Unrest

Restlessness reclaims my soul,
The planets again spin out of control.
Rebelling against the drudgery of life,
My Yin and Yang are locked in strife.


I yearn to run away and explore,
Hidden treasures and foreign shores.
Who knows what person, place or thing,
Might quell this fury deep within...


Why does it trouble me so, this flame unkind,
This familiar threat to my peace of mind.
Breaking down the facade time after time,
Till I start searching again for a life sublime.

Another candle on the cake

A few days back I crossed another milestone in this confusing journey we call life...it was my birthday you see! :)

I have to confess: I totally look forward to my birthday - its like my own personal cue to happiness. I'm not quite sure why this is. I suppose its a residue of childhood that I still carry with me. All I know is that when I'm counting all the holidays from January to December to see when I can catch a break, my birthday is what keeps me going through June. On our birthdays each one of us can feel special. We may be part of a group of students or teachers, Geminians or Librans, North Indians or South Indians...and still feel unique.


This year I was thinking about how the way I spend my birthdays has changed over the years. Now that I'm a grown-up and all, you see. When I was a kid, it was about children's parties. Lots of chocolates, candies, munchies. The "khoi-bag" which when torn would spill out a host of goodies, the birthday bumps, the games which involved all that running around, exhausting but ultimately satisfying. And who can forget the gifts! I was happiest when someone gifted me a book. But I was also mesmerised by a new box of pastel colours or sketch pens. I loved the board games that I got and the ping-pong bats and the yo-yo. What I did not like was when people gifted me money - I thought it was such a waste!



Of course as I grew older, I began to appreciate gifts of cash more than kind since it meant I could get myself whatever i wanted. I really wished people would refrain from gifting me clothes. I was developing a sense of how I wanted to dress and the ideas of well-intentioned but sadly clueless relatives did not help. :(

When I was in college, birthdays meant giving a treat to friends. So we would all bunk classes and go in a huge group to some joint having decent food and modest prices. I fondly remember some such trips during my B-school days where almost half the class would make their way down in a chattering group to a restaurant nearby and gorge on biryani or butter nan. Considering how many birthdays there were in a group of 20-25 people, we often suspected that our combined appetite single-handedly kept the restaurant running!

Even once I started working, I was lucky to have a group of friends who ensured that this day felt special even at the workplace. We would go out for lunch and exchange gifts. On the weekends when everyone was more likely to be free, I would make more elaborate plans to meet and treat various groups of friends from school, college and work.


As we grow older and our lives change, a lot of friends and relatives have moved out of my city. Birthdays become a great way to catch up with almost all of them in a single day! I look on this as one of the great perks of birthdays. With the advent of mobile phones, receiving calls at midnight has also become that much easier. This year also friends and relatives called up at the stroke of 12. It is a different matter that I had fallen asleep, thus causing several parties various degrees of aggravation ("How dare you fall asleep when I stayed up waiting to call you!").


Since I spend so much time out of home anyways, this year I spent a quiet day with family at home and celebrated by cutting a cake (chocolate of course). This cake cutting ceremony is a tradition that my family religiously adheres to and even if I feel silly sometimes, no birthday feels complete withou it. We had an amazing feast at home itself and I got chocolates, perfumes, clothes and... gift vouchers for Oxford bookstore(big hug to my sis)! When I returned to work, I received a card signed by my colleagues and cut a couple of cakes (yes chocolate again) as is the practice. Later I met some friends for a lunch date and had a great time drooling over some awesome Italian fare (food I mean).

As I grow older, I have increasingly had people ask me about my future plans. They sometimes hint and sometimes state that time running out and I should hurry into doing the things I'm "supposed" to do. They try to suggest that my birthday is now more a signal that the clock is ticking than any occasion to celebrate. But age is just a question of mind over matter, as far as I'm concerned...if you don't Mind it doesn't Matter!

I realize that things are changing with every passing year and sometimes I wonder how I became 29 so fast. I sure don't feel 29! But the wistfulness soon passes. I have too much fun childishly looking forward to birthdays to be too bogged down by the numbers. I guess what I'm trying to say is, any excuse for celebration that we get in life should be grabbed with both hands. After all, that's what when you truly celebrate Life! :)



Photos courtesy: Google Images

The Remains of the Day

Recently one of our family friends passed away. She was a kind-hearted and generous lady of around 70, who lived an active life. She had lived with her doting husband in Kolkata, working for an NGO that helped underprivileged children. Their only daughter studied, married and eventually settled in the US. This lady had gone to visit her daughter this summer and passed away most unexpectedly of a cardiac arrest. She did not have a history of heart disease. Her husband is inconsolable. He is a UP Hindu and she was a Mangalorean Christian. They were part of the swish set of 60’s Calcutta – he a squash playing, party loving dashing young man, she a beautiful, dainty young woman with an independent spirit. They met at a party and hit it off.

Their love and beautiful sense of companionship could be seen in the way they spoke about each other. Now, this uncle says, he doesn’t know how to stay alone in his big house. Everywhere he turns, everything he sees reminds him of her. He speaks of her beautiful saris which are hanging in the cupboard, her neat little kitchen where she would experiment with different cuisines, her favourite couch on which they would sit down to watch the latest DVD’s their daughter sent… At 75, his love hasn’t dimmed.

Their daughter is here now, to share this hard time with her father. But what will he do once she is gone, I wonder. He refuses to settle down in the US at this late stage of his life and she has her life waiting for her back in Chicago. I watch as he dabs his eyes with his handerkerchief and wipes away some memories. In a voice that is cultured and unfailingly polite, he thanks us for going to visit him. I put my arms around him and give him a hug. I wish I could do something more to ease his pain but I know that in life, as in death, we are alone.

Calvin says it all!

Rain

There was no calm before the storm.

It began with a surprisingly cool breeze that soon turned into a strong wind. Doors banged and window panes rattled. Dust clouds floated and whirled like mad dervishes. The people tried not to get their hopes up but the gleam in their eyes gave them away. The wind persisted, howling in their ears, whipping up the dust, scattering pieces of paper, making sails out of curtains.

A loud clap of thunder brought the neighbourhood to life. Babies began to wail and dogs barked madly. The women reached for the clothes hanging on the lines outside and shouted instructions to their husbands. Doors were latched, windows that had been pushed open as wide as they would go, were pulled shut. The children ran to the balconies to watch, aware of the sudden excitement in the air, the crackle and sizzle of it. A fork of lightning streaked down in the night sky – terrifying and captivating. Following close on its heels, another loud boom sounded from the skies. Even the most cynical husband and the most disbelieving wife now looked expectantly at the sky - the Nor’Westers might have finally found the way to their homes.

Big fat drops of rain fell onto the parched grey street. Slowly but yet so fast, the distance between the drops lessened and their frequency increased. It was actually raining. Slowly at first and then in a hard, dense sheet that pounded the ground beneath and raised a familiar smell of wet earth. The rain seemed to make up for its absence with a ferocity that looked unstoppable. The people stood on their verandahs and near their windows, peering out at the rain and feeling its spray on their faces. The street urchins rushed into the cascade, screaming and dancing for joy. The lightning made the raindrops glitter like diamonds as they fell.

The smell of the rain was like the earth’s sigh of relief.

Time vs. Money

During my college years and especially during my post graduation days, I nurtured a fond dream. It was called “When I start earning my own money”. It involved vivid and vibrant schemes for self-indulgence and self-improvement. I dreamed of a high-powered lifestyle where I played squash in the mornings and went swimming in the evenings. I also learned a foreign language, joined a photography class with my new digital SLR and learned to play the guitar and/or piano. These dreams were founded on a single glorious truth – I would be earning enough money to indulge myself.

Don’t get me wrong – it’s not that I couldn’t pursue all these activities as a student. I just didn’t want my parents to pick up the tab for my essentially whimsical dreams. I wanted the liberty of doing something because it pleased me and giving it up when it didn’t. I also felt it would be a lot more fulfilling to pick up a new skill on my own steam.

But alas! Maybe I was naïve, maybe plain clueless, but I never realized the demands my job would make on my time. On an average I spend around 11 hours at work, 5 days a week. Most times I work on Saturdays too even though “technically” it’s a holiday in my organization. It’s the same story with friends who work in other private sector firms. The mantra for success is ‘perform or perish’. Work or my office now forms an overwhelming part of my life and occupies an uncomfortably large part of my thoughts. On weekdays, when I return home, I am too exhausted to even contemplate a hobby. On the weekends, I de-stress by doing nothing more taxing than chatting with family, watching movies, eating out or shopping.

I still dream of joining up for some non-work related activity but I never seem to have the time to find out the details and in case I do, I find the hours incompatible with my work life. I have to admit, I have also lost a bit of ‘ye olde enthusiasm’. I could probably squeeze in some class on a Sunday but after all the time I put in at work, whatever little I get to myself is sacrosanct – meant only for some good ole R&R (rest and relaxation people, not rock and roll). “Me” time is strictly rationed.

So after five years of being a salaried professional, I am yet to bring down the house by strumming a Spanish guitar or spout melodic French to awed listeners. It is only now that I feel most keenly just how much free time I used to have as a student. How much freedom I had (and to think I used to chafe at parental restrictions!). Such little responsibility. Sigh!

The irony has not escaped me – When you have time, you don’t have money and when you have money you don’t have time.

But I don’t give up easily. And our dreams however small or big, are our spurs. Someday I will be a sporty, French speaking, guitar playing, expert photographer...someday. And did I mention Bhartanatyam dancing?

He

He entered the restaurant to escape the heat outside. He was early again, as always. It would be another fifteen minutes at least before his friends showed up. He didn't mind. Being alone in public didn't hassle him.

The heat had leapt at him like a beast once he stepped out of the air-conditioned confines of his office, even though it was now rapidly getting dark. So he entered the nearest A.C. restaurant he could spot. Of course, he thought, looking around, it would be wrong to call this a restaurant. It was one of those new fangled places that offered you coffees and salads and crepes and things. Could one call it a delicatessen, he wondered.

Whatever it was, it felt comfortable, he thought feeling the cool breeze from the AC duct on his face as he sank into a big sofa and dumped his laptop on the floor. And he could use a cold drink. He browsed through the menu, tempted by the variety and the pictures. Finally settling on one of the cold coffees. Not that these places would call it that. They seemed to think that it wouldn't sell if it didn't have a fancy name.

He rolled up his shirt sleeves, settled himself more snugly into his seat and looked around. Mainly couples everywhere of course. A few chatting away earnestly, one playing coy eye-contact games, a couple who looked like they were trying to ignore each other. The whole world had found a mate it seemed, he thought cynically. There was an after-office group too who seemed to be in high spirits. Thank God its Friday, he thought. He looked away not wanting to let work-related thoughts seep into his mind even unknowingly. To his mild surprise, there was also a group of elderly uncles and aunties. And not the hoity-toity kinds. More like the parents of somebody one knew. They looked like they had wandered in here by mistake and were making a brave attempt to go with the flow. The crowd, the music (popular English numbers from the 90's!), the menu (sandwiches for Rs.150), it all seemed to perplex them.
People watching could be an interesting and diverting sport he thought. He was well-versed in it, having spent enough time waiting in airports in his travels around the world.

His eyes drifted to the LCD TV that hung silently in a corner punished by the 90's music. An IPL match was on but his favoured team wasn't playing. He had just about checked the match score when the lights went off. A loud murmur rose from the crowd and fell just as swiftly. A power cut after all can happen anywhere and who in India is not used to it. When the lights didn't come back on within a minute, he heard a lady asking the waiter about it. The waiter made reassuring sounds.

The power cut had transported the restaurant into a different space. The place had huge glass windows on two sides and the darkness was partly lifted by the glow of streetlights that poured in through the windows. It gave the place a strange intimacy and anonymity. He was surprised to find that he liked it this way.
There was a mild breeze outside and he could see the shadows of the swaying trees on the walls. He felt lulled by the hushed whispers, the tinkling of glasses, a womans' laughter...somebody was sharing a funny story and he was an unwitting listener too. He caught a flash of golden. It was the drink on a stranger's table glowing amber amid the surrounding darkness and silhouettes. He was struck by the visual wishing he had his camera with him then. He thought, not for the first time, about the beauty one finds in unexpected places.

The side doors swung open and a girl entered. The lights came on almost immediately. The girl seemed a little taken aback by this and a little bemused. She had beautiful kohl-lined eyes and the hint of a smile hovered on her lips. She was scanning the crowds...looking for her mate, he thought.

Just then his cell phone burst into song. He told his friends where they could find him.