Strangers in the living room

I didn’t know until a few days back that the feeling was a common thing in the world. You don’t know the person sitting besides you in your own living room. And what’s worse, they don’t know you too! I mean you’ve lived with them for more than two decades… they’ve given you life, food, shelter… and in many a case, a lot of concealed love and care. But why is it totally impossible to feel and understand the other’s likes, dislikes and emotions? Why do we fail to respect their thoughts, philosophies and way of life? Though we literally live in each other’s shoes everyday, it’s so hard to empathize with them, to pause for a minute to know who they are.

Living under the same roof, but raised in obviously different backgrounds, we end up being selfish, absolutely selfish, always wanting the other to compromise for our comforts and apprehensions. The dad/mom never sees a reason as to why their daughter has to go for her school trip and the daughter of course is hardly mindful of the zillion fears that her parents hold. So who wins in the end? The one has better control over the other, the one who can get his way out with a tight slap on the other’s face.

So what about the one who’s crying with her hand on the cheek? If this is the same case everyday, for very obvious reasons, an invisible wall builds its way between the two parties. So it’s like this – a living room, two parties, a hell a lot of commotion and a thick wall between them. But one of the two sides eventually gets bored of being a rebel, always trying to break the crapshit rules. What’s the point when it’s all proving to be oh so fruitless? Like a pregnant woman, with her life so full of hopes and dreams, our protagonist has waited all her life. But with frequent pregnancies followed by frequent (painful) miscarriages, she is forced into hopelessness, followed by a long cold silence. The two sides don’t fight…they just drag their feet along in the lonely road of dark silence and here stops the need to know the other. But here we need to understand that the problem is not solved. They feel its better this way; the fools just mistake the void for peace of mind.

But one day one of them slowly does realize that their lives, together is not for too long. At this point of time panic sets in. Is this the way things are going to be forever? Will the emotional distance widen with the map? Will I ever know the people who are a part of my biological cells?

Both sides have private lives of their own, which they don’t bother to talk about to the other for simple reasons that they are afraid to. But there is a lot to share, a lot to talk about and this would in fact make life a more beautiful place to live in. There are moments, joys, tears, relationships, which would gain more reason for existence, if shared with the other. But who is going to make the first move in 20 years? Who would be the first to realize that beneath that detestable veil that the other dons, there’s a beautiful person who is worth a lot of love?

Life’s about a lot of unanswered questions. Like those very desirable parent-child relationships in Jaane tu ya jaane na (I’m sorry, but for some strange reasons I’m still unable to get over the movie), everyone, I bet, would love to get close and personal with their kith and kin. No one loves to hate and no one hates to love. It’s all in that stupid, stupid mind! It draws polluted patterns in our heart, patterns which we should sweep out ASAP (even if it means getting the ONYX back in town!). A touch here and a touch there, and the pattern is now clearly a design …yeah, can you now see the shape of the heart?

We can try hard to make it simple. So here goes...I shout it out loud, for the world and for myself to hear – “Go to your bedroom. Slam the door hard behind yourself. Say, “don’t break the rules, just break the barricades”. Then rush out, into the living room and whooooooooosh, the strangers have gone!

There’s one more Angel in Heaven

This is one entry that I never imagined will ever take a place in my blog. It pained us when to know that even thatha’s post-operative scars had disappeared without a trace. It’s been exactly ten days since he left us, but the scars in our hearts are permanently etched. In fact I’ve never before experienced the pain of a dear departed and I still don’t understand what’s hit us.

Even a month back, he was sitting right here, keenly looking at some family pictures, making light hearted comments in a voice ever so loud. Came new years, came a fate, so wrongly written. It’s difficult for each one of us in this grand old family that he has raised, it’s almost impossible to come to terms with life’s weird plans.

Thatha’s been a part of me for as long as I can remember. His mini greeting cards with a small paper attachment always reached us without fail on Pongal and birthdays. There are always a few friends who forget my birthday, but I could always take it for granted that thatha would wish me. He would always cheerfully call out his wishes, speak a sentence or two and immediately pass over the phone to ammama. But this year, there was no call…no thatha… and at the strike of twelve I was gazing back at the mug shot of his picture, synthetically touched by some studio guy. I was waiting for a sign of blessing, a sign to tell me that his wishes are always with me. Then I gazed out of the window with flying curtains… then I slowly closed my eyes praying for a dream. I woke up the next morning, only to realize that nothing’s changed. Maybe miracles don’t happen; maybe I wasn’t worth the miracle.

We could still smell the ‘thatha scent’ (thatha was the most loyal customer of Chandrika soap!) in his hand towel as he lay there, cruelly bound by a freezing glass box. He bore a smile, a sign of peaceful departure. I’ve often heard people saying that their dear ones never seemed dead, but just appeared to be lost in a peaceful long slumber. I’ve never felt the intensity of those words then. But, Oh my God…how true! He seemed to be silently smiling at all the drama around him. Everyone who shed a tear at his rites had a memory to carry, but for us, the memories are endless. Everything at home reminds us of him – his water bottles, BP apparatus, tablet boxes, the two new shirts that he had kept in the locker so that he could come back and wear them for Pongal, his inner garments that he always insisted on washing himself. Such a disciplined person, so clean and pure in body and soul… there are a million things that one could learn from him.

Right from when I was very small, I would never share his gifts anyone. Thatha was someone so unimaginable special…someone whom you’d never want to share. I remember the gold chain with the Krishna’s pendant (that was the first gift, as far as I remember), the double sided studs with American diamonds, the magic sketch pens, the fluorescent multi-coloured erasers, colouring books, the chewing gums, toffees and chocolates before our three day trips, the long walks, the cassata ice cream at shakes and creams, stories of kings and mantris, and the hilariously tweaked real life tales based on one of us, state express ice creams, Cooimbatore Annapoorna’s tiffin, library books… he never ever said no. In fact I have a few remnants of the gifts that he gave me fifteen years back, in an old red handbag and it breaks my heart to open and look at them now.

I’ve never seen a person relish simple things in life with such childish delight. Pizzas, and my custom made omlettes were at least a one-time requirement during his comebacks. We shared a love for Chinese food and made sure that we have a Chinese treat during birthdays. He loved sunglasses and was particularly proud of a pair that was attachable to normal spectacles. His latest passion was sudoku and he carried an empty notebook which he filled in with samples from newspapers and books. Even now my mom found some fresh, dated ones in the notebook. He loved to talk and talk all day and night long, but strangely he was an introvert to the outside world. He loved children, he loved compact, empty boxes… he rarely smiled for pictures, but smiled a lot in person. He could only be loved and respected; he was worth so much love and affection. He’s someone who will be cherished till our final breath. An engineer, a great football player, a lover of cricket, a brain so sharp, a roaming encyclopedia, a loving father, a loving grandfather, a teacher, a friend – a friend who made you laugh and cry.

We greedily ask for just one more year with you… six more months … Even if we’ve had ten more years with you we would have missed you just the same thatha.

As I see my mom crying in anguish almost everyday (I’ve hardly seen her crying twice or thrice in my lifetime) I wonder if he’ll come back some day. I went to the terrace a week back and stared at the brightest star for half an hour. His presence was so binding that maybe it’ll never hit us completely that he’s gone. Am I still going to play games with myself, thinking that he’s gone for a ten day break to Coimbatore or Neyveli? His return ticket for Jan 5^th flutters in the breeze… are we ever going to understand that there’s no more a Jan 5^th with thatha?

I touched his feet while he was lying there in his slumber. They felt so soft and supple. I felt his beautiful fingers, they still seemed to beat with life. Even during his final few hours with us, he taught us the pain of love, the healing touch of togetherness. That was when I knew how it felt to cry all day...nothing could to fill the void in the heart. The mostly painful part of death is the ‘take away’…every vessel in the body screams and wails with you, on knowing there’s never going to be another day with the most beautiful creation of God. A brufen did heal the pain in my body, but the grief in our heart will never find any solace.

He’s had a quite a satisfying journey though for all of his seventy six years and that’s just one consoling thought. Being a heart patient for more than 35 years, he pulled his way through, raised five daughters and got them to safe banks. He saw all of his doting ten grandchildren and a great grand daughter too. What more could a person want? Happy and hearty till the last breath, I think it’s a peaceful demise that he truly deserves.

Joseph and his Technicolor coat had a few lines that seem so aptly written for my thatha…

There's one more angel in Heaven
There's one more star in the sky
We'll never forget you
It's tough but we're gonna get by
There's one less place at our table
There's one more tear in my eye

There can never be anyone like you thatha. Absolutely no one in this entire world. You belong only to us and we’ll miss you forever.

I love you.

Just one more time...

Oh yes, I have ignored you… I was in a concealed world of my own

And yeah, I have pretended not to hear you… your questions were such a bother…

Many a times I have screamed my lungs out, despite the generations between us

I have often been spiteful; my pride then, was more important than your age

I didn’t respond to your zillion efforts to put me back on track … I paid no heed to your care

Maybe I turned a deaf ear to your pleas… My vision was more important than yours…

But that unfortunate day I realized,

With every tear I shed,

With every pain I felt,

That I love you with all my heart

Now I don’t know where I stand

Do I mean anything to you after what I’ve done?

I have no answers, coz when I saw you there, eye to eye,

You never smiled.

All I can I do is hope with all my life, that there’s a tiny place there…

In that diminishing heart of yours

But I realize that the great man that you are,

Would never fail me the way I’ve failed you all these days

You wouldn’t be judgmental; you’ll look at me as none but your dear old granddaughter;

That’s because you have the greatness of God.

And that’s where I place you.

Yeah, next to God.

Is it too late to apologize?

Is it too late to be forgiven?

I hope not. I pray not.

Because you and I and all of us here,

Know you aren’t ready to leave.

The time will come though, no matter what,

But the time is not now, we all know that

So let’s fight together…

You’re a survivor, you are a little more than just special.

You’re a rare creation, a piece of art,

Who’s here to stay forever and forever

You define permanence, you define goodness

You define us, you're a big part of us.

Please come back for the crayons,

Come back for the magic sketches

Come back for the fragrant pink erasers…some like an umbrella, some like a football

Come back for your stories

Come back for your hilarity

Come back for my smile

Which you always complain I lack

Come back… I promise to be good.

I need you to give me that second chance

To love and to show you what you are really worth

I need you to give me that second chance

Because you are God.

Gods always take chances

And grant us that ‘just one more time’

They never come back, they never let go…

My parents have left for Neyveli and the house seems strangely calm. I woke up with a strange sense of tranquility – no “waking” orders from mom, no sound of the exasperating television and fm channels, which dad sometimes loves to run in unison (dual torture). So I took the toothbrush in my mouth and settled on the couch with the Sunday Chronicle, reading forecasts n Garfield. Almost instantly I was reminded of our lovely little home at ‘Prakriti’, where I used to have extended brushing sessions, just to complete the Young World, read Garfield and solve the crossword. Coz, once I’m done with my brushing, I had standing orders to get into my room and study.

Two days back, when I was reading the Archies which I borrowed from Pooja, I incidentally happened to get the heavenly smell that only an old book can enjoy. Immediately, flashes of the compact yet comprehensive Murugan library filled my mind. I was a crazy nut, dragging mom to the library, to get four books every four days… Murugan library has seen me grow up and grow out books and authors – Tinkles, Archies, Famous Fives, Sweet Valleys, Sydney Sheldons, Dan Browns and Chetan Bhagats… Now Murugan Library is no more the same – the smell of those crisp old books has been replaced by the sweet-sick aroma of room freshner and my routine doesn’t accommodate frequent visits to the library anymore.

There are so many incidents that trigger beautiful memories of the past which were insignificant and taken for granted then…

Yesterday, our neighbours singing Christmas carols reminded me of the Santa who was sent home at midnight, by Thelma aunty who lived downstairs. And hell, I still remember how surprised my little bro and I were, when we discovered that Santa was a woman!!!

X-mas stars remind me of the huge one that we used to hang in our living room. My mom’s green old recipe book reminds me of the egg less chocolate cake that I used to bake every Christmas… and the numerous combinations that mom and I used to try – orange, plain vanilla, nuts (yeah, sometimes we just gagged, but never mind!!!)… Our numerous experiments with French fries, potato chips and samosas… The hundred odd samosas that we made for li’l Vikky’s birthday party… The great moments I shared with mom… Now of course there’s not too much time for us together – but I have no regrets. No regrets too often I mean…

Sometimes, when I switch off the lights and withdraw for hours with my ipod, I’m reminded of my twelfth standard days, where I used to long for just five minutes of music. Music, telephone and TV were strictly prohibited during the pre-board phase … So when my parents leave for a walk during the weekend, I used to sneak up to the cassette player with a pair of semi functioning headphones and listen to “Aye Udi Udi Udi”…

Nowadays, I purposely take a different route from my GRE class, just to get a five minute glimpse of St.Michael’s. I have spent 14 years of my life there, and the memories are not just a handful. Every time I walk past my Alma Mater, it is like a “Tanha Dil” episode, if you know what I mean. I see us asking Guru Rickshawman for “maangas” from the street vendor, stealing one rupee coins from dad to buy those exciting little Mickey Mouse stickers… I see us being driven down home to Velachery in the school bus, deliberately standing in the bus to prove we’re ‘adults’ ( me, azzu, hanni, nishin, jeswanth, arvind…)…walking and screaming down the lane in blue and grey, ten to fifteen of us blocking the entire road… triples with Preetha and Mal… Michael’s is just so overwhelming. As I now walk back home after my GRE session, the single tear is always lost in the darkness…

There are so many things that I often get reminded about…

The endless hours of badminton, “help”, hopscotch, lock and key, hide and seek, “crocodile crocodile” and four corners at Prakriti…

Hour-long phone convos everyday with Malvika and Alia…

My bubbly little grape-eyed brother (the li’l kid often comes in my dreams even now!)

The intimate relationship I once shared with my granny and dad…

My kindergarten friend Vanik… I have hopes of finding him someday!

The night-long gossips with Meenu…

The endless laughs during my UG at MOP…

And the initial feeling of being in love. I often yearn to fall in love, right from scratch, over and over again (but with the same guy, of course!)…

…And I’m as sure as hell, that two years from now, when I’m married and off to a remote corner of the world, something will surely remind me of my mom’s sing-song morning orders and my dad’s morning musical extravaganza. But as ever, I’ll just wipe away that single tear and say, “some things in life never come back yet they never let go…”

Chronicles of a Fat Genius

Space – Just not enough

Snorts – Hate the sound of it

Gags –Victimized, totally!

Warning: Fat – 100%

All that it takes is just a little more – the catcalls, whispers (‘loud whispers’ to be more precise), bullies’ jargon, the ‘I-know-something-that-you-don’t’ look and a whole network that goes ‘wink, wink, wink’ (trust me, you won’t be flattered). You’re in the limelight, yeah, but for no virtuous reasons honestly.

So, the spotlight is on you. More often than not, you would be enthralled. But not right then. You feel the heat of the notched focus desperately ask for an overwhelming force that digs you a grave right beneath. Extreme, no doubt. But anything for a place to rest in peace. “But with sufficient space, I hope?” (your mind tends to joke). Strange, but there are moments when your own senses act in anti-you fashions. I don’t know if it is because of the state of familiarity that creeps up after steady recurrences of distasteful incidents or just the welcome state of relief that sets in post self-ridicule. You are cruelly exposed to the volume you enclose. You are soon driven into self-pity, despair and gloom.

But, later on all this takes a toll on you and a certain undisputable numbness takes over. Then on it’s plain apathy, vanity (I don’t know why this specific attribute, but it’s true) and outright indifference.

This has been the case for more than a decade. Over the years, I’ve either outgrown my own shoes overnight or suddenly realized that my clothes have been tailored an inch smaller…I’ve wheeled away an eternity with such interesting case studies of myself. I’ve tried everything – die-hard diets, tedious treadmill sessions and annual “lose-it-all” resolutions. But at the end of the day, being the invincible epicure that am, I realize that greed and gluttony have paid faster than my hard work. Finally succumbing to my own discrepancy, with put-on pride and glee I hear myself say in self-consolation, “Blessed. I’ve got more. I’m pervasive. ” What an unbeatable optimist!

The lecture...

“And so we’ve come to the end of this session…(sighs of relief). But one more point students, that I missed out eeeess…”
“Maaaaaaaaa’mm….”(annoyed groans).

Class IX-B, Moral Science class, the eight period, the first bench, two oily plaits, drenched in Mrs. Angel Pinto’s generous shower of saliva – no points for guessing! Yeah that’s me and this is exactly the fifty-second time I’m taking a desperate sneak peek at my watch.

“ Eve-teasing is one of the worsest crimes of today (worsest??? Could it get worse than this??? Muffled giggles.) The main reason behind this is (looking straight into my eyes) you girls” (gasps of horror from the accused lot).

“Every evening I see you girls in the beach, hopping around in mini skirts and micro mini shorts. Don’t think there is no one to watch you and catch you girls! (What were you doing at the beach ma’m?) You all are fooling your parents by such misbehaviour. And by fooling your parents, you are fooling God. And by fooling God, you are fooling whom? Yourselves girls, yourselves. Finally what is the result of such shameless dressing? Eve-teasing! Of course the boys will be tempted. Now can we blame them? (I stole an embarrassed glance at the boys. Even newborns seemed less innocent!) .”

Now, an indecent accusation as such is insulting enough. But getting accused in front of the “men” was way too insulting!!! It was one of those rare moments when I felt like a total jerk. We had the most immoral session of moral science class that day.

Swearing under our breath, we, the most ‘demeaning creation of God’ silently vowed to get back at Mrs. Angel Pinto. Angel...ironical isn’t it?

Tick..tick..tick..tick..tick..tick.tick..tick..Trrrrrrrrrrrrringg…

After what seemed like an eternity, we heard the God sent school bell go! With unconcealed happiness, we let out sighs of relief and started packing our bags.
I felt like I needed to be on glucose to catch up on my pathetically spent energy. “How on earth did I live through this lecture?? Phew”… But unfortunately my happiness was short lived…for soon after I heard her saying, “ Thank you children, see you next class!”

Believed it not

Wednesday 10.15 pm

Dear diary,
How many of us have a dilemma over which group to take in class eleven and twelve? A little more than three fourth of the Class 10 student population at least? Fortunately, I am a class apart. I know for sure that I want the Commerce group. But amma will never let it be. An engineer she is and an engineer I should be.

Amma has serious apprehensions about what Commerce can do for me. A staunch believer of the play of time, dates, stars, the wind, the cats and even the lizards, she tricked me into fixing an appointment with our family astrologer, S.V.P. Giri, to foretell what’s the best for me. I shot out a few unpleasant real-life examples, trying to convince her that astrology is just a fool’s play. But according to amma, astrology is stubbornly a science. I’ve seen S.V.P. Giri a couple of times during my sister’s wedding. I still can’t forget the ugly paan stains on his spaced out teeth. They’re worse than his corny phrases.

Sigh! The battery is going low …the torchlight is getting dimmer and mom will be furious if she finds out what I’ve written. So good night diary… and weirdo Giri, here we come!


Friday, 3.25 pm

Dear Diary,
I can never even mention the word Commerce again in my life. S.V.P Giri has run his dirty boots all over my life. I’m doomed forever. Sob!


Friday, 10.35 pm

Dear Diary,
I saw the paan stains again…and I can’t believe the red-toothed crook tricked my mom into this. Amma and I took a call taxi all the way from Adyar to Ambattur. Mr. Nostredamus wanted us there exactly at the strike of ten and amma didn’t want to keep the busy guy waiting. We got down from the taxi and stepped right on a black cat’s tail. The cat hissed, its eyes clouding in with hatred. I tried convincing my mom that black cats being a sign of bad omen, today wouldn’t be ideal for a prediction as crucial as this. Oddly, she didn’t fall prey to the threat. I followed her inside, disillusioned.

Mrs.Giri wiping her forehead with the tips of her sari, made us sit on the floor of the living room. I watched the ants carry away the food particles that lay scattered around. Cobwebs, cockroaches, soot and the rude clank of vessels … I was surprised at how amma managed to put on a pleasant face.

Giri made his grand appearance, at his own sweet pace, carelessly chewing pawn and spitting out the gooey red mess into a worn-out vessel from the Stone Age. I tried very hard imagining him busy, but failed miserably. He blew his nose and wiped his fingers on his unclean, disgust-evoking dhoti. We sat across him as he hungrily munched on a murukku, after offering us some. Amma quietly pinched my thigh to warn me not take it. I knew better than that anyway. The stench put me off anyway. Wiping his oily fingers on his dhoti again, he started a random play with some nuts and shells. I tuned out of the whole process, but a few words like “Raagu , Kethu, Shani, flew in and out of my ears, forming illusionary question marks inside my head. I knew the session came to an end when he said, “ Kuzhandhaikku science group eduthaa pirkalathula vazhkai jagajodhiya amaiyum”. It took all my will power to hold back the tears that rushed out almost immediately. On our way back, Amma went on with her twaddle about how well software geeks are doing in life. I stood like a deaf mute at the bus stop (we were in no hurry to get back…hence the mode of transport) and let the tears flow out slowly. Drenched in salty dampness, I tried to push away the grim thought of S.V.P. Giri.
Later, during my afternoon nap, S.V.P. Giri tormented me in my dream. But guess what? He’s given me an idea. Astrology is science after all, isn’t it? Giri’s inspired me to study the astrological sciences - or so I’m going to tell amma tomorrow. With her engineering dreams crashing down, it’s going to be a traumatizing decision for her. Let’s wait and watch the melodrama unroll. Hope amma likes the new avatar of her science whiz of a kid. And S.V.P Giri, better get me out of the mess he got me into. Good night diary.