Dusting off my books & Pens!

I am back to blogging after a solid 7-9 years hiatus, can't even remember how long it has been. A bit of struggle to remember and reset those passwords, kind of taking me back to my existence pre-Europe, pre-marriage, pre-adult - when I was raw in my 20s and travelling. Still travelling a lot - but my old posts, brings a smile now - of what I was then - may be well corrupted and changed now - but want to restart writing, as I want to resonate with the person I was then and chase those dreams again. 

Independent Woman, Indian Problem !

We in the Indian society, the modern generation, still below 35 of age, Young and full of risk taking appetite usually globe trotters and based out of Indian metropolis are still far from our counterparts in developed countries. No, the catching up is not on continuous and present tense of things or either on how many more concrete buildings to add. Catching up is on the way we still and the way we will continue to treat the fairer gender. Word fairer here, is not used in a sexist way, whatsoever. It is used to indicate who is fairer in their day to day dealings with someone more accomplished than them or on doling appreciation for their hard work and achievements. This is an underlying problem which needs to be uprooted, but before that the culprits need to face the chair. An incident does bring this to light. This was at one of our team dinners where a male colleague, new to the group, innocently was surprised at the fact that this particular team had unmarried and married women travelling for work around the globe especially on long duration but strategic assignments. Unmarried woman were assumed to be single while married ones were looked with “How come She?!” disapproving glances. Crux of the matter is will the same reaction would have been if the teams were all but married or unmarried men. Yes, the male colleague in discussion was undoubtedly Indian. So an independent woman – Financially non-dependent on anyone and has a mind of her own cause she has been trained to make her own decisions is still seen to attract some weird questions or general misguided opinions about her existence in our Indian society. If she is still not married, it is her fault. And God forbid, if she has already been at the altar or in a long relationship, she is an escapist irresponsible brat. She is a perfect company for men back home, to take her out for drinks or even present her to their friends at work and outside. And why will she not be perfect then, she is interesting cause of her travel stories and in the end she is more than willing to go Dutch or even pick up the tab. But when it comes to settling down, or committing a marriage date to her family, there is a different version of drama that follows. Somehow her independence which initially attracted these formidable alpha males becomes her only problem. Either she is expected to change and sacrifice what is her core or succumb to a journey with intolerable partners who feel a suffer-able dominance from her, under their very control. Now, above are the blanket statements, and there is off course a disclaimer. Not all Indian men are like this, there are some who are very supportive of their wives, girlfriends and live in partners’ careers. Those elusive men are sure somewhere and some lucky one will end up with them and they exist. But look around you, how many women you can count who do not put their education and years of experience to use after marriage or for a relationship AND how many men you can count who gave up their careers and settled for something less challenging cause of their female partners. I can count two, and trust me I have a big social circle. Are Indian men insecure of someone as successful as them? The first answer is No, at its face value. And if we look deeper aren’t all the problems in her life be resolved if she spends more time behind the desk doing some meagre clerical – counting some accessory stocks in warehouse just a stone throw distance away from her home. This is how an educated young woman makes herself worthy of marriage. And imagine the same solution on offer, to a man whose job demands long hours away from home. The integrity of the solution is switched from more practical to “Are you nuts, how you can even be suggesting such a thing” flavor. Being in shoes of such a woman and nurturing a relationship is a herculean task. Its mammoth cause of the daily battles she fights to keep herself going at work and outside. It is mind numbing and emotionally traumatic but believe me these women live through this, smile and excel at work. For some men reading and laughing through this, please we do know your rationale for being uncompassionated

boar as “We men are wired differently!” We all know happiest girls are prettiest. Its time even one with ambitions to trot globe and head a department and own their firm find happiness with their Indian partners, in the long run. Hence, usually I rest my case here I want to start a debate.

Small Talk

The short story starts with, “The world is a really small place. Either everyone happen to know all my Ex-Boyfriends or I really had those who were very well connected”. And FULL STOP. The mind goes into depth of alleys, shadows of gloom and misery with romance of candles! Arrgghh! Put the brakes now, no one likes to read artistic these days! Been artistic (if to paint and cook) is the new catch to add some brownies to your life on social media. And that’s a girl’s way to add one in the matrimony bazaar. Indian men still prefer their women to cook and paint, when they can build aircrafts and travel. Arrrgghhh! Too many thoughts, distractions and gosh! I am biased! The story is really about Diya. She is a writer, a budding one and this is just a peek into the thoughts she had for a minuscule of a second. Free flowing, biased, judgmental, young, hard working and alone. That’s like most of the girls, with aspirations, with creativity to wear turtle shells for earrings and a career for living. After an hour and a half of staring at a page with randomness and no thought she decided to get some inspiration. “Been inspired” and “Been Alive” are some dictums of the creative types in the Tanzanite generation. They talk about Ulysses, read about the secret life Of Sir Conan Doyle and his superstitions (Please note: Holmes is a household name, and is Pseudo!) and dig Frank Sinatra and Boney M. Life is about complicated names and inspiration from an era of black and white and sepia. She knew all of it. Changed into a pair of blue jeans and loose tee shirt (Conscious attempt to get the out of bed care free look) ruffled the hair, slipped into flip flops, got her DSLR Bag (It was a red herring!) and dashed out. She went into a shop, which sells antique old and weird things. The shop was a stroke of genius, or success by chance. The things were old, rotting, discarded and metal. A broken door knob with motifs, a wooden plank with random nails, old coins off a street hawker and some papers and books and posters of old Hindi movies. The price was a premium and thus the perception that it’s in vogue to acquire other peoples’ waste. She picked a book. It had a random picture of a bearded man from East India company days on the cover in sepia. She started flipping the pages, looking carefully for some phrase to borrow or acquire inspiration. Not realizing that she was been ogled at for long ten minutes now. Stared at not because, you are in New Delhi, and there is a rape in every twenty minute, the forsaken used to be Golden Eagle for a country is now famous for all the wrong reasons. But, the stare was to gain inspiration from things you can stare, gaze and capture. He was in his late twenties, khaki clad (Not Nehru time Khaki, Khaki blazer and jodhpurs. It’s the “in thing”! ) Weekends for some with blogs and IT Careers is to write, capture, get the name out for a social cause and meet new people. Life was simpler, when late twenties were either already married or pissed drunk. This art of Life and green tea times, have just made everyone a hippie of sorts! His deal was also cameras on tripods and surreal shots! He was in the shop to steal some angles and ideas of old pictures in print, which were never sold but just given up with dusty newspapers and magazines. Small Talk, not originating from the duration of babbling but from the sense the words make are small. Epic example is, “Hmm. Is this your camera, is it a Digital single lens reflex”. Remember, the khaki clad gazer had an IT Background. Diya, for she will regret the words, replied “Oh! You are a camera geek”. This generation seems to confuse geek for being Greek, and the Khaki clad IT geek, bemused with self continues, “You get pretty amazing stuff in here. Are you looking for something specific”. Diya, in loss of time to excuse herself replied again, “Oh Yes! I am a writer and doing some research for characters. What about you? “. “ I collect old pictures and frame them. Sometimes you do find good ones here”. Following a long pause, the geek chirped again, “Do you mind if I ask about your upcoming work”. Diya, smiled. This is the interesting part of her day, where she is getting the attention. She cleared her throat and replied, “It’s in a very nascent stage. The plot is set in colonial Indian time and the story will have a strong adult theme”. IT Geek, found it weird, but there he was to make an impression said, “That’s Smart! You seem good at what you do”. Diya, collected her camera bag, and started to move out of the shop. “Thank You! But the story is in a very initial stage, and I am not sure which direction it will head. I have no clue”. The geek smiled, “I am sure it will be a good one. And if you publish it, I will be looking out for it.” With these words they parted. Sometimes, this might lead into a beautiful beginning of a friendship, or will remain a Small talk between two strangers. The premises being, which way you want it to go. I will pause here, for you to decide. Imagine.

Amarula Diaries Part 1

Anything worth posting or even matching words to thought was long overdue. And this comes with a series of resolutions for 2013 where blogging regularly, visiting the GYM- forbidden heaven because of no discipline what so ever and healthy diet will fight for precedence to see the light of day, which is reality.

This is supposed to be about- KENYA. Not essentially or even essentially, the source of Amarula, something which has replaced Vodkas and Wines in my world. That source for Amarula is perhaps South Africa. But essentially the place which introduced me to Amarula and resultant the place which brought me closer to equatorial forests, camping under open skies, a series of Matatu (Safari Vans to be universal) rides and an enhanced sense to everything and anything beautiful naturally. For me, that will be Baby Elephants, very bright red Star Fish, White Sand Beach, An extinct volcano crater covered in clouds, beautiful lake filled with fish Eagles in all sizes, A lioness strolling around with a couple of adorable and ever so cute cubs at the back drop of Mount Kilimanjaro at sunset. There is no end to that list. I guess, I am “Kenya-ised” in my expectations for “Been Naturally Beautiful” for life. This is something I have easily adopted and if you look at me (Tan and Fat) very well adapted to.

The seven and a half months almost lingering to the eighth has been an experience beyond imagination. And this does not refer to a Monday ending on a Friday. This is beyond those days, when we were out of Nairobi exploring the famous and popular Masai Mara to not so commercial Mount Longaknot Trek. I have read it somewhere, a person who does not travel much, is living his life in few pages when there is a whole book to experience! This way to live was just mere words for different cultures. Kenya, other than opening a door to the Equatorial, has given a window to share the life experiences of people beyond our culture and dictum. “Dictum” cause we, Indians were religious in upbringing. And though some of us are self proclaimed atheist we are still hard wire to follow RITUALS. A ritual of work, where we get up at seven, go to work, even prefer working through the weekends, not even thinking or realizing how the scales have tilted towards never ending work and Life has slipped away. People, their faces and smiles, where in their culture Bunny Chow is Durban Indian, and for us Indians, we are innocuously amazed at some hidden tribes who used to relish rabbits in India and now have migrated to tribal South Africa! To us, when we meet some, who have travelled and lived, Loved and enjoyed in places where we won’t even offer to venture for want of high rise, business suits and fast cars! Places like Swaziland, Tunisia, Mozambique and Madagascar! They were born here, had an Outdoor life, swam with dolphins, jumped off the cliffs into the blue ocean and have their anecdotes to last a train journey or through the night when one is sheltered in a tree house with nothing better to do, But Listen. Listen to someone outside of you, and there is always a chord in their tune, you will recognize as your own. If not a chord, at least you will find a recipe for that very cocktail, which will last your lifetime. For some of us, we are too Impatient for a cocktail, will obviously make the “Hand Grenades” “Jagger Bombs” “Sambucas” and “Apple Sours” as our high way to last! Last till we share and educate the confidantes back home, till they start craving for the same.

The “art of detachment” the “blessing of let it go” the “Let’s move on” part, would not have been possible for some of us, unless we had decided to put between them and us the whole of Indian Ocean. Surprisingly, it was supposed to be difficult, but when you realize you are standing or even walking with a drink in your hand, into the prettier and greener and cleaner side of Indian Ocean, and the ones you left behind are still struggling in Bagas and Calangutes part of the very same ocean, it just becomes easier.

For some of us, meeting a random guide who is a herpetologist and viper catcher, and has been into National Geographic documentaries, is the key to unfold the intriguing stories of witch doctors, and first rail line in Kisumu, to various species of birds like orange colored Conrad. To some, it’s a rusted black tape recorder and since we are used to LCDs and Flat screens, the intrigue of the voice is Lost. Probably, it’s not even about the advance, or the roads which are due to be built by 2015, or about been bored of the Art Café menu with Caesar salad and Sangrias. For some of us, it’s just beer filled till the brim, and time to pack finally, and head back home. Until, that time, Hope to write a couple of more chapters in the “Amarula Diaries”! -Keshie (Disclaimer: The Indian ocean reference is not for AVS. In life, one does incomprehensible things for people who matter, this is one of those. In-comprehensible!)

The Tourist

All seems different, in black and sepia A passerby, and her detailed agenda, Even a kiosk, selling some food and bounty For my eyes I trained now to capture! The roads which led us out of people's city The roads with, same concrete same tar back home, The things around, the scene across, Alien, and pretty for that was different. Even the markets and souk we visit, For every penny spent is something gained, Something more than what we require, Something taken, with a collector's notion. Eyes and spirit, measures the newness, Excitement which is with anything new Chatter and talk revolves on Important For anything frivilous, with us is back home! You are a different person, you change, There is a perception, you dust and pick And some flaws you drop along the way, Experience, once when you grow, evolve. The time is different, proably in future you live, Tales you will collect, Memories built, On the way back, a smile will linger, For all you saw, is with you to stay!

If I ever need you...

“If I ever need you again, Will you be there for me"
These words were never spoken, she wished they were. She wished for so much more all the time. Her life was hanging in between a lot of Ifs and a handful of What Ifs. She was not this person, she gradually had train herself to be. She was 23, prettier than the average number of girls in the city. She was aware of the looks, the smile and the eyes. She was doing well, for herself but she was not satisfied. Lonely time she spent in an unkempt apartment, but the things in it had color. It was a conscious effort. The paintings, the curtains, the linens and even the books by her bed lamp. Desperate attempt to fill her room to fill her vacant life.
"Claire! Claire! Open the door, Are u crazy, what is wrong". The dark gloomy silence was suddenly filled with thumping noise at the door. It was loud. Loud enough for neighbors to come out and stare at, Jim. Jim was the only friend she had. It was Saturday afternoon and Claire was supposed to meet him for lunch. She did not. Actually, she could not. It was not her fault, she was feeling low and she had too many Vodka shots than usual with her colleagues last night. She was dreaming. After days, she was happy in her sleep. The commotion at the door outside woke her up! She was irritated. Jim always irritated her, his condescending "What are you doing with your life, Claire?" and the way he looked at her, the look was patronizing. She wondered why he was still around, after all these years of shouting at each other, all these years of hatred; he was still her only friend. They even tried working out a relationship for a month and a two but they always fell apart. Those spurts of relationship usually happened when Claire was in a difficult place and Jim was an easy rebound.
Swollen face, red eyed and with a heavy head she opened the door. She did not have energy for another confrontation. She smiled a forced one, hugged him and whispered "Good Morning Sweets! Come in". Jim was exhausted. He waited for her at her favorite Pizzeria for 2 Hours. There were thirty five missed calls and twenty messages on her phone lying carelessly under her bed on the silent mode. She had no idea, how angry he was and he had all intentions to make her suffer for his long wait.
She was fiddling with coffee mugs on the kitchen table. She was a mess to look at. Her hair was dirty; she was still wearing her formal white shirt stained with food and her grey office skirt. The Kajal was smeared around her eyes and she had awfully dried lips. Jim could see on her, a rash night out and insane behavior all along. He suddenly forgot about the wait. He was angry at her. Not because she did not turn up but again she broke her promise of not drinking excessively. He thought, what is wrong with this girl! Her room, big spacious and expensive needed cleaning. She is such a pretty girl, but look at her! She is not even desirable now.
"Jim, u care to pass me that coffee mug" She was nonchalant. She always is oblivious to her mistakes. Why can't she be sensible and take hold of her life. Jim, used always think about her. During his presentations at work, when he was making those slides the night before, when he is on call, in a cafe, at a party, while shopping. She was always there with her, in his texts, on the call and now a days on his BBM. He hated Blackberry, his idea of communication was always meeting people and now all of these people were virtually available, physically not present. She forced her to buy one, and so he did.
"So at what time did u come back, n why was your phone not reachable all night", Jim wanted no stories this time.
"Oh! U called, Why do I always miss it? We were at Vacation Cafe, the new one? Did you check it out? I am sure you will like it, It has the feel of that Bar we visited in Dharamshala last year! Remember.. Wow! I so miss the place, Let us plan something for the extended weekend. I so need a break from this place" she tried hard to change the topic.
Jim knew her well enough to see what she was trying. "So, how much did u drink? Who dropped you home? You know I was awake all night trying to get through you! I called Natasha from your work, and she told me there was no party. So what it was? Where were you REALLY?!"
"Oh! Wow! So you again played the Sherlock Holmes trick? Listen stop calling people from my workplace, they think you are my boyfriend. And anyway I did send you a message. You replied as well, now why you have to act like a freak all the time, what is wrong with you?" She could not control her temper this time. She did not deserve it after all. She did have fun last night, and she is not going to explain it to him like always.
This was their usual weekend start. Jim and Claire knew it too well what it is going to be like. Both were fed up, and did not have any quantum of energy left to go through the ordeal again. Jim picked his jacket and walked out. Claire did not stop him. She quietly picked her coffee mug and switched on her laptop. There were crazy party pictures all over her page, and she did not like the fact that she looked so drunk in all of them! She sighed, and started to look around for her phone. After ten minutes of frantic search she found it under her bed, it was dead. When she finally switched it on, she realized Jim was really awake all night calling and messaging her every fifteen minutes. She felt bad for him. Why he always act like this? Why cannot he give her the space she needed. After all he is not even seeing her anymore. She was angry, angry at herself, at Jim and at those text messages she did not even want to read.
She quickly changed her clothes, tied her hair in a bun and went out for some fresh air. She wanted to clear her head, she wanted to call Jim and apologize. But for what? She wanted to feel good, and there she was all alone, walking aimlessly and very restless. She walked into a Bistro, and ordered herself her usual. Across the table, there was a young couple sharing a plate of pasta. They looked happy, and she was perplexed. How do these people manage to be like that! She started to miss Jim now. He was after all the only person she can always talk to. She should call him and should apologize. He was worried for her, and she was reckless. She dialed her number but he did not answer. She tried again and he hung up. She was furious and then someone called, "Ass, Look around!"
Jim walked out of the apartment, and lit a cigarette. He was fuming and he knew he should not bang his hand against the wall. The last time he did that he had fractured his hand. He knew to be more logical this time. He took a couple of quick drags and closed his eyes to calm himself. He decided to take the stairs and walk around. He did not want to react the way he did. He wanted them to talk, sort her little problems and straighten out her life. He wanted to take care of her. He for sure, did not want to stand outside her apartment in this mood on a Saturday afternoon. He suddenly wanted to hug her and how he wished for that cup of coffee she made for him, lying on the kitchen table inside. He then saw Claire walking down towards the market. She had changed her clothes. A white tee shirt from the last gig they attended and her worn out jeans. She was beautiful, and he quietly followed her.
He saw her walking towards the Bistro. He knew what she was about to order. Her usual-Cheese omelette and plateful of fried sausages. He saw her intensely staring at a couple on the table by her side. He was looking at her, her black big eyes. They had tears in them. And then he saw her calling him. How can he take that Call. He was welled up with emotions, for he knew her too well to know what she was thinking exactly. He can read her expressions, know her thought and right now they were, "If I ever need you again, Will you be there for me" She called him again and this time he called out to her, "Ass, Look Around!" This was always their regular weekends.

The Theory of Centroid

Full Credits to my promised-I-Hope not, ever to BE for planting the idea in my head.

The seed rested well, germinated and is ready to sprout. It is called The Theory of Centroid. The Center of Mass lies there, the Point "G" for an A (Chubby and White) for a B (Skinny and Dimpled) and for a C (Skinny and Sarcastic). A,B,C and G are real people, unreal complications with unsaid but known secrets! For I know, how cryptic I can get and how I try not to simplify, they are Friends. I wonder what happened to age old concept of the Circle and the Trust. But knowing how extraordinary lives we live, the Circle of Trust never fits in, Nor can we.

Point "G" (One Dimensional Thinking, shall I excuse you!) is the one that connects them all. Like a Data Center it holds all our "Takes" on People and their Lives. It knows where is the problem and Who is the solution (OH YES! there is always a Who as a solution to a What!) . It exactly knows the reason for a sarcastic comment or an all Black attire. It communicates, it connects, it is actually the center that holds A, B and C together. For all we can wonder, how equidistant are they, or how equally distant they will be without Point "G". They know the little details at A's workplace, the Little-Black Dress B bought and the Party C crashed, all the information stored secured in G's ever filling disk space. If G crashes or is influenced by a Virus ( Point "G" is gullible ) and decides to wander, the triangle will stay but empty in the core.

I lament the fact, that Circle of Trust did not exist. It used to be clearer in the Theory of Circle, either you are in or out. There was nothing left to doubt and assumptions. Here, even if the Centroid shifts, the balance is disturbed. Disturbance felt, tremors recorded, things displaced and slowly one waits for the balance to be restored. Just Imagine, the situation where the Point "G", decides to take a stroll and never returns! So as long as the walk and think for the Point "G" is not long, A B and C, can wait. Imagine the chaos when they start talking directly! How much can we know?!!!