Found in translation...

Ek prayatna kela aahe...irritation honaar, nakki...chaan pan vaatnaar, i think...

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Tera number de...

Kaise, bai? tera kaise doo...? ek mobile number das number ka hi hota hai na...

Vaajwu ka kaana khaali???...pandu maharaj chawl madhe tujhya aaila aikaaila yenaar....aani Bangalore madhe maajha aaila pan aikaaila yennar...lakshaat aala ka? (trying hard not to laugh)

Ho... (cheeky grin)... lakshaat aala na...

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Ghari jaaycha aahe...chiaaaicha...paoos padtoye...bagh na baaher...kasa zaoo.. aani ghari zaoon pan kaay kit kit...cheh...

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Hiiiiiigh pitched voice....E gavlya (name’s gavli) ...tu aikoon ghe...zar ... aaz...tujhya baddal ek pan complaint aala ... tar bagh... rozcha zhaala aahe haa prakaran...vaat lavoon thevla aahe shaalecha.. (gavli scampered off... so did the rest of them)...

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Sir... aamhi ithe ek mudda gheoon aale aahot...tumchi ninda karna he uddashya ajibaat nahi aahe...lal batti vibhaagaat raahnaare bachchunchi khoob vaait paristhithi aahe..he tumhaala pan maahiti aahe...zar aapan doghe ekatra miloon vichaar nahi karnaar tar kaheech hou shakat nahi...

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In Pune - while traveling in an auto

Raj Thackeray mast hai re. Achcha lagta hai mereko.

Auto driver - Raj Thackeray aavadto aani Hindi madhe boltaat...

:p ulp...

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There’s something about this language. I absolutely adore it. And you who dared me... need i say more??

;-)

And the 17 and 19 year olds...

19 year old (boy) “Bai, darwaja kaayko nai kholela hai?”

I hand over the key to him silently. He is half Nepali. Slit-eyes, creased furthermore owing to sleepiness.

17 year old (girl) “Mujhe de. Chaabi kaunsi hai mujhe pata hai.”

He sliced a sullen glance at her and then at me. He walked away. If looks were knives, we would have been shred into pieces. The sparks were crackling wildly.

For five whole minutes we saw him struggling with the 20 odd keys hanging from the bunch.

19 year old (boy) now irritated “Konsa chaabi hai?”

17 year old (girl) takes the bunch from him silently, selects a key and opens the lock. She turns to me and hands over the key bunch. I open the door and wait for him to enter. 17 year old (girl) is waiting on the other side. We are making an effort to not smile but our eyes say it all.

19 year old (boy) studiously refuses to look at either of us. He keeps his things and walks out. As he passes us his face breaks into a smile but he is trying his best to hide it. He says gruffly “Theek hai, theek hai. Hota hai kabhi kabhi.”

Conversations with a 15 year old

It was in Hindi. What follows is verbatim and transliterated.

"So....what do you plan to do after 10th?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know."

"Yes. My mind has become dumb. It is not speaking to me."

"So how are studies going on?"

"Well. Every morning I wake up early. And when I look out of the window I see the first rays of the sun hit that board over there. Nothing moves. Everything is still. Even the leaves. It looks like a painting."

"Why don't you write about this?"

Looks at me with that sidelong glance. And smiles.

"I tried doing that once. Then I felt - whom am I kidding? Am I intellectual enough to write? And then I stopped."

"What happened to you yesterday? You seemed a little off mood."

"Yesterday? Nothing. There are times when I tend to withdraw. When I've had enough. But today in the meeting. I suddenly saw darkness all around me. I did not like it. This blur. This unknown opaqueness. Its not good."

"It is very necessary to be friends with some people and not rub them the wrong way."

I started. I stared. I asked. "What do you mean?"

"There are times when I get beaten up at school for no rhyme or reason. Bullies just pick me and beat me. Suddenly after some days I come to know that A bhaiya and the rest of the gang have bashed those bullies for having beaten me up. This happens because I make sure that I am cool with all the older guys. R bhaiya should be careful. He should not rub these guys the wrong way."

He hangs around. Inconspicuous. You won't even notice him. Even if he passes and re-passes you a hundred times you won't notice him. He has this slouching strut. He wears low-slung jeans and loose t-shirts with sleeves folded. Or shirts with the first three buttons, unbuttoned :). He is very short, very thin, he has dark brown skin, dark and gleaming like freshly polished virgin wood, he has beautiful expressive brown eyes and a smile that can melt a heart of stone. And when you start talking to him you then realize that he is different from the rest. He is deep. He is profound. He is wise beyond his years.

I WANT

to ramble on and on and never stop...

whats been happening? hmmm... lots of things actually.

bumping (literally) into Manisha Koirala's brother (such a dazzling smile...whew)...

meeting someone whom i really connected with... after a very very long time (not often does one get so lucky)...i love you RIC

getting the attention of my favourite child at work (i'm walking on air with that silly smile on my face... sigh)...

watching my jeans slide down my hips with a satisfied smile (no, idiots... i mean i'm losing weight and hence the jeans just sliiiiiide)... :-)

feeling my hair kiss my waist lingeringly ... (yes...the hair IS growing)... :-)

looking forward to a visit and meeting a soul mate... (.....:-))

preparing for an annual event at work (i get to be with the children for some more time ... :-) yayy)...

spending time with appa and amma (the love i feel for them takes my breath away...)

realizing that although life has had some raw deals i still smile at the end of the day when i close my eyes and snuggle up with mommy...

getting called out by this rickshaw wala (to take his auto) who vented out his frustration on being abused because he was a 'bhaiya'... (i heard him out while he ranted)

getting stuck in an off season rainfall and conversing with cabbies about their lands back home...(all of them were biharis and in complete love with their matrubhoomi) :-) true sons of the soil... THE COMPLETE MEN ... unlike some others...

speaking Marathi with ancient shopkeepers outside Dadar station and enjoying the feeling of belonging to the state and to the city...(i love those old men and their complete, genuine inclination to be of service...sigh) :-)

strangely reveling in the fact that i am desirable when i see the men of Islam staring lustily at me (no one and i mean NO ONE can look at a woman the way these men do. such a raw and honestly exact expression of what they feel...even if it is pure lust) :p

there are many more things happening...the above just outlines it... no point in boring you with endless narratives, na... :-)

Grumble...mumble...blah blah...

So many things happening... 24 hours are not enough...

i got a new place...will be moving in by november 1st. i cannot even begin to explain how relieved i am by this development. although it has slightly overshot my old budget, it is well within my new one. :p. and friends, setting up your crib is not easy, trust me. i am one of the most minimalistic persons but even then i am finding it difficult to figure out what i need and what i don't. of course the mater and the pater are coming over. and all my thinking alouds have been misconstrued as actual future events and everyone is harbouring different ideas and generally confusing one another including me. so yeah...till i actually move in this is going to be the scene...

i met a ghost from the past... brought back a lot of surreal memories. at times i wonder whether i am beginning the cycle again. i seem to be what i was some time back. physically and mentally. i know it sounds strange but the only newness in me is a strange kind of calm that comes with bitter experience. my earlier calm was more of a serene kind of calm and not one of those - been there felt that - kind of calms. maybe i need to tap all those things i did which made me feel light and positive and strong. is it a regression? no. i was afraid that it might be. but i am now convinced that it is not.

and no... im not taking myself too seriously. i am only disconnecting myself from me and watching the changes that are happening within me. it is like coming out of your body, sitting in a corner and watching yourself do stuff, say stuff and react to stuff. :-) and i am liking what i am seeing.
:-)))))

Damn...what have i written. Tch...

ok the other day, i was at my maasi's place. and suddenly the bell rings. i open the door. i see the backs of sardarji boy, friend 1 and friend 2. sardarji boy turns. he goggles at me, gaping mouth and all. and he mutters... "26th...coupons....dinner....150 rupees....garba....". Friend 1 runs a hand through already tousled hair and gives a broad (very attractive) sheepish grin...Friend 2 has an agonized expression on his face...he looks around...(nahi dost...there is no hole where you can go and hide)...i burst into uncontrolled laughter. sardarji boy is even more confounded and has now forgotten why he rang the bell. friend 1 (sheepishness all gone) laughs with me (saala gaddaar)...friend 2 is now turning a shade that could only be described as dark pink...
well can i blame them....? i mean, what would you do if a vision of loveliness was to answer the doorbell....? Hmmnn?

Islam, iftiyari and me...

i have a colleague. i'll call him...uhmmm....SRK (he's a total fanatic).
he is muslim and for the past 2 days a very beautiful happenstance is happening with us...as in with the team.
yesterday was sheer madness. another colleague of mine...i'll call her... Songbird... who is a proper food junkie came to work all hungry and exasperated (cabbie had apparently taken her for a ride...). food, she declared...i want food...and the choice was made. SAMOSAS... not one but 2 each. so that happened in the morning 11:45 ish. after 2 samosas...a lunch seemed slightly discomforting but we did taste some tidbits...
then came evening. what to eat? what to eat? and SRK announces..."break roza with me today..."...ooooh...what a super idea! and i still remember how the stalls overflow with food in that area of our city. Oh my God... it is phenomenal. the variety, the colours, the flavours, the textures, the aromas... such a small stomach and so much to eat. bhajiyas, pakodas, mini samosas, shaami kebabs, naans, ragda, kachumber, falooda, fruit salads....sighhhh!
6:40 pm he said. the time was 4:30. 2 HOURS. how those 2 hours passed only i know. and when the time arrived, we heard the magrib or is it isha (not sure) from a distance. it sounded like divine music to our ears. SRK smiled at me. i smiled at Songbird and Songbird smiled at Shoutfest (colleague number 3). yayyyy....time to stuff our faces. we went upstairs and sat down and ate to our hearts' content.
you know something, i don't think even SRK after his whole day of roza would have waited with such anticipation for the break as we did after our 2 hours roza. and when we sat there... all of us huddled over the overflowing paraats...damn... i felt one with SRK and im sure so did Songbird and Shoutfest. that little sharing of food brought us all together and at one point we all felt that even we should have gone through the niyat ceremony.
the same thing happened today. i'm eating so much. it's not funny. but it feels so good when all of us sit with SRK and eat and pray for him as well as ourselves. it's super beautiful. i still remember him mentioning with a smile (after he'd finished eating) ... "and now off with the topi and on with the dandiya...". he's a dancer so...yeah...he's gonna go dance for the Goddess too... :-))) how much we've gone through as far as our respective religions are concerned. yet when it comes to simple life events all barriers are broken and oneness is achieved.
and i am so glad to be a part of this pure, simple ritual because in a day of turmoils i feel so full of peace when i sit down with the rest of them and .... eat. :-)))))

Gyaan Guru ... Autowallah

i don't know why ... but i took an auto from andheri to bhandup. it was one of those days when i wanted to just sit back and watch people go by, vehicles go by, animals go by...like a blur. and that's exactly what was happening. if i had my way...i would have wished that the ride never ended. it also happened to be the day when an Eternal Knight was born. so yeah, there was something in the air...
then bhandup arrived. and i was asked whether i had to go west or east. and as usual i didn't remember. so i said west. again as usual...i was so wrong. so i did a 'wise' thing. i called a colleague and asked her whether it was east or west. i could hear loud guffaws in the background. OH WELL...SO WHAT???
i told the autowallah...go eastwards, my dear man... and he shook his head. his face expressed many emotions. frustration, helplessness, resignation... i mean...can't blame him, na. he was riding forever. oh did i forget to mention...it was raining and the traffic was SUPERMEAN!!!
then he said (i represent a translated version here. but it is verbatim): "please don't take offence, but i have been watching you. you have been staring into space and thinking. the entire time. remember one thing, there is no point in thinking about something that you're never going to get. in fact it is an utter waste of time..."

okkk...whatever!!!

Guillermo e historias de la calle

it took a blue-eyed spanish teacher turned photographer to drive in some home truths and to convince me that im not being foolish by being too trusting or by loving people who think they ought not to be loved.

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"i dont' think i can travel alone. i dont have that kind of courage."

"how can you say that if you've not tried. fear is something which you ought to get rid of. when you're confronted with something that you're afraid of do something unpredictable and the source of fear will vanish. for instance there was this guy who tried selling hashish to me. i avoided him. but he caught hold of my hand and you know what i did. i started waving my hands and laughing loudly. he looked at me for sometime and then he walked away."

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"but they are dangerous, unpredictable guys. you have to be careful."

"unpredictable, maybe. but dangerous...definitely not. see there maybe people in your life who give you every reason to not trust them, or be wary of them or not like them. but if your gut instinct asks you to go ahead and trust them then without thinking twice you should go ahead and trust them."

Gracias!

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i came across a new word today - transubstantiation - which denotes a process in which a substance gets transformed into another substance...

I Tend to get Attached with a Sense of Detachment

…quoted a wise man. Did he suggest that I do the same? I don’t quite remember, but that is beside the point.

There is this boy I know. He is young, very young. Every time he looks at me, he quirks an eyebrow and gives me a lazy half-grin. And my heart skips a beat. If I wasn’t governed by the child protection policies then I would have just grabbed him and kept him with me till eternity. And he speaks to me about his experiences at school and about the fact that he finds math a little tough…and all this in that laidback lazy manner which is so signature him. At times I feel that if everything was fine I might have had a son like him. Sigh!! Of course I will have a child someday…but you know…so I listen to him and I gaze into his face and capture all the expressions that flit across and animate his oh so incredible features…and then he abruptly ends the conversation and says bye and goes away. And I smile for the rest of the day. J

The context here is the fact that in the work I do, we tend to see a lot of things that are not normal. Our children are survivors. And at times it gets difficult to resist the emotions that tend to overflow inside the heart towards a particular child. But you are then forced to hold back and be strong. Not just for the child, but for yourself and for the cause too. The trick then is to strike the correct balance between attachment and detachment. Hmmnn…

That Human Touch

what is it about a touch that creates such contradicting reactions within you. it either makes you feel loved and protected or it makes you feel vulnerable and unpleasant. i see some of my children, the really chintu ones...and i just can't help lifting them up in my arms and holding them close to me. but then everytime they see me they start crying because they want me to carry them and i at times don't have the time to do so. but that apart, what really makes a difference is the fact that although their mothers love them, those women do not either have the time or the energy to shower their babies with the love and affection that they crave for. i mean i can literally feel their tiny bodies relax completely when i carry them and walk down the long passage that leads to the gates. and it is so amazing ... there are times when i walk back the entire stretch and i find that they've fallen asleep. how they love it when they feel a touch of another human being. of a familiar human being. and how pure they are... so trusting. all it needs to get them to melt is that loving touch.
and aren't we all like that. no matter how old or young , a hug or a caress is all that it takes to fill us with a sense of contentment.
sigh!!!
:-)

i went to colaba causeway yesterday. we took a pitstop at this place called piccadilly. it's this lebanese/iranian restaurant that makes very tasty food and reminds you of that Planet Food serial where they featured Lebanon. such a pretty little place. and then we came out and all prettiness vanished. there was this really black, looming sky above us and the moon like a sickle blade waved menacingly. the sky was really incredibly black, i don't know how. not a single cloud to mar the blackening effect. extremely chilling. if it wasn't for the hustle bustle and the lights, the scene would have been quite scary. i mean imagine the gothic architecture of VT station and the municipal headquarters with all those gargoyles, with this sky and that sickle-shaped moon in the back-drop.

Tcha!!

:-/

When nightmares see the light of day

It was 3:15 pm. Five of us came out of the school and walked down to the circle. A police chowki touches it on the left. We heard shouts. A man was abusing a woman and thrashing her - right there, in the middle of the road, for everyone to see. He kept punching her on the face. The skin near her right eyebrow tore and she started bleeding profusely. He kicked her and then he punched her on the stomach. Then he walked away. She sat up slowly. With an effort. She was from the north-east and well past her middle age. She touched her wound. The blood flowed into her palm and trickled down on to the road. Suddenly he came back and kicked her on her face. His feet were stained with her blood. Then he crossed the road and walked away.
We were rooted and speechless. The nature of the violence was extremely clinical, sadistic, remorseless. Have you felt so nauseated that all you can see in front of you is a white sheet. And all you can feel is your head whirling. That's how i felt. He came back. We decided that if he touched her again we are going to bash him up. But he came back, held her head in his hands and wiped off the blood. I don't know what else he did because by then I had walked off.
All this in front of a police chowki - WHICH WAS LOCKED- and in broad daylight. Well, we are going to do about the police chowki being locked. But you might ask, what about the woman? Why won't we do anything for her? The answer to this is - we have tried to intervene in the past. But the women have lashed out at us and asked us to mind our own business. That was between them and their 'aadmis'. Despite this we took the decision to bash him if he hit her again.
EVERY SINGLE WOMAN that I have seen here has some or the other indication of violence on her body. At times it is self-inflicted too. I am confused about the way these women define a relationship. I mean they take utter crap from men whom they are eventually going to leave. It makes them so damn vulnerable. I know, i know - pot calling kettle black, blah, blah... but, hell!!!

You don't need to understand...

What i am trying to say...

these days i'm so charged and on high alert at work. i mean every milisecond of non-focus creates utter chaos. so at the end of some days when i log in to my blog page and stare blankly at the screen with millions of words hurricaning inside my brain i try to achieve some sense in all the entanglednesses. and then i resign myself to the fact that i neednt try to achieve sense. and hence i started by saying that you neednt try and make sense out of this either.

i contextualize the above sentiment with an art exhibition that i visited the other day at jehangir art gallery. six artists from a school in pune had showcased their work. one of them was untitled. the canvasses covered one entire wall of the room. the paintings looked like a satellite view or an aerial blueprint of a slum or a scrapyard. the colous used were as varied as a bright red to a soothing blue and a crisp violet. there were the dismal greys too. the strokes were forceful, they spoke of an energy and a volatility...i had a chat with the artist and i asked him what were his paintings all about. he said that his paintings had no message. they were pure abstracts and were done with a mind that was devoid of thoughts. he had the canvas, his paints and his brushes. his energy flowed from his body into the canvas and created the work that was being displayed. Hmmmnnn.... lofty, ain't it? but pretty simple too. i mean there are times when you want to be meaninglessly meaningful...

the other night (i was on a late shift) when i was walking to the station i passed a crowd of men. i threaded my way through them. it was like one of those ballets where the dancers weave in and out through their co-dancers like garlands. without touching them. yet the movements are so graceful. i sometimes wonder what it would feel like if i were to close my eyes and walk on the road. everything seemed to move in slow motion at that moment. even my thoughts.

FEDEXD

Thank God It Was Sunday!!!

Thank God it was French Open men's finals...

Thank God Federer was in it and Nadal was not...PHHEWWWW!!!!

so a few of us Federer Fanatics decided that we ought to watch the match on a biiiig screen. cheer our favourite player because it was an important day for him. and we did just that.

The Sports Bar, Phoenix Mills.

The gear - blue jeans and a customized blood red t-shirt that had the RF logo and a quote on the back that goes - "In an age of specialists, you're either a hard court specialist, a clay court specialist or a grass court specialist. Or you're ROGER FEDERER.."

and us beautiful women flaunting it...like big time!!! it was a good match. He was perfection epitomized. He's back to his old lethal, precision-centric self. How i adore him!!! well...he broke the French jinx and now we can't wait for Wimbledon.

:-)))

PS: was about to put up a picture of the three of us who wore the t-shirt. but decided against it. for the benefit of all those people who belong to the fortunate few that havent seen me....yet! :p

A State of Philoso-deliriousness

Scintillating … that’s what it could be called.
At times I wonder whether I should pen down an anecdote or just randomly scribble whatever words appear behind my eyes. You know, in that space which we feel is somewhere in between our forehead and backhead. And there are many words floating there. Not just words but line chains and paragraphs and phrases…so many unconnectednesses and so little space…I love it when thoughts flip flop around me. You are at one point and suddenly something radically different and absolutely disconnected with the previous thought dances before you. And then I’m left wondering and wandering among these thought-mazes.
At times when I close my eyes I see a blueness around me. Blues of various hues. Transitioning from a light tint to an intenseness that has an aweing depth. Suddenly whites emerge out of these blues, swirling, twirling, ribboning. Thick bands entwining around the blues and creating a massive abstractedness that’s aesthetically marvelous and breath-taking. Maybe it’s an ocean. Maybe it’s a billowing blanket. Maybe it’s the sky and the clouds. Maybe it’s nothing.
At times I wonder why there is so much of happiness and cheer tinged with a deep sense of the greatest grief and worthlessness. When my children smile and laugh with an abandon that speaks of a freeness which you and I would absolutely envy; I am left stunned with the realization that this momentary freeness is just a façade and behind it lurks a bondage, an imprisonment that will follow them till they lay themselves down to rest forever.
When I was at the piano concert listening to Tchaikovsky, Schubert and Schumann being performed with an artistry that was magnifique, my eyes closed on their own and the sounds of music filled me with an immense sense of peace. It went tinkling like bells, and the feeling was akin to loving fingers caressing soft skin. So much power there is in purity! Power to transport you away to a space and a land where everything is sparkling and perfect. Where everyone is beautiful and there is no ugliness of any kind.

Welcome to Dreamland!

Why is sweet not smelling sweet? Why is it cloying the senses? Why does it make me want to cover my nose, in fact every pore of my body, so that the bad smelling sweetness does not enter me? But this is how it is every day. Every single day. As I walk down the street from work, cross the intersection, walk down another street and then get on to the main road. That sweetness follows me everywhere. And it stays with me when I am back home. It lingers on when I am trying to catch the truant sleep. It flows into my dreams, permeating into every second of it. Where does it come from then, you would ask me. It comes from the women’s bodies. I asked one day, why do they make themselves smell so sweet? Is it to hide the other odours? Is it to hide the smell that emanates from their exploited bodies and minds and souls, a smell which haunts them all day, all night even? There they stand on the street. In a line. Dressed up like mannequins. Human mannequins. Bright red gashes for mouths, mascaraed eye lashes, pinked up faces, sequined gowns (for God’s sake). Women just like me. But not ordinary like me. No way.

And what happens to the air after dusk settles in. After the sun decides that he’s had enough and he spews liquid fire, burning the horizon. (Have you ever seen the sunset when the sky’s on fire…??? This is a song by Kenny Rogers called Evening Star). Where was I? Yes…when dusk settles in, something in the air suddenly changes. You can feel it. You walk down that street in the morning then do the same in the evening. And the metamorphosis will startle you. The most insensitive of senses would sense it. There is a crowd all around you, its rush hour, but strangely no one’s ever in a hurry over here.  The crowd moves slowly, it’s a rhythm that’s almost hypnotic. Moving slowly, biding their time. Time. Can you believe it? They are not rushing and pushing each other. Time is actually on their side out here. Is this Bombay or is it a parallel space chunked out from the body of the city and placed aside? A place which we would shy from. A place that has a place of its own, cut off from everything and everyone, yet very much a part of everything and everyone. Very much a part of what everyone finds dirty, taboo, disgusting, cheap, horrendous, frightening, diseased…

“Welcome to Dreamland,” says the cabbie to a firang looking person. 

Why is Preeti not thinking Preeti thoughts???

Clearly there is a miasmatic hoverance around me for some time now. I am leaving a lived life behind me and I’m strangely not reacting strangely to the change. Are my natural or rather predicted reactions hiding behind the hovering hoverance and clouding my “Preeti” thoughts??? Because what I am feeling right now is an exhilaration and a “with arms wide open” kind of freedomish feeling. And what “Preeti” would feel right now would be “oh, will it be all right, will I be all right, will I be ok at work, will I be able to live alone, will I be able to sleep at night…blah blah blooh blooh.” Why is Preeti not thinking like Preeti??

And life also seems to be rewinding. It is scarier than shit scary. There is music, there is the reuniting with dark othernesses (well, I say reuniting, but maybe it was dormant and has risen up and uncoiled itself, like one of those serpents that wait and strike at the right second), there is poetry, there is novelty in work, there is also a kind of crippling responsibility (new place, bills, cleaning sprees, sob sniff) which can be quite hmmmmish but oh well…what the hell… [that rhymed…:-)]

Lots of things are on the agenda. All of them might happen, might not happen. It’s all right. If we get everything we want the fun would cease to exist in our lives. There should be a thirst for ungot things, a drive to get those things, a fire to fight for those things.

OH DAMN… I love life. I love me. I love the earth. I love the otherworld, the never world (so what…I love the idea of it, ok, hmph). I love the nature around me. And I truly truly love you!

Foibles of youthood

Intro:

Two of us were going down M. G. Road. This was when Bangalore was extremely beautiful, with an unpredictably English weather where it would rain suddenly and where grey was actually the colour of the times. M.G. Road was resplendent with the boulevard and Plaza and the cafés. The year was hmmnnn… 1997. R (as she would be known from now on) was riding a Hero Puch and pillioning me. As we rode down, enchanted by the boulevard, we happened to see a vision of handsome manliness on the other side of the road. It was none other than Marc Robinson, fresh from the Alisha Chinai hit (damn, which was that one?). So the coincidence was that just the other day we had been discussing this man and reveling in the fact that he was a Piscean. And now there he was. In all his glory. R turned the bike in the middle of an ongoing traffic (and there was no divider on M. G. Road at that time, mind you). Horns blasted, people swore, abuses galore…but she went on mindlessly deaf, but mindfully focused. There we were on the opposite side parked, waiting and watching him. He came walking down. He’d seen all the commotion and understood what it was for. And as he passed us, his head was bent and there was an enigmatic smile on his face, waiting to break into a laugh. And all we did was gape goggle-eyed at him and watch him till he turned at one of the bends.

Three of us at Fort, Bombay. We were in the vicinity of SNDT. There happened to be this thela wala who was making chai and batata wadas. Hunger pangs were creating a bloody din inside our insides. So we thought we should capitalize on the presence of this God-sent solution to our gastronomical yellings. It also must be understood by all of you that we were at a phase where the dough was sparse to say the least so we had to make do with such alternative alternatives. So there we were holding kaanch ka glasses stuffing our faces with batata wadas (that were extremely delicious, by the by) and a car stopped right in front of us. The door opened and we saw this muscled leg encased in boots and wrapped in well-fitting blue jeans. As our eyes went north wards we saw a beautiful, taut chest and broad shoulders hidden inside this black t-shirt that seemed to have been sewed on to the skin till it became a second skin itself. Further north wards and we FROZE. Arjun Rampal. Yes, there he was. And we stood with chai glasses and mouthful of wadas literally transfixed. I mean, I remember I couldn’t even move. All I did was just stand and stare. Oh well, he smiled at us and imagine our chagrin when we saw Mehr Jessia on the other side of the car. She wasn’t smiling though. Come to think of it, she looked rather miffed. So… we saw him go and sighed at how cruel life could be.

Outro:

I call it a foible. But in actuality it is these little incidents that make it worthwhile going through youthood and living it well. What not have we done when we were young. And how beautiful are all those experiences and events. Every little thing had an enchantment of its own and brought with it a wealth of memories that I still treasure. But if you ask me, I think I would do the same thing even today. I mean if I were to see, say … Ethan Hawke or Ajay Devgan, I might stand and gape goggle-eyed. So there. I feel all of us need to keep the child in us alive forever. Because the wide-eyed wonderment is a feeling that is so divine that it leads to nothing but a happiness that can only be described as pure.

How does it happen?

I was in Bombay on one of those so-called lightning visits. where you get into an aeroplane get out of it, get into it again and get out of it. and the few hours in between flash like .. yes...like lightning. synonymously true!!!

I met up with a few blogger friends. it got me wondering how we strike a connection over a distance which in some strange sense of measurement could be millions of kilobytes away. there is a feeling of onement and friendliness which is warm and cool...:p

at times one might feel weird doing such things but at the end of it, all that remains is a gladness that it happened. because some people whom you truly connect with and with whom you start on an anonymous level, initially, end up being true pals.

I love them...TOTALLY!!

Of Nadirs, Zeniths and Sojourns in the Midst

We have a choice. We either choose sad or we choose happy. Then after a while even these two options seem very superficial. What are we born for? Why do we exist in our respective spaces? We are and hence there has to be a cosmic reason for our state of ‘areness’. But then do we have the time or the inclination to find this reason…or for that matter the reason for this reason?

A wise man stated - get lost and remain lost. But what on earth would that achieve? And are we so non-materialistic and maya-free that we would want to give up on the pleasures and pain of life? No…we are not. Unless of course we are saints. (Fat chance, that) Maybe the trick is to remain in the material world, to remain in the matrix, but hold on to the idea of realness.

I heard a very fascinating thing one day – this swamiji asked all of us to look closely at a question mark and at an exclamation mark. The question mark is actually a twisted version of an exclamation mark and the exclamation mark is actually a straightened version of the question mark. He went on to enumerate that the minute a thought becomes a question it twists and turns and makes us all the more confused. And at one point it comes to a halt. But the instant it becomes a wonder it gives rise to more wondering thoughts and it progresses to heights that we never thought we could reach.

For me, personally, it has been a terrible year. Mostly lows and only one high. The stops in between were inconsequential, to say the least. This is not a “I am going to be this next year” or “I am going to do that next year” kind of post. It is just a wondering ponder.

We’ve all seen weird stuff happening in our country. Some of us have also seen weird stuff happening in our personal lives. Many of us wanted to concede. Many of us might have conceded. Yet we go on. Because essentially we have no choice but to continue going on. The hidden factor, though, remains that it is up to us to decide on HOW we want to go on.

Over and out!

PS: Phew! Sitting in Padmasana can be painful!

The Identification of Identity

I am Al-Kahira, the conqueror of nonsense and flowers.

I am grateful for my stupidity, admitted easily, yet I am
concerned with specific details of style as I sit here in rags.

By circumstance and not by choice this shrub has blossomed:
by choice and not by circumstance this life has been kept
plain.

I made an effort and found stuff to ignore, leave rusty things
unstruck.
I neglect the spectacular and overlook the apparently
important with deliberation.

I’ve waited aeons for the reversal of my interests: Now life
has become the joke and sweetness and hilarity of my own
thoughts have turned into a fascination for me.

No matter what anyone tells you: I do not belong to any
creed or sect, culture or race, nor to any period in history.

My only qualification is the age of my soul: I own three
palaces of quiet pre-dawn moon sound.

Humiliation is my clothing that I wear to sit and bark with the
dogs. I disconnect like dusk and most likely no one will bring
flowers to my grave.

I am ardent without deed and I am information zero,
unimportant iridescent: Grand Palace of Mercy.

Till now I stayed in one place not avoiding you:
now that the traditions are beginning to dissolve, I
put on my wintercoat and walk away.
Business done.

My contemporaries have declared society to be the central
item and are discussing things of importance as
I am speaking to you now.

As my mother taught me to, I keep to myself a lot.

I am the lover of trees, found worthy of loneliness.

I could be the postman, the milkman, the sick person,
the transvestite.
It takes one to recognize one…

I am the unknown dervish.

St.Scribbler identifies himself with this statement drop-down...and i was mentioning to him that if ever there was a female counterpart to this, i would love to be that (maybe i am, maybe i am not). He is a philosopher and a saint in his own rights apart from being one of the best unpublished writers i've ever read. I got this beautiful piece of literature from him and felt that the poignancy that it is suffused with, like an intoxicating perfume, is so pure and raw. There is also this sufi, off beatish, mystic, vagabondish aura that surrounds it.
Nice. Definitely.