Perception

Every person knows me differently.
Some think I am a sweetheart – the nicest person they know
Some think I am so mean that they make faces at me and go.
There are some who look forward to meeting me
There are others who’d rather not see me.
To some, I am spontaneous, impulsive, happy and bright
Some others, they say they haven’t seen a girl more uptight.

Every person knows me differently.
Some say my life is similar to theirs
Some say they count me in their prayers.
Some shower me with attention, some idolize
Some feign incomprehension, some criticize.
Some think I’m a Punjabi, hence very strong
Some know that the stereotype is so very wrong.

You know me like a mother knows her child.
Not strong or weak, not good or bad,
Not beautiful or ugly, not happy or sad.
You know me, simply, as yours - a part of you.
Like there is nothing unknown between me and you.
You know me like the sea knows the sand.
You know me like the back of your hand.

With you, I don’t have to be any person in particular.
I can be a headstrong feminist with progressive views,
Or I can be a princess who needs to buy too many shoes.
I can be dirty and disgusting; or I can be sexy and clean.
I can behave however I want – decent or outright mean.
I could smile like a doe or I could frown like a monkey
You will still caress my cheek and tell me I am pretty.

It is not easy to be with you - I have to be myself.
All that practice of having to live up to expectations,
Being nice with the nice ones; smart with the sly ones
Pretense comes easier to me than just letting myself be.
When you walk towards me, it is the reason I can’t breathe.
Because standing across you, I am nobody else, but me.
With your unflinching gaze – there is nothing you don’t see.

Emotions come crashing in bursts of hysteria and madness.
As though a massive dam guarding my energies was just bombed,
Every bone in me knows - for this breakdown my heart had yearned.
As my tears surreptitiously seep through the fibers in your jacket,
They seem to dissolve my ego - that cheap, sugar-coated packet.
The feeble walls that hold my pretentiously steadfast resolves
Crumble and tumble, leaving me no choice but to face my flaws.

Each time you amble into my safe-house, you make room inside.
You de-clutter, you sanitize and you clear it up for good measure.
That’s not all. Each time, you leave behind a sparkly new treasure.
You pin-point, you nit-pick, you taunt, you laugh and you tease
And in a fit of giggles, I bask in the attention as you try to appease.
My heart still stops in that moment; but from then on, it is quite easy
I am finding myself with you because that’s who you want me to be.

 

Let's make it count

What makes life good?
What makes you smile?
What matters the most to you?
What makes your heart yearn?

A reason to go that extra mile
A reason to stop and smell the roses
A reason to wake up happy and bright
A reason to cry and a reason to smile

A cause to believe in
A voice to heed to
A peak to reach
A path to meander in

A pillar for support
A boost of self-confidence
A shoulder to cry on
A stomach to punch.

There is passion worth vying for
A belief worth dying for.
You get but one life
Live for something worth the strife.


- Wannabe Wayfarer
(i don't write poetry)

My Day of Love

For a long while, I only saw the back of his head and sometimes, if I was lucky, a side-face. We sat on diagonally opposite ends of the same classroom. He was the dreamy front-bencher and I was the participative back-bencher. I used to observe him quite intently even before we started talking. I noticed that he doodled a lot. He’d always be scribbling or sketching in his notebook, never looking up from his desk, not even to acknowledge the professor’s presence. There was always a pair of earphones nicely hidden behind his long and shabby hair. I thought he was genuinely cool. When we first saw each other face-to-face, I tried so hard to make an impression, he confesses now that he disliked me then.

The year our paths crossed was the same year we chose to walk different ways. He moved to another city and I got busy trying to make money. The first time we really met, just the both of us, was the night before he was to leave Mumbai. We shared paani puri and awkward silence. But by the time we were to say goodbye (with an awkward shake of hands), I was hoping with all my heart that he’d stick around for just a little bit longer.

That was four years ago. He did stick around. With subtle gestures, harmless prods and seemingly inconsequential nudges, one at a time, patiently, diligently, he made room for himself in my cluttered heart. And he’s made it clear – he is here to stay. I don’t know exactly how or when it happened; maybe it had started from the day I first saw the back of his head, maybe it had started way before time itself or maybe, like a platinum love band, it simply has no start and no end. We were, we are and we will be.

There is warmth in him, a comfort in his presence. We’re wound up in each other – we couldn’t keep away even if we tried (and we have tried). They say that you’re nobody till somebody loves you. He believes in me – and that gives me strength beyond all else. He can see through my pretenses and he can break through my walls – I am most vulnerable when I am with him. I am also most protected when I am with him; he guards me fiercely.

Every moment with him is my wondrous day of love – an eternity, a legend. I fall in love with him all over again, every day. Sometimes, it’s in the moment where we make up after a fight, because of the falsetto he talks in when pleading with me to forgive him. Other times, when I don’t see him for months, it’s while watching the sun set over the sea; the beautiful memory of our first sun set together washes over me as the sun reflects a million sparkling diamonds. And every morning when I wake up, I know that there is no morning that will ever match up to our first sunrise together. Most ferociously, it is in those tiny moments that we share – when he walks towards me and the closer we get the harder it gets for me to breathe, when he looks at me with a fire in his eyes and my heart stops beating, when I look away and he softens his gaze, when he kisses my forehead and when my smile lights up his face.

Vivek and I celebrate 19^th September, the day of our first kiss, as our day of love. He kissed me on my forehead on a railway station moments before he took off for Delhi. He lives in Pune now, and we meet off and on. We fight about almost everything and are constantly planning for the zombie apocalypse, among other things like our bedroom wall.

Glad i finally wrote about us,

Thanks to preciousplatinum.in & Indiblogger for this motivation!

Signing off with a big smile,

Wannabe Wayfarer :)

The hair is always shinier on the other head

Girls with curls want to straighten their hair and those with sleek hair want curls. Classic case of female envy. That's what beauty salons feed on - our insecurities. We women are quite self-conscious. Those who claim you're not, who are you kidding? We use the rear-view mirror inside the car only to re-apply lipstick before we get out.

I have naturally straight, black hair. The length and style varies countless times in a year depending on the seasons and my unpredictable moods. Most recently, I also added some colour to it. Every fortnight, I get bored looking at the same reflection in the mirror and then go do something drastic with what I can experiment the most on - my hair. Once upon a time, I had long hair. But now I just don't have the patience for it anymore. Thanks to my habit of oiling my hair (or so we Indian women believe), I have had no complaints of dry hair. Even after I bleached sections of it to look like Nicki Minaj.

Anyway, I got a bob cut six months ago but it didn't seem shocking enough to make me like what I saw in the mirror. Therefore the colour. This is what I looked like then:

 

Now, the burgundy/pink is almost all gone and the straw-colour of the bleach that remains resembles a manjaa (a thread which is used to fly kites).

How many times have you ditched a social gathering simply because your hair didn't agree with you? I bail on 70% of the outings I get invited to. In hindsight, I rot at home 90% due to silly reasons like - my hair is not shiny enough, it is falling flat today or I look like a beaten-up Rihanna (no offence, Ri.)

I now have an award-winning and rather hassle-free solution to these vanities.

A Ramp-Ready Hairstyle at home!

In fact, I had no idea that my beautiful mane makes heads turn because of my simple trick while shampooing! I took for granted the extra volume my just-washed hair assumes and retains for at least two days thence. (I mean, isn't everybody's hair supposed to look fabulous after a hair-wash?) However, only after a slightly jealous friend asked how I managed a voluminous look did I realize that my way of hair-wash is not known to many.

So, here's what I suggest you should do too:

o   This works well with any good shampoo. Just do what you always do.

o   To rinse it off, however, while standing under the head shower, turn your hair upside down and face the floor so that the water falls from the nape of your neck to your forehead.

o   The last rinse, most importantly, should be with freezing cold water in the same face-down position (cold water gives guaranteed shine to your hair)

o   Conditioning is a must because it is essential that you do not have knots in your hair

o   After you're done washing, don't rub a towel on your hair to dry it

o   Simply wrap it around the upturned hair and squeeze the excess water

o   Keep the towel wrapped. You may leave it on while you get dressed, do your make-up etc for the big party.

o   After all that is done, face down again, remove the towel and use a wide-tooth comb on your damp hair in the same upturned position only. Comb from back to front, neck to forehead, preferably directly under a fan.

o   Ultimately, turn your head up and toss your hair back with a flourish

o   Do not comb your hair now. Simply let it dry.

o   Use your fingers to set it in place, where needed.

o   You can use a hairspray if you so desire to lock the just-washed hair look.

Voila!

This works 100% on straight, sleek, black and shiny hair. (yes, I show-off.)

For more Ramp-Ready Hairstyles for your hair-type, check out: http://www.youtube.com/user/TresemmeIndia/RampReadyHair

There are awesome DIYs for curly (makes me wish I had curls) and wavy hair, too!

Feeling sexy,

Wannabe Wayfarer

But Most Importantly, Be Mine.

Prologue: Eventually, say when I am 25, I want to get married. Probably not settle down, but definitely spend the rest of my life with one man. This post is for that man. I know this is five years too soon. But this is to remind me what I need to demand of him. I must not be blinded by the fervor and must not compromise on my indispensable requirements. Of course, this may be rendered useless. I will not settle for sub-standard so I just might not get married at all. If in case I do, it is my fiance’s responsibility to read this post.

Hi.

You are going to spend the rest of your life with me. Are you sure? Rethink. Please consider this as documentary evidence of my official warning to you.
If you’re still so madly in love with me, this is what I want:

A humble wedding.

Ever since I can remember, I thought extravagant weddings were the best kind of weddings. As I grew up, I was familiarized with family politics and I learned that big weddings do not usually mean happy marriages. As I gradually attended more and more weddings, I realized I would be much happier with a humble wedding. Firstly, rich weddings are highly inconvenient. I do not want to be an unmoving, over-dressed doll that needs to walk at the pace of an 8-bit video game character on the very day that I want to jump with joy and laugh and dance and not care if the whole world is looking at me. See, my plan is simple:

1.       ALL traditional rituals and functions must be followed. In case you are not Punjabi, I want to do all your set of rituals, too. We are not going to miss out on even the tiniest tradition.

2.       Anyway most of our pre-wedding functions will be different for you and me. We will each be with our respective families. All my pre-wedding functions will be amongst a small gathering of only those closest to me. Therefore, just family. As for you, I am going to trust you to have sincerely performed all your set of required rituals before getting married to me.

3.       A sangeet. I would prefer that to be more or less private, too. My friends and I are constantly editing the song-list. I have already decided the anchor for the event - my maid of honour. So you can’t have a say in that, sorry.

4.       The shaadi – I want pheras. Even outside a mandir will do. Nothing too fancy, please. I just want my pheras and sindhoor and all that jazz. And lesser the audience, the better.

5.       Basically, I want to make just the Reception an open-to-all event. Rest everything needs to be a family affair. Since 80% chance is that you are a Punjabi, our combined family strength will be 800 people. We need to cut it short to 200. That is our guest list for the sangeet. Okay fine, plus a 100-odd for our friends. Reception, you may invite even 1000 people.

6.       I DO NOT WANT US TO SIT ON A STAGE FOR OUR RECEPTION. It’s a reception! Not an exhibition. We will be moving around constantly, touching the feet of elders here, there and everywhere. We will have a table with the rest of the people. NOT a stage. If you insist otherwise, go for the reception alone.

7.       I want to hire a cool wedding photographer and I will not be made to pose with my hands under my chin phonily.

That’s it. See? I don’t ask for much.

Now, here’s what I expect from you once we’re together (since I’ve already chosen you, the disclosure of my more detailed, essential pre-requisites is not needed here):

Say I’m beautiful.

Defend me at all times. Come home and shout, that’s okay.

Don’t leave me alone anywhere.

Be interesting.

Love me, but don’t spoil me.

Travel light.

If I am marrying you, I sincerely hope it is because we love each other. Even my expression of love to you is restrained until we’re married; and I’m yours.

In this life and beyond,

Candidly yours,

Wannabe Wayfarer.

 

So that the bachcha party doesn't get bored



Inspire

“We make a living by what we get. We make a life by what we give.”
Words of Winston Churchill. They summarize my enriching experience on 23rd November, 2012. Thanks to Deloitte’s CSR initiative - Impact Day.

Within months after I joined Deloitte, I had heard much animated talks about our annual “Impact Day” – stories of the ones gone by and plans for the upcoming one. The excitement was infectious. I just couldn’t wait to experience it myself. Finally in November, my inbox flashed the official e-mail inviting us to be a part of something as big as this. Ideas were sought from all of us. This was our chance to make a difference – in not just others’ but also our own lives. When the projects were shortlisted, they were all so good; I couldn’t decide which one to register for. I chose “Inspire”. Why? Truth be told, because I like painting walls. I don’t really like children so I think it was solely for the chance to paint an entire balwadi (children’s home).

We had pre-project meetings just like we have pre-engagement briefings at work. Our team brainstormed on how we would spend the day with the kids and in what way could we leave a lasting impact on their imaginative minds. Finally it was decided that we would conduct three workshops – glass painting, paper quilling and paper-bag making. Responsibilities were allocated; our Deloitte t-shirts were handed out. I was already feeling pumped up. Needless to say, all the logistics went smoothly.

Where did we go to on that bright morning? Ramakrishna Sarada Samiti, Sion. RKS started by providing free medical service to the poor slum dwellers of the area in 1968. At that time, they had neither funds nor land. 1974 saw the construction of its present building, which now provides free health care for all, vocational training to women, basic education and other activities such as dance, art and music classes to children up to the age of thirteen. We met Mr. Raghu Pilaka, a chartered accountant by profession, who whole-heartedly devotes his time to the NGO. His wife, Mrs. Vidya - a wonderful lady and an architect by profession - too, shares his ideals. They both welcomed us warmly, thanking us (Deloitte) for our generous contribution while I shyly smiled, unable to say anything. 

As soon as we entered Little Lamps, the balwadi, I was reminded of my own pre-school; and how much I loved it. It was no different for those children over there. They much prefer spending their entire day at RKS rather than at their homes. We had walked in in the middle of a drawing class. The young lad teaching the kids is also from the same slum area, a very talented artist, and is aspiring to get admission at JJ College of Arts. Looking at his painting that adorned a wall of the dispensary, I think he is deserving of that opportunity. RKS is making sure he does.

We started almost immediately after a quick breakfast of idli-chutney. Most of the men took up the task of painting the periphery. Those of us who were more creatively-inclined chose to paint rainbows, birds, butterflies, trees, geometric shapes (and all things bright and beautiful) on the walls inside. The JJ-aspirant helped us a lot. After three hours of paint-splashing, frenzied picture-clicking and exhausting running-around, we took a break for lunch. The children were astonishingly well-mannered and comfortably jovial with us. Once well-fed, our energy levels doubled up (and yet, didn’t match those of the power-packed kids). We made a huge wall-poster with all the drawings that they made in class. Here’s what it looked like:

The fun had only just begun. We sat together for a quick round of introductions, to break the ice and open up before we commenced the workshops. And guess what? I learned the bharatnatyam namaskara, thanks to this beautiful eleven-year old girl, who also gave me a wonderful “thankyou” card at the end of the day (I did NOT cry. Shut up!). From budding choreographers to potential artists, the energy of the troop overwhelmed me. The workshops were a huge hit with them. Their innocent smiles and infectious giggles made it difficult for me not to like them. Much to my own surprise (and shock), I had befriended most of them by the end of the day. But no, I did not get even slightly emotional when one of them asked, “Didi, when will you come back?” True to its title, this project inspired me to be as selfless as Mr. and Mrs. Pilaka; and as happy, imaginative and energetic as all those "little lamps".

I am going to make some furniture out of waste paper this Sunday with them. After all, I did promise the little girl that I would return soon.

More pictures here.

Blessed with small joys,

Wannabe Wayfarer.

A Lucky Evening

Before 19th August, 2012, I did not believe in the authenticity of contests and lucky-draws. I thought they were all orchestrated and unfair. However, I now have a new zest for checking out free goodies and participating in random competitions. After all, winning a Nokia Lumia is a life-changing event! What started off as an awkward evening with complete strangers eventually turned out to be a very appetizing night! Not only did I make several new friends, I think I gained a pound or two. Plus, they do say, that the camera adds ten pounds. So, if you happen to see them, excuse the pictures, please.

Where was I that day, you ask? (In case I haven’t already shouted it out in your ears) I was a privileged attendee at the NokiaAppTasting IndiBlogger meet. How? Well, simple; I begged the IndiBlogger people to let me register despite a very dull and uneventful blog. A big thanks to them, once again.

The friends who accompanied me were very excited about meeting Vikas Khanna, the host for the evening. I don't watch MasterChef. Although, having read a few of Rajiv Makhni’s witty articles in the Hindustan Times, I was quite interested in meeting that man. As the evening progressed, true to my teenage-girl syndrome, I fell in love with both of them. I mean, how couldn’t I? They’re humble, cute, funny and very very Punjabi! I have laughed my lungs out at their hilarious description of the Simran-incident.

As is tradition at all IndiBlogger meets (so I am told since this was my first), the evening commenced with a 30 second introduction of almost all bloggers present. Even before that happened, I was in awe of the crowd around me. There were bloggers of all ages and, as Poonam Kaul, Director-Communications, Nokia India said herself, “I am not a feminist but I am proud to see the large number of female bloggers.” All of twelve years, the youngest blogger at the meet - Harini Rao came up on stage and candidly admitted having come to the event only for the free food. Well, lucky kids. They can say anything and get away with it as “cute”. In contrast, also present there were bloggers who had grandchildren as old as Vikas and Rajiv and they charmed their way into my heart with their “silly poetry” and “lack of tech-knowledge”.

 With a never-ending spread of starters and wine to keep us satisfied, Nokia smoothly drilled home the message that they’re very much in the niche market and have no intentions of backing down. I am smitten with the Nokia Pureview and the myriad of wonderful applications it boasts of, not to mention a 41MP camera with Carl Zeiss lens! Oh, but my new Lumia! Yes, I’m getting there. There was a food & technology quiz that I literally forced my way into. Thanks to my very competent partner-in-crime, Kalindi Manek, we managed to win by a fair margin of twenty or so points! I must say here, that both the hosts are extremely knowledgeable in their respective fields. Did you know that the most famous Indian dish everywhere in the world except India is Chicken Tikka Masala? Or that Nokia N90 is actually the first phone with a built-in Carl Zeiss digital camera?

IndiBlogger turned five that night. The event was brought to a close with a delicious cake-cutting, emotional birthday-card moments, a buffet and (in my case,) countless servings of chocolate mousse. I look forward to more of such enriching and scrumptious evenings with IndiBlogger.

Indian by birth, Blogger by choice,
Wannabe Wayfarer.

Other Perks:
I wore my IndiBlogger t-shirt at a college festival the other day and without me saying a word, the security gave me an unrestricted entry, cutting the unimaginably long queue because they thought I’m a sponsor! Tacit consent? Whatever.

Before I die.. (under construction)

 

Skydiving in Spain

I always wanted to try a free fall from a really high ground. A cliff, or a tall building. Then I saw Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara. Thenceforth, skydiving is the most certain thing on my list. Being dropped from an airplane, 15000 ft. above ground, with nothing but a parachute! Just floating in the air, almost as if flying!

 

Visit Hogwarts, Hogsmeade & Diagon Alley

Because I wish I studied in Hogwarts. And spent my weekends in Hogsmeade. And that I could go to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, get my wand from Olivander, buy Bertie Bott’s every flavored beans, chocolate frogs, and sit at The Three Broomsticks with a butterbeer to finish my Charms or Potions essay with a self-correct quill.



See the midnight sun in Norway

Midnight sun, literally, is a midnight sun seen during summers near the Arctic Circle, where the sun doesn’t set all day.

And, Norway, I’ve heard, is the most beautiful place to be =)

Record a song in my voice

Not saying I have a singer’s voice. But, I like to sing and I like being complimented about my voice. I want to hear my singing voice, to know if it is actually worth listening to. I don’t know what I’ll do with it, but I would like to record one song, professionally.

Learn a dance form

Okay, I cannot dance. I look stupid when I attempt. I can’t learn because, well, I’m embarrassed that I’ll look even stupider trying. But, in secret, I want to learn how to dance. I envy graceful dancers. So, anyone taking private lessons please let me know.

Live in a boathouse

This is more of a honeymoon wishlist item, of course. Waking up in a boat. Sigh.

Well, that's all the things I could think of right now. I shall keep adding to it. Any suggestions? 

- Wannabe Wayfarer.

A page from my Diary

Chennai Office, 1.00 pm.

So after my wonderful trip to Vaishnodevi temple, I flew to Chennai for two weeks, then Bombay last week and flew back here (yes, AGAIN) for continuation of what we label work. Right now, that’s where I am, sitting alone, typing this out in a chilly conference room at the client’s office; wearing a sweater when the temperature outside is 340C. Last night, however, was hot, dirty and sweaty. From afternoon to midnight, I was counting engines, wheel rims, cylinders, slider frames, axles, valves, tube tires, and even nuts and bolts. I was at an unpronounceable remote plant location at the Tamil Nadu-Andhra Pradesh border conducting Physical Verification of our client’s stock. Blah.

On the hour long return journey from the warehouse to the hotel we’re staying at, sandwiched on the backseat between my team member and a client representative, I received plenty of calls from Bombay. All day too, my phone has been flooded with calls and messages.Today is my birthday. 2^nd April. I have completed nineteen years on this planet and I have no vision, aim or plan for my future. A big thank you to all who wish me well!

Listening to: Make It Up As You Go! – Plain White T’s

 

Hotel Room, 10.00 pm – Post Dinner

Birthday made bright thanks to memories of the advance celebrations in Bombay last week (especially the scrumptious chocolate cake baked by a sexy Saraf and lovely thoughtful gifts from everyone), surprise cake by work team here, and these precious dedications:

#1 (wishes to remain unnamed)

Birthday - just another day for you and me, right? Nothing more, nothing less; except probably the tiny birthday cake and a little bit of attention here and there. But, who wants that anyway... I kept the same attitude till now. And I am not sure if I am going to, willing to or succumb to changing that attitude to "OMG, IT’S MY BIRTHDAY MONTH! YAYIEE" either. Nevertheless, it’s a special day. Today is special because someone came into the world only to change mine for the better. Guess what? That’s a good enough reason for you and me to celebrate.

You are Dear, Harshika Gupta, and you should know that. Never contemplate on how much you have positively contributed to my life because despite the physical distance, trust me - YOU TOP MY LIST. Being with you - real time or just spiritually is just unbelievable. Sometimes I wonder how you can make all my whining, unrealistic love life and ridiculous ambitions seem so normal. Even about being independent, you know... I don't think I'd feel so free if you wouldn't keep reminding me of it.

A mere 'thank you' won't suffice for the strength that you give me. But you must know that I am very lucky and grateful to God to have let me sensed this unbound, unconditional and permanent friendship with Harshika Gupta.

I Love You. Oh! And yea, Happy Birthday. May you have a million reasons to smile and a trillion reasons to laugh! (My April calendar says "A smile is a laugh that bursts", cool na?) Yours, Guess who

#2 (my favorite Shetty)

Dear Harshika,
I find having pen pals amusing. Considering FaceBook doesn't allow that anymore, why would anyone write mails and letters when you can chat and whatspp(darn technology). I know you have too much work to write letters to me. But I declare you my pen pal. I will keep you updated about my (and others) life when you are away whether you like it or not.
Anyway, here's a poem I wrote for this awesome occasion of your birthday. It's called YOU.(Genius me)
Hope you like it!!

You.

The craziness, the lovesickness
Made me think I was the only one
Then I realized you were there too
To share in the fun.

You have some wiring wrong
Considering the things you say and do.
You say the funniest and darnest things
And I actually believe you.

I need to learn to love like you
With all your heart and soul
You do what you want and
Don't always follow the rules.

Every friend has a place
A season that he brings
You are the friend that
Always resembles the spring.

I wish that you soon figure out
What it is that you want to do
It doesn't really matter to me
Coz whatever it is you'd be true.

And that's your share of sappiness
For the friend you have been to me
And I pray for only happiness
From the heavens to shower on thee.

Happy Birthday, Harshika Gupta!!! :D

Ps. Tried to say the above in poetry but nothing really rhymes with Gupta! :(

- Trupthi.

 How lucky am I :)

Feeling blessed,

Wannabe Wayfarer.

Wonder Years

Precariously balancing on the edge of the aluminum ladder, after several unsuccessful tries with a long stick, I pulled myself up and wiggled into the duct-like passage. Came out disheveled, but finally pulled out the bag that’s been on my mind longer than I care to admit. It was heavy and I was as excited as I am when I have unending dessert options! Dragged my colossal haul to a corner of the house and settled amidst the comforting memories.

That was at 12 in the afternoon. Fast forward to 5 in the evening, my brother and I are laughing our stomachs hollow (me, quite literally on an empty stomach) at a super scary baby picture of me. No kidding. I was a scary baby. Eyes too big for the face, and add to that hideously frilly frocks and dresses. It’s like a china doll from those scary movies is unblinkingly staring at you. I have the potential to scare the bejesus out of somebody. I’m glad; some talent. If I was a scary baby, I haven’t seen any kid cuter than my brother. I swear. I’m saying this impartially. Maybe even a little reluctantly. He’s a born poser, like my mother and has got the math-whiz brains of my father. Me? I’m considering the possibility that I was adopted.

There were a zillion more photos – of my parents’ wedding (me absent), mom’s first karvachauth (me absent), playschool, all our vacations, trips to temples, chirstmas parties, holi, Diwali, birthday parties – of all the cousins, raksha bandhan, everything before 2000 and a little up to 2003. Since I’ve been pretty much jobless having taken unnecessary leave from work for inconsequential exams, I thought that instead of wasting yet another day on sleeping and eating on my laptop, I’d look through these photographs.

Irrespective of the bag-full of photos, I remember very little of pre-teen me - just a few incidents. Individually, they might not make sense but put together, there is fluidity (eh, critics?) in the awesome tale of my childhood. Here, I shall try to be as chronological as possible in my reminiscence of those few far and in between childhood memories:

I remember journeying from one make-believe city at the right of the sofa set using a threadbare ottoman to reach the other end where my mum waited to spoon-feed rajma chawal to me. The self-made game was to reach her without putting my feet on the floor. I don’t think she understood that; or cared. She hates spoon feeding. She would get irritable and hurl expletives only like a Punjabi mother can. She only spoon-fed me because the rest of her sisters-in-law did their children. The perks of a joint-family lifestyle, I tell you!

When my kid brother was born, I remember holding that tiny little thing and saying, “He is so pink!” Later, I also suggested that he be named Mickey Mouse when all the elders congregated in the “sitting-room” to jot down baby names. I remember stealthily creeping into the room together with my cousins where he was peacefully asleep and pulling the crib net off so he would wake up – something mom had specifically warned us against. I remember feeling terribly guilty about that; worrying all the while whether mosquitoes were hovering around my tiny brother because of us.

I love my cousins. I’ve grown up playing lagori, Simon says, red letter, land-water, hide-and-seek, treasure hunt and what-not with them. I am extremely lucky to have not just one, but three loving brothers and five beautiful sisters.

My eldest brother, he’s an angel. Once, aggressive me bit him; not like a tiny kid’s peck, but a piranha’s bite. A deafening scream; and then I ran. Ran for my life. Expecting him to chase me and pay me back in stones. Panting, I hid in our garden, the farthest I could get from him. Hours passed, he never followed. I thought he’s gone a step further – complained to mom; or worse, to badimamma. All day, I was so scared, waiting for the blow that never came. He forgave me. Just like that. That was just the beginning of his unending generosity to me. My brothers are my 3 a.m. friends. I trust them with my life.

As a kid, I think I would look up to my elder sisters; I still do. So probably whatever they said was gospel truth to me back then. My sister fooled me into believing that the best part of the bread was the sides. She always fed me the brown sides of all her sandwiches because she disliked them. And guess what, eventually, I developed a taste and now the sides ARE the best part of the bread to me; in fact I actually dislike white bread.

I was barely four when we shifted out. I didn’t understand much of what was happening or why and I thought shifting meant a bad thing. Our first separate place, albeit temporary, was quite far from my joint-family home. When badepapa dropped me at the depressing apartment and was about to leave, I hugged him, cried uncontrollably and just wouldn’t let go of him. I couldn’t believe he was leaving us. He told me not to be silly and that he would come the next day to pick me up for school. After a lot of tugging, I was forced to let go. Unless I’m mistaken, badepapa had tears in his eyes too. He left hurriedly. He did come over the next day; and the day after that. My heart slowly healed; my maternal uncle had come to stay with us for a while and so I didn’t have to miss badepapa all the time. Mom forced me to go out and play with my “friends” in the building. I hated them; the bitches were nothing like my sisters.

Of course, as time passed, things got better; I made a few friends and even started paying attention to school. But my best friends remain my cousins. I still cherish my every visit to them – discussing books and movies with my two beautiful younger sisters, seeking work and college advice from my benevolent and patient brothers, teasing, taunting, laughing at each other, and the unparalleled motherly love of my badimammas and chachi. Family - I didn’t realize it was so important to me till I finished this post.

I could go on, but I have to start packing for my trip to vaishnodevi with badepapa and badimamma :)

See you soon,
Wannabe Wayfarer.

What happens in Goa stays in Goa

I lived my own SATC movie in Goa this month. And these are memories that will stay with me for a very long time. Can’t say forever, you know my memory-span. That’s partly why I’m writing this post. I want to be able to recall this trip even fifty years from now.

Some details are scandalous enough to completely transform your opinion of the fabulously “prim & proper” girls I travelled with and came to love. So I take them to my grave/funeral pyre (or forget them, whichever comes first). From the following words however, you may draw whatever conclusion your imagination leads you to:

5 hours at the flea market

“Goan bred”

Mish Mar

Mr. Darcy

Red chaddi hotter than blue chaddi

Lunch with what's-his-name

Humar sajan tumhar bistar?

2 a.m. half-biryani with full raita

Future prediction

Free ticket booth

Confessions

350ml

Medical students’ troop getting too friendly

S being openly checked out

Dress Night!

Belly Dance

Hug-spree

Chronicling my life with the fat gujju & steamy affair with the pool-boy :D

Saving the last glass!
Champoonara

T's leg-clap

Early morning cycle-touring

Grocery shopping, chai samosa & Church-visiting

Nothin' on you, baby! <3

Yeah, we made a pact. To make this an annual tradition. It's Ibiza next I think.

Cheers to all the small joys!

-Wannabe Wayfarer.