This is my December

This is my time of the year. I still happen to like that song, by the way.

Guess what? Music can really soothe your soul. Fleet Foxes, Imagine Dragons, Coldplay, Porcupine Tree. Ahhh :) And what is better is to put earphones on and not care how you sound caterwauling :D 
I went on a sort of movie-watching rampage after my internship got over. I finished reading the Hunger Games part one in a day and watched the movie at night. Can’t wait to read the next two parts. I guess I will always be a sucker for fantasy fiction. Then I watched Half Nelson. Man, Gosling, he never fails to amaze me. Watched Annie Hall next. How come I had never watched his movie to the finish? What a movie. So progressive. I’m a fan of Woody Allen. I really liked when he said “I feel that life is divided into the horrible and the miserable. The horrible are like terminal cases, blind people, crippled. I don’t know how they get through life. It's amazing to me. And the miserable is everyone else. So you should be thankful you are miserable. Because that's very lucky, to be miserable.” Haha, what a man! Then I watched Lolita. I couldn’t read the book completely because I thought Humbert Humbert is really sick. But the movie was good. Especially the man who played Quilty. Very nice. And then I watched Michael Moore’s Capitalism: A Love Story. I had no idea how these big corporations had sucked the blood of the lower and the middle classes. You should really watch his movies. He’s a crazy genius.

In other news, I cannot believe my internship is over! In hindsight, it seems as if it flew by, but it was really crawling when I was counting the days. There was a point when I was utterly demotivated to work because all my efforts were not bearing any fruit. And it was a bitter, bitter pill to swallow. To work on a story all day and not seeing it in the paper because there were better or more important stories. It is a feeling every reporter goes through, and it can really deflate you like a balloon.

But then my sister reminded me of something my granddad used to tell us, “Karm kar, phal ki chinta mat kar.” Roughly translated, it means “Do your work, and do not think of the outcome.” And then my mom told me the same thing. It doesn’t matter that my stories are not coming out, I should not take life so seriously. Plus, the entire process of doing the stories itself has taught me so much. This has been probably the best internship I could have had. Worked in a healthy environment, got some good work to do, met some really nice people, got to travel all over the city. Seriously, I was not even expecting so many experiences packed in under two months. I have seen the dark side of Mumbai. The underbelly. The dirt and grime. Not to mention, a lot of crime. (That rhymes!) I have walked in lanes so narrow I felt they would cave in on me. I have smelled places so bad I felt I would faint. I have witnessed various cultures, people and lifestyles all in one city. And the biggest achievement, the oh so many lunches I had alone. I have always hated eating alone. But now, I think I can eat in a roadside restaurant without being self conscious. When hunger takes over, comfort takes a backseat.

Also, I always start smiling to myself now when I look at policemen. I’ll always have a special invisible bond with them, no matter where I go. I have met some interesting ones, some really good ones, and some really oh-my-god-will-he-ever-talk-sense type, but I’d have to say one thing. The Mumbai police force is good. I’ve seen cases being cracked in a day. Some impossible crimes being solved with the most ingenious methods. Then you should see them gloat. It’s almost cute the way they gush over when they talk about how they nabbed the criminals. It’s really interesting to see how the cases unfold though. The biggest thing is that I never thought I would be able to handle this. And I did. Now I feel like I can work in any beat. I can’t believe I’m saying this! I think I have grown up!

Okay, now this post is going haywire, so I shall write about my challenges in point form.

1.  The huge amount of courage it always took me to enter police stations and handle the stares. The curious eyes always seeming to ask ‘Okay what is SHE doing here?’ ‘She looks like a kid. She’s a reporter?’ ‘She doesn’t belong here! Go away, little girl! This is a dark place where bad things happen. Go on, go to a candy store.’

2. The infinite amount of patience it required to sit outside the officers’ offices, when they acted important, when they were busy attending their never-ending ‘meetings’, when they had more important things to do. When I waited for hours, only to hear “I cannot tell you anything about this case. You should talk to Mr. So and so. And Mr. So and so is on chutti.” Grrr. Why, god why?!

3. Visiting a crime scene after a murder or a suicide and talking to people about it. Just how are you supposed to start a conversation with a random passerby about someone else’s death? It took everything it had in me to approach a stranger and talk about it. Most of the times, they stared at me wide-eyed, dodged all my questions and ran away.

4. When I had to try all the tactics in the Handbook of rookie reporters to get information out of a cop. Stern expressions. A confident voice which said ‘I’m not going till you give me all the information’. Puppy eyes. Shadowing a cop relentlessly till he had to give me something out of sheer exasperation. 

5. Realizing you never find any other female crime reporter anytime you visit police stations for a story. And that it is such a boys club. And that police officers are so much more comfortable talking to men, rather than a skinny little girl. They even joke around with them. Sigh.

6.  Sitting in Marathi press conferences, blank and uncomprehending. Then leaning over to a fellow reporter and saying, “Um, could you give me a teeny tiny idea of what the heck is happening?” And many time, telling the cops, “Could you puh-leez be kind enough to talk in Hindi?” and grinning.

7. The frustration and the anguish of knowing that after travelling in unimaginable conditions sandwiched between people of all shapes, sizes and smells, you do not have enough to make a story. After spending your entire day bumping into dead ends, you have to go back to office empty handed. I felt like crying then. Because it made me question my abilities. But somehow you had to file in the story. Talk over the phone, make a million calls. But get it done.

8. The exhaustion that hits you on the way back home. When you sit by the window, with your hand over your head, listening to music, looking at the tired faces of the fellow passengers and thinking “This is not easy.”

9. Having to go through the arduous task of being in the midst of so many unthinkable things humans do to another. How they can be so heartless as to take someone else's life is beyond me. It's depressing. 

Apart from all of this, there have been some good times. So, naturally, it calls for another list.

1.  The feeling of seeing your name in the paper. A byline! Your efforts are there for the people to read. That some space has been carved out for you, amongst so many other good stories.

2.  The seemingly endless Monday meetings with the entire team. The intelligent discussions that made you feel like they are speaking another language. The story ideas peppered with jokes and leg-pulling. The feeling of being a part of a proper newsroom, where people churn out so many stories about the city every single day.

3.  The lunch with my team members S and G after the meetings. S’s home food. His silly quirks and jokes. G’s one-liners, the way he sang old hindi songs in office. His encouragement every time I felt down. His support every time I doubted myself. Making fun of certain people. Laughing at each other. Mostly them laughing at me. 

4. Asking T to go for a tea break. Sharing her dabba with her. Having tea and uttapa and cheese sandwiches in the cafeteria. Going outside the office and having masala dosa with cheese. So many cups of chai. Cribbing about the day, joking about our experiences, sharing the mutual problems and talking about college.

5. Stealing time from work and sitting at Marine Drive. That one time T and I were so bored we sat and stared at the crabs. For half an hour. And it was one of the most interesting things we had done that day.

6. The entire feel of Nariman point. The roads, the tall commercial buildings, marine drive, the cool breeze, the lack of noisy crowds everywhere.

7.  The overall atmosphere in the office after 7. Phones ringing, fingers tapping at the keyboards at top speed. The chatter, the excitement, the rush of meeting deadlines, the jokes.

8.  Sunlight. The drinks. The conversation. Crossing the road like little kids. Laughter. Abandonment. Popcorn stuck in the hair.

9. Having N to talk to. The way she entered my room when I was curled up in bed, and talked to me and always made me feel better. The way we went out to have coffee or just 'some place nice'. Having my college friends as my flatmates and knowing I can talk to them and laugh with them and meet them back on the hill again.

10. Always having someone or the other to be with. Trying out so many new places. The Little Door, Theobroma, ChaiCoffi, Bistro 1, Big Bang Cafe, Firangi Paani, Banana Leaf, Woodside Inn, Hawaiian Shack, Hearsch and so many more. 

10. The feeling of ending the day with a fulfilling story. A good story. The feeling that you contributed to the paper. You did something worthwhile. Sitting in the train, looking out and just feeling good about yourself.

I did not realize how long this post has turned out to be. And there is so much more that I have to say. Well, I’ll have to leave that for the next time. There’s so much more of Mumbai inside me that I have to share. Christmas is almost here and tomorrow I’m going out with one of my best friends to shop and roam around Bandra. Oh I am so excited! Life can be so amazing sometimes. I shall write more. Soon.

P.S. Today a friend texted me “You know, if all human beings were more like you, I wouldn’t have hated humanity so much.” How adorable is that? :)

The one about obscure joys and sorrows

I’m listening to the Wicked Game by Chris Isaak. The song that plays when Ross and Rachel are in the planetarium on their first date. (If you don’t know who they are we can’t be friends) Mushy mushy mushy. I love his voice. This song is so romantic. It makes me melt. I’m just a sucker for this kind of stuff. Sigh.

Possum and I have been gorging on Friends and unhealthy mid-night Balaji chips and cookie binges. I’ve realized we have memorized almost all the episodes now.  There is not one reference or a joke related to the show that we won’t get. It is amazing how they maintained the quality and the humour for ten seasons. Brilliant. There are some scenes I have to pause to laugh at. And I feel the same amount of sadness when they all keep down their keys of the apartment in the finale episode.

I’ve been reading The Alchemy of Desire by Tarun Tejpal. It’s quite intriguing. I stayed awake all night reading it. My head is full of the book right now. I like the way the convoluted emotions have been explained in the story. It seems like the narrator is unraveling them while he is writing all his revelations out. Since I was up all night, I went for an early breakfast. Ah, the mess was almost empty. Chattu and I sat outside the mess, sipped tea and looked at the misty view for quite some time. There were dew drops dangling on the green leaves and the small buildings looked like building blocks. I like it when all the assignments are done, and you can just sit back, deep breathe and relax. Ah, the campus is breathtaking then. If there is one thing I would crave once I leave this place is the silence. The sheer solitude and the peace. Now when I go to the city and I’m standing on a busy road I keep wondering where everyone is going. Why are there so many people? Why are they all in a rush? Where are they going? Why don’t they look happy? It puts me off. We have screwed up. We are way too many people. I’d rather prefer half the current population to just stop existing. It’s a transhumanist, almost evil thought, but seriously, either that or we have to bear the consequences of fornicating so much.

Do you sometimes enter phases where you’re sitting and you zone out of a conversation and start staring at nothing in particular? You’re not even thinking about anything. It’s like you just stop functioning for a second. Yes? Well, I have been reading The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows and I found the exact term for that phenomenon. Ambedo: a kind of melancholic trance in which you become completely absorbed in vivid sensory details—raindrops skittering down a window, tall trees leaning in the wind, clouds of cream swirling in your coffee—which leads to a dawning awareness of the haunting fragility of life, a mood whose only known cure is the vuvuzela.

That website is excellent. They have words for the exact emotions which everyone feels but no names have been invented yet. There is one which I particularly relate with. And indulge in. Gnasche: the intense desire to bite deeply into the forearm of someone you love. See? I’m not insane. This happens to other people. Or I don’t mind being insane. Who cares?

Some other terms I was vehemently nodding my head in agreement were:

 Sonder: the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.

Vellichor:  the strange wistfulness of used bookstores, which are somehow infused with the passage of time—filled with thousands of old books you’ll never have time to read, each of which is itself locked in its own era, bound and dated and papered over like an old room the author abandoned years ago, a hidden annex littered with thoughts left just as they were on the day they were captured.

Anecdoche: a conversation in which everyone is talking but nobody is listening, simply overlaying disconnected words like a game of Scrabble, with each player borrowing bits of other anecdotes as a way to increase their own score, until we all run out of things to say.

Flashover: the moment a conversation becomes real and alive, which occurs when a spark of trust shorts out the delicate circuits you keep insulated under layers of irony, momentarily grounding the static emotional charge you’ve built up through decades of friction with the world.

Wonderful, right? So intricately and gorgeously expressed. Go ahead. Google them!

In other news, chances are I might end up in Bombay for my winter internship. Nothing is confirmed yet, but fingers crossed. I don’t know what is in store for me. The city intimidates me. It has this throbbing, pulsating, almost unnerving sort of a feel to it. It’s exciting, but you never know when it might just pounce on you. My feelings toward it are the kind you have for your physics teacher you kind of had a crush on. He scared you, even annoyed you, but you wanted to attend all his classes anyway.

The classes for the third semester are over. Every time I say this out loud to Possum or tell her how much time is left, she quivers her lips and then covers her ears up. How is it that time keeps slipping out of your hands and then makes you realize that there was so much that you had planned to do and just couldn’t do it due to some reason or the other? Here’s a quick list of the things I have to do before I leave:

1.       Go to Depression point again

2.       Go to a disc/pub with friends and stay out at night

3.       Walk all the way down the campus and climb one of the peaks and sit there

4.       Go on one more trip with friends with the epicness greater or equal to the epicness of the Kashid trip

5.       Stay awake all night and watch the sunrise with the others

6.       Go to a Karaoke pub and SING

7.       Buy the damn thermocol sheet and make a bulletin board lest Possum peals my skin off

These are the ones that come to mind as of now. Will add more later. Can you believe I will be 23 in another month? I always thought 23-year-olds are responsible, independent, strong, career-oriented, ready-for-marriage type of women. I wasn’t even over the shock of turning 22. I feel 16. Where is my life going?

Before I start hyperventilating, I will move to happier topics. I always had this mental image in my mind before I joined this college, that I will have a big group of girly friends who will be always there for me, and we would share everything. Well. That didn’t happen. Lots of things didn’t turn out the way I wanted them to be. I got a lot of rude shocks and unpleasant realizations about a lot of things. And that is how life is. The things you really want might not happen, but sooner or later you realize you did manage to squeeze out some precious memories and you do end up making friends. Because there will always be people who you can call your closest buddies. And life is just a little less dreary then.

And now, as Norah Jones is crooning in my ears, I’ll stop writing because this post is turning into a rather long disjointed flurry of scattered thoughts. So long!

P.S. Possum broke something that belonged to me a while back and so she got me an earthen wall hanging which is a half a sun and half a moon. Night and day. Yin and Yang. I love her! :)

P.P.S. I have a new possible pen name. The Radical Slug. How does it sound? Will explain the story behind it later :)

Possum :3

It is a typical rainy night in Lavale. The kind which depresses you, fuels your poetic side, or simply makes you want to curl up in bed with a book. But mostly it just makes you want to sleep. A lot. I have been listening to Amit Trivedi’s music, and it has a balming, dreamy effect which goes along perfectly with this weather. Sometimes I go to the city just because I get excited I will get to hear my music on the bus, and view the green hills and feel the wind and ponder about life.

I am writing after ages. It feels weird, now that so much time has passed, and so much has happened. My roommate, Possum, (as I would refer to her. Other names include: Thumbelina and Oompa Loompa) has gone to Mangalore to meet her grand mom and cousins. Not surprisingly, I am missing the small bump that her tiny body makes under her blanket, and the way her legs take up only half the bed. Shifting in with her is one of the best decisions I’ve made in this college so far. I thought I wanted someone sincere as a roommate so that I would be motivated to be like her. Or maybe someone serious and nerdy so that her ‘qualities’ would rub off on me. I was wrong. By the end of the second semester, I was ready to settle with absolutely anyone who would be willing to adjust to my random outbursts and idiosyncrasies, and that too I would have kept to a minimum. But I ended up living with someone just like me. Well, almost like me.

It’s awesome. Not only does she complement my insanity, she supplements it. When I make noises, she makes louder noises. When I make faces, she copies me with gusto. When I laugh at something, she laughs harder. She floods my Facebook wall with the silliest of posts. She has cookies running through her blood stream, and each time she opens an Oreo packet, she squeaks a loud and clear “Cookie?!” and when I say no, she looks at me incredulously as if she cannot believe a person can ever turn down a thing so divine. She’s not exactly the “Oh-share-your-woes-with-me-I’m-here-for-you” type, but she cares, in her own little retarded ways.

She gives me the most awkward pelvic hugs when I surprise her with a chicken shwarma roll from Casa Lolo. She starts jumping up and down like a mad woman when I play N Sync or Avril. She loves my South Indian version of “Baby Got back”. Our rendition of “Su kar mere mann ko” gets crazier and louder with each passing day. We laugh at each other and with each other every night, the reasons are not important (and should better remain untold). She cackles so loudly that she invites neighbours to knock on our doors asking what happened with genuine concern. Now they are quite used to it. She gives me death threats when I do something she hates, (God save you if she’s irritated) but then assaults me physically and later explains it was supposed to be a hug. She lets me put my earrings on her earring stand and lets me wear her tomatoes, while she wears my flowers. She gives me those asinine Cookie monster smiles when I offer to do something for her. 

She reads random quotes and jokes out to me and then says “duuuude”. The variation in the tone of our 'dude' is enough to understand the exact emotion. She never believes me when I tell her she’s smart, or pretty, which she is, and tells me that I fish for compliments. We finish each other’s sentences, and sometimes we read each other’s minds. I've hated her, and I've loved her. Considering everything I had gone through last year, she is the best roommate I could have ever hoped to have. Cheers to the Owl night longs possum :3

Govindpuri Gali Number Do

I feel sort of terrified today. There's a little over a week left for my internship to get over, and for my stay here in Delhi to come to an end. How do I feel? It’s quite indescribable at the moment. But I’m sure it’ll still be indescribable by the end of it.

Govindpuri Gali number do. My temporary abode for 2 months.

It has been surprisingly smooth, and bewilderingly comfortable. Apart from the unforgiving heat which rose to such inhuman levels only in the past few days, my entire time here has been a phase which I’m going to keep with me for a long time to come. I never thought till even a couple of years back that I would have such a F.R.I.E.N.D.S-ish life. I’ve never experienced such freedom in the past 22 years of my life. Living with 5 of your friends, in a good locality close to your office has been one of the most exciting things I’ve done so far. I realized only today how much I’m going to miss this.

I can’t really put all of those small, incalculable and innumerable little moments that made our stay here so memorable, but I’m going to list out my favourite bits.

1. Ordering food from Takkar dhaba everyday till the owner could recognize our voices and know exactly where to deliver it. Experimenting with food. Using leftovers to invent new recipes. The thrill of cooking for each other. The satisfaction of a good, cheap meal. The lure of street food.

2. Taking a break from the office and stepping out to have the deservedly famous chhola kulcha from the nearby chhola kulcha wala bhaiya. And enjoying it. Every time.

3. Watching CID, Rajnikant, old timey brainless movies and trashing them to bits and laughing. Also, the enormous amount of Nat Geo and Discovery shows we “ohh-ed” and “wow-ed” at. Taboo, Frozen Planet, Body Bizarre, Man vs Wild. Watching food channels and then feeling bad that we can’t make what they make.

4. Buying stuff for the house from the grocery store. Liquid dish cleaner, broom, vegetables, fruits, spices. Surprising each other with a little pastry or a chocolate.

5. Getting up late at night, and scrounging in the kitchen like a rat to look for something to eat.

6. Going to the terrace to enjoy the cool breeze, and ending up rolling on the floor laughing at the outrageous artificial movies that we made each other enact. (Thandi laash mein garam chhuri, Rice mein electric pole, Latakte bridge pe bhatakti aatma)

7. Stepping out without any plan, and asking each other “where are we going?” in the metro. Then going to India gate, Dilli Haat, CP or Jama Masjid and walking about.

8. Going to parathe wali gali. Having a million parathas. Followed by the thickest lassi, jalebi and rabdi. Mmm!

9. Letting each other be. Everyone doing their own things. Reading, sleeping, watching a movie, or just lying listless for no reason.

10. Telling each other all the events of the day, enacting co-workers or narrating incidents. College gossip.

11. The day we all stayed in. Had litchis, and watched Hera Pheri and Hungama.

12. The evening tea. (“Anyone wants chui?”) The occasional Maggi. Sprinkled with grated cheese.

13. Scrambled eggs. Boiled eggs. Sunny side ups. Omelettes. Egg rolls.

14. MOMOS!

15. Aloo chaat.

16. Corn flakes.

17.  Chhole poori and boondi ka raita for 20 rupees.

18. The narrow, flies-ridden, congested galis of Govindpuri. The madness. The temporary bazaar every Wednesday. People riding bikes on the footpath, honking like there’s no tomorrow, ladies shopping, guys eating and spitting, dogs mucking about.

19. Smiling at each other after a day’s work. Deciding where to go to grab a bite. Or writing “Anyone home? Want samosas? Ice cream?” on the Whatsapp group.

20. Making fun of each other. Copying each other. Bini going “Aiyo, so saaad. Look at the poor thing,” at every animal on TV. Avaneesh saying to Bear Grylls, “Eat something!” or “You dumb fuck” to a random person talking about the divinity of god. Arnab saying “Good shit.” Nayan going, “Oh you know what will happen after this?” in EVERY movie.

21. The randomness. The spontaneity. Watching funny videos on Youtube, or wearing watermelon skin as a helmet. Breaking into a sudden dance step, or singing a dumb song on the top of our lungs.

22. Going to Sarojini Nagar market and buying cheap clothes. The National Museum. Daryaganj book bazaar. India Habitat Center. Chocolate almond ice cream at Giani's. Hauz Khas village. Deer Park. Bohome. Zaitoon. Yeti.

23. GK 2 M Block market. Our office. The idle hours at work. Lunch for 35 rupees on the road side.

24. Reading a book pretending to do some extensive research in office. Covering events. The feeling of seeing your byline in the magazine.

25. Haggling with the auto walla everyday “Bhaiya 50 nahin, hum roz chalees mein jaate hain!”

26. Knowing you never have to come back to an empty house and someone will always be there to listen to how bad your day was.

27. Walking around Chandni Chowk and marveling at how it has a church, a temple, a dargah and a mosque all at the same place.

28. The selfish contentment of knowing you are never alone. You’re cared for. And loved. And pampered.

29.  Going to Central Park under the impression there’s going to be a Euphoria performance. Watching Uma Lala’s concert instead. And getting our asses wet.

30.  Getting caught in a sandstorm outside India gate. Sitting on the grass, talking and singing for hours.

31. Having the luxury and the time to read. Coming home early from work and having the entire evening stretched out lazily before you. Watching the flickering lights of the airplanes flying across the sky every 2 minutes on the terrace.

32. Reading out to each other. Devising plans to kill certain people. Or how to get rich quick. Endless discussions on the terrace about existence. Or science fiction.

33. Discussing new Game of Thrones episodes.

34.  Go Goa Gone. Acting like zombies.

35. Shouting.

36. Having the inevitable veg vs non veg or north vs south or Bangalore vs Kolkata debate before every meal.

37. Talking. Actually, talking about things. Sitting out in the balcony and having tea and chips. Hugging each other randomly, jumping around, putting new magazines in the magazine stand, drunk dialing, trying out new yoga poses, chocolate sandwiches, peanut butter muffin, Subway cookie, paratha pizza, Arnab Goswami screaming at News Hour, putting ice cubes down each other’s backs and making ghost noises during powercuts.

And the other countless, priceless memories I can’t think of right now but will come flying back to me on a balmy summer evening sometime in the future. After all, life is nothing but a series of memories, right?

It’s funny how you think 2 months is a long time, and then it just comes to an end in a jiffy. 

Govindpuri gali number do, I’ll never forget you. 

Dilli Diaries: Part I

There is something about Delhi.

There’s something about the premature winter winds of November, something about the bustling crowd at the metro stations, about the pretty young faces sitting at the Hauz Khas fort, about the restless, busy people walking on the roads, and the young groups of friends outside the malls.

There’s something about travelling in the metro, looking at the faces standing around you, wondering about their lives, and watching the city go by.

There’s something about cutting a birthday cake on a bench in Deer Park. There’s something about listening to Ambar by Raghu Dixit at Delhi Haat amidst illuminated trees.

There’s something about gorging on the typical north Indian chaat from a roadside food vendor when you are incredibly hungry.

There’s something about purposefully not wearing anything warm and then catching a cold and sitting in bed cutely sniffling away and whatsapping.

There’s something about living with a typical family who fusses over you and takes care of you and feeds you twice as much of ghar ka khaana than you are generally used to eating.

There’s something about watching a Shahrukh Khan movie on his birthday till 5 in the night, making fun of everything about it, and then getting up at 3 in the afternoon the next day.

I’ve spent only four days here, but I already feel so connected to the city. The sprawling, massive, frightening, liberating city. I can’t get enough of it. 6 more days here :)

Also, my birthday week has begun! I’m going to collect all my Delhi memories and keep them in a little bag when I go back home. Delhi, you can be so harsh and mean, but oh I love you :')