Heartbreak warfare…

Every time I hear this particular word certain events burst across my eyes like a blitzkrieg. I thought there were just two major instances in my life when I cried my heart out and I had no one who’d listen to me without laughing. I guess even now I feel that way or else I wouldn’t be writing these lines in the very first place.

Okay… now being “almost” on the wrong side of thirty when I recall my past days I always thought there were just two major incidents and baby… I was wrong … the third stuck like an arrow when I thought nothing could move me…and to  comfort my ego I tell myself off and on that there’s still a child in me which is alive and kicking!

And now I wonder before telling these three tales should I really name them or keep them the way I address them still? The later now seems to suit my sensibilities and here they are:

Tragedy one:

This happened around twenty years ago. Like any teenager even I had butterflies in my stomach every time I saw him! And I really don’t know for what reasons why I was so attracted to him. He was just an ordinary guy head banging to all the heavy metal stuff I could think of and every meeting and his head banging would make me rush to get the dispirins. But I liked it that way. He belonged to the tall, dark & “not so” handsome types and still I was happy. Things however changed when I told this to my closest friend. Women can never keep secrets… I nod in agreement to it hundred and one percent! I don’t know whether I should appreciate her hard work or hate her guts but the day she went and told him about me, from that instance our relationship s soured. And I was miffed. Suddenly I could feel the distance. I wanted to set things straight but as clumsy as I am luck abandoned me too. To add to my miseries my tall, dark & not so handsome fella, out of the blue met a cousin of mine and all hell broke lose. They set the stage on fire! And he asked my help! Can anybody beat that? I wish I had the nerve to tell him “Slap me damnit!” But in reality I did something more silly & stupid. I cried my heart out. And no… mind you, not in front of him. I felt so lonely. I cried & wept & cried & wept more all alone. I spent many sleepless nights. I’ve felt my heart ache and heaviness that pained me to bits. Though I was amidst a crowd yet I’d be the only lonely one and it took a long time for me to heal my wounds. And I don’t know where he got lost amidst that crowd.

Tragedy two:

I was just out of school and all ready to attend college. You know how it is to be in a Convent school for twelve odd years. The very thought of going to a co-ed college was superb! And I just waited for that day. But something else happened before that. Between the time after school and joining college I befriended my neighbour. He was my batch, but studied in an all boy’s school. We soon realized that we shared a lot of common friends and interests as well. One thing led to the other and soon we were the unofficial couple in our gang of friends. There was nothing between the two of us yet some amount of attraction was there for sure. Soon college started and though we were in different colleges yet we would make it a point to hang out together. One afternoon when I returned home I saw a chit on my study table. As I unfolded it, it wasn’t too neat actually to be termed as a “love letter”. As I opened the chit I realized it was from him and he scribbled a few lines defining his love for me! And boy! I thanked my lucky stars. All my friends had boyfriends and it would get utterly boring when they went out on dates. I was left alone. So now that I had him as a boyfriend I thought I was in the league of my friends too. A few days later when I visited him I was feeling quite giddy inside. I have been such a tomboy all my life that to behave like a teeny-weeny love struck girl was quite a task. As I walked into his room I saw a lot of friends and he didn’t even pay that “special” and “extra” attention to me. Rather I could sense that he was more than eager to prove his manliness to a skimpily clad girl. I knew something was wrong. So the one chance I think God granted me I called him aside and asked him “what was wrong?” His jaw dropped almost touching the floor. He didn’t have a clue why I was behaving like a nagging wife. So I called him to my place the next day and showed him the chit. As he read that I thought he would bury himself deep underground. He said it was not him who wrote those lovey-dovey lines. And I was equally shocked as him. We had a big argument and he left, leaving me in absolute tears. I felt my heart breaking yet one more time. That pain… that loneliness again crept in me and I buried myself in my shell. The next morning as I walked into my classroom I knew everyone was giving me strange looks… I had huge puffy and swollen eyes. I had cried the whole night. A few days later I solved this puzzle. A cousin of mine who weighed a ton and thousand, smelled like a pig and cribbed always played this crude and dirty game on me and I gave her my piece of mind. But by then my friend had already left hometown and got admitted to a different university and we lost touch.

Tragedy three:

I met this friend of mine in flesh and blood after a long long time. But the situation in which we met was different. We connect. We communicate even when no words are spoken. And just to see him I was happy. It was a very emotional moment for me. There has been no “attraction”, “crush”, “infatuation” between us, but I think what binds us together is the sheer madness. Our meeting was just for minutes and when he said he’d call me the next day I let go that sentence. I never thought he would actually.

And the next afternoon while having lunch as my phone buzzed I could not believe my eye when I saw his name flashing on the screen and the phone buzzing. Speaking to him has been a pleasure always. We decided to meet the next day. And as he asked I called him to check whether he’d be able to make it. He said he’ll let me know and the whole evening I kept waiting for this one call. And it never came. And again I was hurt, deep down somewhere. I was in a situation where I could not show it openly that I was hurt. I was weeping deep within and the heaviness I felt was as same as I felt when my first ever crush didn’t notice me and wanted me to help him getting fixed with my cousin!

Heartbreak warfare! Sure it was…and at this stage?????

The three men don’t have a clue to all this anyways. But now after all these years I feel so tempted to speak my heart out!

Would that do good? I don’t know nor do I care. Butthey have made me cry big time and they should better be aware of it….

Lost & Found

I don’t know when or how but slowly and slowly I have learnt to “let go”. I wasn’t sure if letting go would be as easy as it seemed when I read in number of books. And I waited to apply it practically… but things like “let go”, “live and let live” doesn’t happen in a particular day or a time… it happens gradually and its only when you have time for yourself to look back into the days gone by that you realize it. And it never did seem tough at all. I said to myself, “… its time… its age… its maturity… letting go things is easy… not that dangerous…” Dangerous would be an overstatement… but a little pep-talk to oneself do no harm? Does it?

An incident however did override my much “let go” philosophy … momentarily … if not for eternity.

It dates back to the year 2006. My job meant I had to travel extensively. And the two constant companions I had with me always were – 1) my portable music player & 2) my hip flask. Being assaulted by jaundice once I vowed to carry water from home only.

I am not at all a morning person. And as much as I loved my job I hated to wake up early to catch a flight or rush to the cab waiting outside my home in the morning with the same integrity.

It was the month of June and even at five in the morning it looked as if half the day had already passed. I was on my way to Tezpur for a training session. I reached the bus stop and waited for about thirty minutes. It was such a mad rush waking up and getting all my bearings in places that there was no time for a cup of tea. As I enquired I was told the bus would be late. So I walked down to a nearby tea stall and had a cup of tea. It rejuvenated me instantly. By the time I was done with my tea, the bus reached and I hopped on it and soon was on my way to work. I put my earphones, pressed the “play” button on my mp3 player and soon I went off to sleep. After covering a distance roughly 180 kms and two and half hours later we reached Nogaon. The busses usually halted here for about 20 minutes. I was still not fully awake but I knew this route, the stoppages and my bag so well that i really didn’t have to open my eyes to put my hands inside my bag and take out the hip flask. But alas! There was something wrong this time. I couldn’t find it. By now I was fully awoke and I looked inside my bag yet I couldn’t find it… I took out all the things, yet the flask was nowhere in sight. I felt lost. I felt alone. I knew it was just a flask, but this same flask had been a great companion to me and now when it went missing I was almost devastated. I couldn’t recall where I left it. And I had to “let go”. Wasn’t that easy? No… not really… because I was so attached to it. But then I thought maybe it had served its purpose and it was time to let go the flask.

Days passed by and like a love story gone sour and eventually tasteless; memories of the hip flask too faded away.

Almost a year later, I was in the same bus stand, but this time I wasn’t going anywhere. I was there to receive somebody and it was late in the evening. The waiting game is surely a tough one especially when you have mosquitoes swarming all over you and you are surrounded with strange faces mostly gazing blankly into their cell phones.

I am a big time caffeine addict if you permit me to say. So I walked down to the same tea stall and ordered a cup of coffee. I sipped my coffee as slowly as I could because once this activity would be over I didn’t have anything interesting to do except wait for someone’s arrival. As I finished the last drop of coffee and settled the bill, the guy over the counter looked into me for a while and then asked, “Madam, I remember you. You have come to my tea stall earlier also.” I felt so important that moment! At least somebody so unknown too recognized me! I said I did. As he was handing me the change he asked me to wait for a while. “Is this yours?”, he continued saying as he took out a hip flask that looked like my long lost and almost forgotten buddy. I couldn’t believe my eyes… and I didn’t have to examine it like a pathologist in a lab. I recognized it as much I’d recognize my new born baby amidst hundreds of new-borns in a nursery. I said, “Yes, this is mine!”

The shopkeeper took out a cloth and wiped it proper and handed over to me. He told me, “I wanted to call you back to hand you the flask but you already had boarded the bus. I kept waiting and thought one day you’d come and looking for it. But it’s been a year or so now. But still I thought I’ll keep this and hand it over to its rightful owner no matter how long I’d have to wait. But today when I saw you walking down towards my shop, I wasn’t sure whether it was you. You look different. But then something in me said this must be you…”

I could not thank him enough. He just made my day. It was like finding back one’s lost love. The happiness and joy at that moment was far more than what would I have felt if I were gifted diamonds.

As I thanked him I bowed my head down slightly, a small gesture to let him know how much this meant to me.

As I write down this I must tell you, I haven’t been to that tea stall again. There hasn’t been a reason. But yes, I’ll still recognize the nice guy who kept my flask with such care for so long.

And if you are wondering what happened to the flask… well… something more interesting will follow soon…

The road less travelled

Part –I - Holiday begins

We as a state celebrate our day of independence shutting ourselves at home. A whole generation has been conditioned this way. But this time I knew things would be different. I was so looking forward to breathe some fresh mountain air, get away from dust and grime and do away with the mugginess that swallows us every summer, especially post monsoons.

As planned we decided to start as early as possible. We knew we had to cover a long stretch of the National Highway which we mostly cross by other means of transport other than a car.

So on Friday the thirteenth exactly at 8.00 a.m we left home. A few stopovers and an hour later we reached the outer edges of the city. The route we initially decided during our rounds of “idea-ting while guzzling down gallons of beer” to Siliguri from Guwahati was via Goalpara – crossing the Naranarayan Setu – Bongaigaon – Srirampur and finally enter North Bengal.

But like they say “Man proposes & God disposes”; a major chunk of the route we wanted to traverse was reeling under the influence of “Assam Bandh”. A few phone calls here & there made us change our route. We would still be traveling via Goalpara, crossing the Naranarayan Setu and then take a different path through the sleepy town of Jogihopa, by pass Dhubri, tread through Boxirhat and then enter North Bengal.

The drive till Paikan (the junction from where you can go to Tura from one side of the highway & the other was the one we were traversing) was an amazing one. The highway was more was like a runway with dense teak plantations on both sides. Greenery makes everyone poetic, well maybe. The two men I was traveling with never sounded so poetically correct until now!

Somewhere around Dhubri we halted at a roadside shack for a quick lunch. The place look deserted. As we parked the car and got down around five men came to greet us. We looked at each other and thought maybe we took a wrong decision in opting to have lunch here. The place looked abandoned and maybe it was so devoid of customers that the entire army which consisted of the chef, the helper, the “manager” (most probably) and two more aides came out to give us a warm reception!

Post lunch as we nearing Boxirhat the roads started deteriorating. We thought a little stretch of the broken highway was okay… but I was wrong. Traveling on that rough patch for some uncountable kilometers had an anti gravitational effect on my system and as we halted for a tea break all I could do was throw up! Upon asking a truck driver how long would be this stretch of road he casually said “120 kms”!

As we accelerated again I put my eye pads on and tried chanting Nam Myoho Renge Kyo, lest I throw up again!
By sundown we assumed we had covered at least half of the 120 kms “bad patch highway” and Nirav on the driver’s seat finally had reasons to release smile. We’d soon be on a better road where instead on traveling on the 2nd gear we’d be zooming on overdrive. But somehow the road did not look like a National Highway. There were no signs of any mile stones, no trucks or busses or lorries plying. We three guessed it but no one dared to speak it out loud & clear that we somehow took a wrong turn. So every crossing we reached we’d slow down and ask a passer by how long it would take us to reach Siliguri. And we got a bevy of replies. Sometimes it was “2 hours”; sometimes “20 kms” and sometimes a vague and blank stare as if the person was either possessed by an unseen spirit or maybe it was the effect of weed, smoked beyond the permissible limits!
We realized our folly when after about driving for 150 -200 odd kms we reached a crossing and saw some signs of civilization and a milestone too where it was written “Siliguri 120 kms”! Still??????
By the time we checked in at the hotel it was 10.00 p.m. A good shower and the most unappetizing food later we all crashed into a deep slumber.

A long silence

Its indeed been quite a while that I haven't blogged...

To Be or Not To Be

I grew up in an era when choices one had as a career option was limited. You were either a well qualified Doctor or an Engineer. That was it! Yes, there were a few other options too – a teacher or maybe join the administrative services.
And to cut a long story short none of these options interested me which seemed were hanging down like a pendulum ticking severely more than ever as I gradually ascended from primary to middle & finally high school.
My parents unlike rest of them (to be read as my overtly pushy aunts & uncles) never did pressurize me to death. I don’t know the reason behind this. But I remember Maa telling me off & on that as long as I turn out to be a sensible, mature and a loving person “all is well”. She herself being a teacher (for which I was a tad angry on numerous occasion, because I felt I was surrounded with this species called “Miss” both in school and home as well); she never allowed me to parrot read or like in school we were asked to “learn by heart”. Except for the poetry, rest she explained everything to me like a story. Even the ocean currents – a lesson in Geography I used to dread; she made it so easy for me that it seemed I too flowed with the mighty currents, at times warm and at times utterly cold clock-wise and anti-clock-wise in both the hemispheres.
And because as a kid I’d always see her being a “Miss” I decided I too shall become a fine teacher one day. So on holidays I’d make all my dolls sit in the classroom (read the lounge area we had just next to the kitchen), make best use of the wall as my black board and there I was – the teacher. This fascination lasted me for quite some time until I stumbled upon a lady (I don’t remember her name); she was not a regular visitor to our place, but I recognized the other woman with whom she came. She was my granny’s friend. This “first time I met” lady had a bag full of candies and two big bottles of aerated drinks – one cola and one orange for me and boy I was bemused and thrilled all at once! I realized that she was an “air hostess”. And the next thing I wanted to be was an air hostess! My teacher-giri bit ended prematurely! Maa would smile whenever she saw me playing “Air Hostess” but granny would get slightly alarmed. She would keep reminding me that only people who couldn’t excel in studies would opt for doing things like these! I would get scared as a ten year old. I didn’t understand why she said so. But her statement would ring like an alarm every time I’d sit with her to revise my Assamese lessons on the dining table while she’d be either cooking the regular meal or baking one thing or the other.
So there went my air hostess bit too. I was sad but could I do anything? Nothing came up and I thought like the rest of my cousins I too shall end up being a Doctor or an Engineer. But the path to these two profession required Science and Math which were my least favourite. Thus I felt being trapped. I was throttled and I could do nothing about it.
As a teenager I wanted to become a musician. Dad taking a cue called a music teacher too. But No! Hindustani Classical music was not something I was zeroing onto. I wanted to be a Jon Bon Jovi! Couldn’t he possibly understand that? One day gathering all the courage I did manage to speak him about this utter confusing state of affairs. He listened patiently and said, “Even Jon Bon Jovi did learn his basics the way you are doing now”. Now who could give me first hand info if my idol too had a sicko & disgusting music teacher like the one I had! Nevertheless my musical journey continued for about three long and appalling years. One day I finally said I had enough of music and bid adieu to my music teacher. Dad was angry and I took all what he had to say with a pinch of salt.
By the time I had cleared my tenth board exams most of my cousins were busy preparing for various entrance/competitive exams. I visualized them as docs & engineers building bridges and somewhere deep inside me I still wasn’t prepared for all this.
So the next best thing I did was take up Commerce stream and decided to wait and watch. During those five glorious years of bunking & partying one thing that I got interested was the world of advertising. As a management student advertising & marketing was one of the key papers and I loved it. So this is my call. I thought to myself.
But wait, during the same time cable TV first hit the Indian television and I was bestowed my Danny McGill’s charms & charisma and I felt I was deviating from my advertising world. I wanted to become a VJ!
Before I graduated with a B.Com degree I had lost my parents and for my granny it was all to “Greek” when I told her that I had cleared my MAT (Management Aptitude Tests) side by side with my B.Com and would like to do a course in advertising. She said she had no idea what I was saying. I continued further by saying I need to go to New Delhi to clear a few GDs (group discussions) and interviews in a few institutes.
A few interviews and G.Ds later I knew I’d be in DSC (Delhi School of Coomunication) for the next two years studying advertising. I was just a matter of few months away. And as planned I found myself in the New Delhi railway station one hot June afternoon.

I was so sure I’d be working in an ad. agency in the creative department that it seemed too good to be true.

Yes! I did! I did manage to work for an agency but it was nothing the way I had imagined. Instead of doing some fun filled copy writing, here I was typing tender notices in Adobe PageMaker! I waited. I said to myself, “the best is yet to come”. But it didn’t happen or maybe I was impatient or maybe I was lured to a fatter pay packet and thus I bid adieu to my whatever-little-I-got-to-do advertising world.

I started working as a product trainer for one of the world’s most reputed and oldest brand. And shamelessly I never did miss my advertising days, not even once. I traveled extensively; met a whole lot of people and got to see places which otherwise I’d never write in my “must visit” travel itinerary.

Now I am a very much “stay at home” wife & mom. As I look back I don’t repent nor do I have regrets. I got a chance to dabble about brand building and doing my teacher-giri bit again as a trainer. Plus my job meant I was on a vacation forever!

But only if we had alternative career options during the growing up years. I guess kids today are much more luckier to have such a wide range of opportunities.

When I look at my doc & engineer cousins I feel they live such a rigid life. Doc are forever studying even now… & the engineers… well they too are doing fine (I just guess as I am not in touch with them)…

And for me I know I’ve done my parents proud. I as a parent would be the way my parents have been to be. Would love to see Nior as a mature, well groomed, compassionate and a good human being more than anything.

My Side

My dear Bhai,

It has been one long day and I am tired as a dog. There are things I should tell you now. Maybe I'll feel better and maybe you'll lose some sleep. I simply need to vent out my feelings, have bottled up myself for too long. Honesty is the best policy, remember our Moral Science classes? Oh My Gosh! I still exclaim now at the very thought of the subject. I cannot vouch for you but I personally felt it was an overdose of the omnipresent, the conscience and the truth. Today as I sit down to write to you, I pray and hope I'll be honest enough. Being honest is not a child's play; even if it means being honest to oneself. O.K. let me give myself the benefit of doubt and rephrase honesty - let me confess!

Sapna delivered a cute little baby girl today afternoon. I was at the nursing home with Sanjeev all throughout. It was amazing to watch Sanjeev. His expressions changed with every second passing by. A would be father that he was, he was an assortment of every possible emotions -excitement, fear, worry, edginess, anxiety, impatience and hope.

"Its worse than waiting for the Board Results!", he said to me.

Board results. It automatically connected me with you Bhai. Suddenly I realized that you are the only one with whom I’ve remained bonded since school. It was after Boards, we decided to part ways “ to find greener pastures. Do you recall those hostel days, when we shared every possible thing under the sun? The pickles, biscuits and cakes which came from home, notes and text books, tee shirts and jackets and at High School we shared cigarettes also! I even remember sharing your toothbrush once! I know it gives the jitters now but I guess that's precisely why we have been Bhaito each other than best friends.

When the nurse came out of the O.T. to break the news of the newborn, the happiness, the satisfaction and the pride was far much greater than what Sanjeev might have felt when his Board Results were out! "The mother and the baby are doing fine" the nurse informed us. We were allowed to visit Sapna, once she was shifted to her room.

Sapna looked calm and peaceful in her slumber. Somehow she looked more ravishing now. There was newness in her face. Her skin glowed as the afternoon sunrays fell on her tenderly from the venetian blinds. Sanjeev was right next to her, caressing her forehead softly. I left them in their own seclusion and came out of the nursing home. An uneasy feeling crept inside me. I searched my pockets for the cigarettes and the lighter. I lit one and took a heavy drag. It felt fine. I decided to have a cup of tea too from the nearby tea stall. Nicotine and caffeine does wonders to tired nerves, you do agree with me Bhai, don't you?

I met the couple “ Sapna & Sanjeev some three years ago when my work brought me to this sleepy town down south in Kottayam. Our friendship clicked right from the very start. My house is just two houses away from theirs. I bumped into them one evening when Sanjeev was changing the flat tyre of their car right in front of my gate. I had just returned from work and the first thing I noticed was Sapna looking absent-mindedly towards the old banyan tree.
'Look at the bark of the tree. Doesn't it resemble an old lady with a wrinkled skin!", she exclaimed. "Sorry Sanjeev, that was rather a poor joke!" Sanjeev winked his eyes and nodded saying nothing. He was engrossed adjusting the jack. It was then I went forward and lent Sanjeev a helping hand. By the time the car was ready we really got talking. I invited them to my place, Sanjeev to wash his hands. That's how our friendship started.

But Sapna, she was and will always be a cute little thing to me. She is so child like, shy, nervous, reluctant and yet needy. Sapna “ the woman I have always dreamt of"! We never spoke much. Or maybe I talk less. Or maybe I could read her mind by looking at those expressive eyes. Or maybe I simply loved listening to her. She is an amazing woman.

Let me tell you this incident Bhai. It was one of those Sunday summer afternoons when Sanjeev and I decided to chill out with a beer each before the lunch. Sanjeev asked me to get the bottles from the fridge. As I entered the kitchen, Sapna was busy cooking. I said nothing and headed straight for the fridge. She turned around when she sensed there was someone else besides her in the kitchen. She saw me and heaved and before she could say anything I cut her short. "So you got scared, huh?" She looked at me for a moment, trying to study me and said, "No, I wasn't. There are only two things I am scared of. Reptiles and ghosts", she again looked at me closely, "and you resemble none!" I knew she would come up with something as weird as this. She was as passionate about nature and the homeless the way she was about tattoos and bungee jumping. These are perhaps a few things, which brought me closer to her. No matter how hard I tried to erase, her thoughts kept hitting me on my mind. The more I tried to refrain my feelings the more difficult it felt.

I was in love with her and I couldn't help myself. I was walking on the razor's edge and it was difficult to hold on to the reins. And I couldn't betray the trust and faith Sanjeev bestowed upon me. He was a buddy and I know what a buddy means and I swear on my life I wasn't eyeing my buddy's wife. I started distancing myself. I gave professional excuses to be away from them. Sanjeev would never accept these excuses and would off and on say that he wanted his old buddy back; the same old chap who helped him in changing the flat tyre. I never thought love came with such complications. I loved Sapna. Couldn't it sound simple? Couldn't it feel easy? Hell! No it wouldn't. My love and respect for her wasn't an attraction, a lust, a carnal desire or a lure. It was LOVE “ undiluted and pure". But could anybody understand? For it would be Sapna at the receiving end of all the unpleasant and derogatory remarks. For the woman of my dreams was already married. The standards and norms that we set and use as benchmarks for ourselves make us nothing but civilized beasts.

Sapna somehow sensed it. I am sure Bhai, for it always takes two to tango. Somewhere in some corner of her heart she felt the same, the way I did. But I never took it as a healthy sign. For a change I asked my God, not to be generous and kind to me. But Bhai, there has been times and instances when I've put my head and heart on the balance and found my heart on the heavier side. And that's when I slipped. I couldn't hold on to the reins at all. And it didn't matter whether it was right or wrong. It didn't matter if the sun didn't shine the next morning. All that mattered was the moment; it was real; “ the moment when she was lying close to me; the moment when I felt her warm breath on my skin; the moment when our heartbeats were synchronized. The truth.

My love and respect for Sapna is all the same. I can still look straight into her eyes the way I do always. How I wish things were as easy as said!

The cell phone rang and it was Sanjeev. "Where have you been?"he asked.
"I am outside, came down for a smoke. Will be there soon.", I said. I took out some change to pay for my tea “ I drank four cups! Amazing!

As I entered the room I saw the newborn on a cradle next to Sapna's bed. Sapna was still asleep. The tranquilizers were still going strong on her. I carefully lifted the baby in my arms. The baby felt like her mother. Maybe I was holding a part of my flesh; a part of my blood; a part of my love and a part of me. I don't know. I don't want to either. And the baby is too small to bear any or explain her resemblance.

It's only a feeling. Not a guilty one though.

Bhai, I don't want you to curse me. I wanted to confess and that's what I did. And now I know for sure, being honest is not at all a child's play.



Lovingly yours,
Bhai.

Hop, Skip & Bump!

The winter was setting in; the sun didn't burn your skin anymore. On such a lazy afternoon I was enjoying homemade food Maa had prepared so lovingly and painstakingly for me. I was back home after a year and half. And I was enjoying the pampering and all the attention that was showered on me, it was good to be home and relaxing. Living alone can be tiresome at times. But right now things were sailing rather smoothly, I had not a care in the world and I thought no thing could go wrong. But as the old adage goes "Man proposes, God disposes“ fate unfortunately had different plans altogether for me. And just then I could hear the phone ringing, my father picked it up “ there was a call for me from my boss “ I was informed. I knew instantly what would follow next. As I feared I had to call off my vacation and report to my H.O. A.S.A.P. that is As Soon As Possible.

So despite my reluctance to tear myself off from this laidback cozy situation I found myself in I had to pack up my bags and get going. Under ordinary circumstances I would have happily boarded a train. But things were different now. I had orders. I should be at the H.O. A.S.A.P. That left me with just one alternative, one mode of transportation “ taking the earliest possible flight. The ticket was duly organized but it wasn't a direct flight, the route was Guwahati-Calcutta-Hyderabad. From Hyderabad I would have to take a bus or a train to my workstation in Bangalore.

I said my Good Byes with a heavy heart, boarded the flight and reached Calcutta exactly 45 minutes later, on schedule. Wait a minute; Kolkata I guess is the right way to say it nowadays. Somehow I always wonder why do we need to change the names of places we are so familiar with, we grew up with. Calcutta seemed smarter, Bombay sounds better than Mumbai as does Madras over Chennai. God knows one of these days New Delhi will become Nayee Dilli or something similar. But then these controversial issues certainly make good topics for discussion, Thank God.

Anyway, getting back to where I was. I reached Kolkata by 1.00 p.m. The scheduled stopover was 20 minutes at Kolkata, but we found ourselves stranded there for over an hour. Thankfully the flight took off again, but much to my fellow passengers and my astonishment the flight was diverted midway to Bhubaneshwar. We were stranded again for God knows how many hours! Reasons for the diversion were best known to the pilots, the air traffic control, the authorities and perhaps God! We were kept in the dark, the passengers were not important; we were not informed. Eventually the flight took off again and we reached Hyderabad, the watch showed the time as 11.00 p.m.

The delay was frustrating enough, but there was more in store for me to add my miseries. Waiting for my luggage near the luggage conveyor belt I spied luggage of various shapes and sizes rolling in, suddenly something caught my eye! As I stood there I couldn't help but make a joke about a dilapidated suitcase with its handle broken coming towards me and gave a slight laugh even as I sympathized with the unfortunate owner. But as the suitcase came nearer and nearer I realized to my horror, that the owner with whom I so sympathized was none other than myself! The airline staff had broken the handle. I was angry. I wanted to yell at the airline authorities and let them have my piece of mind. But regrettably I had other priorities that I had to attend to; the suitcase could wait till later. Alas I had no other choice but to carry the suitcase like a musician would carry his harmonium and left!

Coming out of the airport, I took an auto and asked the driver to take me to the bus terminus. He of course took the longest possible route that he could master, as if he was showing me the info-tech city in the dead of the night. I felt like an alien in a new place as I realized the modus operandi of the local transport services – the way the tourist are duped when they come to a new place. Finally on arrival I found the bus terminus to be practically empty. I went into the enquiry counter and inquired whether I could get a bus to Bangalore. The man informed me in a cold matter of fact way that there weren't any direct bus services at that hour of the night to Bangalore, however, I could get one bus that would cover at least half the distance. Consoling myself that something is better than nothing, I hoped into the half way bus. It was an old bus, maybe older than even my father! We were just seven people in the bus. We took off and the moment the bus was in motion it felt as if it would break all my bones and as if I was riding a horse that had suddenly gone absolute berserk!

We reached a small town around 4.00 a.m. in the morning and if you were to ask me the name of the town, I swear, for the life of me I cannot recall the name. As we reached the terminus the bus came to a halt, I got down and sat on one of the plastic chairs clutching the handbag and with my suitcase sitting next to me. Sleep was of course impossible I couldn't get a wink. An army of angry mosquitoes came charging towards me, hovered and then attacked me from all sides making my plight all the more miserable.

Soon it was daylight, the terminus with gradually increasing activities seem to wake up. A young lad of about ten years of age walked up to me and asked if I wanted to have my shoes polished. "Polish my shoes?"! After the mammoth marathon, it really didn't matter whether my shoes shone or not! All that I could think of was to reach Bangalore by hook or by crook. But then I changed my mind. There was something about this lad, which beckoned me “ I gave in and he cheerfully started polishing my shoes. I observed he did his work really well; poor chap having to earn his living from such a tender age, I thought. Yet, he didn't seem to mind. I started narrating my woeful stories of the day to him. He seemed to listen well with the occasional grunt, the nod of his head although, I am sure none of this was of any interest to him nor was it really his business “ but he was a really good listener, he made his customers feel good.

The lad really impressed me. I wanted to freshen up and I asked him to look after my belongings for a while, as I reasoned, who else could I ask in this God forsaken place and that too at this hour. Although at the back of my mind, I knew very well that I was not doing the right thing, it was wrong to trust a stranger even a tiny one with your belongings in a strange place. But it was a risk I had to take. To my relief the lad had guarded my luggage like an obedient watchman. After I freshened up I gave him some money requesting him to get two cups of tea. "TWO"? He looked surprised. "Yes", I said, "for both of us". Initially he refused but when I said that he had really impressed and pleased me and that I was thankful for his help he reluctantly accepted it. The caffeine eased my tensed nerves somewhat and I was ready to board a bus to Bangalore again.

At last I reached Bangalore by 10.00 a.m. and resumed my duties A.S.A.P.- back to the grind, the same old routine started. Unlike at home where everything is so laid back, here the scene is just the reverse. Sometimes it seems twenty-four hours in a day is not enough. The most terrible thing about the whole situation is cooking my own meal, as you may well imagine after enjoying homemade food for a fortnight¦ my cooking skills waned even further! I had to brush upon that too! I swear, this is the only reason why I don't like living alone. But I am not complaining as I get a lot of space to do my own thing, my own way. Well, let us be philosophical “ you gain some and you loose some“ that's life “ that's the way it is!

When I was unpacking the suitcase at the weekend notice the broken handle again. I called the airlines office, a female voice answered and I lodged the complaint. She informed me very politely that I should visit their office with the suitcase and they would then look into the matter and do the needful. After I hung up the phone I thought for a while, by no stretch of imagination can one say that the airlines office is near my home or for that matter even my workstation. I realized I would have to take a days leave from my work just to take the suitcase to the airlines office, let alone the expenses involved. The odds were stacked high against me, it was better to be pragmatic and have it repaired myself.

The Commercial Street is quite near my place. I waited for the next weekend and took the suitcase to a small shop, repaired it giving it a much-needed face-lift. It felt good, now I have a suitcase perfectly useable on another sojourn to the Northeast, to my near and dear ones. But, that will have to wait for another day; now I have work to do, please the Boss, and obey his orders.

Its been two years now. I haven't taken a vacation since my last adventure or was it a mishap?! Whenever I call home, my folks ask me when do I intend to visit them? I hem and haw never giving a direct answer. The very thought of the journey gives me the jitters; I do not know whether to laugh or to cry! I get vivid pictures of the broken handle, the endless delays, the ways of the auto drivers (duping me), the bus ride and the bevy of mosquitoes! Yes, I do prefer to sit back now. And oh yes, I do miss my mother's cooking, the love and nearness of the family too, very very much.

If I have to another journey again and find myself having to overcome such odds, I'll definitely put down everything in a journal, record every detail in black and white hoping that it will someday provide some guidelines to innocent travelers who is about to walk into such a trap or at least make a good reading material for some during such a sojourn. I wish them all the very best of luck as I wish myself the same and hope that someone up there will always look after them and not abandon them.

A little bit of this & a little bit of that.

It’s been a while that I wrote something.
Maybe I’ve been in simple words “just lazy” to write.
Maybe I was getting too busy being a mom and a housewife.
Whatever the reasons be; today I just felt like doing the thing which feels so relaxing. And just as I sat down on my couch with the earphones plugged to my ears setting my all time favourite music on the playlist, distraction started pouring in left right and centre!
First it was my daughter who wanted to get cozy. You might think this is so cute but if truth be told her main intention was to play havoc with the laptop! After sending her off to her dad, I sat down again trying to go back to that same frame of mind as I longed. And the phone started buzzing! After speaking for about five odd minutes with my aunt I just lost track of what I was supposed to do. So I walked straight to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator expecting to find something special to nibble when I know well that its all the leftovers that are there! So I just popped a small piece of chocolate which is my daughter’s possession! Thank God she doesn’t know to count!
Chocolate sure is a mood lifter. I decided to go back to my writing mood. But I guess nothing was in my stride today evening. The door bell rang and it was a friend, who got married very recently and just back in town after a ten day honeymooning in Bangkok. And no matter how much I wanted to say a quick hello and come back to my laptop and start typing I could not. It would look rather discourteous not because he had a bag full of goodies for us but because he is like “family”! So there went some more precious moment and I could feel I was losing my grip, I had such a wonderful spin to yarn but now that seemed slowly fading. I excused myself and left them the guys with their scotches and crabs & shark meat crunchies and the men talk.
As I sat down for the nth time, I heard Mougli (one of our pet dog) barking unstoppably and I knew there was someone else on the door!
Ok! Now it was more than I could handle. There was this other friend of ours who came along with his cousin. By the time they arrived I had almost completed a few lines of what I was writing and I didn’t want to mess this nor miss the opportunity of finishing whatever mindless things that I was typing. So whether I was being impolite or rude I don’t know. My hellos to them was at the door only and I asked them to head straight to the kitchen where all the action was happening and I said I’d join them in a bit, “just need to complete something really important that I am writing at the moment!”
So this is where my writing ends today evening. Will get back with a fresh frame of mind and ample “my time” and so some really serious writing some other time!
Ciao!

Half Nelson- Not just another teen movie - www.youthcomm.org

Half Nelson
Not Just Another Teen Movie
By Daniela Castillo
When I heard about Half Nelson, a new movie about a white teacher in Brooklyn who befriends one of his black students, I thought of Dangerous Minds and The Principal-other movies about troubled white educators who reform minority rebels in poor neighborhoods. Those movies showed wonderful white adults saving the poor black and Latino kids, assuming, of course, that they needed to be saved.
Crisscrossing Lives
Half Nelson isn't so simple. Unlike those other movies, it doesn't give a black and white, right or wrong picture about morals, class or race. It's an honest story about a teacher and student whose lives crisscross through an unlikely event.
Half Nelson features a junior high school history teacher, Dan Dunne, played by Ryan Gosling, who plays the role with conviction and honesty. Everything in his performance is brilliantly simple-he plays an easygoing teacher and passionate dreamer who genuinely wants to teach his mostly black students something worth knowing.
But his personality outside the classroom is completely different. With his students he's assertive and strong, but back home, he's weak and pathetic.
Teacher Has a Secret
The twist is that he's part of something that plagues many inner city kids-Mr. Dunne smokes crack.
One day, 13-year-old Drey (played by Shareeka Epps) finds him barely conscious in the girls' bathroom, holding a crack pipe. Instead of panicking, Drey becomes intrigued by the vulnerability of her teacher and begins to seek him out to learn more about his problem.
Drey knows the drug game first hand. Her brother is in jail for dealing drugs and the man he worked for, the charming dealer Frank, helps Drey and her mom financially. Frank (played by Anthony Mackie) is also Mr. Dunne's dealer.
Meanwhile, Mr. Dunne's downward spiral with drugs continues. Hoping to clean up his act, he tries to pick up his grubby apartment and even does a brief 10-minute workout in a feeble attempt to repair his health.
But his hypocrisy confronts him when he goes back to class every day, talking about history while nursing his drug and booze hangover from the night before.
And in that classroom is Drey, reminding him why he teaches in the first place.
Shareeka Epps holds up in her performance playing a 13-year-old tough girl. I saw her first in the short film Gowanus, Brooklyn, on which this movie was based. Three years later, her more adult voice and growth only strengthen the character's key attributes-her maturity and coolness.
Not Just Blowing Bubbles
As she befriends Mr. Dunne, we see that Drey's not always in calm Blow Pop eating mode. Sometimes when she's with her teacher, she breaks out into corny jokes and a shy smile, showing that kid side-which makes her performance even more impressive.
Mr. Dunne awkwardly but honestly opens himself up to Drey, giving her rides home and showing her the civil rights books at his apartment. And he finds the chance to redeem himself when he finds out that Frank has his eye on Drey to replace her brother. Mr. Dunne makes several attempts to confront Frank, but addiction gets the best of him and his plan goes awry.
Teens Will Relate
Although Half Nelson is nothing like the typical teen movie-where the football player falls in love with the nerd-turned-prom queen-I think teens will relate to it. I went to a junior high school like the school in the movie, and the scenes in the classroom-with kids shouting out silly answers-were so on point.
Half Nelson is one of those rare films that explores the idea of redemption without seeming heroic or righteous. And the film's flawed characters and heavy themes actually make the movie feel inspirational and optimistic to me.
Half Nelson was directed by Ryan Fleck, who also co-wrote Gowanus, Brooklyn, with Anna Boden. It's rated R for drug use and tough language