BOOM!

Some day its all going to end you know...
The last flight of steps will be over,
And you will have come home.

All the fights you wanted to win,
Will fade away in history.
And so will your victories and failures.

No one will ask after you anymore,
Some just might remember
A lost memory or smile here and there.

You won't have time to regress
Or take a few last minute decisions...
So, what have you been doing lately?

I dont want this

I don't want this.
I don't want the dream,
the reality or even the promise.
I dont want any hopes..
first hand or left over.

I don't want this life.
I don't want any love.
I don't want the money.
I don't need the job.
Just let me run free.

I dont want to see.
Or hear, taste
Or even smell...
Just let me lie under
And rot beneath the ground.

remote control dream

I was writing about this to a friend this morning... and then thought, hey, maybe a few more people could find out... hence this post.

One famous news channel - uhmm... lets call it "Born on regular indian network goofup' (B.O.R.I.N.G) - wanted to go around the city and ask people what they think of Bangalore. They also wanted to know people's opinion on what they expect Bangalore to be a few years down the line...
A very aggressive campaign... and conducted in a very slick fashion.
They also want to promote their particular programme on print. So, they pay the newspaper the channel itself belongs it.. and asks for a story.

Story approved.

Therefore, this so called journalist goes to a spot where they are interviewing people and takes a few pictures.
B.O.R.I.N.G had also requested this journo to organise some well known (read: page 3) people of the society who would be willing to come in front of the camera and speak.
Well known people didnt happen.

What happened was about 3-4 smart college kids... who live in the city, hang out here, go to study here, understand what's troubling the city, to come and give their opinion.

But B.O.R.I.N.G doesn't want them... Cos they look young, and they dont look like they live in the city (this is very enlightening actually.. i didn't know that you could look like you lived in a particular city). So the journo interviewed a man who in not from Bangalore (has been here about a year), another girl who was wearing a long Indian print skirt and dangling earrings (that made her look like a local?) and couldn't stop giggling.

This story gave me the bigger picture:

At the end of the day whether a television channel promises truth of a lifetime or not, they are still competing against the TRP ratings of a "Kahaani ghar ghar ki" or whatever soap opera comes on TV.
Therefore, news channels (especially Indian ones and even a few international channels) have to make sure their news readers look better than a Pallavi or Parvati or Pinky or Priyanka on TV.
They have to make sure there is more scoop and gossip than there's on the soap.
They have to make sure that if people watch soap operas, it has to be theirs.

So, what we see is not news...
What we see is the glorified version of a piece of information that could or could not make a difference in our lives... But now that we have seen their dramatised version... a few sleepless nights might occur.

Eventually, that's what they want!

I have walked

I have walked the shadows of my past
And lived through every strife
Some forgotten, some I still carry
Through these dungeons of life.

I have met people aplenty
Fallen in love, cried in shame
Guilt has overtaken me
And left me to hurt again.

It’s been a curious game
Sometimes easy, sometimes weird
Seen the dance through pearls of rain
And traced the melancholy of the birds.

Twisted memories, reckless laughter
Wet kisses and an endless fall
I have woken up to nothing
And yet to find it all.

How bizarre

I have never known such a passionate kiss. It made me weak in the knees and brought some old butterflies back. A kiss that was demanding yet amateur, hungry yet shy; a kiss that blew my mind.
I have never known touch so closely. It broke my heart. It walked straight through by body and pierced it.
I have never known anything like this.

We don’t share a relationship. I have shared the rain with him, a walk with him, pasta with him… I have talked to him incessantly without wondering whether he gets me or not. I have brought back the old me just for one single moment.

Honestly, I cannot explain what we share. I don’t know him and yet I know him completely. I have never found time to discover him and yet, with each passing day he reveals himself.
It’s not love; that I’m certain of.
Maybe just a frantic search for something we can’t have. Or can we?
The question remains.

He will never read this. That’s the beauty of it. He doesn’t have to. He doesn’t need to. He lives in his world of charm and aspirations where I strive to achieve something that I cannot have; a piece of his life for me to have.

My friends think I am a hopeless romantic. For me love is something that walks through my door too many times a day. Not true. I just like being in love, for the shortest of time or longest of moments. And that’s what keeps me going. Slight pain can cause a stir, a touch – a storm.
That’s what I live for… an everlasting shift of emotions to take over me.
That’s what I live for…eternity from the simple joys of life.

I know he will never read this… but someday I hope he knows what I am talking about.

Fakin' it

I hate it when you fake love.
I mean we could be friends
We could have sex
But where did this love come from?

Did I say or do something?
That made you think I loved you?
A whimper, a caress? I just don’t get it.
Then why make me love you?

Then I see the same words
That you share with others.
God fucking knows what else,
It’s quite a depressing thing you know.

Okay, so we did have a good time.
I did kiss you till my head buzzed,
And dreamt of you every single night,
And swore to ‘cherish you forever’ and all that.

You’re ugly, you’re despicable and you’re fat.
There’s nothing to you that I really want.
I wish I could strangle you.
At least, then you can’t fake love.

What’s so special about the way I survive?

What's so special about the way I survive?
It's just a mundane job... from one act to the other.
A fake smile goes a long way, a dollar even further.
A small lie wins me lovers, an empty praise, friends.

I haven’t made many promises, broken even less.
I have lied, I have pretended to love, smile, cry.
I have watered plants, watched them grow.
I have killed them with my hands.

I have lost many thoughts in the sea of words
I have stood before the sun, and drunk its orange poison
I have hidden under the stars when there was nowhere else to go.
I have jumped over the moon and reached a new dimension.

So, what’s so special about the way I survive?

Liberation - Concluding Part

We are the Mukherjees. We lived in a four-story mansion in north Calcutta. Generations before us have been lawyers and doctors and scientists and everyone knew about us. We commanded respect and no son or daughter of the family has done anything to go against the values that have been set aside especially for them, with two brilliant exceptions, of course.
My father is a painter. My grandfather had thrown him out of the house when he voiced his desire to become an artist by profession. Granddad tried reasoning with him in the beginning.
"Why can't you study law and paint on the side, like a hobby? Why do you have to jeopardise what we have built? Why can't you be normal?"
My father, I hear, had kept quiet because he knew that no reason would satisfy his father and left quietly when he was ordered to do so.
With the help of his friends, he found a job as a designer with an advertising agency. There were no computers in those days and artists who could swallow their pride and actually surrender to commercial work were welcomed with open arms. He did pretty well actually. In the next five years, he got in touch with twenty writers, designers, sales people and opened his own advertising agency with an account for a hair oil given to him by a friend who worked for the company. In another year's time, my father and his agency had six major clients and ten other clients who worked with them intermittently. He bought an apartment in south Calcutta and began living there.
Seven years after being thrown out of his house, his father came to him, saw what his son had achieved for himself and begged him to return. My father didn't have any issues on that but he never sold the south Calcutta flat. He knew that property wouldn't be easy to come by later.
He was married to my mother in 1970 when he was 30 and my mother was 19. My father was extremely annoyed that his parents would fix his marriage with someone young enough to be his sister, but they were persistent. My father was told that my mother was extremely good at running a home and would bring about a balance in his otherwise maddening life. I think my father had married ma pretty much reluctantly. I was born after seven years of their marriage. My father wanted my mother to finish her education (which she never did!) and not produce babies within a year of marriage.
I was a rebel child. I wore shorts and rode bicycles. I learnt how to fix the car and climb trees. I learnt how to knit, stitch, cook, paint, dance, sing, swim, play tennis, and ride horses and so on and so forth. My father didn't want another child and so he brought me up to be a boy and a girl at the same time. I was his pride factor. He named me Mrinalini, after his mother as I was supposed to have taken after her. It was my mother who called me Rashmi because she thought my formal name was too long.
I finished my graduation in English literature and continued in Linguistics at the master's level, much to my mother's horror and father's delight. Soon, my mother began to look for eligible bachelors for me and my father would discourage it all the time. I knew that if I wanted to escape the matchmaking acts then I would have to escape quickly. But till then, I was stuck. My degree was another year away. I had fallen in love for the first time when I was 15. He was my neighbour. Aditya played the flute and wrote love poems all the time. We had met during a local celebration and were together from that moment on. I would sneak out on Saturday afternoons when my mother would be asleep and go over to meet him. We would hold hands and talk about the future. It was rather silly, when I think of it now, but there was a major learning that lay underneath it all.
Aditya and I managed to get away on a Sunday (I still don't know how!) and for the first time, we had sex in a farmhouse that belonged to his family. I was eighteen. Sometimes, I wonder what my mother would do if she found out that her precious and eligible daughter was not a virgin anymore. She would probably hang herself. It's a risk I haven't taken yet.
It was after my high school that Aditya went away to Bombay for his graduation. We used to write to each other all the time. The Internet was our best friend. But it lasted only for a few months. The frequency of mails reduced and soon there wasn't much to write about either.
Both of us were busy with new friends and our new lives. College changed everything and I was swept away by all that. I also saw a few other guys casually and slowly began to grow out of my teenage romance. I think Aditya and I stopped corresponding altogether when I was in my second year of college. Later he wrote to me telling me that he was leaving for London to finish his studies in neurology. It didn't hurt me much but it was sad to say good-bye to a part of life you want to cherish forever.
Sometimes, I still wonder. When my mother talks about a 'nice' boy for me, I wonder if she would ever, by chance, of course, fix me up with Aditya. We were neighbours after all. The irony of it would be that I don't think I could accept being with him. Things were different then.

My thoughts were broken when I heard my father's car moving into the driveway. He had returned from his golf match and that meant lunch would be served soon. I looked at the watch and saw it was almost 2. Thinking sure helps time to fly. I ran down and met my father. He looked happy, must have had a good game. Lunch was served at 2:30. I noticed two of my aunts had decided not to stay for lunch.
After lunch, my father came up to me and said, "Can you come to the library after you have helped your mom to clean up?"
I wondered what my father wanted to talk to me about. I was a little scared, to be honest. It wasn't everyday that my father wanted to speak to me in private. After I had helped ma put away the dishes, I went up to the library.
My father was sitting on his favourite armchair with some papers in his hand. He heard me come in, so he looked up and said, "Sit. This is important."
"What is it, baba? Something wrong?"
I was too nervous to ask him anything specific.
"Mrinalini, you are no longer a child. I see you growing up everyday. And each day you make me proud. I don?t know if there is anything else I can expect from a son or a daughter. But there must be something that you would want to do for yourself as well. I have never asked you what you wanted because I wanted you to find it for yourself. I cannot imagine you as just someone's wife three or four years down the line. Therefore, I am going to let you go. I want you to go out into the world and make your place. You don't have to do it the way I did but I am sure you will find some way or the other. I don't want to be like my father who had to throw me out because we didn?t see eye to eye. Whatever happens, I will always see eye to eye with you."
With that my father settled all the papers he had on his lap and gave them to me. Along with that he gave me a key. Tears had welled up in my eyes. I couldn?t see what the papers read, I only wanted to hug my father tight and cry. The papers were a part of the property that he was signing over to me. And the key was to his flat that he had so preciously maintained for so long.

No more words were said. I took everything he gave me and went to my room.
Somewhere in the middle of the night I realized that it was liberation day for me. My father had given me the wings I dreamt for so long but was too afraid to ask for. I could take my first unquestioned step into the world.
I moved out two weeks later. My mother cried like a newborn baby and my father proudly drove me to my new home. He didn?t come up.
At the gate before bidding me farewell, he hugged me and told me, "I never wanted another child because when I saw you the first time, I knew that you were all I wanted."

Liberation - Part I

I heard my mother calling for me as soon as I walked into the house. I responded, sighed and went to my room to take a bath.
It was a Sunday and on Sundays our house was a lunatic asylum. It was always bustling with activity and we barely managed some breathing space. I remember seeing faces of relatives I had never heard of, visited or saw again pouring in every weekend.
My mother often would say that it was my father who attracted our relatives from all over. I never really got around appreciating it much. And the best part of it was that my father disappeared every Sunday morning to play golf before these people came and returned only for lunch.
Living in a city has its disadvantages. One grows up with liberal ideas and it is difficult to understand the mind of someone who cannot imagine that a girl can stay unmarried even at the age of 22. I rarely got involved in these kind of issues which were the usual 'hot topics of discussion' when my aunt seventeen times removed would ask my mother if she was looking for a 'nice' boy for me.
I counted five heads by the time I reached my room. Today was going to be a killer. I probably won't even have time to complete my assignments. Damn, I would have to stay up late again tonight. My bath had to be over in five minutes because I heard my younger cousin coming into the room and knocking on my bathroom door. I told her I would be out in a second, and when I came out, I saw her poking around my jewellery box. "How many times have I told you not to touch my things, Meenu? It?s really annoying, you know." "Sorry didi, I was only looking."
And with that she left me to get dressed.
One of these days, I am going to strangle the girl. And if I cannot muster enough courage, I am going to take her to the terrace and lock her there for a couple of hours. She gets on my nerves all the time.
"R... A... S... H... M... I!"
And I really wish my mom wouldn't holler like that all the time.
"Be there in a minute, ma," I yelled back; serves her right. She has always told me that girls from decent families never shouted. As soon as I went down, my mother called me into the kitchen."You need help or what?" I asked.
I had made her promise last week that she wouldn't make me cook when those annoying aunts and sisters and grand-some-things were around. She had this horrible tendency of using my culinary talents to show off.
"Please dear, just for today. I am making five different dishes. How will I ever cook lunch in time, you tell me?"
"You are making five dishes for breakfast?!? Are you out of your mind? Why can't you make something simple, ma? I just don?t understand you."
"You will understand all of this when you get married. Then you have to keep so many people happy. At that time, one course, even if it's breakfast, will not do."
"I hope you aren?t planning to get me married to the Maharajah of Jaipur." With that I sat down to help her.
"You know, Rashmi, Mrs. Sen was asking about you the other day. She was saying that her nephew who is a software engineer in the US is planning to get married. I told her that you cannot even think of it till you finish your masters, but she said that maybe you people could meet when he comes down for Christmas. What do you think?"
"I think that you better concentrate on your curry if you want to serve these people a decent meal in a decent time. And if you talk about my marriage again, especially with me, I will run away and marry some useless actor from the local city film studio."
"Dear God, what nonsense are you talking about? Your father and I will have no respect left. We will have to hide our faces in shame. What will people think? Mr. Mukherjee?s daughter married a vagabond. Tell me now, Rashmi, are you seeing any boy of that kind?"
"MOTHER... If you want my help, then do something about it. I cannot have you spoil my cooking. And I asked you to give me three onions, not two." That was the end of the conversation.
For the moment, at least.
I knew, of course, that my mother had already pictured me walking hand in hand with a ruffian and romancing near the lakes. God! When will mothers change a bit?
Breakfast was served exactly at 9:30 and went on for an hour. Aunt A had to tell my mom about Uncle C's daughter who didn't do well in her graduation exams and how Grand Uncle D was very unhappy about Aunt F's son who wanted to marry a girl outside their caste. I was, of course, thinking where I could buy some rat poison easily.
Suddenly, Meenu asks this ridiculous question. "Didi, don't you have a boyfriend? Ayesha told me she saw you with a tall boy outside New Empire the other day and you were smiling and talking to each other."
Silence. For ten whole seconds. Then I heard thunder and lightning and then it began to pour.
"Rashmi, what is this that I am hearing? When did you go to New Empire? And who is this boy? Oh my god! What has become of my daughter? Will she never learn? I teach her all this. Give her a good education, let her go out alone, even allow her to wear western clothes. And this is what she does to me?"
Five gallons of tears poured out incessantly.
"When did Ayesha see me, Meenu? Ask her and come back. I never miss classes. So it is almost impossible for me to be standing in front of New Empire. And I don?t have any 'boy friend', Meenu. I am too old to engage myself in such trivialities. And mother, if you cry anymore without knowing the truth, I will have no choice but to stop speaking to you. So please don't force me."
That did shut my mother up. For whatever be her disappointments with me, she knew that I didn't take my education lightly and wouldn't even dream of wasting my time when I had classes to attend. I also kept myself busy with various activities and haven't been involved in romance per se in a long time. What happened before is a different story altogether.

For Adrianne

Dear girl, you have smiled at me for no reason.
And I have smiled back, reading your mind.
You held my large working hands and
Clasped them with your tiny digits,
Giving me faith, hope and courage with each passing day.

With every bit of heartbreak followed an embrace
Acceptance without an explanation.
You let me cry without asking questions
Yet you didn't let my heart bleed dry.

I am not amongst the stars as you were told
Those fairy tales are not for you.
I am everywhere, inside, outside, over and above
The grey skies; watching you, holding you
Showing you a life that will not let you give up.

Unavoidable Circumstances

There is no escape, he whispered.
He crawled out of the bed and trudged to the bathroom. It's going to be a long day today and an even longer night.
She hadn't taken his call. He hadn't wondered why.
It's more like a routine anyway.
Drenched in sweat, sprawled across the bed, she would probably be watching her partner from last night break out of sleep. And she would be wondering if he is the one.
It's the same story from which there is no escape.
He bathed and dressed like every day. Like everyday he took his car out and checked for petrol. And like everyday, he grumbled about the traffic as he drove to work. And like every day, he idled away his time thinking of her.
He imagined her before him, under him, above him.
He thought of the only time she came close to kissing him; the only time he was allowed to touch her.
He thought of the only time his brain exploded when he left her place for the last time.
And like everyday, she lay alone on the bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering if it was the right shade of white. And like every other day, tears were rolling down her face as the man she just had sex with forgot to kiss her goodbye. And her heart broke like fragile china as she knew she would never see him again.
And like everyday, she got up, cleaned up and drowned herself in work.
Memories from a distant past were erased. At least, for the time being.
Two faces. Two names. Same city.
A cringing pain. An unsolicited failure.
A relationship ending because it had no time to begin.
A pathetic illusion from which there is no light.
A song which has no tune or verse.
A life from which there is no escape.

Learning to be domesticated

I have been waiting for a while now
Giving you looks thats not hard to understand,
Wanted to make love while the morning was young
And then the phone rang;
Your mother had dozens of things to say
Some stranger wanted a wrong address
In the meanwhile, the milkman came
With bills i dont really care about.
The rent is due sometime today
The cable guy needs to be paid
My cook needs instructions for breakfast
How does one steal a moment here?
A lot of paperwork to be done
Calls that need to be returned
Its funny when this side of the bargain
Is invisible when you decide for life.

The better deal

A was reading all the mails... she was crying.. quite shamelessly. B was in the next room. God knows what he was thinking.
A came out of the room and told him what she had done...What she didn't do was walk out of his life...
Maybe because they were in a different city. But it was her city.
B sat... no explanations... just some words that appeared to be Hebrew to her.

Where did C come from? And mostly, Why? Why did she know every little detail about their life... Why did she know when A came home, how she behaved etc? Why did she think she could be friends with A at some point of time?
Friendships don't come cheap or free.

There was no more dignity left, no more pride...
And B thought it was okay.. something that would pass over them..
Well, to hell with it. Life is not about dependancy.. It's about working together.. and various other things people tell us all our lives.

A didn't really have a social life. She went to work... worked...Came back home.. mostly late. Sometimes, she would catch a movie with her girlfriend.

Was she ignoring B? She didn't know that. But B wanted more attention... Fair enough..He found that attention from someone else.. Apparently, C managed to give him more time (on the phone and email of course!) even though she had a crazy work schedule and a child and a husband.

Looking for something that is beyond the ordinary explanations of life... That's what A read in one of the e-mails.. not the exact words.. something like that.

So, A and B fought with each other. B wanted to work things out (how do these things work anyway?) and A wanted to kill him.
B promised her stuff. A didn't believe him.. not after this...

Marriages failed every day.... That day, a long, thin, invisible crack appeared in theirs... And like most old houses, it will continue to be there till one of them decide to sell it off and move on.

A needs more answers.. but no one is offering her any because she 'doesn't need to know.' Fair enough, one day B wouldn't need to know either.

From nothing to nothing

I have been waiting a long while for the right moment to start my book. My mind offered many excuses to delay the inevitable.
And then 2 things happened; a friend passed away and I went on a cruise.
Two completely unrelated events changed my life.
I want to talk about the cruise first.
It was arranged by my company and the whole team went from Bombay to Cochin to Goa to Bombay.
We had a lot of fun and learnt a lot about each other on the ship. In a way it was very enlightening.
And then one night, at 2:00 in the morning, I stood on the top most deck of the ship. I looked down and saw the waves break into foam against the ship, I saw the wake that we were leaving behind... and around me the dark, black ocean.
I realised how small we really are against the vastness of the water, how our existence is inconsequential... I realised that we are nothing. This life is nothing... whatever we make of it, or don't make of it, at the end of the day, we are just memories that wait to fade into time.

Coming to my friend:
Anu was my sister's age. Bright, pretty and full of life. That is how everyone described her.
What I noticed only after she died was her passion. She was a journalist and at her memorial, her friends and family put up some of her work on a soft board. I read some of it. It exuded a lot of her will power, strength and love for whatever she ventured into.
And then one fine day, she died.
I learnt that there is no point in waiting for tomorrow.
There is no point in waiting for something to happen.
We have to do everything right now.
That's the key word 'now'.

So, I have started writing again. Am not going to wait for that perfect moment, cos the perfect moment is right here.
Right Now.

House Hunting

The dreaded moment is not far away... a few months to be precise...

Rajesh and I have to move out of the flat we had been renting for about 8 months now... (but we did it up so well!)
Of course, the owner doesn't have a choice in the matter.. he is not evicting us.. just coming back to the country...

So, we decided to buy... at least if we keep the EMIs going, no one's going to throw us out (or can they?)

Buying a home in Bangalore is like shoving a hand into sand and looking for that perfect shell.. your fingers get dirty along with your clothes, feet etc... you might find despicable objects leaving traces on your hands and if you're lucky, some sort of insect will try and make friends with you...

So you come back the next day and try digging somewhere else... same story...different day...
Maybe, if you hold on to your hopes, you will find that dream home... (I wonder if that word exists though)

In the last 2 days, we have seen three apartments.. None of them were bad actually.. except the first flat had an excuse of a kitchen; more like a phone booth really.
The second one was quite nice except for the fact that it had a large dumping yard in front of it.. the funny thing is that this flat is most expensive.. I still haven't been able to figure out why... the location isn't exactly the best...
The third was quite a curious apartment.. it has hospital tiles all over.. is cheap... not bad.. except that owner wants a part in cash.. up front..
Okay then, we don't really belong to the 'oh yeah, cash no problem' category...

Does it sound like I'm complaining... am not.. Just thought it to be a very interesting experience...

A couple of tips to those looking for a house:

1. Don't wear great clothes.. Brokers (if you are using one) think you have a lot of money if you are dressed well.
2. Don't ever comment on the cost of the flat.. even if you like the price.
3. Don't look happy to see something you like. Keep a poker straight face.. in fact, find some fault if you can.
4. Look out of the window and see if you can touch the next building's wall with your hands... if you can, move on. You don't want neighbours to be that close.
5. Make sure you can turn around, brush your teeth, change your clothes in the bathroom without bumping in to the wall or door.

That should help.. in a way...

And see at least 5 to 6 homes before you decide...

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.