11:30pm an auto driver in mumbai

These frequent alone visits to mumbai has let the city put its guards down and let me into its secrets little by little.
I often take the auto now.

Well, in the last two months, I have sat in an auto rickshaw over four times entertaining stories of bag snatchers (while I imagined how I would plead them to take all the money and give me my prada clutch back!)

Today, I finished late at work and took the girls out for dinner and while we all dispersed, it was just appropriate for me also to hop into an auto with my mini-bag straight from the airport this afternoon. So I get in and he turns around and asks Versova? I say Yes.
He looks ahead and after 10 minutes asks me 'what do you think of the ships landing on our shores in versova, do you think someone is trying to break our sea link?
'Not at all!' I smile, I havent followed the news for a while resting my throat and voice in goa while I nursed an awful cough. 'The guys in the ship can't handle the waters coz of rain so they just steer it here to the closest shore'.
he turns back, looks and me and grins ' you are wrong, if you right, where are the guys who steered it?'
'hmmmm true..er, I am not sure, I haven't been here for a while so I dont know, but you have a point'
He continues to look in front and talk with such clarity ' So, who lives in versova?'
I get careful, and say ' My family, everyone'
He replies ' alright, so your family lives in bandra and you have gotten married in versova'
'No, my office is in bandra, and yes I am married to a family in versova'
'But you just arrived this afternoon with your bag...so where do you live?' he asks.
'Goa'.
My answer was short and quick. There was nothing uncomfortable about his questions but to be careful I added ' I am very old, I have a son too, and I am 3 years short of 40' (not sure how to say 37 in hindi).
He smiles ' really? one could never tell. look at me, I am 29 but I look much older, my cousins who are younger than me look much younger..'
I looked at him carefully, tall slender fit body, thick mop of dark hair and mustache, clean uniform. 'hmm no you dont' I said, ' you look 29' he turned back for a confirmation which I most generously gave by repeating myself.

Then he said something.

'You know things that ripen too early don't last long, they fall first'

Something in my heart tightened; I wanted to assure him that is not true and ask him why he said so, and what is he implying for himself. 'That is not really true, you look older becasue you are taller and your bones are wider and stronger than my frail structure' I quickly justified.

He continued effortlessly, ' well you know when you cut open a wider tree you get more ply like wood and with a smaller sturdier tree you get all good wood.' Something in me wanted to say a lot of things, to say why are you talking like this, you are strong, you will live long and you are fine and there has to be a better reason I can come up with...
'people just follow their parents, mine are small made so I am like this and yours must be tall so you are such' ....and then we talked about genetics, dna, traits skipping a generation, his first baby he lost as a new born while his wide climbed a tall stair and by accident pressed the baby, the three he has after that, his brother, his bhabhi, how much he loves the...we reached home...and he absent mindedly pulled out my change while saying..'right?'
I was too busy taking out money, wondering if I should ask him his name, will i meet him again, he is such a gentleman, how come he talked to me so much...'huh, sorry what?'

I saw is face in the light as i stepped out of the auto. He was saying 'if one scream the other needs to tolerate and vice versa, if both scream there can be no life, no peace, right bhabhiji?'

'Right'.

Right. I was his bhabhiji and that makes him my brother. This is good for me. Such a delightful brother. Such love. Such joy. Sometimes this is all we need.

'Absolutely right' I said and wheeled my mini bag as I walked away to the elevator.

Imbalance

The dictionary defines imbalance its usage with something that creates tension.
I am attempting not to let it.
The story began five years ago, when I went to an art show on my dad's behalf. A very popular artist whose work I had not seen in years. So I walk in to the Oberoi's in Mumbai, and the series was on Bhuddha and most of it sold out. At the far end, on a easel, sat a 5x5' golden hued buddhist monk with eyes cast down, smiling tenderly. The artist told me that this one was not part of the exhibition and was an after thought.
He also told me that it was about someone looking within and happy with what he sees. Perfect.
It was meant for me. On closer look, while the artist, I suspect was trying to distract me, I saw that paint from the eyebrow's deep black had spilled a bit from the artist's hand on to the cheek's fine tones that were gently walking from soft ochre to cream.
He mumbled something along the lines of 'blah blah and I can touch up some bits for you, if you are interested in this piece'. I didn't care. The painting with its flaws further enforced the essence of being happy within, despite the flaws. Perfect. I repeated.
It came home around the time I just heard I was going to be a mother. It stayed with me through those nine months and after. It was placed in the most visible place in our living area, and for my partner and I, it reflected the vibe of our life, relationship and home.
Great so far. Last month, I moved cities, and it too moved with me. Again it is placed on my favorite wall in the new home. Only, I now suspect the rains have decided to see how much I believe in it after all.
Yesterday, I saw moisture taking a toll and fungus all over it...it was smeared with spots in grey as though it had chicken pox. A little something inside me began to sink.
An artist friend came home and said that I must attend to it right away as the spots can get stubborn. So I call the artist, he doesn't remember the work, I mail it to him, he didn't revert.
Today, it was sunny, so I decided to bring it down and give it a little sun. I tried to softly work with a muslin cloth in circular motion and it seemed to be clearing softly. My driver told me, to let it stay in the sun a bit and then I could attempt cleaning it again.
I return to my desk. An hour later, my driver calls me to show how well it has been cleaned.
It had. Now, the spots were not there, except a little greying on the edges. And there is a smudging of the paint on the top right side. And while he pressed hard and cleaned, the frame at the back has lined itself around the frame's border and right in the middle there is now a Plus sign. The frame has let itself be known.
I asked him to hang it back. Perhaps a restorer can fix the painting.

But I know, I will need to restore myself on my own. It is a little smudgy; the frames on which our beliefs hang within us, reveal themselves, even if we are not ready for it.
Will I still like what I see within?
Five years on...in my world, in my relationship, in me; maybe I see a lot more than I asked for..
I still want to look within it all and be happy.
It seems like I do while the painting hangs titled on my wall. Imbalanced, with down cast eyes, smiling tenderly.

Qwitter continues

Alright, it is 10: 30 in the morning. vir has gone to school. time to hit work.
I have popped a gum to avoid the oral fixation of lighting up.

The weather is really nice. It is raining and the paddy field in front seems to waltzing with wind knowing that like me for a while we are away from the humdrum of the city.
In another four days I need to get to Mumbai and in another four months, the rice in these fields will be in a sack at a store in some city as noisy and busy as mine.

I had begun to hate smoking in Mumbai. The idea of enjoying a smoke is to sit on a nice couch, a great cup of coffee and look out of the window at a world made to artistic perfections, or at a friends' with a cup of home-made ginger tea. But of late I have found myself having roadside tea and smoking with laborers with a stinking drain close by. Or with a restless wind that turns the smoke right back at my face and hair no matter how hard I try to gauge the direction of the wind and the conversation.

It has become too unattractive.

Sticking my head out of the window, or staying stuck to the edge of the balcony in Mumbai apartments, or worst yet, to leave your conversation, music and even friends to step outside the club, where they stop you from taking the drink out...ahh how do they expect you to enjoy a cig without your drink. As it is, we are dying, be nice to us at least!

Yeah, so as I was saying it is no fun smoking in the cities now. So I thought to myself...

one sec. call.

argh! a call from mumbai. some water leaking problem in one of my homes. and a cig was lit. and most of it smoked.

Will come back later.

Qwitter

Here I sit, just 17 min before of 19th July, pleading with myself to quit.

I have done it before. So many times before and for such long periods. So I can do it.

Once I heard me tell someone I know I can quit easily, which is why I am taking my time with it..for instance if you asked me to cook a meal I would get to it right away as I have no clue where to begin, but if you told me to craft me a letter I would say... in a bit, because I know I can do it in a jiffy. And she kept quiet. For she has told me many times before that the damage is unfathomable.

I don't know why I do it anymore.

And it is it even a subconscious effort. I am very conscious of every move.

The feeble urge that can be overcome

The mind doing a quick check 'do you need it?'

The heart smiling 'oh come on big deal'

The head says again 'it's your third today and it is still early in the day'

By this time the fingers have elegantly reached for the pack

And with every authority that only a responsible adult can exhibit the lighter is held close to the face and snap!

The first drag is rarely as much fun as it used to be, like in the adv or in the movies as the protagonist draws a nice long drag he inhales all powers of solitude.

Now it is either a complete unawareness of the nicotine as there is enough in the blood anyway or it is a distaste followed by an instant heaviness in the chest...

Diligent morning yoga can do this.

My yoga sir says it is senseless to clean lungs at 6 am and then inhale toxins. How many cig can you smoke is like asking how much poison can I have?

Really?

ya of course! Shit. I know this stuff but it is so hard do believe

I read up a lot online, avoided the pictures, they are scary. The notes were so alarming that a part of me refuses to believe that they are talking about a cig that can be bought without even stepping out of my car, leave alone show proof of age,

Oh the worst of that was when I was in Singapore. My son doesn't know I smoke...anyway, so here I was out for a walk by myself and wanted to buy a pack right then. Found enough money in my pocket and asked for one. I could barely get myself to tell him which brand I wanted for all I could see behind him were masses of the most vulgar photos smeared all over the packs. So I look down and ask for a davidoff. Age proof pease he says. I hadn't carried my wallet.
What I did next was ironic, it made me smile really weird as I pulled out my phone and showed him a picture of my three year old son and me. He gave me the pack.

You see I am old enough to be a mum; committing to bring another life up healthily and happily and therefore I deserve to get a smoke. It just seemed odd, almost wrong at that time.

But in that moment it was much easier to laugh about it and light my cig like old times when I lived in Singapore. For that moment i was 26 again.

It's late now. I must sleep. I don't want to. I never want to smoke.

I want to. I must, I am.

It's ok to let go

This is what I have been trying to learn on my 37^th year here.

As I walk around building perceptions about myself and allowing others to feed me more of them for all these years,

I begin to wonder if I am collecting too much .

Too much pride

Too much confidence

Too much self righteousness

Too many achievements

And too much money that comes with it most of the times

Too much love even, perhaps

There is no problem with too much of all these things but the trouble is when I unknowingly start gathering a lot of self esteem. Sounds bizarre right? Is there anything as too much self esteem. Ridiculous.

I am working rigorously to create tools that build self esteem in children for heaven’s sake! So why am I talking about re-tracking all of this?

What am I really saying?

Let me try again.

With too much pride comes the guarding of few not-so great revelations about me

With too much confidence comes the severe myopia of my limitations

With too much self righteousness comes the intolerance for others mistakes

With too many achievements come the fixation to move to the next level without enjoying the perfection of the current score

With too much money comes the strong nostalgia for roadside tea with rain drops in them

With too much love comes the built in taking-for-granted feature

I tell myself, it is good you know these things so you will appreciate everything and everybody in your life and live a blessed life. All’s good!

But this is where the catch is, this kind of awareness is often fleeting and you are back to your grand opinion of self  before you realize.

The self. An interesting concept and ‘being’ in itself; I will write more about it another time. For now, on the idea of ‘too much’ in life I am trying to begin by abandoning each of those fabulous things I have crafted for myself.

And you know what, while I focus on the great things about me that I am trying to get away from I realize, I just as quickly build new perspectives. Oh!

Hmmm it still works. Let me show you how;

While I attempt this ridiculous list,

One, I get acutely aware of how blessed I am (reinforcement on the sly)

Two, I also get to throw away all the not-so-nice things about me (cleaning the corners without being harsh on me)

Three, I realize in those brief moment of throwing and before making a new perception – that I do exist even without these perceptions.

(which means whether I have these blessing or not!)

This new perspective that lives on with me for a while, a long, long while even though I may now have defined myself anew.

Too much awareness of anything is awareness of a partial kind anyway. Simply put, we are anyway only going to see things from our point of view at any given time. But this just lets me take my chair and move a little towards the right and say ‘how wonderful the sun looks while setting’

Much like what I said about the sun when the chair was a little to the left even. But it was worth knowing I have hands that can carry a chair and a spine that lets my body bend and straighten up, that my eyes can see and that I AM even if the chair or the sun were not to be there.

Therefore I Am Here even if my pride, success, achievements, money and love were not to be there in my life. See the connection? Nice eh?

Tomorrow I will try to let go of this too and find another thing or two about me.

Between the mysterious self, the mind that things faster than me, a heart that feels more that I can ever know, there is so much to look forward to in life.

It's that familiar feeling again

A little lost, a little found...I tread this world with a careful recklessness.

This month end, I turn 37. Not that birthdays hold any significance for me, but I suspect
this time, this year I might as well observe it a little closely.

I am moving, yeah partially, fully, not really, however it may seem depending on my state of mind, urgency of work and priority in life - at that moment.
The truth is I am moving. To a quieter place.

For all these years that I lived in this cheerful city that embraced me with grand gatherings and real conversations to sustain an entire lifetime, it seems that I need to hear my self.

So, I am going to a place where the sun rises leisurely and sets lazily.

No more rushing home on an odd day to have a good cup of home-made ginger tea on my white couch and precious crockery.
No more visuals of garbage trucks pulling out first thing in the morning.
No more smoking by the gutter while saying bye to a friend.
No more naked children on the road placed to inspire my pity and instill eternal guilt.
No more wishing I was home to pick my son up from school.
No more struggling to squeeze in an hour of yoga.
No more staring at a growing pile of books I want to read.
No more testing the ink pens I have in the hope that I will use them one day.
No more looking at things I wonder why I don't want them anymore.
No more wishing I had more time to be still.

No more of me as I have known myself for a very long time.

A chance at rebirth. I am going to take it. This June.

yes and a no

Yes I wrote I would not return, yes I have inhibitions about baring my thoughts to people I know more than the people I don't.

Yes, a couple of people called in to tell me they stumbled on my blog and how much they loved it. And I thought maybe I should write more, so they may perhaps enjoy what I write.

But then, I can always write letters to them, personalise my thoughts for them specifically and write letters, there is nothing more beautiful than that, and whose gradual disappearance pains me more than anything, as we abandon the writing pads, pens and desks and dexterously type away on ipads and laptops.

Then, I wonder...my blogs can be for me my way to release myself, without thinking who is going to read it, am I in any way sharing something that might impact another I know who can come in here and read it and most importantly, can I just have one place in this world, which is my own quiet corner. Where no one can reach me easily.

That beautiful anonymity, encourages me to perhaps blog, somewhere else, for no one in particular. Where I cannot even if I want to, make it a good read or a useful read for anyone I know.

Then perhaps I will have a place for me.

no more

sorry, i don't think i can do this.
it took me a long time, a very long time to get myself to agree to blog. to put my thoughts out there...and i wondered why people do it, leaving aside the marketing agendas, i wasn't sure why any sensible person would want to put there inner most thoughts out there just like that.
unlike a book where one can construct the entire emotion, here, in bits and pieces how does one allow it all to fly out into the world, with people, unknown and even worse sometimes known (dont know which one is worse) to take what they want and walk away, without your knowledge or even letting you know.
see? what i mean, all these thoughts about some people, who i don't know, my apprehensions about them knowing me...what does all this mean about me? what am i so possessive about?
what do i know that i feel told randomly will hurt me for its misrepresentation?
what is it that means so much to me?
what am i thinking that is so precious? that has such power?
the beginning of the year with a wide grin and full of laughter and just about enough thought as i think i needs to write, i wrote my first ever blog.
and claimed, there i have done it!
i have freed myself. nothing holds such power over me, i am going to put it all out there. in an attempt to free myself. completely.
i even posted the link on my profile page on facebook where i don't go anymore.
but such was my belief that i had conquered it all and i am fearless to let my guards down.

strange, these things sound to me, even when i write them. me ? guards, fearless? really bizarre.
because, i have lived my life as fearlessly as one can.
and me, guards? how can that be. the joke is that it takes someone two minutes to meet me to know all about my glorious divorce, great husband, sex life, the works...
so then why am i writing about apprehensions?
what is this all about? who am i ? who is writing all this?

two days after, some blog behavior information urged me to return and write another one.
i cant. i don't want to. i didn't.
and of what i remember, the things i said about abandoning the 'to do' list, it isn't even my voice, they are not even my thoughts.
i am gripped by this acute awareness of just how much do i need to de-layer to to get to me.

where am i? in all this.
perhaps, i am in all this.

m

courage to live

This year. I wish to renew my courage to live.

It sounds extraordinary if one has an identified terminal illness or so ordinary if one has a normal life with a reasonably healthy body.

Yet, the courage to live, truly live our lives remains elusive. To feel the breeze in our hair, to smile at a stranger, to tell anger that it has no place in my life, to let the to-do list slowly fly away to a table far away and rest there for a while so I can soak in the sun or smell the rain.

We tend to forget the immortality of each year, the inevitable end of it and the beginning of new is as real as terminal illness ( one that terminates us) as we know ourselves right then. In that sense, no end is final - there are no ends. Each moment is a chance at a new beginning, as our minds wait eagerly to take new instructions and the body waits to follow suit.

To become anything I would like me to be. This very moment.

In that sense a year gone by can terminate us of all the things we no longer care for and of all the things we wish we could be. And we can start afresh as the person we feel we deserve to be.

These are things I wish to Renew,

Courage to let bygones be bygones
Courage to let me extend myself without having to govern each move (I will escape the to-do list)
Courage to be hear my thoughts
Courage to trust that good happens to good
Courage to love without looking at the scoreboard
Courage to give without feeling wronged
Courage to not evaluate the value of every moment in terms of focused contribution to the various roles I have trapped myself in, mother, wife, boss, friend, neighbor, citizen...
Courage to let the people I love make their mistakes
Courage to forgive myself for a day spent lazing, for an expensive buy, for less time given to anything or anybody
Courage to love my self
Courage to let me be
Courage to simply L I V E.

I named my son vir (meaning brave), he is four now. I hope to one day explain to him that, all he needs to remember is to brave. Brave enough to have a point of view, brave enough to own it, brave enough to walk his path. And that all else will fall into place.

Today, as the revelry of unknown expectations of a new years' eve settles down and a new, absolutely new set of numbers and names we attach great value to as months and dates be our bridge to walk across to a whole new world of a million possibilities that do not label or put in us neat boxes; but ones that let us fly.

So we may know that we exist today, right now in all glory, in all we were and can be. That these dates are merely so, dates, made as a point of reference. That we in our potential exceed them. To this boundless sky may we fly.

May the divine within each one of us make itself known.