Backpacker (Gokarna): Paradise…

Sun sand surf sunset sunrise serenity simple surrendering sweet swim sensual – all in 1

Abeer’s dad said to him that if you REALLY wanna know a person, travel with him/her/them. Nothing invokes raw personalities and characters whilst on an unknown terrain and situation. I kept this thought in mind.

We reached Gokarna at 3:00am and camped out at the surprisingly well-equipped and pristinely well maintained (by that I mean spotless) Gokarna Road Station. There were several student revellers post the recent board exams so we helped out 2 young girls with transport and reaching Kudle along with us in the morning. The journey was fun and sweet. We captured some moments on camera as the train trailed through the slightly inward Konkan coast. Watched how guards sent signals and managed an ever-running-never-stopping Indian railway system, which still employs manual labor and skills across the country. A thought that makes me smile.

Gokarna was trekking walking trudging and exercise from the word ‘Go’ ‘karna’ – a play on we have to do it on the mark. I was pleasantly surprised by this extremely small beach-town so interwoven and colourful yet so modern and humble. There was seva everywhere. Tourists thronged every nook and corner – mostly hippies, yogis, long-term vacationers and part time marvellers. What was common between them all was they were all comfortably and barely dressed, some even without footwear and they were all over Gokarna like they would walk through their living rooms back home. It was a v v beautiful sight and something Abeer and I can relate to. The temples and the facilities are all walking distance but mind you there is nothing that you will need in Gokarna and it isn’t there. Nope… it’s ALL there. The tourist attraction hasn’t upped the greed scale of this place like other destinations in India and that’s why I never argued much about paying for anything cuz it was always in INR 100s…

Our stay was comfortable at best. I see the logic now as we barely stayed indoors. Just came to take 1 of many 100 showers in the day and change there. Our room became a laundromat come baking oven. It was supremely hot but since we had dragged our tired feet through deep dry sand across Kudle beach at 6:30am and were told no shacks, huts, rooms or even beds were available… we took this 1. We were glad we did and I would go back there anytime. Ref: Sea View Resort. Don’t be fooled by the exotic names. They are v v bare basic living quarters and for INR 400/- a night they were easy on Abeer and my travel pockets. Abeer kept drilling in my head too that we were backpackers and backpacker stay was the way to go. My biggest pet peeve was bathrooms ALWAYS. I REAAAAALLLLYYY had to let this 1 go as I shared common toilets and showers with all other roomies at the resort. Abeer was understanding and always accommodating of my needs – something that I learnt on this trip on a deeper level. He didn’t leave me to fend for myself as a grown up capable woman. Rather he was far more caring and even watchful of me and my movements, needs, pangs etc. This was what I was looking for in this trip – to learn about each other.

Happy feet boating through all 4 beaches!

I watched as he soaked in not doing anything. We barely had 2 days so there were times it felt like we had nothing to do and then moments later an awesome plan would fall into place. In 2 days we visited Kulde, Om, Half moon and Paradise beach, went boating on the local fishing catamarans, trekked through scenic and sometimes wretched terrain between beaches separated by rocky hills, watched the most beautiful sunrise and sunsets, tried more than 5 eating joints, marvelled at every meal and bottle of beer (thank you UB for keeping us sorted), and swam a lot. I was happiest in my bare minimums. Happy that I could wear and look like whatever at any time of the darned day and no one would judge or gossip about it. I felt my skin soak in everything and was open to wearing my bikini for the 1^st time as well as get tanned. Most of all I was happiest that Abeer and I made this trip. We were childlike and hungry and thirsty altogether. We went about town and even visited the local most famous temple – Mahabaleshwara. There was minor drama when we were down to planning the next leg of our trip – Abeer always changes his mind every 20mins. Something he proudly calls not planning and going with the flow. I wasn’t following the flow cuz it changes streams and directions all too many times. We finally settled on our Kerala tour map and planned the next leg of the trip.

It’s amazing how a change in destination and setting can change or alter your relationship. I had been on mini 1s with him but this was our 1^st big one. I like how much of a beach bum, raw and amazing Abeer gets in such places. Like me, he is a water baby. The tropics calm us. The intimacy takes several detours (all good 1s) and vacation romancing your boyfriend is a new thrill. I was sold. I was excited for more exhaustive days ahead and having really chilled at Gokarna, I was all set to rough it out. 1 of the memorable moments of this trip was trekking it to Om beach for a romantic dinner at Namaste Café and beers at the Dolphin Café. We witnessed a live police drill with the youngest graduates of the Gokarna Police Acad versus some long term hippies (I guess that’s the term) who indulged alternately in water and beer and had interesting conversations that made no dynamic sense on a beach. We still felt like it was the right place. 

Sunset at Om beach from Dolphin Cafe -
the perfect perch to capture this view!
P.S. Recommend a beer with a loved 1 :)

I miss Gokarna. I do. I miss what it gave me till Sunday 17:00pm IST. It gave me my Abeer in a very loving interesting fun crazy and himself form. It gave me his and mine 1^st trip. It gave me his time and some of his undivided attention. It gave me backpacking story –I’ll be honest this was barely backpacking in the true sense and I am looking fwd to a new rugged 1. It gave me a weekend away from the city and some of its prime evils. It gave me until it decide to take some… (next post)

Backpacker (Mumbai): Creating diaries!

“A true traveller has no destination.” Excerpts from an anon source and modified by me. Smart effects of 30 I think…

It was a random mention by Abeer about adding Gokarna to our travel. By now he and I had ‘travelled’ many exotic locations in conversations over Starbucks offerings and some of our delectable meals over the many metro adventures we had traversed post-work. I wanted the Kerala experience with the backwaters and the romance in the air with tropical sunsets, dewy mornings, golden skin and bare minimum clothing. Yep I did. I needed more than a single tree and a pavement and unwelcome stares at my higher hemmed skirt. Gokarna - which until now was a familiar sounding town in my basic geography- landed on my holiday trail as the biggest tourist destination. 

Curly and packed up Kat

I read up n researched it like my beau does about things. I grew more and more fascinated. I worked feverishly through my whole work quota well before time and managed somehow to finish 3 weeks’ worth of work in 1 week. Behaved like a million dollars lay at the end of this trip. For me this was more than a trip. It was time away. Away from the city and gadgets and comforts and all that was familiar. It was uncorrupted organic time with Abeer which would involve looking at each other instead of phone screens and sharing real emotions instead of expressing them through startlingly and readily available smileys on EVERY social medium. It was important to me. Our 1^st trip away. Esp. with the jolt of dealing with unplanned or cancelled trips in the recent past.

My love

I agreed to go rustic and backpack – live like how he did. I wasn’t afraid to explore cuz I had the best guide who had literally been-there-done-that. His experience and “who plans!?!”  attitude appealed to me. We were perfect. I planned and cribbed and called and informed ahead. He just trudged along and made decisions that lay enroute. I was afraid that if I didn’t bring up the trip once in a while or discuss or plan it, it would cease to exist save for a few notes in my calendar. That’s why when Abeer’s office folks granted him the leaves; even courtesy checking with me for the EXACT dates, I was floored. J

As tradition goes, we fought before the trip. Actually, we don’t fight anymore. We have maun vratts (silent treatment) followed by exchange of caustic to citrusy dialogues. Until one of us adds some much needed sugar to balance the flavours and bring back the love. Yep… we are pastry. Since Abeer is the natural chef between us… he usually adds the sugar and I am more than happy to be dusted with all that icing. So we made up a day before the trip, packed a few hours before the trip, had a squabble and make up enroute to the 1^st leg of the trip and then settled in as us. We were kids. I wanted JUST that. Thus began our train diaries on the Ltt-Mangalore Matsyagandha Express. Until the train didn’t jolt its start from the station, I ceased to believe that the journey had begun indeed.

Sunset from the door of the Matsyagandha Express

Here on I looked forward to some LSD between Abeer and moi. I realized I should’ve carried my Nikon camera cuz the perils of clicking from your phone is that you spend the next hour instagramming it, checking for likes and comments, grumbling and fumbling for network and then needlessly ignoring the REAL picture – us. I didn’t care for any squabbles. I wanted to be loved up and wanted to do the same to my man. Over the next 10 days <3

Gokarna – Mangalore – Kerala – Goa – Whatever randomness that lay ahead. 

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 do

Such powerful words, I do.

It’s a declaration, a promise, a solemnity, a commitment, a secret, a decision, a communication, a signature, a word (or 2)… Just 2 fragile yet very powerful words change your life. For the best or for something new and beautiful to start and experience; at your own discretion and your own judgement.

I was blessed to attend 3 weddings in 2 months (would’ve been 5 if not for a folly). Usually a recluse from such events, I decided to stop avoiding them and go to celebrate my friends and their newfound love path. I attended my 1^st north Indian (UP) style wedding, my 1^st Goan AND Catholic ceremony and then a South Indian Shetty wedding. All were beautiful, very different and I was glad I made the trip to them all. First was an impromptu drop and must-visit to a UP style wedding. It was a dear friend’s sister’s nuptials. Very grand and in true north style spared no expense and glory in celebrating it. Well… at least someone was celebrating the girl child and her heart's desires. I wasn’t able to stay long but the friend ensured I didn’t miss a glimpse of the bride and her husband as they walked from the dressing room to the grand display that awaited them. Then came the Goan catholic wedding for a friend (no longer just so-n-so’s brother). We shared a special unlikely friendship and I decided to take the odd hour flights and do the dance and song solo. It was worth it except I missed my man a lot. The whole ceremony and celebration was traditional yet with a modern kick to it. I enjoyed every bit of it. The last 1 was another very dear friend whom I have managed to keep in touch with over 4yrs since I met him in Capoeira class. Ours was and remains and unlikely friendship that has an annual meeting or 2 (if he flies down) and we share all our updates over 1 meal. This time he dropped the bomb that he was getting married. A mirror image in life and thinking to my Abeer; this guy was extremely stand up and a thorough gentleman. I was happy for him and incidentally managed to make it to his wedding and reception.

The 1s I missed and really wished to have attended in person were my friends (1 former boss) Reny and Vanessa. The latter’s was a plan that went kaput and I am still seething with rage over the 1s responsible. Anyways… The common thread that tied all of these was unlike the general image of Indian weddings: loud and coerced. All my friends married their sweethearts of their choices (nothing arranged). All had traditional weddings keeping their communities and rituals in mind but nothing was over the top. If anything, they were grand in their celebration of the couple rather than the money spent on everything. I love that. Where the couple is and remains in focus for good reason. At the church, I expected a long sermon of extracts of the bible. What I witnessed was a priest who knew the couple as young babies and now grown graceful adults, who knew their inherent natures and who pointed this out aptly at the ceremony. This was refreshingly beautiful and I listened intently to how a tailor made ceremony for the duo was conducted. At the Shetty wedding, the ceremony lasted for but an hour and it was full of humor and smiles. The groom’s parents took a backseat while his older married sister and her husband aided the ceremony and ensured all went well. And even though I did not attend Reny and Vanessa’s weddings, from the pictures and the people I know I can closely imagine their nuptials and the what it must have meant to them and their families.

These restore my faith in the institution itself. I never shied away from it even though my parent’s didn't set an ideal example. But then again they did separate and find peace for themselves – a painful decision they made. There are marriages where a couple may live till death did them apart but as a relief – sad. My personal thoughts have been more to build a life with someone, make it complete, a home, maybe pets, maybe children. The pets and children are HUGE life churners and it’s something I would do only in partnership with my better half and not alone. Hence, the ‘maybes’. But I never lost hope in the institution of marriage. It’s but a ceremony to celebrate and solemnize your love. I think of it as very unique and individualistic. One is free to make a marriage of their own barred by society standards (unless you are a slave to societal standards).  The truth is on the surface everyone pretends to live by the ‘blind’ rules. If you peek inside there are secrets to families and wedded bliss that you weren't aware of.

This I cannot share with my cynical beau. He is convinced that the way to a good life is a bachelor’s life. Which is neither wrong nor right. But just like media and society flame stories of the evil mother-in-law vs. daughter-in-law, boss vs. reportees there are the equally gregarious gags and quips on the husband-wife relationship. Where the husband is the emotional fool who fell into a trap that expires at the end of his natural life. I laugh too. But I also find it ridiculous when a wife is the poster-child for ‘entrapment’. Any life decision is purely your own or with the 1s you love. If you suffer, you suffer together, if you’re happy… well the general outcome is happiness together. Even though my witty half periodically announces his allergy to this phase of life, I turn away for not wanting to be influenced by it. I am not a cynic in love and enjoy a comfortable hopeless romantic tag. Just last month I went about planning a 1yr anniversary like it was 25yrs together. I knew it was over the top but in mind it was what I wanted to share with Abeer and there was no rule defining what was too much or too less. I know that for the rest of my life I will celebrate love with grandeur and gratitude because it’s the 1 thing we take for granted in its presence and then pine for it in its absence. This worries some of my friends who think I will burn badly (irreparably) if things were to fall kaput. I think that if I am with a man whose lack of belief in the institution of marriage hasn't phased me then surely I am in love enough to have faith that what lies ahead will also be good. I really wonder how I would celebrate 25yrs of togetherness. Hmmm!

Recently Abeer and I ‘lived’ together for 2 months. It gave me a whole new perspective to living with him. We did stay like it was make shift for 2 mnths and there were days where admittedly I wanted to bash him up or I felt hurt badly. There were some serious ups and downs, yet most days made me realize that on a bigger scale he was the 1 for me and I pined for him to walk in through the main door and go to bed at night with me… and yes the furball Elsa. I loved it. I’m addicted to it and now I ‘pine for it’. Here’s congratulations to all my friends who found and celebrated their love with a ceremonial union, to those looking – it’s out there… and to my cynical oh-so-funny beau Abeer… I love you more each day and that puzzles me <3

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!*

Kapitaan Abduwali Muse...

“Yo Irish!”, perfectly executed dialogue by the very talented Abduwali Muse played by Barkhad Abdi. Barkhad is a Somali-born American national. Ironic, as the movie plays on those lines as well.

It was date night mid-week and a rarity with Abeer in his rare generous mood. I mean the kind that takes me by surprise with thoughtful little gifts and an impromptu dinner to follow. Divided treats where we tried to outdo each other to do something for one another. Off late everything seemed a bit flat with even plans being cancelled last minute. I had internalized the lividness brought on by a recent evening where I looked forward to going south side with him; which was planned and conveniently ditched for a cold beer and prawns to follow. The lividness was considered made-up for (in my mental check book)!

That’s ok. Life’s such anyways. Even a beer and signature Jai-Jawan prawns were a far cry from my days spent staring at a feeble father and catering to his recovery 24x7, always waiting for that lil spark. THIS particular evening goes in my catalogue of memories to save. We indulged. No caviar or champagne. Just a good ol’ movie, flowing food, funny conversations and a bit of naughtiness.

Captain Phillips had been on our agenda. I love Tom Hanks and had unintentionally caught nearly every flick he had worked in. There is a mundane genius to him. I am drawn to people who are walking geniuses in plain clothes and maybe a little gruffness to them. In that rough no-fuss exterior lies a bunch of molecules all similar to mine but aligned in a peculiarly brilliant manner. Nothing flashy about his role or get up and yet I was easily taken in. I guess his real skills poured in at the final minutes of the movie where a shocked and shaken Capt. Phillips is rescued, medically examined and reassured that he was safe. He stammered and struggled to express himself both physically and verbally – much like my daddy in his bedridden ICCU state. The medic comforted and interacted with him – much like the doctors and I did on a daily basis with dad. The likeness hit me hard and I tried not to let the tear glands win.

Coming to Barkhad who played the genius Somali pirate captain. I think this guy is a find. Held his own in a cast of veterans and had tremendous screen presence. He took me back to Nigeria and Benin and the surrounding African past that I had the rich privilege of experiencing and sadly leaving behind. He reminded me of the countless stories and sordid living that the ‘blacks’ were subjected to everywhere. In my explicit opinion, color is the single biggest racial discrimination and struggle that has dogged this earth since early man. And not because I am biased, but from the very beginning my kiddie eyes couldn’t escape how absolutely stunning Africans were. They just are and there is such sheen and glow in black. Which no one really sees.

However, I saw them always in tatters, wild colors, tribal surroundings and garb, destitute most times, a rare escape of laughter and that tubelight like smile – as if they would be killed if they let a grin escape. Their disheveled look never bothered me, pale nails and barely there footwear (mostly never there) also didn’t let me judge them. They were just beautiful people: misused, mistrusted, misjudged and misspoken about. They were exploited and robbed, beaten and trampled upon, screamed at and rarely ever heard. Their version of luxury was to be recognized as an individual and enjoy civil and basic rights. It never happened and most 3^rd world countries will not let that happen.

The movie depiction of a remote fishing village full of fishermen (read pirates for hire) was a near accurate 1 – dry, destitute village mostly filled with men high on amphetamine addictive khat leaves and ready to blaze and gun down anything and anyone. Desperation drives these skeletal mortals to punish, however brutally, whoever irked them at anytime. And this when they lacked clean water and food – worse still the scarcity of khat. This takes me back to Lagos, Nigeria. Sure I didn’t live with pirate-like people but I sure did witness and hear their mistreatment. Another ironically common factor being that all of them screamed, fought and shed blood and flesh (literally) for causes and people which gave them and their families no security or returns in any shape or form. No money, no food, no safety, no respite.

Then what drives them? Anger and an agenda for vengeance running in their blood stream from the moment they touched down on the red African soil? I think that being 1. That beautiful earthy and rich as hell soil and ground. So many treasures. So many pirates. So little hope. I hope I’m wrong.

Eu amo a África!