if I managed to reached home safely through the weather. Well, really! - and I hardly know her! :)

I found someone "motherly" - an Indian originally from Cal - to advise me on food. :)
And yes, they do say "yeeeeh" all the time.
--
"Yeeeeeeh..I Knouiii!!!"
Don't they also say -- "Exactly raaaaight" a lot?

I am glad that you like the way how things are shaping up!
You know, I found the folks out there really friendly too. They smile at you whenever they meet your eyes. They say hi and they make small talk. There was this guy who used to sit right across where I sat. He would chat up with me and was really friendly. Well, almost to the level that K thought he was flirting with me!! He wasn't, really. That's how these folks are :)
Oh, by the way, on the last day of work, I did leave a tiny little gift for him, at his desk :)

And oh yes, I have an umbrella story to tell you too -- So, it was raining crazy out there and the lady in the office insisted that she give us both one umbrella each. They are MASSIVE ones, not like the ones that we use out here. And yes, you cud start a lemonade stall if you own one :) But then again... have you seen the umbrellas the folks in the Himalayas use? They are huge too!
--
Yeeeh, that's true, That's what they sai. Also they also sai "exactly roit" :))

Today, I have to buy a 1 GB memory stick and some yogurt. I lead an interesting life.
I have discovered 3 Indian restaurants. Yeeeh. :)
--
Today when you buy yoghurt, ask for the sim recharge. Take the 29 AUD one. It will last long enough and will give you value for money.
--
When Melbournians talk about traffic jams, they must be referring to Dabri Mode at 6 in the morning. They wouldn't be able to imagine the chaos of Dabri Mode at 9 o' clock.:) Most of the drivers in the cabs in which I have travelled have been Africans - except for one driver, a kindly old Queenslander, who chatted with me pleasantly all the way to the office. The Africans tend to keep quiet like the Indian cabbies. Yesterday however, the cabbie turned around and asked me, "You're from India?" I brightened up and said yes.

"Mumbai or Delhi?" he said. When I answered, he said he had been in Delhi once. For two weeks, back in 1973. I would have probed a little and asked him about the circumstances had I not glanced out of the window and been riveted by the sight of a silent line of office-goers, mostly dressed in black, some holding coffee cups , all walking like zombies towards their destinations. So they could all scamper like frightened rabbits out of the offices and into trains at 5.00 PM - back to their suburbs. I may seem to be making fun of them, but I wish we Indians would be more like them in this respect.

Yesterday evening, there was a big "footie" game at the Telstra Dome in front of the hotel, and a sizable crowd had gathered to watch it. Such crowds usually get boisterous, and this one had started getting boisterous even before the start of play. I had been warned to keep away from such crowds, especially if the home team lost (it did). I went out to buy some potato chips. When I came back to the hotel on level 4, the lift "came along", the doors opened, and a woman got out. She asked me, "Are we on the 8th?" I replied, no, she had just reached Level 4.

She got back in, giggled in a friendly sort of way as we started up, and said to me, "I cant figure these things out sometimes, you know. They move so quickly." I nodded back politely, and smiled. I was amused. Half an hour back, on the way back from the office, I had ridden the lift with an Indian girl, who kept a safe distance from me in one corner of the lift, hands tightly folded, and steadfastly looked away. Made me feel like Jack the Ripper.

Well, it takes all kinds to make to make up this world. I have my own powers-that-be, who - even in the call we had yesterday - have still not asked me how I am getting along in a strange city. And then, there's the Malaysian expatriate who sometimes sits next to me: when I told him I would urgently need to make a call back home when I reached the hotel, immediately pressed a calling card in my hand, and insisted that I could use it to call home from the office.
--
You are right about that -- it takes all kinds to make up this world.

When I went to Sydney, it really wasn't the first time I was travelling abroad. But still, a lot of things hit me quite on the face -- the main thing being FREIDNLINESS. Well, with a better spelling of course. The thing about us Indians is that we are very wary about everyone around us. I don't know if we can blame our race for it or not. I am still trying to find the answer.

Lots of strangers smiled at me when I walked to work. There were courteous car drivers who would let you cross the road while they waited patiently. I made it a point to look back at them, smile and wave a thank-you. They would smile back and drive off. It really made my day(s). Construction workers would nod a good morning and allow the ‘Indian gals’ to walk past. No whistles, no comments, nothing.

You have 'African' cabbies? In Sydney, in three weeks, I saw ONE black guy. And that too, a tourist. It was worrying. So much to the extent that... I was beginning to get worried about what did happen to the blacks out here! We just had Asian folks all over the place (yes, Indians are Asians too! South Asians). The very first cabbie we encountered, the one who took us to the apartment from the airport, played the friendly guide. He showed us around, named the streets, gave a few tips and asked us to have a pleasant stay in his country. He would have been Malaysian. But that is another story, really. Did I tell you of this Malaysian guy at work? He loves gaming, and he loves pirated software. We were fast friends, in no time.

The morning office-going crowd, coffee cups in hand, coated and suited and booted. I almost loved the mechanized routine. If it weren't for the fear of running late to work, we would have stopped at a bistro or two. The non-smoking ones. Aussies smoke a LOT. Or maybe not.

Pondicherry: Sighs! And Stuff

A couple of friends are planning to take a trip down South and asked for some information about Pondicherry. I meticulously worked on the assignment and ended up writing this email. In fact, I worked *so* hard on it that I actually deem this email to be fit for public display! :)

* * *

Hey Wanderer!
This is the official site for Pondicherry Tourism, and I think its pretty neat:
http://tourism.pondicherry.gov.in/

How to Get There
Since you will be going to Pondicherry from Hyderabad, I think the best (and cheapest) way to get to the place would be this:
- Hyderabad to Chennai (by train). This is an overnight journey. You would be in Chennai Central railway station by the end of it.
- Chennai to Pondicherry (via Mahabalipuam) by bus. You can take an auto to the new bus stand of Chennai, in Koyembedu... It shouldn't cost you more than 100 rupees in the auto, by the way. There are express buses to Pondicherry from here. Almost every 15 mins or so. The place is pretty well connected with Chennai, by road. This is a distance of approx 150 kms. And if you are lucky, you will be in a DVD coach watching Rajnikant hits all the way!! =)

Caution: Do NOT laugh at Rajnikant or any superstar while you are in Tamil Nadu. That's blasphemous :)

Places to See
This should be a helpful list:
http://www.indiatourism.com/pondicherry-tourism/index.html

You will find most websites listing tourist attractions such as, the French War Memorial, Aayi Mandapam, a 19th Century Lighthouse, Romain Rolland Library, and the Museum, etc. The fun part about this whole trip is -- you will get to see all these attractions in a span of few minutes! The reason being, all of them are situated on ONE road named Goubert Avenue :)

One of the first things you should do after checking into a hotel is, to hire bicycles. You can cover most of the places using this fun mode of transportation.

Personally, I would suggest that you take some time to visit Auroville. It is going to be a pleasurable experience. Everything is pretty laidback and dreamy out here. As they say... Activity is not the highlight of a Pondicherry tour. Come here to roam about, feel the spirit and be charmed.

Where to Stay
I have heard that there are plenty of hotels in Pondicherry, but maybe I would not be the best person to advise you on this matter. We stayed in the Aurobindo Ashram New guesthouse. Ok, so you can't host wild parties in there, but you can stay for 80 bucks a night. I think that's a steal! And it was pretty damn decent. All the basic amenities and a balcony for the rainy afternoon.
http://www.miraura.org/aa/as/ghouses.html

What to Eat
Since Pondicherry is a mix of cultures, you can easily find Continental cuisine alongside authentic South Indian food. Some of those little tiny shacks we visited were an absolute delight to the tastebuds. Just be prepared for a French breakfast, a Saravana Bhavan lunch, and maybe some gin in a steel tumbler for dinner! :)

Memoirs from Mahabalipuram

Foamy waves teased the beach. There was a buzz of activities along the shore. The ancient South Indian monolithic temples towered over the clusters of tourists. The bedazzling golden sand almost stunned the landscape with its contrast against the clear sunny blue sky. Peanut-sellers, peddlers, curious urchins, cotton candy man and the black temple structures... all perfectly framed within the sky and the sea.

A lady clad in a bright yellow saree, walked upto us. She had betel-stained lips, and she wore gold bangles. Every little item on her person protested in loud colors, against her shiny ebony skin. She was a palm-reader. She insisted on predicting our futures, even though we weren’t too keen to know what was in store for us. But then again, the prospect of getting to know about the future just for a nominal fee… now, that was enticing. We eventually gave in to her beguiling smooth talks. One of us would become rich, one of us would become famous. One of us would be happy in love, one of us would be blessed with children. She said everything that we wanted to hear, in her Tamil drawl, slowly examining our palms. By the end of the exercise, we were poorer by 20 rupees.

Coarse ochre grains grazed my shins while I drew meaningless wet patterns on the sand. She sat in silence, a little way off, watching the sea in rapt awe. After a tiresome journey into the inlands of Pondicherry and red-soiled Auroville, through non-stop rains, on wobbly bicycles and septic buses, we were quite relieved to be here. We were vagabonds, both of us. In our own respective ways, of course. While one wandered within her own self, the other yearned to see the world. It was a lazy yet perfect moment.

Blues

Grime on my elbows.
Streaks of tears.
Broken mirrors.
Wilted Carnations.
Dusty books.
Fallen music.
Drudgery.
Moonless nights.
Endless hours.
With you gone,
It isn't the same anymore.

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.