Joe

My entire life I have always been dependent on others for transportation. Be it my parents, the Government of the country I resided in ,the auto and taxi drivers, friends that were kind, or my brother who I summoned every time I got stuck, lost or felt lazy- it's always been anyone but me at the steering wheel.

Most of my mornings to work, involve me always racing against time, time always of course winning over me. Some of those mornings, I end up taking a cab so as to not let the day bear consequence to my tardiness. Some cabbies are extremely cordial and respectful, while others could care less. I had one cabbie once tell me that all he aims to do all day long  is to bring a smile to his passenger's day. That definitely brought a smile to mine. 

One such cabbie I got along very well with. I could trust him and I'm not sure what made me believe that. It's as if he had a special heart. Over time, as we talked and shared not so personal observations, there was an untold bond, one that made him look out for me. The day I got back from my vacation, he said 'welcome home' and it just made me smirk.I wondered as to how much effort it would take certain people of this country to undo the damage that some other's had inflicted on my notion of home. He recognized the pain and reiterated, that this IS now home to me, no matter what the past had unfolded.

He was a person I would call on a random note and he would show up to pick me up from anywhere in the city within a span of 20 mins. It was a feat I never understood how he managed. I would give him the fair fare and he would always return the smallest currency in the bundle I handed. I would refuse with an exasperated look and he would say ' i don't need it'. I have seen so much of the city just through his rides back home. He would take me through different parts of the city and being a Chicagoan, would give me the history of different places and folklore that went with it. I enjoyed my rides no matter how tired I was, as long as it was Joe who was driving me home. 

On Christmas week, as I summoned for his services again, he as usual showed up in 20 mins. I hurried up to finish my errands and settled in the back seat. Joe, as he always did, took a minute to turn back, get a good look at me, let me catch my breath and ask me a 'how are you?'- one that he wanted a real answer to. It always brought a smile to my tired eyes. He then announced that he was not taking a fare from me that day. I as usual jumped and would not hear of an unnecessary favour. He then announced that it was his Christmas gift for me. He did not have a family,would not have a Christmas dinner, would be in fact working through that weekend. He did not have anybody to share it with and for him sharing Christmas was about giving. 

As I snuggled under my covers that night and thought about the events of the day, I realised that it had been a really long time since I was truly surprised(pleasantly of course!). Not the kind of surprise that you feel when unexpectedly a friend shows up with a birthday cake on the strike of midnight on your special day. Yes, it's a surprise, one that you hadn't expected, but it's not that kind of surprise, the kind you had not imagined in a hundred years.

Joe has a special heart, the kind that knows how to bring warmth into hearts that he cares about, the kind that could give despite meagre means. I might always be dependent when it comes to transportation. I might move counties, cities, countries..for that matter may be even planets..but to find another Joe in the midst of plunging selflessness and love for another would be an arduous task.

To Joe - May your goodness be reflected in myriad ways eternally. 

Bring 'home' back...

This is another of those moments in time, when I wish time would stop and let me soak in the  colours on my palatte.

A vacation in two long years. All I wanted to do was go home, be at home and feel home. It's funny how all through childhood, all you want to do is get out of home to be on your own and all through adulthood, all you try to do is come back home. 

As a gawky teenager,I remember the excitement of stepping out of the house on my own, to experience the world by myself. The freedom to make turns, stop and soak, run through the crossings, cycle faster than the car standing next to me. A rush, a hurry , to quench the thirst of knowing everything this world had to offer. A zest to rush into the next moment. 

And here I am, a decade later, wishing time would stop this moment. There is the same sense of freedom, of doing everything I want to, of going places, learning new things and a desire to have more time in the day to do a lot more. Somehow the stop in time gives me a feel of being able to appreciate the existing moment a little longer and the ability to squeeze in a few more things. There go by certain times when there is a feel to do nothing but sit back and watch the sun travel from one window pane to the other pondering about all it's shining light on. 

Back home was like being back home. Hot coffee, morning newspaper, the smell of burnt dried leaves in the distance mixed with the scent of damp earth of the neighbour's front yard, the sound of vessels clinking lightly in mom's kitchen, a light hum of a chant by grandma, her silhouette against the rising sun, the milkman hurriedly dropping the packets of milk, a dew drop sliding delicately along the edge of the leaf, a shy bud still deciding on whether to bloom or not, a withered flower wondering if it's fall to the earth would be gentle or not. The teapot on the table, mom with the Geeta, dad and me sharing the morning newspaper, a discussion over current affairs of the world that drifts to each other's current affairs and the day's plan. This has been home from the time I've known home.

I missed it. For the few years I've been out, mornings have been about rushing to go places, anxiety over finishing the day's task, so something may be achieved with in a stipulated time. It's about grabbing a cup of coffee, a measly loaf of bread, toasted hours ago, cold and rigid. It's about being able to catch the bus on time, so I don't have to walk that extra distance. In short it was about ending the day and getting back into bed. 

I had forgotten to recognise the start of a new day, the hope that comes with sun rise, the opportunity and time to do more, to achieve more, to live more, the need to plan the day and enjoy it's different hours and moods. I had forgotten about looking forward to a day.

Being home reminded me of the essence of waking up every morning, with a desire to breathe in fully and feel the cool air set the rhythm of the heart, for the day. 

To my 'Twin'!

Summers as a child was always fun. Most summers, I would have grandparents over and discover a world where little lessons of life were learnt with loads of fun. I've realized how educational my summers were only as an adult. As a child,they were pure fun and I loved them!

Every once in a while, when Mom decided to pause her life for a bit and actually take a breather and enjoy it, we would go to this Aunt, who to me is like a second mother. Aunt is Mom's twin. They are identical in many ways such as the warmth in the way they hold me; and different in many ways - Aunt pampers me till I feel spoilt and Mom doesn't! Those vacations I always looked forward to for obvious pampering and more so to fight with my cousin brother who during the early years was just my favourite Aunt's son who got more attention out of my Mom. Until, one fine day, things turned around when Mom explained the magic of relations and what a brother actually means. Being a lone child, my knowledge of relations were limited to Mom, Dad, Grandma, Grandpa and friends.We chided and started referring to ourselves as each other's twin as our b'days were just three weeks apart.

From that day forward, this brother has been a brother, friend, comrade in battles of life, confidante, advisor ,critic - talk about multi tasking! Years have gone by, we went through childhood, awkward teenage, ambitious youth, responsible professional lives and are looking at mature adulthood. We have grown in our own ways, have faced our own and each other's trials and tribulations, formed individual opinions, battled situations in different ways, loved, lost, failed, succeeded, hurt, healed - all of it- let's just say - We've lived! 

We always knew the goings-on in each other's lives and as more colours were added on to the canvas, the colour of our bonding got layered. Words became few and far, but the thoughts were constant. I missed my brother. I missed being able to open my heart and pour out, missed listening to his ideas and learning how he was growing, take a few lessons from his courage and strength. I missed the meaningless laughter, the confessions, the all night banter - I missed the fun and most of all - I missed 'Us'. 

Recently, on a regular day to work, as I nonchalantly sat in the train watching the city pass by me, a vivid picture formed in front of my eyes. It was a picture of a very sick and dying twelve year old me, lying on a hospital bed. Aunt and Mom on the sofa near by, tired yet praying and hoping , eyes that had dried up and eventually closed to ease the burning sensation. What struck me in that picture, was the little pair of hands that held onto my arm, the hair of the head that lay tired by my face, lightly touching my cheeks. 

As I have replayed that whole episode of my life time and again, I've felt the pain of my parents as they watched their daughter slowly being taken away from them, felt the pain of my Aunt as she helplessly watched me suffer and more so felt every ounce of pain Mom felt and at a greater degree, of my Uncle who ran helter-skelter trying to ease out practical obstacles and doing the best to make sure no stone was unturned. But, I never once spared a thought to the one to whom that little pair of hands belonged. It never occurred that he was all of twelve too and yet he sat there all night by my side, holding onto me, silently praying and praying really hard, hoping that the other side of the night would bring me back to the world. 

That day on the train, it was as if a spotlight shone brightly on those pair of hands. Yes, I missed my brother, I missed the times we shared and the fun we had. I realised that words and the expression of thoughts and emotions had run so dry, I was slowly believing I was losing my brother and that belief hurt greatly. But, how can you really lose someone unless you let go of them? And how could I let go of those pair of hands that held on to me tightly when I needed them to, the most ? How can I disregard the silent yet constant support as I fought my biggest battle of life ? I also realised that, it's how he does it. That's his style. Silent yet constant support, a cheer here, a cheer there but never losing faith in my ability to fight my own battles, get through whatever life throws at me. And if I ever wake up and look beside me, I will always find him holding onto me. 

To my 'Twin' - a silent prayer, loads of love and a I'm-here-for-you!

Lucky escape?

Often times in life, one comes across moments when emotions or a certain state of mind can not be defined or for that matter even felt in entirety due to the sheer confusion of wanting and trying to understand what is being felt. 

During most of the not-so-good phases of life, I would find myself taking long walks when I would feel the wind on my skin, watch the world go by and enjoy seeing a city fall asleep. My usual destinations despite mindless walking always seemed to be some sort of water body. It could be bank of a river, an ocean, a lake or simply a fountain midst a park.  This certain fountain I usually go to, has little kids dancing in all excitement under the water. I love watching their little antics as they play. Their innocence and sheer joy of being in that moment touches me deeply. The world, the good, the bad..all is forgotten. The only thing that remains is the spirit of enjoying that very moment with no hurry to live the next. 

As I once walked back home from one such walk, music in my ears, people passing by with a purposeful walk, shops closing, restaurants giving subtle hints to their customers of their closing times, lights in the city diminishing- signalling the end of the day, I found myself carelessly crossing roads. One such moment, I saw the traffic signal turn green, a bright light shone in my eyes, silence all around, feet felt light as if I was flying in the air and watching the frenzy of people and cars below me in silent mode. It took me a long time to realize what was going on. I had stopped enough cars and was hearing a lot of honks before I realized what I had just done. I was still on my two feet, looking into the eyes of the driver through the windshield, in front of whose car I had decided to lose my head. I apologized profusely and stepped back, heard a volley of abuses and decided my next course of action. As I walked the rest of the way home, I tried to recollect what exactly went through my head at that moment. The only answer that came up was "I don't know". 

I don't know what went through my head.I don't know what it was that I felt. I don't even know if I felt any thing at all, even if it was fear. I don't know. It was the first time I had come so close to an accidental suicide. 

In that instant, my standing on two feet and walking the rest of the way back home din't seem like a huge blessing. But, now that I ponder what if things had turned the other way, I wish I could count my blessings without having to learn of it in such drastic ways.

Made in India

I have been an 'NRI' for a total of 10 years approximately. That phase of life has seen me reside in a couple of countries and visit a lot more. But no matter where my feet have touched the earth, I have always found myself to be truly 'made in India'- the kind of creation that eats, sleeps and breathes Bollywood and brings life to a complete stand still when India plays a cricket match. 

My first knowledge of the game was as a four year old, when one Sunday morning, I was being dressed and fussed over,while Mom was neatly packing a picnic lunch and told me "today Daddy has a match and we are going to watch him". She finally gave up fussing over me and started getting dressed, while I scurried over to find Dad. He was in an all-white outfit with a white hat that I had seen many times on T.V., on those afternoons, when Dad would be glued to the television and I would fall asleep in 5 minutes, giving up on comprehending what was so interesting in watching those men in white, with that sleepy voice guy talking constantly. 

The infusion of cricket into my veins is attributable to events that occur at home when India plays a match, no matter how trivial the tournament is. Days when India was playing a match were no less than a day of festivities. We would know the exact dates way before the tournament or series started. It would be marked on the calender. Most important matches were always on a Sunday, so all my homework would be done by Saturday night, the menu for breakfast and lunch on Sunday would be decided and whatever preparations needed to be made, would have been done. Sunday morning, Dad would get up early, water the garden, read his morning newspaper, take his shower and settle in his spot on the sofa with a whole lot of reading material spread around him. Mom would wake up, enjoy her tea, take her shower and get to the kitchen to start the whole breakfast routine. She would then come in and suggest a brunch, so she could enjoy watching the match as well. Puri and aloo tomato or Masala dosa would usually be the choice. The TV would be turned on much before the match was to start. Dad would listen to the weather commentary,the condition of the pitch,the grass on the outfield, the discussion of the team, the strengths and weaknesses of each player on both sides, all of it. I would come sleepy eyed and land on the sofa next to Dad, get one of Mom's high pitched instructions to drink my milk, ignore it, until the point when instruction would be followed by a long speech that entailed how I would have to keep getting up during the match to drink milk or eat breakfast and all that. Once the the coin was flipped for the toss, everything stopped at home. Mom made sure, all her chores were done, everyone was fed with standing instructions that no one was to disturb her. She would then sit with an embroidery she was working on, with her eyes glued to the television. 

Our matches are always nail biting, cause we never like to win comfortably. We are a generous and humble nation even when we play. We love to give others a chance, make them feel worthy. We are known to bring the best out of our opponents while we touch new lows. But, every now and then, we do fight with every ounce of blood we have in us and surprise ourselves. In the process , we create records and instill fear in other teams for being unpredictable and thus strong. Although at times,I wonder why we never predictably win or for that matter ever win with ease, I think I enjoy the tension. Apart from unifying a culturally diverse India across all generations, it brings out a very passionate side of my Mom. 


Now, Mom has never played any sport in her life except for may be hopscotch when she was little. Athleticism and her are miles apart, but when it comes to cricket, she even brings Dad's passion to shame. Her undying love for the team (every member, but a little more fondness for Dada and Sachin) and indefatigable optimism even in the bright lights of defeat are incomparable. Her assessments of why Sachin got out right after his century or why Agarkar's fast bowling is not effective can involve any reason in the world. It could vary from lack of stamina due to over exposure in the game to how Indian food is predominantly vegetarian and therefore does not help players build their stamina, that players should be given a lot of milk and eggs, to possibility of betting, to bad luck, to God taking some momentary rest and not watching over Team India...anything but the fact that Sachin was careless with his shot or that the opponent batsmen had figured a way around Agarkar's fast bowling and he needs to bring variations into his technique. 


The best comes when it is one of those nail biting finishes where the match might go in favor of any team. Dad, gives up, blames the bowlers' inability, batsmens' carelessness and the lack of commitment as a team. He starts his post mortem analysis on why we lost even before we actually lose. Mom on the other hand jolts up, sits straight, puts down her embroidery, all eyes on the screen, mumbles silent prayers as the bowler does his run up, depending on whether India is batting or bowling and whether it is a weak batsman or a bowler who has had a bad day today, the prayers carry a different request of means to the same end "let us win!". If it's one of those days when team India has decided to disappoint it's fans, Mom would still defend them and say how once in a while, every great team is allowed to lose. Dad would then mutter how we have had a string of losses in the season, to which Mom would come up with one of those maternal instinct things that says 'you are always harsh on the team'. 

Staying independently now and watching the matches alone is not so much fun. As much as it is about the nail biting finish, the twist and turns of the game, it is also about all the excitement that mounts up to d-day, the masala dosa, the sight of Dad looking fresh, with all his reading material around, mom- glasses on her nose, embroidery in hand, constant commentary, prayers and oozing optimism even when India needs 27 runs to win off 1 ball. 

It's not just the game, it's something else- indescribable. A sense of bonding that the game brings amongst it's watchers, the passion it evokes, the child in each one of us it brings out into the open, it's ability to bring people out of their barriers- the way it gets my 'cool,'quiet' Dad to voice his frustration and my Mom to swap between being a child, hoping fearlessly for the hopeless; and playing mom to 11 players she has never met in her life before! 

Raising the middle finger.

I have always thought that the meaning of raising the middle finger has had it's own growth around the same era as mine. I remember as a little girl being completely ignorant to the existence of such a gesture. It was not a sight to be seen anywhere around me, not because I was a little girl and did not really hang out with crowds that are more likely to be using it, but it was just not used with such great frequency as today. As I grew and moved to a different country, the verbal usage of the gesture visited my ears more often. I remember being a social misfit as a teenager in that school, hence I've heard the word among the 'cooler' crowd and always wondered what it was supposed to convey. It was sometimes used instead of "Oh my God!"; sometimes as "no way!"; most times in anger, disgust or frustration or as an insult; sometimes in appreciation of something exotic and mind blowing; I never understood it. I knew only one thing,that if I ever dared to use any alphabetical combination that ever came close to 'that word', I would not see the end of that day or the beginning of another one...ever! 

Over time, I realized that the word has just carved a niche of it's own, a very big one, among my generation and if I do not want to be a misfit, I need to learn to recognize the context in which it is used and hence get the meaning it is supposed to convey. I also knew, that my generation had not yet come to the point of cultural deterioration where you were a misfit if you did not use the word. You can always show the same emotions of elation, surprise, ecstasy, mind blown over, anger,disgust, frustration, appreciation and insult, if you really have to hurl one, that is, with a different set of alphabetical combination. You could choose not to use the word and not be looked down upon. So, I chose to be a contemporary of my generation by understanding the various usages of the word and ensured a guaranteed long life by not using it myself. 

This arrangement worked very well for the longest time I could remember, until one day, I on a random note, as an expression of disgust used 'the word'. I had suddenly crossed that line. Suddenly my arrangement went awry somewhere. I was not supposed to have incorporated the word into my vocabulary, but here I was! I had to come up with some new arrangement. I had one of two choices- unlearn what I just learnt or come up with a new way of ensuring my long life. So, I sat and planned of a new way of ensuring my long life. The idea was simple, pull up a collapsible wall through which the word cannot permeate in the presence of a certain crowd that considers it taboo and might cause bodily harm that will result in a very painful end to my existence. That was it. It was as simple as that. So, from that point on, I had mastered the art of pulling up my wall at life threatening places and collapsing it at not-so-life threatening places. 

That arrangement worked very well too, until, one rainy day, I accidentally slammed the iron frame of my window onto my right middle finger. A fat, blue, pulsating, excruciatingly painful finger with the nail threatening to fall off in whole, leaving behind a naked nail bed resulted. That has consistently held onto it's position as  being among the top three most physically painful numbing incidents, I've ever had in my life. I remember tears not rolling down coz I was confused as to what to feel- Should I feel the pain or Should I repent for having been so careless or Should I be larger than human by putting up a brave face, as I was now no more a child or Should I pity myself at having been hurt while I was only trying to do good for every one around me by closing that darned window and not getting them wet. I remember telling myself to just keep it simple and acknowledge the pain, which resulted then in a continuous stream of tears that lasted a minute. With a lot of doctors in the family, care was never the problem. Ice and painkillers took care of it. The turning point was when a simple suggestion was given to increase the weight of comfort in the balance of comfort and discomfort I was feeling. " Keep the finger raised!" 

I looked around at all the elders at home whose center of attention I had become. I raised my entire arm along with the raised finger as suggested-  the logic being the blood flow would reduce taking away the pulsations. It was a very good suggestion and I did feel a lot less pain. For the first few hours I sat there in that position, with a smile inside my head. My thoughts drifted to how life can be funny at the most painful times. I tried to think if there ever was a time when I had imagined that I would be asked to raise the middle finger by the people I had classified as the life threatening crowd. A smile broke onto my face. It came as a surprise to mom. She had all along felt a sense of pride in the way I had handled myself through out the episode and especially now, that I was smiling in the face of it all. She asked me why- and I told her why. 

I saw pride take a step back, behind the curtain of her eyes and anger take a step forward and show itself out. I said the word in my mind and wondered about my after life. Then I magically saw anger step behind the curtains and a smile appear. She looked at me and chuckled like a child who had just done something she was told not to do and realized how much fun it had been! I chuckled with her. Mom had done what she was best at. She had easily slipped in and out of the roles she has always played to me all her life- one of a mother, teaching right from wrong and one of a friend- the best there can be. 

This once, she had somehow found her way into the not-so-life threatening crowd. From then on, she has been the only entity that has had a free passage between the life threatening and not-so life threatening crowd and has always found more comfort among the former.

It was also the only time, raising the middle finger was found to be the right thing to do at home. 

Imagine if..!

After 10 years of mastering the art of being a student, I was finally going to play the role of a responsible professional. This change brought along with it a move. New York to Chicago. New York had nurtured me into an individual filled with strength, confidence, character, maturity and yet let me keep the child within alive. It was Chicago that was to test the quality of the individual that New York had produced. 

The first step in a move is to find a roof over your head. Internet being the best self help available, I looked up the various sites for suggestions on a good roof . I realized quickly that there were many facets to that- a good roof over a good spacious room, a kitchen that was if not anything else, minimally furnished, an in built A/C/ heater ( Chicago being famous for it's winters);if multistory- an elevator in the building; a laundromat preferably within the building, if not, nearby; good security; decent neighborhood; a supermarket or grocery shop within walking distance; close by to the train station that had the trains I needed to get to work running through it and off course the afford ability! When I finally found the one that seemed to have it all and be at a reasonable distance from my work place, it was still the picture on the internet I was seeing, sitting by the window in my NY apartment that I had to vacate in a month's time. So, Chicago-NY one day round trip was searched, a decent deal found and ticket booked. Picked up a bag with some extra clothes and essentials (just in case), some instant edibles, an umbrella, travel documents and papers I might need, if I decide to rent the place I was going to check out. 

I took the early morning flight and landed safely into a bright morning in Chicago. I figured out the directions I needed to get to&fro between the place and airport, the latest I could leave from the place to still fly back in time and the route to &fro my workplace and the apartment.

As I reached the place and checked in at the rental office, the receptionist asked me coldly to come back in an hour for my 'tour'. I looked at my watch and refuted that I had an appointment and I was on time. She checked back at her monitor, gave me an exasperated look and said "your appointment is for 11am, it is 10 am now". I looked back at my watch and it read 11am. It then struck me that I had just entered into a different time zone. Living all my life in countries whose length and breadth were in one time zone, that adjustment of thought takes a while.I decided to utilize the time and check out the neighborhood. Not taking a chance by walking too far and getting lost, I looked around, but could register nothing. I just marveled at the buildings around me, not one of them looked similar and they all had stunning architecture.The other thought was that the streets were empty at 10 am on a weekday, which in NY is peak hour and for a city with Chicago's reputation should also be peak hour. But, the streets here did not have the rush hour that I have experienced before. It gave me 2 ideas- one that the city was not as vibrant as NY ( of course no city could be!) second- the neighborhood is not in a busy downtown area, which questions it's safety late evenings, the most likely time of my return from work.

I finally got back to the building, took my tour, liked what I saw, consulted with a trusted friend and ended up confused. Took a minute, rationalized my thought, randomly asked how safe it was at 9pm, got a satisfied answer, trusted the answer coz it was coming from another woman, put in a demand to move in at a certain date and no later and signed the necessary papers. I took a chance by not checking out any of the other buildings nearby and signing into the first one I set foot in. But, life is about taking calculated chances and facing the consequence of it all.

I did complete everything on my agenda that day and still had sometime to spare. After signing the papers, took my trip to the office and decided the travel was as feasible as feasible can get!Considering the options I had, I preferred to hang out at my center point and soak in the surroundings instead of getting to the airport and breathing artificial air. Soon, it was getting dark and cloudy and I decided that it must be closer to evening and my time to head back to the airport. As I made a turn to get to the train station that would take me to the airport, a gust of wind held me stationary. No matter how much force I moved with, I did not move an inch. Before I could realize, I was drenched wet- the same way as seen in most bollywood movies, you have the shower turned on at the director's signal and there is instant heavy downpour. With all my might, I ran as quickly as I could to the nearest building and stood against the glass watching anything that was not rooted to the ground flying and wet.The little trees that if, were to be compared to a stage of human growth, would best suit teenage, were bent in half and yet did not snap. It was as if they had taken yoga lessons.

As, I stood, engrossed in thought and wondering how to get to the airport, a stranger standing next to me, chatted me up. He made light conversation on the unpredictable weather, the apartment complex I was planning to stay in, what the best part of the neighborhood is, Chicago as a city etc. In fact,I gathered a lot of information, something only an insider of the city can tell you.He then asked me where I was headed to and offered to drop me. I hesitated and declined the offer. He was a stranger after all! I decided to wait for the storm to end, the skies to finish their outburst and then head home. He left with a 'bye' and a 'good luck' while I continued staring at the outside. A half hour later, a red 2 seater Lexus car pulls up in front of the building, the driver honks until I turn recognizing him to be the same stranger. He waves out for me to come out and offers to drop me. I looked around nervous, picked up my bag, said a silent prayer and ran into the car. He smiled, asked me not to worry and said he would get me to the airport in time. I looked at my phone, sent a text to my friend upraising her of my situation and instantly heard her frantic voice instructing me to note down the licence plate number, take a picture of the guy through my phone and send it back to her, in case I went missing.

All through the drive, I sat still, with every sense of mine at the height of awareness. He was still chatting up and all I could hear was my heart thumping loudly. My hands were on the call button of my phone with 911 pre-dialled. After an hour of wondering how my parents would react when they were told I had gone missing or worse, who would actually be able to contact them as I don't remember giving my friend their contact information, realizing that she could obtain that from the college records, I reached the airport.My worst fears had not come true. I was safe and sound. As the thumping of my heart came down to normal little beats, another bye and good luck and off he drove. I checked myself in and while I waited to board, tried to soak in, the events of the past 2 hours. Do I feel relieved that I was safe despite the risk I took, calm my nerves that were overworked or just marvel at the timing of the bad weather, my good luck with safety and my first ever ride in a 2 seater Lexus?! What an unbelievable day this had turned out to be. Adventure at it's best!!

We boarded, announcements made, seat belt fastened- nothing moved. There was a further announcement explaining air traffic situation and that we were waiting in line to take off. As we taxied towards the run way, I could see more flights in close vicinity which gave me the idea that the line was a long one. After 4 hours of taxiing and 25 flights taking off before us, we braced ourselves to head home. Suddenly the skies lit up- incessant lightening and thunder, but no rain. The pilots waited for clearance and there was silence. My instincts told me that we probably will taxi back to the gate and deplane. That tonight, O'Hare would just have to be home.My instincts are never wrong about anything happening against my wishes! 

So, night at O'Hare it was. I spent those 6 hours crouched and folded in the most painfully awkward position possible, between 2 chairs, jacket to cover me, dozing on and off. Woke up early morning, stood in line in front of the airline counter,coffee in hand and fought for a seat in the first flight out to NY. Considering that most of my life, my Mom would wonder,what she could intravenously inject into me, so I would not run away from a situation that demanded me to fight for my right-  I did a great job, pushing, nagging and arguing till I found myself sandwiched between two obese men in the last row of the flight, right next to the washroom! 

As, I drove from La Guardia back home and saw the sky line of NY, I realized that I had lived a day of adventure- the kind you conjure up in one of those weird conversations one has with friends, lazily sipping on tea, under a plastic table with an umbrella for shade, taking a break between two classes, starting with the words - "Imagine if.."

Where does the day off go?

It hasn't been very long since I turned into a working professional.The one seen every morning on the streets, wearing mostly attires consisting of something in black, a potable coffee mug in hand, white Apple ear phones on the sides,with the face suggesting that whatever they are listening to is unimportant, briskly walking as if the entire system of the world is running smooth coz of him/her, an air of responsibility and a vain attempt at hiding their frustration of getting to work every morning. There was a time when I believed that my student days would never be over and the professional world will never have me as I would die getting chiseled and refined to become that diamond that all the schools I attended were trying to make of me. But here I am! 

A five day-a-week job, with most days that end with my blood pressure raised and heart banging against my chest cavity is what I signed up for. I belong to one of the most feared profession, one that people associate with pain and would rather avoid having to ever come in need of! That makes me sound like I belong to the mafia, but Dentist is all I am! 

Most of my working days, I eat,sleep and breathe my office space,In fact, I dream of my office as well for the few hours that I do get to be home! So, days off are a welcome respite. My 5 days are spread out as 2 days, a holiday and then 3 days. When I do get a few minutes in between patients at work, I always have a task to add to my to-do list. This list then goes up on my bed side or my refrigerator and remain there for the longest time as a constant reminder of my excellent quality of procrastination. Each week my lists either get longer or more in number, but not one task on any of them every gets canceled out! SO, what then do I do on my days off, that keeps me so busy that my world does not move.

I did some self-observation and realized , I have a pattern. As my 'weekend'(s) comes up, the night before, a movie happens, then sleep late happens, then get up late happens which results in half my holiday being spent on a  beach cafe with Ranbir Kapoor or  more recently Ranveer Singh! When reality does strike and the eyes open to the sight of a clear sky with commercial flights flying like little darts, getting to the vertical stance from the incredibly relaxing horizontal stance is a task. A cup of coffee, served hot, bedside, would be perfect, but one of the disadvantages of flying out of home nest is not having this wish fulfilled. It's the time of the day when Mom is missed the most! Then comes catching up with the happenings of the world through my 14" laptop monitor that invariably leads to me 'googling' for lateral knowledge on everything that caught my interest on the news- US and Indian version! This on a Sunday is usually followed by a limitless phone call to Mom and on a weekday by my stomach speaking it's hunger language till the constant nagging can not be ignored.In either case, it's time to fix lunch. I decide that the one day I get to eat lunch at home, it cannot be yesterday's left over. SO, the whole cooking drama ensues. I further decide that while at it, might as well make dinner. Now, for those born with great culinary skills, you cannot imagine the effort that goes into people with less than ordinary culinary skills to make a decent meal! Over the course of years, I have come to a point where I can make good tasty dishes, as long as I don't tell you what I had planned to make in the first place! Once that is done, the kitchen is in a mess. One of Mom's million lectures automatically starts playing in my head, the one she has made me listen to since the age of 6, the contents of which summarize to how unladylike it is to leave behind a dirty kitchen. Hence the head and hands without much of my involvement turn into dishwasher, scrubber and vacuum cleaner.With so much multi-tasking, tiredness sets in and I decide that since it is a day off, a day of rest, rest is what I shall get. So, I get back to the beach cafe with Ranveer Singh. 

The next thing I know, I wake up to darkness. The digital clock blinks a 6.30pm and I realize I have 4 hours before I absolutely have to hit my beach cafe, so I can wake up on time the next morning and avoid an Olympic level sprint to the train station. A shower is what i decide to get to freshen myself up so I can actually get some of the tasks to disappear on the list. As I sit and stare at the list and try to figure out which one to go for, I realize that every one of them has a preparatory task, which takes away the momentary will of doing the actual task. As, I invest my energy into talking to myself and finding a diplomatic solution between both parties of my mind, the phone buzzes, a friend I haven't spoken to in a long time, so off course I get engrossed in the happening of her world and give her a sneak peek into mine. The familiar language and tone of the stomach keeps increasing in the background noise,until I have to abruptly end my conversation. Dinner is heated and the stomach smiles. The smile, as if to taunt every other cell in my body, reminds all of them how I've used and abused them the whole week and they all collectively protest, threatening to go on strike if I do not heed to their request. That takes me instantly back to my beach cafe!

So, you see, my day off goes on its day off thanks to my sheer laziness disguised as being tired, my procrastination disguised in multiple inexcusable excuses and my disgusting inability to prioritize tasks!

In the hope that change might walk in on my day off and kick my butt, I shall get cozy under my comforter and head back to the beach cafe!

A Decade

It's been a decade. A decade of changing from a girl to a woman, a student to a professional, dependent to independent - simply put - of growing up,of lessons learnt, of struggle to make something of me, of successes, of failures, of special moments, of inspiration, desperation, of creating, destroying, of smiles and laughter, of tears and frustration ....a decade of living life to it's fullest!

It started as a young teenager who walked into a world riddled with mystery, armed with innocence. It was her biggest weapon, as it brought freshness and innovation to solving the puzzles that unfolded. Everyday was a surprise. Everyday revealed a new corner with new characters, new emotions, new struggle that required new skills or constant improvisation of existing ones. Each of those days was about surviving,until one day, it dawned that in the midst of this struggle, this transformation, a new person was emerging - one that suddenly had different ideas of LIFE.

I realised soon, that it was a journey I had to take by myself. The falls were mine but so was the progress I made, so were the miracles I unraveled. It was my journey, I was in the driver's seat. This little piece of information did not dawn in my head until very recently. I was chained in my own handcuffs. It was as if I drove but the navigation was someone else's. So, it felt as if the destination was someone else's too. But, milestone after milestone, I recognized that the destination is the same. The motivation to reach the destination is also the same.

There have been so many special moments, so many special achievements. Not many of these fall into the usual category that encompass a summary of who you are and what you made of yourself. In fact most of these are personal accomplishments, of surprising myself, surpassing my own expectations, of being better than who I envisaged myself to be.Where I stand today in the road map of life is a very good place to be. When I think about it, it just makes me feel lucky. Although there have been a million times, when I would have gladly traded lives with a stranger that had a happy glint in his eyes, today, I wouldn't trade for anything.

My life isn't perfect at all and to think that at some point it might be, is foolishness. But in this imperfection, lies the very essence of life- the feeling of being alive. The hope for a dream to come true, a dream that arises from sheer greed of wanting more of those flashes of life, when the world comes to a stand still and all you hear is your heart beat, all you feel is the wind against your face,your mind ceases to think and lets life rush into your blood. It is that flash of life that fuels you through the dark times.The times when you have let yourself down, when you have whipped yourself the hardest.

I have shut doors on the face of opportunity.I have chosen to be blind to inspiration when it came unsought. I have lost important people who until the point of loss, I did not recognize, brought pragmatism to my sojourn. I have refused to accept change when change was the only course of rescue. I have made poor choices. But in the end, despite the bitterness, LIFE,  still seems sweet. Pain has that quality about it- it opens your eyes to the comfort of not feeling pain and the sheer joy of feeling positive.

The decade that went by, opportunities that went by, people that went by, places that went by, moments that went by- thank you! Because of your brief presence, there are more colors on my canvas.

To the coming decade, coming opportunities, coming inspiration, coming moments- may I recognize you in time and make the most of you!

Here is to more colors on my canvas!

To Life...

Some dreams are simple every day wishes and yet so rare. A desire to breathe cool, fresh air, sit under bright blue skies, soak in the warmth of the sun, gentle breeze blowing, a display of nature at it's best, blending into subtleties of human existence, eyes closed, mind at rest. A sense of calm, peace, of a spotless mind that can absorb the surroundings and appreciate every element of it. A simple wish of feeling light enough to float in air.

This wish of mine was fulfilled by accomplishment. An achievement of making something out of myself. Of coloring my canvas with my favorite scheme of colors and loving the image that the random splashes and strokes finally created. A feeling of content. This feeling opened up the pair of invisible eyes that nest within the mind. The pair that truly lets you unfold life in it's vigor and savor it. Content came to me with accomplishment. But, the enigma of content is such, that for each one, it accompanies a different element. 

It's funny how infinitesimal changes in the story of your life determine your ability to fulfill your own wishes and empower you to breathe life into your very own dreams. 

New York

New York. A city of dreams. Dreams that come alive, that flourish. Never had I come to imagine my life being entwined with the life of this city. Three years. Smiles galore, showers of joy, moments of peace, success, satisfaction- color scheme of life- happy.

Hot espresso on a cold morning,walking on the streets like there is no tomorrow, sun shining bright, chilly winds making it difficult to keep the head up. Streets filled with people in shades of black, grey or the like. Enter into a frenzy of people callously falling into two groups, one that get off the subway and one that get on. Not one of them looking up at another, each one running, finding their way through the crowd. For 3 years I fell into either of these groups. And then a month ago, realization dawned. The city where I learnt to live life, had let me progress so much that it was time to move and leave it behind. I progressed into a third group. The group where man took time off a hectic day to marvel at an integral part of life. I believe my experience of college life would not be what it has been if not for this city.

The streets explored, small shops with exquisite pieces adorning the parapets,the tall buildings some relics of a culturally rich past and some signs of a chic present, numerous parks- small and big, bang in the middle of a busy business area, the many restaurants with the entire world's cuisines, the aristocratic professionals, the punk with piercings all over, the fashion conscious 'brands-only' woman walking past another that has all the colors of a rainbow on her, a young mother pulling away her curious son to avoid a homeless guy at the entrance to a subway, a tired tax payer walking out of a bar after dousing his weariness at the end a hectic day, while a 20 something couple walk in to celebrate a special day - New York. A city where two extremes of a spectrum exist in comfort, equality and freedom. A city I fell in love with.

When life brought me here the first time, it was a cloudy,wet,cold evening. The bus from Boston brought me from the north end of the city and all I saw were brick red buildings, walls tainted with signatures of people who got to seemingly unreachable portions of it, blaring sound of heavy traffic, bright lights, unconcerned people, huge buildings and public spaces, "May I help you?" counter with curt officials. I was scared. The place felt unwelcoming and therefore depressing. Life hadn't been the best for the past few months and nothing seemed to go right. I wasn't prepared for the winter and hence could not lift my head up in the wind or think straight. All I felt was cold.

It took an interview, a fight to get back what I deserved and a month of mere survival to realize this city is what you make of it. You can love it or hate it, but you cannot ignore it.

After three years of figuring out the way to live and make the most of this place, praying half the time that I achieve my goal, so life gets simpler and I can move on, here I am, wanting to share more of my life with this city. I've lived every minute here. Fast paced, stressed,timeless, selfish, immense competition for survival, yet accepting of new people, freedom of thought,expression,action; culturally vibrant, lively, fun and serene. A city of sky scrappers, constant traffic, lights, frequent blaring sirens of ambulances and police cars, loud music, sleepless, yet, at 2am when you sit by the East Hudson, watching a full moon on a clear night....New York radiates it's innocence. Of being a place that wants to exude peace and provide an opportunity for a better tomorrow.

New York.. you will always have a special place in my heart. Wishing you a future that keeps your innocence safe and your spirit untainted and a secret desire to have our paths cross again!

If only...

He sat by her side, not sparing a word. She had left him alone despite promises galore. In silence, he walked away, not a glance in her direction as he let her be from that day on. Tears welled up, but he threatened them against flowing down. He knew he had to get away, just didn't know where to go. He made a call and geared up his bike. He always knew his destination, this time he just let his bike decide.

There was his friend, one that has always been by his side. He stopped right in front of her and let the tears roll. The evening was spent in silence, just letting emotions flow out. With days that went by, he spent his every free moment with her. He needed the distraction, coz life and an empty head reminded him of his pain. It reminded him of unfulfilled promises and shattered dreams of a life that could be. He would talk to her, tell her all about the dreams, the person he shared a very recent part of his life, moments between them and somehow it never hurt to talk about it to her. It in fact had a calming effect. Soon, they would meet, but the talks were no more about shattered dreams and what could be, they were about things happening around them, of incidents and random talk. He liked her company. He liked the comfort and ease she would put him in. Life didn't seem all that bad while he was with her.

With time the openness and comfort improved. The broken promises and all the pain with it were forgotten. He was ready to move on. She was a miracle worker. He had never imagined that life could get rosy again. But she had worked her magic yet again and like each time, she had wielded her magic wand and wiped away the pain. He knew he needed her for life and he offered her his love. She accepted. She knew not when, how or why her fondness for him had grown. But does love ever need a reason? She knew he made her happy. She looked forward to the part of the day that she spent with him. She just felt lucky that he reciprocated the same.

Life went on. Days were now more about the other than just themselves. It mattered to know if the other was happy. It mattered to make the other's day a little easier if not more beautiful. There was happiness all around.

On one another evening, over a cup of tea, they sat just talking, like they always did. He very animatedly described his opinion on a recent happening and told her of a similar incident in the past. As he addressed her as part of his conversation, he took a name. She had heard the name a million times through out the time she knew him. But the name wasn't hers. She let it slide by and did not appraise him of his doing. After a few hours, it happened again. She kept quiet again. It bothered her. She just didn't know if she was overtly reacting to some genuine mistake or was it genuine to react coz this meant more than just a mistake. A few months later, it happened again. She knew there was more to it than just being a mistake each time. But, it happened rarely and on a very random note. His every action told her he cared for her immensely.Was she right in letting it bother her?

Was it just out of habit, of being in a relationship that had lasted a while, that he called out with a name that wasn't hers? or was there a recent event, may be a recent conversation with someone form the past or a conversation with her? Had she ever really had a place of her own in him or was it just a mere filling of a void that was left inside of him? Did he in the years that she was with him, for one day seen her for who she was and not for who she was filling in for?
For replacing or filling in she would never be able to do. She knew that she would never be loved the way he had once upon a time and she was ok with it. She had enough confidence in herself to evoke enough love and care over a period of time, as much as she deserved.

Was it fair to continue being seen as someone she was not? She loved him and cared for him immensely. He had seen broken promises before, should she be cruel and make him go through another episode of broken promises?

He sat beside her, in silence as she told him of other dreams she had..ones that did not have a place for him. He knew it was coming. He knew it had something to do with the times his tongue had slipped and she had said nothing. He now thought of how he should have explained it to her then and apologized. How he had thought of doing so, but just couldn't come up with a credible excuse. That it was a mere confusion of mind and sheer habit and meant nothing more to him. That she was all that mattered.It was because she was in his life that he had had the courage to move on. But, he hadn't told her and it was too late now. A decision was made and one that she was convinced was right. He knew she deserved more. He loved her and that is all the more why he should let her go. He held her hand, wished her the best in life, sunk her face in his memory and walked away.

She sat there alone watching him walk away. Could he not now have accepted it as a mistake and told her that she meant his life to him? May be, he did not coz after all, she did not really have her unique place in him. She probably merely filled the void and numbed the pain. She after all was not strong enough to help him move on.

A Perfect Morning!

Overlooking the tall buildings and the span of an entire city out of my window, the morning sun finally seen after months of cloudy,wet,cold winter mornings, new born leaves just sprouting on little branches that were lifeless just yesterday, the sky looking calm like it was at peace after a long time, a warm cup of coffee in hand, Pt. Shiv kumar Sharma's santoor playing in the back ground.... a perfect morning!

I've had many such perfect mornings and somehow all of them remind me of these mornings that came by at home. Lazy Sunday, wake up late, mom and dad on the porch outside, tea pot and the whole set laid out on the little round table in front, dad with the newspaper sprawled in front of his face, mom sipping slowly on a boiling hot cup of tea..quiet..just enjoying the fact that such a morning exists. Little drops of rain resting on the leaves, the earth with the typical fragrance of rain, the sun shy behind the clouds, yet radiant. An 8 yr old me...eyes half open, squinting to avoid the sudden brightness of the morning, sleepily walking, rubbing my eyes, oblivious to every thing around except the final destination of my mother's lap. Cradled in her arms, oblivious to demands of brushing my teeth and freshening up, drink milk and all other sundry, just feeling her heart beat against my cheek, smell the rain filled air, an obscure yellow orange ball ..an image of the sun with my eyes closed... it's heat soothing... in the background Pt Shiv kumar Sharma's santoor floating in the air from a cassette that has lived life for a while now.

Through all the perfect mornings that came my way, I realise that the 8yr old in me never grew up. She still rubs her eyes, walks sleepily oblivious to everythign around in search of the final destination of her mother's lap.

Moment

There were times as a 6 year old, I thought my world ended at whether I could swing higher each time without my heart racing as fast as it did. It was about whether this evening would be about playing hide and seek, run and catch or just a day at the swings and all the other bars that I loved hanging from and practice my budding gymnast skills.

Then I grew..taller for sure..mental development still under question! Life at 12 stopped at whether the teacher would be impressed with my homework, if my uniform was looking smart on me, if my friends thought I was cool to hang out with..and somehow the answer to that question didn't matter as much. There was a level of confidence that I would still have someone to go cycling with or play badminton with!

Come 17, life revolved around getting a good score at the boards, cracking the numerous entrance exams, getting into some fancy college and being the success story everybody around expected of me. Conversations with friends were always about what strategic step they had taken to live their success story..what career to choose, which tuitions to join, what exams to give. When the success story did happen and it was time to rejoice..we were all strewn apart. Life beckoned.

Then came College! We were adults now. Just that the elders at home didn't think so. There was a power struggle at all times. It made sense to decide little things about my life coz, I was grown up and yet there was always this lurking fear if the decisions made would be approved of or not. Somehow there still was always this necessity to ask before acting on the decision..be it small or big. Life now revolved around looking good, darting looks at the opposite sex, enjoying hostel life and all the freedom it threw at us..chuckling and gossiping with late night coffees as the rain poured down on the roofs, fluttering pages of the thick anatomy text book with a definite confidence in flunking the exam the next day, the little cups of tea between classes, the canteen-owner-claimed fried rice, zooming on the roads with a brash arrogance of playing the lead role in the film about one's own life! Life was lived by the day. Every moment gave a thrill.

Then came post graduation. Things got a little more serious. Life was about career and direction. The friends that had coffee and tea were carving their own niche. Jobs, wedding, further studies..the care free days were gone..buried in sand. Invitations in dozens came my way..."It would be a pleasure to have your gracious presence at my wedding with ...." Friends I had fun with were now playing more responsible roles. My life had taken it's own route. Further studies took me away from all these moments. Not one invitation I could honour, coz life happened.

New friends came along. Old friends not forgotten. New lives intertwined. I wondered if I would ever be part of any of my friends' biggest moments..be it graduation, wedding, first b'day of their little ones..just any occasion that means a lot to them.

And a day arrives, 11pm in the night, in the middle of a b'day celebration of a close friend, there comes a call. The other end says.." 4 pm tomorrow..I am getting married." " I have a mandatory class...you can't get married." " But..I am. I would love for you to be there with me. Please make it" A moment's thought. " Gimme the address. I'll be there" Address given. Mandatory class forgotten. It took me the entire night to digest the information. An excitement at finally being a part of his big day. Sheer happiness that he had found his. An inexplicable feeling that I can only describe as a happy state! The next morning went in a frenzy as I attended to the daily routine called life. Come noon, all excited about getting dressed in ethnic attire, caught the train and landed at the court room. There he was. There she was. Looking gorgeous and beaming at each other and everyone around. Hugs exchanged, unspoken words somehow spoken. The group of friends that made it to the moment and it's celebrations along with the couple could no more wait to have it all happen. And finally it did. Papers were signed..witnesses, bride, groom and the mayor. A piece of paper was handed over to them with the words " by law, you are now husband and wife". They were made to stand, hold each other's hands, look into each other's eyes and take the vows of marriage..of being there for each other until death did them apart. As I handled the video camera, trying to capture every moment until posterity, I noticed a gleam in my friend's eye, as the face smiles away. Focus on the others around them and every body's eye had the same gleam. After a while I realized I no more knew what I was recording through the blur of my own eyes. Swallowing the big knot in the throat and flapping the eyelids to push back tears, I rushed to congratulate the couple.

There I was staring at my friend on his big day, floating in happiness realizing that even if life beckons, it's up to us sometimes to grab these moments and cherish them. It felt special to be part of his cherished moment and nothing else in the world could make me feel that way! I also realized, that a lot of the moments I have collected over years have always been with someone or the other...friends...and my life is the way it is coz of these very friends.

Getting it just right!

If you are a sloppy cook like me, you would probably relate to this post a little more on a personal level. By sloppy, I do not mean the messy kitchen you leave behind, I mean the I-will-be-there-but-just-not-yet stage your dish ends up in!

There are many ways in which my food doesn't exactly end up tasting as good as it should...or at least smells! Gran ma would say, make sure the onions are fried till they turn golden brown. I will get them to turn golden and impatiently put the next seasoning in, and then wonder why my food doesn't taste like gran ma's! You see, the magic taste was in the onion turning that slight tinge of brown! Problem no.1- diagnosed as impatience!

Then there are times when I carefully note down every step in a certain recipe, including cut bell peppers lengthwise or cut them into square pieces. Recipes collected from known and experienced sources like gran ma and unknown, inexperienced sources like acquaintances in a party! I do exactly what I write down, to the punctuation mark..and yet it turns out either a disaster or a shade brighter than a disaster! When I discussed this with mom..she said, cooking is not in getting things perfectly, sometimes it is the imperfection that gives that extra tease to the palate! problem no.2-diagnosed as perfectionist! But..the last time I din't turn the onion to golden brown,it was imperfection. But that din't amuse my taste buds at all!

I always seem to add less of the seasoning than too much. So, now no one who eats my dish can figure what I had tried to make....n that includes me. Considering my extraordinary culinary skills, there aren't many who venture trying out anything I dish out!

But then..there come some days when you do everything just the way you are used to doing...sloppily, and the dish comes out as perfect as you had imagined. That one day...actually..the only one day was today for me! Tried making one of my favourite dishes with mom telling me the stepwise recipe a hundred times over phone and me having it written from the scriptures of cooking..my gran ma! Have attempted this particular project umpteen number of times before, but have never until today got it right! When, I finally garnished it and it looked, felt and tasted exactly like what I am used to seeing,feeling and eating it as, there is just nothing that can express my ecstasy! It was purely exhilarating. I mailed mom.(she would freak out if I had called her this excited in the middle of her night). I told my friends of my great achievement, which they very casually let go.You see they are not as sloppy.

You know it's the sloppiness that actually lets you feel this extreme pride and joy of that achievement! If you are the kinds that gets just about every dish perfect, i know you feel the pride too, but you wouldn't understand the extent of thrill that comes with getting it just right!

Powerless

I am one of those type of gals who has everything any other gal would die to have and yet feel powerless. I cannot reveal everything i have, coz in simple terms they call it boasting and if you understand complexities more than I do, you'll probably understand teh phrase 'blowing your own trumpet'. But, why do I feel powerless?

1. Every time in school, teacher asked us to write an essay on my favorite festival, the gal who read hers out just before I did, wrote and read out so beautifully, that the whole class and my teacher would still be drowning in her voice while I finished reading mine. N thus, noone heard.So, whether it was good or bad, it was not registered.

2. Maths is not every gal's forte and neither is it mine. The gals that could juggle with numbers better than Ronaldo can juggle with the soccer ball were more popular.

3. The day I wore that pink frilly dress most boys claim to despise but secretly like to see gals in, another gal would wear pink frilly dress with pink ribbons and lace lined socks.

Basically, there was someone always better than me. Now you'll tell me, why do you look at who is better than whom and who is not? Every individual has his own niche or creates one. Now tell me..do you remember that gal with the skirt that was just above her knee and sat right at her tiny waist, wore a crisp shirt, rose her creamy hand in air every time the chemistry prof asked to solve an equation, smartly walked up to the black board, elegantly picked up a chalk and wrote with the most beautiful handwriting you have ever seen the entire equation completely balanced? You do? Great..your memory is something I tell you! But that was not me. I was that healthy gal sitting next to her,engrossed inside the notebook trying to solve the equation before I confidently can raise my hand and write it on the blackboard. Now do you remember me? NO!!!!! But I thought your memory was good!

Now...if you are that tall,dark, handsome, broad shouldered,chiseled mandible guy every gal in the entire school drooled on, I am appalled that you don't remember me. But can't expect much from you, you were dumb to begin with. Now you'll ask me if I remember that tiny scrawny fellow that shared the desk with you and for the most part was engrossed in his notebook as much as i was and my answer would be yes..i do. Today he is in that MNC drawing a handsome salary and we still keep in touch.
I know, I was in a better position than the gal who was baffled just looking at the equation. At least I knew how to attempt it, so what if i was not quick enough.

My late granpa always told my mom that not all fingers on your hand are of the same size, but not one of them can undermine the importance of the other. And mom passed this saying on to me. But Granpa also said, always compare yourself with the person better than you. He said that so mom could better herself. But granpa.... that comparison thing makes me feel like a hapless baby turtle held by it's shell, frantically flapping it's paddles in air trying to move ahead.

How and Why?

It's amazing how everything you do everyday in life grabs your attention and excites you only when you are preparing for this life and death deciding exam.. I know most people after having lived 50 years of post exam phase think there is no exam that can be life defining and death defying. But, with all due respect, right now my entire universe depends on that exam I have on Monday morning. Forget the cliche of "i don't know why exams exist?" and all that. I just want to ask myself a few questions....

How come you find every single atom of dust on yourself when you take a bath the day before your exam and hence spend an extra half an hour, despite knowing that time is a crucial commodity?
How come that speck of dust escapes your vision other days?

How come Mamta Banerjee's strike in Singur strikes so much interest in you on the Saturday when bleeding disorders is going to be on the exam on Monday and the answer to those questions will not involve any of the blood, shed from beating up the security guard of the nano factory?

How come some of the most interesting blogs pop up on a blog hopping spree just before the exam?

Why do you get sudden hunger pangs that involve a certain craving for paani puris, aloo tikki and the likes....basically stuff that was available with mom around and right now only in your dreams?

Why does the dusk and the view of the financial district with the fading sun fancy your interest and lure your thoughts in the direction of the special someone you had, have or are waiting for? He is not going to help you answer any questions on chest pains and failing hearts. Oh..yes..that topic is also on the exam for monday....CVS..(student term)

How come you suddenly remember the entire list of songs,that you wanted to download onto your i-pod in the order that you wrote them on the back of that grocery bill that you accidentally threw into the dustbin...all before the exam?

Why does the irritation of sitting in a moderately messy room annoy the wits out of you and you set upon mission wipe-out-every square mm and do a neater job than your immune system does trying to wipe out the virus you caught, coz you did not listen to mom and went out in the cold without a sweater?

And when you know, that all your achieving by writing this post is losing another few precious minutes..the minutes that would writhe you with pain when a question from that one slide you could not read, just as you were entering the hall ,coz the proctor snatched away your ppt appears and decides whether you pass or fail .....why are you still at it?

So..lesson learnt...action planned..execution still under contemplation..but soon to be implemented.

relation...with an expiry date!

When two hearts connect as much as the minds do, the magic of it all is indescribable. And when the snap happens, the pain and the sunken feeling is...... indescribable!

They hit it off together, the moment they were introduced at a friend's birthday bash. She smiled with a silent "i thought so too" to everything her new friend said. Somehow it seemed like one of them was a mouth piece for the other. They met often after that and grew to be fast friends. They had as much fun as two gals would have when they identify with each other. Every outing was guaranteed fun. Every little hello would turn into a chat that would last till some part of the conversation would remind either of them that they met by chance and this chat was not planned, that the purpose was different from what was being achieved! A party plan would first start with filling each other with the day's or week's details that included things as shallow as who stood where while saying what to everything that hit the heart and din't! Yes, they were friends..they were soul mates.

Years went by, life went by...and they lived every minute to it's full. Life threw the dice in different ways and each climbed a different ladder. Yet at the end of the journey, they still found each other. Time and physical distance din't matter, till on one instance both dimensions got too big. It's surprising how we stop trusting the connection, how we doubt the thought of the very person who we claim to be a reflection, how unsure we get about the other person's perception of a certain act just coz time and distance got in the way. That is just what happened. Suddenly, there were silent thoughts on both sides that went on the lines of " do i really know her?". It's amazing how the connection and the snap occur with the same speed, same ease and without parameters. They just do.

Now an uncomfortable silence fills the space on the phone. The mind makes an effort to come up with things that can be shared with the surity that the other will perceive it in the same way as being said. Worse, the list of things would just get shorter with every call. Eventually the frequency of calls fall. Time and distance between the minds, just got bigger...enough to let the connection be a part of posterity. Each would remember the bygone days and pray the other is leading a life peacefully. And that thought was the only thing that stayed constant from the past to the present.

Life and it's ways. The friend is not lost, yet the thought of the person brings an uncomfortable feeling that relates to pain that comes with a loss. Why?

musing...

Life sometimes teaches you the big lessons in a small way and the small lessons in a big way! I've always wondered how life comes up with a methodology of teaching the various lessons to it's own creation in a quest to make it perfect and balanced!

I wondered why it was so important to come close to perfection? I wondered what was the picture of perfection? I wondered why these lessons need to be learnt? I wondered if every creation really wanted to meet perfection,or was it just the libran in me. How does it matter to be balanced?

I do not know the picture of perfection,but I do know what picture of me I seek to be. I do not know how it matters to be close to perfection, but I know I will be at peace if I am that picture I seek to be.I've reached this perfection many times in life and then a sudden act snatches that peace away. Life's lessons are about reflecting on how delicate perfection is, on how minute and intricate it's boundaries are and what inside of one needs to change to make those boundaries stronger. The balance is about attaining the picture one wants to be by maintaining the lines n strokes that are part of the perfect picture and changing the ones that aren't. For refraining from doing either can destroy the image.

Perfection I thus thought was about being at peace with oneself, about being happy with who you are and reflect to the world around you.

In awe...

How many times has it happened to you,that you come across glimpses of another being's personality and it stuns you? It's the experiences that shape a personality is what I've heard most times, but isn't it also what you make of the experiences that shape you? Isn't that the reason why some people grow with experience while most others either stagnate or worse, undo their growth thus far.

In the past few weeks, significant experiences have left me feeling like the lesser mortal, when I suddenly was made aware of the vast expanse of growth that my being is hungry for. I wondered what it was about the personality that got them so ahead on the face of the same earth that I share too! Age,accomplishments or much more?

Sitting in a classroom of 100 odd students, in the middle of a regular tiring day,with an exam following that lecture, isn't the setting I would expect to be jolted out of my senses! But I guess, the impact of something is maximum when you least expect it to happen. As we all sat, catching up with each other on the week that had gone by, in walked a tall,well-built man in a suit. The first thing you would notice about him is his mop of silver. As he walked around the podium trying to set up for his lecture, I caught his eye. Not thinking much, I continued to contribute to the din. After what felt like just a second later, one of our familiar professors walked up and took the liberty of introducing the man with the silver mop! He was an alumnus of the college, a pioneer in one of the subjects in dentistry(Cosmetic dentistry) that has now become the face of dentistry to the common man, currently one of the most successful practitioners in the city with high profile clients. A man whose works I have read as a student getting introduced to a new subject and as a curious learner wanting to know more. Someone I had associated a face to with the name on the cover page of the book,with not even the slightest imagination that one day I would actually see the real face to the name! The feeling of sharing the same breathing space with a legend,seeing him from a distance of 5 feet, getting an eye contact which to him would have been just another moment,but to me was a defining one, gave me a heightened feeling. It was definitely inspiring to say the least!! The simplicity with which this figure walked in,unannounced,no pompousness, no VIP treatment, just another regular guy coming to teach a classroom half of which is filled with students who were living a parallel life mentally while physically being here, was what touched me the most. That act to me defined his growth as an individual.

...left me wondering, if there ever would be a student who would be as awed, by my existence...
..left me also wondering if I would ever utilise the opportunities I get, to grow so much as an individual..