Yes, we are mostly safe August 27, 2007

Saturday evening was quite disturbing. I know that India is a place where riots are common and we hear it about, read about it and see it happen now and then. But to have it happen in the city that you live in, that’s a different feeling altogether. We were just watching general Saturday night TV when the news flashed before us. It was devastating to see a place that’s so familiar, being shown on TV in such a tragic setting. I have walked through Lumbini park, sat on those steps, had pav bhaji there and taken the train tour. Its one of the first places I think about when anyone visits from outside the city. Its sad to realise that it was chosen as ‘the spot’ for almost similar reasons.

Then the book stalls in Koti. I have heard so much about them but never got around to visiting the place cuz of the distance from home. Now I guess it will never be the same to go there, even though life may resume as normal in a couple of weeks. Can a mother feel totally safe sending her kids to Lumbini park for a relaxing evening? Would she feel at peace knowing that they are shopping for books in Koti?

There is a underlying feeling of gloom and nervousness. The fear of the unknown.

The saddest part is, there is no answer to the question ‘why?’ And I hate such questions.

All my friends and colleagues are safe. Thanks to all those who messaged and called, to find out about me.

Just anything.. August 14, 2007

13th Aug – 7:50pm

I reached the basement 10 mins too early for my next cab home. The girl who is in the same route is sitting in the back seat and talking to her parents. Ok, don’t judge me, I am not eavesdropping or anything, its just that she is talking quite openly, and I can understand her language. She is recently married and is telling her mom how not to get her or her husband anything while they come visiting, how he may not wear the shirt if he doesn’t like it or if it doesn’t fit properly, how she still has unworn clothes from after the wedding and really doesn’t need any more.

Is this what it becomes after marriage? The conversation with parents will revolve around husband, cooking dinner, maid issues, neighbours, kids.. What do I talk to my mom about when I call her now? To be honest, I am not one of those people who call their folks every day or even every other day. I consider myself good if I call once a week, probably on a Friday or a Saturday. And when I do call, its mostly she who does the talking. How things are at home, what my uncle and appa are up to, how naughty my grandmom has been and how she doesn’t let her nurse sleep in the night, how Mary made a fish curry that was particularly yummy, how the stitching has not puckered up though its Onam season.. and it goes on and on. I just tell her how hectic it has been, the trips I may need to make and that’s about it.

That’s the way I want it too.. Donno if I will change too. Maybe?

Truth? Anyone? July 13, 2007

You know how you sometimes feel that you would want to hear just the truth from people? Like, I wish she had just told me she was busy instead of making me wait, or I wish he had told me he didn’t want to spend the evening with me, or I wish ma’am had just told me that I flunked the test instead of mincing words and making me feel worse.. ? That sorta thing? We all think this all the time, right? I wish I just had the truth. Well, what makes us so sure that the truth is better? I mean, I understand that its the truth and what could be better than the truth blah blah, but what makes us not want the cushioning that human beings normally put for the sake of others?

I too fall under the category of people who has said many times – why didn’t I just know the truth or why wasn’t I told that on my face? Would have made things simpler. But maybe, just maybe, I was wrong. Maybe that doesn’t make things simpler. Maybe I need that protection from the harsh truth. Because I too ‘cushion’ the truth. Especially from people I care.

I guess the average human being (why do I sound like I am answering a science question in an examination?) does certain things to protect the fellow species (species?? what am I doing?) And this is just one of the many things that we do subconsciously. Maybe its not as bad as we think. So next time someone doesn’t tell you right on your face that they are too busy for you or would rather spend time with someone else than you, appreciate their thoughtfulness. Cuz, take it from me, truth is not always that great. It sometimes hurts.

Just a minute! June 12, 2007

One thing I have found in shops in Dublin is, security is very very lean. You know stores back home have those security thingies tied to every little piece of item they sell and how you have to pass through those detectors when you step out? Well, this place has none of those.

Yesterday I went to eurospar to pick up milk and bagels for breakfast. I also picked up caramel bars from the coffee place attached to the store. When I went to bill them, the girl at the counter said I have to pay for the caramel bars at the coffee counter. I paid for the other stuff and went to the coffee counter only to find that they were closed for the day. So there I was, holding two bars in my hand, and there was no single soul who would have known if I walk out and not pay for it. This thought scared me a little. I went back to another counter and asked I can pay for it there. The guy there agreed and I quickly fished out 2 euros and got out. It was scary that you can actually walk out with stuff and noone would know. I am used to being watched. I am used to being ‘approved and checked’ before walking out of stores. This.. was scary.

And here is another thought. Just a random one. I am not saying this happened. I am not saying it didn’t. Like I said, just a thought.

What would you do if you found out that a good friend of yours took advantage of this situation and was shoplifting. After the initial moment of shock or disgust or whatever, what would you do? Confront him? Ignore him for the rest of your life? Act as if everything is normal? Blog about it? Forget the incident thinking its a one off case? Dismiss the incident from your mind thinking he wasn’t really flicking the stuff, but was just trying to see if the item would look good without the packing?

Me? I don’t know what I would do. I am slow with my reactions in such situations. But one thing is for sure. He would never ever mean the same to me.

Saturation? Anyone? May 25, 2007

I miss mom. Coming back after a tired day and cribbing to her about a headache. Demanding that she bring me leftover lunch on a plate guessing exactly how hungry I am and bringing just the right amount of rice. She always used to go one step ahead and heat the curry for me. I am feeling all nostalgic about home, Kottayam, the broken roads, the humidity, the language, the horny men, KK Road, aaaaaarghhh.

I want to go home, I want to go home so bad. I know I sound like a little girl throwing tantrums. But I want to go back to that life. Of no responsibilites, of not having to worry abut personal loans, landlords giving us notice periods, shifting houses, maids, quality of trainees, rude cable operators, dirty floor, clothes that might get wet in the rain, leaking roofs. Wow! I never had to worry about any of this. Look at me now! I don’t want to grow up. I feel I am in no-man’s land now. Pretty much no direction, just living each day as it comes, doing what my employer demands of me, eating junk, sleeping and the whole routine starts again.

Not having someone to care for is worse than not having someone to take care of you.

Wow, that last sentence can be understood only if you are smart!

Homesickness at its worst. Saturation too.

I Love You Bangalore May 22, 2007

As I sat in the special train running between Hyderabad and Mysore, I sat thinking about my previous stays in Bangalore. The first city that I was exposed to. The people and the malls and the overpriced movie tickets left me feeling awestruck. My first stay in Bangalore was for my internship for a month at Pathi Prints Silk Saree Export company in Mysore Road. An uncle knew the director of the company and got me the opportunity. With the 3ooo rupees that mom gave I boarded the bus and started my first journey towards independence, towards a career, towards life.

Used to take three buses a day. One to the factory and two back home. I had a knapsack with all the data that I collected for the day. I stayed with two friends who were doing MCA. They were on a strict budget from home too. We would work out how much we can spend on vegetables, milk and groceries and do the purchase together. Once a week we would ‘treat’ ourselves to kababs at the corner dhaba. 10 bucks for 8 pieces. That was our feast and that was our Sunday dinner.

The feeling when I see the wide sidewalks, the trees, the buses, Forum mall, buy any chappal for 100 rupees stalls, juice corner, Kairali restaurant.. Its really unexplainable. I feel at home in Bangalore. The city has seen me at my worst moments. The tears, the pain, being broke, going hungry because I was too tired to cook, waiting for an auto in the rain, the shoe bites because of walking close to 2km a day.. I could go on and on.

Now when I go back, things are different. I can buy whatever I want to from Forum, I can afford the movie tickets, I can treat my friends at KFC, I can buy the top book from the current bestsellers in Landmark without a second thought. I wouldn’t even think of waiting for a bus anymore when I can just take an auto and not look at the meter with a racing heart, hoping I have enough to pay.

But that also means a 10 rupee kabab will not be a treat anymore. I can’t feel as happy and carefree as I did when I washed my clothes and hung them on the windy terrace, I can’t jump from one terrace to another to meet the girls staying next door. Even the tension of having to finish off all the food is something I miss these days. Why should that worry me? I have a fridge now. And even worse is the fact that I can afford to throw it off..

I don’t know if I like it this way or the other. Guess I should just be practical and ‘move on’. Sigh.

The one where I don’t know what I am thinking April 13, 2007

Sometimes I feel life is unfair. But then we all think that right? We go through tough times and its good cuz it makes us stronger to face bad times in the future. Right? Wrong! Why do we need to be strong if there are no bad times in the first place.

I hate whoever made life a mix of nice and bad stuff. I would have been really happy with just the good things as I am sure most of you would agree (and let’s all ignore those fools who seem to be saying ‘no, its better this way’).

I am just feeling a little low right now. Like I am away from everything that matters. Everybody who matter. My life is more mechanic than a machine. No greasing, no oiling, no maintenance. I just load on more and more and keep going. Where every day is same from every other. Sometimes I ask my roomy which day of the week it is. Then I feel, does it matter? Its all the same. Only difference is the meetings in my calendar, the lunch menu and the email topics.

I don’t blog as often. I have stopped reading completely. I have no idea what Grey’s Anatomy is and I don’t know which season of ‘Friends’ is airing on Zee Cafe. I last went home in December. I don’t know if Kottayam has changed, if the roads have gone from bad to worse, if there are power failures during summer, if Icy Aunty has repainted her billboard, if Anns has raised the price of their pastries, if Baker School has changed their uniform colour, if YMCA has a cotton saree sale, if Omana Paul still makes those yummy chocolate cakes, if the giant wheel is back in the fair this year, if parking on KK Road has been allowed again, what movie is running in Abhilash theatre, if Parthas has picked up sales after the lull.

I want to know. I want to see and be there when things change. All these things made me into the me I am today. I don’t want to give them up. What am I doing here?

And then.. life goes on..

The World Through His Eyes March 17, 2007

This incident happened on the 10th of March. I typed a post as soon as I could but did not post it because of other stuff that came in between. So here it is now.

I live on the fifth floor of an apartment building. I use the lift, all the while thinking I should take the stairs, though that never happens. On this particular Saturday afternoon, I was meeting friends for lunch at Indijoe. As the lift descended to the third floor, there was a boy, not over 4, standing quite close to the lift doors. I thought he wanted to get in, but the lift did not stop, he watched me intently and I stared back. Just as the lift went slightly lower than the third floor, he spat on me. Yes, he SPAT on me. I saw him quickly run off to the right hand side. His spit hit bang on my right shoulder and I felt the wetness go through the thin dupatta and touch my arms. I felt anger and sadness (for some reason) fill me as I reached the ground floor. As a woman looked at me curiously, wondering why I wasnt getting off, I asked her to get in and pressed the button that read three. Got off the floor and looked around. There were a couple of women standing near the railing and talking. They didn’t even glance at me. My mind kept on saying ‘you have to find him’. I walked towards the two people and suddenly caught a glimpse of him moving towards the stairs and running up. He hadn’t seen me. I walked up after him and found him standing the exact same way near the lift door and waiting for the next victim. I caught him by the ear (something I have never ever done) and looked down at him. He tried to wriggle out and said in perfect english “I am sorry aunty, I will not do it again”. I was not convinced, I wanted to be sure. I caught him by the wrist and asked him to take me to his mom. He was terrified and I could feel his pulse beating so hard against his tiny wrist I had a tight grip on. I asked him if he goes to school, is this the way he behaves there, this is how street kids behave and I haven’t had an experience like this even from them. He kept on repeating that he will not do it again and maintained silence when I asked him his flat number. I had a firm grip on his wrist and insisted he take me to his house. His eyes turned red and I expected him to cry. He didn’t. I kept on repeating ‘take me to your house’ and after around 2-3 mins (though it felt much longer, I am sure it wasn’t) he said ‘third floor, flat number 309′. That’s when he gave up and he knew this monster woman was going to bring disgrace to him and his parents and he is going to be grounded for some time. I walked with him to his flat and rang the bell. He strongly shook off my grip and this time, I let go. I asked him “what’s your name?”, trying to bring in some gentleness to my voice. His face was set in a very angry and determined manner as he mumbled ‘Savanth’. He still didn’t cry.

His dad opened the door and he ran in to one of the rooms. The dad looked at me and smiled curiously. There was a girl not over 2 years, sitting on the sofa and smiling toothlessly at me. I looked at the father’s face and said “I saw Savanth standing near the lifts and he looked a little upset. I was just worried whether he was lost so thought I will bring him back.” He gave me a wide smile and said ‘thank you very much’ as I stepped out of the house and walked towards the lift again.

I don’t know whether he will go it again. I don’t know whether he had nightmares that night (like my roomy said he will). I don’t know whether the dad knew his son had been up to something. I hope I did the right thing. And I was reminded of all those guys who have teased, passed comments, nudged, masturbated, in front of me. The amount of intrusions of my space I have gone through, especially back in Kerala. I wish I could hold each one of them by their wrists and take them back to their momma and papa. That should make a difference I guess.

The ‘My Life Now’ Post February 9, 2007

I wanted to write about the way my life is heading right now and so, in my typical style, drew up a flowchart in powerpoint (yeah, a flowchart as in diagram with shapes and arrows). Sadly, I don’t know how to convert that into an image that can be uploaded into blogger.

Things are going great at work and I am getting more than I had imagined I would, when I joined. A small-town girl in awe with the wonders and splendors of the corporate world. When you join a place like Google, it just increases. Its a great place to work with and they really take care of you. Pamper you, yes, thats the word. So yeah, things are great at work and thats a blessing, considering the amount of time I spend here.

Then there are friends. A variety of them. Of all kinds. I have never had a huge group of friends. All my friends are sprinkled here and there and I have enough people to call up when I go to a strange place (provided the place is towards southern India, and a city). So yeah, I am happy with the friends I have too.

Family. I have always been strange that way. Terribly homesick the moment I step out of home and can’t wait to get out when I am at home. A year and a half in Hyderabad, homesickness has been well taken care of. There is only so much time you can pine for something knowing nothing is going to come out of it. Now its more like food-sickness (missing home food) and place-sickness (missing familiar places and the language).

Love. I am so tempted to say ‘no comments’ and move on. But then its unavoidable anyway. (I just got an overwhelming feeling that this post is weird and shouldn’t be published, I hate that feeling). Yeah. So, love. Hmmm. I want it (duhh). There are some conditions associated with my want now, as opposed to how it was a year back. Conditions like I want it from a specific person, a specific kind of person and nobody else (ok, I don’t know what I am talking about)

I am going to be brave and publish this.

Let it be.. January 24, 2007

Was looking for something.. some inspiration.. to start writing. Was going through some snaps now and one that caught my attention – my cousin, his wife and kid. Three people, three lives, bound together. She was not the woman he had in mind, far from it. And he was a total disappointment to her. Having a mentally retarded kid didn’t really help the situation, and yet, there they are, sitting on that familiar old sofa and looking at the camera. He was not smiling in the snap. I haven’t seen him smile in a long time. I remember the laughter that we once shared, when he used to stay with us. The playful way he drove my grandma mad. Now what’s left of that? What is the point in two people living together, bearing each other if there is no love, no commitment between them?

I donno, I feel.. I don’t know.. Maybe I should have looked in a better place for inspiration..