Notes from the trip - Part One

A family holiday happened. My not-so-social family and two of our not-so-social friends decided to get ourselves into a special tourist train full of very social people with whom we had nothing much in common except that we were all there to Discover India. The fifteen day journey, covering seven thousand and odd kilometers, eleven states, brought some things into perspective..

•My dad who heads the not so social clan, is social. The second day into the train journey, daddy dearest who usually spends most of his time alone and who acts as if socialising causes him physical pain, knew a horde of people from almost every coach and was on the first name basis with the pantry dudes, security uncles and even the cleaning boys! People would drop off at our compartment several times of the day and talk to him, and dad would introduce each one of us to his newly made friends and tell us in return, his life story. Every time this happened, mom and me would look up from our books and exchange looks that varied from "What happened to him!" to "Do we even know this guy?!"..Although all of us did make friends with a whole bunch of people by the end of the journey, it was dad who stole the show!

•I am a major street food junkie! I wanted to have e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g the street vendors were making and would gravitate toward them, but my paranoid medico brother would scare me with gruesome details of the after effects of eating unhealthy food and lead me away, quite forcefully.

•The train which was in all senses, a malayalee society on wheels, had corners where the ungils in lungis would huddle together, gulping down chai, talking politics & coming up with solutions to social issues and they would laugh so loud that even the others would invariably smile. The auntie's from different parts of Kerala, joined together by the same faith, would meet up in the compartment next to ours in the evenings and sing hymns and mantras, which would even shut the ungils up and everyone would be eerily quiet till they finished..

•I've said this before and I'll say it again- I am a woman of contradictions. I get scared out my wits when I look down from four storeys up. My knees buckle and I cling onto the railing for dear life. But there I was, parasailing over the ocean, feet dangling in the air, arms outstretched shouting, 'weee im a birdddd', without even a flutter of a butterfly in my tummy..

•Shopping with mom is a no-no! Okay so here's the deal, I've always had fun hanging out and shopping with my mother, who is oh so awesome at it, but off late, I'm starting to think there's a reason my friends aren't as excited about the prospect as I am..Here's an example:

Veda (drools at a junk jewellery selling shack and is being pulled towards it by its awesome powers): Mom, hang on..

Mom (looks at the shack, grunts): Look at that stuff Veda! Who'll buy all that?!

V (mouth wide open): Are you kidding me? They're beautiful.

M: They look like the stuff adivasis (tribals) in wayanad (our home place) wear.

V:No ma..(trying to knock sense into her)..They're actually pretty cool up close.

V manages to lure her into the shop, with her extraordinary persuasive skills.

M (looking around. not happy): I could make this stuff for you, if I wanted to.

V (snorts): Yeah right!

M (eyes pop put - Tom & Jerry style): 1500 bucks for THIS?!! (picks up an ornament that has big round colored ball like things hanging from a black thread) WHY!

V: Erm..yeah maybe its a lil overpriced, but it might look good on you.

M: From which angle does this look remotely good young lady?! This is such a waste of time.

V: But..

M: Veda, look at those shawls! (drool)

V: Sigh.

The journey home

I walk into the Volvo, ticket in hand, looking for my seat,
I smile politely at some people,
place my backpack under the leg rest,
shove the ticket into my jean pocket,
plug in the mp3,
push the seat all the way back.

I’m all set for the long ride home…Interesting conversations on the phone keep me up for a while and then I drift off into disturbed sleep.

This time, my brother is with me but everything else goes wrong.
It started with my feet getting cold coz of the open toe flats I was wearing,
As I contemplated switching off the AC overhead, it stopped by itself.

In a bus where the big glass windows are sealed and the air duct overhead cant be opened, the death of the air cooling system calls for an uproar.
People wake up and kick up a ruckus.
The cosmic conversation is disrupted & eventually cut short.

Next thing I know I am sweating profusely, feeling claustrophobic so I join my brother and the rest of the pissed off passenger's on the street. The time is around One am.

I lean backward on a rusted flag post whose existence matters only on some important national holiday, and observe.

There's the responsible bunch trying to call up the owner/manager of the travel agency asking for alternate means, the same bunch that turns violent when the manager says its not his problem and wipes his hands clean. There's the funny guy who I think was born with a smile, who finds something funny to say every 5 minutes or so..He was funny when he was in reality, sulking.

There's always the kids. Happy to be back on land, not restricted to the confines of a bus, running around people, friends in 2 minutes, who find a mutual fun game to play in 3.

There's the lovey dovey couple, who cant keep their hands off each other. And as luck would have it, they camp up next to my flag post. The imaginary convo that was playing in my head came to an abrupt halt. Oh and then the cute guy. The kid rather, who is so unlike his folks. Traditional looking, prim and proper parents with a son who was trying to look wild but his innocent cute face wouldn't let him. He stayed a couple of feet away from them, as if he was embarrassed by their presence. I wondered what his story was and if he'd come to his senses and think differently a couple of years later.

There was the independent, strong, no nonsense working woman who was trying to catch some sleep resting on her bags. Someone played music on his phone and every body's quiet..The mushy couple begin to talk. Whispers. I cant take this, really. I walk away and sit on the foot path.

I look up once in a while at my brother who kept checking up on the mechanic working on the bus. He shakes his head for the umpteenth time. I slap my head. Got it! Mosquitoes had formed an aura and I just killed the first big one. One down a million to go, I think. Five hours later, nothing changes. Except for maybe the children, who are not so cute anymore. They're sleepy and hungry and very loud when they cry. The funny guy stops talking. His face is not smiling anymore.

The bus is dead. The taxi's here. I squish myself into the last seat. I'm the only girl in the jeep. I thank god I wasn't making this trip alone and pat my brother on his leg and smile. I rest the backpack near the window and think I'd close my eyes. I wake up when the jeep hits a speed breaker and my bag falls down. Was I sleeping with my mouth open? I think consciously.

'Get into the other bus'. Someone shouts. I remove my brothers head from my shoulders and wake him up. I tell my self I will not sulk. I don't. I find an empty seat on the other bus next to the no nonsense woman, a young movie maker. We have an interesting conversation but soon both of us drift off to sleep...

Back home and a day later, I try to fish out the nice moments from the otherwise dreadful journey..If nothing else, as I watched people from the sidewalk of a sleeping city, killing mosquitoes and figuring out their stories; with old Hindi songs playing in the background, I knew it was time I came out of the blog block.

The art of understanding your unimportance

I like busses. Not the crowded ones where you have to be on high alert for straying hands and be victim to prying eyes. The not so crowded ones, with room for everybody. There’s something very fascinating about a tall metal box on wheels, filled with people lost in their own thoughts. The dreamy fish in me feels at home. I also like a low-flying-birds eye view of things.

Has it ever occurred to you that the people that you pass by, every one of them, has a story? I was on my way home a few days back. Mp3 plugged in I was staring out the bus window when it came to a loud halt at this junction. I saw a slightly older woman, who was trying to cross the road. She took a step, decided otherwise, retracted her feet, shook her head, took another step and recoiled again. I smiled at her confusion. I thought she needed to take a breath and unwind a little. As she waited, and my bus passed her by, she saw me smile. She looked at me brows curled up in worry and then just like that, as if she understood what I was thinking, she smiled back. We beamed at each other and then she was out of view. I am not likely to see that woman again. Our lives intersected only for that one moment, and we shared a story. A very vague one, but a story nonetheless.

Some folks I know, get so involved in their own stories, not only do they not recognize the existence of others, but they fail to understand that theirs is just a speck in the spectrum. They are just a piece in the gigantic puzzle, but not the puzzle itself. Why is it that we get so wound up in our lives, fill our heads with the what-I-am’s and the I-have’s and the have not's? Why is it that we think we are so important, and the things we do so remarkable, when in reality, it has all been done before? Why is there a compulsive need to impress? Why do you have to pretend to be someone your not but someone you wish you were? Why does it bother us so much, that even if our story came to an end or was lost, it would not affect the magnificence of the big picture?

The need to feel wanted. The need to feel important. The need to be needed. This need is so huge that our imagination works overtime to try and grab that ray of sunshine. I could only imagine how tiresome that could be. Instead, if we could understand that the need, the beast, could be satisfied simply, if our story met another. An insignificant story meets another insignificant story to create something of significance. The wild need is tamed and all is well, for now.

Run Forrestine Run!

I ran today. I’d not realized how long it had been since the last time I ran, until I was running. Flip flops in hand, a bunch of papers in the other I had to make a dash from one block to another to stop someone from making an utter fool of herself (long story!). There was this one minute when I contemplated the consequences. If I let it be, she could go through the experience, I could get her coffee and tell her its no big deal. However, If I ran for it I might just be able to stop her. The lazy person that I am, I would’ve preferred the former, but then niceness took over and I grabbed all the lists and papers around me and started to run. My feet kept slipping off my oh so comfy slip-ons that I removed them and picked them up in one swift move and resumed running.

As my feet was carrying me forward in speeds it had not seen in ages, it was amusing to notice that the thoughts in my head were still organized and very peaceful. I was talking to myself about how good it felt, I tried remembering the last time I ran, I noticed a 'fashion & Interiors' block in my college…for the first time in three years, made a mental note to go back and see what they taught there, realized why I used to enjoy relay's back in school, imagined a big wall appearing out of nowhere right in front of me and how I'd not be able to pull my brakes, I imagined the tattoo I'd make on the wall, giggled inside my head, promised my pounding heart I'd start exercising again and revive the pathetic stamina.

Finally noticing how the terracotta tiled pathway was giving way to a tarred road, I contemplated putting the slippers back on, but decided it would kill the speed. When I got there, I dodged the tar road, jumped onto the prohibited lawn and stopped when I saw the person I was looking for. She was on her way back. She did not look happy. That meant the run was pointless. I met her at the auditorium steps and sat down panting listening to what she had to say. After I'd caught my breath, I put an arm around her, told her I'd get her coffee & assured her that it was no big deal.

Rad & Vint-age

Haha. So! My computer pretended to die on me for a couple of days, which left me with too much time and too little distractions. Not being much of a TV buff, mostly coz there’s always someone hooked onto it watching something I dont want to watch, and a lil coz I preferred this box to that, I had no choice but get reacquainted with it. So I grab a couple of pillows, make myself comfy on the couch and flip channels. My g’mom, although dismayed that I stole the remote, was relieved to see me out of my room and out of the electric red swanky computer chair- which she was beginning to think was stuck to my bottom.

A music channel that has more soaps and ads than music began playing 'Rehab' (a Rihanna song). I increase the volume, let the remote rest. G’mom who was sitting in the same room as me, who happened to be reading the Gita, looked up, rested the book on her lap & sat transfixed at the tv. She was soon tapping her feet, her hands and finally she was head banging… to RIHANNA! Needless to say I was grinning broadly. So there I was looking at a lady who had studied Carnatic music for years and taught it for many more, enjoying something that sounded nothing like what was known to her.

That put me into introspection mode (yes, again!) …If I had mastered something and a lot of my life revolved around it, would I be accepting of something completely contradictory? Even if I did, would I put in the effort to enjoy it?

Its amusing how once we settle into our comfort zones, very few of us have the courage to try out new stuff. Similar to the frog-in-the-well syndrome. Very few frog kings would have the nerve to go to a new well as a nobody. The prospect of being a nonentity and having to start from scratch would scare them so much that would rather stay on in the same well.

Anyway after a sleepless night churning out similar thought-threads, I get up, sleep deprived and cranky when I hear a classical version of

“It's like I checked into rehab
And baby, you're my disease”

Hiding behind the door, I listened to her mixing up words, brutally murdering the song. And then smiling broadly I walked into the kitchen to claim my morning hug.

With lots & lots of crazy like

For someone who asked me questions
That left me asking myself more,
For the being who listened to my confused answers,
And smiled at the puzzled look I wore..

For someone who took the effort to discover
The crazy mortal that is me,
For the person who wrote me verses and
Shared thoughts that let my mind go free..

For that same person who made me smile oh so many times,
And made me mad, once or twice,
For the only person who quoted lines from this blog,
Who didn’t have to fly a MIG to impress, or call himself ice!

Lets hope for shorter distances and better birthday presents,
A football, a pocket watch, a hired stripper or a fun holiday to Mozambique,

Know that you've made me happy with our covert operation,
This 100th post in my drafts is for you and to what we’ve built over wonder week.

Happy Birthday Darling Porcupine :)

Questions that haunt my lucid dreams

The mind is a funny thing. It is quiet when you want it to get original and it rattles when you want some quiet. My conscience and me aren’t the best of friends, my heart and mind can’t really look eye to eye. One wants what the other does not. And this, naturally, has resulted in utter chaos and confusion in my brain, the splendid piece that holds together, in almost-sanity, my 5 foot 3 and a half inch 48-kiloed body.

Being the fish, astrologically speaking, confusion knows me by name. I mean, think about it- the creature does not even know which way to swim! It does not get worse than that, does it? All my life I’ve had trouble choosing. Who did I like better, Barbie or Cindy? Chocolate or strawberry? Sunny side up or Scrambled ? Friend or foe? Study further or work first? Get hurt or Let go?


The only saving grace has been that I always, (to signify importance the word has to be repeated) always knew what I did *not* want. Coffee left a peculiar taste in my mouth, so I preferred tea. Science meant engineering, which I did not want, so it was Commerce. Too much of sweets made me tingly, in an uncomfortable way, so I favored spices. Commitment meant being tied down, so I stayed single.

But what would happen when the choices weren’t so clearly chalked out? What happens when the line between what I wanted and did not want was so fine, that it was almost like it did not exist? I step into unknown territory. Its not black or white any longer- its all grey. The fish in me trembles and sports the expression darling little Nemo had when he was taken away, scared finless!

Not that I am comparing feelings, But I’m sure Erno Rubik felt this way right before he solved the best selling toy puzzle in the history of the world. I mean, as brilliant as he is, I’m sure for a moment he would’ve said something along the lines of “Holy crap. Now what?!” and felt just as I do now - lost.

Random topic hopping on Wiki landed me on the Existentialism page and although I almost skipped the topic entirely, while skimming through the page certain lines from a letter a Danish philosopher Soren Kierkegaard, wrote his friend Peter Wilhelm on August 31, 1835 hit me. And hit hard, they did. It goes:

What I really lack is to be clear in my mind what I am to do, not what I am to know, except in so far as a certain knowledge must precede every action. The thing is to understand myself...the thing is to find a truth which is true for me, to find the idea for which I can live and die....

These lines escorted by the memory of being asked “What my purpose in life was” by someone while playing a game of Q & A, left me numb. When would I lay all the confusion to rest? Will my rattling, unsure, wavering mind accompany me forever, never maturing into something less wishy-washy? When will I be so sure of something that I would die for it?

I often wonder what I would’ve done if I was born in pre-independent India. Would I sacrifice every comfort I had for a cause I believed in with all my life, would I have joined the fight for freedom so that the future generations could live in a better land?

Is my heart that big? Will my mind let my heart be that big?

Unsolved questions leave my heart racing and the fish in me gasping. But I take comfort in the fact that Nemo, after living in the water tank did eventually return home, Erno Rubik after several cigarettes puffs did find God's algorithm, the solution to his toy and hence I shall, someday, certainly find my peace.

And Yes, I just based the conclusion of the sole question that's been haunting me - on a fish who was the fabric of someone’s imagination and a rich crazy Hungarian. ;)