A Frangipani and some Sugar Swirl

A Billy Joel freak..who believes in conversions

My better half had never been a big time Billy Joel fan. He only knew that Billy Joel was the one who sang 'We didn't start the fire' and then he would ask me if it was the same person as Bruce Springsteen. I would look at him scornfully. I mean how can two people with two different names be the same. Forget it! I better not delve deep into it. It so happened that I had bought myself 'The Essential Billy Joel' and I really wasn't finding time at home to listen to it. So I did the best thing. I kept the CD in my handbag, thinking that I can listen to it in the car. As soon as I took it out, I could see my hubby staring at me from the corner of his eyes, also trying to concentrate on the road below the wheels of the car. He was listening to Abida Parveen. Boy! I don't understand what she sings, but I do like the melancholy in her voice. But listenng to her on a drive inside Aarey Colony, doesn't work boss. So I just questioned with my eyes, sought permission to play Billy J. "I hope it's nice to listen to", said the man on the wheels in his very stern voice. I told him..."Mark this day, you are gonna get converted".

It's been a few months since this incident. I heard the CD on that day and now I'm hearing it today, while I'm typing this. And that's only because the car is at the service station and the stuff inside are lying at home. And guess what? My husband can differentiate between Billy Joel, Eric Clapton and Bruce Springsteen...thanks to me. I love that man for his songs....no, not my husband, but Billy J. I truly love my husband, so he better not sing :P

In fact, if I ever go on a dream date, it has to be with Billy Joel. I would ask him to sing these songs:

Piano Man (It's such a beautiful rendition)

You're my home (A song for a crazy romantic...like me ;-))

She's a woman to me (My caller-tune, the most beautiful song ever written for a woman. I can never get enough of this song. It's been my callertune for the last three years. And being the crazy woman that I'm I even go to the extent of dialling my cell number from other phones just to listen to it play on my phone...:-))

Just the way you are (For someone madly in love)

Honesty (It's such a lonely word coz everyone is so untrue)

The River of Dreams (Love the lines)

....and Movin' Out too....and may be 'My Life' too.

and I would love to do the jive on 'Only the Good Die Young' (I'm listening to it right now. Hey Bosco, can I start my dancing lessons again. Strictly Rock n Roll, no Salsa.)

That would be for the first date with Billy Joel. I have another list for the second date and another one for the third.

LSBT

Life Sucks Big Time, especially if you make the mistake of hiring an ___________ for your __________!

Smitten by a song

This is the song that's currently playing on my laptop. It's one of the most beautiful ballads to have hit my senses in a long time.

Yeh Tumhari Meri Baathein, Hamesha Yuhin Chalti Rahe
Yeh Hamari Mulakate, Hamesha Yuhin Chalti Rahe
Beete Yuhin Apne Saare Din Raat
Baaton Se Nikalti Rahe Nayi Baat
Phir Wahin Baathein Leke Geet Koi Hum Likhe
Jo Dil Ko Haan Sab Ke Dil Ko Chu Le
Baathein Suron Mein Yuhin Pighalti Rahen
Baathein Geeton Mein Yuhin Dalti Rahen
Oooo..Na Na Na Na Na Na…Oooo
Geeton Mein Haan Humko Khusiyon Se Haan Saja De
Jo Sune Gaaye Woh Hum Se Gaaoon Na
Yeh Tumhari Meri Baathein, Hamesha Yuhin Chalti Rahe
Yeh Hamari Mulakate, Hamesha Yuhin Chalti Rahe
Beete Yuhin Apne Saare Din Raat
Baaton Se Nikalti Rahe Nayi Baat
Phir Wahin Baathein Leke Geet Koi Hum Likhe
Jo Dil Ko Haan Sab Ke Dil Ko Chu Le
Baathein Suron Mein Yuhin Pighalti Rahen
Baathein Geeton Mein Yuhin Dalti Rahen
Yeh Tumhari Meri Baathein, Hamesha Yuhin Chalti Rahe
Yeh Hamari Mulakate, Hamesha Yuhin Chalti Rahe
Beete Yuhin Apne Saare Din Raat
Baaton Se Nikalti Rahe Nayi Baat
Phir Wahin Baathein Leke Geet Koi Hum Likhe
Jo Dil Ko Haan Sab Ke Dil Ko Chu Le
Baathein Suron Mein Yuhin Pighalti Rahen
Baathein Geeton Mein Yuhin Dalti Rahen
Oooo..Na Na Na Na Na Na…Oooo
Geeton Mein Haan Humko Khusiyon Se Haan Saja De
Jo Sune Gaaye Woh Hum Se Gaaoon Na
Yeh Tumhari Meri Baathein, Hamesha Yuhin Chalti Rahe
Yeh Hamari Mulakate, Hamesha Yuhin Chalti Rahe
Beete Yuhin Apne Saare Din Raat
Baaton Se Nikalti Rahe Nayi Baat
Phir Wahin Baathein Leke Geet Koi Hum Likhe
Jo Dil Ko Haan Sab Ke Dil Ko Chu Le
Baathein Suron Mein Yuhin Pighalti Rahen
Baathein Geeton Mein Yuhin Dalti Rahen

Reaching Mumbai

saturday 25/10, 6:30pm, kochi airport, departure lounge, bombay awaits, freedom within hands reach

nrakesh78@gmail.com

That's his status message for the day.

Bread Omlate

Don't go by the spelling, he makes awesome omelettes.

Grandma, are you reading this?

My paternal grandma passed away when she was ninety-two and I was twenty-one. The last few years of her life gave me a lot of memories that bring a smile on my lips.

Grandma always disliked me as I was not docile and homely like her other grand-daughters. She always thought that I was hoydenish. Now what could I do? I was born into a family where boys were in majority. My uncle has two sons. And my parents, a girl and a boy.

My father hails from a family of seven - they were five sisters and two brothers. The sisters got married off and had families of their own and they believed that girls are not human beings but creatures that were born to lead life in a particular manner. Fortunately my parents thought otherwise. My dad believed that a daughter should be pampered and spoilt. The result - me!

I loved denims. I loved bikes, I still do. I loved laughing out loud at silly jokes. I loved playing cards. I loved climbing trees. I loved rolling on the grass and jumping on the hay stack. I loved sitting with my cousins discussing serious issues. My grandma had not seen a girl do these things as she hadn't been exposed to a world like that. And I refused to understand because I never saw young girls confined to the four walls of their big houses. We both were like two ends of a road that would never meet.

I still remember how she was happy to see her grandsons jumping on the haystack. Then she looked intently and walked towards the haystack. She saw a little girl, with hair all open, jumping and screaming with joy. "You! Don't you understand? I've warned you so many times not to jump around like this?" As if I cared.

My annual visits to Kerala would last a month. The whole month my uncle and parents would be fed up of my grandma's constant carping. But neither me nor my grandma would give up. She would keep threatening me that she would exchange me with the tribal woman's daughter. "Ha ha! What fun!" I would exclaim. Man...that pissed her off so badly.

Then I grew up. I was nineteen. It was time for the annual visit.

As usual she came running to the car looking for my brother. I stepped out. She stopped as if something obstructed her steps. Slowly she came to me. She ran her old frail hands on my face and on my hair. Her eyes welled up when I smiled at her. She saw a bangle on my wrist and a thin chain on my neck. She saw kohl in my eyes. For a change I was wearing salwar kameez. She hugged me tight and kissed me. She said she was sure that I would change.

Had I changed? No I hadn't. I was still the same. It was just that I had started respecting sensibilities of other people.

Then it was just me. I became her favourite grand-daughter. She would keep advising me on skin care, on marriage, on almost everything that a woman could think of. She would tell my dad that he should not get me married to a man who would ask for dowry. Look for someone who would come seeking her love. Someone who would respect her as a woman. Someone who would respect her opinions. I was stunned. Her values in life were so much like mine...

But it took both of us a long time to realise it. Today she is no more. She went through a demential stage before passing away. And during that phase she would constantly ask me who I was. And every time I would remind her that I was her favourite child's daughter.

The reply was always the same, "Why do you say that? Why don't you say that it's your favourite grand-daughter?"

Memory lane

This is the lane on which I learnt to ride a bicycle.

The mysterious brown eyes

I'm back from Kerala after a week of fun with my cousins. Wish I could stay back. Actually it was not a week. I left on the 7th and reached Kerala on the 9th and came back to Mumbai on the 14th. Took three days to reach Kerala. Yeah...our very own, long-forgotten Jayanti Janta (JJ).

Remember? The very dry and hot Andhra, the fragrance of mallikai in Tamil Nadu and some cucumber salads in Karnataka. And finally you reach destination Kerala. But this time as the monsoon clouds decided to extend their stay, Andhra was looking beautiful with a blend of yellow (from the sunflowers) and green (the paddy fields).

The reason for taking up this tiring and tormenting journey was quite silly actually. Long ago when I used to travel to Kerala by the JJ, I would invariably come across this tribal family that sold stuffed squirrel toys. Sounds eerie...right? Well, it's not. These tribals would hunt for squirrels to fill their hungry stomachs and then make beautiful toys out of the skin that remains. Mongooses and squirrels were there forte. And the toys always ceased to look like toys. They looked amazingly real.

In this particular family, there used to be a little girl whom I used to see every year. She was probably my age. She would wait for the train to slow down so that she could display her wares and earn a few pennies. She was dirty and looked as if she hadn't thought of a bath for the last so many years. Her clothes were soiled and they always emitted a dirty stench. But her face was so beautiful that it had the power of taking you into a state of trance. Her light brown eyes would never fail to charm the onlooker. And her lips were always red as she would be constantly chewing on a paan. There was something about this girl that called for immediate attraction.

Now this was long back, around fourteen years or so.

Since the coming of the Netravati Express, the JJ route remained as a historical reference. And so did that tribal girl. Now, when I got a chance to travel by the JJ again I was mighty thrilled.

I was eagerly waiting for the train to cross the Maharashtra border. Once we reached Andhra, I refused to even sleep, dreading the thought that my sleep may come in the way of my encounter with that tribal girl. I had images of her waiting at the station, running towards the slowing train with squirrels and mongooses.

But I was disappointed. The stations kept passing one after the another. My eyes were growing weary and I was losing hope. I was really getting desperate. It was as if I got this last chance to meet a friend with whom I had only shared glances and not a single word, a friend who once SOLD her toys to me, a friend who was like me but maybe not as fortunate. The feeling is inexplicable. My brother kept scolding me for losing sleep for someone whom I didn't even knew, though he too remembered seeing the brown-eyed girl.

Finally the last station at Andhra arrived. I saw those brown eyes and dishevelled hair. My heart skipped a beat. There she was. Still the same. Selling the same stuffed toys. She still bore the look of a fourteen-year old. Her lips hadn't changed colour which meant that she was still addicted to paan. Our eyes met. Maybe she was also waiting for me. She started tracing her steps towards me. There was a sudden pat on my elbow. It startled me. I smiled at the old woman who was begging for something to eat. I gave her a few bananas. She blessed me for being considerate and walked away. I looked up to see my tribal friend. She had disappeared. She wasn't there. She was never there.

My brother looked at me and said, maybe she was there on one of the platforms and you must've failed to recognise her. You were looking for a fourteen-year old. She must have grown into a woman now.

Yeah...quite possible. She must have grown-up into a fine young woman. Maybe she was married to a drunkard. Maybe she had gone through hardships. Maybe she isn't alive anymore.

I think I should end this search. I will always have her in my heart, deep in the innermost recesses of my mind. Beautiful as ever. Then why hunt for her?

Madness, isn't it? Sheer madness.

For Laurent

ORCSD

It's high time I consulted a psychologist. That too before my husband goes bankrupt. Fortunately he doesn't mind me spending as he feels that street shopping is any day reasonable compared to shopping from branded stores.

I agree. I totally agree.

I have never been attracted by the stuff that they sell in big showrooms. It's just not my style. I've often found the best picks from streets. This evening I had gone to buy a few things from Hill Road, Bandra - a haven for street shoppers. You get everything there. From sexy lingerie to cool formal clothing - all on the streets, very reasonably priced and if you know to haggle, you can bring the prices further down. I was boggled by the sheer colours of slip-ons (for my feet) hung neatly on nails that served like pegs. Pick up whichever you want for Rs. 150 per pair. Wow! I just picked up four pairs. I'm obsessed with funky slip-ons. And the ones that I bought look pretty cool.

Then I picked up anklets...one for Rs.10/- I just picked up two. Phew! Another obsession. And there, at a distance I saw a fellow selling harem pants. Don't give me those glaring looks, just bought two pairs. Actually wasn't too fascinated by the collection. And what else did I buy...let me think. Yeah I bought capri pants too. And what else? Oh...I was tired shopping. So I came back home. But now I regret it, I feel I could have hung around for some more time.

See! This is why I think I need to see a psychologist. I always regret not shopping for some more time. What would this mental disorder be termed as? ORCSD - yeah , Obsessively Regretful Compulsive Shopping Disorder.

Howlers at work

My wrists are having a tough time typing this, after the wrestling session with sorghum flour. It was terrible. My poor wheat flour is such a sweetheart. It has never given me trouble. Am I forgetting something here? Yes, I am.

As a new bride I had a tough time with wheat flour too. My husband's family had this penchant for eating chappatis in the night. And since I had taken over as the daughter-in-law it was now my duty to ensure that the family got it's chappatis on time. My mom-in-law was very sure that I was a useless, well she was right. At least I didn't know how to make chappatis. Good, round, light, soft chapattis that would melt away in your mouth. And the secret to it was well-kneaded dough with the right proportion of water. Now this was something I hated doing. It always took a lot of time and I never got it right. Either the dough would become gooey or it would sit staring at me, hard as rubber. And if at all I managed to make it reach the pan on the stove, it would only land back on the plate with a black makeover and someone would ask me switch on the exhaust. But soon I learnt to manoeuvre the dough as per my way. Soon they would just see me disappearing into the kitchen, to be back with a casserole full of soft, perfectly round chappatis, in no time. In fact, my father-in-law (who was always a fault-finder) freaks out on me and says that it's only when I'm around that he feasts on chappatis. That's an achievement for me.

But yesterday marked the beginning of a new story. My husband has been advised to abstain from wheat and wheat and wheat products. So I'm trying out new rotis with ragi flour, pearl millet flour, corn flour, gram flour and rice flour. Yesterday was the first day. And it was bad when I started off. I struggled and struggled and struggled. But the kneaded dough always looked deceptive. All the while I kept pleading to the sorghum flour to surrender, but my pleas fell on deaf ears. My mom-in-law empathised with me. She told me that the sorghum flour that she got last time was not so yellowish in colour. I stopped kneading. I picked up the flour packet to ensure that it was not adulterated. Gosh! It read 'Makai Atta' - Maize flour. Now where on earth did I read 'sorghum flour'? I peeped into the shopping bag and there at the bottom, beneath that monstrous bunch of coriander leaves lay the flour packet and I read it and reread it and re-reread it. I started the whole process again. But at least this time it was better. Finally I made some rotis which tasted yum with the dill leaves cooked with garlic and groundnuts, the recipe of which I had taken from the girl at the bill counter in the supermarket. She must be a good cook as the dish really turned out well. And all's well that ends well. Oh...it hasn't ended. It has just begun. This evening the kitchen lab is going to attempt making ragi rotis...Ha Ha Ha!

My frangipani

I'd rather have frangipani on my table than diamonds on my neck.

- Emma Goldman

I brought a small change in that quote. The original quote had 'roses' instead of frangipani. But I don't really adore roses as much as I adore frangipani or jasmines. To be honest I wouldn't mind settling in the Hawaii, where I can see frangipanis everywhere around me. I can wear them on my hair, my waist and my ankles and still there will be so many left that I can make a bed out of it. Wow! That would be amazing.

We have got two frangipani trees in our compound. Forget plucking a flower from those trees, you dare not even cast an eye on it. My mum has got her informers working over time. The news spreads like wild fire. The other day, I looked around the tree if there were some flowers on the ground, but bad luck, there was none. So what's the next step? Very simple. Take off your slippers, stand on your toes, stretch yourself and try to reach the closest branch. Not working? Try jumping. Yeah...got it! Just pluck one beauty, leave the rest for the tree. Suddenly I heard a voice behind me. "Do you know who's daughter you are?" I was all prepared with the answer. "Hmm...that...actually...You know what? Rishi wanted to take a flower to school. So I thought...." and I turned around. It was my husband. How mean!

That's the little beauty I got after a lot of struggle :-)

Look at it.

Have you seen anything more beautiful?
Have you seen anything more perfect...more simple and yet so fragrant?

Finally...

Finally I got the CDs of 'Rock On' and 'Janne Tu Ya Jaane Na'.

All throughout the drive from Juhu to my place it was just Rock On. And since morning I've already heard Jaane Tu at least thrice. I love good music and it's after a long time that I'm buying the whole album of any movie. And I think this is the first time I even thought of changing my caller tune (though I haven't brought myself to doing it...can't ditch Billy Joel).

But kudos to Shankar, Ehsaan and Loy for Rock On and A R Rehman for Jaane Tu. After a long time, a whole album for your senses. Right now, when I' typing this, my feet are tapping to the beats of 'Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na'. Beautiful composition. And the next number...it's just too good. It takes me to a world where....hmmm....it's just me and music and dance. Nothing else. I would love to do a slow dance on this number. It's one of the most beautiful love songs that I've come across recently. Rashid Ali has got magic in his voice. Yeah I know, even Farhan Akhtar has got magic in his voice. Gosh....how can people write such beautiful lines and how can one compose them so beautifully and then how can someone do a beautiful rendition of that song? Amazing. The only thing I can do well is to listen and get lost in that musical world and dance like how Mira danced to the tunes of Krishna...too much, right?

While Jaane Tu is purely love, Rock On is purely love for music. Very vibrant songs, full of energy. And the surprise is Farhan Akhtar. Man! He's tooooooooo good. I feel he's the discovery of the year as an actor and a singer. A few years back he was discovered as a good director. Even those two girls Dominique Cerejo and Caralisa Monteiro have done a fabulous job with their husky voices. There were far too many out their criticising the music of Rock On claiming that it's not great. They also said that Farhan was bad. I don't care. I think the whole team did a great job. And the music rocks! To hell with stupid people who haven't cleaned wax out of their years for ages.

I think for the next few months this'll be the only records playing on my gramophone, ok, apart from Billy Joel.

The Door

This door will soon get replaced.

That's how the house looks like now...

The living room. Fortunately no one lives here.

Loungevity Night

We drove to the extreme end of MG Road in Kochi and halted at the place where we were supposed to meet Rakesh, my college buddy. I hadn't seen him for nine years. Of course we were in touch through social networking sites.

I called him on his cell and told him I've reached.

He must have changed. I thought to myself. There, I saw him walking towards me. Gosh! He had pulled down so much. Not that he was plump earlier. But he had really lost an amazing amount of weight. We were so thrilled to see each other. Nine years! Pretty long time.

A backbencher all throughout graduation days, lost in his own world, never smiling except to say a hi. Very shy by nature. Sometimes I would see him in the canteen sitting on the katta with Thameez and Sheldon. Thameez being the naughtiest would always be up to some antics. But he would be sitting there quietly seeing the world pass by.

A trader in Kochi, after a degree in finance from the UK, looking no more than a 22-year old. Very different from the backbencher whom both of us had left behind in college. Always smiling and laughing, happy with whatever life gave him.

"You haven't changed at all", he said.
"But you have changed a lot", I retorted.

We started looking for a place to sit for a drink. He said he knew this lounge bar just close by. We started walking...walking and walking. We revisited college days. Spoke about everything. The economics professor with a 'small face and BIGGGGGGGGGG base', the elegant Feminism professor, the bespectacled Political Science teacher who was always in a rebellious mood, the canteen, Thameez and of course the beautiful Ms. S. Since my friend is in the middle of a bride hunt, I told him that Ms. S is still single and that he could get in touch with her.

Finally after walking for forty-five minutes we managed to find the lounge bar 'Loungevity'. He was wearing shorts and slip-ons. I told him they wouldn't let us inside. Well, they didn't. They said you have to cover your hairy legs as wells as your big toes. So we rushed to a shop and picked up the cheapest trousers and the cheapest shoes and reached the lounge bar.

He had been a bartender while in college in the UK. So he told me about his bar tending days. And since the place didn't serve Breezers he introduced me to this new drink 'mojito'. It was bitter, but fine. We spoke about his relationships, our lives, his job, Kerala...almost everything.

I couldn't believe that this was the same guy who sat on the last bench in the class who never made his presence felt anywhere, not even amongst his friends. I'm glad things ahve worked out wonderfully for him. He'll be in town next month. Maybe we could catch up with some old college friends, rather young college friends. To be honest, people from 1998-99 batch just refuse to grow up....

Missing affection

I don't know why, but Branco's words are bouncing back and forth in my head. The circumstances in which we met were quite strange. After the loud noise of the party slowly settled down, I heard the strumming of a guitar. I followed the melody and found myself in a dark room with high ceilings and long doors. The windows were shut. There was hardly any light in the room. He sat there half perching himself on a desk, holding his guitar close to him. Maybe my footsteps alerted him. He had stopped the music abruptly, as if someone had accidently pressed the pause button. I sat next to him and asked him to play something, which he did. His fingers were weaving magic. All of thirteen, this boy knew his chords very well. I told him someday I too would play the guitar. As I stood to leave, he said, "Listen. Are you seriously interested in learning to play the guitar? It's very simple. If you love the sound of a guitar, you'll learn it fast. There'll be an urge to know more. Just go ahead and do it." I asked him his name. Branco Benson, he said. It rang a bell....I had read the name somewhere. "Are you a part of the school's music troupe?" I inquired. "Not yet". He finished his reply with a smile. "I think I just read your name on that circular and it said that you are selected for the troupe."He rushed to see his name and beamed with pride. Blushingly he told me, "I hadn't seen it myself".
While leaving I asked him if the school treated it's boarders well. He replied with the same smile of casualness,"Yeah....but I miss my mom". What came to mind were these lines from the beautiful song 'Maa' from 'Taare Zameen Par':

I've never told you this
But I'm scared of darkness, mom.
I've never expressed it
But I do care for you, mom

You know everything mom,
Don't you?

Don't leave me like this in the crowd,
I may never be able to come back to you.
Don't send me so far away,
That even my thoughts distance themselves from you.
Am I so bad, mom?

When I was a baby
And father used to rock the cradle,
My eyes would search for you
So that you come and pacify me.

I've never told him this,
But I used to be scared when he rocked the cradle.
I would be trembling inside with fear,
But I never made it visible on my face.

You know everything mom,
Don't you?

Meiyang Chang

Guess what? Chang is back. Hurray!

Which Chang? No...not that dentist who plucked my first molar. Yeah...ok, he is a dentist by profession and a singer at heart, but I'm not talking about that Dr. Chang. I'm referring to Meiyang Chang, the heartthrob of last year's Indian Idol. I thought I'd never see him again. That's what experience does to people. Nobody knows where Abhijit Sawant is. But I'm glad Chang is back with a bang. I was so excited to see him on screen...

"Hush! Hush! Control yourself. You are not a teenager anymore." (that's my inner voice, IV)
"So what?" (that's the outer voice, I mean me, OV)

IV: How can you drool over someone like that?
OV: Drool!!! Yuck! That's such a salivating word. Can we have something else instead? But why the hell should I care about what you think? I like his voice. I like the energy. So what's your problem. Can I see you packing off now?

Phew! Some women are so envious of others, yeah I'm talking about my Inner Voice, rather Inner Vice.

Chang, I'm so happy for you. When you were voted out I really felt bad. It's so nice to see you again, alive and kicking. And to hear you sing in the new album. I'm surely getting a copy of it.