Of Christingles and Christmas

Merryyyyyyy Christmas everybody! :)))

Yessirree, it really does feel like yesterday that I sat down to write these same words on the blog.

A very different yesterday at that....different hopes, dreams and expectations of who, what and where I'd be by this Christmas. In all honesty I don't think I've moved beyond 5% of the then status quo, and that has a bittersweet feel.... however, self-justification and defense is for New Year's Eves and that's the way it shall remain.

I attended a Christingle service last night..... a lovely time of light-hearted banter, games, sharing and some serious reflection to boot. It amazes me how a campfire always seems to bring out the deeper side of me...if such a thing exists at all :)

For want of time, I'm gonna let you read about the custom of Christingles here...but there's no reason you can't see what it looks like right away..so here's a pic.




But it was during the service that I came across something that seemed to express it all perfectly.... so much that I'm just going to share that with you and hope that it does all the talking....



"We thank you, Spirit of love

Not for perfect lives, perfect bodies,

perfect love or perfect families.



Today, as we reflect on a small, tender baby

unable to care for himself,

born to young, unsure parents in a rude shelter

surrounded by the poor and outcasts

we give thanks for imperfection.



For the times of waiting, of not knowing.

For the times we pondered in our hearts

whether we could do what you asked of us.



It is those times that the Christ-child comes to our hearts

to give us peace and courage,

to give us to know what we should do next.

How we can best care for ourselves,

for one another, and for this fragile world.



As the wind howls and snowflakes dance down,

we give thanks for the knowledge that imperfection

is the ground in which God sows


Miracles



Wholeness



and Growth.



We give thanks aloud and in our hearts for the ways in which we have seen those miracles of love."


May all the gifts of the season be yours, and may you have a wonder-filled Christmas and 2010!!

God bless us everyone....

Love
Zahra


Pic copyright: www.photobucket.com

It's official.....

....Zahra's one HOT babe ;-)

And I mean HOTTT, baby!!



Whaddya looking so surprised for??

Of course I am..... Running a fever circa 100 degrees for two days is no joke buddy!


(Wicked, wicked cackle....)

>:-)

Pic copyright: James E. Daniels (http://www.danielsdoodlez.blogspot.com)

English short, music long

Before you think my grammar's gone kaput, the title's a part-reference to what an artiste I heard yesterday said.... specifics later in the post.

Last night was the penultimate performance of this year's Novemberfest..... this time it was a Korean group called Gong Myoung...yeah, I know, try saying that aloud without smiling :)

By the end of their performance, I was ready to swear that these 4 guys could make music out of just about anything....like, they'd already performed with an empty 20 litre water can, and a hollowed out walking stick!! Brilliantly versatile, amazing coordination and an array of instruments I'd never seen before. Do catch this group if you get a chance..... you won't be disappointed, I assure you. It's all instrumental btw, haunting, soothing, foot-tapping and peppy all at once.

But this post wasn't meant to be just about the music.

It turned out during the show that only one member of the quartet could speak some English. While telling the audience rather haltingly that this was their first trip to India, he mentioned that his "English languag-ee short, Korean languag-ee long". A fairly accurate way of conveying his relative skill in each language. He was a good sport about it though....made an effort to introduce the team well, and connect with the audience. The audience, for their part, was ready to cheer on his efforts and laugh along.

Which is perfectly fine, but just one little thought niggled at the back of my mind....

What if it was an Indian guy standing onstage and speaking like that to an Indian audience??

Unfortunately, I think there's a 99% chance that he would have been criticized to shreds by the listeners.

What is it about us Indians that allows us to generously overlook the linguistic shortcomings of a foreigner, but remain adamant about the supposed English fluency we expect from a fellow Indian?? Kinda funny, 'coz We are like that only seems to work pretty well for everything else.

Is it because English has become a second or even first language to virtually everyone in an urban or semi-urban setting? Or is it because of the English = Educated mindset we have?

Y'see, it doesn't seem to matter as much to the same people if the speaker can't manage his mother tongue fluently. Oh and that's not all, we have a big and I mean biiiig issue about regional accents too...... a damned-if-you-have, damned-if-you-don't attitude is what generally prevails.

From personal experience, I have been told on a few occasions that I speak with a mallu accent. Fine. But what beats me is that it's often said in that Oh you poor thing tone.

Why, people, whyyyyyy???

For crying out loud, I was taught by Indian teachers (mallu and otherwise), learned my lessons under the eye of mallu parents, talked in Malayalam long before I learned English...of course I'd have an accent!! Granted, Indian accents pro'lly don't sound that great with Western languages but then again, that street goes both ways. The other version is when I'm told I speak English well "for a Malayalee"....... hmmm, let's not get into that right now. Btw, this is an experience some non-mallu friends have gone through as well, so I guess that Unity in diversity thingie's not total hogwash after all.

Some views on this would be great. Coming back to the music, we're gearing up to swing with the Afro-Brit band Osibisa tonight..... will keep y'all posted.

In the meantime the only thought in my mind as I left the Music Academy last night was that languages really don't matter..........when the music's "long".

:)

P.S - In the meantime, do check out this Kurbaan review...had me in splits!!

Sufiana kalaam...kamaal hai!!

I love the way something or the other keeps happening to remind me why I missed this city so....despite all the fun in a Delhi or a Mumbai....especially a Mumbai.

Among many things, unlimited access to filter kaapi is of course a given. The other is Music with a capital 'M' :)...and a crowd that relishes it in style.

Caught up with the MMA's Israel in Egypt at the start of this month. A choir backed by a symphony orchestra.....and the violins made me weep for all the right reasons.

And today was the kickoff of the Hindu November Fest - a five day music program featuring Indian and international artistes of various genres. Day one featured Abida Parveen, known to most as the foremost Sufi artiste of today...... and man oh man, she is known for a reason alright.

Yours truly is a self-proclaimed ignoramus on most things musical, but I know good music when I hear it. Even if I don't understand a word of what's being sung....and today Abida Parveen won over one more fan :) Where did those 2 odd hours go??? Amazing voice, power, richness and style........... and kudos to the Chennai rasikas who proved beyond a doubt that they are among the most receptive (and appreciative) audiences in the country when it comes to the arts.

Yes, an occasional jingoistic jiggle on my part is more than acceptable...especially since I'm not asking Ms. Parveen to sing in Tamil!! (Like a certain ageing politician would've if he were in this part of the country)

Lots more coming up in the next few weeks folks...shall post as and when I can. I love this season and this city!!

I was sad I hadn't new shoes.....

..... till I saw a woman wearing Manolo Blahniks. And then I grieved some more. :((

Sound familiar?? Oh, I know that one about seeing a man with no feet, but scenes like the one above seem to happen more often to me. Put it down to an irrepressible tendency to see the 'up' side of life if you will ;-P

I've been getting plenty of that homily all my life on being grateful for what I have, and sparing a thought for those less fortunate....while I totally see the validity of that point, one niggling little itch remains. No matter what I do, there are some things I can't really be thankful for....some irritants just won't go away.

Abate perhaps, but never vanish.

Lessen, but never heal.

Heal...heal...heel..??? GAAAAarrgh...the Manolos!!!!

Errr...excuse that please, I do go off the deep end sometimes.

Blessed are they who effortlessly glide over such trivialities.... personally I think a pair of designer shoes would help the gliding considerably. I'm not making a case for blinkered pity-parties here, but methinks there is something to be said about matters like these.

That it is important to get the bigger picture, but it is also equally important to accept that certain things will never cease to matter.... or bug the life outta me. Like the fact that I wear thicker glasses than any other person I know. And that it will serve as a conversation starter 90% of the time. That I can't remember what it feels like to wake up in the morning and NOT fumble for my specs by the bedside. That I may never know that feeling again in this lifetime.

That was just one of my pet demons by the way..... you don't want the rest of them unleashed, trust me :)

It could be any number of things for the rest of us. The one little thing I've learned from my ...errr...rich (??) experience to date is that it doesn't hurt to crib occasionally. Mind, there's a fine line separating 'occasional crib' and 'chronic whine'.... I'll leave you to draw yours. And don't go anywhere near that spoilsport called guilt while you're at it.

In the meantime, I'm going to window-shop at the pricey designer store downtown...a very effective coping mechanism by the way.

The shoe thingie was just an illustration, but it does bring me to another pet peeve of mine. For the life of me I can't teeter walk elegantly decently in a pair of high heels to save my life.

Aaahhh wellllll.......

Glitterburst

A little note to very specially acknowledge a very special young lady.

A person I've known about for years but actually got to know only in the last coupla days..... and what a riot of laughter and giggles these last two days have been :)

Thank you sweetheart, for the gift of your laughter and the generosity of your spirit in sharing it with us. For reminding me in the nick of time that life was very promising and beautiful, when I was your age not too long ago.

Most of all, for reassuring me that '18 till I die' is not too bad a state to be in every now and then.

Keep the faith. And let the light shine on as the sparkles float around.

Pic courtesy Flickr.com

Till the haze clears

While I've been prattling on about trees and music and rain and festivals, about everything and nothing in particular, there's just one wee thing I didn't mention.... In the meantime, I'd also gone ahead and committed the equivalent of professional hara-kiri.

I quit my steady job in Mumbai....

...without an alternative offer in hand.

Grade A looniness eh??? Trust me I've thought about it...and only time's gonna tell whether I'll pat myself on the back for this or take a flying leap off the balcony. Y'see, I've often heard that most of life's problems come from saying yes too soon, or no too late.

So I said no.

No to being lambasted for questioning (politely, that too) the sense in doing an incomprehensible assignment. And then being expected to work my backside off on any and every madcap project dreamt up by anybody and his uncle.

No to being told directly or indirectly that I am an incompetent idiot, when I know I am neither.

No to being expected to put up with insane deadlines, vague guidelines and virtually nonexistent role definition.

No to being pushed to a stage where I know I'm not giving more than 20% of what I'm capable of to my job....and where I just don't see any point in giving the other 80%.

In short, thank you very much, but I've had enough of suffering fools gladly.

Yes, it's true.... people leave their bosses, not the job. And mebbe someday I'll be immensely grateful to those who...errr.... made this possible ????

So Zahra's finished serving out a notice period, and is back in Chennai-land to ponder and plot her next moves. Frankly, the path ahead is kinda hazy right now...and I might just make some very drastic turns along the way..with fingers, toes and eyes crossed, and praying really hard for the best. :-)

For now, the Mumbai chapter stands closed...more of an experience than a city, if you ask me, but one I'll always be grateful for.

So long, Mumbai......and thanks for all the pav.

:-)

Pic courtesy Flickr.com

And the wheel turns again

There are some things and events that gently and unmistakably point out the passage of time. And remind us of how life comes full circle in different ways every day.

Like the gulmohar tree I see from my living room. Splashes of fiery reds that intensify in sync with the blazing summer. A moist, green mass in the monsoon….so rich and verdant that the slender branches seem to bow under their burden.

Like the roly-poly little fella in the next building who emerges one fine summer morning in a spanking new uniform and polished shoes. Hair neatly combed to frame a sullen little face. Understandable, since he had all the time in the world to play and laze around till yesterday. But summers come and go, little kids soon become not-so-little kids…… and I smile a half-smile at nobody in particular when I recall that this is the third time I’ve seen his back-to-school ritual.

Like sitting down to update my blog, and then realizing that’s it’s been a good three months since I wrote last. And grudgingly acknowledging that Philip and many others had a valid point about the huge intervals between my posts. ;-P

Like the arrival of a Ganesha in our neighbourhood, with eyes as gentle as his girth is massive. Who is welcomed with shouting, singing and chanting that starts at one in the a.m. and goes on for all of next day. Which is a prelude to a ten day frenzy of colour, prayers and ardent believers. Not to forget traffic jams.

Like hearing the clack-clack of dandiyas in the neighbourhood, and realizing that we’re well into the festive season already. So let’s gear up for another round of festivities, praying for a peaceful and happy one at that.

Season’s greetings to y’all!!

P.S – That was a blanket wish, folks… so excuse me till Pongal of 2010!!!

>:-D

Listening to: ‘Piya tora’ from Raincoat……ahhhh, Hariharan’s voice!!! :-)

Then and now...

*Started writing this one fine June afternoon....and sat down to finish it yesterday :). Oh well, procrastination's one of my nicer qualities....



It’d been a regular Sunday so far.

Church in the morning……after staying up reading till 2 a.m.

A quick trip to the local book stalls for the week’s supply.

A leisurely brunch and cuppa coffee at her regular hangout.

And back home by two in the p.m.

Oh well and all that, she thought. This is the way it’s been for a while now. Hard to explain yearning for company, for a trip, for a casual conversation, yet being reluctant to call a buddy or just head out. She puttered around the room, telling herself for the thousandth time that this was the weekend to get the room tidied up. Oh yeah, it is. So’s next weekend. A fleeting moment of amazement when she realized that it was almost July.

What would the rest of the day be like? Sleep? No. Though she eventually will, she knows that. Call a friend? Mebbe later. A quick jaunt to the mall downtown? Perhaps, but the weekend crowd of loud families and clingy couples was the last thing she needed.

Better read a book till I decide.So she stretched out on the bed, keeping the windows wide open to catch the cool breeze.

Ahhhhh..bliss.

Karen Carpenter’s soulful alto rose from the laptop perched on the desk.

Perfect. The only singer she’d ever aspired to sound like. Soon, she was deep into the plot and subplots of the battered spy thriller.

She awoke suddenly, startled by a coolness on her arm. Confused for moment, she saw that the room was much darker now, the curtains flapped wildly, and Karen continued to sing. Make believe, the song name registered somewhere at the back of her mind.

But then is then, and now is now…..

And right now, it was raining…… the sweet, moist scent of the earth was heady alright. As was the cool spray that had woken her up. She could never explain how rain always, unfailingly, triggered off a series of images in her mind.

Of her much younger self stretching her arms out of the window to ‘catch’ the rain. Of running around outside with her cousins in a ferocious Kerala rainstorm, of an era when she could go topless (or bottomless, for that matter) without anybody batting an eyelid. Of praying hard for heavy rain on school nights, so that she could stay in the next day. And then feeling guilty at having her prayers answered, as she watched a street urchin trying to stay dry under the straggly limbs of the nearest tree.

Of more pensive evenings, when a teenager watched the simple beauty of an afternoon shower, and wondered why people and life itself had to be so complicated. Of the bright cleanness of the trees after the rain, of a green so intense it hurt your eye. Of silently crying in the dark a few years later, as she heard the rain pound relentlessly. They’d buried her beloved grandmother that evening, and the thought of the rain pelting that lonely grave, and battering the flowers was almost too much to bear.

Of deliberately prolonging the five minute walk back home from college, if it so much as drizzled. Of watching from her hostel window in another part of the country, as the rains misted the landscape into impressionist masterpieces. Of breathing in the damp, cool air one Easter evening, and wondering if it was just her or if life really was a bitch.

As always, the montage released a sharp, short pang of homesickness. And sadness. A longing to be truly footloose and carefree once again. Secretly, she enjoyed the rain even in the huge metro, despite the whole city turning into a squelchy bog. Despite the ordeal of her commute and the massacred footwear. No sense in spoiling the magic of the moment by thinking of day to day issues……Mundane practicality would rear its ugly head whenever, wherever.

Meanwhile, Karen Carpenter was almost through with her song.

…And now is all that matters, anyhow

I totally agree, she thought, watching as the rain caressed the earth and sang its love songs once again. As it had always done for eons past.

Little bundle of.....??

Recently, I was having this perfectly ordinary conversation with a colleague of mine when she casually dropped this line…..

“You know, my mom had tried to abort when she was pregnant with me, but that attempt failed. So she carried me to full term.”

Mentally, I’d gone all slack-jawed while keeping a normal face on the outside (or so I believe). But such was the impact of that one line that I’ve even forgotten the context in which it was said. The colleague in question didn’t seem too fazed, but I was reeling from what I’d heard. Needless to say, the rest of the conversation went over my head.

How do you deal with the knowledge that your mother tried to get rid of you when you were in her womb???? We’re all conditioned to expect being wanted in some capacity or other.....Most of all by our families.

No doubt, abortion was, is, and will always be a question with no right or wrong answers. I’m against taking a life, especially when the target in question cannot fight back or speak up. But I also think that the mother in question is the only one who can take a call on the matter. That too only in certain circumstances.

Well, I’m not going to debate the rights and wrongs of an age old issue here. Fine, so you tried to abort your baby for reasons best known to you. Assuming your child survived an abortion attempt, is it really necessary to let them know about it later? Does the parent in question even have a clue about the emotional crapload they’re dumping on a kid’s head??

Granted, from what I know my friend seems to have had a normal, happy life with her folks so far. But how does it feel to know that at some time, however long back, you were not wanted? That the ones responsible for your existence actually tried to eliminate you from the scene? And yes, this friend will have certain health issues for life, thanks to the botched abortion.

I guess this is better than what another friend of mine went through. Her teen years weren’t very smooth, what with her being the much younger child and her mom having a successful, demanding career. One particularly nasty mother-daughter spat stopped dead in its tracks when her mom yelled, “You know something?? I never wanted you. I knew it wasn’t good for my career. I would’ve aborted you, but your grandmom wouldn’t budge.”

We could only watch the trauma she went through while trying to come to terms with that revelation. She’s married now, with a child of her own. On the face of it atleast, she seems to have made peace with her mother. It’s not something I can ask about despite being a close friend.

I really don’t know.

And I can’t judge either, though it’s really hard to restrain myself from doing so. Mebbe it’s coz I’ve never seen an unborn child being regarded with anything other than joyful anticipation. Anxiety yes, but of the positive kind.

I guess there are some situations in life where the bliss of ignorance is the best alternative.

Kabutar Konundrums

No, I’m not a K-serial addict.


Yes, I know conundrum is spelt with a ‘C’.


Yeah, yeah, yeah..... I used a ‘K’ coz I felt like it.... Fine???


But I digress…back to the ko....errr....conundrums.


I swear I used to be this nice, gentle, more-peaceful-than-the-Buddha type....compared to Phoolan Devi at least. But Mumbai’s changed all that. The villain here is the pigeon a.k.a. the kabutar.


Oh you know them……remember that standard movie scene, where the grey birdies fly away as the camera zooms in on the Gateway of India?? They’re the ones. Yep….. you see them right before the camera moves on to Marine Drive.


Ok, that’s enough of SoBo for you. Time to move on to a scene that recurs fairly regularly in less glamorous parts of the city.


An ordinary shoebox-sized apartment in suburban Mumbai.


Background noise. Scraping and the ruffle of feathers. A guttar-goo that’s suspiciously close by. Stealthy human footsteps.


A sudden explosion of noise. Falling furniture. Flying pigeon, followed by flying books, newspapers etc, followed by an outstretched broom. And the outstretched broom has a screaming, cussing Zahra attached to the handle.


Despite her blinding fury, Zahra manages a valiant swipe at the offending creature. A bottle of water falls down, valiant victim to the valiant swipe. Idiot bird keeps trying to fly out of a closed window despite a clear path to the open one next to it.


Now comes the part that Zahra REALLY has a problem with.


Dumb pigeon perches on the curtain rod and lets loose. And I mean LOOSE.


Like, how on earth can such a small creature produce so much SHIT??!?!?!? Having fulfilled his vile agenda, the $%$#%& bird finally figures out that a window is open, and flies out. Bravo.


Can’t believe they trusted these creatures with messages in the World Wars….. but back to the ish-tory. Bewildered suburban pedestrians stare in surprise as a wild haired, wild eyed, screeching (but ..ahem…amazingly gorgeous) woman, sticks her head out of the window, brandishes a broom and yells…

“Miserable creature, may you DIE of constipation!!!!!!!”



Deafening, shocked silence.



“Aww, c’mon yaar, my aloo ki subzi wasn’t that bad.”


That’s the roomie who’s just come in. Zahra gives her a baleful look and gets back to yelling outta the window (still looking amazing btw…cough, cough!!)


That’s pigeons for you. I mean, seriously, the world would be a nicer place if these (and other) avians had no excretory systems at all. Or excretory outlets. Whatever.


Btw, before I forget… let’s have a round of applause for the exquisite Ms. Sonam Kapoor. Rumour hath it that she’s a serious candidate for Best Supporting Actress post Delhi-6.


What? You don’t know why??


Remember the masakali-matakali routine with the kabutar supported on her head??


“Zahra, your PJs………….. Grrrrrr!!!”


Uh-oh. That’s the roomie coming after me with the broom.


Time to run fo…thwack…OUCH!!!

Intellect - His and Hers

A sincere request to all the guys out there.....

When you talk about wanting an intelligent and accomplished woman in your life, do take a moment to consider exactly how much intelligence and accomplishment you can handle. For nine times out of ten, I've seen that a man is more comfortable if he is the intellectual superior of his partner. Preferably on the career front as well. Superior, mind you, not even equal. I don't intend for this to be a blanket statement.... I have seen some exceptions, but they have been far and few in between. Fine, so we've got a truckload of societal conditioning to deal with, but I won't get into that right now. And yes, quite a lot of women seek a partner they can look up to.

Like, dude, it's your life and your opinion. And it can significantly impact somebody else's life too. So please be frank about it, and don't try to be what you're not. In case you haven't considered this aspect till now, please do.

I really can't tell if you'll find much female support for directly/indirectly saying that you want the upper hand...... but I can assure you that the honesty will be greatly appreciated.... and respected.

Even if it takes a little while coming.

Songs of my days

All of us have certain triggers that unleash a set of memories or emotions. It could be anything. A sight, a smell, a song, a voice, the sound of laughter…absolutely anything. While I have ‘triggers’ filed away neatly under each of these and more, it’s undoubtedly the song category that’s filled to bursting.

Come to think of it, I could retrace my entire life through a series of songs.

My earliest memories would be of listening to tape after tape of Yesudas and Chitra’s Malayalam duets. And some SPB hits in Tamil. Not to forget Ilaiyaraja.

And that brings back memories of days before the scourge called 'education' hit me (:-P)…of our first home in Gelfie-land, and the tape recorder that proudly stood on the sideboard. Unfortunately my aged-three-years version of Kannai Kalaimaane is still quoted verbatim by my folks (Sob!) Am not trying to say that the aged-twenty-something version’s better, but atleast the words are not scandal-inducing. Btw, that song’s the Tamil precursor of Surmai Akhiyon Mein.

Net result: I’m a lifelong fan of Yesudas and still think nobody can sing like he does. Like, for heaven’s sake listen to that voice, and then consider that he’s pushing 70 now!!!

Time moves ahead. Now there are early morning rides to school. And buddy, I mean early, coz my classes started at 7!!! I was a whiner-cum-howler who’d faithfully cling to her Amma’s hand every morning, so school, predictably, wasn’t the best way to start the day. The only consolation was the music during the ride in Dad’s (and my) beloved 1990 Daewoo.

Enter Messrs Kishore Kumar and Mohd Rafi.

Aiyyayya karoon main kya sukoo-sukoo??

Gaata rahe mera dil…Ek ajnabee haseena se yun mulakaat ho gayi….

Kehna hai…humein tumse pyaar kitna…..

Is mod se jaate hai…

Aur agley mod leke, we’d finally reach school. And those songs would be playing in my head all day. Kishore Kumar’s amazing no doubt, and I am a big fan. But somehow, I’ve always had a softer corner for Rafi’s songs.

Not too long after came the glorious day when I took my ‘savings’ (all the chillar collected over several years) and bought….

……(What else??) A (then) sleek, (then) classy looking, (still) great sounding National Panasonic tape recorder. Wow. I can still recall the excitement…and sense of achievement. Doubt if anything I’ve got for myself since has matched up to that first buy.

The recorder found its way to my study corner, as did Amma’s contribution to my music fetish. Two complete albums of Jim Reeves. And thus did a lifelong love-affair bloom. Maaannnn, whattayyyy voice……I still turn into a puddle of incoherent, starry-eyed idiocy when I hear his songs.

If there is some other way to prove that I love you… (Oh, Jimmmmm…really???)

….. I swear I don’t know how (It’s okay…. Believe me!!!)

That such amazing talent died so young is a big, biiiiiiig loss. Oh btw, THIS is the man responsible for my voice fixation….. In case you didn’t know already, a good voice can do wonders for a guy’s wow-score in my rule-book (90% weightage sometimes!!)

Oh come on, don’t snigger. Gals, imagine your honest reaction when you meet your dream man who’s a John Abraham/ Junior B look-alike….. and then realise that he sounds like Sachin Tendulkar…or Laloo Yadav. No offense to either of them, but I trust you’ve got the point.

Back to the music. Then Abba came along as did the Beatles, BeeGees, Jackson 5, NKOTB, Eternal, Police and the rest. And (ahem!) yeah, I went through the Boyzone-MLTR-Richard Marx phase too…. But NOT Spice Girls-BSB-Aqua (whew!). And when a phenomenon called A.R. Rehman came along, I silently breathed a prayer of thanks. Oh the Mallu, Tamil and Hindi gaanas were there too, but I was more active on the Angrezi front then.

And the melange grew more and more interesting as school progressed to college. Pop, rock, retro and movie music combined into unique definitions for each year. Or situation.

Any song from Minnalae brings back the cheering and yelling during fiercely fought inter-dep contests during undergrad. Kaakha Kaakha is permanently linked to a howlarious class trip to Goa.

A much-loved violin instrumental of Kabhi Kabhi conjures up visions of the Qutub Minar in twilight as seen from my hostel room. The same view through misty veil-like sheets of rain whenever O Saathi Re (of Omkara) plays.

Of packing bags to go home post-exams, at 2 a.m. amid shouts and screams of laughter, when Dil Jo Bhi Kahey blasts away in the background. Off-key caterwauling to the accompaniment of empty Bisleri bottles whenever Kajra Mohabbatwala plays.

Of how Kajra Re defined us being ragged in the first year of B-School, Beedi Jalai Le when we did the ragging in the second, and Sajnaji Vaari Vaari in our farewell party.

It’s not about the songs having any significance per se in the context. I guess it’s about a significant memory that acted out while the song was played.

Another category I haven’t mentioned so far, but has been there all along is sacred music and gospel. Thanks to this genre I never knew something called stage fright. At least not while singing in a group. Singing in a church choir is something I’ve been doing for most of my life, and the satisfaction it brings is something else altogether. Catching up on musicals by the MMA and MCC choirs in Chennai, and Paranjothi in Mumbai is something I do religiously, and methinks it’s worth the pain taken.

I guess I can’t possibly list down every single song that brings back a recollection. Hopefully, I haven’t lived half my life yet, so I’m wishing that the soundtrack of my life gets more interesting with every passing day.

And while that’s happening, turn up the volume folks…and let the music play!!!

Some years on

I do not love you except…

…because I love you, she completed the line.

I go from loving to not loving you
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire

Her lips moved silently as she mouthed the words along with the speaker. There was a reading going on at her favourite bookstore by an author of some repute, and he was quoting this poem in some context.

Ten years on, she could still quote Neruda with the same ease as she did at eighteen. Never mind that she hadn’t touched a tome of poetry for more than five years. Back then, it was the elusiveness of the meaning that fascinated her. As did the man’s ability to seemingly wrench out a plethora of emotions from the core of his being. The rhythm, the words, the endless contradictions woven together seamlessly…. She could never get enough of it.

A wry smile touched the corners of her mouth. A few years ago, the elusive meaning had finally presented itself…..only too clearly. The contradictions didn’t puzzle her any more. The wisdom that comes with age, she thought wryly. Only that she hadn’t bargained for that much pain to colour the process of understanding.

She rarely took out that box of sepia memories in her mind. Endless walks, endless conversations, discussing poetry, swapping favourite books, sharing ten minutes over a hurried coffee. She marvelled at how some recollections could still make her smile despite the searing hurt that would inevitably follow. How they stayed up talking the whole night beside a dying bonfire during the batch tour. The knowing smiles on her friends’ faces when she told them of that conversation. You only talked? Giggles had followed.

They would never understand. Never could. That just a smile, the way his hand held hers, the pleasing lilt of his voice…. They were enough to make her feel complete and loved like never before. That she had been accepted as she was, with no expectations. That the two of them had placed a meeting of minds above all else. They were an atypical teenage couple.

But they had split five years later in typical teenage fashion, despite pushing their mid twenties then. Pride, and a refusal to accept that each had wronged the other. A reluctance to apologize, an unwillingness to appear pliant. Accepting it now isn't going to help any.

A mental shoulder shrug.

She moved on to the next bookshelf, another bookworm on a late afternoon tryst with her best friends.


In this part of the story I’m the one who dies
The only one
And I will die of love because I love you

She was willing to bet that the Romance section didn’t have a story like hers. One without a happy ending.

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Purple dusk deepened to inky blackness as he watched from his apartment window. A sense of loneliness, his constant companion these days, hovered around all he did. Life didn't have to be like this, he reminded himself. Retrospection made it very easy to acknowledge his mistakes, and recall that he’d had a chance to remedy their rift.

Had.

He would live the rest of his life knowing that he was the biggest fool on earth to have turned away the one person who saw him exactly as he was. Accepted him that way. And loved him for it.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight
To think I don’t have her. To feel I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

Not bad. He could still recall the ‘Saddest Poem’ as Neruda called it. And he could still picture the rapture on her face when she heard it for the first time. From him.

He turned away from the window, a smile on his face. Hurt yet amused. Silently acknowledging that he would carry this burden everywhere. That at the end of it all, he’d have his own epic poem, and nobody to recite it to. That he did not really want to tell it to anybody but her.

Perhaps, he mused, the embers wouldn‘t come to life even if he ran into her again. They had half a decade, a couple of countries, and a distance like several oceans between their minds to contend with.

Perhaps.


I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her
Love is short and oblivion so long

The buzz of a suburban evening bored into his consciousness, as he settled into his couch for another routine evening of TV, newspapers and retrospection.

Perfectly worded, as always, he mused. Chances are, Neruda was once a bigger fool than I was

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Arbit Observations #4

The Goddess is back.

Yes, you may kiss the ground.

Apologies for the no-show have already been made.....So brace yourselves for another dose of asininely arbit observations from my so-called life. What better way to kick off the blogging for this year??

Tsk tsk…. Didn’t your mama tell you that groaning audibly is rude??? Here goes.....

1. You know your life has sucked as thoroughly as it possibly can when

a. Everything that can go wrong has gone wrong
b. When you thought things couldn’t get worse, they just did
c. AND, the only email you’ve received in a week on your personal id is about a 70% discount on Viagra.

2. The ugly duckling grew up to become a swan. In Andersen’s version at least. In real life, there’s a 99.999% probability that the ugly duckling will grow up to become at best, a verrrry average DUCK. Accepting this fact has freed up an incredible amount of time for me to focus on bigger issues of life. Like the wonderful ambiguity of phrases like ‘Striking looks’ and ‘Unconventional appearance’. Oh yes, Her Royal Duckiness lets out an indignant quack every now and then, but is at peace otherwise.

3. Pointy toed shoes on men give me the creeps. Crrrreeeeeepsssss. I’m talking about the shoes that taper into a point that sticks out ten inches in front of the wearer. Call me antiquated if you will, but my support for the metrosexual man goes only as far as clean nails and good overall hygiene.

4. WHYYYY do my northie counterparts expect me to fall on any and every plate of curd rice/idlis like a starving refugee???

5. Why Zahra? Why not another name? Thought I’d explained that somewhere in this blog. Actually, Thamaraichelvi Kumudavalli and Isabel DeMontmorency St Claude were close contenders. But then I figured that a Zahra by any other name would be just as asinine. Therefore, the name with the least typing effort won.

6. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why Indian men scratch their privates in public with complete abandon. Like, it’s called ‘privates’ with a purpose, right? Mebbe it’s coz of a flawed genetic strain unique to the males of our race. Something like the see-wall-MUST-pee syndrome they already suffer from. Tragic. Am going cross-eyed from all the eye-averting I do during my daily commute.

7. Never do a competent job of anything if you can help it. No more than what's needed to keep your job, I mean. Working my backside off under crazy deadlines, and pulling off the near impossible even once only translates into more loony projects coming my way...with crazier deadlines. Like I want this at 3 p.m. yesterday types.

8. Bairi Piya in Devdas is a pretty decent song, come to think of it (it’s playing on radio as I type) Would’ve been better if they’d shaved off the “Eeesh” bits and taken a good forty seconds off it. Waitaminit….that also means removing the only part of the song I can sing. Eeeeeesh!!

9. And while we’re on songs, I SOOOO miss the hostel gaana sessions. :-((

Words cannot describe the joys of singing Umrao Jaan songs with 3 other similarly challenged AND loud females at 3 a.m., while smirking at the wails of misery from adjoining rooms. (Cackle, cackle) A nice, steaming plate of Maggi at 5 a.m. and my plate...sorry, cup of happiness would overflow. Sigh.

10. I hate pointy toed sh…..Oops, that one’s done already…. Okay, I HATE random and indiscriminate displays of…. Heck, ANY display of butt cleavage. Why, people, why???? Found myself at a crowded coffee shop the other day, with several square inches of ‘it’ on display at chair-level all around (Eeewwww). Guys and gals alike. Somebody help me if I’m missing the point here. Honestly, seeing that the brief is authentic Calvin Klein doesn’t make it any less traumatic.

11. And Dostaana must’ve really sucked yaar. Oh, not that I’ve seen it. Y’see I couldn’t help but think so when all my gal-buddies denounced the movie in unison. When women say that about a movie, despite liberal close up shots of just John Abraham in just his chuddies, then you gotta do a serious rethink. Btw, I’m told his apparel is all original designer wear. Not that I’d know …and not that I think most of us gals would care ;-P

Well, that’s all the arbitness I can manage for now, so breathe easy folks. Am busy pinning up my list of new year resolutions on the wall. Oops, just lost 3 months in getting started.

Zahra, you eeeeediot, change that 8 to 9.

Ahem...

Errr.... I'm back.

And looking verrry sheepish for not having written for a good three months. Fie, Zahra.

This being the first post of the year, I guess I should be doing the decent thing and wishing y'all, no matter how late it is. Hey, we have 9 months and 7 days left, okay?!?!

So Happy New Year (embarrassed grin)....and I sincerely hope that 2009, or what's left of it, rather, will be a rocking year for you. Good luck, cheers and all that.

And before I forget, ze blaawg completed a year of existence sometime last month.....

......so Happee Budday and thank you to all that soul curry and filter kaapi that's brought me more satisfaction than I ever imagined. :-)