Monday Musings - 39

Summer is here. You would think the season of wretchedness would pause ever-so-slightly before it pervades our lives. But, there it is! A gust of hot wind blowing through our barely breathing trousers, up our yellow summer shirts and through our balcony doors. Covering us all in a layer of thick dust. You clean, and clean again - the dust remains. Even in the street, the dust dances upon our feet bringing its way plastic, and wrappers and other mementos people have decided to let blow with the wind.

Come gently, summer, I say. But, no one listens. The sun beats down, sweat trickles under and throats dry up as do wells of once water. What can soothe our parched throats? Lemon and water or an iced mango milkshake or just a glass of iced-cold water? Make that half a litre. What can cool our scalded bodies? Cold showers, or a swim or ice in the shower. Make that all of three.

What can clear our hot heads? Reruns of How I Met Your Mother and books that are light like the wind? Summer isn't for heavy bursts of philosophy, is it? Like its clothes, and like the food, and like the cold water carousing our soul - summer is for little thoughts that flit about and stay. Summer is for reckless love. And, Summer is for holiday hope. When can we kick up the sun for a cool blanket of stars? And, a dip in the sea? Time is for planning that Summer Holiday.

And so, I do so much of what I have said. I stay indoors. I potter about the house, and slip in and out of a summer slumber. Waking up to read, and watch and re-read a chain of mails from everyone back home planning their Summer Holiday. It leaves me breathless and waiting and ready to take on Monday.

That said, I must think of somewhere to go. Anywhere North, anybody?

[More Monday Musings here ]

Monday Musings - 38

It is instinctive now for me to find a chai-stall everywhere I go. It is as if the brown, burning hot, distinctly flavoured beverage, reminds me of home. Two summers ago, I found a little convenience store by our hotel in Penang, Malaysia. I developed a penchant for Nescafe's Roasted Black Bean canned cold coffee. My morning fix, every day of week. Two weekends ago, I was in Amritsar. A quaint, rickety tea stall greeted us right outside our place of stay. Billa Tea Stall. A shriveled old man made us our tea, less milk and less sugar, the way we like it. He added a dash of spices. Mornings we sat under the summer sun, soaking up the heady city of Amritsar with a cuppa chai.

What a city of eccentricities, Amritsar. Narrow lanes spilling into even more narrow lanes and sometimes a bustling, crowded main street. Cluttered with box-sized stores selling phulkari dupattas, salwar kameezes washed white, mojris and jootis, and bangles, and lassi, and kulfi splattered with a generous dose of falooda. Would you like some chole kulche, or chana chawala, or gulab jamun to wash down the moong dal vadas - Amritsar is a foodies delight. If you ever make it there, check into the Punjab Dhaba- we savoured the most delightful Tandoori Chicken and Amritsari Fish with a buttery black dal.

Such a city of indulgences, Amritsar. We eat, and shop and admire people in throngs - all colours, and classes, and cultures. Boarding up fragile-framed cycle rickshaws, three in a row, and hustling from the Golden Temple, to the Jallianwala Bagh and the market place. On one of our trysts, we discover the acchar wali gali. It's Sunday so we hunch our way into half-open shops and gape into buckets of divine-smelling achaar and take a little bit back home.

Home for me, is now Gurgaon. I have found my chai-stall having by now almost entirely developed an aversion to coffee. This little nook on the Golf Course road- park your car , and settle into cups of chai as long as you like. And, the chai place behind Ernst and Young - open air, and an ecelectic crowd. Best of all, I have found my chai partner too - like noise and silence- and I am ever so elated this Monday!

[More Monday Musings here ]

Monday Musings- 37

There isn't a school that teaches you how to dress your house. Where to put the flowers, would pink go with red, and should a bookshelf be dark wood or light? There isn't a school that teaches you how the sunlight should fall. The curtains should fluff. The beads should jangle in the wind. Where to leave the stool? Where to buy the stool? And, how long does it take to find the stool? There are days without chairs-and days without tables- and days of tea cups on white floors. No school tells you how you must make do.

How you must feel when your special friend ties the knot. Must you be tied up in a knot, too? Should you watch her, or should you cry? Should you begin to hope, or give up hope? Should you feel nothing else- but be happy for her? Or, should you mingle her happiness with your own, her security with your insecurity. There isn't a school that teaches you how to feel.

And, how to not fear. How to watch the moon and hear the sounds of the night and know that yours will be quiet. There will be no strangers in the night. Do you sleep better in the mornings? And, do you fear sitting on a bench, in the night wind - a garden overlooking a terrace. Do you climb to the terrace, despite the fear? No school braves you this.

How to know when it is love? How to know if his hand will now linger over yours- how to know today is your day. How to know when it isn't love. How to cook eggs- perfect, fluffy white with cheese- when the moment demands it. How to talk enough- not little, not too much. How to listen. And, then how to say thank-you.

How to make conversation with your house-help. How not to fear strangers. How to show love when you are far away. How to send flowers. No school teaches you this. And, still you- restless souls- want to still go to school. I hear, again and again- how you must, and want to, and someday will go to school again.

Go home. Leave home. Embrace life. You will be in school again. My thoughts, this Monday.

[More Monday Musings here

Monday Musings - 36

I like walking in the grass. It makes me think of my white sneakers, soiled with time. Their pink laces with black spots gleaming like lights in the distance. It makes me wonder why you wash your sneakers at all? I like mine worn out. Marked with a little bit of everywhere they've been. And, then I wonder why you like your books untouched, unscathed, clean? I much rather like them soiled, and crumpled, with tears, or trickles of laughter and thoughts sliding from one page to another- who I was when I read them. I like knowing cities by walking in them.

I like watching its people. The cycle rickshaw wallah - back arched, eyes decieving, sweat trickling down his foreheard when you pay him. The boy at the store - young, and out-of-school who helps you carry your bags. He watches you at the bank. Is he impatient? Does he wonder what you do, and who you are, and where you're from? Or is he thinking about when ever will he step in to the bank?

I like dreaming when I'm walking. I used to be the girl snuggled up behind Malory Towers and St. Clares and live imaginary worlds alone. I used to dream of packing my bags, and setting foot in a strange land. Of secrets on bunk beds, and trips to nowhere, and friends from everywhere. Then, I'd savor the make-believe gingerbread cookies mother sent me. I'd look forward to when they visit, family. Oh, how I dreamed of that day. Waited for the time...

And, here I am walking through the streets and gardens...and here I am alone. The little girl's dream. I can remember the sound of my house in the morning. The clankering of vessels, the doorbells, the in-and-out of vendors, and house-help. I can hear you whisper from long ago. I can hear the wind playing truant outside my window. I can remember the sound of the car engine. The words lost in time. The laughter in closed rooms, and open spaces. If I try hard, I can smell Mumbai, sometimes. I can feel the sunlight cast morning shadows. And, the train chug in the distance.

I am, as if, lost in two dreams, this Monday. And, two worlds. It leaves me wanting endless hours to walk, and sit, and wait and savour. It leaves many cups of chai undone. Will this be over, before I know it? Will I still be left wanting, then? Or, will I then be ready to leave? ~Lately it seems we've been chasing, what times resolved, maybe something means nothing here, after all ~

[More Monday Musings here ]

Monday Musings - 35

From where I sit, I can watch the sun fall upon a patch of green, in a jungle of concrete. Cars swirl too and fro, on the NH8. The wind carries brown dust, and occasionally a woman walks by. It is not a town for women, Gurgaon. At 4 pm, if you decide to walk, while the sun is out, a car will stop beside you. A man will roll down his window, and have something to say. If you look away, he drives away.

And, sometimes, he won't as much as stop to get your attention. Just a whistle, or a word, or a glare will do. This is by day. Come night, a deathly fear creeps into your heart. Sunset brings with it all kinds of stories, you want to keep away from.

Some days, even sunrise won't bring respite. You clamber up a bus, only to have comments passed around by men seated around the bus. It doesn't matter that there are other women in the bus. It doesn't matter that the bus conductor hears, and won't say a word. And, it doesn't matter that there are tears in your eyes.

You just lace your heart with ice, and take on the day. For more often than not, it's a beautiful day. There are exhibitions where pretty things in Jaipur Blue, and long earrings come together. There are food stalls where kebabs are burnt brown. There are theaters, where you watch well, theatre. A play is entitled, "Nothing will Happen Between Us." In it, a young man says, "I think love is overrated. I have decided to become a conscientious objector."

Then, there is music, and there is a hint of rain in an otherwise clear sky. And, there is a throng of women at Central Market, Lajpat Nagar. Cycle rickshaws gather, and wonder which newcomer to con. Chai is now Rs. 8/-. Gardens are now galore, left by default, left by History.

And, there is, you learn, hope. Hope you anchor by faith well-vested, not misinformed. Ah, I am a mind in many places this Monday.

[More Monday Musings here ]

Monday Musings -34

I thought I found a house. That is until I went there again, and discovered 'bachelor boys' in the extension next door. The next time I visited the house, a ghostly girl appeared on an extra bed. She was just visiting, the almost eerie landlady claimed. I began to succumb to nightmares involving its grotesque all-wall cupboard that opens into a bathroom. Still, I went there again. On the rickety stairway (that I was willing to make do with) there were cooked aloo and onion peels scattered. Food, if you please?

I ran. I ran across ten lanes of houses clung together and found nothing. They were too small, or too filthy, or surrounded by construction workers, or at the end of a dingy road. The house hunting had now moved a whole block away. Pretty, serene, but desolate. Patches of dark to welcome me home, every night. Not a market to dekko. And, a landlady (with a live-in lover) and a hickey on her double chin.

Welcome to DLF City Phase 2. We've run out of patience, and they've run out of truth. We find a lovely first-floor house with an open terrace and five doors. 'No boys,' the old, sleazy owner states. Before he decides to ogle us over, and hand in a little fact: the owner has the keys to what would be my house. We scoot.

And, arrive at an 'independent' all girls accommodation. An old uncle and his wife, live downstairs. You can live here alone, he claims. And, exercise on the terrace. And, boil milk on the gas. But no men, and no guests allowed. Not your father. And, not an uncle who's come to help you hunt for the place. "Beta bas doodh khareed lo, garam kar lo, aur pee lo. Yehi shaant.'

An educated doctor seems to join the moral police too. A lovely room that overlooks a garden, cannot be taken. Because the owner has a time restriction. You cannot arrive after 9:15 pm. Please note these are on rent, not paying guest accommodations.

By now, it is time to give the next un' a little rude-talk. "This isn't Mumbai, this is Gurgaon. It is different from your Bombay. Be discreet," he asserts. My mother stomps his hypocrisy out of action. "Rather be loud and honest, than discreet," she says. Then there are owners who promise to be parents, "We will ensure she doesn't do anything wrong," they say. And, owners who will insist on their privacy even if it means you walking through a tunnel without lights. They won't let you have yours though.

We find a place without the moral police. A little compromise of a room with a bathroom the size and shape of a bit-sized train compartment. In our procrastination, we lose the offer. It is a good thing, I reckon. We are left with one option- a tiny house-extension with a room, and a kitchen, and a terrace. There are no owners living below, and there is no moral police. Heck, the bathroom isn't a dingy compromise either. Perhaps, that could be a home, I think?

Although, I've lost faith, and I've lost hope this Monday. Perhaps houses are like life itself, you learn to fall in love with them. And, perhaps the British, make-my-morning kinda cab companion was right: "House hunting is the most soul shattering experience in your life. Even in London."

[More Monday Musings here ]

Monday Musings -33

Yesterday, I was at the 19th Delhi World Book Fair, held at Pragati Maidan. I spent the afternoon browsing books spread over acres of land, and stalls and shelves. There were books bursting out of make-shift stalls at a twenty-five percent discount. There were books from around the world. Israel and India and France and Pakistan. There were books in all languages. And, there were books on all subjects- Fiction, and Science, and Technology and Education, and Spirituality and Management. I confess: I was salivating.

And, reveling in the endless space this city has. What a glorious city to walk in – Delhi. You can go as far as your feet take you, and still be far away. There are wide roads, and big houses, and huge open spaces set against lines and lines of bit-sized food stalls.

Or, in some instances, the neighborhood hole-in-the-wall, a big-sized Tibetan restaurant. We tuck into a generous helping of fried rice and chicken with broccoli. Then, we set off to discovery this city again.

And, what a delight it is, I think, this Monday. What a delight to discover Delhi, just as I am reading William Dalrymple's City of Djinns. I stumbled upon this book, by chance - in my rusty old garage- the book documents the life and lanes of the city of Delhi.

Interesting to note, isn't it. That if you allow it, books will come by at the right place, and right time in your life. And, if you allow them, friends will come by at the right time, and the right place in your life...

No amount of chai, downed whole, over sunsets and moonshine, can allow that to sink in. Allow the incredible journey that is life to sink in. Occurrences and places and people strung together. Almost surreal. Almost strange. Life, it could only be orchestrated.

[More Monday Musings here ]