Dinner

Neha was fuming. She had come in from work early to find the child unbathed and watching a video. As her baby was eating she didn't want to interfere right then and went to her room slamming the door shut.

This was it. There were too many such instances of her nanny deliberately flouting rules. She had to get a new one. Devi was beginning to think of herself as indispensable. When she had specifically told her- no videos at mealtimes.

She called her husband. No answer. She dropped a hurried text. Devi put video while Aadu eating and then texted her mom. Her mom called.

"Ok now calm down. Don't get angry with Aadya.

Can you stop interfering?

Huh? Then why did you text me?

I was just frustrated. I need someone to listen. I don't need you questioning my parenting. 

Ok- I will keep that in mind. I am sorry. I will never interfere again. You barely ask about us anyway and when you do you just shout...

Argh.." she cut the call

Hands still trembling- she called a nanny agency. Yes they would get back if they had anyone suitable. And then another. 

They would manage the interim, she told herself. But it was important to have someone they could trust. 

But Devi was trustworthy. Up to a point. She did put her down for her nap and kept her on a schedule. And could be relied to pick her up from playschool. Maybe it had been a difficult day. Aadya could definitely be a handful. Also- the research around TV was inconclusive. 

She took a deep breath and came out. 

Pretending to read something so as to not look at her, she said carefully. "Devi- why was Aadya watching a video while eating?"

"Arre didi- she just kept crying for Mumma, Mumma, wouldn't eat at all. I told her Mumma is at work and let me tell you a story but she just cried and threw things. And I knew you would be upset if she hadn't eaten by the time you got home", she said deftly moving the question back to her. Would you rather your child starve for your ego? Her tone was obsequious but the subtext was unmistakable. Neha felt her cheeks go warm. 

"So then, why didn't you call me to check?"

"Arre she was missing you so much, if she heard your voice so would have been inconsolable".

Neha glanced at her child, happily playing now. She had not evening received her daily hug today as Aadya had been totally engrossed in her video. 

"Aadya beta you were asking for Mumma na?" Devi crooned. Aadya looked up. And she gave her Pavlovian response. 

"Mommy I missed yoooouuu". 

Neha knew she had been played but as she scooped the child in her arms, she asked herself. Would she rather let her child starve for her ego?

Headspace

There, it started again. Stress took a deep breath and clutched a sturdy neuron. A particularly nasty jolt made him lose his balance but he saved himself by hanging on to a peripheral neuron just in time. All around him he could see Pity, Anxiety, Fear and Anger in various self rescue modes. Just ten mins he mouthed, if their luck held today. They had made up a song to pass the time. 

Today though seemed somewhat easier, thought Stress. He felt lighter, somehow. Must be muscle development through all that hanging. But then he looked around and realized that everyone looked somewhat deflated. In corporeal terms that is. 

Ok, this was serious. They really needed to assert themselves or they would shrink to the size of a bloody brain cell. He had met some Stresses like that when She went out. Some of her particularly smug friends. The thought of their situation made him blink back sudden tears. 

And down here Joy was becoming increasingly hard to ignore. Look at her getting fatter by the minute. It wasn't that long ago when she was a frail waif they enjoyed trampling over. The moment she spoke out..squish ! They could do that all day. 

But She downloaded this app and started practicing some meditation technique. And Joy flowered. They realized that the first time they squashed her and were thrown off by the impact. And now she rolled about, a big ball of Joy looking so very smug. 

But personally he would keep a watch on Love. He was one dark horse. Always cozying up to everyone. It had been easy to brush him off earlier but these days he seemed to be getting insistent. He said he had an Awakening and really came into his own. It couldnt be more uncomfortable. Warm hugs whenever they met ! And they always left him somewhat breathless like the life had been squeezed out of him. Anger, who had to endure the brunt of his hugs, certainly looked like a shadow of her former self. 

Stress panicked. When the dreaded ten mins were over and the closing chorus sung (Dont Stress, Dont Fear, Hold Tight, My Dear). nice touch that, they woke up Sloth who was hinding inside a capillary. 

"Get a move on !

 Assert yourself ! 

We cant be having this everyday ! 

Or we will soon be reduced to surviving on scraps." 

 Sloth was looking at Sorrow. "She knows", he mumbled. 

"She has started running", said Sorrow quietly, while the others looked on in Horror. He is fading fast. 

The Tree House

Creating desires is tough. Transferring it is much easier. As easy as drinking a cup of tea. With the brew decided by me. 

When I first found out that I was a witch, I wasn't sure how that helped in today's world. It was not as though I was born in some picturesque village in England, where I could live in a mysterious old world cottage covered with ivy and honeysuckle and brew concoctions to cure arthiritis. 

I am in a large city in India, where the ailments are so dire, that magic can only soothe and not cure. Here people need money more than magic, and doctors more than shamans. 

The Magic Tea House (see what I did there? heh) has a huge peepul tree growing in the middle of it. In its shade are small teakwood tables and chairs with pale green and yellow cushions. Natural lights from the many windows and a glass ceiling above. I didnt want to go overboard with the conjuring. 

You can find me behind the ebony wood counter, with displays of various teapots and loose leaf teas. I also do non magical cakes. The market for that is huge with the magical teas. 

At first I was nervous about putting word out, what if they took me away? But one evening as I flipped news channels I realized I was onto something. India has an astrologer for every affluent household and god- men and women for those left behind. 

The premise is simple. The difficult part of any magic is conjuring up the emotions. Have a strong enough emotional driver and the rest is basic transportation and transformation. 

So this is what I take and what I brew. There are no free teas. Even after you have paid. You want success, give me some vitality, you want health give me some joy, you get the drift. It is a good rebalancing act. 

I am selective with what I can take and what I can give. Think of me as your family astrologer, but with better tea. And actual magic. Not as God. And certainly not as someone with a medical degree. 

Insecurities monetized. Converted to food and health for the needy. No magic here. But possibly the best rebalancing of all. 

In the spirit of the season..my first karva chauth

Since I got married late, my facebook "Karva Chauth" post was not riddled with pictures of friends posing in bridal wear with channis (sieves) and lotas. My KC was pretty low key as well on account of some meeting demands in the morning and evening. I kept the basic fast, but without the heavy saree and jewellery, which, in hindsight, would have taken me the better part of the day to wear and hence considerably shortened the conscious phase (sniff).

But just as an aside- I can’t understand the sudden concern of the vigilante about the logic of fasts increasing the husband's life. The way I see it, is every-time we pray, most of us at least, strike a bargain with God, saying, "If u do this, I will do such and such in return". Here the bargain is pre-decided, that's all. The same people don't question the logic of prayers. 

My husband also kept it to give me company but also as a mark of protest against the “Establishment”- the one which suppresses women. Establishment please take note.

So when I embarked on this hallowed matrimony phase, though considerably late in life, (as I wanted it to be perfect?), I had a starry eyed view of the first year of marriage. Hence almost 9 months into the process, I guess this is as good a time as any to take stock. And I clearly haven’t done a lot of stuff right it seems…

I wasn't the glowing- chuda clad married lady you see at airports- I'm sure we have all seen them, glowing, chic, complete with a new pair of shades and handbag and red/ fluorescent painted nails. The chudas are just the added touch, but the whole demeanour is that of the newly married, and which stays weeks or maybe months after the ceremony!

I assumed marriage or perhaps the make up artist would impart that ethereal, everlasting glow and I was excited for my post marriage glowy phase. And I looked nothing like that ! 3 days post the ceremony, well it was just me! So much so that when I happened to be in Delhi 2 weeks post, my mother looked at me and exclaimed “ You don’t look married at all !”. 

Now please explain to me, except for the customary ring, sindoor and mangalsutra (all of which I had dutifully donned), what else comprises “looking married?”And what’s with the “now that you are married” phrase? 

It seems as though the ceremonial fire is expected to melt and mould the older you into a new improved, elegant, married version, in the process automatically making you more concerned, less selfish, more giving. The lady of the house !! Lady Bountiful ! The “Now-that-you-are-married-Lady”..

Clearly I was much hardened.

The other thing I thought the first year of marriage would be all about is exotic weekend getaways and vacations. But here again, I seem to have drawn a blank.

Me to the Husband- “ So I was thinking for our vacation in Jan..”

Husband- “Can you please stop this holiday planning now and move on to better things. Higher things?”

Me (thinking) - “Higher? Well we could go to the Alps....”, but thankfully I stop myself and instead say “How do you mean- higher?”

The Husband looking up from his reddit thread-“Well, I don’t know. But something worthwhile not this hedonistic behaviour- give back to society, go save the world, ok like I was thinking, we really need to sit down and discuss our retirement fund....”

Me (thinking again but this time in horror)- “I know I married late..but is it this late??”

Now the husband has done his share of vacation planning during his ten years in the US, so now, like the Buddha, he has migrated back in search of meaning and suffering souls to deliver. I on the other hand, postponed the holiday plannings to post my wedding... and... as luck would have it, I seem to have made some serious miscalculation here...

Oh well, while I search for something higher I am reminded that I have a lot to learn at very basic levels. 

Now the PHD process in the US, clearly did not make great demands on my husband’s time, because in between his work, socializing and holidays, he managed to read up extensively on every conceivable topic under the sun and have an opinion on it. Consider exhibit A:

We are on a trek and being chased by monkeys. One of them is holding a banana.

H- “So did you know that the Banana as a fruit has been domesticated very recently, and each new variety is different, as they are clones. So monkeys probably started eating it recently"

Me- :Umm..", eyeing a particularly agile one, "can’t say I do"

H- “Yeah I read a book about it. It's called (hold your breath)- Bananas”

Me- " You read a book on Bananas…." privately thinking to myself that it just about describes him…

So he saunters up one fine day, saying- You know I feel we don’t talk much anymore, you know discuss stuff”.

Me – looking up from the History of India by John Keay (you never know when these things might be useful), mumble that maybe I am not the debating type.

H- “No I mean, that day when all of us were discussing organic food safety standards, you barely said anything”.

Me (reminding myself that I did after all marry a professor)-“well I did say FSSAI..” but, quickly changing tack, ”Oh that’s cause I was thinking about China..”(I learn fast).

H (interested)- “Well what about China”

Me (confidently)- “Well you know, whether there will a crash”

H- “And?”

Me (slightly less confident)- I don’t know, debt levels are unsustainable, the shadow banking debt especially, and..and.. the government is trying to fix it through monetary policy, ( I am rambling now) but this is a bubble waiting to burst..”

H- “Ohk, continue”

Me- faltering now…"well..you know ultimately infrastructure creation has to be supported by real demand…” Giving up….” No that’s all I thought"

H- "We were there for 4 hours…"

But these major missteps aside, there are a lot of positives as well. I do enjoy the fact that there is someone out there waiting for you for dinner and heating it up :p, someone who looks after you when you are unwell and otherwise too, who watches TV too loudly every night and youtube videos the first thing in the morning. And someone I can show this to, and we can both laugh at it. Clearly there is a lot of hope. 

Since I am reading “The Everything Store”, or the pursuit of happiness

So the last we heard about Blinky was when she lost her coveted elf status for love (here). Please read this post after the one below  J
So after wondering the locales for a while, desperately unhappy, Blinky set out to find happiness. And since she was once an elf, she prayed very hard to the Elf Queen and Santa for one last inspiration and set off.
Being pragmatic and knowing that atmosphere does play a role in mental well being, she started her travels in the south of france, (Neha thats coz you couldn't leave these things entirely to chance, you had to do your bit in the happiness pursuit :p). She came upon a charming little cottage on the edge of a cliff surrounded by rolling green fields, with the sea just visible below, white and frothing and lashing against the rocks. It was a beautiful location and she thought maybe that was it.
But then she saw him, tall, youngish looking, setting up a curious assortment of things. Of course he was a wizard, she realized when she saw the staff.
He beckoned to her and asked her what brought her there. She answered that she was just looking around and asked what he was doing.
‘I am building a happiness store”, he said, “an everything store”. “Where you can find lasting happiness”.
Blinky thought wildly that Santa must really miss her (those strawberry cookies were pretty amazing). What she was just supposed to go to the store and buy the stuff? He had lost his finesse and imagination though. “Probably came from the sugar high’, she thought unkindly
And she was just about to ask how much, when she stopped and looked around. Yes the store had everything material you could possibly wish for. But Blinky had worked with Santa.
“These things can’t buy you lasting happiness ! “ she said.
He replied testily that he knew that but one had to start somewhere, this was the first day but it was a venture he was really excited about.
“Oh then you need to have feelings, experiences” she said. “Have that in your store”.
He approved and offered her an apprenticeship.
“Iv just finished one, I can’t risk being typecast” Blinky countered. ‘How about business partner?” she negotiated.
Well so that was done and The Happiness Store- beta came up. There were counters for every experience you could possibly imagine. Business was brisk, and learning even more so.
Evenings were times for intellectual debates on what constituted lasting happiness. They chose a different setting each day from their coffee and conversations experience counter.
“ Well altruism” she suggested,  and they added a counter for that, accomplishment- a ladder where you could accomplish whatever you wanted, right from flying to diving to the bed of the ocean !,  the experience of being beautiful, the experience of the first date, music, parties, intellectual conversations, the list grew more exhaustive every day.
And they noticed a pattern among their customers, the ones who came for momentary experiences of dizzying happiness, and they came most often, but over time , she saw that effect was wearing off, she saw regret post the experience and hopelessness. They debated setting up a counter for hope but realized that it did not work in isolation, the ones who tried to build more lasting happiness- through learning of a new skill, becoming kinder, nicer, helping others, making friends, meeting interesting people, they didn’t come that often, but even they ran out of that happiness from time to time.
And what about they themselves? After the initial dizzying euphoria, the effect was fast wearing off. Blinky couldn’t understand this and mentioned this that evening.
“I just realized what we keep reading, that happiness is a state of mind !! I can just choose to be happy”, she said excitedly and was really happy for a moment.
“Try” he said sarcastically, adding that they needed to add a counter for the good idea experience.
He was nothing if not meticulous and hardworking; she thought and shuddered when she remembered the counter he had designed for “work will set you free”. It was when they were watching a documentary on something called Nazism in another parallel universe that he was persuaded to change the name.
She tried very hard. “I don’t feel anything”, she said eventually.
“Yes that state of mind thing works when there is something to look forward to. Else all you feel is empty”, he said adopting a sanctimonious expression which always made her roll her eyes.
“But why is this happening to us, how can we tire of everything so fast”, she said?
“Uh I may have forgotten to mention that this is a wizard’s house, and we wizards experience in minutes what other people do in years, that’s part of the reason why we are so wise”, he added sheepishly.
“So normal people can go through life with a mix of these experiences, and not tire till it was too late but we have pretty much reached that stage. “
She was afraid to ask the next question. “So how old am I, technically”, she asked almost in a whisper.
“ Well about a hundred”, he said and noticing her expression added kindly,  “well, I am a hundred and fifty”.
Blinky thought of that dashing Elf she had once fancied and always hoped to return to. He did have a thing for older woman, but strictly within the same generation.
“How could you keep this from me ! “, she stormed.
“What are you fussing about, aren’t Elves immortal”, he said. Wizards on the other hand, live till about five hundred.
‘I gave up my immortality for love”, she screamed back.
“Sounds like the plot of a bad movie”, he grumbled.
“So is there no hope for us?”she questioned? ” I think I should leave this place now”.
“There is one thing the store doesn't provide, and thats love”, he said. " But you probably know all about that", he said wickedly.
She glared at him and thought back. Yes finding something/ someone you loved.... no but even that didn't last. She couldn't remember the last time she has thought about the guy.
He was watching her with an unusually somber expression, as if willing her to say it.
"So there is no such thing as lasting happiness?" she ventured
No there isn't he said, I realized that a while back (the smug expression was thankfully absent). But its very good for business as you get a high percentage of repeat customers !
He realized that the joke fell flat.
But Blinky as usual had to have the last word. "If there is no such thing as lasting happiness, then why are we aiming for it?"
"Well I am aiming for something better", he said irritatingly. 

No I am not dead yet

Of greed and fear

Well, the greed part was more of an attention grabbing gimmick :D. What I really want to write about today is fear. In all the "about me", know me better posts there is one integral aspect of my life which hasn't come forth. And that is my deep , irrational cynophobia (or more commonly known as the fear of dogs)...

My earliest memory is of a chubby, tiny (well I was never tiny) me, waddling through rose bushes, and running for dear life while being chased by "Lucy", my aunt's mean Alsatian. And not to mince words here..Most dogs are equally mean, but some are more mean than others. (Disclaimer- I am not targeting any species, group or cult here, views are personal, for every one mean dog you have many cute, cuddly, loving etc dogs and so forth..So peace?). And Lucy anyway nurtured this deep hatred for me cause she always had to be tied up when I visited. So when she saw the 5 year old me pottering about in the garden she gave a yelp of delight and made a dash towards me. I gave a subsequent shriek of horror and tried an unsuccessful exit while screaming my aunt's name at the top of my lungs. And she finally rescued a much scratched and bloody me (that was the bushes not Lucy). So the fear which till then was more budding in nature was deeply ingrained from that day on.

My second encounter of the third degree kind was with "Silky", a name possibly on account of her coat? Silky was a childhood friend's Pomeranian (aww so cute??). No shudder. This one actually bit me.I felt that silky coat against my skin and felt as though a million insects were crawling on it. And was the cause of many painful injections.

I don't know if this is the case with everyone who fears something. But the moment I spy a dog, the rational part of my brain seems to sputter out and die, only to be replaced by a deep overpowering fear, skin crawling and nausea. Its something I am trying to fight against. I have tried to trace the root of this fear. It could be a subconscious reaction to my mom tightening her grip on my wrist every time she crossed a dog, when I was very young, she is pretty scared herself or what I always maintain, the fact that maybe I was a slave/ convict in my previous reincarnation and was chased down by a pack when I tried to escape. I am reformed now(Disclaimer again)....

But enough of the philosophical speculation.
Now living with this handicap in a place like India presents its own set of problems and planning.Where at almost every nook and cranny you are bound to chance upon a member of the species, (yes yes again I know usually they mind their own business and the likes) a dog free existence is a utopian concept. And please don't ask me "even puppies???". I hate that. Puppies more. Cause at least dogs know the ways of the world and propriety. Puppies are finding out.....

So existence in Pilani was a series of minor heart attacks. There dogs would prowl the hostel corridors with gay abandon and I would gingerly skirt the corrdidors with the wariness of an army novice negotiating hidden mines.

Back in those days when I went to engineering college, we had dinosaurs in our backyard and no cell phones. Getting a phone call from home meant, your name being shrieked out by a multitude of women, till you scrambled out of your room. The telephone enjoyed a place of honor in the corridor along with the full length mirror and was seated on a brown rickety table. That day I was perched on the table, talking to mom. I usually have a third eye for dog presence nearby, but that day I must have been really engrossed, cause when I looked around there were about 5 dogs surrounding my table, gamboling playfully and trying to put their paws up.
My mom tells me later that she thought I was dying of asphyxiation when she heard my strangled voice. A gladiator couldn't have felt worse than I did at that time. Well my convict self would have I guess.

My life flashed before my eyes and I thought how ironical it was that instead of being surrounded by loved ones when I was dying, well that place was taken....
I could hear my mom's hysterical voice over phone urging me to be calm and chanting various "mantras" - yep she is very religious and equally scared (its so funny when I think about it ). But now I whole heartedly support all her religious fasts cause when i unclosed my eyes which were screwed shut the dogs were miraculously leaving. I sprinted back to my room as fast as I could while mom I think took some nerve soothing medicines.
Another incident which comes to mind is when I agreed to go on a picnic with Giddy and her friends when I was visiting Bangalore. (Giddy please remind me to pay you back for this). We went in a TATA Sumo some 5 of us and one dog. Giddy had "forgotten" about the dog she claims. Anyway there was no turning back then. The dog was called Twincy or Pincy or some such terror inducing name. Its owner also professed being scared of it. And the worst part was that it didn't have a tail.

Now in the absence of any other insight into the species I usually relied on the tail (as we had been taught in primary school) to determine danger levels. Now in the absence of a tail, I had no forewarning. So I sat in front, with Pincy behind. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, a role reversal of sorts and I sat with my hackles raised ready to pounce out at the slightest sign of Pincy's movement towards my general direction...

I have made a complete fool of myself on many occasions given this irrational fear, clutched random strangers, missed classes (yes)and generally made a laughing stock of myself. I have also been branded a sinner...

Well the last incident happened in school. I was in class 1 or something, and we were having moral science (this was a convent) taken by our principal Sister. Now the Sisters had a pet called Susie and it was white and docile and generally very nun like in appearance and behavior. It was similarly respected in school.
While the class was going on Susie ambled in and made straight for my desk and promptly sat below it. Now my fear for Susie then was matched by an equally strong awe for the said Sister at that time. So I sat petrified, fighting back tears, afraid to make the slightest movement lest Susie should become aware of my presence. I am sure I stopped breathing.
So the Sister was asking some random question like "Who all would like to go to heaven?", which a sensible 7 year old would pass off as rhetorical. Well they wouldn't and the entire class promptly put up their hand. The entire class except me. I was sitting on a live bomb remember ?

And this brought Sister's wrath down on me. "You dont want to go to heaven?", she asked incredulously little realizing that heaven at that time seemed closer to me than she could have ever imagined. I sat as though turned to stone and she came towards me. At which Susie gave a yelp and disappeared and I could hear again.

The trick to conquer your fears they say is to laugh at it. Over time I have tried to do the same. Now I affect a nonchalant attitude whenever I see a dog nearby (like it cares)and it has helped a bit. I must learn to whistle....

A Christmas Story

This is a Christmas story. And if you tell me that Christmas was a long time back, I would tell you that writing a Christmas story at Christmas would be tacky to say the least. And when did I pretend that these stories had a point anyway?

He had many names- Father Christmas, Saint Niklaus or Santa Claus in its corrupted version. And he was essentially a collector, a collector of stories. There were millions of stories floating around and what he did was to cut and slice and transfer them around. In that way he was some sort of a creator.

And there was Blinky, the elf whose job it was to keep track of good stories and give Santa the heads up. Cause obviously Santa was the public figure, the relationship man, or so Blinky believed. The real work was done by her.

So Santa was strategizing with January over a strong cup of sweet tea and buns. "Good buns Blinky", said Santa while January sniffed. She was a cold hard woman with a permanent hangover post the festive season. “So anyway", she went on. There is war going on everywhere. The world is in a state of strife. Figure you could get your dose of raw emotions.”

Santa looked troubled. But it was his job. To absorb excessive emotion, to absorb stories of war and strife and heartbreak, so that at Christmas some part could be transferred to those who deserved, or were destined. Christmas… when he would try to restore some sense of balance to the world...

...Blinky brought little heart shaped cookies for February who took her assigned role so seriously that she was almost a cliche. There she sat pink and trinketed, with her tinkling laugh, this last was a new development Blinky privately observed. "Oh darling I have the sweetest love story ever !"…..

It was a dull sultry night and Blink was working late sifting through the bottles. And there he was. She saw the bottle marked April and it came back to her. April was almost as dry as the arrowroot biscuits he ate and had told the story of a deserving young guy and his love for this girl. But she had not shown any signs of reciprocating and on the contrary took pleasure in giving him pain.

Blink had rolled her eyes at that story and stifled a yawn. She thought the guy was a loser in his own right for letting himself be treated that way. But Santa, the incurable romantic had gone to take a look ostensibly claiming that his stock of longing and heartbreak had run out.

And as she sat looking at the story, a strange mix of emotions surged through her, heady almost euphoric. She had never felt anything like that before. At first she thought she had accidently split some essence and spent a while checking for leaks. But there was no denying. Blinky had irrationally, irrevocably fallen for him.

And there was nothing she could do about it. The ancient treaty and all that jazz. She was surprised at herself. For she was an elf who prided herself on being level headed and mature. She was not like the other female elves whose dearest ambition was to serve the Elf Queen and dance around toadstools with prospects. She went out and got an “education”. And here she was. Drawn towards a human of all things.

She tried to divert herself. May came and paid a visit. Blinky loved May. They sat by the sea on the rocks and just listened to the sound of the waves. Not a soul for miles. She had enough contentment to last for a life time. She stole the essence and drowned herself in it. But to no avail.

Wisdom came with July. Wisdom and erudition. Listening to great men speak. Bringing back essences of motivation and action and focus.
She knew it was of no use. She knew she had to do it. She would mix him a story for Christmas. But this time she would play a part.

She thought of the day she had first gone out with Santa. She loved seeing him in action. "How do you know what to give them?” she had asked wonder struck, the first time.
“I just give them the essence, the thought, the idea. It takes the shape of whatever they want. That's true of most things in life", he had said.
“The emotions are there to influence the thinking”, he said and winked. “But there are some who do not feel the power of emotions”, he said suddenly sober “and they really get what they want..but such men are very few ”.

She tried to get a grip on herself and sprinked a few drops of patience to help her. “I must be as immune as those few men”, she thought wryly.

October came with her knack of firsts. The first ten seconds when you realize you are in love, the strength of that emotion had taken everyone by surprise last year, this year, she made them experience the dawn of a new day, when reality hasn’t fully sunk in and the air was full of promise and hope.

And the hope was her undoing. She sprinkled the scent of a ballerina’s dance, a heady mix of seduction, exhilaration and ecstasy and went before him….

Santa was furious. “You know what you have breached”, he said, strangely quiet. “Well so you must go”.

She walked up to him that Christmas eve..and he was there waiting for her..with a smile on his face..but she was there too and the instant she looked at him looking at her, she knew that he would never love her. And she surprised herself by wishing for his happiness and giving him the essence, the essence which would take the shape of what he most loved and desired….

But the magic would not work however much she tried…and eventually she gave up and walked away..

December was watching the scene with Santa. “You should have let her have this last wish”, he said quietly. “ It was not in my power”, said Santa. “ What she felt there was love, and love made her human. Elf magic would not work for her”

“So love actually pushed her to a lower level of existence? Pity I liked her biscuits..”drawled December sarcastically.

And Santa looked at all the emotions he had collected over the years, willing himself to feel a part of what the men in the stories felt, willing himself to feel love..”

“Actually, it is higher”, he said softly..

My job doesnt give me time to breathe, let alone write. I hope this phase ends quickly

In which we resolve to start writing again

The Gods play scrabble

So how do the Gods chalk out millions of different life times, millions of different stories for each individual? Or is it just an old formula rehashed time and again with a few subplots thrown in for variety? That had been the standard procedure with the result that the Gods had plenty of free time and were consequently bored. Among the more conventional pastimes was Scrabble which an enterprising God had once learnt from a pearly white (their euphemism, coz the Gods where the whitest and there was no better white), while he was waiting for an admit.

Consequently a cruel streak in them, for Gods have to be cruel to be effective, which mortal would remember them otherwise, made them adopt this device for designing new lifetimes ,a collaborative process now (the Wise One was very keen on collaboration. He called it a buzz word since so many gods talking at once reminded one of angry bees) .The possibilities were immense thwarted only by vocabulary but the Gods were quick learners.

The first word had to signify the beginning, usually words like creation, inception or idea (for the metaphysically inclined) were used, but this one started with “Baby”, made by the practical motherly-looking-old-lady-god. The other Gods groaned at this because it severely limited their possibilities but an eager-fresh-faced-goddess made Beauty.

“So the fairy godmother has done her work again”, drawled a sarcastic no-nonsense-looking-God and he added wit and the Wise One added intelligence.

 This was met with protests since these stories tended to be much drabber than the others and the Gods liked their fun as much as anyone as and more than most. But the Wise One just smiled and said that the fates had willed it at which Fortune threw him a dirty look. This new system meant a lot of implementation work for her and she was feeling the strain.

“Ok time to start the story now”, said the Creative-God also the god of mayhem, thunderstorms and the likes.  “I am tired of the same old rigmarole, it curbs my creative instincts”. And he took the lonely Y which was free and made Y-E-T-I.
“But that’s not even a word! They don't exist “, snapped the starry-eyed eager-fresh- faced-goddess. “I was going to use it for a youthful flame”, she sighed.
“Yea like you ever have any ideas. Of course they exist, I personally supervised the look, and all this mystery only adds to their glamour”, snapped back the Creative-God.

The Wise One had to intervene. “We agreed that this would be a normal life”, he said acidly . I am done with the rock band groupie crap”, he added wincing , the memories of the last story were clearly still fresh.

So the Creative-God made yak and settled down with a smirk.

Fortune firmly put holiday and then school. She was glad to get her turn in as early as this. At least they steered clear of the gangs and the cults, which were quite a rage with the Creative-God right now. The Al-Qaeda was it? It seemed to be the theme of the season! No this would be a good life, she was firm, if they could just get by without Lucifer arriving.

Lucifer ambled in crooning, “So you think you can tell heaven from hell”. “Well you can”, snapped the Wise-One.
“Relax it’s a song”, said Lucifer grinning. “Chap called Pink Floyd”.
“It’s not a chap you moron”, said the Creative-God.
“How do they know”, said the old-motherly-one suspiciously. “If you ask me these bands are getting too smug for their own good. Why I heard something like a “stairway to heaven”, gave me a turn I must say. “How would he know how to work the switch?”

“It’s a metaphor nanny”, said Creative one indulgently. “You know a symbolic way of expressing”.
” I don’t hold with metaphors”, sniffed the nanny. “Stick to the plain facts. What if we started calling death, the end of all hope?”
She laughed wheezily at her own wit. Death and Hope were constantly in a state of strife and everyone knew who won in the end!

The story was unfolding before them. A small fresh faced girl, laughing on her way to school, a youthful teenager holidaying in Tibet (heh heh, laughed Lucifer. He was the only one who got the Creative-God’s jokes. They called it a satire).

The wise one made college and work since the Creative-God hand had been hovering close to the D and R . “Well then let’s make it love”, he said angrily “and heartbreak yes heartbreak”.
The sound of her sobs smote the heart of the eager-fresh-faced goddess, who promptly made marriage, and tried to explain to the elderly one that “a nice cup of tea “would not work both in the game and otherwise.
“Depression!” screamed Lucifer, in his element now, and the eager-fresh-faced goddess made a trip to Europe and old-lady-god made babies.
Creative-God however made I-P-A-D. “It’s a chance” he said to his bewildered audience. “But I will take it”.

This was met with deep suspicion.

“Whatever is this? The other day u were talking about some IPod and now this?” The IPod is the biggest revolution since the invention of the wheel”, said the Creative God.
“Bigger than Let there be light,  countered the Wise One his eyebrows raised.
“ Oh come of it”, snapped Lucifer. "The guy is pretty much a demi-god there”, he said, as Jesus blanched. “Just a figure of speech”, he added hastily.

"Well let’s not do grandchildren and all that!”, said the no-nonsense-God as her saw old-lady-god hands hovering dangerously towards "crib". I thought she would be doing something worthwhile?"
“Let’s make her write a book”, suggested Creative.
“Careful”, snapped Fortune. “The last one produced “The Secret”, having people believe they could bend me at will. You know I could never refuse a little attention and a girl is helpless in the face of devotion” (“Girl!” cackled Fresh face). “This one had me working overtime for weeks.”

“No not that one”, said Wise one quickly. More on the lines of HP since her life has been devoid of great love or tragedy to produce anything groundbreaking”.
“Oh that can be remedied”, said Lucifer quickly and death looked hopeful (Hope flinched).

“No”, said the Wise One, “It’s getting late. Let’s call it a day”. “Hee hee”, wheezed the old one who always got a pun late. “Now who fancies a game of chess?” said the Wise One. “I feel like there is a war coming on”……….

A stupid post

As Calvin would say, the quality of network programming is all violence and sleaze, and obviously we are hooked. How else would shows such as "Emotional Atyachaar", which sells infidelity, vicarious titillation and underhandedness and "Dare to date" which is the last word in wannabe behavior be allowed air time? Since I had not been a part of the “Rakhi ka Sawyamvar” movement, I made it a point to watch “Rahul Dulhaniya..”. To watch a couple of misguided females lie and cajole their way into the heart of a groom of questionable charms stops short of bizarre. Of course love is not blind; it can see and smell the money (ok maybe that’s a tad unkind!).

This was also the year the three Khans got out their magnum opus and fought for air, copyright and political time. While I liked 3 Idiots and MNIK (Yes I liked it, but I am an ardent SRK fan anyway), it is Veer which made an impression. After all it took Salman Khan 35 years to think up the story, so it deserves at least 35 mins of our time.

A narrative rich in history and patriotism and machismo and hence substantiating the torso revealing nature of Veer (the script demands it), Veer seeks to portray the lives of the war torn Pindaris .

Maybe his brain was overheated with 35 years of thinking, but Salman seems to have thought too far back into the past. The Pindaris seem very primitive in the evolutionary scale, their grunts and chants resembling the early man much more than any post Christ civilization.

Add to that a predilection for wrenching spleens, a general preoccupation with parts of the anatomy (wrist hacking and head butting), disturbing mom behavior (provocative dances with sons), the Pindaris seem to be a tribe in desperate need of a biology, anthropology and a societal norm lesson.

But their heart seems to be in the right place. Unfortunately the same cannot be said of their brains. For the Pindari father will kill his son and vice versa to be proved right and hence show that he is a man of his word (lessons in prioritization please!), the dashing Pindari guy will kill palace guards with impunity and steal royal treasure, but will endanger the rest of his clan in seeking to return “ek maa ki nishani”, the ambitious Pindari guy will impersonate a royal title to gain access to the palace, but his heart will then reassert itself and remind him of his true identity. He will then choose the most importune moment and emotionally blackmail people into addressing him by his correct title (gets beaten up till the heroine shrieks out ‘Veer”).

But he evolves fast. While he has been brought up delighting in simple pleasures such as dousing his dad with water and head butting him umm, he is equally at home in a royal cocktail party, playing the piano! He doesn’t know the alphabet but reads GB Shaw and figures out the divide and rule policy of the British based on his interaction with a racist professor.

But then Veer is no ordinary Pindari. He has been raised for a purpose. He is sent to school in England by his father who fondly believes that three years in England spent courting bovine heiresses will equip him with a firm understanding of the “way Britishers think” and hence enable the clan to defeat them at war! And what about the Maharajas they could never dethrone? Didn’t they already understand the way they thought?

The epic love story talks of the forbidden love of a princess who resembles the royal elephant for Veer. While she has every cause to hate him, she has for the alternative a gold fisted (he he) father who can kill her at slightest provocation. The film toys around with her dilemma for a while and then quickly retracts when faced with her complete inability to register any emotion. She is told to stop thinking, fall in love with Veer, dance with him and is then relegated to the background while the epic battle unfolds.

The Pindaris are bound together by a bond which is stronger than family, friendship of even acquaintanceship. It is a mutual love for violence. When Veer gets hit thousands of Pindaris from other provinces who would never have heard of him, attack the ramparts and get killed for his sake. And hence are sown the seeds of revolt , till the Pindaris get their rightful place in the scheme of things. Ok did I tell you that the son is born as his dad? Yes that is the disturbing  mom behaviour in action.

Weighty Issues

Mumbai is an accommodating city. It is a city in which jam-packed train compartments can always make room for one more. It is a place where landlords will graciously accommodate 5 people in the space meant for one, where narrow roads clogged with cars will still make way for that BEST bus (which should not be allowed in those lanes in the first place).
Where after being stuck at a traffic signal for 45 mins the taxi driver will wait even longer to allow the casual passerby, one who trundles along complacent in the belief that it is his right of way and glaring at the hapless car which comes too close or has the audacity to honk.
Mumbai is a resizing of expectations, one size smaller in everything.
So it is strange that in a city where the space constraint has made Mumbaikars evolve into slight, slim individuals, a survival of the trimmest, would be a city where, against all Darwanian edicts, I would manage to gain weight.
Now I have always been very tall and in a country where tall women are an aberration, it is more of a liability than anything else.
So right from kindergarten where tall equaled big, I have been made to feel guilty about taking up more than my rightful space in the terrain of life.
"Oh god Namrata, you are so BIG", would say a dainty 8 yr old, accusingly, my classmate then, who plainly thought I should be several forms higher coz of my "age" , while I would shuffle uncomfortably and try to look smaller.
Or in middle school when your friends come to about your waist, you would have to slump and slouch and generally contract in an effort to stay more grounded with real people.
You do have your usefulness to society. People identify your group quicker since you rise like a mast amongst a sea of other heads, you generally get pulled in for repair work and changing tube lights (yes I'm BIG if you insist but not necessarily stronger).
During shopping trips all your ready made garments have to go through a customization process and an incredulous salesperson.
Now it’s worse. You are tall as well as fat. That’s a new dimension to your problem.
You become aware that you are sporting those extra pounds, when waiters start showing you low fat options and automatically assume that you would have your coffee without sugar and your tea green, tactful colleagues start referring to you as "just right" instead of slim, you begin to think that jeans shrink a lot more during wash than commonly believed, and when your friends call and say that you look fat in your pictures.
So in a city where you are anyway taking more than your fair share of vertical space, throwing your weight around does not help much. Now you not only have to slouch your shoulders and bend your knees , you also have to suck in your stomach and such a 360 degree contraction is enough to make you curl up into your own ball of shame.
Shopping trips for more strategic clothing are also no fun.
Shopkeeper:"L madam?”
You, optimitic post your week long green tea stint and the lack of glucose making you light headed, fix him with a steely glare.
You: "No M will be fine".
Repair to the changing room where you grapple unsuccessfully with the garment, till your friends knock in concern. Emerge huffing and puffing and red faced your white outfit making you resemble a blushing penguin more than anything human, and assure them that obesity does not cause a heart attack immediately.
Now your mom advises you to go to the gym. "Doesn't help", you snap. "It will make you feel good about yourself", she counters.
"I still feel good about myself. And there is more of me to feel good about anyway. I feel so good I'm hysterical."
But then you watch London Dreams and realize that if Salman Khan does not apologize for his presence in Bollywood, you have no need to.
Well time to stop writing. The green tea is almost over.

Sunset Boulevard

When BW woke up in the morning , she knew it had been too real to be a dream. That the place existed and was not just a figment of her imagination.

She had touched those flowers, their sweet fragrance wafting through her, intoxicating her sun kissed body. She had tasted the icy cold water of the brook which bubbled frothily over mossy boulders. And the fact that she had the dream, the very night she moved here, far from everyone, meant that it was a sign.

That place was here somewhere. Waiting. Especially for her.

So she set off immediately after breakfast.

The early morning light had just begun to seep in between the fronds of the trees skirting the lodge.

The proprietor said that there were many springs and brooks in that area, but if she took the straight road through the woods, she would doubtless come across the one her friend had told her about (it was the only story she could come up with) sooner or later.
She found the first one soon enough. But it was obviously not her brook. The flowers were wilted and the water too muddy.
She found a dry patch on the grass and sat down to rest for the walk had tired her out.
And she dreamt of the little girl who had played house with her friends, and who had brought up a new role for herself every time. Doctors, teachers, actors, dancers, she went through each with a comfortable assurance of her own right to them.

New roles, new possibilities and a belief that possibilities were endless and that ability was infinite.
"You can be whatever you choose darling !" and there was nothing holding her back. But it changed the day she went to school when the teacher said " You are too gauche to be a dancer" and her classmates laughed at the idea of her being an actress. "Get real", they said.
Reality was all about imposing limitations.
BW woke up with a start. The sun was in her eyes almost blinding her and she quickly resumed her walk. The next one was prettier and the flowers especially.
The same flowers he always bought for her because they were so "her". The same flowers he was carrying the day she said , " I don't want you to love me for a reason. I want you to love me for all those imperfections which anyone else would find irritating. I want you to love me because of them and not in spite of them. If these flowers remind you of me , why do you get me new ones everyday? Because you do not like them when they are wilted. I would want you to love the flower regardless of the state it is in, regardless of season, love it when it is fresh but equally when it is wilted. "
BW thought wryly that love blooming was a good analogy for a relationship. Yes it blooms. But it also wilts and fades.
The next one was almost but not quite perfect. There was a sharp nip in the air and the water was too deliciously cold for comfort.

Yes comfort, stability was what one wanted. She thought of the choices she had made.
Any risky alternative was abandoned in favor of the slightly more known. Career choices were conventional, opinions if just her own were too risky and had to be ratified by someone else.

There was comfort in letting others make decisions for your life, it was made easier in a society in which it was the "proper" thing to do.

There was comfort in treading paths once trodden by others and not making the same mistakes. In running away from the unknown and untried, in not going against the opinion of others.
When did comfort become cowardice?
Well she would not let it this time. She trudged along.
When she came to the next one she knew instinctively that it was the one. Here at last could she finally be at peace. But there was always the nagging doubt at the end of her mind. What if there was something better, something unimaginably better further on. Shouldn't she at least try?

When should one learn to be satisfied and stop being ambitious?
And the answer came to her as she watched the sun set ushering in the sudden nightfall. It was too late , too late to go further, too late to turn back , too late to change anything.

I want to write but cant think of anything

Nice to know that people had been tracking the blog (grins from ear to ear). As for a "good post", we might have to do some "expectation setting" here. This is what happens when you are in a risky sector in a downturn. You swallow all the advice sprouted by the employee motivation and human research columns in a bid to retain your monthly paycheck. Till other sources of funding can be arranged. After all you are just marking time till your dream offer comes along.

But leaving aside me and my job woes (and the fact that the HR columns have warned me strictly against writing anything about my job in public forums ), I could try writing about what else I have managed to do between a 9 -12 pm work schedule (weekends included) for the past few weeks. And I still cant define what I do! (No not what you are thinking).

The only movie I managed to watch was Love Aaj Kal, for which I was 45 mins late. So though I missed the break up party (?? really??), I was in time for Saif's espousal of the new corporate generation having too many things to worry about , like "Global Warming" (typical celeb! Anyone remember the downturn?), to give much thought to love. How apt.

Add to that the scenes where the lovebirds mask their true feelings by pretending to hear someone at the door, we have a movie which provides an amazing insight into the current Indian psyche.

Of course we are no different from the aww-so-romantic generation. We are as sacrificing as them, if not more (they drink black tea , we let them keep their jobs), we love getting beaten up for them, since in this age of digital photography we still have only one picture of her, and we make realizations only during weddings and love breaking them up. Yes we are no different.

But everyone looked hot and danced well (umm except the wooden capers in the Punjabi wedding song) , and the music is preppy. And for a generation too busy trying to keep carbon credits to a minimum could we ask for more?

Coming back to life

And so I break the jinx which had me closing the window every time I clicked on my blog , either too weary or irritated or too uninspired to post. But on this particularly sleepy workday, I have finally managed to find a proxy to access these erstwhile blocked sites. And so I return, after having been given up for dead..or in this case dumb.

I dont even remember when I last posted so I cant really give an update on what I have been upto since. Just as well.

Stardust..

In days filled with..

Assortments of garments piled high on display, a dizzying collection complete with for sale exclamations ..

A sea of humanity trying to out bargain the other..

A more "sophisticated" sea vying with the other for the more expensive purchase

A sea of consumerism..

Gucci clad women, high heeled and skinny jeaned, flamboyantly bagged, blue toothed cell phoned men, teenagers clad in shorts and black slippers (why does everyone look the same?)..

Amidst a head spinning array of merchandise.....

skin colored make up counters shimmering with blue and pink glitter, blue coloured perfume shelves, each fragrance more saccharine than the other, steel and diamond watches, cold to the touch, bags and belts glaring from the sidelines, shoes and accessories glittering and golden, coffee counters with a nauseating aroma of hastily brewed- muddy beverages in Styrofoam cups and crumbs of muffin on the tables....

In the midst of all this imagine..

A brown branch of a tree bent in the night breeze, with dark green leaves , specked with dew, and in the pale light of the moon, the bough is inky blue and the leaves inky green and the dewdrops glistening like globules of mercury swaying gently in the breeze..

The taste of bittersweet coffee drunk after a chunk of dark chocolate, the ones with nuts, smothering the sweetness with its subtle fragrance, the first few sips only, warm and invigorating..

A single pink rose, swept wildly in the breeze, in the windowsill of the house on the edge of the cliff, looking down on the chalky white sea raging behind, observed in the moonlight by the stranger in the house..

The sense of clam which pervades after you cry your heart out..

The first rush of love or affection at the sound of a long forgotten voice, or the involuntary smile at their messages..

Music which electrifies you in a movie theatre , spine-tingling , mesmerising melody..

Early morning paper reading sessions with a cup of tea..

Standing in an air conditioned room and feeling the warmth of the sun through a bay window..

A few flavours to get you started..

It was the stuff dreams were made of

When she was a child she had imagined a room full of innumerable mirrors, at all angles, of all shapes and sizes such that a single burst of light would make it sparkle and shine as brightly as a giant polished diamond.

And she would be inside too awed to speak, content to just bask in this sea of jewels, a queen in her own private fairyland.

The lights were dimmed now, pale blue and white.

She would dream of lands far away , smothered with clouds, pale blue and white, of sparkling fountains and snow capped peaks, of pale blue summers and white winters, of pale blue ribbons in white dresses.

Of a pale blue dawn seen through the whites of the mirrors, many mirrors, evoking a realm of possibilities, each mirror a vista silky white to the touch.

The lights that were falling were harsh and red, smouldering and fiery to the touch. the reflections were her own, many aspects, many faces, some whom she recognized, many whom she didn't.

Some enduring the harshness of the fiery light and getting lost in the darkness and shying away.

Some fighting the flames which would then glow orange and pink and illuminate a mirror, previously undiscovered, a face hidden in the shadows.

Broken shards from thunderbolts of light, broken dreams and broken personalities.

The room was dark and a single flicker of light would open a multitude of possibilities, a plethora of emotions.

But she knew that the sights would make her dizzy, so she stayed in the darkness.

And it was just another day

So being in Mumbai and staying alone at Worli, I have pretty much the same experience as many others , that of mute and horrified spectators. Much has and will be written about it, and my sense of outrage and disgust would be as good as any other. The weekend before i had watched two movies at Metro (yes the same one) and though it seems like an eternity away i shall do my best to return to normalcy.

So Yuvraaj happened to me the day it made its unwanted presence felt in the movie theatres. One time celebs rehashing a formula which might have worked once (and still makes me embarrassed that it did ). As if the effeminate, multi pierced, fake-accented , aging Khan wasn't enough, you had an eager to please by-copying-autistic-children Anil Kapoor along with the non descript(whats his name again?) Zayed Khan. Saas-Bahu inspired seductresses and holier than thou poison administering Mama-ji's completed the demented family picture (no Anil kapoor was not the only one). Katrina Kaif and Rahman were brought in to temporarily reduce eyesores, and calm nerves which had been frayed with trying to watch blubbering Khan's and hamming Kapoors. I rate it a sell (Ok so I am reading analyst reports)

Dostana was better than I expected and that is that.

There will be a time..

There will be a time when music would no longer accompany sorrow

When music would no longer accompany festivities

When outpourings of music would no longer mirror outpourings of grief or joy

When there would be endless music..

And it was not just the songs.

A chance remark evoking vague memories, innumerable objects, random people on the streets, making coffee and working nights, there was a bit of him in each of them.

Bits she was trying to shake off but they were parts of her and clung too tight.

He was no longer her last thought when she went to bed, or the first thing she thought of as she faced another dreary day, but they were there, memories , dozens of them , lodged firmly in the back of her mind, weighing her down.

The day he left, the day he died, she felt a void so sharp, as he took away a part of her that was made for him, for their lives together, a void which just got bigger the more she let him claim.

There was a time when reason and emotion had walked together and indulged in devious games of power play.

There was a time when she welcomed Fortune as a fitting adversary and exhilarated by the test she put her to.

There were times when she just succumbed.