song of sacredeastwind

bored & moving

2011-06-27T01:00:00.000+05:30

someone recently sold tumblr to me, not literally, of course. it just seems cleaner & more suited now. and i need a change. i don't know why. sometimes things don't need to make sense. so moving here (http://songofsacredeastwind.tumblr.com/) for a bit... lets see if i last.

el natural

2011-06-06T17:27:00.002+05:30

When I miss you (wilderness)
I drive off without my shoes
With one song on repeat
And each time the song ends
I forget to breathe

-

So full of love
Brightly lit and perfumed inside
This constant rush
I'm afraid
If i was really with you (green meadow)
I'd explode

-

the day the wind sings to me 
my body will rise into the sky
break into smithereens
of silver & ash
and softly fall
unto  each part  
of this thing called 'earth'

I without You

2011-06-01T15:22:00.000+05:30

I scream
to forget
I learn
it doesn't help
It only makes
your voice
grow louder
in my head
in my heart
in my being

I breathe
I try hard
even to smile
it all seems convoluted
strained
estranged I stand
on the edge of a long bridge
it leads nowhere
but to the deep sea
and i can't jump
into it
for
you're not there

I wonder
how I could
be so blind
so closed
so lost
as to not see
that you were too
lost
amidst a crowd
amidst fanfare
with a fake smile
fake familiarity
nothing was real

I go
deep into
the dark crevices
inside you & me
and look for
something
we never had
something
you never wanted
or needed
and I did
I imagined it
but wanted it
I did

I lose
myself again
I find
the metallic taste
in me
in my mouth
in my being
in everything
around me
everything
bereft of you
your words
your sense
your being
your familiarity

Shoebox

2011-05-27T08:44:00.002+05:30

You are my last love song
Beyond this I don't know what lies
Too scared to finish, afraid to try
Think I'm going to end this here
And let you fly
Away

Putting my heart in a shoebox
That'll keep it safe from all the ache
You might look down upon this
You might try and talk me out
I don't care
Try

I don't want to dance no more
Dancing just makes you end up falling
Fallen I have, this time too
But I will rise, never to fall again
Its too late
Goodbye

Beautiful Dawn

2011-04-28T15:20:00.001+05:30

You're the most stunning thing I've seen
You're the most wonderful feeling I've felt
You've changed me around
I'm a better me
You've turned my life
Into a summer day
And I am happy
And grateful
For your gracious presence
Your love

Yet on those rare days
I will need to leave your side
I will need to burn my own pyre
And mourn the loss of something
I'd cherished but not protected well
I didn't lose it really
But in a way I did too
And so I will mourn
And there's nothing you could do
to change that or bring it back
or make it afresh or create anew
Its something you cannot do
No one can

But trust me, my love
I will mourn on that one night
And that one night only
And once I'm done
I will return
To no one but you
I will rise from my own ashes
And start afresh
Living the happiest life
With you

Before you love me so
You must, must know
That I am a Phoenix of sorts
Someone with a dreary, dark past
And if you can
Then would you
Would you please
Take me the way I am

golden love

2011-04-12T18:28:00.000+05:30

sweet saccharine you, my golden love
i paint a pretty picture with all those shades
that make a rainbow look biutiful
i don't know you, never seen you
but i know when i do
you'll look something like that

you might not be golden
you might not smile
you might not have great hair
you might even be a bit trite

but you'll be something to me
no, you'll be everything to me
and i will be all that and more
to you and only you

nobody knows that the sun shines
deep inside my heart
and this sun is spelt just like you are
warm, aglow, shiny but far

someday not too far from now
you will escape from my heart
and flow out through my veins
into my life like a shooting star

that day there'll be a hop in my step
i'll wear a soothing summer flow(y) dress
and we'll be golden together
with your warmth, aglow, shiny, no more far

in my sky, in my sky

2011-02-27T21:02:00.002+05:30

you started first
so, you were the one to finish first
the burn in your eyes
spontaneous combustion -- tearjerker
i was looking but i didn't see
mine were full of snow

i saw you bloat, float into the night
like a blimp, my frog in the sky
and then the morning sun rose

people owned sharp objects
they were prepared
but i didn't want it, i didn't care
you looked prettier in the sky
than when you stood next to me
said 'i'm ok'

you slipped so fast
from a sloppy flyer to someone who knew
there, quite simply, to a man you grew
and me, i stood aground
waiting for the accidental notes to dissipate
waiting for the bleeding fingers to sew new key notes
into another beating fist

now, i have fish in my sky
they float unperturbed, keep a look out
and i, put colour on canvas
to drive them away
from my
blackened heart

someday, not far from now
i will keep another frog, feed it to grow
this time i will do it differently
but that sounds like the same promise i made last time.

you and me

2011-02-07T00:38:00.001+05:30

i can be sneaky when i want to be,
go into the hidden crevices to find
what you have been doing with yourself
who you've been seeing and talking to
and, even though i know it so
that you don't love me no more
i can't help but feel envious of the girl
you seem to so openly be crushing on

its been all of ten days since the split
you seem on your way out from recovery too
while i'm still stuck here in pre-op
moaning and feeling handicapped
in my wheelchair where you left me
wounded, bruised, beyond repair

that's what everyone always says
when they break from someone, something
you'll be fine too, you will
your life will go on and
you will wake up, and face the sunrise

i agree
and soon, i will

but for now
can I just walk the street that i've walked since birth
as if i've never been there before
can i shut out everyone and everything
and not be judged and thought of as weak
can i please imagine that it'd be easier
to have been hit by a car coming from behind me
and my blood splattered all across its wind-shield
than to have had my heart broken by you,
you who loved me so,
who's life i was
who was so lucky to have found someone like me
who was a better man because of me.

the eye

2011-01-14T13:16:00.000+05:30

i saw my grandmother one day
she's been dead some 20 years
so her body was rotting
but her eyes were intact
i was in a train that passed by her
with a boy i'd only just met
guess she remembered me still
even though she was dead and everything
so her eye popped out of its socket
it was a very sunny winter day
the eye moved fast
and caught up with the train
it boarded the same way I had
and it passed by me
like it was a complete stranger
then it came back
and passed by once again
i think it was watery this time

it de-boarded the train where I did
it walked along me out of the station
as we looked for a taxi
it kept a watch on my luggage
as I entered the taxi, it entered too

the taxi moved up to the hills
and the boy held my hand
for the very first time
he kissed it too
the eye looked away
gazing into the distance
it looked at the valley
we'd oft frequented
when i was a child
and my grandmother was alive
the boy let go of my hand
and the eye looked at me
it seemed to want to say something
something i couldn't understand
how could i?
i'd only known her/ it as a child
i didn't know how to read it
if only it could speak
speak my language

when we entered our room
the eye entered too
how sneaky it was

the boy closed the blinds
and began to kiss me
the eye watered and left

after we were done
the boy and i
i looked for the eye, frantically
the boy looked worried
i said i'd lost something, important
but wouldn't let him search with me

i never saw the eye again
ever.

The Sun

2011-01-05T18:41:00.002+05:30

It took exceptionally long to appear today
but when it finally did, it was strong and mighty
it seemed to say 'no one dare flout my will today'

I lay there in the open
waiting
as the wind played gently with my open hair
I lay there
for what seemed like an eternity
and when it appeared, it found me, immediately

It shone on me with all its might
It read my heart
that today, I'll let the sun think that my body and soul are its canvases

It began slowly
to devour me
and when the crescendo built
it burnt its way through to my heart
and something got released
something beautiful
something more brightly coloured than the deepest secrets of the sea

This thing - beautiful - it began to flow
from my heart into the sky
my sun's sky
there it flew without a care
the sun beaming, the wind dancing in its wake
then it looked down
at me, where I lay
and all around chimes began to play.

What is this?

2010-12-25T22:44:00.001+05:30

This continuum of thoughts, of you, of you and me
The lack of equilibrium, the lack of sanity
Unsettled, unnerved by every little abandonment
Frenzied by thought of a look, of a touch

Explain this enchantment to me
Tell me how a stranger it has been
Fear, my best friend with benefits
Tells me to shake it off, to not believe

And all this because they asked me about writing
I talked of places it takes me, places beautiful
And somewhere amidst those places deep within
I chanced upon a sapling growing, of you, of you and me

Now that I have it, I know where it dwells
What do I do with it, what do I call it?
You seem to have answers to so many things,
that I can't help but look to you to help give it a name…

This Time

2010-12-06T14:08:00.001+05:30

Each time I say 'this time'
But this time it'll truly be
No matter it does last or not
I will cherish it, for eternity

This time is like Summer Rain
For an ageing and weary me
But who can remain unaffected
By the ever enchanting Summer Rain

This time, I'm giving in
Uncareful, unanything
I'm speaking up, going under your skin
I'm pushing myself or are you pushing me?

I do not know, nor I care
I just know that I mustn't let go
I'll hold on, I'll understand
I'll make amends, take and keep this chance

This time I will dance
Under the influence of you and me
This time, I will write on blank paper
Like never before, once again

expend

2010-11-22T20:38:00.002+05:30

Every little devastation matters, every tear means something.
In the larger scheme of the universe, somewhere far away,
Its all adding up to a giant mountain of grief,
And all you can do is -- try to run away from it.

'You are someone to be loved', they say to you.
But they don't finish the sentence... it ends with
'...Just like everyone else'
You are not special,
No one is,
You are not extraordinary,
Why, you're not the first person on this planet.

Angry words make poetry!
Maybe they do, maybe they don't,
They're just words,
They shouldn't be taken so seriously.

He looks magnetic,
Like the first ray of the sun - its called 'Arush' in Hindi, someone by that name has told me.
Back to him - he is the most beautiful colour of skin,
The colour you cannot help but love,
He is the most beautiful thing you can ever imagine,
He is the saviour,
He will heal,
And, if he doesn't,
Then there will be no saving you or this 'meshugah' soul of yours!

There's darkness in him,
there's darkness all around him,
that attracts you, draws you in.
You don't want to take care of him,
you've had enough of that in your life.
If that's the case then why are you drawn to his darkness,
it will only destroy you - slowly but surely,
it will creep into your heart and make your blood run cold...
Until you stop breathing.

She paints,
she's angelic,
she is an old soul - a wise soul,
but she doesn't draw you in.
You just want to watch her from a distance.
Why?
Why don't you want to be a part of her?
Why don't you want her to be a part of you?

He is a snake.
You were at peace without him,
but the mountain of grief wouldn't have it.
So, it sent him your way.
He now lives in your heart,
and he talks about himself all the time.
He thinks you need him and
he needs you,
when the truth is--you don't need each other.
Why can't you just leave.

Its like molten lava inside this body,
It flows through your veins,
and its trigger is a fickle whore.
She opens her legs for just about anyone,
and there you are - caught unawares.
If only you could find a way to expend this lava,
it would set you free.
All these diseases that you have,
from not being able to express yourself creatively,
they would all be gone--once the lava is expended...
whilst the lava is being expended.

You say whilst when you're talking,
when you're typing in your "right mind" --
you say while when you're typing with your
"unright mind"

You are my Faith

2010-11-10T00:13:00.004+05:30

Today I saw ‘My Sister’s Keeper’

I remember it was just last year that I was travelling in that plane, having spent my summer with you—I was headed away from you. You thought I’d made this big sacrifice and not travelled too far away from you for too long. I wish that were true. I hadn’t done it for various other reasons, which makes me think less of myself. Will I ever correct you on that and remind you of the real reasons why I didn’t move? Perhaps not!

I did however, fly away for a little while—me with my uncomplicated queer eye, I flew away from you and the rest of my life; perhaps it was justified. I can’t tell now. Back then it felt like I did need the break. From what, I don’t know. I hadn’t done anything. I’d just spent time with you.

Anyway, as I sat in that plane I looked at the list of films that were playing on the small foggy TV screen in front of me. On that list was this film. I had no idea what the film was about. I had no idea until tonight. I find that strange. I usually know such things. How did I not know this? And yet, I was attracted towards the film. I’ve wanted to see it since the time it was released… and, I never bothered to find out what the film was about. It’s unbelievable. Maybe I am over-thinking it.

I ate my hideous airplane pre-dawn meal, and washed it down with a couple of mini bottles of red wine. I was warm and all set to watch the film(s). I’d never really slept through journeys before. That night I slept through the whole thing and woke up in the morning, in time to hop on to the next plane.

Tonight I go back and forth that night in the plane. What would have happened if I’d seen the film? I might sound overtly dramatic here, but things might have turned out differently.

I think of all those lovely emails you sent me; the beautiful messages, the tear-filled conversations. You poured. I swept them under the rug. You tried to purge. I concealed. I’d like to purge but you know that’s not me. It’s not ok to cry in front of people.

I wish I could’ve done more. I see all this and I wish I could bring you more smiles. I wish this were the one thing in my life wherein I strived harder… somehow. Its in the past now though, and everything is all right.

I guess at moments like these, I understand faith—yours, then and now; mine—then. For now, I don’t need faith—I have you. My faith is in my phone that still rings at 11:30 in the night, and you’re calling.

This could be the end...

2010-10-30T01:22:00.002+05:30

This scent – it takes me back to you and me

So quick; I’m overcome

I convulse

At the very thought of your warm, dark skin

Its not a fashionable scent this one

It’s a very comfortable, lived-in one

It’s the smell of you every day that I knew you

Every day that I thought would be the rest of our lives

This morning you walked into my dream uninvited

You were the same you, yet somehow different

You spoke about the new ‘her’ in your life

And I couldn’t take my mind off your promises

Of there being no other—besides me…

Music almost always accompanies this scent

A lovely, soulful riff

Just like you

This time around, somewhere in the background, someone is singing—‘This could be the end’

And I am surprised

For I wish it is—the end

I wish you’d leave

I wish you wouldn’t live in this scent anymore

I wish you hadn’t grown tired of me

I wish you weren’t so indiscreet

I wish for so much

That sometimes I wish I didn’t know how to wish…

Accidentals

2010-10-30T00:23:00.002+05:30

Somewhere deep inside my heart

Lies a fraction

That only lights when it hears an accidental

It glows in the warmth of all the strange notes

In all sorts of songs

Songs about love

And loss

And all that jazz

Songs about beginnings

And ends

And all the messy parts in between

Sometimes I wish this fraction

Would put together all of these accidentals

Into a set

That my heart would play on repeat

For ever and ever

So I’d never have to listen to anything less beautiful

Anything less…

And so, I could live like this forever

Forever numb, forever cold…

You!

2010-10-27T00:06:00.000+05:30

You,
With your deep, deep eyes
And your childish smile
You make me laugh the warmest laugh
Each time you touch my heart

And you
With your wild, wild ways
You have got me ensnared
You make me smile the biggest smile
From somewhere deep inside

And you
I didn't think it would be this simple
I never could have dreamt of all of this
And now that I have it all, within reach
I worry that it might go... away

Numb

2010-10-25T00:03:00.000+05:30

I want to force myself to write,

I am too pacified,

too content,

with my existence,

and with yours.

Nothing bothers me,

irks me into the frenzied dependence on my pen as an intoxicant

Nothing forces me into taking refuge in the pages of some words, some story.

I want to, I need to, I would like to be able to...

Can this be real? Could I be too numb to write?

I am too numb.

For after deep turmoil comes numbness!

Or does it?

I cannot tell.

Can you? Tell me? How to get out of this, out of here, where I am, stuck, it seems, for an excruciating eternity?

Maybe if I hurt myself, if I thought about bad things, I would be driven into that frenzy, like actors are. Don't they go to a bad time in life to be able to cry?

I could do that.

It wouldn't be tough!

Wouldn't it?

I cannot tell.

Sitting here, unmoved, un-anything.

They say you should just start, start writing, anything, everything, just make a move at least.

That sounds fair enough.

Or does it?

I cannot tell.

But it doesn't hurt to try...

God resides within Me...

2010-10-10T12:18:00.006+05:30

“Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it” – Rumi

Be it love for a soul-mate or love for God, for I seek both, this makes sense to me… Fortunately, I sometimes forget about my search for a soul-mate… helps me live for myself and also not make any mistakes anymore, for this time around, I am not settling for anything less.

I’ve been searching for God for sometime now. Without looking for him at home, I’ve given up the search here. That’s probably because everything in my life tells me that he (will call him ‘he’ for convenience’ sake) is not here, if ‘here’ is where I live. He isn’t here because here statues are worshipped, and adorned, and blindly given one’s everything to whilst the beggar on the street dies on a cold, winter morning, not too far from one’s house. Here is where your people killed people who believe in another version of God – may be a bearded one or a turbaned one. God does not live where humans kill each other in his name. For all that he might or might not be; he isn’t someone who can allow such a thing.

So, when I went to a place where they believed in peace because their god strongly recommended it, I was tempted to join them… and follow their god. Then I found out that that would need for me to read a whole lot of literature and scriptures… and my heart didn’t urge me to make that effort.

I then came back to our gods, here, where I live. Someone close to my heart was going through a period of fire. That someone didn’t find it hard to find God; so, I followed in their footsteps and tried to find God in my rosary beads, in my bedtime prayers, in my chants, and my pleading, my tears… all for that someone to not be made to suffer.

Did I find God? No.

I still can’t understand that time. How did I manage to, for that period of time, believe and pray?

Today, I find around me, answers like… God resides within me, as myself… God resides in my heart… Whatever you do, don’t break someone’s heart because God resides in every person’s heart…

I think I will continue to look for him, for an ethereal support system but until that time… I can live with this - God resides within me, as myself!

The Joys of Being Woman Friday at a Travel Cafe

2010-10-07T21:49:00.000+05:30

My friend Aeshna Roy has recently started a fantastic blog - content to design, all great; and it ought to be, considering she is an editor and chief designer at a leading publishing house.

She has decided to dedicate a part of this virtual space to people who have really interesting jobs and ergo enjoy their work. The first interview that she's done is with none other than yours truly.

It goes something like this:

There are just so many interesting and downright awesome things people do from 9 to 5. I love meeting people who do exciting, different things as part of their work and really enjoy what they do.

One such person is Shruti Sharma, the self-proclaimed 'Woman Friday' at the Kunzum Travel Cafe in Hauz Khas. She manages the media presence and develops online content for Kunzum, and also helps out (read sits around, chats with guests and drinks coffee) at their hugely popular cafe. Kunzum encourages people to visit, have coffee (you pay what you like for your coffee/tea/cookie!), share travel stories, pick up travel tips from other travelers and generally unwind. Shruti is also a voice-over artist when she's not (wo)manning the ship at Kunzum.

Read more here...

I would like to take this opportunity to thank Aeshna; I'm honoured to be the first one to have been featured in this unique space.

Unicornucopia

2010-10-05T22:49:00.004+05:30

I just can’t get enough of ‘love’. Every morning, some say, I wake up with a smile; I know I wake up wondering (with a smile), how many are going to love me that day and how much are they going to love me—that is my elixir! Shouldn’t that be the case with everyone?

Sometimes we forget; I do too—we forget, what a few loving words can do, what wonders, what miracles… I wish I’d never say anything unloving to anyone; but I do, many times.

Sometimes I wish I could live at the airport, and every minute of every day of every week of every month of every year, my people would come and meet me, on repeat, with gargantuan love, and never tire of doing so.

Sometimes I wish I had six pairs of limbs, a much bigger mind and an even bigger heart, so I could do everything that everyone wants me to do for them, not seek anything in return, and seal the deal with a big, massive hug.

Sometimes I wish I wouldn’t tire of songs like ‘Happiness’ and ‘Don’t worry, be happy’, and listen to them on repeat all my life.

Sometimes I wish that Rajkumar, the mongrel who lives on my street and whom I love dearly had a horn on its head, and could fly. Then again, he is equally amazing without all of that.

Sometimes I wish I could imprint on every person I ever met.

Sometimes I wish for my son to have been born at the same time as me; I wish we could grow up together.

Sometimes I wish for a whole lot of things that cannot come true… but its all right.

*Reference: ‘Twilight Series’; Imprinting is the involuntary mechanism by which shapeshifters find their soul-mates.

Salto, Jump

2010-08-25T12:30:00.001+05:30

No one seemed to know the street my hostel was supposed to be on. So, I kept walking along the edge of the mountain and along the edge of the water, looking for signage. When I reached the end of the town, I saw it, written in bold orange letters ‘Jump’—that was the name of the hostel.

I walked into the reception area and this beautiful girl called Sol sat there. She had the warmest smile and her dark skin glowed under the sunlight that fell through the window. As she was greeting me, a man walked into the reception. He stared at me, smiled, and said ‘Hola’. ‘Hola’ I said, and looked away, feeling very nervous. His helper who was close behind him asked him, ‘quién es ella, who is she’. The laundry man shrugged and said ‘Alguna guapa, some pretty girl’! Sol looked at me and smiled. Something like this had never happened to me before. I felt more nervous.

When she was done with the laundry man, she walked me to my dormitory that was called ‘Blue Light’. The ceiling glistened like the most beautiful lake under the spell of a warm winter sun. Suddenly I didn’t feel nervous anymore. I settled in, unpacked, and then went out to look for some food. After eating, I went back to the hostel and sat in the common room, looking out onto the sea.

Soon, night fell and the empty common room starting filling up. There was something about these people—they all seemed to be buzzing with nervous energy. I waited patiently.

As the clock struck nine and the sky turned completely dark, Eduardo walked in. ‘Hola Amigos’ he said. ‘Hola’ everyone chorused. Eduardo was dressed in a diving suit, zipped only till his waist. He zipped it up fully and said, ‘Vamos’. The word whipped the crowd into a frenzy and before I could understand what was going on, they were dressed and out into the balcony. I followed them and saw the last of them walk down the steps, into the water and then swim to a spot a few hundred meters from the hostel… the spot was lit—blue. ‘Sólo tienes que seguir la luz azul, Just follow the blue light’ I heard Eduardo shout to no one in particular.

Sol came running into the balcony wearing a diving suit, smiled and winked at me, and then swam away.

When they were all in the blue light, Eduardo shouted, ‘Ahora’ and everyone dipped into the water for a few seconds and then jumped… into the air.

I went back inside, found a diving suit in the utilities room, threw it on quickly and ran out. As soon as I started swimming, a hand came and grabbed mine. ‘Vamos a la luz azul, Let’s go to the blue light’ said Eduardo, his eyes the same colour as the light. I smiled.

When we reached the blue light, I began to feel completely weightless. Eduardo put his hands on my waist and pulled me into the water. I looked around… enchanted apparitions played the most beautiful violin pieces to the world of the dead, which looked like a big, happy park in the throes of a mild, windy summer. Only instead of green grass, there was the blue light.

‘Salto, Jump’ said Eduardo, tugging on my hand. We threw ourselves into the air, without much effort… and then we flew.

This Dance

2010-08-07T20:27:00.001+05:30

This Dance

Stranger

Is for you

Your symphony, my ecstasy

Since that day in the rain

I can taste this dance

Can you?

Will you care if I made you the father, the maker

Of this thing that I can taste in my mouth, my being

My blood flows—to this dance

I’m writing this down on blank paper

Like never before

No words, no lines

Just you and me

And this dance

Do you care?

Your image

Puts me in a trance

And I ascend

Like I’m possessed

There’s a demon

In me, of you

And I hang

By a thread

For I don’t know if you like this dance

Its cabaret, its contra-dance

Its sensual, its personal

Listen to my beating heart

It swollen and overfull

And it’s moving only and only

To the beat of this dance

Can this be true?

I can smell you

Your eyes

They’re innervating me, drugging me

With the thrill, the rapture

Of this dance

Will you dance with me?

Oh, she's only 17!

2010-07-13T18:03:00.001+05:30

I had posted this photo somewhere else a little while back. At that point of time I was listening to the Kings of Leon album 'Only by the Night' on repeat... and for some reason when it came to naming the photo I could only think of 'Oh, she's only 17' from the track '17' on the album.

Someone did question the name and said, 'Why, why, why?' and I kept thinking 'why can't you leave the poor title alone'.

Newho, if you can come up with another title for the picture, I'd be happy to hear it ;)

an ode ... or not !

2010-07-01T18:33:00.002+05:30

here's an ode

to some good weather

to this unproductive stage

to the numbness

to the things that don't scare me, when they should

to other things that scare me, when they shouldn't

to love

to laughter

to pain

to desire

to waiting in vain

to all that jazz

and everything else under the sun

come back...

wobbly bridge from tate modern

2010-06-28T15:48:00.000+05:30

London town

My heart is falling down

Will it break on the ground

For you

I'm in love in London town

Nidhi and I and ...

2010-05-05T23:34:00.001+05:30

Nidhi and I have known each other since I was born, considering she was born eight whole months before I was and ergo is much older to me. We are family friends.

She and I became close to each other at age 9, when I realized that she was crazy. My family and I were at her parent’s house for dinner. Nidhi, her cousins, my sister and I were all playing ‘house’ (how original!) and she tried to cook and feed us all ‘red beads’. No, they weren’t candy, they weren’t pills, they weren’t edible – they were beads from a string or a necklace. When she reads this, she will claim that she has no remembrance of this incident but it’s crystal clear in my memory. That was the day I decided that she was as crazy and twisted as I was and so we could be friends.

We became even closer, like ‘best friend’ types, which is what I call her even today for some reason, when we spent the summer of ’97 together doing our “holiday homework”. What we actually did that summer was – discover the pleasure of English movie channels that aired ridiculous films like ‘State Park’, 'Stepmonster' . We would watch them every time they were aired, and feel elated for reasons that are beyond me, now. This was also the time when we started hating our parents to a degree where we wanted to run away from home. Nidhi spearheaded the movement with her brilliant ideas – think she had me convinced at one point that she was going to leave home any day and would make a living by selling newspapers. I think I genuinely wanted to follow in her footsteps. Of course, that was the one and only point in our lives where I wanted to do so.

A few years later, after having given up on our plans to run away form home and having decided that our parents were actually quite decent and likeable we hatched a new plan – we were both going to marry the same guy, that too a chef. We were quite vocal about this for the longest time and would tell anyone who asked us if we were taken that, we were on a lookout for a chef.

About 4 years ago, Nidhi left for the States for a study program. Little did I know that she was going to end up making new plans that wouldn’t include me! This plan was a chef turned finance guy (I think that’s what he does) called Amrinder … and last September she married the new plan. I was so mad at her for ditching our ‘marry one guy’ plan that I didn’t even go for her wedding.

She sent me pictures of her wedding ceremony etc., and it was after I saw this photo that I forgave her … because who wouldn’t forgive someone who would actually get a photo taken like this!

So, in the end – the joke’s on you!

Haahahahahhahahaha! :P

Ralf Hart and all that jazz!

2010-04-23T12:56:00.002+05:30

10 a.m. sharp, I switched on my desktop to start work. I soon remembered something I needed from my laptop so I switched on my laptop as well, to make the transfer. Whilst the computers booted, I went into the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. When I got back to my desk, my laptop had already spent 35 % of its battery. And that, right there, triggered a sweet stream of consciousness.

Six months ago, I was sitting at Departures, Delhi airport listening to Mikali’s Il Faut Du Temps Au Temps from the soundtrack of ‘A Good Year’ on repeat and trying to figure out a way to pass the time. Reluctantly, I switched on my laptop. I say ‘reluctantly’ because I knew the old, aging battery of my dear comfort computer wouldn’t last too long and ergo wouldn’t really help me pass the time. However, I still tried my luck and wrote a quick half-pager before the battery warning started blinking cantankerously.

Brilliant, my comfort computer had stayed with me for exactly 20 minutes. I put it back in my bag, folded my legs and began to look around. Within seconds, I found him!

He was sitting, hidden in one corner of the waiting lounge bent on some sort of gadget the size of an ipad but it couldn’t have been an ipad, could it? Were they in the market then? His hair fell on his face tenderly. He was dressed in shades of brown from head to toe – He was Ralf Hart!

Yes, ‘the’ Ralf Hart of ‘Eleven Minutes’ or ‘Onze Minutos’, Maria’s boyfriend and one of my favourite protagonists ever! The way he looked, he seemed to be the man, the artist who has just met Maria or is about to, as opposed to the boyfriend/husband in the end or beyond of the book.

And, no, I wasn’t attracted to him. That should have been my natural reaction but I wanted nothing to do with him. Yet, I was ensnared and unable to stop staring, albeit discreetly. And, he sat there unaffected by the viscosity of the airport, its acerbic friendliness; somehow shielded because after all – he was fictional, or was he?

A little later, he walked off into the crowds and I physically felt his charm being recanted. Soon, it was time to board.

As soon as I was comfortably set in my aisle seat, I saw him again and instantly my heart was in my mouth. I didn’t want him to sit close to me, not even, where I could see him. I wouldn’t have been able to relax or breathe easily through the 8-hour flight. And, I needed to.

As I hyperventilated obsequiously, he walked right past me and sat somewhere in the back and thankfully I was able to sleep through the flight.

As soon as we landed and I was off the plane, I saw him again; he was walking a little ahead of me. Groggy yet reverent, I tried to match his step. It felt like we were both walking in beat with Makali’s song. He was as surreal as he could possibly be, self-assured and as close to perfection … my mind was racing now trying to keep up with my heart that was saying that Maria was there at the exit, waiting to greet him, and if I just dextrously followed him I’d see her too. I was almost dizzy at the thought …

The next second a hand stopped me in my way.

‘Do you know where you are headed Madam?’ a man’s polite voice said.

I looked at him and said, ‘Yes’ confidently and curtly.

‘May I look at your ticket please’ he asked and I showed him.

‘That’ he said pointing in the direction of where Ralf was headed ‘is the exit. You should be heading back that way to connections. Your next flight departs from terminal 3.’

I looked at him stunned, and then looked back at Ralf’s fading figure. In my heart, I bid him and Maria farewell.

Just then, I remembered I needed a notepad from my room. Whilst looking for it, I found this notebook of mine. I haven’t opened it in a while. I wonder why! I use it or rather used it until 4 months ago, to scribble ideas with the intent of coming back to them, to draw inspiration or some such floozy thing. But I never really come back to it.

I opened the notebook to a page with little bits of paper that I had been drawing

and writing on whilst on a train journey from France to Italy.

“… from the train - fields of rubies, gold, emeralds, and topaz canopied by possessive, dramatic skies. Is it pathetic that I am analogising these beautiful artworks of nature with precious stones? Perhaps! Perhaps not – the intent isn’t to capitalize nature … it is to say that nature is equally precious, if not more.

Beautiful midget houses. I want a midget house. I see a unicorn. I must have done something right. Forts, rivers, lakes and cemeteries.

Pampelonne - Carmaux - Toulouse - Narbonne - Montpellier - Lyon - Geneva - Roma”

I think we had just reached Montpellier.

Somewhere near Geneva that night, amidst confused rail tickets, towns looking deserted at 8:30 p.m., taxi drivers who refused to drive one anywhere and upon much begging mercifully drove one to the train station whilst giving one a tour of lake Geneva etc., wonderfully helpful fellow passengers, and a ridiculous number of traffic signals; somewhere amidst all that I lost myself in a thirteen minute time warp and missed my train to Roma. So, in my notebook the next 8 – 10 pages are blank. I wonder if I left them blank hoping that I’d go back!

My Aeshu!

2010-04-13T15:54:00.004+05:30

Just wanted to share this with you quickly:

My lovely friend Aeshna Roy is the Editor & Chief Designer at Hay House India and sometimes my very own personal editor who cleans up my messy stories gratis. She is also one of my favourite people on this planet and my personal fairy tale - recently her boyfriend of four years asked her to marry him in the most romantic way possible.

So, today Aeshna saw me struggling with my blog template - I've been experimenting a lot with it, as you can see ... And , very sweetly asked me what my favourite things were and I listed them out for her without asking why *frandship mein no qoschuns asked ;)* ... And 15 minutes later she sends me an image she's created with my favourite things, for me to use as a background image.

Unfortunately, I don't know how I can use this image as the background image for my blog, so ... for now I've used it on my twitter page :) have a look. And in case you want Aeshna to design something for you, let me know, I will put in a good word for you ;)

from the diary of a chef

2010-04-06T20:24:00.005+05:30

i wrote this one sometime ago but posting it now ...

I’ve been sending desperate tweets all weeks saying ‘I need to be physically detached from the computer’ but no one really paid much attention or came to my rescue. So, today I decided to take matters into my own hands, and at about 4 pm I switched my computer off. I am almost certain my heart skipped a couple of beats when I did but the ever growing bulges that used to be my eyes once, seemed to be desperate to get away.

I tried watching television for a while … like about six minutes, and then got really bored.

Then I tried to take a siesta (yes, some people do still do that kind of stuff) … and I slept for exactly 20 minutes. After my power nap I didn’t know what to do with myself. So, I just sat there … contemplating. After about 4 minutes 30 seconds my father’s voice started ringing in my head, "considering you’re not doing much these days why don’t you help out your mother, in the kitchen or something" … like, what does he think I do on the computer all day. Anyway, considering I want to ask him to buy me something, I decided to try …

So, I picked up the phone and ordered some raw chicken. It went something like this -

Butcher: Haaalo!

Me: Hello bhaiiiyaaa? One kilo chicken chaiye hai! (I want a kilogram of chicken)

Butcher: Hain? One Killo?

Me: Haan!

Butcher: One chicken matbal. (You mean you want one chicken)

Me: Tut! Haa-an wohee! (Yeah! Same difference)

So then, half an hour later he sent the chicken over. And I really didn’t know what to do with it … So I called up Sim for a recipe. Sim gave me her mum’s Lemon Pepper Chicken Recipe, which goes something like this … for all you copy-kitties! :P

Lemon Pepper Chicken, from Meeta Aunty’s Kitchen

(I don’t have an ear for detail, so the proportions might not be exactly the same but it turned out all right)

Take one chicken. Wash it.

You could hold your nose with a clip.

Take 2 – 3 cloves of pulped garlic. Like you could pulp it or buy packet-ed pulp.

My family really likes their garlic, which proves that we are not vampires, so I used like 2 tsp of packet-ed pulp since I was too lazy to pulp the cloves. I like the word pulp, didja notice, didja? Pulp! If you don’t want to smell of garlic for two days after consuming the dish, you should use a little less, one or one.five maybe!?!

Take one or one.five tsp of whole black pepper and grind it.

Better flavour than pre-grounded ?!

Now, make cuts on the chicken pieces.

Don’t imagine that blood is going to ooze out of them, or you won’t be able to do it. Blood is not going to ooze out of them! Seriously!

Mix the garlic Pulp (pulp) and the pepper, and squeeze half a lemon into it. And then smear it on the chicken pieces, and let the chicken marry-nate for about 20-30 minutes.

It feels like you’re playing Holi with someone who is podgy. Chicken-marry-Nate!

When the chicken has marry-nate-d, eat it!

Haha! Gottya there. Don’t worry Meeta Aunty isn’t cruel :P

Take a pot, a medium sized one and put some cooking oil (about two to two.five tsp) and some butter (about ye high … like what you’d put on your parantha if you’re Punjabi a.k.a two tsp)

Umm! Give me some tummy lovin’!

When the butter melts, add the chicken, and cook until it changes colour. And looks like so …

Then cover the pot, and let it simmer until it’s cooked a bit.

How would you know if its cooked? Just ask your mum, like I did.

Then take 2 – 3 potatoes. Peel, and chop into big chunky pieces.

Ooh yeah! Now we’re talking tummy love …

Throw in the potatoes, add salt (about 1 tsp !?!). If the chicken has left some water, that’s fine. If it hasn’t, its not fine. So add some. Like about ¼ of a cup! Zen cover and cook!

No idea why Sim said ‘Has the chicken left some water?’ Why couldn’t she say ‘Has the chicken leaked?’ Will ask her.

Anywho, once all this is cooked (ask your mum if its cooked or not), just like squeeze a lemon on top of it. And if you’re lucky and have some fresh parsley, then you could put that. I am not lucky so I put dried parsley!

And then voilah! I didn’t know what to serve it with.

So I called Sim again and this time she gave me her own recipe of Bruschetta Bread.

Bruschetta by Sim-Cat-a

Get it? It rhymes!

Anyway, so this one is even sim-pler to make.

See I did it again!

Like, take some butter and put it in a pan, and make it melt.

I know we Punjabis eat so much butter and still look so hot.

Put some finely chopped onions (let them just slightly change colour), tomatoes and fresh chopped coriander. Add some coriander powder (if you like od’ing on coriander like me) and some salt. And cook for like 45 seconds literally!

Until it looks like so …

And then just slap it on some bread … I couldn’t be bothered to go get some French bread, so I just used regular multi-grain slices …

Like so …

And then grill it, until crispy!

Just so you know, my dad seems very happy. But don’t go about thinking that I am going to ask him for that thing right now. I have morals. I shall ask him tomorrow morning …

Oh no!

2010-04-05T14:02:00.001+05:30

This is a photo of mine that was published by FLOP Magazine in their Oct 2009 issue. I found out about it whilst I was away from home on a Eurotrip for a couple of months and the news (that the photo was being published) made me very happy back then ... it had something to do with being alone at that point and hearing some really good news, which made me feel a thousand times better ...

I am posting it on my blog today because I just found out that the magazine is shutting down ... I am very, very sad to hear that considering this magazine has been my utopia for almost a year now. So, all my friends who see this post, please visit http://www.flopmagazine.com/ (or click on the title of this post to be directed to the magazine website) any time this month and pay your homage - April end FLOP will do their last issue ... *sniffles*

Meeting Manolo Valdés!

2010-04-04T13:30:00.005+05:30

It was a winter morning but the temperature wasn’t too low, and the sun was kind. I was sitting in the common room of my hostel where I was staying for a few days, feeling freshly infused with a special kind of Sunday languor by the angel of indolence, snug on an overtly cushy pink and green sofa chair. I had made this common room home; since I shared my room with 3 other travellers - I was living in a dorm (the horror!!!).

Away from the quagmire of shared rooms, bathrooms, and loo(s), this room felt ‘a lot like home’ with its Television set placed on top of a warmth-inducing dilapidated wooden book rack that hosted lengthy volumes of the lonely planet guides to all parts of the world amongst other books left behind by weight-shedding backpackers. Right in front of the TV was a worse for wear centre table with a tiny potted plant on top of it, which was probably the only ‘young thing’ in the room. The other three walls supported three antique looking wooden and jute sofas. Close to the balcony door was the nebulous sun-hatched spot with a sofa chair … ‘my sofa chair’ that I dashed towards each time I entered the hostel and to my delight, found empty each time I did. The warmth of the sun here, in this chair, made me feel connected to something universal. I could be anywhere in the world, and given a sofa and a spot in the sun ‘like so’, I would be home!

15 minutes into my weekend reverie, my drooping eyelids were wheedled into attention by a friendly voice from across the street. In the balcony right across the hostel’s, was a young boy of about 18, yelling ‘Hola chica!’

It took me a few seconds to wrap my head around the intrusion and reply,
‘Hola, que tal?’, (Hello, how are you?).
‘Muy bien, y tu’ (Very good, and you), the boy said.
‘Bien, bien’ I replied.

He then started off with a cheery rant in rapid Spanish and I had to intrude at some point with,
‘No entiendo’ (I don’t understand).
He grinned and said, ‘Hablas poquito Español eh?’ (You speak little Spanish, eh), to which I said ‘Si, Si’.

A big smile and a wave goodbye later, I got out of the chair and left the common room, it didn’t feel private enough any more. The boy was sweet and well-intentioned but the recluse in me wanted to set out in search of better obscurity.

So, I went to my dorm, picked up my little day-bag and set out … Sigh! What a job it is to be a tourist on a Sunday. I started walking in a new direction, hoping that it would take me somewhere nice, somewhere I’d want to be … somewhere I could be completely anonymous again! I walked and I walked and I walked … and behold! After about an hour of walking very slowly, taking in the sites I passed by, I found myself at the gates of the Museo del Prado ( Tut tut, don’t google it, I’ll tell you, I was in Madrid).

Inside my head someone said ‘George just lucky, I guess’. But George was about to get luckier as ‘Along came Polly’! Polly told me that since it was Sunday the Museo del Prado was ‘gratis’ (free) in the evening from 5 pm – 8 pm, and right now it was the Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía that was gratis … Now I couldn’t believe my luck, I was damn glad that boy had cajoled me out of my reverie.

Reina Sofia (the national museum of 20th century art) is just down the road from the Museo del Prado (featuring exquisite collections of European Art from the 12th to the 19th century).

After Polly had finished asking me for alms for god knows who or what, for giving me the information that she had; and after saying ‘Sorry, I haven’t got much money’, I started walking down the road towards Reina Sofia. My camera was at this point focused on autumn leaves, fountains, people - the usual, until it spotted something very unusual across the street …

I randomly took this picture (picture 1) and then went back to it on the LCD screen of my camera. I am going to shamefacedly admit that it took my slow brain a good 30 seconds to realize that this was public art! I crossed the road, to get closer and find out more about the artist.

Mesmerized I walked back and forth this road …

Lillie, 2006, Bronze

Irene I, 2006, Bronze

Irene II, 2006, Bronze

Ariadna IV, 2004, Bronze

Lydia, 2004, Bronze

La Dama, 2004, Bronze

Colosos, 2005, Iron

Regina I, 2005, Bronze

Odalisca, 2006, Bronze

Las Meninas, 2005, Bronze

I had never heard of Manolo Valdés before this day but what I saw on this day I absolutely loved - loved the work, the use of wood, the display. Of course, I had to go back to the hostel and google him to be able to understand things better, since all the information provided alongside the display was in ‘shudh Español’ and I couldn’t be bothered trying to read it.

I later figured that Valdés is a Spanish artist, from Valencia, who works in paint, sculpture, and mixed media. Heavily influenced by old masterpieces, it was in 1983 that he started working with sculpture in a big way. Today, Valdés is hugely celebrated for his work using materials like alabaster, bronze, marble, granite, ceramic, silver, and wood.

The massive bronze female heads adorned with hats are inspired by the paintings of Matisse, and Las Meninas are inspired by Velázquez. In the last few years these works have travelled through Europe and North America (I think) with the Meninas being exhibited in Paris in 2005. In 2007, the women and the Meninas went to New York, in 2008 to Barcelona, and in late 2009 I unknowingly caught up with them in Madrid.

Muchas muchas gracias well-intentioned balcony-friend!

True istory it is!

2010-03-31T22:39:00.005+05:30

I was at the doctor’s for my monthly check-up – nothing to worry about, just some good old regular thyroid trouble that is well under control and I will soon be off medication. I don’t even think about it until it’s that time of the month again – to visit the doc.

It was around 6:40 p.m., and I had just finished making some chai for my mother and was about to get back to work when I remembered I had a doctor’s appointment. “Argh! I thought to myself. Why can’t my doctor and I have this conversation telepathically and be done with it?” I just didn’t feel like getting out but had to.

I reached the clinic at my usual 7:15 and made my way through the crowd to the ever so busy & uptight receptionist. My doctor hadn’t arrived. “Eh! I can wait.”

The clinic is a multi-specialist one, with four rooms where some of Delhi’s well-known specialists see their patients on a twice or thrice a week basis. The place usually works like well-oiled machinery. Obviously, they charge you for being ‘smooth operators’. What was I doing at such a place? Well, I was getting my treatment done, free of cost. The thyroid specialist whom I see at the clinic is one of my closest friend’s father. So, I have it easy.

And ergo, I didn’t mind waiting for him. I usually just have to wait for about 5 minutes before I get a chance to see Gary’s dad, and I usually pass that time by checking my email or browsing the internet on my phone. On this day, I did the same. But how long can you do that on the phone? Apparently not very long! Moreover, I could feel an intrusion – by the person sitting right next to me. He seemed keenly interested in my inbox, so I quickly shut it off, got a little more comfortable, and tried to zone out. Of course, my neighbour didn’t like the idea.

“Myself Mr. Bhatia” he said.

I smiled and nodded without making eye contact. Somehow, I knew that, that would be a fatal mistake. Or maybe it didn’t matter whether or not I made eye contact. Mr. Bhatia meant business; he wanted to make some conversation. Period.

“Which doctor you are here to see” he asked most curiously.

“Um the thy … Um a hormones doctor” I said, assuming that a big word like thyroid would bring a volley of questions my way. Maybe I shouldn’t have made that assumption …

“Achha, achha. That problem you are having” he said, vigorously wiggling his head. “My wife also once had, same problem. I took her to … you know Batra hospital?”

“Yes, I do” I complied.

“Haan, so there, there is one doctor called … well if she is still alive that is. Then, she is called Dr. Hingorani” he said.

“Oh Ok” I said, curbing the urge to laugh.

“So, you go check, if she is still alive, Dr. Hingorani huh, and then you take treatment from her. Ok” he dictated.

“Um I am very happy with my doctor here” I said.

“Oho, these doctors, they know nothing. See he is late today, and making you wait. He must be late every time. I know. Plus, he doesn’t know his job” he said.

“Um, this doctor is my friend’s father and he is very well known in Delhi” I was on the defence now.

“Tut. He doesn’t know anything. Go to Dr. Hingorani, ok. You haven’t written the name down, you will forget it. Write it somewhere – Dr. Hing”

“orani. I will remember. Don’t worry” I tried to placate him.

“Yeeeess, Dr. Hingorani” he said, beaming.

My brain was about to self-destruct, but Mr. Bhatia continued the onslaught.

“You see, I got married in ’83 and for 2 years we, my wife and I, were not having children you see. That was a problem. So, I took her to Dr. Hingorani. Dr. Hingorani is one of those doctors who is like a mechanic … samjhe ke nahin? Matlab she can degnose (diagnose) the disease, just like some mechanics can degnose the problem with scooters and cars. And you know, she degnoses and then compojej (composes) her own medicine. You know, some doctors can do that”

“Really” I said, feigning intrigue. Err! Wrong thing to say.

“Yes, yes, they can compoje and you can go to chemist and say please make compojed medicine. And the chemist will give you. And this medicine is so much better than ready-made medicine, you know. You should try it. You have been taking this doctors medicine for so long, it hasn’t helped, haina?”

“It has helped actually” why are you even bothering, my brain said to me.

“No, no it doesn’t help. You know it is like compojing your own atta. My wife and I, we get our atta, pissa hua atta latte hain hum, you know. We use that to make dough. Then you can make pooris on slow fire with this atta, and the pooris survive for much longer than pooris made from normal atta you see”

I nodded but my brain was saying ‘I will slap you if you nod at him again’

“Same pooris … once I was in train, with wife and son. We were going to lucknow. We met these two men, they were hungry. We offered them our pooris. They asked us if the pooris had gone bad. We told them sawaal hee nahin paida hota. We have made them in special way. Then they enjoyed also.”

I was eyeing the exit greedily by now.

“So you get compojed medicine ok, you will be fine. And try to make pooris also, the way I told you, they will be good”

I nodded again and my brain sighed and said ‘stupid body’

“You know this is how people should meet, make friends. At the doctor’s clinic, waiting for doctor. In India, people don’t do that, people are very busy with themselves. In forin countries, they do this. They meet at doctor’s, talk, give each other phone numbers. After that if they meet on road, they remember each other, help each other. Hamare yahan, they see you outside doctor’s clinic, they don’t recognize you. Aap mat bhool jaana, theek hai. Yaad rakhna, Bhatia ji mile the”

“Jee Bhatia jee” is he trying to hit on me, I wondered. Brrr!

“Acha hormones kee problem theek ho jayegi aapki, aap chinta na karma, theek hai. Yaad hai na, Dr. …?” he wanted to check if I remembered the name.

“Hingorani. Haanji” I said.

He seemed pleased that I did. “Haan sahi hai.” He stopped to take a breather.

Just when I thought that he couldn’t churn out any more nonsense he asked “So, what you do?”

I usually find that a disconcerting question since I never have a tangible answer. I cleared my throat, tried to concentrate and said “Um, I write …”

“What” he spat.

“Um, small books for children” I said unsurely.

He was quite for a bit. Deep in concentration, I think he was trying to come up with an intelligent thing to say to someone who wrote small books for children.

“You know publishers are there. They can print your books and give them to you,” he said.

I knew it!

“I do work for some publishers” I said and smiled.

“Achha” he said and looked away trying to come up with something else.

“Aur bhaisaab kya karte hain?” he turned quickly and asked.

“Kaun bhaisaab?” I looked at him concerned.

“Tut arre bhaisaaaaab!” he said, a bit exasperated.

It took me a few seconds to realize that he was talking about my non-existent husband.

“Um bhaisaab nahin hain Bhatia jee. Meri shaadi nahin hui” I informed him.

“Acha” he said surprised.

Now, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I got up, walked up to the receptionist and enquired if Gary’s dad was arriving anytime soon. She told me he was stuck in traffic, and would take another half an hour to reach.

I cursed the traffic, turned around and made a beeline for the exit. I literally ran to my car, and sped off as fast as I could. Once in the car I laughed until my eyes watered and my stomach hurt. After I’d split my sides laughing, I thought about what Bhatia Ji must have made of our conversation – an unmarried girl going to a hormones ka doctor, which to him meant – a fertility specialist or some such thing.

I drove around for the next half hour and only entered the clinic once I saw Gary’s dad’s car parked outside it.

Mr. Bhatia couldn’t still be there, I thought to myself as I stepped out of my car.

Oh! But he could, and he was.

I averted my gaze, and went straight to the receptionist. Of course, I was going to have to wait. I placed myself delicately on a miniscule stool lying right next to her desk, as if the desk was a shield.

No, it wasn’t!

Even if it was, it wasn’t strong enough for Mr. Bhatia. Although he clearly seemed to have found his next victim, (what was he still doing at the clinic?) I saw him leave the victim alone to make his way towards me.

“Phone number nahin diya maine pehle hain. Likh lo” he ordered.

No, this wasn’t actually happening! I still took my phone out and pretended I was typing the number.

“Hain, Mr. Bhatia kar ke store kar lena. Aur na mujhe meesed call de do. Mere pass aapka number aa jayega”

“Haan haan, mein phone karoongi” I said, wiggling my head and keeping my phone back in my trouser pocket. ‘Thank the lord’ said my brain. “Acha mera number aa gaya haan” I said and dashed into my doctor’s room, who fortunately didn’t ask me to wait outside even though he was attending to another patient.

pinki and friend ...

2010-03-11T17:44:00.002+05:30

tuffy aur puffy

2010-02-26T11:48:00.002+05:30

French Worm Sings

2010-02-21T17:40:00.004+05:30

My french, singing, worm-friend :D

AJ ... I will find you!

2010-02-20T12:33:00.002+05:30

This is one of my closest friends AJ, I've posted versions of him before ... he inspires the funny in my life. Honestly, if he wasn't in my life I'd be living on a rather serious note.

We're found 'in our element to the T' at conferences, discussions, festivals - basically in large public gatherings where we are like two giggly 10 year old girls (no he's not gay!) who think that everyone and everything in the world is SO funny that, like, you won't even believe it ...

So, this one time, we were at a very, very serious 'there is nothing more important than films' type of gathering where I was trying to make a point, of course, completely unrelated to what the panel of speakers were talking about ... and I was trying to say it in proper hindi (me the 39.5 on 100 scorer in hindi in all of my school life) and I wanted to say 'hum yuvavastha mein hain, we are in our youth or something' and instead ended up saying 'hum yaunavastha mein hain, we're in very sexual stage of life or some such thing' ...

... and of course I'm pretty certain the panelists figured what I was saying because AJ was pissing himself laughing. And every third week of our life since ... he relays this anecdote to anyone who will lend him an ear.

Oh! and by the way everytime he makes me laugh (the kind of laughter that makes you split your sides) he times it to when I am drinking something ... so drinks coming out of my nose, or me spluttering them is a regular kind of thing!

in your eyes I can see the sea in mine ...

2010-02-19T20:38:00.000+05:30

forever be my one moment in time

2010-02-17T12:41:00.001+05:30

and in you, i could live an eternity

Study Abroad?

2010-02-14T19:50:00.012+05:30

Some of you know that I recently went on a rather longish holiday to Europe. Some of you also know that I don’t, like a few other 26 year olds make a lot of money. So, how on earth did I manage to fund this vacation? (No, I wish I did. But I don’t have a money-tree. Neither am I ‘Jumper’) … I simply decided to use the funds that had been generated and saved for my education “abroad” … Having realized that studying in Europe would prove to be an expensive affair I chose to ‘holiday’ instead :D …

Why? Because what I wanted to study, in the UK specifically, was – creative writing. As per plan, my parents were to pay for my tuition and I was to work whilst in the UK to support my stay. A bit of research made me realize that working part-time would not only be a very non-lucrative proposition, it would also be a futile exercise, leaving me with little time to ‘actually write’ which incidentally is the overarching ambition. Don’t worry, overseas students are not allowed to work full-time and study part-time (which is what most other creative writing students do), which even if it was possible wouldn’t really leave me with much time to sit, think, and write.

All this research also had made me utterly indignant about the fact that overseas students have to pay a tuition fee that is usually more than three times of what natives or in the case of UK, UK/EU students have to pay. Developing – Developed? Tomato – Tomato? Who gives a rat’s ass! Of course, overseas students studying in Indian Universities too have to pay twice or thrice the amount than Indian students do but look at our fee structures!

Let me not even go into the whole ‘being treated like trash’ debate because some of you already are going ‘Whatever! Sour grapes! My friend studied at so-and-so and became so-and-so’… To you I say ‘Good for your friend’.

So, I had my vacation, made my peace with the situation, and decided that I did not want/need to study in another country unless one day, overnight I became insurmountably intelligent by some unnatural twist of fate – and landed a fat scholarship, which as we all know is as remote a possibility as me becoming, like, uh as thin as Naomi Campbell or someone. Whatever!

To compensate for my “loss” (Pff) I decided to buy books instead whilst in the UK, so I could learn whatever they taught at these good-for-nothing, architecturally spectacular, gianormous universities on my own. Interestingly, I came across some books that have been written by professors teaching at these very good-for-nothing universities. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that these books cost me twice the amount similar books written by the non-ginormous university professors/writers cost.

Since one of these books seemed like the preferred course-book for the university that is one of the most revered institutions teaching creative writing, I decided to give it a shot … despite the fact that it cost me two perfectly decent meals at a good restaurant to buy it.

I’ve just started reading the book and the first paragraph of the introduction itself has caused me such immense heartburn that I had to put it down and pen this.

Now, the story isn’t complete without you knowing that this University had rejected my application last year. So, in my head it had sort of become the un-gettable get! This book was to be my answer to ‘what it is that I am missing out on by not being invited to study here’.

Nothing. I am not missing out on anything.

The head of department starts her introduction with – “There remains in circulation a myth that writing can’t be taught. That despite the proliferation of writing courses, creative writing is something esoteric, unpindownable, something inspired by muses and shaped by geniuses … The success of the course at University of ___ belies this myth. Under the pressure of sustained practice, criticism and exercise, we see, every year, students emerging from our courses who will go on to become successful writers.”

My contention is that my rejection letter from this university went something like this - “I regret to inform you that we are not offering you a place on the course this year. For your information, we receive a high number of applications for the course each year, and the standard is extremely high. Competition for places is therefore very intense.” This had come as a complete surprise because the representative from this university, who I had met at a conference in New Delhi, had been extremely interested in my work and references and had stressed on the idea that I make my application the very next day to when I met her … I do realize now that, that could have been ‘just a hook’.

Irrelevant of whether or not the rep liked me, the jury in charge of the final decision (including the HOD) didn’t.

So, I am not wrong in assuming that they picked writers who showed more promise. The question is - if they showed more promise, did they deserve to be ‘taught’ creative writing more than I did?

I might sound like an embittered reject but I am actually very happy with how things have taken shape. I will not say that ‘I am never going to go study in another country now’ because who knows what the future holds for you … but I will say that whatever happens in the future, I will happily make an informed, and dignified decision.

She and I

2010-02-14T12:30:00.007+05:30

Hola,

I’m reposting this story for Crossed Genres magazine’s initiative to raise money for the Haiti earthquake relief effort – Post a Story for Haiti. There are many more stories at the link.If you enjoy the stories and want to show your appreciation, please donate to a charity involved in the Haiti relief efforts.

You could click on the title of the post to be directed to the page as well. Grazie!

She is your conventional dusky Indian beauty in a land of surplus, where nothing is out of reach.

She can cook. She can take twenty different tubes of food stuff from the supermarket that is two blocks away, empty them into a bowl, mix the concoction, put it in a plate, religiously garnish it with shredded Parmesan, and serve it to you with an impeccable, perhaps practiced, diasporic expectant look; to which you can say nothing but ‘Oh! It’s lovely/wonderful’ when the insides of your stomach are screaming ‘Oh no! Not this plastic trash again.’ She then proudly informs you that she doesn’t eat anything besides what she cooks at home since everything outside is so ‘processed’.

She seems empty. But there are moments when the emptiness gets clouded by ingenuity.

Everything is disorganised, in shambles, in her own house. In other people’s houses she is called ‘a cleaning lady’. She keeps this aspect of her life from anyone new she meets. Sooner or later, they find out and begin to think less of her. She knows this process of metamorphosis; can see the change in the way they look at her. As soon as they find out, they start looking directly into her eyes, emboldened by the idea that she is used to taking orders. Before that they look at her a bit nervously, for she is beautiful with her long hazel eyes, big fringed forehead, her thin lips, and amicably moisturized skin.

That’s why she doesn’t have too many friends; she knows she will lose them before even finding them properly, profoundly. She does have fleeting friends. They somehow cannot find it in their hearts to believe that she is being truthful about the fact that she has a degree in environmental chemistry or that she has studied classical piano for eight of her thirty-two odd years.

She has only one obsession in her life now - her boyfriend Juan! Every other obsession she picked up en route to her life with him. He sells the white stuff. Initially he didn’t let her touch it but she soon found her way to it. It wasn’t difficult in the land of surplus anyway. Before he knew it they were both ardent admirers of ‘gear’, the only difference was he liked ‘drip’ and she didn’t. ‘Call me old-fashioned’ she says, ‘but digging your nose and then collecting and swallowing the white stuff mixed with nose booger isn’t a girl’s cup of tea’.

I’ve only just met her. I’ve only just found out that she is a cleaning lady. But I still can’t look into her eyes. What does that say about me? Perhaps if I tried the white stuff. They say it makes you feel like you can do ‘anything’. Perhaps then I could look directly into her eyes and find out who she really is. But do I need to find out? No. Do I want to? Yes.

I do judge her. I do think of her all the time. On the surface I say, I’m searching for moments that she and I have shared where she has shown depth. I’m trying to find that person in her whom I can respect. But I’m beginning to feel that I don’t want to respect her. I think I just want to be around her because she makes me feel better about myself.

I’ve been feeling pretty empty myself lately. But I strongly believe I can never be as empty as her. And my clouds of ingenuity are much denser.

I’ve been jotting down things about her in my diary. I keep the diary locked when I’m in the house, even if she’s not.

What is it about her?

I think there is something very sinister about her. Her presence smells putrid.

Last night she shouted at me. It came out of nowhere. She told me I was being lax about the cleaning, and that I’d left the kitchen messy. I was completely taken by surprise. How could she be so strong? She is just a cleaning lady, an accidental academic, and an uninspired musician, nothing more … nothing less. Each time I see her I can taste bland, sweet, processed tomato soup. Tomato soup isn’t supposed to taste like that.

The other day we made a desperate attempt at socializing together, mutually, for her boyfriend and my brother; they are friends. She wore an outfit fit for a club, just to go to the local pub at the end of the road.

I tried to make conversation with her but only when my brother was around. I asked her if she knew of any interesting places I could visit in the city. She looked at me emptily. There was a bit of powder around her nose. Normally one would tell the other person if they had the white stuff on their face in public, so that person could clean themselves up. That was the polite thing to do. No one wanted trouble. But I didn’t tell her.

“Go to the big wheel” she said coldly, so coldly that she looked blue. ‘The most touristy spot on the whole freaking planet’, I thought to myself, ‘who does she think I am?’

Later my brother asked me if she and I had spoken about interesting stuff. I looked at him sternly and said 'The dimwit thinks I am as dumb as her.' My brother said disappointedly, 'Please, just make an effort, we are living in their house, they’re doing a lot for us. Please just … just be a little social, I’m not asking for too much.'

Sell-out!

Juan is a DJ as well. He plays decent music.

I wasn’t jumping with joy tonight, it was all right. He plays here every Saturday night. It’s a club. Could this place be any smaller? There’s only one toilet! Only one! For men and for women, and they all use it for one thing and one thing only. And not to empty their bowels. There’s a proper table and everything in there! Everyone who comes out of the toilet is usually cleaning their noses.

A black man just came and hugged me; he was my brother’s and her friend. He pressed something into my hand. She looked me directly in the eyes.

Then she took my other hand and led me to the toilet. We had to wait outside a long time; there were many people in there. Once it was empty she took me inside. She gave me a little bump on the end of a credit card. I didn’t know how to snort it so I clumsily dropped it. She scolded me! The nerve!

Then it was her turn. She took a lot … in comparison to what she had given me and what I had dropped.

I am not interested in the white stuff anymore. I can see myself in the mirror. I am doing that really poignant thing where you look into the mirror and ask your own image, ‘Who are you? Who are you really? Do you know this person you’re looking at? Do you condone her actions? Are you her? Is she you?’

She is now lying on the ground, and shaking a lot.

Sigh. And I was hoping I would finally get a chance to look her directly in the eyes …

weeeeeee!

2010-02-13T14:36:00.000+05:30

just chanced upon demure simba

2010-02-13T12:20:00.000+05:30

of course this is pretence. she's prettier but not so demure in real life!

Buzzzzzzz!

2010-02-11T15:51:00.001+05:30

I am having one of those weeks wherein there's so much activity inside your head that every small artery of your brain (are there arteries in the brain? whatever!) starts hurting. You're constantly in hyper-mode best emulated by the happy tree hugging, hopped up on sugar emoticons, the once-cool yahoo had on chat ... i feel like sitting with a jar of nutella and a spoon right next to my computer all day isn't helping the situation. How can that be?

Slowly as the Dave Mathew's Band's unicornian song 'You and Me' is replaced by the soundtrack of Pyscho in my head I'm beginning to feel that nutella is (this post isn't for those who don't know what nutella is) a globalization-al evil? Blimey! Can't blame poor gooey chocolate hell for everything. It could be the computer ... I have to use it for work everyday but, but ... there's so much more to do. There are important things to be taken care of ...like Facebook and Twitter and this blog ... and ... but today just seems specially stressfully (notice the sick {which now means cool} alliteration) ... what's this Buzz in my head?

Snowdown in London Town!

2010-02-10T14:55:00.005+05:30

Watch the video in High-res on Youtube!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FI8iYoUuRJc

save your sermons ...

2010-02-09T20:12:00.001+05:30

And she can smoke, with her hooves, and everything.

2010-02-08T18:38:00.000+05:30

Dialogue from the film 'Before Sunrise'

Fatman: It's a play about a cow, and an Indian searching for it. There are also in it politicians, Mexicans... Skinny: Russians, Communists.
Fatman: Russians.
Jesse: So, you have a real cow on stage.
Skinny: No, not a real cow. Its an actor in a cow costume.
Fatman: (Indicating Skinny) And he's the cow.
Skinny: Yes, I am the cow. And the cow is a bit weird.
Fatman: The cow has a disease.
Skinny: She's acting a bit strange, like a dog. If someone throws a stick, she fetches it, and brings it back. And she can smoke, with her hooves, and everything.
Céline: Great.

11: 00 am: Advanced Camera Techniques

2010-02-08T13:09:00.006+05:30

my friend Andy Glynne, filming in Karnal, Haryana

spiderwebs

2010-02-04T12:43:00.003+05:30

i was new
until you found me
enchanted me
and soon began
spinning your webs
around my heart
tiny tangles of magic yarn
in neverbefore touched
simple nooks
once done
you tied them all in sync
and said you’d pull me
through the world
until we reached
a charmed end

i once saw my heart like that
in some shards of a broken glass
that’s when I saw the webs
that made my heart look
like an old tart
i liked it that way
it seemed lived in
it seemed possessed

and then one day
a spider’s way
you thought
you needed a new heart
so you left mine alone
to rot
and rot it did
without your fresh articrafts

before rotting
it bled a lot
the blood
i collected
in a brave mug
and brewed it into
furtive love
all consuming
tainted love
with it I painted solitude
with bold strokes
like I was taught
by you once
and before I knew it
another spider came along
and soon began
to spin his webs …

A liar is uncomfortable facing his questioner/accuser and may turn his head or body away

2010-02-04T11:08:00.001+05:30

Toughy!

2010-02-03T13:19:00.002+05:30

Some day, when I'm awfully low,
When the world is cold,
I will feel a glow just thinking of you...
And the way you look tonight.

she

2010-02-02T12:32:00.000+05:30

there she stood
outside my window
drenched
with her quivering lips
a drop of blood
traced her face
ensnared by rain
losing its glory

her eyes wide
will you keep my secret?
will you draw my pain?

she was once beautiful
she could make herself invincible

the rain had faded her
drawn her into paling history
outside my window
what had passed?

the roses from her summer dress
withered and breathless
lay in a pool around her feet
oh what had passed?

no, not the obvious
it was worse
she had lost something
irreplaceable

no, not the obvious
it was more

come down I whispered
i’ll draw your pain
come down
i’ll smile at you all over again

yet she walked away …

i seek ...

2010-01-26T19:04:00.002+05:30

I believe or seem to think these days that before now, I have lived my life for something or someone … in awe of something or someone … and that its only now that I am truly coming into my own and living on my own, for myself, by myself … and I seem to be perfectly comfortable with it, I seem to be at ease, I seem to be enjoying it!

I don’t know if this is the truth or some pretty idea in my head that will metamorphose into something else, something bigger, someday soon!

… The reason I believe this is because before I took this “sabbatical” from TV and started writing (small time) I would get out of the house everyday and in the process create elaborate alternate realities in my head … escape routes to worlds other than the real one, and its in these worlds and these worlds only that I felt comfortable enough to live, and breathe.

The last year when I worked from home and kept to myself mostly I didn’t feel the need to exist in these imaginary worlds. I lived in the comfort of my home and not ‘fake realities’ and therefore felt less prone to alternate worlds, love lives, existences etc. etc. (am I still making sense) … And I felt stronger, braver, and better equipped to deal with the ups and downs of the real world … I did at the same time become more stringent in my beliefs and points of view … I became less of a bendy-pencil than I’d ever been! I don’t know if it’s a good thing or not …

Then I set off for this trip … and I was less moved by what was going on around me or what I was going through than I normally would have … I don’t know whether or not that has been a good thing or feeling …

I feel completely unaffected and unfazed by this two month holiday that I took in parts of the world that I had never seen before …

All through my journey I kept hoping that I would feel, truly feel the pulse of the journey and its affect on me in retrospect … but that trip hasn’t kicked in yet … or has it?

I want to look back … and really feel it … really feel what it was like being there, being in those places; and be able to live vicariously through the memories … but if I didn’t feel enough whilst I was visiting those places … will I be able to feel enough in retrospect?

I hope I do! I hope I do feel enough!

Or else I am lost … I am lost for good … and even though the past year may have worked wonders in making me understand many things about this world we live in … it may have worked against my nature and made me forget vital things that make me function as me … that make me, me … that make my craziness curious enough … worthy of notice … worthy at all!

A Happy Birthday!

2009-12-31T19:17:00.000+05:30

What makes for a good birthday?

The way I see it, a good birthday is a proper holiday for the person who’s birthday it is. It’s a day when they can sit back and relax and be pampered! A proper holiday! (Can’t say the word holiday enough times.)

Although I would like to stick to this utopian dream every year and allow those around me to indulge me, and treat me supersized-supersweet, unfortunately I am not allowed such liberties! Why, you ask. Well, simply because my birthday is on the 31st of December, the day the whole world, and not just my immediate world is hopped up on sugar and excitement to party the night away with their “loved ones” into the New Year.

Now, I must surely have some loved ones who want to party the night away with me, you would say! Yes, you would be correct in saying that but the thing is … the thing is … what is the thing?

Well, the thing is complicated, there are multifarious issues involved on various levels, and it has taken me 26 years to figure the whole thing out and see the light … Of course, I don’t expect you to see my point of view or understand it in 10 minutes but here goes …

The thing is, my immediate loved ones do try and make the day special for me as per their convenience and rightfully so … they or my second-immediate loved ones have every right to spend new year’s eve the way they want to; to add to the pressure of planning a good new year’s eve party they also try and make my day a bit exciting, but that’s exactly where the problem lies … whatever they do on this day for me – is always second-hand! There’s always something else that they have to do and amidst it, manage time for me …

If they ask me whether or not there is something special that I would like on my birthday, my answer usually is ‘no, no, not at all!’ but I don’t really mean that. The honest truth is, just like anyone else, deep inside I do want them to do something special for me, I do want them to give up their plans for me, I do want them to spend the whole day hovering around me, making me smile, giggle, talk, do silly things … I don’t really care for the presents because honestly no one ever gets the presents right unless the person who the present is for has told them what to get … and that is what I do not like to do … I do not like to ask for things … I do not like to say ‘I want a chest for my room, I want a mirror for my bathroom, I want good stationery, I want a bunch of good films, I want to spend the whole day drinking, eating and making merry with my friends, I want to spend the whole day in the countryside’ … If I have to ask for it, then its not really fun is it, there is no surprise element, there is no welling up (oh my! I can’t believe you knew this is the book I wanted to read next, or the film I wanted to watch, or the cake I wanted to eat) …

But … asking people to give up their other plans entirely is asking for a bit much! Don’t worry, I’m aware of that … moreover do I do the same for them? I don’t think so … I just manage (most of the times) to make it to their birthday parties … but the thing is, all year round I try and do these tiny things … these tiny selfless acts of help/ goodwill etc. etc. in the hope that karma will round them up … and bring them back to me on my birthday … apparently (I realize that now) it doesn’t work like that, karma told me … because a) I am performing those ‘selfless acts’ for a selfish reason and b) they cannot come back to me on a specific day!!! I don’t understand why but they just can’t … Karma needs to work on its terms and conditions – they aren’t really consumer friendly, are they?

Anyway, four years ago I stumbled upon the perfect antidote to this dilemma … ‘running away from everyone I know’ … I hadn’t planned it, it just happened. In the winter of 2005 I was sent on a work trip and I was more than happy to go since we were going to a beautiful part of the country for a wildlife shoot schedule, my favourite thing to do, next only to writing …

On the 31st that year my adorable colleagues did their bit to make my day, by going through much to find a birthday cake (since all the cakes they came across were new year’s eve cakes, so they got ‘happy new year’ scrapped off one of the cakes and had ‘happy birthday’ written on it instead). It was a lovely cake indeed … but I remember I did have some issues with them later on, not wanting to go out at night with me in a random city full of rowdy high-on-testosterone-and-alcohol men on the streets …

But somewhere before or between that lovely cake and that disappointment of not going out at night … we went out to do some filming … And at some point, I think it was late afternoon, I found myself alone at the banks of the river Brahmaputra … and I found myself staring into the little whirlpools forming in the river … and I found myself staring into the setting sun … and I found myself in a completely and utterly tranquil state of being … I was fortunate enough to acknowledge that moment and realize what matters most … what makes a good day … what makes a good birthday …

The next year, I was fortunate enough to go to Kerala around my birthday … On the day of, my closest friend drove us around North Kerala … our mission – Beach Hopping! Although there were some things on that lovely day that didn’t go my way (remember my idea of a good birthday is that things always DO go the birthday person’s way!) there was a moment that did … a moment entirely mine and mine alone … a moment at one of the beaches with the sun setting, the sky all pinkish orange, the beach completely empty … and my heart at one with the voice of the ocean …

I guess what I am trying to say is that I realize now that the only way to enjoy my birthday (which is after all an important day for me) is to be at one with nature … even if for a moment, for just a moment …

This year I couldn’t have that … I am at home, in Delhi … I don’t know where to be ‘one with nature’ anywhere in this city being smothered by smog more and more each day … does that make me an unhappy person? No! I am all right … I’ve just come back from a long vacation and I am happy to spend my day reminiscing earlier happy birthdays and this holiday …

But next year I will need to get away … !!!

a night about london town ...

2009-12-10T21:10:00.006+05:30

So Pampelonne, France was absolutely wonderful as can be seen in the pictures in the previous post. One whole week of absolute and perfect tranquillity … but I didn’t do as much work as I should have done there … perhaps because I just had a week there … perhaps if I had more time … there are always conditions, and excuses but things go the way they do, or you choose for them to go … anyway more about that later perhaps …

From France I came to Leicester, UK … spent two more tranquil weeks after a couple of days of miserable journey through france and Switzerland (yeah!) … was in culinary heaven at me bua’s (aunt’s) after many many days of eating misery-inducing bland European food …

And then came to London … been here about 2 weeks and a few days minus a trip back to Leicester to recover from a tiny bout of cold …

Clearly haven’t written much at all since I left France … and yes, that fact does bother me. Its partly because I haven’t had easy wireless access all this time … but also because some part of me has been lost … yet again!

Although a part of my brain knows that the first step to writing is actually sitting down to write … so whether it’s the slacker in me that’s been keeping me away from my computer or something else … I really can’t tell …

But I can tell that I have been scribbling in my little moleskin diary that I picked up in Leicester … its beautiful and my new comfort thing besides my laptop and the scarf that I wear ‘all the time’ (read – even when I am in a stuffy bar, feeling supremely hot!)

So what does my diary say? It says a lot about how I’ve been trying to make up my mind about London and the UK in general … and how I can’t make up my mind … how I cannot tell whether or not or how much I like the city, the island …

I heard or read somewhere … ‘my first impression of London was that it’s a scary city’ … that’s when it hit me that it is … although I come from a big city in India, London’s intensity scares me … it’s big, grey, and daunting … its accepting, receptive and yet its not … its constantly moving at super speed and my mind and body run at a speed much slower than that of this city … despite all that I like it for my friends who live in it … its as if I have these comfort pillows marking the topography of this big bad bog … and these comfort pillows are making my stay here much warmer and fuzzier than it would have been, had I been here alone …

It was on the 7th of December that I was walking around London aimlessly … yet again! At about 3 pm I found myself outside the British Museum … I went in without really caring much for what was inside, I simply needed shelter from the rain … I did find shelter but I didn’t find any warmth … As I speedily browsed through Egyptian history and historical Mexican prints, I was beginning to feel restless … I don’t think I can enjoy history without company … think Iks is perfect company for something like that, think she makes history fun with her bizarre, introspective renditions …

Very soon I was out of the museum … After a longish stint at Costa’s and a diary entry complimented by an lemon and orange muffin and a black coffee … I started walking around mindlessly again … This time I at least knew where I was … I walked through Covent Garden, Cambridge Square, Leicester Square, and a bit of China Town … came across some interesting book shops (occult books, art books, second-hand books etc. etc.) … I didn’t buy any … I was in one of those ‘I will go back to each of these book stores’ mode … I don’t really know if I will …

Then I walked to the Leicester Square Underground station … I was headed to Chalk Farm, to a concert at a bar across the Chalk Farm Station … friends of friends of friends were playing … and friends were joining me …

I was the first one to reach the bar, its called ‘the enterprise’ … I walked in after finishing my dinner whilst walking around Chalk Farm … dinner was mustard and ham sandwiches and a chocolate … feels like chocolates are cheap here … a mars bar costs 99 p and you only have to hand over one coin to the man across the counter … but that one coin back home converts into 78 – 79 rupees … you can get a super-yum chicken kaathi roll, and a soft drink for the price of that mars bar … Don’t worry dear friend, I have stopped converting or else I wouldn’t be able to eat peacefully here … but there are moments when you just can’t help it …

Into the bar, buy myself a pint of Carlsberg, and climb up to the smaller first floor area where the concert is … concert seems too big a word for the small venue … I walk in and a local (Camden, London) version of John Mayer is singing a song called ‘Stranger’ … he’s got soul … his guitar, his voice reeks of soft emotions … his eyes seek ‘Strangers’ in the audience whilst he sings his song … beautiful lyrics string his chorus into a perfectly radiant, sweet smelling chorus … I later ask him his name … He says ‘I’m Jonathan Whiskerd’, jots down my email address on his blackberry and emails me his myspace link … Sigh!

Next up is a band with a very sweet girl as the lead singer … she sings songs about love, boys, break-ups, getting over boys, getting into (no pun intended) boys … she has a sweet husky voice but not enough to tug at my heart strings (my apologies) … she has a back up vocalist and this girl’s voice is strong and slightly more enticing … I am distracted by her voice every time she sings a line or two …

Enter Shabani – a friend from Delhi. She and I worked together on a Londonese project shot in India for Channel 4 … We’ve never met socially in Delhi … but we are doing so now, considering we are in a foreign city at the same time … its brought us close and we realize we have a lot more in common than we would have expected … Shabani is a very intriguing person, she is her own person and she has gumption … you should meet her!

She is filming the band that is next up as she knows them through a friend … the band is made up of two extremely beautiful (cute is too small a word for these boys) boys from Verona … being in London is their first big city experience … and they exude the fact in the presence which seems to be completely unblemished and unpolluted by a big city environment … their drummer isn’t their regular drummer and is a big tight whilst playing … which makes his actual playing sort of loose … he is giving it his all nonetheless … and he looks like Hari Kunzru (the writer) which makes him interesting enough … whenever I or Shabani or her friend Surbhi (an artist) can take our eyes off the Verona boys that is … the lead singer and guitarist has such refreshing pleasance in his being and playing that I feel awake … and strangely refreshed … the bass player exudes an amazing sense of youthful playfulness … I am clearly talking about their looks more than their music … their music is intriguing … they are trying to do interesting non-run-of-the-mill arrangements but they do have scope for more … something more …

Next up is a very sweet band made up of 4 very sweet boys …

they sing really sweet and soulful songs … each of their songs is different from the previous one … they know their music … they use a big acoustic bass … and the singer sings like a wise man, beyond his years … their music makes me want to close my eyes and let it touch my soul … and it does – right when he leaves the stage and along with the bass player sits amongst us as we circle around them, starts playing a Spanish guitar and singing a song about … ‘you’ve been waiting for me to bring you back home’ … or so I would like to remember … I would like to remember that that was the first line of the song … I would like to remember him singing that line forever … even when I am home and I am sitting with my eyes closed thinking of this night when I closed my eyes in a bar in London … I would like that line to be with me, to stay with me …

Next up is a band that plays some really funky music, and makes every one stand up and jump around, and play, and dance, and shake a leg to their music … they’re a tight band, they will be popular, they are popular … they intrigue and connect and entertain … but I will be honest and will say that it’s a short lived high … the thing that will remain with me though will be the girl lead saying at the end of one song ‘did you see that? Did you see the microphone stand trying to attack me?’ …

Its 11. The bar shuts. We go outside and drink another beer with Dara, the bassist of a now defunct band called ‘Envision’ from New Delhi … a band everyone loved when they were around … a band that everyone loves even now I think …

Dave, Surbhi, Shabani, Dara ...

There’s Surbhi too – Shabani’s closest friend from college and a very, very warm person and an artist which makes me fall in love with her instantly … I am a bit of a fickle wh*** in that regard … I don’t understand art (I’m on stage 1) but I respect it and therefore respect any artist … think they dig deeper and know more about the secrets of the universe than writers do : )
… and of course there’s Dave – my London mentor … Dave is (refreshingly) one person from London who actually knows the city really well … he is a blessing to be around for anyone who is looking to do the non-touristy beat … and I wish I’d listen to him more often, move out of my comfort zones and experience the city … but alas! If only life was that simple …

As we stand outside the bar and talk about the city, the accents, the tea, Delhi, the Delhi music scene, Envision, another band that Dara played for called Orange Street, the music that night, the music in New Delhi, concerts, plays, travelling, and on and on … I am still somewhere else … I come back when we talk about music back home, not fully but slightly …

Dave leaves, so does Surbhi … and we go for another drink somewhere nearby … I’m not afraid about missing the last train … its midnight and I have missed the last train … I’m staying with Shabani in her London apartment for the night … I like how easily I’ve taken that decision here … I don’t have to call my parents and go through a tiresome discussion with them about staying out for the night … about my safety, about this, that, and the other … I feel light and a little lively …

Dara talks about London and explains the concept of child benefits etc. etc. Shabani and I almost want to have children that very night and reap benefits … best mothers for benefits … : P … bad joke, I know … I usually wouldn’t make jokes about motherhood … perhaps you can forgive this one instance …

At some point we take a taxi back home … after another session of chit-chat we are off to sleep … the next morning we wake up … some more chit chat and we are off to our individual destinations … She walks to her office … and I walk to the train station with her, which is near her office … I say goodbye to her, we’re meeting again soon … I’m extremely grateful to her for being such a lovely host but she goes on to thank me for joining her … I cannot believe this girl … : )

I am now on my own … travelling from North London to South London to go back to my cousin’s {deepidi’s = Deepty (her name) + didi (meaning sister)} apartment to take a shower and get into some clean, non-stinky clothes … (I’m growing old and intractable, and so are my issues with being stinky : ) To get to my cousin’s apartment in South London I have to take an overground train, then an underground train and then again an overground train, and then walk to her apartment … the walk takes about 20 minutes if you maintain a constant decent pace, you go slow and thou shalt take almost 30 … the train journey takes an hour fifteen minutes if your timing is right and there’s no waiting involved … it’s a bit annoying the fact that my friends live so far away from my cousin’s … shouldn’t be like that (a take off on ‘you shouldn’t be here’ ;) - dips! Respect maan!)

On my journey back I start listening to ‘Higher Speed’ by Coldplay and ‘Wild Horses’ – the Alicia Keys and Adam Levine version … both these songs on repeat start permeating into my blood stream … taking me into another dimension that is liberally spiked with unsettling yet deeply attractive emotions … a dimension where I can feel powerful things without moving a muscle … almost feels like I am not breathing anymore … and I am floating in this train almost catching up with its speed at some point … I feel like I belong … in this overground train the wilderness around transports me back to the wilderness of the forest where I was listening to these very songs on repeat exactly four years ago … where I was feeling these emotions that I am now feeling again, in this strange land full of strange isolated people … where I felt like I belonged, I felt earthed, grounded, rooted and yet not … where I felt at home … where I felt like I was my own person and I didn’t need anyone or anything to make me whole … where life was bliss, where I was blessed … where nothing else mattered …

The train stops … I must get out and start walking … but I am happy to walk … this moment cannot last forever … I have to move my muscles, my body, and get out of my seat … I must … but why do I still feel like I am floating … I am walking now …

Childhood living is easy to do
The things you wanted I bought them for you
Graceless lady you know who I am
You know I can't let you slide through my hands
Wild horses couldn't drag me away
Wild, wild horses, couldn't drag me away

In my heart …somewhere deep inside … I am thanking everyone for last night … I don’t know how, I don’t know why … but clearly last night has affected me … it will stay with me …

I think I am beginning to learn to use everything I experience in my writing … perhaps that’s why I want to thank everyone … or it could just be something as simple as nostalgia … how the music last night reminded me of the time when I was actively involved with music … nostalgia is beautiful, its invigorating, enlivening … sometimes its my everything …

thank you everyone for that night …

Can anybody fly this thing?
Before my head explodes.
Or my head starts to ring.
We've been living life inside a bubble.
We've been living life inside a bubble.
.
Confidence in you,
Is confidence in me?
Is confidence in high speed?

Can anybody stop this thing?
Before my head explodes.
Or my head starts to ring.
We've been living life inside a bubble.
We've been living life inside a bubble.

Confidence in you.
Is confidence in me
Is confidence in high speed
Is confidence in a higher speed …

a good week ...

2009-11-20T00:59:00.036+05:30

AIR Le Parc

Rob Annema and Els Zoon

14 Allee des Marronniers

81190 Pampelonne

France

Tel: +33 5 63 764409

Email: Rob of Els

Internet: www.az-leparc.com

room number 3. mine for a week.

work space

at work

mi vecina - fellow resident, artist anelys wolf ...
have a look at her work at animaleshumanos.blogspot.com

patio

take a look at the garden ...

in the summer time, when the weather is fine, we sit here to have lunch all the time ...

view from the outside ...

another entrance to the le parc parc ...

another seating area at the le parc parc ...

mushroom pie anyone?

structured tree ...

cat in residence - at work

chicken in residence at work ...

house views

walk around the house ...

down the hiking trail ...

the river that runs by ...

drops of pampelonne everywhere ...

when it pours ...

about town ....

back at your door ...

back at the house ...
the hallway ...

the other workspace ...

guest kitchen ...

as night falls ...

shruti.cristina.barcelona - parte dos

2009-11-20T00:39:00.008+05:30

The free flamenco concert by beautiful people turns out to be a good omen as my day becomes sated with many, many more free concerts …

However, right before that, I am still in food hell … Finally find a chicken-only Paella and decide to go all out and try it a second time even though the serving seems rather large. Err! Ain’t got the chicken one, we only have mixta with piscada, gambaaas … noooooooooo no no mixta. I’ll have a Mexican wrap please … First bite into it and I am thinking, serves me right for ordering a Mexican wrap at a Spanish bar. Pffff! Wash it down con some Coke Zero and some decent Spanish desert.

Coke Zero … Varun told me the story … Apparently they came out with some name for Diet/Light Coke which didn’t go down very well with the men, the ladies liked it just fine … so in order to maximize their market Coke came up with Coke Zero … I like ;)

Hop on, hop off the Metro … and we are on our way to Park Güell …

Now this is a park Gaudi built “The park was originally part of a commercially unsuccessful housing site, the idea of Count Eusebi Güell, whom the park was named after. It was inspired by the English garden city movement; hence the original English name Park (in the Catalan language spoken in Catalonia where Barcelona is located, the word for "Park" is "Parc", and the name of the place is "Parc Güell" in its origin language).”* … we are feeling all the love for Gaudi so we walk walk walk … but where is the park … its coming, its coming …eee … stop,
A la derecha …

Turn left and behold, an escalator. Whaaaattt? I did not sign up for that. Check all the signs … everything points and says Park Güell is up the escalator. Ohkie then! We climb, another escalator, ok, and another, and another, and then a slope (ohh I have to walk now? The escalators were doing just fine), and another escalator, and another … by this time all this seems like a very, very evil joke …

But eventually we make it to the park … and its worth the walk … you can see Barca from here, can even see the la sagrada familia … top view ;) … nice, nice we likes …

but hey what’s that we hear? Why it’s exotic music … we follow the direction where the sound of music is coming from … we walk some and we see a whole band … playing rumba and something else, it’s a bit of a mix and the band calls the music ‘originaaaaaaaaalllll’ … they are a very fun band called ‘el tumbao de juana’ … they entertain their audience to the T and it is quite an audience they have at the top hill of the park ... dancing, singing along, and clapping … we have a very good time with the band … the last song the band plays is a song for ‘travellers’ … oh we mucho mucho gusto! : )

we are sad to walk away from a band full of not-so-clean but very hot, and fun Spaniards … next up is yet another band … it’s a guitar trio … que bueno yet again … this time we sit, and relax, and let the guitar playing serenade us … we walk away again and just down the stairs, at the main and actual entrance to the park a man is playing an instrument we have never heard or seen before … it’s a metal plate that makes different sounds when one hits different spots on it … we like it very much indeed, the sound is beautiful … walk out and there is another trio playing the didgeridoo and a couple of other instruments … by this time we have lost the energy to keep track of all the instruments and the music … if we were a music collector we would have paid more attention … we would like to be a music collector but there is no space left on the memory card of our camera by this time …

so we walk away from the park feeling very, very musically and architecturally enriched …

we get back to our hostel … we rest a little …

at about 7 I begin to feel that my body isn’t feeling McDonalds heavy … so I begin to think about food … by now I’m desperately missing Indian food … I had thought that I’d be meeting Varun today as well … but he keeps busy at college until 8 pm on some days … yes you heard that right … that boy works hard at Uni …

So, I decide that I should go out on my own and look for some Indian if I can or else settle for some Tapas which I haven’t had yet… or so I think (later realize that I have actually had them)

A block away I see a shop that reads Omar something and I decide to give it a shot … inside I see the shawarma set up so I get the ‘hit the jackpot’ feeling again … I go to the counter and ask for a shawarma roll …

The balding man behind the counter figures that I’m Indian … and he tries his luck with ‘if you talk to me in Punjabi then I will give you a good shawarma roll but if you talk to me in English or Spanish it will be an ok one’ of course he says all this in Punjabi …

I’m a bit taken aback but I start talking to him in Punjabi. He gives me a roll, I take a bite and in my head I’m going, dude I thought you were giving me a ‘good roll’ because I AM talking to you in Punjabi.

Anywho having made the bad decision to have the roll at the restaurant and not have it packed, I listen to the bugger yap away about how nice it is to meet people from back home yada yada yada … all this time I’m literally trying to inhale the roll so I can scram from the place because by now the guy is beginning to seem creepy … but wait, there’s more …

I’m only halfway through the damn thing and he asks me how long I’m staying for etc. Since I’m only in Barca for one more day I safely say ‘Oh! I’m only here tomorrow, day after I leave …’
‘Why don’t you have a meal here tomorrow as well’ he pounces on the opportunity.
‘I don’t know’ I say, ‘I have a friend who lives here and I am going to go see him before I leave so it won’t be possible but thank you’
‘Well that’s dinner right, what about lunch’ he pounces again.
‘Erm, I will be looking around the city so I will eat wherever I am’. Since the restaurant is in Sants which doesn’t really have any tourist spots nearby I’m guessing he will understand that it isn’t possible.

But errrrrr wrong again. He doesn’t understand and insists and insists and insists.

By this time I’m very uncomfortable and since there is only one other customer at the restaurant … who erm is leaving now? Why? … I begin to get very restless … I somehow wash down the rest of the roll superspeedily and get up to leave …

And baldy starts off again about how nice it is to talk to someone in his own language and how it can get really lonely here, so far away from home, and ‘you must, must, must have lunch with me tomorrow and I won’t take no for an answer’ …

Now I am realllly uncomfortable. I go into protective mode and say ‘ok well, I will see you for lunch for a short bit, how about that’ … in my head I am making a mental image of him so I can get a restraining order against him …

‘Well what time will you come?’ he says.
‘Umm how about 2’ I say unflinchingly and convincingly.
‘Sounds great! When you come, just stand by the door and wait for me for a couple of minutes. Before we sit down for lunch, I will take you for a ride on my bike!’ he grins.
‘Oh yeah? Which bike do you own?’ I ask instinctively.
He points to a baby mopet parked outside the door and says ‘well it’s a small one’ feeling as small as the mopet I’m guessing.
‘I own two cars as well though. And I own this shop. And I send money home, to my parents every month’ he says ‘all that’s missing is some good company here’.

Alarm bells are ringing in my head so I say ‘well see you’ and jog out of the restaurant, and run back to my hostel, laughing all the way …

This was at about 7:30 pm

At 10 Varun calls and I go meet him at Barrio Gothica, taking the metro to Liceu estacion where he is supposed to meet me … laughing all the way … I’m still laughing when I meet him … and tell him about the incident. Its been quite an interesting evening, and he agrees …

We walk through some charming streets and make it to a pub where many 1st year and 2nd year students from his University are meeting for what’s called a ‘bao’ or ‘bar’, can’t remember … but they basically all get together for drinks …

When we walk into the place, Lionel and Daniel from the previous night are already there, along with some new people … forgive me new people, you were far too many for me to remember all the names … but I do remember Alec, Jonathan, Fabio, and sweet guy from Cochin … and we spot AJ and Elena, the girls from the previous night as well at some point …

After some nice MBA type mingling, we step out as the pub becomes beyond stuffy and spend the last 45 minutes outside, in the cool Barca night breeze … after which we call it a night, rather early, at about 2 : )

Back at the dorm, it’s the same scene … when I walk in everyone moves … spewing curses under their breath …

The next morning I wake up very late for some reason and miss breakfast at the hostel … not that I missed much …

Oh and the morning before when I woke up, around 9 … and stepped into the common girl’s bathroom, what do I see? I see a 14 year old dressed as a hooker … she is wearing a very, very mini skirt, some panty hose, a gunjee that is torn in various places, so she’s basically wearing the remains of a gunjee revealing an evocative bustier, the spots where the gunjee is torn are being put together with some rather large safety pins … of course the make-up is very noir, and the hair is big, and the boots are high … 9 a.m., teenager, dressed as a hooker … i begin to wonder how much I had to drink the night before, I know I didn’t drink too much … how is this happening … anyway I brush my teeth and make it to breakfast and the girl follows … soon after, a couple of more people dressed as inappropriately as her early in the morning walk in as well … and slowly it begins to make sense … Halloween is around the corner …. Ohhhhhhhhhhh all right, then its ok. But, still. Why are they doing this at like 9 a.m. Shouldn’t they go out in the evening or something … heck, I couldn’t be bothered.

This morning it’s the same thing … I walk into the girl’s room and there 5 more girls besides the teenager from the previous morning … I close my eyes!

After the morning’s delightful sights I need some soulful escape … so I head seawards …

As I walk towards the beach something in me begins to calm down so magically and quickly, as if I am home … I almost never feel this, anywhere … the sun melts away the layers of alertness that I wear since I am travelling alone … its warmth smoothes over the lines of smug worry that mark my face … and I sit down on one of the wooden decks to watch the fish make merry in the green-blue Barcelona waters …

by now I begin to feel like I’m living one of those cranked up shots wherein the protagonist is in slow motion whilst everyone and everything around her is in fast forward … Oh! What a feeling …

A fellow traveller comes and sits next to me, too close for comfort but it doesn’t bother me … with Marc Streitenfield playing some good old ‘A good year’ symphonies in my ears, I’m impervious …

And I sit there, at the deck for the longest time, not feeling hungry, or thirsty, or lonely, or anything … but peaceful and calm as a golden sun-bathed brook …

After about an hour or so which seemed like only a moment in time, I walk towards the bridge … still in that place in my mind, still impervious … the music playing in my ears isn’t too loud but I cannot hear a thing besides the music, the gentle sound of the ocean in my heart and the creaking of the film roll in my eyes … it’s a wonderful place to be …

At some point though I’m shaken into coming back … a man with his aggressive histrionics is trying to tell me something … I look around and I am the only one on this part of the bridge. The other people are cordoned off by two mini barricades on the two ends of the bridge … I look back towards the man and now realize that he is asking me to ‘move it’ … I hasten towards the nearer end of the wooden bridge and soon as I do that … the bridge splits open, giving way to a sailboat to pass through to the waterfront, which has been waiting for the bridge to do so … after the sailboat passes through into the ‘water parking lot’ ; ), the bridge closes up again, as if nothing ever happened … in my head I’m thinking ‘hmm! That’s one new thing I learnt today’ : P

After that it’s back to far, far away as I take a rather long walk, hand-in-hand with the Barcelona waters … and I feel … something beyond words …

After some time I find myself at an eatery at the beach … I order a yummy salad, herbed chicken, fries, tomatoes and cheese combo con beer … and oh! Yeah … we’re feeling good food-wise as well …

The need to continue to savour what I’ve just been through is so overpowering that I decide not to see anything else that afternoon and just be … so I take the metro back to the hostel and just lie in my bed, thinking, and wondering, and being … ‘need to be with myself and centre, clarity, peace, serenity … I hope you know, I hope you know, that this has nothing to do with you …’

In the evening I head out again in the search of that essence of Barcelona … after doing a round of laundry at the hostel of course … I’m leaving Barca tomorrow, I don’t know if I can do laundry in France …

I haven’t seen the Picasso museum … I should’ve, I wanted to … but now I don’t have the time … I need to walk my favourite part of the city one last time … So there I am lost and found once again in the cobbled tiny streets of the quarters … in and out of plazas … into lonely patches, and some not so lonely ones, some dodgy ones and some not so much … its wonderful, I’m saying goodbye to another friend, another new friend, another friend for a lifetime …

At some point I do take out my ginormous map of the city and realize that I am somewhere close to the museum … If I ask someone for help with directions I might just make it, its only 6 … but I cannot ask anyone, I’m not in that space … I just walk round and round, not understanding my map, hoping that I do …

Soon my left foot begins to hurt and my stomach finds a solution – find a place to eat and rest a bit …

I look for tapas … tapas, tapas everywhere … the choice is varied. Ideally I want to eat at an authentic looking taverna on a clandestine, dodgy road … and even though I see many, I soon find myself back at Ramblas … and oh! Here’s another restaurant and let’s just go in now …

I try my f***-all Spanish (I’ve realized that now) and the waiter sees through it and asks me politely ‘What would you like?’ … he’s uncannily polite, almost familiar … I ask him to give me a few minutes and scan the place … well of course, it’s being run by a bunch of Indians … A very nice one from behind the cash counter hollers at me and says ‘You HAVE to try our Sangria, it’s the best around here, ask anyone’ …

I smile at him, thanking him for the tip, and lying ‘Perhaps another day, I don’t feel like it right now’ … I have no idea why I said that, considering I’m leaving tomorrow … I enjoy white lies a lot … Soon I order some decent choice of tapas, and they turn out to be quite all right actually …

But at some point I can hear hushed voices behind the counters saying something in Punjabi … at this point I can’t understand what they’re saying … but soon I figure out … as the polite waiter goes to the people behind the counter and says ‘Sharam karo, bhehena wargi hai’ … (Shame on you, she’s like our sister) … he’s saying that because he knows that I am from India …

The nice man who had talked to me about the Sangria and who’s not part of the ‘shameful’ conversation at some point asks me where I am from …
‘I’m from India’ I say, ‘New Delhi. Where are you from?’
‘From Punjab. What are you doing here?’
‘I’m just travelling around’ I say.
‘Where do you stay now, UK?’
‘No, I’m from India’ I repeat.
‘But you stay in the UK?’
‘No I stay in India … just here on holiday’ … I assure him, befuddling the migrant in him who cannot understand how people from New Delhi can reach a standard of living that allows them to travel to Europe for leisure … Its beyond him and I don’t blame him for that … If only he came back to India and saw how things have changed in the last decade …

After that the boys behind the counter chat about me a bit more … a girl their age from India must feel like gold-rush in a foreign land full of foreign women they don’t understand … poor men! They are still talking in Punjabi about me, thinking I am Indian but don’t speak Hindi or Punjabi … Sangria man soon tells them in Spanish that I do understand Hindi/Punjabi and that I actually live in India and am here on holiday … the boys break off the party and one of them who is Pakistani tries to chat me up … but I am a closed book that evening … I’m in another place where I have no time, space, or slack to entertain a lonesome migrant …

I quickly finish my dinner, thank the polite waiter and Sangria man and leave … I text Varun and ask him the address for the place he had mentioned last night where I can catch a Flamenco performance for about 7 Euros … I also tell him that we could meet for a goodbye drink after the concert … he says we could but I can tell that he is beyond tired … Au revoir Varoon, take good care of yourself …

… I cannot believe that I don’t remember the name of the bar where I went for the concert but it was somewhere on Plaza Real, it costs about 7 Euros for ticket to a half hour concert and one has to book about an hour or a half hour before the show and then stand in a not so long queue to get in … the wise thing to do is to buy a ticket an hour in advance, go for a quick beer, and then queue up about 20 minutes before the show so you can get a decent seat … and believe you me, once you’re in ‘it really, really is worth it!’ … It’s a highly commercialized act wherein they give you a compact dose, a quick high and off you go but … for 7 Euros, I’m all for it.

Anywho after that, it’s a quite walk back to the hostel, a quite half an hour of packing, and zzz.

The next morning its back to lugging duties and … this time … we’re taking a 6 hour bus ride to France … Looking forward to it. In the bus I find an empty seat and no one comes and takes the seat next to me … I’m more than happy with that! Having carried the luggage from the hostel to the bus station, which was a 10 minute walk, I go off to sleep as soon as my behind comes in contact with the coach seat!

A little later I am woken up by the sweeeeeetteeessst man and he is asking me ‘Is this seat taken?’ in Spanish … I say not at all ... and then pinch myself. : ) No I am not dreaming!

* Wikipedia

mariposa libre en barcelona

2009-11-05T04:38:00.012+05:30

When I told my friends that I was going to Barcelona, many reacted with absolute, pure passion … Wow! You lucky dog! Stupid Cow! You must go to Parc Güell! Must have monster steaks which are a Catalan speciality! Why do you get to go! Etc. etc. etc. You get the picture!

All this got my really curious about the city. My first evening in Barcelona when I didn’t step out of my hostel, literally, I got plenty of messages telling me I must visit the football stadium. Now, all I know about football is that really hot men play it on Television, they are all after “one ball”, and that really hot men play the game! Did I already say the last one? Never mind. Doesn’t hurt to make a point. Anywho! I’ve seen a few films about football … I like films about sports in general … I don’t really watch any sport otherwise … other than Tennis of course, when Rafa is playing that is … for a Rafa game I almost feel like if its an important game and I am not watching it on me telly, he will feel really … what’s the word … Lonely! Yeah!

Coming back to football and Camp Nou! So, my first morning I decide to visit the stadium; apparently its like 20 minutes walking from the hostel. En route I’m taking pictures, walking around, la la la …
I make it to one of the gates and ‘it looks empty’ and I am thinking wow, is it just me or are there no other football fans like me here :P... I go to the man at the gate and say ‘tourismo’ and he instantly sees through me and says ‘gate no. 9, all the way around’ … ‘Erm Ok!’

Whoever said it’s a 20 minute walk should like “&£^£$£*&*%^$£%$£ do something to themselves … its been more than 20 minutes and now I have to walk all the way around the stadium … it better be worth it really, my back is still hurting from the sweet luggage walk yesterday …

Hah! Finally reach gate no. 9. See some action there, lots of people, lots of talking, a family playing football … watch it *^$&%£^%* … I see a sign that says Museum and I am thinking what? Who gives a damn about a football museum. I am just here to see the stadium, how big it is, take a couple of pictures … show them to boys back home. I am thinking all this and as I turn around I see a huge queue has formed right behind me within a matter of seconds … Oh boy! Well, I’ve come so far …

Wait for about 20 more minutes in the queue … its my turn and I am asking the man behind the counter ‘I OnLy wAnt To sEE tHe sTaDiuM !!’ and he looks at me as if I’m a fly and he is a fly-squatter, literally. Dude! If you’re sick of your job, quit! That’s when he says it … he says the forbidden words … and the forbidden words are anything above ‘12 euros’ … and he says ‘17 euros’ … I want to use so many curse words at this point that its not even funny. It would be ok if I was spending this amount to go for a concert … but a football stadium? Sigh but am here so let me just … Sigh!

I go inside the stadium and start clicking pictures with such ferociousness that people kind of steer clear of me.

Anyway … it's a big stadium. That’s pretty much about it. In the museum, they have pictures and stuff about the history of the club. All right! More pictures. I’m going to get my money’s worth dude!

I gladly walk out of the museum as soon as I am done and head to the food counters … I read the word ‘frankfurter’ and my eyes do the ‘hit the jackpot’ on a slot machine drill and I can hear ‘kching’ somewhere in the background …

‘Not so quick my dear’, says my frankfurter when it arrives on my plate … why? Why? You ask … and I say … because my dear frankfurter is made up of a pequeño baguette … the hard European stuff … and inside the baguette is a measly, skinny sausage … and to the right hand side of the cash counter are two menacing dispensers – one for tomato ketchup and one for mustard sauce. Sigh! Still relying on the French fries by the by!

After this disastrous (foodwise) morning, I go back to my hostel and rest my poor back a little bit …

At around 4 I set out, to head to the infamous barrio gothica or gothic quarters …

My first trip in the Barca Metro … I’ve become quite a pro at it by now by the way … You just need one day to figure out the metro system in a European country … Once you do that you’re sorted because the systems are usually pretty efficient and once you’re tuned into that system … you start walking fast, running even to catch the metro much like a local … you don’t do the touristy slow walk thinking, looking at every possible sign, not understanding it, not knowing where to go … the whole metro ride deal becomes piece of cake … la la la

Now, in Barca I can see that my hostel is not walking distance from all the touristy spots … it actually could be if you’re big on walking because Barca is actually a very small city … but if you are about 5 metro stations away from your destination, just take the damn metro … so I go and buy this sencilla billete or some such thing which basically gives you about 10 rides for about 7,40 euros, whereas a single ride is about 1,35 euros … so the sensible ticket is a sensible option indeed … and I did use my ticket fully and satisfactorily … : )

I step off the metro at a station called Catalunya and when I step out … phew! This part of Barca looks very different from the area called Sants where my hostel is … The first thing I see is this wild market … the land of surplus … fruits, meat, chocolates, candies, spices, chillies, chilli peppers, mushrooms, everything in hoards … it’s a sight but a little too strong for me …

A few pictures later I am out of the market and start looking at the buildings … every building, every balcony is beautiful to my untrained eyes …

And this is when I truly start feeling something … the song Barcelona starts playing in my head automatically, on repeat …

Barcelona te esta's equivocando no puedes seguir ignorando
que el mundo sea otra cosa y volar como mariposa.

Soon I lose myself in the streets of the Gothic quarters, I go in and out, out and in … clicking pictures all through … of balconies, street lamps, streets, shops, statues, some palace under restoration …

At some point the body seeks rest but the mind keeps making it go on and on for soon it will be dark and then it will be quite difficult to take pictures with my camera … at some point the body wins … a soda pop (very difficult to find in the land where beer flows eternal) and some crisps … junk, junk, I love junk … A not so bad looking man laughs at me, literally, blatantly because I’m ordering soda pop when everyone else at the taverna is 3 beers down and he is ordering pitchers … $%^$&%£^$%&£$ … Its only 6 you know, its not a crime to order soda pop!

Gobble Gobble and out you go!

Walk around some more … beautiful, beautiful Barcelona … by this time I’m feeling it … what Sol meant to me in Madrid is what the streets of barrio gothica mean to me in Barca … … … y volar como mariposa. La la la la la …

Oh and back on the main street again and oh! My god! I almost have tears in my eyes. I’ve reached a McDonalds outlet.

The devil and the angel fight an ugly battle and whilst I wait for them to finish I pass by the store at least three times, almost entering and then retracting my steps. Finally the devil wins and tells me ‘hey you’ve been in food hell for 5 days now, go for it, and indulge in some toxicology tan tad dan dan, tu un, the burger is only going to sit around in your stomach for about 2 days and the fries for about 5 … Sigh! Un (some Spanish name) burger for me please!

I superspeedily eat a superburger and step out of McDonalds … feeling all right!

7 o’ clock, tring tring … don’t hear it. Don’t actually remember that I’m carrying a phone these days.

8 o’ clock – look at the phone and hey Varun called. Call him back and ‘hello! Hello’ he has a plan.
He has a plan, he has a plan,
And we’re not going to go eat flan … (like the beginning of one of the songs from my musical O_O?)

Well, the plan is to meet at a Mexican place (I can hear my heart crashing into smithereens when I hear the words ‘it’s a good place for Mexican food’) … serves you right for listening to the devil. 9 o’ clock at the Mexican place then …

8:30 we take the metro to where the Mexican place is (we = me and the McDonalds shit in my stomach) … 2 minutes to 9 we are at the Mexican place called ‘Bar Panchito’ (I think) at Aribao street (I think) …

A very warm welcome by the hostess, she loves Indians and 2 minutes later, precisely at 9, enter Varun con Gurvir … its so good to see a face from back home … a face we haven’t seen in quiiittteee some time … exchanges, what brings you to Barcelona, what have you been up to, what’s new, what’s next …
And the others arrive.

A J is from Turkey (sweet girl, not in the picture)
Elena is from Russia (sweet girl, not in the picture)
Lionel is from France (first from left)
Neel is from Mumbai, India (second from left)
Daniel is from USA (third from left)
Varun (first from right)
Gurvir is from Mumbai, India (second from right)

After Bar Panchito the party moves to ‘the philharmonic’ because it’s only 11 and no club is going to even be open right now, they’d probably open at like 12:30 … plus we were out till about 7 this morning and are a bit tired … you should’ve been there yesterday :D

Nice bunch of students, all studying their MBA’s at various universities, some of them on exchange here from other universities … some like Varun study here at the ESA in Barcelona (think that’s the name he said repeatedly …ESA)

Anyway Varun is a very, very good host … and he is a traveller at heart so he has lots of stories and insights and is fun to be around … his friends are a bunch of funny MBA’s, the sorts I haven’t met before and have interesting business ideas …

The evening continues till about 3 am (creating history here – in my world) and towards the end we are all teaching each other cuss words in each other’s languages … Lionel takes the cake by learning ‘a lot’ of hindi ones … I learnt one French one which I cannot remember now, it was very difficult … fuis de puit or something to that effect … don’t know …

At 3:30 when I open the creaky door of my dorm to get into bed, every bed is occupied … and everyone moves. I know they will be going back to sleep and in their dreams will be doing some very nasty things to my body … but hey c’est la vie …

Goonight young night … the next day I find out that after finding me a cab home the boys went out drinking again. Phew! Not my cup of tea :P

La Sagrada Familia it is the next morning. Since I am a pretty crummy traveller as far as research is concerned I don’t know that the temple is under ‘construction’ still … I think its under restoration and I sing to myself ‘well there’s another 11 euros not so well spent’ … later that night Varun tells me that its still being constructed … but the engineers today are finding it so difficult to follow Gaudi’s principles and techniques because well they were simply magnifique … and the construction will end in the first third of the 21st century … holy guacamole … I step inside and I hear some stuff, and I read some stuff … and I see how the design elements are taken from nature and by the time I step out … my head is going ‘Gaudi is god, Gaudi is god’ …

So I go to the museum store and buy the first and the only present for myself from Spain – the cheapest ring based on design elements from the temple … to remind myself, that I was here, and I saw it, with my own two eyes … and that ‘Gaudi is god’!

Across the temple is a park, and in the park is a free flamenco concert by two of the most beautiful spirited people I’ve ever met … and I can see this in their eyes … in the way the girl’s face lights up when she is playing percussions, or singing … the way the man is consumed by his guitar and the music … the way he looks at her and she looks at him … Sigh!

Shruti.Cristina.Barcelona

2009-11-04T00:54:00.004+05:30

Madrid to Barcelona on Renfe’s AVE, Bogey Number 8, Seat Number 4. Sigh!

I made it to the train station and my compartment in time but I was so tired after carrying my luggage all the way that I had to sleep for at least 15 – 20 minutes each time I carried it for a certain distance. So I went from the taxi to the terminal lounge and slept a bit … fortunately I had the time. Then I went from the terminal lounge to my train seat and slept again.

When I woke up we were outside the city, and the views were different. Fields of gold welcomed us on every side … some would call them fields of dirt but not me. I would like to believe these are fallow farms (that sounds cute, fallow farms) … Anyway it’s sort of non-interesting landscape and my mind drifts back to Madrid …

It really depends on how long you stay in a new city … how much, and how well you get to know it … for me it was fine to walk twice through each of the 4 – 5 major streets or plazas of Madrid that I walked into … the area around Palacio Real, Plaza Mayor, my lovely soulful Sol and hostel Los Amigos Sol, the area around Museo del Prado and Reina Sofia … those will form my memories of Madrid.

I may get back home and people may ask me ‘did you see this, did you go to that place’ and I may say ‘no I didn’t’ and they may exclaim ‘Whaaaattt? How could you?’ … but I couldn’t be bothered.

I realized that for me, whilst travelling, the idea is to attain objectivity on a very subjective journey. I chose my destinations and I want to see them well enough but there is only so much that time, my budget, and most importantly my body will allow … I need to listen to all three. It sounds a bit difficult to achieve and be objective on a subjective journey but there comes a point when one sees the light … and I have, oh yes sir!

Soon my mind drifts back to the scenes outside the train … I can see in the landscape the face of the beautiful middle-aged gentleman who helped me keep my luggage in the upper luggage compartment … I was struggling with it … he appeared out of nowhere, said ‘tranquilo, tranquilo’ and sweeped my heavy bag effortlessly onto the compartment … : )

Breathe …

Now, the landscape has become a mélange of various types of vegetation … green, red, multicoloured farms, tree plantations, train tracks, misty patches (I’m travelling in the afternoon by the by) , lonesome houses, factories, beautiful breathtaking patches of green, followed by lifeless ones of gold … solar panels, strange complicated looking farming equipment … Yann Tiersen is still serenading me with his Tabarly symphonies … and I feel like singing ‘All is full of love’ … (stop barfing, you guys are absolute idiots)

I think my hands smell European by now … it could just be the phirangi perfume Nidhi gave me as a present … whatever it is, it’s going well with the location … its going well with me …

I wish you could see all this with me …

There is an old woman in the same train compartment as me and the criss-crosses of years that define her face tell me that she is my maternal grandmother’s, my nani’s age … this woman is travelling with another woman who looks just like her and is wearing similar clothes as the first woman, just in a different colour scheme … they could be sisters no?

I can never imagine my Nani being these women … they are travelling ALONE by train, answering their phones with youthful dexterity, and not displaying any signs of pre-destination paranoia … my Nani is not capable of such feats … she is ill and spends all her time in the one room of her studio apartment, with my Nana … I feel like people in our country age too soon, I am not judging anyone or anything, I just wish things were different …

Ting Tong … “Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to reach our final destination Sants Estacion, Barcelona. Please remain seated until the train comes to a complete halt and then indulge in strange histrionics to get your luggage off the compartment above your head …” … OK may be she didn’t exactly say it like that :P

So I am out of the station … P.S. I have finally learnt how to use one of these damned trolleys … you stick a euro coin into the slot and it disengages itself from the chain of trolleys, press the bar, roam around … outside the station, escort your trolley back to the chain of trolleys, engage it with the others and ‘pop’ comes out your coin … the first time I realized it cost a euro fifty to use them trolley, I was like No way José! Over maah dead baady! … but now that I know the coins come back thoo yaah, its all gooood!

So I am lugging my bags to the taxi stand, which is quite a task in itself … I know my hostel isn’t far from the station but I DO NOT want to carry my luggage even over a short distance … ‘come mr. taxi man, take me to my hostel’ … What the fish!!!!!!!!! Mr. Taxi Man say, he no take me. He show me direccion and tell me to walk it … what the …

I walko but somewhere in the background Paulo Nutini singo ‘my little fish don’t cry, my little fish don’t cry …’ Sniff. Hic.

Huff. Huff. ‘Donde esta carrer de Melchor de Palau’ … Aqui … Aqui … no aqui … no a la izqierda … no a la derecha … no no no …

10 minutes of walking around with 23 kilograms on my 53 kg body … I stop a taxi, put my luggage in the boot, and just tell the man to drive … ‘donde’ he asks me … I show him a small hand drawn map … he doesn’t throw me out of the cab, and drops me to my hostel … alberguinn! Nice man, I say ‘gracias Señor’ to make the 2 euro trip worth his while …

Enter hostel, room is pink, couldn’t give a damn …

Tour of the hostel … And Behold !!!!!!!! There is a laundry room … Bhagwaan ke ghar mein der hai par andher nahin …

Visit the ladies room and dash into the laundry … Err! Please go buy detergent first. Ok! Run to reception, buy detergent for 1 euro (what the …) just buy it, and run back … When you’re carrying 5 pairs of clothing and have already used four, a laundry machine is a miracle …

Sigh! So it cost me 3 euros to wash my clothes, 3 euros to dry them, and don’t forget the 1 euro I paid for the detergent cakes which you crush and put into the machine … That’s how much Rampal earns for washing my family’s clothes back home for a WHOLE month … I’m feeling it Rampal, you’re da Man, maah brother maan!

For some reason I am feeling at home in Barcelona. No its not because I was able to do my laundry as soon as I landed … Its because my friend from back home lives here, he is doing his MBA here at the University … I am happy to be able to meet him … give him a call and he tells me another friend from back home is in town so we could all go out later in the evening … which by the way in Spain means like 11 o clock … that’s when people step out for a drink or ten … the real partying starts around 12:30 and beyond …

But whilst talking to Varun I begin to realize that I am feeling a bit dizzy, so I tell him that I will have to see him the next day …

Back to my common room routine … I go and buy some food first … and voila! I couldn’t have possibly bought a shittier Pizza … Yuck with a capital Y! And some even shittier sweet, fried Spanish desert … OK Fine! The sweet thing was all right.

My bad luck with food has to end at some point!!!

With a large map of Barca replete with bright red circles around all the touristy spots I am pacified that the next day is going to be all right …

In the meantime whilst I sit and upload photo etc. in the evening as per my common room ritual three very interesting (linguistically) girls ask me which language I would like to watch the film Moulin Rouge in. First they ask me ‘Would you like to watch Moulin Rouge in English’ and I say … ‘Whatever, its fine by me’ … Then one of them asks me ‘Parle plu plaise plaah Moulin Rouge bleh’ and I say ‘Hain?’ … then they ask me ‘¿Te gustaría ver la película Moulin Rouge en español?’ and I say ‘Erm! I’m leaving in 10 minutes’ …

Finally they do put on the film. Thank you lord!

A few minutes into the film ‘Voulez vous’ picks up pace … and I smile an all knowing smile … Some more minutes into the film and I am still smiling … I really like the way I smile here … Since I spend most of my days alone wandering, thinking, taking pictures, writing … I smile all knowing smiles or virgin smiles only … depending on the freshness of the event that induces the smile … and so my smiles are beautiful, genuine and not solely practical or practiced …

I do believe I’ve seen this movie before but the kind of emotions its inspiring in me at the moment are magnifique …

No, I am not feeling or feeling for romantic love, which would usually be the case when I watch such a film … it’s a feeling of complaisance, a feeling of pleasance, a feeling of something more fuller than romantic love … something more … something else … its something I rarely feel and I must say that I like it … and I hope this feeling lasts longer than this journey that I am on … this journey of growing a little, of finding something, of finding the world and something else … I hope this feeling lasts … and …

an affair to remember ...

2009-10-28T02:12:00.002+05:30

So, its my second day here yeah! Its looking much bettah yeah!

Breakfast is … Erm! Toast and your choice of mini butter or marmalade cubes? What the …? Where’s the juice, where are the eggs, bring on the ham! Clearly not … if you want anything more than what’s on the table you’ve got to make it yourself, which is such a pity because if you know me at all, you know that I am pretty useless in the kitchen even in the comfort of my house let alone an alien kitchen … so a glass of ‘leche’ for me, some toast con marmalade, and ooh nice coffee …

Check out is easy, just give them your access card back … and I am back on the street … and its beautiful … cold, windy and empty, just the way I like my streets! :P Its almost 10:30 and there are barely any people on the streets … I later find out that the streets begin to fill up by around one and what is more interesting is … that some of them are fuller and burgeoning with life more at night than during the day. Hmm! Not that I could be bothered to see it for myself. I am very happy with my roam around all day until your back hurts, and spend the evening with your computer routine … the most activity or partial socializing I need happens at the common room of the hostel where the ‘pub crawlers’ spend their ‘pre-pub-crawling’ hours and talk about all that happened the night before or is going to happen the night after … that’s pretty much all the excitement I need in my life …

Settled in … in the hostel where I was originally supposed to stay and a few facebook updates later (yeah? Go ahead, call me a geek, me importa un carajo!)

And by the by, I just realized … not having brushed up on the little Spanish I know, I for the life of me couldn’t remember how to say ‘how much’ all of yesterday. In all the confusion what came out instead of ‘cuatos cuesta’ (which means how much) was ‘quince’ which means the number fifteen … so for anything and everything worth its value in cents or a maximum of 1 – 1.5 euros … I kept offering to pay ‘Quince Euros?’ or fifteen Euros … thank the almighty I did not get ripped off because your average Spaniard doesn’t want to rip you off … except for the few roguish ones on the streets.

So, I step out into the clear blue sky’s afternoon sun and I feel good tan da dan da … ooh! Café & Te … It’s a chain, I know that much because there is a Café and Te on every second street here, sort of like our own Barista and Café coffee day (tssss chicken tikka sandwich … yaad aa rahi hai). I am already beginning to miss Indian food, especially ghar ka khaana which I have been completely and faithfully hooked to for quite a while now … Anyway so I order an interesting looking salad from the menu card.

Tip Time – Do not order things because they look good in the pictures, figure out what ‘might’ be good or what ‘you might’ like to eat … Because my jamon ensalada didn’t turn out as nice as I’d hoped it would, it was edible but that’s about it. So, I order myself some dessert to pacify my angry stomach and then take out some greens to pay the bill … since the café owner is taking a couple of minutes to come and pick up the greens, they’re just lying on the table right? Errrrrrrr! Wrong!

A minute later a scruffy looking man comes up to me and says ‘ayudarme’ which means help me … to which I say ‘no entiendo’, meaning I don’t understand what you’re saying … he gets me but pretends not to and then starts dropping some pieces of paper he has in his hand along with the bill and the next thing I know … the greens are gone! Hell No! That did not just happen to me … I have been holding on to my possessions like a mad woman for two days now, waking up through the night to check if my passport pouch is still under my pillow, checking the padlock on my locker thrice each time I lock it … so I take control of the situation the very next second and catch hold of the man and ask him to give me my greens back … because I am being loud and aggressive he actually does drop them on the table making it seem like I am some sort of beggar or mugger more like, forcing money out of his pocket. Yikes dude! Besharam!

He walks away and I realize that this is probably the first time in my life when I’ve been able to think on the spur of the moment, been able to evoke the goddess of common sense … and saved myself from some trouble … although it wasn’t a huge sum of money but when you’re a backpacker, every cent counts … and losing money for a single meal is loss enough …

This kind woman sitting right next to me then tells me that she travels to Spain often for work and has seen things like this happen all the time … in her words, ‘these people are all around, they don’t mean to do anything really bad but if you have something out in the open like money or mobile phones or anything slightly valuable, they WILL try and take it away from you’ … as long as you’re careful about that, and keep your belongings safe inside your bag and your bag’s zipper shut, you’re sorted!

Sigh!

Moving on, that evening I walked out of my hostel and just a couple of streets away … behold … a beautiful palace takes my breath away … not knowing what it really is, I just look and look and try and take a few pictures but there is no way on earth that my simplistic (just like my mind) camera lens can justify this wide expanse of awe-inspiring architecture … it makes sense, it does … a city so beautiful with streets full and blocks full of beautiful buildings, would and should have such a beautiful palace no?

Dinner is … voila! Finally! Something that’s like a samosa! An empanada, a folding of dough around some stuffing … sounds good to me! (All my friends are going ‘hey bhagwaan’ right, right this second … oh! You think you know me so well …guess you do!)

The next morning … I am feeling a little touristy. Having met a sweet, young American girl called Maria the night before who literally marked places for me to visit on my map of Madrid … places that are walking distance from my hostel by the way (I am sort of staying in the Connaught Place of Madrid it seems, the area is called Sol, it’s the downtown area and one must stay here and only here when one’s visiting), I decide to walk into Tourist Heaven. And tourist heaven it is indeed. The walk to these touristy spots is more interesting than the destinations themselves. The buildings just don’t fail to amaze … everything is just so aesthetically ‘there’, you know … like where it should be, unlike where it shouldn’t be :P

I really mean it. The architecture is simply breathtaking. There’s beauty everywhere and I am on a plane above amazed …

Talking about beauty – Europeans Yeah?! They’re frikkin’ beautiful goddamit. I mean hello! Show me some real people who aren’t like porcelain doll type pretty. Please! Someone? Anyone?

Tip-Time – Girls, if you have issues with your body or body image or whatever its called … resolve them before you visit any European city because if you do not then you’re in for some serious damage that may take years of therapy to control … Don’t act smug. You know I am right! I mean this place is full of these impeccable bodied, flat-stomached, super-fashionable dressed, make-up astonishingly intact all day, supermodel type girls, who strut around the streets in their high heels whilst I am having trouble walking short distance in my FLAT shoes!

Guys – you REALLY must visit … this place will be like ‘heaven’ or something for you.

So on my first touristy day I see Reina Sofia – Spain’s national museum of 20th century art … Entry into most of these Madrid museums costs about 8 Euros, which is a bit expensive but a woman has got to do what a woman has got to do … or not? Aha! Twist in the plot?

Before going to the Reina Sofia, I reach the Museo del Prado, which features one of the world's finest collections of European Art, from the 12th century to the early 19th century, based on the former Spanish Royal Collection, and a nice lady standing outside the Museo tells me that “The Reina Sofia is gratis (FREE :D) this morning and the Museo del Prado is gratis in the evening …

Saucy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Reina Sofia first then … Amongst other things the highlight of the visit for me is the sculpture by Joan Miro … simply magnifico!

After a lot of walking around back and fro and back and fro … Lunch is simple fried stuff dude – good old fries, sausages, ham, and egg combo … can’t go wrong with that right? Fortunately not!

With a lot of fat in me I make my back and fro way into the evening and the Museo del Prado. Now this first touristy day of mine is a Sunday and the entry into the museum is gratis from 5 – 8 pm all right, so there is a looooonng queue waiting to get into the museum at 5 pm sharp, which is exactly when I make my way to it … but the queue is moving quickly and what’s inside the museum is totally worth the wait … besides your breathtaking and hugely awe-inspiring Goya and Rembrandt and Velazquez, there are some amazing works by others I hadn’t even heard of … of course that’s keeping in mind that I do not know much about Art just like classical music and poetry, I appreciate them but I don’t know much about them … So at the Museo del Prado I discovered ‘El Bosco’ and fell in love with his work … You really have to see it to believe it … I myself couldn’t be bothered by the tourist guides and the radio prompters and all that jazz … I just put on some good old Yann Tiersen directing the film Tabarly’s symphony … and I was good to go, good to get lost for 2 hours and 45 minutes in the sinfully red museum of art … and believe you me, the 2:45 hours didn’t do it justice … if you are spending a week in Madrid, and are interested in art, keep one whole day for the Museo del Prado …

Of course it’s helpful to find out when the entry is free to keep budget constraint from tightening your hamstrings …

And the rest of the evening is … empanadas, bebidas, agua, frutas, writing some bit of this … and zzz! Oh! And before zzz! Enter Chi hun from South Korea … really sweet, calls himself a fool, tells me to be careful in Barcelona because he got mugged of a 100 Euros (I know, yikes!) by a man pretending to be a cop (Yikes doble!) … and the next morning, since he is leaving for Peru and wants to get rid of extra baggage, gives me his copy of lonely planet’s Western Europe guide! Hello? Like I love you, like totally! Have fun in Peru and all the bestest in the world to you :D

And I also met Josey (short for Josephine) from Sweden and she is absolutely lovely, gorgeous too in her own Swedish way … oh! I loved her, reminded me of my cousin Dips who I visit soon in London (Dips, can’t wait!). Josey is so warm and open and umm … lovely! She’s been living in the same dorm as me by the way but always returns after I am asleep so I haven’t really spoken to her until this morning, my third and second-last in Madrid … Since she is so lovely I share bananas and green apples with her that I bought from a supermarket and she is much obliged since she has been craving fruit as much as I have …

But fruit here is so expensive and so beautiful looking that it almost doesn’t look real ... Every time I buy and eat fruit here I am thinking ‘I hope this isn’t GM or some such strange mutated thing’ …

Oh! And by the way, did I forget to mention how much my back hurts? It hurts like crazy … Lugging around about 23 kgs of weight to and fro a calle (street) looking for my hostel, followed by three days of constant walking from one touristy spot to another has almost killed my back … and tomorrow I am supposed to go to Barcelona by train, which means carrying 23 kgs from the hostel to the train station, reaching Barcelona and then carrying it again to the next hostel … poof! It’s tiring just thinking about it! So, if you’re thinking about doing this, carry a Volini spray. It works like magic, instant relief! And also try and rest every hour or couple of hours of walking around … really helps … trust me, I know you’re thinking, ‘she just isn’t in form’, but I was in Ok form before I got here … this is a LOT of hard labour dude!

The Botanical garden it is then today … Beautiful again, very well designed and if you take the time to sit on one of the benches and just ‘be’ you will feel like you’re in a movie. A visit to this park deserves at least half of your day so you can see some really wonderful rare flowering plants, but you’ll have to walk around and look for them …

All right dude, enough horsing around, we need some serious food sojourn today. Perhaps we can try out the famous Paella. And try we do … but like we don’t. Maybe the choice of restaurant wasn’t appropriate … maybe. Most importantly though, I am not a seafood person … and my paella had some shrimps, and some other fish, and some other fish in it … and there was only teeny-weeny chicken … sigh! Will go to a Paella only restaurant next and try out some chicken only types … par yaar daal nahin dete yeh log paella ke saath :P

After my Paella disaster I scram to the next supermercado for some junk delights … and behold, a counter full of jamon flavoured crisps/chips. Hello? Insaniyat ke naate normal cheezen bhi rakh lo yaar … anyway …pick up some random pack, which I am afraid is also Jamon flavoured but fortunately once I start eating it, I realize they’re pretty much your regular salted chips, which is great. Hari Om!

Did I tell you about Giovanni by the way? He’s Italian and works at the hostel where I am staying … and there’s such kindness in his eyes that I melt every time he smiles … don’t worry Sim, nothing happened … he is just such a sweet person, greets me extremely warmly every time I enter and exit the hostel, talks to me with his smiling eyes and I try to return the favour with my Thyroid stricken queer ones … its quite an affair I must say. If I am eating something and he is around, I always offer it to him (which I do to all the others as well, its just the Indian in me no?) but he cannot understand why I do so … he once literally asks me … I offered him and a girl sitting with him some fruit and he said ‘why’ and I said ‘why not’ … I should’ve told him its an Indian thing but I didn’t …

The same evening, I was sitting in the common room thinking about where I should go next and popped into the common room’s balcony for a second … and I hear someone say ‘Hola chica!’ … I look towards where the sound is coming from and see a sweet little puberty stricken boy waving at me gleefully. In my head I am thinking India mein hota to ek thapad padta, but here I guess its diff … ‘Que tal’ (how are you) he asks me. ‘Bien, bien’ (good) I say … and then he starts ranting off in rapid Spanish and I have to tell him ‘No hablo Espanol’ (I don’t speak Spanish) … ‘Poco, poco, eh’ (little?) he says and I nod my head … He vanishes and reappears seconds later … and says ‘Adios guapa’ and I wave back at him … I turn around all smiles, taking in this sweet little episode and there stands Giovanni … and I laugh and say ‘funny boy!’ and he says ‘Yeahhh! Your new balcony friend eh?’ … ‘Yes’ I say and set off to loose myself in the busy downtown streets of Sol …

Its my last night in Madrid, and I am sad that I have to leave … I like this hostel, its quaint and small common room with seating space for about 6 people, the red upholstered couches, the small plant on the centre table, the Venetian blinds and Giovanni working on the other side of the room … he seems to enjoy Flamenco and so do I … he tells me names of a couple of groups that he’s been playing on his computer … I am hoping I get a chance to say goodbye to him since its my last night … but he just leaves …

Back in my room I realize how unreasonably obsessive I am … I worry about how much the cab ride to the railway station will cost the next morning, even though I know it shouldn’t be much … I think about Sol … I think about the boy … I think about the food … I think about Miro and Goya … I think about tiny bottles of water costing a whole Euro … I think about Giovanni’s eyes … I think about the I love Madrid t-shirts that I saw everywhere but didn't buy ...

and that's how it all began ...

2009-10-25T01:36:00.007+05:30

So Visas yeah? They’re a pain in the behind. And there’s no other way to look at it. Even if you are ‘little miss sunshine’ incarnate with your own song and dance routine about every thing good that happens to you … and good things happen to you a lot … even then, the process of acquiring visas can be really really daunting.

And it’s not just daunting because a visa is difficult to acquire … it’s daunting because people make it sound so. ‘You know my so and so aunty once tried and she was rejected four times, four, not one, not two … four! Such a problem these visas are!’ If you do finally get the visa then the baggage mishap stories begin, ‘you know once my friend’s baggage was sent to another country’, ‘you know once my friend only got sent to another country’ … These stories freak you out even further, and the only way you can still manage to go through the whole process of acquiring the visa and preparing for travel is to not really take these anecdotes to your heart … But trust me, if you’re anything like me, you will not be able to avoid taking these stories seriously.

But first things first, visas are a pain in the behind but there’s no way around them. You want to travel, you have to go through them and the only way to do it is to do it right, and do it yourself … it sucks to have to plan your travel so much but honestly planning comes in very handy. Even though once you’ve set out your ‘plans’ will certainly change but by then you will know what you’re talking about … and that’s exactly the spot you want to be in, you want to know what you’re talking about. As for the ‘do it yourself’ bit … well, it always feels less horrid if something has gone wrong because of your own mistake than somebody else’s.

So, here I am, sitting at the Indira Gandhi International Airport, New Delhi and although the last month and a half has pretty much revolved around visa processes, it doesn’t hurt so much … because now, another concern is taking over me … the ‘what if something goes wrong concern’. Its pretty taxing to be travelling alone, if something goes wrong there’s no one to watch your back or someone who’s back you can watch … it’s you against the world, or you with the world … glass half full, glass half empty … your choice! And I would like to be cool and say glass half full but the amount of activity at the airport is making the glass seem half empty.

Psst, its 1.45 a.m. … time to board.

So, Heathrow huh! Its 6: 25, London time, and I pretty much slept through the flight, which basically means everything went smoothly. The only problem area was that I kept waking through the night because either my mouth was open and began to get dry or my skin was soooo dry that it actually started tearing, literally! I just realized that the cuticle around the middle finger of my right hand actually had a blood clot, hmm! Is that an omen?

Anyway, I think I’ve pretty much seen all of Heathrow this morning, in and out of terminals and terminal buses et al. It has taken me a good hour through flight connections or so I feel. Boarding the connecting flight to Madrid now! 8: 15 London time, 9: 15 Madrid time.

Ladies and gentlemen, we will be serving a snack shortly, nothing fancy, just an English muffin, some juice and your choice of tea or coffee.
“Madam, would you like some breakfast?”
“Yes, please!”
Ooh! Salmon 

So its about 10:45 Madrid time, and I am looking out me window. Oh! And hey … my crummy economy seat was dirty, there was some gooey chocolaty (or so I would like to believe) stuff on it, so they upped me to a local flight’s version of first, ooooooh yeah! 

So I am looking out me window and I am thinking, ‘hey it pretty much looks the same, no’ … petit plots of land, square-ish water bodies that look golden bathed in sunlight, and the works. Oh! But wait, we’re getting closer … and … and its not so same. Its different. Its better planned, planned housing areas, commercial areas, industrial areas … planned everything. There are hillocks, many of them untouched, only some of them being worked on to create building material etc. … but there is something else … there are a lot of these farms, with equidistant trees that look stunning from high above. I would like to think these are olive plantations and I couldn’t be bothered to find out otherwise.

And kaboom! We’ve landed. 11: 30 Madrid time.

12:00. Erm! Can someone tell me where I am supposed to find my ‘baggage’? Nope. Or Nada, more like. Seriously if you don’t know a little bit of Spanish, it might be very, very difficult for you to find your way around the Madrid Bajaras Airport. I don’t remember the little Spanish I know, so it is difficult for me to find my way!

Anywho, I found some people who I recognized from my flight and so I followed them around to ‘my’ baggage collection belt … and there are MANY belts, believe you me, there are! Phew!

So, out I go, at the information centre … and finally, eureka! She speaks English! She gives me all the information she can, all the brochures she can, literally marks each one of them for me and tells me that I need to change three lines to get to my budget hostel. Ok! Thanks kind woman. Sounds simple enough!

I get out of the airport, reach the gates of the metro line … and try to pick my bags off the trolley, and oh boi! That ain’t happening, not today!

So off I go to the taxi stand. Treinta o treinta y cinco euros. Dude, you got it, my friend gave me exactly the amount as a goodbye present before I left India. 

Inside the taxi and that’s my first sniff of Madrid … Smoke! + Ham? body odour? Perfume? … god knows what, but it is different and I don’t mind it at all. My cabby is wearing Ray Bans & a funky sweat shirt, and rubbing his fingers often whilst driving. Wonder why he is nervous? Shouldn’t I be rubbing my fingers? May be he thinks I won’t give him the exact cab fare because I am ‘phoreign’! Erm! I can read man!

O boi! The city looks lovely. The cabby is now playing English songs instead of the Spanish ones he was initially playing. That’s my first taste of Spanish hospitality. As Beyonce and the likes start cooing sweet nothings, the city starts enamouring me … enamorados .. o .. o! I like what I see.

It’s the epitome European city to my completely and utterly Un-European mind and eyes.

And then I reach the street where my hostel is … and it’s the most gorgeous street ever, cobbled stone, a quartet playing Bach, policemen to give you directions (in Ingles) and everything. And then, I find my hostel … home sweet home! Or not ?!?

No, not for tonight. My bookings have been messed up, so I have to stay in another nearby hostel for tonight. WHAT ?!?

Anyway, once I am at the hostel, bathed and relaxed, smelling good again, I don’t mind it so much … now how about some food? O boi! Another disaster waiting to happen! A) The food at this café I have found is slightly more expensive than I’d like it to be (or perhaps its just conversion confusion). B) I have no idea what I want to eat. When in Spain, and don’t know what to order … order the one thing that you cannot go wrong with. Or can you not? Apparently you can go wrong with something as simple as tortillas. In my Spanish class one of our teachers made some tortilla and brought it to class. A simple preparation with eggs, potatoes, lots of fat, and chillies. But when I order it here at Marian’s Café, it comes sandwiched between two colossal pieces of bread. Hello? Why didn’t they tell us about the bread in class? Anywho, manage that somehow, avoiding the stares of some 20 other Europeans sitting around me at the street café, watching me chomp away on it awkwardly and unprettyily. 

What’s next? Hmm! Think I will just relax today, have been on the run for 3 days now, preparing for the trip … must chill out dude! Hostel sweet hostel, and computer sweet computer. Blimey! The plug … doesn’t work here. Off I go to find an adaptor. I ask the hostel reception for information about where I can find one … and later realize that this is their answer to everything … Q. Where can I find an adaptor plug? A. At the Chinese shop.
Q. Where can I find some sandwiches? A. At the Chinese shop. Q. Where can I find some toothpaste? A. At the Chinese shop.
Interesting!
So, at the Chinese shop, the owner speaks impeccable Spanish and it takes me a loooonnng time to explain to him what I am looking for. At some point during the conversation I think he suggested cutting the original plug of the cable and attaching a Spain compatible two pin one, and fortunately one of his gestures made me understand what he was suggesting … so of course I did my ‘horrified’ face to make him understand that what he was suggesting was out of the question. Anyway he tells me he will try and get me a plug by noon next day and I leave his shop saddened, almost wanting to fly back home the next day if not the same … what on earth will I do here without my computer?

Back at the hostel a 10 minute nap and I am up and about again. Must go out and walk around, must do something … what a floozy, moping around in the hostel!

So on the street, I find another shop that has a lot of electronic equipment although it isn’t really an electronics store … I ask the man if he has an adaptor and he speaks English and says he has all sorts of adaptors, I just need to show him the plug! Holy guacamole! I literally run back to the Chinese man to fetch back my computer charger from him, which he had kept with him to help him with his hunt for the adaptor … And I reach his shop panting, he greets me with enthusiasm, and I really cannot make him understand that I want my charger back … he takes it out and there attached to the plug … is … is the white beauty! The elusive adaptor … Sigh! Now, I can start enjoying myself 

Back at the hostel, here I am … telling you about my day in this strange, new land, not so sad anymore but missing home … and enter room – Mariella … and she is a vision. Europeans are so beautiful, even more so when they’re sleeping. The next morning I see her sleeping soundly in her white snug comforter and she looks picture perfect, breathtakingly so … Goodbye Mariella, my first European roommate in Europe , it was lovely talking to you for 3 minutes precisely…

P.S. – the highlight of yesterday was sitting in a noisy common room of the hostel where so many people had gathered together that it was becoming difficult to hear myself think … but I loved it! It was like being at a party without having to socialize  … and what was even better was Gary one of my closest people back home was online … She has been to Madrid and done the exact same things that I am doing now … She gives me hope and says ‘I will love it’! Fingers crossed!

hello world, i've been waiting for a chance to see your face ...

2009-10-19T22:03:00.005+05:30

as some of you already know, I am setting out for Europe for a couple of months. the preparation for the trip has been a bit of a harrowing experience ... visas, gear etc. lack of information, lack of knowledge of how crummy visa servies are etc. etc. etc.

i figured if not anything else, my trip could inspire a few blogs that might be helpful for those setting out on a similar-ish journey ...

so come one, and come all ... let me share my wisdom with you
(i can hear my friends splitting their insides laughing already ... sigh! if only they knew ...)

So, newho ... I am to spend a month in UK, and I still haven't got my UK Visa. Today, I sent the following email to the embassy's complaints department, twice.

Dear Sir, Madam

Name: Shruti Sharma
Application Number: ---
DOB: ---

I should have been in Spain at this moment. But I am not. Because my passport is snuggly sitting in your custody. I am only going to Europe for two months to do some research for a novel that I am working on. And already the experience of just acquiring visas has been so harrowing that I feel like I am beginning to forget how to write ...

I have re-scheduled my trip twice by now because of visa delays and I beg you to not make me do it a third time ...

By the evening I had a text from my agent, asking me to come pick up my passport tomorrow. Trust me, humour works wonders everywhere. This incident proves my theory: there is no need for seriousness, live life in jest.

will let you know how it works out :)

dear backpack seekers

2009-10-19T21:59:00.004+05:30

So, everyone's been telling me that I must aquire a backpack, which is like a talisman* for travel especially Eurotrips. So, I figured, hey I want one too. Turns out, it ain't that easy to get one, if you're living in India that is.

Fortunately in the metropolitan cities, you can still find dodgy, cobwebbed, petit shops that store a backpack or two above 45 L, which is what you actually need if you're travelling for a couple of months or so ... or if you're travelling to colder regions and need to carry warm clothes ... basically if you have lots of 'really necessary' stuff that you need to carry. But, be careful, even if you purchase an 80 L bag you can only carry stuff that you really need because there's only so much that your airline or your shoulders will allow you to carry, so 'Leave the gun. Take the cannoli.'

here's a small list of places in new delhi and bombay where you can buy backpacks. i compiled it from all sorts of internet conversation threads by hiking enthusiasts ... if you're in other cities, perhaps you can get in touch with these guys and find out if they have outlets in your city ...

1. AVI Industries

Our Imported BOLL (german) Backpacks are available with Rocksport Outdoors, New Delhi.

80 L bag was unavailable when I visited. They can order it from Bombay on request.

Address : 127, Rajendra Bhawan, (next to Siddhartha Hotel)
Rajendra Place. (Exactly Opp. the Metro Station)

Ph: Manish Gupta - 9810215848 (owner)
Aditya - 9999703875 (shop attendent, very very sweet fellow)

If the bag of your choice isn't available you could write to: they may deliver.
avinashkamath@gmail.com
www.aviindustries.com

2. Adventure 18

Opposite Venkateshwara, Ramjas College,
18, Satya Niketan.

Limited Options (One german bag when I visited)

3. Stikage India

7 UB Jawahar Nagar, Kamla Nagar
(Main Mc Donalds on Bungalow Road in the Kamla Nagar Market ... this shop is in the lane behind it. just call them for directions once at Mc Donalds)

Ph no. - 23850036/26

Limited options. They have cheaper options though, starting 1300 Rupees. Not all options on the website are in stock. Check with them on the phone before visiting, to see if they have what you like in stock.

http://www.stikage.com/back.htm

4. Gupta Sports House

25 F, Connaught Place
(Directions: With Janpath market on your left, go straight through the red light into the inner circle. Before you hit the inner circle road, on the left is Palika Bazaar, and on the right is this shop)

They had only one german 80 L and one 45 L bag. Make sure they have the bags before you specially make a visit.

Phone: 23315407, 41526009
E: rg_gsh1920@yahoo.co.in

5. Outdoortravelgear

This store is in bombay. They can deliver to other cities.

http://www.outdoortravelgear.com/product/hiking/backpacks/92.aspx

7. Carabin Inc

K 17/ 4A DLF 2

I do not know anything about these guys. Just found them on the internet. Didn't visit them.

Phone: 9811076556; 9811615298

http://www.carabinindia.com/contactus.html

I eventually bought a BOLL Mirage 60 + from Rocksport. I am hoping it will prove to be a good investment.

Oh! and I simply couldn't resist buying carabiners or loop hooks or whatever you call them from the shop. Apparently they come in all sorts of sweet metallic colours. Weeeeeee! Mine are purple and red and I don't have a clue how or when I am going to be able to use them :D ... Of course, whilst buying them I pretended that I was 'certainly' going to use them ;)

Cheerio old folks ...

* Talisman - An object marked with magic signs and believed to confer on its bearer supernatural powers or protection

inheritence of history ...

2009-10-18T18:56:00.007+05:30

my family has had these coins for generations ... no one knows how many generations really ... sigh!

the oil ...

2009-10-13T13:37:00.001+05:30

I was about 12...

My father worked in a bank at that point, and was posted in some godforsaken part of Rishikesh. He lived in a house in the middle of nowhere. Technically the house was a part of a certain colony but it was clearly a very underdeveloped colony. There were no other houses within a one kilometre radius of my father’s quaint, little bungalow that he had rented for the three years that he was there.

The only neighbouring house was an empty one. It was a small unit called ‘Yoga Bhavan’ associated with some ashram nearby, so the yoga students at the ashram could rent that place if they wished to.

The first time I visited my father in Rishikesh, I was appalled at his decision to live in a strange, empty piece of land with just one little house across it. My mum, my sister, and I had gone to live there for a couple of months in the summer of ‘95 during our summer vacations. And I, for the life of me couldn’t understand who I was going to go out to play with, in the evenings. My older sister? For the love of god, really? To top it all the land around the house was pretty uselessly empty. There were no trees to be climbed, no nooks and crannies to be explored, there was absolutely nothing … It was the strangest feeling.

The first evening since there was nothing else to do, I went and explored the ‘yoga bhavan’ and found nothing. Disappointed I went back to my mother and asked her to take me out somewhere but she was too tired to do so … so I just walked around outside, in the empty land around the house, feeling pretty darned miserable.

A few days passed like this, uselessly, listlessly …

It was a week after we’d arrived that my father finally announced that we were going to have guests for dinner. My mother dutifully busied herself in the kitchen to churn out some delicacies, without complaining about the short notice my father had given her. I figured she must have been as bored as I was.

The guests arrived in the evening around 7 … three foreigners, or two foreigners actually who were really, really fair, and the third one was really dark … he couldn’t have been a foreigner now, could he, I thought to myself.

They sat quietly with my parents in the veranda, ate dinner at 9, and then went to sleep at the Yoga Bhavan. I was quite disappointed again. Nothing eventful happened, nothing. They didn’t talk loud enough, and my Punjabi mind couldn’t understand why they spoke so softly.

After that night the foreigners acquiescently became part of the quietude of that strange piece of land, in that strange colony.

The next time I saw any of them was three days later when I caught a cold. The really dark man came to our house, spoke softly to my mother, gave her a sort of a present, and left. I asked my mother what it was and she said nonchalantly ‘it’s some sort of medicinal oil’.

‘What is it for?’ I asked her with my cold-laden hoarse voice.
‘Its for your cold’ she said. With that she took out a handkerchief from the Almira, put two drops of the oil on one of corners, marked the corner with a pen, and then handed it to me, saying ‘smell the handkerchief from time to time, the oil will help your cold’.

I looked at her strangely yet took the handkerchief from her and sniffed it …

It has been a little more than fourteen years and yesterday I caught a cold. This morning I unearthed a bottle of the medicinal oil, we keep a stock of it now, ever since that day in Rishikesh ... I put two drops on one of my mother’s handkerchief and I sniffed it … the first 2-3 times the oil was too strong and overpowering … by the 4 – 5 time it mellowed down and that’s when it hit me, this tsunami of nostalgia, and I felt tears welling up as the last fourteen years became but a moment in time … and I was transported back to the strange house. This strange, lonesome, aching fog enveloped my heart and I realized I loved it … the strangeness and the loneliness, I absolutely loved it.

I am on that path again, the path leading to and from the house …

The dark man is walking along with me. He is my uncle. His colour shouldn’t matter but he’s scarily dark … his heart is the purest colour of flesh. He knows secrets, all sorts of them. He tells me about the world, he’s seen it all. He tells me I have a beautiful heart and that I must learn to use it completely … I tell him I am afraid because when my grandmamma went away one morning, it hurt, real bad. He says its supposed to hurt, its ok, the hurt is part of the experience of love … he says that we shouldn’t stop people from entering our hearts just because we are certain they are going to leave one day … I decide that I want to be like him when I grow up, maybe not as dark from the outside but certainly as pink on the inside …

Fruits, I can see the fruits … big, round ones, sort of like ‘ber’ but unusually large ones that I have never seen anywhere else but in that strange piece of land.

Bougainvillea, black coloured bougainvillea flowers … I don’t think they’re supposed to be that colour.

A stepped alleyway a little away from the house, the steps snuggling in a blanket of moss and lichen … I have never seen another human being use this path … my mother, my sister and I are climbing down the path, crossing the road it meets, and fearlessly walking into Rajaji National Park … a little distance into the forest and we reach the banks of the river Ganga. My mother sits quietly and watches the sun set and my sister and I dip our little feet into the water … that’s when our anklets finally stop making the little tinkling sounds … and the world comes to a standstill.

Just outside the house lives a family of purple frogs … the youngest one is my friend, and every evening it waits for me to finish my homework so I can go play with it …

I don’t remember much from my childhood. I had a great childhood, very peaceful, normal, happy … but I just don’t remember much of it. Some people do. I don’t.

But I remember the Rishikesh house, I remember every little detail, and every moment of the time I lived in it …

Every time I catch a cold and unearth the oil bottle, I open a window into that part of my life … on such special days I can tell you, I can tell you about those times … those times in that strange lonely house that my heart really, really loved …

monkey.eat.what?

2009-09-29T10:22:00.000+05:30

hush now, my heart ...

2009-09-27T14:26:00.002+05:30

hush now, my heart
don’t stop
its time to keep moving on
you can see
the world
in its beauty, its splendour
keep moving on
don’t stop just now
keep moving on …

oh my severed heart
i know
i have caused you harm
you are not
what you
were once, may never be
but just try
give me one more chance, you’re my all
keep moving on …

summer’s gone, winter’s come
you are
now afraid of the journey long
you know that
you are
not alone, just hold my hand
and keep moving on
we will be each other’s heart song
and we’ll get along …

oh my lonely heart
why despair
you’ve always known you were broken
so give me
give me one last push, i’m with you
and together we will
make this
journey, once and for all, so
keep moving on

hush now, don’t stop
i know
you are feeling weak and frail
but just look
look all around you, and
tell me truly
don’t you wish
to keep moving on
and never stop …

lost boy

2009-09-25T22:02:00.002+05:30

his eyes were always hollow

had red shadows all around them

i thought him tired from work

followed him everywhere, saying ‘my love’!

sometimes he showed signs of life

others he was caught in the abyss inside

i thought him consumed with love

maybe calling the verb ‘assuming’ a virtue isn’t proper.

i could lose myself in the worlds

that my lost boy revivified in his eyes

travel to destinations unkind

i could simply say he put me out of my mind.

it took me months if not years

to understand that my boy was actually weird

and the worlds I found inside his eyes

were actually dreams ricocheted from mine …

beautiful girl ...

2009-09-24T11:37:00.001+05:30

From door way to door way
Street corner to corner
With neon ghosts in the city
And she sings

Stay with me
Stay with me

hush now, don't explain

2009-09-24T11:33:00.001+05:30

Hush now, don’t explain;
There ain’t nothing to gain.
Well, I’m glad you’re back,
But don’t explain.

i spy with my dodgy eye

2009-09-24T11:32:00.001+05:30

may be next time ...

2009-09-24T11:27:00.001+05:30

oh maye next time
you'll be Henry VIII
wake up tomorrow
and dawn to the great

open your eyes
and a new life will begin
oh maybe next you'll begin with a chance

hush hush hush

hush hush hush

p cole

la dolce principessa

2009-09-20T17:07:00.000+05:30

she walked along the fields everyday
scenting the earth with her goodness
vines of joy sprung out when she came
and lone reeds inched forward, amazed

colours unfurled from the flowers
new buds tugged away from their shoots
with butterflies they made bridges & rainbows
through which she gently made her way

her almond eyes were big and green
her hair ginger, with it the wind played
her voice like drip drop of icicles
she spread songs of laughter, everywhere

one day she couldn’t visit the fields
in her wait the clouds and skies turned grey
as they wept the flowers, the buds,
the butterflies, the earth, all began to wail

even today in her kingdom of Goldbury,
the earth, the skies, all for her wait,
but never ever since that ill-fated day,
has la dolce principessa returned their way …

a passing lure ...

2009-09-10T21:59:00.004+05:30

sparkling leaves in my sky tonight like dancing fireflies
inviting me to a world empyreal, with seductive eyes
and i wonder if i can find it in my heart
to leave my place beside this pyre
that burns my soul everyday
with memories of that repugnant day

the pyre thinks we're insperable
like a glutton it feeds off of me
while my flesh remains unimpaired today
my soul is losing its personage

i should just take a leap of faith
release the hold this precinct lays
on each of my soul's living days
oh! but look at the leaves drifting away

oh! wind envious you couldn't remain
passive to the lure the leaves had made
now i remember you blew the same way
in memories of that repugnant day

tonight you are my chrysalis

2009-09-07T13:20:00.002+05:30

when my mind is so full of listless words
and when my eyes cannot find their way to sleep
the world around still inducing lack of silence
i close my eyes and think of you

you come away and take me by my hand
infusing me with your passive love you give me
every calming thought and every loving touch
you are my chrysalis

in your eyes i can see the sea in mine
your skin feels like the lullaby i long to hear
as you tie every string from your heart to mine
silence falls on an ebbing tide

losing sight of the listless words in my mind,
slipping off to a world away from mine,
cradled in your arms and peaceful as syne,
i close my eyes tonight ...

for you ...

2009-09-06T23:37:00.003+05:30

this glass world,
that i have created,
my four walls,
i'm privately jaded,
as i turn,
round and round,
reflections follow,
at monstrous paces ...

alone!

2009-09-06T23:04:00.004+05:30

what can you find in loneliness?
an empty heart, a still mind?
and then if you tried closing your eyes?
if you feel the fear, you're still alive ...

what can you find in an empty life?
a lonely hand, an unslept side?
and then if you tried to brace yourself?
a shrieking tide, you're still alive ...

bee bitten - bad lyric wrath

2009-09-01T20:35:00.003+05:30

i don't see
any purpose
in privacy

on my knees
eclipsed from
world's scrutiny

blinded bee
she still stung me
willfully

pain is me
cadence on the drums
on three

tell me bee
blinded, how did you
see me

stealthily
you crouched
aiming sordidly

violently
you breached
my secrecy

pain is me
leave your flute &
just rescue me

promise me
dear fate you'll
bring her to me

on her knees
she'll beg
for my mercy

i won't be
patient to her
apology

i won't beat
will subject her
to cacophony

blinded bee
she will lose
the battle to me

learn from me
the meaning
of enemity

i won't budge
won't let her
deride my grudge

eventually
she will see
the queen in me ...

hope and religion

2009-08-27T23:23:00.006+05:30

whenever i think of that day, the word 'hope' keeps surfacing on my horizon, pastel coloured text in a loop with a white background in the sky and a bottomless, serene, sea below, like my beloved Calicut waters: quitude, peace and the word 'hope'!

had you met me about six months before that day, and asked me what i thought of religion and god, i would have told you, i was an athiest. i would have proudly said that my family and i didn't pray, or believe in god. we kept up the pretence of being sporadically devout only and only at diwali because there seemed nothing better to commemorate the day with, than a small, insipid rendition of some appropriate bhajan. a custom that had been engrained into the psyche of the family members by my late grandmother and was in all probability continued in her regard solely.

had you met me four months before that day, and asked me what i thought of religion and god, i would have told you, i had started searching for god. i would have said that something has happened in my life and i needed the support of a higher power because nothing i could do could solve my problem. the problem wasn't actually mine but a friend's. it was a medical problem and there was nothing we could do about it but patiently wait for the doctors to do their best. in the meantime i felt like i needed the support of someone ... something ... and so along with my friend i turned to god. i turned to all the gods, of all the religions that i knew of through memory alone. i did this because even when i was an atheist i envied the people who believed that god was with them - even if there was no god, they believed ... and sometimes you just really desperately need to believe! just believe! in something. so i took out my rosary, which i had once upon a time bought as a collector's item and i began to pray. i chanted all the mantras, hymns, shlokas, chants that i knew. every night i took the rosary and i mathematically, calculatively said the mool mantra, the buddhist chant 'nam myoho renge kyo', gayatri mantra, the prayer 'our father in heaven' ... ... but i didn't find what i was looking for ... i just felt guilty for praying only when i needed to, only when i felt my friend was suffering.

that day my friend took me to the hospital for company ... as i got closer to the doors of the hospital, i began to get nervous. i was nervous because of the negative connotations attached with hospitals. there was nothing i could to shake off the feeling. as i went in through the doors i instantly realized it wasn't that bad. i needed to get some paperwork done whilst my friend went in for treatment. i was nervous again. as i went searching for the room where i needed to submit the papers, i realized there were some pairs of feet following me. they soon caught up with me, held my hand and guided me through the process. those feet belonged to the visitors of the other patients in the same ward as my friend.

we went back to the ward and settled ourselves in the visitor's waiting lounge. i wrote these things down on the last page of the book i was carrying with me for company. it says:
"the air is heavy inside as if impregnated with myriads of tears of the infants, children, men and women who come here for treatment. the flourescent light from the tubelight in the ceiling is rationed by the fans rotating right below those lights ... its as though this rationed, flickering light is supposed to induce pensive hypnosis in the waiting visitors to help them through their loved one's ordeal, which is ordeal enough for them too.
despite all the gloom, there is HOPE here ... in the fleeting relationships and acknowledgments between those who are waiting ... with open hearts ... full of HOPE ... as the calm and soothe every visitor who is here for the first time."

after writing this i felt as calm as i possibly could and i felt happy and i felt hopeful and grateful. although it took me days afterwards to understand what i was feeling ...

if you meet me today, and ask me what i think of religion and god, i will tell you that i am a spiritual agnostic ... i don't think its possible to know whether there is a god or gods, but i am not an atheist and i still believe, i believe in something ...
and i sleep with my rosary next to me on my bed and every night i hold it and i count my blessings. i thank a higher power for my life and the life of those around me. and i am grateful to be finally at peace with my belief system!

Broccoli Sprouts May Prevent Stomach Cancer

2009-08-25T20:56:00.001+05:30

Broccoli Sprouts May Prevent Stomach Cancer by Defeating Helicobacter pylori

Jeremy Moore
Jeremy.moore@aacr.org

PHILADELPHIA (April 06, 2009)– Three-day-old broccoli sprouts, a widely available human food, suppressed Helicobacter pylori (H. pylori) infections, according to a report in Cancer Prevention Research, a journal of the American Association for Cancer Research. H. pylori infections are one of the most common bacterial infections worldwide and are a major cause of stomach cancer.

The cancer protective effects of sulforaphane, a phytochemical from broccoli, have been known for almost two decades, but this is the first study to show an effect of broccoli in humans on the bacterial infection that leads to stomach cancer. In this study, researchers enrolled 48 Helicobacter-infected Japanese men and women and randomly assigned them to eat 70 grams of fresh broccoli sprouts daily for eight weeks or an equivalent amount of alfalfa sprouts.

"Broccoli has recently entered the public awareness as a preventive dietary agent. This study supports the emerging evidence that broccoli sprouts may be able to prevent cancer in humans, not just in lab animals," said Jed Fahey, Sc.D., a faculty research associate in the Department of Pharmacology at Johns Hopkins School of Medicine.

Researchers assessed the severity of H. pylori infection at enrollment, and again at four and eight weeks using standard breath, serum and stool tests. H. pylori levels were significantly lower at eight weeks on all three measures among those patients who had eaten broccoli sprouts, while they remained the same for patients who had eaten alfalfa sprouts.

A reduction in H. pylori is expected to lead to a reduction in stomach cancer due to their well-established cause-and-effect link. Stomach cancer has a grim prognosis and is the second most common and the second deadliest cancer worldwide.

Source: American Association for Cancer Research

Original article: Akinori Yanaka, Jed W. Fahey, Atsushi Fukumoto, Mari Nakayama, Souta Inoue, Songhua Zhang, Masafumi Tauchi, Hideo Suzuki, Ichinosuke Hyodo and Masayuki Yamamoto. Dietary Sulforaphane-Rich Broccoli Sprouts Reduce Colonization and Attenuate Gastritis in Helicobacter pylori–Infected Mice and Humans. Cancer Prevention Research 2, 353, April 1, 2009. doi: 10.1158/1940-6207.

what happens in Shopian, stays in Shopian

2009-08-15T10:58:00.002+05:30

"This “ordinary” incident took place when I was actually in Srinagar. I heard about it at a cybercafé. As I was paying up, the guy asked me my plan of the day considering there’s been a curfew. I asked what the curfew was about and he told me in a disturbingly nonchalant manner, about the rape. It happened in Anantnag, a place I was supposed to have visited, in all probability, on that very day in fact." -

AJ travels to Srinagar and around. Read on!
http://handwriten.livejournal.com/19998.html

Alternatively you could go to my blog, click on the title of this particular piece, and you will be directed to AJ's piece on revelations in J and K.