Just some pictures today

A neighborhood that makes you listen with your eyes. 

 

On the night of the blood moon

 I had a very bad dream. 

Don't remember too well but I have a hazy memory of being somewhere upstairs in a house. Very dim light. Ting tong, ting tong, TING TONG...the bell rings again and again, louder and louder! I know that if I open the door, something bad will happen. People will storm in and burn the house down or kill me. I feel that I make a movement of tying my robe. I panic and look in the next room for my father. I can't find him. The bill rings louder and louder. And despite the fear, I get ready to head down to open the door. Except that I see my father opening the door.

And then I forget. But far away, I see a line, a long line of dangerous looking men with gaamchhas. They are hazy and soft and grey. I particularly see one man towards the right. All of them are facing house and staring. But this man is looking at me.

I woke up hearing the bell ring. I woke up opening the door. There was no one at the door. My father was doing Pranayama in the next room. I was safe. My family was safe. My house was safe. But I crumpled back into bed a heap of nerves with my stomach knotted up. Some dreams don't feel like dreams. They feel like memories.

****************

Guni had been a drifter for a good many years of her life. When she had a little bit of money, she was a traveler, not a drifter. When she had money and a sense of adventure, she was a wanderer. When she had neither, she was a loser. Having spent moments along this whole spectrum of nomadic juiciness, she saw herself as the Unbelonger.

Anyway, five years ago, the world had changed. There was a strange type of acidic pollen in the air and Guni had had to stay home. At first it was very tough. Then it became easier. Then again it got excruciating. Then again it got sweet. Then it remained as incessant and prolonged as a piece of unchained melody. Since Guni never went out, she stopped seeing the sun, the sky, the rain, the wilting flower, the pierced clouds. Over time she stopped seeing altogether. And on the day she went completely blind, the world opened up.

Blunger On

Full moon today. 

Went for a long walk. Picked up a lot of pav, veg puffs and two flaky coconut cakes from A1 Bakery. It was 6:30 when I reached the Bandstand turning and cops shooed me away. 

Tired and feel like having mango juice now. 

So be it...

 Well one way or the other, I got done with stuff. It is hot and humid right now. Mouth is dry. Skin is sticky. It's dark. And I am...

Got a bottle of cold water. Was a little disoriented when I stood before the fridge. For a couple of minutes I was looking for the AC remote in the fridge. My brain, I think, associated something that controls the cold with something cold...and there I stood. Gazing at the chilled can of Diet Coke that my father had brought for me earlier today.

There's a tough sticky proposition on when I finish at least two of my big assignments. 

A friend who had told me about this type of lockdown and the second wave right at the beginning of last year - before we knew of stuff happens in waves...said that this kind of on-again off-again execution of opening up and shutting down will happen until 2033. I don't know what he knows or how he knows but he had said stuff earlier that didn't make sense or was too far-fetched and improbable. And here we are.

Still. He can be wrong. 

Oh and just as I typed this out, I see this... Maharashtra contemplating extending the lockdown by another week: https://www-news18-com.cdn.ampproject.org/v/s/www.news18.com/amp/news/india/maharashtra-lockdown-to-be-extended-govt-mulls-unlocking-in-phases-decision-tomorrow-3773393.html?amp_js_v=a6&amp_gsa=1&usqp=mq331AQFKAGwASA%3D

Oh well. There's this chapter in Life of Pi where Pi wakes up. He is in the middle of the ocean. He hasn't yet mastered the tiger, Richard Parker. He has slept uneasily. I think the hyena is out. His body is flooded with fear. Has been flooded with fear. He prays. He sees the main religions in the streaks of colours across the sky - the orange and saffron streaks of Hinduism, the emerald of Islam, the white of Christianity. He lives and then one day he looks around. There's a lot of water, a full desolate, vast ocean around him. His family is dead. And he has no one. All the colours in the sky still get lush and pretty and majestic and in all this, it hits him - his family is dead and he has no one. He kneels down and he howls. There's only the animals and the sky and the water. No sign of rescue. No hope of escape. No certainty of when it will end. In the book, he talks about why he didn't kill himself. No great heroism there. Except that survival is a pact that every cell signs with the Universe and when everything else breaks down, that kicks in. Again no heroism there. Just the brain showing the heart a contract the way an insurance company will point out the fine print..."Yes, sorry that you are broken and stuff but you will have to go on. See, here's what it says in the contract. We will all be going on despite the pain and uncertainty. Thanks so much. Have a good day."

What a brilliant piece of writing that particular segment was. I started getting a sense of this in Varanasi. That we will continue. That THIS will continue. And not because we are strong or some other force or virus is fierce. It's because...it just happens. This no-drama, fuss-free continuation because that's the job.

 

The Monday that was

 Woke up at 5 am. Worked until nearly 1:20 am. 

Ordered a ton of stuff from Domino's and are. (Can't manage without buttery carbs.)

Saw a cartoon that represents one of my happiest fantasies. 

Feeling empty now. Will watch a few videos and slurp some sleep.

Sunday done

- Just finished Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn.

- Discussed a rather strained matter with my father. Made me sad yet made me feel a little empowered.

- Procrastinated. Didn't get any work done. Got an email from the client. Shitty. What's shittier is that I don't think I have the energy to work any more tonight either.

- Went for a walk.

- Spotted lizards last night and immediately lost all will to live. But it's happened to me in every single house I lived in. So this dance of fear, disgust, panic, truce, and action will happen.

Anyway, it's likely that I will not be posting for the rest of the month. 

A day and Albert Camus

 Today got a chance to go for a spin to Bandstand and Carter Road. Good to know that all's well with the natural part of the world...you know, the sky and the sea that aren't like you and me.

Today Papa told me about one of his trips where he had to pass through Germany. It was 1972, just some time after  the Olympics had happened in Munich and the event of the Israeli atheletes had taken place, etc. This was the year they introduced body search before boarding the flight. In Germany anyway. My father was carrying something for the ship and it couldn't be left unattended or something. He was holding it for a long time and then he got tired. So he dozed off. When he woke up, there were armed guards with guns around the package and looking very suspiciously at my father. (This thing of my father dozing off and then waking up to see something calamitous is...a recurring theme. My father went to Ram Krishna Mission Math outside of Kolkata and he was always sleeping in class. So he was made the head or monitor of the class because the monitor had to go ring the gong every morning at 4 to wake up the school. He apparently did that and then he was even more sleepy. So one day as class monitor he got everyone in the class to go to sleep. He was chided for it and he told his teacher that he was supposed to keep the class quiet and he met the brief. Now this of course I can't corroborate. But really my dad can sleep through anything as long as he is not unwell or uneasy. It used to irk my mom and me so much, maybe because the two of us had such a hard time sleeping.) Anyway back to Germany. My father explained something and they let him go.

Apropos nothing, if you live in Bandra and you want samosas, do get the ones from Radhe Krishna. They are BIG and tasty. There was a time Annapoorna, Sweet Punjab, and Guru Kripa were good but nowadays... meh! Radhe Krishna is really the tastiest I have had in a long long while. 

Samosas are very nice and happy-making. 

Albert Camus, I believe, once said, "Peace is the only battle worth waging." True. I believe that when I see a palm frond, a pool of sunlight, water softly curving around a jagged rock, a bird in flight, a child playing, a samosa...yes. Peace.

An interim post

 Day began early-ish. I finished off one bit of work and sent it off. Spoke to another client. I feel bad sometimes, the way I get irritated with that client. She is actually good to me. The work we are talking about now is actually one of the juiciest assignments I have had in a long time.

Cook is here. She is making mooli parathas. 

Already are jamuns with salt while playing chess with Papa. And a phirni after that. 

A friend recommended a book. Ordered that. It's called 'Death must die' by Anandamayi Ma. Based on her diaries. 

Weather is good. Tea is here. Will get back to my novel. There's a fair bit of work to finish. Will tackle it later.

Good stuff

 1. Ordered some Bengali food from The Calcutta Club. The mochar cutlet and dhokar curry were good. The chop was also tasty. But personally the shukto was not what I was expecting. They have clearly modified the taste for a Bombay palate that doesn't like bitter. But shukto with plain rice is one of my favourite things 

2. Work was peaceful. Or I ignored the hassle pretty well.

3. Papa told me an interesting story. When he was 15, he was traveling with a friend from somewhere to Calcutta. This was in the midst of the Bongal Kheda movement, an anti-Bengali movement that originated in Assam. (Whether was anti-Bengali or anti-Hindu or Brahmin Bengalis am not sure). A few stations before reaching Howrah, a group of men stormed into the train with swords and knives, attacking Bengalis. My dad had spent his early years in Mednapur, a place on the borders of Calcutta and Orissa. So he spoke both languages properly. When the armed group approached Papa, he spoke to them in Oriya asking them what the problem was. The group made some remarks about how ignorant the youth were and moved on. My father's friend had grown up in Cal and could only speak Bengali. Anyway, I was struck by a couple of things - one, this country has actually seen a time when being multilingual was life-saving, not just a good intellectual trait to keep in your kitty. The other thing was just how my father and his friends seemed to go around everywhere unsupervised or unaccompanied. He didn't grow up in a safer world. There were riots, mutiny, carnage, etc. But he would just go around with some equally footloose friend or classmate or cousin at the age of 6 or 8 and his companion was his age or maybe slightly older. I wonder if that's why my father overall believes that people do come around to help you. And that there is always more kindness among people who have less material possessions. 

 I really want to visit Kolkata with my father. Hopefully soon.

Okay. This is it for today. Will make some coffee, make my to-do list for the weekend, and get back to my book.

Sodden

Today was not much easier than yesterday. A cheery happenstance was getting my Zara packet with a light, floaty nurse-white cotton dress and a slightly cloudy tank-dress. Burst into tears quite randomly alarming my father. I think sometimes I feel scared that I will not be able to protect him from harm...and I mean random vague harm in the world. Or maybe people taking advantage of him or something. And he doesn't understand why any of that is triggered with him going to SBI. Anyway, since he loves phirni so much and usually has one as a midnight snack (and I inhale several of them when I am stressed), we were out and I wanted to get them for him. Now, so far, V had been getting me phirni and he had shown me the shop once, given me directions a dozen times, and I still couldn't follow. The thing is I can't get orientation unless things are arranged at right angles. Anyway, V will also be going away. I say 'also' because my father will want to leave for Vashi soon (he is getting restless here). And everyone leaving all at once just makes me feel helpless and anxious. So to get some sense of control, to feel a little anchored (and not some lame drifting leaf in the wind), I decided that I will go find that phirni place. Yesterday V gave me another set of directions that was even easier. It really was two right-angles from my house to that place. This kind of directions I understand. I wonder why he hadn't given it to me earlier. He can be sadistic like that. 

But the moment I got the simpler directions, I ventured into the more complex one. It's not 'complex' really. It's really not...just slightly twisted compared to the other route. That shop is so close that I reached it before one song on YouTube got over. But maybe I was avoiding it because I had always thought that as long as I was in Bandra, V would always be there to get it for me. 

But nobody's always there. And I always forget. 

Still, that phirni shop kinda looked permanent for a while. We'll take that for today.

Quieter

Today was a very angry and tiring day. I am so exhausted that I could drop everything and just go away somewhere in a heartbeat. 

Nowadays there's a rather large crow that sits on the railing outside my flat and it caws and caws and caws. Today it had hopped in and was taking a tour of the living room. My father was sitting and reading a magazine oblivious to it all.

I shooed it away. It was quite large. The size of a smallish toddler. When it flew away, I sensed the heft of its wings. 

Sometimes I dream that I wake up and right outside the windows of my bedroom I see a large lit strip leading to a place in the clouds. Maybe the moon even or the hippie candied crust of a rainbow.

Anyway, I made good daal today. And strangely the storyboarding that I had to do, got done.

So maybe that's the high point of the day - I got through it.

What I have been wondering about today

 That the only prayer worth doing is to gather, uncover, keep, and bring forth courage. That's it. I think from what I observe around me now or even what I observe of my life in the past is that so many mistakes have happened due to fear. And the one thing that fear makes you do is become pathologically selfish.

In school, we had an exercise where we took a well-known story and we narrated that from the point of view of different characters. So we told the story of Cinderella from point of view of the step-sisters, the fairy godmother, the rat who was part of the magical chariot, etc. It was a good, sharp exercise. Made one divest oneself of a singular point of view and explore the situation from another angle.

Stormy

 It's raining hard and there are slanted sheets of rain just moving across the city. A number of trees have fallen. I am taking a break in my bedroom. All of this morning was just negotiating on timelines, etc. Just aggravated me.

A lot of food got wasted. That's really upsetting.

Anyway, I still have a full work day to get through. 

Really just want to give it all up and get away. 

A compulsive dribble

 I can't seem to stop writing. Part of this could be to avoid continuing reading the thriller, 'Sharp Objects' by Gillian Flynn. I am still at the beginning but it's already disturbing.

Went for a walk. It was so gorgeous and fresh. It was overcast. There wasn't any rain or strong gust when I left home. But midway, the trees were heaving this way and that and the sky had turned the colour of wet grey silk...the sort that makes even leaves look luscious. A number of birds circled around without flapping their wings. They looked motorized. 

Ordered onion rings from Ninos. It was okay. But I hadn't eaten onion rings for a long time and I wanted something deep-fried. But am feeling sick now.

I feel as if I should write more. But I also feel like making chai. 

Hmm.

Chai it is. 

That story

 Since a couple of days I have been thinking of a short story by Rabindranath Tagore. I don't remember the details too well but in broad strokes, here's the story.  I think it was called Aniket or Aniruddha. For the purpose of this post, I will use the name 'Aniket'.

Aniket's father worked as the house help or cook for a very rich zameendar. In his description of the house, Tagore mentions that the house was so grand and painted in such pure white that even sunlight had to bathe before it touched it. The zameendar and his wife were good people, sweet and kind. They treated Aniket's father very well. During Pujo, they would buy Aniket's father fineries and sweets for him and his wife. (This part of the story takes place before Aniket's birth.) Both the zameendar and Aniket's father had been married for a while. Both were trying for children. The zameendar could not have one. And Aniket was born to the cook.

As a baby, Aniket would visit the zameendar's house. He was a happy, bonny baby and everybody loved him. The zameendar's wife particularly grew very attached. Meanwhile the zameendar and his wife kept trying for a child. They didn't succeed.

The zameendar's wife then started falling ill. At first, there was a little weakness. Then she started fainting off and on. Finally she had to be bedridden. The zameendar was very sad and could not bear watching his wife wilt away in front of his eyes. He noticed that the only time she got some life into her was when Aniket came to visit. She would dress him up, sing to him, feed him, and generally adore him no end. 

The answer to how he could cure his wife was clear.

So the zameendar called the cook and asked him to give him the son. He assured the cook that he would love and care for Aniket deeply. Aniket would never need anything in life. And neither would the cook and his family. They would be taken care of.

The cook was aghast. Although he realised that he could never give his son the life the zameendar could provide, he still wanted his small family to remain intact. The zameendar reasoned that the cook could always have another child. But he (the zameendar) and his wife might not be able to do that. After all, they had tried for so many years. 

The cook went home with Aniket and told his wife about the proposition. She howled and held her son close to him. She refused outright. But the cook reasoned. The zameendar and his wife weren't 'buying' Aniket by just throwing money. They were choosing the child from their heart. Aniket could be the reason for the mistress's survival. They could always have another child.

And so Aniket was given. Aniket was never to be told that his Baba was the cook. He would grow up as a zameendar's son. And he did grow up like that. Except that he grew up spoilt and entitled.

Meanwhile, the cook's wife pined away for her son and died. They didn't have another child. Also, Aniket's presence didn't stop the zameendar's wife from falling ill either. So her health also deteriorated and she died. 

The zameendar now drowning in sorrow was not able to be a present father to Aniket. Aniket grew up in the midst of a lot of wealth, no parent attending to him, no friends and a very doting cook who he couldn't stand. He would abuse the cook, throw food at him, etc. This behaviour continued well into his adult life.

Then one day, the zameendar died. 

The cook, distraught that his son now really had no one, went into Aniket's room to check if he wanted food, whether he was feeling okay.

Aniket was lying drunk on the bed. He didn't appreciate being woken up. So he kicked the cook and told him to leave him alone and get out of the house. 

The cook left the house and also left Calcutta. In the final paragraph, Tagore talks about how a frail old man merged with throngs of people at Howrah who were all going somewhere.

†*****"

I am sure I have bungled up some details but I remember how sad it made me feel. Whenever I read stories that really moved me, I would get Ma to read them. Then we would both cry together.

Anyway, I have been thinking of this story a fair bit. If anyone reading this knows more about this story, please let me know. 

A daily round-up

 Spoke to a bunch of friends...a couple of them from Pune who I miss a lot. I really wish I could go visit Pune for a short while. I just want to go, get coffee with a couple of my friends who gave me so much intellectual capital (and of course, pure and kind friendship) that I could go on and work as a freelancer.

One of my induction cookers is acting up. I have ordered for another one but I need to figure out how to get it repaired. A couple of my school friends sent me a few leads on Facebook. Will check that out.

Cooked palak and rice and fried potol for Papa. He really liked it. At night, I had made a roll of sorts that Papa could have with Kombucha. But he didn't have either. He doesn't like Kombucha at all. I try to give him some because it is good for gut health. He just makes a face. 

Got a bunch of mails from blogger saying that they reviewed my posts again and found nothing objectionable in them. So I republished them.

Sleepy now.

 

A short, beautiful moment

 Went for a walk this evening. Gave bread upma and coffee to Papa and headed out. It was a beautiful day today, overcast and intermittently breezy.

Quite a few cops on the road and dog walkers walking very healthy looking dogs. 

Walked up Pali Hill and went towards Carter's. Uff. I really love that walk. I do. It has poetry and song. It has the mosaic of time and the fresco of infinity. It has so much soul and stuff that my heart almost burst with joy. 

It may be time

 For some strange reason, Blogger has deleted quite a few of my posts because it does not meet their content guidelines. I don't know why. They have also informed me that is 'this' continues, then this blog will be deleted. And since I don't know what I did the first time around to merit the deletion, there's a strong chance that I will do it again. So it really may be time to put the blog to rest. Of course, until it goes to rest, it's still on. And when it's no longer on, it will no longer be.

Weird day

 I woke up fairly early today. Did one Surya namaskar. Dad was already up. Had to finish off a document. Did that. 

Trying to eat less. Trying to process whatever difficulty I am facing emotionally. It feels crusty. It feels like a knot in my stomach. I think it was Sylvia Plath who had described her pain in a poem as a still-born inside the womb. Feels that way. 

Will go. Will return.

I am planning something for next month. Or it may take a couple of months. Am hoping that I have July free. Something important is going to happen in July. Need to keep time and space for that.

One can plan. 

Stuff

 Things that went well today:

1. The dhobi turned up. On the days that he doesn't turn up, my mind does get warped in a weird way. I wonder where my sweet happy clothes are...whether they have been trundled somewhere to soak up grease and oil in a kitchen that cooks owls.

2. Got a lot of kombucha. Gave some to Papa. He didn't like it. At all. In fact when I offered it a second time, rather when I insisted that he have it since it's good for gut health, he just went away to take a nap. 

3. Cooked today. Not too bad.

4. Wrote a concept note that I am proud of.

5. Got a bunch of new threads from H&M and Mango. I am really in the mood to wear long, really oversized cotton shirts with shorts or tights or as a layering piece over loose dresses or salwaars. After things open up here, I will have a lot of drapey salwaars made of printed chiffon or light cotton to wear with them. The shirts are so good. I got a white, grey, black, and a striped shirt. The black and the blue and white striped shirts are so awesome. I was wearing a black shirt after so long and it looked so good. I have to say...H&M cotton shirts were a really good buy. I am also looking forward to wearing the white Mango dress too.

6. Ate KFC-style strips of soya chaap with chilled Kombucha today. Chomped through the whole box! Feeling sick now. Overate mainly to combat the sense of dread and anxiety. Have to figure out a way to move through this without reaching for food all the time.

7. Spoke to So. Felt so good! I am working off induction cookers in Bombay because I had seen her ace it in Bangalore. 

I guess that's it. There's always something to be happy and peaceful about. And that tiny sliver of hope is often the crescent moon to launch a celebration. 

Eid Mubarak everyone.

A quick little Wednesday

 The day went off really fast. There was a lot to do. A ton of work to finish. I did 1 bit. Then there is another section that is quite intensive. I should have woken up now to start working on it but am going to bed now.

So much gets skewed when I get into the kitchen. I cooked palak for Papa. I thought it was nice with garlic and onions and a tomato. I don't think he liked it very much. Actually he had become used to R's cooking. As had I. But she is gone now. And I am left.

Felt bad for Dad. So I got some treats from Theobroma...butter wheat pavs and an eggless dense chocolate cake. That cake is a genius bit of artistry. It's moist and rich and doesn't have the dry gravelly texture of an eggless cake. It's a superb thing.

And yeah ... whole-wheat rye bread.

Okay. Sleepy now.

Yet another Monday

 Of the many things that happened, I got an 'Important Notice' from SBI. No good news ever comes from such notices. So I opened it and sure enough, I have to go to SBI to meet someone about something I didn't do many years ago. 

I really do not like these meetings. At least before, there used to be a nice pub opposite SBI. One could have a strawberry iced tea after the meeting. And now there's nothing. 

First of all, I can't find anything...my account number, my cheque book, my passport, my birth certificate, my divorce papers, my erstwhile marriage certificate, my mother's death certificate... it's really horrible. If you have ever been to a bank or a government agency without documentation, it's as if you and your life didn't happen. I wasn't ever married, I never got divorced, my mom never died, I never went to school or graduated, and since I can't find my birth certificate, I don't exist and I am making stuff up.So I stand there in front of that stern lady or man in the bank just imagining up my entire existence.

It's a surreal experience. It should be part of a creative writing exercise... without any papers to corroborate what you are saying, make up a life for the bank.

Earlier banks had suggestion books and I had once written that they should have aquariums in banks. It would be soothing. 

Well it's not soothing and now my head is aching.

The call from Gaylord

 Mummy was a very social person. She had a lot of friends. She made a lot of friends. And she kept a lot of friends. 

I am (was) not a social person. I don't have a lot of friends. I make a decent amount and I keep very few of them.

For my 16th birthday, I wanted to go to Chowpatty alone (Chowpatty towards Marine Drive, not Juhu or Mahim). At the time, Chowpatty isn't the clean Chowpatty that we have now. It was choc-a-bloc with people, stalls, cops, chors, etc. - a regular Bombay beach. But there was one part of Chowpatty that I used to love. It was a narrow strip where the water came in and there was a sole coconut tree that used to be, for some reason, adorned with ribbons - pink, green, blue. It was so whimsical that I wanted to take a soft drink or sugarcane juice, pav-bhaaji, sit under the tree at night and be by myself. I didn't want to be with anyone.

When I told this to my family, my father recited the crime statistics in Bombay for the last 5 years. (He did suggest that I could sit under the tree while he waited in the car outside Chowpatty in case anything bad happened.) My mother was disturbed when she sensed that I was being serious - not about Chowpatty at night but about not having friends around. She thought that there was some deep social dysfunction at play. She asked me if I wanted something 'exclusive' - like maybe a private room in a nice hotel with a few friends. She asked me if I wanted to maybe have a drink ("Nothing wrong with a little bit", she said. I was aghast. My school had taught me that alcohol was for immoral, weak people and there's no reason one couldn't enjoy with juice.) She asked me if I was upset with her or Papa or my brother. My brother just wanted to know if I could leave the whole cake behind for him to cut and eat. (Then I could scoot off to be under whichever tree at whatever time of the night.)

I told my mom that I really enjoyed most by myself. With people, the pressure of conversation etc. was too much. With me being the birthday girl, there would be too much focus on me and I didn't like that at all. 

As it turns out, my 16th birthday was made out to be a very big deal. I had a grand dinner at home, we all went for a movie and a drive, I got jewelry from my grandparents and mom, fancy stuff, etc. 

That was that. But after I turned 16, when I did become more social, I wasn't so prickly with having people around. 

Still, I think Mummy saw something that led her to never arrange a party for me again unless I wanted it. 

One day, after work - my first serious job at Colaba, I had gone for a drink to a pretty bar in Mahalaxmi and then came home. It was such a beautiful place and I'd had such a fabulous cocktail (it had the pinks and purples and curls of thinly sliced ginger - it seemed inspired from a bird of paradise or something). I used to love going to all these beautiful places dressed up, catching a cab late a night, traveling home from town with the windows rolled down...and then telling Ma all about it. 

As usual, Ma was awake. She made me coffee and I gave her the grand narration of my evening. She loved listening to stuff in detail. (She would describe things the same way herself.) So I told her- about the lobby, the fountain with pale pink water, a beautiful girl in a form-fitting red dress, a man with a  horse tattoo on his forearm...all that. She then asked me who I was with. For a minute I thought I should lie to her and conjure up the name of someone - some guy even. But I couldn't. I told her the truth. That I went by myself. 

She stroked my hair, held my face, and said, "You really like going out alone?"

I lost my temper. I was so furious. I told Ma that I wasn't some freak and I wasn't broken and I didn't need anyone to pity me. She cajoled me and said that she never thought I could be so brave. She said that she was so proud of me. Well, I did feel foolish - all that rage and rant for nothing. (I was also confused because courage is not what I associated with getting a drink.)

Anyway, years passed. I was in Bangalore. My mother's health had started failing. But she hadn't been diagnosed with cancer at the time. 

One day she called me. I was at the co-working space in Bangalore. She seemed so cheerful. She was at Gaylord, a really old establishment near Churchgate station. She was by herself. Not with anyone. Not waiting for my father. Not alone because her friend couldn't make it. She had planned the day by herself. She had called the driver. Gone to Gaylord. Was having the cutlets and cold coffee that she loved so much. 

In that call she told me that she understood why I used to go to all those cafes and restaurants alone earlier. "It's so nice and happy like this," she told me. I agreed. To eat at your own pace is a very special thing. I couldn't stop smiling. I imagined her - all cute and proper with her sunglasses, sipping her cold coffee. She said that she didn't miss anybody at that time. "Only you," she'd said. 

We chatted. I told her to soak in the solitude. Bombay and especially South Bombay - according to me - is the finest place in the world (whatever I have seen of the world, that is) to be by yourself. 

After hanging up, I went to work. 

Then I called her up later that night. She said that after talking to me, a group of ladies had approached her and asked her to join them. Just like that. She did join them. (This sounds strange but this happened a lot with Mummy. People took a shine to her, invited her into their fold.) Then she told me about her new friends, some who stayed in Kemps Corner, another one who was from Europe, someone else had a bakery in Pune.

Of the many things that I remember about my Mama...it's her ability to have accepted me completely. Not my decisions or mistakes...accepted me. It's a massive gift. And it's a gift I get every day.

A morning of sorts

 It's 4:49 a.m. It's really true...the last thought you go to sleep with is the first thought you wake up with. So if you have slept with any measure of resentment and anxiety, as I have, one wakes up and  pretty much sees the day ahead of a sort of mental palate cleansing.

Anyway, there's a sweet moon and a soft city and a warm cup of milk and turmeric. 

Overall, one is grateful.

Friday

 I woke up very early today and am exhausted. I wasn't able to do something today. And I feel guilty and crappy about it. Today Papa said that I have to practice detachment.

I am tired. 

To focus on something good, I finished all the work tasks today. Despite attending to an emergency. Am pretty sure it has something to do with waking up early.

But am done. For today. For now.

What really ends?

 Woke up around 5:30 am to see this. A little soothing, a little sorrowful slice of a moon. It's the time of the year when Bombayites and Mumbaikars (they seem to be distinct categories of people) keep watching the sky hoping for grey. The lush, dense, thick, happy, plump grey of the rain clouds. 

Today there wasn't a rain cloud.

There also wasn't the usual suspect, the sun.

There was the moon from the night before.

Not knowing it's time to leave.

Thursadoday

 Have fever again and body ache. And I think it's because I find myself in the middle of conflict. It is really not a healthy space for me. And I just decided to start meditating every day. It always happens. Things just start getting really shitty when I start meditating. 

Anyway. 

R leaves tomorrow. Have to plan for housework now. And manage a toothache. 

One breath at a time. 

The Done-ish pastry

 Today was reasonably more productive and it really is because I tackled one task by 11. 

Now it's a given. I just have to start waking up early and tackling one main spot of work (actual work) before noon. Not mails or calls or that kind of shit. Actual get-down-to-it buckling kind of writing.

R is leaving day after. Booked her tickets. Feeling a little sad. After a long time, V called up. Not to say anything nice. He called me short. Which I am not. I am tall. Not that there's anything wrong with being short. Except that I am not. I don't see what right he had to call me short when he hasn't got me phirni or anything. Anyway who cares. I don't. Because I.am.not.short.

Having said that, there's a guy in Mahim who makes luscious shoes in buttery soft leather and I wanted one in red, spike heels. 10 inches. I wouldn't wear them. But maybe I would grow orchids in them and hang them by the window.

Growing plants in beautiful shoes has always been fascinating to me. 

I lost some money today. 

Oh well. What's gone is gone. 

Onwards. 

Before we end, a post-script

 Happened to wake up at 3 am today to see a teensy moon shining like a polished clove of garlic. And in a sleeping world, a miniscule city-cube home also shed its light.

Just two friends saying hello.

End, man, end!

 It has all just started feeling really hopeless now. Still, am grateful for all the things I have in my life, including my new friends, Fever and Fatigue.

Today I realised that I asked my father why he hadn't worn the new shirt I got him, why he didn't eat the bagel I toasted, whether he had indeed slept properly, etc. etc. Suddenly he decides to go to Vashi for some 'important' work and I honestly started thinking that he wasn't coming back. I didn't realise that I was compensating for all those years of being an aloof daughter. I have become a noose around the neck.

Anyway, he did return after spending time in Vashi. I had ordered for a chess board so we could spend some quality-time together. He was so excited! He opened up the chess set, arranged the pieces with a happy smile on his face...and proceeded to play by himself. 

Oh well.

He looked so happy that I didn't want to interrupt. (But I did asking him to take his meds... it's not like I like being the party pooper but some things have got to be done.)

Just so tired. I used to be an indifferent spoilt child. I miss her so much. My dad does too. 

Monday is over

 Someday I will calculate just the number of Mondays I lived through.

Today I lost my cool badly. Actually last night I did. Today I was sick and exhausted from the outburst.

Anyway still. Got through. Got done. 

Still have a lot to get through. Tomorrow.

What goes around...

 When I was a teenager, I had this burning desire to be left alone by family and friends. But mainly family because I didn't have a big social circle anyway. My father wouldn't let me be though. He was very protective. He would always want to have a meal with me at home (while I preferred to eat alone - a trait I still have) or pick me up from college or drop me to my office (when I got a job). I used to hate it. It had caused a lot of tension between Papa and me. For a good few months, I wasn't talking to Papa. I would write letters if I had to communicate with him. He would try to speak to me. But Ma would advise him otherwise. So he would write to me in return. 

Since college, I had always wanted to be out of my father's care. Not shadow. But his care. I honestly thought I would not amount to anything much if I let my father take care for me. My mom heartily agreed. She understood me to be the lazy, spoilt, opportunistic character I was deep down and knew that it was good if I didn't rely on Papa to always come to my rescue.

Now, of course, it has been many years. Life has changed so much. Today Papa said that he would go to the garage and check the car batteries. I immediately got up and told him that I would take him. He asked me if it was necessary that I go with him. He mentioned quietly that my brother would let him go by himself. Well, my brother wasn't around and the parking lot can be dingy and people can lose balance and fall. Papa stubbornly refused to let me come with him. I didn't let up either. Then he handed over the keys and said he would go later. While retreating to his room, he said that I was being way too unnecessarily protective. This way he would never get to do anything much.

Full circle, anyone? 

A bit of a prayer bead

 A portion of this morning was so blissful, it was like a perfectly polished prayer bead.

It was cloudy. There were kites gliding in the sky. Some crows sat on wires. A parrot flew about. I had a cup of tea brewed with black pepper. For a while, there was no call from work. There was also very little guilt of not working. 

I was breathing really deep. Everything about me and around me had slowed down. 

The leaves shook in the breeze. A koyal cooed and suddenly there was flute music.

It was perfect.

May the first

 My birthday month is over and I am very surprised at how I got through yet another day. I am feeling so exhausted and fatigued and I had to finish some work today.

Last two days. I have really enjoyed working on a short marketing-type assignment and another one that is more business-research-oriented. But the fasting and all that is just getting to me now. I had to go out today to get some fruits for my dad and it really was a bad idea. I was so wiped!

Still - what is fascinating is how my work gets done on the days it gets done and how it remains unfinished on the days it stays unfinished. It's like every task comes with its own destiny as to when (and if) it will get completed. Sometimes, I can put something down in a pad and it won't get done. On some other days (like today), nothing will get jotted down and they will all get done. 

In other news, the statistics for the blog are high. There seem to be a lot of people reading me in Russia. I wonder who they are and how they found me. More importantly why they read me. Actually, that is a reasonable question to ask of anyone who reads my blog...why do you read me? I know some who are my friends and they only read me because...it's like snacking, I suppose. 

Others I don't know. 

Anyway, most of my writing recently has been about how sick I am, how sad I am, how tired I am. Maybe then the tone of my posts is Dostoeveskyian? (It's so lovely to be washed in arrogance when there is no editor to mar your happiness.) Maybe that's why the Russians like me.

Anyway, a day is done. And with it some work is complete. And now I can go.