I wonder

I was reading a friend's blog a couple of days back where he had written (very beautifully, I have to say) about how his parents met and got married. Not only could I visualise the whole thing, it also got me thinking.

We spent a great deal of our lives with our parents. And through all sorts of turmoil and joy, they try to figure us out. But how much do time or energy do we spend trying to know them.
I mean how many of us know about what kind of lives our parents had when they were our age.

Just a passing thought!

Pondy- cheery!

Sometime last year, I had written about my trip to Pondicherry; about the whole tourism trap; about their love for white skin and plenty other things.

However, what I did not mention is that I would go back to that place again, when time permits.

And I did. Last weekend.

It's the same old place really. Some new restaurants have opened up. There seemed to be lesser people than last time (which was odd, cos this was a long weekend) and the sea looked lovely.

The trip to Pondy from Bangalore is kinda long, given the roads aren't really great. That
reminds me, do all roads leading from anywhere to Bangalore suck?
Take the ECR (the one that's from Chennai), it rocks! But wanna get out of Bangalore, fight the roads first.

I don't want to write pages of what I did there and I don't think very many people would be interested. My observations therefore, are in bullets.

* Patricia's guest house: All foreigners love her. She has guest houses spread all across the city and they are done up in a very quaint fashion, almost nice. We had stayed at one of them on our last trip. But now, greed has gotten the better of her. The rooms are expensive and the service is bad (actually whatever little service exists). I wouldn't recommend anyone to visit there unless she cleans up her act.

*Hotel Ajantha: The place we moved into after quitting Patricia's guest house. New, on the beach. The staff are very cordial and they have a nice pub attached.
Rooms are nice, clean and the airconditioning helps to get some sleep if you can't stand the heat.
Food is reasonable and average to taste. But you dont want to get stuck there and miss out the other joints around.

* Hotel Promenade: Owned by Hidesign. We didn't stay there but spent some time at their restaurant. It's nice. not expensive. You get good food. The decor is nice and as expected, lots of leather but classy.

*Rendevouz: No racism this time. The food was good. The ambience was as it was the last time. I think they have changed their staff as service was prompt.

*Madame Shanthe's: I am quite convinced that the house belonged to someone called Shanthi or Shantha in Pondicherry. But I guess a restaurant with the name Aunt Shantha/Shanthi wouldnt have been a great idea and given Pondy's relationship with the French, Madame Shanthe's was the obvious choice for a name.
The food is good but you may not get all that you want. They even run out of potatoes at times :)
On a serious note, they dont serve anything but beer, you will however get fresh juices there and the usual 'coke pepsi'.

We walked down Mission Street (shopping hub of Pondy) on a busy night. It's hard to believe that its a part of the quiet, peaceful Pondy we are used to. But I enjoyed it immensely. The kind of people you meet there are so completely different from what we are used to.

Our trip to Auroville was nice, though the sun was killing us. Unfortunately we missed the German Bakery. But the cafe inside the visitors' centre at Auroville was really nice. They have a store attached which sells some real neat stuff and they are affordable (couldnt resist the hats I bought)

One of our friend's Navin locked his car with the keys inside so we had a little adventure as Rajesh tried to break into the car (with instructions from the service station!)
We had lunch at Aubergine, which also happens to be one of my favourite food joints there. But somehow, my friends didnt like it there. I couldn'[t tell the difference.

Am back to work today; a little hungover from the trip, but happy. I wish diwali would come more often. :)

Runaway soul

Its that time again. An incessant urge, a chronic disease.
It leads me through a roller coaster.
I was thinking of my college a couple of days ago. The way I would hide and run to the canteen every time I heard the walking stick of the head of the department fade in from the staff room.
I cant do that anymore. If I do, I don't get paid. Its really a simple equation.
A friend of mine got a job and moved to Bombay, and I was thinking of the aroma of the sweat mingled with cheap perfume that would violate my nostrils every time I stepped inside one of those trains.
I thought of my college and how a certain professor encouraged me to begin passing notes to the class. Of course, he didn't know about it.
Why do I think of all this? Probably because now I have to get up early in the morning, and I cannot walk into my parents' bedroom and tell them that I am taking a break to Shantiniketan with my college friends.
I cannot decide to hang out with my friends at Someplace Else on a random evening.
I cannot think of hitching a ride and going to some strange destination. Probably because I am not what I used to be.
Regrets? I have a few, I would say, copying the famous crooner.
I wish I didn't become the depressed domesticated self that I have been turned into.
I wish I could just pick up my bag, call a few friends and go watch a play.
I wish I had some friends I could simply hang out with. Discuss Marquez or Bach or even Tin Tin.
I wish there was a cup of steaming coffee in front of me and smoke from cutlets racing towards the nearest window.
I wish for a free mind and a soul that wouldn't feel trapped in an endless battle for existence.
I wish I was bisexual. I wish I could hold a woman as sensuously as I can hold a man.
I wish I could wade into water and lie in it all day.
I wish water lilies would talk to me.
I wish there would be no end to one rainy evening.
I wish to drink a bottle of wine, sitting on the floor of my terrace while people from other houses would huddle in front of the TV and pray for the rains to clear.
I wish there was someway I could escape from a dungeon.
I wish memories wouldn’t fade into nothingness.
I wish for linen to clean itself each day.
I wish for plants to stop dying, for snow to visit new places.
I wish my phone bills weren't so high.
I wish someone would see me for what I really am and embrace me. Not for being smart or being happy or honest. But for being sensitive, strange and scared.
I want to visit all the ruins in this country and dream up the wars and battles that led to history.
I want to see the dried and washed away blood that adorn battlefields.
I want to say a prayer in the name of every human that has ever walked this planet.
Finally, I want to wake up one day and feel better about myself.

shockproof

There are lots of things about my life in Bombay that I don't remember. And I don't know why. It's kind of weird. considering that i did spend some amazing times there, learnt the lessons of life etc, every memory should be categorised and labelled in my brains. but that doesn't seem to be the case.
when i came back to Calcutta after my stint there, i couldnt stop thinking of going back. not that i was going to, but i couldn't resist the occasional thought that dominated my brain for a whole day.
and yet, there is very little memory.

a couple of weeks back, i was wondering why is it that i don't remember stuff. then i realised that there is very little about my life as a child or a teenager that's remained in my cranial library.

a strange sort of feeling engulfed me. i was mighty depressed. i see how my friends can make random references to their life as if everything is carefully laid out in front of their eyes to use.

i don't know who, but a person had told me once that i was shockproof. nothing seemed to touch me. maybe that is why i don't remember stuff.

i have been in and out of relationships; a few short lived ones and one really long one. and of all my relationships, not one has left a lasting impression. it's sad. what a waste of ideas, love, time and everything else that carefully weaves the intricacies of life together.

someday, maybe when i am older and reaching the ripe moment of senility, all my memories will come back. i know it will be then that i will need them most.

Silver Dreams

Walking with abandon and without concern,
A silvery shadow tails me in secret
Towards a moonstruck horizon,

Everything is just so perfect.

Silvers flowers and silver gardens
Silver fruits on silver trees
Silver waters dancing away,

Making love to silver fish.

Shades of white blending in
Appearing with every little blink
In my carefree walk down the path,

What might white do, I think.

I asked not for gleaming gold
Nor for the alluring carbon
Just a touch of simple silver,

To light up my world of illusion.

My earth is just orange

My earth is just orange
Like my brain that tugs at your mind
Like my heart, that changes no colour
Like the rain drops that beg at your feet
However, the water is green, the mud yellow.
Don’t misunderstand, my earth is just orange.

The smoke is blue that rises above the ocean
And blends with the clouds in merriment
The trees are tired of the plague that infects them
No flowers to pretend, enact, or sing.

The birds are long dead and gone;
The men continue to overachieve,
And from my crummy window where not much is seen.
My earth is still orange.

The grass sings a different tune
They are angry and failed soldiers with no revenge.
Their corpses lie scattered with no head count.
There can be no treaty of peace with them.

Cherries, mangoes, apples and oranges
Have become names in the tattered dictionary.
A rare taste lingers at the end of my tongue
And my earth persists to remain orange.