Through the windshield!

I’ve realized that I’ve spent a lot of my time in life commuting. While in Mumbai it was the bone-crushing but a fantastically efficient system called the ‘local’ – a railway system non pareil for myriad reasons. Will not enumerate. The ‘BEST’ bus network was another mode of transport which offered me its shoulder for most part of my life.

Now in this city, I’ve spent a lot of time driving. Acquired a set of wheels here and learnt the finer nuances of clutching and braking and steering life on course (or away from it) here. Have spent a lot of time observing life through the windshield and writing in my head.

Like…
She lies there. Her midnight black skin, stretched out straight and narrow, pock marked, weathered, with her laughter lines and crow’s feet, a face of character.
She lies there, mute, not a pip-pip from her. Watching the rock and roll of life. Macadamia.

She swirls her skirt. Speckled with sunshine. Patterned with leaves during autumn. Suddenly dancing like a dervish. Full of joie de vivre. And then cowering near the kerb. Rock and roll of life thundering past is way too much for her fragile nerves. Dust.

Quilted, glorious and comforting. Like silent sentinels. Like the knights of King Arthur or the 3 musketeers, ‘all for one and one for all’. Silently watching humanity’s evolution (on wheels) and probably raising their arms heavenwards in silent prayer. Sheltering the same humanity arms akimbo. Sometimes lying asunder grievously injuring the same humanity. Mood swings galore. Canopy of greens.

Children tapping on the tinted glasses - the 'roll-it-up' facade - quick before anyone sees, hurry, the world's knocking. Entreating you to buy their wares – cleaning cloth, roses, toys, books, hands free sets, sun shades – sometimes just asking for alms. Leaving you groping for answers. Palpable misery. The signal turns green. Time to move on.

Hopping in happiness. Holding hands. Smiling. Dressed uniformly. Oblivious of the chaos. Focused on reaching a goal. Tiny tots going to school.

The old. The not so old. The young ‘uns who want to make an impression. Regulators (beleaguered traffic cops) desperately trying to make way – method in the madness? Other vehicles. Carrying dreams. Hopes. Goals. Life.

Meandering along the lanes and bylanes of life, whatever wrong turns you might take, how many ever ‘no parking’ tickets you might collect, we’re all headed in one direction. The ultimate truth awaits. End of the road.

PS – For those who don’t know, the previous post had lyrics of the song ‘Faithfully’ by the group Journey. That was not poetry by yours truly as some erroneously believed. Ain’t that gifted folks! (Of course you might have noticed that am under the erroneous assumption that I am 'gifted' - didn't I ever say somewhere that I'm a pompous old bitch?)

Ocean’s 12 sucks. Brad Pitt, George Clooney and Matt Damon rule. Drool.

Someone totally unexpected leaves a comment on my blog. It has me frothing. Should take a break from blogging. Alternatively, just get rid of my blog. Keep it someplace else. All this only because I don't want flak, am afraid of adverse criticism and am afraid of knowing the painful truth. I need to have my head examined.

Want to so believe James Blunt when he sings, 'You're beautiful' - just ruefully shake my head and go 'comfortably numb' and roam the 'streets (that) have no name' and however much I try 'elevation' I know I still 'haven't found what I'm looking for'. Guess 'everybody hurts'.

Journey!

Highway run
Into the midnight sun
Wheels go round and round
You’re on my mind
Restless hearts Sleep alone tonight
Sendin’ all my love Along the wire
They say that the road Ain’t no place to start a family
Right down the line It’s been you and me
And lovin’ a music man
Ain’t always what it’s supposed to be
Oh girl you stand by me
I’m forever yours...faithfully
Circus life Under the big top world
We all need the clowns
To make us smile Through space and time
Always another show
Wondering where I am Lost without you
And being apart ain’t easy
On this love affair
Two strangers learn to fall in love again
I get the joy Of rediscovering you
Oh girl, you stand by me
I’m forever yours...faithfully
Oh, oh, oh, oh
Faithfully, I’m still yours
I’m forever yours

Driving home from work. Radio is my Nostalgia Harbinger. What a Journey!
And now David Gray. On radio. Remember rewinding the cassette umpteen times listening to a particular song 4 months ago. How soon yesterday has become history. Whoa!

Another visit to KL coming up. Another 'so what's up for New Year?' coming up. Another year of Hope. Faith. Life. Coming up. Hope Love too rises from the throes of deep slumber. Ahem!

Sometimes God knows exactly what I want. But only sometimes.

I wish...

Egads!

(Words that appear minus this introduction, and the FAQs are to be imagined as appearing staccato style in American Typewriter Font – like the captions that appear when a CIA Top Secret, destiny-altering Mission zeroes in to the Pentagon where some desperately-trying-to-look-serious broad shouldered, blonde and sometimes cigar chomping men are purportedly trying to save the world)

Circa : 2005
Soul HQ: Inside the cavernous tunnels of a befuddled mind
Mood: Stark
SOM Preference: Shaken, sometimes serene but mostly salivating with curiosity about the whys and why nots and straight on the rocks (For those not in the know – SOM stands for State of Mind)

FAQs for the Day:

Q) When was the last time you did something for the first time? (One of the most beautiful lines methinks for an airlines ad. It has a world of meaning.)

Q) What drives men to achieve records even when they’ve been there done that and have it all, so it seems?
Discovery’s 2005 retrospective on Global Flyer with Steve Fossett setting a non-stop around the world record in an experimental aircraft with Sir Richard Branson’s Virgin Atlantic funding the project is a case in point.

Q) What drives men to accept bribes just to table questions in Parliament?

Q) Why do we Indians not have the scientific temper? Does everything boil down to the socio-economic fabric of this race and the country? Are we doomed to wrestle with questions on the ‘coming up now’ of a D’halli airport or a fly-over or a Metro rail or a dam over 4 or 5 great states and rivers that will displace tens of thousands and submerge hectares of fertile land?
Oh damn!

Am sure we’ve got a list of achievements in the 50+ years since the colonizers left us to our own destiny. I’m sure I will find it, it’s just that I’m too busy asking FAQs for the day, battling with a perpetually embittered SOM, cursing the traffic situation and errant and mindless drivers who seem hell-bent on causing a dent and generally changing gears to live life. You bet I’m on edge! But am sure it’s all there yup, all there, just got to look for it.


Q) Why does my back hurt me so?

Q) Why can’t I remember a single music video of recent times which shows India in a good light instead of bare naked ladies gyrating and pouting and letting it all hang out? Well I’ve got to think of some video that shows a blend of the cultural diversity and modernity of India of this century or some client somewhere will feel very let down. Sigh!

Q) Why does bread with some mozzarella cheese, vegetable toppings and about 15 cm in diameter cost an arm and a leg? So what if it originated in Italy, it’s still too much dough!

Q) Why don’t I just stop my car, turn my blemished face towards the eternal sky, feel the rain drenching my skin, spread my arms wide and say ‘Yes!’? Where is the girl who once stood atop the bonnet of a car along with 2 of her college friends and danced to music blaring from the sound system of the car, beside a kerb, with the sea rhythmically pounding to the beat ,on the other side of the divide, with passers by wondering ‘hey they’re mad, but they’re alive’? I was alive then. I am alive now. But there’s a difference.

...Sooraj Ki Antim Kiran Se Sooraj Ki Pehli Kiran Tak – yes Surendra Verma (author of the play, which was not very artful or dramatic, produced by Neena Gupta, well known TV artiste), thank you for acknowledging a woman’s sexuality – we like sex too. Why should we turn pink if someone sings, ‘Let’s talk about sex baby, let’s talk about you and me’. But I wonder! is it the turn of men to turn pink nowadays, especially in the urban milieu? It's the AXE effect.
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Q) Why am I not beautiful to look at? (And for that someone who says he’d dance with me again if he could… that just means I don’t have BO nor two left feet, but thanks for cheering me up, and hey, I’ll accept the compliment)

Circa: 3005
Soul HQ: All heart
SOM: Eternal sunshine, sitting on a bubble, plucking fluff off clouds like candy floss and saying 'wheeeeeee!' coasting down the rainbow (the pot of gold has been found see!)


PS – if anyone ever questions the relation between the title and the post following it, my repartee to that would be ‘Shrug!’

M..mm…mmm…mmmm!

Books. More books. And yet some more. At heavily discounted prices. Mmmmmmmmm!!

(Encountering the book-shop owner and primary sponsor of the exhibition and remarking, ‘Vidya, give me two years and I’m going to approach you…’ (interrupted by Vidya) ‘you’re going to write a book!’ ‘That too (with a smile in the voice), but am going to ask you for a job. I love to be among books. May not read all of them, but the sheer pleasure of being ensconced in the cocoon of words.’ Unleashing my soul to books that bewitch, beckon and bewilder by their sheer breadth, width and depth of topics. So much to read, so little time. I bought copious amounts of printed papyrus and felt the familiar feeling of intense almost nirvana-like satisfaction. Robert Frost, Toni Morrison, Shashi Tharoor, Evelyn Waugh, Henry James, Kurt Vonnegut, Hari Kunzru, Jeanette Winterson and some more now nestle safely, comfortably, jostling for space in my book-cupboard and above my trunk against the wall, waiting patiently for me to discover the worlds they hold within. ‘Unlock’ scream the creases of the written word. Gasp and then soak in the fragrance of ideas, imagination and be intrigued by a whole new world of words. Always words. A book about the importance of words is also among one of my purchases incidentally. )

Dinner with girl friends. Lots of talk. Sharing. Mm!

(It’s amazing how every time you bid adieu to a work place, colleagues become friends. Men and women with whom you’ve shared work spaces, frustrations, and some part of your life become your buddies. It’s so easy to disseminate the ‘friends’ from the acquaintances and colleagues. It’s so easy to distinguish those who like you for who you are from those who were mere pretenders. It’s so easy to separate the chaff from the grain. It’s such a relief to ‘see’. All that hurt and pain and agony and agonizing over people who never cared seems such a desecration of valuable time. Nothing’s a waste though. I’ve learnt and that’s all that matters.)

Coffee with chocolate sauce, paani puris (aka puchkas, gol gappas in other parts of the country), ras malai with boy friends. Lots of talk. Laughter. Exchange of thoughts. Mmm!

(I have the gift of the gab methinks! So much so that no one else need ever bother about wondering what to say ever! I can fill in the blanks for everyone around and be a crashing bore! Geez! how much I talk? Is it some innate hidden desire to be heard? Or to be understood? God knows! The listeners am sure, want to stuff my mouth with the wicked brownie with chocolate sauce drizzled over topped with nuts winking sexily, to just choke me into silence! Ha ha. Maybe I need to pepper my inane and banal talk with some Robin Sharmaesque ‘inspirational’, ‘moving’, ‘dazzling’, isms about life and all the truths we so desperately seek. Morons that we are, little do we realize that there is only one ‘ultimate truth’. I love this quote from the book I now proudly own called ‘Ideas’ courtesy above mentioned book fair – ‘There are no whole truths; all truths are half-truths. It is trying to treat them as whole truths that plays the devil’ – Alfred North Whitehead. I concur!)

Proof-reading. Fire-fighting. Arguing. Convincing. Reacting. Checking. Agreeing. Hrmmmmmmmph!!!

(Leading or heading a bunch of egos, sensitivities, and attitudes and infusing in them a passion and commitment for what they do is tough. I have to remind myself that leadership doesn’t come easy. I will never know if I’m a good one, brilliant one or a no-good wimp till I quit or die. Both are a given at this point in time…:). It’s just a matter of time. Till such time, what can one do…but steer ahead of, steer clear and steer clean the same egos, sensitivities and attitudes and keep fingers and toes crossed? Hail the Leader! Responsibility can be a milestone or a millstone. I’m gunning for the former. Wish me luck.)

Watching ‘Timeline’ the movie (based on a wonderfully exciting book by Michael Crichton). Checking credit card bills. Ideating. Writing. Mmm? Hmmm!

(Read the book. Get transported.)

Driving. Replaying a particular song. Humming. The lyrics are enchanting. Left wondering, ‘why is it that this group’s happy songs sound sad? Is it because H & S (happiness and sadness) are two sides of the same coin?’ Er...mm?? Mmm…ok!

(Coldplay’s ‘X & Y’ presented by Bunty rides with me to work and back. Chris’s sonorous, slightly nasal voice reaches out to me assuring me that he will ‘fix you’. Well, all the best Chris, happy fixing!)

2.00 am on a Saturday. Mmmm???!!!! …:) mmmm! Hrmph? Tch tch!

Mmmm!

Flight of Thought

(Or Thought of Flight?). Today was a thought-full day.

Flight to Mumbai. Stray thoughts crowd the mind.

Thought #1:
Flying Economy is seriously cramped. Getting either an aisle or window seat is bad. That leaves you in the middle. Which is also bad. Ugh!

Thought #2:
Why does one never ever get a good looking travel companion (male please, am not queer yet, though am thinking of indulging in some same sex ha ha ha – it’s called female bonding) sitting beside you and that instant chemistry and sparks flying a la Mills & Boon? Damn!

Thought #3:
Looking down at the hills on the descent to Mumbai, awed by nature and its magnificence, and imbued with some sadness at the encroachment of its bastions by the human race. Will we ever leave anything or anyone alone?

Thought # 4:
“The temp. outside is –46 deg C (ooooooh! That must be br! Er. Couldn’t get the complete brrrrrrrr …..out – it froze in mid-air). We are flying at 35,000 ft. above mean sea level at 850 kph. That is 75% the speed of sound.” Sorry? Come again. 75% of the speed of sound? So obviously below the speed of sound? Speed of sound? Why this piece of info? Hmmmmm!

Thought # 5:
“Jet Airways is associated with ‘Save the Children’ so please feel free to donate by cash or credit card to a noble cause”. Sure lady. Just one thought? Save the children from what? For what? What do I give my child if and when I have my own? What are we giving the Subhan Alis of the world? It’s a question that troubles me.

Thought # 5:
“Waiting to read your blog. Please write something over the weekend. Write something happy.” “There’s so much pain in what you write.” (Two different people. Friends I have known for a very long time. One of who knows me ever since college. My bosom buddy. The other? A friend going back many many years.) So I am painful or pain-full. Maybe I should write something joy-full.

Thought # 6:
Heard the author of ‘The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari’ – Robin Sharma. Saw him and heard him. Did a few things that he asked us to do in his ‘Leadership Excellence’ lecture at the event. Massaged the person in front of me, danced, waved, except hugged the person in front of me (I couldn’t bring myself to hug a middle-aged stranger who seemed he’d die of shock if I did do such a thing – though come to think of it, he was taken aback when I did put my hands on his shoulder to massage but didn't completely shy from it and he did the same to me and I to the person in front of me when we turned the other way…not bad actually…) and thought, ‘shucks this dude makes so much money out of saying what we already know, and he’s so good looking. Dammit!’

So what did Mr. Sharma espouse? Live with passion. (I do). Be curious (I am). Start small (I’ve started from wee sir!). Take time to think (Sorry, that’s a luxury that I’ve not been allowed. And when I do think, it’s been detrimental to my mental equilibrium. Bottom line? Think? Me? Er…sorry? Eggjactly!). Yaaaaawn! Anything new Mr.Sharma besides the fact that you blog, the name of your website, your frequent references to your book, to yourself, to the potential business with visiting cards waiting for your ‘enlightened’ vision, your incredible children, your incredible family and basically a lot of you, more you and some? You’re good looking, sensitive, narcisstic, commercial, shrewd, and ‘I’m no guru, but I strongly believe’ types. The world buys into you. So who gives a hoot right? If someone wants to sell his Ferrari, it's fine by anybody right? You have yours and that's cool right Robin?

Thought #7:
“You’re creative. Your cards say so.” Well, mmm…ah, er, ok. If the cards say so, who am I to argue? …Let me drink a toast to the cards…J

Thought # 8:
Mumbai is crazy, worse than ever. But I still call it my city. I still remember crazy times. Hazy times. Lazy times. Frenzy times. Lots of times. Oh yes. It will always be my city. For better or for worse.

8 thoughts is quite a thought-full ain’t it? A flight-full of thoughts. Thought of taking flight. To somewhere. To nowhere. But life beckons. Always.

PS – This ain’t a happy blog, but would it be categorized as pain-full? Let me know. Good night.

Merci Beaucoup Dieu!

Thank you very much dear God! Thank you.

Friends. I could write an ode to and for my friends. For each and every one of them. (I know I've written about friends before on this blog. So what? I can never write enough about them).

Today. Unlike many yesterdays.
The sheer helplessness. The complete hopelessness.
No sign of the wintry afternoon.
Only clouds of darkness.
A glass window separating the ground, three floors below, from a mind, ready to jump and lead the soul to higher ground.
Desperation. Clawing at my innards.
Fingers curled up into tight fists of agony.
And then the sheer need to vent some spleen. To open the sluice gates and let the tears drown the cheeks, wet the lips, flow into the neck, resting on the breast. Oh to hear a warm, cherished, comforting and loving voice. To heave a sigh! To share a hug. To be ensconced in the womb of love and hope and joy and friendship.

A simple plea to friends. Just a text message. And familiar voices begin flowing irrespective of the distance. At times like this you thank man and God for giving us language. Words always words. Such a double edged sword. Today they were comforting and assuaging a ravaged soul.

Messages of love and support and encouragement flowed in. And I thanked the Maker. I will continue to thank Him. For giving me the friends I have. My God! Or should I say Gods! I have truly done something good at sometime, maybe in my previous birth, maybe my karma must be good, something, anything to give me the friends I have. Every one of them. Not all friends mind you, are encouraging and supporting and eloquent. Doesn't matter. We all have inadequacies. And it's these imperfections that make us so beautiful. Thank God for them.

I have said it before, I don't say it often. But man oh man, I love you. Every one of you. And you won't know how much. And I thank God for all of you in my life. Again and again and again and again.

I raise a toast to Thee!

Merci beaucoup dieu! (Is dieu the correct French word for God?)...:) (I aim for perfection ha ha ha!)