blah!

She meets an old friend in a place full of 'memories'. There is the annoyingly unputdownable attraction, of course. But she has matured, of course.

They talk, they do their business, and they part... just as expected... or just as unexpected.

She sits in her car for half an hour, talking to someone who wasnt there. No, it was not the friend. She was talking to someone else... someone who was not only not there, but someone who isn't!

Some people are crazy. But they think they are normal. Of course, eccentric people think they are normal, which is why they are that way.

Well, she starts thinking. She wants to clear her head and start from the start. But what is the start? Is it when she met herself in the last few months, or is it when he taught her how to think, or is it before that when she hadnt had any personal persons, or is it when as a kid, she thought she was inconquerable? Or is it when the cosmos burgeoned?

okay chuck all this! This is big-time digressing, and more than that, it is bigger time bullshit. And she knows it.

Alright. A decision has to be made. Lets put down the pros and cons. Lets evaluate the way we are taught to, the way things are supposed to be done, the way in which there is a higher chance of success.

Well, outcome after 1 minute of serious manipulation - she cant afford to take life that seriously. She had to keep taking random paths in the forest, to make a colorful pattern by splashing arbitrary colors.... and she likes doing that. She loves forming intricate curves out of just a few points of reference... she likes building a marble sculpture after getting a glimpse of the side-face.


Aargh! Another draft in the blog section. She has something like 10 drafts in the last month, and many more completely erased.

Damn this desire to write well, to make sense, to have cogent convincing arguments, or to have a romantic tale, or an interesting perception, or a poignant saga, or even a curiously interesting random thought! All this is too much expectation from herself.


Is the golden mean just as elusive as they make it sound? She read a borrowed book on the flight today... on 'controlled separation'. Of course she had to return is quite early to the owner who was intears every other minute. 'Is there a way to find a path between the finality of a divorce and the suffocation of a failed marriage?'. Well, it was better frased, shethinks.

BLAH!
Blah and stuff are her favorite words. They epitomize abstraction to an uplifting level.

Alright, some posts dont have endings. She has to stop typing.




She misses travel!

Inexplicable events

Some things leave you happy, some things leave you in awe,
some inspire respect and some evoke pity.

And then there are some things that make you say with genuine disbelief - "What the #%&@!"

It's an outright crazy place, with crazy people right from the Pharoahs to the modern day office going Egyptian. There is crazy traffic on the streets, and there are the crazy vendors, there are stupendous monuments and there is the crazy belief in the will of God.

After staying here for more than a weak, one simply gets immune to anything outrageous. Bizarre is routine here.

But it touches you and makes you see things in an unprecedented way.

When we chatted at the dining table during family breakfast and lunches back in Mumbai , dad would tell us stories and events of his childhood. And they seemed to be so different from the incidents of my childhood. And then, bhai (grandpa) would tell us stories of HIS childhood, and they almost seemed like a chapter of history. He would talk about things I could not comprehend or imagine. And I would be fascinated... it was like getting an insight into the world fifty years before my time.

And today I walked through the Egyptian Museum. I am drained. Not drained by any physical fatigue, but simply by running through my mind a self-created movie of life not fifty or hundred or five hundred or even thousand years ago, but something that happened more than four thousand years ago. While the growth of this civilization has been articulated by several historians, writers, artists in admirable ways, it has moved me enough to express my two pence worth of adulations at the cost of pale redundancy.

There was something about these people that make you uncomfortable. They did make some monumental structures, and they did make mind blowing paintings... but that is not what really strikes you. Although it is commendable that they could come up with the math required to build the pyramid so high, or the knowledge of chemistry to come up with colors that survived through 5000 years, it is their sense of logic that hits you the most... enough to make you uncomfortable within your skin. It was the proof of the development of the human mind that happened then, that does not fall in place with my view of evloution. Philosophy, logic, rationale - all these perhaps are essential for survival in any age whatsoever. But I kinda assumed that having a structured philosophy or a defensible rationale happened much later... It may be that one does not agree with their ideas and philosophies (of resurrection or power of the Pharoahs), but one cant deny that there existed a well-founded (that being a relative term) for all their actions that we see today. They were a people who knew what they were doing... and that too so well that the unity and strength of their beliefs is what made them a civilization that generated awe and inspiration and a unique respect from all those who came later.

And the process of mummification makes you bow involuntary to the mind of the genius. There, in the museum, right in front of me, lied the proof of intense knowledge and talent that existed back in those days.
When I stood in the mummy room alone, seeing the bodies, the signs of well-combed hair, the cleaned nails, and the organs of men who lived 5000 years back, I was in daze. I could not believe it. I still cant. It could not have been. Could I really be seeing the actual hair and skin of the man who lived several milleniums ago?

Recommending a trip to Egypt would be redundant. I can only say that even if one is 'not into those kinds of historical things', one will get into them. And if one is, then nothing compares to actually seeing the manifestation of that crazy people in real.
As for me, the ankh is attached to me for good (pun intended).

Inshallah!

There is what you know and read about in the random travel mags on the flight/online,
And then there is the stark truth you can see for yourself.

There is hassling and juggling through the persistent salesmen,
And then there is the friendly invitation to chai... as a symbol of Egyptian hospitality.

There are expensive restaurants with 'awesome steak' and KFCs and pizza parlors,
And then there is the gastronomic orgasm while eating the Falafal and sipping tamarinda.

There is smoke and dust and dirt...
And there is the single felucca sailing through the pure waters of Nile like a dreamy scene of a Hindi movie.

There can be loud commotion everywhere,
Until your ears filter out the noise and you lose yourself into the faint sound of Arabic music.


There is irrefutable proof of 5000 years of civilization... and the crazy genius of the Pharoes,
And then there is all the unabashed brutal reality of raw human nature... untouched by any element of civilization.


Egypt is surely a place that can test your patience. But just like the ankh, it always gives you energy for more life...

Beauty in the Concrete Jungle

There was traveling in a boat to a remote lodge in the Amazon Rain Forest in Peru. There was living amongst the nature, seeing unheard, unseen, undecipherable (but highly distinguishable) creatures including insects, reptiles, mammals, birds. There was walking in knee-deep muddy waters and getting bitten all over by who-knows-what-all, and seeing the sunrays struggling to creep through the tall canopies. There was a boat ride in the dark, to locate the caimen. There was the slight rain (by Amazon standards), there were interesting breeds of trees... there was everything one would want to be amidst when one said ´ I want to be one with nature´

But a 45 minute bus ride in the heart of Lima during peak hours was way more entertaining/involving.

Finding out one´s way around a country whose language one does not know is an under-rated challenge. When in school, I remember a teacher telling us that an average English-speaking individual knows a couple thousand words of English. I found that rather unelievable. That´s a LOT of words. But when I simply could not ask for directions, and then when I managed to ask, I could not fathom the reply... it struck me that all I was looking for was simple words like ´bus number´, ´last bus time´, ´frequency´.

But living in a similar city teaches you many skills. Smiling and gesturing, without any hesitation puts the person at ease. Also, most people are willing to help and try their best in assisting if one shows enough concern on one´s face. Public transport is almost always safe and challenging and exhausting (thats the fun of it). Walking confidently is the best way to walk, no matter how little one knows about where one is going.

The sigñor who helped was a middle aged guy who spoke no english. NO english. And yet we smiled and talked. He took me to a place to eat, bought some bread for himself, and bought a ´pollo´sandwich for me, took me to the bus, and instructed the bus driver in no unclear terms as to where to drop me. I dont know how to show gratitude to such people except to keep chanting ´muchos gracios´.

The bus was almost as crowded as the local trains of Mumbai. And after a long time did I have to use my arm strength to keep my body in place. I heard the all-familiar chattering of young, professional girls discussing the day, the tired laborer sleeping while standing amidst the brouhaha, the beautiful lass staring alternately between her mobile phone and out of the window, the college kid lost in the music playing in his earphones, the conductor squeezing by where ants wouldn´t dare to tread!

And then I reach the destination (after pushing aside everyone heartlessly, to disembark).

It was a sight to behold. The yellow lights decorating the proud cathedral, the municipalty building matching wits, standing tall, the shops in the adjacent streets with the vendors beckoning to all those who passed, the colorful wares displayed temptingly, the discount and sale boards placed such that no one could overlook them, the smell of fresh food... and amid all this was the huge garden with a fountain in the centre. All this made it a beautiful sight, but what made it so fetching/appealling was that the garden was abuzz with young lovers... arm in arm, hand in hand, kissing, smiling, arguing, laughing... lost in their paradisical world. None cared as to who else was passing by, watching them with envy/curiosity. They were there just to enjoy companionship. It was like a typical garden in Mumbai, or bandstand, or Marine Drive, or other such hang outs... except there were no moral or actual police monitoring any activity. The world was free to a large extent.

Love, in any form, makes events or terrains or places or even activities more beautiful. Jungles and mountains and nature have their raw beauty to fall back on. But people typically are more interesting to people.

A questionable Shangri-la

There was a moment of suspended bliss.

All around her were lush green mountains subtly hidden behind the fleeting clouds. The clouds moved like proud vagabonds, changing the view dramatically with their slightest movement. The combination of slippery mud and wet rocks made the path look like that in the jungles of children´s drawing books. The vegetation adjacent to the path was wet and flowery... wild flowery - flowers that have grown out of choice, and not by planning and nurturing.

The slight drizzle combined with the light wind made her skin titilate. Walking in such a weather, at such a height (couple thousand feet) amidst the Rain Forest and the Cloud Forest was an unforgettable experience. She felt like a small child out of a fairy tale, only alive to sing and walk with a springing gait, to ask questions to the trees and to get answers from the winds, to speak softly to the clouds and see the mountains move in unison, to be curious about her body, to question her life, her smile, her motivations, her ideaologies, her philosophy... her.

Who was she? Did it matter? What matters? What was the goal, if there was one? Happiness? Or happiness at ANY cost? How did one measure cost? What was the goal, again? Is it just a vicious circle of questions that get answered if the previous one gets answered? Does any previous one get answered?
Is thinking about this of any worth? Is ignorance really bliss? At what levels? Is she a human incorporation of all that she was taught in her school, home, travels etc? Or is there such a thing as original thought?
What if she was kept in a closed enclosure for 23 years? Would the intersection set of her thoughts then, and now, be non-empty?

Or should she just laugh and be merry now.. and be inquisitive about why she occasionally feels miserable for no reason?

Treking in the high mountains gives her a vague confidence... She thinks the same thoughts she once thoght in the Garhwal trek years ago...
Mountains don´t have a sense of beauty. For the mountain, there is no definition of a beautiful mountain. It is just the way it is. It does not try to fit in, or to become more like it´s role model mountain.
A mountain is.
It is happy the way it is. It does not try to do anything about it, but be itself.

That is why ALL mountains look beautiful. Or all rivers look appealing. They just are.

Does the capacity for thought make us want to improve ourselves? To fit in? Or to stand out? Or to become an epitome of all good things for others?
Why do we have a collective sense?

The path curves, and she sees an opening. The scene is perfect, except for one anomaly. Her.

Mujhko chaahiye Mummy ABHI!

As I sit amidst all the accumulated paraphernalia, an old receipt flies... out of rebellion. It has been stored in some god-forsaken packet for some months... only to be disposed off in an undignified manner.

Damn all this packing, damn all this fitting 3 months of clothing into one small ruck-sack, damn all those clothes that I always wanted to wear and never got the 'right time' to wear and how they stare at me coldly and mockingly, and damn all those 'extra lexi pens' that landed up in my XXL-sized stationary box... got in the world of computers, and damn all those mobiles and their respective chargers and the cameras and the batteries and the chargers and their converters.... and damn all those socks that I neither use nor dispose... and damn all those free printers and cheap tables, damn all those close-to-my-heart posters of humorous quotes, damn all those carefully written words of Tennyson whom I have gotten attached to simply by reading them regularly... damn all those burdensome memories with each possession that stops me from disposing them... and worries me because of the fact that I won't feel their absence if I don't see them.

Phew! I am tired of clearing up the clutter and discovering more.
It's a pandora's box of seemingly-useful-but-never-going-to-be-used-items.

Suddenly the essence of aparigraha sinks in. Jain philosophers got it all figured out thousands of years back.. and here I struggle and fight the battle against a captured cause.

I want mom to figure out all the flight tickets and the itineraries, and remember where I kept those passport size pictures, and do my last minute laundry... and do all this in her typical sthitapragya style, as if this were a piece of cake

Victim of Cliches

She was standing in the room, enjoying the performances.
He was standing in the room, evaluating the performances.

She was an audience.
He was one of them, a performer.

He had just performed.
And she had just applauded.

And then, he had moved down to give space to the next one.
And she continued enjoying the performances.

The room was dark... and she could see the bobbing of faces when the comedian struck with a good one. She could also see the girls in the first row enjoying the drunken oblivion more than the intellectual tickle of the humor.

She was enjoying her experience of a first hand stand-up comedy show.

She knew she was sorta lonely... in a sorta different way. It was quite a while since she had met someone who gave her pleasure... the real pleasure. The bliss of a smooth, coherent, complete conversation, or the joy of a carefully placed joke.

So, she was enjoying the part pleasure gotten out of this public event... where there was something beyond raw carnal pleasures.

And then she felt those eyes. His eyes. It was difficult to tell whether they really rested on her, or was it a trick played by the dim lights. She used her tried and tested stunts to see whether he was looking at her.

She still could not tell for sure.

Then she remembered, he had a squint. Hadn't he cracked a joke on his squint in his session?
Damm!! What a challenge now.

She looked at him a couple of times. She thought she saw the trace of a teasing smile. The show ended.

She prepared to leave.... and he stopped her. "Won't you have a drink?". She smiled. She got nervous.
This was unchartered territory. Had he been a Masters of Computer Science working in a successful corporation in the Bay Area, she had all her arsenal geared up for her assault. Or had he been a commerce student from Mumbai, she knew the movies he would have enjoyed.
Even if he were a firang with a lot of education, she knew some tricks of the trade that she could barter for more.

But he was like none before. Apurva. Or unprecedented!
A sparkling, confident, squint-but-not-affected-by-it comedian.

She could feel the silence heavy in her throat. What the hell does one talk to a comedian?? "Tell me a joke"... "Are you generally this funny, or are you working right now?".
She didn't know. She hadn't read an quotes on comedians either.

She liked challenges... as long as they were not insurmountable.

She smiled. Her smile was a powerful and universal asset. He smiled back. She ordered vodka with Orange juice. He asked her what she had ordered. She smiled and said, "I think it is tequila sunrise". He smiled. She had already goofed up. And how!!

But then, he was simple and unassuming. And they talked and talked. She was surprised. "Do you want to dance?", he asked. She was nervous again.. She knew she was good at dance. Hence she was nervous. "I know a really good Salsa place". She agreed.

It was an awesome place.. not one of the popular wannabe places where everyone wanted to see and be seen. It was a haunt of a handful faithful Mexicans who really knew their dance. She LOVED the music. And he danced sooo freaking well. She threw away her coat of inhibitions and did her real groove. They grooved in unison, two strangers connected only by the desire to enjoy without any hangups. She did all her moves, and he danced like crazy. They were a part of one huge bunch of people, all there to really enjoy dance. There were smiles and laughters and a feeling of genuine merriment. No one cared how their hair looked, or whether their stomachs bulged in the tight clothes, or whether they were being seen, or whether anyone else was dancing.
Everyones body fluidly lost in the music.

And then they left the place... to go to a better one. It was the terrace of a building. A breath-taking sight... one that is shown in the more expensive postcards of the city.

All the skyscrapers glazing with the lights, and all the stars competing against them... and winning. The distant sound of a boisterous laugh, the empty streets decorated by the yellow lights and an occasional speeding car, the light drizzle and the slight blow of the cold tantalizing breeze... and the feeling of being far far away from the burden of obligations or self-righteousness, or from accumulated guilt.

She smiled, with a sense of victory. These were those moments when she was swept away, when she was filled with joy enough to last her through another rough patch.
He smiled back. "You have beautiful hair... and there is something in your eyes, that's very... hmm... i don't have the right word".
She laughs. He laughs. "Do people always expect you to be funny?". "Yes."

She looks up. "Didn't I tell you it looks beautiful?", he asks. "Yes, it looks brilliant".

She looks at him, and is suddenly jealous. He is looking at her with one eye, and all the other brilliance with the other.