Crossroads

Daddy's integrity,
badi mummy's innocence,
papa's more than jus' half a DNA,
ma's nerves of steel,
bhai's joie de vivre,
Shakti's strength of character,
living and loving in the south,
a million hugs and laughters of best friends and girlfriends,
over three decades..
They are, therefore I am.

Yet so incomplete.

Love me,
provide me protection,
keep me secure,
let the child within me keep on jumping,
be my witness,
and let me fly..
Come with me,
I wish to fly!

Answering to destiny's call,
with stars in my eyes,
and the promise of a 'happily ever after',
I let you into my life.

Welcome to the li'll world of the li'll me!

South.. The Spring of My Life

At the age of 17 I left the comforts of my home to settle in what will become my second home for the next ten years. And it will remain my home away from home, forever. I can say I grew up as much in Mangalore and Bangalore as in Chandigarh and Delhi. And its my life there that makes me what really I am today.

Early morning temple bells,
rangoli at every entrance,
the flowers in the hair,
jasmine in the air,
inherent simplicity of people everywhere,
akka and amma,
thick moustaches,
a bindi for every girl,
the extra 'h' in names,
sounds of the sea,
warmth of the sunsets,
rains that never end,
summer breeze that chills,
the high of filter coffee,
melting-in-the-mouth idlis,
some really tender coconut water;
strains of 'mungaru male' from the distance,
every moment, a memory.

I know I am home when they ask me, you've arrived aah?!!

That home is a precious chamber in my heart. I find solace there, just thinking about it, whenever it gets too tough, mundane and tiresome.

Quoting Rabindranath Tagore here..

'This day my heart seeks not
To count that which I never got.
Today, amidst the light and shade in my soul,
There plays that music still.
I did love this earth,
Yes I did love it.
And the memories of those flowers
that blew in with the southern breeze
Still lingering on..'

Cry a Hearty Cry

Academic failure. Friend's betrayal.  Family falling out. The aching heart. Broken dream(s).

There is blood, so we bleed.

At the age of 27, I am sure now, life can get brutal.

And am also sure that each one of us 'has seen a lot in life'.. And no pain hurts the other lesser.

The highest of highs. The smaller, more constant, joys of life. The lows. And the dungeons. Each experience of life merits a blog (!). And this is about life in the abyss.

The event may follow a boring pain, a looming fear or may be totally unprecedented.

You can never be mentally prepared enough. I was never.

There is loss of blood in the face. The heart pounds. The gut wrenches. The legs tremble. The feet are cold. When there's sweat on the forehead.

And then comes the lump. The choke. The choking choke. Which anatomical layer of the neck holds and develops that, I do not know. Yet its presence longer than a few hours or a day makes  me painfully aware that I'm falling. How I wish I could dissect that layer.

We all know how it feels to smile with that lump. Or say a bright, 'hey! how are you?!".. And we admire our bravery. We run away in a corner to release the choke, because our bravery arouses only self-pity.

I have given a lecture with that pain. Seen a hundred patients in the OPD. Stared at questions in the paper for other answers. Walked lengths and breadths in shade or sun, feeling just as cold. And sweaty. I have envied people laughing away in front of me.. Will I be that happy again? What makes people so happy? I know.. I've been there too.

I have rushed through the day's worldly affairs to run to my room. Locked the door well. Found the cornerest corner and sat there so I can atleast start weeping more easily. Clutched the Hanuman Chalisa.

Then I go to the bathroom. Look at myself in the mirror. The same that I used to smile into and be amazed at my happy beauty! Damn! Am rather ugly!

I look for bits of happy foods.. Chocolates or cookies. I drink some water so the glands remain hydrated.

Music is forbidden. Cell phone is the worst creation of mankind.

Its a lucky day if people do not come knocking.

There's no appetite for food. Atleast we can loose weight more easily now!

Making sure all are well asleep and the pillow is comfy, I lie in fetal position. They say you were most blessed and peaceful then. I swear! And then I let go. I cry. And more. I breathe. Slow and deep. And then I cry some more. Bury myself in the pillow. It becomes difficult to breathe. What with the nose clogged and the mouth stuffed. The voice becomes hoarse. And then I care a damn. I howl. I cry a hearty cry. I feel healthier with every bout. It makes me stronger to dare and curse God. Why me.

The night helps. Crying well helps. I wake up braver for the day.

Love

To love and be loved is a complex state of existence. You are not just you. You have a half that adds more and perhaps even a better meaning to your being. There is an extra dimension to each and every aspect of your life (even your past.. that was just a story to be shared!). Everything, anything ever about yourself, makes more sense with it. You are achingly incomplete in its absence. You so don’t mind the lesser there is of you in yourself. There is love, therefore you are.

It uplifts you. You fly. You soar. You feel the continuous warmth of the sun. Music plays on end. You smile long. You feel more beautiful. You always have company in solitude. The day breaks early and the night runs longer. Every moment of the day is in levitation. All of the above endlessly. Love uplifts you endlessly.

You reflect. You long. You dream. Even when you have it all. To have more. Just some more more. It fulfills you so.

You jump in his happiness. You bleed more in his pain. You are more tired in his fatigue. You dream more when he sleeps better. He makes you want to love him more. Love makes you a better person. You are selfless. You discover you have so much of love to still give away. To just see the other happier, more complete, more easy. And there seems no apparent reason why you wanna do this or why you feel so. Or perhaps there are a thousand. The basic, guess, that  he gives it back.

Together you live the rollercoaster ride that life is. Scream, laugh, hold tighter and longer. Look back. Watch ahead. Look at each other. Look down. Smile. Your footsteps are in tandem. You walk further, fearless. The pain that comes around is, and will always be, worth it. The love, if you have, or ever had it, the look, the smell, the sound and the touch of that hour, will make you feel warm forever.

What the World Cup means to me.

Growing up India is typical in every household. As soon as brother and me became a little sane, one of the better birthday gifts was the plastic green cricket bat and the plastic red ball. Then one day, dad told us the story of cricket. He described a summer of '83 when the country got up from the slumber of the ordinary. And roared in unison. It gave the goosebumps.

Over the next two decades we caught the images of that day. We grew up with our own men in blue. We realised that no, cricket isn't just a game here. When India played, the common man took a break from his own struggles. We all declared a personal holiday. It was ok not to study on the day of a match (Ma understands sometimes).

With all the CWGs, 2Gs and parliamentary affairs, there's little to feel proud of. The newspaper takes exactly 5 minutes to flip and you wanna pull your hair apart. A li'll extra minute spent on the details, you wanna go back to your life even more. Atleast you'll try to be a better citizen. Yeah, there was this odd olympic gold medal, Saina, the year without a terrorist attack or the happy bollywood movie.

As we gear up for the big day on Saturday, there's a silent prayer on every lip. We wanna be happy. Laugh endlessly. We don't wanna feel bad about life in general. It'll go on nevertheless. But we wanna take a break. Scream Indiaaaaah! Indiaaaaaaaaaaaah! We wanna win!

Its been 28 years. By the time its another four years, I'm gonna have a kid of my own. I'm gonna tell them the story of cricket. I'm gonna describe a summer of 2011.

Sachin

I don’t read autobiographies. None so far. But I’m sure looking forward to one. I so hope he pens it all down one day. For people like me it’ll be a sacred book.

I didn’t watch the match but soon enough read the length and breadth of the newspaper. Since last 15 years I’ve been cutting out stuff that inspires me, moves me, makes my heart swell. Those to do with Sachin invariably do that. I often get tears even (that might also be because am kinda weird, emotionally). Added the latest ones too to the already huge collection – from sharjah to his twenty-years-in-cricket day. I have his picture with him lifting his bat to the sky, on the face of my cupboard, at the top. Below follow other great sports-persons, leaders, soldiers (whether rolls of honour or a rickety hostel cupboard, sachin can’t be lower down). That picture has become a tad bit yellow. This new one can replace it. It’s easy with Sachin’s pictures. A great moment is never too far to let the older one become too yellow.

“I dedicate this double century to all the people of India who stood behind me through ups and downs”.. The way he’s been talking like this for twenty years now, a silly girl like me has actually come to believe that he personally takes care of how I feel. I’ve come to believe that I’m someone really important in his life.

I almost didn’t care to watch the match highlights. But oddly wished I could watch him sleep that night. And get some well deserved rest. And see him get up lazily in the morning. Bum around the house. And then ask me, hey, Priya, how are you, girl?

And then I get filled with all this guilt. Gulp. I cover my mouth lest I blurt it out. I am sure he won’t mind. The way he’s so nice. But its bad, nevertheless, the way I feel. But can’t help it. Who else will listen to me. And Sachin always listens. Ok. ‘Hmm. Sachin, ab, sorry, umm, ab ek world-cup ho jaye?’

Sachin patiently listens to a billion voices everyday.

As Matt Hayden puts it best, ‘I have seen God, he bats at No. 4 for India.’

Take a bow.

AM A BAD GIRL!

You came and apologized,
I said, ‘Its ok,’ without a hitch,
but did you hear me scream inside,
‘Fuck you bitch!’

I do walk out full sleeved,
and in baggy jeans wide,
but you know what,
am all pink and lacy inside!

Did I give u a lecture
that alcohol is toxic, and makes you quick older?
I forgot to mention,
am too carried back from parties on many a shoulder!

You caught me raising my eyebrows
when you went all swoony over that dude,
but you didn’t catch me go weak in knees myself,
long before you thought I would!

I show I get disgusted,
when you all rattle out all those gaalis,
but I was the first to run back and check out
the dictionary meaning of MC-BC waalis!

I tell mom-dad I can’t come with them
‘coz I gotta finish all the revision,
and soon enough I jump on the bed
to catch the best scenes on television!

I know its pathetic
to live a life so hypocrital,
but it’s a major kick, you know,
to be nice outside, and inside, such a naughty girl!