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!)