Either I only truly get attached to people who stay or … well, what else can it be? Like a web, I’ve built a solid foundation from which I jump from place to place knowing that even when I fall, I can drag myself back because of that strand that binds me to my architectural masterpiece.
This, this is home. A place that you carry with you when you go looking for adventure in strange lands, a place where you can make friendships with people you never would have otherwise interacted with. A place in your being that reminds you that you can go where you may because when you come back, things will always be the same. People will be here. Waiting.
I’m not always here – on this side of a goodbye. The last two times I was, it was a blur of pain and tears and some dark place I never wanted to visit again. There’s no Doctor to rescue you in his blue machine. There are no smiling faces of children in exotic lands that’ll carry you through it. Just you and the them size hole throbbing inside you since they left. That and the urge to set fire to the airport and the harbour and the front door – just so that there is no place left for anyone to say goodbye.
… There are cheer-leaders during the IPL in India. I mean, cheer-leaders? Really? For the most loved game in India? I went to the first RCB match and it was kinda depressing seeing as they had no idea what has happening and the people just … don’t give a shit.
Now that that semi-rant is out of the way, I should announce that Wilhelmina Upton (Thank you, thank you, thank you) nominated me for two blogosphere awards. For those of you who don’t blog, this technically means I’ve just won myself the Beautiful Blogger award and the Sunshine Award. The bad news is – all those years of me practicing my acceptance speeches were a total waste. The good news is that I have a bunch of questions to answer. THREE CHEERS FOR LISTS! :)
The SUNSHINE Award
1. Favourite Colour - I love colour, right now I’d have to say #004F00. Yes, I am nerdy like that.
2. Favourite Animal - Again, I love animals but right now, it’ll have to be this gorgeous fellow, Pascal from Tangled.
3. Favourite Non-Alchoholic Drink - Fresh Lime Soda – a summer favourite
4. Favourite Number - 27
5. Facebook or Twitter? - Ummm, Google Reader?
6. My Passion - A good combination of travelling, writing and working with youth. I’m still figuring out the secret to balance it.
7. Prefer getting or giving presents? - I’m rather awkward about receiving gifts - embarrassingly so. I really do enjoy making presents for people I love though. People say I’m rather good at it (they know not to say any different)
8. Favourite pattern – Anything symmetrical. My OCD senses start tingling if they aren’t even.
9. Favourite day of the week – Thursday – and not just because I was born then. It’s just the right distance down the week towards the weekend.
10. Favourite flower - Blue Orchids, although I have fallen in love with withe lilies recently.
And my nominees?
Childhood Trauma – Because they always manage to make me choke on my own laughter with their reviews on movies and books that – well, you should see for yourself.
Culinary Storm – Because she just finds the yummiest food and makes cooking it easy till I strut around thinking I’m Master Chef. It was her rainbow cake that made me a fan initially.
The Local Tea Party – Because he says things like this “Then what man? Whenever and wherever you go, people are asking only one thing. When you are getting married, when you are getting married. Arey! Getting married is the sole purpose of having born in this planet, is it? And if we tell the age means, the reaction is even stupid. ‘Oh you are so old and you are not married yet? Why? Any problem you have?’ like that you are asking. You are reacting as if he is having some terminal illness like cancer or AIDS. Any problem YOU have? I want to ask.”. Ha, Just – PRECIOUS.
The Beautiful Blogger Award
And as an acceptance, I have to post a photo of something I have found beautiful. This picture had me speechless.
For people who make a difference by the things the post and the people that they are – here are my nominees
The Blackout Poetess – You can’t help but love her, you’ll see why as you read through her blogs. Her latest passion is Blackout Poetry which has, on occasion, helped me reach important life decisions.
Passion 8+1 – Because pictures speak a thousand words. He captures moments around India that are just too beautiful to be forgotten.
Emilialua – Her posts take me through a roller-coaster ride of emotions. A Sunday morning favourite read.
I haven’t blogged in over a month – shocking? Not really. I’m the queen of procrastination when I’m in between travels but then, I have been busy this time. Not really trumping around the woods near Kilimanjaro, but just as exhausting and thrilling.
I was asked to facilitate a summer camp for 10-14 days for 40-50 teens, some of who were first generation learners in their communities, their parents having never been to school. More than that, they had just finished writing the big 10th Standard exam which has been a rarity in the villages from where they were coming. A few years ago, we had just 5-10. The numbers itself show that somehow, something good is being done.
It was the first time the children were getting out of their villages and experiencing this kind of freedom. They didn’t have to study Algebra and Math anymore. They could sleep in. The “lessons” were all activity based so they never had to take notes or try to take a nap subtly behind two other students which meant that apart from all the drama that comes when you put 40 teenagers in a room, there was a LOT of energy and fun to be had. I was given creative liberty so in typical fashion, I really went for it.
The activity was for the kids to draw how they saw themselves - things they loved, hated, what they identified with. Then we made a gallery to show them they're not as alone as they think they are.
The groups were given an egg which would be dropped from the highest terrace. This had the most innovative packaging
Making the longest line possible with the things they had on them at that moment
We opened a study centre in one of the villages. This is the village band celebrating
To celebrate, we treated everyone to ice-candy (for dessert)
The boys making a vow in front of the girls that they will not take a Dowry.
The highlight of living in a village? Views like these.
What did I learn? That I’m more confused than ever. I love working with children and youth as much as I love writing. So instead of my life being a series of “Harry Potter > Hunger Games > Twilight” sort of equations, it’s “Travel = Writing = Art = Training = Social Work = Family = Mangoes”
Is this the balance they talk about in old Kung Fu movies? Needless to say, I’m in my happy place – instead of me whining about how restless I am to my friends, I get to listen to their problems in a Zen like fashion. It’s also a great opportunity pretend to be this wise old turtle
or this tea-brewing uncle
Or just call them “young grasshopper” . Oh yeah, I live for the cheap thrills
He was the first person to ever tell me I was full of shit, not as an insult but as an observation. I was in the habit of using my words to get away with everything – of convincing people I was okay and that life was great. He saw right through me and I hated him for it. I thought he was a pretentious old man with nothing better to do with his time. I hated that he hosted me in Mumbai because I had always wanted to explore the place. I hated how he took me to a book store and then for some batata vada by Juhu beach. I hated the goddamn penthouse view of from his living room. I hated that he knew I was escaping a broken relationship. I hated his knowing smile when I listened to a song about heartbreak that reminded me of the one who was no longer mine. I couldn’t stand that he knew … he just … knew.
————
R – What do you want to do with your life?
A – I want to be a war correspondent – I want to be there where the action is.
R – Who are you?
A – What sort of stupid question is that?
————-
Years later when he came visiting, he told me how he didn’t want to be buried because he was claustrophic, he’d prefer the electric cremator. I giggled for the first time with him. This is exactly how I’d like it too – a cremation and a kickass wake. I was older and less angry. He had the same old kind eyes, he whistled the same songs, and he spoke of love. He told me that there was nothing more terrible than experiencing the most beautiful feeling in the world and then being condemned by people you loved. He told me that if ever I got kicked out of home for falling in love, he’d provide me the shelter and support I needed. He was a hindu man who fell in love with a catholic woman at a time when he could’ve been killed for it. But he persevered and she said yes. They remained happily married till the day she died.
————–
R – What do you want to do with your life?
A – I want to be a writer eventually. I want people to read by books and go “Oh.”
R – Who are you?
A – Why do you keep asking me that question?
R – I find that it is more effective than the “how are you” question to which you are only just going to say good, okay, well and a slew of other abstract words I don’t care for. But who you are at moments change – and the answer to that question will tell me how your heart is doing and how you’ve grown.
A – Oh.
R – Who are you?
A – I … I don’t know.
————-
He knew me from when I was little. He was my dad’s professor at TISS where he caused a lot of controversy for refusal to get in step with policies he didn’t believe in. He refused to be called Sir or Professor – he thought that it was hard enough to learn without the added terror of a self-righteous teacher. His students called him Suncle (Sir+Uncle). He pushed me to call him by his childhood name, Rami. He was my story-teller – he knew how much I craved for them. And always stories of war and travel – my two favorite categories. And when I was low, he’d hug me and sing me a song sung to the tune of Auld Lang Syne.
————
R – What do you want to do with your life?
A – I want to travel – Latin America sounds wonderful. But I learnt in georgaphy class today how lovely Canada looks in Autumn. And then, there’s Africa but you know more about that than me (He lived in Nigeria for a while)
R – Who are you?
A – I’m a restless soul looking for a place to call my own
———-
We would shuttle between Mumbai and Bangalore to see each other. He would do the sweetest things. Out of the blue he’d send me a book or a quote that would arrive just when I needed it. And somehow, he’d always be home with a box of chocolates for Valentines day. When I came back from my Europe trip, he was there with a twinkle in his eye and a tootless grin. He became my teacher on an intensive course on applied social research with 15 other students. He gave a moving speech on how the social sector approach needed to move from charity to transformation and suddenly I knew the joy that came from being his student. While answering numerous questions, telling us stories from his field work, sitting silent sipping a drink after class, he would look at me from across the room and smile – that smile that would light up the world. He became my sunshine. My only sunshine. Later that month, we wrote a book together.
——–
R – What do you what to do with your life?
A – I want to work in the social sector. Make a lasting difference. I want to change lives and bring smiles on the faces of children.
R – Who are you?
A – I’m a driven and happy woman waiting to be let out into the world. The universe is not going to realise this till it’s too late but I’m going to re-arrange the furniture.
R – You notice this is the first time you’re happy with and proud of being female?
A – Oh.
———
The last present he gave me was this
The last words he said to me was this
“Glad that you are getting what you want but as usual wondering ‘now what? and so what’. It is so reassuring to feel that my Anju is still the same young Anju. Can’t wait to see you soon, you can pour me my whisky and I will make you Tomato soup as always. Till then, keep happy and review what you are upto and want to become. I am with you. Love as ever, Rami”
———
R – What do you want to do with your life?
A – I’m confused. I tried the social sector and I tried writing. And I’m lost
R – It’s the first time you sound dejected and without a plan. This is as it should be. You never learn if there are no more challenges to overcome.
A – But aren’t you supposed to know by now, stick to a career, find someone good and marry them?
R – I’m 82. I’m still clueless. But isn’t that what makes life exciting?
A – Life Sucks.
R – Not so long as you are around.
A – Oh Rami. When will I see you again?
R – Chin up. And smile.
And then he burst into his favorite song
——–
A smile is quite a funny thing,
It wrinkles up your face,
And when it’s gone you never find
Its secret hiding place.
But far more wonderful it is,
To see what smiles can do.
You smile at me, I smile at you,
And so one smile makes two.
I smile at someone, since you smile,
And then that one smiles back,
And that one smiles until, in truth,
You fail in keeping track.
And since a smile can do great good,
By cheering hearts of care.
Let’s smile and not forget the fact
That smiles go everywhere.
———-
I learnt he passed away this morning, a ticket to Mumbai for next week still on the computer.
Rest in Peace Suncle Rami. I will always remember you.
If you hadn’t captured my imagination like you promised you would, perhaps on lonely nights such as these, I would just curl up, read a book and fall asleep. But my hair itches for your fingers to run through them. My ears miss your mouth singing it messages of how everything would be okay. My eyes yearn for the twinkle that would light up in the corner of its dark recesses. My nose longs for the musky scent of you. My mouth misses the little gurgles that escaped it every so often when you tripped on purpose. My hands ache for what once it held close.
Ha! While I know that all of you are curious about how I would make a fool of myself what I would say if ever there actually *was* an interview, The Blackout Poetess, the lovely Addie from Betwixt and Between tagged my blog, among 10 others, with these thought questions.
1) What is the weirdest question you’ve ever been asked?
“Will you marry me?” – now, girls wait all their lives to hear this question, apparently. But what if a the man was a 70 year old Masai Chief (with three other wives) who offered you 200 goats, 30 cows and 2 camels as a dowry? Before you grin and nod your head and tell me how I’ve let go of a beautiful opportunity, I’m going to have to say NO, not even if he looked like Ryan Gosling.
2) Given the choice of time travel, would you go back in time or forward?
If I could time travel, I’d probably misuse it by travelling to different places instead of through time, know what I mean? And if I could be 21 again without this whole time-space continuum conundrum, I’d take it in a heartbeat!
3) What is your favorite late-night snack?
Right now, chocolate ice-cream hands down.
4) Tell us your weirdest dream.
I’m the queen of weird dreams. The lastest one was of me forgetting that it is my sisters wedding. I was so busy taking care of everything that I forget to get myself a dress. I call all my friends to see if I can borrow one. But all their closets are full of my favorite jeans and t-shirt. I decide to go to the mall to pick one dress up but my bike has a punctured tire, so I climb on the metro and next thing I know, I’m in Munich. I go to the mall and am picking up a dress I really like when I overhear some people discussing how there’s a bomb in the mall and how the whole place is surrounded by their operatives. I call my sister to tell her to call the police but she doesn’t pick up. I call my boss and best friend in Rio, who’s a travel photographer and he tells me I need to get out of there immediately, he’d come to pick me up. I try to get out but the group has taken over the mall and closed all exits. They all have their guns out and people continue their shopping like they have no idea what’s happening. My friend arrives and calls me and since I can’t get out, comes in to the mall to try and rescue me. While we’re there trying to see if we can jump out the window safely, we see the sea’s level rising dangerously and we know that it’s going to hit us in a matter of minutes. We’re totally losing our shit when I remember there’s a sky elevator in the top floor of the mall. We get in just in time to see the whole mall submerged. Just as I turn to thank the boss, there’s a TING and the elevator opens and we’re on Sirius where my sister is just walking down the aisle behind Paul who’s her flower-girl.
5) Describe the perfect date.
I’m actually not picky – as long as I am not whisked away to a fancy restaurant or party. I think a picnic by the beach or lake would be perfect. We could build sand-castles, fly a kite, walk on the banks, catch a sunset and then roast marshmallows on a campfire. Later we could lie down and try to count stars and end the night with one kiss. See, simple :P
6) What song is stuck in your head?
7) What is the best way to develop a positive attitude?
Just four words “This too shall pass”
8) If you could invite four people-living or dead- to a dinner party, who would they be?
Murakami, Pre-Chinese Democracy Axl Rose , Eddie Izzard and this group -
9) Who is your look-alike?
Angelina Jolie. DUH! :D
10) What is your answering machine away message? If you don’t have one, you can make it up!
Hi, I’m not available at the moment. If you are trying to sell me something or if you’re Vodafone, please start speaking now and hang up at the beep.
11) It’s said that you learn something new every day. What did you learn today?
This is the most bizarre thing I’ve probably learnt but did you know that it used to be legal to send children by mail?
Rules:
1) Tag 11 bloggers and let them know they’re it
2) Answer my questions and then create 11 new questions for the bloggers you tag
The questions:
1) If you could solve one of the world’s problems, what would it be?
2) What colour is your toothbrush?
3) Describe your perfect date (I stole this one from Addie)
4) If you could pick any job in the world and everything else that would worry you about it could be sorted out, what would it be?
5) What is the best vacation you ever took? Why?
6) When you’re upset, what do you usually do?
7) If you could have an engaging conversation with someone (dead, alive, fictional etc) who would it be? What are you dying to ask them?
8) If you could pack up and leave right now, where would you go?
9) What is your hiding/ me place?
10)If you could have any wild animal as a pet, what would be bring home?
11) Put a photo of the third book from the right on your bookshelf – technically not a question, still, humor me!
My dad used to tell us bed time stories. That was the time when my sister and I got our own room (separate from the parents) for the first time and we no longer had to all sleep on the same bed. It was trouble at first cause we couldn’t fall asleep without listening to our father either singing off-key or cracking French jokes. Jokes that we never understood but we laughed at anyway cause of his ridiculous dramatization of EVERYTHING – including knock-knock jokes. It was the beginning of a tradition.
We couldn’t afford expensive “children’s books” that he could read from so he made stories up, sometimes remembering old stories his mother used to tell him for the small duration that he was home. Most of the time though, he would mix and match stories he heard while in Spain or Philippines or Canada or New York. Through all this though, one thing was constant – Charles Dickens. His were the only stories that remained unchanged and growing up, we didn’t fear the Bogeyman or monsters under our bed. We feared Fagin. We befriended the Artful Dodgers even when the rest of our classmates shunned them. If someone was being stingy, we wouldn’t make racist comments about that certain community like most of us Indians do, we’d just say “Don’t be a Scrooge”. And much later, we tried to rescue the Charlottes of the world, have adventures like Mr. Nickleby and we fell madly in love with the Oliver Twists.
By the time we were teens, the storytelling shifted to the dining table and the stories changed to how my dad tried to seduce my mum by twirling his moustache. The moustache is long gone and we’ve all grown up in our own ways but every now and then we’re glued together by those stories we heard so long ago written by a man who would’ve been 200 today.
And as a subconscious tribute, we still giggle when we read the name Charlotte and think of how dad used to pronounce it as Char-lot-tay. We still say things like “He’s such a scrooge!” and we still think back in pride of how we were the only 10 year olds in perhaps the whole of Bangalore who knew and abused the word “bourgeois”.
