Lots of people who meet me think I am a bundle of contradictions. I quite agree to that. Although not always.
There are very simple things that make me happy. I like to keep my life as simple as possible. I like to sort things out before I sleep. I hate to sleep over a fight. I also do not like to talk much about my life to people. There is only one friend I share everything of my life with and she is very important. So she has a piece of me with her. It’s scary but I am comfortable with this.
Recently someone told me he was “smell” sensitive. Well even I am. I am sensitive the smell of a new book. I love the smell so much that I make it a point to buy my own book. I never borrow books. I love to keep my books as a collection with me. Each book on that shelf has a story to it other than its own. I buy books when I am travelling, when I am bored and when I want something to divert from the mundane life. So you know why they all have a story to tell me. One such book that stays with me is “The Christmas Carol” by Dickens. It’s a book I had read when I was a kid. The book stays as a memory as with that book I realised that even books can make you cry. Similar was the story of “The Match Girl” I do not even remember the author of the story but this story really disturbed me. The pathos was so real for a child to grasp. Now these are the stories I would want to write one day. I would want my stories to be real as much real as possible and at the same time impact the child in such a way that it stays on. That’s what a story is all about.
Some other things that really make me happy are old records. Yes my family has been into a lot of music and the variety has spanned from old English, to Hindi, to Bengali. I still remember the Sunday mornings. My father has a liking towards music and he loves to enjoy his music. So he blasts every song he loves. I still remember looking forward to these Sunday mornings. I was woken up my some melodious music. There are just so many songs – Cliff Richards, Simon and Garfunkel, Paul Anka, Elvis, Kishore Kumar, Mukesh, Hemant Kumar, Tagore music....the list is endless. Music still makes me happy. When I am really low, I just turn to my music. Till the time I don’t start humming the song and let myself transcend into another world I can’t stop listening I guess. Like even right now I am listening to some songs and getting into the flow and writing.
I have been on a break from work and everything in general. Just being back home and relaxing is so good for a change. I want to get bored so that I feel like going back to life. I do not know if this is a common thing with people. But I love taking these trips away from the world. I love to travel and be with myself. I love the journey more than reaching a destination. Just the fact that I meet so many new faces and have so many experiences is amazing. I may sound like a romantic here but I sometimes love to be in the dream world of my own. I am in control in this world. I like it. Probably a reason why I love John Keats. The pathos and the suffering was so heroic. As if he loved being sad. He almost defied therefore the concept of sadness. He celebrated it. I go back to his poetry every now and then.
For me a stimulating conversation is the best. I love the fact that I can connect with people. I have met some very interesting people in my life and most of them have made an impact in my life. I can write about them but they are just so precious that I keep the near and do not talk about them. I do not flaunt them. But trust me they all are such good people. Something to contribute in my life.
For now I am happy to share a page from my life with all of you there. More to keep coming later!! By the way each word I write is also a piece of me!!!
Good night to all of you!
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
For all the Fauji Brats!!! :)
Ok so a friend of mine with an Army background wrote this amazing nostalgic piece....most of my firends are from the Air force but life is i guess the same more or less....enjoy guys and hey miss all of you...
You know about cants and you know about 2 tons and 3 tons. Yes you have climbed precariously the steps of those large shaktimaan’s we called “School buses”. You know about night raid’s and calling on’s where you get free food, especially the cheese with pineapple starters if you behave well. You also know that mess parties (not to be read as messy) where they serve pudding of custard with fruit which IS the most widely available and accepted “pudding”. Did you say you dislike custard?
Baccha party is not a party dedicated to you, but yes it’s the clan name you earn as you learn to belong to the regimental parties with the rest of the “just as lost” kids sit together, whiling away time, while our parents conveniently join the main “party”. Good evening uncle and good evening aunty IS the most boring thing to say repeatedly at drawing rooms filled with large number of uncle’s and aunty’s who are your parents friends. One amongst the many who come by year on year.
If you are a girl growing up in the army (or any other) cant, remember, on the dance floor you are going to be asked for a dance, and the phone number would follow suit – yes its just as simple. NDA ball, may queen ball, or all the other balls, (no pun intended) no matter how much you curse them, still make you feel good about life when you are old (or getting there) and wrinkled and miss being treated all lady like with red carpets and the works. If you are guy, remember, that opening the door for the lady, just like the way your dad did for any “young” or “old” lady is and always will be fashionable. If girls you meet outside of army life say they don’t like it, what they really mean is - they love it! Black metal soldiers or the wall hangings from Rajasthan adorning the drawing room space is just something that you will learn to adore when you step outside the army (or any other defense) environment.
“Bhaiya” – the one who always came on cycle and always added a smile to your life is an integral part of the memory process. Keep it safe. Clean areas with painted red and white rocks, with arrow signs on roads, where ever needed, large trees, loads of sunshine and bajaj chetak. Fauji Life is tucked in between. That mid-way halt when the “regiment” moved, where we stopped for chaat, will always feel like a warm memory. Yes! Don’t forget aunties who are famous for a particular dish, because no matter after how many years you meet, you will remember their “bhel puri’s” or “chicken biryaani’s.” Say you meet after a decade, and you are just over 5 feet tall, and this aunty comes up to you and says she remembers seeing you in a nappy. The face goes red. Trust me “thanda thanda paani” by God forsaken Baba Saigal has haunted me all my life. Do not resist or throw a protest, its futile, or else they will make you sing it no matter how grown up you are right now. You know what they mean when they say “we were together in…” Going to play means children’s park where we learnt to get bullied and learnt to handle bruised knees. Climbing trees will always be a story that you recall fondly.
So where are you from? Where did you spend your childhood days? Questions like these make you start to think up ways to give the most simple, close ended, crisp answer, and after a while you realize “all over India” is the convenient answer.
MI room does not figure in this dictionary, but your vocab does know how to keep that record. MES furniture and white coloured cupboards are definitely always the most convenient. The house that you built will know how the drawing room and dining room needs its space. You have lived it. You will always regard KV’s to be the best schools ever, never mind the bihari accent teachers you met in Tenga Valley or the SUPW class that you always looked forward to so you could snooze. Also, once out of the army (or any other fauji) life, you will be asked “what are you?” and what they really want to know is what religion you follow. And the question makes you think.
Picnics, or the Holi get together’s or the Lodi party, or the swimming pool party, or the club membership, they all will figure in old pictures. Family day holds a special meaning, as you take a peek without really intending to understand at how your dad has been working. You know how to make yourself comfortable at a new place, you have done this all your childhood life. Painted boxes, hordes of them, neatly numbered with your father’s initials painted on them, just means you remember the smell of fresh paint and the Jonga’s when your father had a “posting”. It also means you can roam about and give a hand in “packing”. Its always more fun unpacking though, setting up “your room”. Ha! This is your postcard memory. Slam book has a special place because it has so many places and so many people. Your list of childhood friends is as diverse as it can be and you know when that uncle is talking too much and his wife is mostly silent, talking in short sentences only when needed, spells gossip because uncle is drunk and aunty is mad at him. And you are suppressing your giggles.
Gardens, water falls, rivers, water sports, horse riding, billiards, golf, badminton, basketball, hide and seek and pithu.. the games that you actually learnt, just that after growing up you wonder, phew! I learnt so much and practice so little because I cant make time. Parade’s, or the army band strumming tunes you can clearly identify, the bagpipers, the DMS boots or the broke shoes. They have a special place, so does the colour of your father’s uniform. You get tagged as a member of SODA (Senior Officers Daughter’s Association) when YO’s (young officers) are trying to get cute and know they will have to try harder.
Oh and yes! The dining in and dining out parties, you know them so well. You peek from the curtains of the room adjacent to the drawing room as the young officer visiting your dad sits pretty on the MES sofa’s in the drawing room. You know the time, when small talk is fashionable. Canteen – the place you always wanted to ransack as a kid and never really got around it. Or the white coloured Maruti 800 or Fiat that your father had. Brasso is dear to your life, with so much brass around, you know your house always needed it. The smell of Charmis cream or Pond’s powder or the “old spice” bottle you identify with – stuff that will always get picked up in canteens in to your homes and later in your memories.
Milton bottles, Borosil glasses, the kitchen gardens, the blue and white school uniforms... GOC, commandant, you know those words. You know those vehicles with red flash lights on them. Soldiers marching past, Saavdhan is something u’ve often heard in corridors and Jai Hind holds a special place. You know what they mean when they say they are going for an exercise. You wait for the chocolate your dad would get you once he is back from that God forsaken place he went to and called if possible to let us know that he is OK. You know the times when uncle was on exercise and aunty was expecting and you spent the night over at her place, just in case.
Then you grow up. And you hold this chest of memories with these people, and you know you look back and say “once a fauji. Always a fauji!” and you also say "it takes one to know one!"
You know about cants and you know about 2 tons and 3 tons. Yes you have climbed precariously the steps of those large shaktimaan’s we called “School buses”. You know about night raid’s and calling on’s where you get free food, especially the cheese with pineapple starters if you behave well. You also know that mess parties (not to be read as messy) where they serve pudding of custard with fruit which IS the most widely available and accepted “pudding”. Did you say you dislike custard?
Baccha party is not a party dedicated to you, but yes it’s the clan name you earn as you learn to belong to the regimental parties with the rest of the “just as lost” kids sit together, whiling away time, while our parents conveniently join the main “party”. Good evening uncle and good evening aunty IS the most boring thing to say repeatedly at drawing rooms filled with large number of uncle’s and aunty’s who are your parents friends. One amongst the many who come by year on year.
If you are a girl growing up in the army (or any other) cant, remember, on the dance floor you are going to be asked for a dance, and the phone number would follow suit – yes its just as simple. NDA ball, may queen ball, or all the other balls, (no pun intended) no matter how much you curse them, still make you feel good about life when you are old (or getting there) and wrinkled and miss being treated all lady like with red carpets and the works. If you are guy, remember, that opening the door for the lady, just like the way your dad did for any “young” or “old” lady is and always will be fashionable. If girls you meet outside of army life say they don’t like it, what they really mean is - they love it! Black metal soldiers or the wall hangings from Rajasthan adorning the drawing room space is just something that you will learn to adore when you step outside the army (or any other defense) environment.
“Bhaiya” – the one who always came on cycle and always added a smile to your life is an integral part of the memory process. Keep it safe. Clean areas with painted red and white rocks, with arrow signs on roads, where ever needed, large trees, loads of sunshine and bajaj chetak. Fauji Life is tucked in between. That mid-way halt when the “regiment” moved, where we stopped for chaat, will always feel like a warm memory. Yes! Don’t forget aunties who are famous for a particular dish, because no matter after how many years you meet, you will remember their “bhel puri’s” or “chicken biryaani’s.” Say you meet after a decade, and you are just over 5 feet tall, and this aunty comes up to you and says she remembers seeing you in a nappy. The face goes red. Trust me “thanda thanda paani” by God forsaken Baba Saigal has haunted me all my life. Do not resist or throw a protest, its futile, or else they will make you sing it no matter how grown up you are right now. You know what they mean when they say “we were together in…” Going to play means children’s park where we learnt to get bullied and learnt to handle bruised knees. Climbing trees will always be a story that you recall fondly.
So where are you from? Where did you spend your childhood days? Questions like these make you start to think up ways to give the most simple, close ended, crisp answer, and after a while you realize “all over India” is the convenient answer.
MI room does not figure in this dictionary, but your vocab does know how to keep that record. MES furniture and white coloured cupboards are definitely always the most convenient. The house that you built will know how the drawing room and dining room needs its space. You have lived it. You will always regard KV’s to be the best schools ever, never mind the bihari accent teachers you met in Tenga Valley or the SUPW class that you always looked forward to so you could snooze. Also, once out of the army (or any other fauji) life, you will be asked “what are you?” and what they really want to know is what religion you follow. And the question makes you think.
Picnics, or the Holi get together’s or the Lodi party, or the swimming pool party, or the club membership, they all will figure in old pictures. Family day holds a special meaning, as you take a peek without really intending to understand at how your dad has been working. You know how to make yourself comfortable at a new place, you have done this all your childhood life. Painted boxes, hordes of them, neatly numbered with your father’s initials painted on them, just means you remember the smell of fresh paint and the Jonga’s when your father had a “posting”. It also means you can roam about and give a hand in “packing”. Its always more fun unpacking though, setting up “your room”. Ha! This is your postcard memory. Slam book has a special place because it has so many places and so many people. Your list of childhood friends is as diverse as it can be and you know when that uncle is talking too much and his wife is mostly silent, talking in short sentences only when needed, spells gossip because uncle is drunk and aunty is mad at him. And you are suppressing your giggles.
Gardens, water falls, rivers, water sports, horse riding, billiards, golf, badminton, basketball, hide and seek and pithu.. the games that you actually learnt, just that after growing up you wonder, phew! I learnt so much and practice so little because I cant make time. Parade’s, or the army band strumming tunes you can clearly identify, the bagpipers, the DMS boots or the broke shoes. They have a special place, so does the colour of your father’s uniform. You get tagged as a member of SODA (Senior Officers Daughter’s Association) when YO’s (young officers) are trying to get cute and know they will have to try harder.
Oh and yes! The dining in and dining out parties, you know them so well. You peek from the curtains of the room adjacent to the drawing room as the young officer visiting your dad sits pretty on the MES sofa’s in the drawing room. You know the time, when small talk is fashionable. Canteen – the place you always wanted to ransack as a kid and never really got around it. Or the white coloured Maruti 800 or Fiat that your father had. Brasso is dear to your life, with so much brass around, you know your house always needed it. The smell of Charmis cream or Pond’s powder or the “old spice” bottle you identify with – stuff that will always get picked up in canteens in to your homes and later in your memories.
Milton bottles, Borosil glasses, the kitchen gardens, the blue and white school uniforms... GOC, commandant, you know those words. You know those vehicles with red flash lights on them. Soldiers marching past, Saavdhan is something u’ve often heard in corridors and Jai Hind holds a special place. You know what they mean when they say they are going for an exercise. You wait for the chocolate your dad would get you once he is back from that God forsaken place he went to and called if possible to let us know that he is OK. You know the times when uncle was on exercise and aunty was expecting and you spent the night over at her place, just in case.
Then you grow up. And you hold this chest of memories with these people, and you know you look back and say “once a fauji. Always a fauji!” and you also say "it takes one to know one!"
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
I miss...
The season is changing. And its that time of the year when you want to be home. Snuggle up into a quilt and just treat yourself to some nice hot chocolate...
I miss home
I miss my books
I miss my music
I miss my room
I miss the food
I miss the garden
I miss my scribbles
I miss the woolens,
I miss the smell of the quilt
I miss the morning dew that made the grass slippery
I miss the morning sun that touched my face
I miss my solitary walks
I miss myself.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Changing weather…changes my mood
I usually sleep with my windows open as I love the early morning breeze. However it’s not often that I get to feel it in Mumbai. It’s usually a blazing sun that wakes me up.
Today was different. There was a slight nip in the air and there was no sun…and my favourite ‘smoky sun’ was back. Got up with a smile and suddenly there a gush of cold air that hit my face. This took me down the memory lane. To the streets of my childhood! So I sat there for a while and gave my childhood a thought. Looking outside the window were morning joggers sweating it out in the park below my house. There was an old couple who were in their winter gears and other youngsters were just lapping an extra round because of the energy that the weather got into them. The constant smile on my face did not leave me for a long time. Till I had to give myself a push to start my day’s work. The window today was the past lover who just wanted me to keeping going back to it. I just knew that I should not waste any more time with it, but I could not resist it.
Made myself a huge mug of tea. Took it in my hand and again walked towards the window. My god the window was really tempting. My plants were dancing with joy as I was giving them more attention today than the usual days. Then I noticed a small bud in one of the flower pots. It was the beginning of a new life, it was a beginning a new mood for me. Yes I just realized my mood was changing because the mood outside had changed. I was smiling again. J
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Attractions !!
Very easy to get attracted and very difficult to avoid it!!!
Well, off late I have been attracting all the wrong people in the world. While I feel great that people drop in compliments etc…it kind of gets disgusting to avoid them. I have been running away from men who are not supposed to behave in a certain way. Ethically not correct! What is the justification to a 45 year old getting charged up seeing a 20 something… please men not everybody is a Kabir Bedi or a Salman Rushdie. You have children, you have a perfect wife - stay happy!!!
But then again I might be very prudish to think so. I recently happened to catch “The Graduate”. For those who have not seen it, see it. I actually didn’t like the movie that much even five years ago. But Boredom made me go back to it. The whole concept of an older woman attracting a younger man was initially absurd. But then Attraction is something you can’t justified. I get attracted to a good conversationalist. I get attracted to men who would be rakish in their behavior. I cannot justify that. So while a Rake will attract me towards him, an investment banker who my mom chose for me to marry will repel me like crazy.
So anyway, my point is since you can’t justify the emotion, please go ahead and let people know that you are attracted to them. Also please distinguish the feelings. Its attraction not love. Its temporary and not permanent. Please don’t pursue as if it were the end of the world. You will be attracted to something or someone again and its perfectly fine. Do not justify it. Do not mess it up by doing that.
While this might be a volatile article…my point is let’s be mature and understand attraction and not mess it up! Love is something more insane than this. Let’s stay away from that!!
All the best...:)
Well, off late I have been attracting all the wrong people in the world. While I feel great that people drop in compliments etc…it kind of gets disgusting to avoid them. I have been running away from men who are not supposed to behave in a certain way. Ethically not correct! What is the justification to a 45 year old getting charged up seeing a 20 something… please men not everybody is a Kabir Bedi or a Salman Rushdie. You have children, you have a perfect wife - stay happy!!!
But then again I might be very prudish to think so. I recently happened to catch “The Graduate”. For those who have not seen it, see it. I actually didn’t like the movie that much even five years ago. But Boredom made me go back to it. The whole concept of an older woman attracting a younger man was initially absurd. But then Attraction is something you can’t justified. I get attracted to a good conversationalist. I get attracted to men who would be rakish in their behavior. I cannot justify that. So while a Rake will attract me towards him, an investment banker who my mom chose for me to marry will repel me like crazy.
So anyway, my point is since you can’t justify the emotion, please go ahead and let people know that you are attracted to them. Also please distinguish the feelings. Its attraction not love. Its temporary and not permanent. Please don’t pursue as if it were the end of the world. You will be attracted to something or someone again and its perfectly fine. Do not justify it. Do not mess it up by doing that.
While this might be a volatile article…my point is let’s be mature and understand attraction and not mess it up! Love is something more insane than this. Let’s stay away from that!!
All the best...:)
Friday, October 23, 2009
Confessions!
I quote from my favorite play (Look Back in Anger):
"It's no good fooling about with love you know. You can't fall into it like a soft job without dirtying up your hands. It takes muscle and guts. If you can't bear the thought of messing up your nice, tidy soul, you better give up the whole idea of life and become a saint, because you'll never make it as a human being. It's either this world... or the next."
I love this part as it tells you how you need to be brave and have the balls to go ahead and experience the opposite sex. It’s all about branding at the end of the day. Let’s put it like this…I see what you show me and Vice versa. There has to be something to keep me going. I need the rush all the time. Just like you expect me to be sexy and hot, I expect you to show some brilliance. Yes that is exactly what attracts me. The intelligence to keep up to the energy in me. The intelligence to have a stimulating conversation.
For example the above quote is spoken by an extremely sexy character and mind you here…sexy is not about looks it’s about the brains. I love jimmy poter and his kinds. I loved Howard Roark. I loved Darcy. I love that.
I love the fact that these men had passions. Passions going beyond between their legs. So for me it has to be a crazy enough proposition to fall in love. To be able to give in everything. To be able to not think after a while. To be so bloody passionate that it’s fierce. Love does mess up the soul. It does wonders and disasters!
I really don’t know if I am right. At least I feel right!!! That’s an honest confession and also a peek- a -boo into my head!!
"It's no good fooling about with love you know. You can't fall into it like a soft job without dirtying up your hands. It takes muscle and guts. If you can't bear the thought of messing up your nice, tidy soul, you better give up the whole idea of life and become a saint, because you'll never make it as a human being. It's either this world... or the next."
I love this part as it tells you how you need to be brave and have the balls to go ahead and experience the opposite sex. It’s all about branding at the end of the day. Let’s put it like this…I see what you show me and Vice versa. There has to be something to keep me going. I need the rush all the time. Just like you expect me to be sexy and hot, I expect you to show some brilliance. Yes that is exactly what attracts me. The intelligence to keep up to the energy in me. The intelligence to have a stimulating conversation.
For example the above quote is spoken by an extremely sexy character and mind you here…sexy is not about looks it’s about the brains. I love jimmy poter and his kinds. I loved Howard Roark. I loved Darcy. I love that.
I love the fact that these men had passions. Passions going beyond between their legs. So for me it has to be a crazy enough proposition to fall in love. To be able to give in everything. To be able to not think after a while. To be so bloody passionate that it’s fierce. Love does mess up the soul. It does wonders and disasters!
I really don’t know if I am right. At least I feel right!!! That’s an honest confession and also a peek- a -boo into my head!!
Inspirations!
I don’t know if this has ever happened to you, but the smallest of the things take you into a dream world. It makes you drag yourself to a pen and paper or chases you till the nearest computer to start writing your heart.
It happens to me a lot and its the most amazing feeling. One of the reasons I could never be a writer by profession I guess. I cannot be asked to write. I cannot be forced to think. I need my space and my inspiration.
Walking down a dilapidated street in old Mumbai, you would hold your nose for the stink is unbearable. But thankfully eyes are open and so is the brain. The chipping of the wall paint, the rusty iron stairs, the almost broken balcony and the old man without teeth. All are a major source of inspiration. Also is the swanky Bandra home, the couple sitting on Marine drive kissing, the cloudy sky from my office window and the pan -wala who is so oblivious of the world around. Inspiration is also a broken relationship, a memory of that first coffee and that movie ticket that suddenly appears while spring cleaning. I love to observe. To absorb and to reflect!
Everyday mundane activities become so much fun. I really don’t know if this is romanticism or is it my perspective of the reality. All I know is that the way I look at the world makes me live it better!
And I quote the most romantic poet I have read: William Blake :
“To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.”
It happens to me a lot and its the most amazing feeling. One of the reasons I could never be a writer by profession I guess. I cannot be asked to write. I cannot be forced to think. I need my space and my inspiration.
Walking down a dilapidated street in old Mumbai, you would hold your nose for the stink is unbearable. But thankfully eyes are open and so is the brain. The chipping of the wall paint, the rusty iron stairs, the almost broken balcony and the old man without teeth. All are a major source of inspiration. Also is the swanky Bandra home, the couple sitting on Marine drive kissing, the cloudy sky from my office window and the pan -wala who is so oblivious of the world around. Inspiration is also a broken relationship, a memory of that first coffee and that movie ticket that suddenly appears while spring cleaning. I love to observe. To absorb and to reflect!
Everyday mundane activities become so much fun. I really don’t know if this is romanticism or is it my perspective of the reality. All I know is that the way I look at the world makes me live it better!
And I quote the most romantic poet I have read: William Blake :
“To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.”
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