Thursday, January 26, 2006

RD Memories

The date was 2nd Jan 2006.

The moment I drove past the big old Jacaranda tree with maroon and white stripes around its knotted midriff, I knew it. The tree has been standing strong for years, watching the years roll into decades, caching memories in its rings.

I wonder if the tree remembers a young gal running past it twice a day everyday for one whole year. She’d stop by the tree without fail, clutching her throbbing stomach while drawing loud raspy breaths of cold air into her heated lungs, squinting past the knotted trunk up towards the branches to see if there were flowers. She knew if there’d be flowers or not, but looked anyway. And all the while she’d count in her mind – 9, 10, 11…until one other girl ran past her. Then she’d reluctantly and silently bid adieu to the tree and start running again till she reached the designated post, to turn around and outrun the other girl. She never stopped by the tree on her way back.

I don’t know if the tree remembers me. But I remember everything…almost.

I remember how I loved the march-past at School. I absolutely loved being all stiff and angry looking, feeling important and patriotic, saluting Rev Fr D’Mello and Mrs Lobo, trying not to see the funny faces that the other girls from my class we pulling at me. My PT Master had selected just 3 girls from my class for the parade; the other girls were from the higher classes. I was so proud to be part of the team that I did not mind that I sometimes had to go to school a half an hour early or stay back late for practices. Come July, we’d start practice for the Independence Day march-past and come November we’d start practice for the Republic Day march-past. Republic Day was always more special, There were more activities, dances and such. The parade itself was longer and different, the band was bigger and we got motichur laddus instead of boring barfi. Once back at home, I’d watch the RD parade on TV wondering what fun the kids there might be having.

When in college I joined NCC. The first year was boring with identical drills and a camp with trenches for toilets, but the second year was an entirely different thing. Every morning my dad would drop me at this huge old bungalow at 5.00 am in the biting cold.



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We were about 50 young girls and we had to run 6 kms every morning. We were timed every single day and each day missed was recorded, so you could not fall sick. Or you fell sick but still ran…like I did. My dad would time me as well, just to stay busy during the 45 minutes we were gone. Once back from the run/race we’d have drill practice.

Now when I look back its amazing that I even wanted to run like that. I cannot believe that I went through so much physical pain just to be part of the RD parade.

I never made it through the selections for the coveted RD parade inspite of being the first at that final selection race. Maybe I was lacking in some other important aspect …I always found those rifles too heavy to run with and could never get up fast enough with all the funny gear. The good thing is that I was not too disappointed. My dad was relieved because he did not have to deal with early mornings anymore and had just my late evening dance practices to endure.

It’s been many years since all this happened. It’s been many years since I watched the parade on TV. This year we called family back home. I forgot to ask, but I am sure Ma hoisted the Flag at her college and dad at his….

I feel like some Motichur laddu…Oh and a Happy belated Republic Day!!



A few days ago while still in India I saw this on CNN-IBN. http://www.ibnlive.com/article.php?id=3497&section_id=3 (watch the video as well)

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

Bengalooru Bloggers - An introduction to Ananthu

After the initial 20 day euphoria of family and extended family, a very wonderful wedding (pictures of which you shall see later), I was suddenly left alone. Both mum and dad were at their respective colleges, I have no siblings to bicker and bond with and I was done with food and sleep. It almost seemed impossible!! How was I going to fill every day of the next 2 months of my stay in India with 12 hours with activities ? The activities had to be interesting too. But man was I worrying over nothing!!

The absolute first blogger I met was….(tatta da daa da ta daa da ta da – in the background plays the theme from Rocky)….ANANTHU. No prizes for guessing that!! So, here I was in the general area that he works in, running a few annoying errands and it happened to be lunch time and I was starving. We decided I’d park at his office and so that’s where we met - at the great big gate to his office building. He seemed to be completely at ease, he'd done this many times before with other people. Although I bet he was praying like mad that I was not this crazed junkie high on something other than coffee that was going to chop him up into tiny pieces and feed them to the goats right after lunch. Me…? Well I was more concerned about him. He was going to end up in pieces after all… ;-)

So he took me to this nice looking ‘new’ restaurant with sparkly lights and Italian marble flooring. As soon as we settled in, I mentioned to Ananthu this other restaurant in the same area that hubbs and I used to frequent years ago. He agreed they make great Oota (food). So, without wasting another hungry moment the two of us slid out of our seats and headed towards the noisier, more crowded, un-fancy Andhra style restaurant that serves amazing banana leaf food. (Sorry Ananthu, I still don’t remember the name of the ‘joint’, you will have to provide that) On the way there, Ananthu very nonchalantly said, “I actually thought of that place, but then thought you might not like it. I thought I’d take you to a more decent looking place at least the first time we met”. (gaaaawd, I feel deeply for the girls of Bengalooru!! He has every idea to impress them ladies minto-phress ishtyle, I am certain. Bechaari kudiyaan!!)

So we talked and joked and mentioned many times that we had to meet again and have a DSS meet as well. When back at the parking lot, Ananthu took me around to show me his new bike. And he could not find it because there were some 50 similar bikes in the same row. So after hunting it down, he eventually showed me the cool wheels and we discussed biking and such things and eventually focused on the uncomfortable looking seat. I asked if the pillion rider would be safe and Ananthu said, “who cares!” Double dang!! There went my hopes of a fun bike ride around the city with Ananthu! Apparently bikes like Ananthu’s are called bachelor bikes….I will let you draw your own conclusions about this, but just to point you in the right direction of my thoughts I will say that the term ‘Bachelor Bike’ has less to do with comfort for the pillion rider and more to do with the sudden brakes that the rider applies…..yeah you thought right!! Well, this is the age to play right??

After the vaahan darshan I quickly took down the mobile numbers of the other cool Bengalooru Bloggers and touched base with a few of them right there. I now recollect Pradz had a score to settle with Ananthu that first time I spoke with him…wonder if that was sorted out….Now that I have ‘bathhi hachhi-fied’ (lit the wick….hopefully to a new bomb…its a Kannada expression), my job for the first report is done…

There is still a lot more to say,
but for now ashte!! (ashte = That’s all/That’s it.)
Same time, some other day!!
Nimma preethiya Chay (Your loving Chay…. don’t gag on the corny stuff please!! Try and smile instead....) :-)

Friday, January 20, 2006

Nothing at all....

Really it’s nothing!
Nothing at all!

A raised eyebrow,
the beginning of a smile.
An unfinished sonnet,
a number to dial.
Scraps of papers
with scratchy old songs.
Broken dreams of
absolutely nothing

All the tiny nothings
gather to make a little
something, that makes my
foolish heart long and
ache for a reflection
of an old wild emotion
that now is nothing,
but scraps of empty images..

Really it’s nothing!
Absolutely nothing!

Sunday, January 08, 2006

Coffee shop stories

Jan 6th 2006, Bangalore.

Late as expected….is anyone ever on time in this city?? I stood there muttering to myself. I was partly annoyed because there was not a single place within the city that was actually quiet and had good coffee, at least none that I knew of. And of the two requirements – quiet and coffee, coffee seemed to be more important. After all isn’t that what people do when they are seeing someone after a long time….meet for coffee?? Well, he was not to blame, I was 10 minutes early. I decided to stop pacing and forced myself to sit and concentrate on my white porcelain cup of filter coffee.

And there, in that street side café, tucked away in a little island of privacy, protected by potted palms and loud honking, stood a young boy with his head hanging. She sat facing away from him and trying to be unobvious wiped away a lonely tear that had managed to break loose from the taut dyke in her heart.

The tear from his eye splashed loudly on the hard concrete floor…it sounded like a perfect piece of crystal disintegrating into a million tiny pieces. He was brave! He did not hide his brokenness or his lack of comprehension. Instead he just held her hand…she had offered it as a handshake. The age old dialogue of, “Let’s remain friends”, had been abused once again.

He was shaken up badly; he was staring at her in disbelief, trying to shake off what was happening. She seemed so certain, so in control, so darned certain of everything she was doing!!

But she was the vulnerable one. On her face was a sheer veil of steel and glass, and he could see that it was fake.... The frail façade melted his heart yet again and he sat her down. He took her face in his hands tenderly and looked deeply into her eyes, willing her to stay. The pain he inflicted gave him a cruel satisfaction. The remorse of having made it difficult for her took him by surprise and he let her look away. Confused and angry, he sat at her feet and put his head in her lap.

His tears stained her skirt with his bleeding heart. Her fingers strolled through his locks and left hot trails of young passion. She let his burning tears sear her flesh with fragrant memories. And he let her fingers sear his mind with her unsung songs.

They sat there soaking in every emotion, every moment. Unable to speak, unable to leave, unable to do anything but grieve a premature death…. I sat there watching dumbfounded, unable to look away.

What is it with coffee shops and heartbreaks anyway?? There is a story in every cup of coffee. In one cup is a heartbreak and in another a reunion. I wonder how much coffee there is in this world.

From behind the foolish young couple that was letting go of life so easily, walked a familiar frame...a face that looked just a little different…and a smile that was absolutely exactly the same.

We stood there looking at each other and laughing for what seemed like the entire decade and a half that had lapsed between us. The hug assured us both that we would make up for the time we had lost…that nothing much had changed except time. The noises from the traffic and the radio were now lost in the laughter of childhood friends….We sat across the table, neither of us could speak. We just let the silence between us make new music…make our feet dance again…make us the same children once again….

Behind my friend in red and purple lettering was written, 'a lot can happen over coffee'

I love coffee shops!!!