The Idea-smithy

I know someone whose mission statement has to be “Mujhse panga mat lena!” She fights off robbers single-handed, she champions the causes of Clean Mumbai, Feminism, Equal rights, Rakhi Sawant and Salman Khan. We love her anyway but for her kickass attitude, she gets the I Style! vote. And if you think I’m kidding, check out what she wears at home!! While most of us lounge in bathroom chappals, this lady shows off spikes on her slippers!!

And just in case you’re still wondering who I’m talking about, go say hi to the Gutsy Gal, queen of desi-bloggydom and Bollywood blog-rockstar.

An old post…one that I didn’t deem ‘good enough’ for publishing. But now I think the rawest, deepest expressions are probably the best. And anonymous or not, this blog has been about my personal expression. So here it it…the year that was. I’m glad to get it off my mind. Thank you, all of you, for reading.

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If Fridays are a turquoise tango, Sundays seem to be an orange orchestra. No, a solo piece actually. Sundays, for a long time, have been ‘me’ days. first, out of a lack of options, then exhaustion and now with a sense of anticipation.

I wander down bookshelves that I’ve only been glazing over these last few weeks and moving away, hurriedly, from. It seems almost wrong to be here alone, like something vacant. And the environment matches my mood. What was earlier opulence, seems to have run into decadent indifference. Books lie piled on floors, some with their skeletons ripped. They’re all in the wrong racks. I suppress a grimace. Ah well, things shift, staff changes. My favorite bookshop is my haven of clean, tidy ideas no more. And I miss Precious.

(more…)

She may have watched Gone with the Wind too many times since she only dresses in black and white. A reflection of the way she thinks. And she supposes that a penchant for red lipstick makes her friend, a close affiliate to Bozo the clown.

Bozo reasons that someone who reads Kundera and Murakami, listens to jazz and knows a Monet from a Manet must have the same beauty within that they seek without. Scarlett prefers them scrubbed, polished and glossy.

She asks,

Why do we assume that good taste equals good character?

Pat comes the reply,

But I chose you, didn’t I?

Bozo always liked cliches.

Last week, I was told,

You should really get used to distinguishing your online and offline life!

And I wondered if I was spending too much time online. Only 8 hours+ at work. Some blogging on weekends. Who’s counting email? And now anyone in the world can see my chosen apparel for the day with Yahoo! Avatars. Oh and there’s always Instant Messenger.

Instant Messenger is in constant use across timezones, plugging people in different countries into one office. On one hand I marvel at the wonder that I’m talking to people in three continents much more often than with friends and family in the same city. Out of sight, out of mind, they say. Well, these people are constantly in my line of view as long as the green dot is flashing next to their names! 

Today, I got an email from a colleague titled

* IM not working *

I had to read the email to discover that I was being asked to email for queries instead of assuming she was offline (and hence off-office for the day). I mailed back

For a minute, I thought you were saying “I’m not working!”

Haha! I wish!

Imagine if instead you had said: IM on strike!

Or: IM off for the rest of the day!

IM not taking any more messages!

IM not a servant!

IM going nuts!

The last message I received was:

IM gonna quit!

Presumably that refers to the application and not the person. Tomorrow I’ll know when I see the green (or grey) dot next to the name.

Friends used to be people I could talk to. Now I hang the tag of FRIEND on anyone who lets me be silent.

24 hours just never seem to be enough in this city, you know? Every minute, every day feels like you’re running just 10 minutes behind. The one bit I really agreed with this otherwise horrific movie on, was the tightly managed shuffle for space and time. There’s a Rahul (Sharman Joshi) in every Mumbaiker. Managing a social life is always a joke – other people’s or your own!

Careful planning makes it possible to strike up a close friendship, despite the stretched-to-snapping-point schedules. How? There’s the mammoth time-budgeting through the week for the one day when one can get out of office in time to reach place A at the same time as the other person. Of course place A is only the least inconvenient meeting spot for the two people, not necessarily delightful in its sights or other attractions. And then there’s the fact that this rendezvous may happens about 2 minutes away from what is euphemistically known as ‘the ungodly hours’.

But all efforts bear fruit as my date swishes onto the kerb Superman style just as my taxi pulls up or I jump onto the footboard (Spiderwoman like?) of the exact compartment in precisely the same train my friend is taking! Yes! Commuting is indeed a social occasion in Mumbai!

I appease my I-hate-Mondays whininess with the thought that I do after all have a whole lot of people I’m going to be meeting during the week. The fact is that I do. And how surprising is that in a city that’s known for its crowds? Mumbai doesn’t make me particularly religious except when it comes to the near-holy adage that

IdeaSmith proposes, Mumbai disposes

Thus work spillover cuts into drinks with friends, which must be compensated for on another day. But what the hell, there was the half-hour phone call in the middle of the day with buddy about a relationship emergency.

So drinks-with-friends on Tuesday turns into the Wednesday play that you had planned to review on the weekend. Fantastic, you’d never have managed tickets otherwise! That now leaves us with the problem of…ah, what to do with:

1. Today’s original plans
2. Evening free on weekend
3. Person who was supposed to accompany you to the play

You’re just going to have to shift that mid-week coffee with former colleague into an hour-long phone call on the commute tomorrow. And drop best friend a message to explain why your line’s going to be busy and to discuss her new dress with you on email instead.

The second is the least of anyone’s concerns…if a concern at all, since time, like space is at a premium in this city. The last– ah, that’s tricky.

• Movie? (Nothing great showing. Who wants to see SRK’s abs again? And Ranbir Kapoor isn’t that cute)
• Drinks? (Work the next day! “I don’t drink!”, no good pubs in the vicinity)
• Shopping? Works very well if said friend is female. Works reasonably okay if said friend is male and in dire need of new clothes, gift for mum. We trade favours.
• Dinner? Boring option, safe option, but always an option.
• Watch the play again. Last resort but think of it as the price to pay for getting off the guilt of ditching them earlier and their not being able to catch it later.

That’s taken care of. Lock kar diya jaaye. So the first concrete block is laid on your weekend calendar. What of the rest? It’s amazing how quickly things fill up.

There’s the old school friend, now in town whom you haven’t managed to meet in 4 months.
There’s that non-promoted, surprisingly good movie that you must catch, even if you have to get up early to see the morning show.
There’s the city spot that you’ve been dying to visit ever since it stopped raining for photography.
There’s your grand-uncle who you want to sit down and write a real letter to, since email is only a word to him.
There’s shopping for a gift for a birthday around the corner.
There’s errands to be run, bills to be paid, cleaning to be done.
There are also a zillion books to be read and more getting written every day!!!! Honestly, sometimes I worry about how I’m going to find time to buy those books, let alone read them (never mind even afford all of them).
And finally…if there’s an hour free somewhere, there’s always somna for this sleep-deprived populace.

*Sigh* The thing about having a lot of options is that you don’t always get to exercise all of them! Life is about trying though. Always for more.

I’m thinking of F who gave me my first lesson on my work at my interview. At an office lunch, shortly after, she skipped dessert. Diet, I assumed, till I saw the others pass on their plates to her for inspection before digging in. She liked looking at sweets and sometimes smelling them, she said. At the traditional cake-cutting ceremonies at office, F was the designated knife-handler since she was the only one who could be trusted to not gobble up the cake before the others got to it. F and I worked together for a year. Then she got married, moved to an overseas office, came back and resumed work. She recently delivered a baby boy. I hope her little one will inherit her impish grin and her warmth.

I’m thinking of my old tuition teacher, alternate mother. Aunty had a reputation for turning near-fail marks into top-of-class grades. She had been a regular housewife till her husband lost his job. And then she took her degree to use by starting to teach one kid. In ten years she had become the best tutor this side of town. Aunty was stern and effective. Dedicated to her calling. A frail little lady who seemed to tower over all us. Except on an occasional afternoon, when she’d apologize for failing health and proceed to take lessons lying flat on her back.

I’m thinking of my uncle, former bad boy, echoes of which still remain in the back pockets of his faded jeans. Mama was always a good cook. I’ve had such exotic things like authentic Italian pizzas, Chinese-style noodles (not Maggi!) and vegetable Stroganoff. Mama doesn’t eat most of these delights anymore. And his late nights/late morning brunches have dropped off. The wild one has come home.

I’m thinking of my thatha. Upright, honest government servant to the world. Doting grandfather to me. Terribly stubborn spirit to the rest of the family. My earliest memories of thatha are of going hand-in-hand with him to buy an ice-cream off one of the carts parked near India Gate. And badurshas at the sweet market. Rock sugar at home after the morning puja. Those were the early days. And once catching him scraping the remains from the ghee-making pan to eat with sugar. And wondering…when do you start policing those who’ve laid the law for you? Around the same time I learnt that his feet, eyes and kidneys were all susceptible to failure. All of them succumbed.

And finally, most of all I’m thinking of mum. Chef par excellence, wit beyond compare. I’m thinking of the puddings, diwali sweets, chocolate cakes and numerous other delicacies that churn out from her kitchen. I’m thinking of her fading eyesight. I’m thinking of her still-lean frame. I’m thinking of how she never touches the delights she makes for us. I’m thinking of the weekly reading on the meter. And the syringes stacked neatly in our ice-tray.

I’m thinking of all the people I know who are part of the statistic that calls India the world diabetes capital. And I’m thinking that among the many problems each of us face, some wage a daily war against their bodies every day. And live among us, spreading their brand of sweetness, unaided by sugar.

Today is World Diabetes Day. It isn’t an occasion to wish anyone. It isn’t a day to start movements. All it seems to be, is to think of some people. Do it anyway.

In the Snake Woman issue that I read, Jessica says:

Maybe that’s what growing up is….realizing the things we do don’t mean anything. Things aren’t right or wrong. They’re just impulses. They just are.

Or perhaps in the grander scheme of things, beyond everyday breaths, in an entire lifetime some things cease to matter. Even within one relationship in a few years, it may be forgotten - those details of who spoke first, who made the first move and who ended it. Where then, is there any significance of our mundane emotions and selves in the grand panorama of multiple lifetimes?

Is it possible to live several lifetimes in one? I always liked taking stock at the end, summarizing, taking one key point out of each of the lengthy stories beforehand. What if this lifetime were nothing more than a fast-forward of a thousand others, a recap, a reminder to pick one sentence, one word from each lesson? An executive summary of everything thus far.

Then that’s why there’s so much room for deja vu, familiarity and seemingly-magical connections in my life. No wonder then I’m frequently bored…I’ve seen all of this before. Who’s got the time or the inclination..or the need, to recreate the entire production again? When all I have to do is run through it just to pull out the very essence of it? Ah, no wonder I seem cold and even slightly mad sometimes. I’m running the same tape, but just at a different speed than you are. And I loved you no less than yesterday. Or was it three lifetimes ago? I forget, the order doesn’t matter anyway.

My love, my hate, my passion, my indifference, my callousness, my grief….everything was just a series of impulses. Ha.

I realized yesterday that you can’t control your friendships any more than you can control your love life. I heard someone ask, almost reproachfully,

Since love happens on its own,
Without will or volition,
Why hate someone for loving you,
Or, for not being able to?

I thought long and hard but I never had an answer to that.

You certainly can’t control who you fall in love with. Or who falls in love with you.
You can’t control who to like or not like. Or who places you up on the pedestal of friendship. Or sacrifices you on the alter of love.

All you can do, is turn your back on relationships that you think aren’t right…and hope to heaven that they leave you alone and don’t come knocking on the door of your unconscious every now and then.

J once told me that,

A relationship is like eye-contact. It takes two to maintain it. But only one to look away and it is broken.

I disagree. As long as one person is still looking, the gaze exists, the spotlight, the glare and eventually, the other must come back to look again. It takes one to start and two to end.

In my mind, I effectively killed off those that hurt me and inadvertently created the ghosts of my past. Now, I am done and wish them nothing any more. Not joy, not fear, not hatred, not love. I’ve been the response to their initiation. Each spell of wonder, of lust and of love that was cast on me, I reciprocated with a counter-spell of murky attachment, of resentful longing, of secret guilt.

I wrote this months ago but did not publish it because it didn’t feel real. And now, finally that the impulse has caught up with the truth….like colour filling into the lines of what must come to pass…here it is.

I never did learn how to make a person stay
But it seemed like I learnt how to let them go
And I’ve always known how to make sure I’d be missed

Today, after all the grand entrances and exits,
All the passing throughs and mixed memories
I acknowledge what I’ve done

And to all the people I’ve bound to me,
Without seeming to,
I set you free

I stole my freedom away from you and us
Now I give you back yours, as a parting gift

You have been loved. And hated. And indulged. And denied. And finally absolved.
Your crimes washed away along with mine. And your pain redeemed for my tears.

I don’t have any regrets
And I hope, neither do you

Go in peace.

This is for everybody I’ve had any kind of strong attachment to, especially in the past few years. Friends, lovers, foes, ex-boyfriends, rivals. I’m letting you go. Not with any ulterior motives or from misplaced pride anymore but because…it is the only thing left to do. Please let me go. And let’s just get on with the rest of our lives. And lifetimes.

I haven’t seen you in awhile.

he said.

I’ve been waiting.

I murmured.

You’re sure about this, right?

he asked in some trepidition, reacting perhaps to some hidden uncertainity in my voice.

I trust you completely.

I dimpled back. And closed my eyes. His hands moved gently.

An hour later we were done. I stood up and told him,

You’re the best, you know?

He just smiled.

He’s modest but creative, my hair-stylist.

And as I walked out of the door, his last words were,

I really like you. You give me all the freedom I want and it makes me put my heart into my work!!!

So I’m now wearing a man’s heart…not on my sleeve….but woven into my crowning glory!!

Had a thought - a few actually - in the last fortnight, that I haven’t had a chance to put down.

I saw this movie and thought,

I see ghosts too. They hurt me sometimes. They talk to me. They walk around like everyone else. They are the ghosts of my past.

And then perhaps, as with Cole, my ghosts wanted to tell me something as well and it might make sense to listen.

Last weekend, I spoke to my best friend about him. Not in anger, not in pain but an unemotional reflective way, ending with,

You know, I think he must be thinking of me.

And then, in another conversation, was ressurected the spirit of someone who was once as dear as no one else has ever been and I ended that remisiniscence as always with,

I’ve never run away from anyone’s love like that. But then again, no one has ever loved me as much. I always wonder if somewhere deep down, even in me, lies the capacity for all-encompassing, womb-like comforting, parasitic, suffocating devotion. I’m a Cancerian as well after all. And I’ve always had a strange relationship with other Cancerians.

And then, during the week, seemingly after deciding in an idle moment to ‘talk’ to my ghosts, they came knocking on my door. His hello comes back like the years in between never happened. And her voice had the same warmth like my goodbye had not ever been said either.

My breath stuck in my throat at both times. And once I learnt to breathe again, I spoke to them. But they’ve both vanished. Odd, isn’t it? Like the only thing each of my ghosts had to say to me was,

Don’t be afraid of me.

Incidently, the most memorable scene in the movie (in my mind) is the one where Cole has his first encounter with a ghost that he doesn’t run away from. Sitting quietly in his little tent, as his breath starts to hang in the air and the clips overhead snap off, his eyes race down to find a little girl sitting in front of him. And in her eyes….there is only pain. So much of it.

How can one run away from someone in even more pain than oneself? And yet, we do.