Summer Be Nicer, Please? Pretty Please?

Hi there Summer,

You know me. Ofcourse I whine. Thats something I do very very well, if not the best!

I'm stuck. Struggling stuck. What a horrible combination at that! Summer, you and I get along fine, muggy and wee bit troublesome at times but fine. The past two Summers of my life have been pretty decent, better than this one, for sure!

Have I failed? Should I be thinking about it already? Wherever I look, something feels wrong. Is it bad timing? Is it meant to be? Will I ever see light? Its only in the worst times that your best comes out. I'm waiting. Patiently.

Feels like there is nothing to look forward to, and nothing to look back at. Absolutely nothing. Never felt so empty and helpless. Tell me its a phase. Come on, make way for some real happiness.

Waiting to get out of it.

With love and lots of hope.
Me

The Dally Fraand

A typical way of pronouncing 'friend' in North India is to say 'fraand' and a lot of time its used rather cheekily. Even I'm doing just that right now. Consider this as a long overdue tribute, a whining session with myself or just a simple blogpost, but this one's for P.

My Dally Fraand P made Dally likeable, not to forget liveable. What P and I share, probably very few share. True story! Starting out as uncomfortable Dally fraands, things changed so much between us that now I can just smile when I think of the beautiful progress that happened.

Insane laughter session, first crazy (ahem) party, daily Dally yoga mornings, scary turn of events at strange places, debut visits to Paharganj and late night walks with Mudpie. But we moved out and moved on too, and strangely enough, to the same place. So much joy!

Boombai got us even closer and we had a lot more fun than Dally (A hell lot more!) and that was probably the bestest time we've ever had together. Not to sound like a jilted lover or anything, but that ended rather too early!

We moved on, again and kept in touch. Continued the madness there, and oh-my-God-that-was-fun-too! Its hard to calculate how much I even owe P for the fun and excitement brought to my life. Just that this time, Dally is oh-so-empty and feels horrible, again not to sound like a jilted lover but thats the truth.

Dally misses you P and so does Mudpie and so do I!

P has always been there and will always be there. I know it. Just that this Dally Fraand now needs to see me soon, in Dally itself.

Lots and lots of love to you P! :*

Early Morning Breakfasts

One of the earliest memories of breakfast I have is that of me eating in DD's house during the summers. Every morning, we were greeted by an old uncle of the neighbourhood, who brought us fresh baked bread. This activity was not on special days nor on days that we spent vacationing there. It was an everyday affair, which we all appreciated and loved. The bread he brought us was the first thing we ate, along with a variety of fruits that were displayed on the fine bowl china plates in super white along with yummy Amul butter. Sometimes, breakfast also included a sweet or two that got left behind from the previous night. And somehow it tasted better! The taste of that bread is something I'll probably never get back, it will just linger. 

Breakfasts were always the most important meal of our initial lives. Maybe because of the way we were brought up from the very beginning, with a proper discipline of sort, we never missed our breakfast. Skipping breakfast almost meant like a crime. B was the one who went to 'a very strict school' and M was from the 'super strict family' where breakfast was given most importance.  But who would skip it, for M, made the worlds most tastiest breakfasts on earth. I would claim, they are her best foods made. She can churn up a huge variety of breakfast things at the drop of a hat! B till date ensures that he eats a hearty breakfast, although it has reduced over the years, and M never missed her 'cuppa tea' with it. They are breakfast people, completely, and thats whats been passed on to us, in its full form!

So, it wasn't strange when I left home and didnt find it difficult to eat breakfast without being told to do so in my hostel days. If I remember correctly, I was usually the one who inaugurated the meal at PGGH, almost everyday. Once that stint came to an end, and I started work, breakfast still was a part of my daily routine, a low key affair, with leftovers and burnt bread with eggs but it never was meant to be the in-a-rush sort of thing. It had to be eaten with concentration at the table, sometimes accompanied with the newspaper. But those breakfasts are breakfasts I'll never like to remember again.

The breakfasts I'd like to remember is what brings me to where breakfast stands today. It would be incorrect to say my day does not start without the 'poha' I eat every morning at this particular place outside my campus, referred to as 'The Dhaba'. The warmth of the meal lies in the fact that it served with so much love, everyday. The scrumptious meal consists of hot beautifully made Poha (a steamed dish made with flattened rice) , garnished with chopped tomatoes, onions and coriander, topped with a gentle helping of namkeen (savory). This poha plate is accompanied with a hot glass of sweet, milky tea good wishes for the day! The meal is tasty, healthy and extremely happy, to say the least. Its probably the best part of my day and in some sort of way, it addictive. I have introduced the Poha Palace (someone I know, refers to it like that) to my fellow classmates, batchmates, my bestie and D! Everyone has totally loved it. Sometimes I meet people, classmates or just random strangers and we share our meals with smiles (and talks) and hopes for a good day!

There is not one day that goes without me eating my Early Morning Breakfast at the Poha Palace, and if I miss it, my entire day goes bad. From the hottest summer days, to the foggiest day in winter, I loyally land up every morning on my cycle, waiting to enjoy my daily happiness doze. On sundays, I take the liberty of being a little late with the breakfast. There have been days where I take turned up so early that I have actually watched the kaka make the entire poha, and somedays I have been unlucky to find it to be over. There have been staff changes, infrastructure changes and even shut days of the Poha Palace! But nothing really changes the atmosphere of the place. The kaka is a sweet man, always serving with a smile, he wishes me every morning and allows me to pay up a day or two later, in times of a crisis. The beauty of the meal at Poha Palace lies in its simplicity and I feel extremely lucky to be a part of it! This poha every morning has changed my life so much so, that now M fears even the mere attempt to make, fearing that it will be compared. So whenever I go home, Im served with the other delicacies of the household!

The only thing I fear everyday is the what-if-I-miss-poha tomorrow, but its rather rare that, that happens. Touchwood!

The Ox and Me

There are a lot of times when you do things in sheer stupidity. With another motive, another idea in the head and some other purpose at that point. Just like how you do things when you are initially in love or when you like someone. But this is a different story, not of me being in love, cheekily I claim.

     

Its a story of my desperate attempts of meeting an Ox. Every morning, on my way to 'serving-my-purpose-in-life', I cross an Ox fruit cart. Its basically a beautiful Ox, who leads this fruit cart. This Ox is strong, healthy and very pleasing to look at. The fruits are well laid out on this cart, categorised by their size and colour. The Ox has the most beautiful pair of horns ever. They are hand painted in bright hues and a folk style of art. The ox's eyes are the most gentle ever, not talking of sadness but of experiences.  

My ever growing love for animals especially cows and dogs makes me do stupid things at times. I always want to pet them and touch their noses! So this Sunday morning, when I crossed him again, I made up my mind that I have to, have to meet him. So on my way back from my Early Morning Breakfast (today late though, I take this liberty on sundays) I stopped at the Ox Cart. I tried to stand right next to him, but the Ox owner-cum-fruit vendor made sure I was more interested in his fruits and nothing else. The Ox-owner-cum-fruit vendor didnt look like the kind who tortured Mr Ox or ill-treated him. The healthy body, posture and self righteous attitude made me believe that he was a good man and hence I continued my stop at the Ox fruit cart corner.  So while I acted and actively showed interest in the fruits, from the corner of my eye, I was appreciating and taking in all the beauty of Mr Ox. I bargained and made some claims of him not giving me the best fruit, to waste some time and admire Mr Ox. Sadly he wasn't even close to being interested in anything else (humans especially). What a pity! 

I paid up for my purchases, extremely tempted to ask about Mr Ox's name, but stopped myself from doing so. Beaming with a naughty smile, I told myself that not knowing his name would only enable me to come again and meet him!

Ah, now this does sound like a love story!

We live in a society and culture that on one side has pride in well lit and bright supermarkets with fair price claims, and on the other hand there are these animal fruits and vegetable carts, that may sound archaic and folky, but speak volumes of how we as Indians, try and put everything to its best use, in a sustainable and healthy form. 

The End

"Its over", she said.
"Why? " he asked.
"Its about the space", she answered. 
"Let me try", he said.
"I'm sorry", she said.


That did it. He plugged his iPod earplugs and listened to Floyd, she sat on the corner of the bench, unsure of her next move. And as they looked at each other, they both had tears in their eyes and a rush of memories swirling in front of them. He turned away.


She walked out on him.


"Seven", he muttered.

Baba's Baby

The school principal  asked M, 'So I believe your husband is coming'. M, had no clue how the news had spread. She hadn't told anyone. Not really. Someone else had.

That was me. Everytime B came on leave, I made sure that the entire world (those who made my world) knew about it. From school teachers, to neighbours, shopkeepers, the maid's husbands, all my toys, dogs in the street and children in the park. Everyone had to know. After all B was coming. My joy had no bounds.

D and I waited longingly for whenever B came on leave. It was the event of the year. And when that happened, it was like there was a festival happening. Rooms were cleaned, things were arranged to 'show' him and D and I made our own lists of things we had to do when B came and what all we needed to buy, what to get fixed, what shoes and clothes to buy. We always took up most of his time and he also made it a point to spend it with us to the maximum.

There was nothing fancy about it back then, no exotic holiday, no frills, nothing. Just plain family time which we cherished the most. After all, we saw him only when he managed to get leave, from protecting the nation and fighting for it. And obviously it wasn't that easy, for any of us.

So everytime he came, it was 'our day(s)' and his holiday revolved only around us, our wants, needs, fights and the resolving them. On school days, there was a fuss made every now and then, to get permission to bunk, or if that didnt work, to atleast get the pleasure of him dropping us to school or maybe a pick up in the car.

I remember once, as a young child, when I fell very badly ill and was admitted in the hospital. Evidently I was super upset because I hated being stuck to that dirty, sad hospital bed. One day, when M came in, she told me B was coming. At first I didnt believe her, but then, that night, I was shocked to see him right next to me, giving me a tight hug and kiss. I'm not sure what followed, a crying session or a laughing one, but I got better much before it was expected.

B always made things special. He still does. We are the apple(s) of his eyes and can never get anything done without telling him or asking him. Even now, after leaving home, the joy in meeting seeing B can never be met with anything else.

So, today may be Father's Day, officially, but for me, its everyday. Thank you B. For being there and for being you. There is something strange about this relationship, that can never be expressed.

An Ode to the New Family

The S's are probably the sweetest landlords anyone could have. The family is welcoming, calm and very very affectionate. I'm probably the luckiest person to have such adjusting and wonderful landlords. They treat me like their own and care genuinely. I call them my New Found Family.

The oldest member, DJ is frail, yet strong with so much determination in his face, which talks of experiences that have been lessons. He's a man of few words, but whenever he speaks my heart melts and I cant help but smile. He reminds me a lot of my own, DU and I always miss him when I speak to DJ. 

The older lady of the house, DJ (2), is the voice of the house. She can talk and talk and talk for hours together and yet not let you feel bored. She's the one who handles everything, gently yet with great efficiency. If one needs to learn how to run the household, meeting her is a must. Cute, sweet and oh-so-huggable! 

The man of the house, U, could win an award for being the best landlord ever. He's soft spoken, gentle,  the-no-nonsense kind and a wonderful person. He's always ready to help me with anything I need fixed, any complaints, and any issues!

Finally, A, my favourite person in the house is whom I can run to anytime, ask for anything and talk about everything. She's a patient listener, a doting mother, a caring wife and the best daughter-in-law ever. The relationship of A and DJ (2) is something I have never seen before.  Even to me, she's kind and very very accomodating. 

Every Sunday afternoon, I get a call from them, asking me (rather ordering me) to come down for lunch. Most sunday afternoons are spent with them, chatting over things about anything and everything. Coupled with a home cooked meal, I have the best sunday when I'm with them.

The kids of the family, add life and music to it. Well behaved, soft and quiet, J with D, who is naughty and smart, they make the perfect sibling pair. I love to talk to them and try my best to spend sometime every week with them. 

The family is wonderful and I consider myself to be extremely lucky to have been with them. They have been the reason I have survived and made it an experience worth living. To another year of warmth and wonderful landlords (and awesome sundays)!