Chitra, my friend

Some people walk into your life and leave their footprints on your heart. For me, it was Chitra. I didn’t think much of her when I met her in Net Savant, a web-hosting company in Vizag. It was her first day in office and so was mine. The calm doe-eyed girl used to transform into a gregarious and vivacious girl during lunch hours. She giggled, laughed and never missed a chance to take a dig at somebody in amicable way.    

She was proud of her younger siblings and fondly talked about them on our way back home. It was difficult not to like somebody like her who was full of life and saw the brighter side in the gloomiest of situations. Once when someone from our group sulked about the insensitivity of the boss, she said, “Not everyone can be fun-loving like us. Just be happy that this place brought all of us together otherwise, how else we would have met?”

After spending little over a month at Net Savant, I moved back to Hyderabad to work on an assignment with a software company. I kept in touch with her and others as much as possible but as I got dragged into a fairly new field of work, the frequency of calls decreased until one day when I was told that Chitra was unwell. Both her kidneys failed. Concerned, when I called, the chirpy girl sounded just normal. She teased me that I was more worried than her.  

Chitra: Can you plan a trip to Vizag soon?

I: Yes but promise me that you’ll take care of yourself?

Chitra: I have so many things to tell you, Sudha. I didn’t think you would leave Net Savant so soon.

I promised her that I would come as soon as possible but then it took me few months. Her brother informed that Chitra was in hospital and I could meet her there. I knew that she was getting her dialysis done regularly, so I wasn’t surprised. I started getting uneasy when I got to know at the hospital reception that she was in ICU and I can meet her there.

I saw my friend, emaciated, looked like a grown-up child clutched in a web of tubes. Clad in a white gown her body was tormented by violent spasms.  I was dazed, frozen; nothing made any sense to me. A nurse walked up to me and said casually that she didn’t have much time left.  I watched my friend slipping away into nothingness. Everything looked like a crude joke. 

I met her mother and brother outside ICU who were waiting for me. Her mom grabbed me and asked if her son was fine; if her son was coming back home? Chitra was the son to her mother and brother to her siblings. While her father washed hands off his responsibilities and left them to fend for themselves, she stepped into his shoes. When girls in their 20s’ spend time in beauty parlours, theatres, shopping malls and with love of their lives, Chitra worked in night shifts in a hotel as receptionist, accountant and other such jobs to run the house. In my 2 years association with her, I never heard her complaining about her father or life in general. When times are not favourable, how many of us wouldn’t think, “why me?”, “life’s no fair”? And blabber about our sorry state to a close friend or family. She never believed in eliciting sympathy or empathy from others.

Chitra never returned home. Even though her life didn’t come to a full circle, it was worth more than those who live long wasted life. She will always be an inspiration to her siblings and friends, and a priceless memory to her mother. It’s been 5 years since my friend’s gone but there’s not a single day when I don’t think of her especially in testing times. 

The day WTC was attacked

While driving back from work yesterday I was listening to “I’ll remember you” by Amy Grant, a tribute to WTC victims. It brought back the memories of that crazy night when I was still a sub-editor, trainee at The New Indian Express (TNIE) in Hyderabad.

I was 4 months into my training and still learning to get over the uneasy feeling every time I entered the Desk (editing section). Generally I was put in the peak shift between 3 pm and 9 pm. Even though the shift used to start on a relaxed pitch but by 6 pm it used to pick up momentum and by 8 pm it used to reach a crescendo when everything around you cease to exist. Before leaving for work, it became a habit for me to say a silent prayer that the evening should pass without any event.

On Sept 11, 2001, the evening seemed to be usual and I was able to finish Page 9 after few last minute changes. Page 9 is the second most important page after Page 1, where usually either news items related to Page 1 or Page 1 “continuation stories” are carried. Relieved, hungry and tired, I was ready to call it a day. Around 9.20 pm, my edition in-charge walks in after a quick meeting with Resident Editor and announces, “World Trade Centre is attacked and we’ll have to re-do the edition.” We all rushed to the TV and watched with disbelief as the terror unfolded.   

We threw our bags and started rummaging for the latest stories as news started pouring in from the news agencies all over the world. For a second it felt like the shift had just started. Discussions begun around new page layout, bigger pictures, victim stories, eye-witness stories, nation’s and state’s reaction. Generally, stories are selected by a senior and a trainee’s job is to edit and place it on the page. But looking at the urgency and shortage of time, I was asked to shortlist few stories by going through the ever increasing number of stories that started to flood in. This was one of those times when there’s no time for your copies to be reviewed and you cannot afford to make a mistake. Otherwise also, this is one profession where there is no scope of correcting a mistake. You are in no control once newspapers hit the streets. The last 4 months taught me the style and feel of TNIE. For some reason, I perform better whenever I’m pushed to the wall. This was one of those days. The next 2 hours felt like few seconds. It was 11.45 pm when I finally emerged out of the office but the night was far from getting over. As I strolled out on the empty street to get some fresh air, I heard the TV blaring out the live telecast of WTC crumbling from every household.  

Beginning of an affair...

"Have you ever been to Goa"

"No"

"Oh! then you haven't experienced anything."

Finally it was time to put all those questions to rest. Jo and I decided to meet in Goa in the second week of October, just before the beginning of the tourist rush. I woke up when my bus entered Karwar. The dawn was yet to break; the sidewalk and everything that met my eyes seemed to have bathed in the silvery moonlit night. I wasn't sure what woke me up; whether it was the continuous banter of my co-passengers or the warm moon rays that teased me through the window pane.

The initial excitement was replaced by disappointment with unnecessary delay. I decided to take the bike ride to Baga from Panjim. The salty sweetness of the fresh catch, friendly smiles, and colourful houses infused with Portuguese and modern architecture was enough to lift my spirits. A clean 1-BHK apartment at Gypsee's Cove and a visibly excited Jo were waiting for me. The next 3 days in Goa was like a beautiful dream. The delicious food, awesome weather, friendly locals, carefree visitors, neat but narrow roads, and a dash of history infused with modern lifestyle.

I did not spend much time on beaches, night clubs or on the poker tables - the reasons why people flock to Goa. I roamed around in the streets, interacted with the locals at restaurants, juice shops and those numerous shops that sold souvenirs. I didn't feel like a stranger from the very first minute I landed in Goa. No, it has nothing to do with the place but the people - the locals. They mind their own business; the locals are neither in awe or feel intruded by you. They maintain a neutral stance towards the hordes of people that flow in and out of Goa. You are completely on your own, and this feeling is so liberating. May be that's why everyone feels at home here. The invisible shackles of certain 'obligations' are broken. I remember telling Jo that I could ACTUALLY live here. What's the reason that makes Goa so different from all other tourist destinations? You are made to feel like a visitor/outsider in most of the places no matter how long you live or how well you know their language or culture.

What makes Goanese unique? Is it the Portuguese that made Goa their home till late 60's? Is it the cultural upheaval though marred with a dark history but eventually evolved as a balanced culture imbibing the best of East and West? There may be more than one reason but I know for sure that I have fallen in love with Goa and thus, begins a long affair with it.

I got them inked

Words fail to express how nice a feeling it is when a long pending wish is realized. As a kid I was fascinated by the tattoos my grandparents had on their hands. I wanted to get them on mine too. Putting an end to my procrastination, I called up a friend to check if she was free on weekend as I needed some moral support. I knew what I wanted to get done from a long time.

As a student of English literature, phoenix caught my fascination when I read about it first time. The imaginary bird has inspired poets of almost every era to create immortal works of art. When life cruised through off-beaten path and rough weather, I fell and rose learning, understanding and realizing. I thought of my grandmother and parents who, not until few years back, enjoyed the good things in life. I strongly believe that there is a reason behind the incidents that occur in a person's life and all of these converge towards a certain purpose that one gets to know in the later part of life. My life by far has been quite different from a normal girl's life and I wasn't prepared for any of this. I am destined to head towards something which I have a feeling, going to be very different. Phoenix fascinated me at the beginning, inspired me eventually and in a way, I relate to it today. Now I am proud to carry it on my shoulder.

My mother, just like any mom, worries a lot about me. She doesn't miss a chance to check if my stars are favorable for the day, week, month or year. As per the Indian almanac I was born in the most auspicious times in the early hours on a cold December morning. Governed by the two most powerful planetary bodies - Sun and Jupiter - my moon sign is Pisces. Today I show off two fish on my hand.

I met my friend at UB City, had the best continental lunch and then finally went to Hakim Alim's boutique. In less than 2 hours I came out with two beautiful creatures inked on me. I am going to carry them to my grave. It feels nice to know that I won't be alone when I go.

The pillar falls

My Sunday seemed to have started nicely with a yummy breakfast at my favorite joint with friends after a tiring workout. When I saw papa's call on phone I thought it was one of those regular calls to check my plans for the day. But the news left me numb. My grandma passed away. I listened in silence, suppressed the overwhelming emotions inside me as I didn't want to spoil the mood of the group.

Emotions took the better of me by the time I reached home. I broke down. She was the last one of that generation in my family. With her going, not only one entire generation is gone but also many untold stories and struggles that laid the foundation on which we built our lives today. "Maamma" as we all called her endearingly, was the pillar of strength to all of us and led by example on how to live with dignity. Her life was no less than a female oriented Bollywood movie which experienced every ordeal that was ever scripted.

The dusky village lass fluttered many a heart with grey-green eyes, chiseled features well set on defined cheekbones and jawline and carved body. Widowed in her early 30's she defied every rule and norm in the village to feed her 6 children and mom-in-law. The docile woman who was enjoying being the lady of the house was forced to step out of the house and work shoulder-to-shoulder with men in fields. She used to stay away from home for days together and walked many kilometers selling goods from village-to-village. I spent long hours listening to granny whenever she visited us. I remember she telling me once, "I didn't have the time to mourn your grandpa's death. If I broke down what would've happened to everyone who was dependent on me? You know even when I thought there was no way out I never thought of dying." Such was her determination.

She was illiterate, couldn't recognize numbers or count money but she took up every sundry job to keep the hearth warm. Over the years, she emerged as a shrewd businesswoman who gave every man in the village a run for his money. She endured extreme poverty and enjoyed lavish lifestyle with same grace. "I never imagined I would see this life when I was struggling to stay afloat. Such were the testing times that I thought life would be degraded to abysmal depths," she said while narrating one such incidence.

Life kept snatching her loved ones but she kept going. She cremated her 2 grown-up sons, daughter, son-in-law and grandsons. She performed final rites of a homeless who took refuge in her house. She stood by the people who believed in her. She drew flak from villagers but unfazed she moved on. She stood tall in the male bastion, earned respect and lived with dignity.

Maamma had the habit of licking palms while bidding goodbyes. As kids we used to run away to avoid her licking our palms at the end of summer vacations. The belief behind it is the person whose palm is being licked will never forget her. Yesterday, she licked my uncle and aunt's palms as she knew it was time for her to go. For the first time I regretted for living so far away. I regretted for not being there to be licked by her. I regretted for not licking her palm so that even when she is crossing over to the other world she shouldn't forget me.

At the same time it was a relief that she was, finally, liberated from her 2-year long suffering. It was a relief for everyone around her who couldn't bear to see her suffer with helplessness. It was a relief that she breathed her last in a warm bed amid her loved ones after spending many cold nights building her life.

Maamma, you will be remembered as a brave woman who defined her own destiny. Even though I am going to miss your hearty laughs, your funny quips and antics, you will always be a source of inspiration for me and everyone who knew you.

Maamma, I'll love you always and forever.

The enlightened bull

Aviator as he calls himself, my first meeting with him was very interesting. A smile, a somewhat reserved dispostion, and yeah the impeccable diction caught my attention. A short coffee visit extended to couple of hours at an unassuming coffee shack by the busy road of Begumpet. Apart from the light-hearted conversation, what blew me off was his effortless free-flowing rhyming words.
Many meeting which followed, while strolling on the city roads I used to throw random words at him and he after a few minutes of silence, with a far off look, a lazy stride, recite eloquently sprinkling beautiful thoughts and dreams just like the stardust peppered on the path to heaven.
After more than a year I got chatting with him yesterday. Here are some of his ramblings sputtered in between our conversation.
Note: This the first cut, the unedited version without punctuations :-)
--------------------
With the first ray of sun over the horizon,
the mists may melt away into nothingness,
but the thought of you blooms up as a million springs
through the fogs of life I travel through
looking up at the beacon called your smile,
too misted am I to notice anything,
but the sapphires of your,
O love, let me drown in the haze of your dreams,
hold me in the arms where I forget myself to omniousness
--------------------------
Gentle sways of your hair,
moonshine lingering about you,
the blink of your blues,
what more could be magical,
if not the whole you,
O soul, my breath,
take me on a climb so high,
where I lose myself in your passion,
this time and for eternity be mine.
---------------------
The wild moon for a face,
hair that shy down the cascades,
petals of rose for lips,
mystic in your eyes,
I wait an eternity to be yours,
O heart, my soul,
this moment I beg you of thee,
to glide you down to my arms,
so I walk the path of heaven with you by me
-----------------------
Somwhere in the whole wide world,
I dream to meet you,
where smiles bloom like flowers,
where troubles melt like lemon drops,
somewhere in the whole wide world,
I wish to see you,
where stars shoot across like wishes,
where passion lights up as candles,
somewhere in the whole wide world,
I crave to feel you,
where rain meets water like long lost love,
where body meets soul to feel complete
------------------------
I said: Dude you write so bloody well! Don't you see it?
His reply: When truth gets beyond comprehension, it turns out to be a compliment but I wish the person can see it's still the truth in perspective.
I may not be able to post the entire conversation here....but my friend, someday, may be that person will. Amen.

This time of the year....

When the chilliness in the air brushes past my cheeks and nose, when the icy breeze moist my eyes, dry my lips, and numb my hands after an evening ride, when the thick fog leaves behind dew drops on my window sill and car roof in the morning...I know it's December, my favourite time of the year. Every year this time I travel down the memory lanes as far as childhood days. Being a December baby, I always longed to celebrate my birthday just like other kids in my class. But unfortunately I was never able to do that due to half-yearly exams in school. Most of the times I never got to meet my classmates due to change in the seating arrangements during exams. I missed all the attention that a birthday girl gets in her new dress. I went in my school uniform. Twice it got worse when I came home crying for messing up my maths paper, most dreaded subject. The traumatic mornings used to be taken over by evenings filled with oodles of love and attention by parents and siblings. However, wearing a new dress to school when everyone is in their boring uniform fascinated me and at the same time eluded me. I braved all these "hardships" and grew up to be a strong girl. December also meant 10 days of holidays when we spent most of the time lazying in warm morning sun, running behind butterflies, playing badminton in late morning sun and studying less. After many years I had one awful birthday when a dear friend of mine betrayed me with a bundle of lies and made me look like a jackass. Coming from a small town and protected family, I had a tough time getting into the groove of big bad world. But, I guess, I did a good job at that. It's the friends that become your second family. I had mine too. But little did I know that I trusted the wrong person. After a month long brooding over my short-sightedness and misconstrued notions, I came back to my senses with a jolt. I ushered in the new year with night long party with my close friends. That incident made me appreciate the people who have been in my life for a decade now. I refuse to get bogged down by the weaklings and selfish. I make friends even today, I trust even today, and I enjoy the attention of everyone even today. I made my first friend after moving to Bangalore 3 years back. I got a friend request from him through Orkut and I kept rejecting. He relentlessly sent friend requests till one day I decided to send him a curt scrap. He replied and so did I. Soon we were chatting, thanks to my long boring office hours. After a month we decided to meet. He turned out be extremely shy and I liked that part about him. But the triggering point of our friendship was we shared our birthdays. He helped me in finding a house and setting up my small world in a new city. He has been a family since then; made me happy with birthday gifts, lazy rides after dinner, outings, movies and planning my weekends. I didn't know what to give him and so whenever I asked what he wanted, he would say, "make a nice lunch for me." Kunju (I re-christened his name), I truely treasure you. I couldn't have asked for more when my school buddies and friends from Hyderabad and Vizag shifted base. We celebrated festivals together, had weekend jamming sessions, and went on trips togather. Last week my childhood dream came true with a twist. My school friends came home with a birthday cake. After the little sing-song on guitar and cake cutting, we relived our school days. As we spoke late into the night, the crushes, affairs and pranksters came to the fore. The revelation that quite a few had a crush on me almost tickled my funny bones. As I stand at the fag end of year 2010 and turn back to look at all those days past by, I can only think of good times - a new addition to the family, marriage of one of my closest friends, spiritual trips for soul searching, weekend getaways to exotic locations, bonding with old friends and new job and setup. I am going to carry all these people and good times to the next year hoping that it will ring in more happiness to everyone I care about. Contentment brings out forgiveness. So, I forgive my maths madam who looked only at boys in my class and taught; my games teacher who believed in punishments only, my parasite roomates; the mindless cabbies and frustrated autorickshaw drivers who scratched my car; a colleague who suffers from behaviourial disorder; the mean and weaklings who depressed me at times. Wow! I feel like GOD (I flicked this line as it feeds my big fat ego) Wishing everyone a beautiful year ahead.