Bottoms of my trousers

People want to reach for the stars, be famous, write novels, break down (metaphorical AND literal) barriers.

Me? I just want to get back home, cuddle my cats, read a book, and maybe have some cake. Cakes and cats versus all-encompassing ambition and white hot brilliance. Cakes and cats always win. Always.

I like my friends. I like to socialise. I like to dress up and put on my party face. But mostly, I like to get back home and watch some TV. Cook some mutton. Read some books.

I spent most of last Saturday under my quilt, drinking coffee in bed, and watching Jessica Jones.  It was the most perfect fucking Saturday I've spent in a long long while.

Does that make me boring? Average? Passé? All of the above?

I grow old, I grow old. Are the bottoms of my trousers rolled?

Because, some things are traditions

1. What did you do in 2015 that you’d never done before?

• Visited Cambodia and Thailand. Sat on the steps of the Angkor temples at dawn, effectively crossing off one thing from my bucket list.
• Adopted a cat, my first pet ever. 
• Adopted another cat.
• Re-learnt swimming. Swam relentlessly all summer.
• Started volunteering at a community library for underprivileged kids (It soon became my highlight of the week)
• Set up a translation blog that people actually read.
• Completed my 2015 Goodreads Challenge (30 books were successfully read in 2015.)

2. Did you keep your New Year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
Kind of. Yes.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
No.

4. Did anyone close to you die?
Yes.

5. What countries did you visit?
Cambodia! Thailand!
Also, the following places within India: Jaipur, Gushaini (Himachal), Bangalore, Bikaner, Jim Corbett National Park, Kashipur, Benares.


6. What would you like to have in 2016 that you lacked in 2015?
Job satisfaction. Money.

7. What date from 2015 will remain etched upon your memory?
19 December, for heartbreaking reasons

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

• Finally getting my act together to change teams within my company
• Making Cambodia happen

9. What was your biggest failure?
  Money, mostly

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Nothing horrific, thank God (fingers crossed, knock on wood)

11. What was the best thing you bought?
 Tickets for Cambodia. Sushi for my birthday lunch. My first ever smartphone.

12. Whose behaviour merited celebration?
Mine. S'. D's (surprisingly enough)

13. Whose behaviour made you appalled and depressed?
K's, I think.

14. Where did most of your money go?
Travel. Food. Cat stuff.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Cambodia. My cats.

16. What song/album will always remind you of 2015?
"Matargashti."
"Mohakaler koley eshe, gouri holo mohakali..."
"Everything is awesome."

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
1. Happier or sadder? The same, I think.
2. Thinner or fatter? Fatter.
3. Richer or poorer? Richer.

18. What do you wish you’d done more of?
Swimming. Dancing. Reading. Spending time with my grandfather.

19. What do you wish you’d done less of?
Procrastinating. (Good God, the procrastination. I think it's become some sort of a disease.)

20. How will you be spending Christmas?
I spent Christmas with good friends, eating cake and biriyani, and drinking mulled wine. It was a good Christmas.

21. Who did you spend the most time on the phone with?
The mother and the mother-in-law. (Such domesticity. Shudder.)

22. Did you fall in love in 2015?
Nope.

23. How many one night stands in this last year?
None.

24. What was your favourite TV programme?

• True Detective
• Masterchef Australia
• Inside Amy Schumer
• Lizzie Bennett Diaries; Pitchers; Permanent Roommates (Evidently, this was the year of the Web series.)

25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?
No

26. What was the best book(s) you read?
Ooh ooh, this was the year of author discoveries. Fell in love with Chimamanda N'gozi Adichie and read "Americanah", "That Thing Around Your Neck", and "Half of a Yellow Sun" in one go. I also discovered Margaret Atwood, and was riveted by "The Handmaid's Tale" and "Stone Mattress: Nine Tales". This was the year of much good reading.

27. What was your greatest musical discovery?
The existence of 8tracks

28. What did you want and get?
A new job

29. What did you want and not get?
Money. Peace.

30. What were your favourite films of this year?
Masaan. Asa Jawar Majhe. Ugly.
(This was also the year I discovered Star Wars, which should, I think, get at least an honorary mention.)

31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
27. Sushi for lunch, and a party the day before.

32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
 More money. A bit more spine. 

33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2015?
Lazy.

34. What kept you sane?
 Cats. Books. In that order.

35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
 Ranveer Singh. Neil Gaiman. Chimamanda N'gozi Adichie. John Oliver.

36. What political issue stirred you the most?
The "intolerance" debate, and everything that happened around it.

37. Who did you miss?
Dadumoni.

38. Who was the best new person you met?
M and M. Hands down.

39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2015.
Mortality is a bitch.

40. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year?
"Here comes the sun/ And I say, it's all right.
Little darling, it's been a long, cold, lonely winter..."

Dadumoni

Dadumoni loved his coffee, even though, due to health issues, coffee was a strictly regulated treat. That was a pity, because every time he drank coffee, he told me stories about Dhaka. To this day, Bangladesh evokes memories of sitting on top of a large dining table, sharing a bowl of muri and an occasional sip of coffee, listening to stories about countries torn apart; countries mended.

My earliest memories of my grandfather mostly involve that very large dining table. He would sit at his customary chair and tell me stories about the "homeland" across the border. About graduating, and struggling for a job. About being friends with Bhanu Banerjee and being taught by Satyendranath Bose and Mohitlal Majumdar. About being stuck in the "wrong locality" during a Hindu-Muslim riot, and about his thrilling escape after running into his Muslim dentist. He spoke about the interminable journey from East to West, when there was so much emptiness inside, but not much outside. He made "bhush bhush" sounds with his hands while talking about the packed steamer from Goalondo. And he smacked his lips when he spoke about the delicious chicken curry to be found aboard those steamers.

Dadumoni was a writer. The house was full of diaries where he wrote about hilarious real-life anecdotes. Stories about how he bluffed his way through exams, helped his sibling shelter truant freedom fighters from the British police, and made friends at work. Dadumoni taught me to love afternoon soaps, Sri Lankan batting, and the “lyaja” piece of the fish. He taught me how to sharpen pencils with a piece of blade, how to create elaborate collages by cutting up old pictures and newspapers, how to craft greeting cards for every occasion, and how to laugh without restraint. A belly laugh, he called it. He gave me my very first copy of Charles Lambs' "Tales from Shakespeare", and was the first person who read to me from Wordsworth.

He was also usually the first person to get up in the morning, generally by five. He would go about brushing his teeth and entertaining my infant brother by lustily singing "Dhono dhanyo pushpo bhora" or "Tomarei koriachhi jeebonero dhrubotara" at the top of his voice. (Even today, lines from these songs remind me of groggy winter mornings and a smiling grandparent.) Eventually, he would totter off to the market, with his walking stick and his precious bajaarer bag in tow. I learnt my first "bajaar skills" from him (always check the gills of the fish), and my first Nojrulgeeti (“Mohakaler koley eshe gouri holo mohakali...”). Everytime you went somewhere with Dadumoni in the picture, you had to build in an extra fifteen minutes, because he would invariably delay you with his inane anecdotes and his insistence of waving at you from the main gate whenever you left the house. (He couldn't walk fast due to acute arthritis. Not that you ever heard him complain.) And on exam days, when I would quickly do a perfunctory pronaam and try to rush out of the house, he would always take his time blessing me, whispering "Hori hori hori bolo/ Ajker porikkha bhalo/ Buchu porbe bhalo/ Buchu likhbe bhalo" in my ears. Strangely enough, the days that I insisted that I didn't have time for the prolonged blessing were invariably the days when the question papers seemed particularly tough.

Like millions of others, he immigrated across the border during tumultous times, and went on to live his life with unapologetic aplomb. He sang songs, drank coffee, hosted get-togethers, and opened his doors to guests from all over the world.

Dadumoni collected coins. He would give away shiny two-rupee coins every poila baishakh and bijoya. Once, on my birthday, he gave me a chocolate box full of old coins of various denominations. I carry around a few coins from that box till today. They are my lucky charms, my hereditary talisman.

My grandfather, Arun Kumar Sen—fish lover, Partition survivor, Ranatunga admirer, belly laugher, collage enthusiast, adda addict, Wordsworth aficionado—passed away in his sleep two days ago. But that's not how I imagine him going. I imagine him striding into wherever he is right now, demanding coffee, adda, loud songs, Goalondo chicken curry, and an uninterrupted cricket match. And sometimes, I imagine him looking down at me, and smiling, as I curl my fist around my lucky coin, and demand the same from life.

Jaipur

The first thing I notice about Jaipur, this time around, is how sunny it is. The second thing I notice are the pigeons. They are everywhere. Local men in bright turbans feed them grains. Backpacking white couples in patchy t-shirts and broken sandles take photos of Indian Birds Being Fed By Indian Men. When we manage to reach Amer Fort one sunny morning, flocks of birds periodically rise up from its courtyard. It's as if the whole city is forever perched on the edge of a rooftop, ready to soar up or swoop down at a moment's notice.

The Lit Fest crowd is the same. I run into bespectacled, thin young things at the Diggi Palace grounds. They all wear huge, tortoise shell eyeglasses and ethnic printed harem pants; they all have kohl-rimmed eyes; and they all stalk Dalrymple from one tent to the next. "Historical fiction is so passe", I overhear one of them saying. "If you want to impress the JNU types, read difficult poetry."

It's S' 31st birthday, and he takes off by himself, refusing to accompany me to the Fest. He roams the streets aimlessly and takes pictures of birds and monkeys. A man in a streetside stall feeds him Rajasthani kadhi-chawal, and he strikes up a conversation with an ancient camera-walla near the City Palace. The camera is one hundred years old and held together with strings. He brings back a black and white picture of himself that the man had shot. It looks exactly like one of my parents' old pictures - all faded and soft focus. I, on the other hand, spend the day getting almost squashed by an exuberant crowd running after Abdul Kalam. I also spend 30 bucks on tepid tea. (I wonder if I should have gone off with S.)

But the Fest goes on. Shamsie and Catton are delightful. Naipaul is heartbreaking. The awkward silence after his halting, senility-laden speech is deafening. I never did like that man, but it's difficult to see an arrogant soul being reduced to this.

When I step out of the palace grounds at dusk, I spot a group of bedraggled sparrows near the garbage dump that masquerades as the auto stand.They look tiny and frail and brown. They look tired. I am exhausted too.This constant exhibition of intellect has drained me.

Once I'm back, I order masala chai and french fries, and watch old reruns of CID to make myself feel better. Later in the evening, we go out and stuff our faces with laal maas and missi roti. 

After the food-induced haze has cleared, I realize that I'll always like CID reruns more than obscure poetry. "JNU-types" might shun me, but Jaipur, I think, will never judge me for that.

Easing back slowly.

1.What did you do in 2013 that you’d never done before?
Signed on the effing dotted line. (Refer to previous post. Ahem.)

Also, travelled alone a lot for work. Moved in with a member of the opposite sex as the only roommate.

2. Did you keep your New Year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

I did join yoga, and managed to do it on and off for the whole year. So I’ll give myself pass marks for last year’s resolutions.

Next year? Ah well. Who knows? I’m too tired, and it’s too cold to be productive and determined.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Yes!

4. Did anyone close to you die?
Yes.

5. What countries did you visit?
None. But plans are afoot to remedy that soon. Places within India are a different matter, though. Here is the list: Kolkata, Benares, Bardhaman, Gobordanga, Indore, Bhopal, Jaipur, Dharamshala, McLeodgunj, Kasol, Jibhi, Trivandrum, Poovar, Munnar, Alleppey

6. What would you like to have in 2014 that you lacked in 2013?
Satisfaction from a job well done; Courage; Discipline

7. What date from 2013 will remain etched upon your memory?
5^th December, for obvious and clichéd reasons

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Not quitting my job; Navigating December without losing my mind; Finding an effing flat in this godforesaken city within my effing budget (LOOK AT HOW DOMESTIC I HAVE BECOME. I LIST HOUSEHUNTING AS ONE OF MY ACHIEVEMENTS).

9. What was your biggest failure?
Communication.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Except for a painfully twisted knee and another severely twisted ankle while skipping around the Himalayas, nothing much else. (Fingers crossed. Dear God, don’t let me break all my limbs as soon as I finish typing this sentence.)

11. What was the best thing you bought?
The microwave, I guess? (FURTHER PROOF OF DOMESTICITY! I MIGHT AS WELL CALL MYSELF MARTHA STEWART NOW.)

12. Whose behaviour merited celebration?
Mine. (Is that weird to write down? Ah well.)

13. Whose behaviour made you appalled and depressed?
Let us not open the floodgates now, shall we?

14. Where did most of your money go?
Food. Books. Travelling. (The three pillars of my life.)

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
December. Because, friends. J
And January. Because, friends again. J

16. What song/album will always remind you of 2014?
Maahi ve – A R Rahman; Orpheo looks back – Andrew Bird

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
a. Happier or sadder? Not happier, not sadder. Just pensiver. (Is that a word? That should be a word.)
b. Thinner or fatter? Thinner, I think.
c. Richer or poorer? Richer.

18. What do you wish you’d done more of?
Pausing and thinking and taking it all in.

19. What do you wish you’d done less of?
Seeking approval.

20. How will you be spending Christmas?
Christmas was spent with good friends and good food and good alcohol. So it’s all good. J I did fail to put up a small tree and some twinkly lights, but there is always a next time.

21. Who did you spend the most time on the phone with?
The two sets of parents, I think.

22. Did you fall in love in 2014?
Abar?

23. How many one night stands in this last year?
Seriously?

24. What was your favourite TV programme?
Legend of Korra; The Good Wife; True Detective; Top of the Lake; Doctor Who (Peter Capaldi!)

25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?
Yes.

26. What was the best book(s) you read?
Wild - Cheryl Strayed;  Daytripper  - Gabriel Ba and Fabio Moon;  The Silkworm - Robert Galbraith

27. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Andrew Bird; The Peninsula Studios; Preservation Hall Jazz Band

28. What did you want and get?
A Kindle

29. What did you want and not get?
Job satisfaction

30. What were your favourite films of this year?
Highway; Haider; Dedh Ishqiya; Guardians of the Galaxy

31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
26. Spent the morning recovering from wonderful night-before alcoholic shenanigans. Went to watch the godawful Gunday. Had incredible Malayali food for lunch. Evening was spent watching Doctor Who and devouring one whole large sundae. It was a good day. J

32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Job satisfaction

33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2013?
Make an effort once a month.

34. What kept you sane?
Books and friends, in that order.

35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Benedict Cumberbatch; Neil Gaiman; Ranveer Singh

36. What political issue stirred you the most?
These elections with their incredibly depressing results, and all the hell that has been breaking loose since then.

37. Who did you miss?
Calcutta.

38. Who was the best new person you met?
M, I think.

39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2013.
Let go.

40. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year?
I keep a close watch on this heart of mine/
I keep my eyes wide open all the time/
I keep the ends out for the tie that binds/
Because you're mine, I walk the line.

So.

So. This happened.

And I think I want this space back. Being away from this made me way more sad than I thought it would.

Khattam shud

To be truthful, this post was a long time coming. And chances are, my remaining one (or maybe two?) readers knew this long before I did.

Thing is, this blog is dying. And there's nothing I can do to resurrect it.

I started this blog when I was still a wee thing in college, and when my idea of great writing involved lots of ellipses and strange words. The problem, however, is that I am not a wee thing any more...and frankly...adulthood has made me realize what *great* writing really is.

It's silly to make excuses for not blogging. Hundreds of people hold down three jobs and five kids, and still manage to write amazingly well. I, sadly enough, do not even find time to pack my lunch every day.

That's it then, I guess. I've moved out of cities, jobs, houses these past eight years. It's time I moved out of this space too.

I'm leaving this place up, though. I am a fickle-minded soul...and who knows, I might come back to this one day.

But for now, this is the way it ends. Not with a bang, or a whimper, but with some awkward words.

98, 99, and others

On my ninth birthday (which, obviously, is a big deal since I am a big girl and soon to go on to high school) I demand, and get, a big party. School friends come over. And they bring books. And I'm not sure if I am more thrilled with the former or the latter. Near the end of the day, I curl up in a corner and read a shiny new Rebecca, and am surprised at the intensity with which I just want people to leave NOW so that I can finish it in peace.

My mama gets married the day I turn ten. And I am delirious with happiness. The bright lights. The happy, shiny people. The house full of excited words. The thrill of wearing a saree. The fish fries. Food and BIRTHDAY and people and laughter and glitter. I try to prolong the day by doing my best to not fall asleep that night - I am that high on people.

The next year, on the 15th of February, which is also my birthday, my dance teacher slaps me senseless and pinches me so hard on my hands and feet, that they bleed and turn blue. I am shocked. Mostly because she slapped me. But more because nothing horrible is supposed to happen to me on my BIRTHDAY. I go home and howl to my heart's content. Even the shiny new Enid Blyton refuses to console me. I feign stomach ache when it's time to go for my classes next week. The week after, I turn up...but the dread that has settled in my stomach refuses to go away. I quit bharatnatyam soon after. The dance form still makes my hand turn cold and clammy. 

The mandatory year-end post

1. What did you do in 2013 that you’d never done before?
Pierced my nose. Had a new roommate. Travelled alone to a new city. Made significant plans.

2. Did you keep your New Year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
Do not remember last year's resolutions, but will not be bogged down by forgetfulness - no sir. Will make new ones. Will try to remember them.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
No

4. Did anyone close to you die?
No (Thank God, fingers crossed)

5. What countries did you visit?
None [But places visited within the country include Jaipur, Chandigarh (for my first real Punjabi wedding!), Shimla, Benares, Manali, Ahmedabad, and Bikaner. Writing down this list makes me see the most obvious North Indian bias in it. Ugh.]

6. What would you like to have in 2014 that you lacked in 2013?
Money; Forthrightness; Discipline

7. What date from 2013 will remain etched upon your memory?
10 February

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Successfully changing my job, making new friends, learning to live amicably with new roommate

9. What was your biggest failure?
Procrastination

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Nothing significant. (Am I jinxing everything by saying this? I guess I am. Ah well.)

11. What was the best thing you bought?
Shoe rack (Look at how homely I have become! Shoerack! SHOERACK!)

12. Whose behaviour merited celebration?
S'

13. Whose behaviour made you appalled and depressed?
A's, for being spineless (I wasn't depressed, just appalled); S'

14. Where did most of your money go?
Food and books and plane tickets

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Pujo! And the January wedding!

16. What song/album will always remind you of 2013?
Laila o laila (Coke studio); Pata Pata (Miriam Makeba)

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
a. Happier or sadder? Happier
b. Thinner or fatter? Dunno
c. Richer or poorer? Richer

18. What do you wish you’d done more of?
Saving up

19. What do you wish you’d done less of?
Seeking approval

20. How will you be spending Christmas?
I spent Christmas ingesting copious amounts of wine and meat with some very good company. So it was all good. :)

21. Who did you spend the most time on the phone with?
Maa, I think

22. Did you fall in love in 2013?
Not any new loves, no

23. How many one night stands in this last year?
None

24. What was your favourite TV programme?
Doctor Who; Mad Men; Koffee with Karan

25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?
No

26. What was the best book(s) you read?
Gone Girl; Joseph Anton

27. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Miriam Makeba; Papon; The Decemberists

28. What did you want and get?
The new/old job

29. What did you want and not get?
A trip abroad

30. What were your favourite films of this year?
Fukrey; Lootera; Toy Story 2 and 3; Utsab

31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
25. There was impromptu small party at midnight. Then I spent the whole day watching Doctor Who and eating pasta. Went out in the evening for makke ki roti and sarso ka saag with S. My first vegetarian birthday, but I managed!

32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Money

33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2013?
I tried harder than I did in 2012

34. What kept you sane?
S and books and Doctor Who

35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Neil Gaiman; David Tennant; Benedict Cumberbatch

36. What political issue stirred you the most?
Delhi assembly elections; The hanging of Afzal Guru; Mandela's death; Pussy Riot; Supreme Court's fuckshit ruling to not scrap Section 377

37. Who did you miss?
My old self

38. Who was the best new person you met?
Gunjan; Deepti ( I had met them in late 2012, but really became friends in 2013)

39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2013.
I get by with a little help from my friends. :)

40. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year?
Ganja nahi hawa hai, dawaa hai/ Galey ka manjan, aankhon ka niranjan hai... :)

I found this randomly today. I had apparently written it at the end of 2010 (which was...holy fucking shit...THREE years ago), and not hit "publish" for some unfathomable reason. Look at how fresh faced I seem! How naive! How young! How vulnerable! How utterly twenty two! (To put things in perspective, the tiny apartment has long been discarded, Wimpy's has long been out of business, I have quit Heartless MNC and joined back again six months later, secret Saptami movie date has long acquired a terrifying life of its own, L has long since moved out, and I have long ceased to be twenty effing two.) Ah youth, you fleeting bastard.

In January!

I jumped around in joy a little. Didn’t take my French exams and felt horrible about it for months afterwards. Joined the Editing and Publishing course.

In February!

I turned twenty two. Had a song written and composed about me. Went to the epic Shantiniketan trip with friends.

In March!

I played some holi and drank some bhang. Took some exams. Heartless MNC called and said I might just probably maybe almost have a job with them. Or not.

In April!

I got addicted to Dexter. Injured my foot. Finished my Editing and Publishing course. Got a job with said Heartless MNC. Couldn’t jump around in joy because of said foot.

In May!

I took my final sem exams at JUDE. Attended the farewell for my batch. Wore and saree and took some long coveted photos. Went for the epic part 2 trip to Barkul with friends.

In June!

I moved to a new city. Started living with a couple of Punjabi ladies as a paying guest. Scrunched up my face at having only vegetarian food for meals every day. Discovered Karim’s. Discovered Wenger’s. Missed Kolkata like a phantom limb.

In July!

The city started feeling familiar. Made friends with colleagues. Started liking my job. Got used to the vegetarian food. Continued to miss Kolkata.

In August!

I started looking for houses. Was disappointed at the complete lack of suitable place to move into. Took a trip to Manali. Inhaled some questionable substance, ate some awesome food and listened to the Beas as it flowed by. Started counting days to Pujo.

In September!

House hunting continued with a vengeance. Extreme depression followed when one realized that it wasn’t working out. Spent all my money shopping for people back in Kolkata. Discovered Wimpy’s, Nizam’s, Keventer’s. Got addicted to Lost. Missed Kolkata a bit more.

In October!

Went back to Kolkata for pujo. Saw the little pandals as my plane landed in the city and almost died from happiness. Hung out with friends. Was perpetually high. Went on a secret movie date on Saptami (which would turn out to be significant later on, but I didn’t know it then.) Went to Benares for Lokkhipujo. Surprised my parents twice in one month.

In November!

Found a house! Found a house! Found a house! A tiny two roomed apartment over a garbage dump, without any sunlight and a closet for a kitchen. But what do I care? I found a house! Found a house! Found a house!

In December!

Shifted to new house. L decided to move to Delhi. Therefore, three people ended up living in a tiny space. Figured that we would probably need to look at bigger apartments soon. Learnt to cook a little. Got absolutely smashed on new year’s eve. With the sudden clarity of thought that only a lot of narcotics can give you, realized that it wasn’t such a bad year after all.

 

I understand that this blog is...for most purposes...gathering dust in a long forgotten corner of the internet. But then, I never really wrote for an audience. Not even in the college heydays of ellipses-filled, vague, megalomaniac blogposts.

However, even in its moth-eaten state, the blog is part of the great big INTERNET...full of other people...and maybe, just MAYBE...the chance that other people may stumble across this will shame me into finishing my to-do lists.

Therefore, here goes:

1. Dust the shelf. Dust the shelves. Dust the book. Dust the books.
2. Change bedsheets!
3. Collect the kameez from the darzi!
4. Make the annual trip to Sarojini and stock up on winterwear.
5. Rearrange shoe rack.
6. Pay credit card bill.
7. Pay gas bill.
8. Get the broken window pane repaired.
9. Cook something...anything. (Maybe dessert?)
10. Seriously think about that exercise regimen. Do not wait till every joint starts creaking.

Hmmmm...sometimes I astound myself with my wild, partying lifestyle.

Drinking Thums Up and watching Mad Men on a chilly Delhi evening, there's nothing in this WORLD I want more than to put some words out there.


I want to write. I want to write so bad that it's an empty ache in my throat that I carry around all day. But words are not formed of empty aches. Words need patience. And blood. And the sweat of the brow. And everytime, EVERYTIME, a little part of your soul. 

I'm going home tomorrow.

I haven't been this delirious with joy in a very long time.

Manali (With four of S' pictures, just so that I remember)

Manali is just as I remember it from three years back. The old man with his huge rainbow umbrella and chocolate pancakes has disappeared from the next door cafe. And Sunshine, wouldn't you know it, has a new coat of paint. But apart from that, everything is the same. The puddles are shiny. The clouds are in my mouth. The Deodar trees are watchful.

It's a little disconcerting at first, this realization of a time warp. The same cobble stone path greets us, and the dahlias are a ferocious pink. The tiny dogs wag their tails adoringly and gulp down entire packets of Monaco. The black one frowns at me the entire time. The brown one doesn't care.

We drink tea and walk slowly up to the Hidimba temple. The six hundred year-old wooden temple of the rakshasi, the outcast, the eternal sacrificial lamb. Eight bloody sacrifices she demands every Dussehra, the sombre signboard tells me. About time, I think. Despite my Monaco-feeding habits, I'm not an animal lover then, am I?

We walk aimlessly down to the nature park and almost lose our way among the trees and the noisy river. I look down at the Beas, and spy young boys precariously perched on the rocks, trying to fish. It's absurd, how beautiful everything looks. It's like I'm in a film, I think. It's like a painting, I think. I'm SUCH a cliche, I think.

At Chopsticks on Mall road, where I demolish one whole fried trout, we meet old Neil McDonald from Scotland. He offers us his table as he sits looking out of the restaurant window and nursing a beer. He has been in India since 2006, and he walks with a stick. He lives up on the mountains, and his best friends are his thirteen-year old neighbours. "India! Such nice people! So many religions!," he says. I feel a pang of jealousy. Stupid, effing office with a stupid effing salary. Why can't I live up on the mountains and nurse my beer on Friday afternoons in Manali?

When we come back to Sunshine, the rains have already started. The mountains are almost invisible with the downpour and the guest house dog is curled up in a corner. I drink tea and read Steinbeck on the porch, and occasionally stare back at the stern Deodar in the property.

I am a cliche and I have an effing job, and I can't live up on the Manali mountains and the black dog doesn't like me. But at that moment, on that day, I have the mountains under my feet, in my mouth, in my eyes, and in my heart.

And I don't think I give a damn.

After a long and hard internal discourse while staring out of the office window for the major part yesterday, I have arrived at the following life-changing conclusions.

I have decided that I shall save money and spend it exclusively to:

a) Travel
b) Buy books
c) Eat out

This probably means that I will never:

a) Own a house
b) Own a car
c) Own any Apple product
d) Own any snazzy phone
e) Buy a ticket for a leisurely cruise down the Nile or stay in a Five Star hotel in Paris (Because my idea of travelling is mainly backpacking and living in youth hostels, even when I'm fifty.)

I think my life will be pretty awesome.

1997

High school uniforms for girls are blue checked tunics over white shirts. Once a week, there's a change, when we wear white shirts with our house emblems over dark blue divided skirts, and try to do different yoga postures in the sweltering PT room over Shaila sweets. There is a sheetala mandir right across the road, and the clanging of the bells sometimes interrupts the mild mannered Gour sir. But he persists. And so do we.

Once a week, during afternoons, I am taken to learn Bharatanatyam at a famous South Calcutta dance school. The heartbreak and the disillusionment will come later. But that year, I love it. I am taught the first few elementary items and given a brown and cream salwar kameez.

My dancing days are interrupted. Chequered. Halted by the demands of daily life. I have learnt dancing since I was four. First at CLT. Then, during my one-year Benares stay, from Hombal jee, BHU's beloved Bharatanatyam guru. After I am whisked back again, I am sent to learn Odessey, and I love it, excel in it almost, before that stops because the classes shift far away. And now there's this. This crazy, once-a-week Bharatanatyam, and learning the mudras by heart, and feeling the familiar lurch in the heart when the teacher beats the stick on the wooden platform and goes "Thaiiya, thaiii; Thaiiya, thaiii".


I have a terrible ear infection. And after long hours of gritting my teeth,  break down and cry in the middle of a school day, and let go of my grown up girl (my high school student grown up girl) badge for a long while. I am nine years old and I can't hear and can't think and can't do ANYTHING for the excruciating pain in my ears. My mother comes to pick me up from school then. Smelling of her classes and of home. I cling to her, and cry some more and refuse to let go even at the doctor's chamber. Maybe, I think, this is how I'm going to die. Not on the stage, as I have thought of a million times. Not doing something adventurous Nancy Drew or Frank Hardy. But here, in my mother's arms, in the midst of a wave of blinding pain.

But of course, that doesn't happen.

(Edited to add: The idea of writing a few paragraphs about each year of my childhood, partly because I revel in nostalgia and partly because I would like to remember things when I'm seventy and senile, is taken from this blog. I love this blog, not least because a few years ago this lady quit work and backpacked through Asia for six months.)

Now that I am free, now that I have resigned and am lying flat on my bed and staring at the ceiling, now that contentment is seeping from every pore, I find myself remembering the last six months with an air of resigned good humour. That, however, is wrong. It is a deadly trap. A dulling of the outrage with time. If I encourage it, I think...nay...I know that I run the risk of ending up back in a steel and glass corporate powerhouse, feeling helpless as Excel sheets slowly suck my lifeblood away. Therefore, for the future me - for the me I am sure is still lurking underneath there somewhere - is a list of reasons why I should never ever in my life again attempt working for gigantic MNCs in Delhi that have nothing to do with publishing. The few good friends I made in the last few months are really not worth all this.

1. Timesheets. No. I mean, no. EVerytime I had to fill one up in the last few months, detailing how exactly I had spent every minute of every day in my office, describing in painstaking detail how I stared at Excel Sheet number 346 from 3:45pm to 4:13 pm, the voice inside my head started shrieking, and did not stop till I got home.

2. Long commutes. Very good on paper. Awful in real life. Even if one has the luxury of an AC car to oneself.

3. Yo yo honey singh. It is like this. Every new person I met in the last few months was a fan of this man. They sung their songs in the washroom, they hummed along with him while working, they listened to him intently on the one hour drive back home - flipping radio channels impatiently until they located a honey singh song. I attended an out-of-station wedding of a dear colleague/friend and these were the only songs the wedding guests were dancing to. I attended an office party in Jaipur, and everyone around me was swaying to punjabi rap. It was my very own version of patriarchal, North Indian nightmare...and I couldn't get out of it. There is only so much that Beatles on the headhone can do, if the air all around is saturated with everything yo yo.

4. Corporate lingo. No, I will not revert back to you. Neither shall I streamline the deliverables by EOD. I shan't touch base with you to verbalise anything, and I shall especially not ideate while you do knowledge transfer about cross-utilization. I might throw my laptop at you for process optimization though.

5. No language stuff. I have realized that if I can't write, rewrite and play around with words, I die a little bit inside. Let's just say that there were a lot of deaths in the last few months.

6. No book stuff. I was asked whether Salman Rushdie is a cricketer, whether Chetan Bhagat is English literature's pinnacle and whether wasting one's chidlhood reading storybooks lessened one's earning potential as an adult.

7. Shiny clothes. I cannot in any which way think of a time when I shall voluntarily dress up everyday to go to work. A clean shirt, a pair of jeans and combed hair I can manage. Perfect make up and stilettos and pencil skirts, I can't. And when it is obvious that my unstraightened hair and Sarojini nagar top is directly affecting how my work is being evaluated, I have to physically restrain myself from wearing shorts and a ganjee to work the next day.

I shall add more as and when I can. However, for the time being, remember these, future self. Remember these and shudder.

Watch this space.

This blog is not dead. Like the proverbial Arnold Schwarzenegger, it'll be back. As soon as I dropkick my current soul-crushing corporate existence into oblivion.

This place has too many memories to lose out to a heartless glass-n-steel multinational behemoth.

1996

The jungle gym is, by far, the coolest thing in my school. It is red and a little rusty and sometimes, totally off-limits. But every day, particularly during recess, I perch myself on the topmost rung and gaze around like an indulgent queen, and refuse to get down.

Our classroom is at the end of a corridor, right besides the staircase. I sit near the window, and like the proverbial scatterbrained character in any book, I like to look out. Sometimes I spy some lady hanging out her washing across the street, and mutter "chhotto meye roddure day begni ronger saree..." to myself. My friends think I'm crazy.

One day, Bhaswati miss, my scary Class Four teacher, decides to read to us. It is a hot day. The shades are drawn against the Calcutta summer, and the sun makes strange patterns on the floor. The ceiling fan whirrs above. Somewhere in the distance, a Roddiwala cries his trade cry. Miss perches herself on the teacher's desk, turns her beady eyes to the class, clears her throat and turns the first page. "Darrell Rivers looked at herself in the mirror..." she starts.

After that day, the jungle gym is abandoned. Because I discover Enid Blyton, and my life, as I know it, changes for ever.

1995

When I break my collar bone that sultry summer evening, the blinding pain, for a while, distracts me from the fact that I have come back from Benares, and that my life is going through that entire process of 'change! change! change!' again. I am playing some sort of a complicated game with Arka Mamu, who, though technically an uncle, is only three years older. In a superhuman maneuver, he picks me up and whirls me around, relying totally on his scrawny ten-year-old strength. I slip and bang my collarbone against the bed. The next day when the doctor confirms what my parents suspected immediately, I wonder why I didn't hear the 'crunch' when the bone broke.

Calcutta, after so many days of laid-back Benares, overwhelms me with its big-city-ness. This is surprising, because I lived there for five years before I went away.

I go back to my old school with my left arm in a huge white cast, and even though I am Bengali and I belong there, I don't have any friends, and cannot make any for a while. New girl with huge cast repels all.


Ushnish dada and Uly dada come visiting that summer, and we decorate a Rath together. I love how Uly dada cuts up the papers into intricate patterns, and then, when a big Rath comes trundling down the road, I perch on Ushnish dada's shoulders and we run after the procession, revelling in the festive fervour.

On the day I am supposed to get my cast removed, my mother buys me a Kwality cone. When I walk home from the doctor's chambers, my arms considerably light, my pain almost gone, I realize that freedom perhaps tastes like some rapidly melting chocolate ice cream.