Dilli

This stranger of a city is seducing me. In it's own, rough, arid sort of way. Even as it bustles, blares and blazes all around me, my bubble of serene wonder at waking up 1400 kms away from 'home' stays intact.

Everything is new. and yet, not quite. Life goes on. but when you resume it in a different place, in unfamiliar conditions, it surprises you every so often.

The other day, the auto I was taking to work took an abrupt turn halfway down a dingy lane, and suddenly I looked up and saw the ruins of some Mughal structure or the other. Tucked away like a secret gem in a dirty corner, in the heart of a city that is too busy to notice.

hello

hello there.

who are you?
yes, you, nosily reading these words I've typed. do I know you?

if you are still reading my blog at this point, you've either just stumbled upon it, or are a very old friend who just comes back to read me out of a compulsive sense of loyalty.

or you're someone else. I don't know who you are. but i like the idea of you reading me, like a distant pen friend. quaint like that. but you never write back.

it's like writing to daddy long legs. :)
have you read that book? you should, it's lovely.

story of my life

pseudonym

We hide for so many different reasons. Even if those reasons are entirely in our heads.

We hide because it’s easier to deal with things from behind our defenses.

We hide to become invulnerable.

For the person behind the pseudonym, being discovered can be as disconcerting as it is exhilarating. Because when we shed the disguise, the game becomes too real, the sharp stab of pain, just a bit too palpable.

And then we run to hide again.

unposted letters

in the gaps that we leave between our conversations, words gather.
they crowd and jostle to find their place. some never make it to you at all.

the gaps will get longer, and your absence will grow more profound.
my words will gather, then eventually they'll fade away.

I will write letters to you in my head
but never post a thing.

the beginning

D'you remember when I said I was going to be a crazy-cat-lady someday?
Of course you do! Because I never stopped saying it.

I could just see myself at 60, surrounded by around 17 cats in various states of disinterested condescension, just sitting and lying about, in a smelly old house, while I huddle in a rocking chair and cackle madly.
Aah! that's the life. not!

And now, to my helpless horror and indignation, I've laid ze feline foundation!
I now have not one, but TWO cats!
Yes, just let that sink in for a moment.

Two damn kittens destroying everything,  snapping at my heels, following me everywhere...
*sigh*
This is the beginning of the end, my friends.

guarder

Bengalis don't trust boxes.
Or even packages, rolled up posters, bundles, etc.
Basically if something can fall apart, we're pretty sure it will.

I don't know if this is an all-India trend, but I can vouch for the fact that Bengali mothers, grandmothers, aunts, and grandaunts prefer to secure everything twice over.

Especially lunchboxes. They don't trust Radha aluminiums, Milton plastics, or even Tupperware tuppers. They treat all 'tiffin boxes' with equal suspicion. They're all prone to leaks and suddenly springing apart and bathing the insides of your bag in whatever oily delight maternal hands packed for you that day.

And this brings us to a small wonder that all these ladies trust blindly. Something the world knows as a 'rubber band', a tiny, tubular elastic band in a loop, nothing more. But to the Indian woman, it is nothing short of a miracle.
Air-tight packaging, sellotape, even cement can crumble, but a rubber band is forever. Except they don't call it a rubber band, they refer to it with a peculiar bastardization of an unidentifiable term.

Have you ever heard of a 'garder'?
yes, that's what we call it. With absolute confidence that it's a real word.
I'm not at all sure if the word originates from the term 'garter' or something completely different, but 'garder' sure isn't an acknowledged synonym for rubber band, as far as I can tell.

But then again, it's only poetic justice that it has come to sound like 'guarder'.
So true.