A Woman Sits Still

She rose customarily by about 7:30 AM everyday. Her brain seemed to think that’s the time it should wake her up. She knew it was asking for her company but she struggled to be good for it. It was terrifying to accept the loneliness and burden of becoming a human at this hour. So she did the easiest thing. If her husband was still in deep sleep she turned over to spoon him, nuzzled her nose into the nape of his neck and snored away like a pug for the next hour until the dreaded alarm on his phone almost gave her a heart attack.

By 10 AM she would be staring vacuously at her garden with a cup of warm water in her hand. How incredibly lucky was she to have a little sit out, the sound of water and fecund greenery all around her. It was everything she could have dreamt of after having stared at vultures and crows circle the sky for years in a city back in her homeland. The occasional birds chirped and pecked away in her garden yard. Over the last year, her work to supplement the solid unyielding earth with vegetable compost and the constant rains had brought in beautiful fat red earthworms. Worms tumbling over each other should you part the soil. A family of doves had claimed this lawn as their home. Her husband’s sock had been stolen to make a nest within the ‘raat ki raani’ bush. At other times, the doves lay like fat cats spreading out their wings on the lawn and taking in the sun. No predator, no noise, no humans to scare them away. And yet as she watched them, she wondered why she felt such a growing sense of uneasiness and worry within her own mind.

At about 11:30 she’s done with her eggs, fruit and coffee has been poured into a mug. That sets off a confidence to begin opening the laptop and tinkering away for a bit. A few weeks back she had the frenetic pace of a self-starter drawing up TO DO lists and making calls/enquiries to pitch the work of a company which she ‘consulted’ for but NOW a humdrum of nothingness has set in. No pay from Dec onwards. No conversations potentially converting to possibly good ideas to work on. NOTHING was moving forward. And so it came to be, she began to sit still.

At first the stillness reminded her of her failure. Her incompetence. Her inability to speak up and claim for herself what was rightfully hers. Then it began to quell the disconcerting voices that seemed like they were determined to bring her nothing but a sense of shame. In the afternoon in between spurts of writing and questioning her self worth, she had a sliver of confidence. In those moments, it seemed like the sun glistened on the waxy green bushes and jade green grass. Suddenly the doves relaxing on her lawn made her realise she’s incredibly lucky to have a roof on her head and a partner to support her. She felt like maybe this is what lonesome queens, princesses and women of station felt without authentic friendships or a circle of people who truly KNEW them behind the gossamer of their veils, their wealth and their rank. Then she reminded herself that she was spoiled and privileged to many others who could have it far worse in her situation. It was upto herself and no one else to make something of this life she had chosen a few years back far away from the limelight, noise and show business that validated her identity.

In the evenings she managed to get on her walking shoes. She revelled in chatty peppy conversations with the dog walkers, staring at the koi ponds along with the friendly poodles and then walking back home with a heavy yet humble heart. Another day was drawing to its end with the ceremony of dinner to be prepared and consumed. Another day of pretending that stillness wasn’t madness. Stillness wasn’t fuelling self hate or self doubt but instead stillness was to be distantly observed as just that. She’s now a woman in mourning. Mourning the loss of that self of hers which was garrulous, engaging, always moving into a new space or a new discussion with a newer set of people. She was now a woman who sits still.

When your verse spoke my mind.....

"Psst, can you hear it?

Not the sound of hustle and bustle,

Nor the sound of leaves rustle,

But the silent voice of the me in your ear,

Whispering how much I love you,

How much I want you - how much I need you,

Together, let’s blow this pitiful dream of success,

This dream of achievement in a society that’s meaningless,

And travel to lands frozen in times of peace,

Where the soul may flourish, not politics or greed,

For like all things living, struggling to find meaning,

Ours is each other, to love, live, dance and sing,

Not worrying, but welcoming what life may bring,

In a cottage on a hill, or a shack on a beach,

With it’s cats, dogs, rabbits and sheep,

Our home will be this world, our castle - our sheets,

Change will be our constant, just like you and me"

- D. 

To Jessica Schreindl

"Conformity is comforting, but nothing compares to being true to oneself."
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.

To solitude

To realizing the power of silence with one's own words

To being addicted to one's own company

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

To learning to remember how much you loved discovering more of yourself, by yourself

To letting your brain become a closer ally to your heart

To learnings that free us from those we wish to never let go of

"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.
 "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.
 " 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".
 "Like what it would look like to sit by a lake and talk? Or pick up groceries together?", he responded.
 She smiled slightly. "Something as basic as holding each other in that most comforting friendly but a 'much more' embrace"
  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.

Rhymes in the storm

Our house is a fort
Around it is a moat.
The storm ants are crowding
The street lights.... they are fading.
My childhood returns
Memories escape the urn.
The time to visit is now
The lamps are aglow.
When stories are told in their light
Nostalgia embraces us tight.
So stranger....if you had a home, or you didn't
Come hither........we will take you right in.

"Bottling up within me...... To drink from your memory"

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.

  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.

 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.

 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.

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 :

 "Come let us get drunk even if it's our ruin
For sometimes under ruins one finds treasure"

Her kind

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.

A little.....and a lot more

Walk a little won't you
Talk a little won't you
Make love to me more
Till we together reach the shore

Critique me a little won't you
But hear my silent cry even if I am close to you
Hold my hand even when I am strong
Pull me out of the tide where I don't belong

Hold on longer to me a little more won't you
But fight with me a little won't you
Don't bottle up yourself at the end
Remember you never did, even as a friend

....For when you look away, I long for you the most
When you shrink back, know that I'll hold you close
It's not perfection I seek
Don't you know...I am already yours to keep?


II
If you falter, I may chide you
But know this... my heart will surely guide you
Don't worry if I take a little longer resurrecting myself from my past
Where my soul was at half mast

It's you I seek out and crave for
Since you let me walk in through your door

So cover your mouth with mine
Let our fingers do the talking
Let me show you the way just once my friend
You may have to bow a little...but I promise, you will never have to bend.

Save the last dance

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.
   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.
 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.

Happiness

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... 

 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 :)

No promise.....

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.

 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...
 
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...

 ....even if I have no promise I can deliver to.

Power.......

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. 

 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.

 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! 

More than power of any other kind one can achieve, to be gifted 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.

Of monsoons from my childhood

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.

 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.

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.

  

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.

Homecoming

They rattle in my head
The noise of those wheels
As you drag my bags down your stairs
Your disciplined steps finding their way to your car

Your loyalty to organisation helping me pack
A facade for holding back our combined grief
Mine, of leaving one home to arrive at another
Yours, the impossibility of my staying

Through sterile airports, through familiar faces to be met again
Through homecoming and remembering what I left two years ago
Through numerous "hellos" and "it's been so long"
Your sad smile and hushed whispers is etched out most bold

The rains have arrived here, the streets are flooded
While it's the same crispy sun that greets you back there
Such ironic contrasts given the state of our minds
Would you exchange yours for mine?

Now, it's about time and distance
About narrowing our losses and counting our blessings
Taking stock of what could lie ahead
Sifting through those questions we dared not address earlier

I tell you, this has been some homecoming
To leave one that made life bearable in a foreign land
Only to return to another I seemed so sad to leave
If only I could exchange mine for yours.

RED

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.

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.

Here's to you Red. Damn you can be persuasive!

What's left to tell

What's left to tell
Except that your silence worries me
Your calm, your zen and maturity
Aren't assuring

When did you get ahead of this friendship
What fears and joy propelled you to see me
As someone like your own
That sense of self you want to find in your ideal

What's left to tell
Except that I thought you were different
My sadness purged, now I feel numb
Because boys will come and go, but you were meant to stay

A fellow prankster, poet, dreamer
Restless souls that screamed out in delight
When they saw how sorry the rest of the world is
For hesitating to take flight

What's left to tell
You probably are better off without the bond we shared
Our half baked ideas of script and images
That have now come to haunt my walls

You have time and your work
And in my heart I wish you more than well
I wish you fortitude, vision and laughter
I wish your locks and verse grow even longer

What's left to tell
Silence is now my friend
Our lives move on
But our conversations can still be heard out there ....reflected by our cosmic souls

"Was it something I said?"

  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. 

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.

Alyssa Jones: Why are we stopping?
Holden McNeil: Because I can't take this.
Alyssa: Can't take what?
Holden: I love you.
Alyssa: You love me?
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.
(Alyssa opens the door and exits the car)
Holden: (sighs and then to himself) Was it something I said?

Thou shalt pig for tonight

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!

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.

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 :(

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.

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?!!!

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.

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.

Thanks T for awakening the foodie in me once again :)

Ode to a loss

For you my friend..... for you my friend

Speeding through the freeways

Cheesy rap songs

Long drives through a city's neon lights

For you my friend...for you my friend

Flowers that brought on a smile

Car washes infused with sheer fright

Soupy garlic laden food munched in delight

For you my friend...for you my friend

Action flicks never watched before

Fruity white wine over long hours

Nights home wasn't nice to return to alone

For you my friend...for you my friend

I drove with courage and laughed out loud

I pushed my way through unknown crowds

And saw a city unlike before

For you my friend... for you my friend

Yogurt is no longer just passe

Songs on the radio seem more than just a tune

And driving around has become an excuse to look out for you