30X30: Evening

Like paintings,
lone ships
hang by sunsets.
Women folk
gather their skirts
And, men break into
gossip.

Simmering,
chillies are burned
and in other houses
wine is poured into
glasses. Some
prefer warm milk.

Greased hands
break puris,
blackened feet
kick stones in glee.
The joy of turning
home. Some feet
of course, trudge
along.

In town squares
fights seek
right from wrong.

Some eyes
study school books,
others lust beauties
on streets...some
settle to await the
hope that night brings.

Some fingers find
hands, some point
angrily and others
chop, dance, type.

Noise burns out into
the streets, without
a whistle: vanishes.
Air suddenly turns
still. Hoarse voices
break into a hush.

Without warning,
without signal
and without a chance
Evening is lost.

And, with it...
A day too.

[30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]

30X30: Idiosyncrasies

Little bits of Delhi NCR, since I've been here a month:

1. It's not Maggi, it's Wai Wai: Of Course, you know that.
2. Proof of Punjabi pride: A snippet of conversation, "Person: "Main Dilli ka nahi hoon. Main toh Punjaaabi Aadmi hoon. Bas Punjabi khaana, aur Punjaabi gaana."
3. No Sweat: For geographically challenged me, not sweating in Delhi was quite a discovery.
4. Rickshaws aren't autos: There are auto rickshaws and there are cycle rickshaws. Which means, there are autos and there are rickshaws. In that order.
5. Rent for Real: The concept of expensive rent is bizarre. Person: "Oh Saket. The rent there is very expensive. Like 9000 bucks!" Saket by the way is a relatively posh area.
6. Auto-less NH8: Well, almost. They manage to sneak their way in, until a little exit just before the toll gate.
5. Winter, not Winters: But you know that too!:)
7. Hmm, Bengalis: There's this whole Bengali vibe thing going on here, which I just can't figure:|
8. Momo Love: They're delectable. Inexpensive. Addictive.
9. Multi-cultural Indeed: Koreans, North East Indians, South Indians, English Folk, North Indians...quite an eclectic mix.
10. The Cellphone Nightmare: Airtel sets a Rs. 500/- Credit Limit. Vodafone keeps killing your network. And, often doesn't have a store for miles. Reliance randomly decides you haven't submitted your papers. Sigh.
11. Dang! It's dented: Every other car in Delhi is dented. And, cars are spilling out of houses.
12. Honestly, Dishonest: Rickshaws openly admit to charging you Rs. 20-30/- above the meter fare. They even turn on their meter for proof.
13. Disco Delhi: I was whoopie excited to watch locals doing the disco at a popular pub.
14. Jaat is a Dialect: Or, a tribe. Or, a set of people the average Delhi-ite dislikes. Maybe you could help me here?
15. Delhi has an accent: A nasal twang, that's growing on me:|

[If you add your own, this could be fun:) 30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]

30x30: Sacred

I wonder sometimes,
if this could be,
Us no longer stealing time
Us unafraid in our love.

If I could wake up then,
to the echoes of your voice
before the night's sleep,
to the sound of joy
gliding broken
hearts.

I wonder if we could continue
to thaw?

And this could be us
alone and together
across highways
and dinner tables
and life, in general.

This could be, couldn't it?

Or would it be too much
to ask for, too much
yearning and too
easy. But, if you must know,
this too is uneasy.

I watch you then -
A star in a faraway sky.
A voice so distant.

If only.

(30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]

Monday Musings - 24

By the side of where I am currently staying, there is a charming open air market called Galleria Mall. I have succumbed to its many delights including the sprawling Lakme Salon and Depauls cold coffee; I have also given in to its local pronunciation, a watered down Indianised version of what really is a lovely French name. Galleria market is this delightful assortment of inexpensive and expensive stores. And, there are always a few more stores, each time I go around.

Vegetables, fruits, momos and handloom Indian wear surround a circular waterfall that lies in the centre of the marketplace. I love sitting by the fountain, catching my breath…catching up with a friend. Life here has been fast-paced, and it’s lovely to sit down and watch the water fall; allowing only the sound of local artisans to interrupt the rhythm of peace. As I watch people pass by, there are always a few familiar faces, each time the tickin’ clock goes around.

Sitting there, I think of the people I have encountered. I think of the talented artist from Assam, the high-energy Bombay man, the cook from Bengal. I think of children of the Army, children from the Doon school, and the man from Chandigarh. There is such a thing as Punjabi pride, I have discovered. And, there is such a thing as succulent kebabs cooked in a handi; cooked to perfection. There are newer stories, each time the sun goes around.

Could I say then I have learned to marvel at life’s unpredictability. Have I succumbed to its charming adventurous side? Have I let go off worry? Perhaps, that really is the only way to be. It is easy to think of things as they would be, when they go wrong. It is easy to fret about what will happen, at the worst. But it’s better still to not think about it. And, occasionally dream of how it would be, if all went off as hope allows. It’s easier to get by, as life goes around.

And so, I am thinking of faces old and new this Monday. I am eager to embrace familiar faces, and I am eager to welcome unfamiliar too. For unfamiliar will someday turn familiar …an adventure could some day turn routine too. Or, it could just be that…a little slice of life laced with what never has been, and what never will be. I do not know. But, I know, I’d rather be on the bright side…

Allows you to smile at the coincidences, laugh at the idiosyncrasies, take in the grating side of novelty as experiences…does it not?

[More Monday Musings here ]

Monday Musings - 23

I wish I had something to say this Monday. But the truth is I really don't know where to begin. On this chilly, rainy day that signifies the onslaught of winter in this alien city, I am bereft of words. I can think only of the rain. I can remember yesterday's skies part, the sun let out the clouds. I can remember the feel of a slight drizzle, of the wind playing truant. I can remember the sound of the music. So beautiful, it blended with the wind.

I can remember yesterday, for the joy in its air. I can remember saying thank-you. I was so thankful for what has been done, and what will be done. Imagine when the rain falls, and it is so beautiful, you know that tomorrow can only be what you hoped for. Today, is that tomorrow. I'm wondering what to make of this. I do not know. I do not know why words tremble out of my fingers. I do not know why I chose to write a musing every Monday. I do know why some days are so lonely, and others so beautiful. I do not know why I must be so childishly hopeful.

I realize this now, and I realized this yesterday, as I was strolling about the bustling Sarojini Nagar market that there are somethings we will never know. Even in retrospect, they fall into place...we will not know why they really happened. Perhaps, that is all that I can make sense of this Monday. I will never really know why the aeroplane danced onto the runway at the Domestic Airport, Delhi. Or why the days that followed were a string of uncanny coincidences.

I will not know why I found two long lost friends in Delhi, one in the same building as I am currently staying. I will not know why the only other girl in my team, shares the same beliefs as me. I will not know why it rained on the one day I knew no hope in Delhi. Why I love terraces, and why I was allowed the pleasure of looking down from one everyday for three weeks. I will not know why I happened often to be in the right place..at the right time. And, how I managed so easily through situations that would otherwise cause me to break down...

I can think only of these things this Monday. And, perhaps this is all I can write about too. That I have learnt, to sometimes live through the moment. It's hard...but when the rain comes down a drop at a time, I do not complain. Like the joy it overwhelms me with.. life too sometimes falls into place a drop at a time. And each drop is often painstakingly far apart. But, it falls...and the joy, the joy is just the same...if not evermore.

[More Monday Musings here ]

Monday Musings - 22

As I alight from the State Transport Bus from Delhi to Gurgaon, I am greeted by a shriveled-up, middle-aged man on a cycle-rickshaw. He takes me from the bus-stop to my area of residence, ten minutes away, for twenty rupees. I hand him thirty. Riding a cycle with a passenger and luggage, is no easy task. But these men have no other means of supporting their families. And, Gurgaon has no other means of public transport.

A city of paradoxes, is Gurgaon. Tall, looming, oddly-shaped glass buildings that bow down to sprawling concrete roads. Old rickety state transport buses that collide with paper-fragile cycle rickshaws. Cows that lazily align its highways. And delicately crafted, over grown houses...with small families. I cannot tell, if I like this city.

I cannot tell if I like Delhi too. If I like it for the police-man who lends a phone, when there is no other way to make a call. For the auto rickshawala who makes an honest, dishonest deal. For the pot-pourri of cultures it so beautifully holds. For the Koreans, the Chinese, and the English it welcomes. For the North-East Indians who crowd its marketplaces.

Or, the young students who find their streak of rebellion in its open spaces. Political enthusiasts, feminists and wastrels. I have encountered them in hordes. I cannot tell if I like Delhi for its men who whisper sweethearts in its winding lanes. And, I cannot tell if I like it for the parathawala who dishes out oily paneer parathas to hungry minds through the night. Or, the debauched who crowd its air with their greed.

Young, naive, wide-eyed girls who lie gazing into nothing in its bars. Old, white-skinned men watch on. I cannot tell if I like Delhi for the lust that hangs in its air. Amidst direction-less college going boys. Amidst high-heeled women falling to floors. And, young couples who just tipped of a bar-man.

Perhaps, I do not like it for its deceit...when a scoundrel asks for parking money in a no-parking zone. Or, for its anger that smokes out of fights in cars, and fights on roads. And, perhaps, I like it for its warm, friendly smiles. For its houses that are open, at all times. For its large heart, that often drives out silence.

And, then brings it back again. For humanity too, is laced with paradoxes, I reckon. Humanity is utterly disappointing. And, completely fascinating. People are wretched, and people are beautiful. And, I am thinking of them this Monday.

I am thinking of the smiles they bring, and the voids they leave. The tears they pull out, and the fulfilling they sing...


[More Monday Musings here ]

Untitled - 5

Words are flying out
of worlds
into air;
the table lamp shines
out their existence.

They hang like speckles
of dust in mid-air
they swirl with each turn
of the shadows
in the distance.
(The room is made in wood.)

They linger like
foam before it
melts, they stay
like love after it dies

And they fall upon
the chatai
joining layers of
memories left from
new and old feet
and lovers
and cold feet.

-X-

I ask them for their company,
I ask them to stay awhile.
I ask them to hold me
in the darkness.

To keep my sorrows
Unfurl my joys
(Like God himself)

Like blotted whitepaper
that reeks of old love,
and old hope;
I ask them to remind.

-X-

Words, they never disappoint.