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)

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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.

the aunty speaketh

i just turned twenty-seven a week ago. and i have to admit that i don't feel twenty-seven. and what's more, i don't remember the last time i felt my age. except maybe when i was sixteen. (i felt all grown up and adult. like this was it. i had done all the growing up i had to do) then i turned seventeen. and next thing i know, i'm twenty seven, just like that, without ever feeling my age.

it's worrisome. not feeling your age. because then you don't know how to behave. on a certain occassion, i've been known to pull off over-the-hill with great flair (especially when it comes to climbing six flights of stairs with tar laden lungs) and other times, the twelve year old giggly idiot(which, by the way, is a personal favourite, and an age i carry off to perfection).

unfortunately, there's nothing remarkable about twenty-seven. no code of conduct that is inherent with the age. no adjective that will give you a rough idea to work with. like the terrible teens or sweet sixteen or even the daintily adult twenty-one.

problem is, twenty-seven is very very commonplace as ages go. except for a few things maybe. you know you've hit it when -

1. your skin cells stop renewing themselves (and you actually know that for a scientific fact) .

2. you drink alcohol, not because it's a stimulant but because it's a preservative.

3. the only songs that you recognise on music television are the ones played on a programme called "zzzzz".

4. you remember drinking goldspot.

5. your mother starts talking about your ovaries in third person.

6. people who you called dada/didi out of respect, you now call by first name, out of sheer embarassment.

7. you remember dates (history doesn't seem dull when you realise that you've lived through a bit of it).

8. and yes, you forget all the items on your list before you can actually finish it.

living in. falling out. floating around.

i woke up at 11:30 today. and it wasn't bright and sunny, as it usually is. i knew then. it was going to be a good day.

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while i was living in delhi, i hated the winters. but i loved the onset of winter. i still do. the smell of woodsmoke in the air. knowing that you can't leave the chairs out on the balcony because the cushions get dewy. taking your wollies out of storage, deciding if it is a wash or an airing that going to get rid of the musty smell emanating from them. sitting at dilli haat and slurping thukpas at the manipur stall (because they play the best music).

anyway, i love the onset of winter, because it's that in between time. summer fighting a losing battle to winter. not quite cold. but not hot either. not anything. but a bit of everything.

and here, i miss it. bombay is the town that winter forgot, or just plain left out. i mean, it's november for gods sake. stop with the sun shining. lets get out the mufflers, the nice wool coats, and my gorgeous gorgeous boots. lets be adventurous- lets have a third season.

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sunday night, saw b and me joining ayappa and his spanish friends at the irish bar. it was a nice evening. don't you find that when you meet someone new, it just takes one defining moment, for the evening to go from casual to intimate? well, for us, it was the moment where we started discussing the role fights play in a relationship. whether it marks the begining of an end or whether it makes for interesting dynamics.

i think the latter. like good fences, good fights, i think make for good relationships. crazy, but good.

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b has bought the latest scissor sisters cd called ta-dah. most evenings when i reach home, i find someone or the other has it playing. i love it. it's full of pop-py happy sounds with a certain edge that makes it really cool. it makes me want to dance. or lie on my living room rug in a little happy bubble.

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there are four people living at home now. and on an average, when i wake up in the morning, i find one person up, one asleep and one already out of the house. the evenings are the same. at no point are two people ever doing the same thing, except when it comes to sharing a spliff.

i like this atmosphere a lot. i enjoy having a lot of people around, each doing their own thing without intruding on the other's space.

maybe, it's a throwback to my boarding school days. or maybe, it's just fetish for inbetween contradictory spaces. but whatever it is, it's good to wake up to.

love etiquette or "how to say i love you too, without throwing up on your living room rug"

remember when we were young. we'd dream of love. of meeting knights in shining armours, who otherwise weren't lost in forests. of men who left the toilet seat down. of giddy phases of unaldulterated glee. of riding off into the sunset. or alternatively, of women with d cups, who waited in sheer teddys for you to come home. or whatever your idea of perfect love was/is.

thing is, we just didn't know better. because all those stories - those dreams, were all spell checked, spruced up, edited, call it what you will. devoid of the usual faux pas and heartbreakingly embarrassing i-want-to-curl-up-and-die moments that are integral to the plot.

i mean, what the hell, do we ever dream of falling in love with people who don't love us back. or falling in lust with people who could only be uncle festers (from addams family, if you've been on a different planet) answer to a love machine. no we don't. because
a) we are inherently optimistic/stupid.
b) card companies are in a giant conspiracy to keep up this farce of perfect relationships (although, i can't imagine why, because they could just as well sell cards for 'down with love. up with sex day'. and make pots more money in the bargain)
c) hey, what kind of moron dreams of making a complete fool of themselves (that's what real life is for).

nonetheless, i've given this some thought and i've realised that love ain't the problem. it's love etiquette, that's the problem. the answer to 'i love you' is not 'who wouldn't. i'm wonderful after all' as commonly believed. hard as it is to do, one should stick to the old fashioned guidelines for this one. we're a billion of us, so obviously the old fogeys were doing something right. (mostly i think, it was a whole lot of insincere 'i love you toos')

but since we as a generation, are more honest on the whole, (along with being more uncouth) i've made a handy list for those who tongues get furry at the though of bubblegum declarations (like i love you too, honey. what's not to love?). here's to you adoptiong some i'm-as-cool-as-a-cucumber-too-and-love-doesn't-scare-me-shitless flair-

1. practise saying it in front of the mirror. of course, you're stunning and bright and love yourself to bits, so it'll come easy. then, when you're with him/her, look deep into their eyes (at your reflection) and utter those little words. it'll fall off your lips like butter.

2. record the magic words. loop it. and play it while you're asleep. not only will it lull you to sleep, it'll come to your lips unbidden while you're awake.

3. slip it into conversations. say you're sitting at a diner.
person 1: pass the ketchup, please. (our in our case it'll be pass the sambhar, please)
you: i love you, too
person 1: (pretty sure he heard you wrong) i said could you please pass the ketchup.
you: i love you too
person 1: 'you're bloody nuts. waiter, can i get another seat, please' or alternatively, 'sure honey, let's go back to my place and discuss it'
okay, think about it this way, if you can say it to complete starngers, you definitely can say it to people you love. and this way, at least you can entertain yourself.

4. fall in love with an exotic foreigner who speaks in a language you don't. that way, your translator will do the job for you. (i must take a minute here. is this a fantastic idea, or what?)

5. learn sign language. or make one up. chances are your partner will think a declaration like that is a lot more romantic.

that's it folks. the rest of the time, you're on your own.

MADNESS (post 1)- from london

anusha, i have to admit, is mad. in the nicest way possible.

i think madness as a character trait has been much abused by hollywood and writers of horrid creepy thrillers. at one time, it was perfectly respectable to be mad. to follow white rabbits down burrows. (now not only is it hard to find burrows, it's hard to find parents who don't have an apoplectic fit if they lose sight of their child, even for a moment.) to drink your own piss (like meatloaf). marry your children (like woody allen). use mars bars as sex toys (redlands bust), chew off bats heads (this you gotta know).

anyway, i feel madness is slowly declining. and we really should do more to keep it alive in our lives.

i'm glad anusha is doing her bit. she threw up her job and such like, moved to london to study photography, and ensures top of mind recall by sending these weekly emails full of her mad dehati takes on london. here's one of them.

desi eye on firangi guy
i discovered today that THE kevin spacey lives in the same building as my young friends nishant and rhea. just three floors above.

there was a time i wanted to marry him.

until last night i still wanted to but..unfortunately as i was informed. this morning...he is into young boys...very very sad for me. one more out of range.

anyway we saw his red mini cooper, his black lambretta scooter andhis blue lexus parked in the basement.. and felt closer to him...aakhir hamare dost ke gaadi uske gaadi ke paas parked hoti hai.. ROZ!

atleast he has decent taste in transport. every day he takes a private elevator up to his pent house apartment. we are wondering if we should invite him for a warm indian meal "kuch khayenge.. mutton biryani.. indian chai tea, garam ya thanda??"or stalk him.. leave intelligent sounding notes on his car or leave anonymous message with the conceirge.

he has a dog too. who is walked by a dog walker. wondering if i should at least apply for that job. and i imagine myself having intelligent conversations about world cinema, with at least the dog, who apparently in his own right is a star. (for reasons i don’t know) but paparazzi ke liye kevin naheen touska kutta chalega! heheheheh! anyway thought you all must know..about latest amusing london news.

glad to see that the beer has definitely gone to her head. you can catch more of her here.

follow the moon

the thing about jobs is that it interferes with the rest of your life too much.

suddenly everyone i know is talking about one thing - the moondust festival (and the only reason i’m not is because i’m not going). you bump into somebody at a bar and the conversation is eventually going to turn to, tra la “the md festival”. you get a phone call from a friend you haven’t heard from for a bit, and he’s calling to ask if you’re going for the festival. your sister elaborately juggles her schedule which involves missing her classes, convincing her parents to pay for the tickets, and wriggling out of the iron grip of family affection so that she can be there for the festival. if someone i know doesn’t mention it within 30 mins of our meeting, i’m like “what rock have you been under?” it’s gotten so that i’m thinking of dispensing with the regular formalities like hello and replacing it with ‘moondust’. using it like budweiser did ‘wassup’ and the romans ‘ave’.

anyway, for those who genuinely have a life/those who really have none and haven’t heard about it, the festival is being held at a location 35 kms from jaipur from november 3-7, 2006. moondust is being held to bring together some of india’s finest psytrance talent alongside some of the world’s most respected and sought-after artists. a range of styles of music will be represented, from pounding, darker psytrance to emotionally charged morning music, right up to deep progressive and chill (that’s what they say). they do have a huge lineup of artists from pretty much everywhere, though. you can find out more about the festival at www.moondust.in or on the other hand, just drive down to jaipur and follow the moon.

the beautiful and the damned

crazy beautiful
the new york times style magazine has a slide slide show on the bad boys of celebdom called "the beautiful and the damned" with a byline that says, "their faces hold out the possibility of an inner life. And what could be sexier than that?" they're right. the stark black and white photographs make the men look stunning. it includes photographs of hugh laurie, sam shepard, jeremy irons, billy bob thornton, nick nolte, ed harris, the absolutely delicious robert downery jr, and of course the poster boys of gorgeous disintegration - mick jagger and keith richards.
this makes coming in to work on a monday totally worthwhile.

crazy cool
my favourite person of late has been nagesh kukunoor. i came out of the theatre after watching dor with a huge grin plastered on my face. here's why:
1. nk is as good at directing as he's bad at acting. and trust me he's crap at acting.
2. the script for dor is fantastic. tight and crisp. funny and sad.
3. it's a rather emotional movie but has none of the bollywood tamasha. no overemphasied pathos. no overplayed scenes. no bullshit.
4. the shots are framed beautifully. for a computer engineer, nk has a great sense of asthetics.
5. from hyderabad blues to dor, the man has really evolved as a storyteller. his stories have just gotten more and more interesting and he has, on the way, cultivated a flair for telling them. and that absolutely shines through in dor.

but don't take my word for it. go out and see the movie for yourself.

crazy weird
i went for the mtv lycra style awards a few days ago. for people who claim to set standards in style, they were surprisingly unoriginal, and hence, totally not stylish. why?

because they were not pushing the boundaries of fashion. the shows were the same old. the same old. no new talent. no designers who were pushing the envelope. although, i must admit rohit and rahul gandhi's collection called white carnival was rather stunning. white and gold were the predominant colours. and they mixed them well to come out with a collection that was suprising wearable and utterly chic. as soon as i find some photographs of the clothes, i'll put them up.

because they gave out awards like "the best accessory designer" without even having a showcase of her work. so everyone was left wondering exactly what niharika somebody did to get that award.

because they gave the most stylish film award to KANK. eeew. what were they thinking? and when did style become something you pick off the rack at some american mall?

because there was an element of farce that ran through the whole show. like no one really cared what it was really about. just a hastily put together award show, to gain some publicity, show some star power and make a little bit of a noise.

'tis was a shame.

the crazy blue of e - 602 : post two

samrat bharadwaj. musician. friend. do-his-own-thinger. samrat is singular, in the way he uses his words. you can't see it so much in this article, but you have to hear him speak. in his world, a movie is not merely bad, it is 'supreme shit'. people can't be floozy, they are 'panty'.
his expressionas are original. and yes, fun. pretty much like the guy himself.
he was in bombay for 4 days. to play a gig at zenzi (and boy! was that a good evening). he stayed at home. and therefore, he had to write a post. this is it:

how the east turned to west (and vice versa)

as a kid, with the given freedom to aspire and achieve and an abundance of western literature, music, philosophy et al, i grew up with a preconceived notion of a world, where the east was ancient and rooted and the west was expanding and superior. but this myth fell apart piece by piece, and new information and opinions helped create a new world order in my mind. the cliches and romantic notions about the west and its culture (taught in schools and by our parents and peers) seemed to continuously fall apart and the apathy and struggle of the east seemed to provide more answers to survival than the thousands of books written in west could ever describe.

what if there was no industrial revolution, what if there was no bourgeois, what if there was no colonization, what if the western explorers (fueled by their respective monarchies) didn't set sail to foreign lands with corrupt intentions, what if there was no automation, what if benjamin franklin hadn't discovered electricity?

what am i going on about ?

to me, the world today at large is governed and cultured by western principles and western standards of consumption and prosperity. ancient traditions and regional ways of life are being constantly wiped out by industrialization and automation. if change be the harbinger of progress, then one must be ready for it, and not be scared of the consequences.

take a look at india for example. a land invaded and colonized by several races, ethnic groups, barbarians and religious sects for more than 2500 years now. india has been on the road map of illustrious invaders like alexander, darius, ghazni, babur and vasco da gama and the eventual east india company. with each of these invasions and others, a new wave of settlers and tribes befriended the indian subcontinent and contributed to the culture and legacy of india. each new tribe and invader attempted to wipe out the native population, and in turn got slowly consumed and absorbed into the ever increasing spectrum of what we know as the indian tradition.

as the world stepped into the 20th century and western colonizers approached the saturation point of their colonization & power (devastated by two horrid world wars), the east re-emerged as the new frontier. now, it was time for the west to turn into the east and the east to turn into the west. two thirds of human population emerged from the east, struggling to feed and shelter its millions and millions. world trade and economics were the new doctrines of supremacy and the west laid down most of the rules based on capitalist or marxist ideologies. new frontiers based on technology, law and commerce were marked out by west european nations and america unto the east. in short economic colonization was the agenda. the greatest impact of western civilization would take place outside the west itself, deep inside the east, as the teeming billions from india, china, japan, latin america, africa, southeast asia and arab nations would embrace it and have to live with the consequences of change.

as the marxists tsunami swept through china and the far east, the capitalist culture of consumer goods and freedom to consume arrived in india and the arab world. india emerges as perhaps the most interesting nation in this case. technology, automation, consumerism and the idea of the "opportunity" were introduced into the lives of millions through western methods of education and production. older customs & classes crumbled at the feet of these standards, giving rise to a paradox of aspiration and disillusionment.

the effect has been gradual yet total across india, deep inside remote nooks & villages to the suave urban image of a better life and opulence & comfort. opposed by numerous reformers, political leaders and prophets ( remember "be indian buy indian" ) to avert this change, has had little or no effect on the general psyche of the indian. as much the effect of western technology and production, the popular culture of west, especially american standards have had a very interesting effect on almost every indian. we have embraced, improvised, aped and plagiarized the sheen and allure of western pop culture and with the advent of mass communication in india the effect has been complete. the western format of mass media and television can seen across every channel often on the verge of saturation.

urban life, based on western ideologies and fashion, gives us the impression that we are living in an ever speeding and changing world. incidents of stress, disillusionment, corporatization, suicides, divorce are new to our society. so, is the west going to consume and process us to an assembly line life ? will tradition and customs be wiped out by technology and automation ? would ancient barriers of caste and creed be rearranged into classes based on economic layers ? will traditional art & music be digitized into electronic oblivion ? the answer to all the above questions is no.

india, as a culture and way of life is churning over the decades. change is inevitable yet the basic sentiments and traditions have improvised to modern redefinition. the mass of population in india, shaped by centuries of native and foreign customs and conversion has formed manifold roots which keep the sense of "indianess" alive and going. divided and often criticized, the spirit of india is re-evolving, providing a space for us in the future. indians are stepping out into the west and making their presence felt in almost all walks of life. be it a cab driver in london, aeronautics engineer at nasa, or the haute couture of rajasthan in los angeles, indians are increasingly taking to the world, slowly yet surely. labour, craftsmen, skilled workers and entrepreneurs are being sought after by the west as a gold-mine of human resources (we are 1 billion plus after all). as much ancient religion and the ways of a simple un-industrialised life is alluring thousands of westerners to seek india for solace, nirvana, and final destination (and i'm not talking about the click happy tourist) . one can view this as an eventual sell out, but that’s short term. a century from now, indians would be all over the world and the east would be so far deep inside the west, that one would have redefine society at large.

the west is returning to india to seek resources, inspiration and intellectual avant-garde. to help the decadence, to plunder the art, mythology and rituals, to acquire human resources and to even find ways of redefining western life and ethics which have been visibly violent and out of control. we witness, this change gradually, as geographic, social and economic barriers fall to the feet of giant population armed with technology and tradition, as the greatest crossover of humanity. where the balance of power and the concept of an old world (india) redefining itself and holding up the new world (west) into the future.

i vs i

have you noticed how all great stories are stories of revenge and/or equaling a score? how all great protagonists spend their life engaged in a battle of wills with their rival, to emerge (always) victorious in the end? stories like that have everything – lots of passion, characters with an unbending resolve, ambition, some blood and gore, a light drizzle of stolen kisses on the steps of some beautiful building, a few car chases, a little bit (or a lot – depending on your preference) of sex, and of course, melancholic pictures of gorgeous people.

thing is, none of this is possible or worth anything at all, without a worthy adversary. not in the films. not in books. and definitely, not in your life.

in today’s day and age - you’re nobody (at least nobody important), if you don’t have somebody gunning for you.

those of you are generally one step ahead (and it doesn’t matter ahead of whom, if you’re wondering) and know this, also know that there are certain advantages to having an enemy. firstly, people start treating you with respect. sometimes also with great sympathy, but you’ve got to ignore that and concentrate on the respect, since, it’s a known fact that only important people have enemies. secondly, your life (till now only occupied with mundane earthly to-dos) suddenly becomes worthwhile. there is reason for living. there’s excitement in things even as ordinary as brushing your teeth. having an enemy is like being in love. only there’s no chance of it burning out or fading away.

now i don’t have a wildly exciting life. no adrenalin pumping car chases. no frame worthy black and white photographs of melancholic moments, no blood and gore, unless you could count the numerous cuts and bruises i give myself by just standing still.

but it (my life, ie), i have to admit has its moments. i spent half of last week in bed with food poisoning, thinking i was going to die. and the other half, partying like i just graduated, celebrating the fact that i was indeed alive. and in between that i realized one thing – i might not have an enemy worth basing a film on, but i do have a worthy adversary - in myself.

seriously, i am out to kill me.

it wasn’t enough that last week, i gave myself food poisoning from a masala toast sandwich, i bought from a shifty looking sidewalk vendor, because i thought his set-up had atmosphere (puh leese). today, i walk into office, and at the threshold, i trip over my own feet, almost breaking my teeth on the murky beige tiled floor.

there is an upside of being your own worst enemy, though, apart of relying on yourself for moments of high drama in your life. it’s just that one of you is going to win and for once, you can be damn sure, that it’s going to be you.

"you'd better tell his majesty that many people nowadays like marmalade instead"

i love breakfasts. sunshine filled mornings on the front lawn, sitting on wicker chairs, with a table laden with fresh fruits and thick round sausages bursting at the seams, and poached eggs, and lichies and cream, and mutton chops, and cold milk cereals, and liver fry, and toast with the butter having melted right in. (aah, to eat your fill, and just lay down and die there.)

yeah, i completely, totally, irrevocably (is that declaration enough, doubting thomases?) love breakfasts. thing is, i can just never do them.

not that i haven't tried. (god, how i've tried). i've set alarms. i've called up friends in the dead of the night to inctice them to meet me for breakfast the following day (and yes, wake me up for it). i've gone to sleep thinking of sausages and bacon and eggs or pancakes with maple syrup or even croissants. but to no avail. sure as the day is sunny (with possibilities of mild rain), i wake up at ten-0-clock, rush into the bathroom, rush out of the bathroom, rush to office, rush to the coffee machine, rush outside with coffee to have a smoke, rush back in and start working.

as you can see, my morning schedule leaves very little time for breakfast. unless i plan to eat on the run.

but it wasn't always like this. when i was littler, i DID breakfasts. i'll skip over the details of breakfast at boarding school (though i shovelled that down my throat, too), which like all boarding school breakfasts was totally tasteless while having all the nutrients necessary for growing children (or such like). but breakfast at home (see first para) was divine. there's no other word for it. it was my first thoroughly orgasmic experience, when i still didn't know what an orgasm was. sure i hated waking up in the morning for it (especially since i was on holiday) and sure i never understood why the whole family had to have breakfast together, just because my dad deemed it so, and sure i didn't enjoy it as much, because it was the norm at home...but hell, it was great and what i wouldn't do (apart from going back home for a holiday) for a breakfast spread like that.

now breakfast is a distant dream. to be worshipped from afar (which helps me retain my love for it). to be had only if and when you don't end up going to bed at all, on a given night or if a fanciful lover takes it upon him/her to serve you the meal (take a minute to till your head to one side and say "aaah").

i miss it. and so (in a rare, pro-active moment) i've decided to introduce it back in my life. for the sake of my future children and my future childrens children, who otherwise might grow up (if we haven't obliterated the world, ie) never knowing what breakfast is. so today onwards, my new motto is, "take back the morning".

i shall henceforth endeavour to wake up every morning. early (but not too). just early enough to take back the morning. and i shall do this, not just for me, but for breakfast lovers everywhere (who have witnessed the demise of their favourite meal). for hedonists (for whom this has become a forgotten pleasure). for lovers (because breakfast after sex is a great way to start your day. who am i kidding? just sex is a great way to start your day). so no, not lovers, children instead, who will grow up to reject their coffee for a good old fashioned breakfast.

and you my dear readers, can join the movement too. if you are in the neighbourhood, lets meet for breakfast.

how to win friends and influence people (in delhi)

you're new to the city. you want to get to know it well. hang out with the locals. make new friends. basically, get a life outside the pages of the well worn travel guide you're carrying. and you're wondering how. here's a quick 5 step guide to meeting the people of delhi.

first of all, you should pack yourself a suitcase and move to bombay. there's nothing like moving out of delhi to meet delhi-ites. and the sooner you understand this, the better. bombay seems like a favourite haunt. i mean seriously, i've met more people from delhi in bombay than i ever did in delhi. (and i've spent 8 years in delhi as opposed to two weeks in bombay)

if that's just a wee bit impractical and you want to remain in delhi, and still make some friends (though god knows why) try the whole strong-and-silent attitude. go out. lean against some wall somewhere (preferably, in the shadows) and watch people. nothing captures attention like that does, in a city where everyone's talking nineteen to the dozen, about themselves. and if you don't get arrested for suspicious loitering, you'll definitely make some new friends.

take autos to get around. they'll always take you somewhere that's not even remotely close to where you wanted to go in the first place. that way, instead of going someplace where you already know people, you'll land up in a strange place with strange people. and that's where you bring the strong-silent attitude into play to befriend them.

start frequenting restaurants/pubs/cafes that have opened in the last three months. they'll be new enough to have a certain buzz to them and will attract the locals in droves (your chance to mingle). visit any place older than that, and you'll see just a half of the original customer/potential friend base. so strike when the iron is hot, my dear, and keep on the lookout for any new openings.

if all else fails, go to TC on a wednesday night. you'll meet everybody (and i mean, everybody. you can't ignore people, especially those who are joined to you at the hip- and the shoulder and yes, the toes too) and you'll get to know them because the same people will be there every wednesday. and you'll never think they're dull or stupid, because you'll never be able to have a conversation with them anyway. and and, everyone will be tall and beautiful or you'll think they are because you'll be filled to the gills with alcohol.

the crazy blue of E - 602 : post one

this is the first post in the new series. and at the rate at which this house encourages visitors, there will be about half a dozen more this month. last week i had ophélie - friend and frenchwoman, who burys us in thank you's, please's and sorry's, and infuses our life with enthusiasm - over for 4 days. this here is her post.

mes dix raisons d'aimer sushmita

1 - si je ne l'avais pas connue, j'aurai continué à parler de l'inde sansjamais y aller. et je ne serais jamais tombée amoureuse de ce pays.

2 - si elle n'avait pas été là pour m'accueillir à l'aéroport, chez elle,pour me présenter ses amis, pour me faire célébrer diwali avec elle, pour mefaire apprécier delhi ou bombay, je serais partie en courant au bout de deuxjours.

3- elle m'a fait connaître le plus incroyable bar de delhi - le TC - et leplus délicieux bar de restaurant de bombay.

4 - elle a des amis si formidables - parmi lesquels la fabuleuse aparna/jija et le dévoué vineet - qu'on se sent triste dès le premier jour en lesvoyant, parce qu'on sait qu'on va devoir les quitter.
5 - elle a une soeur supercalifragislisticaspialidocious, qu'on ne sauraitrésumer en moins de cent mille mots. lona, incroyable lona/sangeeta: jolie,drôle, prévoyante, cultivée, intelligente - tout le contraire de ce qu'elleprétend être. et si semblable à sa soeur.

6 - elle a un appart génial. que ce soit le pocket 40 introuvable de delhiou le pioneer heritage building de bombay tout aussi introuvable, la maisonde sush vaut le coup de se perdre. on s'y sent tellement chez soi, tellementbien qu'on n'a jamais envie d'en partir. et quand on en part, on sait qu'ilnous faudra y retourner.

7 - elle est exactement comme on aimerait être. insouciante, se levant tardparce qu'elle n'arrive pas à réveiller tôt le matin; fêtarde, ne refusantjamais une bonne soirée par fainéantise; énergique et drôle; jolie etsociable, amoureuse de tout et de tous, ouverte à toutes les possibilités età tous les univers.

8- mais elle a les mêmes faiblesses que nous: indécise, elle a toujours peur culture et sa génération, elle ne sait pas si elle doit enfin "s\'installer"dans quelque chose ou avec quelqu\'un ou continuer à découvrir le monde quis\'ouvre à elle. une seule chose l\'importe: être heureuse.

9- elle n\'aime pas bollywood et surtout pas kabhi alvida naa kehna, mais çane l\'empêche pas d\'aller demander au DJ de mettre la chanson pour me faireplaisir et de danser ensuite avec moi.

10 - tout cela pour dire que je ne la connais que depuis un an et demi, maiselle est déjà devenue pour moi comme une soeur jumelle. ma petite (grande?) et folle soeur indienne.

ophelie's article. babel fished in english.

why i really love sushmita

1 – if it wasn’t for her, i would have kept talking about india but wouldhave never been there, and i wouldn’t have fallen in love with that country

2 – if she hadn’t been there to pick me up at the airport, take me to her place, introduce me to her friends, celebrate diwali with me, make me appreciate delhi or bombay, i would have run away within two days

3 – she made me know the best bar in delhi – TC’s – and the most delicious restaurant in bombay

4 – she has such incredible friends – from the fabulous jija/aparna to the always devoted vineet – that you feel sad the first day you meet them because you know you’ll have to leave them someday

5 – she has a supercalifragislisticaspialidocious sister, that couldn’t be summed up in less that a hundred thousand words : lona, incredible lona :pretty, funny, always there when you need her, smart, cultured– the exact contrary of what she claims to be, and so much like her sister.

6- she has a great apartment, whether it be the cannot-be-found pocket 40 of delhi or the cannot-be-found-either pioneer heritage building in bombay, sush’s house is worth the search for it. you feel at home, and you feel so good that you never want to leave. and when you leave, you know you will have to come back.

7 – she’s exactly the way we dream to be : carefree - waking up late because she doesn’t feel like going to work early in the morning ; reveler - never declining a good party because she’s tired ; dynamic and funny ; pretty and well-at-ease with people ; in love with everything and everyone, open to all possibilities and to all worlds

8 – but she has the same weaknesses as we have : she’s always afraid of doing the wrong thing, she’s torn between her culture and her generation,she doesn’t know whether she should settle in something or with someone, or keep discovering the world that is opening to her. she has only one thing in mind : being happy

9- she doesn’t like bollywood and especially not kabhi alvida naa kehna, butit doesn’t prevent her from asking a DJ to put on the song for me, to make me happy and then dance with me

10- all those things only mean one thing : i’ve only known her for one year and a half, but she’s already become like my twin sister. my little (big ?) and crazy indian sister

the crazy blue of E - 602 : introduction

i have always gravitated towards monster houses. not really dark cobwebbed houses of B grade movies, but bright cheerful, sunny houses that could none the less swallow someone up. and i don’t mean literally (that would only make you believe that i’m on some hallucinogenic drug and give you an excuse to not take this post seriously). instead, houses that give you enough space to not spend a single waking moment in them, for months at an end, yet still feel that completely overwhelming sense of being sucked into a different reality when you step into them.

now, those are the actual monster houses. the real mccoys. the dangerous ones. the ones that masquerade as sunshine homes and then suck you into a vortex of another world. houses that somehow encourage people other than you to just s-t-a-y. cocooned in a lazy languid time.

there are a lot of people who have come and vegetated in whatever monster house i currently inhabiting at any given moment in time. there are a lot of people who’ve spent short periods of time there – coming and going as if connected to it with an elasticised umbical cord. there have been complete strangers who have dropped by on a certain evening to watch a film, and stayed on for three months.

but the true test of a monster house, (and one that all the houses i’ve lived in have aced) is not how many people it enfolds in its energy, but how many people it keeps away. and thankfully, all my houses have scared away as many people as it has welcomed. there are people who quicken their pace when walking by, when they aren’t walking 4 kilometers out of their way to avoid the vibes that my house radiates. (gleeful rubbing of hands happening here)

anyway, i now have a new monster house (in as much as it's possible to own a house, while trying furiously to not let it own you). and in case you haven’t realized, it’s E-602. i have to admit that, it has got a good, full-bodied, sunshine filled, monster character. this i can tell because, there has been a spate of guests every since i moved in and my cartons have barely been stripped of the tape.

so to celebrate that, i’m introducing a new series on my blog (it’s called “the crazy blue of E-602”, just in case you were wondering). everyone who comes to stay has to put up a post. about anything. this shall serve a two fold purpose. one, it will appease the monster house gods (and i have to tell you, that there are very few things apart from drinking rituals, which actually do). and two, it shall give me material for my blog, while i concentrate on the aforesaid rituals.

could life get any better?

kanpur ki rani ka anti-aging formula

a few days ago, tulika called me. (who the fuck is tulika?, you're thinking) well, tulika was my art partner at lintas. we started our careers together. she fresh out of art school and me fresh out of dropping out of my masters. it was a mad time. we worked crazy hours. spent days altogether at the studio. shared a couch with 8 people most nights. contributed heavily towards increasing the income of the guy who owned blues. and yes, we learnt to sell soap.

there was this other thing too. tulika and me had a song. our song (no relationship is complete without one). that we'd sing on top of our voices when we though office was getting too quiet. we sounded terrible (think chalk againt the blackboard). but what we lacked in melody we more than made up in enthusiasm.

that was then. in the last couple of years, we fell out and kind of lost touch. for no particular reason. just one of those things.

and then, a few days ago, tulika called me.

i knew it was her because she burst into song as soon as i picked up the phone. it took me two seconds to react, that was all, and then i joined her line for line (although the both of us only know four lines of the song).

suddenly i was 21 again. green and gauche. full of spunk and optimism. ready to take on the world. cocooned in the comfort of having friends that you share years of history with. singing because i loved my job. singing because the world held promise. singing because i was heartbreakingly happy. singing because i could.

and to think, all it took, was one phone call.