A Tea Spoon Of Coffee

For the time being, the first light seems to be the most gratifying time of my day which is ironic considering I am a confirmed owl. Though I do not find the singular spans to be the least disconcerting, currently I hail the clock striking four and the breaking of solitude with a sigh of relief.

Arbitrary conversations with mum, drifting from one topic to another brought in some even more arbitrary memories. This morning, as she bustled across the kitchen prepping up for the day's breakfast I found myself enquiring about a particular container that we possessed. There was nothing exceptional about its features; rather it was an extremely characterless, inexpensive tin made of aluminium which my grandfather must have bought in the 50s. The only piquancy that the nondescript tin possessed was that it had always been used to store coffee powder, being air-tight in nature. The tin held in it the virgin aroma of the strong, dizzying and addictive brew that these teenage nostrils had culled. Thereafter coffee was always affiliated with the tin. The beguiling uninspiring canister seduced every cup of coffee to taste loads better than any other that transpired from a lesser receptacle and maybe even better than the coffee strictly called for.

Sadly enough the tin had outdone its shelf life and had developed holes and had to give way to a budding resplendent show-off. I wish I still had it as a relic even if it no longer served its purpose but my absenteeism meant it was perceived at its face value and junked off. My enquiries however set off a train of enmeshed reminiscences and my mum started wondering about the whereabouts of a brass spoon that had always been a loyal companion to the deceased coffee tin. And I can't explain how, but without missing a beat, I mentioned of it being transferred to the tea jar. And on verifying, there it was, standing tall amidst tiny specks of tea leaves. 

The slightly baffling aspect here is that neither do I drink tea (like ever) nor do I ever make a cup whereas my mum does so with a circadian precision since as long as my memory serves me. And she had just finished making herself a steaming cup  not a couple of minutes back! ;)

Dil Maange More

All my life I have been surrounded by really nice people, be it family or friends. A downside to this is that the amount of niceness sums up to a really overwhelming figure which makes moving away from it to lead a comparatively solitary life not a lot of fun. A virtual, digital world is gaining cognizance over a real one and while on one hand I am thankful that it lets me place one foot of mine in a life I have been used to but had to leave behind, it also makes me realize that if it had not been for the super-connectivity that reigns over the entire world, I would still be back in Bombay savoring the company of my near and dear.

Company is much more that getting to hear their voices or have a look-see at their faces. It's about the minuscule things that get stringed together to define our daily course of life. Like a good morning kiss on a grandmother's forehead, or a squealing endearing manner of address to a doting grandfather, sharing the day's work with a friend, ribbings at the dinner table, and badgering and teasing a mum and seeing the look of pained reproach on her face. It need not even be something that marks or demands ubiety or a somatic touchy feely kind of token. It is something that has grown to be so much an implicit part of your life and has blended so efficiently in your routine that you might not even notice it till its cut loose.

Technology sure plays as a sop to my conscience by replacing the palpable bonus bits of my life with a virtual cosmos of propinquity. But although my life sustains even after plucking these guileless nexus away, the kernel of longing is so deep-rooted that it does not show any sign of ebbing away. For which I am grateful, for they elucidate my past, present and future. 

2000 Leagues Across The Seas...

...is where my home is.

R's grandmother passed away the day before yesterday, rather suddenly. No one from his immediate family was around. Scattered across the globe, the rest of the family could at least make it to the funeral to pay their last respects. Everyone but us.

He sits there sad and brooding, reminiscing over the childhood moments that he spent getting pampered, with his great grandmother and grandmother at his beck and call. The loss is unfathomable even if the days spent in their company were not many in number. No child who has ever known its grandparents cannot not be crazy about them.

People will offer condolences; social protocol demands that they do. Its polite, anthropological and indifferent. They all say that the grief shall ebb away, that there is nothing that time can't heal. Over time the voices of the departed will grow faint in your head. Everyone knows what you feel because its not a complex emotion. But what the relationship meant to you is what only a few will appreciate, understand and grieve with you.

Inexorably, there were days when we did not once summon their existence into our mind. The presence of the extant is always taken for granted. It's the insurmountable that we chase, that we crave for. Life is short, capricious and unpredictable.

Right now my mind is turbulent as can be seen in the disjointed tone of this piece. I am where I am not needed, I came here when I was not needed though I would still want to believe otherwise. Some day when my thoughts are more linear will I write a post that will observe the occasion coherently. Right now my mind lies where my heart lies and that's a 7000 miles away! :'(

In memory of R's great grandmother (who passed away last year at the ripe age of 107) and grandmother 

Insomnious Insights

Back in pre-school, one of the first essays that we had to write, even before we knew what the term essay meant, was 'Me'. It had a standard pattern and began with My name is so and so and I am so many years old. The parent's names and occupations followed. If you owned a pet then its name and breed would be the next in line. And one would conclude with ones likes and dislikes. In all 6-7 sentences construed our existence. Life was uncomplicated enough to fit into a single sheet of a notebook and to be defined by a simple template. At the moment, I would need more than a sheet of paper and a template to outline me.

I am told that I love creating lists, which is so true, and so I shall fashion my essay accordingly (I wonder if there is an -ist term to define this; that ought to go first : ) ). I am (Disclaimer: limited to cited situations only) an/a-

• Escapist: An ostrich with its head buried, I tend to turn a blind eye when in knotty situations hoping that providence is playing a trick and that it will all boil down to nothing (as expressed in this earlier post).
• Perfectionist: No, I am not blowing my own trumpet. I am this ONLY when it comes to an assignment/job. I am meticulous and fussy and neat and compulsive to a point that it gets maddening. And it has its highs and lows. Like in school it proved to be a huge bummer when it came down to taking notes. My handwriting is pretty when I write at a medium pace and with an ink pen. But while trying to keep pace with the teacher's dictations, the uniformity that I so loved went out of the window and I ended up tearing those pages and rewriting the whole piece leisurely at home. It worked well for me at work though. One compliment came from a client who used to bypass the established protocol of assigning work and assign me work directly. On being notified the correct procedure, he confessed that he was aware of the process but did so just because it was a pleasure to have the issue and the resolution documented the way I did (Yay!!! even if it was just flattery :) ).
• Optimist: I believe that there is always a better tomorrow. I believe that my Ammu who is suffering from an acute form of dementia and has the memory span of a goldfish (It's apparently an idiom  which has now been established by some as a myth) will some day go back to being the grandmother I have known, I believe that when it comes to my next job I'll have the good fortune to be surrounded by as wonderful friends, peers and bosses as I was in my last job (I couldn't ask for any better; they were the best), I believe that things that are broken will get mended if they are meant to be and I believe that my reticence to partake in a fight will only bring me peace.
• Pacifist (in an extremely meek form): I hate fights, even being a spectator to one. I usually bite my tongue because I know my retort would only hurt someone and do no good whatsoever. My couple friends do not think it untoward to have disputes when in company which leaves both R and me feeling extremely uncomfortable. We, exchanging glances, offer a silent prayer that neither of us would subject the other to even so much as a contradiction in public.
• Fascist: To my amnemonic grandmother, I am apparently a fascist with a tyrannical disposition who orders her around.
• Opportunist: To my mum I am one because I barely lift a finger when at my parent's. So much so that I'll wait for someone to make a trip to the kitchen just to get me a glass of water.

More on me without the -ists; I couldn't find any more to describe me ;)

• A few near and dear are my established weaknesses. I would do anything and everything for them ( Like Psmith would say "Psmith will do it, Crime not objected to) :)
• I love writing jibber jabber as much as I love reading (Not jibber jabber). Nothing I write is profound or comes close to being intellectual. I write just for the love of it.
• I am a decent cook although the end product is not what it looks like in my head when I first picture it. I tend to get impatient by the end of my cooking spree so I skip the part where I plate the dish :)
• I love dancing  and would have been all Miss Twinkle Toes if not for my two left feet. And I have, in all my life, only had drinks on two occasions. I would like to take a shot (pun intended) at both the next time; Shake an inebriated leg! :)
• I love travelling and visiting new places. I am fond of adventure sports and am looking forward to sky-diving and bungee jumping in one of my future trips.
• I have a decent memory. I am 'A handful's envy, Mumma's pride and a vexation to the rest'. :)
• It's also my biggest weakness that I do not forget. Or even let the other party forget. It's like I am a constant thorn in their flesh :(
• Though I thoroughly enjoy satirical humor, I am not a big fan of the use of sarcasm in general altercations. I find it to be a form of mockery almost as if it is meant to hurt the already wounded and beaten. It bothers me so much that although I know Ammu can't help it and that it's her ailment that makes her resort to sarcasm, yet the barbs that she directs at my mum never fail to tear me up. At that moment, for a jiffy there, I actually resent her for it :'(.
• I am an extremely bad conversationalist. Maybe that's the reason I end up writing jibber jabber.
• A friend pointed out that my hypocrisy was one of the reasons for our sweet friendship turning sour. 
• I am also told that I am a tad manipulative when it comes to conversations; I happen to steer them, to leave me holding the trump card.
• I tend to consider my side of an argument "The gospel truth" :)
• I could fare as just about passable looking with a touch of kohl and lip balm. Without them I am worse than plain Jane. High cheek bones with remnants of appalling acne, I smile with my eyes wide shut =)
• Tall, dark and need not be handsome works for me. A salt and pepper look in a two piece suit with a tie in the boardroom should transform to one in tee and shorts on the sports field. That's how I read my romances. :)

I think its time I put a stop to my pompous ramblings. I have enough material here that would put people through five dates and also enough to make sure there isn't a sixth date; the prospective boyfriend by now having made a run. So the title of Miss Swollen Head of the year goes to I, Me and Myself. I would like to thank all those who contributed their mite to this 'insight' by not mincing matters. And its now time to add Narcissist to that earlier list of ists! Ciao :)

P.S: This post was written at 3 am yesterday, hence the title. I appear to have got bored with my own verboseness and fallen asleep before publishing it!

A Walk To Remember - II

I have run out of practice of making friends. I have been so dormant socially for so long now that I come out as a tongue-tied, awkward oaf when in company of people I am not friends with. The reality stared me in the face on a recent excursion with R's friends; I could barely string together a couple of words to form a sentence. That evening I felt beaten down. Left me wondering if I was ever going to be good at things that I had let slip through my fingers. Has time taken a toll on things that I was genuinely good at, that maybe even defined me! Maybe it's too late. Maybe it's not. Only time shall tell. The one thing that I have been improving at is watercolors. I am nowhere near being proud of or even satisfied with my end results but I am going to try and get there some day. So here is my latest. Philadelphia, a city I am quite fond of and lingers in my wistful memories from my office days. One of the walks to remember!

Philadelphia LOVE Park - Officialy known as John F. Kennedy Plaza

A Walk To Remember - I

I forgot to post a picture of the painting I had mentioned in my earlier blog. It's a copy of a painting by a Polish artist whose works I am in love with. And although mine doesn't hold a candle to his painting, I hope someday I shall be able to realize at least a fraction of his flair and his finesse that I so admire.

(Click pics for larger view)

Its a beautiful alley; makes me want to take a walk down that road, skipping across, alternating between the warmth of the blazing sun and the awnings that the quaint little brollies are furnishing. Here, I could walk for hours. Its looks like a place which speaks of romance. Inured to European tales from my earliest reads I can only set it to imagination yet. I would now say I shall love living here. But living here would dampen the enchantment. We are lured by the elusive, so I think I would leave it at a tarriance and make the fascination a reality by walking 'that walk' some time soon.

P.S: Another one of my recent works, unrelated to the post, but I thought of sharing this one too.

I Hear Thunder!

I love the rains. The wet soaking mud, the earthy smell that fills the air, the pitter patter sploshes, the fecund splash of green everywhere, the carpet of blooms around a cluster of trees and the raindrops trickling on my window pane. In Bombay, where I come from, onset of monsoon brings in a dread because of the filthiness that is growing by the minute. It has now become synonymous with garbage, stink, flies and diseases. But in spite of these impediments, I have managed to fall in love with it.

It is wondrous how a thundershower brings in an amalgamation of glee and gloom. The jubilant children playing in the puddles, the fresh buds of flowers bursting to life and the sea of colorful umbrellas against a backdrop of the sad grey sky takes me on an emotional seesaw. One minute I am down on that seesaw, trying to reach out for what seems to be elusive. And the very next minute, my habitual composure and natural cheery being sneaks in and eases me into tranquility. And I love being on that seesaw. Maintaining a balance would be ho hum. I might lose the fascination that I set store by for something as simple and mundane as the rain and I don't think I am ready to let go of its allure as yet. I want to hang in there for as long as possible, away from the humdrum that a balanced, stoic life holds for me as a 'Grown-up' :)

The Blue Beads

Look up at the open skies

Let the pearl-drops soften your tired face

Those tears will get washed away

Or will meld not leaving a trace.

Let the wind run its fingers through your hair

Stop and listen to it whisper

Just might bring a smile to those lips

That are quivering to a whimper.

So dance and prance and trot and run

Forgetting the aching feet and pains

Don't ever stop being that child

Who loves getting soaked in the rains.

Knotty Nights

      When it comes to quiescent habits, I am an owl. When darkness descends, when pin drop silence prevails, when the lull is occasionally broken by a pack of dogs' brouhaha and when the moon's silvery streak trickles down making the turf flash and shimmer, my world gains cognizance. Since the balanced and the lucid, who make up the rest of the world, eye these hours as an interlude befitting slumber, I fail to enlist a partaker or score an audience. And that leaves me in a lurch.

      So I write. I write pages and pages of anything and everything that this mind can recall. Most things committed to a memory that is by no means poor, get jotted down. Many such write-ups die an early death because of the extent of trite that they hold. A few that pass muster of self-evaluation help me restore my sense of balance. Those reflections deriving a coherent form as a post or a card or an email emulate an audience. Out of these, the formal ones and the personal ones go out as cards and emails. The rest of the casual ones that get on to this blog are for a select few; family and a few friends whom I write for. And from the scattering ones that do not see the light of the day, I glean an unplaced sense of comfort of the tangible, as if I earned myself a confidante in my nocturnal microcosm. Cheers!!

Anamnestic Afternoons

      Today's was spent skimming through old photographs. Emotions running high, I covered the whole gamut of the affective state of consciousness. Nostalgia obviously was right through, in every high and low; so was affection. There was joy in most, reminiscing the fun and happy moments that life had presented and that each image had captured so well, completely doing justice to the occasion. Some brought in grief, a sense of longing and wistfulness with the realization that a few loved ones were now confined to memories and to Polaroids. There was amusement and chuckling when a picture brought in a droll or an entertaining recollection. Then there was pride, inspiration, satisfaction, sensitiveness, each predominant in it's own way depending on the story that the image expressed.

      And all these at one fell swoop kindled in me a desire to rush back in time and relive those highs and lows. I craved for the tangible. I wanted all of these to be more than mere remembrances, to experience more than overt manifestations of an emotional upheaval. And suddenly helplessness usurped every other emotion. And pared those lovely captures to just smoke and mirrors!

Evanescent Evenings

      The evening is a dreary one, not saying boo. Then someone switches the fan on and its isochronal whir ratifies the monotonousness with a paradoxical alacrity that I find unnerving. Such evenings fill my mind with convoluted thoughts, most of them depressing in nature. To unravel those thoughts and bring myself back to my cheery self is like loosening the Gordian knot. And like Alexander the Great, the knot (my train of thoughts) has to be cut (short) rather than untied.

      By cutting short I mean not talking about these terrifying, distressing ruminations. Verbalizing acts as a catalyst; it somehow gives it a stamp of factual approval. As long as I do not speak of it, it shall remain in a latent state. By keeping the thoughts to myself, I am decelerating the inevitable, slowing down time itself. Those poignant thoughts are hoodwinked into questioning their own subsistence. The sentimental shall see this as solecism, the practical shall see it as escapism. But for the time being, I emerge the subjugator! Time to play some music, break the tedium and go back to being my sprightly self. Ta-da!! :-)