The last 24 hours of being 24

I turn twenty five soon. In a matter of a few minutes I will officially cross the line I drew myself to find all my dreams and make them real, and at that line I will look back to the 8 year old me, convinced of happiness and success and say, “I’m sorry love, life didn’t turn out like we planned and I haven’t found what we are looking for, but what a journey!”

It all starts with a ridiculous plan to travel ten hours for a hair and one ridiculous friend who decided to make that journey with me.

24 has been many years put together. I have seen myself succeed well beyond my expectations, or anybody’s for that matter and then watch everything crumble. It was April and I had decided life could not get more perfect. I had almost everything I wanted and what I didn’t have was tied up in ribbons to arrive soon. I was as happy as I have ever been and thanking the universe for aligning the stars just for me. 2 months later life caught up with me and bitch-slapped me like never before.

I hit my lowest yesterday over something as stupid as speeding over a speed-breaker and crashing near a sewer. I stood up gathering the shreds of my dignity, my bicycle and phone (that I shouldn’t have been using while riding) and resigned myself to the life I now found myself living. Every single thing had the unpleasant odor of failure, even something as seemingly trivial as riding a bicycle home. I wasn’t looking forward to the stupid trip to Delhi. Given the course my life had run since June-July I just couldn’t bring myself to believe things could be anything but rotten.

But Nivi had booked our tickets and it seemed more of a pain to live with my ridiculous hair and cancel my tickets than just suck it up and go. So go I did and how very glad I am, I can now see that it might just get better, my faith in humanity is restored and I have the best bloody hair cut I have had since leaving Bombay.

Today, things just worked. We found an auto to take us to the station-easy peasy. We got the best damn seats on that beautiful double decker train- the one across a table with ample leg room. As if that wasn’t good enough there were army jawans on the other side of the table. I will apologise at this point for not doing anything special to show them the gratitude I feel for all they are willing to do to make sure I’m safe. I hope they know, I wish I had, in some way, let them know. I’ll forgive myself knowing I woke up at 5.45 (thank you Anju) after a late night.

I reached Delhi and realized the man I wanted to cut my hair (the entire purpose of this 5 hour journey, remember) was on holiday. Given how I am now used to having things not go my way I made my way to option two- this place called Looks in Khan market where Deepak (man number 2) had taken the day off. It doesn’t help that I didn’t have an appointment but then the guys at the counter suggested Nicky, and thank God they did.

They say a hair cut can change your view of the world, Nicky seems to have worked his magic on my day. A brilliant hair cut, cinnamon roll and a few book purchases later we walked around Khan market to some random place called Mamagoto because we weren’t in the mood to travel to where I wanted to eat lunch. Oh Mamagoto… how happy you made two girls craving sea food in faraway land-locked places. I love you.

Ne, Sashaa and Kaka… it was so blood good to see you despite the madness of Sarojini Nagar market. Ne and Sash, you were absolutely right- bad call, we should have just stayed in Khan market’s blissful laziness, but now I have a beautiful lamp, you’ve met Kaka and I have discovered his cool Ninaja skills. I’ll be sure to recruit you if I’m ever on a manhunt Kakkey. 

I will now take the time to thank the strangers who made this day everything it was.

1. Strangers on the road who told us three times to not listen to an auto man. They told us (three times I remind you) to get into the auto and then tell him where to go and insist on going to the police station if the meter wasn’t turned on. You had no reason to help two very lots very adult women but we thank you. I love how happy you looked when we got into the auto and I stuck my head out to flash you a thumbs up sign.
2. The auto man. We didn’t need to pick a fight.. You took us where we wanted, without driving around Delhi. I know because I turned on my Map-app expecting to be over charged. I love how you joined in when Nivi and I were sounding excited like every other tourist about how gorgeous the Rashtapati Bhavan and India gate look. I love how you then showed us every sight there was without a single detour. When we got off at Khan market at 11 something you even cautioned us about not being disappointed about seeing the shops shut because everything only opens at 12.
3. Auto man 2: You made zero drama outside Khan market when I insisted you drive us through an absurd route to pick up Ne befor heading to Sarojini Nagar. I didn’t put on my app but honestly, auto man 1 and you are part of the same brother-hood, and you were so patient even reversing on a road you knew better than to simply because we asked.
4. Bubble gun man: We were at a signal racing to the station when this man selling the coolest bubble making device ever passed our auto. I saw Anju gift even before I saw you. I thank you for giving us a new bottle of the funny liquid we need pointing out the leak. We wouldn’t have known and were very confused till you told us why. Nivi and I love you even more for telling us there was time enough to show us that it worked fine- clearly you know what can be done in 40 seconds better than either of us.
5. Uncle on the road: We came back to Jaipur and with very little sense sat in an auto despite suspecting our driver was drunk. He was pulled up by a cop, sped away after an argument and like stupid ducks we continued sitting in the auto all the way home. Drunk auto-man and his friend then picked a fight with us about how much to pay him and we saw you walking towards us. I was sure you wanted the auto or were walking to the shop until you came up and asked us if we were ok. I love you even more for turning back around and walking home as soon as you found out we were safe. Thank you, in this lonely city that shuts down at 8 and can’t be bothered with strangers (other than stare at them like aliens) I love you for going out of your way to make sure we were safe. You didn’t need to- you and I both know that and that is precisely why your gesture meant so much.

My faith in humanity is restored.

Bring it on 25, I’m ready. Could you though, make an effort to beat 24’s highs and never ever drag me down as low as your predecessor?

Lots of love and the happy bubbly feeling of the world not being such a shit-hole,
Me.  

Reposted from: http://sitaramenon.wordpress.com/2013/10/06/the-last-24-hours-of-24/

Mrs. Pinto's house

Mrs. Pinto's house

Dear old Mrs. Pinto would sit in the garden of her ancient three storied bungalow and watch for hours as people passed by. Occasionally, she would ring the bell to summon her trusted man servant Lalji. She would sit endlessly on the rusty garden chair, that at some point of time was painted white as was the fad, and watch as a procession of vehicles pass her gate.

 She loved watching it- the magic of mobility. People of different shapes and sizes would make her beloved Mumbai come alive. Of course, what helped keep the love for this life outside was how, invariably, every one of these passers by in their many avatars would look at this bungalow, in the middle of a residential area full of multi storied buildings, and wonder how it had survived.

Mrs. Pinto loved to tell anybody, who bothered asking, how the bungalow came to be hers and why she could never sell it. How could anybody help listening to this frail old woman in her flowery cotton nightie tell her story? You could fall asleep over the tea and cucumber sandwiches she would serve you, but you woul wake up having listened to every word of her story.

“I was maybe fifteen when I married that Mr. Pinto. Of course, in my time, that was very late to be married. You see the problem was not with me; In those days I was so beautiful everybody wanted to marry me, but this Papa... You know everyone always said, “What a wonderful man this Mr. D’Souza is but oh he loves his daughter too much”. You know, he would bring me sweets everyday and he made sure mama braided my hair in the most beautiful satin ribbons. Oh, I wore only lace in those days. It was the thing to do. Not even all these things that you call lace these days, what I had was just beautiful, it was hand made, needle lace.

“Wait... But that’s not what I was telling you about. Ah yes! So my darling father, oh he just couldn’t let go of me. You see, I had three brothers and I was the youngest, the only girl, His own little moon papa called me No, my father couldn’t let go of me. He said that this is India, only. He said, “Anybody can come but this is India. Once a girl goes, she goes forever and never comes back, so how can I let go of my little moon.”

So Mama and Papa would fight everyday. Then one day, Papa didn’t buy me new lace when I tore my dress. Mama told Uncle Chacha’s wife, Auntie Chachi, to stitch it up for me. You see these big gardens? Uncle Chacha tended to them all alone. Oh it was so beautiful then. We grew apples and oranges and lemons and don’t even let me start about the flowers that we grew.

“Oh my old age I did it again. Where was I? Yes I was saying, so one day Papa agreed that my torn lace must be mended and if I lost my ribbons nobody should buy me any more. We didn’t eat apple pies anymore of drink orange juice anytime we wanted. Even Tommy, Lesley and Bob, my brothers who were studying in England, had to come back.  You see I was just a child then and I was happy to have my brothers back. Of course I missed my ribbons and my dresses and limitless supply of everything I wanted but you see, the way I saw it, it was a fair bargain- give up all the fancies to be treated like a queen by your three big brothers whom I loved dearly and missed desperately.

“But one day I heard mama and papa shouting at each other. I can’t say that wasn’t common but, you see, they were in the attic and I was in the garden and to hear them shouting so far away was quite uncommon. What was worse was Mama breaking all her China. So dear it, was to her. You know, it had these delicate blue flowers on them what is that word? Chintz? Something like that, anyway, it was the pride and joy of her life. No don’t misunderstand me, she loved all her children and the dogs and cats and cows we had, but nothing could make her smile quite like her beautiful crockery on her beautiful lace table cover. It had been a while since we had thrown a party to put all that on the table. You see we all ate from steel plates. Mother didn’t trust us with her plates. I mean, a bunch of hooligans like us, of course she would worry about us breaking and chipping everything, so the special plates were for special people.

“So you understand why I was worried when I heard them from where I was standing in the garden. The next thing I remember is Mama running onto the road in her tattered green gown. Why I remember that moment is because I had never seen my mother run out onto the road. I had never seen her run, which was shocking enough, but onto the road? That was something I hadn’t ever thought of as possible. Something about etiquette she would say. “Women shouldn’t run, women should comb their hair, women must keep their hands and nails neat.” You know, my mother was very pretty. Lots of people say I looked just like her and it made me glow. She had beautiful hair. Auntie Chachi would brush it for her every night; “hundred strokes”, she said “to have the hair of Rupunzel.” Sometimes she even let me comb it for her. Mama was always so delicate. The slightest knot and she would whimper. You see, she didn’t approve of screaming no? So to set an example she would never scream in my presence.

“Oh why don’t you tell me when I forget about the story? All you young people, such strange notions of what is proper. So anyway, I had never seen her go outside our gate so when I saw her run out like that I was quite shocked. I was tempted to follow her, it might have been quite a game, but then I remembered the noises upstairs and froze where I was. Then Papa ran out and said to me,

“That’s it! You must get married. I will miss you my dear girl”, then he gave me a tight hug and ran out too.

“I don’t remember too much of the rest of the day. I was quite excited you know. I had seen my cousins get married. I knew I would get new clothes and ribbons for that. After all, I was going to be a bride, you know.

“I don’t know how they found Mr. Pinto and how everything was fixed up. I think the first time I saw him was through the veil on my wedding dress. What a strapping man that Mr. Pinto was. Some twenty-three I was told he was. You know, he had this moustache and he certainly looked like a charmer in his wedding suit. I couldn’t wait to begin the rest of my life with that handsome man.

“I was told later that I had met him before, but you know it wasn’t till I turned 40 that my memory started improving so what to do, I didn’t remember seeing him at all. So, two days after the wedding I was whisked off to some tea garden in Assam where his whole family grew tea. It was a British thing to do but somehow they managed to get a hill for themselves.

“Then two months later I was taken home out of the blue. They said say, “Say goodbye, this is not yours anymore” and pointed at my beautiful house.

“Now, before I tell you the next part, you must remember that I was only fifteen and all this happened suddenly. You don’t take a fifteen year old girl, married or otherwise to her parents house thinking she is going to meet her family, anxious to tell them about all her wonderful new adventures and spring a foul surprise like that on her!

 My god! I must have embarrassed my mother that day because I was wailing like a little child, kicking and screaming. I mean I was a married woman, no? Married women are expected to be grown up however young (or old) they might be and I here I was clinging to that post, you see there, refusing to let go. Mr. Pinto went into a fit and said he would leave without me if I didn’t let go and behave like a grown up. I told him he could go, that I could live without everything but this house. I told him, between my sobs, this was my house and nothing could change that and that it would always be mine.

“Poor Mama and Papa, they just stood there watching helplessly while I was being dragged off the pillar by my new husband. I was like a beast hanging on to its prized catch. How that man pulled me. Oh, bless his soul and may he rest in peace, Mr. Pinto was such a gentleman. That was the only time he treated me like that. I probably deserved it too, but, you see, it was my garden and my pillar and house and my… Well I could do this forever. I just couldn’t part with any of it.

“Mr. Pinto had decided it would be a one month holiday where I could spend a long time saying goodbye to the house I grew up in. Clearly, he didn’t anticipate the tantrum I threw. So after all that travelling, I was only allowed to stay home from the time I walked in through the gates to the time I was roughly pulled off the pillar.

“That was the last I saw of my parents before they died together. You know, nobody told me what happened to them. No, not the part about their train being derailed during what was considered part of the freedom struggle but about what happened to them after the house was sold. My brothers also refused to tell me. Then they all died and it remained a mystery. I would still like to know but there is nobody left to ask.

“See I’ve take off again and you didn’t tell me. Where was I? Ah yes, so once Mr. Pinto yanked me off the pillar I was sent back to Assam where I made countless devious plans to get back my beloved house. You see, I was happy only in that tea garden, knowing that my house missed me but then to suddenly be told that I could never come back to the house just broke my heart. But then things were what they were and for 26 years I didn’t see my house. My husband and son kept me busy for all that time. Left to myself, I know I would have acted on one of those plans.

“Then one by one the whole Pinto family died. First, it was the parents then the son and I don’t know about the rest of the family but I didn’t wait to hear from them when Mr. Pinto died. You know I missed the family. They were so patient with me. Mr. Pinto’s mother was as nice to me as Mama and Mr. Pinto’s father doted on me. They never had any daughters, you see. There was genuine affection among us. Oh and Mr. Pinto, I still blush to think of all the things he taught me. Dear man, I still miss him.

“So once Mr. Pinto passed, I grieved my husband’s death for a month. It was too much really. Even after all that time I had not really grown up. I was always treated like a spoilt child, no. So when my whole family died I decided enough of this I will go back to the place that made me happiest.

I quickly packed my bags before the rest of the family turned up at the doorstep, found a lawyer and some other people and all and sold the bloody hill. I packed exactly what I needed and reached Bombay.

That’s when I really grew up. I tell you, a single woman in Bombay has much to learn. Especially one who decides to move into a temporary house and adamantly decides to have a particular house.

“After one year of battling with the world I finally got my beautiful house back. Of course I was cheated. Think about it no, who trades a hill for a three storied bungalow? But then again any seller could see that this crazy woman wasn’t counting the Rupees. I was on a mission to get my beloved house back and so I did. My poor son also, Jeff, stuck in London that time couldn’t do a thing. I was a grieving widow and orphan on a mission and no man in his right mind would choose to get in her way.

“Ah! So that is how I came to get my beautiful house back. I’m never letting it go. No. All those builders come and say some rubbish but who’ll give them this beauty to tear down into something that is lots of ugly boxes stacked one over the other? I’ve told that Jeff also that he is not getting the house. What will he do with it anyway in that London? So I’ve written to the Government, some heritage site something, some reporter was telling me. I told you no, anything to protect my house, so I wrote to some people. They’ll come sometime and help me. Hopefully I won’t die before that.

“Ah yes some endless families from everywhere came demanding a piece of my house. I told them off. You, dear child, see a frail woman, but if you threaten my house and my child you’ll see the other side of me. I’m at peace now. I have everything I want. If I die in this house I’ll be the happiest woman there ever was.”

The story never changed. Not the deviances, not the admonitions in the middle- nothing. Mrs. Pinto breathed her last in her beautiful house and the pack of wolves for builders clamoured to buy the house again but Mrs. Pinto had thought of everything before the end.

You can still see the house in the middle of what she called little boxes stacked on top of each other. It is a heritage site now, untouched by change, held in a time wrap. 

Monologue of a disillusioned cynic

Growing up is the process of shedding, layer by layer, every dream you have ever had.

I wish I had said it but I'm only as original as B grade film directors are known to be.  

I watch re-runs of old shows, perhaps, obsessively. This nugget of wisdom is from Wonder Years. 

Despite the many episodes, of many television shows, that I have watched I seem to remember no episode with as much clarity as this one. I will be the first to admit that I have little in common with a child in sub-urban America from the 60s and yet, my disillusionment with my self seemed less solitary when this episode played. I remember feeling betrayed by the writers for displaying, on international television, my shame for all to see and yet feeling at one with the universe in realising (finally) that it wasn't only my burden to carry. 

I have wondered since how true that is. I remember wanting to be a singing-dancing-acting-sailing-smiling-guitar playing-hippy-doctor-lady-princess-war reporter-movie maker-teacher person. Layer by layer I lost every dream. To say it like that, makes it sound comfortable, like the thread-work of fate and perhaps the truth is that I was destined to make the choices I did. I have this uncomfortable itch in my shoe that makes it clear that, with every year, I learned to believe what everybody else told me I could do, more than I believed my own voice- the good one, that is. I let the world be my doctor and sat with my heart open for every pearl of joy to be extracted- for well-being. Always for that. 

I'm beginning to find myself again. After so many years I don't recognise that good voice as mine anymore.
I found that voice in an echoing chorus of so many.

I have the rare privileged of meeting children who share nothing in common with me. These children, for whom to recognise the alphabet is a blessing, have taught me to believe again. The funny thing is, they have taught me that the dreams I regret not breathing life into were intelligent choices. Choices, that in desperation, I allowed myself to believe, other people were making for me but in truth (I'm beginning to remember again) I fought to make. I may not play the guitar but I make my own music. I may not be a doctor but I save lives. I  may not be smile but I know happiness. All of this I simply do by being alive.

It is a not so rare gift- life; One that I don't often find reason to rejoice in.
I'm beginning to realise that growing up could well be stripping away every dream I have ever had to discover reality, often more wondrous than the dream. There is a pain in reality that is rewarding in its sweetness.
Yes, it could well be true that I'm a disillusioned cynic now but I like that better than being a deluded dreamer, despite the ring in the latter. Of course,I don't expect my contentment to last over a few hours. It is the effect of a drug I haven't found. 

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The song that is playing is Joe Cocker's version of 'With a little help from my friends' (but of course!)