Backpacker (Gokarna): 30 seconds into Gokarna... The Incident

There’s a reason why certain events happen in your life. They teach you the value of something or someone. Usually its unpleasant cuz the pressure and intensity of such events seem to make a deeper mark in our memory – like a crack in crystal. Years along the person or thing may not exist, but the memory and its implications remain forever. We were the recipients of 1 such memory/event.

We were in Gokarna and the days seemed blissful at best. Just before leaving for Mangalore on Sunday night, we decided to soak in last minute sunset and warm salty sea. It was sweet and playful. We joked about the Indian tourists who thronged the beaches and made a sight for sore eyes. How they didn’t have a sense of personal space and got in our way before a wave break. So we kept getting soaked and out to look for more isolated sections to just be US. I am now glad there were people around. Irony.

Over the preceding days, we had made some friends – familiar faces. Faces who were present in the water with us and kindly warned us that the tide was particularly choppy and it would be a good idea to stay closer to shore. Abeer and I were seasoned beach bums. We knew how far was too far and we wanted an uneventful end to this trip. I think Kudle had other plans for us. We noticed a couple very much in love and foolishly venturing deeper in. The guy seemed rather confident as he guided his girlfriend’s hands into deeper waters even though the waves slapped harder and stronger. Everyone was getting away from the waves except these 2. It took all of 30 secs for what happened next.

He screamed for help. He screamed in time cuz he was audible and Abeer and I among a few others noticed and heard. What I didn’t expect my very brave but foolish Abeer to do was jump in without so much as a mention to me. Natural instincts and I will never argue that. I hadn’t swum in choppy waters in a while so I refrained but kept getting increasingly anxious as I watched him reach them, grab the guy and then just waves blocking my view. I struggled to stand up and see what the hell was taking so long as the waves kept slapping harder. The anxiety attacks grew as I saw 2 or 3 bobbing heads moving farther and farther away. I turned and ran to the beach. Others might have joked I maybe having a Baywatch moment. I didn’t care. I screamed for a lifeguard at Sunset Café. The owner had the presence of mind to veer me to a just leaving catamaran that was taking a few revelers to Paradise beach. I ran and screamed. My legs hurt and my heart beat against the adrenaline cuz each step felt like I was delaying urgency. The boys in the water noticed my fear and I screamed to them to get to the boat. God bless them they did. We screamed about the people in the water. As I pointed to them, I saw 1 head and then nothing and I panicked.

At that moment a 100 thoughts raced through my mind. Mundane, useless, useful, crazy, emotional every thought. Where is he? Did he leave me? Alone? On this beach after how well we were doing? Is he lost? Is he there and does he know I sent help? Am I going back with him or a body bag? What will I answer to everyone and what will I do forever now? Can he hear me screaming? I love you Bubee and you can’t do this to me. Are you there? Don’t give up and play one of your stupid jokes “ek din sab ko marna hi hai! (one day everyone has to die)” And many more thoughts that enter and exit your mind without volunteering permission to do so. The heart thumping hurts. I can hear the boys yelling at me and a few holding my arm from not venturing deeper in. I rudely snap saying I will not leave without Abeer. They don’t understand me and I don’t understand their rationale. The boat throws a line. I see 2 heads and the tears slow down. I see someone attempt to grab it but I’m not sure. I selfishly pray its Abeer. I wish it to be Abeer and then I see someone let go of the line… I was distraught and don’t recall the remaining min or 2 until I saw the boat pull in with an unconscious Abeer dangling by its side with his arms caught by people in the boat. I was afraid he shouldn’t be injured or caught under the boat as it came in swiftly ashore. I ran… the thumping still didn’t stop. I realized how useless and limp I had become in a distraught moment. Chided myself for not jumping in and doing better to avoid this. Till date I don’t know what I would’ve done different.

Abeer was dragged into the boat and then carried on shore. He was limp and I didn’t know if he was breathing. I slapped him, attempted the worst kind of CPR and basically shrieked and cried. Not good for someone who should maintain their composure. I saw the couple roped in and desperate attempts to revive the girl. As I saw her state, my panic for Abeer grew. Everyone just surrounded and watched him except for a stray few strangers who tried to revive him. I saw a flicker of movement and breathing. Wanted to stop crying but mild relief and the trauma of it all just refused to leave as I begged him to wake up or show me a sign he’ll be ok. The next 45mins were the worst. They felt like 45 seconds. We revived Abeer who was burned out in the worst possible manner. The girl wouldn’t wake up and I briefly offered help. But when I saw her with lots of people and her boyfriend, I instantly left to be by Abeer’s side. A few minutes earlier, we all realized there was another fella in the water. He had, what I know off, jumped into the water to assist these 3 when he saw Abeer’s efforts were futile against the raging sea and the desperate boy who was only keeping his panic-stricken unconscious girlfriend a float. We screamed at the boat to rope that 4^th person in. By now he was like an insignificant lil bob in the water. If we hadn’t known he had jumped in, I’m afraid his body would’ve never been found.

By now everyone at Kudle knew what had happened. Every shack occupant, restaurant workers, employees, holiday goers, tourists… everyone was on the beach. 90% proving useless by doing the standard Indian thing – surround and be spectators while cutting off air supply. Some (mostly foreigners) genuinely ran about, offered assistance, checked up periodically on Abeer and me, comforted me, called for medical assistance and backup, etc. I was starting to calm down but I was blown by the sordidness of it all. Abeer could’ve become a statistic on this killer beach and I could’ve lost my love my life. My anxiety reduced when he sat up, spoke a few words, threw up all of it. Any movement or interaction was GOOD INTERACTION. I prayed helplessly that the girl wake up and the just roped in boy wake up as well. I didn’t want any deaths. The couple was alive and safe thanks to MY Abeer. The sunset. It was a beautiful sunset; one that I wanted to close with Abeer… knee deep in salty sea water and kissing him. Instead I watched it plunge into the sea taking away my peace of mind. We took him to the shack and the room. The resort owner and employees all helped. He was revived with cold water, air, shower and whatever he indicated he wanted. I watched him like he was a rare creature from the sea about to change shape or form. I saw the look and he knew what I must’ve gone through. I held him and cried and I realized what he meant to me. Much more than I thought, imagined, felt or even vocally expressed to him – EVER.

The rest of the evening people came about asking what happened, giving him some company and making him feel better, wishing him well, offering help and assistance. I was too traumatized by his trauma and each time he repeated his story or gave more insight into his thoughts and actions, I couldn’t control my emotions. They weren’t mine anymore. They just seemed to have a mind of their own. I asked Abeer just 1 question: did he ever give up? I hoped he’d say no but I can only imagine a few seconds may have felt like few mins or hrs to him. I wanted to leave Gokarna and incidentally he expressed the same. I just felt nervous about taking along a traumatized and physically fragile man on a late night train journey. Moments after Abeer went to sleep, the café employee Raj informed me that the 4^th fella had died instantly. I choked. I wanted to leave.

Our only sweet moment captured
after much fuss from me to seal
the holiday with a pic. 

We both didn’t sleep; he had fever, cold sweats and an upset stomach as physiological side effects. We left late into the night at 1am. Slept at the station. There was not a moment where I didn’t take my eyes of him. I couldn’t and I wouldn’t. We reached Mangalore where he was upbeat and surprisingly cheerful. I was relieved but I waited and watched. It felt supremely wrong to continue the journey, which was designed for more coastal adventures and rough backpacking. I knew when we left Gokarna that the trip had reached its demise. My Kerala would have to wait. My Abeer was more important. There was just 1 of this specimen and as much as he agonized me in the past, I loved him forever. Abeer was sad and regretful of Kerala not happening, as he knew it was imp to me. I assured him that I would never ever hold him to account for it. I never will. There will be more trips. I wanted to return him safely home to his family. We had an 18+hr journey by bus to Mumbai. We tried to have fun and tried to relax through this journey. Found lil to giggle and enjoy so we both kept each other cheerful. Came home and spent the rest of the week enjoying and recovering through the leave.

The ocean jar made from the LSD
dessert jar Abeer gifted me <3

I couldn’t sleep. So I worked feverishly till exhaustion gave me a few hours of rest. I missed sleeping next to him, holding him, hearing him breathe. I’m watchful of him. Lest he wanna be a hero again. I was lucky that evening. That boat at Kudle was lucky. Maybe my menial offerings at Mahabaleshwara temple paid off and Lord Shiva decided it wasn’t time yet to break me. So he sent a boat. Maybe lotsa things. I love him more now… Loss and regain have a funny way of opening up areas of your brain and heart. I was adamant to restore the good memories from Gokarna. So I finished painting a glass jar for Abeer with beach life on it. The jar was meant to have layers of sand and treasures from all our coastal conquests. I left it empty so he was free to add whatever he wanted. :)

End of backpacker diaries (Part 1 of a million). Waiting to create new 1s.

http://www.sahilonline.org/english/newsDetails.php?cid=1&nid=23281 - This is a brief online news of the incident. It doesn't mention Abeer's rescue attempts and is purely to-the-point. 

The new 18

I turned 30. Yes I did. It came and went and no wave of panic, agedness or anything hit me. The only thing that perpetually bothered me was the PMS I was trying hard to ignore. Got the better of me on an occasion or 2 and even made me shed tears for trivial matters such as not having a red dress for my big day. But 30 hit no panic buttons. Overnight it did make me feel tad bit wiser (yes it does make you feel so or hits you with an illusion harder than any potent drug I suppose). But here are a few things I realized and put down. Mind you, these are for my own reference when my wits get the better of me considering here on forward ‘ageing’ is the new growing.

-          You are officially considered an adult. Your 20s could be forgiven and all blame could be laid on the growing years. But the big 3 0, just changes everything. There is no one to blame and no situation to salvage you. Period. This wave hit me when my dad wished me at midnight and added “now that you are 32 do something meaningful with your life and please find the time to settle down as well”. And what did I reply? “Errrr… Papa I am only 30” Father attempts to hide a glare :D

-          You take care of you. You are now a responsible adult. Your actions are either totally ignored (rational: he/she is managing his/her life) or really examined under a microscope like a new outbreak of TB strain (rational: to assess how well you’ve been raised and add the occasional ‘tch tch tch’ when the situation goes kaput)

-          Now there will be wider and more stronger speculation of my marital status ‘30 and unmarried’. It’s already begun FYI.

-          30 makes you question your health, your life, your choices, etc. even though eeevveeryythhing could be running super smooth.

-          For some strange reason financial planning and investments have made a tiny cornerstone in my mind. I hate finance except when it’s flooding my account and continues to flood J P.S. I am hoping the 30s make them flood rather than trickle. But it’s really comforting to have an independence and liberty where you depend on no one and expect nothing. Swiping your card for a not-needed dress or an exorbitant food/wine experience without having to answer to anyone is so empowering (this involves convincing yourself with the disclaimer “You only live once”)

-          I have begun to look at the same people differently. Somebody I would usually avoid or ignore, I now feel like comforting them under my wing. Seriously had to slap myself awake from that delusion.

-          I am FINALLY comfortable starting a sentence with “this generation ahead of us….” *Phew… breathe breathe…* That’s cuz most of them are radically useless and I seriously question their role in contributing to the average IQ of a human being. Case in point: when I ran into a swarm of these creatures at the Sunburn Arena for the recently much hyped DeadMau5 concert. Both Abeer and I including a rare few of our mental breed looked like we were attacked by these creatures. That was a close shave…  

-          There is more comfort and acceptability of one’s self the way they are – shape, size, color, behavior, mentality etc. and then comes the outburst to protect all the above turfs. Damn straight yo. That’s why when a few commented quite cheekily on my weight making it sound like I was the cutest baby on a calendar, I let them in on the fact that I was more fabulous than they think of themselves… Ok this is a bit much. To be fair SATC had played recently and the ego and the over use of the term ‘fabulous’ took me to another level. I am now safely down back to earth and groveling in the mud to lose the excess baggage.

-          I realized that my battle with weight had hit a new note in my head. Although I was blessed with a man who simply adored my curves and more, I needed to keep a check on them. The curves should not become a full circle. I always knew that I wanted to be fit and age appropriate without seeming too desperate or fighting age by raiding a 16 year old’s wardrobe. Therefore, I designed the perfect regime to get my version of the perfect body. WIP

-          Now this 1s a kicker: As much as every pal I knew was using my bday as an excuse to wish me in advance for an impending engagement and wedding, I maintained that I would not want to ruin the element of surprise for myself. There are something’s just sacred and remembered best when they come least expected. This was 1 of them. Getting married was not a race I wanted to win by coaxing the boyfriend and frightening him into simply occupying my ring finger. It is still a sacred and sacrosanct union I wish for with elements of surprise and the knowledge that it came unprovoked and from a genuinely comfortable and sure heart. So all of you… stop holding your breath this long or I won’t have any invites to send out.

-          The mother knows everything and I have stopped hiding or sugarcoating things. Rational: she can no longer chase me or give me a pasting. Bwahahaha

-          For some really strange reason my liver has decided to cooperate with me when mixing alcohol and having long nights of partying. And I am talking of 9pm to 6am where I am the MOST sober person with 0 hangover issues and all my seasoned pals are nursing the aftereffects. ‘You go girl!’ *talking to the liver*

-          I find my temper receding and my patience level going up 10 notches. Letting go and forgiving comes naturally. Sometimes I’m pissed at myself for having the tolerance and wish to remain angry for a while. Doesn’t work. Crazy…

-          I am constantly looking for intellectual people and experiences. Someone or something who can add more value to my life and more so now. The ‘been-there-done-that’ or ‘trending’ stuff just don’t appeal to me. If the whole world is facing 1 way, I do not seriously mind facing the other way. Something really soothing about that.

-          Dealing with boyfriend and possessiveness issues has an alternate vent. It’s either another ear or another coping mechanism. I find myself letting him be whoever and whatever he is because seriously, 1 can never change people and the same applies to me. You can only try to better yourself for yourself and those you love and it comes purely from self-motivation. I have a few areas I am working on and successfully managed to battle a few in the last few months. Yaaaaay!

-          Going vintage: Now this 1’s a new high I have hit recently. Thanks to my loving and equally encouraging and enthusiastic Abeer, I have been hitting all the old and gold spots of the city and around. The travel and food and living and loving. Very under the radar and KISS (Keeping It Simple Silly). Learning new facts about old things and hitting the classics holds new excitement. Recently took Abeer to my birth place and the building I 1^st lived in and shared with my naani. The surrounding neighborhood etc. Realized I was extremely possessive about that spot.

-          I have a cat. A pet. I can afford. And have stories and pictures and anecdotes about. And I love being called the cat lady or the catty lady ;)

-          For the 1^st time ever I am enjoying food like I have never enjoyed before. Eating everything under the sun including the butter and cheese and what not and NOT CARING. Realizing that you DO NOT balloon up overnight. But your skin sure does shine and when the mother insists I get my 1^st ever facial and the parlor lady retorts her resilience to touch my skin…. Aah bliss.

-          Maternal and nurturing instincts kick in BIIIG time. I seriously look at little creatures (animals and kids) and just wish to take care of them. I always wanna make everything comfortable and perfect for my family and Abeer and my mind wanders only to those elements. It comes very easily with no element of laziness or stinginess. That’s why I guess the Abeer and the Elsa are spoilt and continue to tap dance on my nerves on occasion. Grrrrrrrrrrr

-          As much as your body does you good, it also shows you the effect of hitting an era. Your weight, BMI, BMR, bones, joints, aches, pains, healing, injuries and what not all change clock – usually aiming for slowing down and taking their own sweet time. When a workout would quickly get me back to gear, it takes longer and harder to do the same now. Of course, I’m guilty of having subjected it to some seriously damning wear and tear (the saga of the 2 knees and the shattered tooth). But it’s all in the mind and I am working towards tricking my body into thinking its 16. No seriously… I’m not kidding >-/

-          Cooking and more homely activities not only appeal to me but I take it up like some innovative science project. Jhaadoo and katkaa is the new Indian workout in the morning (don’t forget the svelte figures the maids sport). Cooking is an adventure thanks to international food stores and local banyas. Not to forget all the hottie chefs on TLC and food channels who make it look supremely easy. Besides its good for the boyfriend’s soul *wink*

-          That new checkbox on all forms. I pause before I tick it. Sigh

-          Lastly (I think this is the last 1), I really am glad that I am 30, flirty and thriving. I have more than I can afford or own and I sense contentment. There is nothing I would change. Instead, there is much I would improve rather than just abandoning them and looking for new stories to weave.  

 That's all folks (30+)

P.S. Olive juice

Olive juice is the lip-read version of “I love you”.  And that’s what I always write, message and say to Abeer when it has a more than deeper and discreet message than the usual expression of my feelings.

This week I had to be in Bangalore. Yes I know it’s a week. Well to be honest not even a complete week. Just 5 working days. But the ‘just-5-freaking-days’ got to me – still getting to me. I did my routine “3 down 2 more to go baby” message to him. A tad extreme from an external point of view. But not me. Even at this age and otherwise mature outlook, I am a mere puddle of mush and homesick expression every lay moment. I distracted myself with a ton of work and rehearsals for the much anticipated and hyped annual day of my new organization. Apparently it’s the ONLY day they celebrate with much fanfare, hence, its doused with 100% participation, external resources and expenses. So despite my unwillingness to participate, it didn’t seem like I had a choice. It kept me busy but there wasn’t a moment in any day where I didn’t check my phone like a shameless puppy for messages or a call… or so much as a whimper from my beloved.

Before this trip, after almost a month and a half, we had some time to us. It was valentine’s weekend and I decided a decadent getaway was necessary if we wanted to steal moments from our busy schedules and respective families. It is amazing what a bottle of red, some conversation, some warmth and waking up together can do for the soul. Felt like I was in love for the 1^st time with him and a whole year having passed by didn’t seem to faze me. Neither did his lack of excellence in expression like me. I have grown to accept his language of love.

He is subtle, moody, selfish in expression, playful and wasn’t 1 to be coerced or cornered. But when he did… it brightened my day 5 notches higher and I smiled all through it… sometimes like an idiot. ;) Me… was always in his face, his phone, by his side etc… joking incessantly about a quip he made about ‘expiring my contract’ someday.  Truth is it scares me even to joke about it. Yet I was over the top about everything. I would be the equal of – there’s no such thing as too much chocolate, too much sweet, too much anything.
I marvel at some of my friends here at work with me. Many having left their husbands and/or wives back home in another city and week after week living working and taking more than 1 can handle flights back and forth. I KNOW I can’t do that. Long distance doesn’t work for me. I hope I never am able to handle it. For I shall probably turn nonchalant or numb and that would be bad news for me. Yet I’m perplexed at those who do this routine. Even in my time away, I just had to plan something for Abeer. And so I did before I left Mumbai – an old fashioned expression of love devoid of technology or present day delivery channels. A healthier alternative to the sugar overload I subjected him to the last time I was away.

It didn’t help when I watched Vicky Cristina Barcelona, went for a run through the traffucked and heavily polluted Bangalore roads, ate sullen meals, slept in cold sheets, commuted with strangers and shopped for stuff back home – all alone. Planned our trip down south together, researched it, or talked to the parents about mundane things. It’s a crippling handicap for me. Doing it alone. It’s not an incapability as much it is the distaste to do it alone. I had 1 glorious evening with the brother – showered him with shopping and much needed grub. Even then my conversation was majorly wrapped in life back home with work and well…. Abeer. Why, I do not gather, is there such preoccupation with such attachments. What is an inexplicable connect for me might be a conquest of sorts for him (I suppose). But that’s just men in general. To have a woman so consumed by their sheer existence, makes their egos swell to exponential levels. That swelling often blocks the view of what’s real and far deeper in what that woman feels for them or does for them.

After all of this, each time I sense a feeling of overwhelm, deprivation or neglect, I look closer. I sense harder and listen intently. I read emails and messages written in bursts over a period of time. I look at pictures, listen to podcasts, recall a special moment or expression… retrace steps to something special he did or said… Eat something we both savor. Workout. Share Elsa stories. Travel spaces in memory. Then I realize there is no dearth of it at all. Just enough to keep me going and remain appreciative of what I have. I just have to be alert to pick up every signal… Like when I say P.S. Olive juice but what I really mean is “Honey I love you!”

I’m in shape. ROUND is a shape! (A fat post)

Said the glorious (read Gloria) Queen Latifa in an interview to someone few years ago (I swear I Googled it but couldn’t find it). I don’t quite care for the quote as much as I do about Ms. Latifah or her character Gloria from Madagascar series of movies. Both depicting round, glorious, wholesome girls with a kick ass sense of humor.

All of my friends who are on the curvy side incidentally also carry the better part of the humor bandwagon. Probably cuz the thin 1s have no ‘juice’ left in them (that’s me being mean). I’ve been on both sides of the latitude and longitude of the 1 battle we are constantly fighting since puberty – weight. At least the vast majority of us. There is not 1 person I’ve met who hasn’t made a quip or some sorry excuse about control, diet, workout etc. None of it coming from the will to do so but rather the need for it.

I was a scrawny thin kid. Growing up I gradually become a plumpy gal. 1 push and sure enough I would bruise you. Kids are mean. They are always mean and aren’t equipped to handle sensitivity issues or factors. A random few (if you’re lucky) grace that list. I was the kind and sensitive 1. But I was also the angry 1 if someone so much as teased me or any of my circle of friends. Infant crawling-punching years were spent with rowdy boys in a co-ed. All of us were spoilt lil brats and we knew the language of the fist before we knew the ABCs. Mum dad and the teachers would never whimper in my direction cuz I was the ace student who got ace grades. I was special *blush blush*. What annoyed other kids was that I didn’t study or put in the effort either. It was ‘au naturale’ to me. And after having probably had a muddy tussle with me in the playground graced with a few unsavory exchanges, they were dragged up to my doorstep by their mommies to apologize to me and either borrow my HW or get tutored by me.

Once in boarding school, I continued being the same. Except this time we were all GIRLS. My bonding vs exceptional despise for having gal-pals came from boarding school. Too much budding estrogen under 1 roof is a formula for bloodshed, tears and disaster. It was simply our matron (long past the cramps and pads) and the convent-ish rules that kept us unscathed and alive. There were beauty experiments, weight issues (dear lord to the roof), comments (read taunts), fairness ads bombarding us, magazines of the then waif-thin super models, misconceptions from misguided thoughts plagued by confinement in a fortress-like setup followed by impressionable and excessive bombardment of media and the days of MTV grind and newly launched FTv. It was in those formidable years that I was made aware of my plumpiness. 1 will be surprised how much can happen under a boarding school roof and the people it shapes us to become. I was supremely active (hyper). I played competitive basketball for the team, I swam, I dabbled in hockey and finally even joined karate. I did it all and I could do them back-to-back without burning out. Much of it was genuine interest. A small yet significant portion of it came from the meanness I had to deal with from the very gals I lived with day in and day out.

Restricted diet became secret dieting, which is worse when the prefects and matrons check to see every morsel has been wiped from your plate. Uniform pockets were suddenly impossible to launder due to all food groups being hidden in them and then discarded to the garden dogs. Clothes became tighter cutting blood supply but giving the illusion that they fit vs they actually fitting us. Black was an all season color – the slimming color. Most of us looked goth and lost. We drank ridiculous concoctions and devised our own theories and recipes for eternal beauty – boy were we convinced or what. I recall a time when we had returned from a vacation break and sure enough had new clothes and shoes. We decided to set up our own fashion ramp and ‘model’ them clothes. What started out as a weekend time-killer turned into a massive routine production. We borrowed and got ready and fussed over ourselves and each other. Since makeup was a no-no; we used rough towels to rub our cheeks till they turned rouge pink. The end result was a few of us landed up with abrasion burns, which the matron caught and aptly punished us for. Boy did we have a laugh over it.

In all of this and through college, fat-jokes were a routine with me. I was never fat; just plump. I despised shopping and even worse, being photographed. Hence, I wondered what it must be like for the really obese and fat 1s. I am of the theory that much of it is self-brought on while a few genuine cases are genetic or health related history. Sadly, friends and foes aren’t built to think so. If you had money and/or were popular, you were left unscathed. Else, you had to develop a hyde of good humor and sportiness to succumb to all that was thrown at you. I never flinched except 1ce when a boy made especially mean comments about dating me despite my appearance. I still don’t know why THAT particular comment got me but it did – it didn’t dawn on me that the boy himself wasn’t a vision of fitness. What followed was a very dangerous and obsessive need to lose the pounds. I ignored the fact that even though I did yoga, gym, dance and sports, it was my thyroid that held me back. I was convinced that adding few hours to ALL the activities and really altering my diet was the key. It worked. I dropped a whopping 16+ kilos. The bonus was bad skin for the 1^st time in my life, some serious deficiency issues which I refused to acknowledge and going underweight – which btw I celebrated. I was perennially disturbed if asked to eat something or miss a workout – it was not part of my mental plan. My body and health were taking a beating for a lousy comment that had triggered a spark in my head and, at the time, my heart. 

Now with age and maturity and an art form that celebrates curves, strength, agility and a lot more about just being fit than a prototype image, I find myself so much more comfortable. Of course, the evolution involved behaving like a girl and investing the time and fusses to be like 1 too. This I say thanks to self-confidence and a lil indulgence of praises and flattery. Boys will be boys. But they sure know how to make a woman feel more like so. If I look around I see factory manufactured products. All that is missing is a barcode (which I think tattoos make up for). The boys and girls talk the same, have the same lazy walk, identical looks and have the same IQ. Boys look like Johnny Bravo and clean shaven less than equal to their female counterparts. The girls are essentially toothpicks or some blessed with the antique curves of a lamppost. Same long hair flicked, burned and straightened by salons they shouldn’t be heading to at their age. Pre-pubescent know how to put makeup long before I learned what an eye-liner was. Their exposure and attitude baffles me. I was thrown at a website which offers fat reduction packages to age as young as *drumroll* 12yrs. And more so recently by the ‘kids’ fashion senses at a concert. Sure it was fun and helped Abeer and me kill time, but it left me perplexed that the only way to look good was to have bare minimum covering your body.

I’m glad that at no point I felt the need or insecurity to take extreme (dangerous) measures. There are far too many vulnerable minds and bodies being tortured. I need a healthy point of view rather than a stressed point of view. There is nothing worse than embracing a bag of bones when you need to hold on to someone you love. And yes…. I love love love my food too… There I said it. Hence, round it is for me… *Busy workin it!*

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. 

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 

Smoke, Spirits n a Death Wish

She sat nervous

Cold and emotionally withered

All life drained from her pale face

Hands trembled

A sorry state they made

The crumpled piece of paper

Her death wish as it came

She pulled out a cigarette

Flaky and worn

Yet with disjunction

She lit what was her own

How many days had made this

Breakfast to start and late retreat?

Rocking back and forth

She couldn’t tell apart

The dusk from the dawn

The halo of an arc

How long would this life line run?

How many miles before she succumbs?

 

The warm smell of fresh bake and coffee

Home with the sheets and fresh laundry

The tree tire that hung

Just outside her window

Oh what she would trade

To move from ghosts to the known

She felt like staleness

Ran through her very being

No one pondered

How she became so weary

Her tears bled the wonder of tomorrow

“Oh wait” she flustered

“What day was it now?”

The disease had come

And wrapped her over

Skin and bones were all that defined her

All glow was wiped

From the innocence she grew in

As the smoky weed

Made here shallow within

 

Her thirst ran deep, desperate, pitiful

Her strength could only afford

A scotch nearby full.