Chiffonesque

Big changes are afoot. The rest of this year I’ll make choices that will probably throw me off the deep-end very often. But I know how to swim. Although, literally and figuratively, knowledge of swimming is not the only thing that saves a person from drowning. However this month, a few months into 2010, I realize that hard times will come…but they will come beckoned. Nowadays, I take short runs in the night. It’s dark, where I go to run. There are few street lamps surrounding the promenade. There might be one or two where trees are the most dense. This promenade circles a pond that is joined to a marshy creek somewhere else. Mostly, the water in the pond is still. At times, though, the surface shimmers with gentle creases. The water looks like the thin film of cream that begins to form on milk when it’s allowed to settle. Bats circle in the sky. Those scare me. I have, at one time, seen a silver and black mottled snake slither away into the marshes. It was so beautiful. In the ligh

It's my mother's birthday tomorrow. I was planning a surprise party, but since my mother just wanted to know everything about everything, there's going to be no surprise. As for party, we've kept it for the weekend. So, as of right now, it's whatever show I can put up tonight and a family dinner tomorrow (where we will undoubtedly discuss the subject of endless familial hilarity - my brother.) This is the plan for midnight, though. Go up to the terrace and cut the cake under the open sky and rhinestone stars and a winking moon. The terrace has become really pretty now - with cool, marble flooring, cane furniture and a glass table from my Bandra home. I also got a humungous Chocolate Melange cake from Costa. That's the best I could do. It didn't occur to me to order a fancy cake yesterday. I was floundering about what to get, when I thought of Costa (I am always thinking of Costa, by the way). So, I just went and bought over a whole cake. At one point,

If one somehow came to know that she had a very short time to live...maybe three months, at the most...and one still decided to live life the exact same way as before. Wake up on the same side of the bed and use the same mouthwash, and miss the office bus by exactly the same ten minutes and curse the fourth rickshaw-fellow. Smile the same way at kids, or still fold newspapers without reading them, still wait for the same phone-calls, still hang up on the same people. What could one gauge about such a person? 1. That she loved her life so much that she didn't want to change it? 2. That she was so thick in denial that she didn't know she had to change something before she died? 3. That she was so far gone that death could not really alter the way she lived. If option 3 is the only option that ends with a period instead of a question mark, is that a give away? How different, then, is an answer from a judgment?

Today would be a tough day to get through. There is a lot, a wheezing, creaking lot of stuff to tackle. I really just wanted to sit on a couch, slurp Maggi the whole day, and wait for it to end. But I had a sleepless night (yet again), and the sun rose. For lack of anything better to do, I went up to the terrace to do yoga. As I unrolled my mat, I saw a dove hopping on a window ledge. It flew off a second later, and its wings seemed to be made of milky silk handkerchiefs, rolled gently around the edges, like serviettes. Another terra cotta bowl in the corner had a shock of bright, vivid moneyplants pouring out of it, like green vines of smoke. And further from my line of vision, unimpeached by distance, was a rose bud on a long, straight stalk. It was the only nib-point of red in the vista, and it was stunning. The day has begun, and as expected, it is gruelling. But I'm still glad I woke up early to greet it.

They came like rain Those nights and dawns, Unbeckoned, unruly, Like gold, wanton storms; Black, velvet sheaths That covered and held Filaments of beauty Exquisitely jeweled; Nocturnal whiffs of the easterly Tangled in open hair, Messy and strong and braided With memories of us there… By the sea, gazing at a constellation Of innocent, fairy lights, That descended to crown and serenade A thousand passing nights. On the shore, feeling the tenderness That cloaked those luminous boats On the fringe, wondering against reason How exactly do dreams float? Those nights that came like rain, Would end with cold flames in the skies; They’d begin with uncertain hellos, They’d end with unspoken goodbyes. Written in gratitude for the night trips to town for fruit and cream, for the breath-taking view of the harbour when the day's split between ending and beginning, for the overflow of the heart, for the reminder that it is still possible to get so foolishly happy about some things still.

Have been there in the morning, watching sunlight bleach the lazy streets and glint off multi-colored gypsy necklaces. Have been there in sweltering afternoons,walking on paths cloaked with pink and yellow flowers. Have been there during dusk when the sky shimmers, purple and flimsy, before a stronger night takes over. Have been there at night, when the harbour gets lit with candy-like gemstones. Have been there at dawn, when that area is getting doled out the most perfect part of tomorrow. How do people breathe in Colaba? When every moment could take their breath away?

I left my Bandra home yesterday. My building is going for redevelopment, so the house will be broken. I'll come back to a bigger house on a higher floor. This house, the one I left, will be gone, though. And with it, all the information that made me 'owner' of the place. Like knowing that the better views are from the side windows, instead of the main ones. That eating porridge on the floor of my rather large kitchen, listening to the bird songs, is the best way to begin a new year. That, when it rains, while the rest of the city gets wet and flooded, the little square world framed by my window pane gets magical. That sitting slightly crooked on my cane furniture is the best angle to paint your toe-nails. That lying down between the joints of my sofa-cum-bed is uncomfortable; but it's worth every ache to see the moonlight trapped in the hair of the person next to you. That the third fold of the left curtain has a tiny smidgeon of tamarind paste. That, although, it is on

Was battling bitter sleep and heavy ennui in the pantry. A friend came over to say bye. She was leaving for home. I mumbled something and slumped over. A minute later, she poked me, pointed at the window and left. Outside, the sky hung spongy, dirty grey, muddied with the day’s grime – like this deep, thick quilt of heat and nothingness. Right in the middle of it, the sun shone. It seemed as if a white, smooth, round pearl got prematurely exposed in the oyster’s womb. With that, the sun set. The day was complete. Maybe things really do get perfect just before they end.

I am older now, wiser and hence a tad more aware of the discontent that rumbles in the pit of my heart. It's the kind that won't go away. It won't get distracted with all the pretty things I show it. It won't balk and run away because of the myriad fearful scenarios I put up. It just stays there, filing away its nails, not forcing me to look at it, but compelling me all the same. With its faux nonchalance, it whispers: whenever you are ready. It seems to me that now, for a long time, I am wrestling to do something with my life. Or, if not all of my life, then at least significant portions of my days. Now, I am usually not one for subtle negotiations, etc. So, I usually try to pummel restlessness into subservience or shove it aside. But it comes back, all cool and strong, arching an eyebrow, muttering: whenever you are ready. I usually don’t have a hard time knowing my mind. Well, it’s fairly blank and straightforward, so what’s to get confused about. But there are so m

I am so unbelievably happy today! Not sure why. Maybe because April has begun. It's my birthday month. I love April. It's the equivalent of a splash of tobasco sauce on a dish of bland mashed potatoes. It's like magenta nail polish on fingers that have only seen French manicures. It's like a slip of red lace peeping out from under a serious grey jacket. It's the big, full kiss on the mouth when you're simply leaning in for a discreet hug. I get a little crazy when it’s my birthday. I’m so thrilled to be born! Of course, it would be nice if people around me shared the same enthusiasm, but never mind. Some people just learn stuff late. That’s what I love about myself this month – this warm, muffin-sweet magnanimity. Anyway, I have lots of plans for April. I am going to spend more time in town. I am going to plan my sabbatical meticulously. Will definitely create something during that time. Will practice yoga more regularly. Also meditate. And study something. Or