Memories don't really fade away!

Hi Thammudu,

Long time... no see, no talk!

A decade is a long time, isn't it? A really long time when everything fades out... okay, everything supposedly fades out. The pain. The memories. The person. The relationship.

If it's true that time heals and all the pain finds its way out of one's system, then how come I still feel the pain -- as new and as raw as it was 10 years ago, as if it just happened yesterday? But it's not so easy -- as I found out the hard way in the decade after your departure.

Yes, it was exactly a decade ago that I sat in the ambulance with your body to be with you during the last few hours of your onward journey. Your hand was cold. I can still feel it in mine. And I wasn't afraid. I was at some spot where sensations (except the numbing dull ache) couldn't reach me, saving myself from the overpowering pain of the truth. I refused to acknowledge both (pain and truth) as I went about making arrangements for your funeral.

You would probably think that in all these years I wrote to you only twice (this being the second letter); you may be wondering if I had moved on -- leaving you, the past, our together times and all those good old memories behind. How wrong you're! But to tell you the truth, I never felt the need to write to you after my first letter... I didn't want to actually accept that you're gone. I am still unwilling to accept it.

But, sometimes, it hits me -- hits me really hard. Like when I am at Taj Mahal hotel and trying to choose something from the menu, I am careful enough to pass up veg cutlet which happens to be your favourite dish. Frankly, I don't even remember when was the last time amma made allam pacchadi or undraallu for Vinayaka Chaviti. Do you know that we avoid talking about you -- unless it's completely unavoidable, when we're forced to make a mention and just let your name/memory hang in the air, in the void! It's so similar to the void your departure created in our life.

Amma finds happiness in small things -- like buying your niece some clothes or stationery items or crafts material. Like reading palms and interacting with people who visit her to know about their future. Like writing those articles to various magazines (oh yes, there are dozens of new ones which are publishing her articles -- even the kind of stuff we used to make fun of because of amma's use of Grandhik Telugu). Like waiting for me to visit her every once in a while so she can share gossip and what she's been up to. So yeah, she's in her own world and it's doing her a ton of good.

As for me, I'm in my own little bubble too. By the way, I've to give you the latest updates:
1. Now, we've our dream house in Gopalpur-on-sea, and a German Shepherd dog called Frizbii (but neither we stay there nor is the dog staying with us -- it's a long story).
2. Your niece is in a residential school now (she's enjoying it there -- or so she says and we choose to believe her for various reasons).
3. We sold off the flat in Hyderabad, which you never saw anyway!
4. I'm back to journalism -- so, life has come a full circle.
5. And oh, Telangana is a separate State now. I wonder how you would have reacted to the news were you alive.

I also got to tell you that my daughter is now a typical teenager with terrible mood swings and temper tantrums! She's got to be that, right! A chip off the old block. And oh, she now knows that her mama is in a place from where there's no return... just like Sirius Black. Fine, I know you don't know who that is but seriously, you should have read more books when you were around.

So yeah, she knows that she's on her own. Just like her mother.

But what the heck! Haven't I grown old by 10 years -- hiding my gray hair under layers of colour as I keep experimenting with shades of brown and black to make myself look younger, feel younger, look confident, feel confident, look like all's well and I can handle everything, and feel it to be true in every sense?

So, has this decade eased the pain and helped me move on? Nope. And this year, it has all come back with vengeance as I feel miserable day after day -- as a run-up to the D-day. I was counting days and thinking '10 years ago, on May 28th night - all was well. May 29th - nothing amiss. May 30th - safe zone still. May 31st - my sleepless nights started. June 1st - the time is approaching, just a few hours more before the doctors called us (decades ago) to declare: "I'm sorry. We tried our best but couldn't save him."

I still remember how amma and nanna almost collapsed. Those moments keep flashing in front of my eyes and, like a film reel that keeps moving without my intervention, those memories just keep fleeting in and out. I don't think I really want to relive all that pain but somehow, this year seems different. I somehow lost control, gave up trying and gave in to the pain that's been coming in waves for the past many days and became a part of my very existence now.

But, you don't worry! You know your sister to be a fighter and a survivor, right! I'll pull through this painful period too. It just takes time. Maybe a lot of time now that I'm a bit older and prone to losing the battle before I even start. Still, I'll bounce back. I know I will. You know I will. Because you left me with responsibilities, and absolutely no choice.

Well, then, time to say goodbye. Or till I write to you again...

So long farewell. Stay well, wherever you are.

Love,
Akka

P.S: I really really really miss calling you thammudu. And, I love you!

Truth is overrated!

I was recently watching the movie Big, Fat Liar and heard the protagonist trying to drive home the message loud and clear: Truth is not overrated! Well, it may be good to listen to such patronizing on screen but off screen life is just a sum up of fuck ups.

As far as I can see, Truth is definitely overrated, truth is dangerous, truth will only bring harm to people who choose to be truthful. People who want to stand by their conviction and choose to be honest and tell the truth will end up paying a heavy price. Like Rohith Vemula who couldn't bear the reality of the hurt that truth and his convictions caused him. And he's not alone. I'm reminded of all those RTI activists and sincere bureaucrats who get threatened or killed for choosing to stick to the truth.

So, what happens if one chooses to speak the truth? It leads to much negativity and bad blood, of course! Haven’t we learned the lesson even after watching popular Telugu movie April 1 Vidudala where the ever-lying hero chooses to tell the truth at the behest of the girl he’s in love with – she sets a condition that he has to speak ONLY the truth for a month if she has to agree to marry him. And that condition which he decides to oblige blissfully unaware of the consequences puts his life at risk. Still, just to ensure his lady love relents to marry him, he chooses to stick to the truth and turns his murderer-friend his arch enemy. Finally, the girl is impressed with his honesty, regrets her condition and decides to marry him.

Now, is that the power of truth? Is it okay to think “All is well that ends well?” As this was just a movie, it was okay for the hero to stick to the truth till the end – because every movie has an end, usually a happy end, but in life there’s no end and The End means THE END of life or relationship. Movies may be a reflection of life’s realities, but life is not a movie.

And it’s my sincere suggestion people – before you confess and admit to wrong-doing or decide to give in to guilt feelings or feel convinced that truth is a virtue and it’s always better to speak the truth, think again! You may end up paying a heavy price, sometimes with your own life maybe! Like Rohith; like IAS officer D.K. Ravi; like the 39-40 RTI activists who got killed or the 275 who were assaulted! And you’ll end up being a body and a number.

So, think carefully and think again, and again, and again – because Truth is Overrated!

A toast to my virtual presence

Dear You,

Yes, I know who you are. And I know that you know who I am. Maybe virtually. Maybe I know your face and you know mine - even if it is only because of the profile pictures. I might remember your name because of your frequent updates. I'm not so active on social networking. So I won't be surprised if you cannot put a name to my face or vice-versa.

Times are changing, aren't they? We sat next to each other a while ago and even carried out conversations you say? Do I remember any of it? I don't suppose so, but let me admit that I do admire your memory and your perseverance. Is that what it is? Perseverance because you don't seem to give up! You try to push yourself into my memory and monkey around there. You're adamant about staying put there.

But what if I want none of it? Is it even possible? I dread to think... my life seems meaningless without those meanderings, peeks and peeps into your life. And yours. And yours. It is almost as if I cannot exist without you. Without your virtual presence, should I say? I know what you're doing. And where you're doing what you're doing. I even know how you're doing what you're doing. It's information overload, you say? Do you want to apologize? Oh no, please! It's all very important to me. It's not about you. It's about me. I need to know what each of you is up to. Lest I cannot digest my food. I cannot sleep for God's sake. I need to peep into everything, and everyone's life, around.

You're asking about my life? Well... does it even matter? Not to me, I'm afraid! I just do what I am best at doing. SULK. Sulk because my life is not going the way yours is going. Oh yours is so bloody brilliant and fantastic and colourful. I try to copy, to imitate, to at least fake part of it. But I fail miserably! And I retreat - crying! Wallowing in self-pity.

You say you bought that brand new tab that I've been eyeing and saving up through my nose for the past God-knows-how-many-months! Oh how I hate you - but only secretly, mind you! I cannot really show that hatred online you see. You've to come to terms with fake love and admiration if you want our virtual friendship to continue, blossom and become meaningful - in the virtual world. I don't really care if you're my friend once I log out. Do I? Let me see! Looks like I don't! But this charade has to continue.

Did you say you are wondering about your choice of your next car? Me aside: "Oh God, you have one effing family car already. Why the hell do you need it, show off?" On your wall: "Wow... amazing! I think you should go for this because of these these these reasons. And congratulations in advance. Lucky person. I'm so happy for you."

My life sucks. I'm trying still... I'm trying to adjust my lifestyle and my profile pictures and my status updates to match yours. You had a sizzler last week? Big deal! I had two continental and one Chinese nights last week. See, I'm definitely better than you! Oh God, but you're buying that posh new camera. Since when did you start showing interest in taking pictures? Oh it's for the selfies you say? Maybe now I'll eat only one meal a day and try saving up more money to buy a better camera than yours for my future selfies.

Hey, which grooming parlour do you go to for that glow on your face and the shine on your hair? I cannot seem to be able to get a freaking hair colour from the supermarket near home, and go to the next door beautician to get my bloody grey hair covered... Looking young is the in-thing you feel! Now how can I admit openly that I don't earn as much as you do but I'm compelled to maintain a lifestyle on par with you. On weekends you eat at plush places while I do the laundry at home and iron my clothes on my own because I cannot afford the expenses. Also, mind you, I'm a mother and a wife. I've duties, you see. So my inability to take care of myself and be(have) as cool as you can be easily camouflaged with fake pictures of me laughing with my only child and click a selfie in a side angle so my grey hair and uncared for skin don't become prominent. My child's innocent smile is what captures everyone's attention. And voila, my profile pictures are also well taken care of!

You don't seem to understand this double-life I'm leading... but let me tell you this. Look into yourself and you'll see what I mean. Because this is exactly what you're doing too! We're all mirrors of the mirrors - reflecting off each other and behaving like this is life. Maybe this is life. Who am I to complain, after all? So let's still be friends in the virtual world and praise one another outwardly. See you soon (with another update about how effing good my own life is - doesn't matter if my real existence is in complete contrast to my virtual presence). Take care. Muaahhh (something I've learnt to do a lot in my virtual world).

~Me

What's in a relationship, sans gender talk?

"Everything," I'd say! Explain, I shall, if you permit me a few digressions.

A day, a story, and a perspective:

"A man who really loves you and wants you to be in his life forever will never give you reasons to doubt him. He will never take you for granted… He will always keep you above everything else. He will fight for you and not with you… He will remember your likes and dislikes and will not forget what is important to you. He knows you the way he knows his own shadow… His own soul… His own life."

I read this on Facebook a few days ago and was wondering, once again, about relationships. Why should the above things be true only in case of the man, the husband? So, does it mean that a woman need not really love the man in her life and need only wait to be loved? Suppose it was posted by a man instead of a woman, words like the 'man' and the associated pronouns would have been replaced by 'woman' and related pronouns. Frankly speaking, not in Arnab Goswami style of course, I feel the onus lies on both the partners. How can love and relationship issues be different from one gender to the other?

'The war of the genders' is a highly misused, and abused, phrase. So are terms like 'love' and 'respect.' I really love, and totally relate to, what Sridevi says in 'English Vinglish' - 'I don't want love. I want respect.' Once both partners learn to respect each other - respect the significant other's opinions, ideas, tastes, likes and dislikes, interests, and passions, love will happen quite naturally. And then the battle of the sexes will end automatically. And naturally! Somehow, I feel, it all boils down to ego which is a deep-rooted emotion and plucking out which takes a lifetime of futile efforts.

Another day, another story, and another perspective:

On the first day of their marriage, wife and husband decided and agreed not to open the door for anyone! On that day, first husband’s parents came to see them, they were behind the door. Husband and the wife looked at each other, husband wanted to open the door, but since they had an agreement he did not open the door, so his parents left. After a while the same day, wife’s parents came, wife and the husband looked at each other and even though they had an agreement, wife with tears on her eyes whispered, I can’t do this to my parents, and she opened the door. Husband did not say anything.

Years passed and they had 4 boys and the fifth child was a girl. The father planned a very big party for the new born baby girl, and he invited everyone over. Later that night his wife asked him what was the reason for such a big celebration for this baby while we did not do it for the others! The Husband simply replied, because she is the one who will open the door for me! Daughters are always so special !!

This story hit me real hard as it was a bit unpalatable to me. Its appeal to me was much different from all the touching/ sentimental comments that flooded the status update. I felt this can be looked at in a different perspective where the moral of the story can be perceived as below:

"The husband changes himself completely for the wife and sacrifices everything (including his own parents) for her sake, in order to keep her happy always. But the wife doesn't really seem to care for him or his parents as much as she does for her own family."

I agree that daughters are extra special... being a daughter myself and a mother of an amazing daughter, at least I should know that daughters are indeed special. But I also know that the world around is cruelly ignorant and our actions can be perceived in so many different ways - highlighting the grey areas especially! This story, to me, is not really a happy one. It's a real sharp comment (probably in the most subtlest possible way) on the sad state of affairs clouding the most amazing institution called marriage! :(

As my husband insists - always - understanding and trust are the keys to a successful marriage. And those are the very same things lacking in marriages these days - and that's probably why so many couples are falling apart. If the husband can support the wife in a joint agreement, I wonder why the wife cannot do the same for him! If the husband is willing to accept his in-laws' family with open arms, why does the wife find it so difficult to do just the same! I always wondered if it has got to do with the mental make-up of both the sexes. And if what everyone says - Men are from Mars and Women are from Venus - is true!

A different day, a new quote, and a newer perspective:

In yet another equally disturbing quote that's doing the rounds on social networking sites, the ultra-modern, educated, economically-independent Netizen women preach that the man shower his love on his wife in abundance "in order to gain their children’s respect. Love your wife, show the children that you care for her! So they’ll learn how to love, and respect women when they grow up!" Or something to that effect! I’d still hold on to my point and say, this is quite so true in case of the woman too! "Show your children how to love and respect the man in your life… and in doing so, you’re doing a favor to your girls by teaching them how to do the same – without bringing in biased concepts like ego, sacrifice, independence, individuality, and so on!"

I’d personally love it if my daughter can punch in the face of the man who troubles her in any way – not to protect her ego or her superiority complex, but only to uphold her self-respect and push her self-confidence level up by a few notches. That’s the positive spirit I’ll try to inculcate in her and make sure, as a woman and as a mother, that she knows how to be feminine without being submissive, how to be a woman without being a feminist, how to be independent without being arrogant, how to be selfish without being mean, and how to be herself without being egoistic…

I hope mothers – everywhere – are listening! Mothers with daughters, mothers with sons, mothers all kind, and mothers from around the world!

Whither have thou all gone?

These are a few of my favorite things...

Whenever I hear this song, I wonder where have all my favorite things gone! Each time I end up making a mental list of all things that I love. Or those that I used to love. There was a time when small and simple things were the very reasons of my happiness. These small little things were what made me genuinely happy.

As I now try to recollect something – anything – that makes me happy, I realized how much I've changed… With a surprise I note how I am unable to recollect most of what brings me happiness. Or when was the last time I was actually happy! Why, oh why, did I lose myself and my happy-go-lucky spirit amid the chores of life and the cares of the world! When did this transformation happen… I have no answers now but I’d surely explore and figure it out soon – very soon!

S keeps telling me – Be happy. Forget the past. Move on! How can anyone do it – when they’re shrouded in the bitterness of the past memories, and surrounded by misery! Happiness is not just a state of mind. It's a whole lot of things put together. Happiness, just like love, is such a fleeting thing, an ephemeral feeling. And yes, it indeed is difficult to understand what makes me happy and bring it all back into my life… welcome my old friend with a smile!

Nevertheless, I did manage to come up with a not-so-long list of things that still make me happy – genuinely happy.

• Beautiful and colorful butterflies
• Rainbow
• Jasmines
• Pink roses
• Honey
• Chocolate chips ice cream
• Shiny glass bangles
• Romantic songs of the Golden Era
• Flying dupatta
• Raindrops
• First sip of freshly brewed hot coffee
• A good book (preferably a feel-good romance or a racy thriller)
• Smile of a baby
• Hugging my daughter
• A word of praise
• Bright sunny morning after a week of incessant rains
• A loving touch
• Cooing of the birds
• An indulgent gesture
• Memory of my daughter’s face just after she was born
• A walk on the wet sand
• A deep wet kiss
• Roasted peanuts with jaggery
• A tight, therapeutic hug
• An off-white sari with a red border
• Touch of skin on skin
• Picking up flowers that fell from a roadside tree
• Raw mangoes with salt and chilli powder
• The scent of the fresh mehendi
• A romantic movie evening
• A shared chocolate
• Corn on the cob
• Kalakhand
• Satin ribbons
• Melody chocolates
• Fresh orange juice
• Pani puri from a road-side vendor
• Childhood black-and-white photographs
• Natraj pencils
• Watching Yeh Jo Hai Zindagi episodes on YouTube
• Photographs of breath-takingly picturesque locales
• Waking up to Venkateswara Suprabhatam
• Snuggling in a warm quilt on every winter morning
• Finding money in a jeans pocket or a discarded purse
• Reading a romantic Telugu novel (secretly)
• Buttered popcorn
• Star ice cream
• Cadbury five star
• Nanna's creative stories on how the rats left sweets for me and my little bro
• Staging dharna at home to make nanna take us to a movie
• Praying to God every evening to make our toy birds real
• My lovely ‘Lily doll’
• Bournvita and Horlicks
• The soft touch of an infant
• Scent of Johnson's baby powder, baby oil, milk, the baby scent
• Hopscotch
• Making love in the rain
• Gudiya ki shaadi and the goodies that we got at my doll's marriage feast
• Birthdays and new clothes
• The smell of brand new books
• Pocket money
• Greeting cards
• Key chains with names engraved
• The scent of the agarbatti
• The chiming of the temple bells
• Delicate anklets and toe rings
• Nail polish, and lipstick
• Kaajal and kumkum spread on to the face
• Amma's rustling silk sari
• Bell earrings
• My first lemon yellow and brown churidaar
• A cute, white, soft, cuddly puppy
• An hour-long oil massage, and bath
• The scent of the sambrani...

I miss all these and many more. And I miss the happiness. I miss the small joys of life. I miss being happy. I miss being myself. I miss my childhood. I miss being loved. I miss everything. I miss my loved ones. I miss my friends. I miss the long walks and talks. And I miss you!

Rama, Rama kya hai yeh drama!

On a beautiful, unsuspecting night, my brilliant daughter started off a conversation on a tangent...

S: Amma, do you know I don't like Ram.

Me: Who Ram? 

(I was worried because I couldn't think of anyone with that name. I thought later, maybe it's her classmate or fellow traveller on the school bus! But no, I was surely in for a shock as she elaborated - with logic - why she dislikes Ram).

S: (Rolling her eyes) God Rama of course. Who did you think?

Me: (Breathing a sigh of relief) Nobody in particular. So tell me why don't you like Ram?

S: Because he left his wife and children in the jungle and I think it's unfair that he left them like that. And I feel even we're both staying like that - like Sita and her children - though we don't live in a sage's hut or hermitage or whatever it is called, we're still living in the middle of the jungle and I know how Sita and her children would have felt.

Me: (I was completely taken aback by her train of thought) It's not like that... it's kind of complicated and you won't be able to understand everything.

S: Maybe not. But I understand that what Ram has done is not correct and he was being very unfair.

Me: Why do you think so?

S: Because Ram was staying comfortably in his kingdom in his own palace while his wife and children were living uncomfortably in the jungle.

Me: Hmmm... okay. I see your point.

S: Amma, tell me one thing. Why did Ram leave Sita in the jungle?

Me: (How do I explain all the intricacies of a relationship from a different era, time and age to a 11-year-old without sounding weird or dismissive or oppressive or evasive?) Like I said, it's not very easy to explain S...

S: Why not? There has to be a reason for everything no - you always say so! What was Ram's reason for leaving Sita? Did she fight with him? Did she disobey him? Or did she wear those damn nighties that Ram hated so much?

Me: (Giggling despite the seriousness of the topic of discussion) No S... it's not like that.

S: Then tell me the entire story.

Me: (Choosing my words carefully, I tried explaining in the simplest and safest possible way the reasons behind Sita's exile to forest). You see, when Ram killed Ravan and got Sita back to the kingdom, there were a few people in his kingdom who thought she must also have become a rakshasi because she stayed for so long in Lanka. And once when a washerman scolded his wife about something, she fought back. Immediately he blamed her saying she's also behaving like a rakshasi and it might be because of Sita's influence. And in those days, whatever the king says/ does, it became a rule automatically so when Ram let Sita come back to the Ayodhya with him without any hesitation, that means all the men in the kingdom have to accept whatever the wife says/ does even if she's behaving badly like a rakshasi. And since that washerman was angry he spoke ill of the queen Sita as one who set a bad example for other women in Ayodhya. When Ram got to know about it, he couldn't ignore his people's opinion and being a king he had a duty and responsibility towards his citizens. So he decided to send Sita away to the forest.

S: But that is no reason to send Sita to the forest.

Me: Why not? Ram is a good king and so he has to listen to what his people say, no!

S: He might be a good king but he was not a good husband or a good father. To become famous as a good king, he chose to be a bad husband and a bad father. How can anyone like a king like Ram and make him a God? I don't like him, that's it.

Now I don't have any explanation to beat that sharp logic of a smart child! And with that declaration, she just turned around and slept off leaving me to my thoughts...

Resolutions are the in-thing

"What's your New Year Resolution?"

That's the single-most popular question I get to hear every year as if that's the only thing that matters and my life depended on the answer, especially on the last day of an year that's gone by! Resolutions were never my thing. As a child, and a teenager, I used to make one as easily and as I pushed it (with immediate effect) to the corner-most, undusted and cobwebbed part of the attic called my mind - where the concept of spring cleaning doesn't exist.

This year, therefore, I decided to do something different: to actually make a new resolution (which I've not done in the past few years) - quite a few resolutions perhaps - and keep track of how many (of those) and how soon will I break (most of those)!

Allow me a few digressions and meanderings, here and there, while I prepare my very own list of new year resolutions.

New Year means a lot of things to a lot of people. To me, it means new beginnings, new hopes, new goals, new inspirations, and new aspirations. New resolutions too - which are of course broken in no time. But most importantly, it also means an opportunity to learn new things, visit new places, break a few bonds, and make new ones - in fact, enjoy life with renewed energy and enthusiasm. I aspire to achieve some of these at least by end of 2014.

Oh God! as predicted, I started with a digression. Now, the list:

1. Don't aim at buying a new car but aim at maintaining the good ol' Alto at least by dusting it every once in a while.
2. Forgive, forget, move on, move over, move under, make move(s) and move (to) places.
3. Take chances and take a lot of risk to climb that mango tree just to bite into a succulent, teeth-tingling raw mango.
4. Be around people with positive thoughts, attitude, spirit.
5. Speak only in Telugu with all the English speakers and in Spanish/Tamil/Malayalam with all Odiya/Telugu/Hindi speakers. And speak (and sing too) backwards if possible.
6. Spend quality time with my daughter, and control my temper around her.
7. Sign up for all bakwaas newsletters, promos and all other junk emails just to enjoy the feel of deleting them or marking them as spam.
8. Speak the truth and ONLY the truth, even if I get murdered in the process of trying to protect the truth and all the facts surrounding it.
9. Be less greedy and gluttony - eat if and only when I am hungry, unless of course it's mysore pak, gulab jamun, rock sweet (from pulla reddy) double-cheese pizza, triple-layered chocolate fudge brownie with ice-cream, nuts and melted chocolate, cheese macaroni, veg sizzler, paneer salt-n-pepper, MLA pesarattu, oily mysore/ mirchi bajji, samosa, malpua, jalebi, chenna poda, chenna cutlet, chenna-any-effing-sweet, dum-style veg biryani, bagara baingan, baingan ka bharta with butter garlic naan, masala dosa, onion dosa a la Manmadhudu style and a few interesting things more.
10. Shed a couple of grams by end of year. Phew! That itself takes so much effort I must say, and the thought counts right!
11. Laugh till my stomach hurts, eyes water, my throat goes grrrrrrrr. Laugh till I can laugh no more!
12. Pamper myself dutifully day after day, week after week and month after month... call home a beautician, a yoga instructor, a dietitian, a masseur - anyone who is willing to pamper me - and spend the entire day feeling loved/ great.
13. Cry my heart out till tears dry up completely and refuse to well up my eyes for the rest of the year.
14. Follow Protima Bedi's example and learn dance - how does it matter (to me) if I can't get the moves right? It's the audience that suffers, not me :D Learn groovy/ sexy moves for latest Bollywood numbers like Sari ke fall sa, Halkat jawani, Chikni Chameli, and Gandi baat just so I don't feel out of place at picnic parties.
15. Say 'I Love You' to anyone I feel like - everyday and many times in a day. On second thoughts, maybe I should restrict the madness to one person per day.
16. Sing (war and revenge songs, national anthems, nursery rhymes - basically anything works) aloud in the presence of unsuspecting friends - especially when I have sore throat and scummy cough as accompanists.
17. Be as naughty as I can get - naughtier and more mischievous than a child.
18. Read every crap book that's available in the second-hand market and complete reading all the good ones sitting morosely at the home library before making millions by selling them off as "vintage collection". 
19. Speak my mind and let all the idiots and fools know how idiotic and foolish they are!
20. Pose for stupid photo sessions and also get an amazing portfolio done for my Bollywood comeback. Yes, you read it right. It's gonna be a comeback (that's what actors of my age do)!
21. Slap all idiots who hurt me, then laugh hysterically and clap with glee!
22. Believe in myself, my ability, my beauty, my personality, my everything - and then believe that everyday is beautiful and marks a new beginning.
23. Wish the first person(s) I see in the morning 'Happy Birthday' even if it's not their birthday! And keep changing my date of birth on FB every 10-20 days just to confuse people... :P
24. Forge bonds with all my dearest friends and strengthen ties with people who matter to me - while royally ignoring those who I don't have/ want to care about - and call/ meet once a month.
25. Change the face of the village, and do something to make the lives of people better - like distributing free gutka or booze packets. It's easier to gain the villagers' trust and respect this way rather than doing socially responsible and morally acceptable things.
26. Learn to be more strong and assertive. More importantly, learn to say NO if that's the only thing I want to say.
27. Roam around the house in the dark in a white sari with a candle in hand singing "Kahin deep jale kahin dil" and other vital songs that add value to my get-up!
28. Spend money on things that I LOVE rather than sacrifice now and regret later about buying or help buying things for others.
29. Get drunk, throw up, and then scream at the top of my voice "Saale Kutte Kameene main tera khoon peejaaoongi" while dramatically wiping my mouth.
30. Make a beginning for my very own 'Around the world in 80 days' trip with daughter.
31. Read all crap, downmarket works by Indian authors including Chetan Bhagat, Rabinder Singh, Preeti Shenoy, Robin Sharma, Animesh Verma just so I can understand why my students want to do a novel review on their books. Note to self: Stay away from God fiction and God(s) of small and big things.
32. Take Srishtii's advice and become the greatest cook(er) on earth. Join the Village Culinary Club (oops, need to check if we have one though) to hone my innate talent and learn to cook an amazing variety of dishes with unpeeled potatoes.
33. Take dog for a walk everyday; offer to take neighbours' dogs for walks too - maybe become the official dog-walker in the village by including street dogs in my Walk the Talk sessions.
34. Dig into the list of all my social networking and email contacts to see who's gonna be more useful to me and religiously follow them to spectacularly and miraculously improve my chances of becoming a part of the next-big-thing (whatever it means, it does sound good!)
35. Become the official photographer for all the weddings in the village and shoot away with my amazing 3.2 MP cell phone camera.
36. Come up with excellent movie titles for Telugu cinema industry and win the Best Title Writer award... To sample a bit of my brilliance, here are a few: Neekem telusu nimmakaya pulusu, Veedu naa mogude, Nuvvu kaavali ante telvada be, Phakiru cheppina kathalu, Jeedi maamidi-kanne gummadi, Nenu ikkada nuvvu ekkada?, Chachinattu choodu, Veedu maaradu anthe...
37. Throw stones at the neighbour's house in the middle of the night and scream "Snake, Dog, Pig, Elephant, Bear, Ghost, Thief" and whatever else comes to my mind when they wake up to abuse me.
38. Okay, most importantly, complete the list of resolutions before 2013 ends.
39. Break most of these by end of the first week and start preparing a new list for 2015.

Thank God, I'm done. Actually, no! The list I've on mind is lost in a fathomless pit. And I'm not even remotely close to one-thousandth of the things I want to put in the list. Never mind, I think this would do for a (comeback) beginner for the time-being. Uff! I wonder how people can spend so much of time, energy, and effort in planning, creating and executing a list of resolutions when they are sure they're not gonna last more than a week! Nevertheless, new year resolutions are (perceived to be) serious business, symbols of hope(s), tough work but fun too... So where's your list?

Be thankful to bad times...

Life has shown me many shades so far. Ever since I moved to this cosy little villa in a cosy little village on the not-so-cosy Sea. And the Sea, which is just at an arm's length from home, always soothed me by just being there. Energetic, bubbling, gushing, excited on one hand; calm, contented, cool on the other. But never once did I witness its ugly fury and the ferocity of its power. Though there were threats - minor and major - on and off in the past five years, neither the Sea nor I succumbed - we always stood the ground. Together, through thick and thin, rain and shine. 

But now, there's a difference in our attitudes and there's a palpable distance. Not between the Sea and me, but between the Sea and me. In a different way. So what has changed? I just cannot drive down anymore to go see my old friend without feeling apprehensive. To figure out whether all is well with him. To know how he survived the gurgling and circling and depression deep within him. I wasn't around at the right moment and I feel guilty and ashamed of fleeing - to save myself and my daughter; desiring to be as away from the dear friend as possible at the most crucial and critical time; leaving his side when disaster hit.

But was it so simple? Not really. When I hear stories, in excited voices, of the cyclone Phailin from neighbours, colleagues and friends, I feel blessed to be hundreds of miles away in a safer zone enjoying a sizzler on the not-so-quiet evening that Phailin was doomed to hit my current hometown. Not that it reduced the population of our district by a few thousands but it did devastate the lives and livelihood of all survivors.

Deciding to go ahead with the pre-planned Dasara vacation wasn't like running away - it's not like I would have died if I stayed on but I would have been terrified while trying to put up a brave front for my daughter's sake... And she would have been scarred by the experience. But experience it would be, of a lifetime. Like the one I had in 1990 when one of the terrifying super cyclones hit Machilipatnam. I can still recall the memory of rattling doors, the whooshing wind, the violent swinging of fans, the grinding stone pushed against the kitchen door, the gusts trying to lash against my face when I tried opening the window just a wee bit - more out of curiosity - as fresh as if it happened last night.

I still remember the way we sat against the windows holding them in place - me and my brother, along with the daughter of my aunt's tenant. She was the oldest at 17, I was 15 and my brother was 13. My cousins' children were too young to understand the effect of cyclone and the fear on the adults' faces. For us teenagers, it was exciting and scary as hell. And it was a miracle that we survived that night, more because of how long we had to hold our bladders since the toilets were outside the house and we couldn't step out unless we wished to die. Finally, when we couldn't bear it any longer, all children (including us) were allowed to relieve themselves near the bedroom door or kitchen door. And the suggestion came from none other than my super orthodox attha (aunt). It was then that I realized life is far more important than a few superstitious beliefs.

But coming back to the now when another of those vicious cyclones wreaked havoc, I wonder why do all bad and frightening things, and calamities, strike in the middle of the night? I've no ONE answer but I have a few guesses - God is probably still trying to send us a gentle reminder that while we need to face the dark dangers, we also need to learn to trust that the dawn will break soon, despite the fury and the destruction. Also, it's good to GO in an unconscious sleepy state rather than in a fearful fully awake state. And God, methinks, wants it that way - with as little consciousness and pain as possible because the inevitable cannot be changed.

I've been hearing a lot of things/ theories from various people in the past two weeks -

"No matter what advancement and progress man has made, he can never gain control over nature."

"Nature's fury is unstoppable and we feel so naked and vulnerable beneath its wrath."

"Natural calamities like these occur because innocent saints of the Hindu religion are targeted."

"Phailin happened because Christians in Odisha were treated badly."

"Only Saibaba saved us. How else can we explain the minimal destruction that we suffered as compared to our neighbours!"

And life did come to a standstill. A clear look around me tells me what's wrong, and right, in this part of the country. The nights (should I say evenings) are dark, deep, lonely and endless. The mornings are tiring when nothing, absolutely nothing, gets done - just take a walk on the road and you'll find huge trees lying lifeless on either side of the road, an everyday reminder of how close we all are to death and how easy it is to simply lie flat and die! Walk around the college campus and see the bare ground which was once a 'green campus' and a proud home to hundreds of trees - the variety itself was mind-boggling - all fallen to dust. Meet people anywhere - the only thing they talk about now is the nightmarish experience, how they survived, what they have lost and what is intact!

Phailin is a terrifying, numbing, and unforgettable memory in many minds - including our own dog Frizbi who wouldn't leave the side of our watchman even after we returned. Each time I look into his eyes, I still see love there but trust? I doubt! Though as unassuming, un-accusing, and unconditional as ever, Frizbi's gesture of preferring to sleep close to our watchman rather than with us in our bedroom as he used to earlier conveys it all - that we left him at the most crucial time. And the ONLY person to stay with him then was who he prefers to stay with - still!

Thus he taught me another valuable lesson of life: "Respect, honour, serve, pray for and be loyal to those who helped you in bad times, but also be thankful to those bad times for they show who is truly yours!"

**********

Though I wasn't around to witness all the drama and the fury, I now have the second-hand account(s) of what and how it all happened! And Mr. Dharma Rao who talked (in the video) about losing 670 coconut trees, the morning after Phailin hit, is the father of two of my ex-students - young school-going children who I tutored for about 2 years.

http://www.ndtv.com/video/player/india-matters/phailin-winds-of-fury/294827

Disturbed musings

Being a girl translates to leading a very tough life in India, where 5 or 50 is just a number... Truly tough life, where every girl has to learn a few life-saving tips while walking on a double-edged sharp sword - so she could live - JUST LIVE and nothing more. No expectations, no hopes, no wishes, no demands... just plain survival instinct!

If a girl gets to survive without being mutilated in her mother's womb, that's the first level of luck. And then starts the actual struggle - of trying to please everyone by following a checklist of tough(er,est) rules carefully! 

Here are a few Don'ts in THE checklist: 

- be humble

- look ugly (preferably)

- don't get dressed attractively

- don't laugh loudly

- don't talk a lot

- don't act smart

- don't wear jeans or skirts

- don't go out in the evening

- don't mingle with men

- don't go to pubs

- don't eat out

- don't drink/ smoke

- don't do this 

- AND don't do that.

Otherwise, you'll get raped and mutilated - so what if you're just a sweet little girl. And mind you, you actually asked for it by wearing that cute little (red???) frilly frock. Why, I wonder, are we living such brutal lives? Why is there so much of hatred around? Where is all the love and compassion gone?

I'm deeply hurt and shocked by the amount of brutality being inflicted on women, in an era that doesn't let even 5-year-old girls be spared from mind-numbing violence. I'm a woman and I'm a mother of a girl too... While my heart goes out to the little girl who is battling for her life in yet another Delhi hospital, I'm also worried sick about the scar it leaves on the little one's mind forever. 

Would she wake up every now and then in the middle of the night screaming and trying to run away? Will she ever be able to get over the harrowing traumatic brutality she was put through and lead a normal childhood? Will she play with her dolls and soft toys with the same excitement? Will she draw 8-shaped cats, asymmetric cars, balloons and rabbits, and color them in the most hideous patchy way using funny color combos? Will she sing and dance like a bindaas 5-year-old? Will she, when she's just a little girl (still), ask her mom "What will I be... Will I be handsome, will I be rich"? Above all, will she EVER trust anyone again with the same innocence as she did till a few days ago?

I very much doubt it. Life will never be the same for a child when the biggest gift of being a child - her blissful childhood - has been snatched from her. I pray that the girl be relocated and brought up elsewhere rather than in this country... where crimes against children are a seriously punishable offence, where there's a zero-tolerance-level approach to pedophiles, where child psychologists and counselors can play an extraordinary role in taking care of the little angel and re-stabilizing and rehabilitating her into a normal social set-up.

A request to all smart girls out there, and all the smart boys who are girls' best friends - stay safe and learn to say an affirmative NO at least once in a while. 

And please teach your young children, siblings, and cousins a few safety tips, and the difference between 'good touch' and 'bad touch' - and help young innocent girls avoid the brutal traumatic experience called rape!! What happened in Delhi should NOT recur anywhere again :( :(

P.S: It's really really unfortunate that two of my consecutive posts deal with the same topic. And I so strongly feel the need to move on, in search of some (thing more) peace(ful)!

Obit to a sung-too-much soldier...

...Since I couldn't come up with an ode! It's as good (or bad) as a lengthy epitaph can get!

I'm not thinking so much about what to write. I'm more concerned about how to write what I want to write. So many people have written so many millions of words over the past few weeks... expressing shock, disgust, concern, solidarity, angst, anger, hatred, murderous instincts - and every other emotion that one can think of when a heinous act of crime gets out of control and focus, and gains an enormous amount of propaganda.

What happened in Delhi to a 23-year-old unfortunate girl happens to a lot of others everyday in some corner of the world or the other. But the extent of brutality involved this time is what got the attention of the media, the civilians and the netizens around the world, caught people by the scruffs of their necks to sit up and take note of. And think. And react. Protest, if you will! Call it rape, or sexual assault, will you? I call it BLUDGEON. 

A lot of netizens posted minute-by-minute updates of the-how-of-it-all... and about what happened to her with the grossest possible details in the most grotesque manner - probably expecting unsuspecting folks like me to 'Like' the status and share the same with scores of others. With the tag lines "How many likes for this brave girl?", "We're with you, Damini", "Nirbhaya, you're the brave daughter of Mother India", "If you ignore it, you've no heart".

Yes, I agree. I've no heart. I have no heart to Like or share something so gruesome and shocking. I had no heart to feed the wild imagination and secret pleasure of those voyeurs and perverts out there waiting for a glimpse of the-girl-who-was-violated, and all the gory insider details associated with the incident. I had no heart to rape her over and over again with words, pictures, remarks, comments, discussions, tags, Likes.

Wait a second... what am I trying to prove here? That I'm in some way superior to the rest of the human(e) race? That I've a heart while all those umpteen others have a stone in its place? Nah, I'm only trying to understand what is there to 'Like' about a crime of such violence and magnitude?

And now, after all this dichotomy, she finally rests in peace under a piece of earth, wrapped in a piece of cloth... probably with a know-it-all smile of a witness-to-a-never-ending-hysterical-drama!

Strangely, I'm happy for her. I'm happy that it's all over. For her and for me. The pain, the agony, the protest marches, the lathi charges, the anger, the 24X7 almost-live coverage, the (unwanted) attention - yes, unwanted and unnecessary attention because she didn't ask for any of it - the solidarity, and everything else.

And now, I can peacefully go back to doing whatever else I want/ used to - both online and offline. I can read (about) Happiness or 50 Shades of Grey as mindlessly as I watch(ed) the crime scene after the recent bomb blast in Hyderabad while sipping piping hot chai; I can groove to my favorite music while enjoying a Valentine's Day surprise dinner at a plush restaurant of a star hotel; I can engage in gossip about the murder of an acquaintance by her husband and come up with theories on whether it was really a murder or just a suicide; I can cook up the family's favorite meal, including dessert, and relish it without feeling guilty about the calories being downed; I can watch Tom & Jerry some zillionth time on telly and laugh out loud like a child - without a care in/about the world.

Oh that reminds me - what was my answer when baby S asked me: 'Amma, what happened in Delhi... all adults are talking about it?' I remember I told her something. I DID tell her something... but what was that? There I go blank again! Short term memory loss I guess! (My) Memory is such a fleeting thing. And Public memory? Uff forget it! Let's not get into theories and waste our time. Let's just go back to doing what we're good at - FORGET AND MOVE ON.

Love to all and peace to the entire world - minus the girl-who-died-at-last!

In memory of a mischief-maker

Writing an obituary for a student is the worst thing that can ever happen to a teacher! Having come from a profession where we're considered above and beyond all emotions (of course with an exception of a teary-eyed and emotion-choked Arnab Goswami), I thought I'll take the shock, and the pain, without much difficulty. But that wasn't the case!

The fateful Tuesday morning (20.11.12) was like any regular one... or at least it started like one. It being a class-free day for me, S and I set out to get some work done at the bank. We went smiling, came out with the happy and hungry thoughts of invading the nearest dhaba for lunch before we work through the second part of the day. All was well and cheerful till we reached the dhaba when a good Samaritan colleague informed us that we're forbidden to go "there" as "a boy died there just now". Though the message was confusing and triggered a lot of questions in our minds, S turned the bike towards the office without another word.

Post lunch in the college canteen, I tried to squeeze out some more information from a senior colleague on the-boy-who-died. And what we got to know wasn't good news. A first-year student of the engineering college drowned in a nearby pond across the road. That was my first moment of shock. Seeing the expression on my face, S quickly rushed me out. First-year?! My only prayer since that moment was "I hope it's not somebody I know..." because I know quite a few first-year students personally.

The tension kept building up as nobody seemed to have a clue about the unfortunate kid. As the day passed and the evening set in, things slowly started seeing light and the name and other details got out. It was J bhai, one of our attenders, who broke the news to me. He didn't have much information except for the name of the boy who drowned. He then cross-checked the name and the spelling, along with the roll number, in my attendance register. My worst fears were confirmed. He was a student of my class... somebody who I knew - by his first name, middle name and last name - for the past 3 months and 4 days.

The moment was beyond shock, though that was the initial reaction as my brain went numb. Shock engulfed me suddenly and kept overwhelming. It felt as if all the energy drained out of my body. My feet, especially! As I dragged myself out of my room and down the stairs, the news was re-confirmed by two more colleagues. Though I saw a few of my students gathered near the dais, I had no courage to meet their eye, or talk to any of them... The bubbly me had deserted me for the moment and I just dragged on without a cheerful "Hello", "How're you?", "What're you all doing here?", "No class?" or "Good luck" for the next day's exam.

The nightmare had just begun as shock slowly gave way to pain. And pain was coming in waves. Everything around looked like a blur. I was talking, cleaning, arranging and re-arranging things mindlessly, watching TV - but nothing seemed real anymore. The only thing I was doing with focused attention was to trace the boy's FB account. I don't know what made me do it. But after over an hour's effort, I found him - smiling as mischievously as he always did - on FB. Reality striking, I started prying into his not-so-private life by checking his photographs, friends' comments - in fact trying to find out everything 'about him'. Ironical as it may sound, his favorite quote is "Life is too short. So why don't you love me before we run out of time." And then I found a comment posted by his friend, posthumously, "Miss you balli... aise bhi koi chhod ke jaata hai kya". And that really broke my heart.

The first wave of severe pain hit me just when I was about to doze off. The kid's smiling face, both on and offline, and his friend's comment kept coming back to me - depriving me of my usual sound sleep. With a heavy heart and eyes that kept welling up, we reached the college next morning to attend the condolence meeting at the institution. The garlanded photo on a stool with flowers placed in a heap in front, and the overpowering aroma of the incense kept confirming, and re-confirming, the tragedy that could have been evaded had he been a bit less reckless, and a bit more careful.

Now what can I say about Pradip? He was like any happy-go-lucky teenager - dark, thin, short, smiling, reckless, mischievous and talkative. He was neither brilliant nor studious, but he was smart. Not the kind of student teachers would take note of. With a high-pitch, and slightly feminine, voice, he used to keep yakking in one of the last rows. So he was one of the first students whose names I made it a point to know; warned him a couple of times and threatened to throw him out of the class if he "cannot stay quiet". The last I scolded him was two weeks earlier when I told him he'll not be allowed to write the exam if his attendance percentage doesn't improve... :( And improve, it did not. He still bunked classes despite the warning.

He knew he wouldn't be allowed to write the exams because of his poor attendance. He knew and he came prepared... with a towel, a pack of cigarettes, the company of two friends and the thrill of swimming - in a lonely deserted pond amidst nature. The two friends who survived will certainly be scarred for life. And so will be his parents. His father (especially) who works as a security guard in one of the prestigious software companies in Bhubaneswar... who must have dreamed that his son will become an engineer, and someday will work in the same company!! The father's dreams shattered, the mother's heart broke, and the sister's hopes vanished... all in a matter of a few seconds.

Why? Why? I wonder if it's his age, his adventurous spirit or his reckless attitude that predominated and prompted him to take a swim in untested waters on that fateful day! I'm yet to get an answer, and the only person who can answer it right cannot do so - ever again! A moment of thrill cost him his precious life, nipped it in the bud and sucked the life out with ease. S is so right. Such is the fickleness of life!

All I can say now is - be happy, no matter where you are! And may your soul rest in peace!! 

Rediscovering love...

Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii,

How're you? And how's life? Wondering what this is all about? We see each other every waking moment. And then in dreams (nightmares - yours) too. And then in the mind's eye. Telepathy?! So what's this epistle about, you may wonder! Honestly, I've no idea.

On a sudden impulsive whim (yeah, that's the me you know too well), I've decided to give you a teeny-weeny surprise, and a few glimpses - down the memory lane. Let's see what a spontaneous, spur-of-the-moment thought will lead this, and us, to! Are you ready for the reckless roller-coaster ride, back in time?

I believed thirteen is an unlucky number. Apparently, it wasn't and it is not half as bad. And I thought in terms of years, thirteen is too long a time for fond remembrances but what if memories are fresh, tender and mushy?

Walks, talks. Puns, promises. Fun, freedom. Laughter, love. Teasing, texting. Stolen glances, and kisses. Silly intranet messages, sweet nothings. Nicknames, conversations. Roses, cards. Letters, emails... But where have thou all hidden all this while? Behind torments, and true-to-life troubles? Behind age, and responsibilities, chasing me (us) trying to catch up? Or behind tactless taunts, meaningless misunderstandings, and fruitless fights? Maybe behind stubborn silences, and mock (and real) angers! Behind harrowing nights, and pits of hell!Behind remotes flung out, broken things. And hearts.

And somehow, all these subdued memories come back rushing to tease a sleepy mind on a beautiful cloudy afternoon. Thunder, lightening, rain! Reminiscences. Memories of a rainy evening - soaked to the soul. At some godforsaken place outside the city limits. Wilderness. Nature's fury. Wild thoughts. The chill and the thrill of it all...

Aimless and endless long drives... desperation to find a way - the right way - to the destination. Did we eventually find out the right way - after crossing those pastures, barren lands and deserted roads? Who cares! All that mattered was the togetherness. Along with the tension of getting lost. And the excitement of embarking on yet another adventure. Of finding a new path - to life!

I can still recall... our late-night rides to satiate sudden hunger pangs at the only places that would be open 24X7 - cafes at the airport, and inside plush hotels (oh, why didn't we ever think of the railway station?)! Midnight biryanis. Chai and pakode parties. Three-in-the-morning buffet breakfasts. Never bothering about the abominable amounts spent on two cups of coffee (and with my favorite tomato bhath added to the menu at times)! Forever wanting to make dear wife happy. Despite crazy demands. In fact, in spite of it. In spite of everything.

Have all those reckless early morning trips to every corner (and direction) within and beyond the city to find some hidden treasure, and pleasure along the way, vanished from our memories? I guess not! A plain white tea-pot; stones, pebbles and broken branches for the aquarium; carefully chosen unchipped tea cups; a memory here and a souvenir there - all laid out in plain view for us to see, and enjoy, and relive!

From sharing work to sharing lives to sharing work yet again, life has come a full-circle. With a daughter to remind us of the essential bits. Sharing lives was never that easy... or was it?After a decade and more, nothing feels the same. It's different. Like it is a dream. Like it is impossible! Like it was never meant to be.Like it is brand new.Like it is still fresh.

All I have on my mind now is a collection. Of memories. Good ones. And a few bad ones. Years that went by without me realizing it. Even once. Twelve years (okay, fourteen) of togetherness. Shared rooms. Beds. Hugs. Warm nights. Cold ones too. Food. Smells. Scents. Of love. Of flowers. Of boiling milk. And burnt toast. Sights. Books. Sounds. Music. Concerts. Plays. Games.Fights - for pillows, rugs, TV remote, choices. And sometimes for nothing. Many more things.

Songs. Yes, songs. That were in your heart. For me. That never came on to your lips. For fear? Look into my eyes ... (I tried, when you weren't looking). Search your heart(I did). Search your soul (maybe I didn't. Not well enough).What you mean to me... Only now I've understood that well - and beyond. Unspoken words. Un-shown hurt. Unrequited love.

Now it all comes back to me. The fresh feel of it. And what it means to be with you. Tohave you in my life. And so...

Bade achche lagte hai...

aur tum...

(And YOU!)

It was always you. And it'll always be you.

Despite the distractions. The occasional attractions. And the flirtations. And thodi si bewafai...

But I'm making no confessions here. No apologies, no pretenses, and no promises either. The world is not about to turn upside down.Things will still be the same.Crankiness, yes! Temper tantrums, yes yes! Fights and frustrations, yes yes yes! So what's going to change? Nothing. Except my own realization. Andbrutalself-analysis. And my paranoia. And my almost-parasitical need for you. And my love. Yes, my love! But my love... that's going to change. With newer understanding. Newer perspective. Renewed ties. Renewed possibilities. Rediscoveries.

So, thank you for all these awesome years. For unconditional love. For patience. For emotional support. For passion. For saner counsel. For appreciation. For not remembering my silly acts. And for remembering and making fun of me.For lovely moments.And insecurities. For understanding. And not understanding.For just being there. And for not being there, especially when I needed you most. For secrets shared. And for things I got to know through other sources.For smartness.And stupidity. For cozy nights.And memorable mornings.For abeautiful today. And a brighter tomorrow.For everything.A big thank you for each and everything.

~S

P.S: I (think I still) love you! Happy Anniversary, btw!!

It's only words...

Words...

oh those treacherous words!

They just come and go...
to torture me!

Words. They trouble me. They torment me. They taunt me. They tease me. They frustrate me. They fail me. They ruin me. And they run away from me, laughing mercilessly.

Look at them agonizing words! Now they want to tumble out, roll across, run hither thither. Lots of them. Floating around in circles... just above my head. Inside my head sometimes. And sometimes inside out. Sometimes upside down. Sometimes hanging in the air. Just! Sometimes in plain view. Sometimes hiding. Playing hide-and-seek with my feelings. And at times, refusing to come onto my lips to give shape and meaning to my thoughts.

Just plain words. Trying to manipulate my head, my emotions, my feelings. Trying to tell me stories. Which I don't want to know or hear. Prying isn't good, I was told. Voyeurism is bad, they told me. But I still hear those words - loud and clear. Conversation(s) in the vehicles, inside homes, in front of houses, out in the open. Stories being told in excited, high-pitched voices. Gossip being shared in low, secretive tones.

Words. They just seem to stare at me from every corner. Wall posters looking me in the eye. Billboards looking down upon me from great distance, and greater height(s). Newspapers hung in stalls, strewn across the table in the reception areas of plush glass-and-steel buildings. Breaking News scrolls on 24X7 news channels. Blogs glaring at me, challenging me and my authority.

Words, and words everywhere. Begging me to read, comprehend, sympathize, empathize, re-tell. Forcing me to accept them, take them into me, shape them up. And tell the story. Their story. My story. Our story. Some story. Any story. Just tell it all... say it aloud... say it one more time.

But how do I choose my words? Carefully, of course! But there are several thousands of them - revolving around me, mocking at me, making faces. Testing my patience. And questioning my command over them. Now, how do I use them to talk about things I want to talk about? About the boy and the girl kissing under the dark canopy of the cloudy sky? On the beach. In the sand. About their desire to make love, merge their bodies, and their souls, into one. Or about mushy love stories that just began and promises just being made. Or promises being broken elsewhere, breaking hearts along the way.

How can I use words, the right ones, to show the agony of the daughter-in-law being dragged by the hair on to the streets? And rip apart the in-laws hurling choicest abuses at the hapless bahu. Is there a better way, really, of using words? Besides talking about couples in love... And about those that are drifting apart. About the husband cheating on his wife. And the wife two-timing her husband. Or the boss seducing the employee, and vice-versa. About the woman pleading with her man to not desert her. Or the man beseeching the woman to understand, and let go!

Nah! I don't want to talk about any of this. These stories do interest me but don't satisfy me well enough. So I'd rather talk about children, their faces a mirror of innocence. Their voices full of exciting, innocent stories. Their faces masking the mischief in their eyes. Their playful faces filling my mind, my soul, my life.

Yes, I want to use all the words in the world (my world) to tell interesting tales about, and for, children - their thoughts pure, their hearts clean, their love unconditional, their expressions cute. That's what I want to use words for. Use these very tender and loving words that I stealthily seduced into my mind (and with those sweet words inviting me back into their amazing world)...

It is best to be on a safer turf. To be able to preach still. Standing on a higher moral ground. To succeed in making a charade. Of being holier than thou! To not let them words slip out of me, take over me, betray me and spill the darkest secrets, desires and fantasies from the deepest core of my heart.

So innocent children it is! That's the tale I want to talk about. Or, I'd rather not talk at all...

This is the rhythm of life...

...Of rural life! Reported by yours truly. Sights, smells, sounds. Seen, felt and heard from the window of a bus. On a pleasant early morning. On the way to work. Passing villages by at breakneck speed. Never slowing or stopping to take a careful second look. Just a few fleeting voyeuristic glimpses. Here and there. Into the lives of others, and things around.

Smells - of fresh village air, moisture, fields. Of liquor, flowers, cashew nuts, perfume. Of piss, cow dung, poop. Of smoke, petrol, pollution. .

Sounds - constant chattering, laughter, incessant honking, and more honking, fights, pleasantries, sighs in traffic jams, some more honking, metal on road, oxen in the fields, bells in temples, chants, blaring trumpets, loud speakers with devotional songs... hmmm, well not always! There are those filmy songs from the '80s and then there are the new raunchy item numbers too - devotion and devilish desire go together sometimes.

But sights are aplenty. I assure you there's plenty to see.

Colors - bright and brilliant - catch your eye. Shamelessly they demand your attention. Reds, blues, magenta pinks, yellows, greens, oranges - hues of nature. Blacks and whites. And shades of grey in between!

Kids wearing nothing - their need to cover their nudity and put up a show of civilization is not greater than that of their counterparts in urban India.

And kids wearing uniforms - reds, blues, whites, browns - walk past as the bus zooms by, fast and furious! Children crying for attention. Dragged forward mercilessly by rushed angry parents... With a slap or two! To make their point. To put things in perspective for the young citizens-to-be.

Green fields laid out with gourd plants, many gourd plants in fact! Bitter gourd, snake gourd, bottle gourd, ridge gourd crawling over to cover every nook and corner... wherever they can lay their long ugly stalks on! Plain grass pastures. Cows grazing. Early birds, and their prey! Pests. Dogs - barking, fighting for life, for food.

Women with loads of stuff carefully balanced on head. Multi-tasking! Walking, chattering, giggling, flirting, and carrying - clothes, pots, wood for fire, infants, burden of life - and balancing the act so well. Why is it, then, that to us - the chosen ones, the blue-eyed children of God, the gifts of God to mankind - it's so difficult to do even simple(r) tasks? What if those women took life, and people, for granted... I wonder what then!

Raucous women - brushing, combing, bathing in tanks and ponds - outdoors! Taunting, tantalizing semi-nude women with wet saris wrapped around their bodies in a cinematic fashion. Now that's reality.

And men! Where are the men? Muscular, skinny, bony, plump, tall, short, dark, fair - all kinds! Lazying, ogling, flirting, standing, watching, talking, smoking, chewing, spitting - ghutka, pan, saliva, something, anything... That's how I find them.

Men. Driving, talking, heads turned sideways or rested on shoulders pressing a mobile phone down. Talking. And arguing. Winning some, losing some. And peeing on the road (but that's oh-so-cool)! Yes, peeing... Blissfully (un)aware(?) of the surroundings. Peeing. With a contented expression. Showing they're enjoying the moment. Peeing. Everywhere.

And passing out! Naked. Semi-nude. In the middle of the road, on either side, on pavements, in front of unopened shops, everywhere. Liquor on their breath. Drooling. Liquor in their hand. Liquor on their clothes. Liquor in their head. Gambling - yes, sitting in a circle under the shade of a tree and gambling. Encouraged by onlookers. With satisfied egos. And fighting - just for the heck of it, for no real reason. Killer instincts.

And then we see people and their nameless faces. And animals... grazing lazily. Running aimlessly. Stretching themselves - some on the road, and some inside vehicles, behind the wheel, some hanging out of the overcrowded buses and truckers, some sitting on top of them, some just standing and staring at anything that moves.

Is this how it is supposed to be? The equation? The balance? Maybe, maybe not! But it is the same everywhere. From east to west, and north to south. Try the directions in reverse too. It's still the same. Only the faces change. And shapes. And climates. And colors - of skin, of clothes, of surroundings. Rest is the same. And this is India for you! The real India. The true-to-life version. Enjoy it as it is. Take it, if you must! Or just leave it, if you mustn't.

The story of my life...

... and it hasn't been easy, I tell you! SIGH!

I never thought living with humans was that tough - what with all those expectations revolving around the relationship between us and you humans! About dogs being a man's best guard... errr... I mean friend! 

Well, I really cannot recollect whether I was happy being with my mom, dad and five siblings back then (I wonder where each of them is, and whether they have similar thoughts). If you ask me, I don't really know if I'm happy now in my new home. Yes, it's still kind of new... at least I think so! Or is it, really? Anyway, these folks got me to their house a while ago and since then they have been expecting me to adjust to them and act normal! Like the other day when I pooped inside the house, they yelled at me and threatened to lock me out! Like I care! Oh no, actually I do! These guys are crazy I must tell you!

Okay let me start from the beginning... it almost goes like the famous saying 'They came, they saw, and they conquered' (but in my case, 'they purchased'). I was around 5 weeks old then. I was blissfully unaware of their existence and was playing with my siblings and mom. Dad was downstairs barking at the top of his voice and that was when I sensed that all wasn't well. There were intruders who royally walked into the house, and my life too. 

At first, one of my four sisters and the only brother were taken downstairs. I have to admit that they were cuter and quite roly-poly. So God knows why I was asked to be summoned. The man kept trying to engage me, pet me, call me near him, and in general, act irritatingly friendly. And the woman was more fascinated by my brother and sister, and didn't bother me much. Soon I've had enough and tried to escape by climbing up the stairs and run to my mother. But my owners kept bringing me back to them as they decided to take me home as a belated birthday present for their daughter! 

This was my second day at my new home!

I was given a bath and made to sleep in a carton (what a silly way to transport me, I say!). A small portion of pedigree and milk were packed... I was all set to go though I am not sure I wanted to - leaving mom, dad and everyone else. I remember going in a three-seater to some place where the silly, uncourteous, mannerless new owners ate something without offering me anything - expecting me to curl up and sleep. Then they were running like mad dogs in a crowded place with me in the carton and my stuff in a carry-bag to get into something big that just began chugging away! Once inside the big moving vehicle, the couple took me out of the carton and took turns to make me sleep in their lap for almost 3 hours until we alighted at some smaller place... and hopped on to a scooter, stopped on the way to buy more food (how much do these humans eat I wonder!). Finally I was home - well-rested and wide awake!

Unfortunately, there was an excited little devil in that house waiting with a scary grin and scared the hell out of me by uttering cries of joy! She wanted to hold me, play with me, touch my coat, pet me - how very irritating! And that girl even changed my name from James Bond to Ebony. Yuck! James Bond sounds so much more macho! To top it all, they were treating me almost like a human, and a part of the family, expecting me to return the gesture! How stupid!

Yeah yeah, I know I'm supposed to keep up to my image of enjoying and loving every moment of it. I read it all up on Facebook where we were compared to those furry-purry creatures and made to look dumb, loyal and loving! 

But don't you worry! Over the next few days I plotted each of my moves carefully and took my revenge - sometimes secretly and sometimes quite openly. I peed all over them and their house, and marked my territory. I pooped everywhere - in every nook and corner where I could reach and they couldn't. I nipped and bit them at the most unexpected times and in unexpected places... as many times as I wanted to and ran away laughing when they tried to hit me with a paper or push me away! 

I hated the rice porridge with boiled vegetables they gave me initially and often refused to eat it but those devils used to wait patiently till I grew extremely hungry and went (albeit silently and secretly) to lap it all up. Actually, with milk and carrot and lentils and potatoes, the rice wasn't half as bad as I thought it would be! Or maybe it was my plain stupid hunger! Can you believe me when I tell you that they retaliated by trying to kill me with a boiled egg? This was during my third week with them, and the egg smelled like some disgusting enemy dog... boy, how I barked at my food bowl that day!

And during those days of open war, I used to refuse to drink water and tilt the water bowl upside down to spill the water all over so they would slip and fall, and fracture their bones! I kept pulling off the pleats of the sari (that moved irritatingly in front of the wearer and protected her feet) so she would fall flat on the floor. I even curled up around the man's legs to make him trip and fall from the stairs. Only none of the plans ever worked! Bloody hell! 

All this I did because I knew I was too small to be disciplined and they could do nothing except perhaps call me Bad Dog at the most! Like I care! Hey, I have to share another of their secrets... They really don't know how to talk okay! Their vocabulary is limited to Good dog, Bad dog, My boy, Sit, Stand, Run, Eat, Wait and Down! Can't they speak one sentence of English properly instead of in single syllables?

This is the handsome me with my bushy tail :)

Anyway, it was so much fun taking revenge - the only time(s) I wasn't plotting against them was when I was given warm milk and food or when I slept upside down! 

Mind you, all that fun was too unreal and fairytale-ish to not end. So after a week of constant nipping and biting and pouncing, they lost it and decided to pack me off to my place of birth. I even heard them make a frantic call or two! God was I happy, yet worried... what if I'm abandoned by all? 

And then suddenly everything changed. The foolish folks decided to keep me as suddenly as they decided to send me back! They slowly started changing their ways, and mine too! They kept me on leash for a couple of hours in the day when I acted rowdyish or tried to bite their feet and hands off! (To tell you the truth, I always aimed at their head but ended up at their feet :P) And they got me a lot of toys and things to chew on so I don't chew their footwear or clothes. They made sure that I was well-fed, at regular intervals, even in the middle of the night! Hmmm... they seem to tow my line finally and are trying their best to keep me happy. So I guess now it's okay to stop biting them (also it's no fun to get hit each time I bite them). 

And they keep petting me, rubbing my stomach and fussing over me so much that I actually started loving it. They think that I'm the most obedient and handsomest dog in the entire world. Which is partly true, of course! I'm now a grown-up handsome boy and I love the way my long bushy tail looks - they whisper among themselves that it's because of the dog-food they keep feeding me. And they want to feed me yummy chicken and bones twice a week instead of occasionally! If it's true, then I'm not leaving them or troubling them anymore! Not today, not tomorrow and not in the next few years!  Because I love the way I look today! And, however much I hate to admit it, I do love my foster family despite all their madness, stupidity, silly acts and warped behavior!

Now that I let out my story without their knowledge, let me go back to my evening snack in peace!

~Signed
  Ebony!

P.S: Love to all humans and peace to the world!