what i want for christmas

i want conversations. long rambling ones that go all over the place and loop back on themselves.

i want tea. cups of amber flavour that sustain and fill me up with quiet.

i want a rug. to lay down on. belly up. staring at the fan whirring overhead. while my friends lay lizard like with me.

i want stories. to take me places. to live in. to live out.

i want laughter. tinged with a slight amount of craziness. and glee. that bubbles up from deep within me and catches me unawares.

i want wine. on my rack. in my refrigerator. atop my dining table. swirling in with conversations

i want country roads. that don't always lead somewhere. that are not paved. or lit up. that in their ordinariness do exactly what they are supposed to.

i want music. from my childhood. from the future. at work. in blue frog. in words. in silences. in dances in front of strange beautiful houses. in my life.

i want unfinished letters. the old fashioned ones. the ones you fill with love and hope and passion. and then forget about. lil scraps of yellow paper that forever store a memory and keep it alive.

i want an open house. that friends flow through. that friends stop by at. where the seats at the table belie the size of the space.

i want distances to grow shorter. or less expensive.

i want journals. pages and pages of observations and thoughts and doodles and laundry lists lying spread eagled on textured paper.

i want books. any book. every book. always

i want winds. that blow into my house and through my hair. winds that carry smells and sounds from another place.

i want whispers. in warm breaths on my ear. that make me smile. that startle me. that let me in on confidences.

i want strappy heels. that lift me up.

i want postcards. from places i'd like to go to. and places you'd like to go to.

i want pancakes. smeared with chocolate. or packed with strawberries. for breakfast. or dinner.

i want soaps. handmade from flowers.

i want a secret santa. to trade gifts for cookies and milk.

i want me. to not turn into someone my childhood self wouldn't recognize.

i want sounds. of water. of dried leaves. of tapping keys. of familiar voices. to drown out the black noise.

i want socks. that break the greyness of winter with warmth and colours.

i want foolishness. to always be a virtue.

i want occassions. everyday. even in the mundane. ceremony should be everything.

i want regrets. to mean a song from jay-z.

i want spontaniety. to never describe how i used to be.

i want journeys. that are unplanned. or planned. lots of them.

i want rain. tapping on my roof. falling on my face. washing away worries.

i want conflict. to always keep me growing.

i want african violets. like the ones my mum used to grow when i was younger. small pots with canary yellow, deep purple flowers that just looked exotic.

i want underwear. that can reflect all the 50,000 moods i might be in.

i want terraces. to be a more important part of houses in bombay.

i want plants. that don't die, inspite of my black thumb

i want summer. to always stir up hibernated feelings of restlessness in me.

i want gulmohor trees. falling over with the weight of yellow flowers to always line the road back to my house.

i want a bed. with starched bed sheets. heavy with memories. perfect for refuge. with space for two.

i want nights. to always be when i come into my element.

i want the small things. to mean more than the big things.

mountain dreaming is where its at

laura of fly-away white over washed muslin shirts, stories that she has lived in and permanent transitoriness, sent me a poem today. to her, i say, thank you. to you, i say, ‘hear hear’.

the invitation
by oriah mountain dreamer

it doesn't interest me what you do for a living.
i want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

it doesn't interest me how old you are.
i want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

it doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
i want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life's betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

i want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

i want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations of being human.

it doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me
is true.
i want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
if you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
if you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

i want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
and if you can source your own life
from its presence.

i want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
"yes"

it doesn't interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
i want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

it doesn't interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
i want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

it doesn't interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
i want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

i want to know if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.

one thing leads to another

last night when i stepped out of the shower (after having washed the tendrils of smoke and fumes of the drink of the season off my skin) and reached for my towel, i did what i usually do - bury my face in it. suddenly i was drowning in a strange familiar/unfamiliar smell. and the too tightly wound nerve endings in my body cramped up as if in shock, before they rolled over and played dead. it was a while before i realized it smelt of the sun.

and in that while, i went from standing dripping wet on my bathroom floor, to my grandmums house in the village where i’d spend winter mornings under a quilt she’s hang out to sun. i’m climb under it with a pink pummelo salad and a book, playing truant from life in general. that was my world. and that was my escape.

you forget things so that you find you are capable of surprising yourself.

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memory is a strange thing.

you have almost no control over it. you can’t choose what to retain and what to let go of. and you don’t know what it’s going to throw at you when. that said, of course you can choose to cling on with all your might to a certain memory. but here again, the memory is independent of you. it will change with time, mutate with all the other thoughts it’s touched by. it will take shape and be chipped away at by the vagaries of your persona. it will grow, bloom, shrink, swell, fall, fly, strip naked, do mad jigs – all the while you are taking your toast and your tea.

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today, i stumbled upon a blog (and not on ‘stumble upon’). i don't know the guy who writes it, but i know him. the words were familiar. like a dusty memory, that has been lying at the back of your mind for so long that you begin to wonder if it’s your memory or a borrowed one. it felt quite peculiar. the postings were old. and i found myself drawing up an image of someone from 3 years ago, like the light of a star that has reached me too late.

it’s a pity he doesn’t blog much anymore. seeing the past collide with the present would be interesting (more than watching re-runs of seinfeld, at least)

______________________________________________

i haven't been writing. i said i would. but i’m not. not letters. not emails. not blog posts. not disconnected sentences on the back of sales receipts. most of my writing has been contained to presentations and television scripts and websites. sometimes when i lay in bed late at night, words flow through my head, isolated snatches of conversations. strings of the written word. echos scattered about various living rooms. unfinished letters written on yellow paper while i was at school, full of youthful outpourings of love and longing. words that i don't have to work at.

sloth might be the most boring sin. but it’s the easiest to give in to.

where i've been gone, while i've been gone

first of all apologies are in order. not many people read this blog, but the few that do (god bless you all) have been kicking my ass for being a lazy bitch and not doing any posting. you guys are right. i enjoy my blog as much as you enjoy it. if it were not for little things like earning a living, i would do this all the time. (actually that's a lie. i don't have the discipline to do this all the time. or anything else or that matter. routine bores me. it stifles me. it kills me. i'd rather do this because i want to rather than have to) anyway, that's not the point. the reason i haven't been posting is because apart from the whole earning my living thing, i've been busy trying to deal with life.

i know, i know we all are. but the thing is, this year has been quite surprising. and after some 27 years you lose your ability to accept them at face value. you become a little cynical and wordly weary. a little at least. you (ohmygod!) plan for things. i mean for crying out loud, i've started investing in mutual funds. how much more straitlaced can you get. (i'm hoping not much. i'd hate to see myself go through life in a pigeon-chested trafalgar grey suit). anyway, this year has not gone accoring to plan. (yippe) and i'm dealing with it the best i can.

it's not a great excuse as excuses go, but that's the way it is. i've been travelling. i've been working (at a job that's okay, but not something that i want to do with every lil molecule in my rapidly disintegrating body). i've been trying to send messages in the wind to my friends since i'm too busy/lazy to actually send an email. i've been fighting with my maid. i've been dreaming of what to do with the money i don't yet have. i've been buying some pretty dresses and some super sexy high heels. and i've been looking for a place to wear them to. i've been growing to love the city i live in. and i've been planning to move to another one soon. i've been making new friends. and hoping i haven't alienated my old ones with my silence. i've been enjoying assam tea by a choppy sea, while the sea spray turns my head into a frizz factory. and most importantly, i've learnt something new everyday.

and in my quest of spreading universal love, joy and peace, i am going to impart this knowledge to you in short crisp sentences (the whos and whys are boring)

i've learnt that i can find an action such as waving at raikkonen from the stands, amist a couple of thousand people, an incredibly personal experience

i've learnt that i love to hear women sing (case in point: my favourite singers now are ane brun, regina skeptor, corriane bailey rae, katie melua, lily allen)

i've learnt that eating a good meal makes the sun come out

i've learnt that when i sleep sitting upright, my head lols about my neck as if seperate from my body. dribbling across my chest like a badly controlled ball

i've learnt that paris is my mothership. and even when i don't visit it, i'm happy just knowing it's there, waiting with bated breath for my arrival

i've learnt that i can burn water while trying to boil it

i've learnt that i love people who can sense flavours

i've learnt that once a month i'll morph into the wicked witch of santa cruz. and nothing and no one can make me feel less crabby. (well, maybe like a johnny depp can. but since that hasn't happened so far, i can't really tell)

i've learnt that red wine, cigarettes and jazz can complete an evening for me

i've learnt that almost none of my experiences are original. someone or the other has felt, done, experienced and reacted and related to each and every one of my lifes experiences (think about it. i'm telling a friend - i made out on a roof. oh, she says, i made out on a bike. how is it same, you're thinking? well, the whole experience was marred by a thought looming large in our minds - "we're going to fall")

i've learnt there's no place like 'in the middle of the monsoon'

i've learnt that i just love cities. period. like the more interesting people, cities are multilayered…always in transition…evolving…always in transit…between one persona and the next. i never get bored in a city. any city. and i find that usually, i love them and hate them in equal fervor.

i've learnt that i love houses which keep their heart in the kitchen

i've learnt that consistency in how i feel too much to ask for

i've learnt that my parents have put me on a shelf of the marriage supermarket

i've learnt that my hair has a life of it's own. it's a seperate entity that lives on my head and goes in directions contrary to where i want to take it

i've learnt that zenzi is my favourite bar in bombay

i've learnt that i personify newtons first law of motion

saying that, i've had the external force of a drink being passed on to me, so i'll stop right here. but i'll be back soon.

so ta da. live. and let's all learn something (preferably agaisnt our better judgement).

to do item #1 - face reality

it’s a fortnight into new year.

i know.

because i remember to fill ‘07 in the date column. and i’ve made my many resolutions (none of which i’ve adhered to, but i figure i will. since the year is long and the mind, foolishly optimistic). the taxmen have come a-knocking and i’ve spent the past few weeks reading at least, at least a couple hundred “best movies/best books/best albums/best newsmakers/ best such like” columns in every blog/magazine/website with a readership of over 2 people (these columns, apart from letting you know that the year is very definitely over, also let you know, in the nicest way possible that you’re a badly informed, somewhat ignorant amalgamation of atoms, who really doesn’t have their finger on the pulse).

despite these harsh realities and slaps in the face, from snotty list compilers it doesn’t seem like 2007 to me.

firstly, i can’t believe the year’s over. maybe because, years are supposed to end with ceremony. and in my relatively quiet living room, i didn’t feel it come to it’s customary abrupt end. maybe it’s because, i moved cities, and i’ve been so busy just acclimatising myself, i didn’t feel the sweep of the year carrying me by.

none the less, the first item in the to-do list of my very average (read dull as dishwater) workday, i’ve decided to add the excitement of accepting the reality of a new year.

now i know that’s not easy. but if i could only just pack up the essence of what 2006 (which in my head is still the “present”) was like for me, maybe i could store it in my reservoir of fast fading memories (which reminds me, a pensieve would make for a great new year gift), and move on into the new year.

aside - i read in a washington post article about a recently deceased writer who said that our idea of "the present'' is, at most, about six minutes long. we dwell in this little moving bubble, whose diameter is 360 seconds or so. it is all we can take in, all we can grasp, and the far end of it is always being lost, vaporing away into an irrecoverable past.

so hard though, it might be, this was 2006 for me. (aah, that rhymes.)

1. sports
a) zidane’s headbutt- in equal parts, cringing with embarrassment, agape with shock and stricken to see a glorious career end with a headbutt and headlines around the world. (have to admit, it was a CRYING shame)
b) alonso’s triumph or raikkonen dashing my hopes and dreams – great season, with two fantastic racers going head-to-head for the title. Though tried really hard to change the outcome of the race with the help ancient hindu practices, which basically involved me willing desperately for mclaren to miraculously come with a car that raced as good as it looked (mind over matter and all that). But na-dah.
c) beer fest or what others call the world cup – spent one whole month, one whole long smashed month, watching every game, in a sport I have very passive interest in. can’t believe I had so much fun though. Maybe, having beer run in your veins instead of blood makes everything seem like fun.

2. holidays / flyaway visits–
a) jaipur or two days of drink and debauchery– the polo festival. behaving badly. very badly. getting drunk. swimming with cellphones in your pocket. great company. every year, should have a holiday like this one.
b) kerala or why never to take a family holiday – beautiful, beautiful kerala, specially against the backdrop of a family drama. i lived my own little soap opera there, early in the year.
c) benaras – flyaway visit. only whetted my appetite for more.
d) KL – made up of 50% malays, 20% chinese, 20% indians and 10% sweepers. seriously kl must have one sweeper to every 10 people. needless to say, it’s spotlessly clean and slightly unreal. like a magnificent lego city, perfectly planned, beautifully executed and devoid of soul.

3. big city, bright lights – my move to bombay is a post in it’s own right. but area’s of note have been -
a) dilli-wallahs – trust me, bombay wouldn’t be bombay with the hundreds of dilli-wallahs that have flocked here. the bombay vs delhi war apart, it’s like you can’t really be from bombay, unless you’re from delhi.
b) zenzi – my replacement to tc. and nothing like tc. except it’s a great place to catch a drink. high ceilings, friendly waiters, people always ready for a chat. and some good concerts. zenzi has got feel.
c) toto’s – cheap beer. music i recognize. no frills. perfect for that after work drink.
d) salt water grill – sand under your feet. stars over your head. filet mignon on your plate. this place is my favourite getaway from bombay.
e) traffic – horrendous. if i could magnify “totally crap” to the nth degree, i could probably come close to describing the traffic scenario in bombay.
f) prithvi theatre – i don’t know the complex mechanisms that keep prithvi running, despite the odds, but god, i’m so grateful to them.
g) winter – this year, when people go to the elections, i’ll be voting for winter to come to bombay.
h) shiny happy people – i still haven’t made up my mind if the overwhelming friendliness of the people here is totally refreshing and wonderful or totally full of shit. i guess, this year will tell.
i) pao – if the city offers you anything, it offers it you in a pao. it’s amazing how anything can go into a pao. vada, keema, bhurji. anything.
j) anoops house – see previous post

high drama
divorces, break-ups, one night stands, true love, the usual stuff of epics. 2006 was exceptionally full of relationship woes. amongst friends. amongst celebs. amongst presidents and countries. which is to say, never a dull day, if you're the type who lives vicariously through other peoples lives.

gosh, it wasn’t such a short year, after all. and i seem to be putting the afore mentioned list makers to shame. so, more later. in 2007.

how the malls almost stole christmas

you're driving down a busy bombay street and you turn off into this walled compound. suddenly you're disoriented. this could be anywhere. there's a big maidan in front of you, and bordering it are these small cottages. you cross the maidan and navigate the small lanes to go to a particular cottage. thing is, it's hard to find, unless you keep your eyes peeled for a couple of enfields outside and the sound of singing from inside.

but once you do, it's like coming home.

this is anoop's house. (who's anoop? you might ask. well, i don't know him very well, so we'll leave that for another post. but i visit often, like the proverbial bin bulaye mehman, and quitely orgasm at the though of living in that space)

back to the house. it's a small cottage. with a garden out front and a courtyard at the back. perfect for dinners/lunches/breakfasts or whatever meal you want to make a ceremony of. the bricks are whitewashed with a charmingly rustic uneveness to it that makes you want to run your fingers through it. the false ceiling has skylights. and the house itself has soul.

a friend who once lived in bombay, had a picture window in his living room, with a panoramic view of the sea. he once described this view to me as a "chadi utarao view" (claimed it helped him score like crazy). i never did see that view so i can't comment, but anoops house, IS a chadi utarao house. it has a raw sensual feel to it. the red brick walkway to his front door, the jharokas set into the wall in the courtyard, the wire mesh wall of the bedroom that brings the outside in. it's a house that makes you want to cuss (so you can't just exclaim "it's cool" you'd want to say "behenchod, it's cool") because it's so wonderful. not in a carefully crafted beige palace kind of way. rather in a carelessly lived in kind of way.

i almost missed christmas this year. it's easy to, when the only evidence of christmas is found in shopping malls and you're too busy working to bring in into your house.

then i found my way to anoop's. in a not-planned-move-from-one-party-to-another way. his courtyard had a christmas tree. with tinsel (don't you just love tinsel? it's fun and it's elegant. it's also twisty and fuzzy. silver tinsel that looks blue by candlelight). and peppermint canes. and shiny red balls. but that wasn't it. what clinched the deal for me was the mood. mellow and yellow. with drunken singing. and people cloaked in their own thoughts in flickering candlelight. it was like everyone existed in a plane thats a perfect balance between their own private space and the space they share with a bunch of good people.

it was christmas. in a perfect house. and i didn't have to go to a mall to find it.

i guess, christmas magic doesn't just belong to the movies.

going through the junk in my trunk

There are some people who are crazy beautiful. Who fill your life with magic and a certain kind of childhood glee. Who take you on this crazy journey into the Land of Oz. People who you can never forget because they are a part of a fanciful imperfection. Yet, these are the people you never want to meet again. Because somehow, they made the transition from being gorgeous people to being a gorgeous image in your head. And you like that image…more than (you think) you'd like them, now.

So there they stay, crazy beautiful people, in picture perfect memories.