Unusually tongue-tied

That inexplicable feeling of utter weightlessness and suspension of all faculties when an unexpected encounter happens. Never mind that there is no relationship or even friendship to speak of. 

That feeling that breathing has suddenly become a conscious activity, and the flutters that erupt in the chest. Never mind that we haven't spoken in months. 

The split second of utter certainty that someone is meant for you, no matter what their/your relationship status happens to be - before the brain kicks in and tells you to stop being a fool. 

The power of someone to unsettle you so much that three days later, he is still all you can think about. Never mind that logic is one of your strongest points. 

This is not love. It is not infatuation. It is not attraction. It is not chemistry. Whenever I try and get this boy out of my system, he comes flooding into my life in the most unexpected ways. I haven't spoken to him as a friend in over a year. We admitted to having feelings for each other, and decided that they couldn't be acted upon. I imagine we are both doing the right thing by backing away. 

Only thing is, I wonder if the expression on my face mirrors his when we see each other unexpectedly - the shock, the widened eyes, the sudden tenseness of all limbs. The conscious effort not to look like a gaping fool and attempt to utter a few words in English that are not drawn completely from random. 

Who knew saying 'hi' could be so difficult? 

Hitting the wrong target

Note: I have been absent for a long time, so I figured I would put up my newspaper editorials as a meagre sop to my conscience. There are two types: ones that I write for Junior Herald, which is once a week, and the others which I write for the broadsheet, once a month.

Aditya Arya, new DGP of Goa police, remarked that if he was present in Balli, he would have ordered firing on the tribal protestors. I happened to be seated behind him at the time, and was part of the collective gasp that followed his comment. He may have explained, refined or even retracted his statement later, but the damage was done. The press, us included, have been hard on him; justifiably so, as a matter of fact. Why? Because his remarks hurt sentiments; inexcusable, regardless of whose sentiments they happen to be.

I apply the same logic to the controversial paintings of the late M F Hussain. People have argued artistic license and creative freedom till they were blue in the face, but the fact remains that his depictions of the Hindu goddesses Sita and Saraswati, hurt those of us who revere them.

To draw upon a simple analogy, which one of us, irrespective of caste, creed or religion, would like to see our mothers painted in that fashion? None of us, and yet Hindus who worship Sita as the epitome of motherhood are expected to swallow nude paintings of her without an objection. Personally, I find that unreasonable, and while I certainly did not celebrate his death, I found myself entirely indifferent to it.

When recounting this to someone, they then said me it was unfair to judge a person on the basis on a few misguided examples of his work. M F Hussain was a revolutionary figure in the industry of Indian art, and his contributions shouldn’t be forgotten. True, I replied, but the man lost my respect when he displayed such flagrant disregard for the sentiments of others. Just because he has a certain societal standing, doesn’t give him license to be careless of other people.

As a matter of fact, M F Hussain’s standing should have been the very factor that compelled him to exercise more discretion. The same applies to Aditya Arya; as a figurehead of sorts, he not only represents his own views but is effectively speaking on behalf of the Goa police. How could he be so wantonly careless? Or was that really the message he wanted to send to the tribal folk?

Effective communication is crucial, and shooting one’s mouth off in the heat of the moment rarely brings about happy consequences. And frankly, it is not restricted to just public figures; a number of misunderstandings would be avoided if people embraced the concept of careful thought before speaking. Additionally, if we stopped to consider how hurtful words can be, we wouldn’t unleash them with so much uncontrolled ferocity. I don’t know who once said that words were like arrows, once shot they could never be taken back; and like arrows they have the ability to wound and sometimes kill, though not in such a literal sense.

All of which leads me to the sad belief that human sentiments are not considered important any more. Unfortunately, we live in a society that is transactional and symbiotic, and no man can really live, in the true sense of the word, without other beings. So how do we co-exist harmoniously and productively in an environment such as this? The answer is quite simple: as of now we cannot; and until we all undertake to change, we will not.

No answers, No questions

In my usual headlong and heedless fashion, I've managed to convey an impression far from what I was feeling. Yesterday's post was all about how I was in a difficult position - and looking back, I am appalled and ashamed that that was the thought uppermost in my mind.


The true reason for my immense disquiet was actually a deep sense of sadness. A person I cared about was in a rough position, but I was not in a position to help. The reasons for this are multiple and highly complex - but the fact remains that I AM SAD.

I also feel sad for the other people involved, and for the deep trauma they are undergoing or going to undergo. I see a relationship that has broken down, and a lack of clarity and maturity to fix it. I am afraid of the consequences if irrevocable steps are taken and lives are damaged as a result.

Like I said before, life has never been a cakewalk for me - but I've managed to stay positive most of the time. When this hit me out of the blue, I confess I was really upset and I did NOT handle it well. To the person who confided in me, my last post would have given the impression of resentment. I am profoundly sorry about that - there is no resentment AT ALL. Please forgive me.

I wish I had the answers; hell, sometimes knowing the right questions would be a start. My only recourse now is to pray very hard that people who have lost each other find ways to be together again.

God, you'd better be listening. You freakin' owe me.

Life? Take a breather already.

I have spent a nerve-racking day, trying to figure how to tackle a difficult situation. The situation is NOT of my making, and yet I have the most to lose by it. However, for the sake of everyone involved I can't talk about said situation here. All I can talk about is why I am currently so close to tears.


I am a private person. In the sense that I share my life's joys with the world - mostly anyway. I present a genuinely smiling face to everyone around me. I crack jokes, play the fool, work hard and enjoy life. But heck, that doesn't mean my life is easy - this couldn't be further away from the truth.

My life lacks stability. It lacks security. And that, my friends, is just the tip of the iceberg.

Today I listened to someone worry about his world crashing down around him - as though I have all the answers and somehow my perfect little life would rub off on him; little knowing that is the state of my life every. single. day.

Not that I didn't sympathise, but the situation was such that any help I extended to him would have looked inappropriate. And if everything was out in the open, it would have damaged my working environment severely.

The reason I am so close to tears is that there is no way I can feel 100% comfortable with the outcome. I believe in being above board always, and I have had to choose a path that I am not happy having chosen.

I am not making any sense; not even to myself. Although I sometimes wish I could hide away in a corner, and let the world pass me by. It is tiring being strong and weathering all the crap that life throws at one. And believe me, while I am grateful for the beauty in my life, there is HELLUVA lot of crap that life has seen fit to shovel into my lap.

Leave me alone already. Tired of being a cosmic punching bag.

Take that, Dog

Believe me, any recriminations that anyone else has to offer regarding posting to the blog can wait in line behind me - I have gazed mournfully at my blog once or twice in the last month, but I think about updating every single day. I have loads to tell the dear blog frankly, and I don't want to let it go like I have ever other time that life has managed to overwhelm me.

Last night I decided that today needed to be a new start. I had gotten into the habit of sleeping very late, getting up mid-morning (at 8) and therefore getting into work really late. As a natural consequence, I have started staying in the office till 8 - by which time it is crawling with lizards, and my nerves are frayed to breaking point. So I decided to get up early, so I went to bed at 10:30 last night.

Best. Decision. Ever.

I woke up, bright and shiny, only to realise that I needed to let the dog out before I could water the terrace plants. I padded down to the parents' room, and saw one small black nose emerging from under a pile of blankets. Quelle surprise.

I prodded. Poked. Hissed. Whispered. Shook. All to no avail - she didn't even open her eyes. I shall but glance briefly on the sonorous yet rhythmic noise emanating from her throat. The pain jsut wasn't waking up.

Finally I ripped the blankets off her, only to be rewarded with the flicker of opening eyelids and the blissful cessation of afore-mentioned noise - which was promptly replaced with a warning growl.

To which I raised an eyebrow, and lugged her off the bed. And dumped her (carefully) on the floor. And grinned.

Hustled a protesting cocker spaniel up two flights of stairs and ushered her out into the dewy morning outside.

Take that, dog, for waking me up at the odd hours of morning just to be let out, and then do nothing while I sleepily prop myself against the door-jamb. The number of times I have hauled my butt out of my cosy bed to lift her sorry bottom onto my bed, only to have her curl up on the very spot I have just vacated, because it is the warmest. The innumerable occasions where I have woken because a freezing nose was shoved into my neck, demanding cuddles and covers - and then subsequently reawakening shivering, only to realise the dog has appropriated all the blankets and I am left with nary a stitch of blanket.

Revenge is sweet.

Somewhere I Belong

Yesterday I had a great conversation with the mother and the aunt, reminiscing about our life back in Dubai. For those people who are new here (Hello! *waves*), I spent the first 19 years of my life out of India. Since that post, I have moved to Goa, gotten a full-time job at a newspaper and well, split up with the boyfriend I was CONVINCED I was going to marry.


Getting back to my conversation with my folks, I was recounting a particularly amusing incident that had happened to mom and me, as we were migrating back to India.

Our last few years in Dubai were financially difficult for us, and because of a whole bunch of reasons, we had to come back in an amnesty. So to get our butts back to the motherland, we had to have our expired visas cancelled by the authorities. The process for this was not complicated, but it was separate for men and women. So one fine morning, Mom and I went to the immigration department in Dubai to get our visas cancelled.

Without meaning to be class-ist or full of myself, we didn't fit the mould of the average defaulter. So basically when we were in line, we stood out like sore thumbs amongst the housemaids, gardeners, cleaners and so on. We waited quietly in line, and I was holding passports.

My passport was a modest 2 booklets, because I was only 19 at the time. Mom's, on the other hand, had 4 booklets. Don't even get me started on Dad's passport. I was holding both passports together, when one of the surtas (cops) saw my hand and exclaimed loudly.

She called us up to the table, and asked with incredulity: "YOU two want amnesty?? And for God's sake, HOW many of you all are there?"

A little confused, I replied: "I have only two passports."

She snorted: "These are just two passports? How long have you people lived here?"

Mom: "26 years."

Her jawed literally dropped open. She halted the queue (hard to believe she was from UAE, she was behaving just like an Indian government official), and called her colleagues together.

They jabbered in Arabic for a while, examined the passports carefully. All I understood were the exclamations of astonishment. By this time, Mom and I were fighting to stay serious. The whole situation was ridiculous.

One of the cops turned to me and then said: "But you were born in Sharjah! You are a UAE national. Why the hell are you going back?"

We laughed, answered their questions and finished the formalities. It lightened up a considerably stressful day. We were guests in someone else's country after all, nothing could change that.

Returning to India gave us peace. No visas, no hassles - as far as we were concerned. We settled down to our lives here. When my Dad moved to Goa, we followed, and after a long LONG time, the family was together again.

When I was in Pune, I heard a lot of nonsense about "Maharshtra for the Maharashtrians". None of my contemporary Marathis subscribed to this philosophy. I figured they were uncouth and ridiculous people.

I visited Bangalore, where someone categorically told us that they wanted no more people to move to the state. WTF? (Just as an aside, I have Kannadiga blood in me too.)

But the worst was reserved for Goa. Up to this point, all this happened to OTHER people - at least in India. I still considered myself an Indian - after all, what choice do I have with my parentage?

Somebody in Goa called me a migrant. I was stunned. A migrant? Till I realised that the Goans don't want us here. I considered settling down in Goa, but now I am completely against it. I don't want to stay anywhere where I am not wanted.

(PS: Title is one of my favourite songs by Linkin Park)

Dinosaurs and Laptops

February was crazy, and the worst part is that I can't remember a thing of importance that happened. I just remember rushing back and forth from work and home, getting chores done in the market and that's about it.


The only truly monumental occurrence was that we finally bought mom a laptop. She was using an old one of mine, and to say it was feeble is giving it way too much credit.

What really thrilled me is that I effectively bought the computer for her. In my household, whatever Dad, Mom and I earn goes into a common kitty. Therefore, although I am drawing a fairly good salary with essentially ZERO expenses, I ask my dad for spending money. (Which I love - because I feel like his little girl still - and he loves too, for the same reason.) But in spite of the common kitty, I told Mom that I would pay the credit card bill next month. Feels so good to be able to do that. Just saying.

I have a few posts planned to talk about the Carnival, but those will have to wait till I have a little more breathing space.

Detachment FAIL.

My mother very kindly calls me an emotional garbage bin because people find it easy to confide in me. Previously I used absorb their emotions, and feel equally high or low (as the case may be) as a result.

Not so any longer. To retain a shred of sanity, it behooves me to maintain an emotional buffer. That doesn’t mean I am not empathetic, but it does mean I manage to stay sane.

Which is why at work I have refrained from becoming pals with the people here. Not that I don’t like them, but I am wary of forging friendships that may go awry. (And with my track record of friends? They WILL go awry.) So I am pleasant to everyone; I laugh, chat and joke; I even meet them outside office occasionally; but to none of them to I actually confide. Therefore the relationship remains friendly-professional (much like smart-casual).

Which is why I was so surprised with what happened yesterday.

I was watching my team executing some work. I happened to pass an offhand comment about how chilly it was because of the air-conditioning. They agreed and the discussion veered towards something else.

One of the designers was looking for images on the Internet, and she suddenly thrust her fingers into my hand and remarked, “See how cold my fingers are!”

I rather bemusedly agreed, because as a team we were not given to sudden displays like that. (Remember the status quo I mentioned before? Yeah.) As soon as she took her hand out of mine, another team member held my hand and proclaimed how cold her hands were as well.

It was unexpected, but spontaneous and really lovely. It made me smile. And then it struck me that these girls treat me as some sort of mother hen. They come into my office at a drop of a hat, and for the most ridiculous of reasons. I certainly don’t mind, but it does surprise me.

Why? Because I am only a year older than one, and 2 years older than the other.

My Pillar of Strength

With all the disasters happening around the world, I have encountered a number of people who question my unflinching faith in God – “How can you believe in an Almighty who has the power to stop this kind of suffering, but does not wield it?”

My answer is simple: “Easily.”

It wasn’t always that pat though; what I believe today is a conclusion arrived at after much deliberation, reading, counseling from masters and gurus, and finally understanding a fragment of Hindu philosophy.

In my religion, the soul is considered to be pure. It has one goal, and that is to realize that there is really no concept of duality and to merge with the infinite divine. The soul has a learning curve that is analogous to our schooling here on Earth, and a soul’s classes become lifetimes. However, unlike the arbitrary regimen put upon children, a soul is able to chart out their lessons in a lifetime, and accordingly sets up situations to help him along the way. These situations are like examinations, and passing them successfully indicates a lesson well-learnt.

Consider a thought – there are many times when I have felt faced with the same situation over and over again, albeit with different characters and places. Until I changed my reaction to these situations, I found myself encountering them again and again and again. Once I dealt with said situation from a position of strength, they never arose again. The lesson was evidently learnt.

Therefore I have no trouble in believing in God, nor in his encompassing love. One of my biggest lessons is to be careful when wishing – in my experience, if something is in your best interest, it will happen regardless of wishes. I have had wishes granted, only to regret ever asking for them.

Perfection

I love my job (not the working culture, the nincompoops I deal with or the lack of process - but the actual JOB) but I do look forward to the occasional day off. I say 'occasional' because I rarely get a Sunday completely to myself at home, regardless of good intentions.

Today started off on an awesome note, and I really hope the awesomeness continues into the day/week/month/year.

1. Got up late this morning. (8:45 am, in case anyone was wondering)

2. Crawled out of bed and padded my way two flights of stairs, to see mom still cuddled up under the covers with the cocker spaniel and dad just disappearing into the bathroom. Mom was complaining bitterly that he woke up and therefore she now feels guilty about lolling around. I, of course, felt no such guilt and promptly jumped into my dad's spot for a quick snooze. Bliss.

3. Cocker spaniel had other plans, and therefore decided that since my face was accessible to her, she must give it a thorough washing. She was unceremoniously shoved away, and dragged into mom's arms for a cuddle. Happy me, happy mom and happy dog.

4. Dad comes out of the bathroom, and mom gets up grumbling. I ignore all such happenings, and the dog escapes from mom's clutches to come and snuggle against my face. My face is now full of soft cocker spaniel fur. Love it.

5. Surface about 5 minutes later and hug father, amidst loud complaints that it is HIS room and HIS bed and she is HIS wife, and what right did I have to come in the middle? Smile seraphically at annoying father and amble into the cold to play with gambolling puppies. Heaven.

6. Play with puppies for a few minutes, and then get into long chat with neighbour about said puppies, my newspaper, the Hanuman chalisa and various other issues. Fun.

7. Amble back into the house, only to find father has disappeared to get milk and bread from the shops. Hinder mother's bed-making by jumping on half-made bed and encouraging cocker spaniel to do so as well. Then proceed to complain loudly as both of us are thrown out of the bedroom and the door is locked behind us. Grin.

8. Dance around the kitchen to cheesy Bollywood tunes blaring from the kitchen speakers. Yes, we have speakers in the kitchen. No, I will not explain. Yes, I can be bribed to explain.

9. Get handed some more work by the father. Demand exorbitant payment to do said work. Get backed up by tiny mother. Outnumber father. Girlie power, yay!