Flashes and flashbacks

Like with most things I am terrified of, I can pinpoint the exact moment lightning began to scare the bejesus out of me.

I was in my early teens, and the mother used to teach in a school that ended a good hour after the brother and I got home. So as the responsible elder child, I was in charge of making sure the brother and I changed after getting home, ate our lunch, and (ideally) started on our homework by the time she got home. Which of course meant that we would get home, put on the TV, dawdle over our lunch, and then squawk and change five minutes before she would actually get home. (Oh, like you didn't know this, Ma.)

Good times.

Anyway, one afternoon, we were having our lunch while watching TV. I can't remember if a storm was already ongoing, or if it sprung up out of nowhere, but I do remember that our sofa was against the windows, and the TV screen faced the balcony door. And that it got darker as the afternoon progressed. And suddenly, out of the blue, a streak of lightning flashed across our TV screen, all the way from across that long living room of ours. And I'm pretty sure I grabbed my poor younger brother and screamed.

Not so good times.

I love rain, and I'm quite fond of thunderstorms. But lightning, to put it bluntly, frightens the crap out of me.

Last night, as I left work, after hearing about tornado warnings coming and going in various parts of the city, I looked up at the sky and saw lightning continuously flashing in the sky several miles away. In the direction I was headed. A part of my brain said it looked a lot like when the particle accelerator exploded on The Flash, but the rest of my brain kept having flashbacks to that afternoon all those years ago.

Where we react to that episode of that TV show

I just watched that episode of Grey's Anatomy. The one from a few weeks ago, the one that everyone who knows the show exists knew about within minutes of it happening, because this is not a fandom that is able to contain its spoilers.

I've been catching up on this season of the show over the past ten days or so, and have had a lot of thoughts that I wanted to blog about once I was done with the season. But now that I've gotten through this episode, I need to react to this episode in isolation, separate from the rest of it.

There's always that one episode of Grey's Anatomy that gets to me every season, and makes me beak down and bawl like an idiot. In its 11th season, this one was it. The last ten minutes of the episode were it.

The episode reminded me of this conversation.

The episode reminded me of a moment that took place in college. I was presenting in class. What I was presenting on, I can't remember. But I remember the room we were in, and where I was standing. I remember my professor telling us about her father, and how she had to take the decision to end his suffering, because her mother couldn't. I remember standing, facing my classmates, and watching each and everyone of them sobbing at my professor's matter of fact narration. I remember wondering why I wasn't sobbing. I remember my professor rolling her eyes and turning to me, saying "chalo, at least you're still the sensible one. Let's carry on now." I remember beginning my presentation, and having to stop because my voice broke. I remember taking a deep breath and starting again, only to break down completely. I remember turning around to face the wall, taking long and deep breaths and trying to get it together. I remember turning back, mouthing sorry to my professor as she looked at me exasperatedly, and continuing with my presentation.

I remember thinking if just the thought of having to take such a decision could shatter me like this, how had my professor survived it. And I remember thinking I wanted to be like her when I grew up.

The episode reminded me of a decision my family took two summers ago. I remember us spending weeks, trying to put off the inevitable. I remember us looking at each other, knowing we had to, but looking for reasons not to. I remember each of us, one by one, finally saying yes. I remember my brother asking for three days. I remember spending those three days, trying to pile in every moment we possibly could. I remember wondering once or twice why we were were prolonging the agony. I remember taking her for a walk with my brother. I remember coming back from the walk and seeing her refuse to enter the house. I remember her lying down in our driveway, and refusing to move from there, as if she knew what was about to happen. I remember the vet arriving, and all of us sitting around her while he did what he had to do. I remember the scream I let out when it happened.

And anyone who tells me I can't, or shouldn't, compare that memory with the loss of losing a parent, a spouse, or a child, can go fly a kite.

This damn show. It just gets to you, man.

That is all.

Halka Aunty style

One of the nicest things about the company I work for is that, for the most part, they really don't care how you dress. We moved to a casual dress code a while back, and so as long as you're not meeting customers or external partners (or y'know, working in Finance), it's jeans and a sweatshirt every single day if you want.

And since it's a company with a very internationally diverse employee base, which includes a large number of Indians - especially, and this is fact, on the floors IT sits on - I could honestly wear a salwar kameez every day if I wanted to. I've done it occasionally over the past year or so, especially on festivals and such, and it's nice to be able to do that.

So this morning, after getting dressed and ready to leave for work fairly early for a change, I started running over the things I need to do, and realized I need to call the grandmother for nobo borsho - the Bengali New Year - as well as the parents, and probably send the brother a text that he should call them as well (which, now that I think of it, I didn't end up doing). And in all that mental processing, I decided what the heck, let's wear Indian today. And so I pulled out the new white kurta and orange dupatta I had bought a few weeks ago (along with green leggings, in the hope of wearing this outfit for one of the World Cup matches), and wore them with my black jeans. And it struck me, all over again, how much I miss wearing salwar kameezes and dupattas. My fabulous dupattas, mostly.

And since this blog seems to be big on random memories and anecdotes lately, here's one that came to me today. The dupatta I chose to wear today is one of those silky ones that keep slipping off. However, the kurta has embroidery similar to Lucknow-i chikankari, so I decided to wear the dupatta long, over just one shoulder, because that was keeping it in place. And it reminded me of a friend my mother had, back when I was a kid. This lady - Alka Aunty - always wore her dupattas over one shoulder. She was the only lady I knew who wore them that way, and it fascinated me, probably because she was the only one who wore them that way in Chandigarh as far as I could tell. And so when I pretended to dress up, I would wear them the same way, and say I was wearing them "Halka Aunty style" - because apparently at the age of 5, I couldn't say her name properly.

She moved away years ago, and I have no idea where she is today. But it was fun today, wearing a dupatta "Halka Aunty style".

The odd flashback

A gazillion or so years ago, when I was still in college, I was walking from home to the neighbourhood market - in all likelihood, to visit the lending library run by the sweetest old man ever, who lent all books for 5 rupees for the first day, and 1 rupee for every subsequent day. Unless you were borrowing a Mills & Boon, in which case it was a flat 2 rupees per day.

Anyway, so I was walking. I got a lot of walking done during the years I visited his shops. But this particular walk has always stayed with me because I was walking past the park (which just proves how long ago this is, because that park was taken away from the kids who used to play there to be turned into a hospital or something because it was a legal mandate but then they abandoned the construction halfway through, so now this half-built hospital just sits there, empty, and someday they're going to make a movie where someone comes to visit their past and this hospital will be where they go first because they used to play cricket there or something and I really should stop digressing so much back to the walk), and suddenly I could hear rain falling. Which was weird, because it was bright and sunny and slightly humid and I definitely didn't have an umbrella but I wasn't wet either. But I could hear the rain fall. And then I walked two steps forward and found myself feeling the drizzle. I took one step back and it was dry. I walked forward again, and could feel the rain again.

I was reminded of this moment earlier today, on my drive to work. It's been windy and cloudy for the last few days, with stormclouds threatening to burst but never quite getting there. And this morning was no different as I drove. But then I turned right, and then got on the expressway a minute later, and suddenly my car was bathed in sunlight.

It was a nice moment.

Of recipes and memories

My mother has a bookshelf in her kitchen that has a number of cookbooks on it. Most of them are bought, but among them is a blue diary**, with yellow pages that are falling apart, holding a number of loose sheets of paper shoved in within its pages.

This diary has my Thamma's handwriting all over it. I'm not sure how my mother, the youngest bahu, ended up with it, but for most of my childhood, I remember that being the go-to book that would be spread open in the kitchen any time my mother was making carrot cake, or baked vegetables, or one of several other recipes.

I don't remember seeing it being used all that often in recent years - partially, I suspect, because I paid less attention, but also I suppose because some of those recipes have probably been used often enough to make referring to the actual recipe unnecessary.

I am not, by any stretch of the imagination, a good cook. I like the idea of cooking, and do it from time to time. But it doesn't come instinctively to me, and that frustrates me. When someone rattles off a recipe on the phone to me, it's pointless because I won't remember any of it. And when anyone tells me to add something "andaaze se", it makes me want to tear my hair out. I need to see a recipe to make anything, and I need to be told exactly how much to put in of every single item I'm adding.

I own one cookbook, and I have a number of recipes saved in my email or my browser favorites. But a few weekends ago, I found an unused notebook I had bought impulsively a couple of years ago (hello, cute puppy on cover of diary. come home with me, yes?), and never used more than two pages of. One of those pages was a to-do list, and the other page was a recipe. And just like that, without really thinking it through, I found myself spending the next hour painstakingly writing down the recipes for the ten or fifteen recipes I use on a regular basis, along with a few that I want to try at some point.

This notebook is now sitting in my kitchen, and has been referred to twice or thrice in the past few weeks. I'm hoping it gets used more often, and that it gets added to more often, and that eventually, I won't really need to refer to it that often, but that it will still sit there, waiting to be opened up and looked at.



** Update: The mother has emailed me to point out that I have my diaries all mixed up. Apparently the one with Thamma's cake recipes is a brown leather bound diary, while the blue one is something she herself used to save and scribble recipes in, and was originally given to her by her father-in-law so she could learn to read and write Bengali.

I was a kid, okay. But the point is the same, really.

Of retrievers and their focus

There's a video that's sorta gone viral over the last couple of days that had me cracking up the first time I saw it.

That dog knows what he wants, he does. And he reminds me of another dog, another golden retriever, who was just as single minded and focused about what she wanted.

One of my fondest memories of Kyra is this one evening when we had gone out, and got really late coming back. Kyra hadn't been given her evening meal because we weren't home to take her for her walk, so we had called to say we were five minutes away and that she could be fed. We walked in the door to see my poor ravenous princess furiously gobbling her meal, but at the same time, so thrilled to hear us walk in that her tail was literally (yes, I used it, go away) spinning with joy as she ate. But only when she finished eating did she turn around to come jump at us. She had her priorities, she did.

My princess wasn't quite aware of the fact that she was supposed to be a retriever, you know. When you threw something for her to, well, retrieve, she would run like crazy after it, pick it up, and then sit down to chew on her new treasure. So over the years, we came up with a new game. We used two toys, and when she would pick up one and sit down with it, we'd promptly throw the other. And Kyra would drop her first toy and run and pick up the second, at which point we'd throw the first toy again. Rinse. Repeat. But boy, was she focused on whichever toy she was running after.

The brother will tell you the princess was one of the most emotionally intelligent dogs to ever walk this planet. All I have to say is, there are retrievers, and there was, well, our retriever. The best dog in the world.

Certain members of my family may also point out that my use of the word "we" in this post is somewhat misleading. I will have you know I ventured into the outdoors at least once a year with her, thank you very much. Sometimes even more often. So there.

Of ants, souls, and stories that stick

When I was a kid, we lived across from a park, and often walked through when returning home from friends' houses, or the market. There were a lot of ant hills in this park, and I don't quite remember what prompted this, but my mother once told me that these ant hills are the homes of ants, and if you knock any of them over, even by mistake, those ants will hunt you down, and destroy your house. I don't think my mother was quite as graphic as this, and I have never bothered to find out if this is a true fact, but even today, some 20+ years later, I choose not to step on any ant hills should I see one, thank you very much.

When my brother was a kid (and I therefore a somewhat older and wiser kid), we visited the Kali Mandir in C R Park (and while looking up its exact name, I discovered it has a Wikipedia page all of its own). The brother and I were bored while the parents did their chatting-with-God thing, so I told the brother that the stones which have names written on them (dedicated by families of people who have died) have the souls of said deceased individuals trapped inside them. And therefore, while we need to walk all around the temple while waiting for the parents, we need to make sure we don't step on any stone that has a name on it. And so we did.

Some ten-odd years later, with the brother now a teenager, we visited Kali Mandir again. A lot more stones had been dedicated by now, resulting in hardly any blank stones left. I watched my brother stand in one spot and try to figure out how to go anywhere in the temple complex without stepping on the souls of some poor departed-from-this-world individual.

Whenever I go home next, I want to drag him there and see what he does at the age of 23.

Kiddo

A long, long time ago, he used to be scared of snakes. 

One morning, the four of us went out for brunch. It was a holiday, and just an hour back, I had tied a Rakhi on his wrist, despite the mother's annual grumbling that it wasn't really a Bengali festival. We were crossing the road to the restaurant when a snake charmer approached us. My kid brother, who was already itching to take the rakhi off, grabbed my arm and whispered, "Didi, can you just protect me today from that snake? I'll take care of you after this."

He's the complete opposite of me, the brother. He's reserved, practical, and inexpressive. I'm... none of the above. But then out of the blue, there'll be an email or a gift that will make me all emoshunal, just like that.

I used to bully him when we were kids. We played our own version of the Crystal Maze, he was my unwilling student in countless sessions of Teacher-Teacher, half his birthday gifts were automatically declared to be mine, and numerous other things I would rather not tell you. Then one day, he grew up, and wisened up. And now I go to him for advice, and he acts all wisdomous and all.

He left for the US for his undergrad studies on 24th August 2007. Rakhi that year was on 28th August. I broke down that day, because I had never spent Rakhi away from my kid brother. I sent him a rakhi and a card that year. Five months later, he came home for winter break. Suddenly, in the midst of all the animated catching up, he looked at me and said, "oh, wait." He pulled out his wallet, handed me the rakhi I had sent him, and asked me to put it for him. By the time we woke up the next morning, of course, it was hanging from his cassette rack on the wall, where most of his rakhis over the years landed up.

Last year, we exchanged countries. He went back to India after graduation, and I came to the US. I spoke to him an hour back. I told him we were discussing siblings at dinner tonight, and I had told them about Rakhi, and of this incident. He responded, "oh? I did that?"

*eye roll*

He thinks my blog is quite silly, so it's unlikely he'll read this post. But I just wanted to say, again, I love you kiddo. Despite the fact that you save my number under Duddo rather than Didi on your phone.

A Brief History of Time: A Meme

So I'm bored, I have writer's (or blogger's) block, and I really want to blog. So I'm doing a meme.

20 years ago I . . .
1. lost my paternal grandfather to leukemia. To the day, actually.
2. asked my bachelor great-uncle why he couldn't marry my just-widowed grandmother since they were both now unmarried (I was SIX, okay?)
3. still lived in Chandigarh.

10 years ago I . . .
1. gave my Class X Board exams.
2. bid goodbye to any paper to do with Science. WOOHOO.
3. thought becoming a House Appointee was SUCH a big deal.

5 years ago I . . .

1. finished college and started my Master's
2. started this blog, after a year of keeping a private blog.
3. went for the long-dreamed-of trip around Europe with the family.

3 years ago I . . .
1. finished my Master's and started my first job.
2. travelled to Kolkata and Mumbai, and realised that Delhi is, after all, home.
3. joined twitter, and well, got addicted.

1 year ago I . . .
1. took the plunge of applying to B-school.
2. had a miserable time at work.
3. got diagnosed with asthma, grew fatter and fatter till I pretty much doubled in size, and altogether just let my health go completely.

So far this year I . . .
1. got into B-school.
2. quit my job.
3. watched the kid brother graduate from college.

Yesterday I . . .

1. went for an eye check-up.
2. applied for an apartment to live in for the next year.
3. booked my flight tickets to the US.

Today I . . .
1. woke up crying with the worst migraine in a long, long time.
2. took an appointment for my visa interview.
3. met my future classmates for dinner.

Tomorrow I will . . .
1. go get an allergy test done.
2. watch Kung Fu Panda 2.
3. hopefully have lunch with one of the gal pals.

In the next year I will . . .
1. start B-school.
2. learn to live away from home, the parents, and the princess.
3. hopefully figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life - or at least for the first few years after I finish my MBA.

Hmmm. Okay, I tag The Zig and Puneet, because they should blog more often, crimsonshadows and Runjoo, because they read my blog (which I know because they leave comments) and have blogs, and anyone else who feels like it. Only, tell me if you do this too, yeah?

Memory lane

We were in high school together, the five of us. Some of us knew each other from Class 7 or 8, some came in when sections were reshuffled in Class 9. We became friends then, at any rate.

The group splintered again in Class 11, with some taking up Science, some Commerce. Some members of the "group" left the school and the city altogether, while some found new friends and moved away. The six of us remained friends however; new friends came, but didn't impinge on the six of us.

Plenty of high school drama happened in those last two years, some of which made me aloof enough to drop almost all ties once school ended. The one person who mattered the most disappeared, too shattered at not getting the course of her choice to want to continue old friendships. The others went down their own paths in life, as did I.

I made new friends in college, friends who got me a little better than they had, who tolerated me a bit more, who loved me, and who I loved a bit more than I had loved them.

We kept in touch, at least five of us did - one had never been too important to me, and disappeared from my life altogether once school ended. We kept in touch, the five of us, but not on a regular basis. We were in the same city, most of us, but would speak maybe twice or thrice a year. Meet even less frequently.

Life went on.

Two of them got married last year. On the same day. Not to each other though. I couldn't attend either wedding, because I couldn't travel to either city. Attended the reception in Delhi though.

We met today, the five of us. Plus his wife. Her husband wasn't there; he hadn't accompanied her to Delhi this trip.

For a while, for four hours on a Sunday afternoon, it was like nothing had changed. The guys teased me endlessly like they always did; I reacted like I always would. One girl was teased about the crush she used to have on him; another about the guy who used to like her. Countless anecdotes were recounted; several laughed over. The two married ones compared notes on adjusting to married life - she, about the compromises she had had to make; he, about the compromises he expected his wife to make. His wife listened, protested a bit, but mainly listened. The soon-to-be-married girl listened, wondering what adjustments she would have to make once she gets married later this year. I chose not to speak, no matter how much the feminist in me was outraged.

Not all battles need to be fought.

We don't really stay in touch, the five of us. Individual pairs, sure. But as a group? Not so much. We've all come a long way in the last eight years. We've all gone down very different paths. If I never met them again, my life would not be so very different.

But for a while, today, I met my 17-year-old self again. And I felt glad my life's taken the path it has.

The bus ride

In Zirakpur, just outside Chandigarh, is a place called Chhatbir Zoo. Chhatbir was a frequent weekend destination for the family in my childhood during our Chandigarh days. It's really like any other zoo, except for the area where the pride of lions lives. The lions roam freely in a cordoned off sanctuary-like area, so the only way to visit that area is either in your own car, or in the cage-like bus they take tourists in. There's a hilarious (for others) story in the family which relates how I once got on the bus, and realised only after we'd entered the sanctuary that the parents had got left behind. I was reunited with my frantic parents a good half hour later, and then was allowed by the zoo officials to come on the bus ride again with them. Two-two bus rides I got. Great fun.

**********************************

I was in Nasik a few days back for my cousin's wedding. We flew in from Bombay, on the one daily flight that goes there. We got off the tiny plane at the Nasik airfield, got into a bus, and rode to get to the tiny matchbox of an airport terminal. The bus ride lasts eight minutes, and goes through a lovely, forest-y route, lined with trees.

Reminded me of the Chhatbir bus ride, is all.

**********************************

So, after a two-year long engagement, the cousin got married. Great fun, was lovely meeting the clan after ages, and only one or two "you're next" remarks, to which I very categorically responded that only clones of Aditya Kashyap or Arjun Burman will do. What was probably most amusing was the absolute bewilderment some of our Bengali relatives and friends expressed at seeing the hash of Bengali and Punjabi rituals.

"They've been standing in that one spot and dancing for the past ten minutes. Why don't they just come in?!?"

Hee.

Good riddance 2010, hello 2011

Annual flashback time, I suppose. It's funny; I've been wondering about how I would write this post for weeks, but now that it's actually time to write it, I have no idea what to say.

If I was to sum it up, though, I would simply say this: 2010 sucked. Really. I hated the year more than I remember hating any other year of the past 25 years.

Which is not to say that it didn't have its lovely moments. It did. The first two months were rather lovely. The brother, a friend and I went to Jaipur for the Lit Fest and attended the first three days. The parents and the princess joined us on the third day, and we drove back on the Sunday - a road trip with the entire family after ages. I took the GMAT in February, and got a surprisingly awesome score. Which meant that the baby steps I mentioned in last year's annual flashback suddenly became more of a reality. Also, I got me a laptop - something I'd wanted for ages but never got round to doing.

And then I turned 25 in March. I know I've said this several times before, but I really did stress a lot about this. I don't understand it myself. Birthday # 26 is in two months, and I'm okay with that. Just... 25 as a number, as an age, seemed to mean a lot more.

And then I went to Italy. And got robbed. Which is when the year officially started sucking. I won't say I'm someone who never cries - I tend to start crying fairly often, particularly when I'm in a temper. The Italy incident, however, seemed to weaken me. You know how some incidents just make you feel lesser and smaller? This did that to me. Even after I got back, I went through a fairly long stretch of guilt, depression, misery all put together. I'd burst into tears at the smallest provocation (or even without, at times), and was just a pain (more than usual, that is) to be around for the next month or so.

And then in April I got an email from the brother which made me burst into tears for a good half an hour. And has now become my official make-me-feel-better talisman. Yeah, it was that kind of mail.

And then came the rest of the year.

Travel went up this year. Apart from the trips to Italy and Jaipur, Chandigarh was visited for a friend's sister's wedding mid-July. Work-related travel happened to Bangalore, Mumbai and Kolkata.

The wedding in Chandigarh was tremendous fun, notwithstanding the fact that the gal pals and I were coerced into putting up a performance at the sangeet. And dancing in public is not something I do very voluntarily. I also managed to make a quick visit to Nada Sahib, one of the few religious sites I like to visit - that place always makes me feel extremely peaceful. The trouble was, the mother got hospitalized the day before I was to leave. She still insisted I go, and I made them promise they would keep me updated and tell me if any major developments happened. But... they didn't. And on the second evening, I called the father on the way to the wedding, and was informed that she had been wheeled in for surgery four hours ago. It doesn't help y'know, this keeping things away from people who are far away with the hope of not worrying them.

It also struck me, during this entire episode, that no matter how much I crib about the mother loving the brother more (she DOES), there are some things she will only share with her daughter. And even though she made me go to Chandigarh, she did let it slip once after I came back: "you weren't here when I had my surgery. I needed you." Sigh.

I left for the week in Mumbai almost immediately after that, which was even more difficult. I spent a week there end-July and I have a very strong suspicion that if I ever moved there, I would fall in love with the city. I mean, here, in Gurgaon, when I leave work after dark, it's a scary proposition to look for a rickshaw or even walk to the metro station to get home. I do it often enough, but I know the parents worry when I do. In Mumbai, I was visiting a client who happens to be a BPO. Which meant that I would never leave their office before 8 or 9 PM. Yet, catching an auto and getting back to the hotel never cause a second's concern. It was just so... liberating, y'know? The city clearly loves me - on two out of my four visits there, I had to cancel my flight back and take a later flight.

Work was... messy this year. A lot of issues with people, some altercations, a certain amount of disengagement as well. I've given this job everything I have for two and a half years now. If plans work out, I probably won't be with them this time next year. I still enjoy the work, despite everything. They've been absolutely brilliant to me in many ways - the amount of time off they've given me to deal with my personal issues alone has been incredible. I've learnt a lot from both my bosses, and as a first job, it's been a tremendous experience. But the last six months have been... difficult.

The house had two more fires - the second time, I was home when it happened. Some new friendships were strengthened, some old ones let go of. The brother was very nice to me over the summer - not something I'm used to, but something I could get used to.

The blog was neglected this year. For the first time since I started this blog, I went more than two months without a single post. Too much was happening, and twitter seemed like a sufficient outlet. What was nice though, was that several people actually asked why there hadn't been any new posts. And since you lot never comment here, this was not something I was expecting.

I did get some brilliant news during my week in Mumbai though - a story I'd sent in got selected for publication in Chicken Soup for the Indian College Soul. Considering I grew up reading those books, this was totes exciting stuff. The book should be out this year - much anticipation is felt. Back in June, I'd also entered the post about the father is one of those blog contests - didn't win, but the BlogAdda guys were nice enough to send him a print of the post.

I ran for RAHI Foundation again this year. Unlike last year, this year I tweeted about it, and was incredibly touched by how many people shared my appeal forward. And how many unexpected people came forward to donate.

The last two months became incredibly stressful, with application deadlines looming over my head. Things would have been less stressful if I had procrastinated less, but we shall not head there. I completely neglected my health this year - something I need to get back on track.

Now that I think back, I'm not sure why I hated 2010 so much. I think some of the stressors, while not HUGE, were just prolonged. A lot of the bad stuff was my fault entirely, and could have been avoided. A lot wasn't. Some continue.

New Year's Eve (and Day) were verra naice. Spent with friends, something I really didn't do enough of last year.

The first week of 2011 has been... mixed. Some nice moments, some bad news, some big decisions - it's all happened already. This year is going to be eventful, I know. One way or the other, I'm going to be in a very different place by the end of this year.

I need to start focusing on my health. I need to write more. I need to be nicer to people - both my loved ones and people I can't stand. I need to meet my friends more often.

I'm not making resolutions - just listing things I want to do.

I'm looking forward to this year. And I haven't done that in a long time.

Here's hoping each one of you has a brilliant 2011. :)

Suddenly, suddenly

It's funny how memories pop into your head at times. I was in the car this afternoon, on my way back from a meeting with a client, and thinking of one of the essays I still need to finish. While mentally composing the essay, I stumbled over the word "parallelly", something I often do. And then it struck me that MS Word never does recognise that word anyway, and I should probably use the phrase "in parallel".

Which is when I suddenly remembered the mother's copy of the Oxford English Dictionary. I can't remember a time she didn't have it. It was so much more than just a dictionary - it was like a memory album. Its pages contained dried flowers, little scribbled notes, and numerous photos. Photos of the brother and me, photos of the parents, photos of Dadu. Photos of my cousins as babies, reminding Mamma of the sheer joy she felt when she became a Pishi for the first time. That dictionary was to be handled with immense care, because picking it up meant picking up memories of more than a decade.

I haven't seen it in a long while, not since we moved house, actually. But it popped into my head this afternoon.

Places have memories too. Golden Dragon is by no means my favourite restaurant. It is, however, in the mall that is closest to our house, and the food is decent. By default, therefore, a number of memories have got associated with it.

September 2008 - The parents and I discovered they serve darsaan, the mother's favourite dessert, during Pujo. We also decided that since I was now working, I should treat them to dinner once a month. The father saw the bill, and decided henceforth McDonald's is good enough for such treats.

November 2008 - The mother's birthday, I was catching an evening flight out to Bombay, so I promised her I would join them for lunch.

December 2008 - The parents completed 25 years of togetherness, but we put off celebrations till the brother came home from college a week later. We went out for dinner, I got my hair curled for the first time! The father was supposed to officially gift the mother the earrings he had bought her, even though she'd been wearing them for a week already. He opened the box in the restaurant, and discovered he had got the worn, and empty, box. All captured on video.

March 2009 - My birthday fell on Holi. While the city enjoyed a holiday, I was travelling to Chennai on work. Managed to catch an earlier flight back, and joined the parents for dinner straight from the airport.

September 2009 - Pujo again, this time accompanied by a new colleague, who the parents sort of adopted for Pujo because she was Bengali and knew no one else in Gurgaon. Who knew a year later she would become such a dear friend?

2010 - The best friend was in town, and after a dozen mail exchanges, Gurgaon was finally decided as the venue for the get together between the gal pals. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get five of us together in one place at one time? Tip: Just decide the venue for dinner and inform them, don't ask them. It's what I'm doing for New Year's Eve too.

We don't go back so often now, but passing that mall tends to bring a smile to my face anyway.

The father and I still debate over who'll pay the bill every time we go out though.

Conversations from yesteryears

A random tweet that showed up in my timeline a few hours ago reminded me of one of those strange and morbid conversations that get ingrained in your memory, that took place between the father and me more than a decade ago.

We were walking on the side of the road, when a car swerved and passed by him a little too close for my comfort. Of course, I gasped dramatically, clutched him and pulled him a bit to the side, scolding him for being so careless. He shrugged and laughed, saying he was fine as long as an accident, should it happen, caused a quick and painless death rather than leaving him a vegetable.

Needless to say, I was not amused. But then he went on: if death has to come to someone, it'll come sooner or later. And his or her family and friends will have to deal with it. But if a person gets stuck in a coma, it makes everything so much more painful for his or her loved ones. He then looked at me and told me that if that decision has to be taken, I should take it.

At age 14, I was forced to admit he had a point. At 25, I still hope and pray almost every day, like I have ever since that conversation happened, that I never have to take that decision.

Confessions Part 1: Subodh, tumhe time yaad nahi hai?

Quick, have you seen Dil Chahta Hai? Of course you have, you weren't born yesterday.

D'you remember Subodh's character? You know, Sonali Kulkarni's boyfriend till Saif and she got together in what was the weakest part of the movie?

There was a brilliant scene in the movie where Subodh's tendency to remember exact dates and times of event was brought to light, like so:

The family literally howled with laughter the first time we saw this scene because, quite frankly, this is exactly how ze father is. Ever since, the brother and I have taken to interrupting some of his more boring stories with the line "Subodh, tumhe time yaad nahi hai?"

What has struck me recently, however, is the fact that I am in fact as bad as, if not worse than, him (the comma usage in this line needs checking). Case in point: this post. I mean, who remembers such stuff? Me, apparently.

Chances are therefore, that if I've known you for a really long time, and if you're kinda important to me, I not only know your birthday and phone number by heart, but also remember exactly how and where we met/became friends, and have at least one weird memory which you would have totally forgotten about.

I also totally have a memory ready to relate as an example about ze father but a, he may not approve, and b, it is really long and boring.

I see potential in entering the blackmail business though.

When wishes come true

Thamma used to repeatedly ask my parents to do two things: build a house, and gift my brother a dog. She wanted her son to have a roof of his own over his head, and her grandson to have a dog of his own.

I was in my final year of school when my parents decided to go ahead and build a house. On 10th February, 2002, the chhat-dhalai of the house took place - the structure was complete, now only the interiors remained to get started. My parents' dream was close to coming true.

My father reached the site by early morning, and spent the whole day there. My mother, brother and I reached slightly later in the morning, bringing with us mithai for the construction crew etc. Halfway through the morning, Mamma got a call from a vet we occasionally used to ask about getting a pet - he knew someone who just brought home a golden retriever, and was bringing the pup to his clinic. We promptly went down to his clinic to see the tiny one, and immediately fell in love. Turned out the little one had sisters who were also looking for homes. The three of us looked at each other - a female golden retriever? For the past so many years, we had had our hearts set on getting another cocker spaniel, one who would take the place Ruff had left behind him. For some reason, which I have never understood till today, we decided to go for it.

On the way to the house the pups were staying in, we discussed possible names. I won; Lion King was my favourite movie, our dog would be named after Simba's daughter (with a cooler spelling though). On reaching there, my mother looked at the 3 tiny ones, and turned to my brother and me saying she knew which one she wanted, we had to choose. The brother and I looked at each other; he pointed to one and said "that one?", I nodded. We turned to Mamma, who had a grin on her face. For some reason, the princess was ours the second we all saw her.

We brought her home to meet Baba, and so began a love affair that hasn't ended till today - the father remains Kyra's favourite no matter what.

We came home that evening, tired but exhilarated. A house and a dog, what more could one want? Mamma refused to cook, I was asked to order Chinese for dinner. Just as I got through to the restaurant, I heard my dad calling my mum urgently. The news had just come in; on the day her two wishes came true, but before she could even find out, Thamma had passed away.

I never know how to feel on 10th February every year.

On a far more cheerful note, 10th February is also the heppy burday of the fantabulous Puneet, who blogs here and here, and tweets here. If you haven't been following these, I really don't know what you've been doing. Go wish her! And then follow her!

Flashback time again

Sooooooooooooooooooooooo... 2010 huh?

Normally, I'd make this year ka introspection, but dudes, it's like, a new decade!!!

In the last ten years, I've given two Board exams, finished school, had the princess enter our lives, lost my Thamma, moved houses, gone through college, made some friends, lost some, and ended up with the most awesome friends in the process, worked with RAHI Foundation for a while, found myself in the process, spent two years doing a Masters which was little or no value-add, got a job, and realised I'm a workaholic just like ze father. Does that sum up the decade for me? Pretty much - we've always known I have a very uneventful life, haven't we?

Closer to the date: 2009. Hmm... let's see: OK, so it wasn't as bad as I had predicted it would be back in the beginning of the year. Could've been better, but could've been a lot worse too.

Highlights of the year? Spending my birthday (which fell on Holi) not only working, but traveling for work. Joining Aerobics classes for the first time in my life - and giving up after a month, very happily going back to swimming instead. The Spain trip, which was pretty awesome, except for the fact that I got robbed - twice.

Grappling with a whole bunch of issues at work throughout the year, including phases of self-doubt. Getting my my first wins for the firm, which can be a very big high!

Spending a weekend in Jaipur with the brother, and getting to know him all over again. Returning from Jaipur to discover the house had caught fire - again - but that things were contained before it could spread.

Falling ill halfway through a very major project, to the extent of getting quarantined for suspected swine flu. Suffering the after-effects of the illness for more than two months, with repeated visits to the doctor. Realising the possible consequences of my workaholism, and consciously trying to cut back a little.

Getting hounded by family - both immediate and extended - on the issue of marriage and future plans. Getting spam mail from shaadi.com asking me to get married because my parents did (I kid you not).

Taking part in the Great Delhi Run to raise funds for RAHI. Walking 12 kilometres in one day as a result - which is more than I usually do in a month.

Going from tweeting regularly to being absolutely addicted to twitter - and in the process, making this my least productive year in terms of blog posts.

Keeping things bottled inside for the longest time, and then finally having things out in two of the three cases mentioned earlier - both of which were complete fiascoes, I might add.

Taking baby steps towards turning my life around. In more than one way.

The first day of the new year was a pleasant, uneventful day. I'm sorta hoping the year follows the same pattern. While I'm being smart and keeping any resolutions that I'll end up breaking within a week, there are a whole bunch of hopes attached to this year. Hopes that these steps I'm taking will bear fruit. Hopes that my family and friends are happy and get their wishes fulfilled. Hopes that I start blogging a lot more - there's always plenty to say after all.

That's pretty much the year for me. I'm very tempted to follow the current trend and also put up a "Best of" list myself - maybe I will.

Happy 2010, all! :)

Who would I be?

Who would I be today if my life had taken different turns?

If we had stayed in Chandigarh and not moved to Delhi?

If I hadn't been ill so often as a child?

If I had gone to the US for college and not chosen to stay back?

If I had not insisted on taking up a subject all my near and dear ones advised me against?

If I had followed through with the idealistic dreams I was beginning to have back in college?

If I had taken the year off after college to figure out what I want to do, instead of joining a Master's program I just happened to get into?

Our experiences shape us, make us the person we are. I always wonder who I would've been if things hadn't happened the way they did. Would I be more focused, less negative? Would I be more confident and less insecure about my capabilities? Would I still have friends who love me the way mine do?

I've never really gone after a dream. Life has always happened to me, and I've gone with the flow.

For the first time in a very long time, I'm pursuing a dream. As my near and dear ones have been pointing out to me, it's timed badly, the going will be tough, the chances of things working out are slim, and I also know life won't be any easier if things do work out.

But I also know that if I don't give this thing one shot, I will always wonder "what if". And regret not going for it.

The first time

More than a decade ago, the family and I were at a coffee shop in some hotel in Chandigarh fairly late in the night - why we were there of all places I have no idea; it wasn't a very frequent haunt for us.

When the bill came, my dad looked at me, grinned, and asked, "Do you want to see it take really long for the bill to get cleared?" Intrigued, I nodded, and he whipped out his credit card, and gave it to the waiter. And he was right; they took nearly half an hour to swipe that card and bring back the bill for him to sign.

I went shopping earlier today and took out my card to pay for the one shirt I ended up buying; I was at the counter for less than a minute.

I have never yet been able to use my card without remembering the first time I ever heard of this thing called a credit card.

I'm a sucker for nostalgia.

In retrospect

So my New Year sucked. Well, the stroke of midnight was fine, but the day's been pretty lousy. And considering my mum's always believed that your year will go the way the first of the year goes, you can bet my 2009 is going to be just dandy.

Having said that, 2008 was an interesting year. Plenty of firsts, if nothing else.

My first job, my first experiences of work related travel, my first travels alone.

My first trip to Kolkata which wasn't just about visiting relatives. My first holiday in Bombay. A quick trip to Goa where I did nothing but attend a wedding and work in the hotel room, but where I did manage to fit in my experience of parasailing. Which by the way, was completely terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. I had no intention of going up (have I ever told you how freaking terrified of heights I am? Seriously, even standing on a chair makes me dizzy), those guys pretty much just grabbed me and wrapped me up, and sent me up, and I was so freaked out that even the guy who goes up with you could sense my paranoia. But at that one moment, when we were turning back and the boat pulling us stopped for a split second, and I looked out west with my heart in my mouth? I saw the sun actually go down, and that moment made it totally worth it. I'm never doing it again of course, but I'm glad I was forced to do it this one time.

I started using social networking a lot more this - last - year. I joined Twitter, started using LinkedIn rather effectively, and even started a second blog, which really does need a lot more attention from me.

2008 was also when I got a little more used to my brother being away from home. When I learned to manage my "finances" by myself (which isn't really much, considering I'm living at home, but it's a step!). When I learned a little bit more about going out and meeting people - professionally, that is. On the personal front? Still as clueless as ever.

I don't see that last bit changing in 2009, but here's hoping all of you have a wonderful year. A whole lot better than my first of the year was at any rate.