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 

The need to...

Run, run, run
Through storms, snow and mist
Tread new paths branching out from the old
Never to let one's mind acquire mold

Climb, climb, climb
Your grandpa's trees, fences or walls
Dig your fingers and toes deep
Till you find the urge to take the big leap

Feel, feel, feel
The wet red earth nesting worms
The glow of a sunset
The wind against one's chest

Find, find, find
The reason to persevere
The courage to stand tall
Even if the easiest action could simply be to fall

For D K Bose, verbal rants and future writing

"You 85?"

"Ummm... yes "

"You sure ...you 85?"

"I promise I really am 85"

"Alrite. I get you beer"

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).

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. 

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.

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.

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.

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.

For a friend.... who was lost and found

Crooked teeth
Curly hair
Frown when you are shy ...
Pensive eyes
Half asleep
Your gaze always gets me to smile

How did we know each other so well?

Five years apart...

Our fears and goals
Our aches and joys
Our mistakes and triumphs

Even when miles apart?

Cosmic twins as it were.

Our minds have conversed
Somewhere beyond the history of time
They've shared a joke and consoled life
Even before you and I stepped out here

They try to label what we have
Like tacky friendship cards...relationship packages
Ready made, ugly processed pieces on retail line

But our bond goes above and beyond.

For even when we choose to walk ahead
Hands holding another's
We will still walk together
Connected forever with that invisible thread


 

Run

I am stealing ...
Stealing when I can
A glance , some warmth...
a smile or perhaps even an embrace

My hands intertwine with strange fingers
But don't find a grasp
My eyes fail to meet a pair
My mind races away


But I am still hoarding...
Hoarding half baked feelings
For faces I meet elsewhere
Convinced they"ll drown a familiar thought

That fed of your glance, your warmth
Your smile in the morning
After our hands held each other
My fingers knotted in yours


I am running ahead
My feet may be fumbling but I am gaining a pace
Your feet ...tread faster than mine
But you are running away...away from what truly could be you

Giving thanks at the Grand Canyon

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Surely we must travel another unfamiliar path very soon. Only we will have each other.

At Home

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?"

"What?"

"An American".

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.


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.

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.

At about 8:30 am, I hope into my Beetle (no I am not showing off. On the contrary, I remind myself..me..I....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. 

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.

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.

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.

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.