The wait

Honking cars, flashing lights and ringing bells, everyone is in a hurry to be somewhere. Somewhere. Right beside me, Miss P is driving the car and hurling abuses at the man who just crossed her path. Then she turns to me with glaring eyes suggesting that I should also do the same. We meet the man again at the next signal. He does it again. And this time before Miss P’s glaring eyes could shoot a look at me, I lift my hands and signal towards the man, “Kya”. Miss P is happy and our drive continues peacefully but only till the next signal.

I pause. I glance around.

While everyone keeps complaining about time flying away too fast, not reaching somewhere on time, graduation here too soon and turning another year older, I look at the other side. At the wait to reach there.  

I was waiting alone at work for my friend to come along. She said it will take her five minutes more. And as I tried to shuffle my contacts and then my playlist and then my messages and very nonchalantly gave out the message that I’m busy, those five minutes seemed to last forever. The wait for the friend made me realise how even in the busiest of all streets you can feel very lonely.

The phone kept buzzing as I tried to ignore the messages. My mind was fixated on the laptop screen where I was scrolling through the Facebook messages. It had been more than a month since he had last messaged. And here I was, in the darkness of the night hoping against hope that with the tick tock of the clock, his reply should also pop on my screen. The wait for his reply made me realise that sometimes even when there are many others vying for your attention, your heart is stuck on that one person who still hasn’t replied.

And as I keep waiting for the many things to change in my life, I know one thing. The wait may make you feel restless, it may make you angry but when the wait is over, you treasure the time that got you there, to the end.

The correction

Just as I had finished updating my last blog, I thought again about the first paragraph. And I realised I was wrong. Yes, I had realised it long back. I’m just writing it now because I’m still suffering from the wedding hangover. No, not mine you doofus. My brother’s. Anyways, the point is, it’s true that I still have minimum expectations and I’m still scared of disappointment. But, I realised I do have more than a few friends who would do things willingly for me. Scratch that, I have a lot.

From a pack of friends who have been there for me since as long as I can remember to new ones who have learnt to understand my complexities and pacify my anger, I still have trouble keeping in constant touch with all of them. But I know, all it takes is one call from me (even if it’s after ages) that says I need help. Long conversation calls and then really long texts to rekindle the light of my heart, my friends have done it all.

To the ones in Hyderabad, thank you for being my constant support at work (even though I pass on my work to you guys a lot of times). Thank you for accompanying me in my crazy shopping trips and laughing to my silly jokes. And not to forget, thank you for making me want to come back to this city even after a long vacation at home.

To the ones from Pune, who were and will always be a part of my ‘home away from home’ (silly Symbiosis reference), thank you for the times you have held my hand and wiped my tears. For the times when you teased me enough to make me want to kill you but only because you love me to death, when you fought with me and against me. Thank you for those little trips to the garden of our society, to the restaurants around just so that we could talk. But most importantly, thank you for the most beautiful three years of my life.

To the ones back home in Cuttack, you guys know who you are. Thank you for all the childhood memories, the stupid things we have done together, the sleepovers. And even though we may act like snooty bitches sometimes, I know that the love we have for each other surpasses all our snootiness. Thank you for being my go-to people since over 10 years now and making sure that our friendship hasn’t changed one bit even though we have not been staying in the same city for over four years now. To the few I keep meeting every now and then, thank you for making that effort and listening to my problems always. To the ones I have been yearning to meet since a long time now, thank you for the hope that we will soon even though our schedules don’t make it seem so.

 

So long, my goofy bunch of friends

Big things come in small packages

I am seldom overwhelmed by the things that people do for me. Mainly because I have found very few who have gone out of their way to do something for me. That might also be because I don’t let them anymore. I prefer to be the one who gives up on a show that she had been waiting to watch for a long time, the one who is going to let you place the order at a restaurant according to your choice etc etc. And I would do that happily. Well, the reason for that is, I’m more scared that if I say what I wish for, the other person won’t live up to my expectation and I will be, umm, disappointed. So, when someone actually takes that little extra step for me, I am overwhelmed.

To say I’m blessed to have the best colleagues at work, would be an understatement. What with Miss Paul getting up from her much loved sleep at 4 in the night to make sure that I’m back home, and at the same time Miss Praveen consoling me about a stupid disappointment (once again, too many expectations), Miss Jha’s help for almost every other dreaded photoshoot, Miss Kumari’s late night chats even though she’s too tired, a certain ‘grumpy cat’ who will shout but help you out every time and Miss D.

I know Miss D is back at work because there is already a goodie bag at my desk. And yes, I love gifts but why I especially look forward to hers is that there are those little notes that always, always make me feel better (with her deep belief that even though we may progress digitally, hand written notes are the best).

I don’t know how many notes I have till now but I know I cherish each. 22 notes for my birthday alone, a special New Year wish, a letter about her vacation and the things I should do, all this while she is sitting right next to me (well, almost). And I’m not even counting the little ‘Thank You’ notes or the frightful ones about dirtying her desk yet again.

Her notes are special because she never makes my problem obvious. She turns it into a minuscule one in the end (after the whole letter reads about how awesome she is and sometimes, about how nice I am), but that strikes hard. It has always urged me to take a step or refrained me from doing something silly. And when it comes from Miss D, someone who respects privacy more than anything yet knows what pains my heart, it has to be special.

I’m writing this down at 4 a.m. and that shows how important it is to me. Miss D and I have had really innate conversations about life, relationships and of course, boys, as we have waited for a 20-minute cappuccino. And more than often, we have found each other in the same boat. Not ready (anymore) to settle down for anything that is not the best, similar experiences of rejection (sort of) and most importantly, big dreams (always).

As I conclude, Miss D, I direct this letter to you. Thank you for all the gifts but I am grateful for those letters that lift my spirits and bring me back every time. Very few people (read: Miss Paul, one of my best friends from Pune and my ex-boyfriend) have written letters to me and good or bad, I hold them all close to my heart.

That with Miss Paul’s incessant efforts to understand my hopes, my confusions about boys (had to sneak this one in) and my anger and Miss Praveen’s jokes directed at me, texts to check up on me always and companionship for my shopping trips, is what makes me believe that I’m an amazing person to have such good friends. (cue- narcissistic laugh).

A work of fiction based on true events ;)

Boy oh Boy. Things happen when you least expect them to, when you are at your lowest point a high hits you that wins you over, thus restoring the balance of life. Umm that sounded a bit too philosophical. Well, neither was  I at my lowest point nor did any high hit me, yet it seems like just so many things have happened. From a few sporadic interviews to new friends with whom I just randomly came across and the usual chaos in a journalist’s life, there was one particular thing that kept running through my mind. In this sudden turn of events, where from complaining about having no men to even flirt my way around to having a one too many, I still wondered where was that man – the narcissistic, oh-I-don’t-have-time yet classy and sweet one.

As I admired the looks of one of my interviewees, a colleague sitting next to me said, “Oh stop being a flirt all the time.” Umm okay, I’m just 22, a girl who’s out there weighing the options available to her, so why can’t I be one? Hold on, I’m not saying I’m coming onto guys, but what’s wrong with just saying (Mind you, only in my mind), “Hey there you beauty with blue eyes would you be mine?”. Umm on a second thought strike off the blue eyes, a recent encounter with someone with blue eyes actually scared the hell out of me.

So coming back to the point, amidst the “Let’s meet for coffee” and “I just can’t wait to meet you again”, I stopped for a second and thought about the one who would drive down even at 3 in the night and just pop open a bottle of the best scotch around town, say cheers, trick me into gulping it down, yet never ever even hold my hand in case he sends off a wrong signal. I think that’s what struck me about him. He would wander into my dreary days with two glasses in one hand and a bottle of whisky in the other, talk about the randomest things in the world, take me out for a spin and in between two jokes, would just reveal a new side to his personality. But then that’s not what attracted me, what did was how everytime the drunk me would jump out onto the road, the drunk yet alert him would shout and then politely ask me to come back. And as I would request to go to the nearest medical shop (just three steps away) to get more coke to dilute my drink, he would insist on coming with me but on the way would never forget to say “Imagine what people would think, a guy and a girl going to a medical shop in the middle of the night”. As he would be pouring out drinks, he wouldn’t always make one for me, that made the difference. Don’t take me the wrong way, if a girl can drink she can surely make her own drink and sometimes you can “offer” to make one for her.

Now hold on, here comes the part that confuses me. After all that, he would disappear. For months together. So, I have met the guy thrice or just about four times and every time he seems to be a mix of the completely stupid teenager who’s not afraid to go all gentlemanly on girls. But then it all goes out in a poof. I haven’t met him for so many months now, yet sometime as a guy bores me to death I think about the laugh I shared with him. It’s strange how sometimes someone’s annoying ignorance can actually make you want them more. Maybe he was just a guy looking at having a good time and then got busy on his own thing.

And yet here I am, pinging my best friend continuously and just asking if I should or should not text him. She says yes, yet I’m too scared to hit send. Because just like him, even I’m the narcissistic one who just can’t take rejection.

And while I’m typing this down furiously, I’m hoping against hope that I don’t sound like a desperate woman who just wants some “fun”. Nope, I just want the good time I spent with him to visit me more frequently. The little butterflies in my stomach that would go crazy every time someone said his name, to just not be so sane when I hear someone else’s and not dismiss them just for the stupid sms language they use or for approaching me way too easily.

Well, until next time then stranger. 

To memories and crazy times

“It’s been two years,” she said, “Come for me, I need you.”

“If you are coming, it would make my day,” said the other.

As much as I was finding it difficult to wander off on a trip of my own, it was the incessant “please”s by these two that convinced me. While it was initially planned as a surprise for the other, it was she who let the cat out of the bag only to make sure that the other doesn’t commit to anything else for that one day that I was supposed to be with them.

And so it started. My maiden trip. Yes, it was a small trip but it was the first with my girls.

After a whole night of binging and trying to cram into a small seat that seemed too short for my legs, I opened my eyes at Vellore. A small town that really had nothing except for a premier engineering institute (where the both of them were enrolled), a few eat out joints here and there and oh, a famous temple and hospital. (Umm.. so the only other people who came to Vellore was to pray for the sick? Bad one.)

There they were, the two of them giggling away even before they saw me. Seated in the auto rickshaw, I made place for them as they crossed the road and silently tried to control my smile. But heck, as they took their place next to me, the autowaala was a little taken aback by our shouts of “Oh my God, I can’t believe you are here” and “I missed you guys so much.”

The fact that they along with their friends had stayed awake all night waiting for me, didn’t count much as even in the silence of the dawn the three of us giggled away to glory and camped on a small bed started talking loudly about how much we had wanted this, the three of us together.

A little bit of sleep, hellos to all of their friends and a whole day of roaming around the VIT campus later, we got together for what was supposed to be an “epic” night. In an inebriated condition, we talked, we laughed and we (read: she) cried.

And that is when I knew, I missed this, not the highness but the bond that we shared, the crazy times we have when we are together, the feeling of being there not just virtually but actually reaching out and wiping away the tears, laughing over our stupid crushes, hugging each other as we realise how much we love each other and then going back to being silly. And then in that moment, that small town within its boundaries had the best thing that it could offer, me being myself with the people who mean a lot to me. 

She and I bid a hasty goodbye to the other as we started on the second leg of my trip, a visit to Pondicherry. What started with our driver declaring “No English. No Hindi. Only Tamil.”, followed by our bouts of laughter as we tried our best in making him understand that all we need to do is stop for a bottle of water, it undoubtedly made up for few of the best days of my life till now.

I’m not going to write down a tourist’s guide for Pondicherry but what happened as we made our way through the French Colonies, the sunrise at the beaches and the serenity of Auroville.

We talked. For all that we had missed out on in the past two years and just texted about to each other, we talked. We talked about the stupid mistakes, about the glorious days and the confused mind. We realised we have come a long way from being two teenage girls in love to two people talking about broken hearts, crazy nights and future careers. We were shameless, we were boisterous and did many a stupid things, but we held those memories close to our heart. Somewhere between talking about marks in a silly test, the plans with our now ex-boyfriends, unruly behaviour on the roads and our new found faith in dreams that we shall make a name for ourselves, toasts to a love lost and a new civilised us, we grew up.

In just two and a half days in an unknown city, the two of us connected again and knew this was the plan that the fate had chalked out for us. It took us a long time to get here but it was all worth it, for it helped me let go of the worries that I had let build up inside me for she let me unleash the emotional side of me that I had buried down within the dark corridors of the past, to make way for a hope that everything happens for our own good.

The perks of being a journalist

Imagine this. A group of enthusiastic students ready to take out their pens all set to scribble away something that will hopefully one day be of use in the journalistic world. I sat as one of those excited kids, ready to mark her step in hopefully, changing the world one day. A teacher enters, and ushers, “If you are here to change the world, please don’t think that is possible.”

Three years into that course where every day you are asked to push a new boundary, academically, physically and emotionally, today, I am a journalist with just about 10 months of experience. Along with the 5Ws and 1H, what also stuck with me was that particular line. Were my dreams of making a difference really possible, considering the magnitude of problems, insecurities, poverty and sadness that engulfed human existence?

A week old in the real world of media, I had met a Hungarian artist who is now settled in Hyderabad and had her own little world of paintings and sketches. Her journey to India had started with a Google search for animation studios in India. A chance click landed her in Hyderabad. From a tourist in 2001, today she is a total Hyderabadi. That was followed by a series of artists, who didn’t bother much about the remuneration they received from their passion but the message it conveyed.

A few months down the line, I had written articles on various mundane as well as essential topics in the world, from the tourist places in and around the city, the various start-ups in the ‘hi-tech’ city of India to the fashion designers, the do-gooders and even the latest trends in the technology and fashion world. While every chance meeting with a new personality, introduced me to a whole new dimension of information, I realised something along the way.

Changing the world doesn’t mean taking a sword and fighting with the problems of the world. It does not necessarily require one to be against every social norm that predictably dominates our society.

For the start up guy, change is making photo sharing easier for families living far away from each other, for the fashion designer, change is dedicating his/her line to a cause, for the do-gooders, it’s all about spreading a smile. For me, it is every time I let the world know about these people through the power of words. That is me taking one step at a time and trying my best to ensure that their work doesn’t go unnoticed.

True, it doesn’t change the world. But maybe, somewhere, a budding artist is encouraged, a young college going girl gets the courage to start something of her own, a young activist is inspired to stand up and believe in his/her cause. Hopefully, with my ardent desire to travel and know more people, I never stop letting a small fraction of the world know that in every sphere and everyone’s periphery, lies a little scope for development.

A recent conversation, restored my faith on what I have always believed in - The power of dreams. Take a leap of faith and do something that marks development in your vicinity and you have contributed in helping to change the world.

For me, being a minuscule part of this dynamic world, one of the perks of being a journalist is doing my fair share of work towards that change. 

Yours Truly, Shopaholic

An array of colours, all neatly stacked up in racks; the smart sailor jumpsuit rightly matched with denim jacket and paired with a pristine white bag made even the mannequin come alive; the tinkle of the bangles and the glitter of the earrings let her know from far and wide that all the jewellery was right there waiting for her. Ah, it was paradise for her.

She walked past all of the waving mannequins that called out to her to for a glimpse of what was the latest in their world; a world where it was all about the right fabric being cut with precision to fit the perfect body. Yes, the world of fashion.

She stopped in her tracks, grabbed her friend-in-a-hurry to a screeching halt, all to check out that little chiffon dress with animal prints that hung at one corner. As she put it across her and stood in front of the mirror, it was not her reflection that caught her eye but that of the off-shoulder blue and black striped maxi dress. Well, that certainly needed her attention. But, the animal prints were not forgotten. Now hanging at the corner of her hand, they accompanied her to the maxi dress. What could have been a disaster if put together in one garment, it seemed like quite a happy union for the stripes and prints until the trial room. While the animal prints was subject to a lot of ‘awws’ and ‘cute’ comments, the maxi dress garnered a lot of ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’. Careful not to disappoint any, she put them both together in her shopping bag.

She was about to reach the billing counter that the bags from across the hall screamed for her attention. Well, not literally but with the neon colours and block prints, you never know! While the bags continued to keep an eye on her, the line of impatient shoppers just waiting to go home with their new possessions was growing. Decided, she couldn’t let go of her current position in the ever-growing queue, but even the bags couldn’t be given a miss! Her friend-in-a-hurry had to sacrifice a little more of her time as she was asked to wait in the queue while she did a quick round up of the bags.

All of them finding their own place in the hugely stuffed rack, seemed to binge a little out of their space to be noticed by her. There it was! A little black purse with a slender silver chain that would go just perfect with her new maxi dress. Happy with the discovery, she didn’t want to spend a second away from the billing counter until she was stopped by the big white envelope clutch that promised to complete her look with the animal print dress. Such easy finds, couldn’t be given away could they? Both the discoveries, now resting on her shoulders were all set to go.

A secret mental calculation revealed to her that the bill will amount to just about Rs. 5,890. Already over budget, there should be no more stopovers she thought. Just then, the classy black earrings on sale seemed to be the perfect rounding off factor. It's on sale, might never find one like this again, she thought.

The friend-in-a-hurry who seemed to have given up hope quickly made way for her and rushed out of the building before any other accessory stopped her. It can’t, she thought. She had eaten her way into her monthly savings by now. But then, once in a while doesn’t matter, she reassured herself.

Her pile of shopping now bumped across the desk, and the meter correctly reading Rs. 6,000, she swiftly took out her debit card. The sides of the debit card now swiped across the machine, refused to register. Once, twice and a several times later, blocked. Still not apprehensive, she reached out to her wallet only to be disappointed with just about 200 bucks. The pile looked at her now with a sad face but earrings glittered out of nowhere. Sparing a little for the ride back home, the earrings were now hers.

She strode past all the colours, bags and jewellery and as she got her bill cleared at the front desk, the earrings from her bag winked at her now promising a beautiful journey together. All for one and one for all, sometimes really does come true right?