The (I)ntensely (C)rushing (U)nvironment!

"Aapke saath amboolans ke paise ki baat hui!?!" (Has anyone spoken to you about the ambulance charges?), asked the driver to my hapless mother.

Money – I was stunned. Actually disgusted was more like it. Barely had they strapped in my dad's skeletal frail frame in the bed, key in ignition, pat came the demand for money. I wonder if he would have driven us at all had we (God forbid) fumbled and expressed inability to pay. It was INR 2k to drive my ICCU-ridden father to and fro from a specialized diagnostic for MRI and scans that was 2mins by Mumbai traffic stds. Monetary demands had been the top and most consistent priority in the last few days. True it was the same during my hospitalization but there was better management and 15% good faith. Here, while my father battled to stay alive, his investigation costs came before his prognosis and next vital steps. I felt sorry for the scores who waited, wondering where to produce money from their measly income and no insurance. The hand-to-mouth population. The 90% population. And even though I could produce the money on demand, I felt attacked even slightly blackmailed at the thought of care and basic treatment being pulled if I couldn't produce. Every step spewed money. I think I will be charged even for the air I breathe in the waiting area. Money 1^st; care and vital steps later. Period.

Waiting – Day 5. So far the multitude of docs including passing 2nd opinions couldn't put a finger on it. All I could do was talk, speculate, question, meet dad, comfort him and wait. That wait. The painfully long question-mark accompanied by traffic and yapping people. 6hrs in a row. And the most irritating part was the ladies who attempted to start a conversation with me about my dad's health and then suddenly turning a sharp curve into their family members and details and gross issues. Being nosy and then unloading it on me. I wasn't insensitive. If anything I listened quietly. I was mentally exhausted processing my dad and didn't need to hear everyone's issues. Its exhaustion really that makes us all quiet. My parents were too when I was operated upon. Sitting around or lying around for hours is far more daunting than actual activity. The smell, the cries, the laughter, the running around, the silence. The brain is a powerful ALL-organ. It controls what your body does and reacts to. Keeping it well oiled and running in such situations is a challenge and 1 that teaches us tremendous lessons in courage and patience.

Patience – such an underrated word. I had 3 layers of patience to deal with. Having just completed my stint of hospitalization and an attempt to piece back all elements of normalcy including fitness, I had to pause everything. The 2^nd was dealing with a hysterical and high-octane-tensed and wired mom. The last was the main 1 – dad, his illness, his diagnosis, the reports, the tests and what not. Everything cannot be speeded up just cuz your heart wishes so. Nada. Even if you live in Mumbai. Instead, Indian mentality slows down the most mundane activities or wastes time on stuff that is red-taped high priority. Nurses and on-call doctors would much rather chit chat and complete their packet of noisy wafers than cater to the patient. Any patient. I saw it myself. They get ‘bothered’ if someone were to beckon them once they just sat down for their cuppa chai with a side of toasty gossip. Too bad. Leave the profession if you can’t handle the pressure and the duties it demands. Worse if you don’t have patience with delicate, ailing bodies and minds.

Empathy and Etiquette – or the lack of it. I have been routinely thrown out and ordered into the ICCU for dad over the last 5 days. I have jumped up at prompt and performed like a trained bomb-squad dog. Except, my actions came from the fact that he’s my dad and I will wag a tail if I had 1. I would do that for any member of my family and that includes Abeer and Elsa. But, the officers of the healthcare profession who take the oath upon graduation and get in knowing fully well what the profession demands, shun it. I don’t pass this verdict for all. Actually, the lowest in the hierarchy (the maids and bais) are the most compassionate and kind. Feed them a few Gandhijis and they care for you and your loved ones like you were their progeny. The most distressing part of hospital stay is the bedpan and loo usage. If you are bedridden and have to entirely depend on others for your basic bodily functions, no matter how many times you may have lectured others, you are going to cringe and worry. I did. Twice. But the Tai makes all the difference. The guards ask if you are ok, need some water, comfort, need a fan etc. Nurses are the worst. They carry the expression of corpses; sometimes taking extra effort to hiss at you without actually doing it. The tone, the attitude, the malice is ridiculous. Some don’t make eye contact. Maybe they fear it may humanize them to look at the patient or the relative. I was ‘warned’ not to create trouble the 1^st night I was admitted 2 yrs ago for arthroscopic ACL surgery. Here, after asking me not to disturb dad, I was disturbed by their chit chat and their chiding of a poor lady clearly in end-stage renal failure and another who’s heart had but a few beats left. They fought with colleagues who didn’t turn up for shifts on time etc. All this in few view and audible range of patients and their near burned out families. Empathy is a crucial chapter missing in the fat pages of the medical bible.

In India, the doctor is God and those associated with him in the slightest… his disciples and messengers. Such blindness. Doctors change their tone and language with me when they know they can’t play paddle-ball with a para-medical professional. What about the scores less fortunate (read educated)? Despite dad’s status right now, we are far better treated (by 70% I reckon) than the rest of the populace. They just want someone to talk to. Someone to tell them it will all be alright. Someone to tell them that they figured it out and that its fixable. Things and people break every day. People just want to know “can this be fixed?”. I too am asking the same. I had an unfortunate incident today where an annoyed lady found it too taxing to wait in line for her mother’s MRI cuz my dad’s was taking too long. Rudely (after blasting the diagnostic center receptionist) she asks my doctor in front of me and scores of waiting people, “a thigh MRI is not so important then why is it taking so long?” Before he could answer, I gave a fat piece of my mind. 1 of the rarest times I didn’t care for being judged or considered a noisy nuisance. No one stopped me or dared come my way. Shockingly she turned out to be a doc herself and realized she had cut the wrong wire when she took me on, proceeding to profusely apologize. I would’ve relented except my heavy heart had found the perfect outlet and opportunity to let the screaming banshee out. Then I went back in the dark ambulance and shed whatever tears had surfaced. Wiped ‘em. Even like a fool, used sanitizer on my own hands and walked back in.

I had never seen a loved 1 with 8 tubes piercing a frail body and another 15 tubes running out of each 1. So many monitors all beeping at once, bandages, raw flesh, blankets, catheters and 2 simultaneous saline drips. I had 1/4^th of these but ACTUALLY seeing it is a whole new life lesson. Watching them go through a non-stop cycle of progress and regress. I learnt about my own patience and my own vulnerability. How much is too much for me? I think I have held on long enough and am gonna hold on more. Even candles give that last lil strong bright flicker before they completely burn out. I’m not ready yet to burn out. Still have to burn my brightest best yet!

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 

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

Love the Unexpected or the Unexpected love

“Baby I got you something.” “Really??” *Standing amidst greenery on a rainwashed Sunday morning*

*Frumpy look on her face* *He gives her a beautiful lil elephant keychain*

“I got this from Pune for you” *She smiles*

“You like?” “I love it baby” *They seal the moment with a kiss*

Hours later, in an unfortunate spell, that lil elephant was lost to nature at Chinchoti trail. It may sound small and insignificant but to her it meant all (I still remember losing that elephant. I had carefully clipped it to my backpack and then it was there no more).

It symbolized 1 of many unexpected moments of love shared with Abeer. We didn’t elaborate on us, not yet. I was Miss PDA and he was the actual shy 1 who only boasted of his openness and escapades from the past. When in India, I was the bold 1 and he the domesticated NRI (I’m smirking at NRI). With him I started with not wanting to feel anything, to feeling something and yet keeping my head on my shoulders, to losing my head from my shoulders but quickly screwing it back up and finally losing it all together. I guess the last stage marks the completion of the 100% absolute-in-love and this-time 4-real stage.

But through the last 7 months of togetherness there has been stark likeness and absolute opposite mayhem. The mere 3 days between our bdays would make me think we could be the twin Pisces fishes but our personalities speak otherwise. You see the love is there but the magnitude and the expression is different. It’s like we are reading the same script but in different dialects. Occasionally, the phonetics of that dialect connects us and love is requited. Other times, a simple mistranslation or miscommunication is enough to loosen both our screws. Hence, the twin fishes are upside down and opp. facing.

I think that people need the opportunity of expression too. Without a fight there is no opportunity for attention. Without a dialogue there is no openness. Without disagreement there is no chance to learn the differences. Without disengagement there is no moment for melting into each other. Without issues there is no extension of our personalities to explore the warrior and protector within us. Without sickness and bad times, there is no proof of our loyalty. Without distance there is no realization of the value. Without boredom and mundane-ness there is no creativity. Without the real deal there is nothing left fighting for; no refreshment of our expression of love. And we have done pretty much all of it.

When you look at your object of affection, you adore them. Your pride yourself in your choices; that you got lucky. In their absence there is a natural need to feel a rare sense of why can’t he/she be so or behave or have so… Then they appear in front of you and you realize, you have something that no one else has. And for some inexplicable reason you are unable to relinquish THIS one. Like the Great Gatsby. Rich, powerful, intelligent, ambitious, handsome, blessed yet haunted by a green light that ultimately destroyed him. We can have it all – or so appears to the world. But that 1 soul is all it takes to bring us to our knees. There is a sense of question as to whether we ever deserved them and all of their personality showered on us. That when they did, we partially acknowledged the love to satisfy our personal friend – Ego; but Ego was sacrificed when love turned its back on us.

There are these moments of tight knots. They squeeze and burn within. Makes you choke up and struggle to breathe. Face flushes and emotions refute control. But the moment love turns a kind eye toward us, the tremendous feeling of 360° relief and humility is like a pressurized aircraft cabin with emergency exits opened at 37000ft. I felt that recently and am going through it. The distance separating us is 1 I have miserably failed to cope with. His absence reduced me and I found myself being a teenage love-fool. An eg. would be my buying Starbucks coffee with his name on the styrofoam as a momento to the weekends he spends waiting patiently for me at the neighbouring Starbucks. That they know him there and occasionally prepare free samples and Americanos, are testament to how long I make him wait. Something I wouldn’t have done at all this weekend in order to spend every breathing second available. No, he did not go to the moon. Just Manali and Spiti and Kasol. They make me forget my leg and want to join him there.  

Then again I think of the times I said something I shouldn’t have or did something I could’ve reversed. There are moments I don’t wanna take back and stay mad at him. Exactly what good comes of it – nothing. This relationship although far more volatile with the good and bad remind me of others as well. Parents and siblings. In the ‘Pursuit of Happyness’, Chris Gardner while going through the worst moments of his life, still maintains aggression, softness, and borderline sanity. The 1^st few times I saw the movie I loved him and felt that it was about his journey to stockbroker-stardom. Truth is it was all about Chris Jr. (his son). He struggled to live, eat, breathe and survive only for his son. His pursuit for stardom was more in his son’s eyes and future than in the multimillion dollar corporation he dreamt of. His humiliation and struggles reducing him often were reversed only when he ensured the safety and sanctity of his love – his son.

Love, when given and received unexpectedly is the most cherished. Love, when asked and coerced, rarely feel authentic. When in love with love, it remains a dream. When in love with reality, it feels authentic. When in love with the idea of love, it just fails. Been there, done that. Now I just love him and wait for his return. Hoping to feel something: expectedly unexpected. <3 

Long walk home...

“Beta sab theek hai. Khana khayega” That’s the signature statement my dad always seems to clarify or make irrespective of whether I was within city limits, out of the country or possibly another galaxy. I heard this statement again and pondered through my long and lonely walk from the domestic airport to the rick stand as I had just flown in from Bangalore to Mumbai on a warm humid night.

A harsh reality hit me. In the recent past, none of the times was I dropped or picked up from the train station or the airport. It’s another thing that I expressed chivalry and wanted to be the ‘I-can-do-it-myself gal’. But it would be a welcome change to see a surprise pick-up or drop once in a while. To be fair I couldn’t expect friends or family members to chauffeur me especially when I was notorious for taking all odd hour journey options. It just had to be late evening or midnight – anything before complete sunrise.

And yet I time traveled back to the ye ol’ days when the whole family would pile up in cabs and ricks to see us off. Tear-jerkers and handkerchief exchanges were a common sight – I even dreaded it sometimes especially when dad would leave us to go to Nigeria or later, and most commonly, when mum would send me back to boarding school at the start of the school year. Most of the times they were midnight flights. Somehow late evening and night journeys add that extra bit of moroseness to the whole farewell scene. One goes home to cry into their blankets or aircraft pillows.

I wished for someone to pick me up. I wished to be swept away in arms and hugs and covered in appropriate kisses followed by an inappropriate number. Be it the brother, the friend or the boyfriend. I craved to know that someone somewhere waited so long to see me and couldn't wait no more and made the journey to see me arrive. Instead I walked bags on both shoulders, waving off eager rickwalas and cabwalas with the ease of a billionaire heiress waving of paparazzi. Walked as far as my jetlagged feet could take me and nearly threatened a rick guy to take me home ON METER only. I didn't even realize that the poor fellow intended to just charge me meter (assumed that they were all automatically out to fleece me).

I looked forward to getting home and getting dad’s home cooked meal. Even if his intent was just to feed me and probably pick another fight (his version of an ongoing conversation), I still looked forward to it. He called and stressed and waited for the return of Tom and Jerry. Just like the ever quarreling duo who would kill each other and yet reach a slump if 1 was absent. The alternate and more eagerly awaited plan was to meet the boyfriend. However, he unleashed a volley of his own anger on me when (and get this) I had just been airborne during take-off. Maybe it was an ‘off’ evening for me. The farewell was bittersweet from my beloveds, the arrival a tad bit too hot and humid from the cold and rain-washed Bangalore and the walk home a long, lonely and miserable 1.

I do often look outside the glass panes just before exiting the airport or train station to see if someone indeed did show up… just like the old days!