The Highway Man

Toll lines in my city are long and tedious. I curse toll lines every time I'm in one. I curse the guy in front of me, I want to hurtle invectives at the guy blasting his horn behind me. I throw an angry scowl at the guy who flags down my car and asks me to cough up the toll.

As I drove down the highway a couple of months back, on a ruddy morning, the radio played an all time favorite number on Bombay..Yeh hai Bombay Meri Jaan. How different my Bombay now looked from those forgotten black and white images of the silver screen. My head was in a twirl and I felt a gush of happiness for no apparent reason. Surprisingly, I noticed that there wasn't a queue at the Toll Station. This was going to be a beautiful day.

As I braked, I suddenly realized how doubly boring it must be for the guy collecting the toll from the passing cars. Everyday he'd have to stand at the same spot, waving down grumpy motorists, handing them the ticket and collecting the money. A mere exchange of paper, both worthless, if not for the legitimacy we give it. Not a word spoken, not a glance cast. If at all words were spoken, they would be angry bursts of "chutta nahin hai" from the motorist or a curt command of "dosra note do" from the toll guy. Didn't he have more reason to complain than a grouchy motorist like me, seated inside a car with music playing?

So that day instead of arrogantly handing out the money, while looking straight ahead at the road, I turned to the mechanical hand that thrust the ticket in my face. I gave him the money, he gave me the ticket. It was well rehearsed. We did it everyday. But today, I gave a small smile and I coughed a thank you. He didn't hear. I whizzed past, just like any other car on the highway. As I drove away, the smile lingered on. I felt good. I felt happy that he was the first person I had greeted that morning. It probably didn't make a difference to him, but it did to me. I felt more human.

Since that day I've been dropping by my thank you at every toll station. Sometimes it goes unheard. Sometimes its just heard. Very often there is a suspicious quizzical expression on his face. Sometimes he looks back with a look of surprise, like he didn't hear it right.Some times, there is a "okay madam."
Today, there was a heartfelt, "you're most welcome, madam."

It probably did make a difference. :)
Random acts of kindness never gone unremitted.

Looking for the Calendar.

I've never paid attention to my New Year Calendar. It usually finds its way up my wall sometime past February or March, sometimes by chance, sometimes out of pure desperation, often because I'm gifted one.

Another cycle of twelve months has been ushered in, but the ugly miniature calendar of 2008 still clings on to my blue pin board. The month of December vacantly gazes back at me, reminding me of deadlines and doom. I flip back to a few months earlier and I see crammed scheduling, meticulous calculations and illegible scribblings. Punctuated every now and then in this bedlam, are blank white spaces. I wonder what that means. Was it a happy blank or was it a pensive blank? Was it a blank of clarity or was it an unresolved, frightful blank? I can't remember.

I'm weary of forgetting.

This year it ought to be a little different. My calendar must remind me. I'm not entirely sure what would go into making a great calendar. But I do know, I'm bored of ugly numbers squinting at me through square boxes, against a pale white backdrop. I want my calendar to remind me of some thing I like, dislike, ought to like, should care about, should think about,some thing I'd like to do.

I don't want it to be just another year that whizzes past. I want to resolve and remember and carry it over to 2010, without significant memory lapses.



Majoli,The Spartan Tree, Greece.
January : Hope?
Seeing this M said, "Here's to our very own landscapes of hope behind the screen of smoke filled streets."

Strangelove Santa

I think all I really want to be is articulate. Articulate about emotions. Articulate about feelings. Articulate about love. It feels wonderful when someone articulates to you how much they love. Santa dropped by to show me once again how easy it is to love.

Among the innumerable 'official' mails that flood my mailbox daily was a rather inconspicuous one today, which read "Happy New Year". It was my friend from the lackadaisical land of sun and sand.Her mails are always special. I eagerly open her mails because they are thoughtful, honest and loving. She's my first christmas Santa of the season who brought in the message of love and affection like the three wise men. She wasnt just sending across luke warm Christmas and New Year Wishes. It was a wonderfully touching mail which was sent out to the entire class of the Masters program, spreading the Christmas cheer and her love. She had jotted down something meaningful, nice and honest about each one of us. Santa made my day by telling me i had made a difference to her in some little way. She said, " dear heart! Such a wonderful nature, such a bright mind and such a great sense of style. How blessed I am to know you. Thank you!"I'm sure Santa made a difference to each person on the mailing list by telling them exactly how they made a difference to her. I think Santa is wonderful.

She was deeply affected the first time i said 'lol' to something that had miffed her. Then she didn't yet know what 'lol' meant in sms lingo. When i explained she said, "How can you laugh out loud to that!", rather dismayed. Now she's taught me to use the 'lol' her way. Now, between us, it only reads as 'lots of love.'

It's only i who still resorts to the crumpled, abridged, diluted 'lol', she generously splatters her smses or mails with love. She inspires me to love. Without inhibitions. She unknowingly inspires me to express affectionately, freely, honestly, fearlessly. Her sweeping, uninhibited, gestures and remarks teach me something precious.
Its okay to let someone know you love them. Expressing affectionately is not a mighty task.

It feels wonderful to be blessed with this Santa. Thank You Santa.

The Philosopher

People colorfully chequer our life. Its temptingly exciting to box people into categories and sort them in our head as types. I'm not wonderfully perceptive. Yet, I love to mentally label people in my head.My life is teeming with people; common,typical, plain, usual,conventional,strange,wierdly wonderful,attached,irreverent, melodramatic, detached, head strong,dont give a damn, cautious, evil, moral, stoic, eccentric, jovial, abusive, secretive, talkative. Its an exhaustive, ecclectic mix! And then there are some people. They zoom into your life and then right out. They just defy every conceivable idea of a type. They're defiant. They're special. They're special because they make a difference. They show you there's another way of living, another way of thinking. Another universe of being. Its rarely that I let people make themselves special to me. Infinitely, secretively special. Immensely special. One just revisited me today, briefly, over text messages.
A few short sentences punctuated a lazy sunday afternoon.An exclamation interjected the long hiatus. A question dispersed the vacuum of time. An answer reassured, things haven't changed. As always it didn't end with a full stop. It never did. He said, "call sometime..."
The cantankerous philosopher crept stealthily into the secret realm and got tagged 'special.' He's been there for a while now and not many have come close to displacing him. He does nothing to make him a worthy 'special'. He's not overtly expressive or caring. He'll never call, but will always say, 'call sometime.' He'll never send a message, but will promptly(almost affectionately) reply to every message. He'll rarely put an arm around you and say 'its going to be alright'. His green eyes, never judging, plainly do the trick. They reassure you.
He loves to talk. He can theorize about the poppy seed, the paratha or the porsche. He can see magic in a pencil top, a well toasted sandwich, a querty keypad or even a stupid cat. He'd like to own a audi or a merc, a rich woman and may be some camels. He likes the idea of a red harem, with a warm homely library, tucked away in some corner. The book shelf, he specifies, has to be of light wood, not encased in glass tombs, but open. He's thrilled at the thought of sitting on a huge heap of silver coins and flinging them in the air, just to hear them jingle.

He quit his corporate job because he wanted to quit selling his soul.

He can thrill you with ideas. He can slowly needle you on to something you never knew existed. He can puncture your zeal with his pessimistic vision. He can soar your dipping spirits with that reassuring smile, black tea and a drag. Special requests from excessively low spirits never go unredeemed, the guitar is strummed and a song is sung. The lazy bugger loves adventure, but it all HAS to be planned! Which bus? From where?Are you sure?What time?Really? Naah...I'll pass. I have to clean up the house.
Sprawled on the stony bench he throws a white beam of light on the tree overhead. He's looking for bats. He has a story. Always. But its rarely about him. You can pour your heart out to him.He'll unravel himself to you only in bits. And as you get to know him, you know there is a lot you have to compromise. Your expectations. Your ego. Your pride. What you share with him is too special to be compromised...for anything.Which is why I will call sometime...

And again we'll talk about the perfect reading room, with the wooden floors, white french windows, a low coffee table, open book shelves and old conversations.

chalk, blackboard and maam'lade.

Widened eyes, startled mouth. Surprised shriek, "you teach?" Stunned silence. "I teach," i say candidly. Next quizzical question, "they listen to you?" Wonderstruck eyeballs still gaze in disbelief. Without being pompous, i try to diplomatically wiggle out of the situation, " they're very sweet kids...they at least pretend to listen." A rather premeditated remark invariably follows, "oh who wouldn't, with a pretty face like that teaching them." That's when my brain squirms a little, feels like it is floating in a strange yellow gravy and wants to spew some out right at the remark-er. A new one cropped up recently..."What do you wear to work?" ( trust a delhite to come up with that.) If i had an outrageously bold style of dressing that might have been an interesting question. But alas! I'm still waiting for that one person to NOT say to me within the first five mins, in a smug voice, 'OOooh! hot professor!'Why discount the brain completely?
What is so incredulous about a 23 year old female adult teaching in a college? She may be just a couple of years older than her oldest student. She may also be just a novice at the job (the students dont have to know that!). She may..may, also have a pretty face (apparently). But why the surprise, incredulity, disbelief, smirking laugh in head? Its no cake walk trying to get the attention of 70 odd twenty somethings to think seriously about poetry. Its even worse trying to get 100 of them collectively excited to read and comprehend a newspaper clipping. Its a mammoth task to coax ten students to write a letter, review, something, anything.
I returned to college after a two month hiatus. Life sped past me in the two months, but the classrooms, tables, blackboards, staff room and students still remain. As i stepped into a college building stirring with restltess, young energy, buzzing with carefree banter, i felt a gush of happiness. As i stepped foot into the entrance lobby, the guard did a half bow and a swish of a salaam and bellowed 'hello madam.' Walking up the stair case, i was momentarily stunned with the cheery 'goodmorning maam,' from beaming students.
Maam?
Yes its time to switch roles again. Its time to change the shoes and take a bow. The relieved faces of my third years, the playful, pleading, naughty glances of my first years(maam please, free lecture!) and the lovely, comforting, disarming loud hellos and hi's of my second years. To me, it felt like a home coming of sorts. I'm glad to be taken back. Rather eagerly...
A fun term
A great fun term
A meaningful great fun term
A planned meaningful great fun term
I'm adamant about making it happen. I'm adamant about making a lot of things happen. I'm adamant about being adamant. You know when they like you. They know when they like you, why they like. They know when you dont know jack shit. They know when you churn bullshit.
So watch out!
They listen to me when i make sense. I know i dont make sense when i listen to the sounds of a muffled unrest slowly brewing....and rising.
And i switch hats once again...it helps hide the hair that the storm had ruffled.

Baggage

"Human kind cannot bear very much reality."

- Eliot.

Know?

"Its funny about identity. You are because your little dog knows you."

- Gertrude Stein.

sounds i miss...

The metallic clang of the beautiful bronze bell signalling recess at school.The primitive sonorous ring of our ancient telephone.The painful screeching noise issuing forth from contact between the chalk and blackboard.The coaxing loving whine my favourite dog would court me with.The slow trickle of dirty water flowing down the steps of our narrow building corridors every once in a while the bai washed them.The little musical prelude that was played before "aamchi maati aamchi maanse"(or something like that) everyday on DD1. The looooong wistful siren which was sounded everyday at 6:30am for the Raymond factory workers as a cue to the end of yet another ardous shift and the dawning of yet another morning. The mellifluous notes of the bagpipe and the thudd of the drums which serenaded us every sports day. The piercing blow of the whistle which marked the beginning of every mass drill exercise. The loud bang with which my fourth floor home doors kept banging with every monsoon.The slight swish with which the cream curtains lazily swayed during warm summers. The sudden static and black and white shower of dots the TV would burst into every once in a while. The incessant kicks which were used to cajole my mum's first bike and then its slow sputtering to life..only to die out in a minute. The slight scratchy notes jumping from the letters being scribbled with apsara pencil in my notebook. The muffled sound of my smiley eraser incessently erasing digits from my maths book. The rattle of the spoon in my steel tiffin as my lunch basket swayed with every stride. The choked and suppresed bursts of laughter when we saw for the first time an anatomy of the human body in the fourth standard science text.
The terrifying buzz of deadening silence.The rustle of a new christmas dress.The echo of girly laughter resounding through labrinthine stone corridors. The corny rigtone of my first cell phone.The chaotic clatter of peak hour traffic jams.The humdrum voice of the lady cackling over the speakers at railway stations.The slow chugging of the local train as it approaches its destination.The rife voices of the vendors aboard a 6:11 fast. The haggard voices of working women.The joyful banter of idle college girls. The flirty whistles of roadside romeos.The swoosh of the broom as the early morning BMC worker sweeps the VT subway. The doodhwalla,the machiwalla,the pav walla,the bhaandiwalla and their bellowing cries. The plethora of audible,muffled,inaudible sounds which continue to resonate in some crevice of my memory....even if they die out in my city. I miss it all.

A Brief Interlude.

Three days three nights seventy two hours.
Well spent?bummed around bummed around bummed around some more.
Two movies one sitcom and some more pop corn.
Coffee caffeine,cherry flavored haze,sugared confectionaries,sinful cocoa and tantalizing grape.
Pyromaniacs,felinophobics,crazy non-acrophobics,Ulysees addicts,nocturnal night watchers.

My world is bizzare and colourful.A melange of the most unlikely.I live on an island dissevered from the insanity of the norm.We revel in a sanity most uncommon.Warped sleeping cycles,uncanny standards of dedication to work and (in)sensitivity to fellow mates apart we also take time off to look after the canines and felines.We swear by the four bucks coffee,four bucks donuts and navy cuts.Smelly loos and insipid food are surely not the silver lining.They are very forgetable.But the third floor gatherings,the insane play readings,the incongrous carol singing,the late night chillings,unearthly hour food binging,gossiping,speculating,bitching,sleeping;it could be mistaken for a two year party.But wait.We also slog for aeons on assignments,presentations and dissertations.(we actually spend hours on Bibliographies and punctuations)Life is a voyage with intermittent parties happening here and there.We crib we cry.We waste we worry and then hurry.But the night air soothes us, the bonfires warm us.And I wouldnt want to exchange this little world for anything better..well at least not for the time being.Cheers to the Wierdos who make my island boisterous fun and liveable!After all, in hindsight, the weekend was not badly spent.

an account

stale cold air.closed blackened windows.lazily rotating fan.sonorous voice echoing through the the stuffed room.restless mind wandering.suddenly scuttling spider across the whitewashed wall.scuffling feet at the strike of four.gray evening sky.steaming aromatic coffee spurting out of the yellow machine.lazy stroll in the well pruned garden.lounging under the huge tree pointlessly.trying to discuss important people.restless mind wandering.sauntering back to the grayer confines of a ten by ten space.lazy body lazy mind lazy being.hey beelzebub!wasted being wasted hour wasted day.piercing yell.frantic scream.albino lizard crawling across the cream wall.tail swishes,swishes swiiiiishes.stops.sits.stationary.irked out.monotony.boredom.change.welcome.grab bag n some bucks.hop into black and yellow bug.manouvers through clogged roads.halts.short queue.fat man.my turn.no change. no change.aisle seat.happy.time to kill.time stands still.spot a sale.books books n booksscatteredpiledstackedarranged.rummaging.finding.buying.happy.time to scoot.seated not so comfortably.annoying feet groping in the dark.muffled voices.searching hands.finally settled.rolling.soundcameraaction.darkness.stale cold air.closed blackened doors.happiness sadness naach gaana love joy natak.phew.over.cool night air.cheerful bright street lights.nice walk across the town.food coffee icecream chocolate gossip vanilla choco chips pastry.beautiful glowing full moon.monotony forgotten.recharged.revitalized.happy.stuffed.think this should be done everyday.wish it could be so.wish many things could be.wish wish wish wishwash.streets deserted.time fleeting.pack up pack up.rick shaw!rickshaw!good night good night.one and a half metre charges.damn!