Only a handful of us can bring our fantasies to life. However, once they do, they lose the sublime feeling of that fantasy. Others grudge them without comprehending this loss; they do not realize how important it is to carry on with this marijuana-like stupor. We sometimes outgrow our fantasies, like old clothes; sometimes they are laid threadbare from overuse or damaged in accidents.
Remember the time when as a little boy, you were resting your chin on the dirty window-sill of the train; getting warned against sticking your arm out and wishing that you could stick your head out; the wind blowing into your face, the slightly acrid smell of burning coal turning your throat itchy, the curling black smoke tearing your eyes and crusting your lips, and the piercing whistle conjuring dreams of far-off places.
I used to dream, as green fields, moss covered ponds, neat mud houses, half-clad children, swimming ducks, flew by my window. I saw the twig-chewing shepherd boy lazing under the breezy shed of a cascading tree, or a group of them hollering on the backs of dirty buffaloes, and thought if I could.
So many times, quaint little railway stations, tucked away in nooks of this vast land, beckoned me enticingly. Their red-tiled roofs, the patch of garden, with bright oranges and sunshiny yellow marigolds, flaming red or soft pink hibiscus, and flaring magenta bougainvilleas, whispered sweet nothings. How many moments have I spend thinking what it would be like to get down at one of these places? The fantasy changed content, though not purpose, as I grew up. While the child wanted to ride on the dirty buffaloes, the youth dreamt of bringing sea-changes in that unknown place. The dreams slowly included a friend, a soul-mate…
Where were you then? I had seen you so many times, the faceless face of my imagination. In all those time zones that I crossed, you were always on the edge, urging me along. You came but always as someone else, hiding yourself in the mist that separated one time zone from another. I looked for you and I found you in parts, scattered in the lives surrounding me.
It’s funny how fantasies merge; the house of my dreams was always by the sea. Today, it still is. The waves, relentless, mesmerize me with their rise and fall that is unpredictable and at the same time unchangeable. You never know where the next wave will rise from, but that it will rise is for sure. There is a sense of security in this. The sea is like a living being, active, vibrating, turbulent, and unpredictable. As the water recedes and you walk into the ocean, it feels like walking into your lover’s arm.
Will you come here? Will you walk with me in the morning sun, our naked feet tracing patterns in the soft wet sand? The warm water silently kissing our toes and melting away from the very touch; will you be there holding my hand, our souls silently communicating? The wind tousles your hair; you know I love to tease it, passing my fingers through them. Your eyes shinning with laughter, you deny me that simple pleasure. Our slippers hang around your waist, a warm surge floods my heart and those silly tears threaten to swell up. I turn my face and silently flick away the first drop. You come around and fold me in your arms. Nuzzling my face deep inside you, I stop existing.
Breakfast is just ‘bread and jam’, “eggs and fruits’, I holler. It’s healthy and it’s fast. I hate to cook for survival, I explain. You know I am being lazy. ‘With the amount of exercise that we are doing’, you say, pointing mischievously at the crumpled bed sheet, ‘you need real food, darlin’, not that tame stuff’. I know you love this tame stuff. I am the one who drools on fritters. You make me my oily delectable, sit with your sad looking jam sandwiches. ‘Are they good?’ you wait with the apprehensions of a new chef!
We laze around; the clock hands are broken for good. Our phones have been put to death. It’s just you and me and the open blue sea.
Just being near you is so tranquil. We drift in and out of a hazy slumber. Our toes touch and we curl together. Our bodies are like jigsaw pieces, which automatically slots themselves in pre-assigned positions. The picture is complete, the story has begun.
We walk back into the dusk. I pull your head down and taste the salt on your lips. Your cheeks are cold, your eyes wet, and my lips feel them all. You pull me close; I melt as you crush me against you.
‘Goodness me, don’t you soap your back? What a tramp’, I stare aghast at the black, soapy water running down your back, carrying away the dirt and grime of your nomadic existence. You try to foil all my stoic intentions by running your fingers along my spine. You lips trace the curve of my breast to rest at the tip; I shudder in pleasure.
It’s one of our favorite flicks, one which we have seen innumerable times. We watch it together for the first time. I refuse to let you watch the way you love it; curving forward in rapt attention, your eyes cringed, your lips curving in a smile, sneer, or scowl. I arrange the cushions behind you, dim the lights, and switch the player on. Then, slowly I slide myself, between your legs, settling comfortably against your chest. We settle in blissful togetherness, drifting off and away from the world around us, wrapped in the magical web of the movie. I do not know when the sounds of voices fade away in the background, leaving us in the throes of muted passion.
I know you will not be there, for you love me too much to break my Marijuana-like stupor. Just keep my fantasy alive.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Singland, LA?
19th Dec, 2008
My first international trip (hopefully there will be more) and true to its reputation the Air India flight to Singapore was late. The international lounge had nothing international about it; the once plush leather sofas were torn, revealing forlorn looking foam that had seen brighter days. The metal bins stank of stale coffee and tell-tale red stains, which left me wondering how pan-chewing gentry were allowed in the first place. However, the wait gave me ample opportunity to observe other waiting passengers. There were few holiday groups; papa, mummy, chunnu, munnu, the smaller kids were getting crankier by the minute. There was no decent food available inside. Coffee was 30 bucks and small slices of cakes cost 50 rupees. I did not have the courage to ask the price of the Pringles pack, the only other eatable on display. The cleaver people (read frequent international travellers), had packed delicious food packs, and the smell of ‘dal puris’ and ‘kachodis’ made life miserable for the hungry hordes. The tired people (read infrequent travellers or first time travellers, who had no idea about what they were getting into and had arrived by 6 in the morning, as requested in their tickets) had pulled up an extra sofa and retired, snoring in the knowledge that the airport ground staff would lift them bodily into their flights, if needed. So, not one of the clever people, and presented with limited choice, I had coffee sans anything solid, I slept, and I people gazed. I saw laptop-carrying monks, burger eating South-Indian pundits, and sari-wrapped Iscon devotees. The world was truly becoming global!
The flight was finally announced three hours late. I actually saw people rushing with their hand bags. I made way for them, a conceited look on my face; little did I know that these were the same clever people. On the flight, the tired looking staff gave their over-used smile, their eyes saying, ‘get along fellows, and make it fast to your seat’. As I slowly made my way towards 23F, I was suddenly aware of a commotion ahead. A hostess made her way, jostling past the queued up passengers; passengers seemed to be fighting over seats. It seemed like in a local train or a long-distance bus. I realised why the clever people were running. The hostess managed to settle the problem with the dexterity of one used to it and when questioned by one gentleman, said, ‘the flight comes via Dhaka, na!’ I will not say much about the food served; I reminded myself that Air India was a cheaper option. Fortunately every person on board was ravenously hungry and more than full justice was done to the food. Every crumb of the sad looking patties disappeared without a murmur.
All the miseries of the past few hours disappeared, as I looked out of the window. A bed of white fluffy clouds spread below me. It looked like the most inviting place to snuggle up and rest. Soon the clouds disappeared. I suddenly realised that I was looking down at the Sunderban Delta region. What perfection nature presented! Each river, its tributaries and distributaries were drawn out in strokes that were nothing short of brilliant. The clarity of it all was a cartographer’s delight. How smoothly the rivers curved and met the ocean. The balance was undoubtedly divine. At that moment nature was the sublime presence that I held in reverence. As we left the coast behind, the shimmering blue brilliance of the Bay of Bengal stretched to the horizon. The blue of the sky and the blue of the ocean were one. While the blueness hurt your eye, the water just below was like a stretched brocade sari, golden shimmers rippling in the wind. We flew over the water for a long distance, sometimes along the coast. Then the clouds blanketed everything, and I went off to sleep. As we neared the coast of Singapore, nature was challenged by man. The perfectly manicured gardens on one side, the harbour dotted with boats and ships of all sizes, and the high rises outlined against an azure sky, were tribute to human skill and brilliance.
Changi International Airport was simply awesome. The expanse of terminal 1, soothed by green stretches, soft music, helpful airport staff, easy to follow directions, and a process oriented system was easy for the most uninitiated traveller, like me. I cleared immigration, collected my baggage, and found my son waiting outside the glass door, just as he had promised.
20th Dec, 2008
Today, I got my first real feel of Singapore. We took the Savannah Condopark bus and went to the MRT station. Abhi got me an EzLink card worth 15 dollars. I will be able to use this not only for the public transports such as MRT (train) or SMRT (Bus) but also to buy merchandise. I became quite an expert travelling along the travelator. It is basically a horizontal escalator, to make you walk faster. At every step you realize how easy life has been made for the citizens. No wonder people get accustomed to this and don’t want to leave this country. We first went around SMU, particularly the School of Economics, which is Abhi’s school. Since it was vacation time, the school was devoid of its usual buzz. The building, classes, study rooms, library, and the professor’s lounge and rooms were a perfect set-up for an academic environment comparable to the best universities in the world. Just across the street from SMU was the Kopitium (Food Court). We had delicious chicken rice and pork rice. Yes, I have decided to have non-veg for the time being. It was 6 in the afternoon and we got movie tickets for a 7 pm show of ‘The day the world stood still’, at Cathay, Singapore’s first movie theatre, which started before the 1st World War. Since there was still an hour left for the movie, we went around the Cathay mall. The mall housed a small gallery that exhibited old Cathay artifacts such as the projector, the reels, the old film posters, old photographs, the red wooden seats at the theatre, and numerous other memorabilia. Unfortunately photography was not allowed. Abhi was just picking up his mobile to click one (we Indians never change), when we saw the lens of one of the numerous camera pointing towards us. We abandoned the plan and took a free brochure instead. As malls go, they were all same, with their display of branded products, the glitz and glamour heightened by the coming festive season, and teeming with weekend browsers, most of whom like us were having ‘a look around’. The movie was funny. Never have I seen such a badly produced movie, particularly an English one. We laughed hearing Keanu Reeves speak Chinese. After the show, we went to the nearby Plaza Singapura, another mall, again fully resplendent in Christmas lighting. Here an exhibition of books and DVDs was going on. We checked and DVDs were available for 5 dollars. We have planned to check it out on the last leg of the tour, when we know how much money we have left to splurge, if at all we do. We had our dinner at Mc Donald’s and caught the MRT back to Semei.
If I have missed out commenting on the local people, then it will be an injustice to this perfectly designed place and its perfectly designed local population. They, particularly the fairer sex, come in compact models with hour glass figures, black straight hair, and strained un-smiling faces, as if the entire burden of the world lies on their fragile shoulders. They look like clones dressed differently. A Chinese (the highest percentage of Singapore’s population), who is fat, is a rarity. As I watched them heaping their plates with food at the Kopitium, I wondered how they could possible eat that much and still remain stick thin. Another of nature’s wonders. The men are also cloned versions bearing a serious, bespectacled look, and you wonder if their parents know them from one another of if they can make out between their parents (obviously by looking only at the face). Thinking differently, we may appear as similar to them, when they look at our dark and brown figures, loud and emotional, always bursting at the seams of our passion.
21st Dec, 2008
I now know why Abhi feels suffocated at times. Radhika’s entire family is very good to him and as his mom I am being pampered. Today we all went to Radhika’s dad’s house. Her brother’s family also leaves there. We had a sumptuous lunch of idli, dosas, dahi wads, mirchi bhajis, halwa and ice cream. The way I am eating or rather being forced to eat, I will put on 5 kilos, if I am not careful. After lunch we went to Mustafa; it is huge, and has everything under one roof. We had a look around, while Radhika bought her essentials. I plan to go back and get some bulk items from there. In the evening Radhika’s dad took us all out for dinner at Rafael’s Hotel. It was one of the best Chinese eateries in town and we had some exotic Chinese veg; spicy and sweet and sour tofu, eggplant veggie, crispy rice and sweet and sour soup, noodles, and a mushroom and asparagus with broccoli. After dinner we went up to the 70th floor (the second highest hotel in the world) and saw the dazzling lights of Singapore; right from the Merlion, to the Big Eye, to the harbour, Orchard Street and some of the big hotels. It was amazing. Then we went for a drive along Orchard Street with its brilliant Christmas lighting.
22nd Dec, 2008
Sentosa (peace and tranquility) it was todayJ we went out at 11.30, and reached City Hall station by MRT. Walking the streets is a real pleasure, and does not tire you at all. We went to the Excelsior Hotel and confirmed our booking for the Sentosa trip. I picked up all the brochures on display and Abhi said I was behaving like a true Indian, going for all the free stuff. I agree, though there was foresight involved. It was the latest tourist info and would be helpful to others as well as me, if I was required to write about ‘Singapura’. Once through with this, we went to the Funan mall; it is an entire mall with electronics goods and you get the latest stuff here. Just going around the mall was fun. We checked out some cheap music players, and promised ourselves to come back, if we had money left after all the other shopping and going around. (Btw, if you have noticed this is the same promise I am making to myself every time I fancy something.) In the mall itself, we suddenly saw this Indian/Bangladeshi/Pakistani guy sitting on the floor in one corner and having his rice and curry. It was so typical, and for a moment I could actually understand why people from the sub continent were hated, as they were. We spend a good hour at Funan and decided to get a KFC burger meal ($ 3.60 – A burger, mashed potatoes, and a coke) to carry for lunch. Since there was still some time left for the bus to start, we had our meal at one of the numerous outdoor sitting places, opposite Raffles City. We finished our lunch and walked back to the pickup point at Excelsior. Accustomed to travel in India where a tour group would typically consist of an overwhelming number of Bongs, Gujjus, and Mallus, this was a welcome change. It was truly an international mix. We were given stickers, which said we were the Sentosa group of SH travels. Celina, our tour guide, welcomed us abroad the bus and we started our journey to the cable car station, with her calling our attention to the sites of the city. There was a long queue at the cable station but it was quite enjoyable to observe others. Before getting into the cable car, groups were asked to pose for pictures, and the system was so fast that in one minute flat, even before you had got into the car, the picture was framed and displayed for you. If you did not want to spend the 20 dollars then a polite ‘no’ was all you had to say.
The site of Sentosa from the cable car was awesome. There is lot of construction happening on the island at the moment. Universal Studios is coming up with a theme park and Singapore is opening its doors to Casinos (albeit with some restriction on the local people). Our first stop was the Underworld Sea. Though it is a fish aquarium under the ground, you got the effect of travelling under the sea. Huge fishes swam all about you (not below you), as you stand on the travelator. Abhi took a lot of videos and we hurried out to the bus, which took us for the Dolphin show. There were sitting arrangements all around a large water body. The show started. There were three dolphins and they performed amazing tricks. They performed dances, flips, somersaults, played with balls, and also kissed three volunteers from the audience, who went into the water. After the show, we went to see the Merlion. It is Singapore’s emblem; a figure with a lions head and a mermaids body. There was a lift inside the Merlion, which took us 10-storey high to the head area. Our last stop was for the event ‘Songs of the Sea’. We sat in a semicircular arena, beside the waterfront. The show was actually a light and sound show combined with laser beams. It spoke about a simple story about a princess who had fallen asleep only to be woken up by the sweet voice of a village boy ‘Lee’. The show combined fabulous coordination of light, sound, and clever use of laser beams with water sprays, and fireworks. It was a total technological marvel. The show was over by 8.30 and we reached home by 9.30.
23 rd Dec, 2008
Yesterday’s hectic travel and long sitting hours spelt the worst for my tail-bone, which wanted to script its own tale. Gave a break to Abhi and my tail, took a couple of panadols and slept late. We went out around 2 and headed straight for the 24-hour shop called Mustafa. Today was totally for shopping. After Mustafa, we met Radhika and Rajiv (of course Raheel in tow) at China Town. Again we shopped; I sat on a trishaw for a photograph, and eat a local delicacy called ‘bread ice cream’ (a scoop of ice cream inside coloured bread, to be eaten like a sandwich). Since Abhi wanted to take me for a dinner of Chicken sambhar rice, Radhika dropped us off at Katong. After a leisurely meal of this exotic local food, we walked around Katong, saw a few malls and then took the bus home. I was thrilled to ride the double-decker and experience the SMRT travel.
24th Dec, 2008.
Christmas Eve and the sky is overcast with rain clouds. We will leave later in the day. The plan is to browse round the town area, City Hall, Bugis, round the malls, look at the displays, avoid any purchase but one – Raheal’s T shirt. Abhi is not keeping too well. He has a cold, and I know how awful he feels; so the very fact that he is out, shows the effort that he is making. We roam around for a while, sit for some time and generally soak up the atmosphere. We still have not bought anything for the kid, as I found nothing that suited both my taste and the price I was ready to pay. I get two watches for R and B, fake and $6 each. Don’t know how long they will last, but since they are not too costly, I picked them up. By the time we are hungry and ready to eat, it is 5.30. We get some non-veg snacks from the 7/11 shops (You find them almost one every mile, they are open 24 hours and have good offers going on certain things. So, if you are lucky, you sometimes pick up good value for money). Then we came to the Kopitium, in front of SMU, and Abhi ordered two chicken and rice meals. They are for $3.60 and include a bowl of steamed rice (very tasty), a plate of chicken slices (cooked very light with some vegetables) and a bowl of soup. We eat heartily and sat their relaxed and satisfied. At around seven, we headed for the MRT. We were going to Orchard Road to watch the Christmas lights. We change MRT; the whole atmosphere, right from the time you take the escalator, is different. As we come out of the station, we are swallowed up by the flow of Christmas crowd and have no option but to follow them. However, before we let ourselves go, there is a pending task. We go into the Wisma Atria on Orchard; fortunately we like something at the Gap shop. We pick up a t shirt for Raheal. Job done, am relaxed and we walk out into the streets again to find that it has started to drizzle. Nonetheless the crowd is boisterous; families, friends, everyone is out on the streets. We are actually walking shoulder to shoulder on the footpaths, while the streets glow with candy pink lighting. The shops and malls and hotels and cafes on either sides glow like lighted Christmas trees. The bread-ice-cream vendor doles out this typical Singaporean delicacy. The hottest item this Christmas seems the Santa Cap clip that both men and women have on their head. They are for $5 and the rage this season; coming in gold and red these tiny cap clips really look cool. I start taking videos, my camera in one hand and clinging on to Abhi with the other hand. If I get lost here, I will probably be able to make my way back home, but then I don’t want to go into that hassle. I quickly decide on a contingency plan, in case we get separated. We walk for over a mile, along with thousands of other people. Tomorrow (Christmas day) Orchard will be closed to traffic and then one can walk on the street itself. The lights seem to glow and blaze in an unending strip. We turn around after sometime as we have to take the MRT back from Orchard station. The MRT station is very crowded, so is the train. We have to stand, as seats are all occupied. At Semei, I tell Abhi to take a cab, as I can see he is feeling ill. But he says he can make it. So, we walk back home.
25th Dec, 2008
Merry Christmas! We wake up very early and Vishakha (Radhika’s ‘man Friday’), is up and about. She has made tea for us. She will leave for mass and will be off for the day. We leave after I have tea and Abhi has his Panadol in warm water. He is in a better mood. The sky is still overcast but it is not raining. We take the 8 a.m. Savannah bus. We buy some chips from the 7/11 store at the Semei station, Abhi gets his stick of Vicks and then we catch the train to City Hall. We are there in time and the tour bus comes at 9 a.m. We are going to Jurong Bird’s Park. As the bus heads west, the streets are empty, it being a holiday. We reach by 10 a.m. On the way we pass by numerous factories. The Jurong area has almost 1000 factories. The Singapore Mint is also here. 10 percent of the population in Singapore lives in Jurong. Our tour guide Karen explained, how the ongoing economic crisis will affect asset-rich Singaporeans, where a lot of them will have to downsize their standards. Singapore is coming up with casinos in a big way. They are due to open by 2009 and 2010. However, in view of the depression that is affecting global economy this may not be a very good time for them to become operative. Singapore had 10 million tourists in 2007 and 2008 has not crossed that figure. Though Christmas day is not really the day to discuss such dismal situation, the topic comes inevitably into conversation. We enter the birds park and start with a panorail (a monorail) ride, which takes us through various points like Lory’s Loft, Flamingo Pool, The Dino bird, etc. But before the train ride we enter the special Penguin area, where an environment suited to house birds accustomed to arctic extremes, have been created in this tropical country. I have never seen live Penguins, and they are very cute. They often cry out loud, giving an eerie feeling. Some of them swim in the water while the others stand in groups. I get so caught up, taking videos that we almost miss the monorail. Lory’s Loft, where we alight from the train, is a huge netted area, where parrots and macaws of all colors are flying around. You can buy some bird food and they then actually sit on your hand and have the food. The birds seem very used to human visitors and are totally unafraid. We finish with the loft and then start walking around on our own. First we head for the Birds and Buddies show. This is an extraordinary experience. Birds right from macaws, parrots and vultures have been trained to do so many things. The birds fly very low over your head from one point of the open auditorium to another. Their trainers are positioned at various points. The show starts with a band of dancing flamingoes, all bred at the Jurong Park. They accompany the show conductor to the arena, and their graceful walk, complimented with delicate flapping of their wings to the music gives the impression that they are dancing. Two Macaws play basket ball (they have to pick four balls, one at a time, and put them into miniature baskets). The two birds, Barry and Cocky, have teams of spectators supporting them. We support Cocky and cheer him loud. Cocky wins both games and we applaud. The Macaws also do other very nice tricks. Volunteers are picked from the spectators and the birds go and sit on their arms and eat from their hand. We are asked to hold up money and a gentleman who is in the middle aisle is selected. He folds a $10 note, twice over, and holds it in his outstretched hand. The bird flies down to him, takes the money and returns to the trainer and drops it in his pocket. Later he takes it again back to the man and puts it on his palm. Then comes the hoopla-hoop show. Members from the audience hold up hoops and the birds fly through them. I pick up my hand and get selected to hold the hoop. Abhi says it is ‘Paisa Wasool’. After the show, we walk around the Flamingo pool and other areas. We are back at the bus by 12.30 a.m. and head back to the pick-up point.
Abhi is hungry for the Chili crab that he has planned for today’s lunch. It’s going to cost us a bomb but what the heck. We head for the pier, which is lined with numerous eateries. There are sea-food joints, Indian eateries and English pubs. We select one of the sea-food places and order two mugs of beer. The medium crab costs $75. We hardly have all that cash and Abhi goes to withdraw cash. We have a sumptuous lunch. The crab is mammoth and I am scared thinking of the amount that I have to eat. We are made to wear thin plastic aprons, so that when we break open the crabs we do not get stained by the juices. Dressed such, and armed with instruments that resemble pliers and plus, we start the adventure. We are so engrossed in the whole procedure that we forget to seep our beers. But it is fun. There is a Russian family sitting close by and they are also struggling like us. They drop the instruments and start with their hands. We also do the same. It takes us almost two hours to wade through that crab curry. Every moment I wished that Rintu was here; he would have enjoyed and made full justice to the food. Our bill came to a whopping $107. We could hardly get up after over-filling ourselves like that. We dragged around for some time and headed for the SMU sitting area. Here we slept on the wooden benches, our heads resting on the desks, and our tired bums resting on the chairs. And even in this uncomfortable condition we dozed off; the beer and crab settling down. Around 5.30, we refreshed ourselves at the college washrooms and walked back to the Excelsior pick-up point. Our bus for the night safari left at 6.15. The tour guide, Peter, explained the concept of the safari, and told us to be back at the bus by 10. After we reached the place, we got our tickets for the safari and joined the long queue waiting at the tram station. There was a tram car every 5 minutes, so it was not very long before we were seated on one. The tram rolled out of the station and immediately the night calm and silent air surrounded us. As the tram made its way through Indian jungles, Asian riverine forests, Amazonian rainforests, Hills of Burma, the voice of the tour guide briefed us on the animals that were there at a stone’s throw from the tram car. We saw rare animals such as the ant eaters. Rhinos, hippos, tigers, lions and hyenas, they were all there. After the tram ride we went on the Leopard trail. We saw a baby Leopard climbing the tree. We went to see the free flying fruit bats. They flew down quite low. Quite a few of them were feasting on the fruits that have been hung on the trees. It must be quite sad hanging down and eat; but then they may look at us and have the same feeling seeing us walking upside down. Apart from the fact that the safari was a unique concept, what struck me as enterprising was that each animal had been adopted by some corporate or moneyed individual. Right from Standard Chartered to Quality Walls, to Tiger Balm, they were all there. After this we went for the fire show. This was also quite entertaining and was basically a tribal show, with all sorts of displays with fire that looked quite risqué. By then we were just too tired and went back to the bus. We reached home by 11.30 and dropped into bed.
26th Dec, 2008
We chilled at home till around 5 in the evening. Matthew had invited us for dinner at the East Coast Seafood Centre. It was on the beach, and looked similar to Bandra Bandstand. We had a sumptuous dinner. However Matthew has changed a lot. He has grown up and not the talkative boy I remember. The place also had Singapore’s first rail ski place. Here instead of speed boats, an automatic overhead wire line speeds you across the water while you hold on to your ski board. You get dunked once in a while, but it’s safe as you can swim back. Later on we took a walk around the place, and Matthew dropped us off at Savannah.
27th Dec, 2008
There was a movie, a trip to Mustafa, and a visit to Clarke planned for today; and everything went according to the plan. We left at 4.30; Malav, Rahil’s cousin, came along. We first went to GV to see Australia. I loved the movie, so did Abhi, though both of us felt that the editing could have been crisper. This movie has a big chance to make it to the Oscars. I am glad that I watched it (each ticket is $10) for Nagpur will never have it in the theatre. After the show I and Abhi went to Little India, while Malav went home. We collected the GST form from Mustafa, exchanged money and then went to an Indian Biryani place. The food was good and Abhi said, ‘nothing beats Indian food’. After our meal we took the MRT to Clarke; this is Singapore’s clubbing area. Since it was Saturday night, it was chock-a-block with people. Youngsters, office goers, tourists, they were all there. We saw some belly-dancing; it was happening in the open. Went around the place. It was quite late; we took the night bus (the no 12 according to Abhi is the magic bus as it goes everywhere). When we reached home the family was still up. We started chatting; Rajiv and Rahil went to bed. Radhika, me and Abhi chatted till 4 in the morning.
28th Dec, 2008
My last day here. It has been a grt trip, an eye-opener in many ways, and an opportunity to see Abhi as an adult. We went out in the evening to roam around east-side; Semei is east side. We had coffee at Starbucks. Another dream fulfilled. Dinner was at Mittal’s place (she is Radhika’s elder sister). There was Afghan food in the menu and another first for me. Took the recipe of what looked the easiest.
29th Dec,2008
Will leave in sometime. Abhi has gone out for an interview. My bags are packed and am ready to go. Pray to God that Abhi has a very happy and long life.
My first international trip (hopefully there will be more) and true to its reputation the Air India flight to Singapore was late. The international lounge had nothing international about it; the once plush leather sofas were torn, revealing forlorn looking foam that had seen brighter days. The metal bins stank of stale coffee and tell-tale red stains, which left me wondering how pan-chewing gentry were allowed in the first place. However, the wait gave me ample opportunity to observe other waiting passengers. There were few holiday groups; papa, mummy, chunnu, munnu, the smaller kids were getting crankier by the minute. There was no decent food available inside. Coffee was 30 bucks and small slices of cakes cost 50 rupees. I did not have the courage to ask the price of the Pringles pack, the only other eatable on display. The cleaver people (read frequent international travellers), had packed delicious food packs, and the smell of ‘dal puris’ and ‘kachodis’ made life miserable for the hungry hordes. The tired people (read infrequent travellers or first time travellers, who had no idea about what they were getting into and had arrived by 6 in the morning, as requested in their tickets) had pulled up an extra sofa and retired, snoring in the knowledge that the airport ground staff would lift them bodily into their flights, if needed. So, not one of the clever people, and presented with limited choice, I had coffee sans anything solid, I slept, and I people gazed. I saw laptop-carrying monks, burger eating South-Indian pundits, and sari-wrapped Iscon devotees. The world was truly becoming global!
The flight was finally announced three hours late. I actually saw people rushing with their hand bags. I made way for them, a conceited look on my face; little did I know that these were the same clever people. On the flight, the tired looking staff gave their over-used smile, their eyes saying, ‘get along fellows, and make it fast to your seat’. As I slowly made my way towards 23F, I was suddenly aware of a commotion ahead. A hostess made her way, jostling past the queued up passengers; passengers seemed to be fighting over seats. It seemed like in a local train or a long-distance bus. I realised why the clever people were running. The hostess managed to settle the problem with the dexterity of one used to it and when questioned by one gentleman, said, ‘the flight comes via Dhaka, na!’ I will not say much about the food served; I reminded myself that Air India was a cheaper option. Fortunately every person on board was ravenously hungry and more than full justice was done to the food. Every crumb of the sad looking patties disappeared without a murmur.
All the miseries of the past few hours disappeared, as I looked out of the window. A bed of white fluffy clouds spread below me. It looked like the most inviting place to snuggle up and rest. Soon the clouds disappeared. I suddenly realised that I was looking down at the Sunderban Delta region. What perfection nature presented! Each river, its tributaries and distributaries were drawn out in strokes that were nothing short of brilliant. The clarity of it all was a cartographer’s delight. How smoothly the rivers curved and met the ocean. The balance was undoubtedly divine. At that moment nature was the sublime presence that I held in reverence. As we left the coast behind, the shimmering blue brilliance of the Bay of Bengal stretched to the horizon. The blue of the sky and the blue of the ocean were one. While the blueness hurt your eye, the water just below was like a stretched brocade sari, golden shimmers rippling in the wind. We flew over the water for a long distance, sometimes along the coast. Then the clouds blanketed everything, and I went off to sleep. As we neared the coast of Singapore, nature was challenged by man. The perfectly manicured gardens on one side, the harbour dotted with boats and ships of all sizes, and the high rises outlined against an azure sky, were tribute to human skill and brilliance.
Changi International Airport was simply awesome. The expanse of terminal 1, soothed by green stretches, soft music, helpful airport staff, easy to follow directions, and a process oriented system was easy for the most uninitiated traveller, like me. I cleared immigration, collected my baggage, and found my son waiting outside the glass door, just as he had promised.
20th Dec, 2008
Today, I got my first real feel of Singapore. We took the Savannah Condopark bus and went to the MRT station. Abhi got me an EzLink card worth 15 dollars. I will be able to use this not only for the public transports such as MRT (train) or SMRT (Bus) but also to buy merchandise. I became quite an expert travelling along the travelator. It is basically a horizontal escalator, to make you walk faster. At every step you realize how easy life has been made for the citizens. No wonder people get accustomed to this and don’t want to leave this country. We first went around SMU, particularly the School of Economics, which is Abhi’s school. Since it was vacation time, the school was devoid of its usual buzz. The building, classes, study rooms, library, and the professor’s lounge and rooms were a perfect set-up for an academic environment comparable to the best universities in the world. Just across the street from SMU was the Kopitium (Food Court). We had delicious chicken rice and pork rice. Yes, I have decided to have non-veg for the time being. It was 6 in the afternoon and we got movie tickets for a 7 pm show of ‘The day the world stood still’, at Cathay, Singapore’s first movie theatre, which started before the 1st World War. Since there was still an hour left for the movie, we went around the Cathay mall. The mall housed a small gallery that exhibited old Cathay artifacts such as the projector, the reels, the old film posters, old photographs, the red wooden seats at the theatre, and numerous other memorabilia. Unfortunately photography was not allowed. Abhi was just picking up his mobile to click one (we Indians never change), when we saw the lens of one of the numerous camera pointing towards us. We abandoned the plan and took a free brochure instead. As malls go, they were all same, with their display of branded products, the glitz and glamour heightened by the coming festive season, and teeming with weekend browsers, most of whom like us were having ‘a look around’. The movie was funny. Never have I seen such a badly produced movie, particularly an English one. We laughed hearing Keanu Reeves speak Chinese. After the show, we went to the nearby Plaza Singapura, another mall, again fully resplendent in Christmas lighting. Here an exhibition of books and DVDs was going on. We checked and DVDs were available for 5 dollars. We have planned to check it out on the last leg of the tour, when we know how much money we have left to splurge, if at all we do. We had our dinner at Mc Donald’s and caught the MRT back to Semei.
If I have missed out commenting on the local people, then it will be an injustice to this perfectly designed place and its perfectly designed local population. They, particularly the fairer sex, come in compact models with hour glass figures, black straight hair, and strained un-smiling faces, as if the entire burden of the world lies on their fragile shoulders. They look like clones dressed differently. A Chinese (the highest percentage of Singapore’s population), who is fat, is a rarity. As I watched them heaping their plates with food at the Kopitium, I wondered how they could possible eat that much and still remain stick thin. Another of nature’s wonders. The men are also cloned versions bearing a serious, bespectacled look, and you wonder if their parents know them from one another of if they can make out between their parents (obviously by looking only at the face). Thinking differently, we may appear as similar to them, when they look at our dark and brown figures, loud and emotional, always bursting at the seams of our passion.
21st Dec, 2008
I now know why Abhi feels suffocated at times. Radhika’s entire family is very good to him and as his mom I am being pampered. Today we all went to Radhika’s dad’s house. Her brother’s family also leaves there. We had a sumptuous lunch of idli, dosas, dahi wads, mirchi bhajis, halwa and ice cream. The way I am eating or rather being forced to eat, I will put on 5 kilos, if I am not careful. After lunch we went to Mustafa; it is huge, and has everything under one roof. We had a look around, while Radhika bought her essentials. I plan to go back and get some bulk items from there. In the evening Radhika’s dad took us all out for dinner at Rafael’s Hotel. It was one of the best Chinese eateries in town and we had some exotic Chinese veg; spicy and sweet and sour tofu, eggplant veggie, crispy rice and sweet and sour soup, noodles, and a mushroom and asparagus with broccoli. After dinner we went up to the 70th floor (the second highest hotel in the world) and saw the dazzling lights of Singapore; right from the Merlion, to the Big Eye, to the harbour, Orchard Street and some of the big hotels. It was amazing. Then we went for a drive along Orchard Street with its brilliant Christmas lighting.
22nd Dec, 2008
Sentosa (peace and tranquility) it was todayJ we went out at 11.30, and reached City Hall station by MRT. Walking the streets is a real pleasure, and does not tire you at all. We went to the Excelsior Hotel and confirmed our booking for the Sentosa trip. I picked up all the brochures on display and Abhi said I was behaving like a true Indian, going for all the free stuff. I agree, though there was foresight involved. It was the latest tourist info and would be helpful to others as well as me, if I was required to write about ‘Singapura’. Once through with this, we went to the Funan mall; it is an entire mall with electronics goods and you get the latest stuff here. Just going around the mall was fun. We checked out some cheap music players, and promised ourselves to come back, if we had money left after all the other shopping and going around. (Btw, if you have noticed this is the same promise I am making to myself every time I fancy something.) In the mall itself, we suddenly saw this Indian/Bangladeshi/Pakistani guy sitting on the floor in one corner and having his rice and curry. It was so typical, and for a moment I could actually understand why people from the sub continent were hated, as they were. We spend a good hour at Funan and decided to get a KFC burger meal ($ 3.60 – A burger, mashed potatoes, and a coke) to carry for lunch. Since there was still some time left for the bus to start, we had our meal at one of the numerous outdoor sitting places, opposite Raffles City. We finished our lunch and walked back to the pickup point at Excelsior. Accustomed to travel in India where a tour group would typically consist of an overwhelming number of Bongs, Gujjus, and Mallus, this was a welcome change. It was truly an international mix. We were given stickers, which said we were the Sentosa group of SH travels. Celina, our tour guide, welcomed us abroad the bus and we started our journey to the cable car station, with her calling our attention to the sites of the city. There was a long queue at the cable station but it was quite enjoyable to observe others. Before getting into the cable car, groups were asked to pose for pictures, and the system was so fast that in one minute flat, even before you had got into the car, the picture was framed and displayed for you. If you did not want to spend the 20 dollars then a polite ‘no’ was all you had to say.
The site of Sentosa from the cable car was awesome. There is lot of construction happening on the island at the moment. Universal Studios is coming up with a theme park and Singapore is opening its doors to Casinos (albeit with some restriction on the local people). Our first stop was the Underworld Sea. Though it is a fish aquarium under the ground, you got the effect of travelling under the sea. Huge fishes swam all about you (not below you), as you stand on the travelator. Abhi took a lot of videos and we hurried out to the bus, which took us for the Dolphin show. There were sitting arrangements all around a large water body. The show started. There were three dolphins and they performed amazing tricks. They performed dances, flips, somersaults, played with balls, and also kissed three volunteers from the audience, who went into the water. After the show, we went to see the Merlion. It is Singapore’s emblem; a figure with a lions head and a mermaids body. There was a lift inside the Merlion, which took us 10-storey high to the head area. Our last stop was for the event ‘Songs of the Sea’. We sat in a semicircular arena, beside the waterfront. The show was actually a light and sound show combined with laser beams. It spoke about a simple story about a princess who had fallen asleep only to be woken up by the sweet voice of a village boy ‘Lee’. The show combined fabulous coordination of light, sound, and clever use of laser beams with water sprays, and fireworks. It was a total technological marvel. The show was over by 8.30 and we reached home by 9.30.
23 rd Dec, 2008
Yesterday’s hectic travel and long sitting hours spelt the worst for my tail-bone, which wanted to script its own tale. Gave a break to Abhi and my tail, took a couple of panadols and slept late. We went out around 2 and headed straight for the 24-hour shop called Mustafa. Today was totally for shopping. After Mustafa, we met Radhika and Rajiv (of course Raheel in tow) at China Town. Again we shopped; I sat on a trishaw for a photograph, and eat a local delicacy called ‘bread ice cream’ (a scoop of ice cream inside coloured bread, to be eaten like a sandwich). Since Abhi wanted to take me for a dinner of Chicken sambhar rice, Radhika dropped us off at Katong. After a leisurely meal of this exotic local food, we walked around Katong, saw a few malls and then took the bus home. I was thrilled to ride the double-decker and experience the SMRT travel.
24th Dec, 2008.
Christmas Eve and the sky is overcast with rain clouds. We will leave later in the day. The plan is to browse round the town area, City Hall, Bugis, round the malls, look at the displays, avoid any purchase but one – Raheal’s T shirt. Abhi is not keeping too well. He has a cold, and I know how awful he feels; so the very fact that he is out, shows the effort that he is making. We roam around for a while, sit for some time and generally soak up the atmosphere. We still have not bought anything for the kid, as I found nothing that suited both my taste and the price I was ready to pay. I get two watches for R and B, fake and $6 each. Don’t know how long they will last, but since they are not too costly, I picked them up. By the time we are hungry and ready to eat, it is 5.30. We get some non-veg snacks from the 7/11 shops (You find them almost one every mile, they are open 24 hours and have good offers going on certain things. So, if you are lucky, you sometimes pick up good value for money). Then we came to the Kopitium, in front of SMU, and Abhi ordered two chicken and rice meals. They are for $3.60 and include a bowl of steamed rice (very tasty), a plate of chicken slices (cooked very light with some vegetables) and a bowl of soup. We eat heartily and sat their relaxed and satisfied. At around seven, we headed for the MRT. We were going to Orchard Road to watch the Christmas lights. We change MRT; the whole atmosphere, right from the time you take the escalator, is different. As we come out of the station, we are swallowed up by the flow of Christmas crowd and have no option but to follow them. However, before we let ourselves go, there is a pending task. We go into the Wisma Atria on Orchard; fortunately we like something at the Gap shop. We pick up a t shirt for Raheal. Job done, am relaxed and we walk out into the streets again to find that it has started to drizzle. Nonetheless the crowd is boisterous; families, friends, everyone is out on the streets. We are actually walking shoulder to shoulder on the footpaths, while the streets glow with candy pink lighting. The shops and malls and hotels and cafes on either sides glow like lighted Christmas trees. The bread-ice-cream vendor doles out this typical Singaporean delicacy. The hottest item this Christmas seems the Santa Cap clip that both men and women have on their head. They are for $5 and the rage this season; coming in gold and red these tiny cap clips really look cool. I start taking videos, my camera in one hand and clinging on to Abhi with the other hand. If I get lost here, I will probably be able to make my way back home, but then I don’t want to go into that hassle. I quickly decide on a contingency plan, in case we get separated. We walk for over a mile, along with thousands of other people. Tomorrow (Christmas day) Orchard will be closed to traffic and then one can walk on the street itself. The lights seem to glow and blaze in an unending strip. We turn around after sometime as we have to take the MRT back from Orchard station. The MRT station is very crowded, so is the train. We have to stand, as seats are all occupied. At Semei, I tell Abhi to take a cab, as I can see he is feeling ill. But he says he can make it. So, we walk back home.
25th Dec, 2008
Merry Christmas! We wake up very early and Vishakha (Radhika’s ‘man Friday’), is up and about. She has made tea for us. She will leave for mass and will be off for the day. We leave after I have tea and Abhi has his Panadol in warm water. He is in a better mood. The sky is still overcast but it is not raining. We take the 8 a.m. Savannah bus. We buy some chips from the 7/11 store at the Semei station, Abhi gets his stick of Vicks and then we catch the train to City Hall. We are there in time and the tour bus comes at 9 a.m. We are going to Jurong Bird’s Park. As the bus heads west, the streets are empty, it being a holiday. We reach by 10 a.m. On the way we pass by numerous factories. The Jurong area has almost 1000 factories. The Singapore Mint is also here. 10 percent of the population in Singapore lives in Jurong. Our tour guide Karen explained, how the ongoing economic crisis will affect asset-rich Singaporeans, where a lot of them will have to downsize their standards. Singapore is coming up with casinos in a big way. They are due to open by 2009 and 2010. However, in view of the depression that is affecting global economy this may not be a very good time for them to become operative. Singapore had 10 million tourists in 2007 and 2008 has not crossed that figure. Though Christmas day is not really the day to discuss such dismal situation, the topic comes inevitably into conversation. We enter the birds park and start with a panorail (a monorail) ride, which takes us through various points like Lory’s Loft, Flamingo Pool, The Dino bird, etc. But before the train ride we enter the special Penguin area, where an environment suited to house birds accustomed to arctic extremes, have been created in this tropical country. I have never seen live Penguins, and they are very cute. They often cry out loud, giving an eerie feeling. Some of them swim in the water while the others stand in groups. I get so caught up, taking videos that we almost miss the monorail. Lory’s Loft, where we alight from the train, is a huge netted area, where parrots and macaws of all colors are flying around. You can buy some bird food and they then actually sit on your hand and have the food. The birds seem very used to human visitors and are totally unafraid. We finish with the loft and then start walking around on our own. First we head for the Birds and Buddies show. This is an extraordinary experience. Birds right from macaws, parrots and vultures have been trained to do so many things. The birds fly very low over your head from one point of the open auditorium to another. Their trainers are positioned at various points. The show starts with a band of dancing flamingoes, all bred at the Jurong Park. They accompany the show conductor to the arena, and their graceful walk, complimented with delicate flapping of their wings to the music gives the impression that they are dancing. Two Macaws play basket ball (they have to pick four balls, one at a time, and put them into miniature baskets). The two birds, Barry and Cocky, have teams of spectators supporting them. We support Cocky and cheer him loud. Cocky wins both games and we applaud. The Macaws also do other very nice tricks. Volunteers are picked from the spectators and the birds go and sit on their arms and eat from their hand. We are asked to hold up money and a gentleman who is in the middle aisle is selected. He folds a $10 note, twice over, and holds it in his outstretched hand. The bird flies down to him, takes the money and returns to the trainer and drops it in his pocket. Later he takes it again back to the man and puts it on his palm. Then comes the hoopla-hoop show. Members from the audience hold up hoops and the birds fly through them. I pick up my hand and get selected to hold the hoop. Abhi says it is ‘Paisa Wasool’. After the show, we walk around the Flamingo pool and other areas. We are back at the bus by 12.30 a.m. and head back to the pick-up point.
Abhi is hungry for the Chili crab that he has planned for today’s lunch. It’s going to cost us a bomb but what the heck. We head for the pier, which is lined with numerous eateries. There are sea-food joints, Indian eateries and English pubs. We select one of the sea-food places and order two mugs of beer. The medium crab costs $75. We hardly have all that cash and Abhi goes to withdraw cash. We have a sumptuous lunch. The crab is mammoth and I am scared thinking of the amount that I have to eat. We are made to wear thin plastic aprons, so that when we break open the crabs we do not get stained by the juices. Dressed such, and armed with instruments that resemble pliers and plus, we start the adventure. We are so engrossed in the whole procedure that we forget to seep our beers. But it is fun. There is a Russian family sitting close by and they are also struggling like us. They drop the instruments and start with their hands. We also do the same. It takes us almost two hours to wade through that crab curry. Every moment I wished that Rintu was here; he would have enjoyed and made full justice to the food. Our bill came to a whopping $107. We could hardly get up after over-filling ourselves like that. We dragged around for some time and headed for the SMU sitting area. Here we slept on the wooden benches, our heads resting on the desks, and our tired bums resting on the chairs. And even in this uncomfortable condition we dozed off; the beer and crab settling down. Around 5.30, we refreshed ourselves at the college washrooms and walked back to the Excelsior pick-up point. Our bus for the night safari left at 6.15. The tour guide, Peter, explained the concept of the safari, and told us to be back at the bus by 10. After we reached the place, we got our tickets for the safari and joined the long queue waiting at the tram station. There was a tram car every 5 minutes, so it was not very long before we were seated on one. The tram rolled out of the station and immediately the night calm and silent air surrounded us. As the tram made its way through Indian jungles, Asian riverine forests, Amazonian rainforests, Hills of Burma, the voice of the tour guide briefed us on the animals that were there at a stone’s throw from the tram car. We saw rare animals such as the ant eaters. Rhinos, hippos, tigers, lions and hyenas, they were all there. After the tram ride we went on the Leopard trail. We saw a baby Leopard climbing the tree. We went to see the free flying fruit bats. They flew down quite low. Quite a few of them were feasting on the fruits that have been hung on the trees. It must be quite sad hanging down and eat; but then they may look at us and have the same feeling seeing us walking upside down. Apart from the fact that the safari was a unique concept, what struck me as enterprising was that each animal had been adopted by some corporate or moneyed individual. Right from Standard Chartered to Quality Walls, to Tiger Balm, they were all there. After this we went for the fire show. This was also quite entertaining and was basically a tribal show, with all sorts of displays with fire that looked quite risqué. By then we were just too tired and went back to the bus. We reached home by 11.30 and dropped into bed.
26th Dec, 2008
We chilled at home till around 5 in the evening. Matthew had invited us for dinner at the East Coast Seafood Centre. It was on the beach, and looked similar to Bandra Bandstand. We had a sumptuous dinner. However Matthew has changed a lot. He has grown up and not the talkative boy I remember. The place also had Singapore’s first rail ski place. Here instead of speed boats, an automatic overhead wire line speeds you across the water while you hold on to your ski board. You get dunked once in a while, but it’s safe as you can swim back. Later on we took a walk around the place, and Matthew dropped us off at Savannah.
27th Dec, 2008
There was a movie, a trip to Mustafa, and a visit to Clarke planned for today; and everything went according to the plan. We left at 4.30; Malav, Rahil’s cousin, came along. We first went to GV to see Australia. I loved the movie, so did Abhi, though both of us felt that the editing could have been crisper. This movie has a big chance to make it to the Oscars. I am glad that I watched it (each ticket is $10) for Nagpur will never have it in the theatre. After the show I and Abhi went to Little India, while Malav went home. We collected the GST form from Mustafa, exchanged money and then went to an Indian Biryani place. The food was good and Abhi said, ‘nothing beats Indian food’. After our meal we took the MRT to Clarke; this is Singapore’s clubbing area. Since it was Saturday night, it was chock-a-block with people. Youngsters, office goers, tourists, they were all there. We saw some belly-dancing; it was happening in the open. Went around the place. It was quite late; we took the night bus (the no 12 according to Abhi is the magic bus as it goes everywhere). When we reached home the family was still up. We started chatting; Rajiv and Rahil went to bed. Radhika, me and Abhi chatted till 4 in the morning.
28th Dec, 2008
My last day here. It has been a grt trip, an eye-opener in many ways, and an opportunity to see Abhi as an adult. We went out in the evening to roam around east-side; Semei is east side. We had coffee at Starbucks. Another dream fulfilled. Dinner was at Mittal’s place (she is Radhika’s elder sister). There was Afghan food in the menu and another first for me. Took the recipe of what looked the easiest.
29th Dec,2008
Will leave in sometime. Abhi has gone out for an interview. My bags are packed and am ready to go. Pray to God that Abhi has a very happy and long life.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Fall
RJ aj bollo, bayire khub thanda
Tayi kancher bhitore theke o 'patjhar' dekhche.
Lal, holud, patkele, ki garho rong , ronginer thekeu beshi rongin.
Jano Van Gogh er tulir uddam anchor,jano angul diye rong tule lepe diyeche.
Jodi amon korte partam,
bocher er shara malinno, glani, oboshonnota, erokom bhabe jhoriye dite
protekta pata shesh bindu kanna ta ke chokher kone theke, moner tola theke muche nito.
Kholosh take mele dhortam, sheyi tomar dike duhath tule.
Buk bhore nishash nitam, nitam tomar theke 'positive energy',
Sobuj patay abar bhore jetow amar dal gulow.
Abar banchtam , jemon bar bar tomay bishash kore.
Tayi kancher bhitore theke o 'patjhar' dekhche.
Lal, holud, patkele, ki garho rong , ronginer thekeu beshi rongin.
Jano Van Gogh er tulir uddam anchor,jano angul diye rong tule lepe diyeche.
Jodi amon korte partam,
bocher er shara malinno, glani, oboshonnota, erokom bhabe jhoriye dite
protekta pata shesh bindu kanna ta ke chokher kone theke, moner tola theke muche nito.
Kholosh take mele dhortam, sheyi tomar dike duhath tule.
Buk bhore nishash nitam, nitam tomar theke 'positive energy',
Sobuj patay abar bhore jetow amar dal gulow.
Abar banchtam , jemon bar bar tomay bishash kore.
Friday, October 17, 2008
The Story of Four
This is the story of four people whose lives cross for a moment in time that occupies a blink and miss period in the bigger scheme of things. However, for them it became an infinite moment scaring them for the rest of their lives. When I say scaring them, I necessarily do not mean it in a negative sense. I do not want to use the softer ‘touching them’, as the impressions, good or bad, went much deeper.
It all started with an innocuous meeting, was followed by intermittent telephone conversations, then more regular ones that almost became like a bad habit topped with considerable dollop of expectations. It was a friendship that developed from similar thoughts and traits, a friendship that precariously hung on that razors edge that thinly demarcates the concepts of closeness. The relationship not only lasted but flourished, given that both friends maintained an unwritten code of conduct that refused to let a whiff pass by. The fire smouldered, hidden, its glow warming two lives. Maybe this was too pleasant a situation to last.
The other two people, in this story of four, slowly got acquainted. All four of them now met regularly, they laughed, they had late night discussions, and they thought life would go on. Fate, however, decided to step in. In life, we often feel emotions that go beyond the accepted norms of society. How far and how much we let those emotions overtake our logical senses, is decided by our individual sense of appropriateness. One of this people, in this story of four, stepped beyond that norm of sensitivity. Why did he do that is a question that will go unanswered for the rest of the time that they live; But what happened, because he did, is what I will be telling you.
Suddenly lot of things revealed itself in its true perspective. The person who overstepped was surrounded in a ring of fire that engulfed not only him but burnt all the other three. A man of his repute was faced with the ultimate dishonour of life. The woman, who tried to be his friend, fell from the exalted position that she had created for herself and maintained throughout her life. Would she ever be able to regain her confidence when it came to dealing with the world? But what happened to the original two friends, in this story of four? Could the man accept that his wife felt differently towards another man? He had once said he could. But faced with the reality of situations all his original and liberated views fell flat. It was an unbearable situation for him. His pride was hurt. His perceptions about himself were broken. He explained frantically to his friend. He said it is not the thought of his wife getting close to another person that is bothering him. He reiterated that it was her denial of the truth that was responsible for his anguish. His friend tried to understand. But somewhere things did not fall into place. She could almost see through him. She was stunned into comprehension. Her husband’s thoughtlessness and insensitivity had not bothered her as much as her friend’s change. How was she to deal with this disillusionment? How was she to hide her own emotions that till now she had willingly shown to him? Who was the worse off, in this story of four, is debatable. Each one got scared; each one built their own defences. Each one, I pray, will emerge from this, if not unscathed but stronger. But will I?
It all started with an innocuous meeting, was followed by intermittent telephone conversations, then more regular ones that almost became like a bad habit topped with considerable dollop of expectations. It was a friendship that developed from similar thoughts and traits, a friendship that precariously hung on that razors edge that thinly demarcates the concepts of closeness. The relationship not only lasted but flourished, given that both friends maintained an unwritten code of conduct that refused to let a whiff pass by. The fire smouldered, hidden, its glow warming two lives. Maybe this was too pleasant a situation to last.
The other two people, in this story of four, slowly got acquainted. All four of them now met regularly, they laughed, they had late night discussions, and they thought life would go on. Fate, however, decided to step in. In life, we often feel emotions that go beyond the accepted norms of society. How far and how much we let those emotions overtake our logical senses, is decided by our individual sense of appropriateness. One of this people, in this story of four, stepped beyond that norm of sensitivity. Why did he do that is a question that will go unanswered for the rest of the time that they live; But what happened, because he did, is what I will be telling you.
Suddenly lot of things revealed itself in its true perspective. The person who overstepped was surrounded in a ring of fire that engulfed not only him but burnt all the other three. A man of his repute was faced with the ultimate dishonour of life. The woman, who tried to be his friend, fell from the exalted position that she had created for herself and maintained throughout her life. Would she ever be able to regain her confidence when it came to dealing with the world? But what happened to the original two friends, in this story of four? Could the man accept that his wife felt differently towards another man? He had once said he could. But faced with the reality of situations all his original and liberated views fell flat. It was an unbearable situation for him. His pride was hurt. His perceptions about himself were broken. He explained frantically to his friend. He said it is not the thought of his wife getting close to another person that is bothering him. He reiterated that it was her denial of the truth that was responsible for his anguish. His friend tried to understand. But somewhere things did not fall into place. She could almost see through him. She was stunned into comprehension. Her husband’s thoughtlessness and insensitivity had not bothered her as much as her friend’s change. How was she to deal with this disillusionment? How was she to hide her own emotions that till now she had willingly shown to him? Who was the worse off, in this story of four, is debatable. Each one got scared; each one built their own defences. Each one, I pray, will emerge from this, if not unscathed but stronger. But will I?
Thursday, July 10, 2008
After an initial hiatus, the rains are here with a vengeance. Drenched clean of the summer squalor, the leaves hang wet and fresh. The tree outside my window has this bright red flower (in Bangla we call it ‘krishnachura’). The lone cuckoo seems to have lost his sense of time and season, calling out loud over the pitter patter. The parched land lets out a sigh; an earthy smell wafts through. Memories flash by, totally unconcerned of my ability to handle them. Did the earthy smell do this? Or was it the cloudy sky, the water drops hanging on the petals, or the impending reality of meeting ‘him’?
I was stuffing my books hurriedly into the cloth satchel that all of us owned. There was no time to check the routine and everything had to go in. The Wren and Martin slipped my hands and fell. I bend down to pick it up and there beside the open book, lay a black and white photograph. I looked furtively across the room, where baba was reading the newspaper. He was too engrossed in the political bedlam, to notice. In a way good, I thought. I quickly put the young man in his rightful place, at page no 101, and the book in the bag. Just two minutes left for the first bell at 9 a.m., so I had exactly four minutes to reach school, park the cycle and rush in before the 2nd bell. I zoomed out and jumped on the Hercules that two years back had belonged to Riju. He had outgrown it and now officially the battered contraption was mine. I raced the old trusted war-horse across the fields, taking the muddy short-cut. Water splashed and my white kurta immediately spotted the muddy marks that ma would have a tough time with. Never mind, I thought, will handle ma later, when the time came. As of now, I had to make the 2nd bell.
Was there something missing in my life? At 56, I was well established, known and respected. My husband, bless his soul, had been a pillar of support and encouragement through those tedious years of struggle. In-laws, parents, children, siblings, we managed all. There were tensions, confusions, harsh words and tears. There were moments of joy, euphoria and camaraderie. I had lived a life as complete, as I could hope for. Now, left with myself, my work was the only presence that I desired in my life. Or so I thought. What was happening today? Why was I going back to some insignificant instants? It must be the programme, I thought angrily. I had called up Riju on Sunday, and told him about the television discussion, I was to be part of. It was on ‘influence of western classical instruments and how it has contributed to modern Indian music’. I was not particularly excited about it, when the organisers had called up. I had casually asked about the other participants and came to know that ‘he’ would be anchoring the show. Did I sound nervously excited when I spoke to Riju? Whatever it was, Riju as usual was quick to spot it. ‘My goodness he is still so much in you’, he exclaimed.
My mother used to spend most of her time defending my escapades to irritated neighbours, and of what was left she insufficiently divided between housework, taking care of three kids (thankfully her other two children were model specimens that friends, relatives and neighbours admired) and pampering a much-dependent husband. ‘Rinki is a monkey, all she lacks is a tail’, was what she was used to hearing. ‘Rinki is a monkey’ was what my godly siblings said, when I had exasperated them enough, to break their saintly demeanour. Unperturbed I continued, with all the naughtiness unsuited to a 12 year old.
Today I had woken up quite early. I need not have, as I was to be at the studio only at 11 a.m. After my morning tea, I went though some details I would be keeping handy and referring to, as the discussion went on. I did not feel like having breakfast. I was feeling oddly excited. I sat on the recliner in the balcony, my seat of solitude. I was going to meet him today, in person. All those intense moments of unrealistic adulation, fantasy, passionate desire, that had grown and assumed a realistic proportion, only to be ridiculed and snubbed, came back.
I had seen him, or rather his movie when I was thirteen. He was an upcoming talented name and the Bangla film industry was waiting with bated breath to see him make his place (or be wiped out). I caught my breath, as he looked into his beloved’s eyes. Something flipped inside me. The pain was so physical; I could almost touch it. His eyes looked straight into my heart. I, who was the local tomboy always dressed in my elder brother’s hand downs, regaling in the trousers, when my friends walked around in dainty frocks. I, who refused to grow my hair from the fear that ma would tie it up in the ubiquitous plaits that was the fashion of the day. I, who played with boys in all their rowdy games, never viewing them as more than necessary nuisance, I, ‘Rinki the monkey’, was experiencing a totally alien emotion. What was this feeling?
Just couldn’t decide which saree to wear. Should it be some heavy silk? Or printed georgette that can give me a slimmer look? I had almost emptied my wardrobe, before sense prevailed! What was I doing? I was behaving like a teenager on her first date. This was sheer stupidity, I chided myself. I selected a simple cotton tangail, and looked at the clock. Gosh! It was late! Quickly, getting the rest of myself presentable, I asked Ramen to take out the car.
People at home, thanks to Riju, came to know of ‘him’. Initially everyone smiled, indulging my feelings with a sage nod. ‘It would be over in a month’, said baba. ‘Thank God, Rinki is behaving like a girl’, ma heaved a sigh of relief, now confirmed that my sexual inclinations tilted towards the ‘normal’ paradigm. ‘Rinki has gone mad,’ said Riju with the decided authority of a nerdy 15 year old. But a month went by, a year, then a few years; I turned from a gawky adolescent to a young woman, reasonably good looking, poised and individualistic. Quite a few of the men, with whom I interacted academically or socially, were interested in an association beyond mere friendship. I wanted to get interested. But they all looked mere boys. Where was the man I was looking for? The only man in my mind was ‘he’. People at home started getting irritated, as I refused young men who were good husband material. Baba was disgusted. ‘This is going too far’, was his response. Ma was at a loss. ‘This girl has given me only trouble’, she complained. Riju gave me quizzical looks, perhaps the only person who could understand my emotions to some degree. ‘Do you really think that you will ever meet him, forget getting acquainted?’ was his incredulous reaction. I did not care. I could not see beyond him. What could I do?
I was sitting in front of him. The other two participants had not arrived. The steam from the coffee mugs created a mist before my eyes. Outside the rain was pouring incessantly, drowning the world away. Despite the years the dimpled smile was still so true. He was saying something to which I nodded vaguely, as I remembered those sultry summer afternoons, my room in the attic, the whirring of the old table fan and me with my face deep inside my pillow; my anguished love releasing itself, away from prying eyes.
How could I make them understand that it was not an adolescent obsession? It continued well beyond those formative years when people fall in love quite regularly. I never missed any of his movies, read all the magazines that even as much breathed his name, kept tab on him like a jealous lover, dressed as if he would see me, grew up as he would perhaps like me to be and realised that I was totally in love. It did not matter that he would never know of my existence. I loved with an abundance that was all consuming. My studies did not get affected. For all the while, I was preparing myself; as if getting ready for the day that I knew would surely come.
He would be almost 68, I thought. He wore a trendy pair of spectacles, the style icon even now, I thought, as my face broke into a silent smile. He noticed it. ‘You are smiling, is it something I said’, he asked. ‘No..ooh’, I stammered. He was not happy with the answer, but being the gentleman he was reputed to be, he continued with what he had been saying. I was in turmoil, I so wanted him to hold me just once. This was insane, we had a live discussion coming up, an audience waiting and I for one was not going to lose my cool.
I surpassed the expectations of my family when I went abroad for my doctorate. That’s when I met Rathin. Ours was not a whirlwind romance but a rather unequivocal decision to get married. Riju was the only one present and could just about keep himself from shouting, ‘Rinki the monkey is married’. We completed our studies and our honeymoon and returned home to a life of responsibilities. Riju for one heaved a sigh of relief now that my ‘idiotic infliction’, as he called it, would be gone. I too thought the same. However, this was not to be the case. It did not help that Rathin was a movie buff and to add to it, an ardent admirer of ‘him’.
The discussion went about quite smoothly. It was interesting; we had a knowledgeable audience. Sparks flew, but all for a productive purpose. He was a brilliant actor but not quite good an anchor and at times one of us had to take the reigns in our hands. Once it was over, our producer invited us over to the studio canteen for lunch. One of the participants excused himself because of a prior appointment. We had a lively lunch, all of us high from the success of the programme, and a few beers. ‘He’ was laughing heartily, talking of incidents that would make excellent copy for any writer; teasing our producer for playing safe with staid discussions, such as this, were there was no way one could create heat. In all this banter, Romi, the other panellist and an old friend, suddenly quipped, ‘Rinki has been a fan of yours for as long as I can remember’.
Even when I was with Rathin, I would find myself thinking, what if this was he. I chided myself for such un-wifely thoughts. Rathin was a good man, responsible, caring. What more did I want? He was a good father, an excellent provider; I was so lucky. Why was I so occupied with a presence that if known would make my world come tumbling down? There was no answer; all I knew was that I loved him insanely.
He stopped in the middle of an anecdote and stared at me, a surprised smile on his face. I felt my ears growing hot. This was so ridiculous. My well-kept secret, shared only with a very few people, was laid out in public and in front of the very person who had ruled my entire being from the day I have come to know myself. I managed a cool smile and said, ‘Romi, he has millions of such fans, who worship the ground he treads on’. He was looking at me with those eyes. I felt all my secrets were nakedly visible to him, a miserable hip of unsheathed emotions. ‘Yes, there are fans but rarely a fan whose books I admire so much,’ he said. ‘You have read my books? You are interested in musical instruments? You know about me?’ the questions tumbled down, toppling over each other, in my haste to ask them. He was saying something but I was deaf to it. The buzz in my ears was pure music, ‘he knows me, he knows me, even if only by name, he knows me’.
Rathin came to know of it. Once, submitting ourselves to our desire, I had screamed out his name. The world seemed to stop. Rathin was very understanding. Oh! How I wish he was angry. He was unaffected. Life went on, as if it never stopped. I dreamt of him more and more often; it was he who made love to me, he who sat by my side, he who read the first draft of my books, he who criticised and commented, he who drew me to him kissing my lips hungrily, it was he who did all that I wished Rathin would do.
‘Of course I have read your books. You were in Brazil for a workshop, right? Will you be writing on African American music, this time?’ he was asking. ‘I don’t know, I have some ideas that are taking shape, but I want to ponder on them for some more time before seeing what direction they are taking’, I replied. Romi had got up to take a call while our producer was busy ordering the dessert. He looked at me and said, ‘why don’t you give me your number? I would love to talk to you more… ’. Everything in my world stopped, as I heard myself, ‘9922……’.
I was stuffing my books hurriedly into the cloth satchel that all of us owned. There was no time to check the routine and everything had to go in. The Wren and Martin slipped my hands and fell. I bend down to pick it up and there beside the open book, lay a black and white photograph. I looked furtively across the room, where baba was reading the newspaper. He was too engrossed in the political bedlam, to notice. In a way good, I thought. I quickly put the young man in his rightful place, at page no 101, and the book in the bag. Just two minutes left for the first bell at 9 a.m., so I had exactly four minutes to reach school, park the cycle and rush in before the 2nd bell. I zoomed out and jumped on the Hercules that two years back had belonged to Riju. He had outgrown it and now officially the battered contraption was mine. I raced the old trusted war-horse across the fields, taking the muddy short-cut. Water splashed and my white kurta immediately spotted the muddy marks that ma would have a tough time with. Never mind, I thought, will handle ma later, when the time came. As of now, I had to make the 2nd bell.
Was there something missing in my life? At 56, I was well established, known and respected. My husband, bless his soul, had been a pillar of support and encouragement through those tedious years of struggle. In-laws, parents, children, siblings, we managed all. There were tensions, confusions, harsh words and tears. There were moments of joy, euphoria and camaraderie. I had lived a life as complete, as I could hope for. Now, left with myself, my work was the only presence that I desired in my life. Or so I thought. What was happening today? Why was I going back to some insignificant instants? It must be the programme, I thought angrily. I had called up Riju on Sunday, and told him about the television discussion, I was to be part of. It was on ‘influence of western classical instruments and how it has contributed to modern Indian music’. I was not particularly excited about it, when the organisers had called up. I had casually asked about the other participants and came to know that ‘he’ would be anchoring the show. Did I sound nervously excited when I spoke to Riju? Whatever it was, Riju as usual was quick to spot it. ‘My goodness he is still so much in you’, he exclaimed.
My mother used to spend most of her time defending my escapades to irritated neighbours, and of what was left she insufficiently divided between housework, taking care of three kids (thankfully her other two children were model specimens that friends, relatives and neighbours admired) and pampering a much-dependent husband. ‘Rinki is a monkey, all she lacks is a tail’, was what she was used to hearing. ‘Rinki is a monkey’ was what my godly siblings said, when I had exasperated them enough, to break their saintly demeanour. Unperturbed I continued, with all the naughtiness unsuited to a 12 year old.
Today I had woken up quite early. I need not have, as I was to be at the studio only at 11 a.m. After my morning tea, I went though some details I would be keeping handy and referring to, as the discussion went on. I did not feel like having breakfast. I was feeling oddly excited. I sat on the recliner in the balcony, my seat of solitude. I was going to meet him today, in person. All those intense moments of unrealistic adulation, fantasy, passionate desire, that had grown and assumed a realistic proportion, only to be ridiculed and snubbed, came back.
I had seen him, or rather his movie when I was thirteen. He was an upcoming talented name and the Bangla film industry was waiting with bated breath to see him make his place (or be wiped out). I caught my breath, as he looked into his beloved’s eyes. Something flipped inside me. The pain was so physical; I could almost touch it. His eyes looked straight into my heart. I, who was the local tomboy always dressed in my elder brother’s hand downs, regaling in the trousers, when my friends walked around in dainty frocks. I, who refused to grow my hair from the fear that ma would tie it up in the ubiquitous plaits that was the fashion of the day. I, who played with boys in all their rowdy games, never viewing them as more than necessary nuisance, I, ‘Rinki the monkey’, was experiencing a totally alien emotion. What was this feeling?
Just couldn’t decide which saree to wear. Should it be some heavy silk? Or printed georgette that can give me a slimmer look? I had almost emptied my wardrobe, before sense prevailed! What was I doing? I was behaving like a teenager on her first date. This was sheer stupidity, I chided myself. I selected a simple cotton tangail, and looked at the clock. Gosh! It was late! Quickly, getting the rest of myself presentable, I asked Ramen to take out the car.
People at home, thanks to Riju, came to know of ‘him’. Initially everyone smiled, indulging my feelings with a sage nod. ‘It would be over in a month’, said baba. ‘Thank God, Rinki is behaving like a girl’, ma heaved a sigh of relief, now confirmed that my sexual inclinations tilted towards the ‘normal’ paradigm. ‘Rinki has gone mad,’ said Riju with the decided authority of a nerdy 15 year old. But a month went by, a year, then a few years; I turned from a gawky adolescent to a young woman, reasonably good looking, poised and individualistic. Quite a few of the men, with whom I interacted academically or socially, were interested in an association beyond mere friendship. I wanted to get interested. But they all looked mere boys. Where was the man I was looking for? The only man in my mind was ‘he’. People at home started getting irritated, as I refused young men who were good husband material. Baba was disgusted. ‘This is going too far’, was his response. Ma was at a loss. ‘This girl has given me only trouble’, she complained. Riju gave me quizzical looks, perhaps the only person who could understand my emotions to some degree. ‘Do you really think that you will ever meet him, forget getting acquainted?’ was his incredulous reaction. I did not care. I could not see beyond him. What could I do?
I was sitting in front of him. The other two participants had not arrived. The steam from the coffee mugs created a mist before my eyes. Outside the rain was pouring incessantly, drowning the world away. Despite the years the dimpled smile was still so true. He was saying something to which I nodded vaguely, as I remembered those sultry summer afternoons, my room in the attic, the whirring of the old table fan and me with my face deep inside my pillow; my anguished love releasing itself, away from prying eyes.
How could I make them understand that it was not an adolescent obsession? It continued well beyond those formative years when people fall in love quite regularly. I never missed any of his movies, read all the magazines that even as much breathed his name, kept tab on him like a jealous lover, dressed as if he would see me, grew up as he would perhaps like me to be and realised that I was totally in love. It did not matter that he would never know of my existence. I loved with an abundance that was all consuming. My studies did not get affected. For all the while, I was preparing myself; as if getting ready for the day that I knew would surely come.
He would be almost 68, I thought. He wore a trendy pair of spectacles, the style icon even now, I thought, as my face broke into a silent smile. He noticed it. ‘You are smiling, is it something I said’, he asked. ‘No..ooh’, I stammered. He was not happy with the answer, but being the gentleman he was reputed to be, he continued with what he had been saying. I was in turmoil, I so wanted him to hold me just once. This was insane, we had a live discussion coming up, an audience waiting and I for one was not going to lose my cool.
I surpassed the expectations of my family when I went abroad for my doctorate. That’s when I met Rathin. Ours was not a whirlwind romance but a rather unequivocal decision to get married. Riju was the only one present and could just about keep himself from shouting, ‘Rinki the monkey is married’. We completed our studies and our honeymoon and returned home to a life of responsibilities. Riju for one heaved a sigh of relief now that my ‘idiotic infliction’, as he called it, would be gone. I too thought the same. However, this was not to be the case. It did not help that Rathin was a movie buff and to add to it, an ardent admirer of ‘him’.
The discussion went about quite smoothly. It was interesting; we had a knowledgeable audience. Sparks flew, but all for a productive purpose. He was a brilliant actor but not quite good an anchor and at times one of us had to take the reigns in our hands. Once it was over, our producer invited us over to the studio canteen for lunch. One of the participants excused himself because of a prior appointment. We had a lively lunch, all of us high from the success of the programme, and a few beers. ‘He’ was laughing heartily, talking of incidents that would make excellent copy for any writer; teasing our producer for playing safe with staid discussions, such as this, were there was no way one could create heat. In all this banter, Romi, the other panellist and an old friend, suddenly quipped, ‘Rinki has been a fan of yours for as long as I can remember’.
Even when I was with Rathin, I would find myself thinking, what if this was he. I chided myself for such un-wifely thoughts. Rathin was a good man, responsible, caring. What more did I want? He was a good father, an excellent provider; I was so lucky. Why was I so occupied with a presence that if known would make my world come tumbling down? There was no answer; all I knew was that I loved him insanely.
He stopped in the middle of an anecdote and stared at me, a surprised smile on his face. I felt my ears growing hot. This was so ridiculous. My well-kept secret, shared only with a very few people, was laid out in public and in front of the very person who had ruled my entire being from the day I have come to know myself. I managed a cool smile and said, ‘Romi, he has millions of such fans, who worship the ground he treads on’. He was looking at me with those eyes. I felt all my secrets were nakedly visible to him, a miserable hip of unsheathed emotions. ‘Yes, there are fans but rarely a fan whose books I admire so much,’ he said. ‘You have read my books? You are interested in musical instruments? You know about me?’ the questions tumbled down, toppling over each other, in my haste to ask them. He was saying something but I was deaf to it. The buzz in my ears was pure music, ‘he knows me, he knows me, even if only by name, he knows me’.
Rathin came to know of it. Once, submitting ourselves to our desire, I had screamed out his name. The world seemed to stop. Rathin was very understanding. Oh! How I wish he was angry. He was unaffected. Life went on, as if it never stopped. I dreamt of him more and more often; it was he who made love to me, he who sat by my side, he who read the first draft of my books, he who criticised and commented, he who drew me to him kissing my lips hungrily, it was he who did all that I wished Rathin would do.
‘Of course I have read your books. You were in Brazil for a workshop, right? Will you be writing on African American music, this time?’ he was asking. ‘I don’t know, I have some ideas that are taking shape, but I want to ponder on them for some more time before seeing what direction they are taking’, I replied. Romi had got up to take a call while our producer was busy ordering the dessert. He looked at me and said, ‘why don’t you give me your number? I would love to talk to you more… ’. Everything in my world stopped, as I heard myself, ‘9922……’.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
An Experiment
The London ‘Tube’, a survey says, is the place where majority of Londoners fall in love. Creative pick-up lines such as, “I forgot which way I was going, which way are you headed for”, abound. Other than a place to build your repertoire of pick-up lines, snooze and make up for incomplete sleep, or a thousand other activities that travellers do, it is also the hatching ground for love, young or old. Having said this, the obvious question is ‘why so?’ And the obvious answer is how else do you expect human beings of opposite sexes (and same sexes for the differentially endowed) to behave when put together in a room on wheels, the doors to which open at long intervals and from which you will not walk out, unless it is your preferred destination. So, obviously people fall in love, travelling the same route, with the same faces and at the same time.
The same logic perhaps holds true for ‘office romances’, touted as the most ‘in’ thing of modern work hours. So, basically when two people spend quite some time together, there is a high probability of the possibility of their falling in love.
Now, suppose as a matter of research, spouses (not swapped but ‘officially’ own) are placed together, under congenial laboratory conditions, can same results be assured? If so, then what an ingenious way to bring that glow back in marriages that has lost their shine from over-use or under-use! The only point, however, is if only spouses agree to be put together.
The same logic perhaps holds true for ‘office romances’, touted as the most ‘in’ thing of modern work hours. So, basically when two people spend quite some time together, there is a high probability of the possibility of their falling in love.
Now, suppose as a matter of research, spouses (not swapped but ‘officially’ own) are placed together, under congenial laboratory conditions, can same results be assured? If so, then what an ingenious way to bring that glow back in marriages that has lost their shine from over-use or under-use! The only point, however, is if only spouses agree to be put together.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
The Sweetness of it All
What goes around comes around. The saying had never held so much meaning as it does now. It’s uncanny the way every action, every thought and every word is getting repeated. The same cycle of emotions, denial, rejection, anger, heartbreak… how ironic. Whatever I had said one day, all that someone had complained about, all my justifications and all their judgements are getting repeated. The only difference is today I am at the receiving end of what I had doled out one day.
I do not feel any anger, but there is a strange sense of satisfaction, as if I have been absolved of my sins. My tears have wiped away my wrong doings, in a way no amount of punishment could. How light I feel! Every day, each action is like a stab in my heart, the pain so sweet, as it fills up the veins mixing with the blood, choking me. I am not a sadist, but this gives me so much pleasure; as I thank God for this opportunity to redeem my pile of guilt, I feel a little frightened. I am ready to take more, so that the equation is balanced and there is no leftover to affect the people dearest to me. Please God, let the account be balanced and closed, never to be opened.
The funny thing is being on both sides of similar situations, I took such a long time to accept that change was inevitable, all that was there was then and all that is here is now. I took such a long time to realise the tell-tale signs. Was it denial? I do not know. But now the way things are, suddenly I jerk up and sit straight, and see everything so clearly. Why is it that when we are on the receiving end of a situation that is to our disadvantage, we always ignore the inevitable? How clear it was to me when I was sending the same signals. How I loathed the person who never seemed to understand what I was telling, quite clearly through my actions and words.
This had to happen, what had gone around had to come around. It’s a balanced world. No action can go without a reaction. How grateful I am to be able to go through this torture, for this opportunity that destiny had handed out so benevolently.
I do not feel any anger, but there is a strange sense of satisfaction, as if I have been absolved of my sins. My tears have wiped away my wrong doings, in a way no amount of punishment could. How light I feel! Every day, each action is like a stab in my heart, the pain so sweet, as it fills up the veins mixing with the blood, choking me. I am not a sadist, but this gives me so much pleasure; as I thank God for this opportunity to redeem my pile of guilt, I feel a little frightened. I am ready to take more, so that the equation is balanced and there is no leftover to affect the people dearest to me. Please God, let the account be balanced and closed, never to be opened.
The funny thing is being on both sides of similar situations, I took such a long time to accept that change was inevitable, all that was there was then and all that is here is now. I took such a long time to realise the tell-tale signs. Was it denial? I do not know. But now the way things are, suddenly I jerk up and sit straight, and see everything so clearly. Why is it that when we are on the receiving end of a situation that is to our disadvantage, we always ignore the inevitable? How clear it was to me when I was sending the same signals. How I loathed the person who never seemed to understand what I was telling, quite clearly through my actions and words.
This had to happen, what had gone around had to come around. It’s a balanced world. No action can go without a reaction. How grateful I am to be able to go through this torture, for this opportunity that destiny had handed out so benevolently.
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