Workout Pains!

One would imagine that going for a workout would be fun, relaxing, stress relieving and quiet. Well…. Think again!

I have been through the rut and cycle of much of the fitness offerings in Mumbai city. There was a time I was obsessed with trying out any fancy offering in sports and fitness and decide if I would go for more than 2 classes/sessions a week after a trial class. If there was an accompanying enthusiastic fool, then he/she would succumb and we wouldn’t waste time or energy in beating down the doors soon.

Dance, jazz, drums (yep don’t underestimate upper body workout), parkour, martial arts, karate, gyms, swimming, bboying, hiphop, crossfit, personalized training, dumbbell marathon workout, Capoeira, yoga, kalaripayattu and errrr… many more. On my to-do list are pole workout, Pilates and scuba diving in the pipeline. Despite 2 busted and surgically repaired knees, I have no intention of stopping or slowing down. P.S. This does not include occasional lazy ass bouts of nothingness. In my experience, doing nothing is a workout too :P

The good part of all the above was knowledge and experience. To know that there are folks who lived in absolutely poverty to mediocre standards just to fulfill their passion and keep it going. To impart it day after day in practice and training without expecting it to become popular at the speed of a bush fire. They put their comfort, their price, their personal time and even their family on the line to make things happen. Despite media exposure and workshops, a marginal percentage actual manage to make it to the big league – and by that I mean having at least 2 or more high profile clients and a periodic mention on social media. The rest remain to slug it in the mud and a majority to embrace defeat, shrug and move on. Their skills are narrated as after stories or introductory glory moments to give them an edge in an unknown crowd. The more exotic the art, the tougher to have it established and running.

What ropes me in is their passion. That passion is what convinces us learners to follow in their footsteps and dedicate few valuable hours from our day/week to the skill. This also accounts for the commute back and forth from the center – case in point when I worked myself to the bone doing Malad – Powai – Khar/Andheri – Malad almost 3/4 times a week. Over the last 10 years, I drove myself to the bone working out as much as 3 hours at a stretch at the gym, doing dance or yoga classes, swimming (when time, money, a clean balanced pool and mood permitted) and then followed a brief confused period in bboying followed by a long term stint at capoeira. All the art forms showed immediate and visible effects on my body and mind. Some very slight and some rather drastic. Gymming caused me to drop to a number that was underweight for my height and frame. But for someone like me who has battled weight since puberty, they were golden numbers in the 40s and I was only thrilled to drive it down rather than stay healthy and up. The result was atrocious skin for the 1^st time in my life, disrupted monthly cycle and deficiencies due to a not so well constructed diet.

Poor knowledge and even poor skills can cause severe long-term damage – something I have learnt personally. Capoeira unearthed a part of me that lay dormant for far too long. The art form just married my body movements and it was possible due to all my activities, I had the wavelength and flexibility to pull of moves that takes months for some new folks into this art form. I was home. And I made it home. Weather, space constraints, distance, time, energy, fuel, nourishment, balance… nothing mattered. I hated and loved people around me fiercely. But I was clear… I was glued to the class and the instructions than people and superficial offerings. I didn’t care if I missed a party or if I was early to leave from a party. No one lived my side anyways and some were more than eager to drop me home, repeatedly. Don’t think I have ever declined those many offers over and over again. But I hyperventilated if I either missed a class or someone occupied my comfy lil spot on the left extreme corner (1^st row) in class. I HATED that. They were minor possessive elements in my mind. I ignored it by watching year after year, month after month all kinds of folks come in. The class was no different from the gym. 

There were the wanderers and socializers among the scattered hardcore trainers.

People in Mumbai have learned to be comfortable in the tiniest spot. By that I mean, you can take a 360° turn but not really stick your arm out. The concept of giving space in life, in person, in class, in gym, in public spaces does not exist. And people carry this attitude with them everywhere they go and every discipline they infiltrate. In gym, you could hurt yourself from machines or anyone with weights etc. In Capoeira class you could easily have an arm or worse still, a leg, land on any part of you and most certainly add a few painfully sore days if not worse to your body. Safety couldn’t be further pressed and stressed about in class and yet not everyone pays heed or is mindful of it. It’s just flaying arms and legs for some who just wouldn’t care about the consequences or others around them.

Fast forward to when I joined Mickey Mehta’s 360° routine. So Capoeira had physically and emotionally damaged me in some irreparable ways. I realized that I would need a lot of time before I sensed that freeing feeling when I 1^st started practicing and training in it and that no one in class, not even in jest, would try to hurt me. So in the meantime, a suddenly ballooned weight (per my standards) prompted me to consider something tamer to be added to my routine. Mum enrolled me into MM360. It worked for her and she thought it would at least help me. Boy it did…. Calisthenics, cardio, boot camp, yoga (extreme and asanas), dance, stretch class, grow tall, aerobics, drills, well they had it all packed into 1 hr sessions 7 days a week all year long. One could pick and choose any one class per day and walk out content. Who doesn’t like variety served on a platter and the freedom to do ANYTHING from a slot reserved between 6am and 9pm. I used it and abused it. I was addicted. But I was careful and I trained sensibly. It worked wonders for me and the trainers who are so well taught and inducted into the system became my go-to folks. Early mornings and early-late evenings were packed like a Mumbai local. The odd “housewife” slot so to speak (that’s the term for 11am to 6pm) was scanty to empty sometimes. There were days I was the ONLY student and class was conducted with no discounts or trimmings from the actual routine. I loved it and I used my work-from-home privilege to slip in a class anytime. Sometimes even during a lunch break. But them ladies got on my nerves when they joined class. There is always the collective echo of wailing and yawning and laziness. I still cannot comprehend why would you attend a class if the only aim was to mark attendance. This wasn’t school or the army where it was traced and a consequence was announced. The only consequence was weight gain and not being fit. Them ladies would come and collectively slow me down by blocking my way with their group chatter or slow the class down by prompting the instructor to either reduce the number of repetitions or change the movement to an easy “doable” one. To add to the bane of my problems was the air conditioning. In a tiny studio space, 3 split ACs and 2 high speed noisy fans HAD to be on. The common sense that we warm up our bodies to work out and not cool it down with these tertiary gadgets didn’t prevail. I scouted areas of the class, however farther away or awkwardly placed just to avoid the direct blast of these gadgets. When the class would be packed, I would try to be patient and accommodate folks around me. It came at a cost. They didn’t feel or think the same way. Selfishness bid itself a warm welcome right with my breathing radius.

I joined Dumbelled workout regime as a trial for a month. T’was 3ce a week 6am-7am. Rigorous marathon training and tailor made for runners and marathon enthusiasts. I did not fit in and yet I managed to drag my crucified knees through 4kms of running non-stop at 6am temperatures. Discipline, attire, routine and stress levels were uniform and high. Just what I needed to push me over the edge and get me to do what I loved but just couldn’t find the right tools to aid me. I always needed a trainer and someone who would drive me down the road. However, the idea of doing this just one more time made me grovel and I had no will to join a bunch I barely spoke to or connected with. I think connection is key in a group. It makes you wake up and look forward to joining them no matter how bad your day was. Workouts in any shape or form always relieve you. But this… I left after a trial month. No regrets.

This was just a handful of issues I faced working out. At Goregaon Sports Club, home to the whos who of the rich and classless, I was hit on by men 3-4 times my age, causing my friend the member abundant embarrassment and refusal to bring me back again lest they pester him for my number and details. I once left a gym because the instructor insisted he wanted to marry me after training me for 2 years. Once refused to join a gym because the eager instructor looked like he would propose marriage after 2 years of training. Swimming was another story. If you find yourself in a slot that includes anyone, you are in for smelly dirty kids not minded by their parents or dirty old men who inch their whale like bodies close to yours and try to brush past or even slip in a creepy ‘hi’ in the middle of your laps. Excess chlorine and sometimes questionable hygiene drive you away faster than Juhu beach water could.

Working out is a headache and a boon. 3 scenic gardens around my home keep me grounded. Yes, I have to pass couples making bad attempts to hide in bushes to do what they do in bushes. Some quite out there and almost making babies. But if I strain my neck and eyes enough, I can pack in a good run followed by a few workout moves. The oxygen is a good trade off.

Clothing. Wait… APPROPRIATE clothing. Such a debate. Women ‘dress up’ here for workouts. I have seen pushup bras and heavy makeup beneath the perspiration. Tight clothing and see through it all clothing. And never a proper fit or a comfort. Adjusting and flaunting workout wear is THE workout. Its awkward and just a tch tch moment for spectators. Why or why would one want to be discomforted in the outfit that’s supposed to be the MOST comfortable. I once wore Quecha brand sportswear to a gym where I was told off by the gym instructor to cover up. I was shocked that racer-back was inappropriate in the near 40° heat but a camel toe and a tight T-shirt donned by someone else was acceptable. Bias! Both men and women also tend to conveniently ignore what to wear underneath the attire. Sometimes it’s way too embarrassing to acknowledge or even pass by in the same room. I shall not delve into the inappropriate details of what disasters those result in.  

In the end if not a workout, at least our wits, common sense, visual sense and our humor has a good workout and we make up for the rest elsewhere. I will never run out of feeling that initial pulse of getting my bikini bod and then leaving whatever space thinking “what the hell was THAT”. But if I never do any of these, I wont have any more experiences or make attempts to stay fit. Gotta 'ruuuuun' 

BiKronicles 2: Mini revisits (Panchgani-Mahabaleshwar)

Deep ink blue. That’s how I feel this morning. To replicate that heavy feeling is a looming dark cloud just outside my window with ‘Monday’ and ‘Long weekend is over’ etched in it somewhere. I can’t shake it off with my cuppa chai or even exchanging sweet morning msgs with my love. All I can do is wait for more colors to dissipate this one.

My excitement post getting our babe (REClassic500) was synonymous to a 5yr old being told they can go to Paris. Disney Land. Sit on ALL rides. Buy everything they touch. And the likes. I think it made me happier than Abeer to get her. I haven’t stopped planning trips, gear, safety, routes and what not. The last week of August took both of us by the neck. We were burned out, exhausted and I hadn’t slept in days staying up from 3am to 3am literally. It was a 4 working day week and that Friday was off was the bane and boon of our existence. It meant long weekend at the cost of a short weekday. We didn’t have the capacity to even sit and consciously map out where we were about to traverse. But I found the time to bug friends who had been on this route many times. Thus, fell our plan into place.

The day before the trip, I was zombied and my worst – a state my friend Simin and I used to synonymize with the zombies of the ‘Walking Dead’ series. I was battling some serious workload, packing off 2 stubborn cats with help from my momma and staying up all night. This resulted in a bit of a delay the trip day and forgetting my helmet at home causing the grump start. Helmet retrieved, arguments done, we started off. I was in severe discomfort and pain due to my monthly monster cycle coupled with no nutrition or sleep. If I thought I was in trouble, 3x that was the compromised safety of my boyfriend aka rider. I controlled myself from not physically assaulting him. He was loving and sweet and managed to make the journey bearable and as we intended all month long.

Our 1^st detour from plan was to stop in Pune and stay the night rather than continue nonstop to Panchgani and Mahabaleshwar. This was for both our benefit. The Ganpati weekend provided enough maneuverable traffic and obscene volume of music everywhere. We crashed in, slept like 2 heavy logs, did a bit of sheesha at a shady outlet named Jashn and then some amazing sizzler dinner at 11 East Street. Ambition and some lightheadedness from the hookah made us wanna catch a late night movie. Instead we called it a night cuz my man here loves a 5am wake up and a high-speed readiness to take to the road. I am now used to this routine and can only stress on the benefits of always hitting the road early; NO traffic, NO pollution, NO annoying people, NO heat dust or smog, NO dullness and so on. It’s beautiful and romantic I might add.

Day 2, 30 August, we left for an all day trip to Panchgani and Mahabaleshwar. I learned a lot about Abeer on this trip. It’s not just a ride or a trip, it’s a journey. He just pauses, breathes in places, checks his watch and is ready to move on… very characteristic of his own personal attitude. No looming, lingering, or hovering. I, on the other hand, am all about the loom, hover, hang. Until I have not completely soaked in what I needed to, I just cannot leave. My logic was we traveled all the way; hence, we must do justice to the destination. Our time allotted to the justice-ing was off between each other. But as always we found balance. We let each other be but we couldn’t be more in sync if we tried. He is kinder, softer and more attentive on such getaways. The phones get some rest and I get so much more face time with him. That’s why I’m addicted to these times and journeys. In the city, it’s a challenge. The phone (his Nexus 5) is the 2^nd wife I have had to adopt and give an occasional smile to. Anyways back to the road. We battled some pleasant and not so pleasant rains. The not so pleasant part is attributed to bad roads, potholes the size of craters and not so easily visible until too late and Abeer’s not so strong vision. Managing the gear, a huge helmet and glasses is not as easy as it looks convenient. I just kept his and my spirits up; we played road games scoring how many potholes he missed versus not and then kept count. On a long open road with no visible vehicle either in the front or back of yours, silly childlike games keep you going J When I would be upset and not respond and sit quiet for hours, Abeer, my love, would break that monotony with a big 5 in the air out of nowhere and I would wonder what just happened. I would see he just dodged a pothole and was scoring for us… we would burst into giggles and there would end our pseudo-feud. Silly me.

After what seemed like 3hours straight, we were up a steep hill climb, the valley view getting more picturesque, and the turns getting more sharper and dangerous. The view immediately took me back to the time I would be dropped off to boarding school by mum at the start of the academic year. The treachery of knowing I wouldn’t see her for a year would be eased by me riding in an expensive comfy cab in her lap. Here I was, behind my man, showing him parts of the state (Maharashtra) and places of my childhood. He loved and marveled at everything. We reached Panchgani at early noon, after a brief stop at Harrisson’s Foley. We went straight to Table Land and witnessed the lake, the valley and a bad angle view of the Devil’s Kitchen. Little walks and views were followed by some much needed Maharashtrian infused lunch. Dosas (very different), missal and ussal pav and what not. We rode some more down the road, passed my school Kimmins High school where I just HAD to squeal, some ogling at lovely homes and properties, and straight through a divine road with intervals of Malas and Mapro depots and signs. Mapro of course dominating with Malas as its sidekick. For the lesser informed, Mapro and Malas are brands/companies who specialize in sweet treats, jelly and fruit confectionary, berries and jams, crush and syrups etc. A whole load of sweet to put you in confectionary heaven. THAT is what I will eventually use to describe the Mapro Farm (an absolute must visit). We were disappointed not to find any fresh strawberries or mulberries that we so desperately chased but realized it’s out of season. We settled for their homemade ice cream and toppings and bought some amazing organic honey and jams to take back. I also shopped some ridiculously cheap scarves and a pair of biking gloves at a Kashmiri handicraft store. In Mumbai, there would be attempts to rip me off with 3 figure demands and much haggling. Here the digits fell to 50 bucks and 250 bucks, respectively. I got greedy and didn’t haggle at all :D

Pause

We rode further down to Mahabaleshwar. Going to some signature points like Kate’s point, Echo valley etc. spent much time there and moved on. It was breathtaking and I managed to steal a pic of 2 haggard, roughed up bikers standing next to each other. Hardly the loved up scene I wished to capture. We stopped by the town’s only CCD and paused for a good amount of time. Drank 2 coffees as my biker boy exclaimed that we were ahead of schedule so we had that precious time to waste and while away. Which we did where our numb behinds finally had restored sensation. Coffee and recommended bathroom breaks after we rode back to Pune. The ride was fantastic through Wai until we hit the traffic of Pune. The welcoming pollution and maneuvering traffic was worse than the downpour we endured on our return journey. We went straight home, cleaned up and went to Dorabjee’s where I ate like I hadn’t been fed in a decade. Wolfed down was more like it with one leg on the chair like a Panchayat head. Everyone else around me thought what a pretty but hungry girl. Wonder why she looks so starved. Hahaha. The rest period was good bonding time. Checks and gossips over music and what we can do next. What trips and what routes. What scenes and what gear. What went wrong and what we can do better. Our amusement for the day was when we passed a group of seasoned Royal Enfield riders who took great offense to our new tan Classic version overtaking their hierarchically synchronized ride. They eventually made some dangerous cuts in traffic on the National highway to prove a point and overtook us… I think my bubblegum pink Vega helmet added insult to injury…. Lol… Boys…

Abeer and our bebe

Mumbai return trip was beautiful and perfect. Relaxed with stops to the smog engulfed Lonavala valley, a cup of boiled butter corn from our usual suspect and going through dewy rainwashed routes. We stopped briefly parallel to Khopoli on a lone route taken only by bikers once you get off the expressway. The scene was straight out of a book or photoshopped magazine cover. We paused to take some pictures which eventually earned us rave reviews and a great many fans (miniscule but great for us). It was EPIC. The city entry was divine followed by nightmare of sore backs, painful legs, near-exploding bladders, growling stomachs and torrential downpour. It was probably the 1^st time in 3 days I just wanted to get off the bike and lay flat and not get back on. Yep it was the too-much-of-a-good thing syndrome. Abeer was exhausted. Through this journey I solemnized that I would fulfil my dream of learning to ride one of these babies and have the ability to take over when Abeer needed a break. If we were gonna be biker hogs then me riding pillion forever would be a very selfish move for him as well as for my dream. So I returned with a good trip, good memories, loads of newfound love for the road, our trips, new passions and my man. I also came back with determination for a better week, a new journey to plan and to learn a new skill :)

Watch out for BiKronicles III. For pictures of the journey, visit my Instagram handle (gatacdo7) and Abeer’s (tipsies).

The "Must haves"

That’s right. There are something’s in life like a wardrobe must-have or a societal must-do that need to happen to all beings. Without them there is just no appreciation for the rules that are broken and triumphed over and nor is there is any lessons-learnt. Here are a random not-so-preferred few.

• Lose your wallet. Maybe more than once.
• Lose money. It pinches and pains and all those times we stole, begged, borrowed, whined and blackmailed our parents for comes flashing by.
• Have someone lie to u and find out about it.
• Have an ugly confrontation or an uncomfortable conversation.
• Fail to read the rules and regulations or that almost invisible *conditions apply. Get fleeced or stuck cuz of your failure to do so.
• Get caught and have that horrible twisty knot like feeling in your stomach. The 1 that makes you lose appetite, squeezes your heart and basically makes you feel like your life is flashing by.
• Exhale and feel immense relief when that twisty knot is untied (usually by someone’s generosity or kindness). Have new found respect for that person who 90% of the times maybe someone who doted on you in the past.
• Get suspended, punished, black listed. Makes for a great story when you grow up. Especially when you wanna prove what a badass you were amidst the journey of nerd-dom.
• Get drunk and make a fool of yourself. Throw up and just pass out being aware that you are gonna have a lot to explain and face when the hangover wears out
• Sneak in and look sheepish.
• Be consumed by love or hatred. Be consumed by some emotion so much that it eats up all of you and you are momentarily blinded.
• Make bad decision. Despite the told-you-so’s. Remember this is YOUR decision and YOURS alone.
• Put on weight. Be in denial. Then try on an outfit that you were eyeing and can’t fit in. Get a reality check and go into major fitness mode. Wow yourself and people around you. Reward yourself. Think you all that and what not. Put on weight…. Repeat cycle.
• Loose or break your fone. Stay a day or… hell even a week without a new 1. Pretend you are in zen mode without being in eSocial mode. It is quite amazing frankly. Get a new phone and get all stupid and spondilitisii like again.
• Write a blog. Pour your heart out. Wake up the day after and read again and go WTF! The same can apply to an sms, chat message or even a voice message.
• Have a wardrobe malfunction and find ways to tide over it. Have a fashion faux pas or a beauty disaster. Lock yourself in till it’s fixed.
• Loose someone you love. Maybe to someone else you cared about or trusted. Live and function around 1 or both everyday.
• Have an injury or an illness. Changes you sometimes. Drastically.
• Be ignored and forgotten. There is redemption at the end of this tunnel. Everyone needs everyone at sometime. Sure you too will ignore, forget and re-need someone too.
• Have your parents not ‘appreciate or understand’ you. Whine about how they don’t get you. Then triumph over how you overcame that ‘challenge’.
• Buy something super cheap. Showoff. Have it perish/broken in a blink. Sulk.
• Buy something super expensive. Showoff. Have it perish/broken in a blink. Sulk x 3.
• Loose internet connection when you NEED IT MOST.
• Have your phone battery die when you NEED IT MOST.
• Fall asleep. Have a bad stomach. Have a bad day of personal hygiene. Look unkempt. Feel tragic. Have someone really hot* point it out to you. *a potential crush maybe.
• Regret something. Anything. Then go all Miss/Mr. World and say, “I have no regrets. All my experiences made me who I am” *wave* (yawn).
• Own a pet. Go all ooh and aah until their 1^st medical and food bill hits you. Now multiply that by their expected lifetime… Congrats you are a parent now.
• Rave about some movie, place, event, person etc. Then have it fail miserably and you hide face.
• Get stuck somewhere. And remain stuck.
• Lie, cheat on a test, blame someone else. Smoke something funny. Drink something weird. Do it all. Cuz even though you were told not to. You still did. Feel guilty thereafter.
• Have a kid ask you a question you can’t answer. Better yet let them begin the question with ‘Aunty/Uncle’ and come to terms with it.
• Cut yourself. Bleed. Get scratched, scraped, jabbed. Bang a joint or sprain a muscle. Nothing hurts worse and nothing teaches you to repair it better.
• Say the wrong thing at the worst time to the wrong person. Try to take it back. Although…. Never works!
• Ache for something or someone. Drown in it till you learn to swim out of it.
• Starve. Run out of cash. Thirst for something. Be parched. Look around and wonder… what now.
• Indulge in stalking. Online ‘perfectly sane and legal’ predation. What he said. She posted. He updated. She erased. He signed up. She signed out. Pictures. Comments. Accounts. Emails. Messages. Drive yourself deliberately nuts interpreting the psychology behind it all. Worse still… call your friends for coffee and drown them in your pool of self-pity (hate these). Pine and muddle over it. A while later let it tide over. Even better, feel stupid for having to realize you got it ALL WRONG! Pause. Repeat. Rewind. Forward and on….
• Be part of a disaster or its aftermath. Feel like a loser or a schmuck for the times you thought your life was a wreck. Come back renewed. Yap about it. *Blink* turn back into that whiny creation called human AGAIN.  
• Hit rock bottom. Rise up. Dust yourself. Leave a lil dust behind. Have a yahoo moment and rise higher. Then have a reminder of the disaster and fall in the pit again. A lil deeper this time. Be aware of the depth. Decide when you wanna stop falling and get back up at all. Or not.

Then sit and write this blog. Think about why and how and when you decided to write this blog. Post it. Go 'dayumm' cuz you missed a thing or 2 to add your post like it was gonna make a world of difference. Wonder if anyone even bothered reading it till the end. Go ‘whatever’… Move on. 

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

From Tigress to Amoeba

An amoeba is a single cell organism that has featured in the 1st chapter of nearly all life science and basic biology books since high school. I don’t feel nearly as powerful and significant as the amoeba but I do feel like its size, shape and visibility aka all 0. To the mother and father I am the single cell organism that changed their lives and appeared as the 1st chapter of their progeny life. So I’m toggling multiple identities here.

I would like to think of myself as the tigress given how moments ago, whilst checking if Abeer had made some connection on his phone, I stumbled upon his instagram comments. Well I was looking for comfort in his pics and comments, but couldn’t help noticing that while his feline love was battling emotions and upcoming significant pain, 95% of the comments, praises and batting eyelids on his instagram account were ladies (in the appropriate words of Abeer – Skanks). But even that tigress retreated into an emotional black hole when an attending came in to draw blood from her arm. I can never get used to needles and neither do I want to. The blood didn’t make me queasy as much as the size of the needle did.

Present moment: 9pm in room # 85 of the 11th floor of KDA Hospital. I checked in today as an inpatient for my knee surgery. I expected the ‘general’ ward to remind me of all Indian general wards. However, I was in for a pleasant surprise. Clean, air-conditioned, private, a cosy nook and cupboard equipped with a digitized safe and straight out of A class design. Mrs. Tina Anil Ambani sure watches Grey’s Anatomy cuz it was a replica of their rooms. I was instantly relieved as I had just spent an hour at the insurance help desk. It was all touch and go. They admit you and then work on costs. It’s like they feed you and then force you into anorexia cuz you couldn’t afford them. This was top class at a (need to add) very reasonable cost. I was quiet and didn’t wanna talk. Was a tad bit rude to mum whom I had vehemently asked not to accompany me. Truth is without her I wouldn’t have made it to my bed even after 2hrs. But the abandoned girl in me craved for her boy.

Once on my bed, the nurses and on-call staff poured in on me. Height, weight, x-ray and basic blood work were in order. But all it took was step 1 to reduce me to tears – the patient tag on my wrist. Reality and nostalgia hit so hard. Mum didn’t ask or cajole me. Just held me and asked me not to be scared. I was scared shitless. How could this happen to me? How did 2013 turn into a year of hospital visits, needles, meds and large medical bills? How did my health plunge and then come back up and then show me it could dive deeper? I needed Abeer. He has the answers in his madness. Not the real ones. Just answers I would like to hear.

The nurse kept checking my BP and insisted I eat cuz it kept dropping. The last weight recorded showed a shocking 4.5kgs lower (in a month’s time). There was a sadistic unhealthy smile in my mind – at least I wasn’t fattening up and my customized workout had done its work. An unhealthy celebration. I surveyed my room. Curious patients and their relatives all examined me from a distance or whenever the curtains parted. Mum made conversation with them – like all Indian mothers do. 5 different women in 3hrs had lectured me about Capoeira vs doing dance and yoga and what not. I desperately needed some quiet and I needed to meet my friends rather than adults. Yes, a few laughs and familiar faces would have done me good but the ‘visitor pass’ system made it not so possible for them to come. My head ached but my heart ached more. I knew Abeer couldn’t reach me but I was hoping somehow, somewhere, another stray phone on the road – another message. Love.

The doc made a round and stared at me for 5mins to gauge how much of the fear and anguish had set in before he proceeded to comfort me and go over the details and instructions. 2.5+hrs of surgery starting 8am next morning. I ordered the parents home and said I didn’t want anyone for the night. It was them or Abeer. Since Abeer wasn’t around, I was settling for no one. I imagined if he was here he could sleep on the make shift bed and we could chat all night and giggle. He would probably steal some Wi-Fi from somewhere and then show me more apps. We would kiss and be a tad bit inappropriate – without breaking any rules. Instead its sickeningly quiet with the periodic coughs and sounds from other patients in my ward. All terminal, old and very severe in their health. Heart patient with a doting and beautiful wife to a multi-organ failing stubborn fella who was earlier scolded by docs to live up to his med cycle. Collapsed lung is what I heard last. Tomorrow I would be in an intense state as them. But hopefully recovering faster.

How am I to sleep? My insurance partially cleared thus giving me some peace. But what about everything else. I missed Elsa. Imagined him trying to purr like a baby and tug at a cold quilt instead of a warm me who held him and cradled him to sleep every night.  All that I loved had left the area. It’s just me and my thoughts now. Sleep evades me. But tomorrow I will be asleep for 10+hrs before consciousness to a repaired me who will have to start putting herself back altogether – for Elsa and Abeer.

Batizado 2010

I have to begin by saying I am envious of the Batizados’ I missed but I am grateful for the milestones I am about to cover from here on as a permanent fixture of CDO India which has grown on me like oxygen n food n beer n forro n atabaque n music n roda… everything. I went from a completely unknown and awkward entity at the Khar class to someone people had confidence in and accepted soon enough. My 1st Batizado feeling transitioned from an ‘oh alright a belt ceremony’ to ‘dear lord I have soooo much to do’.

It was last year 2010. Baba started warming us up to having I. Pinoquio, CM Cueca and M. Esquilo for our workshops. He spoke very fondly of Pinoquio as an extraordinary capoeirista, energetic and like a fireball with incredible experience since he joined capoeira at a young age; CM Cueca as his teacher, someone he looked up to and was very honored to have here with us. Honestly I don’t recall much about M. Esquilo but a safe bet would be Saci Lua Cheia (walking encyclopedia on M. Esquilo). Khar class immediately became an overcrowded venue. I was a bit annoyed at 1st at seeing so many people just loitering about taking up space but soon enough the tempo was set. Cabeca (Parikshit) was introduced to us as the Bimba sequence instructor (I laugh now because finally I know the meaning of Bimba). He always called out to us “All my Bimbas come here”… a joke he enjoyed secretly until our ‘early’ realization. I have to say my 1st impression of Cabeca was ‘very strict’. He had an air of authority about him but someone who had incredible knowledge on capoeira. Not only did he patiently teach us each and every one of the 8 sequences he went on to explain the nuances of WHY a kick comes from the left or right, why that esquiva and why a move here and there. He timed us, grilled us, drilled us, killed us… I loved it. We met outside in the park on off days to practice the 8 sequences in pitch darkness but Cabeca made it a point to be there whether it was 1 of us or all 8-10 pairs. There was a sense of friendly competition as we stayed glued to our partners and wanted to excel. Danceira :D was my partner and we practiced in her compound, on the club house roof, in the club house and everywhere. Apart from the Bimba sequences there were other groups of Bimba throws and Bimba take downs involving advanced students. Everyone trained intensely through November and December. I met many of the old students and bonded with them. It’s incredible how ‘at home’ you feel once you walk through the doors even after a prolonged absence.

The classes got more intense and pushed us to the limit. This was the time when I experienced my breath giving out and limbs and body parts aching that I probably hadn’t pushed earlier. But it was all incredible. Afro and maculele was taken by Diamante and Espaguete and we had a super fun time. Music – this was the time when you couldn’t hide in the background and just clap pretending to not know the words. The music is as much an important part of the roda as all the elements involved. Music provided us the axe, the intensity, the drive and singing loudly and clearly.. getting the lyrics right, trying simpler instruments.

Let me tell you I was not at all prepared for what to expect when the heavyweights of capoeira finally touched down in Mumbai one after the other. They were incredible, their stories, their songs, their fluidity… hell even the ghinga was so diverse. Each workshop at 1st felt very short but once we were into it, we were gasping for air, water and some more learning. The most memorable for me was the class I. Pinoquio took on the ground floor of SS Sahney, the class CM Cueca took at Juhu (Oyster room) and M. Esquilo at our regular Khar venue. Songs that have stuck by me were ‘o si si’ by Pinoquio, ‘Sem dende’ by CM Cueca and ‘capoeira que en si noi´by M. Esquilo. The added bonus was having M. Chicote, Pantera and Armelle with us. It was a huuuggee family and I had forgotten all other elements of my life except capoeira and Batizado. This was the time I even socialized with the group outside of the class and saw an incredibly different side to all the people I now recognized as family. Was no longer awkward or nervous. I was involved in the preparations and everything that I could get my hands on.

Batizado day was amazing. The energy was high and very much in the air. When I see the videos and pictures it seems like days but in reality it felt like blink and miss. Everything just swished by… we rushed through costume changes and face paint and rodas. The most significant and important moment for me was getting my cordao. I remember waiting forever and pushing others to go ahead of me. Didn’t know how that would prolong or make it special. Noone from my family was expected to come so the moment was left to me to be special. I entered and played a lovely game with M. Esquilo. I refused to be taken down…. Ppfffttt arrogance of a beginner. Eventually he did. I just stood there frozen as he smiled ever so widely and tied my cordao. I walked out and felt so…… THAT’S IT. It’s over. My 1st green cordao moment is OVER… ☹ and then someone tapped me on my shoulder. I turned to find my father standing there. He had made it. He told me he saw everything from the start and he was proud of me. He would never question why I spent so much time training or such late hours all week. I only remember trying to listen to him between sobs (I didn’t know I was crying). Thereafter it was a rollercoaster. I was sooooo happy. The grand finale of the batizado was grander and soooo much fun. The music the axe was very very high. The party that followed (graciously hosted by Manteiga at Fat Cat Cafe) and all the fun and frolic that remained for days after until they all returned home and the quiet descended on us HEAVILY. As of today its 17 days to that experience again. I will have a new story VERY different from my 1st batizado.