The Seven Year Itch

Last weekend anon was in town after almost two years. We did what we usually do, i.e. she comes home, criticizes everything about my life, then SH joins and they both gang up against me, we shop, we watch movies, we meet the guys and we all get drunk together. Of course, now that it’s been over seven years since we have known one another, we end up repeating the same old stories, playing the same old music and cracking up on the same old lame jokes. The only difference is now, some of us are married and we expect them to laugh and enjoy the same way as we do, even though they have no background or context. But they politely oblige us and even patiently take pictures while we pose trying to recreate the past, notwithstanding the receding hair line, the bulging stomach or the wrinkles under the eyes.

So as I try to trace back my life over the last few years, here is a journey back in time: from college to Goa to Kerala to Coorg to Singapore to Malaysia to Cambodia to Goa again, these are the people I have grown up with, learnt to drink with, traveled with or simply called up in the middle of the night to crib…

SH, me and anon in the first term of college…

And on my birthday in campus on a cold December night…

On our way to Kerala…

Our roomie bonding trip to Goa…

Then in Singapore after graduating…

Roadtrip to Coorg…

Not to mention Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia…

Again in Phnom Penh, Cambodia…

Finally the Goa wedding last year…

Never even realized how the last seven years simply went by while we were busy making other plans…

The Girl Who Played with Fire

The Mary Kom trailer released this week, and guess what, it features a close friend from my undergrad days! So yes, now I can proudly say that I know a celebrity, but this post is more than just my claim to fame, vicarious as it is.

While we went to the same college, lived in the same hostel, finished numerous packets of Maggie and junk food, strolled around Marine Drive, watched movies, gossiped for hours and whenever time permitted, studied a bit, I wouldn’t say we were exactly best friends. In all honesty, we lost touch after graduation, and while I settled for the conventional path to making a living in the corporate world, she was brave enough to follow her dreams. As I rotted within the 2 Km radius in Hiranandani, she traveled the world, dividing her time between Mumbai and New York, trying her luck in modeling, theatre and now, mainstream Bollywood.

So here is a bit of background and I am sure you will soon read an extremely exaggerated version in Bombay Times, but remember, you read it here first!

My college was known for its diversity and attracted girls from across the country as well as a few international students, a bit of a rarity for a degree college, but unlike the homogenous crowd in my MBA institute (where everyone was academically inclined and wanted to be in the corporate world), the crowd here was really a pot pourri of talented individuals with a variety of interests. Also the fact that we were still in our teens and living away from family for the first time, made us a more confused and vulnerable lot. Now this girl hailed from Manipur, and the first thing that struck me about her was her height. At 5’10, she towered over most of us, especially me and whenever we posed for photos together, the photographer had to resort to all sorts of tricks just to get us in the same frame! While she was quite striking even at that age, she spent a lot of time hyperventilating about her weight, going on crash diets or intense exercise routines. One day, while we all pigged out on cheap and greasy Chinese take away, I couldn’t help asking her why she deprived herself so much. And then came the statement, I would never forget: “Because I can’t study like you do. I choose to be in this field, and therefore I will do what it takes to be successful here.” For a 19-year old, it was pretty deep, especially since the rest of us were still figuring out what to do with our lives. Over the years, she groomed herself as a model and an individual, featuring on the Kingfisher Calendar and other assignments which made her quite a popular figure in the industry (with 11,000 followers on FB). For someone from the north-east, who knew nobody in Mumbai or the entertainment/fashion arena, it’s an achievement of epic proportions.

In a few months, we would all see her on the big screen, and I would be proud of her and think about the days when I knew her as just another college kid: gangly, awkward and annoying.

She is the girl who played with fire, and emerged unscathed…

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

For most of you in your twenties, living away from family and working in a big city, you would identify to some extent to the popular sitcoms you binged on through school, college and work: Friends, How I Met Your Mother or The Big Bang Theory. The common thread which runs across all the shows binds you in some ways as well: friends, financial woes, professional disillusionment or relationship issues. But there is one other theme which is prominent across them AND all of us would instantly recognize its significance: A FAVOURITE CAFÉ/BAR TO HANG OUT AT!

So while Sheldon and gang couldn’t get enough of The Cheesecake Factory, the Friends swore by Central Park and Barney and his team drank their way to misery and happiness in the McLarens Pub, in real life, most of us would have SOME place, usually close to home/work which we frequent more than any other. As our life turns upside down, this place stands for some semblance of stability, familiarity and permanence.

Take my case for example. I have been living in Powai for almost five years now. I have changed five houses and two jobs, made new friends and lost a few good ones; I have seen new places come up in the neighbourhood while some others have shut down and I have lived through a fair amount of change over time. But what has not changed is my favourite café/bar: Jugheads. Overlooking the Powai Lake, it’s a fairly shady place, but never empty. This is one place and one relationship which has stood the test of time. Back in 2009, when I had just started working and when I spent most of my salary on rent, Jugheads was one bar which accepted me with open arms and generous Happy Hours. We celebrated most of our successes there: clearing exams, getting married or growing up. We also mourned our sorrows there: breaking up, quitting jobs or leaving the city. Not to mention all the matches we watched or all the fish fingers/cheese chilly toasts/chilly chicken we had. Five years later, I was still there, getting drunk on Happy Hours and polishing off the fish fingers while watching India cream Bangladesh and Australia in one-sided T20 matches. Could I afford to go to a better place: Probably. Did I want to: Probably not.

As things promise to change over the next few months, as close friends move on and as life looks to turn over a new leaf, I get a little scared. But then I look across to the comforting and colourful Jugheads board and I tell myself that it’s going to be ok. The music will remain the same, the cheap alcohol will still be there and the fish fingers will taste as yummy as ever.

And the place where everybody knows your name is still there...

Country Roads Take Me Home

If I look back at 2013, despite all the personal and professional milestones, the one thing that stands out would definitely be the amount of traveling I have done this year. Eight new countries, fifteen new cities, close to a month of traveling across Europe and Asia in different modes of transport, with different kinds of people, under different circumstances and extreme weather conditions: it has indeed been a year which opened my eyes to the wider world out there. From the human atrocities in the Killing Fields and Auschwitz, the architectural wonders of Angkor Wat, the old world charm of Prague, the artistic appeal of Vienna, the historical allure of Berlin to the natural intimidation of the snow-clad Matterhorn peak in Zermatt, I have been to some of the remote corners of the world which didn’t even exist in my narrow world defined by the borders of Hirandandani.

Appropriately, a year which began with an impromptu trip to Ajanta Ellora, ended with another quick getaway to Himachal Pradesh over Christmas. For someone who is extremely accident prone, I have been blessed with friends and family members who simply love to get behind the wheels, put on some good music and drive for miles, while all I have to do is peacefully sit and criticize.

The moment I reached Delhi on Christmas Day, my kid brother (no longer a kid) took charge of the proceedings, as the two of us, along with a couple of friends, hit the road, and for the umpteenth time, I realized that it doesn’t really take much to be happy: good company, good music, good alcohol and good humour will do the job more often than not! The six-hour journey to the sleepy town of Kasauli was a breeze as we swept through three states, stopping by the occasional roadside dhaba for chai, parathas and lassi. My last roadtrip was almost two years back from Bangalore to Mysore and Coorg, and I couldn’t help noticing the great divide between the north and south of India at so many different levels: be it the food, the people, the landscapes, the weather, the way of driving or the choice of abuses.

Kasauli was pretty much like any other hill station: a heady mix of cold weather, warm people, long walks, breath taking views, lots of food, cheap alcohol, bonfire, music, “deep” conversations and the lamest of jokes. Being the prejudiced Arts graduate who looks down on engineers, it wasn’t easy being the only non-programmer amid a bunch of software geeks, but this was our very own desi version of the Big Bang Theory. (P.S. I even got a BBT tee shirt as a birthday gift)

The next day, we drove further north for a day trip to Shimla, my second visit to the place after a decade, when we had traveled across Shimla and Kulu Manali. While I was captivated by the first signs of snow, it was still not my idea of the perfect paradise on earth: somehow the crowd, the commercialism and the touristy nature wasn’t something that I cherished on a holiday. To spice things up, we lost our way while returning and as my brother navigated through dangerously sharp bends in the dark, I held on for dear life, wondering if I would safely reach Kasauli for my birthday celebration.

Once we managed to reach our resort, we went berserk, so thrilled were we to survive the highway to hell, piling on the cheap local wine and plates of junk food till it was time to unleash the cake.

Except for a quick trip to the police station for unlawful parking and some damage to the car after being hit by a truck, it was a fairly uneventful trip and we all returned back to Delhi unscathed and in our senses.

Each time I have got lost this year, the country roads have always taken me home; eventually…

The Big Fat Beach Wedding

Of all my five trips to Goa, this has to rank as the best:

not because we explored the pristine beaches of South Goa instead of the usual rounds in the commercial belt of Anjuna-Baga-Calangute…

not because of the luxurious hospitality of the Ramada Caravela…

not because of all the free food and alcohol forced down our throat…

not because of the carefree bike rides, the late night chats with people you haven’t met in the last four years or the addictive sea which keeps pulling you towards it…

not even because of the drunken cocktail party, the beautiful beach wedding or the Chinese lanterns flying in unison over the sea at midnight creating an illusion of escaping the world…

but because of the privilege of witnessing the sheer happiness of someone close to you, someone you have almost seen grow up from a teenager to a lady, someone who exhibited the maturity and resolve way beyond her years,

someone who was in love…

So, despite my reservations against weddings/dancing/crowd/all of it together, despite the last-minute broken bike, despite the long and uncomfortable bus rides, despite the forgotten pancard, despite the claustrophobia of conventional wisdom and despite the tearful farewell of Sachin Tendulkar, this weekend was very special.

This was the weekend in which the Masakali girl embarked on the journey of happily ever after…

Go Goa Gone

A long weekend in Goa…
A beach wedding of a close friend…
Meeting friends and batchmates I haven’t seen since college…

As far as last minute planning goes, things are definitely looking up for this weekend…

Down (Pause) Town

This is a long overdue post about my long weekend trip to Bangalore on Independence Day. Now, it’s an unwritten rule that I spend the three important national holidays (January 26, August 15 and October 2) in Bangalore, usually arguing with anon about all our pent-up differences of opinion. This time, I was lured by the offer to go on our Roadtrip II (refer here for Roadtrip I). So what started with a four-day trip to Wayanad was reduced to a two-day trip to Chikmagalur to an overnight trip to Yercaud to a daytrip to Sivasamudram and finally resulted in a two-hour drive through the city traffic to, hold your breath, Nandi Hills. Now, I am not the one to crib about messed-up travel plans, especially when I was meeting my alleged best friend after six long months ever since our holiday to Cambodia and Manila earlier in the year.

So, instead of driving out of the humdrum of city life for a relaxing and soothing weekend in a cozy and isolated homestay in the midst of the hills, we started the weekend with a bang: by watching the first day first show of, ummm, Once Upon a Time in Mumbai Dobara. Now if the corny dialogues, the annoying clichés and the overall mind-numbing three hours weren’t enough to drive me up the wall, I was watching the movie with anon’s colleagues, i.e. people I have never met in my life, including a two-year old who, irrespective of his cuteness, wasn’t exactly my ideal companion for spending Independence Day. What followed for the next couple of days was almost the same as all my Bangalore trips: meeting the same useless people, getting drunk, trying out new places, and jabbering like there was no tomorrow. Of course, I could have done the same things sitting in Bombay, but somehow there is something about Bangalore that keeps beckoning to me, that makes me go back every few months, that never fails to cast its charm on me.

The journey back was less than perfect as my flight got delayed due to some technical glitch and by the time I landed in Bombay, it was well past midnight. Which is why I decided to board a Tabcab back home and as luck would have it, the cab driver turned out to be a complete jerk who stopped the cab a good two kilometres before my house, took out the bill and promptly refused to drive further. On top of that he was rude enough to ask me “to get down and stop wasting his time”, as I furiously dialed the helpline number to lodge a complaint. Finally, after being unceremoniously dumped in the middle of the road in the middle of the night, I took the help of a kindly auto driver who dropped me home, as I burst into tears.

The incident just reinforced my belief that Bombay was no longer friendly, Bombay was no longer safe, Bombay was no longer home.

Bombay, as the plucky young journalist who got raped a few days back discovered, was yet another city which treated its women with shameless disdain…

From Monkeys to Men

I have always struggled with the theory of evolution. I mean, come on. One fine day when you are just going about your daily chores, fighting with your spouse, yelling at your kids and abusing your boss, some smart-ass stranger comes up to you, pats you on the back and says matter-of-factly, “dude, by the way, do you know we have a common ancestor? We all descended from monkeys!” The only response you can come up with AFTER you have made up your mind to kill this stranger and feed his remains to Bunty, the dog, is to look at yourself in the mirror, inspect your neatly combed hair, the starched shirt and perfectly ironed trousers, and wonder, “Monkeys? Really?”

But having said that, this weekend reinforced some faith in the theory and the fact that may be, just may be, we ARE indeed monkeys underneath all the veiled sophistication.

So while Thursday night meant getting drenched in the rain and then in alcohol in the nearby shady pub, Friday was about stepping out to an unknown territory (also known as Khar) to another shady place, which proudly called itself, “Three Wise Monkeys”.
But hey, Signature tastes like Signature everywhere and after a few drinks, when there is no wisdom remaining, the place could well have been reduced to “Three Monkeys”, appropriate, given that three of us from college were meeting up.

Saturday was alumni meet night, when you turn up at a Five Star Hotel, hoping for some free booze AND some influential alum who can magically fast-track your career, but just end up hanging out with the same set of loserly batchmates and turning it into one of those age-old drawing room discussions you have had at each other’s place over the last four years. But thankfully, I did manage to catch up some of the other people I had lost touch with over the years, most of who were busy getting married and getting fat, while I was just busy getting fat.

Now Sunday night being Kap’s birthday and since he was sad about turning 27 (sniff sniff), he decided to treat us at “Three Wise Men”, thus allowing our wisdom to leapfrog from the level of monkeys to that of men in just two days! Ahh, the irony of it.
But hey, Signature tastes like Signature everywhere and after a few drinks the place could well have been reduced to “Three Men”, appropriate, given that three of us from college were meeting up.

What with all the free flow of alcohol, I ended the weekend with considerably less wisdom, as depleted as it already was.

But the signature of an evolved wo(man) is that s(he) can hold her Signature with poise and dignity, something I am sure even the wisest of monkeys couldn’t have done…

Pastures of Plenty

It was one of those unusual weekends: when I met people! Now that SH is back from Philippines, she has self-appointed herself to revive my precariously fledgling social life. The good old days when she was in a different country in a different time zone, leaving me to peacefully play freecell and scrabble, watch TV and clean the house are now over, as I am flooded with phone calls/texts/whatsapp messages from her, minutely planning out get togethers/lunches/dinners. Time does fly, especially the good times.

So while Friday night was more about sitting at home, gossiping and planning trips with Dee, the assault started on Saturday morning, with me barely out of the bed, when SH woke me up, demanding to meet for lunch. And since she was coming close to Powai, there was no way I could get out of it. But it was good to see her back in India again, in familiar circumstances, though we met a few months back during our trip to Cambodia and Manila. S was also there, and it was like old times: sharing the sweet corn chicken soup like we did in college! And all I remember about Saturday night are the heavy rains and the bottle of Glenfiddich whisky which got depleted far too quickly in the haze of conversation, memories and new beginnings. And of course, Sunday was spent nursing a hangover, which just, well, hung over my head through the day.

But the weekend also meant quite a bit of self-reflection, leading to the thickened miasma of smoke around me.

May be it’s ok to be confused…
May be it’s ok to not know…
May be it’s ok to take things as they come…
May be it’s ok to not put too much pressure on myself…
May be it’s ok to go with the flow…

But may be it’s NOT ok to have the nagging conscience tug at you constantly…

Chaos

Being a manager is a thankless job. No, I mean, really. I am one of those people who simply hate responsibilities, but the more I run away from them, the more intricately involved I get. I like my work, but I am not obsessive about it. I come to office, do my thing, surf around a bit, listen to some Punjabi music, bitch about people and go home early enough to have a social life if I choose to. It’s altogether another matter that I don’t really have a social life. And for the last couple of years, it had worked wonderfully well. Until a few months back, when I was made the team lead and asked to take responsibility of two guys, who, frankly speaking, behave like kids, providing me with a taste of premature motherhood, sans the joy or the baby-sitting money. And now that we are again in the middle of some mindless restructuring, with looming uncertainty and volatility, the restlessness has just magnified manifold, leaving me completely clueless about pacifying them.

Even my hectic weekend, splashed with alcohol did not help much in calming me down. While Friday night, we drowned our impending unemployment fears in cheap alcohol, Saturday night was spent in celebrating D1’s birthday with more alcohol and cheesecake. It was our first get-together since the December wedding: all eight of us, huddled together abusing each other over a really long game of Pictionary. As always, I was my competitive screaming best, and as always, I finished on the losing side, but that’s not important. What is important is I am good at it. Sunday, we decided to get out of Powai and get some fresh air. In Nehru Science Centre. At times like this, I really wish I had paid more attention in school and got into some IIPM equivalent of an engineering college, just for the heck of it. As we stood in front of the different exhibits, reliving the nightmare of 10th standard Physics, the Amazing Caves Space Odyssey show appealed even to a completely science atheist like me. After my painfully educational afternoon, I thankfully retired to the familiarity of jarring loud music, expensive showrooms, seafood lunch, fat-free icecream, yet more alcohol and IPL on big screen. This was followed by a much-needed stand-up comedy show which had me holding on to my stomach for two hours. Life would be so meaningless without the frivolity of urban life. And Palladium.

But most importantly, I have decided to do deal with the crisis like any self-respecting, escapist corporate manager would do, i.e. go on block leave for two weeks (the employee is forbidden to access work-related emails/phone calls) and distance myself from the situation. Well, not really. But my Eastern European holiday begins tomorrow and since we had already made all the reservations, I did not have the heart to cancel it. It’s not the best time for a vacation, but it also gives me the much-required distance from the chaos.

So, next couple of weeks as I discover a different world, I would be oblivious about my rapidly crumbling reality…

Resurgence of the Pigtailed Girl

Ever since I had moved to my new place a year and a half back, I had strictly used it as a convenient house to crash after a long day at work or a long night out, but never really as a home to stay in, relax and enjoy. While I did have friends coming over for a drink or outstation people staying over, I had never felt a strong connection or sense of belonging to it. Quite contrary to the place I shared with S right after we passed out, which was the quintessential bachelor pad, which we looked after as our own, decorated and took pride in while entertaining guests. From simple pizza parties and birthday parties to bachelor parties and new year parties, it was our escape zone from everything. While S was the more domestic one, setting up the kitchen, making it more colourful and cosy, I enjoyed all the benefits it had to offer.

But my current place is the diametric opposite to it. I could barely live in it, but continued since it was so close to work and the main Hiranandani area, saving me a lot of time and headache of commuting. Even when friends came, they got the alcohol along, while we ordered pizza. On the rare occasions when we cooked, it would mostly be JB1/soulgoat who would do all the hard work, while I simply criticized and ate.

However, with soulgate finally getting married this weekend (I can heave a sigh of relief after being subjected to extreme emotional torture over the last five years) and me having a holiday yesterday, I decided to do the unimaginable. I INVITED a friend over for dinner, and by definition, an invitation means complete ownership of cooking, serving and in general, being polite and host-like, i.e. things that you would normally not associate with me.

Armed with a brand new cylinder refill, not only did I buy chicken and vegetables, cooked a flawless chicken curry AND daal, I also made sure there was soft drinks, snacks and desserts and Maggie as back-up just in case everything else got screwed up. But things were perfect as I could have imagined! I got up early in the morning, spring-cleaned my apartment, bought new plates and bowls, while doing up my hall with bright cushions and rugs, just to make it a little more cheerful. Then I cooked for FOUR long hours: a personal best for someone who lives on bread/milk/fruits/kurkure.

I don’t know why I was suddenly so motivated: may be the long-hidden woman in me is finally coming to terms with age; may be it was the rare moment of being pleasant or may be it was about discovering my passion for cooking!

On second thoughts, may be it was the resurgence of the little girl in me who used to love playing house raising her pigtailed head…

Crossword

Being back to the humdrum of the mundane life in Mumbai somehow restores the balance in my life: last weekend, I was living it up in Manila, without a care in the world. Few days later, here I am, back to my ritual of emails, phone calls, MS Office, not to mention cleaning, grocery shopping and selling old newspapers!

The fact that JB and PR spent almost the entire weekend at my place, cooking the most awesome chicken, while Murali Vijay and Cheteshwar Pujara treated the country to graceful centuries, making my return to commonplace reality a little less disheartening.

But the fact remains that I am desperately restless, never quite satisfied, always looking out for change, wanting to do something different, craving for a fresh start, longing to turn my life upside down, for better or for worse…

More than any external circumstances, it’s my inner self which is at war with itself, trying to find that elusive piece of the jigsaw which would make the puzzle complete…

And I continue to play hide and seek with myself, I continue to look for the intangible pleasures of life and in the process, I continue to delude myself that someday, it’s going to find me…

Someday, the puzzle would make sense…

Mystic Manila

Following our Cambodia trip, we headed to Manila for a few days, imposing ourselves on SH and AD’s friendly hospitality. Now, I had been to their Wadala apartment a few times while they were in Mumbai, usually a bunch of 5-7 people, usually drunk and usually trying to squeeze ourselves on the bed, the couch and the sofas, trying to make room in between all the beer, whisky and rum bottles, the pizza boxes and the laptops: yes, the good old days, when affordable housing in Mumbai meant a 1 bhk in some godforsaken area, usually in the East (apparently, in Mumbai, the West is the place to be. A Mumbaiite would always emphasize that he lives in Nahur WEST, though I don’t know how it’s more aspirational than Nahur East, but hey, what do I know? I live in Powai, which is universally sad, irrespective of the direction). Anyway, I digress…

So, from the 1 bhk in Wadala, they have now moved to a palatial apartment in Serendra, right in the middle of BGC in Manila, or in Mumbai terms, it’s the equivalent of a luxurious place in Bandra, minus the crowd, the filmstars and the hawkers. We admired the sprawling lawns, the greenery, the pool and took full advantage of its location: you step out of the building in the morning and you find yourself right in the middle of High Street with all its malls, showrooms and department stores. So while anon went berserk, splurging on Aldo shoes and wallets and Mango shirts and shorts, I was my cheapest best, settling for a Philippino-style short haircut, all for three hundred bucks! I must admit, it does look cute…

In the evening again, we would step out in our high heels, walk down the street and find ourselves in the middle of the most happening pubs, not worrying about parking the car, driving drunk or twisting our ankles. Add to that the cheap alcohol, the yummy food (I tried all sorts of food, which sounded funny, tasted different and covered the entire range of animal species) and the pleasant rains, it was the perfect holiday with the perfect set of people. Obviously, I continued to be my aggressive worst when it came to board games and card games, only to finish on the losing side, be it Scrabble, Trump or even Ludo: I KNOW I am the best, just that I get carried away and push my luck too hard!

We drove down to the Tagaytay Province, barely 60 Kms from Manila for a picturesque view of the Taal Volcano, which is the second most active volcano in the Philippines. As I enjoyed the Katsudon, staring out at the Volcano, I couldn’t help wondering if Bombay was gradually reducing me to a minion who was just too tired or too busy to really appreciate the things that do matter.

We also took a walking tour of the old town of Intramuros conducted by Carlos Celdran: an articulate but controversial entertainer with a razor sharp wit, who was jailed for his provocative and politically incorrect jokes on nearly anything and everything. As he walked us through Fort Santiago to the Plaza San Luis, touching upon the history, the architecture and culture of Manila through the Pre-Hispanic era, the American rule and finally the Japanese massacre during World War II. From the little exposure I had to the country, I realized that Philippines was a potpourri of different cultures, almost too many of them, resulting in “genetic denial” as aptly quoted by Carlos. At the end of the day, they were “a bunch of people with Chinese eyes, who spoke Spanish but wanted to be Americans”. So if you ask a Philippino if he has been to the USA, his answer is either “Yes” or “Not Yet”!

But of course, Manila for me was more about spending time with SH and anon, reliving our 213 days and going back a few years. While a lot has changed since then, some things have remained the same: both of them are as annoying as ever, though I have become more matured, more patient and almost a grown up.

Till it was time to leave, till I boarded the cab, till I cried…

Khmer Calling

The last few years have given a different dimension to Valentine’s Day for me: while the world gets more involved (read obsessed) with this day, while FB status messages have me reaching for a mug (to puke in) and while people around me generally assume an annoying air of “being special” or “feeling special”, I treat it with a different brush.

Three years back, on the eve of Valentine’s Day, a few friends of mine (including anon) had gathered in Pune for a get together, and as luck would have it, they decided to go German Bakery, only to become victims of a terrorist attack. I still remember that fateful night, when the rest of us were driving each other crazy, trying to get through, calling up random people in Pune and checking with hospitals, desperately looking to track down our friends.

Mercifully, despite their struggle to overcome the shock of the attack, both physically and emotionally, my friends are all healthy today, but each year, we look back, go out to ‘celebrate’ the gift of life and wish them “happy anniversary”.

But more importantly, in a couple of days, I would be off to Bangalore, from where anon and I would head to Cambodia where SH would join us: so after almost four years, since our Goa trip right after graduating, it’s time again for a Room No. 213 sojourn.

So, dear readers (all five and a half of you), this blog is closed for the next two weeks…

Born to Run

Currently, I have a very homogenous friend circle. Almost all my friends come from a similar background as mine, i.e. B.Com or Eco Grad/MBA or even worse Engineer/MBA, working in banks/consulting companies/IT companies/corporate finance/financial or economic research. A few of them also come from the Sales/Marketing field, a legacy from my college days and hence it’s not so easy to disown them (think SH). And at my rare adventurous best, I may also have entertained some HR folks under the influence of alcohol and roomie bonding, a mistake I am still paying for (think anon).

And, cocooned in my familiar comfortable world, I hate anything that involves going out of my comfort zone, i.e. traveling out of Hiranandani to meet strangers, who, I kid you not, HAVE.NOTHING.DO.WITH. equities/bonds/leverage/capital ratios/Volcker Rule… you get the point! So, obviously, this Saturday, when this friend of mine apprehensively suggested that we go ALL.THE.WAY to Colaba to meet some interesting random non-financial services people from his travel group, I looked at him like he was ET. Mentally cursing him (these marketing specialization types are always so enthusiastic about socializing), I went along, at my judgmental best, ready to sulk and not enjoy myself!

So it was a group of about fifteen people, from different walks of life, different backgrounds and different age groups, brought together by their common love for traveling.

The lady who brought the group together, headed the marketing team in some organization, but conducted travel workshops for free in her spare time. She has traveled around the world and I listened to her, fascinated, as she described her experiences, shared travel tips and recounted humorous anecdotes on her adventures.

There was another lady who had backpacked on her own across Europe about twenty years ago, surviving on breadsticks and water, warding off strangers, at an age when an Indian woman traveling on her own was unheard of.

Then there was a young guy, working with Microsoft, who, after being denied a US visa, quit his job and traveled around Latin America for five months with a phrasebook (trying to pick up on Spanish/Portuguese) till he exhausted all his savings, while another girl gave up her career as a management consultant to start her own travel portal.

Also, there was a MTV contest winner who had mastered the art of cheap traveling, an advertising professional who switched to photography, an architect couple who volunteered with a school in Cambodia for three weeks, a BPO employee who quit his job to travel all over India and similar colourful people.

What stood out was how easily people could give up on their lucrative jobs/take a break just for the sheer love of traveling and also how each of them advocated traveling alone at least once in a lifetime: i.e. two things that still scare me and come in the way of discovering myself.

Strangely, when it was my turn to introduce myself, I had no fascinating story to share and no memorable trivia to highlight: I was just a girl leading a sheltered life, a slave to her domestic chores and professional obligations and complacent in the glory of her two-week annual vacations with family/friends.

I know I am always in my secret garden, but at times I do wonder if I was born to run…

Living Next Door to Alice

A few months back, I wrote about the engagement of my two close friends in this post. Now that I am in Kolkata to attend their wedding, I thought it’s time to bore all five and a half readers with the love story that started fifteen years back.

I had met D1 when we were all of five years old. She was this snooty girl studying in a girls’ convent and would insist on speaking in English, while I was the rustic wild child, comfortable with her equally rustic friends, and D1 was so not a part of that world. Suffice to say, we did not get along, and as far as first impressions go, it was the worst possible!

A few years later, we moved to this huge two-storey bungalow in Kolkata, and much to my horror, I found that D1 was my next door neighbour. But once the initial resistance was over, we discovered our common love for literature, and while I introduced her to the madness called cricket, she opened up a new world of languages, arts and the phase called, “it’s cool to dislike your folks” to me. And we also met D2, who came to live in the same bungalow. D1 and I took great pleasure in hating him with as much gusto as possible for two 11-year old girls, making fun of him openly. However, his cute kid sister won our hearts, and it was for her sake, that we would put up with him. The next few years were turbulent to say the least, as all of us battled against teenage, weight gain, pimples and parents, finding solace in our late night strolls in the sprawling garden, badminton games, discussions on cricket and our very own Saraswati Puja.

As we moved to different cities for higher studies, D1 and I managed to keep in touch, writing long letters, catching up during holidays and running up huge phone bills. While I stayed with D2’s family when I first moved to Mumbai, we laid the foundation for what is going to be a lifelong friendship. I remember it was D1’s birthday, when I casually cajoled D2 to call her, and there was no looking back. Eight years, a distance of 2000 km and several ups and downs later, they are finally hitched, and I can finally heave a sigh of relief, almost like a proud parent who has pulled off the impossible!

It was the grandest of weddings, it was intimate as family weddings are and despite my sheer distaste for elaborate functions and rituals, this one was close to my heart.

As we sat in the same garden fifteen years later, D1 looked every bit of the radiant bride and D2 was the calm, matured man, a far cry from the annoying, lanky teenager who got on my nerves.

I lived next door to Alice, and today, as she steps into her wonderland, I can only watch in happiness for two of my childhood friends...

Anon Comes to Town

Lately I had been bonding a lot with my OTHER women friends, and it has not gone down too well with anon, as she felt that her status as my best friend was being threatened. Hence, gripped by fear and jealousy, she decided to fly down to Mumbai over the weekend and put things straight. Or that’s the version that I would like to believe…

In reality, since yet another member of our CKB gang was getting married, this time in Mumbai, the outstation members had to come down to offer their condolences. While the wedding was a no-nonsense, one day affair and my first brush with a Maharashtrian ceremony, the rest of the weekend was about me and anon, making the most of our time together. Once more, it hit us, how different we were, once more, we wondered how we have managed to remain friends over the years and once more, we marveled how we resisted from killing each other in Room No. 213. Of course, now that we have booked non-refundable tickets to Cambodia, and would be meeting SH as well, there is much to look forward to!

Saturday night, we threw a bachelor party for the groom, but the only glitch was that the groom wasn’t there. So, the four of us celebrated on his behalf, as the LIT pitchers and the non-veg platters at Out of the Blue seemed strangely inadequate.

Sunday, we had a mini-CKB reunion, as the uncle of the group finally fooled a girl into marrying him before she could change her mind, and we all heaved a collective sigh of relief.

And Monday morning, we left: anon back to Bangalore and me for my one-week vacation to Kolkata.

She came in a breeze, she criticized me in a breeze, and she left in a breeze: mean as ever, annoying as ever and judgmental as ever…

Soulgoats

This weekend Soulgoat was in town, paying through her nose ONLY to meet me. We hurriedly did a detailed calculation and spread her airfare over 3.5 days and came up with a figure of Rs. 125 bucks per hour for her Bombay trip. Now that put me under a lot of pressure to entertain her and make it worth her while and money. For instance, I would not even let her sleep/relax/watch TV as these are things she could have done at home in Delhi for free. To sum up, I was at my obsessive worst, while she patiently put up with me, cooked an awesome lunch on Friday and an equally yummy breakfast on Sunday.

Now I have been friends with Soulgoat for almost five years since we spent two glorious months in Hyderabad while interning with Company D back in 2008. But ever since we both graduated, we have been in different cities, meeting once a year, though we became the best of friends over emails/IM/phone and most recently, the annoying Whatsapp. Since we are cursed with similar personalities (or the lack of it) AND we are fellow Capricornians, we call ourselves Soulgoats. And now that we were meeting after more than a year, we did everything that two women could cram in three days: eat, drink, shop, watch movies and most importantly bitch about the rest of the world!

We ate till we threw up and continued eating: A Bengali dinner at Bijoli Grill, a Parsi lunch at Britannia, a Punjabi lunch at Urban Tadka, coffee at Aromas and Starbucks, snacks at KFC and Theobroma, Pav Bhaji at Sukhsagar, sweets at Bengali Sweets and yogurt at Cocoberry…

We drank till we were dehydrated and passed out: For the first time, we ventured to buy alcohol over the counter from a Theka, squirming in the maze of men, staring us down. But once were home and settled down on the floor with alcohol and snacks, there was no looking back as we abused the entire Universe, sparing nobody…

We visited all the clichéd Bombay places: Linking Road, Waterfield Road, Bandstand, Marine Drive, Churchgate, Gateway of India, Colaba Causeway and Fort…

We shopped till we couldn’t walk anymore: We scrounged through ALL the stores in Palladium, Skyzone and R City, and I HELPED her buy a pretty and colourful dress (a rare diversion from her usual black uniforms) for her upcoming party plans while I bought the MOST expensive outfit for myself, along with shoes, belt, earrings and bracelet for, well, for, MY.NEED.FOR.COMPULSIVE.SHOPPING…

And we also watched Talaash: I know we are not getting back the 700 bucks and precious three hours of our lives back and we are contemplating suing Aamir Khan for his temporary insanity when he signed a movie which had a script as bizarre as it could insult my intelligence more than my boss…

Today morning, when we finally bid goodbye to each other, I realized once more, why we were Soulgoats:

Soul sisters and soul mates may come and go, but soulgoats are forever…

Life as I DON'T know it

Work has suddenly assumed centre stage in my life, and if you know me, you would also know that this is a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence! Usually I avoid work like a plague and as for working weekends, it’s a rare tragedy of Titanic proportions. BUT, this weekend, I had to work through BOTH Saturday AND Sunday AND report to work at 7:30 on a Monday morning.

In what seems like the biggest conspiracy theory against me, Saturday played a cruel joke when we tried to get tickets for Life of Pi but returned empty handed, determined to drown our miseries in alcohol, only to find out that IT.WAS.A.DRY.DAY because of, wait for it, EKADOSHI!!! Seriously, that is like even more ridiculous than Dhoni insisting on a turning track for the benefit of Monti Panesar.

Sunday I had lunch with R and her fiancé along with another friend from college whom I hadn’t met in the last three years since we graduated. I just remembered our Malaysia trip barely three months back, when R and I were up till 4 am chatting about how life is screwing us big time and generally bonding over dysfunctional relationships. And here she was, beaming with happiness (though toned down by a sore throat), fresh from her engagement, and ready to start a new life. I was also glowing with happiness, though for a completely different reason: SHE.GOT.ME.A.BOX.OF.FERRERO.ROCHER.CHOCOLATES!

Also, JB1 got me this awesome souvenir of Burj Khalifa, the tallest tower in the world, from his recent trip to Dubai and Abu Dhabi. So yes, my friends like gifting me stuff and I love accepting stuff. Win-win!

It was a busy weekend, and while we celebrate the joys of a new beginning, a part of me is also acutely aware of letting go of life the way I know, the way I like and the way I am comfortable with…

But here is wishing R lots of happiness and I leave you with a picture of us together taken in Malaysia...

Worker's Song

Lately I have been doing things completely uncharacteristic of me: like I filled up my self-evaluation form at work for the SECOND TIME IN THE SAME COMPANY! If you know me, you would also know that this is sort of ground breaking, because, this is the longest relationship for me in ANY form (apart from this blog). Also, also, I RENEWED my contract for my house for another year. The irony is of all the five houses that I have stayed in the last three and a half years since I passed out of college, I like this one the least. It has never been HOME, but a very convenient place in a good locality and close to work, where I can just crash at night and not worry about commuting or arguing with autowalas. But I never imagined that I would actually stay on for so long, which is why I had avoided investing in the house, except for the basic furniture and white goods. But now that I do plan to stick around for some more time, I decided it was high time I fixed the basic plumbing of the house. Which meant more expense this month, adding to the personal financial crisis that my life currently is.

What with all the Durga Puja festivities, family visits and now Diwali shopping, I was already in trouble. Add to that the splurging on the smartphone and a new watch. And now that the wedding season is already here, like every year, I lose a few more friends to matrimony, which makes it worse because I have to shell out money for the wedding gifts also. But the major blow came in terms of air ticketing since I have 2-3 trips planned for the first half of next year (in anticipation of my bonus), but I needed to fund at least the tickets for now before prices become unaffordable. I ended up buying the cheapest ones, which turned out to be non-refundable and now even if the rest of the world ends in 2012, certain parts of South East Asia HAVE to survive, along with anon, SH and of course me. No matter what happens, I WILL GO TO CAMBODIA/MANILA IN FEBRUARY because I have already paid for it.

SO, given the Lehman Brothers state of affairs in my life, I spent a major part of the weekend at home, watching football, cursing Andre Santos (how can he swap shirts with RVP not to mention the sheer embarrassment on the field???) and reading Salman Rushdie. Somehow, I had never made it through the intricately detailed Midnight’s Children, but Fury, with all its depressing connotations, turned out to be a surprisingly good read. The only time I went out, I had to take a bus and squeezing myself in the back seat with a bunch of men was enough to make me stay put at home.

Stability, as I am figuring out, is the curse of the working class…