Sunday's here.Yay

It's 7:30AM on a pretty nice Sunday morning.As I write this post Elton John's Tiny Dancer plays on Winamp.I'm also downloading some stuff I heard on The Rainrider's ipod.

We went to the beach yesterday morning after my shift got done at 6:30am.I'd lost it the night before, snapping and snarling at every poor soul who dared to cross my path.The victims:Amma and The Rainrider.They understandingly put it down to lack of holiday and stress from doing night shifts.I decided that I just had to go to some place thats open.Nothing more soothing than sitting by the sea quietly, just watching and hearing the thoughts that go round and round in your head.It's almost as if one was taking a step back from the mad melee of life and choosing just to be an observer.Typical of me to like that kind of thing.One can't take rome out of the romans I suppose.

So we went.Him all grumpy and befuddled with sleep and me unable to stop grinning like an idiot because at that time, riding and listening to music seemed to me the best thing in the whole wide world.The wind blew my frshly washed and conditioned hair in all directions and I closed my eyes letting it caress my face.Rainrider's ipod was plugged in my ears and as I listened I realized how much I've come to love Simon and Garfunkel in recent times.Also realized that I miss good music so much that it is almost a physical ache.

We didn't spend too much time on the beach.Hardly any infact.Except for the few minutes that he went running behind couple of pigeons armed with his trusty canon powershot, leaving me to watch a boxing class in progress. I marveled at how one tiny little thing who was just as tall as the master's knee kept going smackety-smack pulling out his punches.Kids are such reservoirs of energy.They'd put a wound up spring to shame.

I woke at 5:30AM today unable to sleep.The night shift is leaving my body quite confused.It is also teaching me to appreciate the little things that I take for granted.Sunrises and daylight make really glad to be alive these days.So does a good restful sleep.

I wrote a little bit after I woke.The morning cool just as the sun rose felt positively delicious.It's nice to be awake when my family's up and about.And like I've said a thousand times before,there's something magical about a sunday morning.The world just seems a lot more relaxed and laid back.Rewinding after a week's worth of work might just be the thing that everyone's most grateful for.

I long for all the sundays from childhood.After waking up I'd switch on the tv and watch "Rangoli" on Doordarshan at 7AM and watch all the hindi movie songs.Amma would have to do much prodding to get me to brush my teeth.Then it would be back in front of the TV with my bowl of Bonny-mix,watching whatever cartoon prgramme my brother would happen to be watching.Shame they stopped manufacturing it.Shame I don't get to spend enough time with those I want to.

I've a couple of things to be taken care of today.Eyebrows need shaping badly,need to buy amma's birthday gift (her birthday's on wed),need to get 'finances in order', need to get around to organizing a weekend getaway.I also feel like making lunch.

Despite a bad headache,I've a feeling it's going to be a nice day.

Morose

It's 3AM and I'm at work, halfway through an eight-hour shift that runs from 10.30PM to 6.30AM.I'm feeling unusually hungry today.But somehow I just don't feel like stepping outside the team area to go to the canteen and eat.First of all, I really can't bring myself to like the canteen food.Secondly, going out now would mean seeing the darkness outside albeit through thick glass windows.For some reason, thats not a sight I want to see now.

The mall that houses my office is all shut down and dark as well.Darkness somehow reminds me that while I'm here, my loved ones are all fast asleep at home, secure in their respective slumbers.Here I am at this obscure time of the night fighting all the anxiety that's knotted in my chest.How I wish I could go back home and crawl into bed and under the covers.It's funny how much I love my bed considering that it's actually a 'diwan' on which two very old foam mattresses have been placed.Infact I think the mattresses are more than a decade old.

A meeting is supposed to happen tomorrow.Not the official kind.I might have preferred the official kind.It's got the significance of being a step towards "building my life" as my mum calls it.And now at the very last hour,I find myself wringing my hands in sheer restless apprehension.Some unexpected regressions in what Fred and I planned are sending us down the road to hysterics.

Also I'm fast approaching a deadline and I've made hardly any progress and I'm really disappointed with what I've managed to do so far.Not like I'm able to make any difference to that either.

Baba once jokingly called Amama "Mrs Vepralam" which literally translates to mean Mrs Anxiety.Looks like that trait has been generously passed down the lineage.

I'm tempted to call the rainrider just to talk.But slumber is such an essential requirement.Especially when one's stressed out and upset.I don't have the heart to wake him.

Also toyed with the idea of calling Amma.That would alarm her.Given the way her BP has been fluctuating like India's performance in international cricket, I'm pretty sure she'll freak out.Especially if I tell her that I called to say I'm feeling kinda lonely.

So I've decided to stick to my desk and chair in the corner and count the minutes.

Highway of sadness...

I travel to work by the same route every afternoon.Yes,afternoon.I've been on the afternoon shift all this month and that gave me the chance to do a lot more people-watching on the way to work.In the morning shifts,it wasn't really possible considering that there aren't too many people out on the streets at that unearthly hour.Also I'd spend that 20-minute ride pulling my eyelids apart at regular intervals.But now,however, the city is halfway through it's day by the time I start mine.

There are two sights I come across everyday.A female beggar with a bad leg is one of them.I'm not quite sure what is wrong but her left leg is always in a cast-like covering,from the knee all the way down to the ankle.And she moves around with a crutch.A cynic's impulse would be to consider her a fraud who begs from sympathetic people.But somehow I can't really bring myself to think of her that way.It will be apparent why,when one takes a look at her face.Her eyes are always dull and she constantly wears a look of misery.She also contorts her face in pain frequently.

The other is a beggar on the pavement just outside my offfice.He looks like he has serious malnutrition issues.He is painfully scrawny and his back is badly bent.I've never found the courage to look at his face or his limbs to see what state they are in.He has a stainless steel container that he uses to catch the attention on passers-by by knocking on the pavement.

Yesterday it rained hard in the afternoon.As soon as I woke from my 'power nap', the storm clouds gathered in a jiffy and within five minutes it was pouring.The rain God must be one heck of a cheeky blighter.After gathering my anti-downpour weapons (namely my brother's windcheater and Amma's embarrassing John's koda) I set off to work.

I saw her first.She sat under the Egmore bridge, seeking shelter from the rain.She wore her miserable expression and massaged her bad leg.I couldn't figure out if the droplets running down her face were the raindrops or her tears.

I looked around for the man with the bad back when I got close to the office.He wasn't there.The puddle water from the road kept spilling onto the pavement in murky brown waves.I wondered where he was taking refuge.

He was back today again at his usual place, knocking his container on the ground with an alarming clunk clunk.People stopped by sometimes to drop a coin into his container with a loud clatter.The others just walked on either out of indifference or out of a sense of helplessness that their meagre change was not a permanent solutions to this man's strife.A sense of helplessness that I can identify with.People give him change out of pity.But how much is that rupee or two really going to help him or others like him?If only there was something one could do to really lend them a helping hand that galvanizes them on their way past poverty.

This reminds me of an argument I once had with a friend.A heated argument with Abhishek whether "whatever happens is for the good" or not.Being the self-righteous bum that I was back then,I told him that I agreed with the cliched phrase.He reacted in apparent anger and said "what about the plight of the millions who are suffering around the world?" I managed to provide some weak,ineffective replies then but now the argument is vivid in my memory.

No,life isn't fair and I guess it wasn't meant to be that way.But as long as the scales are tipping in your favour,I suppose you might as well be grateful.

:(

I've a nagging suspicion that I've lost the ability to write.I haven't written any poems for AGES.
And when I do brace myself and sit down to write a couple of verses,all that happens is a few lines of immmature trash end up at the top of the page after which the paper is hastily crumpled and thrown away.Who'd want to treasure a reminder that screams "you can't write for nuts!!!".

I happened to read my last few posts and felt that each one was more mundane than the other.Caught up in the daily grind like the author.Also noticed with a broken heart that visits or comments to my blog have become a well rounded zero.PR has never been my forte so I'm not going to bother with the publicising.

Kinda reminds me of what Tim Allen said in an interview.When asked if humour was a gift or a talent anyone could develop, he said its a gift and he's always afraid that it'd disappear one day and he wouldn't know what to do.I know what he means.My 'gift' seems to have disappeared.

Solitude

Yesterday after a long hiatus, I ate a meal all by myself in a public place.

Though the new job and current set of colleagues are nice and likeable, I can't say the same for the office canteen.The food is uninspiringly boring and doesn't carry any traces of anything such as delicacy. Also a couple of us have the morbid fear that it's prepared in quite unhygenic conditions as well. Amma doesn't always find the time or good health to pack me dinner so I have to eat from work. However, the likelihood of me eating anything from the office canteen anymore is extremely low.

Thanks to T's habit of turning up at dinner to spend time with me, I've been eating food from either one of the food courts in Spencer's plaza. One has plenty of choice as far as food is concerned in the plaza but then again, continuous indulgence in the same might just have your pocket moaning after a bit. Together T and I sampled stuff from Pizza Hut, Pathankot, some north Indian place I can't remember the name of and our very own Saravana Bhavan, that God sent blessing to mankind - especially the kind from Chennai.

So yesterday I went back to Saravana Bhavan to eat dinner.And while I silently waited for the food to arrive, I had the opportunity to indulge in the long forgotten pastime of mine - people watching.

The mall was crowded. All kinds of people hung around in every nook and cranny possible. Large families of 18 or 20 members just stood in the middle of corridors blocking everyone's way.When they did eventually move, they moved as if they were underwater and to the unfortunate one stuck behind them, it took truck loads of patience and fervent praying before they shifted and stood in front of someone else in a hurry.Where there are large crowds, one can also expect the lewd and the lecherous.They made pathetic attempts to "impress" every female who passed by irrespective of her age.With such loafers, even little girls aren't safe.Some of them stood at strategic spots and gaped open-mouthed, saliva beginning to dribble down the corner of their mouths. And when one shot them a contemptuous look, the assholes would think they're being 'checked out'.Profound idiocy as never before.

The restaurant was crowded. I sat in a section that was a narrow corridor off the main area. The walls were tiled, giving one the overall feeling of sitting in a bathroom rather than a restaurant. As part of Independence Day celebrations, they had artists painting 'patriotic' tattoos on willing bodies. Couple of kids ran around the restaurant, absolutely gleeful about the flags they got painted on their faces. One fat little one waddled along and stopped short when he bumped into a waiter.The kid's nose was in contact with the man's stomach.He then slowly looked up into the man's face and got a kindly smile.The kid glowered at him, shoved the man aside and resumed waddling behind the other brats who were too fast for him anyway.

Just before dinnner arrived, I ran into a friend from school who I haven't seen in years.I got the "you've lost so much weight" dialogue again much to my pleasure.Two minutes later friend disappeared into the crowd and food appeared.In the course of dinner, I messaged Uncle and was thrilled when he actually messaged back and was indignant on my behalf that I was working on Independence Day.After some more quiet masticating and mulling over thoughts of the Rainrider in my head, I was finally through with my dinner.When asked for the bill, it was brought four times faster than the food itself.The change however was another story altogether.

On my way back up the stairs to work, I thought about how not very long ago I used to sit by myself at one of the popular cafes in the city day after day, reading or writing. I missed that solitude at that moment.The feeling of being part of a crowd,yet lost in private thoughts in my head.Maybe I should do that sometime again considering that I've found better places than that cafe to write in peacefully.....

"Oh where,oh where can my baby be...?"

Today feels like a disaster. It feels like the continuation of yesterday with a solid headache thrown in for good measure. The biological clock is amazingly resilient considering the fluctuating routines it’s going through at the moment. Of course, it’s not in such great shape, but hey I ain’t complaining. At least it’s still functional.

The Son and his Daddy are off on a holiday. Daddy needs a break from the daily 13-hour nonsense. So Daddy, who had a scruffy beard and longer-than-usual hair, got the Son all fit and handsome and both of them rode off.

Mommy on the other hand is wondering what to do with all the silence. She can’t call Daddy to say good morning, can’t message him frequently, can’t call at mealtimes, or talk to him at night. Mommy tries to fill her time by talking to other people and updating Grandpa about Daddy’s whereabouts but she can’t shake off the feeling of loneliness. It just hangs around her, catching her unaware and making her mouth droop.

This is the first time she has been away from them. She thought she’d make it through fairly easily. She thought they all needed a change. She knows now that she couldn’t have been more wrong. She throws herself into work but to no avail. There’s nobody to come home to and share gossip with. No one to pamper or speak to in Baby-Talk. Nobody to make fun of or fight with. Nobody to wrestle with playfully.

Her meals are solitary and perfunctory. She doesn’t really notice what she’s eating. The vegetables lie uneaten in her plate since there isn’t anyone to chide her into finishing them. She looks at the last bite sadly, wondering what Daddy is eating and remembering all the times he’s insisted on taking the last sip or bite out of whatever she’s been drinking or eating.

Everyone who even remotely resembles Son or Daddy catch Mommy’s eye now. Few more days, she tells herself. When she talks to her parents and Daddy is mentioned, she smiles wistfully in fond remembrance. Every time she puts her footwear on she remembers that she’d forgotten to give him the extra cushioning for his trekking shoes. She wonders how he’s getting by without them.

All through the day, she wishes she had gone with them instead of staying back. And at night before she falls asleep, she sends a silent prayer to keep them both safe and to pray that the rest of the wait is through in the blink of an eye.

Moojik and moi

Its 9:30pm on Thursday the 2nd of August,2007.No no this is not a bit of my life that is being recorded because it is of any historical importance.Its just that I'm hungry,bored and longing for the weekend.Dinner's not until 10pm and even then I've no clue if it'll be worth the wait.However, since I've got this far on a growling tummy, I might as well stick it out until 10.

I realized today that I've been listening to very minimal amount of music.And I hate that fact.Whatever little I listen to is courtesy rainrider's birthday gift to moi- a Transcend mp3 player with fm radio built in.The icing however was that it came with the rainrider's collection of classic rock.God bless the man.So whenever mum and dad think I'm doing something of earth-shattering importance inside my room, you can dead certain that Transcend is infusing life into me and preparing me to keep going for yet another day.

My love affair with music has been very humble.It isn't the dazzling,passionate kind.More like the quiet, life sustaining, undeniably essential kind.Don't get fooled into thinking that I come from a family of musicians though.The only person in my family who's learned in that aspect is my mum.She underwent vocal training in carnatic music for about 6 or 8 years and as a consequence she's the only one in the household who can croon without making other living beings in the vicinity wince.Dad's singing is used strictly as a tool for torture while bro's attempts can provide a good laugh every now and then.Then there's your's truly.I like to pretend that Amma's gift was passed down to me but the truth is far from that.And there are witnesses to prove it.

As far as vocal talent goes there have been the odd flukes when I didn't make people feel like they were being tortured for classified information.Then again there have also been the other instances.Here I recount all my embarrassing moments onstage in front of a microphone.

Instance number 1: Independence day celebrations in school.I was supposed to sing "Ae mere watan ke logon" whoch was originally sung by Lata Mangeshkar.I had a girl playing the keyboard for accompaniment.The practices went really well and all the hunky seniors said I sang "really great".Come the day of the performance.The chief guest talked till my mouth went dry and chose to let me sing just when I was all disoriented and grumpy with his speech.So I began.I couldn't hear the keyboard and the keyboardist couldn't hear me so we followed two completely different pitches.Musical chaos ensued.Except that there wasn't anything remotely musical about it.All the rude little brats in the first row stuck their fingers in their ears and screwed up their little faces.Princie winced every now and then and the chief guest maintained a stony face and nodded stiffly every couple of seconds.

Two minutes later I howled to a teacher vowing I'd never sing again while some more little brats sniggered behind me.

Instance number 2 : I was supposed to compere a show and sing a bit (I think). All went well except for the closing.I ended the show with a bang.And a crash.The mike stand was then declared to be hopelessly beyond repair.

Instance number 3 : Music auditions in college.I planned to sing "The way you are" by Shania Twain.Simple song.But when my turn came I did something weird in between, stopped, gulped and looked at D sheepishly.She very understandingly let me continue.Also made the mistake of shortlisting me.They then tried making me sing "My immortal" by Evanescence.Disaster and more pained and screwed up faces is what ensued.Thankfully that was in the practice sessions and I chickened outta singing it onstage.

Many more goofups are etched on my mind but if I list them all,this would be a post of epic proportions.

Then there was my dalliance with musical instruments.

Piano in Calcutta under Ms Anitha and Mrs Francis.They complained that I played too stiffly.But they couldn't see that it was because Tommy sat at my feet always and I could hardly breathe for fear of moving.

Keyboard in Chennai.Gave it up.Got bored with all the politics and all that.

Guitar from 11th grade.Hung around till I learnt the major chords (which took 3 months.The instructor was "throrough" types) and then quit.Since then once in a while when I'm bored or lonely I experiment on the guitar.I haven't gotten anywhere in terms of learning but I rather like the experimenting.

From what you read above,you would surely have realised what a bumbling disaster I am when it comes to music.But that thankfully doesn't diminsh my love for it.I need it to be a part of my everyday existence.I don't care what genre it is.I've adopted a "has notes,will listen" attitude.The lack of it now is like a huge crater in my soul that makes me irate and snappy.If only my 'aapees' would let us listen to moojiks while working (long sigh).