Monsoon

It is that time, my darling
Where we take our walk
Because, of course, it is a such a beautiful day
A day with the salty promise of rain
And wind with a death wish.

But mostly because our lies are caught out
Yours and mine.
Our 'i love yous' and tender assurances
Of joy and forgiveness, of kindness and compromise
Are a drizzle already, a prelude to this evening of rain.

We had vowed, once, to be honest
Even in the face of vehement denial,
And fragile perches in life.
We lovingly promised each other brutality
And faith.

And now when I tell you that I need more
Or you tell me you try, all i see is opinion
Not objective honesty, not truth. Just
What I think
What you think.

Shall we renew our promises, then, or make some new ones?
For example: Ignore, overlook, back off?
Or shall we optimistically assume love will conquer all --
My wet towel and your leaving light switches on?
Or shall we let the rain wash us and our promises away
And vow never to have any more?

May 27, 2009

Collecting clouds

If only I had that extra set of arms
Life, as I know it, would have been a different boxing match.
I'd field life's punches and stick in some of my own.
I'd feint and hook; I'd counterpunch
And maybe even learn to do a bolo.

If only I had that extra set of arms
I'd have known how to handle what life throws at me
With just one retreat into my corner.
I'd handle unemployment, a surprise baby and angst of where I am going
All with one power punch.

If only I had that extra set of arms
My crochet would have been complete while I wrote a blog entry
And email Puri a 'happy birthday'. I'd be able to fry the onions,
Not burn them, while I chopped tomatoes.
Domesticity calls for extra limbs and innovation.

If only I had that extra set of arms
I'd be able to do unspeakable things in bed.
I'd be able to touch skin and toussle hair while I remove
A book jabbing into the small of my back
While the fourth hand was straying and unpredictable.

If only I had that extra set of arms
Life, as I know it, would have been a different Hindu mythology.
Like a goddess, I'd dangle a head or two by the hair,
And with the other hand I'd bless someone to bounteous ever-after
All the while using two other hands to ward fools off.

If only I had that extra set of arms
I'd fly a plane, weigh a different weight,
Live in a different city, own a home near the sea.
Dive with dolphins, sing like a dream, follow Neruda
To whichever heaven he lives in.

Jai Ho!

I had to say this.

I don't think too much of the Oscars, on principle. Somewhere I don't know, however, is an awareness that, well, these awards are a sort of a big deal. I just didn't realise it till this morning when I saw Resul Pookutty and A R Rahman accepting theirs.

I've been saying it often enough that I don't think Rahman's music needs the validation of an Oscar win. But when I saw this diminutive man go up -- looking slightly excited, because he truly is the king of composure -- and make his little marriage joke (which I don't think anyone paid attention to) and thank his god for what he had got, I realised it meant a big deal to him. And I saw myself tearing up and feeling a little starburst of joy in my slightly contracting heart. It took effort to not have a blonde Miss World moment and dab my tears away. What a proud proud moment, although it took a non-Indian film to take these two mega-talented people to a place where they stood a chance.

And then, Rahman performs and comes back to take another one home. His first outing at the Oscars and the man comes back with two of them. What to do with him, ya?

And R Pookutty? How cute is he?!

A lesson that will be well learnt after this is that the official entry from India for the Oscars shouldn't be something that all of the world liked. Despite all the critical acclaim, we at home who saw Slumdog Millionaire thought it be a so-so film. Just goes to show our judgement is so non-existent.

Another thing I can see happening is a whole bunch of Malayalees taking credit for Rahman and Pookutty. Tamilians and Mallus fighting over Rahman. Bollywood claiming Pookutty to be their own. Now they belong to EVERYONE! That should some interesting reading in the couple of weeks to come, no?

Aside: Freida Pinto is so lovely! Her smile is just dazzling. Just so much poise and grace. And in all her international appearances she's so well turned out. I couldn't help think of Aishwarya Rai who so constantly gets it wrong internationally; her latest hot pink plunging number at the Pink Panther 2 premiere! Way to go, men, Freida!

Hearts, flowers and chuddies!

This is a nice change, no?

Every St Valentine's Day I vacillate madly between wanting to do something special for M, writing a scathing piece (yawn!another one) on the futility of the way this day is celebrated today and finally, completely ignore the day.

I've done all three, I'll admit. But this year is nice. I haven't heard a single person griping about how much soft toy makers, jewellers and florists are making. I haven't heard a single wide-eyed naive lamb just out of college saying how "commericialised" this beautiful tradition has become.

If anything, everyone's looking forward to tomorrow, hoping they'll be entertained -- love conquers all and all of that. Or at least some kind of action -- either jobless saffrons being trounced by this all-conquering love or timid little lovebirds being yanked about and harassed. Preferably, the latter -- after all, everyone loves a victim, no? And no one wants to see the villain become one. And think of all the programming on air if the latter happens. Talk shows, sms voting ("do you think members of the Ram Sene were ignored and molested as children, which is why they're doing everything to sabotage the celebration of love?") completely clueless reporters saying the same thing over and over again on PTCs and or, better, watching mutely, only to pontificate later, while some poor couple gets manhandled.

Well, I have a feeling it's going to be one damp squib and everything will be peaceful and pink.

Heppy Velentine's day, then.

TV Peevie.

I will say this till I am blue in the face or hoarse in the throat. And I am sure people have been saying this forever. Indian television reporting stinks. Very very badly. If there were awards given in various categories to our Times Nows and NDTVs these would be it.


The Pompous Prick award goes to.... Airbag Arnab

Has there been another face on television that has been so full of himself? A famous son of famous parents comes to mind but after Bombay's terror strike, Arnab Goswami of Times Now wins hands down. From the way he sits to the way he pontificates, he is the original snake that eats itself. (Get it? Eats itself - full of himself? ok.) I had to gag myself and pass out a bit while he finished. (You may ask why I didn't switch channels. I don't control the remote.)

Decider: Just about everything he said but of special note is when he delivered his judgement on what the ISI chief said and how his tone should have been something else.

The Fake Floozy award -- Bekaar Barkha

She used her cracking voice to great advantage and by the end of three days Barkha Dutt of NDTV had almost lost all of it. I am wishing it stays that way. What kind of a complete half-brained cretin asks the brother of someone held in captivity how he feels? And then holds his hands and says contrite things about praying for them? I am sure there are other ways to find things to do on TV while reporting on something like this. And oh, she had time to change those ghastly jackets, put on eyeliner and earrings through it all.

Decider: When she asked Shantanu Saikia - who we now know lost his journalist wife at the Taj. She was still missing when BD spoke to her -- how he was dealing with telling his little children about their mother. The man broke down for god's sake and she says, "I think we've upset him." Really? You think?

Edit: Please go here to see all that BD is about.

The Clueless Chica award -- Simpering Shaili

She's lovely to look at and is spot on with her interviews and news presentation but put her on the field with something like this, unprepared, and Shaili Chopra from NDTV Profit is as clueless as a puppy. From botching up her English to saying the same things over and over again, it makes you wonder how she can be so good when she's in the studio. She absolutely fell to pieces reporting live. From saying exactly two opposite things in the same sentence to completely missing the point, Shaili did it all.

Decider: When she stood against a burning Taj and said "Blah blah has happened in the financial capital of Mumbai (sic) and it remains to be seen what will happen to the finanical markets from this day onwards."


I don't know the names of any of those kids on Headlines Today or News X or whatever other news channels they are but I can assure you everything from exagerrated numbers to calling RR Patil the Union Home Minister was all done.

And oh, please feel free to add any more prize winners to the list. I'll just go back to radio or come to my laptop the next time the sky is falling. Seriously, I can't take any more of Arnab's shoulder and Barkha's hideous jackets.

Goodnight, and good luck.

29 going on 15

It took me years to fit my own age. At age 16, the world went around saying how mature I was for my age. That probably went to my head. Because on the threshold of a new decade in my life and I still feel 15.
Working in the real world, experimenting with relationships, living alone, living in, having a baby -- all that has got to take a toll on you right? Like a mango tree that stops being weighed down by too much fruit with each passing year. But in my head it doesn't feel like I've gone and lived an adult life.
I am still shocked when I meet really tiny kids and they tell me they are in class 12of the school I studied in. I still think monthly facials are for older women. I look at number 30, and it's just that to me -- a number. I don't see the big fuss.
What does drive home the point these days is when people expect grown up things from me. Or when I put myself in my mother's shoes -- which I have done very often since Shyama arrived -- and realise damn, at my age she had an 8-year old daughter. Or when I fill out restaurant suggestion cards that put you in a whole different bracket.

*****

I don't know if it's all the frosty windows and super nice warm clothing that you see in the movies (if you live in India, that is) but Christmas season anywhere is truly magical. (Even in Mauritius where it comes bang in the middle of summer and therefore the Christmas trees there are mostly golden. Yum!) I even imagine the smell of baking when I put on my Sinatra CD of Christmas carols.
This season I hope to recall all the people in the last year that have meant something to me. I plan to write them a note telling them how much I appreciate them or the thing they did for me. My list gets longer each day and I suddenly thank god for giving me such magic in my life.

*****

Ever wonder what happens if you had made a different decision from the one made when you came at a crossroad? I do. Of course I can never see the answer but it's a nice a journey. I see 20 kgs less, I see higher heels, I see more money, I see a different language, I see the sea. Other times I see an empty house, addictive behavior, I see cigarette hair and voice. Both seem romantic, but at the end of that little mind-detour, Shyama smiles and I love being where I am.

*****

I don't know where Bombay is going to go from here. Or India. I hate to think we won't all have normal lives but I hate it even more to think that we will go back to our lives when this mess is cleaned up. That's not indomitable spirit, that's freezing over. For good. That's death.

*****

I shop for teethers and other stories

It's not pregnancy, it's not a gurgling/screeching/pooping baby, it's not breastfeeding that drives home the fact that you have become a parent.

It's when you go to a book sale and spend all your uncomfortable-in-my-shoes time on going through an 'Olly the Otter' boardbook. That's still not a slap-in-the-face realisation; not until you walk up to the other parent in the new-parents equation and catch him ogling a coffee-table book on aircraft and lovingly caressing a complete set of Bond movie DVDs do you realise you are now officially mommy.

And, if you are like me, you are going to be mildly uncomfortable with the realisation. Result? Telling off the parent in question for not looking for something to turn your offspring into a book lover.

But you really, really know you're mommy when you go to one of those mega bookstores and get wildly excited at teethers that play music and rattles that have intelligent patterns that babies like (polka dots). All this while scores of gorgeous shiny stationery is staring you in the face begging to be picked up -- border scissors, pack of pencils, crisp sharpeners, erasers, coloring pencils, pouches. Slurrrrp. Yes, I am a stationery slut.

*****


No one can tell you enough for you to believe how a baby changes your life. If you are having a baby and people have been telling you your life is going to change, believe it a thousand times more than you would normally believe someone.

I, for one, miss being able to leave home with money scrunched up in my hip pocket and my phone in my hand. These days leaving home even for Madagascar fine chocolate gelato is a ritual that includes at least 27 trips between kitchen and bedroom.

I miss having leisurely loud sex and sleeping in in the mornings.

I miss having my hands free. (Although I totally love the way my golu molu fills my arms when they go around her.)

I miss my ears. For they don't belong to me any more. In the kitchen, while bathing, when I'm dozing, in the garden, when I write, my ear is constantly hovering in the bedroom where baby sleeps. A spoon tinkling on a plate, a puppy barking, even a squeaky door hinge makes me spring to my toes to go see if she's managed to bury herself in the covers and is crying for help.

I miss wearing clothes that don't need to buttoning up in the front. Full time breast feeding is a six-month long process. Thanks to loving family who believe the baby will vaporise if they don't constantly look at it every waking second, about 12 and a half people know the exact placement of moles on my breasts and how many bras I have in lace, cotton, satin and others. Oh and the colors too.

I miss being able to get up and go. Just like that.

*****

I have begun writing letters to Shyama. Really. I considered giving her MS Word documents in her legacy first but then I decided to do it the old fashioned way. If only to torture her with my handwriting. People who make handmade paper books are about to make a killing because as a besotted teenager, when I used to write to my then boyfriend, my letters would be nothing less than 16 to 20 pages long.

My parents suffered considerably less. About 8 to 10 pages. The last page had smileys and things. My father cribbed about wastage of paper and the amount of revenue I was giving the postal department posting seriously heavy letters internationally.


If anyone gave me those letters now I'd fade away in embarrassment.

*****

This is my sixth month of unemployment and I am seriously worried about going back to work. Half the world tells me don't stay out of the market, the rest tells me give your baby as much as you can before you head back to work. Crossroads. What do I do?

*****

Speaking of old boyfriends, spoke to the ex-husband a while back. It was nice to feel the old sense of cameraderie that brought us together in the first place. Oh wait, that was not cameraderie. More like pheromones and steamy car interiors by the sea. The cameraderie came later.

So anyway, he's doing well, married a lovely girl and lives abroad. At some point, he told me I would have liked living where he lived now and that I probably am missing out. Maybe I am. Oh well. All the best, R, may life continue being kind to you.

*****

It's serious baby time. If people haven't already had them the past year, they are about to have them or actively trying to have them. And if it's none of the above, people are going around wishing and taking gifts to people who have had babies.

In my life-calendar, there's been a baby every month this past year. Except for September. Which is good -- Virgos are not my favorite people. And for those who are still waiting for theirs -- I have just one word of advice: Always have blue shoes. Sorry, those are four words.

Where heartbreak means silence

There are no words to express the way these three days of Mumbai's seige has made me feel.
I just wanted to say I am well and truly heartbroken.

Finding Mommy

I got a mommy forward recently. It started in its usual style with a rant about dirty nappies and sleepless nights and went on to say seriously heart-twisting things about the way babies make you feel.

I, for once, could identify with each thing written there. Almost five months into motherhood, I still don't feel like a mommy. Although I am not quite sure what that is supposed to feel like.

For example, I am just glad Shyama is ridiculously cute. I am thankful, grateful and deeply overwhelmed that she's a happy child and smiles all the time. I am disgustingly happy that she has no teeth and even while I know I shouldn't even dream of wanting it, I like her best without the teeth and wish she remains this way.

But most of all I am just glad that I was blessed with this experience. For, I am the kind of person who mourns the lack of experience. Life has always been one large blue inviting infinity pool for me. And every new thing I get to know about I have this deep temptation to experience. As juvenile as it sounds, cocaine and crushing accidents included. Just to know what it feels like. And having been blessed with sunshine for a daughter has made this experience completely worth the thirsting for it.

While I love her immeasurably -- I loved her before she was even thought of I think -- I don't feel the kind of pride a lot of women I know feel. This whole 'my flesh and blood' situation doesn't seem to be there within me at all. For about a week after she was born I kept referring to myself as her sister when I baby talked to her. "My daughter" -- that still hasn't happened for me. She's just a ridiculously good thing that has happened in my charmed life.

I wonder how that's going to affect her.