Play it again

Time is an elusive thing. It really does just pass you by. The word 'year' on paper sounds so matter of fact. And in reality, year after year passes one by. I wish there was some way to arrest time. Because I don't feel like I have lived this moment fully yet. Just for this moment. Or this one. Or the next.

But if one really pauses to listen sometimes, time has a rhythm. Life has one. And potent wine on an empty stomach most certainly does :) 

Things to Do: NYC 2013

Mornings are times of energy and clarity. I have expended most rigorous and tenacious efforts over the last 25 years to turn nocturnal permanently. It does come naturally, I work better late at night, under stress etc. Mornings have always been groggy, difficult times for me. But I have to grudgingly admit that the days that I do manage to open my eyes and roll out of bed without injury, the feeling of having the day ahead of me (instead of just a couple of hours till sun down) fills me with enthusiasm and energy.

Today is one such day. 8 a.m. is early for me, really early. Cursory morning facebook flipping has served to be the real motivation for this post, though. A friend's status message reminded me that 2 years ago, today, India won the World Cup. Another flew a plane, and crossed off an item on his before 30 bucket list. I am not entirely sure how the two tie together, but in any case, filled with nostalgia, hope, excitement and a strong cup of tea, I have decided to make my own list of sorts.

Thing is, time's flying by. I have barely 2 months before graduation - while that's usually a happy thing, it's filling me with fear because it marks the end of the sabbatical-from-work period of my life, at least for now. And worse, it's a painful reminder of everything I still haven't managed to do (or need to do again) in New York. So here goes, let the crossing off begin!

Things (left to do in less than 4 months) in New York:
1. Watch one of the high-flying Broadway shows.
2. Walk down Brooklyn bridge and get that damn pizza.
3. Go to the top of the Empire State building and the viewing deck in Rockefeller (yes, cheesiness and pop culture have played a big role in my life. Also, God, this is embarrassing, but in the interest of full disclosure, I haven't done either)
4. Finish a book in NYPL's Bryant Park branch.
5. Get that pastrami sandwich and that salmon cream cheese bagel.
6. Spend a day at Paley's center.
7. Raines Law Room.
8. Bar-hop along the river.
9. Contemplate life in Central Park for an entire day.
10. Find a good Indian restaurant that I can recommend to friends when they ask where to go for Indian food without caveats and hesitation.
11. Try one of the famous chef restaurants.
12. Soul food at one of the historic restaurants within a 2 mile radius of my house. Clearly, I've been studying too much.
13. Get a photo with either Batman or a Disney princess at Times Square.
14. Go to the zoo.
15. Take the ferry to somewhere.
16. Be mesmerized by a dangerous Russian at the Russian Tea Room. Or just get tea there. Or vodka.
17. Do a class of something, anything.
18. Swim in the Columbia pool.
19. Go to the Brooklyn cemetery. I am really curious about why it has made so many lists.
20. Pay the Highline a visit.
And I'll keep adding stuff as and when I think of something. Hopefully, that process will be much slower than the striking off.

The Day I Fell in Love with New York

I believe that if you are ever going to love a city you are living in, that realization will hit you quite suddenly some day, when nothing particularly noteworthy has happened. I fell in love with Bombay when I was 11. I was sitting on my balcony (I was on the floor) and it was pouring- the slanting, barely visible type of rain which sprays all around the main droplet's trajectory. I was reading The Junior Anthology of Poems which was the Poetry text for English Literature in 6th standard, and daring as I was at age 11, I was reading beyond the prescribed syllabus. I think it was Lochinvar or Lord Ullin's Daughter (definitely one of those romantic ones with a dashing hero). And quite suddenly, I glanced up, looked at the rain and realized I loved this city from the depths of my soul or some much. It was like this surge of joy and gratitude to just be in it.

Bangalore was a little more complex. I was quite certain I liked the city the minute I stepped out of the plane and it was about 12 degrees cooler than Delhi (where I had been staying for about 3 months before going to Bangalore) was that July. But there was a bit of a love-hate phase (love when the campus was all green and fresh,  when the sky was orange in the evenings and sometimes even at night, when it became a little chilly in the evenings in the way only Bangalore evenings can be; hate, well, in summers in a cramped hostel room without an AC, during project submissions, when it drizzled every time I had to go to the Acad block and even when I was making the twice-a-trimester trip to the library). I think I truly fell in love with Bangalore in my 5th year, on a solitary smoke trip to Nagarbhavi (the sky of course, was orange, and it was chilly). And I sat outside Hegde, listening to something on my pod (I think it was the Juno sound-track) and I looked around me and well, it just happened. I wanted to give the city a hug and never leave it.

I've been in New York for a little over a month, and I don't know if I should be surprised it happened so soon or whether, by New-York-awesomeness standards, even this was late. People have been asking me the last couple of weeks how New York is, whether I am having the time of my life and so forth, and though I was embarrassed to say it out loud, I didn't really think it was as amazing as every piece of literature, movie, song and conversation on the general subject makes it out to be. I mean, it's got great energy, it's got tonnes of stuff happening all the time. It's always up and about, super-efficient, super-diverse. But I think I liked it more because I was expected to like it - I didn't really have an opinion of my own. And as usual, it didn't take anything fabulous to make an impression.

Today, I was ambling around college, considering whether to buy a new pack of smokes or go to the library and study. The weather was lovely, it had been raining in the morning and it was really cool and windy. The smokes won, and I decided to go to the road behind the law school building, where I hadn't gone thus far. So I walked down the road, took a left, and suddenly, there was this park which was built along a hill- not the randomly undulated hilly terrain appearing all over the city's roads (most inconveniently located, among other locations, on my walk from home to college), but a proper, almost cliff-like sloping hill. I gasped (I really did) and walked into the park, climbing down a long-winding set of stairs. There were stairs and slopes and trees and running tracks. There was an enormous squirrel which crawled up to me from behind. An old man running. A couple walking their baby and their dog- the baby was in a pram, to which the dog's leash was tied. A girl applying lip-balm on her boyfriend's lips or wiping away something from them. I walked around for a long time. It started drizzling again, and I climbed back up and sat on a bench which overlooked the slope. I pulled out my last cigarette from the old pack and smoked it. And I felt the magic of the city creep up on me. Sitting there, I dreamed of infinite possibilities, of castles, of winding rivers, of beautiful music and moving literature. And somehow, the city felt like a meeting-point of all these, a crazy mix of everything under the sun that I had ever thought about, could ever think about and of stuff I wouldn't ever understand or imagine. It was like being enveloped into a phenomenon, chronicling history while making it and silently observing it. The wind blew sharply, I took the last drag. I was acutely alone, but I didn't feel lonely. Today, I fell in love with New York. 

“Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. "Pooh?" he whispered.
"Yes, Piglet?"
"Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's hand. "I just wanted to be sure of you.” 
                            
                                                                                                                    -Winnie-the-Pooh

So much of love becomes expectations. The most memorable of all moments of being in love and being loved, a pair of circumstances combining to produce that most supremely sublime of feelings, are the quietly spontaneous ones.

"Jenny kissed me when we met,

Jumping from the chair she sat in.

Time, you thief! who love to get

Sweets into your list, put that in.

Say I'm weary, say I'm sad;

Say that health and wealth have missed me;

Say I'm growing old, but add-

Jenny kissed me!"

Those that make your heart jump a little like Jenny jumped from the chair, moments that were never requested and can never be replicated. 

A Strange Episode I Still Don't Understand

I thought of this quite suddenly today. Actually, to be fair, it wasn't all that sudden and unsolicited a thought. I was trying to think back to remarkable incidents from when I was younger. This is one of those that I think back to once in a while but utterly fail to understand even now. Either it was utterly inconsequential and meaningless or it was so poignant and full of life's mysteries that I have not been able to unravel it despite (or is it because of?)all the growing up that I have done (on an aside, I am finding it a little amusing that the more adult I am becoming, the more posts there are about growing up - I'd have thought the process would've been done with by now). Anyway, let me put the facts before you first. I know that many people hate pre-story rambling - I for one get annoyed to death by pre-story analyses and disclaimers. Okay then.

So I was around 7 years old, visiting an aunt with my brother. My cousin had a Tibetan Lhasa called Boney. My cousin was 9 years old and very fond of Boney. One day, after lunch, it was time to take Boney for a walk. My brother and I tagged along. I wanted to hold Boney's leash while we walked him. My cousin said that he (Boney) had a bit of a wild streak, and it might be a better idea for him (my cousin) to keep the leash. But I was adamant. I said I would be careful and hold the leash tightly. So my cousin gave me the leash. It was all fine for the first ten minutes, Boney trotted along sniffing plants and eating mud. Then, as on most occasions that come with warnings, things went awfully wrong. Boney caught sight of a dog from an enemy camp and decided to chase him. He tugged and tugged at the leash. Now, interestingly, from the point of him spotting the evil dog to him escaping the leash, it couldn't have been more than a few seconds, and given that almost 17 years have passed since the incident, I would be excused for not remembering the exact sequence of events very clearly. But I do. I remember that Boney tugged at the leash, and I held on to it tightly. Then he tugged again, but I could have controlled it long enough to let my cousin grab hold of the leash or the dog and make sure he didn't run. But I didn't. For some reason I can't put my finger on even today, I let go. I do, however, remember that I had reasoned it out perfectly in the second or two that it took me to make the decision. And even today, I regret what followed, but I do not question the decision itself- it seemed like the natural thing to have done then. Anyway, once I let go, Boney ran off at a surprisingly swift pace for the lazy dog he otherwise was. I turned to my cousin, fearing some sort of angry outburst, the confidence of my well-reasoned decision slipping out me at an also-remarkably swift pace. He did not have even the slightest frown of anger on his face. It was a look of responsibility and concern, and he told me and my brother to go back to the house and that he would get Boney. Given that he was only 2 years elder to me, I felt I could, despite being the cause for the entire drama, have a say in the matter, and I said, why don't we go and tell Mausa what has happened. My cousin said there was no time, that the other dogs would bite Boney, and took off after him. I then went back to the house with my brother and waited anxiously for my cousin to return. I had sort of assumed that Boney would not be found - I mean, how would my cousin be able to tell where exactly he had gone to chase the evil dog. As it turned out however, this was a fairly frequent thing Boney did, and my cousin found him quite easily and was back within fifteen minutes of our return. Both he and Boney had some cuts and bruises on them - from bushes as also from the strays that were lurking about in enemy territory. I was now scared out of my wits. I expected that my Mausa and Mausi would be highly displeased that my irresponsible conduct had resulted in injuries to both their son and their dog. But before that, I expected that I would get a scolding and a lecture from my cousin, who was after all, 2 years elder to me. Now, this is the part I absolutely don't get. My cousin went and washed himself and Boney and put Dettol on all wounds. He then gave Boney his food and came into the hall, where my brother and I were sitting quietly and squirming, and cheerfully started talking to us. Like nothing had happened. I kept waiting for there to be some disapproval, disappointment, anger or at least an I-told-you-so. Nothing. It was like he had forgotten the episode. He did not even tell his parents that it had been my fault - he cheerfully said that Boney had slipped away yet again and went to the doctor bravely to get the wounds checked.

I cannot for the life of me, to this day, understand why he wasn't at least a little angry with me. Agreed, Boney used to slip away frequently. But this one was my fault. He should at least have asked me why I had let the leash slip or not called out to him when Boney tugged. He handled it with a level of responsibility and maturity and un-snitchiness that I was not aware existed in the world. I get love for your dog, I get that he risked his life and ran into a swamp full of strays to save him. I am sure most dog-owners would do that without batting an eyelid. But I cannot sufficiently express how much his behaviour vis-a-vis me baffles me even today. Like I said, it probably meant nothing. It probably means that this cousin of mine has the essence of goodness that all spirituality is supposed to fetch. I remain confused by various aspects of the episode and why it means so much to me.

Full-time Friend

'Listen.'

'Yeah?'

 

'How long do u think I'm gona remain depressed?'

'I say 1 month 26 days.'

 

':P I am serious.'

'So am I.'

'I am getting a lil tired of this sadness routine.'

'Thats when I get back.'

'Oh god. Who'd u go to exotic place with?'

Some things are so intensely private and so beautiful, you want to shout them out to the world. If you've been in a friendship like this one, you'll want to write a book about it.

Update

It’s been a while. My last blog post interestingly was two days before I started working. And this one is thanks to the fact that I am on a week-long chuma leave.

It is impossible to chronicle the activities of an entire almost-year. So just a couple of observations based on the wisdom I have gained.

College is just an experiment that is performed on you- it is not intended to, nor does it in any way, prepare you for anything to follow it. When you are sad, try singing out loud, top of your lungs types. It helps like nothing else. Working gives you a failing memory- and if yours was already failing, you’ll be amnesia-stricken soon enough. No seriously, you forget every damn thing- from the smallest chores to calling clients- it’s all just one long haze. Oh and time does fly- it gets divided in a peculiar fashion into hazes of weekdays and hazes of weekends. Nothing is indispensible- not even the hostel terrace- I am growing increasingly partial to the ledge of my window.

All in all, it has been an interesting almost-year. I have met many interesting new people, which I understand is not a common phenomenon. Better still, I actually like most of them. I have also started using corporate-lawyery phrases like “I understand…”. I understand now that a sense of calm will prevail eventually- it has to, being agitated is simply too exhausting. So many things have changed, it has been a tad difficult to keep track some times. I went through an I-hate-Bombay-back-to-loving-Bombay phase. I even wore toe rings in February. So yeah.

I am a really weird person. I don't know why, but whenever I am on the brink of starting something new (in this case my first job), something which brings the promise of new experiences and so on, I start feeling bad for the people I am leaving behind in embarking on this journey. Leaving behind in the sense, the people who are not starting a similar journey, or who haven't had and/ or will never have the opportunity of starting one such journey.
Half my excitement at my own good fortune gets diluted in this 'feeling bad'.

I really hope I toughen up, soon.

Sniffing Down Memory Lane

Today, I washed my hair with Sunsilk Black shampoo. And the smell took me back to a much simpler time, about 15 years or so ago, when fancier brands of shampoo hadn't entered the Indian market, and one's choices were limited to the various colours of Sunsilk, a few brands here and there, shikakai, and anything your generous relatives from abroad were nice enough to bestow upon you.

I was reminded of a summer holiday at my nani's house, when almost all my maternal cousins (about 15 of them) were also on holiday from their various courses or, in some cases, jobs. We would sit through the long summer days, playing cards, talking away, making fun of each other (this got rather heated sometimes, especially between cousins of roughly the same age- being one of the youngest cousins, I got the advantage of not having to take sides, but could express my love and support to both parties equally, without pressure), eating mangoes, playing cricket, watching movies in theatres with fans, and in ridiculously large numbers, eating lunch/ dinner in batches, and rounding up near the tiny black-and-white TV at around 10p.m., post-dinner, to watch something that would be of interest to persons of various age groups, ranging from my nana to my younger brother.

And I was reminded of the tiny bathroom, and the lengthy bathing ritual we went through every day. First, the motor for the water had to be turned on in the morning, after which all the elder people in the household went for their baths, usually in order of seniority. Thereafter, it was our turn. And there would be massive fights, chit-picking, philosophical debates, coin-tossing, and many other such turn-deciding events. Despite this process of determining the order of the bathing line, there were some cheaters and some line-cutters, who would jump in, and spend the rest of the day appeasing the person who they had cut ahead of (memorably, I remember a cousin of mine cutting ahead of another, and after he went in, she sang after him 'Na jaana mere badshaah, ek hi waade ke liye, ek hi waada tod kar..', in response to which he sang 'Main waapas aaunga.. ek hi waade ke liye, ek hi waada tod kar'. It's funny this has stayed with me, because my family is quite filmy and musical at times, and this wasn't some incredibly well-suited song to the situation. But I was about 6 or 7, and found it really impressive that he knew the lines that followed the two lines she sang, or something like that). And after this entire drama, one's bath had to be lightening quick, because someone was standing outside the bathroom door, waiting with towel in hand, to go in. 

And in so much discord, in a situation with such limited resources (yes, the water ran out once in a while, sometimes mid-bath), there was such harmony. Things moved about slowly but pleasantly. It was taken for granted that the bathing ritual would start from 9 in the morning, and continue till after 2 in the afternoon. And the funny bit was, noone complained. Everyone took great pleasure in the bathing-line-determining process, the chit-chat that happened while we stood waiting for our turn. Noone was in a hurry, noone complained about there being only one bath room.

In all of these lovely memories of some of the best times of the best times (childhood) of my life, the smell of Sunsilk Black shampoo distinctly stands out. Of all the virtues that Sunsilk shampoos of different colours could provide you, my cousins seemed to value 'Shine' the most (which was Sunsilk Black's promise). And I remember there being one bottle of Sunsilk Black being kept on the window-sill of the bathroom religiously, every single day, in every single vacation when I was there. And everyone used Sunsilk Black, and on Sundays especially, everyone's hair smelled of Sunsilk Black. 

Both my maternal grandparents passed away in the 1990s. My nani's house has now been sold to strangers. I haven't gone there in over 5 years. I haven't met all my cousins at the same time since 1997. I haven't gone to Patna for a summer holiday with my entire family in over 8 years. 

Yet, when I saw the bottle in my bathroom today, I couldn't help but use it immediately, and inhale deeply to take in the smell completely. And relive my entire summer holiday in those few seconds.

It's CLAT time of the year again!

The only good thing CLAT has done is that it has given an easy acronym for the law school entrance exam. Anyway, yesterday was CLAT, and Law School was apparently a center for over 700 students (they had seated people in the corridors of Training Center even!).

As I stepped out of my room after lunch to head to Nags, I knew that CLAT was happening, but somehow it didn't occur to me that there would be people all around. Seeing all the students who had come to write it, accompanied by their parents, and in some cases siblings and grandparents, caught me quite off-guard. And it was a little moving for me as well. For one, it was the last CLAT I'd witness being given in Law School, as a student of this institution. And it reminded me of my law school entrance exam. Of all the prep, of the final exam date, the morning before the exam, the light lunch I had before going for it, when I went with my parents to the RK Puram, Delhi center, the duration of the exam that flew by, meeting my parents who were waiting outside, going back home with a feeling of apprehension and relief that it was over. To use the cliche, it seems like it was just yesterday, and yet it feels like another life time.

When I saw the many many parents waiting in the shamiana, outside Acad, under trees, at Chetta, in Nags, I was reminded of how dutifully both my parents had accompanied me to the entrance exams, how worried they used to be, the countless discussions I had had with them about alternate career and backup options if Law School didn't work out. I felt a great deal of longing for those simpler times, and a flood of affection for my parents, who had patiently waited for me after coaching classes, picnics, entrance exams and what not. And then, from nowhere, a totally unexpected thought hit me. That in 25-odd years, I would be taking my child to his/her entrance exam, waiting in the sun with a soft drink while s/he toiled over the paper, hugging him/her when s/he came out and frantically discussed how the paper was, his/her hopes and fears. I am not really sure why this thought of a distant future came to me, and I am not really sure how I feel about even thinking it. But it certainly stopped me in my tracks and made me look at all those waiting parents once more.

I'm Not a Girl...

First of all, apologies for the extremely bad choice of title. For the cliché, or if it misled you into thinking this post was about, err, something else. I just couldn’t think of anything else to title it.

Continuing in the general flavor of reminiscing over the past, I started wondering yesterday as I was spraying on perfume before going out when it was that I made a switch from deodorants to perfumes. And that led me to think about the larger question of when I started becoming an adult, or rather, a woman. I can’t remember exactly when the transition happened. But I can think of some things that very slowly but perceptibly changed.

So the deo-perfume thing is one of them. I don’t know when it became childish in my head to use deo (Suresh, you’re a child only, so it’s okay), and it became important to use good brands of perfume. And of course, it became necessary to smell good all the time. I don’t know if, like most other things in this blog post, I have inherited this from my mother- but yeah, she is a fan of the perfume, and I have been exposed to what ‘good’ and ‘bad’ perfume brands are, how to apply them, how having a signature fragrance is cool etc.  from my very childhood. But I never really paid attention to any of that, it seemed too uncool and adult- why would you want a horribly expensive perfume when a deo did the job just as well? But at some point in the last 2-3 years, I discarded the deo, and moved on to the perfume, for to my mind, there was a difference which was important to me; and the change seemed so natural and seemless, I sometimes still marvel at it.

Another rather womanly attribute that I seem to have acquired with time is a love and appreciation for clothes. I most certainly had none till about 4-5 years ago, when going shopping for clothes bored me to no end, and was something I always tried to get out of. After this new me took over, however, colours, designs, fabrics, cuts, and yes- finishes, seem to almost speak out to me from the clothes. And I have truly started loving them; I enjoy just looking at them whether in real life or in magazines, trying them on, fantasizing about how I’ll look in them, mentally matching outfits- in all honesty, almost obsessing over them. And believe me, any creature who talked like this about clothes would’ve made me puke 5 years ago. My parents and brother are still reeling from the shock (my mother, pleasantly, of course- she absolutely loves clothes- so there, another character trait which is both woman and mother), people who remember who I was half a decade ago ask me when I developed this new interest , and frankly I can’t help be astounded myself. But well, it did happen. Now I can watch hours and hours of Gossip Girl just to look at the clothes.

In the specific area of clothes, I would like to draw you attention to one item in particular- jeans. When, I ask you, did the colour and fit and style of jeans become important?! Jeans used to be just jeans- you buy them keeping in mind your waist size, the general length, try them on once just to make sure they fit okay, and wear them for the rest of your life without caring what goes with them. But now, the style of the jeans, the fit, the cut, the fall, even the colour, have become so important to me, it is ridiculous. When did denims start affecting how fat your thighs looked or how your hips shaped out? More importantly, when did it matter? I used to read in some shady women’s magazines (which, by the way, I now take great interest in, admittedly, mostly for the clothes) about what cut which celebrity was wearing, how it was the in-thing for the season, what heels it ought to be paired with- and I used to be shocked as to why jeans were made such an object of fashion, when they were supposed to be for comfort only. Now I am just as shocked to note that that’s exactly how I think.

Another thing to do with jeans used to be that when the bottom part of the jeans dragged endlessly on the floor, it would tear. And no one really cared about that- it was cool to not care, to not even notice. Only person who used to notice it would be my mother. I still remember a time when she got the torn part of 3 pairs of my jeans chopped off so that I could look like I belonged to a decent family. Of course, I refused to ever touch those jeans again because they looked so ‘artificial’ and ‘properly trimmed’- not at all how jeans ought to look. Recently, I pointed out to a friend how shabby he looked in the pair of jeans he was wearing because the bottom part was torn and dragged on the floor in an untidy fashion, and that I would not go to a good restaurant with him looking like that. It was only after the words were out of my mouth that I was utterly alarmed. I was turning into my mother. And I was turning into one of those ‘artificial’-jeans-appreciating women. But I can’t help it- it just bother me to no end now if my jeans are torn.

These signs of ageing don’t stop just here- I worry about my skin and use creams diligently; I could go for weeks without caring whether my eyebrows were shaped or not- now, even a little growth out of the way has me running to the parlour; the chipping of a nail creases my brow somewhat; bags are an accessory, not just a utility item; fake jewellery is awesome on occasion when it looks good with what I am wearing, but I just can’t bring myself to put on earrings to match my every outfit everyday, as I used to with great fervor till 3 years ago (I groan as I write this because I am reminded of how fake jewellery was yet another thing my mom used to tell me not to wear).Don’t get me wrong- casual is still very important. Only, now it has to be carefully worked on, and made to be casual-yet-elegant or something. And being well turned out, smelling good, taking my time to work on myself as opposed to simply rushing to a place puffing and panting- all these things have just become oddly important.

And I just can’t put my finger on how and why these transitions happened- how and why I went from being this awesomely cool girl who didn’t give a damn about anything, and thought it cool to not care, to being this pruning, slightly fussy woman of just the variety that girl-me would have laughed about and criticized. And more pertinently, on how this change came so naturally, and how I am so very comfortable in this skin now, only faintly amused by the person I used to be, but not having any longing or nostalgia for those careless ways.

Nostalgia- 1

Nostalgia is one of those funny emotions that doesn't hit you, except in retrospect. It's probably more moving or more painful for precisely that reason. You look back on something fondly. It's something you don't experience while you are going through that thing or in anticipation of it. It only happens when a thing is done.

This entire academic year, I have been wondering when I will finally start feeling nostalgic about law school being (almost) over. It hits me in phases, usually when one or the other event induces it. And it is understandable to get all nostalgic because it is my last Legala-SF, or my last installment of fees, or my last compulsory course, or my last examination in college. But the stronger, more breathtaking brand of nostalgia is the one that hits you for practically no reason, over some very ordinary, every day event, which you have simply taken for granted. Because it's then that you realize that the life you had gotten so used to for 5 years, a pattern you had even forgotten could change, is about to be pulled away from beneath your feet.

I saw someone dragging their luggage into their hostel, after coming back in a cab from the airport (presumably from home). And it occurred to me then that I would never drag my luggage from an airport cab into my hostel room ever again. For 5 years, I have resented the task of having to carry my luggage over a flight (sometimes more than one) stairs all by myself. Having to lift a heavy bag when, in most of my life, I had never lifted anything heavier than a shopping bag holding my stuff. I still remember the first time I did it in the second trimester of law school, when I was almost reduced to tears by the injustice of it all. Having to clean my room, mop it even, arrange my things, sort out what clothes needed to be disposed of. Yeah, you can call me spoilt, but I think these small things, more than the larger, more scary concept of "living in a hostel", make us different people after we've lived in one. Quickly, these things that I had fretted over became routine. I'd board the flight from home (whichever of the many cities that was in over the last 5 years) with a heavy heart, watching my chauffeur and domestic help handling my luggage to the point where they weren't allowed in the airport, knowing that come Bangalore, I was on my own, and noone would lift bags for me. And I was prepared for it, albeit not always very cheerfully.

Today, when it hit me that I would never again lift my luggage as a student getting into a law school hostel, it was so overwhelming, I had to come back to my room and sit down. And all the mundane, otherwise forgotten everyday things of the last 5 years came back to me. Because this routine has been developed carefully, incorporated into my life, and become so much a part of it over my stay here, I feel lost without it. I wont know what to do outside of it, I am afraid. I don't even know when a place I took so for granted through this period that I barely cherished and largely only dissed it, became so much a part of me, so much a home for me. And now, I am almost on my way out of here. It's as if this now is the home I am leaving, like I did my home with my parents 5 years ago; going out once again into the world, stepping foot in a new place, with a new set of people, with my law school tag, law school friends, and a little room in law school hostels standing behind me to support me.

I am bored of my blog. I feel like deleting it and starting a new one.

All this Woman’s Day and Women’s Reservation Bill business made me take note of a couple of incidents which I would ordinarily have forgotten in no time.


The first scene was near RK Puram, Sector 13 (which mind you, does exist!), when I was trying to hail an auto for work. After a bit of a wait, one auto finally stopped, and the haggling began. It ran somewhat like this:

“Bhaiya, Prithvi Raj road, Chauntis number”

“Madam, government area hai, koi sawaari hi nahi milegi wahaan”

“Kitna loge batao”

“Pachaas”

“Bhaiya, mushkil se tees hota hai idhar se toh”

“Madam, udhar se khaali aana hota hai”

“Arre mil jaayega koi, bahut log rehte hain”

At this point, I inadvertently flashed a bright smile, simple because I was pretty bluntly lying to the auto-wallah. There are barely any pedestrians on Prithvi Raj road, at any time of day.

With a visible change in expression, looking rather delighted and nervous, the auto-wallah said:

“Acha Madam, challis mein hi chalo”

And he was cheerful all the way.



The second incident was a few days later, when I got off work rather early and went to Janpath to shop. There were some two tops I liked. The bargaining was something like this:

“Madam, 650 se kuch bhi neeche nahi hoga. Usse neeche toh humaari khareedaari bhi nahin hoti hai”

“Do le rahi hun, 200 mein de do”

“Arre kuch reasonable toh bolo madam”

“Bilkul reasonable hai. Nahi toh chhod do”

I walked out of the shop.

“Arre andar toh aao Madam, baat toh karo”

“Koi faayda nahi hai Bhaiya.. do sau se zyaada hain bhi nahin mere paas”

“Paise toh bahut hain aapke paas.. abhi abhi toh ATM se withdraw karke aa rahe ho”

Once again, I inadvertently laughed, only because I was rather amused that all the shopkeepers on Janpath are so bright as to observe each customers movements so carefully, and remember who was asking for directions to an ATM, so as to identify someone who intends to actually make purchases.

What followed was an immediate change of attitude.

“Acha Madam, aapke liye do sau mein de raha hun. Bataana mat kisi ko lekin”

“Abhi toh bol rahe the nahin hoga.. kya ho gaya achanak”

“Nahin.. aap le lo. Lo packet mein daal deta hun”



What is hilarious about both these episodes is that in neither instance was I actually trying to flirt with or cajole either of the men into doing favours. A bit of a laugh, not even directed at anything particularly witty they have said, melted their hearts in an odd fashion. Reminded me a bit of the whole Dil toh Bacha Hai Jee sequence in Ishqiya. But all said and done, man, women have powerful tools at their disposal. Funny we should be getting reservation and a special day and what not :)

Delhi

Yeh shehar nahi mehfil hai...

I am feeling uncomfortable. Not sad, not angry, just uncomfortable.

"So they can say you are high maintainence but it's okay because.. I like maintaining you"
- Chandler to Monica, Friends, Season 6

Of all the love stories in Friends, I have always thought the Monica-Chandler pairing was the most adorable. It's low key, especially compared to Rachel and Ross. It is not a high-pressure, meant-to-be thing, but just flows so naturally, after Season 5, it is difficult to picture them apart. I think it's beautifully developed, not rushed, and just fits. The little things they do for each other, the compromises they make and how the bond between them deepens makes me go 'aaw' every time.

A long-standing tradition in my law school life around this time of the academic year/trimester has been to impulsively decide, 2-3 days before exams begin, to go to town for dinner. I would dress up hastily and prettily, we'd decide on a dinner place and run off. My roommates would watch, initially bewildered, later resigned, and even later expecting this random pre-exam ritual of mine. Everyone I'd run into on the way would throw me quizzical looks, ask me scathing questions or roll eyes when I told them I was off to town because I was bored, and no, I hadn't started studying.

Today is one of those days again, when I have a paper in 3 days, and when I really feel like jumping out of bed, donning pretty clothes, shedding all worries and whizzing off to town for a nice meal and conversation, where everything about exams is forgotten; a trip that refreshes you entirely and is thoroughly enjoyable (not like I would come back and study, but it just made me feel very happy and comfortable). The thrill is not just of looking pretty and eating good food, but of being so nonchalant and uncaring with respect to exams; the sheer freedom to do what I want, when I want, of spending time, no matter how dangerously close to a deadline or an exam, with who I want and however I want to. Ah well...

I want to write a book. Any suggestions to inspire me?