On a cold, windy night, as I walked from the gate towards the front door, I saw her standing, silhouetted by the blazing fire that burnt in front of their tiny hut. As is the practice when one sees a “poor” person staring with no particular intention, I promptly glanced down and continued walking. Before I could reach the front door, she had walked up to me from the other side of the wall, a look of sorrow mingled with fear and told me in her strange vernacular dialect that some merciless soul had stolen every utensil they possessed.
I stood lost, on my side of the wall, watching her greasy skin shine in the bright light from inside my home. For the first time I noticed that she had quite a pretty face, drawn by lines of pain and misery. My gaze wandered to her little child, my sunflower child, a pretty little soul I watch quietly from my window every morning. How happy she looked, sifting the sun through her rust-coloured hair, her brown limbs baked a beautiful brown by the sun. How tiny she looked against the overgrown weeds where she pretended to play like a little kitten. And now, how beautiful she looked, standing around the empty fire that blazed without a pot over it, without food for it to cook, without a tiny stomach for it to feed.
I stood on my side of the wall, lit by the brightness of everything imaginable, looking at their side of the wall, now just a tiny hut and an orange fire burning to survive, stolen, lost and licked by pain.
The few painful flames fanned by the night wind lashed out into my eyes...

The next morning as I walked out to the gate, I looked at the other side and watched her washing the vessels we gave her. For us it had been just a matter of reaching up to the loft and picking out some of the many extra utensils we had packed away. A part of my kitchen glinted in the morning sun, while my sunflower child skipped happily around the shiny new things in her life.

On a windy cold night, she wrapped herself in the warmth of your clothes. Smells mingled and thoughts dissolved in each other as you watched the lights blink on and off in the city far away.
Was that a neck nuzzled? Some hair ruffled? A few fingers laced? Eyes welling?
Like the haunting notes of primitive flute music that drifted to her in the windy night, you linger on as a feeling, a taste, a sensation, a wall broken, a confession.

How is it that the most noble thoughts are born out of the most evil ways?

Impasse again…

Raspy like warm red wine that trickles down my throat
Grainy like pear flesh on my tongue
Viscous like cold honey stored in an ancient jar
Stingy like sunlight in my sleepless eyes
Numb like an ignored callus
Bruised like an insulted heart
Tearful like a fallen man

Insanely painful as lime in a freshly made paper cut
Life, you got me again. You win this time.

Disclaimer: There is probably no one you'll meet who's more scared of horror movies than I am. I seriously am quite pathetic with such things.

And now, my story. Sigh. It was a beautiful Wednesday morning...the sun was shining, the birds were singing and I was a happy soul until I got to work and checked my mail. And there it sat in my gmail inbox. A mail titled 'The Ring'. I casually opened it and downloaded the attachment and began watching the slide show.
At this point let me extend my disclaimer: I am so pathetic that I freak out when I watch silly horror soaps on TV in the middle of the afternoon.
And so, back to the slide show. It began. Images from the movie that scared the living daylights out of me...a silly Power point presentation that I was watching on my computer at 10 in the morning. Frightening, stop-the-air-in-my-throat images. And then...came the drowned girl, looking at me from my computer monitor and almost making me scream. “I'm always watching you”, whispered a sentence written in blood red. I hit the 'Esc' key, trying hard not to look terrified.
And then the phone rang.
And I picked it up.
And there was static........................noisy static, muffling something that the voice on the other side was saying. I think I let out a scream and hung up.

Here's the conversation I later had with my nice friend, the sender of that terrible mail.
me: oh shut up!!!
me: this is fuckin freaky coincidence!!
me: damn you damn you damn you
BUZZ!!!
me: ok ok what?
me: arrey, the images were scary but the phone ringing n all is ok...just...erm...unsettling
poocha9: that always happens
me: what?
poocha9: the phone rings
me: why?
poocha9: curse rey
me: please!
poocha9: u shouldnt pick it up thats all
me: c'mon!
me: i picked it up
poocha9: oh
me: what???
poocha9: nothing
poocha9: my image just changed
me: wtf!!!
poocha9: what did u do
poocha9: mss isarel
me: oh shut up!!!
me: damn you man!!
poocha9: wht the hell is happening here
me: tsk, wednesday morning n all...please get to work now...
poocha9: u need to stop the curse

Note: Needless to say, that conversation didn't end too well. Oh gawd!! I don't want to last even the 7 days I have left!!! *runs away screaming*

Along the path of experience, I've lost some of me. Some of the sparkling bits that I once treasured like shiny pebbles under my pillow. Now pale.
Faith in everything and the beautiful hope of love like cobblestones that line my sense of direction. Now forgotten.

But now, you remind me...of all that I was, and all that I can be.
And now, more than ever, I need to find what I let slip out of my grasp.
Because now, the only thing I have left is belief.
But yes, I do believe...

So it was just a regular day with the kids in the family and being the youngest aunt, I somehow get let into the secrets and most often candid remarks from the 3 and 6 year olds.
Everyone's watching something called 'Franklin' that they pronounce as 'Fraankh-leyn' with a strange French accent when the 3 year old switches channels to MTV. And so the conversation begins
Kid 1: Hey, have you seen Candy Shop?
Me: Erm, Candy Shop?
Kid2: Yeah! It's so nice!
Me: Hm, yeah, where did you see it?
Kids: on TeeVee!!
Kid1: Y'know, they have so much candy there!
Kid2: Yeah! (Imitating the 50 cent voice) Well-come to the Candy Shop!
Me: Ohh! That candy shop!
Kid1: Yeah! They take all the chocolate and pour it on youuu! Yummmyy!!
Me: Erm, yeah....
Tiny kid: (climbing onto my lap) Aaii want candeee!
Kid2: (again in the 50 cent voice) Let me take you to the Candy Shop!!
Kids: You should also go to the candy shop!!
Me: Yeah, sure I will!!
Kids: They have like, chocolate and all, and they pour it all over you!! And you eat and eat all the candy!!!
Kid1: Yeah! It's so much fun! Let's all go there! And I'll pour chocolate on you!
Kid2: NO! I'll pour it on you!!
Kid1: NO! ME!
Kid2: NO! YOU!!
Kid1: No! Let's ask the aunties there to pour it on us!! Yaay!
Me: Ok ok ok!! Let's all watch Fraank-leeen
Kids: No, it's called 'Fraankh-leyn'
Me: Ok, whatever
One of them gets up and walks away singing “I'll be your naww-dy gurl, tuh taa da daaah”

Ok, I have nothing against the music, the media or the videos. And I don't believe in locking channels on TV and stuff, but somehow, when little kids begin singing them...damn! It's weird...

To the losses and the lessons learnt
To the pain and the tears that burnt
To the distance that the space will melt
To the love that will see it to the end...

A string stretched taut over the pond of hope is groaning, crackling in bits, under the pressure of loosening faith.
I want to laugh with everyone I love. And feel happy again.

PS: From education to career, from ashram seva to world tours, from house-warming ceremonies to brothers coming from Ireland, from honeymooning to having a baby...it's time some of these things ended and returned some of these people to me, heh :)

I wake up with a song in my head every morning. And it's surprising how my brain finds out the most obscure song to wake me up to...possibly something I haven't listened to in months. I lie in bed, inevitably with the chorus of the song playing and what's most striking is that I hear each and every single note, guitar strum or voice modulation like it were playing out of a CD.
So this morning it was the Ugly Kid Joe version of “Cats in the Cradle” and being such a catchy thing, it's still playing in my head. But for a cloudy, cool morning just before the monsoon sets in, it's perfect.
What I dread are those days when I wake up to Aqua singing...what's that...the stupid ocean song about love or something. Damn! And those days when there's Bryan Adams rasping some really lo-ong note that twists around my neck like a sandpaper rope. Or some day when a Deep Purple beat bangs all the presence of mind out of my head. Or Air Supply sits and tries to make me cry but ends up making me irritable. And oh! The classics! When 50 cent or Snoop Dogg rap on my brains with god-knows what but just the 'taa da daa duh daah'.
Now I have no clue if it has anything to do with the Song in Head Syndrome, but I had the weirdest conversation the other day. It was the beginning of a status call at work and I was talking to someone called Bill, a guy I've been talking to for almost a year now.
Me: blah blah blah (pleasantries exchanged) so Bill, can you hear me well?
B: Oh yes, the connection's good today...it's a beautiful day in Boston!
Me: Oh good!
B: ...and you sound as usual...like Jennifer Lopez
Me: ...huh?
B: Yeah! (what's-so-strange tone)
Me: Heh, sorry I didn't quite hear that. What did you just say?
B: I said you sound as usual...like Jennifer Lopez.
When this other young thing called Staci joins the inane conference
S: Yeah...I know (in a sweet smiling voice)
Me: ........
For the life of me, I don't know what he meant. I don't sing. And I haven't even acted like I can hum. Yes, I suffer from Song in Head Syndrome, but that doesn't have to bring me this of all things!!! Whatever it was, at that point, I thought it best to end the topic right there and get on with work-related stuff.
...but J Lo??? Damn! I'm wondering if it'll seriously ruin my reputation now!

A doctor who was unfortunately located in another part of the city was what took me there. Swearing to myself that if it hadn't been for a nagging cough, I wouldn't have traveled across town to get to a place that I've only driven past or spoken about while referring to rare shops and vegetable markets. “Oh, it's somewhere far off...in Jaynagar, I think”, I'd say. But actually walking down the lanes there (in search of my old doctor) showed me a part of this city that thousands are living and loving in but I've never had a chance to be part of.
There's a certain difference in the crowds on those streets; when I walk down MG Road or into a jam-packed club, I probably see more people than I'll see anywhere, but there, it's different. That is the life of the masses. It's about a zillion shops lining the wide roads, teeming with people...the masses of this country. It's the place where everyone lives. The streets where everyone from the aspiring IT professional to the hungry flower seller eats, talks and walks. Where a beggar walking on the pavement is not an irritation or an old man selling flowers, a cause for embarrassment.
That is where life is lived, aspired, built and cherished. The lights speak to you, flickering on and off mindlessly, plump mangoes, juicy carrots and crisp lettuce shine in the light of the sodium vapour lamps, vehicles stream past in apparent hurry, but never too fast for the drivers to miss looking at something interesting beside the road, vendors walk up to you holding their curious wares, flowers smell like they've just been plucked off their fresh stems, fruits feel like they've just fallen off spring-laden trees, voices brim with real emotions...joy, enthusiasm and concern, people look like...people. It's a place with no identity but for it's immediacy.
I spend hours together sitting in inane coffee shops or similar places sipping a coffee or an expensive drink and I see hundreds of people, I listen to countless voices and sounds...but none of them have the spontaneity of a place belonging to the masses. That's where voices speak and ears listen. That's where a hot cheese-laden sandwich straight out of the grill can be washed down with a cold glass of lemonade in less than 10 minutes. That's where people have no time to get caught in senseless pursuits. That is where the people are, and life is...in all it's candidness. That is something I've never been a part of.

Strange thing I heard:
You have a tendency to make people nervous around you

Weird thought I had:
What would it feel like to be a brand new sheet of paper, crisp and ironed and straight out of the mill

Inane thing I wanted to yell out:
Colour me!!!

Silly thing I did:
Hold a tiny leaf with a blue-green bug in my hand so we could take its picture and check out how well our new camera works.

Sweet conversation I had:
A: So, alright, I'll call you at 4
Me: Alright...so 4 it is
A: Cool, then...bye...
Me: Yeah...bye...
A: How're you?
Me:.......
A: How're you?
Me: You talkin to me?
A: Yeah! How're you?
Me:.........are you talking to me?
A: Yes! How're you?
Me: I'm doing good!
A: Ah...so you're doing good...
Me: Er...yeah...
A: Alright then...bye. I'll call you at 4.
Me: er...bye...