Chiffonesque

Today was my first time catching a train at Mira Road station. It is quite a pretty place. The ticket counter is on the first level and there's a walkway that takes you to the various platforms. Mira Road has a view of the creeks and salt pans on one side. That entire expanse is open and free. Today, it was cloudy so the vista seemed awash with a minty-powdery-blue hue. It was a lovely November afternoon. While waiting for the train, I was generally thinking of my current situation. By next year, I have to have some solid plans on where I will be staying, which city, whether I should take up different kinds of work from what I'm doing now, etc. I would like a little more solidness to my life now. The gypsy needs a nest. The gypsy needs to rest. Around me, people may have been thinking about similar issues. They hid it with such panache, though. An old man sipped his tea noisily, a young girl in indigo leggings and raven-black boots scrunched a packet of Lays and threw it aw

When one is destined to take flight, what does it matter if the bridges are burnt?

Today, I moved in with a friend, Eva, at Mira Road. She has a cute little place and high dreams of beautifying it before Christmas. My role in this grand scheme of things would be to tidy up the place after the electricians and carpenters go and hopefully stay out of their way. I say 'hopefully' because in the past, I have tripped over their tools and broken them. I love moving in to a new neighborhood. I like the initial days of exploring one does, like a tourist. So far, I really like Mira Road. Eva's home is close to a lot of cute little kiraana shops and boutiques and 'Ladies' tailors'. It's such a big draw to go for a walk and see jars of striped candy in glass jars. Or long ropes of yellow and orange Lays packets. A couple of boutiques showcased some interesting outfits that I will check out soon. I was particularly riveted by a lavender halter top in a slinky material with a little bit of sheen and spandex. The bodice had a generous sparkle of mut

I think of all those things That made me blue And they were all those dreams That came true.

This is really just a note. I put it down quickly, though, because I don't think a day should be lost without people sampling what I'm writing about here. It's the red hummus at Moshe's. I was at Palladium today with my parents. I really wanted them to try the Egyptian dukka at Moshe's. Mum's agenda was to buy off the Rohit Bal store, so she just slurped through the fondue impatiently. It's the beginning of the week with a million things going on in office. So dad was talking on the phone. The bubbling cheese with pretty seasoning got pushed around absent-mindedly. I thought that my latest earnings from an assignment could have been put to better use. Like maybe getting them tickets to Elephanta or something. This Egyptian dukka was clearly not getting the importance it deserved. Father, after finishing his ten millionth call, mentioned that the fondue was too rich. He had spotted Lebanese on the menu and wanted hummus. Mum almost split a blood vessel be

The other evening, I decided to walk for longer. I'd reached the promenade earlier than usual. There was a slightly stronger buttery sunlight and more people thronged the walking track. By the time I was done with my usual rounds, the evening had set in properly. Twilight had floated away, dusk deepened and got spread like a tightly tucked bedspread. The moon and stars got placed in the vast heavens like dainty mints on pillows. Then I decided to walk a half hour more. Since this is winter, the sun just seemed to drop off the sky at some point. It grew thick and dark. Blue melded with purple melded with black. That was the sky. That, in fact, was also the world. Since the street lamps at the promenade function erratically, one can't really count on them to be lit when the sun sets. They weren't lit then. But the place looked mysterious and quite spectacular. Once my eyes got used to the darkness, I could make out shapes of different trees, outlines of park benches, the

A deep fascination for Shiva has led me to look at Mondays differently. I think it would take only an iconoclast like him to take the most dreaded day of the week and make it his own. Today, I went for a walk twice. In the morning, I was in two minds. I'd stayed up all night working and surfing the net. All night was spent in thinking up Facebook updates but giving in to reading other people's instead. Life is so big. Life is so much. Little curlicues of it, the ones that get shaved by time, get put up on Facebook. I really like it. In the evening, I met my friend and we went for our stroll to the usual place. Nowadays, it's getting dark really quickly. By the time we finish even one round, the sun has vanished and in its place, is a thick quilt of midnight blue. Sometimes, it comes with stars and a moon. Some other times, like today, it comes with nothing. Towards the end of the walk, I was startled beyond my wits! I saw a huge, huge, huge snake! It was the most magni

They call us sinners now, the lords of moral fiefdom, For the acts we've done and the words we've spoken, But when we'd looked for shelters from the storms, We'd found the temples closed and the gutters open.

Had a beautiful lunch yesterday. (It's three-thirty in the morning now. I thought of writing 'today' instead of'yesterday but realized it would be temporally inaccurate. However, the number of times my mind keeps going over those dishes, I think I'll be having that lunch for a few more days. In the mind, at least.) I'd gone over to a pal's house for lunch - a very tasty spread of Kerala food. And while I hogged on the yams cooked with grated coconut, hearty bowls of saambar and spoonfuls of al dente  avial, it was the stew with coconut milk that conquered my heart. That stew was so brilliant that maybe a movie should be made on it. I can picture a bachelor in his early forties, unlocking the door to his apartment and walking in to darkness. He follows this routine every night. Takes off his shoes, sits down on the couch for a few minutes, wonders what to do. It's been a busy day but an empty one. He steps into a shower trying to get a colleague's

This is a quick record of today because I understand this day will not occur in another 100 years or so. {It'll be quite a bummer if it does, though. "What?! We weren't special?" My race will whisper from whatever astral planes we are clogging up over the next century.} The day started off badly. Woke up in a bad mood and a toothache. My left cheek has a slight swelling which, I think, looks kind of endearing. It looks like I have bitten off a lollipop head and am savoring it. There's pain though. But things started looking up after a friend's call. She called me over tomorrow for a Kerala lunch. The prospect of food, the memory of food, the notion of food, food - they are so integral to my sense of...no, not well-being...to my sense of self. It is perhaps a slightly tragic thing to say of oneself but it cheers me up so. Later, I had a light but very tasty lunch of really well-cooked rice, daal , and some beans coated and fried in rice flour and coconut.

When sunlight oozes out of the sky like some A-grade cream cheese out of a Waitrose tube; when a soft puranpoli lies rolled up, fresh and warm on a plate; when a cup of the world's best tea is served in a favorite Cerulean blue mug; when the thickly wrapped book in brown FlipKart delivery cover has just come in; when you have ripped open said cover with an injured finger and a chipped nail; when the new book lies unveiled crackling with the goodness of tasty writing, when the day stretches on deliciously and the night promises to ooze out like some more cream cheese from a Waitrose tube...then there mustn't be a deadline for finishing up a press release. But what to do? There is.