Uppu's smile

As far as I can remember she always had the corner room in the huge tharavad across the Mahe railway bridge and maybe around a 100 metres from the river. She'd be up at the crack of dawn, opening the windows, on the side of her bed, to the fresh smell of an early morning spell of rain, the cackling of a myriad birds and the cold winds blowing through the iron grills. The windows opening to the inner courtyard would be opened by her youngest daughter who slept in the same room along with her kids. She would then make it to the adjoining room, looking for her eldest daughter, and gently lift her legs across the maze of doorways and corridors to come on to the veranda. Large beams supported the extensive veranda with a raised platform on either sides. But her favourite seat was the reclining cane chair. It was her place to be early in the morning and late evenings, until the Maghrib azaan sounded. Sometimes her eldest daughter would bring her tea and biscuits (or eggs, banana fry, rusks) – as is ritual to have before breakfast once you got up in that tharavad – to the verandah. But otherwise she would nimbly make her way back across to the hall adjoining her room and have a seat at the dining table. Groggily, us cousins would also join her, when we were all together during vacations, to have the same tea and biscuits or eggs or banana fry or rusks. But she would see that we always got a treat when nobody was looking. She had chocolates or treats hidden under her bed or her one door almirah, and we would take it with eager hands and chomp on them when the adults would disappear from the room. All the while a mischievous warm smile on her face.

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One day, she got angry. A cousin and myself hadn't prayed Isha'a. But we insisted we had. An argument ensued between us and our respective moms. That was when she came into the room with her light cotton bath towel, twisted to form a tight rope like whip. She never threatened, and whipped the towel on the table, very calmly asking us to go and pray. We stopped the ruckus immediately, no questions asked, and headed straight to the raised platform in the veranda and prayed. I don't think we ever saw that side of hers ever after that. After the prayers, she called us to her room. No menacing scowl awaited us, but just a warm smile synonymous to her and the slight gesture of the chocolate that magically made it's way into our hands.

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The tharavad's no more. She is in a corner room again, but the window next to her bed has been replaced by a split AC above her bed. There is another bed in the same room for one of her daughter's to sleep in. The age old doors, rickety stairs, rocky earthen floors, heavy wooden ceilings and the forest in the front and back have been replaced by concrete blocks all around. But she is happy her kids are happy. The last time I had visited her, in May, she held my hand, reminiscent of the 'treat' giving days and slowly placed a 100 rupee note in my hand and asked me to buy something for myself. She smiled and talked to me like the child i was, her memories playing see-saw, while I held on to her hands and reassured her that I will definitely take care of mom and agreed on finding somebody for myself. She intermittently mistook me for my dad, and the next moment asked me when he would come to see her.

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There was dancing, singing and a lot of merriment. She adorned a light cotton saree for the August wedding of her youngest daughter's son. She liked sitting outside, but ill-health usually saw her subjected to just the inner room. But that night was for celebration. And she found herself sitting outside in the same old cane recliner beaming at all that was happening in front of her. People went, people came, she talked, she clapped hands to the the aunts singing around the groom, she kissed foreheads and her sons, daughters, grandkids – everyone was there.

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Today the gentle smile bids adieu. Today the treats cease. Today we pray for her soul.

Rest in peace Uppuma.

From Then to Now

Three years to this day, I walked out of Terminal 1D with a large red and a small green bag, heading to the Puducherry house in Chanakyapuri. Who would have known it would be so long, so far, so good. From the green of the army cantonment to the dust and keechad of Batla House to the French window Malluland to the nomadish life to the settling in with the Christian family – it has been quite the search for the perfect home. From corresponding via ‘I just donno whaay’ to almost getting killed on Diwali to the crazy French parties to the stolen kisses in the corridors to the innumerable recording and shootings to the setting sun’s golden paint falling on the day to the travails of a writer across the country to the intense moments in foreign Indian locales – the friends and the lovers and the frenemies and the loathed and the everyone in between – the experience has been nothing short of unforgettable.

Year four. It won’t be long. Time for Frank Sinatra to take over:

“I can't stop lovin' you

So I've made up my mind

To live in memory

Of old lonesome times

I can't stop wantin' you

It's useless to say

So I'll just live my life

In dreams of yesterday

Those happy hours

That we once knew

Though long ago

Yeah they make me feel blue

They say that time

Heals a broken heart

But time has stood still

Since we've been apart

I can't stop lovin' you

Yes so I've made up my mind

To live in memory

Of old lonesome times

I can't stop wantin' you

It's so useless to say

So I'll just live my life

Live my life in dreams

Of yesterday.”

The Marine Drive Emergency

I had asked her out not once, not twice, but three times. All rejections. Reasons were as diverse as it will be weird at work, you are such a good friend, what we have is forever and even I don’t want to spoil what we already have.

I was head over heels for her. She kept disturbing my dreams. I barely slept. Once I awoke from what seemed like a nightmare – she was with somebody else. I told somebody about the dreams. But the only I response I got from that person – forget it, it ain’t gonna happen. But I didn’t.

It is true maybe that when a person isn’t in front of you is the time when you miss them the most.

Is it just plain stupid to keep wanting somebody, although they clearly do not want to pursue the relationship? I do not think so.

I landed in Mumbai. I gave her a call. She didn’t pick up. I got a message a while later from her. She was at Marine Drive. Alone. I was staying at my friends place at Marine Lines, which runs parallel to Marine Drive.

The level three heritage building creaked under my heavy steps. I was running. I got a shout out from my friend on the second floor – Best of luck. Did I need it? Majorly.

Chira Bazaar was still abuzz. I made it through the bustle of trucks being loaded and unloaded, as the winding roads took me towards the Marine Lines bridge. It barely had a footpath. But I ran towards where the Arabian Sea was beating the artificial rocks along the bay walk.

There she was sitting opposite to one of those Gymkhana grounds. I could notice her from this far across. She looked beautiful in her sweatshirt, track pants and sporty shoes, just looking at the setting sun. But she was sad. I ran.

I walked the last few steps. I didn’t say a word and sat next to her. She was surprised. But she smiled. Dusk had almost settled in. We didn’t say a word.

I let my fingers slide into hers. And she put her head on my shoulders.

The Arabian Sea splashed waves. The setting sun bought in darkness. But we sat together. Comfortable. We didn’t say a word.

Sudoku

It was five in the evening. She hadn’t come to work that day. But I wanted to see her. I got down at the bus stop closest to her home. The long path was worth the walk. Carrying a box of cookies and the day’s newspaper supplementary, I made it towards H-42 in Highland Hills. I had to call to make sure she was there. She was. A lot of thoughts ran through my mind. Would I be able to tell her finally or would I again muster?

I climbed the flight of stairs to her home. A ring of the bell and there she stood in sporting shorts and a white tee. With a paintbrush in hand, she welcomed me in. She was painting. The canvas lay on the floor. She sat back on the cushion and asked me to get comfortable. I just sat there looking longingly at her. 

She painted layer by layer, while striking a conversation with me. The usual questions did the rounds – what happened at work, how is work and so on and so forth. I tell her I have something for her, and give her the cookie box. She is overjoyed. She loves my mom’s cookies. She stops painting and has a cookie immediately. I smile.

She notices the supplementary in my hand. She enquires as to why I am carrying it. I tell her that it is my new obsession to complete the Sudoku in the supplement on my way home in the metro. She thinks that’s nice. She has the widest of smiles. I look at her, hoping she doesn’t notice that I am secretly admiring her.

I go closer to inspect the artwork. But I know I am closer to her. She always smells good. I make some suggestions, which she thinks are good. We talk a bit more. She always has this fruity fragrance around her. I do not get too close to comfort. She might not like it. I keep my distance.

After a while, I decide to head out. I wanted to stay. But I tell her that I am leaving. She even asks me to stay back. But I falter. She herself gave me the excuse that my mom was home, and I should be getting back. I said yes to that. I must really be a fool.

She came to the door, but didn’t close it. She stood by the stair, and watched me walk out through the gate. Pleasantries were exchanged and promises made of meeting tomorrow. I wanted to tell her. But I kept walking.

I walked on the street, my hands free, my heart heavy. I knew I had missed my chance. I should have told her, while I had the chance. I could have walked back. But I didn’t. I realised something. I messaged her: I think I left something back at your place. She called me back to tell me that she could come and give me my Sudoku puzzle.

But who said it was the Sudoku?

Of The Year That Passed

In the beginning of 2011, I was in a totally new place, among the tranquility of monks, the awkwardness of being a vegetarian and the acceptance (and later the getting back) of a story that wouldn’t work out. I know I am talking in codes and utter bullshit. But that was how 2011 started for me – in complete mystery. But from that mystery arose a year, that shall forever remain etched in my mind.

One of my major achievements that I conquered in the previous year was coming to terms to being in love with Delhi. My post graduation here the past two years, couldn’t make me love Delhi, than the time I left for other places. I came running back as soon as I realized it.

It is in 2011, that I became a post graduate, along with some of the most awesomest friends I will ever make. And the greatest thing to happen to your 20-odd classmates, is see them all be in really good positions across the country. I am proud to say that the batch I was with is wickedly talented and I hope to see them achieve more than what they ever dreamed to.

Also in 2011, was when I got my first, second and third job. Well technically speaking, my third job is my first job. I was first offered a job in Bangalore (my loathing for Bengaluru is quite out there in the open), with a clause that came into view only when I was in Mumbai. I didn’t take that up, after which they did one of the most childish thing that a real firm would never do – go complain to our institution director that I didn’t take up the job. Hilarious. Then I was home, rummaging through media websites and what not, sending resumes in the bulk to media and production houses alike. I got a call from a few, but in the end decided to go for one in Chennai – the Deccan Chronicle. And it was not good. The only big city I was not able to cope with till now is Chennai. I headed there, with hopes of being closer to home and easier adjustments than in Delhi, but it was just the opposite. The one week I worked for Chennai Chronicle, the tabloid piece that goes alongwith the main newspapers, made me realize, this was not what I was cut out to do. I left the job within a week. I missed my Delhi. I reached Delhi, to find that my old roommate was still there, but I had to move out of his place (read here). But in the two weeks he put up with me I was back to doing what I had done back at home in Calicut – send resumes by the dozen. But who would have known that it would be the social networking site of Twitter that would finally save my life. My friend Manoj re-tweeted Venkat Ananth’s tweet about an opening in Sports Illustrated India. When I contacted Venkat, he gave me a mail id where I could send a resume to. But the mail bounced back. But I didn’t back down. I searched the net, found the correct email id and the rest as they say is history. I got in, after a grilling session by the most awesomest boss I have had till now – Kadambari ma’am. But it was not just Kadambari ma’am, the entire team at SI, is absolutely fantastic. Each and every person is a character in themselves and the past five months has been a revelation for me. Hope this doesn’t end soon. This to me is a dream team to work with.

In 2011, I travelled. A lot. Starting off with Bylakuppe in the new year, I actually came back to the place during the end of the year. In between I was all around the place – Mumbai, Bangalore, Chennai, Mysore, Kochi, Kannur, Mahe, Calicut and so many more. It has just made me realize that this is the love that I’ve been looking for. Traveling makes me happy. It brings to me the variety of culture and stories, that I would never get sitting on a chair staring in front of the computer. I hope 2012 has more to offer.

In 2011, I understood the true love actually triumphs. It started off with the wedding of my brother and bhabhi. I still am to know their love story, because it obviously has to be a love story. Maybe in 2012, I will get to know. Then there was the surprise package of Faris and Lanisa, college sweethearts, who tied the knot in a ceremony that was attended by the most number of our friends. Another love story of 8 years, came to fulfilment at the end of the year, making me understand that perseverance is the key to achievement. Congos to Nahla and Wasseem for that. Even after years of defiance and rejection, they held on to each other, and finally the two families agreed. And then there is Fathima Ali, one of my bestest buddies (who incidentally didn’t come to see off at the station) got married this year to the most awesomest guy she could ever find (no Basri, I ain’t gay). And to those who have best friends who are about to get married – never piss the bride and groom off on their first night.  But I hope 2012 brings more love stories to life, and I wish this would be the year I could begin telling my kids 20 years down the line, about ‘How I met their mother’ ;)

In 2011, I have realized that failures only makes one tougher. I’ve had my share of failures. But each failure has taught me something new, and a person who has never failed, has literally learned nothing at all.

I guess to sum up 2011, would be a difficult deal, but it was beautiful while it lasted. Here’s to wishing 2012 be much more than what 2011 ever was. Cheers and always keep smiling people!

Living Your Story

Last night i was speaking to my friend about my life in general. In between our conversation, she stops me and tells me, "You look like a cute and excited little owl". Well i guess she made the comment about me being an owl, because i have really big round eyes (and basically weird owl-like hair o_O), and excited because i literally do get while telling my stories (as is evident in me ranting about useless stuff on my blog.) So after listening to my spate or run offs and butt ins and what not, my friend tells me - your story pretty much seems like a very fictional non fiction. I was like stumped - 'fictional non fiction?' Now what the hell could that mean.

It turns out most of our lives is what seems to be like a pre-destined script that goes on with its decisive pauses, dramatic entrances, sad exits, crazy times, unbelievable experiences and unexpected twists and turns. If we look back at our lives, we would be amazed at how it came into being. From the moment you cried as you gasped for your first breath, to the time you gasped for breath when your dad taught you to swim, to shifting from one location to another with the promise of a new start and everything in between and after - its all very fascinating to look at it after all these years. When i look back at my life, i'm glad that i got to see all the stuff i saw, feel all i felt, understand all i understood and then still keep a lookout for more.

One of my friends lamented about life coming back to square one time and again. But i believe that is the magic of life. It gives you chances. It gives you mistakes to learn. It gives you opportunities to utilize, fail and succeed. All that matters is which script you choose on the way. There might be certain detours or roadblocks on the way, but that doesn't mean you should stop halfway through. You battle ahead, and when you look back at all those moments, you will have a ball of time telling stories, like i did today. Who knows, in the future, you might find your friend telling you, "You know what, you look like an excited cute little gerbil". Until you do, keep living, keep your script in action.

The Cellar

"There's someone out there,"

Says the child

In that dark,

Dirty, cramped place.

All’s over,

And you hear nothing.

For it’s all over.

Down in a cellar,

You remain as dust.

As if to be called,

To be cleaned up again.

I proceed forward,

Up the stairs,

We came down through.

And lifted the weight,

That shut as down.

Slowly,

It turns out,

Everything’s all right.

I cry out,

Even thought the voice,

Isn’t clear,

“Praise be to God,

We are in heaven!”

ma angels

Months and more
When a baby and less was I
She carried me around
Smiled at me
Took me in her arms
Woke up in the middle of the nights
Fed me
Made sure I burped
The songs she sang
The warmth of her touch
Mom I love you
Have
Am
Will
Always.

Days and nights,
Memories,
Laughs,
Frustrations,
Fights,
Secrets,
Hopes,
Wishes,
Anything & everything
The narrowness,
The thinness,
The path of what might be,
Wherever,
Whenever,
Anu – Mukz
I love u
Have
Am
Will
Always.

You all inspire me.
You move me.
You make me cry.
You make me laugh so hard it hurts.
You make me smile.
You make me know that you care.
You make me.