Oii Gata… Belo dia para Capoeira

It’s what I tell myself every day. Capoeira has been my passion since June 2010. Before that, it was a hazy blip of something exotic I wanted to explore under the category of ‘hobby’ that was to go well with my just new life after a messy break-up. Well break-up in tow. A friend was to come along with me to the 1^st demo class but bailed last minute. As much as this sounds mundane, at the time it was HUGE for me to go by myself, enter the class, and watch the demo. “What’s the worst that can happen!?!” is what I convinced myself and meekly crawled into Raheja Classique Clubhouse complex.

The rest is a 3.5yr history. Though not as long as many who have dedicated longer or far more, for me it’s a big deal. I have done the song and dance routine, the whole basketball phase, the acting and prose phase, the stage, the direction, spotlights, narration, story writing. I was a very restless kid with a powerfully imaginative mind that just HAD to be put to use. But nothing gave me back like Capoeira did. Hence the determination and the major milestones that have affected me most with this art form. I was sold from the 1^st class: Baba was this handsome man with a non-Indian descent commanding a god-complex like presence; Macaco at the time was a quiet 1 and I assumed (like many others) that he might be from Brazil, and lastly Dancerinha (Arunima) who was my 1^st and remains my most treasured friend in CDO. I was convinced of the authenticity of the art form and its practitioners. It was important to me that I wasn’t in any wannabe or copy-cat group and this fit was anything but.

I took to Capoeira naturally – actually, my body did thanks to years of sports, yoga and dance. I basked under the attention of being the quiet beginner who picked up well and used it to motivate myself to come back every class and do better. Up till the 1^st 3 months, I was nervous every class I came. I was invariably late, struggling to get out of work early from a job I routinely left at 11pm from the worst possible location – MIDC Andheri E. I felt like I didn’t fit in mostly because of the self + imposed exile of no activities or friends beyond the relationship I was in. But each class I adjusted and found a sense of strength and confidence with the group and the art form. The roda still petrified me at month 4. Anything in a group, in a line, in partner work etc was fine. Roda felt like a spotlight was on me and I had to ‘perform’ to prove a point. Baba’s confidence and friendliness with me made me warm up. I did avoid all social events, parties, house warmings etc just strictly adhering to a class schedule. I look back and wonder now what made me be/do so. Guess I can’t explain what or how I felt way back then.

Batizado 2010 exposed my senses to a whole new world and new possibilities of the just 7 mnth old world I was in. I loved Capoeira and it had become a regular, unmistakable event of my life. It was still NOT my life at this juncture, a significant part though. With each class I learnt its depth and history. Mostly my homework and the rest gathered from class and people and online forums. I found myself relating to the struggles of the slaves. My condition wasn’t as bad as the slaves and the extremity of their ordeal that gave birth to such beautiful expression of pain, subtle rebellion, suppression and all that can be categorized as slavery in its ugliest form. I guess we all are in a race for survival. Each day is. Our ordeals are about work, money, future, trust, friendship, human connections, commitments etc. These things seem to make up the magnitude of our psyche and affect us now more than ever given how ‘beautifully’ we have all evolved. Everyday stresses are turning into killer diseases; hence, they do command some severity in parallel to the African slaves. Every student will tell you 1 thing, “When they enter class and exit post 30mins to an undefined time later, their mind and world seems different.” Me included. I designed myself to always remain busy and physically occupied. Without it I enter a dark place. In doing so I have on occasion burned myself out even if my exhausted body and mind were screaming for a break and I was literally yawning in the midst of an Au (cartwheel).

Today’s class is a much evolved space than the 1 I entered in. There is a beginners, intermediate and advance batch. There are more seniors and many more ‘teachers’ and ‘instructors’. The latter is funny cuz after a week of Capoeira even a beginner begins to see his/her future as a capoeira instructor and starts playing the part ASAP. Before attempting to even complete 500 basic kicks over a chair – a rampant fodder for jokes between the older lot of us. We bask in the stage that we entered this art form, have our own stories and version of stories and games. There is deep history and a lot of dreams and sacrifices that went into building CDO India. Every member forms a pivotal or guest-appearance like role into the building and continuity of the center and the dreams attached to Baba.

My feelings and movement in Capoeira have swayed, waxed and waned over the last »4yrs. There are times when I have a week of complete confidence, where the body and mind have married in perfect harmony and I’ve wowed myself the most (a factor more important to me). There are weeks that seem mundane and regular or at worst – stressed and strained. Workweeks that have mentally drained me to reconsider how the last few hours of the day would I sustain. These are weeks where the body refuses to reconcile with the mind; refuses to consider that there is possibility for a relationship after all. Then there are these surprises where suddenly there is a shutdown often accompanied by an ailment or injury. The mind and body are divorced and refuse to connect even a spark to recreate magic. I guess this is the way to keep the motivation up. There is no one to compete with or prove anything to anyone in Capoeira. Not even yourself. It’s art and expression of the body in its most natural form. The slaves back in the day expressed their culture marinated in a lot of suppressed aggression. They weren’t worried about how their last street roda fared or who did an acrobatic move with more flare and ease than the other. Maybe a little awe and friendly competition but not as under the spotlight as it has come to become now. I guess that’s what our marination is all about – the wow factor.

Salonee (Bombom) and I (Gata) playing chocolate!

I have driven myself over the edge with Capoeira. Because it has given me so much I expect and leech more from it. I got my social projects here. I got my dance and music and found my voice here. I found love, jealousy, hatred, passion, innocence, insecurity and pride here. But most importantly I found the strength to come back to my corner of class everyday of every week of every year despite everything. I travelled and met people; did silly things and stupid things. Never regretted them. I relaxed A LOT. I let go of my mind and body from an uptight moral-brigade and let my indiscretions be just moments I had to have to develop into the woman I am today. I learnt not to take a kick in the face or take down so personally. Unlike many who wow another game to tackle their opponent, I just refused to replay them. This was the naïve younger Capoeirista in me. Now I take down and be taken down and laugh it off. I learnt that my lessons were someone else’s lessons too. The younger Capoeira students especially girls learn from other girls. We wow at the boys but we learn from the girls. We also laugh and snicker students in our lil groups and moments. Not out of spite. More out of the familiarity we witness from our own experiences before. I too thought nothing of many things. It was always a lot from little somethings. Patience and objectivity were keys to being a good instructor. You can’t grow if you are biased by your feelings towards people. Instructors pass on the knowledge of Capoeira; NOT their feelings to students and human beings. Those come through the rodas and lessons. I have yet to master this in its complete form. Impartial objectivity.

1 of the most important lessons I learnt in Capoeira is balance. Balance of mind, body, heart and soul. Balance of inside the class and outside. Balance of Priyankka vs Gata. We get so possessed that we forget there is or was a world out there that we have clearly separated and disconnected and thrown out. All festivals, family gatherings and even dating was sacrificed for class schedule. I didn’t feel an ounce of guilt; just dedication to do my class and leave satisfied. I didn’t think of the people who wanted my time and attention and who I deprived that chance because I was too blinded by my drive to be the best. I forgot I can be the best without hurting myself or burning myself out 7x365x24 hrs. I think back to the times I could’ve done many things but skipped because Capoeira was too important. Here is another balance: Capoeira vs class. What is it that drives you to class? Is the class or is Capoeira? It has been 1 or the other or both for me at various times. You see some classes I just didn’t wanna lift a hand or a leg; but I wanted to see my teacher and my friends and my alternate family and forget the day or the week below the 4^th floor of SS Sahney Centre for CDO India. Maybe watch and learn and not focus on how high I could fly or how low I could bend and twist and turn. Those days even Baba is surprised at my mischief or lack of focus. Majority days I am there for Capoeira. I can do a whole class without socializing and still leave content. Many days I HAD to do class. It could be any element but it had to be in the presence of Capoeira. I understand now why many who have watched from a distance or have tasted it and left call it a ‘cult’. It is a cult in many ways. I would be offended thinking these people just wanted to label us. But we capoeiristas we breathe together. That makes us a cult a family.

This year love found me. I say this because I refused to acknowledge it or even accept that I was in love. I thought it was a phase I was going through. But when it hits you it leaves a hue, a scent and a feeling you can’t shake off at will. Like Capoeira did to me. I may not be in class right now. But I do think about it every day. Right now from box seats called disdain and insecurity for Round II. Yes, I do feel insecure. About my injury and my mental and physical ability to get back in the game. But this time I will go back with a new relationship and balance. Abeer. He has taken top spot alongside Capoeira for me and, will in the future, occasionally bump Capoeira and take over like an F1 race going neck to neck. I realize 1^st hand the effect of giving enough time and importance to your relationship – not kick it in the face with “accept me as and who I am”. I am guilty of that arrogance. When something or someone loves you back and gives you happiness, you have to balance it with loving the fact that they love you. This time when I go back and resume where I left off, I will put my interests, my time, my body, my health and my love just as high and equal as I did Capoeira. Anything in excess isn’t good. I find that I will excel and move forward when I balance all other elements around me instead of burning and smoking and screeching with Capoeira like an engine with no water in the carburetor.

Mestre Cueca asked the instructors a very important question on our 1^st lesson late at night, “What have YOU given back to Capoeira?” I think a healthier happier me is also a way of giving back because that’s where I will fulfill my duties and dreams as a Capoeirista and as a human being. A girl very much in love with too much. 

Not-so-Stationary celebrations

Onamshamsakal and Happy Ganesh Chaturthi to all my friends. The festive half of the year has begun and brings with it joys, thanksgiving, new beginnings, luck and blessings. I wish this to all my friends and families (everywhere and every kind). 

I was supposed to spend a month bedridden with limited and prescribed movement/s by my orthopedic surgeon. Instead his overall treatment of my injury pre-and post-op was anything but the nightmare I experienced with my right leg. Guess that’s what differentiates old school from new specialization. I was asked repeatedly at all times not to stress the leg, not to let it bear too much weight and not to go too far too long on it. I did the BANG opposite of it all. In truth, my spirit was on a high after the miserable slump it had sunk into and I was not gonna let a few bones and plates held together by bionic and titanium screws ruin lil sparks of hope and smiles I had.

I decided I could sleep, slouch and be as useless as ever or I could do something productive with my mind and time. I did both. You see the sleeping, eating, slouching was as important a part of my mental recovery as it was for my physical rest and repair. I enjoyed the art of sleeping as and when my eyelids drooped to waking up when I wished to and not when I panicked and imagined an alarm go off somewhere or 1 really going off somewhere. Complete sleep – a concept and activity that had become alien to me. I also had to battle post-op stationary depression (special medical term coined for me and by me). Staring at a wall or doing absolutely nothing physical turned my mind into the darkness of hell. The medications added to the cauldron of hormones that was already churning within and I imagined myself breaking bangles in full makeup and garb like some scorned Indian soap star.

But…. here is the beauty of the unexpected. Adventures of the broken leg:

• I got to do Lalbaug darshan dragging my wobbly feet but it was worth it and as luck would have it... no waiting! In the interim I stuffed my face with a crab masala thali at Mast Malwani and some modaks followed.
• Culinary delights graced my recovery period and so did a lot of inner-city travel. New and renewed experiences with promise for more. Beef chilli,  crab, duck, chicken, prawn, fish, eggs all graced my plate. In retrospect, it’s not good for the balance of the food chain that I remain hungry. I ate without care and my waistline remained stoic and disciplined.
• I resumed work on 16 Sep after exactly 1 month of hiatus from the corporate tower and surroundings (feel like a working class mango person again). Can’t complain when the bank intimation flashes what’s left of the salary after the economic meltdown.
• Leetal Besouros (a project at Mahalaxmi) are busy at parkour with our Intl guests with whom I had planned back and forth for a year. Kids are doing great and learning in a single file or whatever formation expected of them from Cordelia and Jake – I only wish that they maintain the same discipline and delight when I return. However my guilt for not being around has been replaced with the victory of giving them the free program of new skills #Hurray
• Our Familia de Ouro girl student had an outdoor shoot experience for Save the Children global campaign (truly proud and happy). An accidental conversation with the school buddy landed this short Ad-film: concept of race for survival against genocide and other issues. A fraction of the campaign involves a well-trained and versatile Sonali (Cabaca) from our project who confidently works the camera in 2.5hrs flat. The fact that a GIRL child was doing this pleased and motivated me no end to push for this. Even if it meant midnight coaxing sessions and all day permission-driven emails and calls to get Sonali to come. In the end it was worth it and we (Tulsi and I) filled in the holes to make her feel like a complete star.
• Accidentally met so many friends old and new (Nostalgia): The rakhi brother who thought it appropriate to ask “So… when are you getting married?” bang outside Dadar stn; the school friend cum producer who gave 1 of my girl students a star moment; Simin who finally made the Mumbai trip albeit not in the setting I would have preferred; Marinha who I haven’t met or conversed since OBR; Adi and family after yet another 1 of his epic moments that involved an ER round; Capoeira pals whom I rarely meet (Bombom, Piolho, Gecko, Nisha, Spanty and more)
• PEApod had a meeting in my house and has found 2 new projects to work on before the year end (watch FB page for more). Something finally grabbed my attention.
• Got to hit Shiro’s dance floor after what seemed like eons. And with ladies who were not afraid to dance and be snazzy, cheeky and what not. A night out in high spirits but responsibly conducted is what I needed…. CRAVED for a long time.Missed the mister though.Also, even though I did attempt dress-ups in this phase, nothing did justice like a good ol’ LBD and black shoes stolen from a friend (donated… I meant donated).
• Elsa my darling furry feline delight has turned my house, room and my life topsy turvy. But everyday I’m glad I got him. <3 He did indeed save me and made me human and compassionate again. The boyfriend upon return thought the world of my new calm demeanor. It had some to do with Elsa’s presence but more to do with personal thoughts and choices.
• Finally attended drum circle as an active but amateur participant. Although at the venue I behaved like a veteran with 30 fingers. The freedom of expression with art is 1 that cannot be described or persuaded. And yet again played alongside an unlikely pal – Vivek Soni (party planner to Abeer & Co.)
• Visited the Jehangir art gallery after what seemed like a jump from childhood to adulthood. Remember I last came with friends nearly 10yrs ago. Had it not been for a friend’s invite for an exhibit to honor her late father’s work, I doubt this would be on the menu.
• My obsession with instagram and other online applications. Admit I may’ve gone a tad bit overboard but who’s monitoring anyways. The boyfriend seems to be the single pass gatekeeper to all comments sarcastic and remotely nice.

Some more memories but I can't pen them down [privacy clauses ;)] Meanwhile looking forward to some major changes (unemployment), Navratri (1 legged dandiya), Durga puja (pandal hopping), Diwali (to turn firecracker noise pollution contributor) and Dec (aahh Goa, sun, sand, weddings, love and a lil friend).

I imagined greys and tones of black stained with a bit of color to rule my month. What I really got was an entire color pallet and hues I never imagined mixing and marrying ever before… I thank primarily my love Abeer for that. 

Fusing my Religion

That's me in the corner; That's me in the spotlight; Losing my religion
Trying to keep up with you; And I don't know if I can do it
Oh no I've said too much; I haven't said enough! By R.E.M.

Monday evening I went for Lalbaugcha Raja’s darshan. Something I had skipped last year. I’m not steadfastly religious, do not believe in object worship, don’t believe in the encyclopedia of names for the ‘Gods’ and I certainly do not appreciate when how, whom and why I should worship or pay homage to, is predefined for me. When I do feel like it (divine calling as many say), I go for it and do it my way. My prayer lasts anywhere between a mere 1min to probably an hour – most of which I spend in a quiet uninterrupted corner just pondering. The setting could be the corner seat of the Mumbai local to the corner pillar of Ram Mandir near my house. I have cried or remained mum. I have sincerely prayed and sometimes just looked for penance for 1 of many wrongs I may have committed but not admitted to.

To many, my practices may seem futile or because I do it ‘for the heck of it’. ‘Ignore’ is my mantra. Something I subject even mum too. From a balanced spiritual lady, somewhere along the years, I lost her to endless pujas, artis, darshans, teerth yartras and some unreasonable, inexplicable practices – a little on the extreme side. Ok a lot extreme if you ask me but what works for her is her choice. Here no one lets you be. What they do and consider the ethical, traditional norm is THE norm for you. I enter a temple and I would get eyes for donning jeans, missing a dupatta, not looking deep in trance enough or a list of do-nots that I may’ve unintentionally adhered to.

Fortunately, mums taken the cue and let me be. Of course, I had to climb the staircase of guilt, jump through a fire hoop of the looks, crawl through a dark tunnel of a long lecture (the worst) and fly across obstacles of ‘corrective actions’. Like a video game. It took many an evening of doubts, discussions of life path (still can’t figure how that’s related), being called an atheist, questions on my beliefs and virtual guilt trips of trying to drag me down. We have reached a mutually accepted truce. She asks. I agree or decline. If I agree, I stay for the last bit where I can have some prasad and leave. I honor her wishes and she mine. My logic, which finally got to her, was I would never do something to disrespect what is important to her – and forcefully going for incessant number of pujas with no intent, counted as disrespect from me to her. Peace!

Prof. Wikipedia defines religion, as “an organized collection of beliefs, cultural systems, and world views that relate humanity to the supernatural, and to spirituality.” I’m fortunate that my family inculcated AND practice secularism. I lay emphasis on the ‘AND’ because we have many who feign belief and do not practice. My family does and I appreciate, love and bask under this fact and freedom. From my grandparents’ era, all married their love and sweethearts. There was never a question or interrogation of the caste, creed, sect or religion. There have been marital discords, disharmony, splits and reconciliations all on human grounds and errors. When mum found out about him, she asked about him and his family, what they did where they came from et al. Honestly, I assumed somewhere she would make a comment or ask me something as a part of all the changes she has gone through… you know religiously. She didn’t. Once even offering to drop me close to station so that I could meet Abeer sooner and not waste time as we were headed to Charni Rd. late evening. I appreciated her attempt to let me have the freedom to love and seek love as I pleased. A luxury in this country.

The 1^st question I always get asked is “Did your parents agree?” followed by “Will you convert?/ Tattoo cannot be accepted so how will you?...” some ridiculous not-so-crucial questions I do not appreciate. I mean where did “what does he do?/ where did you’ll meet?/ How’s it going?... etc” slip down the ladder of queries 1 asks friends about their beau. You don’t meet or go on random dates and ask point blank the person’s religious background and decide if to proceed forward. To me it matters what he likes vs what upsets him. Where do his principles come from? What is he as a person, a human being, a friend, a brother, a son, a worker, a dreamer? I incessantly ask him questions about things I’m ignorant about. He answers them graciously, surprising me with knowledge and details I wouldn’t have expected to my ‘simple’ questions. THAT is what characterizes getting to know someone rather than the societal question bank, which comes with select check boxes. A rigidity I will never adhere to. Both he and I came from mixed, exotic backgrounds and that appealed to me more than anything J #epicwin

Forget love. Basic friendships are subjected to such gruesome menial mentality. Followed by a hypocritical thesis on the most recent communal riots. 1 should not comment unless 1 truly believes that the opposing community is not solely at fault. Crimes, malpractices, unreasonable communal laws, all run across society. Yet the audacity to classify continues. When I visited an agyari (Parsi Fire Temple) I was asked where my sadra-kasti was (custom inner garb post baptism-like ceremony) and then dismissed cuz I was young. When I was taken to a Roman Catholic church by my hostel matron they dismissed me but let me stay on learning of my recovery from a severe bout of the chicken pox. When I went to the dargah I felt like I was ‘blessed’ harder by the priest that anyone else. When I was just outside a mosque I was stared at (that was Nigeria and we were the only Indians). When I stood in front of the wailing wall in Jerusalem I felt like a tourist – I was 1. When I dated my 1^st boyfriend, his mother tried hard to convert me to be a Born-again Christian. But maximum contradictions, questions, doubts, and ridiculousness came from my vast religion that I was born into – Hinduism. I cannot and will not go into the vastness of everything that’s followed and imposed; many times without understanding its purpose and history. Baseless practices like default settings. Robots at best.


I do not consider myself any less for not fitting into the standards. I pride myself in having my own religion – a potpourri if you will of all the good and spiritual I can pick up on. Lessons learnt and verses recited with deep meaning invoking something in me. An exotic relation with the guy upstairs… you know who hears me out when human ears are all too busy or reserved for other earthly purposes. I don’t disturb him much and he has been generally good to me with the occasional flutter. Or SHE has been good to me… We freely adjust you know. Fusing OUR religions J 

A link shared by an Ad-Exec buddy about a social experiment on racism goes well with this post: http://www.upworthy.com/a-boy-makes-anti-muslim-comments-in-front-of-an-american-soldier-the-soldiers-reply-priceless?g=2 

Dad… Oh how I’ve missed you!

A very usual sight of my dad is of him being annoyed with something or me. Now thankfully Elsa steals the focus of of me. Always in faded ol’ pajama clad like a true bong with the occasional matching kurta – reserved for when the doorbell rings and he must appear ‘decent’. And the evening attire where a casual shirt and trouser from his working years replace the home grunge look he goes in for his walk.

I don’t think I can see him in any other form. Like my face which hasn’t changed since its definition at a year old, my dad whom I fondly call papa, hasn’t changed since I 1^st laid eyes on him. His mannerisms, beliefs, attitude, humor, education and most importantly his innocence have remained untouched and unadulterated. That is not to say that he hasn’t been educated through life. He has seen good days, bad days, dark days and some really dark phases where he reached out but couldn’t find a grip or a hand to hold on to. I was merely a kid else I would’ve lent my tiny fingers if nothing else. Through it all my dad has the bragging rights to say that he is indeed a self-made man. The very example of 1.

Born in Dhaka, Bangladesh and raised in post-partition Kolkata, he is the youngest of 9 brothers. That’s right. I would imagine him to be spoilt but he is 1 of the most successful and humble of his siblings. The only 1 who ventured to Nadiad, Gujarat and began his young career in Textile Technology after having not reserved his dream seat in a medical college. He didn’t let that deter him and with the knowledge and endurance of his education and upbringing at the prestigious Ramakrishna Mission Ashrama, Narendrapur, he finally made it to the city of dreams. Here began his bachelorhood, his love affair with mom at Bombay Dyeing Mills, his chance to travel to Lagos, Nigeria, the demise of his marriage, his return to India, the dissolution of textile in the country, his gruelling stints at Nagpur and other Navi Mumbai towns in harsh mill and factory conditions and finally a VRS which he grudgingly but gracefully accepted and settled in.

Through it all he never stopped being my father. He juggled custody of me, made weekend trips to Pune to my boarding school, gave me money, food, clothes and anything I needed or wanted as a growing young lady and still found time to teach me lessons and keep me grounded. My family at some point always had more than sufficient which they used to educate me at prestigious institutes (read also expensive). My father ensured I was never lacking anything, never spoilt for choice and never made a fool of myself by throwing a tantrum to have anything. I was an aggressive young 10yr old; deeply disturbed in a negative manner by her parents divorce. My mother remarried but my father remained single. Theirs was a story only theirs to be told and he always felt like he had failed somewhere. Life in war-torn and conflict-ridden Nigeria has torn many people and relations apart – something I grew to learn off and understand in my late teens. In the meantime, I grew to know him, get attached to him and also as a youngun enjoy the freedom bestowed on me by his helplessness of being a working man.

Today as a grown young lady, I am his window to the world. He isn’t anti-social but he hasn’t made any conscious effort to mingle with the outside world either. Keeping primarily to himself and his business is his way of getting through the day. With ever changing processes and technology, I step in to help-out and get him through these challenges. Having never learnt basic computer or phone, a basic Nokia handset in his shirt pocket, the MTNL landline, pieces of paper, the Indian postal service and all old-school methods are his sure-shot fail-safe channels to finding his way through. High end restaurants i.e. anything above an Udipi really makes him nervous, large crowds at supermarkets, complex questions and his disdain for expensive public transport often have him flustered and left alone.

But through it all he observes which fruit I consume the most and during which part of the year.

Which seafood and what curry I like. New goodnight liquid dispenser for my room to keep them bloodsuckers away. Honey vs sugar. New mugs to waste money on cuz they had cat graphics. Soups when I was ill. Hand towel cuz I lost mine in class. Gluing my broken shoes and chappals with araldite… hell gluing anything in the house with araldite. Stitching up a broken zip on a bag I may have set aside. Fixing my broken 13yr old Sony TV for the gazillionth time. Making my tiffin and lunch box since I could crawl to school. Checking to see if I finished all the food TILL DATE. These are something I probably will never have in another human being or maybe with not the same love and dedication as my papa. I have been an ungrateful, difficult, ignorant, angry, inconsiderate and mean daughter through my years with him. Sometimes all at once and sometimes in parts. I have also grown to let him have the last word and let him believe he was right all along. Cuz these small things don’t matter against the magnitude of love he has showered over me.

My father has been through 3 major surgical procedures on me. Each time he sat through them outside the OT and was available to scare me awake from anaesthesia. Each time he sat silently in a corner lamenting at my pain. We never said ‘I love yous’ but we ALWAYS felt and communicated it. Even though he has vehemently expressed over the years that I have been a failure as his dream daughter with no Indira Nooyi prestige or a Surgeon designation; I know that he has been proud of me for growing up into whatever little I have become. I feel stronger and capable that I could renovate his home, donate lakhs when he needed it and held his hand through difficult times. He never expressed he only needed a son for it despite having my lil brother. There was just 1 time where my heart was broken into unfixable pieces and I cried in his lap and said I loved him more than any boy I would ever love. He just pressed my head and put me to sleep. He still does that when I am sick and I crawl into our tiny sofa and sleep in his lap, effectively messing up his Bengali soap experience. His disdain for men in my life is probably out of the fear that he may lose me to someone better, brighter and more capable. I am in love but not blinded enough to miss my father from my line of sight.

He still surprises me many days with his depthless knowledge, his patience (seriously) and his ability to capture hearts. Recently he bonded well with Abeer and a few friends. I didn’t expect so but he made the effort. Guess even Elsa has some credit for making him a relaxed, amused and funny man. I look fwd to days when I stay alone but I terribly miss him within the hour. No sound, no ridiculous singing, no revival of Tom n Jerry anecdotes (now more so , no food…. No love. Abeer periodically shares his own father’s deep influence on him as a child and young man. Truth be told, that’s where I have taken the “what if” cue and dedicated more time and love to my papa.


I could go on. But all I really wanna say is that I love you dad. I just haven’t said it enough or expressed it enough either <3 

Elsa: Gata's gato

*Nuzzle* *poke poke* *puurrrrrrrrr*

His 1^st night in my house, my arms and in my bed. I was delighted and yet very vary of handling this fragile, precious clump of life purring like a generator machine. Firoza, the foster caregiver, assured me, “Priyankka this means he has taken to you and feels safe and loved.” I smiled.

Elsa is a 2-month old Tabby-Calico kitten. Born from a rescued stray mom, he was the only 1 of his litter who had taken her sea green eyes and stripes and spots. Thus, looking like a cross between a baby leopard with a gorgeous grey mixed coat and a soft love bundle. Nothing however takes away from his gorgeous button like eyes that keep staring at me and my belongings, the room, the furniture and whatever else the world has to offer his barely few weeks old senses. He had been shuttled from foster home to foster home and was last on the list to be set up for adoption ahead of his more troublesome and less likely adoptees. But, after what seemed like weeks of trouble to just get a cat, Elsa was a 5min decision into my life. Best 5mins of my life.

At this point he has been with me barely 3 weeks, yet he has seen it all. The excitement of the 1^st week. Exploring the house, the people, the corners and the possibilities to create trouble. The 2^nd week he was away from me. Well I was away, in the hospital, being operated upon my leg followed by an intensive recovery phase. The 3^rd week I came home to a feeble and quiet Elsa who refused to come to me with the ease with which he snuggled up to me the 1^st night. I accepted. After all dad had done the caring for both cats: Elsa and me. Elsa took time but brief. He soon warmed up to me. The 1^st night back home for me ended with panic and his 1^st emergency vet visit. Not the way I had planned it. But with enough added panic from Firoza and composed advice from Nishadh (who cares for Elsa’s mum), I was able to get through the evening limping and in intense pain. The heart was already wrenched and worn from extensive emotional bruising from the previous 2 weeks and couldn’t hold anymore for the ordeal with Elsa. The tiny tot that he was, jumped, sneezed, scratched and snuggled up all he could. I was glad to have someone love me back, unconditionally, after a long time. I guess I could say; he came to me at a time when I was broken and needed to feel fixed.

I have grown to accept that my cat is occasionally a yogi, a closet jedi and many characters that just keep springing with each passing day. He loves to treat my dad and me as pawns and pit us against each other; always guessing which team he is ‘batting for’. This especially comes handy during feeding time cuz he knows I am the time and scheduled feeder versus my poor father who gets fedup at the 3^rd painfully long soprano meow and ends up feeding him. His sleep patterns… well most interestingly his positions vary from normal cat like to anarkali-like stance with dramatic human poses. He thinks he is super smart but his mommy is smarter. I know them button eyes and each expression; the most common being – “I’m the cutest thing to walk this earth and you can’t deny me fluffy, unconditional love.” His idea of exercise begins sharp at 6am and involves a live stream of NeedForSpeed. Chasing anything that he pretends is a terrorist mouse and that he is under National Security advisement to take down the target. One of those targets he has recently taken to is a beautiful plastic belle with a golden outfit and a purple feather veil. Poor gal. Whatever did she ever do. I tried to save her… but it was too late (FYI she was exposed by a very amused Abeer who thought she made an excellent candidate for target practice).

The more rarer antics involve getting locked into drawers and cupboards, finally scaling the kitchen counter only to find that the water filter leaked on him, scurrying through garbage and answering my phone. But at the end of the day or at midday when I see that look on his face, that extended paw and a slower than usual gait I know what he wants. To sleep. On my lap or my tummy or my chest. At 1^st with his face near mine – like a James Dean movie being romantic and securing his spot thus making me immobile for the next 3hrs minimum. Once comfortable beyond royal treatment with a cat-spa like experience, he does not hesitate to kick me in the arm or face or extend out his paw and grab my hand to place on his belly. Thereafter, his idea of returning that love is to treat me like his eternal scratch post. I would like to say we have clear communication but clearly our dialects are different.

I can’t complain as I have been touted as lucky for landing 1 of the best pets ever. Not just as a cat but Elsa. He is truly a personality and has amazed even a seasoned vet with his docile behaviour and his trust in me. For a 1^st time pet owner/adopter I feel compelled to be right and to do things right. Moments where you feel that vulnerable life and his full trust in your hands or crawling all over you, a wave of selflessness washes over. I had my maternal hormones kick in in my early 20s. I guess they are indeed on overdrive now. I think of him when I step out and when I see something that invokes a warm affectionate feeling towards my baby Elsa. He is not a pet but a part of my family. Fortunately (as I hoped and wished), he has taken very well to Abeer. Thus, completing the extension to my immediate family as well.


Now dear Elsa, I was named Gata but I am not nocturnal… at least not the way you are you crazy lil button. Good night! (soft kisses and paw).

For more pictures of Elsa visit Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.582486828453094&type=1&l=2488c98578 and Instagram: GataCDO7