i'm sure you know it, but still...

Last night i saw you get married.

And i wanted to hug you and tell you how happy I am.

But i stopped myself because I suspect I would have cried

And you would have been embarrassed

And we are not like that.

But I just want you to know that’s what I wanted to do.

It just felt so right

To see you so happy

So I’ll hug you over cyberspace

Because you’ll know how I feel.

And I’ll just cry over this post

Because what’s a wedding without a tear or two!

I love you S.

crash into me

It’s 4pm on a Sunday afternoon.

I’m in that halfway land where my body is asleep and my brain is going about switching the lights off.

I can hear the phone ringing. Far far away. First I think I’ll ignore it, and then because I can never resist a ringing phone, I take it.

L, she shouts into my ear. Remember me? From college. I got your number from P, and I’m now in London, and I saw you on facebook and......

And I’m seventeen. Away from home for the first time. I’ve never lived in a big city before. My father is in the Air Force, so I’ve been brought up in the safety net of a cantonment. All my friends, boys and girls are wholesome, my going out is restricted to rather wholesome jam sessions, my taste is music is pretty mainstream (Grammy and Top of the Pops), my clothes are what I think is cutting edge cool (Weekender!), my haircut is well, my mom’s talent at cutting hair was always restricted to what she called the Lady Diana cut.

And then, suddenly I’m seventeen. In college. In a hostel. In a big city.

R and P are my closest friends in the hostel. It’s a warm day in April. We’ve got ten days off, to study for our exams. P’s gone home to Nasik. That leaves me and R, in a state of
summer lethargy. We have our books open, sprawled across the bed, the fan slowly whirring. Drowsy and bored we’re trying hard to concentrate.

Suddenly R jumps up. We’re going out, enough is enough. I’m staring at her, trying hard to fight off sleep, wondering where we could go. Shiv Sagar, Linking Road, Hill Road.

We’re going for a makeover. She’s three years older to me, and considers it perfectly normal to bully me around. So in ten minutes flat we’re in an auto rickshaw speeding towards Nalini&Yasmeen. I’ve never been to a fancy parlour, let alone one where Dimple Kapadia is sitting next to me. I’m so awestruck I don’t say a word. My hair is snipped, till it’s really short. They tell me it’s called a blunt cut. The thing is I’m feeling like I got hit on the head with something blunt, because the haircut costs me hundred bucks. Hundred bucks to look like a million bucks.

Anyway R looks completely different too. Very glam. So now we’re like two infected mushrooms. We can’t stop grinning at how good we look. We head straight back to the hostel to change. I wear my shortest dress and Ruchika wears her tightest jeans. Now we’re ready. With nowhere to go.

So we step out. Decide to catch a train to Churchgate. Pretty woman is running in Eros. On a whim, we stop at a PCO. I want to call V. Aah V. Hot V. Strange V. Moody V. Dark V. Nothing like I’ve ever known V.

So I call V at his hostel. It’s my lucky day because V is manning the phone that day. I hear his voice, and as usual I turn into a little hormonal swimming pool of love and longing. Any way, it’s also my lucky day because V lazily laughs and says he’ll meet us outside Eros. By the way, V is Goan. And nothing like the guys I’ve ever known. He wears his hair long, listens to White Snake and is always languid.

And at seventeen I’m in love with V.

So we reach Eros. I can barely sit still in the train. I’m standing at the door, the wind ruffling my new hair do. R is screaming “ sau rupaiye ka naash!” But I’m counting stations, five to go before I see V.

We standing in front of Eros. As are a few hundred teenage girls. The show is running houseful. Even the black marketers are throwing up their hands in resignation. The only one who doesn’t care is me. Because I can see V making his way through the crowd. Walking towards me.

He grins, when R tells him no tickets. We walk to Sundance cafe, to grab a coffee and figure what to do. He smiles at me and says, “Nice hair!” I promptly resolve to call nalini and Yasmeen to our wedding.

I’m in la la land, while R and V make a plan. It’s an elaborate plan, and they are grinning like mad. I just hear select words like V, V and you, V and the train, V and his friend.

Anyway, we’re soon on the train back to the suburbs. It’s pretty empty. V and I are standing near the door. Opposite each other. Silence. The sound of the train. The wind whipping my hair.

Anyway, the night goes on. It involves buying beer. Picking up K, a friend of V’s who we meet for the first time. Trying to drive K’s car. Parking at the beach. Drinking beer at K’s lawn. And finally all four of us smuggling into K’s house at 3 am.

By now we’ve all giggling about anything and nothing. The mood is set. K and R are getting along like a house on fire. K’s room is huge. And has a balcony attached to it.
They disappear to the balcony.

And V and I are sitting in the room. Me on the bed, dangling my feet. V on the couch. Opposite each other. Silent. The only noise is all the thoughts in my head. Will he kiss me. Please kiss me. Maybe he’ll kiss me. Shit, what if he kisses me, and then we fall on the bed. SEX. No way. Okay...maybe. I don’t know. Shit, I should have worn better underwear. Ok, we’ll just stop at a kiss. Maybe ten kisses...

Then V smiles and says, “You take the bed, I’ll take the couch.”

I’m staring at him. He stretches out on the couch and says, “You’re a kid. Someday you’ll understand.” And he shuts his eyes.

Damn. So today, when R speaks to me, it all runs through my head in a flash. And suddenly I think I know what he’s talking about.

He’s gay!

But then I think no, there’s a deeper, simpler meaning there.

Sometimes, however hard you want something, you will just not get it. That’s life dude.

want to make frandship?

confession: i don't like people who don't like me.

but that's still all right. the thing is, i totally don't like people who don't like me, inspite of me trying to make them like me.

And the worst is when two such people get together and become friends.

Yes, it's happened to me. Yes, you can keep saying grow up, but this is my blog. And yes, I have a way of dealing with this.

I refuse to give them the name of my tattoo artist, my dentist, my favourite stores and my broker.

Imagine then, when I saw The Man I'm Mad About (yes, thank you, he's back to being that. We spoke you see. :)) happily giving the tattoo artist's number to one such person. He of course thinks it's childish to behave like this.

But that's because the people who will not like me, inspite of me trying, and are now friends, are happy to be friends with him.

Damn. Now I will keep my yoga teacher's number hidden in my locker.

Kati toh kati. Bati toh bati.

quantums of sula

So last evening i get a call from z. She tells me “want to do something crazy tonight.”

Now that’s always a great way of getting my attention. So of course i immediately agree. Turns out my instincts are sharp because the crazy thing includes free booze, free food, total timepass and a party where i will not know anyone.

Nothing tops my favourite list like “not know anyone”. I don’t know about you, but i have this thing for parties where i will not know people. Always thrilling. Always brimming with possibilities. Never give your real name. Never state your correct occupation. Talk to only those whose faces you like. No boring polite conversation only because tomorrow you will feel bad that i ignored you. And best of all, you can keep bumming cigarettes off strangers without having to worry about them doing the same to you later.

Anyway so then B calls. And I relay the news to him. He decides to join us too.

The party is being hosted in a lounge bar by the sea. It’s by a company that’s having this splash out james bond party for its super exclusive customers. And the girl who’s invite we are piling on to, only knows z. The stage is set for madness.

Needless to say we are the life of the party. We drink like a small lake between us. I, who have been off alcohol, start with rose, move to white wine and then sometime much later realise I’m drinking the red stuff. We storm the gambling tables. We cadge cigarettes off people. We comment on everyone’s clothes, boobs and wigs.

And then we hit the dance floor.

Well, I’m sure the party was a success. And I was very drunk. Because at some point when I was pleading with the DJ to play “one shong, one laast shong”, some strange men came up to me and said, “ Thank you for the danshing!”

They thought we were being paid to do all that stuff.

Damn. I have a new career.

(PS: too hung-over to tell you guys about the characters at the party. That shall be my next post. Mr ill fitting wig man, Miss can’t keep your boobs in your shirt, Miss nice skirt from lokhandwala, Mr airline guy who’s wearing a feather boa across his neck. And Miss is that a man or a woman! And they thought we were being paid to entertain them???!!!)

sweet summer

i was eighteen that summer.

just back from college. with two months to kill.

he was twenty.

waiting to go start his training. with two months to kill.

we had to meet. we were just three people that age out there. he, his sister and i.

so, like it happens in the movies and the books, we hung out.

we went for walks. we drank copious amounts of mango shake sitting on the steps of my house. we went exploring on his scooter. and we talked and talked.

his sister at some point left us alone. so that's how we ended up spending most of the summer together. my mother was amused, and insists even today that he polished off all her snacks waiting around for me. but it was perfect.

warm in the mornings. warm enough to drink cold coffee in tall glasses with lots of ice in it. warm enough to go driving off across bad roads, stop under a large tree and watch a train roll past in the distance.

warm enough to just sit in my room under the fan, talking about friends and things we wanted to see and do. warm enough to walk lazily to the mess, and pick books from the library. warm enough to stand at the gate endlessly, talking again, until it was time to go home for lunch.

warm enough to meet again in the evening, and hang out at the kids park. to sit in my driveway, and try and fix my rickety old moped together. and warm enough for regular tambola nights.

then, finally the day when we had to leave. strange, because somehow we were on the same vehicle to calcutta. i don't remember saying bye or what it felt like. but i remember writing to him for a few months. and then slowly the summer faded from my memory.

it was the sweetest summer. i liked him. i thought he liked me too. but i never asked. and neither did he.

then sixteen years later, i speak to him this morning. he doesn't sound anything like he did. but then i really don't remember. we laugh, talk all jumbled, try and fill in the years.

i tell him we'll meet. but i don't think so. not because of anything. but because somethings are meant to stay blurred, slightly faded.

and some summers are meant to stay perfect.

dancing in the dark

I’m flipping through a magazine. And i come across an article, “ ten signs that your child is turning a rebel.”
Right. Like it takes only ten signs.

Anyway, it got me thinking about my childhood, or rather adolescence and rebellion. So here’s my story.

When i was 15, my family moved to a very remote part of the country. In the middle of my school year.

So imagine, you have your friends, your best friends, you are every teacher’s pet (except the hindi ma’am), you love your school, you are marked to be head girl, the cute cultural captain has a crush on you ...
and then one fine day you’re told you’re leaving that school.

Anyway, so after my half yearly exams we move. And land up in the boondocks. Sure it’s pretty. But for some reason my parents decide to stay with some friends. Who stay miles and miles away from civilisation or even the nearest village.

Anyway, two months later, my father has to move again. And my folks decided to separate for a while. However, since I have school, they decide to leave me behind. And actually I'm pretty excited about escaping the omnipresent parental eye.

Only problem is I hate the school. And most of the school hates me.
They label me fast. And not because I’m a great sprinter, but because I hang out with the senior boys.
They label me USA, (ya, remember this is a school in the boondocks. USA means all the bad thngs a girl can ever be)because one day I go for a walk with the guys to a canteen like shack behind the school.

So here I am. 15 going on 16. No parental supervision. Living with some people who were sweet but had no idea what to do with me. And going to a school I absolutely could not fit into.

And without even knowing it (see, that’s where the ten signs would have helped), I decide to turn rebel.

So I start by moving to the back bench.

Then I start to defy the teachers. I back chat, I make fun of them, I talk with a different accent every day. I laugh when they tell me to leave the class.

Next, I start to respond to a senior who’s been giving me the vibes. I hang out at the bike stand with him. I walk to the cigarette shop with him. And one day, in the middle of the school day, I decide to take him up on his offer and go for a bike ride.

Well, the whole school is agog. My woolly guardians have no clue about any of this. So when on my birthday I ask them if I can ask my friends over, they readily agree.

I don’t know what they expect, but they definitely look a little worried when my friends roar in that evening. Five senior boys who look much older than me. Luckily my smoke screen girl friend, also turns up. And two of my classmates. The tallest boys in class, who share the back bench with me.

We tell woolly guardians we’re going for a walk.

The senior boys have vodka bottles in their jackets. I’ve never really had a drink before that. But what the hell, it’s my birthday, and there’s no one to tell me what to do.

So I take a few glugs and then some more. Soon we’re all singing and pushing each other. Everyone is high. We go back, eat, and go for another walk. This time we drink rum. My two tall back bench classmates refuse to leave my side. I smoke two cigarettes, cough till tears roll down my eyes, then throw up. Drink some more rum, and throw up some more. Somehow I make it home after that second walk, ( my trusting guardians are fast asleep) get to my bed and pass out.

Point is that was really my first rebellion. I had many more moments in those four months.

In retrospect it seems stupid. Even dangerous. What if something had happened? What if those senior guys had tried something?

But back then, things were different. Thankfully.

And ya, there’s a another reason I say trust the universe. For in those four months, when there was no one to keep an eye on me, there were two boys. Who sat in the back bench with me. Who always managed to hang around me. Who somehow kept me out of trouble. And made me keep like someone cared.

I never kept in touch with them. I was so determined to get that phase behind me. But they were, for all purposes, my rebel phase guardian angels. Two tall, gangly, always on the verge of failing, 16 year old back benchers! Ha!

they're sharing a drink called loneliness, but it's better than drinking alone

Mumbai. Crowded. Teeming. Packed with possibilities. People. Things to do. Pubs. Theatre. Work hard, play hard.

And then the other Mumbai. Lonely. A vacant seat beside you. An empty apartment. Distances. Pressure. Keep smiling. Look bright all the while.

It’s scary. At eleven thirty on Saturday night my friend, let’s call her X, called me. She sounded like her voice was coming from far away. And all she said was, “ I think...it’ll be nice if you could come home...now.”

My heart sank. All the guilt I felt came rushing back. I had seen X spiral down and down for the last few months. And I had been so wrapped up in my own life that I had hoped it was just a phase.

There have been times when I’ve known this is not looking good. But I just haven’t been able make that connection. You see X and I used to be every close. We’ve been together through many ups and downs. Some times we’ve held on to each other. And sometimes we’ve been in the background, but always there.

Then something happened. And it wasn’t the same again. I knew things were not okay with her. But I couldn’t figure why she would not tell me. Or why she’d just try and brush it off, even when her eyes told me she was lying. I thought about talking to her, but then thought no, she needs her space...give it to her.

But sometimes people don’t need space. They need you to barge in on them and pull them out. Just grab them by the armpits and drag them out of the darkness.

So that night I knew it was my only chance. Not just to get X out of there. But also prove to myself that I wouldn’t let her down.

Anyway, that night I got X home. And this morning when I woke up and walked in to see her in the living room, bright eyed, tea on the gas, pottering about – I knew she’d be okay.

So I’m wondering. Sometimes you just need to talk. To tell someone what you’re feeling. But then we’re so pressurised – if you are not happy, you are a loser. So sometimes you’d rather lie, and try and pretend all is okay. In the bargain, getting more and more isolated.

And then sometimes you just want someone to hug you, to hold you, to tell you it’ll all go away. But then again you think, I’m a grown up adult. I can’t ask for that. The pressure to be strong, independent – sometimes does it get too much?

Finally as friends. You know when I was younger I never though about things like breathing space, barging in, not intruding. So why do I do it now? You are my friend, I think you need help...to hell with politeness...let me just help you, whether you like it or not.

Anyway I know X will come through. We made lists yesterday. And she’s already recognised how she’s feeling, and started taking the first steps to doing something about it.

I’m glad. Because I’ll be watching her closely. Ready to barge in this time.

friends and s

I have this notion of close friends.

We must share similar interests. In movies, or books or music. Or we should have similar backgrounds, the way we’ve grown up. We should hang out once in a while. Go to movies, dinner, meet up in the evenings. Talk work, talk shit, that kind of thing.

And most people i consider close friends fall into this slot.

But the thing is, there is no one i work with who seems to fall into this slot. Of course i have friends at work. But in my head they are work friends. Meet them at work, hang out, chat...and that’s it. I don’t hang out with them after work. If one of them left or got another job, i’d probably miss them for a day or two, and that’s about it. Life would happily go on.

but today, i realised all this close friend- office friend distinction aint that easy. and that's mostly coz of of s.

s and i work together. in fact we work as a team. and it's been like that for over two years now. we hang out together at work all day. we crib, we cry, we laugh. we talk about our childhood, our relationships, home, love, friends, parents. and now we've reached a stage where we can complete each other's sentences.

don't get me wrong. there's nothing faintly romantic about us. he's just the opposite of me. we don't have the same taste in food, music, books or movies. we never meet outside work, or for a movie or coffe or anything. we stand at opposite ends of the spectrum as far as our political views are concerned. in fact we have nothing in common, except we both love sweets and design blogs.

but ... that's just it. inspite of all this, we can't do without each other. if i go on leave, he's so glad to see me back. and if he goes on leave (which is hardly ever, told you we are different), i'm like "office feels so boring". we stand up for each other. we look out for each other. we know what the other person loves, fears, wants the most. and ya, if one one of us wears something new, the other one would notice straight off the bat. actually i wouldn't. but then told you, we're different.

then - we must be friends. not office friends, not close friends, not home friends. just really good friends.

so s, this post is for you. my most unlikely-to-be-my-friend friend!