Now on...

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1 to 5 in Goa.

So far, via the much maligned HTC phone camera.

1. Jan Shatabdi

Looking for the Sun

Fairytale

About 4-5 years back, my friend Urvi was kind enough to enroll me along with her in a volunteer program to teach 9-10^th standard underprivileged children through this NGO called Prerana. What made these children “underprivileged” was that they were all born to sex workers or prostitutes in the red-light district area of Kamathipura in Mumbai, India. To be honest, more than opportunity to teach those children, I was truly fascinated with the idea of visiting Kamathipura on a weekly basis and may be getting a chance to talk to these women just out sheer banal curiosity.

First a bit about Prerana. I am always a bit cynical about NGOs. Don’t take me wrong, they are doing something that we all just probably will be fortunate to even be a small part of. But I am apprehensive of the holier than thou images of NGOs. Anyhow, I don’t want to justify this by any means. Prerana is probably the only NGO so far that I respect from all my heart and soul. They do some absolutely incredible and solid work in one of the most difficult spaces to deal with. They provide education, stay, guidance and most importantly, an alternative lease of life to the children of sex workers. I truly respect them.

Urvi and I used to go there post work about two times in a week. We would usually go while there was sunlight and come out from the school when the night was beginning to open its eyes wide awake. Over those few months, we had heard some despicable, some incredible and some absolutely life changing stories from those children. We both had our favorites. We both were fan of this one girl who defined what having potential meant. She was the brightest of them all. And on a few days she would come with all her signature enthusiasm but tears in her eyes. After maneuvering one day, she told us “they” were going to get her married off in a few months or so. Urvi and I looked at each other and wondered was there any way we could kidnap her out of there. This other 13-14 year old girl who was also quite good in studies was way too happy to be engaged and just wanted to finish all this off and settle down with her would be husband. We often thought she might actually be sad about it but she really wasn’t. Some of the students used to come with this fire in their eyes and some couldn’t be bothered. There was this one boy who, after days and days of tutoring and frustration, I realized was dyslexic. I actually figured out for the first time what dyslexic was. I started giving him more and more attention. He made a sincere effort while other boys in the group laughed at him.

The room was always lit up with a white tube light and there were chatais on the floor. We would often have to wait for at least 20 minutes before the children started pouring in. Sometimes there would be just a couple of students and sometimes as many as 15 would land up in that tiny ghostly room. After we would get done, they were preparing the night beds and food for some of the smaller children who spent the night in the schools while their mothers were working. A couple of times, some of the mothers visited the school while we there and they would have this look of awe and pride in their eyes.

We only taught there for a few months till their final exams which we were told that everybody cleared. Yay!

Early this year, someone from the NGO got in touch with Urvi and invited her and me to an exhibition that was taking place in JJ School of Art and Architecture. They were portraits of the kids (shadows/backs etc.) and some of the inspiring stories. After seeing the exhibition, we asked the woman (Preeti Iyer, Project Director) who has coordinated with us for everything about the girl we thought was probably the most intelligent girl we had ever met. Had she gotten married? Where was she now?

She didn’t get married. She was selected in this scholarship program to go and study medicine in another city.

And you thought there were no fairytales in life.

This was it. Magical. Real.

   

      

Envious

Happy new year.

By the way, I am going to be updating this blog much more often now.

I started the new year's on a great and on a low note. My work situation right now is possibly what work dreams are made of. I am a freelancer now with some fixed work. On my own time. On my own space. On my own vibe. I am moving out of my (still) beloved Bombay next month. Moving to Goa to start off with, then hometown Delhi, and then wherever.

I recently had a married friend telling me that she is extremely envious of my life. To be honest, sometimes, I am envious of the person I really want to be. I am full of contradictions and I am crafted out of extremes. The extreme that actually does want to live this pure and natural vagabond life, with no strings and almost no "sins" attached is the person I am envious of. The person I still am is still far far away from this despite of doing everything that I do. My heart still lingers way too much at places, at people. Sometimes, places and people I barely know. And I still struggle with ways to express myself in ways other than too blatantly honest or completely vague. I can't hold people I actually love too comfortably. I get unbelievably awkward when my closest friend or my mother hugs me. I have only had the most honest conversations of my life with complete strangers.

I am always running away. That's one extreme. And yet constantly yearning for what I am running away from. That's the other.    
  

Birthday Girl

Happy Holidays

2013

Yet another year to close. Yet another wonderful year to close. Can I say some random year ending stuff? I am presuming you have said, 'Why, yes of course. We are all dying to know how the year was for you personally and the entire world is waiting to hear all your random, weird, almost nauseating thoughts of the year'. 

So there we go. 

I finally fulfilled my wish of visiting London. I loved London. I think I more or less fall in love with almost every place I visit. I felt I matured a lot even as an amateur traveller. I knew exactly what I wanted to do on most days which also included a whole lot of aimless walking around the city.  I remember this one day, I had gone to a small town called Egham, an hour and a half's drive from London, to my friend's university. After she went for her lecture (she is a professor), I ventured forth like a predictably excited migratory bird. So usually my experience has been that if I keep walking and walking, I am bound to discover something really cool, even mindblowing at times. So I kept walking and walking and after about half an hour I realised I have gone completely off track and have come to a highway of sorts. Then I turned back and started walking again. Before I was about to reach my friend Kopal's university, I found a pretty left with pretty houses. I took the left and started walking. I went to this spectacular cemetery as the winter sun grazed my skin and flowers bowed over loved ones' graves. I have been to at least six cemeteries in Europe so far and every time I am inside it, I feel weird. I feel almost scared. But I also feel a deep sense of calm and a sense of being (weirdo). I love the messages on the tombstones. I love the flowers, flower pots. I love the little paraphernalia of each grave. Anyhow, I then walked into a local coffee shop. Sat near a window, had half of a sandwich and coffee. Walked into another right, found a local arts and crafts shop, found some really beautiful houses. Walked ahead and found a huge park. Sat there for hours, finished the leftover sandwich and made a terrible sketch of a house I could see on my left. 

And by the time I was done with all of this, it was just 2 pm. I don't know what I am trying to say. When you are in a wonderfully strange new place, something happens to time. I love big cities but they eat up time. They swallow time and leave no traces of it. But in smaller towns, time walks next to you, tickles you, plays with you. I love that. I love the feeling that it is possible to hold time in your hands. And mix it with all the beautiful things around you and you are bound to be amazed by what you feel. It really does feel something. Trust me.  

London was London. So handsome. And so wonderfully reckless at places. Full of art. Full of passion.

Moving on. I celebrated my 29th birthday with my parents. I was with my parents on my birthday after some eight odd years. There was absolutely no plan except that my parents had booked their train tickets two months in advance to be with me on my birthday this year. They wanted to surprise me but then they gave in. So when they came, we decided on this impromptu, completely impulsive trip to this place called Jadhavgadh Fort, a little outside of Pune, recommended by my friends Urvi and Nikhil. It's a fort turned into a hotel. We stayed there for a night and left the next morning. All we did on day one was to explore the place (My dad makes fun of me for trying to "explore" everything). At the cost of sounding sentimental, the most brilliant part of the entire trip was to look at my mom and dad trying to work out the photos and videos on their mobile cameras. My mom was the last entrant from the family in the cell phones department. You should have seen her working that camera. Focus. Clarity. My god! At the end, she realised most for her pictures never got clicked since there was no memory in the phone. But she was just brilliant any which ways. She quickly hopped onto my camera. My dad was working on his newly acquired video making skills. They were a sight, both of them. Precious. 

Look what my friend Arundhati wrote for me on my birthday. "My beautiful, wish you a fantastic birthday. I wish you a year of travels, stories and poems. A year speckled with bright mornings and dark coffee. White boys and scarlet drinks. Engaging encounters and careless abandon. Lots of love to you."

Lovely right?

And now you wana see something cool (okay my kinda cool), my another soulmate friend (and role model) Anu wrote this message for me: "....Wishing so many things for you on this glorious day sista sparkles...red wine, cake with too many candles, good company, endless abandon, and a lotta love!"

Notice something? Two of my closest friends, who don't really know each other, but know me, wished me careless and endless abandon. How fucking cool is that!!

Oh, I got introduced to Roald Dahl (yes, yes, as usual, I am late to the party but at least the party is still on). I read Kiss Kiss, given to me by my friend Clare. I love the mischievousness. I love the comic darkness. I love the twists, the bends and the spunky knots. 

Also, thanks to the motivation of some of lovely friends, been editing/polishing some of my own short stories written over the years. I want to do something cool and fun with them. Working towards it. 

I want to go to Greece next year. 

I also want my friend Anu to have a boyfriend soon only so she can write a lovely poem and I can read it. 

Thought of the Day

My Wall Project

The landlady is going to be angry. Very angry.

I’ll be damned, it’s been a good year

"I don’t believe in optimism. I believe in optimal behavior. That’s a different thing. If you behave every day of your life to the top of your genetics, what can you do? Test it. Find out. You don’t know—you haven’t done it yet. You must live life at the top of your voice! At the top of your lungs shout and listen to the echoes. I learned a lesson years ago. I had some wonderful Swedish meatballs at my mother’s table with my dad and my brother and when I finished I pushed back from the table and said, God! That was beautiful. And my brother said, No, it was good. See the difference?

Action is hope. At the end of each day, when you’ve done your work, you lie there and think, Well, I’ll be damned, I did this today. It doesn’t matter how good it is, or how bad—you did it. At the end of the week you’ll have a certain amount of accumulation. At the end of a year, you look back and say, I’ll be damned, it’s been a good year."

Ray Bradbury via Paris Review

One

(At Trafalgar Square, London)

At Carters

What happens in a cup of coffee

“The ordinary-sized stuff which is our lives, the things people write poetry about—clouds—daffodils—waterfalls—what happens in a cup of coffee when the cream goes in—these things are full of mystery, as mysterious to us as the heavens were to the Greeks.”

Tom Stoppard

A letter for Ms Blobfish

Dear Blobfish, 

They have no idea what they are talking about. They just wanted to use you as a mascot, without paying you any commission and that's why they thought it would be funny to call you the ugliest animal in the world. Plus whatever said and done, just forgive the  Ugly Animal Preservation Society. They are actually kind of trying to do something good by trying to preserve your kind. Please ignore the silly method. 

You just know how fucking cool you are. You are not grumpy. You are just a bit serious and thus you are always lost in thought, pondering over life's big questions. They will shut the hell up once they know the brilliant insights you have about the age old existential dilemmas. The late Mr. Samuel Beckett would have loved to chat with you and get inspired! I am not ruling out a possibility for coffee and conversation with the late Kafka too. If Murakami wasn't so obsessed with cats, he would be obsessed with you. You get the point right. 

And please, you are so not lazy. You are just what they call 'chilled out'. I mean what are they even talking about. Your food walks upto you! Like, just how amazing is that!! You are almost divine man. Just try and not disappear. 

And come on, you of all the animals know that this world is so transitory. Next year, the tag of world's ugliest animal will go to some other poor being. And I know you are too proud and intelligent to ever feel sorry for yourself.  Enjoy all the publicity. Like they say, all publicity is good. 

So stay cool man. Just stay cool

Lovingly yours,

Me 

  

Anti- Manic Depressives

I recently was telling someone that it is hard to remember the last time I was this insanely almost peaceful and happy the way I have been since the last few months. Happiness can be very addictive. It is light and it has a sense of surreal calm about it. It feels sweet like a nap after a glass of wine in the afternoon. I have been having way too much fun with it. It wasn’t easy to get used to it initially. But once I did...oh man!

However, obviously, to say the least, this is life. Things constantly change for better or for worse and all that shit. Suddenly the road leading to some great anticipated adventure suddenly folds up or takes a sudden sharp turn and all that shit. It is easy (and I did for a bit) to get crushed. Unhappiness is always right around the corner, waiting for you to slip right in, feel miserable, recall all the crappy things that have ever happened to you since the moment you were born (Yeah, I am wired weirdly), curse all the men that inhabit this planet and all that shit. It sometimes makes me write better but now I have realised that I am now learning to write averagely well even without being depressed. Also, when I am unhappy, it is usually much more difficult for me to take decisions (I often end up using shampoo on my loofah and coffee in my tea which leads to a lot of practical wastage), to decide what to wear for work, to listen to other people, to look out of the taxi window and feel the wind and little snippets of life floating all around! And last but not the least, ALL the bad decisions in my life can be attributed to this little monster. And it is absolutely fatal when it mixes with alcohol.

So basically, I am on a mission. I cannot afford to be unhappy. It sounds like a sloppy philosophical statement, but I am not going on that road again. Even if it is hard work and requires a very rational process (I am watching a lot of Dexter and Alfred Hitchcock Presents these days to stay inspired), staying happy is fun. And totally worth it. I am not saying I am not slipping. Constantly.

Life has a weird way of punching you on your nose (mine sometimes literally does that by making me fall on my nose in my own house) but the idea is to just cry a little, get up, clean up and put on a band-aid and move fucking on.  

On another note, I think I will make a highly shady and questionable motivational speaker. 

Special mention on this post: My more than dearest friend, one of my soulmates and my anti-manic depressive machine-- Prinki (Priyanka Pereira). Only she will understand this reference. Rest of you, carry on and check out delicious semi-naked Don Draper (Jon Hamm) below. 

   

  

The Summer Man

Past

(Via: tumblr.com)

There it was.

Between the wavy red cloth covered ceiling, reminiscent of the romance and pathos of a circus and a staid old fashioned chandelier. Between one beer and one cigarette. Between the table cloth with check prints, stuffed under a heavy glass and the music weirdly alternating between heavy jazz and hip hop, suddenly there it was. A feeling of being fully alive; life was jumping and dancing right in the pit of her stomach, running up her legs, arms and neck. It lasted just for a minute or two probably, but nevertheless there it was. 

About Last Night

(via: carrieparry.com)