The Colours Of Loss

I have always loved kurtas.

The soft, crisp and comfortable fabric, the bright colours, the mixing, matching and re-hashing to make it all your own signature style.

Yesterday I was giving my cupboard the ol' dress-down as it threatened to spill over and take over my room and I piled all my kurtas into one corner and slid them into their home inside the closet. Then I felt a strange sense of loss.

Leaving India never has been and will never be easy for me. But it's the little things I have to leave behind, my identity in the small ways by which I live and face each day, that is the hardest to let go of. This year, teaching opened up a new life, and when I look back, every single day was so fulfilling, I felt I had finally found my calling.

And this year, more than any other, my kurtas became my second skin. I will miss them. As I will miss being a teacher to some wonderful students. 

An Open Letter

Ma and Dadda, 

I can't believe we're on the other side of that one date that has kept us on our toes for so many months now. Part of me is relieved. Part of me is not so sure.

So much change lies ahead. And yes, I know that a lot of that is positive change, with so much to look forward to. But it's the little things that will make it hard for us all. All the everyday routines and the mundane goings-on that we now hardly notice at all. 

Having watched so many weddings, and now finally having been the bride in one, I can now say for a fact that I have been lucky. Yes there were a wide number of people involved in making the process smooth from start to end. Yes, we had our differences (haha, imagine us without those). But because the two of you were always there, backing me up, and ready to listen to my version and my realities, I can look back and be grateful for so many things that went differently from the ordinary South Indian wedding.

All my life I thought I would do things differently at my wedding. I hated and still hate so much of the societal idiocy and hypocrisy that dictates our lives. And only when I walked out of that room and headed towards the mandap did I realize how little control we have over all of this idiocy. So much of it comes from people who have no connection to you or yours, and so much pointless time, energy and so many tears are wasted in the name of tradition. So many things that we did went against my beliefs, what with the pandit saying neither of us understood, and possibly don't mean much in the large scheme of things.

But as I watched you both move around and do things that were alien to us all, with so much grace and dignity, and I couldn't hold on to a lot of the anger and disappointment that was seething inside. You both did it effortlessly, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride.

All along the way, even when we didn't see eye-to-eye on things, you both chose and fought your battles wisely. Giving in so much of the time, just to make things easier for everyone. I hope that someday I can learn that skill. I have too much fire in my belly and too many strong opinions to do that just now. Can't blame me, I get a lot of that from the two of you.

But I want you to know- though I am critical of so much that happened (this is part of my nature, you know this well, and I am working on it) when I think of the two of you, I only feel a deep sense of gratitude. All your lives you have given me everything I needed- opportunity, support, faith in my abilities (some imagined, some real), and so much of who I am today is because you have allowed me to express myself and grow into my own. Some would call me spoiled. Perhaps I am, in many ways. But if it allows us to share the kind of communication we do, and the kind of relationship we have, then I don't particularly mind being called anything.

We have come a long way. And we have fought our own battles with one another. We must, we are all three very different people after all. But here we are, entering a new phase together. You both have come such a long way where turning the tide is concerned. You didn't put up a fight for anything that you thought was a reasonable and sound request, you chose to change the way we did things to a large extent, you chose to pick only the most basic of traditions and do away with a lot of the show, and you backed me up each time.

I am going to miss being around you guys. Wearing comfortable and tattered clothes without worrying about what anyone will say, sleeping when I want to, eating what and when I want to, burrowing through clothes in two wardrobes, random hugs and even more random arguments, reading the morning papers and discussing strange people and stranger times, yelling at the top of my lungs and just being in our home, our little piece of earth.

Then again now the two of you can, with a reasonable amount patience, look forward to a new generation of little chubsters to dote on, finally make a trip to see the Big Ben, and just take it easy since you have no more stubborn and feisty offspring to marry off.

I love you both. Thank you for everything..

Giving Thanks

And as always, there are people who must be mentioned. Why must we always mention them, you ask? Perhaps because in a little pocket of my heart, there lies a beautiful space with their names etched in stone. (This really is off the top of my head, no particular order)

To Ashley Nyesha Silva,

I don't know how I found you, or when. Or what I did to deserve you. I only know that nobody knows the inside of my mind like you do. You see me. And you heal me. And you, more than anybody else on this planet, you complete me. Thank you for always hovering. With my taped up heart in your hands, with a jarful of clarity, with yummy comfort food, with a loud giggle and with your little fingers. With spare clothes and pretty earrings. With a handkerchief to wipe the sweat of all the stress away. With a crappy joke that only you can crack. With the big eyes and the quick wit. Thank you. For everything you do for me, all the bloody time, thank you.  (Marry me? Oh wait. Damn.) I love you.

To Nikhit Etta and Pooja,

Thanks for showing us how it's done. For staying on even though it meant going straight to work the morning after you landed. For being the change that swept everybody up and onto the dance floor. For bringing the most awesome music and moves into the family in style! For being two people all of us can look up to and towards for support, advice and laughter at the oddest of times. For just being there, all the time, no matter what. I love you both.

Divchi and Dipsy Doo,

You guys were always there, backing me up, laughing at and with me, constantly joking and giggling and shaking with laughter so I could just relax and let go. Thank you for infusing the spirit of laughter and for sweating the details with me. Someday, I will be returning the favour with a vengeance. From the time I can remember, you have both been such a big part of this wedding- thank you for stretching yourselves to the limit and beyond.There is such a thing as sisterhood. I have never been and will never be an only child.  I love you both.

Pinks, Pash and SS (you know what the second S is),

For all that loving and laughing and all the moments full of affection and attention, I want to say thank you. For the phonecalls and the concern and most of all for waking up in the unearthly hours just to try and make my vision of the wedding come alive, thank you. For all the times you have heard me out when I was in raving lunatic mode; I cannot ever do enough. What a large number of sisters I have. I love you all.

Kyra,

Thank you. Only you can fly all the way to my wedding and tell me not to worry about you finding your way to an alien place at 3 am on your own because you were worried I had thingsto do. Only you can breeze into my morning smiling your daisy like smile and wake me up with a tight It-hug. Only you can decide to wake up and walk a strange road to be there for me. And only you can give me purdy boxes with purdier little things  inside and serenade me with the written word. Only you. I loveth you.

Aayush and Jeremy,

First I have to say that you make two very dashing (honorary) Mallu men. What panache! What style! What charisma, even while the cloth unwound;)! Thank you both for coming all the way, for waking up early only to be ordered around. For the most beautiful photographs. For being the two men who were so involved in everything, for being the two people I could depend on for anything, and still can. For just being there- all the time. I have never been happier that we made that trip together five years ago. I love you both.

Ros and Jillian,

For sinking straight into the train berths and into the heart of my family, for laughing at all the rowdy jokes and befriending my littlest brother, for eating like we did, sleeping like we did and becoming one with the Menons, thank you. You guys were a big part of the journey and I wouldn't have it any other way. I love you both.

Umah,

For waking up and walking to where I was just to help me dress, for seizing the camera and taking pre-wedding pictures with a vengeance, for all the laughs and the morale boosters, for  pitching in and throwing yourself into everything, and most of all, for making it to the wedding, thank you. I love you.

My beautiful aunts and uncles,

Thank you for always being there to steady me as the date neared, for never making things difficult, but for always soothing the sore spots. For sitting up an entire afternoon to string paper doilies and lanterns together so another little dream of mine would come true. For the crappy jokes at my expense, for the coconut and banana poses, for the funny photographs and all the leg-pulling. For just being the massively sporting and fun bunch you are, and for always, always looking out for me, Thank You. I love you all so much and not a day goes by where I don't give thanks for our family. We are the way we are because all of you have taught us what we know about love and acceptance. I feel truly blessed to have you all in my life.

My three youngest siblings, Ruchi, Vidya and Saharsh,

I love you guys. But remember what I always say.

Get a court marriage ;)

Rohit, Farah, Kartik and Bhavna, 

Thank you for making the time to come and be with us. We will always remember it and we really do appreciate the effort. Love you all.

Vidhu Dutt and Ritika Agrawal,

For all the talking, chatting, advising, suggesting and all the patient listening, thank you. I can't help but remember how far we have come from that first girlie night in Glasgow when we sat and chatted like we'd known each other forever. I can't wait for the final one in the trilogy ;) Love you both.

Mamma and Appa,

I know we have had our differences where this wedding is concerned. But we made it through, so thank you for all the leeway you have given us. For paving a smooth way and for being open to a lot of our seemingly unreasonable demands. For every stand that you have taken for us, even though it met with resistance from other parties, for dealing with a young, fiery and stubborn bride and still making her feel welcome in a completely new environment, Thank You.

And to Karthik Notada,

For all the insanity you have had to put up with, for being the determined Taurean bull you are and rising above all the naysayers, for all the times you have told me it will be okay, and that I should look at the bigger picture, for every conversation we had about this wedding and all its million manic details, for supporting me and standing by me as we fought our battles, for the laughs, the debates, the hugs and the understanding, thank you. I must certainly have done Something Good.

(Right. That's my Oscar speech done and dusted. Can't be helped. Any bride will know the feeling of gratitude that oozes through her as she makes it to the day (and miraculously beyond. And there's still so many people I want to say Thank You to and simply don't have the words for. Sigh.)

New Dawn

Good morning, my personal smileyface.

You know when they asked me what I thought when I first saw you, I think I lied when I said I couldn't remember.

 

I remember perfectly. It was your smile. 

That flashing 10,000 watt grin you unleashed was what hit me first. The slow-talking, thoughtful man walked into my life later. But the smile, that's what did me in I think.

I've told you before it's your greatest gift. It still creeps up on me, and even today, however irritated I am with you, I can't resist it. I'm always in awe of the fact that you are nearly always laughing or grinning or chuckling at something or the other. And it always comes right from the tips of your toes. Only sunshine travels so fast and shines through like that.

A week ago they put us together in front of 200 people and I was so pissed off at so many things. Then I came out, looking for you (not to miss the awesome headgear) and then had to wait till they dropped the curtain. The resulting chaos when they finally drew it aside didn't let me catch a glimpse of you but then we were on level ground again and there it was. That grin I knew so well. In that moment, I didn't care so much about what was on my head or shoulders. You were there. Smiling down at me. (Probably laughing at me as usual, can't tell now). All I could feel then was happy.

As you enter a new decade, I want you to know that I am grateful you chose me. Even if I have to put up with your bickering about my clothes and cooking skills, I think I'll manage just fine. Especially if it means a lifetime of waking up to that maddening smile. Remember to keep it intact. With my temperament and your insane sense of humour, we'll need a lot of it. 

Unfortunately for you, your anniversary gift will now forever be clubbed with your birthday gift. Alas. Such is life.

Here's to you and all the sunshine in that beautiful soul of yours.

Happy Birthday, my love.

The Marriage of Madness and Mayhem

Over the past eight months, I've had a lot of time to think about the idea of being married. I enjoyed the idea at first, then I mulled over it, then I worried about it and then when I got over the worry, I still stressed the details till I nearly lost my mind.

And suddenly, all the madness and the tears, all the fear and the falling, all the insanity, the screaming, the stressing, the hyperventilating and the excitement came to a screeching halt last week. I got married. And it's over. A whole week has passed and I can breathe again.

More than anything the days leading up to it and the day itself have been one of those life-lessons that alter the course of your very being. I have been disappointed, upset, annoyed and raving mad at the way details didn't fall into place. I have cried myself to sleep because I felt that so much of this whole process of pushing and pulling between two people and two families isn't what a marriage is meant to be about. I had my reservations about everything- about flowers being wasted, about ridiculous rituals and interfering relatives. About the pretentious draping of gold and the necessity of fake hair. About the meaning of God and religion and the pretence that comes with society. I hated it all. And for most part, I still do.

But I have learned much along the way.

That so much of what you do on your wedding day is a convergence of so many different dreams.

That giving in with good grace is difficult, but not impossible.

That your choices are to either make it tougher than it already is or make it look far easier than it really is. That giving in for the right people is sometimes necessary.

That all said and done, family will go to the ends of the earth with you, through long journeys, dirty linen, past scurrying roaches, into unfamiliar territory and tantrums, and still not complain.

That some friends will stand by you from start to finish, soothing anger, wiping away sweat and tears, listening to boring priests and unintelligible rituals because they are just something else.

That there really is such a thing as wonderful in-laws.

That your parents will always be your parents and that going away will never ever be easy. (And that rubbish about the daughter being the paraya dhan is absolute BS.)

That all said and done, the unexpected headgear and the second saree you must drape over your shoulders is really not the end of your world.

Yup. There's a good many things a cross-cultural wedding will teach you. And if you're lucky, at the end of it all, you'll actually feel married.

Perhaps that's why we do it. We give in because we must all learn to live together. Because we do really marry entire families. Because when it's your turn to take the stage, you want to be remembered for making the day your own. For smiling through the sadness. For hoping against hope that it comes together. For fighting and giving in with some grace (both good and bad). For taking the moment, however unexpected, by the collar and giving it a hug and saying, we'll look back someday and think, we got through the madness. And how.

Letters To My Tomorrows - 1

I wish you knew, little one, how much I want you to know this city like I do.

I would love to show it to you myself, but life seldom takes us where we choose, so I fear you may never walk these streets I have walked. That's okay. You will see more and do more. I am sure of it. But I want you to know this city, if only through me.

I want you to know that it is one of life's greatest teachers. One of the mightiest levellers you could know. You can see what poverty can enrich you with, and what money can take from your soul. You can see what it means to have integrity, and live a life of dignity with very little to show for it. And you can see how very far human beings can fall from grace.

You can learn to laugh with the morning sun and to hate it. That too much of a good thing is a bad thing. You can sing with the rain but you must learn to fear it. For that will teach you caution. There is much to be learned from nature. Sit by the seafront on your worst days and look out onto the expanse. You are a small star in the universe. Shine as brilliantly as you will, and on the dim days remember your place in the sky. You are one among many. How you use that is up to you.

There is so much goodness in this city. If you can look deep into the heart of all the dust and the filth, you will find more beauty than you can possibly imagine. There is always going to be somebody to tell you otherwise. They can't help it, they don't know better.There will be bad days. So many that you will lose count. But there will be more good ones. Always. A time will come when it will test your courage. Believe that what you have to say is important. Then shout it out. There are many voices here, they will drown you out if you're not careful.

I hope that one day you can see this city like I do. For the grief and the goodness it carries with it. As a teacher, a mother, a friend, an enemy to learn from.

I hope you can walk the streets I have walked and see me in all the tableaus in time. Singing to myself by the sea. Brushing past cool stone walls that have stood for decades, watching students and teachers grow into their own. Laughing with friends, dancing to the music of the hour, turning my face up to the first rains, breathing in their scent and their soul, working each day, knowingly and unknowingly to build a future for us both.

I hope someday you can picture me here, in Bombay, in this month of March, just as I am now. Young and restless, happy with the excitement of being married, wistful and full of heartache for the impossibilities of the hour, trying to live up to the responsibilities of today, failing, succeeding, laughing and crying all at once, singing loudly with my blue and green earphones on, surrounded by everyone I love, so filled up and so complete for the moment that the arrogance of youth makes me feel I could be this way forever.

I hope, little one, that someday, you will know this city like I do. And that you will feel this contentment. That this fleeting peace I have in my heart will be yours to keep. That you will find this much, and so much more beauty in life every step of the way. That this moment of mine, where everything seems to fit, where it all comes together, I hope that this moment will be yours some day.

Of Marriage- 1

And with marriage comes a lightness of spirit and a heaviness of the heart.

The former because there is a new beginning to be made, so much joy to be crafted out of everyday routines, so much love to be found, fed, broken down and restored. So much beauty to be seen rising from the same horizon, circling the same skies and walking the same paths. There is so much love and life and laughter to be cherished. There is so much to be seen and done.

But always there is the heaviness that comes to remind us of our fickle selves. It settles in slowly. When you catch a musical note in the laughter of a sister, when family gets together, while you enjoy the morning breeze on the train and open your heart to new friends, when you come home to friendly banter and when you are reminded what unconditional loyalty is about. The heaviness seeps in gently. When you realize what it truly means for parents to give a daughter away, when friends and family show you what it truly means to be friends and family. When you realize that despite all the uncertainty, the doubts, the confusion and the mind-numbing, life-altering questions, you really have grown up.

And so you are reminded of  it each day. The heaviness that comes from leaving behind the only life you have known. That seeps into the corners of your home, reminding you from familiar spaces that you are no longer going to be part of these mundane routines, the quickly spurred-and-then-forgotten arguments and the sneaky laughter. The heaviness that comes from saying goodbye to the city that gave birth to you and your spirit, from the cool archways of the buildings here, from the dusty streets and the loud bird calls each morning. From the scent and the sight of the Every Day you have built for yourself.

Yes for all the blue days there will be bright yellow tomorrows. We all know that. We all live lifetimes within a lifetime. And nothing beautiful can be without pain. Nothing truly meaningful can show without hurt. So we take our heaviness and we nourish it because it holds our deepest fears and our most potent memories. And we move forward with our hearts open and our minds at peace. Knowing with every fibre of our beings that this is what is right. Knowing with all our heart that we have found in this one lifetime, a new life.

Another beautiful life.

Courage

Courage sits funnily on young peoples shoulders. 

It's awkward and it fumbles a bit. It peers out from behind shivering fingers and shrinks back behind curtains of curly, permed, straight or wavy hair. 

But when it decides to step out and make itself known, it does so in the most remarkable ways. 

It comes with tears that one girl weeps as she tells you she has accepted defeat with her head held high, choosing to look forward with the grace of a woman . 

It glistens on the cheek of another girl as she opens her heart to another human being for the first time, setting her fear of judgement aside.

It nestles in the handshake of a young boy who admits a fault and tries to make amends by stammering an apology.

It sings and dances with the girls and boys who walk out to an audience of skeptics with their self-esteem on the line.

It hides in one boy's hesitant and then firm refusal to name a spiteful critic.

It lies in the collective conscience of a classroom, in the silent support of a friend, in the everyday comings and goings of the mirth and the hurt that colour every classroom.

And that is what teaching has taught me. That courage often sits awkwardly. On the most awkward shoulders. 

And only the truly blessed can see it every day.

The Sweet Sound Of Music

Yesterday, as I stood watching a group of my students perform The Sound of Music on stage, I had a powerful feeling in my gut.

It was a sensation that had me feeling like I was aligned to the universe, fully and absolutely. It caught me by surprise. And for one blinding moment, I felt so deeply grateful to the powers that be, so completely taken by the whole thing that I went numb with gratitude.

The show was amazing. My students were so brave, so young, so new to the shining lights and yet looked to itt with courage beyond their years. I was in absolute awe. From start to finish, they were the stars. They did it all- costumes, props, drama, dancing, music arrangement and singing too.

And as the curtains were drawn for the finale, and the crowd erupted, everything that I had fought for in the past two years fell into place. The doubt, the indecision, the constant justifications to everyone around, that I just had to try teaching, everything just melted away. I was humbled by the sheer strength of the feeling that hit my gut.

The universe does conspire to give you what you want sometimes. And in that moment when it does, you feel with every fibre of your being that living with your convictions, regardless of the odds isn't such a bad thing after all. 

Here And There

Here, where we live, above the mist and in the sunshine, among the summer birds and the cool breeze, here there is light.

And somewhere far below, are nights that don't bring any mornings. Indeed the darkness is so very thick that nothing penetrates it. Not the warmth of love, not the steadfastness of hope, not the shrill cackle of laughter. Nothing moves here. Not the air, nor the heart. Stillness sings a song of despair. And everyday, people are born into these spaces.

Like little Falak. Like the other little seven year old girl whose mother branded her, tortured her for years. Like all the little boys and girls who have nobody to call their own. Who have no voice, who don't know laughter and goodness. Like all the children who have never known a single moment of love. Like all the horror stories we will never hear of because the Mist won't allow them to penetrate into our world.

And if they do, by any chance of fate, who's really going to be listening anyway?

Womanhood And Steel

All these women. Seated side by side, colour against colour, texture against texture.
 Each heart beating with life and longing.


 Some stinging with hate, some broken by fate, some softer for the years they have witnessed, some harder for all of life's lessons.


Some smile with their toes, some with their hands. Some sing to distant memories, some to the shadows of yesterday.


And some women, they smile to their secret selves. To the spark that will light tomorrow's fire.


Mothers, sisters, daughters, wives and lovers. They sit together, their dreams and thoughts rising upwards, floating mists of wanting, coloured wisps of love, hate and everything in between intertwining invisibly inside the confining compartment of steel.


How far apart we all are and yet how very close.

Tejaswee Rao

I didn't know Tejaswee Rao. I stumbled across her blog as I browsed through the Internet, looking for my next blogger fix.

As I read the very first post,I felt an overwhelming sense of loss wash over me. I had stumbled across somebody who shared so much of my world vision, a kindred spirit, perhaps even a faceless friend.

And as I read a post about her take on Growing Old and Dying Early, I felt a lump in my throat. For the girl who said she wanted to be immortal. For the girl who felt one lifetime wasn't enough to experience the world in all its glory, it was suddenly over too soon.

I thought a part of me had become numb to the idea of death. Perhaps more accepting.  Somehow a complete stranger slit the wound open.

And I mourned again. For the girl who wanted it all. For the beautiful being that was. For all the maybes and the ought-to-bes. For the unborn daughter she wrote a letter to. For all the women of substance who would have lost a sister. For the world, because a light had been put out.

I don't know what it is about death, but it breeds a sense of familiarity with complete strangers.

I feel Tejaswee's loss like she was part of my life. Like I feel little Shraddha's. When their loved ones write to them and about them, I grieve along.

We are all so strange to believe we are very separate beings when we are connected so closely by threads deeper than we know or realise.

Tejaswee, you are an inspiration. I know that we've never met, and perhaps on this plane we never will, but you must know that your life will not go unappreciated, your words will never go unread and you will never be forgotten.

Even by a complete stranger.

The Stuff Of Life

This, this is the stuff of life.


We sing, we laugh and we tiptoe across fragile lines together, onto horizons we cannot see with our eyes but with our hearts.


We join hands and we pray for tomorrows that dance around corners and behind curtained windows, their shadows rising and falling to remind us to breathe as we swirl around in our own private whirlwinds.


We share stories and we look together through the same skylight at stars we know we have wished upon before, stars we know have not deserted us on the days when our bonds seemed so weak they could turn to dust at any moment.


And we turn our faces to the sun and drink in the light as we give thanks. For friends, for family, for laughter and love and song and hope. For the faith that carries us unto tomorrow, for forgiveness, for the power of being human.


We give thanks, because this, this is the stuff of life.

Letters To My Tomorrows - I

I wish you knew, little one, how much I want you to know this city like I do.

I would love to show it to you myself, but life seldom takes us where we choose, so I fear you may never walk these streets I have walked. That's okay. You will see more and do more. I am sure of it. But I want you to know this city, if only through me.

I want you to know that it is one of life's greatest teachers. One of the mightiest levellers you could know. You can see what poverty can enrich you with, and what money can take from your soul. You can see what it means to have integrity, and live a life of dignity with very little to show for it. And you can see how very far human beings can fall from grace.

You can learn to laugh with the morning sun and to hate it. That too much of a good thing is a bad thing. You can sing with the rain but you must learn to fear it. For that will teach you caution. There is much to be learned from nature. Sit by the seafront on your worst days and look out onto the expanse. You are a small star in the universe. Shine as brilliantly as you will, and on the dim days remember your place in the sky. You are one among many. How you use that is up to you.

There is so much goodness in this city. If you can look deep into the heart of all the dust and the filth, you will find more beauty than you can possibly imagine. There is always going to be somebody to tell you otherwise. They can't help it, they don't know better.There will be bad days. So many that you will lose count. But there will be more good ones. Always. A time will come when it will test your courage. Believe that what you have to say is important. Then shout it out. There are many voices here, they will drown you out if you're not careful.

I hope that one day you can see this city like I do. For the grief and the goodness it carries with it. As a teacher, a mother, a friend, an enemy to learn from.

I hope you can walk the streets I have walked and see me in all the tableaus in time. Singing to myself by the sea. Brushing past cool stone walls that have stood for decades, watching students and teachers grow into their own. Laughing with friends, dancing to the music of the hour, turning my face up to the first rains, breathing in their scent and their soul, working each day, knowingly and unknowingly to build a future for us both.

I hope someday you can picture me here, in Bombay, in this month of March, just as I am now. Young and restless, happy with the excitement of being married, wistful and full of heartache for the impossibilities of the hour, trying to live up to the responsibilities of today, failing, succeeding, laughing and crying all at once, singing loudly with my blue and green earphones on, surrounded by everyone I love, so filled up and so complete for the moment that the arrogance of youth makes me feel I could be this way forever.

I hope, little one, that someday, you will know this city like I do. And that you will feel this contentment. That this fleeting peace I have in my heart will be yours to keep. That you will find this much, and so much more beauty in life every step of the way. That this moment of mine, where everything seems to fit, where it all comes together, I hope that this moment will be yours some day.

Colour, Chaos

There is something about catching the train again after a gap of two years.

I still hate the distance, but  I find myself constantly captured by the sounds and the sights in the confines of the bogie. They're not new. They're not even remotely beyond the mundane. And yet I find them fascinating.

After  two years of travelling on the tube in London, I know all about personal space. It's amazing to be able to actually have a seat with hand-rests (even if you only manage to squeeze either one elbow on there, never both at once). It's also great to be able to walk into a compartment and not be yelled at, shoved or pushed into it. It's also entertaining to overhear exceptionally drunk people make conversation. Once, an entire side of the bogie was dragged into an introduction session by a drunk man pretending to hold a mike to everybody, one at a time. By the end of the spectacular commentary he had put up for us, we were all laughing so hard, we couldn't sit up straight.

But as much as I loved being on the tube, I hated it. I felt closed-in. Cloistered. Stifled. I felt like I was coming up for air every time I exited a station, and I never once felt inspired to write on the tube. Perhaps the shortcoming is in me. After all, who in their right mind wishes for the Mumbai Local over the London Underground?

And here I am, in the heart of the mess, in the eye of the Mumbaikar's everyday storm, sitting on a crooked seat, having my toes stepped on, screaming back at the rude women, and yet feeling a mixture of weariness and wonder all at once.

Because as much as I loved convenience and the sanity on the tube, I have never felt the sense of wonder I feel when on the local. This madness, this colour and this infinite chaos is what keeps me going every day. This raw, unyielding, unbending city is what gave me my first real understanding of life and the way the world works.

This is where my heart will always lie.

On the trains. In the rickshaws. Under the cool stone archways of a beautiful old building. In a ground floor flat filled with memories. Over multi-coloured buildings and sinking bridges. In the window seat of the BEST buses. Inside cars with raindrops trickling down windows. In the muck and the dirt of my shoes. In the love and the laughter on the streets. On the leaves of the dusty trees. On the crooked signboards and in the neon lights. In the shadows in the sun. In the heat and the grime. In the asymmetry. In the madness.

In the colour and the chaos.

Dream

What is it you dream of when your eyelids glide gently over your eyes...

Do you dream of the mornings you spent nestled in your mother's cotton sari, or of the taste of the sour pickles your grandmother fed you as a child?

Do you dream of  cold hearts and warm sheets, or of singing in the sun, your face turned upward to bathe in the yellow? 

Do you dream of loss and heartbreak, do you dream the bittersweet scent of the past? Or the colours of your future, the twists of the snaking lines on the inside of your palm?

Do you dream of laughter and children's eyes as they grow wide with wonder, or of the breeze that courses through the reeds as they dance in the summer breeze? 

Do you dream of song?
Do you dream of stillness, in heart and mind? Or of quiet spells when the raindrops come around for company?

Do you dream of death? Or of crescendos? Of birds in flight, of orchestras in symphony? Do you dream of the violin as it stirs your memories and sweeps them into dance?

Do you dream of worlds that dangle in galaxies far away or of the taste of longing? Do you dream of the feel of chiffon and lace?

Do you dream melancholy or do you dream sunshine? Do you dream with your heart bursting at the seams, or with your soul tightly shut?

Do you murmur to the stars or speak softly to the shadows? Do your eyelids shiver as you see, memories of white, flashes of red?

Do you dream of clouds swimming in clear skies, or rivers of blood meandering along the banks of war? Do you dream of screams and scars?

Do you dream of freedom and light? Do you dream of passion and victory?

Do you dream a dream?

Do you dream?

Three

Backdated to November 8, 2011


For the first time since your passing, we sat down together and laughed (mostly at me, as always). We were always close but losing you brought us closer.

It's always going to be a piece of the puzzle missing. And now, when we have so much to look forward to, you aren't going to be around to see it come together. I bet Nikhit went crazy when we went looking for a suit for him. He would have liked a brother's opinion. He would have liked it very much.

And I don't know how we're going to do it. I don't know how we'll make it through those two weeks without you to lighten us and everybody else up. I'll lose my mind and nobody will be able to make me laugh like you could. We'll probably all end up killing each other. I'm looking forward to it, but it's never going to be all it could have been. And that is the heartbreaking bit.

I know you will be there, and I know you'll be watching and laughing and making awful jokes about me being so young and all ;)

Three years on, I hope you have found your space, and I hope you've got the dates for next year properly sorted where you are. You can't miss it for the world.

Creative Writing, SYBMM Style

Yesterday, I sat down to mark some of my students' projects, one that I had asked them to give in for my Creative Writing class.

The basic idea was to get them to develop a means of self-expression. One that started with writing about their lives, their experiences and memories, their stories. As part of the project, they were to write:

a) a character sketch of somebody who inspired them (could be anyone, a best friend, a family member...)
b) a letter to their past
c) a poem
d) a song or a photo essay
e) a story: either of them in first person (as a superhero) or in third person as the protagonist

Needless to say there was much moaning and groaning as I gave them the guidelines.

But yesterday as I looked through them, I was absolutely amazed at the work I'd been given. Almost everyone managed to touch a chord somewhere. And that can only come from really inspired writing.

As I sat poring over intimate details of their lives, I was moved by the sheer honesty in the writing. Here were a bunch of raucous teens, pouring their hearts out to somebody who was in most respects a complete stranger. It defied all the logic in the universe.

And the reason this is an open blog again now is this; if my students could open up their lives and hearts to me, and if they could take a giant leap of faith and express themselves without fear of judgement and censure, and if they could share their strongest and most personal memories with me, surely I couldn't be the one to hold back mine.

Surely I had to learn a thing or two from them.

Hollaback Mumbai

Hi all,

Hollaback Mumbai chose to publish my article about Keenan and Reuben, so please do check it out.

http://mumbai.ihollaback.org/2011/11/04/to-keenan-and-reuben-the-boys-who-did-not-look-away/

The site is a great place to read about their story and is also part of an international campaign against street harassment. It's an excellent place to discuss our eve-teasing issues and comment on other people's views of the same. Remember, discourse is everything!

I Wonder...

Where love goes when it disappears

What the inside of my mother’s mind looks like

If my fingers talk to each other while they work

What turning one hundred must feel like

Who nightingales really sing for

Why the weeping willow looks so sad

How people can resist the urge to smile back at someone

How books feel when they’re given away

Where the star hides that abused children wish upon

What do you wonder?