I lost

My favourite ring

My phone

My patience

I lost

All sense of time

Of tiredness

Of trust

My appreciation for distances

my proximity to family

my love

for the old familiar

I lost

My footing

My second chances

My eternal regrets

Villa Prisca

I don't need to re-tell my story.

Because you know it already.

You know why I speak the way I do.

Why I prefer the company of older people.

You know I hate loud, noisy folk.

That I prefer hugs to kisses.

You know my scars,

my short-form words that don't make sense in real languages.

You know my family,

my connections, my attachments, my stupid little 'happy' thingamajigs.

I don't want to explain them any more.

The re-telling emphasises the pointlessness of it.

Every once in a while, I'll catch myself mid-sentence

wishing I could just take a deep breath

and go home, where I can be quiet.

Because you know it all already.

Facts

Any song sounds better when it's in French

Calling people 'interesting' when they're just plain weird is out. 'Socially unaware' or 'Socially awkward' is much more honest, and surprisingly, still acceptable.

When you cook with garlic, the smell never leaves the sleeves of your shirt. Not the whole shirt, just the sleeves. What's up with that?

There are nice, intelligent Americans out there. I know, control the European/Asian shock. It's true.

People will always ask obvious questions or make obvious statements. Like when you're sitting with a book and they go, 'Oh, you're reading'. Even worse, you will do it at some point. And hate yourself for it.

Everybody goes 'Shriek!!!'

I can't scream.

I'm not even trying to lace this with innuendo, it's just a fact.

I have absolutely no capacity for working up a good scream.

At the very most, after a particularly scary movie and a friend jumping out at me in a dark corridor, I managed to work up a yelp before proceeding to beat the crap out of him.

But over the last few weeks, I've been treated to a variety of very loud shrieks and screams (I don't even want to know what caused them!) which made it seem like they could be summoned at a moment's notice and without any great effort thrown into them.

Spider = Shriek, Startled by random person = Loud shriek, Passing whim = Loud Scream (yes indeed, there is a tad bit of a difference between a shriek and a scream)... this has been my recent experience with some part of the female population.

It seems like an absolutely feminine thing to be able to do. After all, which good old entertainment movie (Hollywood or Bollywood, take your pick) does not have at least one damsel in distress who can truly exercise her lungs for all she's worth?!

Then again, when I consider the hearing loss that I've probably suffered from all the shrieking and screaming, I consider that I'm doing my part for the environment by keeping the noise pollution levels waaaaay down.

Perhaps I'll keep my yelp after all.

S

Since you were expecting to find yourself mentioned here at some point, I thought, why not end your misery?

I'll admit I have a penchant for pessimism, therefore writing about you and things that annoy me in the same vein would be... easy. Then again, where would be the fun in that?

So we'll leave it at this; we've come a long way, you and I. And we're all the better for it.

You have my hugs and I have your diamonds... equal footing when you really think about it.

I'm glad we're us with the stupid humour and the sarcasm and the cuddles and the fact that we can cry unabashedly when we both needed to.

Oh yes,

I almost forgot to mention,

I really do love you.

I spent last year watching the seconds, the minutes, the hours... waiting for stubborn time.

Wanting every day to pass quicker than the one before, taking the past with it into unknown oblivion.

Now an hour in the kitchen, two over tea endlessly stirred.

I blinked, a month went by.

The blessing - the human body has no memory for pain.

The curse - happiness cannot freeze time.

The Waiting Game

Hospital waiting rooms are always portrayed as these grim, sterile places where no one is ever happy. Every TV sitcom, every movie, every book description is usually the same.

But I find them to be completely the opposite of all these things. For one, they're not very sterile. Anything you've never had before, you can catch in a doctor's waiting room. That's why I find it ridiculous when the doctor advises you to not go anywhere or hug people because who knows what you might catch when your immunity is low, but it's quite alright to wait outside his office with a bunch of sick people for about an hour or so, which is more than enough time for the germs to get anywhere they want to.

But more importantly, I've had some really good times in hospital waiting rooms. Last year, I spent a fair amount of time in them, and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. My mother was usually with me on these occasions, and we were periodically shushed for making too much noise while giggling away at ridiculous jokes that no one else found funny.

It's also a great place to watch people. I don't mean in the creepy-stalker way, but in the observing-human-nature-at-its-finest way. I've watched the old south Indian couple with 'arranged marriage' written all over them sit quietly in their seats, not a word spoken between them for more than half an hour. But then he takes her elbow to steady her when she walks with halting steps towards the doctor's office. The parents with anxiety written all over their faces, who manage brittle smiles and casual conversation to keep up appearances for their five year old with cancer. They never realise the kid knows exactly what is going on, he told me all about it while we were waiting together for our tests.

My favourite is always the sick parent accompanied by a child. There's always an air of 'This is wrong! It should be the other way around'. I remember one young woman crying bitterly while her mother underwent her radiation session, saying "This is not the way it should be". But when is it ever the way it should be? We're all meant to be hale and hearty forever! Until reality sets in anyway...

I've never been one to strike up conversations with random strangers, but my mother will go all out to talk to whoever looks even the teeniest bit friendly, and sometimes even when they don't! So we've met old people, young people, couples, widows, children, rich folk, the middle-class, eternal optimists and those who are just about ready to throw in the towel.

It may have been many things; but for my mother and I the waiting room was never unhappy, never grim and never, ever boring.

Pricing

They flowed like a river
Hung staccato in the air

Wrapped me in delirium,
Before they freed me, again

Had the power of armies
The moral weight of nothingness

They were brutal in their ugliness
Before turning gloriously beautiful

Made me love
Made me hate, made my pity turn to indifference

They were gospel truth
And hollow lies, banalities to fill diaries with

Six hundred rupees for a paperback
Twelve hundred for a hardback

And yet when all is said and done,
Words are still cheap

Alter-Ego

Never underestimate the pure, delicious thrill of being a 100% unadulterated Bitch!

The Internet so Wonderful

I'm not the world's best when it comes to handling technology and all the implications that come with using the Internet. I have no idea how to write HTML code. Heck, I don't even know what it is! I don't know how to use the iPhone or any of its million applications, and on really bad days, I don't even know how to adjust my Facebook settings!

But I love Google. Google has relatively simple, easy-to-use stuff that even technology dummies like myself can use and understand.

For example, Google Analytics is a wonderful thing.

It tells me when someone from a random city like Atlanta, Georgia is on my blog, which posts they were looking at, on which day and for how much time.

Brilliant stuff, really. Kudos to Google.

Train Observations

The number of times people will step on your shoes is directly proportionate to how nice and expensive they are.

Inclination

You're like an old, comfortable habit.

I could slip back in sync with you and dance to any old tune,
we fall into rhythm just that easily.
It's a year gone by, or two, and still it's yesterday

No awkward moments of small talk and unnecessary politeness.
But there are reasons we don't write, don't keep in touch and don't talk about each other
and they have nothing to do with bitterness or hope, thank God!
I'm just never quite sure...that we can pick up where we left off,
is a good thing or bad.

What's your name again?

There is a man who has the capacity to brighten up my day, no matter how absolutely dismal it has been.

And I don't know his name.

Since I was eight years old I have met him in the street and we've smiled at each other. At first it was just a 'oh yes, you're familiar' sort of smile. But somewhere along the way, it grew to the beaming 'you're familiar, and for some unfathomable reason you make me feel happy' kind.

I watched him walk hand in hand with his granddaughter, leading her first few tentative steps. I watched him take her to school, buy the groceries, or cautiously hold his wife's elbow to make sure she didn't trip on the ever treacherous 'just tarred' road.

When I met him last evening, we both stopped short in shock, and delight! We hadn't seen in each other in more than six months, and I had well and truly missed him. He had moved from the house a few blocks away from mine and was therefore no longer seen around the neighbourhood.

We had a conversation that lasted for a good ten minutes; both of us standing in the pouring rain under umbrellas that protected us from nothing. But we didn't cut short on catching up on each others lives.

I only realised when I overheard him tell his wife in Tamil that I was 'that Vieira-girl from the green house' that he didn't know my name. And even more surprising, I hadn't a clue what his was either!

But after so many years, it's not polite to bring up these minor details. So he continued on his way and I continued on mine. And I know that each of us was happier knowing that we had been missed, even if it was by a relative stranger.

Keep it simple, stupid.

I like it when things are what they are.

When they're not masquerading as something else, or you need to spend five minutes thinking about intent, metaphor or hidden meaning.

I like plays that I can understand, and books that can make me laugh and think and cry without wondering what it is actually all about.

I like poems that have a point, not annoyingly rhyming ones - those are still stupid. But ones that lead somewhere, not wander off and leave you wondering if the poet died mid-sentence.

I like brevity and simplicity and I wish people would understand that sometimes it's harder to find than things that are 'deep'.

I like when people say what they think and are not waiting for you to figure out their implications.

And I refuse to apologise for it anymore.

She What???

Conversation regarding a common friend.

N: Yeah, she's gone home right now, but she'll be back soon 'cause she's a lecherer at the college..
Me: You mean she goes there to look at cute young guys in the canteen?

N: No, she teaches there...

*Taking a moment*

Me: Ahhh... she's a lecturer....

Hindsight 20/20

We never did fit.

It seemed like we both misjudged our timing, and were left unsure. Your world was enormous, before mine had even begun, and your efforts to be part of mine only left me embarrassed, wondering if anyone had noticed that we were connected...hoping they hadn't.

By the time I realised that you were good for cuddles, and secrets and an infinite source of information, you were long gone.

It always amazes me that we've been apart longer than we've been together, and you still care enough to want me in your life. To talk to me every day, to have me at your wedding, to have your children recognise me just by looking at my picture, to tell you about my mundane, boring life, to drop your work and come hold my hand when I was sick. To love me without question.

We're still misfits, generations apart. But really, who cares...

The Small Suitcase

Travelling alone calls for minimal baggage. You have to account for the fact that your brother/friend/boyfriend/father will not be helping you with your three bags stuffed to the heavens with unnecessary clothes, shoes and accessories .

So... one pair of jeans, one pair of black formal pants, 5 T-shirts, 3 'nice' tops, underwear.
1 silver chain, 3 rings, 2 pairs of earrings. Lounging slippers (1), all-purpose high heels (1), walking around functional sneakers (1), One BIG handbag, Make-up Bag, Toiletries.

There.

But I bought these awesome jeans that are just dying to be worn... so maybe I'll make that 2 pairs of jeans. And it may be cold, so I'll take a couple of sweaters along with the T-shirts. The sweaters need different jewellery, so I'll take a couple more chains and some nice dangly earrings. But the sweaters and jewellery won't match my shoes, so I'll have to take the sling-back heels as well. I should christen those my all-purpose heels...

Maybe I won't have the time to do any laundry for a bit, so my jeans and the other pants will be dirty and I'll have nothing to wear; I'll take a skirt as well... OK, two. But I'll have to wear different shoes with the skirt so I'll have to take my boots. And if I'm taking the boots then I have to take some tops that match them... so make that 5 'nice' tops (Note to self: Buy opaque tights to wear with the skirt and boots)

A coat! I must take a coat! Maybe two... one for the day and one in case I go some place fancy. And a couple of stoles and shawls... just in case it's too warm for a coat but still cold enough to want to cover myself. Maybe I should take one more bag... you know, a little fancy one when I can't take the big one everywhere. But the little one is brown, and brown doesn't go with everything so I'll need to take the red one too...but that's it, just 3 handbags!

Done.

Well, I'm quite proud of myself I must admit! I didn't add a single thing to either the make-up bag or the underwear list.

But maybe I'll take the slightly bigger suitcase after all...

Parents

The ultimate infidelity is when your body betrays you.
What can you trust, when your one surety is no longer yours?

When the memories are no longer crystal clear,
and the loud voices become barely heard whispers,
As your firm handshake and steady penmanship are indistinguishable from the tremors,
When your bones break and your skin is no longer alabaster-smooth,
You look into the mirror at a stranger, an old person who looks like your father, your mother,

And you are scared.

...

I had you when I was 12 and sick and my mother wouldn't let me see anyone in case I was 'contagious'.
I had you when I needed two ice-cream cones, or to splash with in the first rain, and it didn't matter that we were too old for both.
I had you for timeless evenings spent on the terrace staring at the sky, sipping illicit rum (and vodka when we could afford it) and having you sing and sing and sing... just because I asked for it.
I had you for hugs, and cuddles when we'd fall asleep watching TV till 2 a.m.
I had you for teaching me how a friendship could be just as heart wrenching as being in love.

And now I have to let you go, just because...

Being prepared should make saying goodbye easier. But it doesn't.