Hello darkness, my old friend. I’ve come to talk with you again

Its 1:00 am. I’m back from work. After a long time, I had a very busy day. There’s a power cut here and my inverter’s run out of battery. But thanks to my Fn Page Up key that flashes a tiny lamp on my keyboard, I’m able to write.

It’s dark… and still outside. All I can hear is generator rumbling at a distance. And strangely enough, the only other sound I can hear is the clock ticking in my room. The clock was a present for my sister on her 10th birthday. 18 years back. Buddy just let out a bark, momentarily breaking the silence permitted by the seconds hand. A whiney bark.

The world’s gotten big, and I can feel an increasing inconsequentiality about the night time.

When I was very young, in Srinagar, after 7 p.m all lights were out. Our world fell asleep and the next sign of any activity was only 9 hours from then, when the army PT would start, soon followed by the bands.

It didn’t change much as I grew older, and we moved to Delhi. The only difference being, in the plains, night fell at 10 pm. But after that, there was no reason any rational being would stay awake. Or if awake, engage in anything productive. My sister and I would play word games for that was all we could do as the darkness rendered us incapable of anything else. There was game where we’d compete on who knew more words ending in –ion. There was another one where I would try to guess my sisters’ friends names. If I insisted on playing these verbal games too long, she would scare me with stories about black cats and 100-days movie cassettes. It was time to rest. All contact was broken for the next 8 hours as the world around me retreated into deep sleep.

By the time I was in high school, and then college, night was 10 p.m, but we pushed the limit to a little later. Actually significantly later. Who am I kidding? I’ve stayed up, studying till 4 am on more occasions than I remember. I’ve had to jump across the wall to pick up an empty pack of cigarettes that accidentally fell out of my window into the neighbour’s garden (Was I scared! I was on the phone with the good friend, and I hung up in panic, and jumped across the wall). But it was still night. There was a reason the time between 10 pm and 4 am was reserved for studying the Marshall-Hicks theorem, practicing and eventually perfecting the art of smoking and long, endless pillow conversations - this was when I was alone. Everyone around me slept. There was no connectivity and again, no rational being had a reason to stay awake. I, of course, did. As did the other end of the phone. And no one to disturb the story.

At business school, the earth spun around its axis and my timing was now in sync with the other end of the world. Only, there was no connection between these two ends of the world for me. You enter business school raw, play a freak for 2 years, and exit polished. I wonder how that happens. Day was now night. I stayed up all night, ‘breakfast’ at 8 p.m., Chai at 2 a.m., Maggi an hour later, turned in at 5 a.m, slept through the day, even during class, and would finally wake up by 6 p.m. A shower would break me out of the lethargy, and several different songs, playing loudly from rooms across the wing, marked the beginning of the productive day. There was always the occasional nerd (Well honestly…we were all nerds) that continued his primitive ways and would be up all afternoon, cramming for a quiz 3 days from then. He was nearly done with his day as he had been up since 6 a.m. Can you imagine?

It was a brief interlude, for when I started work in Singapore, the clock turned back. Night was the old night. Like 11:00 p.m. Only it was two hours ahead of the rest of my world. It didn’t matter much.

It’s different now. I’m back from work at 1 a.m, and as I switch on my computer, I have my friends messaging me on IM. They’re just starting their day on the West Coast, while the Londoners are wondering if they will be able to leave work in time to get beer at a bar closeby. My world, scattered all over the place, is not asleep. Its superficial to sing songs about lonely nights. I’m not alone at this hour. Every hour, for the next 7 hours, I will receive at least 2 messages from my friends who will be cracking through their days in Chicago, or returning from their morning workout in Australia. And of course, the boys in Delhi, who’re still at work, crunching on a PE case (yes, the team I was with before), and will sleep only a few hours before the sun rises. I often get up in the middle of the night, and pick up these messages. So when I wake up the next morning, I’m still connected. I get the morning news in my mailbox before the newspaper boy arrives. I have gossip about the happenings in New York before day breaks in Delhi. There’s been no break from the world. Its a continuum.

The aloneness of the night no longer remains.

I think I want to return to a slightly less connected world. I’m not anti the advances in telecommunications or the invasion of the blackberry. I just want to reserve my night. For great writers, un-related thoughts, special people. And imagine the rest of the world is asleep. And the night belongs to me.

The music: the sounds of silence, among other songs by S&G

Pth: The music now: One..two…three…. , the ballad from the movie by the same name

Happiness in its queer forms

I can't decide what I'm happiest about: new specs... I slept on the old pair, and ended an era of Ali McGraw-style glasses....its a more sophisticated but far less comfortable pair now, since the stores at Atria didn't having anything in plastic that fit my budget; feeling ultra fit after prancing my way through the short trek (my old legs didn't cry); the fact that ITC Sheraton has a room on the 27th floor for single women (with bath oils and sleep lotions....the works!) , or the vegetarian diet that hasn't been broken in 10 days!

Yay!!!

An old on Rajkot

Rajkot (2nd June ’08)

Small towns usually stir up mixed feelings in me. There’s always excitement and curiosity about what the place will be like, and often a small fear of a boring, dry turnout. It wasn’t any different this time, when my client asked me to make a trip to Rajkot on work. If anything, I was a bit more anxious after my eventful and rather depressing trip to Nagpur 4 days back.

After scrambling for 2 flights in a row including a mad highway rush with a cabbie who insisted on staying within 50 (and annoying the shit out of me….. aha, Business class made sure I got on the plane 7 minutes before it was scheduled to leave) and a sprint from KF arrival in Bombay to Jet departure, I finally landed in Rajkot.

So far, I love it.

My travel gyaan: A trip is a trip when there are observations. A short trip is a good trip if it allows you to tap in to the city in the little time you spend there. The excitement of being in a new place is just peripheral.

And that’s exactly what I find here. I’ve been here 4 hours, 2 of which I spent walking around (and another 2…working). It’s small, friendly, and makes me feel like I’ve been here before. I haven’t though.

I was welcomed by a cabbie, who made me wait 15 minutes, so he could fit in 3 more people from the airport heading towards the same hotel. When I finally got to the cab, 4 fat men decided there was no room for me, so left me waiting for the 2nd cab. This was roomier.

I reached the hotel, and immediately decided I needed to go to a chemist store (not taking any chances since I have 3 hours on the road tomorrow). On quick glance, as I walked down to the chemist, there was a gym called powerhorse (I’ve seen power house before), with a group of young men standing outside, who didn’t miss a chance to whistle at the only girl in their vicinity. I feel the office wear factor played a role in that. A couple of kids playing marbles decided to stop and point towards me saying ‘wo dekh’. The background dotted with the sound of scooter horns and Hindi movie songs a few years old. The chemist started to speak in Gujrati, but quickly switched to Hindi as he realized I didn’t belong here.

When I got back to the hotel, there were about 8 people ahead of me. One of them, a short old man, probably a seasoned businessman here for some regular trade of his, gave me his place, with a welcoming smile. As I got my room key, he walked up to me with an acknowledging expression, and said “Kaam pe aye ho.....Achcha hotel hai”. He had clearly been here before, but realized I hadn’t. And realizing I was the only girl there, alone, decided to re-assure me I was in a safe place.

My room is small, cozy, and very functional. I don’t have a bath robe, and the room service menu is all vegetarian (the corn cheese chilly toast reminded me so much of business school days). Having separate switches for each lamp (as opposed to the highly convenient single switch in most luxe hotels), twin beds, broadband that needs to be re-connected after every 15 minutes, all such things, the absence of which would probably make you forget you’re in a small town.

Before I speak to soon about this place, I’ll shut down, since I do have 6 more hours to check this place out tomorrow. You never know what could change, 6 times over, in 6 hours. So more tomorrow.

1 year in Delhi

Today I completed 1 year in Delhi.

This time, last year, I said farewell to a few very close relationships. The farewell gesture by the Office Head, the final evening at Clarke Quay, the last cigarette AZ and I shared, the tears that fell as I saw my apartment for the last time, the last Cappucino with low fat milk at Starbucks Changi airport, and the mixed feelings, of sadness as I left Singapore, and excitement as I was moving to back to where I had always wanted to work.

The memories of this night, one year back, are only too vivid. At about half past mid-night, a couple of hours after I had reached Delhi, the boy I liked, came over and we headed towards Dublin. I had been away from Delhi long enough and imagined Dublin to be an Irish-like bar, where I could share plenty of conversation with the boy. I imagined it to be of the type the boy and I loved, and loved talking about.

But! Dublin! Was! a! Club!!!! ‘Tu hi hai mera pyaar mahiya’ playing as we entered. No Draught beer. Random (and hot) Delhi chicks around us. The boy brought me to a club!! I should have followed the signs that night, my first night in Delhi, anticipated what lay ahead in the city.

Ironical. I had never been as excited about being back in the city.
A few other things that come to my mind, as I close my eyes and think of this 1 year.


Papa and I
Being surrounded my favourite people at my desk in office
The Cancun trip
The time I cried to BB for nearly 4 hours
The accident I had a week after the Cancun trip
My PEG life
The engagement and the entry of Nobster into the family
Getting back to endless email conversations
Flying in the Ghats
Coffee at Coffee Day, every single winter weekend morning
3 awesome books I read
Several photo trips
Gtalk conversations with people I hardly knew in school
The first Bombay trip and the cute American
Friday evenings with Beer and Peepu
Long, and almost always meaningful conversations with BB
Watching Khuda Ke Liye
Meeting old boy the next day, and a nice new one soon after, that night
The crazy TGIF + Ricks + Meridien coffee shop evening (!!!)
The Europe trip that got called off 3 times, and died a sorry death
Papa falling sick
The promotion
Mum, Papa and I watching Ghalib in New Delhi, at the end of this 1 year

I started the post intending to describe the last year. But may be not any further. The year was exciting, and eventful, but not a lot more than the previous years. So I’m just ruminating. What lies ahead? TGIF, home, chai in the summer rain, long road trips, short drives on green Delhi roads, FM radio as I drive, friends from DU, plays at IHC, another Delhi winter, chappals from Janpath, beer at Flavours, ice cream at India Gate, coffee at Coffee Day, books from Fact and Fiction, late conversations at Priya, quiet Sunday evenings at Italic.....

I think I’ll live here, in Delhi. The music….Aashayein……

Calm

I don’t know what I’m in the mood for. I’m a bit of a grumpy asshole right now.

The events in the last few days have, not surprisingly, left me low. After a few crazy days of running in and out of hospitals, I finally got a slightly easy day. Dad’s better now. We chilled together this evening. He’s better but he won’t ever be what he was until a week back. He refused a drink today (thank heavens!). He promises he won’t drive (I don’t believe this one will last). He’s a brave old chappie!

So am I.

I’m off work for a few days. My absolutely wonderful team has taken the load off me, and despite all the crazy weekend work, messages me several times every day.

Any way, I don’t intend this to be a depressing post. There’s calm now. It’s a beautiful night, and although in the middle of June, still not too warm. I don’t have an agenda for this post. I’m just really sleepy. But I’ll put off sleep. There are a few things that are making me stay awake.

The songs of ‘Khuda ke liye’, and ‘Achtung Baby’ alternating as my music player toggles between the 2 CDs. Actually, its just ‘Bandey’ and ‘One’ from the respective CDs. I’m usually a big fan of FM Radio, but there’s club music playing across channels, and I’m not exactly in the mood for “Mere rab ne diya sensation blah’ or ‘Where’s the party tonight’ or Rihanna. I could do with James Blunt though.

The afterthoughts from the first half of ‘The rise and fall of the great empires’ by Paul Kennedy. I’ve read it before, 5 years back. I’ve read a lot on History, but nothing as elegantly written as this piece. It convinces me of the impermanence of what we see in the international political economy today. It’s ironical how in a relatively short period, the axes of power have turned full circle. The first time I read it, it was borrowed from the library. I own a copy now.

The smell of Aloe Vera on my feet. It’s a Crabtree & Evelyn body cream that reminds me of my Singapore days. I’ve owned it since I moved into the little apartment at Darby Park, on Orange Grove Road. The luxury was so new to me. These were my first few weeks of work. I would end each day with a hot shower in the plush bathroom, followed by 15 minutes of slathering my legs with this cream. Then there was hot Darjeeling tea (all I could do in the kitchenette was boil water) and a book totally un-related to everything else in my life. I remember I was reading The Guns of August, those days. Another one I recommend.

My friends relentlessly messaging me on Gtalk. I won’t respond. J They understand. I’ve never been chat friendly. I find people messaging me on the IM at work, the most annoying habit in people. I understand if its ‘Hey, you wanna get lunch?’ or ‘Lets head to the meeting room’. But I have no tolerance for ‘Hey, if we use 2006 revenue per bed day, will that not skew our numbers, since every else its 2007, and the discrepancy will show up in erratic value increases?’ Ok, the guy who does this a very dear friend of mine. So the annoyance is not at the person, it’s at the habit.


My Pig (I don’t have a name for him), with its head buried in the bed and its bum facing the ceiling. I have 14 Pig figurines/toys in my room. Its not a conscious obsession. Rather, it’s a protest against the discrimination against anything Porcine, by toy companies that existed when I was a girl. It was usually stuffed bears and cats and rabbits (I h-a-t-e rabbits!). Pigs have only recently been added to the toy maker’s catalogue. (Pth: Why would a restaurant call an all-chicken dish Porcini. Dad was highly disappointed with his order last week) (Pth: Megha, Porcini mushrooms!!!!!!!!!!! Sic!!! Highly embarassed of my lack of knowledge. To my credit, noone pointed it out. As I built on my knowledge base, I discovered that there are mushrooms beyond Shitake (Spelt incorrectly, I know!)

My Pictures folder, which needs to be organized. I have a photo-blog long due for updating, or rather, bringing to life. Soon.

Now I’m really sleepy. There was no purpose to this post. Just lightening the load.

Pth: The music is now Carry You Home, by James Blunt. ………………..

25 and red!

Ask me what I did this birthday. I slept. All day.

Finally rose early evening, and decided its time for a change. My long (well this is the longest its ever been), black tresses are no longer black. I decided to take the bold step of coloring my hair red. Bold enough for someone who's hair has been the cause of 20% of her sorrows (pth: 30%-the weighing machine; 20%- guys, but this one varies significantly, has gone up to a scary 80% in post break-up times; 30%- sitting in one place for anything over 2 months, this one's nearly 90% now since I have no guy problems right now, the gym is showing its effects and my hair looks pretty good- see below).

This giant leap for my-kind actually turned out pretty neat. For someone who fears the sound snip, and has the history of always walking out of a hair salon disappointed, my tipping the stylist definitely reflects a happy birthday.

What do you think?

25

I’m finally there. 25, super smart, over-worked, VLNWI (very low net worth individual), proud, always trying to lose weight, emotional, loves U2, and history and big cities.

1:20 a.m on my 25th birthday. Having clocked over 90 hours this week, I should be sleeping. I’ll be off soon.

I’ve worked 12 hours today (its Saturday), consumed 2 bottles of beer, 2 glasses of scotch, and decided to sacrifice an hour of sleep to put together my wish list while my emotions are charged and my fingers aren’t complaining. So here’s what I want

Change. I’ve spent 12 of the last 15 years in Delhi. I have Delhi running in my veins. I love my city. But I think I need change now.
All the love I got from friends the last 6 months. I’m much stronger than I was earlier, but I had you by my side. I want this always. I’m greedy.
Time, to travel and read. There was a book sale at the club yesterday. I bought 26 books. I want the time to read at least 13 of them. And to get my UK visa this Monday. And the Schengen next week. And use them to visit Scandinavia and the UK.
More shoes. And I’m going to have it. The perks of busting your behind 5 days a week is you don’t deprive yourself of a single pair of shoes you really really like
Love. Well, there was this one time……………. But nevertheless. I’m convinced I came into to the world with an immense capacity to love. I want to love again. Just the way I did in the past. Unconditional, unyielding and fearless
Work, though a little less. So it’s established. I’m a workaholic. You might think I’m a hard-nosed, business suit clad, ambitious consultant, strutting along in my high heels, everyday. From 9 a.m. to 1 a.m. I’m not all that. But really, I love my job. It’s what’s kept me going despite in a really tough couple of years. I love the work I do, the people I work with, and how I successfully intertwined my work with the rest of my life, to an extent that I can never not be emotional about it. And I haven’t had enough of it. Well, maybe a little less won’t hurt



You know you’re 25 when at 12 a.m. you get fewer calls, but from every one who matters, and hardly anyone who doesn’t. All the guys who once loved (or lusted) for you, and made sure they didn’t miss the chance to call you at 12, have suddenly disappeared. Girlfriends always hang on, despite being 2.5 hours ahead. As do their sleepy boyfriends. Partners in crime who despite being overworked themselves make sure you don’t spend the day alone, and drink to the beginning of your 26th year. Family never misses this day. Old love (very short love) that could never find a way to work, but calls to wish, and , though not intending to, makes you wonder again, if it could have worked. The Partner on your case, who incidentally makes you work through the day, but texts you at 1:48 am. And some people, who somehow always remember to call you once a year, and only this once.

Its 2:15 a.m. I’m about to turn in. Pulp Fiction soundtrack in the background………Girl…..you’ll be a woman soon.