Soon to be over

 Haven't posted in a while. It has been heavy, sad and busy since the last few days or weeks. Or months or years or lifetimes. Who knows? Sometimes I feel as if the world around me is wobbly...like jelly that has not set. Parts of this jelly world lead you to another dimension. Friends who are no longer part of my life, a childhood that dissipated, dreams that I plotted for but lost, a body that for a brief moment held joy and abandon before fortressing it to prevent shame and rage, my mom, and two little babies.

Two little babies died today. I didn't know them. But I got the message and couldn't get out of bed. Little tiny babies. I was looking out the window and saw lots of things...cars, people, a flute seller, a fruit vendor arguing with a rickshaw guy who bumped him, kites, etc. But no babies. No one held in the arms of a grown up. No one in a pram. 

It was a bad idea to talk to family or meet a friend in this mood. Obviously didn't go down well. Maybe it will sort itself out. Maybe it won't. 

What does it matter? Two little babies died. 

Quickster

 It was a rushed trip to Vashi today. Saw the fam! Felt good. Hopefully Papa will come on Monday. Here's hoping!

The SEEPZ expedition

 I went to SEEPZ yesterday to meet the team I will be working on a long-term engagement with yesterday. Bought a new chocolate brown dress with sand colored polka dots. Wore them with these really pretty high-heeled pumps that I got during the pandemic. It's a really nice smart pair of pumps but I had forgotten how soul-sucking and painful wearing heels can be, especially in SEEPZ where the place has been overrun with trees and tall grass - so much so one could shoot an ad for Woodland there. SEEPZ is right on the precipice of office space turning into full throttle forestation. 

Anyway, I caught a rick and it really has been clearly a long time since even the rickshaw fellow must have been there... because the first guy I asked agreed promptly (during monsoon, no less). Otherwise, one encounters at least 3 rejections before you get someone - Ola, Uber, notwithstanding. 

Anyway, near Milan subway, a cop stopped traffic to let an old couple cross the road. They smiled and waved at the cop and we were all collectively relieved that there is much good in the world. Still. 

Those were just goodies for you

Nibu drew her pink lace curtains to let in sunshine. The trees outside shimmered as if ground emeralds and rubies were sprinkled on them. Today was her big day. She was finally moving into her house on the other side of the village. 

Nibu made fresh orange juice and chopped up strawberries to eat with her bread. She was out of honey so she used clumps of raw sugar instead. She wore a pink top with delicate lacy sleeves and a full flared skirt in magenta. 

They were making quite a noise downstairs. For once there was no TV. Yet Sorrell was just about getting ready to bring the house down. He was quite a precocious 10 year old. Nibu had first met Sorrell when he was fiddling around with the TV remote but couldn't get the TV started. It didn't help that his parents kept him chained to the chair until they got home from work. Nibu had simply changed the channel to help that pesky boy out. And did he say "Thank you"? Oh no. He yelled and cried. 

Although Nibu didn't really like Sorrell, he was her responsibility. She didn't want him to feel sad and lonely the way she had, in the house. So she arranged his toys, marked down the funny pages in the newspaper, warmed up his chocolate milk, baked candy hearts with grapes and rose petals, and even carried him to his bed when he fell asleep on the stairs.

Nibu thought that they were forming a bond. But Sorrell clearly had other plans.

A few days ago, Nibu happened to overhear Sorrell talk to his parents during lunch. His parents had fought and argued so long with each other the night before that they took the next day off. With no energy left to yell at each other, they turned their tired attention to their son. 

Sorrell told them that he didn't want to live in the house anymore. He kept seeing some strange shadows moving around him. He had seen plates and glasses being placed on the table out of the blue. The worst was when he had fallen asleep on the stairs and he was lifted to his bed. 

Nibu listened to all this. Her heart grew heavy. Nothing was ever going to enough for this greedy little boy. 

Sorrell's parents didn't believe him at first. His father blamed his mother for feeding him too much sugar and meat. She was just about to snap back when Sorrell, sensing that his own pressing problem was about to get overlooked, took matters in his own hand. "Yesterday, you chained me to the chair. When you came back, I wasn't there." 

His parents were first quite pleased that he had made a nifty little rhyme. They quickly realised that it wasn't intentional and that he was actually pointing out something that had escaped their attention. 

They had indeed left him chained to the chair. When they returned he was playing in the library. Sorrell couldn't get out himself. Someone let him out. Could it be that Sorrell was speaking the truth? 

One way or the other, their child had to be appeased. A prayer and smudging ceremony would be arranged the next day to drive away any shadowy spirits from the house.

Tears rolled down Nibu's face. She never wanted to cause any trouble. But she clearly had - with Sorrell and the two other families that came before him. Maybe it was time Nibu moved out for good. Maybe there would be good little children in the new place.

So that day Nibu didn't come out of her room at the end of the house. Sorrell's family had not unlocked that last bedroom yet. Stories of a young girl who had choked to her death had been a deterrent. But the main reason was these people could not stop arguing long enough to decide what to do with the place. Nibu looked around that room. She'd spend one last night here. Then she would ready to leave. 

Now, as she wiped down the kitchen counter, just to delay matters really, she listened for Sorrell. 

"Will she really be gone, Mama?", Sorrell asked.

"Yes, baby. We will ask her nicely and she will go. Go on ask her nicely."

But Sorrell didn't and couldn't do anything nicely. So he yelled, "Go away, stupid! Go away,  stupid! I hate you!"

Nibu still poured a glass of milk and brought out cookies for him and left them on the table. Whether it was a tender goodbye or a last vengeful signature to spook the brat, who can tell?

But that done, she walked out of the window, floated a little bit in the air quite pleased with her choice of outfit, and settled softly onto the grass. She looked back, blew a kiss towards the house, and went on her way.

It was evening when she reached the other side of the village. It wasn't difficult to locate her grave at the cemetery. It was one with the pink inscription, "Nibu Derlas. A short life lived well."

Nibu fluffed her skirt, admired the sleeves of her top one last time, and lay down to rest. 

The next morning, clusters of pretty crocuses with pink petals and magenta smudges dotted the entire place. The children of the village called these flowers, "candy hearts".  

Strange day

 It has been feeling very weird since yesterday. A friend came over last night and we did a little yoga together. He is a lot younger and quite flexible, actually. But I don't think he liked it too much. I suppose if one has been into athletics and stuff like that, this stretching and holding a pose, etc. might not be exciting. Or, more accurately, I wasn't a good teacher.

I had curd rice last night. It is so beautiful, that dish. That and potatoes chopped fine and fried crisp. My cook had made sabudana khichdi yesterday too. I didn't have it but my friend had it and the other cleaning lady. They seemed to like it. 

My cleaning lady is now a grandmother. She had gotten married when she was 14. So now she already has 2 grandkids. The second one was born a week ago. This lady really is not good with her mobile phone. It's always out of charge or she doesn't recognise her ringtone so it keeps buzzing without her attending to it. And she doesn't quite know what to do with the phone. One day she told me that her family is at home so everyone she ever wants to talk to is in one place  She always reaches places on time so she doesn't have to call to inform people that she will be late...so why does she need one? I thought that was quite a persuasive argument. But I wanted to see pictures of the grandson so she sent that across. He is one little cookie. So cute and bald with eyes as large and black as the galaxy! He was sticking out his tiny tongue. I asked her what his name was and she said that she didn't remember. Then while dusting, she thought long and hard and said, "Dhyanchand". Then she said that that wasn't correct. She continued to mull over tea and then said, "Vihaan". Then very sorrowfully explained that her daughter and son-in-law had kept this modern name and the grannies on both sides of the family were having a hard time remembering it. "What was wrong with Yogesh or Harish?" I commiserated with her. I was confused, though, how she got Dhyaanchand in the mix. 

I don't feel good today. I have a lot of work and I need to get started. But I am not liking anything today.

Still, gotta be grateful for the small mercies - pretty home, wi-fi, nice cup of tea, and some struggle to lend a purpose to the day.

Gfrured

 There was a joke in Seinfeld where he says that isn't it interesting that every day only so much life  happens that can fit in a newspaper? I also think it is interesting that we are given a consistent segment of eternity, 24 hours, every day to deal with.

I am really exhausted. Have had a heavy heart for a while. Don't know why. My father got vaccinated today. He looks so happy. I saw that picture and started getting fever.

Don't know about anything else but I am not well I feel. Need to go to a doc but I really am scared of going to doctors. I don't know where this phobia comes from but I feel that they will remove my innards and replace them with that of an amphibian.( I can only recall frog as an amphibian. Which are the others? )

Anyway, I had a bad dream again today. I am having lots of bad dreams and when I woke up, I was croaking like a frog. Maybe it was just a hoarse voice but who will take a chance?

Work is endless. End.Less.

And now I am out of potatoes. 

I would like Artificial Intelligence to be chipped into aaloo so that before they gets over, the last spud spawns other potatoes instantly.

I don't know if that's in the realm of AI. But who cares. My insides are turning into those of a frog. 

A friend is possibly coming over later for chai. That should be good. 

Small mercies

Well, as a palate cleanser to such an acidic day, here are a few things I am grateful for:

1. A talk with A. He was obnoxious, as he usually is. But it is nice about how narcissism can actually deflect a lot of one's own pain.

2. A chat with J. She said that she and I should collaborate on something... something other than meeting in Delhi where we really will just wind up at Saket mall or CP and eat. But she suggested that we write a book together. It will be nice. 

3. A very soothing evening with my friend. It was very pleasant, mainly because he told me about his day that was bereft of struggle, and easy. It felt so good to live, even if vicariously, someone's smoothened existence. My life is feeling too rocky now. Too many cracked and sharp edges. Just listening to his day felt nice.  

Writing this compulsively helps.

What a shitty, SHITTY day!

 First get harassed by some creep on the road. Then some other creep who comes as a Swiggy delivery man. Then a bad bad stomach ache. THEN a call from someone I can't stand. Then some bizarre work stuff. And it's still not done. Meeting a friend later tonight to drum up some content for his business. 

You know what I can't stand anymore? This thought process that writing is an easy job. That it's simple. 

Really. I've HAD it. 

Monday is Doneday

 So, it's over. The beginning of one more week. 

An invoice got cleared today. So tomorrow I will go and get fancy groceries. 

I think I am really doing a lot at work. So I treated myself to gobhi manchurian today. I love gobhi manchurian. I prefer it to veg manchurian. I had it with some long grained rice. It was very tasty. But I am feeling a little queasy now. 

I was really unwell last night and this morning. I think I coughed up blood but can't say. I am in such a dense fog of sleep in the morning that I don't realise what is real and what is imagination. The thing is that lately a couple of friends and a guest had come over who all smoked a lot. And I had forgotten how sensitive I am to cigarette smoke. This exact same thing used to happen to me in Pune and in Noida, I was living with someone who smoked all the time. No wonder I was miserable.

I was feeling so sick that I thought I will leave for Vashi. But my father and brother turned up. That was really nice. Since it's not like my brother to bring me any good news ever, he was telling me about some Russian or Swedish study that has predicted the many variants of Covid and other virus that will start spreading more virulently within this year. Then he made some snarky comment about my tee-shirt, ate one phirni, and went. My father ate another phirni. 

I had 5-6 bowls that V had bought me. He always gets me those many and when I get them, I make a mental calculation of how I will space it out during the week. Here is my phirni schedule, basically the times I enjoy it the most:

1. Early morning on a day where workload is light. If I am up at 4 and there's just the slimmest line of dawn creasing the sky...I switch on my fairy lights, open the windows, peel off the foil from the clay pot, and eat the cool, creamy dessert.

2. After a rough client call, the sort you have to break your back preparing for, getting dry-mouthed and nervous, the knot in your stomach tightening...and then the release after call is done. Then I like to take a moment and have my phirni to celebrate the fact that I survived talking to so many human beings. 

3. When I am reading some beautiful, meaningful, sad, and loving yet heady. So, basically, Salman Rushdie. Or if I am not reading him, then thinking about any of his works. But phirni I usually associate with Shalimar the Clown or Enchantress of Florence. 

4. When I am watching a love story or something romantic on YouTube.

5. When I am writing in my diary or sketching with my inkpen.

Anyway I had scheduled my next phirni for tomorrow but I guess I will space it out. I mean, I suppose I could go out and buy the phirni myself instead of waiting for people to get it for me. But...to me, phirni is a lot more than dessert. It's this shaft of light that falls on a tiny flower growing in a dank cave, bereft of sunshine. It's grace.

Also, if I do get the chance to step out, I will go to a salon and have my hair washed. It is so relaxing, having someone stroke your hair, lather and soften your tresses with shampoo, massage your scalp as they work in the conditioner, then the warm water washing off all your tiredness. Then they wrap your hair in large, fluffy, vanilla-scented towels...so nice and luxurious. 

If I do get a shampoo done, I will come back and have a phirni.

Maybe next time I will write about caramel custard. 

Shit! My stomach is really paining badly! Cigarette smoke really is tough to take...

Getting out of Bandra and other tidbits

 A friend was free and we decided to go to Granth in Juhu. Now Juhu is not really that far from Bandra but I cannot explain the relief I felt. I think I have been in the house or just going around this neighborhood for so long that some kind of weird uneasiness was gripping my mind about traveling to a different suburb.

It was so lusciously rich to be in a bookstore. There's a line by Voltaire where he says, "Some thoughts are like prayers. No matter what the position of the body, the soul is on its knees." I felt that...that complete absolute gratitude of something so pure as a place that houses books. Okay, so they are for sale...still.

I bought a book and we decided to walk towards Juhu beach. It was so bizarre and awful! The sea was mighty and plush with roar and tide. The strip of adjacent beach was empty. There were long stretches of large, thick ropes separating throngs of crowd from getting onto the beach. Cops with large sticks and walkie-talkies were pushing back an adoring and slightly desperate crowd! It seemed as if the sea was a rockstar! 

Well, I suppose that is in order. 

When nature becomes scarce, it will be celebrated like a celebrity. And just like a celebrity, she will ignore us, put on her shades, get into her glitzy car, and drive off without so much as a wave. We stand along papping her - losing time, life, dignity.

Nature exits as mother. Returns as diva. And exits again. 

My friend and I returned and he made tea. It was quite exceptional.it was really, really good! First I felt bad that I was not making tea for a guest. (I didn't feel all that bad. I mean, it was the kitchen, after all. Not my favorite place.) But after I tasted the tea, I felt bad for whatever I was serving him earlier. Maybe that's why he insisted that he make it. (Come to think of it, yesterday V had insisted that he make coffee.) Yeah well...what can I say? It suits me just fine. But I feel bad for these guys. They come to visit and they have to do the work also. 

I wish I cared enough to want to improve. He he!

Father and brother were supposed to call today. Neither did. Not surprised. 

Spoke to A. Spoke to So in Bangalore and we talked in length about our long-term friendship with procrastination. Spoke to J.

Hmm. I do have a few friends despite how I make tea and coffee.  That must count for something.

First of August

 It's a nice Sunday. Weather is good. Already had a work call with a friend. Scheduled another work call in the evening with a client who has become a friend recently. So feeling productive. I really love working on projects like these. 

Today is Friendship Day. Also the beginning of August. I was quite excited about that because at least the halfway mark for the year is done. 

I miss my mummy a lot. She was my best friend. If I had an empty evening and wanted to go shopping or a movie or a coffee with someone, she was always my first pick. She was always my mum, of course, wanting combed hair before anything else. But she was so much fun...all kindness and snarky statements on the ready. 

I don't think I ever bought new clothes for myself without buying something for mom. And she did the same. And then we would wear our new threads and head out...even if it was to Hypercity and then stop at Starbucks for coffee.

Today I was going through the sale on Ajio. There's some good stuff. Usually now I just check out the Men's section for my father or brother and it's frankly no fun. They are both very conservative dressers and if I gave either a shirt with so much as lavender stripes, I would hear no end to how this can't be worn anywhere. Because, apparently, only blue, black and white are colors acceptable in public.

It suddenly struck me that I would never be gifted an outfit again. And if I kept buying new clothes, then the older ones that my mum bought me would be pushed behind in the wardrobe and I probably wouldn't wear those again. 

This evening I am probably going out...I will take myself out even if it is to buy black pepper. (I seem to be consuming a lot of it. And I will wear what my mum had bought me. Not as a gift or anything...just because she liked it.) So it's a cobalt blue skirt and a tight-fitting white top. 

I feel better already. Happy Friendship Day, Ma. Still won't comb my hair. :-)