Companion

Through thick and thin,
You were friends with me,
Imparting your wisdom
To help me lead my life.
Through sorrows and joys,
I held you in my hands -
Always engrossed
Into what you were unfolding before me.
Through rain and shine,
I settled down with you
In the cozy nook of my home
While sipping herbal tea
Or Coke zero!
Through childhood and adulthood
You shared your stories with me
Once about princesses and demons
Once about rags to riches tales
And once again,
About "once upon a time" fantasies.
You never failed me -
You measured up
As a friend, philosopher, guide -
My precious companion
Once hard bound, once a paper back
Or just a inexpensive print
On recycled paper.
Your many forms adorn my shelves
And most importantly, my grey cells! :-)

Puzzler - 2

The door opens with an awkward creek while the harsh florescent light from the corridor seeps into the dark room. He walks in to fumble on the side of the wall to find the light - he takes time to locate it. The room bathes in the softly lit desk lamps on either side of the bed. He walks in and places his bags on one side of the room.

"Ananda, come in." He calls out softly. Her head still reeling from the rush of events, her eyes hiding the welling up tears of helplessness. She walks into the room in a trance and settles on one side of the bed. He could not say anything to keep her from sobbing. He lets her wash out her emotions for a good five minutes, walks to her, places his hand on her back and rubs it gently.
"It is all going to be fine" He assures her though he doesn't know how it is going to be fine when she looks like she'd lost everything she had on the way to the hotel.

He opens up his bottle of water and offers her a drink. She gulps it down wiping her tears. She takes a few minutes settling her emotions down while he looks at her nonchalantly, not knowing what to do, not knowing how to take her pain away.

"Is there anything you want to share with me?" he asks her softly. "I can talk, I can listen, I can - I can" he searches for words to comfort her.
She lifts her head, looks him in the eye and smiles. He doesn't ask any more questions.
She suddenly realizes that she is stuck in this room with a perfect stranger, for the whole night. What choice did she have anyway? Her mind travels from one bizarre thought to anoter.
'I hope you are comfortable sharing the room with me" He asks her.
She nods her head in agreement. "I hope you are comfortable sharing the room with me" She says in return, flashing a mischievous smile. "I am a little scared, but I think I shall manage" He plays along.

She gets up to freshen up and he lets out a sigh of relief to see her joke around.

This and That!

I just wanted to attempt to get over the block and make a hodge podge of doodling with words, more like catching all the stray thoughts and recording them.

My short story Puzzler is left there to linger without a completion - Believe me, I am working on it day and night - in my head. I feel that it is running more descriptive like a novel, so hoping to get it back on the short story track by chopping off the detail and dialogue. I shall most likely start off a part 2 in a different since the tone of narration is going to change.

I feel that I am currently a bonded slave - to my smart phone. Ever since the mobile technology kicked in, my dear husband tried to persuade me to maintain a cell phone. After numerous numbers and futile attempts to make me charge the phone on time or make me answer it when it rings - he gave up. Until recently where he got me the latest iPhone - now I seem to be ubiquitous on FB, and is there anything like irritating with over promptness? I am probably guilty of it. I switch off my technology, struggling to set my body clock to the lost hour in the "Daylight saving" fiasco - but the little monster in white grunts like a hungry pig - alerting me every time I get an offline FB message or a mail update. What do you expect from a night owl just set on the reforming path of being an early bird? I promptly reach for the phone on my night stand, squint my way in the darkness through the emergency message of my friend asking me if I am free to join her for a lunch date 10- days from now:-) As much as I want to love it, I am at the verge of getting scarred for life. Now, does it help that I am semi addicted to "Delicious - Emily's true love" game app? Somehow, it reminds me of my farmville days where I used to obsess over the crop and fertilizer like they exist in real.

Amid all these time killers, I do manage to life a decent, productive life. My kitchen sports a new, sleek, professional series stand up mixer! ;) I am keeping busy with the cooking and for those of you who are following me for long and wondering what happened to my "no dirty dishes in the sink" resolve - I am glad to inform, that probably for the first time in my life, I kept a new year resolution past Valentine's day! :-)

I often cross paths with a veteran sports personality of 70s India - It just stuck me in my last meeting with him, that I wanted to do a "In conversation with" kind of a blog. I shall work it out for sure - This man is built so strong - the strength of his character shines through every word he utters. I am sure we can all benefit from his life's experiences and wisdom. I'll stop it here before I divulge too much info.

My art students are currently working with water colors - which made me realize that there is a strange satisfaction in messing up things around us to create harmony. It is a task that makes me shake my head in disbelief at the sheer courage of attempting to teach little ones the use of messy colors - but on a totally different note, I think I might emerge with a few ponders on life and probably some eye candy art work to share.

As always, to all the people who kindly accommodate my mediocrity into their lives by visiting my blog - I am greatly indebted. I am an ordinary person, living an ordinary life - but each click my blog gets, each pair of eyes that read what I say makes my life amusingly extra ordinary. For all the love, support and sheer tolerance to my work - here's a sincere thanks! :-)

I shall strive to be worthy of it ;-)

Ponder

When I was in 6th grade, I fought with a boy in my class - I cannot recollect what it exactly was, but in the fight, the boy said something rude to me. Now, fighting and getting upset were both rare occurrences for me so I remember what followed, in great detail. To show my condemn for how the guy behaved with me, I skipped eating my lunch. When my science teacher walked into the class post lunch break - someone broke the news to him that I was on a hunger strike. What my teacher told me that day stuck to me till this very moment. He walked to me and asked me a series of questions. I answered all of them and so he could gather who was at fault. The boy volunteered to come and apologize to me and all was about to be forgotten when my teacher told me - "If someone upsets you, why do you have to go hungry? You should have snatched that boy's lunch and eaten it so that he could go hungry!" His humor worked - I laughed out loud and so did every one around me. It was all one happy class of middle schoolers. I am sure he did not mean to tell me the 'eye for eye' philosophy but it probably was how I instantly lightened up after that, or the very fact that if one person hurts you, your hurting yourself will not help, dawned upon me that afternoon.

Often, we forget how to deal with our hurts. We brood in the sorrow and immerse ourselves in the wrong doings of others. We also pay way too much value and attention to what people think or say about us- be it approval or disapproval. If we'd all put aside the reactions of the world and do what makes us happy - if we come to that level of comfort with ourselves where we don't seek approval from other sources, we have arrived.
Last night, Leslie Blodgett, The CEO of Bare Escentuals, a makeup revolution that hit the USA with it's break through natural products put a status message on her FB page reacting to the message alerts she received form a shopping channel's community forum, dissecting her Stella McCartney dress, I just had to go to the website and see a video of her presentation just to see what was so scandalous about her dress - This 49 year old woman who looks no bigger than a size 2 and no older than 35, carried the figure hugging black and white number with great aplomb. She further went on urging her fans to tell her why they did rude remarks about her dress - if it was that she was too old to wear the dress or if it was too revealing. Actually, it was not any of those things at all - as a conservative dresser myself, I found Leslie's outfit very appropriate for a Beauty guru hawking her products on a renowned teleshop. This woman who had built on a 'non existent on the make up map' company making it a phenomenon with her Mineral mantra - to the extent of making Estee Lauder, MAC and other make up giants flatter her most sincerely by imitating her producrt philosophy, succumbed to the pressures of people who take it upon themselves to keep others grounded - so one can only imagine what such attacks do to lesser mortals . A couple of years ago, she'd sold BE to the Japanese giant Shiseido for a whooping 1.7 billion dollars. She is still the creative and business head bringing in her unique way of marketing and products to millions of loyal fans that are now expanding to all parts of the globe. This success personified woman, easily the most famous business women in the present day  make up arena succumbed to the hurtful words of a few haters or just cynics that exercise their prerogative of freedom of speech to put someone down. As I grew older, I'd learned one thing - or actually I should say, that by observing a friend of mine that always turned criticism and mean remarks made against her to ashes, I learned a very valuable lesson of life. She didn't fight, or argue or explain herself - instead, she just used to ignore what was being said to a point where I wondered if she had hearing impairment. Most people around us rub us the wrong way because they get sadistic pleasure to see us get hassled and react in a defensive way. When we keep quiet, it rains on their parade of ridicule. As a young adult, I heard my father's cousin say it once - that "Ignoring is the biggest insult"

I look back upon my own insult and criticism handling history and I must say, I do the occasional succumb to them like most human beings do - but, there were instances when I'd shut up the meanest of them with one weapon - silence. I reflect upon my middle school teacher's wisdom on handling bullies - there are two ways, the one that requires some elbow grease in the form of retaliatory action or the other, effective, fool proof and peaceful way - Silence. When we don't cry - it is not fun for them to keep at the attempts to make us cry. Keeping a straight face when faced with such situations in life is the best policy of all.

Nostalgia

(Revisiting a saved draft - there might be a change of tone in the latter part:-)

My childhood existed in the peace and quiet of nature and outdoor play - entertainment wasn't sought in Pods, Pads or Touches that precede with a insignificant small case 'i". In fact, my introduction to the TV happened when my dad bought home a cube like portable black and white television to catch the world cup action in 1983. I still remember how the wired tape cord that made the TV portable in our vast home was coiled in the diameter of a small hoola hoop and the width of a cumbersome hard bound encyclopedia, secured with country twine and hung obnoxiously on the tip of one of the doors that opened our bedroom into the open roofed living room that housed the elements. The television was used very sparingly - and aired a language that was as foreign to me as the ancient Latin - but to the wonder of many city bred, cosmopolitan people I come across on a day to day basis - I being the small town south Indian girl I am - somehow managed to learn the National language - thanks to DD1 that introduced the purest form of Hindi to my little, undeveloped language palette.

Back on track - i fondly remember running around in the streets, lip syncing to the latest Telugu numbers that were played in a static bearing music system that resonated in the whole neighborhood. The bedlam of random hawkers selling wares and the occasional honks form the traffic nearby added so much of layer to the background score. Movie watchings were few and far between. It is during those days that gaudy colored hoardings of pretty women dressed in florescent leotards and ring masters in longs hats and asymmetrical Abraham Lincoln like coats blinged with sequins the size of a old rupee coins adorned the concrete municipality garbage bins. The speculation started among the rickshaw mates - a gang of six, 7 years and under kids that commuted to the school and back in a manually pulled wagon - "The lions dance it seems!" - added a six year old with dilated eyes while her older brother went on and on about the gig of the clowns who pull their pants off trying to perform trapeze after the trained artists. This was enough information to tickle our collective imagination and thus the canvassing for going to the ostentatiously named "New Grand Circus" launched in the household.

The circus tent was humongous - at least to the 8 year old's eye. There was a stench that lingered in - probably from the droppings of the animals that were left in cages around the tent - much as a display for curious children. The opening act was the Lion show - where the ring master makes ferocious looking beasts behave like tame cats - jumping through hoops of fire - and then the clowns enter - dancing to the then famous disco numbers while a not-so-well built guy holds a bycycle, a table and then a ladder on his lips when the audience applaud in awe. Then the gymnasts enter - the young women glistened in azure glittered eyes and leotards to match.

A couple of decades down the lane I'd been to the "Circus Vargas" show that came to the town, just around the block at the end of my street. Needless to say, it magically transformed me into a time and place that I'd often wish that I had frozen in. The experience hadn't changed much - except that this Circus I went to didn't have any four legged performers. May be it is the new PETA regulations, could be the increasing overhead costs - but it was a good thing that there were no animals. There was cotton candy being peddled along with Coke and nachos and there was an intermission where the clowns sat for a chat with the children in the audience. To my utter amusement, most of the acts were repetitions of the shows I'd seen as a child in a different time and place. At the end, the performers lined up for a meet and greet with the audience outside the gate. There is something magical about entertainers - I remember, that as a child, when I was in awe with the circus show, I used to envision myself as a child in the troop, travelling from one place to another leading a nomadic life. The experience brought back a glimpse of my childhood in a very endearing way - I could not but wonder how such performing arts are faring in the generation of internet entertainment at the punch of a few buttons. Ironically, the seats were sparsely occupied and the IMax complex opposite to the tent on the other side of the road was busting at seams with cars that looked like a car factory had thrown up there. I know, I know - it is a graphic description - but my ever thinking mind could not but wonder if these performances would stand the test of time. No matter how we advance in communication and technology - the old world charm of snail mails, circus performances and county fairs are an experience every child should go through. I would totally date myself but it just startles me the kind of insight I got into the world when I watched puppet shows and small time bands performing movie songs in the neighborhood temple. It was like a glimpse of the world, animated, full of life, real - I sometimes sit and wonder if the future generations would miss out on the hands on experience I had as a child.

Circus Vargas represented life to me - a constant struggle to survive, fighting against odds, Laughing, thrill and fear all amalgamated into a show that is painstakingly prepared - all to cater to one means - the stomach. I walked out of the tent rejuvenated, in a reminiscent mode feeling a tad bit happier and maturer.

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A link to my new born FB page. Much thanks to the Admin Arpna Singh :)

Encouragement.

Being the quote collector I am, I look for thought provoking ones all around me from famous quotes to the ones that I encounter on a daily basis. Many years ago, in my language class, my teacher wrote a quote on the black board which read - "The end of education is Character." I was a little too young to understand the depth of the quote but it came back to me in my evolving years. And then I came across the quote which told me that 99% perspiration and 1% inspiration makes a genius. I remember getting very influenced by that saying in my middle school. As I grew up, I realized that most talents in life thrive on encouragement. Encourage a child and he would reach his potential  - and most importantly a word of encouragement during a failure matters more than a day of praise after a success. Life becomes lovely when we have people around us that notice us for what we are, show interest and give encouragement in the little things we do. And then, I stumbled upon the quote that said nine tenths of education is encouragement. So, most human successes depend heavily on the encouragement and support they get from people around them.

A wonderful well wisher of mine had taken it into her tender hands the expedition to encourage my banter and doodling words. She created a FB page for my blog and invited all her friends to come read my work. I am not sure - and I don't say this in false humility - if I deserve all this and if my work is really worth people's time, but I am immensely touched by this gesture. I'd written all my life. I'd thought all my life and I'd blogged for long enough. I get some really uplifting feedback from complete strangers about my work. Not once do I feel that I deserve it but every time a kind gesture comes my way, my head bows in gratitude and my heart gets the encouragement to keep at my writing. I want to welcome all my new friends into my blogging world and take this as an opportunity to thank each and every one of you for the time and encouragement. I am sure this shall make me realize, all the more, the importance of kind words and kind gestures in life. Each one of you shall keep my love for writing alive with each click you make on my blog. While you are at it, please feel free to tell what you think about my work. I am always on the look out for suggestions and ideas to improve myself.

Encouragement is to the soul what water is to plants. To all the wonderful friends and family that believed and stood by me, cheered me - Here's a humongous Thank you. :) Actually, Thank you seems to be a very little word - but words are my world :)

God Bless.

Puzzler

Her eye balls trace the scene that flashes past her through the moving train. She slips into deep thought, her characteristic deep thought and almost looks through everything that passes in front of her eyes. Her brain works incessantly, spinning one thought after the other. The train comes to a gradual halt and the doors open to let passengers in and out. She doesn't seem to notice it. She's still looking out of the window. The lush cushion on her seat lets out a ruffle as some weight compresses it. Her thoughts come back to reality. She hears a rustle of the news paper from beside her. Reluctantly, she looks askance to catch a glimpse of the person parked next to her. She almost turns back to gaze out of the window - but her brain starts registering the features of the person next to her. Deep, hypnotic gaze and a smile that flashes perfectly aligned teeth. Lush blonde hair, gelled and combed back to reveal a broad forehead that frames perfect features. She realizes she's staring at him and in embarrassment, flashes an unsure smile - not the one that she usually gives. She somehow suspects that he wouldn't smile back.

But he does - his full lips part to reveal the perfect set of teeth again - his skin, a rugged red and some tan on the sides of his cheeks manifests tiny little light brown freckles with the clarity of a HD television. Visions of her colleague photo-shopping models flash in her mind - but doesn't imperfection have it's own charm? May be it does - her own teeth for instance - one of her front teeth ever so slightly overlaps the other giving her smile a character. Her thoughts drift back to reality and she realizes he's till smiling, looking at her and she keeps guessing if he'd had veneers to make his teeth look so perfect.

"Metro sexual?" - "Nada - may be not! - look at the faded jeans, wrinkled plaid shirt - probably bought off the clearance rack of Old Navy" - her mind starts spinning the usual tales about the people she comes across.

"Lovely day outside" - the usual conversation starter is thrown her way.

'Oh, yeah!" - after  yesterday's 40 degree Fahrenheit, who'd have thunk?" she replies.

He lets out a chuckle and repeats "who'd have thunk really?"

"That's one thing I'd learned about bay area weather" - as unpredictable as the alignment on a slot machine"

As the comparison she just made registers in her mind, she lets out an unexpected sigh. Her words again - her thoughts and her words, a hopeless tangle of confusion except for her.

"Slot machines?" - interesting comparison. My dealer days hunt me where ever I go - no escaping Nevada and the casinos I guess" He prolongs the conversation.

" You are a dealer?"  she questions, with a slightly raised left eyebrow trying to recollect where she'd heard the word first.

"I was"

"Ohh!"

"In Vegas - Excalibur!"

"Ever been to Vegas?" he questions her.

She nods her head in a negation.

'I disdain gambling! - all sorts of gambling"

"Ouch" he mocks - "then you must be disdaining dealers as well?"

All she could let out was a nod of the head in negation - "nope - all professions are created equal" she quips.

She makes mental notes again - look at him and tries to guess his age.

Thirty two, Thirty one, twenty nine???  figures keep shuffling in her mind like those scrolling numbers on the display of a gas pump and finally settle at thirty three.

He must be thirty three.

He 'used' to be a dealer - which means that he is in a different profession now. He seems to know the meaning of "disdain" - the word that committed to her memory since her high school days, and he reads the "Wall Street Journal" - the newspaper that clashes with the faded jeans, wrinkled plaid slacks and the braided tan leather belt he is wearing.

The train comes to a sudden halt this time, almost with a jerk. Her right wrist slightly rubs on his hand as she tilts forward and then back - reacting to the sudden stop, and looks at the contrast of their skin tone - like a beautiful painting in the palest of flesh tones and a light brown tan.  She pulls her hand away and apologizes.

"phew - that was a nasty halt" - and then he adds - "I hope you are okay" - "my back seems to ache ever so slightly from the jerk"

"I am fine" she manages - and then, for the first time, notices the color of his eyes!

Her mind goes back to her thoughts again - "the perfect color!" "Eureka - it yells - like it had made the next ground breaking discovery in physics" - and then she lets out a mental sigh - Only if she could swatch the color and hunt it down for her bed room.

Her mind lets out a mental laugh! - "I am mental" she professes to herself the millionth Time.

Could they get any greener? She is suddenly reminded of the lush fields in the Alps - a scene that haunts her ever so often, Alps! Her favorite place on earth.  The lights go off in the cabin and come back on in a couple of seconds bringing her back to this world.
"Oh My God" I hope it is not a break down - and looks like we are stuck in the tunnel" She hopes aloud.
 
As if to answer her question, the public announcement system kicks off with static, and the whole lot of what is being announced flies right over her head. "What about the appointment?" "What about the flight I need to catch in the evening?" Her mind keeps shooting worrisome questions to herself.

"Hey there" - his gentle tap on her shoulder gets her back to the situation.

While slapping  her forehead with her palm, she rests her elbow in her lap and lets out a deep breath.

"So what as the driver announcing?" She asks him in a mutter, with her palm still on her forehead.

"Is your head okay?, do you have a headache?" his questions seem ignorant and irritating.

"I am holding my forehead for my bad karma - the bad karma that got me stuck here in the middle of an underwater tunnel. You know, we as a culture believe in karma for every single thing in life and then, we believe our fortune is written on the foreheads"

"Well, relax hon" He adds, it is a technical glitch with the engine and they are working on it and hoping it would not take too long"
"So it is going to take long?" she questions, her eyes dilated to the size of goldfish he has in his aquarium back home. Her deep brown pupils have a much lighter ring inside them that makes her eyes look like they are lit from within.  He takes his time to study her face as she was not completely facing him so far. He could only glimpse at her profile. Her lush black hair frames a broad forehead - her painter's nose anchors high cheek bones and ends right above a pair of plump lips. Her skin has no imperfections - just stray fine lines under her eyes. Her skin tone has a  warmth and a coolness with shades of yellow and pink contrasting on her lighter tan complexion.

"Mediterranean?" "Spanish?" "Armenian?" He lets out the series of question words without meaning to.

"But is it going to take really long?" she cuts him off.

"My guess is as good as yours" he grins - trying to lighten the situation.

She goes back to cupping her forehead with both her palms now - resting the elbows on her messenger bag that she pulls onto her lap from the side of the seat.

"Are you not up to any time sensitive stuff in the city?, I mean, are you heading to the city or elsewhere"

He smiles again - reminding her that she's not really gotten over how perfect his teeth are.

"How does it matter?" "What is!" he purses his lips now with a sly smile dancing on them.

"What do you mean by what is?" She wonders.

"It is what it is - why worry about things that are out of my control?" I'll see what I can do about stuff when I know for sure that I can do something about them"

"Aha" she says in a sing song way. "How do people end up with such cool nerves?"

A wailing baby's cries fill the whole compartment - that is when she looks around it - there aren't many people in here. It is not the rush morning hour when the suburbia travels to work in the city. Except for the mom with the crying baby on the other end of the compartment, an old couple opposite to her and two young men sitting two rows in front of her in seats facing hers - there isn't anyone else.

And then she hears a low snore right behind her - she looks back to see a heavy, middle aged man with a pot belly and shiny bald head bent to one side of the seat in deep and noisy slumber.

"Everyone around me has calm nerves - how can someone sleep when the train is halted and a baby is crying and the air is filled with a vacuum cleaner like buzz coming from one end of the train?, Lord, you gave me the step mom treatment with these thoughts and tangles" She drifts away into another viscous circle of worry. Worry - her second nature.

He looks at her fingers that are poking through her hair showing off tips of perfect nails painted nude, her palms still cupping her forehead. There is no sight of jewelry on  her anywhere - except the huge pearl studs on her ear lobes and a juvenile looking watch on her right wrist with some weird hand signs painted in primary colors and florescent accents. She catches him staring at her watch, rather amused.

"I know what you are thinking - this is not a toy watch. Do you know Swatch? - the Swiss brand? This one is designed by Manish Arora for Swatch. The graphics of hands are actually "mudras" - hand work done in a classical Indian dance"

"Indian" He says with great confidence in his guess.

"If what all people thought I am is to be believed, I have a very common and universal face" She adds. But, I am from the sub continent - yes!"

"You resemble the actress in Slumdog Millionaire -what's her name again?" He asks!

Her full throated laughter resonates in the whole compartment. The baby starts wailing yet again. She bites her tongue and shrugs her shoulders, turning back to the mom across the compartment and mouthing a "I am sorry"

"That is the lamest comparison I'd heard in my life" She turns to him and says. 'How many Indian actresses do you know anyway?" Or Indian people for that matter?"

" I met a lot of Indians as a dealer in Excalibur - once a lady about fifty - looked like a socialite, decked in diamonds the size of pebbles on pebble beach even offered to take me back home" He pauses and clears his throat - "as an employee in her husband's hotel venture in Kolkata, I suppose. My colleagues even joked around saying that she looked like she had a thing for me" he mentions.

"Hmm..." she pauses - not knowing where the conversation is treading. " I could shift to the other seat if you want room for yourself" She adds - the compartment is practically empty.

He smiles again - flashing his impossibly perfect teeth. "Do you have a book to read?, game to play or a cell phone to speak to someone while you wait?"

"No such luck" she sighs. The book I have in my bag, I'd read only two hundred times, I don't really look up to playing games on my seldom charged cell and we are stuck in the tunnel - which means we are strangled on a desert island with no contact to the outer world"

"Aha" he mocks - " no looking up to two things already in twenty minutes of knowing you"

"I don't look up to a lot of hyped things in life"

"Like?"

"Relationships, wealth, ambition"

He looks at her, a long, lost look - not knowing what to decipher from her statement.

"So how long have you been dumped?" he fishes.

"Excuse me?" her face becomes stern and her lips purse in concealed irritation.

"My bad - sorry! - as you are, so you see! A dumped soul but cannot help rejoicing in the assumption that the whole world is dumped alongside!"

His statement, ever so slightly tickles her curiosity but she refrains from asking questions and appearing interested. Instead she ignores him and pulls out a pad from her messenger  along with a ball point pen with the little click mechanism in the bottom that makes the point appear for writing. She holds the pen in her right  hand and clicks on it's end with her thumb in lost thought.

Then she scribbles something in beautiful, small cursive.

He peeks in to see what she has written.

"A dumped soul but cannot help rejoicing in the assumption that the whole world is dumped alongside!"

" I hope you acknowledge the source where ever you reproduce it! - the statement is my intellectual property"

She looks at him and flashes a delicate, heart warming smile.

"If and where ever I use it, I'll acknowledge it. I also look down upon people who steal - and that includes stealing of intellectual property"

"There goes number three in the hit list" he teases - "so apart from disdaining things - what else do you do in life?"

"I think, I dream and I worry!"

"and you look down upon stuff!" he adds seriously.

"Don't we all look down upon one thing or another in life? - Don't you look down upon anything?"

"Hmm...let's see! Do I look down upon things? Of course, I do!, If you want to know what things I look down upon, you need to know me better. I am one of those men of few words you see - I like being discovered instead of flashing red lights for attention."

"Very funny" she says - frowning. "I need to do something and can use an empty seat for myself"

She gets up swiftly with the messenger and moves to the empty seat on the other side of the isle, the one aligned with the seat she just left. He looks surprised seeing her in her full length. Somehow he assumes she is petite. His gaze quickly shifts to her feet - small dainty ones on her tall and toned frame with feminine curves, tucked into flat strap sandals. Her toes painted the same nude color on her fingernails peep through the straps. A dainty toe ring on her her second toe adds the unexpected twist in the plain Jane sandals.

"Thanks for the window seat" he smiles playfully and scoots towards the window only realizing that it is pitch dark outside and there is no use for a window really.

The snoring of the man behind his seat amplifies in his ears. The conversation with the 'slumdog' lady didn't really make him hear the sound effect from behind. Now it interrupts his trail of thought.

Unknowingly he looks at her side and finds her scribbling something on the note pad. She is lost in her world and doesn't notice him looking at her.

He remembers her laughter when he compares her to the slumdog star. Now he sees why. She's is lighter, much taller, slightly plumper and probably older then the actress. She probably looks like a tan, ethnic Meryl streep - the same cheekbones and broad forehead, with expressive, smiling eyes.

Five feet seven? Twenty nine?, Thirty two? - his guesswork goes in circles.

Definitely five feet seven. May be thirtyish - give or take a couple of years. Or may be she has a deceptive way of dressing - her conservative navy pull over and dark indigo jeans cover every inch of her skin, leaving only her wrists exposed. The lack of makeup adds an unusual freshness to her face. Almost like a compliment to her completely covered body, her bare skin gives out clues about her. Easy going, confident and simple.

He scoots to this end of the seat now and leaning over to her he says softly "That was a ridiculous comparison"

She looks at him questioningly and then smiles ever so slightly. "Thank God" she says in her softest voice, conscious of the other passengers- you seem to agree with me alright!" and digs her face right into the note pad, scribbling away!

The compartment resonates with a sudden bang. She shudders at the sound looking scared. She looks at him in helplessness, and he senses the mistiness in her eyes. "What could that be?" she questions in a whisper, looking like a petrified toddler that heard a monster story. He suppresses the urge to tease her by saying something funny. "I think we are okay - may be we are being delayed, but we are okay" he pauses and adds "I suppose." He bends over to her and says it would be better if he were next to her to answer all her questions and if she'd mind joining him on his seat. "I am not going to harm you - I promise!" he says pinching on his neck with thumb and pointer. She looks lost for a second and then shifts to his seat. The young men sitting in the opposite seats facing them give her curious looks. She gets a little conscious in their gaze but ignores them.

"I can go to the front car and check to see what is happening" he offers. may be there is a delay. The train is halted past forty minutes and according to the announcement it was estimated to be fixed in half hour.
"Thank you" she replies - "But don't bother going all the way to the front of the train now, may be they'll announce something soon. Let's wait and watch!"

"As you please" he agrees like a obedient child.

"If you don't mind me asking and if you don't plan on answering in abstract sentences, I'd like to ask you something - may I?" he inquires playfully.

She forces a smile on her face. "Only if I want to but please ask" she adds.

"So are you getting late for something?"
"Yeah - an appointment with a friend in Union square - I need to pick my bags from her apartment a few blocks away and catch a flight to Canada at night - I need to attend for something very important  there"

"Work?" his curiosity increases.
"It's actually personal" she cuts him off. Sensing her discomfort in sharing her information and slightly worried that she might shift back to the other seat, leaving him in solitude with the snoring sound from behind him, he purses his lips into a smile.

He lifts his right hand up, crosses his fingers and says - "You believe in prayers?" "Yes I do, completely"
"So here's a prayer for the Indian maiden" He says, deepening his voice like a radio commercial, closes his eyes and murmurs something peacefully. She looks at his serene face and closed eyes - lush lashes framing the eyelids like a fringe on a curtain and smiles gently. "This man is something else" she says to herself.

Her face brightens to see the static in the announcement system. The technician's voice apologizing for the inconvenience, briefing about the drinking water available in the first car. He announces the predicted delay in perfect ambiguity - "We are doing all we can to quickly and safely transport you all to your destinations" the voice rattles - "But in the current situation, it might take at least a couple of hours to be on track - or hopefully less" and then with more profuse apologies the announcement shuts off.

"Holy $&!T!"  one of the young men swear from in front of them and punches the seat before him - "This effing $&1t gotta roll on". She avoids looking in that direction but notices that they sound a little intoxicated. She observes from the side of her eyes and sees sinewy arms with   a colorful Medusa tattoo and multiple piercings on the face of one of the men and thanks God for making her shift back to this seat next to him.

"Couple more hours, or less - who knows how it is going to unfold?" She says to him.
"When is your flight?"
"right before Midnight tonight - but I need to be there by 9 pm to check in" she says.
He peeps into her bright Swatch to catch the time - 11:30 am.

He looks a long, hard look at her and chuckles like a child. "Missy, you have a whole half day of time ahead of you - even if we reach the city in close to three hours, calculating the delay and the journey time, you'd still be there by 2:30 pm. Thankfully, we have the washrooms here - so what are you so worried about?" he questions.
"About the unforeseen - who knows how long it takes - it is of paramount importance that I reach Canada by tomorrow" she mutters sadly, her eyes tearing up again.

"Now - it would not be very gentlemanly of me to coax you to tell me all your agenda - so, let's make the best of the wait - aren't you glad you have me beside, just to keep company? - Imagine being alone in the seat with the tipsy hot dudes with seeming anger management issues sitting across you, the man snoring behind and the baby wailing at the end of the compartment - and oh yeah - the pretty looking old couple holding hands while the lady sleeps on her man's shoulder - How would being alone here amid all this action would have made you feel?"

"Lonely" she answers, looking through him. Suddenly realizing that he is probably the proverbial window that opens  in a dark room.

"So how do you want to kill these three hours?" - "May I suggest a visit to the wash room to water down the frown on your face? and then some refreshments" - he pulls out a carton of saltine crackers, a couple of apples and a Caprisun pouch from what looks like a slightly over sized back pack perched next to him. "May be he has a flight to catch as well?" she wonders but refrains form asking questions.

Her body seems to get down with the fatigue of all the mental thought and gives into the pursuit of washing down the frown. " Shall be back in a jiffy!" she announces and leaves for the wash room.

She finds him with a book as she returns back. He sees her approaching, closes his book and stuffs it into his backpack. "Now that the frown is gone - wait a minute" He pauses and examines her face in mock seriousness. "Oh Yeah - it is!, and hope it stays gone" Her face lits up with a genuine smile. "Thank you so much for suggesting the fresh upping". "My pleasure" He interrupts and hands over the pouch of Caprisun to her.  She unglues the straw off of the pouch, pokes it through and starts sipping on the straw. She looks at the pouch and smiles"

"Tell me you love it" He says. "Actually you look your happiest best sipping on that drink - or is it looking at that drink" - She lets out a smile and says it just reminded me of the tote bag I saw the other day - made out of these pouches, talk about taking recycling to the other level"
"So you are an environmentalist?" he questions playfully.
She smiles in response. "How I wish?" I am a little bit of everything - a feminist, a environmentalist and a animal activist - just a little bit of everything and nothing beyond scratching the surface."

"I was just looking to see what else you disdain" he says, stretching the last word for emphasis.
"You want to know?" she asks and throws a look towards the wasted young men.
"Gettoutta here" He whispers with wide eyes - "You look down upon men? - so really, are you a feminist or just play your own team?"
"Excuse me?" she questions. "If that is a joke, it the foulest one I'd heard till date!"
"Oh sorry, sorry", he places his hands on her closed wrists and asks her if she'd decided to shift places again. She doesn't know why she smiles - but she does.

"So - tell me! What do you look down upon?"
"Intoxication ofcourse" she says - since it renders your senses useless"
"One more bites the dust!" He flashes his pearlies. "Actually, most of them bite the dust. I am as boring as I can get. Actually, I am the poster child for boring!"
"I have more than one reason to believe that you are not boring" She looks questioningly at him - "He points to her flashy wrist watch and to her feet.
"Those Birkenstocks are ancient - they make me Not boring?" She wonders aloud.
"The toe rings missy - not the sandals. These two things give the pop for an otherwise boring self"
"Ha ha" she lets out a laughter. "So you do agree that I am partially boring, If you discount my Swatch and toe rings that is!"

Their conversation is punctuated with another loud bang. "We need to go check out what's happening" He gets alert. And she nods. Without much ado, they grab their bags and walk past the vestibule. She realizes that theirs is the last car in the six car train. They walk past moderately filled cars. A toddler running in the isles, a pair of teenagers holding hands and talking away and the middle aged, leisurely women knitting and reading. They walk past an overweight young woman that sits in one end of one car,busy dolling up her face. Her thoughts keep racing again - no one seemed to be in any rush, except the toddler that was in a frenzy to run out of the car to escape the clutches of his chasing grandmother. She takes long steps and gets hold of the little guy. The grandmother thanks her while panting and they keep walking past. They meet the driver in the engine car. One look at the scene and she has jitters in her mind. "OH my GOD - what a mess, what a mess!" It is pitch dark outside, the bright tubes of fluorescent lights give the extra visibility to a stocky old man in jumpers meddling with some part of the engine.

"How long is it gonna take?" He questions the driver.
Positively not more than an hour, hour and a half. If all else fails, we have plans for emergency evacuation underway - but it looks very hopeful right now!"
As much as she'd want to not believe what he'd said - those words brought her some solace. "I'll not perish here atleast" she concludes. In a little over a couple of hours she can set her feet out onto Union square and then on her way.

"Want to settle down somewhere here?" He asks her looking at the barely full first car.
" I have noise sensitivity" I think I need to stay away from that buzzing sound if I don't want to invite a chronic migraine"

"Hmm...let's see" he says. May be go all the way back to the last car? - would that work?"
"Looks like it would" she says, plugging her ears with her fingers.

They walk to the last car again. The snoring man is now awake, his fat cheek sporting the upholstery brocade stamped onto his cheek in pressure marks, his eyes swollen and lethargic.

"Any news about when it'll move?" the old man a few seats away from them asks.
"Less than couple of hours Sire" he replies.

They settle down in the middle of the car - spacing themselves as away as possible from the rest of the passengers. He bends down to pull out something from his backpack. A book.

He holds the protruding bookmark and opens the page - as the book opens up, something falls out of it - right onto the messenger bag on her lap.

She picks it with her hand and while stretching to give it to him looks at what it is.
A photograph. Of a woman. pin straight platinum blonde hair, freckles that tell numerous stories, a sharp nose and thin, pale lips the color of a rose bud. "Beautiful" she exclaims unexpectedly and bites her tongue, suppressing her curiosity about the woman in the picture.

He lets out a sad, sarcastic smile. "Beautiful alright! But Lethal!"
She looks at him questioningly, getting a little uncomfortable wondering it she is intruding into his privacy.
"That is the dumper" he says - she probably imagines it, but senses his throat going sore for a second. Then he clears his throat as to make it evident to her that he is indeed choking on some emotional turmoil.

"Scarlett" he says the name out loud in the same soreness - "I did all I could to hold it together, she was not ready to commit to marriage - or even a partnership. I tried all I could to make her stay, Make her feel loved" - "I did all I could to not end up being like my father, and All I could ever do to hold on to the lesson my mom taught me - to respect the woman in my life" He whispers in pain while still looking at the picture. And then he tucks it back into the book and closes it.

She looks at him in a new light. His present state of being almost feels like a satire at the playful and happy disposition he had so far.
"I am sorry" she manages.

He opens his mouth to say something. The train moves forward with a jerk. There is a mass sigh of relief heard in the compartment. He stops and looks ahead - the train starts lumbering forward lazily. The public announcement system goes on with a loud screech and static and the driver apologizes for the commotion in the back and announces that the train is bound toward the city.

She gazes at her watch - "Five minutes past twelve" she says aloud. They did it before time. She looks at him and smiles. He smiles back just stretching his lips. His eyes remain emotionless.
The rocking from the high speed movement of the train gently shakes the seat. She takes a deep breath and goes into her deep thought. She looks back at him after what seems to be a long time. He is still not in the world - the power of his love perhaps that stirs itself with just a glance at the picture.

"Hello" she calls out. No response.
She gently pokes him with her elbow and says Hello again.
"Oh, yeah?" he springs back into a smile. "What can I do for you?"
She raises her eyebrows ever so slightly - smiles and says "Keep that smile intact - morose expressions don't suit you that much really!" He smiles but there is no magic as before. "Can I get a little curious?" she enquirers. "Not because I want to intrude but just because it would help me get a better understanding of love and life" she adds. "I just love to peep into people's hearts and souls, you know what I mean?"
"Well" he adds - "I'd be glad to satiate your curiosity - he says with a twinkle in his eyes - "If you promise to get off with me at Embarcedaro and have a cup of coffee. I'll walk you to Union Square and can even accompany you to the air port if you'd not mind- and then of course, You'd need to answer a few of my questions as well - about yourself" "By the way - I have a flight to Vegas at 9 pm" He adds. I was supposed to drive there, but decided against it since it is boring to go six seven hours all alone with just the FM keeping me company"

She thinks for a few seconds making a mental mapping of  his proposition. She badly wants to know his story - the depth of his love and heart ache. It just intrigues her to see how a man reacts to the matters of the heart. Her curiosity in the opposite sex is more about the psychology than anything else. "There is a pain in your eyes that I'd just want to take away if I can" She cannot believe that she just said that aloud. But it had been her brooding nature all along - to react to the other person's sorrow like it is her own. "Empathy a little too much" - her best friend's judgement about her rings in her ears.
"I think you can - I can use a listener to unload all the burden on my heart - an interesting and pretty listener would just be the icing on the cake" he adds. 'So, strike a deal - Get off at Embarcedaro, cup of coffee and you'll get the copyrights to my love story". She resists the urge to jump to a loud verbal conclusion that he is hitting on her. This man is in love. Evidently, hopeless love. What does she have to fear? He seemed to have a flirty air all along so she refrains from making any wrong impressions - besides, she is overconfident about no one wanting to show interest in her. "Look at me" she thinks. "What mad man would want to woo me anyway?"

She nods her head in an affirmation and adds "Deal". He stares at her for a second and lets out his toothpaste ad grin. "I promise you, you won't regret giving in to my demands" He assures.
"I won't" she seems to know it already. "I love doing the unexpected - I am way too spontaneous for my own good" She wants to start off about Scarlett - but is hesitant to make that smile of his go away. His eyes cringe into little slits when he smiles and his irritatingly perfect teeth shine through. She steers the topic away from Scarlett instead. "So, you have family in Vegas?" "Yeah - mom lives there, been living there ever since I was a child. She was separated from my dad when they were into a ten year marriage. I was nine at that time. I had to move away with her to Vegas from New England - Connecticut. I grew up seeing my mom suffer through the pain of abusive true love. She loved my dad and no one else but his alcoholism posed a serious threat to their relationship. He had issues - depression, anger and a brief history of substance abuse. The sorry thing is that he loved her dearly as well but the man had way too many demons residing in his head. One day, I remember - he came home drunk and hit my mom pulling out his belt from his trousers - just like that. Dad had bouts of ups and downs and mom endured through them without as much as a sigh."

She looks at him mesmerized as he rattles away his past without any inhibitions. Her full lips bloom into a faint smile. She has this unique and heart warming trait of taking trust very seriously. This man, a perfect stranger that she met an hour and a half ago has pretty much invested his trust in her in the first few hours of meeting her. He pauses, swallows air and purses his lips. She senses that this flashback is tensing him up. "Emotional scars - they never heal" she thinks.

There comes a long silence between both of them. She tries not to look at him but takes a glance to see his expressions. She lets out a gasp looking at him. His green eyes all misty and painful. She instinctively places her hand on his - gives  it a squeeze in an attempt to offer support and stays quiet for a minute. He gets slightly startled at the warm and tender grasp of her dainty fingers. She is lost in her own thought. "Why do we suffer for someone else's faults?" her mind questions her. She absentmindedly looks at her hand upping his - "United Colors Of Benetton"  an image from the AD flashes in her mind and brightens her face ever so slightly.The warmth of her tan complexion contrasts with his cool pink skin. She quickly withdraws her hand realizing that she's held it for more than a few minutes and his hand beneath hers wasn't really grasping her hand. She thinks of possible diversions from the topic and pulls out her notepad from the messenger. "It is weird how life functions and how we hold on to one incident of our past and let it mold our every day" Her scribbling makes no sense to her at that moment but it is her reflex to jot down deep thoughts. The silence between them is accentuated with the swift buzz of the moving train. He clears his throat and starts speaking.

"I hope you are not offended!"
"What for?" her face brightens with a questioning smile.
"For not holding back your hand when you offered your silent support - I knew you held it with lots of concern and empathy - I didn't want to grasp your hand and make you think I am hitting on you or taking advantage of the physical contact you initiated"
She smiles not knowing what to say. "Actually - I liked that you didn't hold my hand back. Not because holding it would have made you a maverick trying to woo a strange woman a few hours into meeting her but because it just gives me a peek into the way you think. You see - most people I'd crossed paths with don't think deep. They are consumed in a shallow process of jealousy, comparisons with their peers, self centered thoughts and most importantly drawing conclusions from innocent gestures and reading in between lines. I am glad you did not think the other way around - that I am hitting on you"
He smiles playfully. "Look at you - you look like a nun in meditation - which man in his right mind would think that you would hit on him - like hit at first sight?"
"Aha!" she exclaims - I'd been told that I look like a lot of things but your comparison kind of makes my day! Oh, I'm loving it - a nun in meditation" on that note - you know what? I'd be a nun in my next birth - renounce the world, never marry or bare offspring but just  spend my time in self realization"
"Lofty thoughts" he chuckles. On the flip side, I am relieved that you are willing to give marriage and children a chance this time around - and by relieved, I have to acknowledge that I do not plan on taking advantage of that conclusion. I am taken - he mocks"

"Me too - I am taken!"
"Why am I not surprised?" he questions playfully. "You have a pleasant and a positive vibe,  you seem to make interesting conversations, you are not that awful on the eye either - so, why would the man kind spare you from its advances? Women like you are a rare species these days so I am sure you are taken!"

"Okay - so that clears the air for both of us - we don't have any agendas, our hearts are taken, our lives had just crossed paths for a few moments, we'll make the best of them and move on"- She lets out a faint whistle. "I'd never really gotten to whistle the way it is supposed to be". He whistles. The young men from across look at them for a second too long. She avoids looking at the men.

"By the way, do you consider yourself taken even after being dumped?" She realizes the gravity of the question she just asked and bites her tongue. "I am sorry" she manages. I should not have phrased it that way - well, I should not have asked it in the first place"
"Don't worry" he says - "You did nothing wrong. Yeah, it is ironical that I am dumped but my heart is taken - for good I guess. I cannot come to love anyone like I loved Scarlett. She chose to dump me, I cannot choose to do the same to her memory if I wanted to"
"This Scarlett is one pretty lucky woman - I wonder if she realizes it"
"Well - I am lucky, lucky to have crossed paths with her, lucky to have been a part of her world"
His face turns pale.

"Embarcedaro station approaching" the PAS announces. "Looks like we get to alight the train finally and walk on earth" He lifts his backpack and stands up. She follows him and stands near the door, right next to him.
"Heading to Motel 6?" It is one of those young men.
"On an expedition to pop out some mongrels?" The other one adds.
Just then the train stops and the door opens. He clenches his fist and grinds his teeth to go speak to them. She swiftly holds his hand and pulls him out of the compartment. The door closes in a few seconds - He still looks at the men through the window. They mock back at him making faces and obscene gestures.

His face is flushed a beet red. She looks at him and realizes she is still holding his hand and lets go of it. "Your skin is almost bleeding - don't get so worked about random things random people say - not good for your being. Unfortunately, this is the kind of world we live in. A man and a woman talk and people cannot think anything else than the thought of them jumping into the sack. Speaks more about their mindsets than anything else" Her mind wanders to the Poetry lesson she'd learned in high school. Her English teacher explaining the process of "Blushing" to the youngsters. Being one among the brown skinned students - she never really saw or heard of the event of "Blushing" - bits and pieces of her English sir's words come back to her mind. "Blushing - something only fair skins can show"
His lovely features still arranged in a stern rage evident on his flushed skin, he walks briskly - she almost runs after him to keep the pace.

"You remind me of someone" she says in a desperate attempt to ease his expression.
His frown slowly transforms into a soft smile - "I hope it is someone nice and good looking"
"Not sure - since I am not sure whom you remind me of"
"Daffy duck?" "Goofy?"
"Very funy! - Not cartoon characters okay? A person. But let me not strain my grey matter too much'
He suddenly stops walking. She stops beside him and looks questioningly.
He walks away from her to the seats on the platform and settles down in the center. He taps on the seat next to him gesturing her to come and join him.
"We need to talk"
"Oh, yeah - we need to - where do we head for coffee?" She settles down right next to him. A passerby gives them a curious glance.
"Yeah - where do we head to? and now please stop glancing at your watch every couple of seconds - I have a flight before you do and I am not worried. Rest assured, we'll get to the airport in time. It is still Noon missy!"
The platform looks pretty deserted except a person here and there waiting for the trains to arrive.
"I suppose we need to go grab some lunch - it is not coffee time after all - but then again, this is not a ploy. It just didn't occur to me when proposing the coffee that we'd get off at lunch time"
"I am a vegan" she announces with unmistakable pride on her face. "I was raised a vegetarian and now I renounced all animal products"
"I am a carnivore" he growls. I need my meat every single day" He announces chopping the last three words for emphasis. "But I shall renounce my meat for one day"
He pulls out his smart phone, punches a few buttons and comes up with a Vegan, Korean restaurant.
"HanGawi" He pronounces with a humor laden tone.
She claps her hand in glee. "You found a vegan restaurant? - it is my lucky day or what? - Let's roll on then!"
They both stand up in unison and walk towards the escalator.
Suddenly the brightness of the busy street dims her vision. "It is eerie to be in a city"she thinks, the small town girl that she'd been all her life.
They walk briskly amid tidily dressed bunch of people., mostly dressed in black and beige, mostly talking into their Bluetooth.The city scared and intrigued her. It was like the proverbial "life stage" depicting many facets of life from weirdos to homeless folks to beggars and peddlers and sharp looking professionals dressed in best jackets with cleanly shaven faces and an air of confidence.
He leads the way and they take some twists and turns around the blocks and finally arrive at their destination.
The outside of the restaurant looks deceptively inconspicuous. She steps in lets out a gasp.
The insides were reminiscent of the meditation retreat she visited as a child. Short bamboo dining tables, stoneware bowls, softly lit, smelling of patchouli and cedar wood. She gets lost in the zen like tranquility of the place.
She notices that they are the only customers in there. A waitress dressed in ethnic grab comes and welcomes them to be seated. They find a cozy corner and settle down on the cushions laid on the stone tiled floor, crisscross applesauce. She quickly skims through the menu letting out Oohs and Aahs every now and then and settles to try a seaweed garnished noodles and steamed vegetable dumplings. He puts in an order for some wine and a Ginseng salad and organic brown rice porridge.
They hand over the menus to the waitress and look at each other.
Suddenly, he offers his hand over the table to shake hands and introduce himself.
"Hi, my name is Michael Kirby - Michael Leonard Kirby,  - Nice to meet you Miss?"
"Ananda - Ananda Mayi Rao"
"Ananda - what does it mean? I mean Michael doesn't mean anything if my knowledge serves me right - but your name sounds so exotic, almost like a statement. "Ananda Mayi Rao" he repeats.
"It means full of bliss"
He smiles - "May you always justify the name you were christened with" He raises the goblet of water and proposes a toast - 'To the ever blissful maiden of happiness - may your smile stay intact always and forever"
She smiles shyly. "Thanks and wishing you all the joys and happiness life can offer as well"
"My stomach is growling - do you hear it? Are you hungry as well?" He asks.
"I am actually not that hungry but I am notorious for getting hungry all of a sudden and then getting cranky from that hunger"
He lets out a laugh. "Cranky! cranky?"
"Well, getting cranky is a luxury when  you have people around that pacify you back to peace - not when you just get more miserable realizing that there is no one around to acknowledge the pain you are in" She seems to say it off topic.
He listens silently, his forlorn look coming back on his face. Flashes of scarlett, his mom, his dad come to his mind. "Tell me about being alone - I had been alone almost all my life till I found Scarlett. Before that, the dad was in his intoxicated world and mom was in her sad and lonely world for the best part of my childhood. Sometimes, I hold it against her for being so selfishly sad and in her own self pity whole time, but then as I grew older I'd realized that it becomes difficult for most people to give love when they don't  get it themselves - Mom was never happy - she always walked around with a burden on her heart that weighed her down and consumed her - I used to feel helpless, almost guilty for her state. There were a million times when I thought that if she'd not had me, she'd have had an escape from that marriage. Eventually she did - but how?"

She listens to him in utter silence and concentration - her eyes welling up with tears.
"Excuse me" She lifts the napkin and blots her eyes. "Tears come very easily to me - it is just that it stirred some unknown pain in the abyss of my heart - the things that you said"

"How?" her curiosity peaks. "I mean, I didn't mean to ask how - I mean, Well..." She stumbles with her words - the usually articulate, very expressive Ananda stumbles on her words.

"Ananda" He addresses her with tenderness - "Will you really listen to it? Do  you have it in you to listen to it - may be I would blame myself for making you all teary again and again"
"Go on" She prompts him. "I am all ears if you want to tell me about it - actually tears are an integral part of my being. I think I love being sad - how else can you justify the brooding, worrying, thinking in circles disposition I have?"

"Ironical Ananda" He opines. "The being supposed to be full of bliss is a thorn bird in reality?"
"Well - a peculiar thorn bird I'd say- that is a parody of her own name" she grins.
There comes a momentary and awkward silence. The food arrives.

The atmosphere lightens. She marvels over the stone ware and bamboo chop sticks. She attempts to eat with them.
"Wait - here!" he demonstrates the use of chop sticks to her. "Wow - you use them like a pro"
She attempts to eat with them aping him but slips her food on her pullover.
"The klutz - what can I say? - now I get to go out with noodle sauce stains on my dress? - God,  you are great" She looks up at the ceiling as if talking to God making a silly sarcastic face.
'Use the napkin, clean it and once you are done we'll have a lesson on chopsticks One O One"
She sprinkles little water on her napkin and cleans her hoodie with precision.
'Now for the honors"
He reaches out and holds her hand wrapping her fingers on the chopsticks and moves it the way it is supposed to be moved. Her skintone's warmth seems to radiate in her body"
"Think I got it' - she gently shakes her hand out of his clasp avoiding looking in his eye.
Another blob of noodles lands on her clothes.
She lets out a gasp, cleans it up again and promptly puts down the chopsticks and lifts the fork placed next to the noodle bowl. "No teaching old dog new tricks"
They both laugh out loud.
Suddenly, he starts off his story the place he left. "I want to tell you the whole thing - I know my time with you is limited and I want to share some things with you"
She smiles back in reply. "But let's work on our lunch - someone's stomach was growling a few minutes ago"

He shrugs his shoulders in agreement and rises his hand - "Mine"
They giggle like school kids and get back to munching on the lunch.
"I think we should keep at it - OMG, this is so yummy!" she advises munching on a choke full of noodles.
He smiles in reply.

The waitress clears the tables and hands them out a dessert menu.
"I think I am full" she politely refuses dessert.
A few more smiles, loud chuckles and moments later they pay the bill and walk out with their bag and baggage.

From a distance, they look like someone who'd known each other for ever.


                                                   

Why can't I write? - 1.5

Ever since the last "Why can't I write?" ponder - I was constantly thinking and looking for inspirations to write. I had an intense story shape up in my mind - probably set in early 70s, in some remote town in India. - I think the knowledge of visuals and fashion that I acquired from the movies of those era would help me whip a nostalgic tale. It is indeed hard to imagine and that makes me wonder how J K Rowling or Stephanie Meyer churned a whole series that inspired a generation of writers and readers alike. So, apart form the idea to write a short story, I also thought about many other things that I wanted to write about - recipes, parenting vows, growing pains in the process of being in the new role as an art teacher - and then of course about something very spiritually philosophical - all these ideas sprouted and withered - well, some are frozen in the sprout state and might become seedlings soon but it puts me back to square one when I sit to put my thoughts. So, this would be an attempt to write - which means that it is not going to talk about anything in particular ;-)

I am not much of a movie goer, or telly watcher - but there is something about dramas and daily soaps that traps the most disdaining of audience.  I was trapped too a few months ago, when my sister visited and started watching a daily soap that had a title which was  the length of a marathon. The characters were either too good or too bad - none believable. They all looked like caricatures. I did a mental roll of eyes all the time I watched but there was no stopping me from watching it - so in the classic spirit of one thing leading to another, I started watching another serial that debuted in the same channel - a story that told an unusual tale of love that reaches over generations. A young  accomplished doctor finds love in her much older senior and the journey unravels the many hurdles of this unconventional relationship. The sensible viewer in me was charmed and it helped that the leads were very talented and the narration was very believable without women dripping in jewels and business tycoons of men buying industries and aircrafts with the same ease I shop for groceries. My next logical step as an internet savvy viewer was to find if the lead actor had a facebook page - no prizes for guessing he did ;-) and that search added another like to the "growing as we speak" popularity of the actor. This page of the actor, in the evolving stages, with a few likes felt like a class room discussion. He posted statuses asking for daily feedback on the episodes and many viewers from across the globe and social circles participated. The addiction prone soul that I was, I was addicted to treading the way of that page to diligently give my long, painstakingly observant reviews. It fed the yearning I had to think and to write. The trap that the soap caught me in seemed hopelessly small when compared to the lure of the FB page. Soon, the page unfolded to me the many vows of social networking and sadly, the page turned out to be a drama pit - an unfortunate mess of unruly, impolite and utterly ill mannered group that attacked the actor for the technical flaws the soap had and every time there was a sad twist, the group wailed in mass hysteria, yet again dragging the actor into it and putting words into his mouth by interpreting the statements made by him the way they wanted and attacking him because they did not like their own interpretations:-D At first I was surprised to see the level of immaturity people have, then I was shocked and finally I was disgusted to no end which promptly drove me out of the page into a never return road. I still tread that way, just to see if by some magical words or wands the page got back its charm. The other day the actor posted a condolence message about a director friend of his who passed away. The condolences poured in profusely and amid all that sadness, there came a man who disapproved - and disapproved in high octane drama filled verbal attacks, the number of "likes" the message got. He probably had a point - How can someone like a condolence message that spoke about someone's passing away? I paused for a moment and thought - have we all gotten way too holier than thou or are we just falling into a circle of "attention seeking" by being those self appointed messiahs of internet etiquette? There were clarifications from some people as to what those "likes" mean and they don't demean the departed soul. The man who raised the objection went in circles, attacking with one verbal weapon after the other and that probably put a permanent "the end" to my hanging on that page. I would personally not "like" a sad message - but who am I to tell what people should like and what not? Internet seems to give me a peek into the psycho analysis of the homo sapience. I encounter many forms of stupidity - some mild and some intense - I bite my tongue every time I am tempted to put forth my two sensible cents and move on with my life. I am probably one of those "I don't care if it doesn't affect me" types - but I did learn a valuable lesson in the process. People talk what they want to talk - no amount of convincing them to see things through another angle, a possible sensible angle will coax them to oblige. Sometimes, I tell a silent prayer to shield me from committing such peccadilloes of life.

Why can't I write?

It was in third grade - in Sr Gracy's class that I discovered my love for writing, ever since it was nurtured by many good teachers that crossed my path and of course with my own appetite for writing. I used to look for topics to write and ponder upon, often getting cues from my older sister and her home work. The first time I learned about picture essays - I was thrilled to no end. It just intrigued the thinker in me to weave words around a picture. Often in mid term exams when we used to be shuffled to different classes to write our tests, I used to find myself amid seniors - and then, peep into their language question papers to see what they were asked to write about. I knew it as a child, that I was born to imagine, to write and to articulate the many thoughts that crossed my grey matter. It was easy back then, almost effortless to write, since I was borderline over confident, considered myself an ace writer and had an immense interest for books. I would write limericks on the go, amuse my friends with my verses and boy was it great for my ego when the little girls and boys clamored around me before language exams to get some jump- start openings for possible essay topics that would be asked in the exam. I was a celebrity in my own right - a little soul that basked in the glory of self love.
When my sixth grade language teacher asked for me in the class after reading the original essay that I wrote in my mid term test, it put a whole new life into my love for being original. "except for a couple of spelling mistakes" she said "you did so good on the essay" - it was about books that I pondered upon, keeping the words in the limits of good grammar and structure. It was in a class of 54 that I alone wrote this essay, the rest of them wrote what they committed to their memory form the notes the teacher gave.

Then the yearning to describe, to write more and to express emerged. I used to describe faces - from Albert Einstein  to Amithab Bachchan. I used to write essays about fur babies and summer vacations. In that phase, I used to collect quotes - examined them and tried to give them my own take. I was greatly influenced by the excerpts from classics that unfolded in my English texts. Character analysis was my forte. I remember writing in detail about the introspection Dr. Christian Bernard goes through while performing the first heart transplant surgery. The line between thoughts and words was obliterated and to an extent, I guess, the line between words and wisdom. I used to interpret poetry, write my own utterly crappy lines in an effortless, incessant flow and somehow, it all seemed to be nothing less than masterpieces.

And then, I grew up - I majored in Literature and owing to a full time job, never really had a chance to attend any of the correspondence classes that were conducted by the university. I took aid of school teachers, study guides and my own language intuition to face the tests of knowledge. Somehow, miraculously, I completed my undergrad in literature with decent scores. In the meanwhile, my writing was confined to letters - the snail mail version of the nineties. Letters to my high school from another city, a few to my local friends (I think it helps when you are a teenager and you love writing) and to a cousin that was a pen friend of sorts. Writing letters was a ritual that I took immense pride in. I would buy eclectic note pads, use fine felt tip markers and etch my feelings in perfect cursive - another part of my writing that I loved to pieces. I know, I am probably sounding like a borderline egotist - or may be a full fledged one - but all in the name of "love for writing"

So, the blog came into being post matrimony. But somehow the spontaneity to write depleted as I grew older. I would wait for the perfect idea to cross my mind - sometime for months together  - since I became more conscious of what I would write about. May be it was lack of confidence in my own thoughts or an ambition to sound sophisticated, I looked to write about profound, thought provoking things. Often, ideas come to me in the most unlikely moments - the short phase of semi consciousness before sleep, while backing up my car in a school parking lot or while shopping for green groceries in the local store. Something totally unrelated would come and hit my mind and then a wonderful idea would bloom - "Today I'd write about parenting" I'd make a mental note "Today I'd write a steamy love story filled with passion" "Today I'd write about negotiation" -  my mind would jump from one empty thought to another and finally when I log into my virtual space to record my thoughts - an endless abyss of emptiness shrouds my mind. In the meanwhile, the love affair with the word building blocks continues. Finally, after hitting a good two and a half decades of calling writing my passion, I think, I am making an attempt to give it my best. A thought might hit, and the thought might not really be a hit but I still vow to write - be it about endless egotistic chatter in the name of writing, or just meaningless words, strung in a desperate attempt to look lovely. "WHY CAN"T I WRITE?" my mind shouts back at me - I'll shut that question off for now - and for a good time to come. Here's hoping, while drifting into the infinite loop of thinking, that, this question would always find an answer when ever the non-writer attempts to over come the writer's block.

Jan 26

Republic days were fun when I was a kid. The school used to have flag hoisting and back at home, we used to religiously clamor around our portable black and white television with present always static to watch the parade near India Gate, Delhi. The capital city used to unfold it's idyllic charm on me with fog filled skies and everything around it seemed to be in great harmony, just like the parade itself. It was fun to be patriotic and serious business. There were a few songs I learned during that period of time that sung about the glory of Mother India - and even at an age under ten, it used to give me goose bumps and an adrenaline rush to my brain with the unmistakable sensation of patriotism. The week's Chitrahaar used to air all such songs and me with my limited knowledge in Hindi used to grapple hard to remember the lyrics for my bathroom singing - with the same set of reactions from my body - the goose bumps et al. 


I look back and see that I don't seem to love my country as much as I did as a child. I mean, I am proud to be Indian, proud of it's rich culture but the innocent and sincere pride that housed in my heart every time I read about a freedom fighter or heard patriotic music is no where to be seen in my adulthood. I sit and ponder as to why! Is it because we get to take things for granted as we grow up or does the exposure to the world make us more out of tune with the things around us? I don't know if it is making sense - my pointless ponder and questions there of, but do we really take things for granted as we grow old? - do things change or do we change? 


I am out of touch with the kind of hoopla they have in the current day to celebrate National holidays so I wishfully think that there is still the same kind of patriotism that the current generation experiences watching the parade and hoisting the flag in educational institutions. Are Gandhi, Patel and Bhagat Singh still the glorious heroes of our past or did we substitute them? Does the telly still play retro reels of a black and white era hero singing the praise of "mere desh ki dharti sona ugle, ugle heere moti" and does such kind of music still give goose bumps to kids in the maiden decade of their lives? I can only wonder on the other side of the hemisphere. 


Love for country apart - The republic day of my 20th year got me a surprise that I can never ever forget. Towards the end of noon on Jan 26th, the post man came and knocked on our door with a telegram addressed to me. I got the door, signed for it and tore it with trembling hands as to why and who had the urgency to send me a telegram out of the blue. To my relief I discovered it was a greeting telegram and wondered who was sending me birthday wishes in January. The telegram read 


Sincere greetings for the republic day. Long live the  Republic.




And under it was a name that rang a bell...not a name that jumped at me and said - "okay, it is such and such person". It took me a couple of seconds to recognize the not so familiar name to surface to my active memory. It was from a high school class mate. Needless to say, me and my whole gang of friends (come to think of it, I always had very few friends in life - I had a lot of acquaintances but only a very few friends) had a hearty laugh. The same republic day that brought lofty thoughts and raised heart beats became a mere "National holiday" in the matter of a decade! And, in my defense, I can just say that the friend in question is not a die hard "Desh Bhakt" himself - he just took the advice of a mischief maker to keep sending greetings to the one you love just so she doesn't forget you while she is back at her home town. Sometimes it is a wonder how people look at us - we don't even know they are looking at us in a certain way be it with love or with loathe - but we do leave imprints - perhaps surface scratches or even deeper wounds on the hearts who take us to heart with varied emotions. We can only wonder why! 


And sometimes I wonder, if we just take all kinds of things for granted as we age. At that point in time, I'd just laughed the telegram off - but I look back and think if it made sense just to reciprocate the greeting and the thought behind it without ridiculing it. 


May be, We seem to change. The things around us remain the same! :-)