At a loss for a post title..

Sitting here in the house. It all seems so surreal. The people just walked around, stood around, whispered or looked sad. This was just a bad dream. It had to be. People don't just die. They have to grow old first. They have to watch their kids grow up and get married. They have to build houses and save money. People don't just die. They have to secure the future. They have to travel and see places. They have to love and get hurt. They have to cry. People don't just die. They have to fight and laugh and shop. They have to fall ill and recover. They have to learn to drive a car and eat in fine dining. They don't just drop dead.

Oh. But they do. Death. A morbid reality. Natural death, death by disease, death by accident. Bottom line, people die. They go away. Things unsaid, faces not seen, questions unanswered, problems unresolved. They just go away. Maybe they are peaceful after leaving behind this rat race. But what about those who they leave behind. Do we say, "take us with you" or say, "we'll carry on your legacy" ? Do we smile that they don't have any burdens to carry or cry because we shoulder theirs. Or maybe we just stand silently with tears running down our cheeks, thinking to ourselves. 

What do we think... What happens next? Why did it happen? How? What the.... 

Or maybe we just are numb. 

Whatever.

Life goes on. That's how they would want it.

Author's note- This was typed on my phone at a time when I was really affected. It took me a few days to summon the courage to put it up.

P.S for those of you who are bummed out by this post. Go read my other blog.. http://ishtyleawhile.blogspot.in/2013/10/of-festivals-and-mini-giveaway.html

Lamentations of a 27 year old.

There are days, and then there are DAYS! Some days I wake up with a smile, no puffy eyes and beautiful skin that is glowing (probably because of the dream last night). And then there are days when I get up to see my face in the mirror, see wrinkles on the forehead, crows feet, and one more white hair than what was seen the night before. I really don't know how white hair just springs up overnight. It is truly amazing. But ageing is not my biggest worry. It has to happen at some point and well, more white hair, more wisdom, right?

Then there is the pangs I feel when I see my closest friends get married. No I'm not really worried that I'm not even engaged, but what if my married friends only want to hang out with other married friends because I don't have a mother-in-law/ sister-in-law worth bitching about? There is also this problem of distance because these married people just move away to other countries. That is also not my biggest worry.

Who am I? That is a question I found an answer to some time ago. A 27 year old with a 16 year old inside who loves to dance, cry, laugh, flirt, eat, fight and basically live life as an independent woman. So  no, I am not worried about soul searching. Kind of need to have a soul for that first. But we'll get to that later.

What worries me the most is what do I want from my life? If I was to make a list, this is what it would sound like.
I want a job that pays a truckload of money, but I also want job satisfaction. I want to feel happy that I am giving back to society. I want to dance and learn to play the drums. I want to study further and maybe do P.h.D. I want to have a social life. I want friends and time to have tea with them (coffee gives me acidity).
I want to make a difference in the lives of those I teach. I want to shop till I drop. I want fame and glory in small way, maybe just  Page 3 worthy types. I want anonymity to be able to talk about whoever and whatever. I want to be a hero, the Ironman, sorry sorry, Ironwoman of today. I want to an iron hearted woman as well unperturbed by the emotions I feel. I want to write and read and blog. I want to be a makeup artist and a choreographer. I want to be a party planner and also to bake cakes. I want to travel and see the sights of Italy and Rome. I want to hike to the top of the mountains (but not swim to the deep seas. Scared of water). I want to love without the fear of being hurt (like that's possible). Ok lets, scratch from the list. I want to try making some exotic recipes (vegetarian only).
In simple terms, I want everything in the 24 hours, 7 days a week, 365 days a year that I get. So TIME is what I want the most.
I want to live each moment.
To quote the words from the song of High School Musical 3 (yes I am quoting HSM3, a kiddy/ teenager movie)-

" Don't you see that bigger is better, and better is bigger,

A little bit is never enough

No No No

I want it all"

I.WANT.IT.ALL

Krupa

Of Childhood Friendships

Childhood friend. What does that mean??
In a cinema style it would mean a girl and boy being neighbours as kids, liking each other only to get separated and find each other a decade later by means for a song or a watch or something, falling in love and getting married, and the hardships they face in the process.
In reality there are very few of us who have a friend whom we can call as a childhood friend. In the day and age of Facebook, it isn't hard to find an old friend but is sharing pictures and seeing the pages they like, what a childhood friendship is about.
No.
It is much more.
It is about all the unspoken words. It is about the thoughts you share. It is about knowing that your friend is there no matter what.
It is about being apart for years but connecting the instant you meet again. Sometimes not even meeting but still connecting through a simple mail. It is about not having to catch up.
It isn't about long phone calls and endless chats. It is about knowing that any time you want to talk, they are there. Time is irrelevant.
It is about who you think of first to share your joy and sorrow. Especially your sorrow.
It isn't about coffees, lunches or dinners or even wishing them on their birthday. It is about your saddest moments, your deepest feelings, your inexplicable thoughts. They are always beside you. With you.
Close your eyes and they are there. Understanding you even though they are miles away.

So what's our story?

My mother was pregnant with my sister (another post will talk about the sorrows and joys (?) of having a younger sister) and so we had come down to India for a few months.
Arun's family lived in the house above.
My first memories of him is the picture you see above. I think I remembered the hot pink skirt more than I remembered him, but oh well, he still fit somewhere in the memory.
After we went back to the UK we completely lost touch, though his name and his family was mentioned occasionally at home.
Years passed by, and one summer holiday, when all of us had gathered at my grandma's place for a holiday, the mamas decided that keeping these children at home was driving everyone crazy and so we went for a one day trip. On the way we passed through Palakad and stopped at Arun's house. When we entered the house, we were welcomed with hot food and the beautiful sounds of the veena. Arun was having veena class. Respect grew. We spent hardly an hour at his place and I didn't get to talk much to him. Little hard when you are surrounded by a dozen or more people.
A few years later he came to Bangalore and that is when we actually got a chance to speak properly.
Since then we've been constantly in touch. Emails, phone calls. Even when with him sitting all the way in Sweden.
Today, more than 20 years of knowing him, I can 'classify' him as a childhood friend.


Dear Arun. This is for you.
I am blessed to have you in my life.
Always have been. Always will be.

Krupa

There she goes.... My grandma.

The sun infiltrated in through the curtains and hit her eyes. She pulled the blanket further up to cover her eyes. Waking up meant waking up to the reality. Reality which had hit her hard with the cold hand of death. The void inside seemed unbearable. It wasn't so bad when she was on her home ground, but here. Every nook and cranny was full of memories. Even when she shut her eyes there were only memories.

The house was full of people. Full was an understatement. The 3BHK was bursting at its seams. All the brothers and their families had gathered. Every room had bags, every chair had clothes, and every bed and inch of the floor had someone sleeping, resting, sitting. There was a queue for everything- from the morning coffee to using the bathroom. These were only the people who were staying. There were another 70 odd people who came to visit. The supply of tea and coffee and water was never ending. Looking at all those people she realised how many lives her patti had touched.

Her patti. She would never hear her say "Kiruba" again. Never get kissed by her and crushed in her bear like hug. What had her patti not done for her.

It was because of her patti that she knew why Ganesha had an elephant's head, why one of his tusks was broken, how Muruga went to Pazhani (such a silly fight between him and his brother), how Muruga landed up with Valli and Devayani, and all the brilliant stories of Krishna and his feats. All this and more was because her patti. Who would tell her stories now? More importantly who would tell her kids all these stories?

Who would make all the cousins sit in a row and feed them dinner? Who would make the most brilliant murukku and sooji appam?

Who would tell her stories of all her naughty mamas and her rebellious mother? Who would call and then say every 2 minutes- vechitumma (Shall I keep the phone?).

All that remains now is a picture in the hall and the ever-so-wonderful never-ending list of memories. 

We are so caught up in running and keeping up with the race against the rest of the world, but the joke is on us. Because the world will never ever stop running. It is like trying to reach the end of the rainbow. There are no winners. All that happens is that we lose out on what matters most. Family. The craziness, the fights, the laughter, the food, the tears, the joy, and all the unconditional love. 

Don't wait to lose someone to realise this. Then again, realisation never strikes until you face it.

Foolish Humans, say the Gods above. 

To Arjun. On his birthday.

The best gift a person can give is their time.
What I have here is all the time I wasted to give you this awesome gift.
The fruit of midnight battle with words

10 things I hate about you.

 

I hate that you're not 'sensible' like me when I am the older one.

I hate that I've learnt more English from you than you've learnt chemistry from me.

I hate that you listen to me whine and rant, and never ever complain.

I hate that you let me be ME the whole while I am with you.

I hate that you have good taste and make shopping much more fun.

I hate that we can't have coffee any more, and yet meet all the time.

I hate that you've managed to rub off on me, as I have on you (I think)

I hate that you know what you want, and sometimes what I want too.

I hate that I completely enjoy every minute I hang out with you.

But most of all I hate that you inspire me yet leave me searching for words.

krupa