Monday, July 28, 2014

Rainy Day Essay Revisited

The rains are upon us, incessant, like the wailing of a baby in the night time, fraught by unknown fears in its heart. 

I am harrowed, exhausted, suffocated in the few hours (or is it just an hour) that it takes me to get to and from work rather than the 8 hours I spend at office. When I'm stuck in the cardboard box shaped taxis or the burgeoning buses with it's heaving breasts and shoulders I always think of this city drowning. I wonder how much water it would take to wipe everything's lush green, dark angel, sweaty bus ticket remains. And then I hear the sighs, yawns and exasperated screams around punctuated by incessant notifications of a door bell ringtone of yet another whatsapp message and I feel like everyday it is... Drowning...

I don't know why the rains amplify the tenuous actions of day to day so much.

So, I thought I'd be clever and ask my cab driver to drop me to my house instead of getting down and taking a rickshaw from a convenient point like I usually do. Mostly because I thought I wouldn't find rickshaws given the state of the rain. But as I guiltily made my way  in my cab chariot I saw a long queue of obedient riders. A part of me wanted to get down and forget about being so lazy. But the other part said hey, don't I deserve this little bit of luxury? Of being dropped home directly when it's raining ponds outside? 

How weird that I thought of this when we stumbled upon the water logged streets leading to my home and the taxi driver asked me to kindly get the fuck out of his car. And so I did. It isn't even a coincidence that I'd read this post on Facebook on that very day. 

This is what happened to an abandoned mall:( This picture seems like its right out of  the horrors I store in my mind. 

Wading through the waterlogged fishes and snakes and leeches clogging my paranoid mind, I kept the fear of being swallowed hole by a giant sea monster safely at bay by trying to hurry through it and gasping and panting and finally falling face down into the mush. 

It strikes me then that I am stupid. That rather than the monsters in my head I should be worried about the acid in the rain and the saliva of random strangers who spit on the street all the damn time. And the biggest enemy of all: my rampant clumsiness.

With that comes the startling realisation that my face just got marked by the  kiss of a thousand strangers and all I could think about was that poem about the road by T.S Eliot: "You had such a vision of the street/As the street hardly understands."  

So I waited it out till my knight in shining rickshaw came and took me home after charging me triple the standard fare. There's something to say about these men who ride....maybe not as vicariously or on the edge as a vehement bike rider... But a slow rhythmic clickety clack rickshaw journey. It's  like a dance:  all sinews and legs and hands... with a hint of a different era: ancient slower glowing times. 

"I am moved by fancies that are curled 
Around these images, and cling: 
The notion of some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing."

Tuesday, July 8, 2014

Fragile Things

 My cousin brother is all set to leave for college, to the very tip of the country. It's been a while since we've spoken properly what with his exams and just... life getting in the way. It was startling to see him all grown up, talking about his first heartbreak.... and how it felt like going away to college right now was tantamount to  being an escapist. 

Growing up we were pretty close. Till he became a teenager and me a college going elder sister that suddenly developed this armour of judgmental bitch around her to justify not having a life. 

 And what struck me was this thing he said : " The last thing I want is to be is a lonely dick. I am really relying on my friends to get me through this." I felt weird about his looking down on lonely people given that I love being alone so much. I'm not a lonely dick, I wanted to tell him.

 But I couldn't because he just seemed so...driven and motivated to win the world. Like if I gave him one whiff of air he'd catch that and fly away that very moment. 

His impatience was infectious but something I cannot relate to anymore. 

When he was leaving I bought him Neil Gaiman's Fragile Things. Because he was gushing about this wonderful quote he read on "the wall of a friend on Facebook, it's called the day the saucers came...have you read it?" My brother usually doesn't read. And when he does it's normally short stories because he has the attention span of a fly. So I thought this book would be perfect for him. 

The Day the Saucers Came by Neil Gaiman. I feel like he's the Tim Burton of the literature world.This going to be read at my wedding

He asked me if I would write something for him on the book. And although it was difficult to concentrate with the song in the shop blaring its raucous tune I did manage to write something for him: 

 "Dear B, Congratulations....
 In life you will find that fragile things need the most protecting. And almost always? It is completely worth it."

 I forgot to sign my name at the end. But I'm sure if I did I'd write "Lonely  Contented Dick" and watch him make a face at me.  

Thursday, June 19, 2014

Does That Make Me Crazy? Probably.

These are some of the pictures I keep on my phone for times when I need to convince myself  that I'm really quite crazy no matter how hard I try to feel "normal" or "fit in"; and why I should just stop cause it's a little pointless. 

This is what happens when I reach early for work and start taking random pictures of stair cases (yes it was that early). And then I stare at the pictures for a really long time and my brain goes "this is really just an endless spiral and it's a time portal...those are infinite doorways right there." Did I mention I have crippling vertigo? Things begin to feel dizzy and I sit down in an exhausted heap on the stairs...good morning, self!  

I create crime scenes at work without even trying. This is the price you pay when you refuse to listen to someone just cause they're wearing pink, Monkey! Hasn't Legally Blonde taught you anything? 

Also, I don't get why I'm so unintentionally disastrous for all things around me. 

Like that time I tried to clean this photograph of my mom receiving some kind of a felicitation award in a conference. It was up on our fridge and I didn't realise the frame was an empty magnetic one without a glass shelter thingy? So I sprayed the glass cleaner  all over the actual photo and now the photo looks like a ghost puked all over it. I've hidden that photo. Not the frame though. I can always just stick that frame on all things ferrous and pretend it's modern art. 

All things except me, that is. That kind of frame hasn't been invented yet. 

Thursday, June 12, 2014

The Day I Need To Remember Today.

I had a really bad day today. I'm so tired that  my legs feel like they're going to fall off. But I feel awful, so I'm going to revisit that time when hosting events were fun in their own weird way and I shall post it, to remind myself that today was a bit of an exception: 

(And I'm going to pretend that this actually happened today, it's my therapy, stop screaming at me for confusing you)

If this day had a commandment it would be "Thou shalt not have  dessert."

But first I must comment on how I was dreaming about a Doctor Who episode. And then my alarm went off. Which is fine, except I'd forgotten setting the alarm tone as the TARDIS Take Off tone (don't you dare judge me)...and my dream like state kind of convinced me that the world of Doctor Who was really the real one...and it was awesome and beautiful and made me weepy in a good way.Like the magic  that happens when you go visit this link and click on the picture: Seriously click on's not a trick! I promise.

And then I heard this woman screaming at me in the distance going: "WTF D...why are you having cereal in your morning cup of coffee? There is milk for that. Sheesh. Must I always do everything for you?" Mom. And suddenly I was...awake.

 Then I had a long day the details of which I won't bore you with but I will tell you that it culminated into me  hanging out at a Poolside Bar. So I wasn't complaining. Except I'd taken barely a sip and all my make up spilled out of my bag, randomly. Just kidding. I was trying to get a wet tissue(did I mention they're just baby ass-swipes that I use as wet tissues? Trust me, my cheeks have never been softer :p) for my colleague...and then my make up spilled out and this polite pool woman asked if she could help me and I said no. And then as if to prove a point more make up fell out and my colleague's like " Sheesh, you're a cake, I could eat you." And I said, "not really, this is all my back up make up? Like I need to just have them in my purse to feel secure about myself. Because I'm that shallow." and then I finally gave in and told the pool woman that I would need some help. And then this other bar guy came over and pointed out it was the chair's fault, because it sloped a way chairs aren't supposed to slope. I guessed that's what you're supposed to say to rich people. So, I whispered to him. "It's okay, I'm not rich. I'm just here for a work thing." And then he just coughed and offered me Dahi kabab. Apparently that's a delicacy.

It was yum, in a very confusing way. 

This was a turning point because I decided I can't embarrass myself in a more humongous way this evening, so I started to do what they called "networking". It was suuuppperr hot. The weather not the networking, and the guys were dressed in their suits and had to take them off. So I said, " This is a pool party, except a different kind of pool, you know?" And I raised my eyebrows knowingly. They didn't know, so I had to then explain that it was more like a dissolve in your own pool of sweat party? And then they decided to take it  indoors. The beautiful air conditioned indoors.

Conversation flowed freely, except that one time when I tried to hand out  my business card and this bus ticket fluttered out of the card holder thingy. 

This is what bus tickets look like here. Except it was just this one ticket which didn't look even mildly artful 

And there was something so odd about finding a bus ticket in that place at that time, that I got desperate to put it under my shoe...hide it some place, except I had to do a jig around it to successfully do so... which made it more embarrassing.  Let's just say I'm glad, I'm not meeting these people again.

We got to a point where we started talking about our hobbies. And I told them how when you reach a certain age you are immediately enrolled to learn some dance form or singing (preferably classical), or drawing classes in Kolkata. It's like a custom. I mentioned Bharatnatyam. And this guy asked me if our state had any dance forms children could learn...and I said not really. And then I added there were several tribal dance forms we have but parents don't usually go in for that kind of thing with their kids, and for some reason all my colleagues burst out laughing to this. I still don't get what's so funny. I'm guessing they pictured themselves doing the chhau. That would be pretty funny. Haha. Now I can't stop thinking about all these guys doing the chhau. Shut up mind.

The Chhau. Making People Giggle At Dinner Parties Since 2014, Apparently. 

Leila Seth walked in quietly and gently for dinner, and then I I've started reading this book she's written and I'm totally enamoured of Her Honour. So I did the only thing I could: take her autograph and attempt to convey to her how much her writing has inspired me.  She waved at me after dinner and left. My heart melted. 

This was a perfect day. I want to remember it. Despite all the madness. And despite having to skip dessert because that's what happens when you work hard. You skip a dessert or two. But then there's always your hero wishing you success and happiness on paper. :)

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

I'm Riled Up About This Thing Because It Must Be What Tips This World Towards Team Chaos.

What is with this beverage, you guys?

Daily Conundrums 

"Sparkling" "apple juice" "drink"? Make up your damn  mind already, over ambitious brew ! This drink:  let me trick you into believing this is healthy and and also  tastes like soda.

 It has my sympathies. I know what it's like not being able to make up your mind about what/who you want to be as a person. But then I can't help but wonder if this drink exists to just rub it on my face. 

 And then I drank it...and hello baby puke of mashed apple taste in my mouth.Then the little sympathy I had for it evaporated. 

Well,  I thought, at least I could recycle the bottle for water. And voila, It's baby puke of mashed apple flavored water now. I'm telling you, the smell stays even after the bottle has been rinsed with soap and water!! This is a sad metaphor for my life. 

We have another bottle of this,silently perching at the corner of our fridge, waiting and plotting the demise of any unwanted future guests who might make the sad mistake of dropping by without notice. It knows it will come in handy as a last resort and then its baby mash apple puke glory shall be unleashed and it shall win...but till then...I shall ignore and make faces at it till it decides to be nice and maybe a little less...persistent. 

Tuesday, June 3, 2014

Soul's Gone A-Fishing.

When does a smile lose its meaning? When does your mouth curve, but you know it is mechanical, minus the joy that should be inherantly a part of it? I don't know when the transformation takes over significantly. It is too sly and too slow to let it's movement be traced. But you know when it is complete, like feeling the sudden jolt of a vehicle that comes to a stop. Everything stops and you realise that you have become a part of the greater all encompassing darkness that tries to engulf so many things in the universe.

And when you know you are nothing but a dark hole, you take from the world outside. You feed on the sights, sounds and even the smells it has to offer. You absorb it all, and store it somewhere deep inside of you, in the hope that one day all the feelings they were supposed to evoke in you, will come back.

But do I really want them to come back? Because maybe it was always meant to be this way.  I remember a bus ride as a kid.  My parents were going through their divorce then.  There was a man  with dark heavy sunglasses on. And the rest of his face looked like a wrinkled version of my father's. So my childish mind  concocted a brilliant story that this was really just my dad with a tonne of make up on so I won't understand that he's spying on me. (Thank you Chachi 420)  Throughout the bus ride I stared and waited for him to make the big reveal, which never happened, of course.

(In retrospect I'm guessing the man had an eye operation and had to wear those glasses. I must have made him very conscious with all that staring)

I don't know if this post was meant to have a point. I guess what I'm saying is my mind has  always had fantastical notions of reality. And although this happened as a kid, things haven't really changed intrinsically. I realise I'm probably the only person who still has an issue with this. And there are times when it feels like I'm living on an island...but I'm learning to rejoice in the solitude, instead of  pitting  myself against the world. 

Let's be very clear though, of course it's easier said than done. I am very convinced that I've fundamentally failed at something in life and just moving past this is hard. 

But I guess, it's okay to feel separated, it makes certain things easier and certain things more difficult. 

Also, sometimes it's okay not to plan and work and push yourself towards what you think is a better place. It may not always be a better place. And then again fantastical notions of reality get dashed...and we're back to square one. 

When the work goes a little easy on me,  I allow myself the luxury of being lazy. I have perfected the art of sitting and staring into space. 

            Oops! - Imgur

Yeah, this happens quite a bit. By this time my "friends" regard me from a distance almost with an "easy easy I come with a white don't have to come out to meet us.Just answer us on-line so we know you're okay" kind of way. 

I don't recommend....but till things feel better, this is the modus operandi.  

Saturday, May 24, 2014

The Chronicles of Rusty Door Handle a.k.a May Has Been a Bad Month.

This is about the time when shit kind of hit the ceiling all around me recently  and I'm writing this to remind myself that things sort themselves out eventually, because it's getting chaotic again and I have nowhere to look for answers except backwards and my own head which wants to murder me and then goes "look pigeons!" and then "why aren't you dead yet?" and back to "look a face! identify or die" it's exhausting and not even remotely funny: 

So, did I tell you about that time I rushed to get the door? And then my right boob got stabbed by the door handle which was sharp and pointy and felt like a knife?  No? Oh, well, probably because THAT JUST HAPPENED. And I'm in a world of pain and sticking ice into the ahem..sensitive region and guess which movie I was watching right before all of this happened?

OMG Elsa I can't let it fucking hurts! 

This is one cosmic joke I'm not laughing at.

Rusty Door Handle: Well what do you know...I'm a badass! AND I'

Also Rusty Door Handle sounds like a  name for a sex act. (These are the meds talking, please ignore) 

And what surprised me was how the pain refused to go even a few days later but what hurt more was the deafening noise in my head: 

My boob is still ouchy and so is my head and my whole face because I've been crying about things that are completely not worth your while. They are not worth my while either, but I don't think I mean that entirely. Because I like crying, apparently. And mostly  because the demons in my head are too convinced about the absolute pointlessness in me continuing to live.

Also, it's May Day and I'm at work. Work is a safe place, although you'll find me in the loo most of the time. I watch pigeons. We have a lot of pigeons right outside. And my boss is convinced they are making out all the time. I don't know why I just wrote that. It's not like I want to make out or anything. When your potential make out organs get hurt, you kind of look at that sort of thing with contempt.. I can't believe I just called my boob a make out organ. This is so not me....I'm romantic and shit.

Additionally, today has been the worst day for taking pictures. Do you have days like that? You're going about your business and quietly listening to your head and then you see something that you absolutely need to capture on camera and just when you poise your phone for this prize winning brilliance, your car moves and it's a blur. It's been happening repeatedly with me today. Just now, I saw this pigeon and thought it would be perfect to go with this post and then I realised my phone was charging and cannot sustain a picture taking session. Then the pigeon flew away to mock me.  Big Whoop!

 I'm feeling particularly lazy. Lazy is also a side effect of sad. Probably the only good side effect because I can read Allie's blog and pretend I'm working.

I just told my co-worker that I find the woman who cleans our office's face familiar. And then my co worker started clawing her face off because "this is too much". I'm sorry I wrote that sentence without any preamble about how I find too many people's faces familiar. Weird thing though, it's not without reason. Most of my guesses are correct. It's like my brain is on hyper alert while looking at random stranger's faces and then giving off this weird ass signal when I see them again ages later. It goes : " you've seen this person. You know this person. You must remember how. You must you must you must." Doesn't matter how I technically don't know the person really.But my brain convinces me that seeing is knowing. And it is utter torture. Then I figure it out eventually (or I'd drive myself nuts) and then I don't know what to do about that piece of information except share it and look like a gloating dweeb. I can't help it. It's like all this effort and then just keep it to myself? That seems like a waste. You need to know how I know this woman who probably used to clean up at my friend's place as well.