almostdarktrash

[almostdarktrash]

Terra incognita 2022

It is 15 to 11; almost time to put the hourglass upside down again as the sands of 2021 have passed through. 

The room is softly lit. I am sitting in a corner with my legs stretched out onto an ottoman near the window. 

The paperback of Maxim Gorky's One Autumn Night is in my lap. I could hearken young Asha Bosle's Chura liya hai tumne jo dil ko....from a distanace. 

I am gazing aimlessly through the window panes into the skies. It is not drizzling anymore. Neither the voice of Bosle nor the 'autumn night' fancies me at this moment. As my fingers ruffling through the pages of the book....my mind peeps into the past that was slowly blurring away. There were only a few incidents from my personal life that my mind could playback. Usually, my mind would run through every wynd of the labyrinth I passed thus far. But, finally, all those aching memories would only end up hurting me all over again. It would make me expect a year clear of all that, if not a reversal of them.  I would grow anxious.

But, at this very minute, all that the year gave me and all it took away from me, all good things and bad things that came my way or I chose, pleasures and pains, pats and brickbats  - all, all that seem water under the bridge. None of them has any relevance now.  Sans the thoughts of the past and future, the now is just blank, like my aimless gaze into the skies. I enjoy this suchness or 'zhenru', as buddha explained. No retrospection or introspection. Nothing in my mind that could reek. No aching memories. No hallucinations. There is no idea what the year 2022 has in store. No expectations. No hopes. Nothing.  I like it this way. I just want to be a patch of cloud that knows no destination nor does care to know.  

[almostdarktrash]

"Aur ahista kijiye baatein....".

One of my journo friends whatsapped that lovely video in the group today.

It took me to a time many moons ago....

It was a pleasant winter evening in Chandigarh. We lived in a small portion of one of those identical houses at Sector 35. It must have been seven-ish in the evening by the time I returned from work, of course after a brief visit to the Press Club. In fact, I was a little early that evening compared to my usual evenings after spending hours at the press club with fellow journalists. I knew she would be home that day. As I entered, those two small squarish 'Harman Kardon'-s were piping some soul-stirring songs. The voice...the music.....everything about that was so mellifluous.

"It's Endless Love by Pankaj Udhas," she said punning on the mood. Actually, it was a brief live-in phase for us. She was on a 2-day break. After a romantic 'Hiiii' and a warm hug, she hissed into my ear, "Guess what.....I may have to take a longer break this time as the flights are being rescheduled. But not sure......if at all, may be a day longer. Are you happy?" Of course, I was. I just planted a kiss on her cheek and nodded my head with glee. She was an airhostess with a famous airline then, and we seldom met as I was also travelling frequently.

She brought a bottle of champagne and two flutes. She opened and poured a flute for me and one for herself (She was really a class apart - one of my great misses) after a few rounds over her usual tales, she sashayed into the kitchen.  "Sonu," I called her and said, "I love you." She acknowledged with her stylish 'I knovvvv', and said, "I also know why you say that now," with an impish grin, and whizzed. I loved that too....that grin.  

"Hellooo, why...tell me..," I demanded in vain. I knew she knew that I was always in love with her curves....especially when she wiggles past .....  

"What for dinner? I am famished, and can eat a horse...,." I said.

"So ravenous? Kyon? Ithe aa..." her mischievous invite to the kitchen in punjabi...

She might not be a great cook, but very quick..and she was amazingly good at managing with what's available. That day, she made pilau and apple fry. It was simple but awesome.

And, for a long time we just sat together and was listening to the album. For as long as it played.

It was this woman who introduced me to ghazals at that moon-lit winter evening. Though I miss her, her pilau, that half-baked apple fry and those good times now (and that airline too), that genre stays with me as one of my favourites. I often play this and a bunch of other albums from Pankaj Udhas, and Jagjit Singh and others. Nowwww........, I aaammmm playing it again......Aur ahista kijiye baatein....

It was one of those goodol' days...

[almostdarktrash]

Beauty of women and the phi of men

Years ago, in a London hotel, when the Punjabi girl (an air hostess of an erstwhile airline), after primping in front of the mirror, opened her arms wide and asked me how did she look, I ran into them in a jiffy and said, "You are the prettiest to my eyes." Yes, I really meant it. She did look dropdead gorgeous.  Then with the passage of time in life, as scenes changed, I found many women fall in that "prettiest" category.

Though I am one of those who believe that, in life, everything happens in a particular pattern, I miserably fail to see any pattern in my obsession. 

When one of my friends on the other day showing me Bella Hadid on the cover of Vogue and asked me what mark would I award her out of 100, I gave an abysmally low number.  

I really believe that if we juxtaposition the American supermodel Isabella Khair Hadid and our own Vidya Balan and ask men to choose the one who they would want to date, I am sure the majority would slant towards the latter. 

But, if you swear by 'the science of beauty', Hadid should win most hearts. Going by some Fibonacci numbers and the so-called golden ratio called phi, Victoria's Secret model, Hadid, was declared the most beautiful woman on the planet. 

If we can forget our Vidya Balan and Bella Hadid just for a while, in the 13th century AD, an Italian mathematician, Leonardo Fibonacci, discovered the sequence that converges on phi. The sequence would start with 0 and 1, and the next number would be the sum of the previous two numbers. Thus, each new number in the sequence is simply the sum of the two before it...like 0,1,1,2,3,5,8,13... and so on.   And if we take the ratio of each number to the one before it and go on till the point where it converges on phi, the magical number would be 1.6180339...This is what is called the golden ratio. If we apply this ratio to the proportions of a rectangle, it will be the most visually satisfying geometric form. Pyramids were built on this basis, and later Leonardo da Vinci used this divine proportion in his paintings. Nature too is on this proportion. Researchers say even every leaf on the stem of a plant grows in this golden angle so that the new leaf collects enough sunlight without throwing the leaf below it into too much shadow. There is also an argument that says this magical sequence was first discovered by Indian mathematicians as early as in the 6th century AD.

So what? What has that got to do with Hadid or Vidya Balan? The US-based cosmetic surgeon, Dr Stephen R. Marqardt, created a face mask based on this proportion, and Hadid's face is the closest fit to it. Her eyes, nose, ears, lips and chin ...all are in that proportion. Marquardt believes if life is biology, biology is physiology, physiology is chemistry, chemistry is physics and physics is math, life should be maths, and hence phi is divine.

But in reality, no man would apply, even in his craziest dreams, the Marquardt math and say the woman is pretty. When I was a schoolboy, I loved actress Lakshmi in the movie Julie and thought she was the prettiest woman on the planet. Then as an adolescent, I realised it was not Lakshmi but Dimple Kapadia in Saagar. Then, at one point in time, I thought the Argentine tennis star, Gabriela Sabatini was by far the prettiest. Would any of them fit well with the Fibonacci numbers? At least, my Punjabi girl (should I say 'woman' now!)? Who cares for these numbers?

Kahlil Gibran is perfectly right when he said on beauty, 

The aggrieved and the injured say, "Beauty is kind and gentle.

"Like a young mother half-shy of her own glory, she walks among us."

And the passionate say, "Nay, beauty is a thing of might and dread. 

"Like the tempest, she shakes the earth beneath us and the sky above us."

The tired and the weary say, "Beauty is of soft whisperings. She speaks in our spirit, 

"Her voice yields to our silences like a faint light that quivers in fear of the shadow."

Beauty is life when life unveils her holy face. But you are life and you are the veil.

Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror. But you are the eternity and you are the mirror. 

[almostdarktrash]

Am I late? I am not sorry.

One cannot miss this phrase going around in Bangalore - 'Solpa adjust maadi'. It is probably the most frequently used phrase in Karnataka, meaning "adjust a little".  We in India are not very particular about anything. We can adjust. Be it food, space, dress, etiquette, weakness, hygiene and more importantly, time. 

Today, I met my friend, Divakar, over a high coffee (Yes, he offered me a wonderful coffee that still lingers in my mouth). During our conversation, I recalled how time conscious he was, which I observed during my earlier visit to his office, and told him I was an Indian by spirit. I do not like people who look at the watch while the conversation is on. According to my school of thought, 'Time' is just a concept and has no material presence. 

"Why are you so angry because I came at 9.30?" an Italian asked his German colleague. "Because it says 9.00 in my diary," replied the German. "Then why don't you now correct it and write 9.30 so that both of us will be happy?" That's Italian. For Italians, completing a task is far more important than whether one sticks to any time schedule.  Time is just an illusion and perceived differently by different people from different cultures across the world.  

For a capitalist society like that of the US, time means money. For Americans, every minute is a scarce commodity, which is worth a certain amount of dollars (it may vary depending on the individual's socio-economic strata). If you do not make money, you are nobody in the US.  Richard Lewis, who authored the book - 'When Cultures Collide', has mentioned the above in one of his posts and says that while Americans are used to Linear Time (one event after the other), people in southern Europe perceive time as multi-active. They would want to do more at the same time. The number of things they do at the same time make them as much happier. For the Swiss, time precision is the crux. For Italians and Spaniards, completing a human task or a transaction is more important than time. 

For people in Madagascar, an island nation just below Africa, time is not important unless it makes economic sense. Richard says, buses in Madagascar will not operate according to a predetermined timetable, but only when it gets full. Stocks in store shelves are replenished only after they go empty. Whereas, in the East, Japan and China are again very time conscious. When meetings are scheduled between two people, the Chinese would arrive at least 10 minutes earlier in order to complete the transaction ahead of time, so that one does not steal the other's time.

"What is the time now?" 

"It's 3.20 now"

"What time is the meeting scheduled for?"

"Guess, it is around 2.30."

"Okay, then we are not too late..."

Yes, that's India. For us, Time is pretty much cyclical. One of my friends would always grumble saying he missed so much in life just because of his bad habit. And what was that bad habit? Being on time - everywhere. We, back home in India, believe that life has been happening for trillions of years and will continue to go on. So what, if we do not stick to a time schedule. We, in general, accord more importance to our convenience, comfort, friendship, love and affection than to 'Time'. Even during weddings in our society, mangalyadharanam (tying the knot?) will be bordering on the outer limit of the scheduled time (muhurtham).   

According to Albert Einstein, the dividing line between past, present and future is only an illusion, that all are happening simultaneously. How is that possible? In his relativity theory, he says only the speed of light is absolute. And, if we say the speed of light is invariable and absolute, both space and time must be flexible and relative to accommodate this. He believed, at a particular speed time must become static. 

Our many great philosophers from the east too suggested that time is an illusion. 

According to our vedic science, there are 4 ages on earth which keep on going: Satya Yuga - 1.728 million human years, Treta Yuga - 1.296 million human years, Dwapara Yuga - 0.864 million human years, Kali Yuga - 0.432 million human years. Thus the 4.32 million human years make one cycle. One thousand such cycles (4.32 billion years) form one day of Brahma. His one night consists of 4.32 billion human years. Each day of Brahma is one kalpa (8.64 billion human years). During Brahma's day life exists in the universe. During his night, life does not exist in the universe. The lifespan of Brahma is 100 years (each year consists of 360 days). And above all this, this duration is equivalent to one breath of Maha Vishnu, who is eternal. So, this cycle of the 'universe' goes on. 

My dear Divakar, come on, what are we talking about? 15 human minutes or 30 human minutes? Solpa adjust maadi, Guru. Don't you see a chaotic beauty in life that often spills out of these time boundaries?.   

[almostdarktrash]

Melodies, memories and a goblet of rose wine!

HYPNAGOGIA. Yes, that's the word. 

It's 9.30 at night.

The warm light from the cluster pendant gleams beautifully ...

Abhi na jaao chhod kar...ke dil abhi bhara nahi.... the mellifluous Bhavya Pandit sets the backdrop....  

The brilliant rose wine smiles prettily from the goblet; it summons me.....

I readily yield. A few gentle sips..... i close my eyes....

As I  steered into the commercial complex on Nungambakkam High Road in Chennai this morning, a bawling man in blue uniform, after guiding an S-cross into the parking lot, galumphed up to me and gestured to roll the window down. "Enga saar poringa?" (Where are you going). "DVS," I said. He demurred for a while, but then thanks to a DVS-er, he loathly allowed me to park. 

The plush interiors of DVS Consultants on the sixth floor starkly contrasted the concrete heap, styled 'Apex' Plaza. I was there at the invite of my friend, Divakar, a handsome young man, who is the founder CEO of the international tax consultancy firm, to meet his team of young and bright professionals over a cuppa - and to "share my experience as a journalist".

I never thought that one day someone would  want to have a chat with an ordinary journalist from the print medium - who is usually portrayed in movies as someone thin, bespectacled, kurta-clad, jhola toting, with dishevelled hair and a worn-out pair of chappals - after he seized to be one. 

After exchanging 'hi's and smiles with a few along the passage, I ensconced myself on a swanky, leather-upholstered sofa in the cozy corner room. As I was waiting for Divakar, I slipped into that state. It was neither a state of wakefulness nor sleep. But it was pleasant. 

A few months after the financial daily was formally launched, one fine evening, my News Editor, Ashok Reddy, asked  me if i would care for a fag. It was drizzling then. I love rain. I love the way it blurs the outline of things, as life blurs the future. He said he too loved it. He spoke about his childhood in a small village in the then united Andhra. As we were strolling, he casually asked me how old I was. I said. He immediately burst into laughter and said, "you have a long way to go, pa". 

"Why, Ashok," I asked him, "Why are you laughing?"

"Ravi," he said, "I would happily retire in another 7...or...8 years. But, you have a long way to go."

I said I did not mind, as I liked the profession. Then the conversation branched out to that day's news stories, edits and other topics such as why cotton was called "king" cotton and so on. From that day, we hardly missed that evening stroll. Whenever I happened to be in the office at that time, we would surely step out for that relaxed time.  He taught me a lot. That was my formative period. My years as a journalist were really beautiful. I learnt a lot from many people - from different walks of life. I learnt to groom myself, learnt to ask all those critical questions without embarrassing the other, learnt to listen, learnt to write, made many a friend, travelled a lot. 

But, I never thought that "long way" would come to an end so soon. I never thought my journo journey would come to a grinding halt; never thought I would resign and quit the profession - for good.  Implausible, to think. As a bolt from the blue, one fine day, the curtain came down on all that. I decided to quit, and I did. 

"Hi Ravi," Divakar shook me out. "Shall we go?"

Maybe a little over 20 audience, comprising men and women- in their mid-twenties to early thirties - were there. Our interaction went on for an hour or so. I had an opportunity to recall and almost relive a few good moments.  I really don't know how useful was the session for them. But, I had a nice time. I .... t.h.o.r.o.u.g.h.I.y....enjoyed it. I am still wondering what prompted Divakar to invite me!

Lag jaa gale..Lag ja gale ki phir..ye hasin raat ho na ho....It's Jonita Gandhi now.

Anyway, thank you, Divakar, for the time well spent.

[almostdarktrash]

Guru or Cheenu?

It was a fabulous evening with Cheenu and friends - on his birthday. 

Guru. I do not even know his full name. But, within the first few minutes of introduction, he drew my attention...I did not see anything ostentatious about that man. His soft, low-pitched voice (Please recall Friedrich Nietzsche here: the voice of beauty speaks softly; it steals into only the most awakened souls....hehe) and his idiosyncrasy did trigger some kind of a frisson to further the conversation. 

The conversation between us on that beautiful evening was about religions. Though a non-conformist myself, at times I get a feeling that there might have been a reason for all what was preached by them -  be it Krishna or Mahavir Vardamana, Moses or Jesus, Lao Tzu or Buddha, Zarathustra or Mohammed. They might have been required at that point in time. Anyway, I strongly believe most of the practices by almost all religions have far outlived their purposes. Everything is time-bound. All are meant to be either temporarily permanent or permanently temporary.

Though Guru believes that all religions are crap, at the other end of the spectrum, my friend, Cheenu, never fails to recite some slokhas before he retires for the day.  Who is right? Guru or Cheenu? I am kind of mellowing enough to resign to "maybe-ism", which embraces the doctrine of  'non-absolutism'.  I say may be both are right - in their own way. This theology takes us back to Heraclitus. The God is day and night, winter and summer, war and peace - Cheenu and Guru..:)

Why fragment everything? See the whole, well, that's something I still am learning to.

For now,  a chilled beer or a glass of smooth red wine, a nice book by Kahlil Gibron or an essay on noosphere by Teilhard de Chardin, a documentary on Christ's last years in India or a Bollywood item song by sexy Katrina Kaif, Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven or Maharajapuram Santhanam's Chinnanjiru kiliye, a conversation with Guru or a temple visit with Cheenu....all interest me! 

Looking forward to more such evenings!

[almostdarktrash]

Life swings. Well, violently at times.

Northern states are still reeling under severe cold, newspapers bawl.

In one such season….a little early in the morning…at a beautiful sleepy town on the lap of majestic Himalayas…..

There were a few patches of clouds…with stray drizzles now and then….we woke up early that day. The previous day’s temperature recorded at the DRDO laboratory was 7 degree celcius. Pretty cold.

It was still freezing…the temperature could be even lower. We came out and perched on the verandah, overlooking those snow-capped mountains…which were at a walkable distance….

We were silent for a few minutes…this is something we always preferred to exchanging words, particulatly when in anger.

Silence speaks a lot. Talking will distract. Usually, our silence would follow a fight..no one would want to say sorry. Why? Why should one say sorry to the beloved? After all, Love is not ever having to say you are sorry. Suddenly, Erich Segal came to my mind. Mostly, I would break the silence..by starting off with some irrelevant conversation… But that day, she did that….

“Have you read Lolita?”

Erich Segal was shaken out. I asked her, “Why?”

“What why? When I ask you a question, obviously i expect an answer from you, not another question,” she retorted..

“Yup. Looong ago..before I got introduced to Erich Segal,” I said.

“Okayyy..Now, you are Humbert.” she said…

“Whaaatt?”

“And, I am Lolita,” she continued.

“Who’s Nabokov here? You?” I asked…

“Just shut up and listen”….her usual dialogue…

I kept quiet …we started sipping our tea.

“Now…you come and sit next to me,” she said after another sip…

I moved a bit closer to her. All these while, her eyes did not meet mine..She was staring at nowhere into the roof..or the green-carpeted wooden floor…or the mountain…. Even now, she pretended that she did not feel my proximity.

“Where should I keep my hands now?” I asked her ‘innocently’.

“On yourself..,” came a curt response from her. Now she stared at me, but now I looked away, and said, “Okayyy…now what should I say? I Love you?”

“No. You say you missed me a lot,” she taught me.

I parroted that.

“But, I haven’t,” she said…, “to be honest, I had been revoltingly unfaithful to you.” (one of the famous dialogues of Lolita Haze in that novel)

Me, now acting as Humbert….said “Oh, Really?”

She said: “How does it matter to you now? You have anyway stopped caring for me..”

I asked her, “Why suddenly all this drama? What made you say that I stopped caring for you?”

“Obviously. See, you haven’t even kissed me yet, have you?” she said with a mischievous grin. But, her eyes were a bit misty. Had i looked into them for a few more seconds, tears would have started rolling down… So, looking away at the mountains, I put my arm around her shoulders and drew her close to me. Now I could feel her warm tears. I dabbed them. We again switched to the silence mode for a while. Then……. 

We got ready for a meeting with the officials of the laboratory there for a possible story on how they developed the tomato seeds that will grow on snowy slopes…then came back after lunch with the officials…to type our stories out, and we had to plan where to head that evening…. 

Today, I sit in the air-conditioned confine..and typing some nonsense for our MBA project…all alone. Those stupendous views of mountains, the cold weather..the warmth…..everything is missing. And I know where am I heading to in the evening. A meeting with the sales team; a predictable..routine… 

Life has to go on…

[almostdarktrash]

Dream, I am raring to...

“I am not sleepy yet. Shall we talk for some more time?”

“No. You have downed six, and are on the verge of being stoned. Better, go and crash out.”

“And do what?”

“Dream.”

“My darling in dream? with her gleaming eyes?”

“Imbecile! Don’t ask me. Check yourself.”

“What if no dream knocks at my door?”

“You go and knock at the door of the dream.”

“What if a nightmare answers?”

“No more questions. Just try your luck.”

I stumbled upon dark mountains. It’s cold. My feet were wet, walking in puddles. I managed to reach and knocked at the door of the dream….

Oooops! Nightmare! Discombobulating….

“Come on! How am I different from your darling?”

“She pleases….you devastate…”

“But, we are one and the same….”

“I know. Planet spins at 1600…and so does the sun…”

“What? What are you blabbering?”

“No. Sorry. I was talking to my friend…”

“Come to sense… and tell me why do you say I am devastating?”

“You are too delicate to handle… but, I am raring for you..”

“Then? Why do you call me nightmare?

“………”

“Oii, where are you looking at? Your eyeballs seem to slip down….”

“Sorry. There is no air in the stratosphere….”

"You are again blabbering….answer my question…”

“What question?”

“Why cannot you meet my eyes and talk?”

“That is what I did.”

“Lier!”

“No. Yes. At times my balls…errrr….eyeballs slip down…”

“Like for any other common man?”

“Never. I take that liberty only with you….”

“Why liberty with a nightmare?”

“No. You are my darling….”

“Enough. Get up! It’s too late. You have only time to shower, shave and scoot…”

OMG, it’s Sunday!

[almostdarktrash]

To trash or not to?

It is not really that easy to obliterate memories - be it sweet or not so. At best, one can lay some beneath others, until one's mind gets back to its wonted quiet. Well, consciously. But again, there is always this risk:  Any similar incident may bring that buried memory to surface. Again, you have to consciously push it back. Quite a strenuous exercise it is.  But, unfortunately, we are left with no choice!

Today, as I opened my mail box there was this message saying the inbox was full and I might have to delete some of my mails or buy additional space. And, I chose to delete some of my old mails. There were some long chats too that got deleted. As I started to have cursory glance and delete one by one, this chat took quite a few minutes for me to decide whether to delete.q

Unedited (other than masking the names) excerpt:

Thursay, December 27, 2007 9:35 PM

......

......

She: Ya. I woke up too early today. Couldn't sleep. Jus was tossing on the bed. So watched both the seasons of How I Met Your Mother and was reading a couple of pages from Tagore's Chokher Bali. 

Me: Hmmmm...you know Bengali?

She: Translation ...translation....

Me: okay okay...

She: Remember? I told you about my friend...that bong girl...and her  blog....I read that too...where, I found this interesting...

Me: what?

She: Wait....ya...I have to cut and paste..

She: hmmm here you go...

Incredible, perhaps it is

For a woman

To be smitten by one,

To be addicted to another,

To worship yet another,

And to passionately desire

For someone else!

Incredible, perhaps it is

For a woman

To talk about

The animal longings

Of her limbs, and

Never to resist

Parched lips even

When the sun is 

Yellow with burning!

Me: Verrry good...Incedible, it is for a woman to speak her heart out like this. Heyy.. I remember ...she's the one who would say "words assembled by..."

She: Exactly! Your memory is good....:) But, she may switch to new host, I guess. 

Me: hmmmm...

She: You still in Delhi? 

Me: What do you mean ...still? Came only yesterday….

She: You were not in office yday too…

Me: Hmmm…took the afternoon flight so that I could spend the eveningi here..

She: With whom..:)?

Me: mmmmmm…..my favourite pilsner…

She: Uruppadavey matta….

Me: I knowww….

She: BRB

Me: Sure…

She: Sorry, ..... called…

Me: it’s  ok…

She: Tell me…when are you back

Me: Most likely on Saturday, that iiiizzzzz….the day after tomorrow…

She: Guess youa flying out again next week, right?

Me: Yes. You too la? 

She: Which one? Nokia, Finland? Thats only in Feb ya...

Me: o....okay...

She: It must be bitterly cold now in Delhi, right? Where you staying…?

Me: Me at my usual Stellar Gymkhana Club at G. Noida…it’s a fabulous place…quiet…nice food….and yes, it’s pretty cold….but I enjoy…

She: I know, you….. thick-skinned…

Me: hehe

She: Ok. I have to fold up for the day…Come back quick da..

Me: ok. Bye!...

She: Apppa…utta porumnu bye solraye….

Me: Then?

She: Nothing. Just thought of saying the desk is missing you..

Me: The desk?

She: Yup. It misses your tapping fingers….:) or rapping? What should I say….?

Me: hahahaha….tap sounds gentler than rap…

She: Remember…I literally frowned at you when you were tapping as I was keying in my story the other day…?

Me: Ho! You did?

She: Nadikkadha….

Me: hey…really…no…Then tell me what else are missing me?

She: :)…Canteen, This Bijoy buffalo …..

Me: hmmm…then?

She: And, may be MEEEE..:)

Me: Really?

She: Rombalam illa…konjamadhan….

Me: Yen? CII blues aa?

She: I know you wouldn’t feel any bit…..

She: CII aaa? Grrrrrrrr….

Me: Back home, I miss this close-to-frozen pilsner…now I have two sitting prettily in front of me…i want to have it before it thaws…rather warms up!

She: Thaw?....in that weather?

Me: Bye! You said wanted to fold up early today…

She: Yaa. The car is yet to come…Hey, btw, I joined VLCC…

Me: VLCC joins VLCC?

She: ???

She: Nooo. I know…what you meant. Crackpot... Shipping terms naa? Please don’t say anything….keep your dirty mouth shut and see me after a month!

Me: Vandhana Luthra ve elaikkala innum…..

She: Shut up! My kaa’s come. Bye!

She was one of the finest journalists, now settled in Canada. Her dad was an IPS guy at a senior level. And, it has been ages since we touched base. Funny, she said three…four…days was a big deal!!!

Finally, this chat too was trashed…:) Life sails on...

[almostdarktrash]

A summer evening

I promise I would behave...

You are a nonsense...

Will try and make sense....

It's sultry and sun-drenched yet...

I am game...

The coffee joint is crowded...

So what?

Even the place reeks of filth..

Not really uncommon...

And you want to drink coffee? Really?

Yes, slowly ..slowly... as long as the coffee is in the cup....

What can we talk?

Anything...Fashion? Books? Poetry by Rumi? Paintings? Your Day? Her tank top?

All those pesky eyes may rove relentlessly...

Let them...

Shameless you..

Haha..that's meee..but you really dont want?

Chalo...:)

[almostdarktrash]

Tick time away!

"Don't worry! Time will heal"

"Fuck your time"

"Why?"

"It's just a hallow maxim"

"No. Trust me. Time will."

"Don't give me all that 'healing' crap. I am sick of it."

"Why? You just want to disagree with anything and everything?"

"No. Tell me, what the fucking hell 'time' has healed so far? Zilch! It only teaches you how to live with the pain. It's just a mystery. The past is dead. Future is yet to be. Only the present. It's all bullshit. Even before you realise your present, which is messy, it becomes your past, and the supposed future has already became your present...and now past."

"I cannot talk to you."

"Okay. Go. Come back with at least one proof to cover your ass."

Tuck.. tuck...a gentle knock at my door shook me out of my trance.

"Ravi, we need a clock for the first floor. Shall we buy Seiko?"

"Yaa! Buy a big one," I said.

[almostdarktrash]

Those silent moments!

Today, post lunch, I had to go to Adyar to meet somebody. I left office and headed thru Kotturpuram.

As I was just about to cross the Kotturpuram bridge, I realised my car tyre was flat. So, I turned left immediately after the bridge and pulled. Then called a 'puncture specialist'. He said he was busy attending another car somewhere at R A Puram and will take an hour to come. I had enough time for a smoke and tea. So locked my car and started walking. The lane was very familiar to me. Not much of activity on that sleepy lane. Calm. But, this time it was unusually calm. 

My mind trickled down to the yellowed pages of my memory. 

Till about 5 - 6 years ago, almost everyday, around 6.....6.30 pm, i will get a message from her...

"?"

"Another 30..40 mnts.."

"Sure. So 8?"

"Yup"

This would typically be our exchange of SMS in the evenings.

I will go and pick her up from the adjacent lane to the The Times of India office at Nandanam. We would usually head south to Adyar River at Kotturpuram. Park the car at the same place I did today. With our mobile phones switched off and left behind in the car-unforgettably, we would start walking. It would be fairly a long walk, at least for an hour. 

We would take the straight lane towards the east, alongside the river- the same lane I did today. 

It's a quiet road with trees lined up on both sides. Invariably, every day, the roadside iron shop (pushcart) fellow at the corner would be busy winding up for the day as we walk past that corner. A small tea shop, just a few yards away from the iron cart, would also wind up around that time. If these fellows were not there we would know we were late that day. 

During such walks, we generally exchange our day's experience, who met whom, what stories we filed for the day. More often than not, she would crib about her bureau chief. I, obviously, had to pacify and tell her she must handle him ably.  

And then our conversation might branch out to various topics - ranging from books, poetry to glass making to economics, and at times relationships too. I often admired at her linguistic skills when we discussed poetry and some plays of Girish Karnad (she loved his works, and can talk for hours on them), as much as at her courage to admit her ignorance in some areas. 

I usually do not read plays. When she tells me those stories (without cutting them short) and some specific character's intellect, it might be very boring. But I would pretend to be a keen audience. Some times, she would ask me  questions like why were we not using hydrogen as fuel for automobiles, what's the fuel for rockets that launch space shuttles - all these questions must have surfaced in her mind during her interactions with somebody that day or some discussions she overheard in the office.

All these conversations would happen only if we did not fight during the day for some reasons or the other. Otherwise, we wouldn't talk during such walks.  Not a word would be spoken. Even if one initiates to say something, the other would shush. We just stroll, with our hands clasped.  All along, there would be a deep silence until we come back to the car. I would drop her at the IIT junction for her to catch a bus or auto, and then i would drive back home. 

Strangely, for reasons not known, those silent strolls proved to be a greater experience, and the best way to unwind our usually hectic days-pleasantly. Those moments spoke volumes. They cured several wounds - irrespective of who inflicted whom. 

Today too, though I carried the phone with me,  I was not talking to any one. Nor did I check my whatsapp. The lane was quiet. But, it was very strange. I really did not enjoy my walk today. Neither the calmness of the lane, nor did the silence give me any pleasure. 

Times change!

[almostdarktrash]

NOTHINGZ FOREVER

After many moons, she called me while I was driving up to office today. She is a journalist, currently in Mumbai. We are indeed very good friends, though worked for rival newspapers. Traveled quite a lot, together.   It was a pleasant surprise to see her name popping up on my phone. "Hey ravi, how are you, man....long since...no hear from you da...how'z life treating you.....been ages illa?" "Hey ......, Yaa...am doing pretty good. How'z you? Good to hear your voice again..." "Same here, Ravi" "Hey Ravi, listen, are you, by any chance, going to attend the reception today? _ _ _ texted me ya...." "Ya....am planning to show up. Are you coming too? In town....?" "No, Ravi. Actually wanted to, but my second son isn't keeping well ya," "Hey it's okay. Take care ......I will tell _ _ _ that you were struck, back home in Mumbai." Then our conversation went on for a while talking whom she met last and who is where and all that, before we decided to bid good bye and hang up. As I was stepping into my cabin, I grinned at my blackened mobile screen.

About 6....7.. years ago, when she was with a leading daily in Chennai, on an invite, we had to visit an FMCG company's factory in Himachal Pradesh. She was the first one to know that we were travelling a week later ( it was in November, onset of winter in the North), and she promptly called me that afternoon to check if I agreed to visit. Whatsapp was an unheard of concept then. The plan was to catch that day's evening flight to Delhi, stay overnight, then the next day morning at 5 o clock take shatabdi from Delhi to the place. After visiting the factory, we decided to spend a day more there to visit places in and around before we return. The flight was late by 3 hrs. By the time we landed in Delhi airport, it was already about...10.30....10.45 at night. 

There was a cab guy waiting to pick us up with a placard. We boarded. It took us almost an hour to reach an upscale hotel near Vasant Vihar in Delhi. To our unpleasant surprise, the room was not booked. There was some confusion. Since it was too late, we could not connect with anyone. So we ventured on our own to find a place to kill that night. Thankfully, she was well-versed in Hindi, since she grew up in Delhi.  Finally managed a shady hotel in Karol Bagh. At the reception, one painfully thin, sleepy man asked us...kithna room? I said two. Simultaneously, she said.."Yekee room buz!".  But he took my word. On reaching my room, she asked me, "Why Ravi, are we going to sleep? We hardly have 4 hours to leave and catch the train. We shall rather spend the night chatting. That's why I asked for one room."

I agreed to sit up and chat in my room. We discussed a range of topics. The conversation included how people change with the time, how people drift apart for no big reasons..and were we going to change too...blah..blah... . Then went to our rooms..got dressed up and left. Boarded shatabdi. As the train started rolling, she asked me..."Ravi, don't you like me?"

"Why ....? Of course i do. Very much," i responded. "May i ask you something"? She asked then just continued without waiting for my nod...."whats your take on lust?"

I said. I like sex, if that's what she meant. But, it never occurred to me with whom i don't have love for.

There was a deep silence for a few seconds. Then she said very smartly (with a mischievous smile) ...."okay...then i think my first question should have been framed with the word love, instead of like..."

Both of us grinned at each other...But it was a hearty grin, unlike the one i did at my mobile this morning.

The patch of cloud that I saw just above my terrace the other day, is not there any more. It's raining today. It may not, tomorrow. Times are changing, and with that everything in the universe. And, we are no exception. But, buried deep inside, we still have those layers of memory, surfacing whenever there is a connecting incident. But for sure, NOTHING is permanent in life.