tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52478415513744778382024-02-19T07:28:02.392-08:00MONDAY DONNAIf life is to be lived it must be accepted face on....The Sunday of our lives which we never want to grow out of are in the end a suspended illusion of bliss, painful reminders of the world waiting for us. Come Monday..we open our eyes, learn, accept, absorb ..we move on. Here's to all the Mondays of our lives without which we wouldn't be where we are today!mondaydonnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10165143608069519900noreply@blogger.comBlogger106125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247841551374477838.post-20486251042740940872018-03-17T13:56:00.000-07:002018-03-17T13:59:38.720-07:00When your verse spoke my mind.....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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"Psst, can you hear it?</div>
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Not the sound of hustle and bustle,</div>
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Nor the sound of leaves rustle,</div>
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But the silent voice of the me in your ear,</div>
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Whispering how much I love you,</div>
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How much I want you - how much I need you,</div>
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Together, let’s blow this pitiful dream of success,</div>
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This dream of achievement in a society that’s meaningless,</div>
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And travel to lands frozen in times of peace,</div>
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Where the soul may flourish, not politics or greed,</div>
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For like all things living, struggling to find meaning,</div>
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Ours is each other, to love, live, dance and sing,</div>
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Not worrying, but welcoming what life may bring,</div>
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In a cottage on a hill, or a shack on a beach,</div>
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With it’s cats, dogs, rabbits and sheep,</div>
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Our home will be this world, our castle - our sheets,</div>
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Change will be our constant, just like you and me"</div>
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- D. </div>
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mondaydonnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10165143608069519900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247841551374477838.post-72348203267561183602016-09-16T15:26:00.000-07:002016-09-16T15:26:24.208-07:00To Jessica Schreindl<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
"Conformity is comforting, but nothing compares to being true to oneself."<br />
My dearest friend Jessica Schreindl wrote a piece about leaving Christianity and her lonely journey to independence. I have always admired her remarkable honesty in her pursuit of everything professional and personal. Back in University, I found it saddening when a few of our male and/or conservative peers, judged her for well, just being the awesome Jessica that she is :) She however, remained consistent to her views, how she led her life and here she is! Continuing to introspect upon and articulate all that has shaped her journey of being the adult she is. Some may squirm or question her. But she's achieved more in being true to herself. So I appeal to my peers: Sure, family and community shapes who we are, so does our religion. And there's so much credit to give for their role in rooting us to our origins, battling the hollowness within at times or superficialities of modern life. But how much we question of our religion in the world we live in today, the ways we reassess or shed some norms our family/community holds important, that step truly truly could lead us to potentials within we wouldn't have imagined ourselves earlier capable of. So........dare! Because not owning up to yourself is just a big disservice to your growth...everyone and everything else comes later.</div>
mondaydonnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10165143608069519900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247841551374477838.post-53092566169138000482016-08-17T11:59:00.002-07:002016-08-17T12:04:05.243-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b>To solitude</b></div>
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To realizing the power of silence with one's own words</div>
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To being addicted to one's own company</div>
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To slow but persistent epiphanies that creep up on you but stay by your side as you find yourself capable of a little more than you expected</div>
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To learning to remember how much you loved discovering more of yourself, by yourself</div>
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To letting your brain become a closer ally to your heart</div>
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mondaydonnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10165143608069519900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247841551374477838.post-34276969217771293892016-07-17T21:40:00.000-07:002016-07-17T21:44:27.009-07:00To learnings that free us from those we wish to never let go of<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
"How can you "really like" someone without already having imagined a 'we' with that person?" She asked him with that sincere voice she used only when she already had a 'we' in her head. In that split moment, she thought of all the boys she had been asked by to leave , to stay but to not expect and the ones who completely had disappeared on her. Still she felt ok imagining a moment of togetherness with this man, someone she knew she may be meeting the last time.<br />
"What do you mean?" He spoke through the dark, his lips catching the light from the street lamp outside. Almost as if they were searching for her.<br />
" Well, maybe women do it more often than men - they imagine togetherness before even having given a name to the potential relationship with a man. When I know I really like a man, I have arrived at that conclusion after living a hundred random moments already with him in my brain. Fleeting but definitive moments".<br />
"Like what it would look like to sit by a lake and talk? Or pick up groceries together?", he responded.<br />
She smiled slightly. "Something as basic as holding each other in that most comforting friendly but a 'much more' embrace"<br />
He leaned down to turn on the lamp and took a look at her face. She was glowing with that beaitific confidence saints exude. The kind that comes with knowing one doesn't have anything to lose because one has made peace with leaving behind what they could have had. He smiled and held her gaze. Then leaning in, he held her close. This is friendly, he thought. But it was so much more. He was certain.</div>
mondaydonnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10165143608069519900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247841551374477838.post-84059140250446108152016-05-20T06:58:00.000-07:002016-05-20T09:20:56.143-07:00Rhymes in the storm<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Our house is a fort<br />
Around it is a moat.<br />
The storm ants are crowding<br />
The street lights.... they are fading.<br />
My childhood returns<br />
Memories escape the urn.<br />
The time to visit is now<br />
The lamps are aglow.<br />
When stories are told in their light<br />
Nostalgia embraces us tight.<br />
So stranger....if you had a home, or you didn't<br />
Come hither........we will take you right in.</div>
mondaydonnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10165143608069519900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247841551374477838.post-27599048961259369912016-04-06T15:27:00.000-07:002016-04-08T03:54:11.316-07:00"Bottling up within me...... To drink from your memory"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I met a soul buddy; a fantasy version of my values mixed with empathy , knowledge and passion. But my fantasies lie outside the lines of my reality's jagged straight lines within which I withhold from potential companionships. Someone rightly pointed that I may even miss a great reality in my present discipline of self love.... But reality...I know its deal. I am cautious of it because its jealous of the ideal, hence it hides away the utopian.<br />
<br />
I am so at peace and happy on not investing myself emotionally on another for the first time in my life. But the universe has a bitch of a timing. It throws you a curveball when you are busy with your confidence and self assured solitude. It says 'Hey you....silly moron , you only get to glimpse a flicker of a deep connection when you are smug about your preference of peaceful solitude so let's see how you tackle it in your Zen solo state...CATCH!" And then you face a human you didn't expect to encounter. You see a snatch or two of yourself in this person during a day long conversation while walking together your favourite parts of a city, discussing organically issues that matter to you - gender labels and their need to be subverted, world politics, your family history, communities you care for, culture as you only can teach to each from your different roots and of course your shared love for food.<br />
<br />
And so here I am, holding onto memories of the weekend, a weekend that wasn't meant to be, but has become a page of a heavy, ancient and expensive encyclopedia. An encyclopedia I cant afford and own. So I feel like tearing out my favourite pages. Instead I must return it to its rightful place and walk out of the bookshop.<br />
<br />
Even if could bottle up what this weekend was, it would perhaps be a faint shadow of its burning brightness I feel inside me now. But I am only human. I will strive to make sense of a chanced encounter and of an unlikely comrade for whom what I feel now is a light flickering its last...diffused without its wick.<br />
<br />
You shared Hafiz with me and the irony is only he makes sense now. If a page were to be turned to tell my future, I want it to open up to this quote :<br />
<br />
"Come let us get drunk even if it's our ruin<br />
For sometimes under ruins one finds treasure"</div>
mondaydonnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10165143608069519900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247841551374477838.post-35196632489933571152015-11-06T14:05:00.001-08:002015-11-16T07:46:57.848-08:00Her kind<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And that is the kind of person she was. The kind who would never get her hair straightened even if all the other co anchors at her station were doing it. The kind who used her teeth to peel off the ends of sugar cane stalks, chew on them and spit them out. Like her mother had taught her as a kid. The kind to never wear nail polish but when she did, the colour stayed for a month . The kind who cooked a meal fiercely even if she cooked only for her friends who longed for homemade mutton. Or the kind to never pick up red lace lingerie instead sticking to blacks and whites because they were more practical to match with anything she wore. The kind to climb rocks, trees and seven foot gates. The higher the physical obstacle, the more she wanted to get to its other side. The kind you couldn't write off to be too modern for your son because her roots were her tradition, her mother's village her favourite retreat, her parents home her safehouse against moronic men who broke her heart and of course....of course...the sarees. Her obssessive love to be perpetually in sarees . When she draped the five yard fabric around her, you could not stop your eyes from staring at her looking so alive. You didn't want to use the word sexy. It fell short. You could not, even if you wished to, stop fantasising the wildest thought your brain could conjure, instead stopping at the most timid of them all. The thought of what it would be to have her in your arms and the saree at her feet.</div>
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mondaydonnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10165143608069519900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247841551374477838.post-64414225794904623872015-01-17T12:23:00.001-08:002015-10-21T11:34:49.322-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">A little.....and a lot more</span></b><br />
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Walk a little won't you<br />
Talk a little won't you<br />
Make love to me more<br />
Till we together reach the shore<br />
<br />
Critique me a little won't you<br />
But hear my silent cry even if I am close to you<br />
Hold my hand even when I am strong<br />
Pull me out of the tide where I don't belong<br />
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Hold on longer to me a little more won't you<br />
But fight with me a little won't you<br />
Don't bottle up yourself at the end<br />
Remember you never did, even as a friend<br />
<br />
....For when you look away, I long for you the most<br />
When you shrink back, know that I'll hold you close<br />
It's not perfection I seek<br />
Don't you know...I am already yours to keep?<br />
<br />
<br />
II<br />
If you falter, I may chide you<br />
But know this... my heart will surely guide you<br />
Don't worry if I take a little longer resurrecting myself from my past<br />
Where my soul was at half mast<br />
<br />
It's you I seek out and crave for<br />
Since you let me walk in through your door<br />
<br />
So cover your mouth with mine<br />
Let our fingers do the talking<br />
Let me show you the way just once my friend<br />
You may have to bow a little...but I promise, you will never have to bend.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
mondaydonnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10165143608069519900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247841551374477838.post-61217784249684893632015-01-11T11:41:00.001-08:002015-01-11T11:41:25.593-08:00Save the last dance<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
As I was packing up today to leave my home in Bhubaneswar and return to Mumbai, my mother recalled an anecdote about my grandparents. A few days ago my grandaunt was proudly telling my ma how my dadu a Lieutenant Colonel in the then British army happily encouraged my grandmother to dance with other officers if they asked her hand at the evening dances. "I didn't have such good luck like your mother in law. My husband simply wouldn't let go off me at those dances ", quipped my grandaunt.<br />
Something about the way my mother laughed while narrating this and imagining my dadu's sportive nature took away the misery that was clouding my brain . Leaving home and the Mitras is never an easy task but stocking up such wonderful stories helps me survive the madness that is Mumbai.<br />
For now I pop a paan from the pack my dad gave me as a going away gift to cheer myself up and brave the traffic back home.</div>
mondaydonnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10165143608069519900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247841551374477838.post-72225069272150206842014-09-28T12:04:00.001-07:002014-09-28T12:04:26.870-07:00Happiness<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Whoever has fed popular belief that happiness is tough to get or dependent on circumstances forgot to tell us this-- the truth is happiness lurks within each of us..it's boundless and yet it hides waiting for you to yank off the chain that plugs so much of it inside our brain..our heart..our soul... </div>
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The truth is that happiness gets a little bored waiting around indefinitely.. patiently for you to give it a chance while you go on counting your problems :)</div>
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mondaydonnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10165143608069519900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247841551374477838.post-65918433403233839372014-09-26T13:19:00.000-07:002014-09-26T13:22:58.475-07:00No promise.....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Every time I get my head above water and surface just about enough to take a deep breath, I surprise myself..because here I am thinking I will only go back to treading water a bit.<br />
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Instead, I end up levitating...rising above tried waters...rippling from an unbridled energy I can't contain within..the kind that makes me want to take off and soar...<br />
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This time my skyline limits me but the ground beneath is crying out to leave ...leave with whatever I can salvage ...just that this time eastern city beckons me...puts its hands around my shoulder..onto my head ....soothing my stiffness .intimidating me to relax my goals....my relentless pragmatic stone faced resolution. It tempts to melt something within......reminding me there is comfort and strength to draw from the unexpected...<br />
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....even if I have no promise I can deliver to.</div>
mondaydonnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10165143608069519900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247841551374477838.post-27308066428094694382014-09-11T00:41:00.004-07:002014-09-11T09:12:50.764-07:00Power.......<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The
greatest power we wield as ordinary people is when we love someone truly. It is
that love that strengthens us to give one human being the best of ourselves. It is this very power that enables us to provide to this person the comfort and space to be the best of
themselves. And it is only this single power that helps us empower them with our faith in their actions - big and small. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> The best kind of power would be that which inspires someone we love to outdo the blurred image they might have painted of themselves or even
what others wrongly pictured them to be.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> How wonderful it is therefore to be the cause of one human being's excellence' one entire lifetime of positive changes thereby rippling into larger goodness for a multitude of people; the world itself, even if in the most minute way possible! </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">More than power of any other kind one can achieve, to be <b>gifted</b> this one is probably the biggest blessing from the universe. I pray hard the universe will find a way to bless me with it once again.</span></span></div>
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mondaydonnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10165143608069519900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247841551374477838.post-42611799225462941882014-07-19T07:13:00.002-07:002014-07-19T07:14:23.384-07:00Of monsoons from my childhood<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The monsoons of 2014 have been
bleak. Almost every visit of mine to my home the last two times has co-incided
with the monsoon arriving. Barring this one. Monsoons. They are the reminder of
my childhood, my fantasies that still trail around the inner recesses of my
mind. The place I drift away to when I am worried about something my adult life
is dishing out to me. Monsoons were the time I watched nature and everything in
my dadu’s garden. It seemed everything was suddenly pulsating with a life that
wasn’t so visible through summer or winter. Monsoons were precious to our joint
family of my father’s parents, my four uncles, aunts and their children all
together for that one time of the year taking breaks from the monotony of their
urban lives. The time when power black outs made the family huddle together to
exchange stories, tell jokes and hear my mother sing old Hindi songs while my
dadu championed her, adding his generous “khub shundor”. These family rituals weren’t forced upon by the
accidental darkness interrupting our flurry of familial activities. They were
sought out mutually and sincerely when all we could have done was stick to our
corners of dadu’s home or indulged in our own little chit chats. Thank
goodness, we didn’t have a computer, no cell phones ……just Doordarshan on TV.
Our sit outs around the invisible bonfires, a clan proudly exercising
storytelling and observations on science, nature, politics our history were
almost ritualistic practices of tribes as it were. Sometimes in the damp thick
darkening daylight and other times when
entire nights were flooded with the customary darkness of rainstorms and fierce
winds. A tribe’s bonfires replaced by the old fashioned wick lamps and tin
lanterns my grandfather so carefully oiled, polished and saved in his cupboards
waiting to be brought out for these occasions. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I love
monsoons because it’s that one time of the year when the earth, the sky and the
very air itself here in Bhubaneswar has reached its fruition. Every element heavy
in its natural state coming to a full cycle after gestating a year of varying
seasons, nursing moisture and winds from far off lands. The red soil typical to
this region runs wild in narrow cylindrical long stems at first and then
accumulating, joining fellow rebels almost to form thicker gushing long winding
streams of water across the garden, the porch, the roads and into the dangerous
half open drains. Black dark storm clouds curdled up flashing dangerous streaks
of blue and white blinding lightning, upon which my dida exclaimed “The Gods
are fighting a new war amongst themselves.” And the air. Whatever I say to
describe the air will fall short to what my brain is experiencing taking in
greedy whiffs of its wholesomeness. A hundred different flowers, leaves, smell
of wet earth, water hitting different points of laterite stone, moss, barks –
altogether! If only I could bottle up all of it together! The very essence of
all my associations with my home, my people, my roots…. my solace.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I am home after being away in
Mumbai for almost two years through which all I seem to have done is scurrying
from one mode of conveyance to another, anxious through my day at work and
nervously fidgeting through my phone ending office mail etiquettes. Every day
in a big city far away from the reality of what a small town beautiful to its
very core makes me even more aware of what my hometown does for my heart .It
makes me so very happy to be here amongst all these elements in their purest
form. To wake up to the koel fiercely calling out at 4 AM. To see my mother
tinker around the kitchen, my father gardening with all his focus till 11 AM.
This time, the monsoon visit has been less luxurious with sparse rains and
halting showers. But we are all home together my parents, my elder sibling and
I after a gap of 4 whole years! And so we make the best of it. We try being
respectful of each other’s space but invariably drive each other crazy with our
rules, our needs and our level of comfort with being around each other – 4 very
different people all struggling to deal with each other now that my sister and
I are no more kids. We huddle up in the afternoons after lunches, munching the
sweet ‘nodiya supuri’ paan that is the mandatory must have and gossip about
relatives, political news, trivia and science. We make tea for each other, one
strong, one Darjeeling, one without milk. We bring out old pictures that need
to be digitally saved into a systematic database that will hopefully provide
the generation after, a glimpse into the Mitra clan and their sometimes
maddening yet delightful lives. We make lists of furnitures that need to be
sold, teach our mother to navigate through OLX and make up her mind about new
items that the home needs. <o:p></o:p></div>
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These are but just a token
gesture. A miniscule amount of the duty we as children are able to fulfill,
gifting them our company, our time, our love and gratitude for being our
parents. They love it at first. But nag us and taunt us about the life we lead.
About the life that women, daughters and sons of their friends are leading,
some even younger to us .” Everyone in our peer group is busy with not one but
two grandchildren during summers. What do we have to look forward to?” We stare
back with blank expressions of guilt, of our lives playing out as we see out of
our control of plans that would help achieve the perfect family, husband, kids
routine. We dismiss their sadness as customary expressions of old age and we
distract them with ‘must do tasks’ this time now that we are together after 4
long years, “lest we aren’t together like this soon” . The family portrait we
lack on our living room wall. “The incomplete family”, my mother adds. “Your
love and affection is fine but where is the circle of life? The next generation
to take care of you and look forward to once we are gone?” I agree with her in
my heart silently and look away at the sky. It’s paler today and likely to
shower for a bit. I am waiting for that massive downpour I remember from my
childhood. The one that blanks out every sound, every thought, every movement
around me. And lets me drift away to the inner recesses of my mind.<o:p></o:p></div>
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mondaydonnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10165143608069519900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247841551374477838.post-38559798680931342652012-11-06T05:29:00.001-08:002012-11-06T20:58:28.632-08:00Homecoming<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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They rattle in my head<br />
The noise of those wheels <br />
As you drag my bags down your stairs<br />
Your disciplined steps finding their way to your car<br />
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Your loyalty to organisation helping me pack<br />
A facade for holding back our combined grief <br />
Mine, of leaving one home to arrive at another<br />
Yours, the impossibility of my staying<br />
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Through sterile airports, through familiar faces to be met again<br />
Through homecoming and remembering what I left two years ago<br />
Through numerous "hellos" and "it's been so long"<br />
Your sad smile and hushed whispers is etched out most bold<br />
<br />
The rains have arrived here, the streets are flooded<br />
While it's the same crispy sun that greets you back there<br />
Such ironic contrasts given the state of our minds<br />
Would you exchange yours for mine?<br />
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Now, it's about time and distance<br />
About narrowing our losses and counting our blessings<br />
Taking stock of what could lie ahead<br />
Sifting through those questions we dared not address earlier<br />
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I tell you, this has been some homecoming<br />
To leave one that made life bearable in a foreign land<br />
Only to return to another I seemed so sad to leave<br />
If only I could exchange mine for yours.</div>
mondaydonnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10165143608069519900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247841551374477838.post-24778483128297988912012-06-19T01:47:00.003-07:002012-06-19T01:48:04.388-07:00RED<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Time. It hops and skips and leaps ahead of you. Within a year of my move to Los Angeles, time seems to have taken a grip of my heels and thrown me backwards. Over and over again. What with being laid off, losing my apartment, having to spend my savings to be reduced to penury for my dysfunctional second hand Beetle and now the imminent return to India....time challenged me to a marathon it seems to have known I would lose.<br />
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In the midst of all this, the one stable and constant source of calm and comfort apart from dear friends and family has been Red. Given how badly I wanted to return to India, it's ironic that one person can make me reconsider the option. We will squabble over it then take comfort from our mutual silence. We will hold hands and walk by the lake. We will meet eye to eye, our breath nestled in our sleep. And when I awake without that hand in mine, I will wonder of the life that I could have and what all I am ready to give up for it.<br />
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Here's to you Red. Damn you can be persuasive!<br />
<br /></div>mondaydonnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10165143608069519900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247841551374477838.post-75742680395181116502012-02-02T15:45:00.000-08:002012-02-02T15:45:09.119-08:00What's left to tell<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">What's left to tell<br />
Except that your silence worries me<br />
Your calm, your zen and maturity<br />
Aren't assuring<br />
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When did you get ahead of this friendship<br />
What fears and joy propelled you to see me<br />
As someone like your own<br />
That sense of self you want to find in your ideal<br />
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What's left to tell<br />
Except that I thought you were different<br />
My sadness purged, now I feel numb<br />
Because boys will come and go, but you were meant to stay<br />
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A fellow prankster, poet, dreamer<br />
Restless souls that screamed out in delight<br />
When they saw how sorry the rest of the world is<br />
For hesitating to take flight<br />
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What's left to tell<br />
You probably are better off without the bond we shared<br />
Our half baked ideas of script and images<br />
That have now come to haunt my walls <br />
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You have time and your work<br />
And in my heart I wish you more than well<br />
I wish you fortitude, vision and laughter<br />
I wish your locks and verse grow even longer<br />
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What's left to tell<br />
Silence is now my friend<br />
Our lives move on<br />
But our conversations can still be heard out there ....reflected by our cosmic souls<br />
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</div>mondaydonnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10165143608069519900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247841551374477838.post-262165219503633452012-01-22T14:05:00.000-08:002012-01-22T14:11:14.621-08:00"Was it something I said?"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I just finished watching 'Chasing Amy' that free spirited indie flick written by Kevin Smith in the late 90s. I remember how fresh and honest the writing was even though the scenes seemed disjointed. In the end, I bet every high school teenager or yuppy New Yorker was quoting Ben Affleck's monologue to Alyssa, the girl he is in love with who happens to be gay. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Here's to the essence of affection and sincerity that people have felt for us perhaps in a higher degree than we've been able to respond to them with. Here's saluting the idea of finding not the missing piece but the piece that complements us in our thoughts and action. And yes...straight or gay...to all relationships that mean a lifetime's happiness in themselves. Even if they aren't the 'standard' as Holden puts it. Most of all, here's to the friendships we've found when we least expected them but also had to lose when we needed them most in our lives. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Alyssa Jones: Why are we stopping?<br />
</b><b>Holden McNeil: Because I can't take this.<br />
</b><b>Alyssa: Can't take what?<br />
</b><b>Holden: I love you.<br />
</b><b>Alyssa: You love me?<br />
</b><b>Holden: I love you. And not in a friendly way, although I think we're great friends. And not in a misplaced affection, puppy-dog way, although I'm sure that's what you'll call it. And it's not because you're unattainable. I love you. Very simple, very truly. You're the epitome of every attribute and quality I've ever looked for in another person. I know you think of me as just a friend, and crossing that line is the furthest thing from an option you'd ever consider. But I had to say it. I can't take this anymore. I can't stand next to you without wanting to hold you. I can't look into your eyes without feeling that longing you only read about in trashy romance novels. I can't talk to you without wanting to express my love for everything you are. I know this will probably queer our friendship -no pun intended- but I had to say it, because I've never felt this before, and I like who I am because of it. And if bringing it to light means we can't hang out anymore, then that hurts me. But I couldn't allow another day to go by without getting it out there, regardless of the outcome, which by the look on your face is to be the inevitable shoot-down. And I'll accept that. But I know some part of you is hesitating for a moment, and if there is a moment of hesitation, that means you feel something too. All I ask is that you not dismiss that -at least for ten seconds- and try to dwell in it. Alyssa, there isn't another soul on this fucking planet who's ever made me half the person I am when I'm with you, and I would risk this friendship for the chance to take it to the next plateau. Because it's there between you and me. you can't deny that. And even if we never speak again after tonight, please know that I'm forever changed because of who you are and what you've meant to me, which -while I do appreciate it- I'd never need a painting of birds bought at a diner to remind me of.<br />
</b><b>(Alyssa opens the door and exits the car)<br />
</b><b>Holden: (sighs and then to himself) Was it something I said?</b></span></div></div>mondaydonnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10165143608069519900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247841551374477838.post-35923649124440499152012-01-21T04:22:00.000-08:002012-01-21T04:23:46.721-08:00Thou shalt pig for tonight<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: justify;">I was out with a gourmand all evening and what an evening it was! But T despite his honest admission of how he loves to eat is an exception in this breed of people because he also takes a a lot of effort in understanding what is in his food and will go to great lengths to replicate something he wants to eat and eat well. Once when in Italy, he spent two weeks with his Italian friend's grandmother understanding how the real semolina pasta and fresh sauce are made. And over dinner today, I got a lowdown about every food and liquer I was eating with him. God bless people who are happy to eat, cook and share their knowledge about food!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We were off to the Farmer's Market but this crazy town begins shutting at 9AM so we settled for a not so great but just about decent Thai on Venice called 'Natalee Thai'. The Surmai squid delight was chilly, for the first time ever and the soup was perfect with the lemon leaves and lemon blended to perfection. I wouldn't recommend this restaurant unless you have no place to go around because it has one of the most confused hostess and a shortage of hands when it comes to bussers. That apart, they often bring out a flaming barbecue very low over your head as you are trying to settle in to your cozy meal.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Next, I drove T to 'The village Idiot' on Martel and Melrose. I found this place with a couple of friends who all love cider and believe it or not unlike the fascination of hard liquor, hard cider hits you very slow after being refreshing for the first half hour or so. The after effect in my case is a lot of laughter, longer conversation , teasing and magic tricks I would never attempt. I love the candle lit feel to the place with its high wooden beams and very East Coast stone look. Sadly though I got a parking violation right after this awesome binge wich took the fizz out of my cider spree :(</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We decided to catch a film at Pacific on Culver Blvd but instead landed up in Ugo, a really nice Italian place for great deserts and digestifs. I had the dulci with chocolate ganache and T got his customary espresso sho. Note: caramel infused liquers esp desert wine (dulci) are better than a sambuca or limoncello to go with dark chocolate delights.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We were late for the movies so we decided to drive out to Mulholland. Then it started raining and in LA it's always a fine drizzle that overtakes the entire city. Bad vision and hence this otherwise scenic route was pointless. So at 2AM we decide to drive towards Hollywood. T suddenly starts complaining that I never told him about the Korean eat outs (given I declare I love Kemchi). So we change route and head to 9th and West 3rd and find an all night Korean place where drunk girls in the shortest dresses and boys with side swept bangs ( which would put Justin Bieber's to shame) are all eating hot bubbly rice gruel with eggs dropped in. We walk in and realize this is the first place we should have stoped at. In 15 minutes, we have kemchi (the combo of pickled cabbage, chillies and whatever you can name) with fried fish and rice gruel with hot tofu soup. We chat about all the south east asian cuisine we love, the countries I absolutely need to travel to and our common love for Gerald Durrell and Corfu. Why didn't I ever get to hang out with T in Mumbai?!!!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We are back by 3 AM but not before I get a proper 'Chi' treatment by T himself to alleviate my bad right shoulder. We hug goodnight and decide to take the weekend slower on our stomachs.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I forget how much fun it is to hang out with people born in the late 70s. It's been a tough few days but I think February and more gastronomic adventures through the nooks and crannies of LA instead of the more predictable restaurants is going to keep me going.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Thanks T for awakening the foodie in me once again :) </div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;">For you my friend...for you my friend</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Flowers that brought on a smile</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Car washes infused with sheer fright</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Soupy garlic laden food munched in delight</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">For you my friend...for you my friend</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Action flicks never watched before</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Fruity white wine over long hours</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Nights home wasn't nice to return to alone</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">For you my friend...for you my friend</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I drove with courage and laughed out loud</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I pushed my way through unknown crowds</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And saw a city unlike before</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">For you my friend... for you my friend</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Yogurt is no longer just passe</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Songs on the radio seem more than just a tune</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And driving around has become an excuse to look out for you </div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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Through storms, snow and mist<br />
Tread new paths branching out from the old<br />
Never to let one's mind acquire mold<br />
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Climb, climb, climb<br />
Your grandpa's trees, fences or walls<br />
Dig your fingers and toes deep <br />
Till you find the urge to take the big leap<br />
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Feel, feel, feel<br />
The wet red earth nesting worms<br />
The glow of a sunset<br />
The wind against one's chest<br />
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Find, find, find<br />
The reason to persevere <br />
The courage to stand tall<br />
Even if the easiest action could simply be to fall <br />
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</div>mondaydonnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10165143608069519900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247841551374477838.post-32875006550165919692011-12-25T15:49:00.000-08:002011-12-25T15:49:18.413-08:00For D K Bose, verbal rants and future writing<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: justify;">"You 85?"</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Ummm... yes "</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"You sure ...you 85?"</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"I promise I really am 85"</div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Alrite. I get you beer"</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I am at Versaille, a much hyped Cuban restaurant on Venice and Motor in West L.A. The waiter is just either way too nice or used to shenanigans of this kind. A little before I pulled into the parking lot, I realized I had left my driver's license in the copy machine at work. Of course, I had the photocopy in my wallet (of course!) And the waiter is making sure I am indeed "'85" born. Maybe I need a face lift or slice off half my nose (as my mother often mentioned I should consider before the cosmetic surgeon in our family).</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I have other pressing issues that I should be worried about apart from not looking my age. I may be pulled over by a cop tonight. Since when did photocopies (how I miss saying Xerox) suffice for an actual license in this part of the world. More importantly, my dinner with A which is a once in a lifetime opportunity is in jeopardy. He is still stuck in LA's notorious traffic on the 405. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">My beer arrives. It's a 'Pacifico' ( a watered down version of the humble Indian Kingfisher beer ) and then I begin flipping through the meat extravaganza on the menu. I make mental notes of my last experience eating roast chicken with a fork and knife and promptly decide to order pork instead. Fiinally he walks in. I've only spoken to A once before after his writing debut made a killing at the box office and led to a theater being burnt in Lucknow. No doubt his film was a 'riot'. He is half his size than what the Tehelka article showed him to be. I don't bat an eyelid and go straight ahead, complain how scrawny he looks and then we hug. Like old friends catching up around the corner. He pulls off a leather jacket to reveal a gothic T-shirt beneath. Not the classic khadi kurta clad writer for a change.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Within the first hour of our first meeting in person, I've confessed that my family is bent upon getting me hitched in the next year and that all I really want to commit to is a job, a game plan for starting my writing and staying in the US for at least 2 more years. I pause for a moment in my mind and realize I barely know this guy and yet he's made what seemed like a networking dinner more like gup-shup between two old buddies. He tells me exactly what he thinks of marriage as an institution and does not shy from mincing his sarcasm as he proceeds humorously to comment on my future plans. I think I already trust this guy and would work for him in a heart beat even if it meant nothing but free food on his set.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We proceed to talk of his time here at UCLA, my time back in Mumbai at UTV, why some daft people consider themselves vanguard of "Indian civilization" and insulted A at a writer's panel and what it meant to have your first film as a writer be one of India's blockbuster hits . It's all music to my ears. And dinner doesn't serve us enough time. So we head off to Starbucks for a quick cuppa. I insist on buying A coffee and it evolves into an argument. He mentions photocopied driver's license to shut me up. I sure do since there are two cops waiting in line ahead of us. Good verbal ranting makes fro a great writer. Check. But I am not one to back down easily. I order the coffee, settle into a couch cross-legged as A now defeated, resorts to industry talk and why heading back to India makes sense for someone like me. It's not the first time I've been given this advice. I make a mental note of it.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Forty minutes later, I drive A back to Versaille where he gets into his Mini Cooper (!) . But he isn't driving away yet. "I"ll wait till a girl without a license gets home", says A. I laugh, wave to him from my car and drive away. It's been a great evening and having promised A that I"ll cook him "shorsho maacher jhol" with the signature "lonka and lebu" , I look forward to our next chat. Here's to writers ...everywhere. You keep us sane. Thank you.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div></div>mondaydonnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10165143608069519900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247841551374477838.post-64580464431701991372011-12-03T12:55:00.000-08:002011-12-03T12:55:50.362-08:00For a friend.... who was lost and found<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Crooked teeth<br />
Curly hair<br />
Frown when you are shy ...<br />
Pensive eyes<br />
Half asleep<br />
Your gaze always gets me to smile<br />
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How did we know each other so well?<br />
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Five years apart... <br />
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Our fears and goals<br />
Our aches and joys <br />
Our mistakes and triumphs<br />
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Even when miles apart?<br />
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Cosmic twins as it were.<br />
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Our minds have conversed<br />
Somewhere beyond the history of time<br />
They've shared a joke and consoled life<br />
Even before you and I stepped out here<br />
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They try to label what we have<br />
Like tacky friendship cards...relationship packages<br />
Ready made, ugly processed pieces on retail line<br />
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But our bond goes above and beyond.<br />
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For even when we choose to walk ahead<br />
Hands holding another's<br />
We will still walk together<br />
Connected forever with that invisible thread <br />
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</div>mondaydonnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10165143608069519900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247841551374477838.post-91904493044228742292011-11-29T22:40:00.000-08:002011-11-29T23:23:29.182-08:00Run<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-size: small;">I am stealing ...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Stealing when I can </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">A glance , some warmth...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">a smile or perhaps even an embrace</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">My hands intertwine with strange fingers</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">But don't find a grasp</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">My eyes fail to meet a pair</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">My mind races away </span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">But I am still hoarding...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Hoarding half baked feelings</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">For faces I meet elsewhere</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Convinced they"ll drown a familiar thought</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">That fed of your glance, your warmth</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Your smile in the morning</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">After our hands held each other</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">My fingers knotted in yours</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I am running ahead</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">My feet may be fumbling but I am gaining a pace</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Your feet ...tread faster than mine</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">But you are running away...away from what truly could be you</span><br />
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</span></div>mondaydonnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10165143608069519900noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247841551374477838.post-21575277505844665382011-11-28T03:16:00.000-08:002011-11-29T01:17:29.539-08:00Giving thanks at the Grand Canyon<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">My clothes smell of mustard oil, cigarettes and wheat beer. It's not the most pleasant rush for my olfactory nerves but it is for now helping me create a memory of the last four days. Memories with old college mates who have assumed a larger role all of a sudden. Of boys I knew back in Presidency, who've evolved to become strong and caring men...of friends who've become family.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">R, B and I were on the road from Thursday till Saturday. As I was driving through the dense pine covered forests leaving Phoenix behind and approaching the Grand canyon, I caught R in the rear view mirror. Pensive yet peaceful, his presence was surreal in that we actually finally made this happen, almost a year since we first caught up over our long phone calls in the US.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Seated next to me , B looked ahead at the road. My intermittent 'tipaniya' on life apart, I was chiding him constantly when he could not alert me to take a turn well in time. An yet he remained so calm, jovial and earnest in his effort to be the perfect host to me and R. How did these two people become so close as friends and more importantly how is it that 5 years since we last saw each other, we were actualizing a fantasy that many friends share but only few get to execute? Do friendships really strengthen over distance and time? Here we were. Photographing the rugged yet beautiful landscape of a foreign country together, just as R and I had jokingly discussed in Presi in the student union room years back. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Over the next two days we trailed through the canyon, watched the sun set over majestic historic red peaks , shared a cigarette sitting at the edge of the cliff well beyond dusk and sharing our stories over whiskey I had ceremoniously picked up with green christmas glasses. Emotions were running high as the trip was drawing to and end and so over our thanksgiving meal I suggested each of us make a little speech about what we were grateful for. Over all that we've had - good health, a loving family and the blessing of going aftet what we are passionate about, we shared the same gratitude. Of having each other in our lives - friends who cared enough to hold each other through some really dark times and yet point our mistakes out o us bluntly.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Yesterday at the watch tower overlooking the canyon, R placed a dream catcher in my hand. I've wanted one for years and little did I realize how symbolic this gift was until he explained why he was giving it to me here and now. As I hugged him and thought of the counsel he's offered me over the last one year, I realized it's having some people's faith in you when you least expect them to that really counts over all the familiar faces who've bailed out on you in small ways or big ones.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Of course saying bye has been tough. We've called and texted each other profusely since we left, even running up to security checking areas for that last one hug and now back at home looking through the memories we froze in pixellated digital fragments. Who said nostalgia makes you weak? It's denying good memories to ourselves in our weakest moments that makes us false pragmatics. Optimism stems from the potential people see in us much more than our courage in ourselves.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Here's to my friends .... who've traveled with me through time as it were. You've brought the past into the present and yet reminded me of the best I can do in the near future.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Surely we must travel another unfamiliar path very soon. Only we will have each other.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
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</span></div></div>mondaydonnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10165143608069519900noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247841551374477838.post-13214714898364941262011-11-20T00:09:00.000-08:002011-11-20T00:18:32.190-08:00At Home<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I was recently describing to a friend what makes me shudder going back to the pace in Mumbai and why instead I would choose to live in the US for a couple of more years. He asked," Ron...you know what you sound like?"</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">"What?"</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">"An American".</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I am not going NRI yet but I think he's right. There's this pace to this country which takes a lot out of you. You are mostly on your own, having to do everything by hand and often having to do it alone. And yet it is this very way of life which gives you a true sense of time. You are compelled to want to make the most of each minute you get to yourself.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">My present job is allowing me to have a schedule that allows me to work, exercise, read, eat and socialize the way I ideally would like it. The way I haven't ever had the right to choose before. And I have no shame in admitting, I finally understand why Indians shy from returning home. In my case, it's not the desire to drive a certain kind of car, make pot loads of dollars or live in a certain kind of house. It's simply getting the luxury of living your life in a more balanced manner. And that's all I want as I grow older.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">So yes. Life is falling into a predictable routine. And believe it or not, despite the nomadic streak in my personality, I am ready to embrace a steady pace for now. At least for a while. Here's why.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">At about 8:30 am, I hope into my Beetle (no I am not showing off. On the contrary, I remind myself..me..<b>I</b>....of all people who never envisioned herself to be the 'driving type' owns a freaking Beetle). Curtsey my bro-in-law of course). My morning ritual? Listening to NPR - America's public radio station. Given the chaos unfolding here, it's a great way to start the day. Listening to the radio makes me feel like I am being spoken to. Addressed and informed. Not yelled at in the most agressive, annoying manner that television broadcasters seem compelled to adopt. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Once I get to Marina Del Rey, I haze out for a while at the dock. The seals are barking at this time as always. That cheers me up even on such grey foggy winter days here in LA. I then proceed to drink at least three cups of tea to keep myself awake and responsive to my boss' inquiries. Here's all I can say about my job. I may not have the exact profile I aspired to, BUT I am learning about foreign territories, international film sales and what makes distributors take on some producers work as opposed to others. Not bad at all given the crappy economy and my being on an OPT. To distract myself from work, I often step out of our office and amuse my boss' 1 year old toddler who insists on sneaking into our office whenever the door is left open and pounding on the printer's buttons. She keeps me sane and makes me hopeful that I might want to have one like her someday.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">At about 7 pm, I am done for the day. I hop back into my bug and drive more carefully this time with the station toned down a few notches below. This time, I can just about hear the station and it's my favorite program as of now - 'All Things Considered'. Day before they were interviewing Alexander Payne and yesterday it was Mike Mills. Two of my favorite directors back to back in the same week! Arriving home, I get down to 20 minutes of yoga, cook a fresh meal if I am in the mood and pack up lunch for next day. And then it's straight to bed but not asleep before 12 pm. That's the time I catch up with my favorite sitcoms or research old TV shows on Netflix.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">And here's the cherry to the icing. The two day weekend with not having to work from home. This is truly a luxury given my previous job where I would be writing scripts on Sunday evening for the show I worked on. Ugh! So half of Saturday is spent skyping with friends and family back in India. Then it's couple of hours running errands or grocery shopping. If I am not out with friends (which is often given how broke most of TRF 63 is) I am mostly alone at home. And these days I look forward to that cliche 'me time'. Like today. I spent most evening catching up 'Pan Am', cooked crepes and poured myself some vodka and coke. Of course company would be great. There's no denying that. But one needs to do what one can when no other choice presents itself. In this case, it's making the best of my time. Even if it's all on my own. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">For the first time in a long time, I am getting a sense of what it means to be at home. That true joy of enjoying a wholesome domestic existence. I am an 'in betweener'. Neither here nor there. But somehow, I am at home.... with myself after a very long time. And I am happy. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
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</span></div></div>mondaydonnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10165143608069519900noreply@blogger.com0