An Unusual Home-coming

"She told me I was living in the past....
... Drinkin' from a broken glass"


Ah.. so there we be.. sometime back in December last year methinks.. the year of the Gun.

I'm wandering the streets of Hyderabad for the first time since I left the place in '89 or '90, back when I was a pup. I call the old man and get the whereabouts of the old cribb, and head for it after my event is done.

'Blue Moon Hotel??' I'm asking people to get an idea of where I am, as opposed to where I should be. Blank faces are all that hit me. I'm beginning to think this may not be the right name, and then finally an old man's face lights up in recognition of the name, only to tell me the hotel's been taken down long ago. So much for landmarks.

Twenty minutes and more than a few wrong turns later, I reach the lane.

The lane.

New buildings, new shops, fancy cars (and a lot of them!) dot the area, but the lane's just the same.. I spent two years of my life running up and down the blooming thing, and at the time its 100m length seemed much, much longer than it does now. I can see the gate to my old house, right at the end of the lane, on the left side. It too, is new. Much bigger than it used to be. All the better to make friends with.. For that matter most of the gates on the lane are bigger, cutting out the residents and their houses from the prying eyes of passers-by. I suddenly understand why my grandfather gets rather misty-eyed and dazed every time he sees a place he hasn't visited in a couple of decades. It just seems... wrong, somehow. Like a weird dream in which I know where I am, but at the same time it's completely alien. I start walking.

I pass by a couple of houses that I remember from 18 years ago. Houses where I spent a lot of time on weekends, playing with He-Man toys and plastic swords. Not to forget Pomeranians who bit me while wagging their tails. Surprisingly, those two houses look exactly like they used to back then.

My mind goes back to those days, as is inevitable. I see myself getting onto a battered old red Atlas bicycle which belonged to my older sister. It is my first attempt at a 2 wheeler. I'm now a big boy, and can't be seen on a childish tricycle anymore. Uh-huh.. NOT happening! The family cook is with me, supporting the cycle from behind, and walking along with me. Ten minutes later I'm totally feeling it... I want the wind in my hair.. no more of this support nonsense. With a loud whoop, I take off down the lane in Armstrong fashion. The cook gets left far behind, a shouting speck in the distance. The exhilaration drowns everything else out. This is AWESOME! But wait a second..

What ho? A foe? Oh NOOO!!

The enemy is closing in on me. The main road. DAMNIT!! Why, oh why did I not bother to learn how to stop the blooming vehicle??? And why do these things only occur to people when it's too late? I don't know what's going to happen. But I do know what I don't know. And along with the things I don't know is the fact that I DEFINITELY don't know how to stop. Think, boy, think!
Ah.. the brainwave dawns upon me. The mind sends forward the message. The body obeys, and executes. Classic co-ordination. I ride straight into a garbage dump at the end of the lane, not killing myself and cushioning my fall at the same time! Genius I tell you.. if a bit of the smelly sort.

This truly is one of those things that falls under 'Experiential Learning', I'm told.

I snap out of the flashback as I find myself facing the all too familiar plot of land with a new gate. I walk in and am dazed for a second. Maybe more. There's my house, almost the way I left it all those years ago. There's a sudden rush of emotion and memories that drown out everything else. Next thing I know is there's a gardener talking to me in Telugu, probably asking me what I want. I try to tell him I used to live there and would like to meet the owner so I can maybe take a picture or two of the property to show my mum. This proves to be much tougher than it appears.

After twenty minutes of trying I finally get my message across. In this time I've learned that the person who now lives in the house is a doctor of some kind. A Pediatrician.. I'm rather looking forward to this meeting. Should be interesting. Damn, it was!

While the gardener is calling him, I quickly get off a few snaps of the house and the spot where the garden used to be, but what is now the car park. The front door opens just then.

I walk forward with my super polite smile perfectly in place; my face oozing innocence such as only my face can. My hand is outstretched, indicating the desire to make friends and develop a 'Oh-You-Know-I-Lived-Here-Too-So-We-Must-Be-Brothers' bond. Maybe the forces that be have a way with ruining such daydreams. Next thing I know, there's a pistol staring me in the face, about three inches from my forehead.

Err.... I stopped...and realized the world isn't full of 'nice' people.

Its full of doctors who claim to love human life, but that's bullshit.

Go figure.

SUPERMAN!!!!

Holy F*&%^ing Sh%t !!! This is it! God is in the building!
Dwight Howard taking over the NBA Slam Dunk Contest 2008
Beat that!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bivplYX6r5s&feature=bz303

Dream On.. Till Your Dreams Come True

Remember that dream you had? The one that was so totally real that it couldn’t have been real. It was unrealistically real. Yeah.. Thats what it was. Where you could see it all, hear everything that was said, feel every emotion - in limbo- as a third person would, overly clear; sense things that couldn’t be sensed otherwise. And then you cried because you couldn’t handle the extent of the emotions passing through you.

It happened to me too..

It is past the mid of night. There is nobody around. Only darkness. There is a slight breeze, doing nothing to help the heat. Intense heat. Dry heat. There is too much of it, it is stifling. I can feel it gnawing at my flesh, trying to make me succumb. Yet I do not feel hot. I do not sweat. It is under control. Just a matter of concentration, thats all. It is as I was taught - using the flame and the void. The picture of the flame in my mind’s eye, unwavering. To that I feed all emotion - pain, anger, discomfort, happiness, everything. A calm takes over, and I become distant from all that is around, yet at the same time I am more acutely aware of it all than before. Except myself. I can’t remember who I am.

There is a house in front of me. It is important in some way. Something that I must do inside it. I need to look for someone. I don’t remember who. I walk towards the house, moving effortlessly, gliding more than walking. I see someone in the garden and move towards him. He is the one I have come for. I enter the garden. I can feel something amiss. I know that all is not as it should be. The breeze is there no longer. There is complete silence even though he is talking. All I can see are his lips moving. I cannot understand it.

My clothes are black. Pitch black. Black breeches, black boots which come up to my knees, and a long, black, woolen coat on top. It is buttoned right to my neck. My hair is long, and black; it falls to my shoulders. My face is fair, my eyes - black stone. A light beard covers a face that looks like it has been carved from rock. I smile, but it does not reach the eyes. There is pain there. Too much of it.On the left breast of my coat there is a symbol, carved out of precious metal. It is a terrible creature, real as life. Four short legs with razor sharp claws; a long, lizard-like body, a majestic head with its jaws open in a roar, showing dangerous teeth sharper than knives. It is as golden as the rays of the Sun.

It is my Standard.

It is the Dragon.

It all comes back to me. I remember who I am. A sudden memory of the Power shoots through me. I know now why I’m here, and what I need to do.

I hear a sound. I realize it must be coming from quite a distance; my hearing is amplified. I can hear the animals. I know the sound. Darkhounds. A whole pack of them. Pitch black in color, each the size of a calf. Saliva dripping from their jowls. The creatures of the Forsaken after they escaped from Shayol Ghul. They are in a frenzy, and will attack anything in sight. Each drop of saliva is acid - eats through skin. I do not understand why I know this.

They are slowly but surely moving toward their target. It cannot be another.

For some reason, I do not run. I know I will not. I feel no fear. I don’t feel anything. I feel that I should. Logic does not work. There is only one way out. My best friend. My worst enemy. I close my eyes and reach out to the True Source. I can feel it coming to me. The Flame and the Void. There is nothing else. I open myself to the One Power. It hits me like water from a tidal wave. I can feel it ravage me like a storm. It is familiar, yet like a stranger; one I know really well. No amount of preparation makes me ready for the rush. It fills me, completely. I’m no longer my self - I’m bigger, inside. My veins throb with anticipation. The streams of pure energy traveling through my body. I’m more than Alive; I am hypersensitive to everything around me, I am calm. I control it all.

I smile. Saidin and I are One.

I know it is not possible, I know it has not been done. Ever. But I know I can do it. I know that I Will do it. I know that The Dragon was Reborn to bring about Change, even to bend Reality, as it exists. I control Saidin - the male half of the Power: my greatest foe, and my best friend, without which I cannot live. I use it to weave flows of Air and Spirit. The weaves are complicated, and take a lot of energy. I feel the familiar taste of sickness that is so characteristic of Saidin. I feel like retching, but I know that I cannot stop now, or I will not survive. My head cannot take the power of the True Source. The taint on Saidin is stronger each time I open myself to it. The weaves are ready. I concentrate. I can see Reality fighting the weaves, a stubborn wall which refuses to go down.

The wall goes down. I can feel the change already. The Dragon has returned. I begin to rise from the ground. The weaves are causing changes in everything around me. Lightning flashes all around me, as Reality puts up a final resistance to Saidin.

Everything slows down. The Darkhounds enter the garden and charge at me. I rise just above their heads. The effort is too great. Beads of sweat start to form on my face. The flame in my mind flickers. I know that I have just done the impossible, using Saidin. I know that I should have been burnt by it, and my body turned to ash. Yet I am still here. And I need to fight.

I am bigger than Saidin, I am who I was meant to be, I am The Dragon Reborn. Slowly but steadily turning mad.

I know I cannot hold myself in the air much longer. I’m using too much of the One Power and I cannot draw more to fight the Darkhounds. I start descending. Instantly, they charge towards me. I hold on to the Source, and think back into the depths of Time, willing myself to come up with an answer. I feel my mind stretching, I feel my body pushing itself to its limit. I cannot do this much longer.

I know.

I remember.

Lews Therin tells me. I unleash Saidin with a fury such as I never have. I feel the Old Power at work. A beam of white light leaves my hand and shoots towards them. They do not stand a chance. The light is alive. It is pure energy.It is Living Death. It penetrates everything in its way, reducing it to less than ash, wiping it out from existence altogether. It is a weapon of the First Age. Balefire. Something no Aes Sedai has used in over two thousand years. It lasts less than a second. There is nothing left. There are no Darkhounds. There is no garden. There is no house. There is nothing.

All is Black. Only I remain.

It is over.

Why is it that Dreams are not ‘Real’? What is Real? It is said that a dream is ’in your mind’ and therefore cannot be true. I ask you this, is the dream not frightfully real, when you’re in it? It is not impossible to snap out of it? Do you not feel extreme emotions while dreaming? Do you not laugh and cry while sleeping (ONCE in a while)? And if you DO wake up thinking, ‘Oh my god, that was so real!!’ then what is to stop it from being real? Who says that it did not happen? I know I weilded Saidin. I felt it filling me, and rushing through my veins. I felt the One Power, and used it as a weapon. I unleashed Balefire on those Darkhounds, and I felt drained and nauseus when I let go of Saidin. I know that with it, I could’ve done things I can’t even imagine, and some I can. I could have brought her back from the other side. The Dragon could. And I was The Dragon Reborn. Yet I didn’t. Because that was the way it was Meant to end.

What we easily dismiss as dreams are as real, if not more than what happens around us in the waking world. I refuse to believe that it did not happen. I have died, and I have felt what its like to die. I have felt what its like to be shot through the stomach, to be gutted with a knife, to be slapped in the face by my love, to be able to bring a person back to life.

And it is Real.

And it is Over.

Cows on Ice, and Others..

Nov 4th, 2006

There is no pain, you are receeding

No distant ship smoke on the horizon..

So here it is.. Another two weeks, another session comes to an end. This one is a little tricky. The bunch refuses to put in any effort at work, but are more than enthu otherwise. Following one short conversation where I told them that I enjoy a Single Malt now and again, they present me with a bottle of the stuff on the last day, and make me think about whether I actually behave like an alcoholic. Also, they decide that we must bond, over food and booze, and that On Toes is the place, Juhu being the targeted zone. What chance do I, but a lesser mortal have?

Thus we set out, me having picked up Pumpy from the zone of the to-be-condemned, the e-learning room (though the kind of things that one learns there leaves a lot to be desired, yes siree). After a quick smoke downstairs, I get Ea from the garage, and Pumpy clambers on. We thump out-the-gate. Five seconds later she almost has a heart attack, and from there on, every minute includes a delightful onset of palpatations, followed by a shriek, everytime the brakes are hit. She be unsettled, and to put it in a wise man’s words, “as awkward as a cow on ice!”

She ’sits’ on the brink of falling, fretting and fuming, and just when I’ve kind of calmed her down, my true love, Ea gives up on me. And then it begins..

At some point on the longest road in the city, (not to mention ‘while I was following someone since I didn’t know the way’) Ea shuts down. And she is not easily persuaded to come back to life. Pumpy isn’t too happy to begin with, and now she’s definitely gonna do something drastic.. I dunno .. maybe hug someone. This calls for serious thought. I check Ea quickly and professionally, with the look and touch of someone who’s been doing this for years. I check the ignition, the battery, and exhaust pipe, and carburettor, and my mind, by my phenomenal powers of deduction, manages to decipher the problem in a short 3 minutes.. It says,

‘Give me fuel, give me fire, give me that which I desire.’

I nonchalantly express my thoughts on the matter, suggesting that a little petrol wouldn’t really hurt at this point. So we start walking around looking for a fuel station. Pumpy says she’s never walked down this road before. I tell her I haven’t either. Adventure is always good. Change, the only constant. Do not expect, for it is futile. Just live. Period. A five minute rickshaw ride, and we’re there. Pumpy is forced to hand over her Aquafina bottle, thankfully its empty. We quickly fill it, and return. Five minutes later Ea still shows no signs of Coming Back to Life. My powers of deduction start hinting that something may be wrong after all.. And just then, she returns! She speaks.. God Damn it.. She ROARS!.. And Pumpy and I are off again.

Here I am, on the road again

There I am, up on the stage

Here I go, playing star again

There I go….. Turn the page

The stop has taken about twenty minutes, and my poor trainees in the car ahead are still waiting for me, bless them. I stop for a quick fuel top up and we’re on our way to Juhu.. WOOHOO!! It is a pleasant ride, save the occasional bump on the road which causes certain hyperactive-i’m-shitting-bricks-type-individuals sitting in close proximity to make the bike almost capsize. We pass the Big B’s house, and she pokes fun at how small it is.. Maybe Robert De Niro could do better. We compare property rates in the US and our city. We talk about issues, and I tell her about this incident when I was a child (and at the risk of sounding like a complete fool, ‘I had (not!) a fever’)..

*Blink*

So I was on my way to Delhi from Chennai, I think. Must’ve been about six years old. Maybe seven. My mum was fooling around with her toes. She kept hacking away at them with this silvery knife like thing. I asked her what she was doing, to which she replied that she was making her nails sharper. Enlightenment dawned upon me. my face started shining with realisation.

Fifteen minutes later my mum smacked me upside the head, and asked me what I was doing. I replied that I was using her ‘Nail File’ for its proper use - to sharpen. What exactly was I sharpening, she wanted to know. I looked at her as though it was more than obvious, and returned the file with a huff.

I had this thing.. People (equals my parents) would keep making fun of me because I had a button nose, which showed no signs of growing at the same pace as the rest of me. I had had enough, and decided that the file might actually be the answer. Unfortunately.. sigh..

*Blink*

She laughs. Pumpy is amused. God damn humans! Here I am, narrating a rather embarassing incident in my life in the name of bonding, and she laughs! The audacity of the turtle-nosed specimen!

We finally reach On Toes, its about 5.30pm. The time is right. The time is perfect. It calls to us, My Precious.. Kingfisher. We step up to the entrance, at which point we’re politely informed that the doors open at seven. So much for that outing. This mortal is condemned. This day shall not go down as a day where people did normal things.

So here we are, cracking jokes, at the corner of the street, and I feel like I’m laughing within.. etc.. etc.. We sit, chat about random crap, while some of the trainees from Dimension X inspect Ea and pay her compliments. She looks fatigued, and needs rest. A little trickle of engine oil down the side sparks a rather technical and therefore, boring conversation which I get out of ASAP.

I decide that I cannot possibly sit around till seven. So I ask random people walking down the street where the nearest Beer joint is. Unfortunately everything is shut nearby. Its not customary to drink before seven. Apparently it doesn’t speak well of one’s character.

So I do the next best thing. I drag Pumpy along, and go get myself coconut water. Just too tempting to resist. And, believe it or not, the chap had refrigerated coconuts!!! End result - Satisfaction Guaranteed!! After much fussing and hemming and hawing - the usual formality ( = gimmicks!), she has one too. Five minutes and nirvana later, there I am, eating the last of the coconut cream (direct translation of Malai!) and wishing there was more. But, like all delicious things, this too must come to an end.

By 6, we have had enough. So we demand our right to get wasted on a Saturday evening. It works, and by a quarter past, we’re seated inside On Toes, which is smelling of freshly sprayed room freshner. We have just spent ten minutes trying to get the seating figured out, and now there is peace. The calm before the storm.

We order. And there it is.. the promised land? More like the promised Sea.. pitchers of beer, hell yeah! We wait for the usual accompaniments, but none arrive. So I call out.. Mishra, where are the peanuts? to which he says that they aren’t complimentary any more. This catches me by surprise. Just the though of it. To drink without munchies??!! Can this really be happening. Also, not to mention the fact that I was there the night before, devouring the freebies! So I call out again, ‘Mishra, call Ramkishen ji (our usual server). He’ll get us peanuts.’ Once Ramkishen ji’s name is taken, action is swift. A cheer goes up around the table, with the coming of the peanuts. And Surd said, ‘Let there be Joy. And there was Joy.’

Two hours, a few beers, and some hard rock later, we’re ready to push. By ‘we’ I probably mean Pumpy and I. We pay up, I profess undying love for my batch, and we’re on our way. Since we have no direction in life, she ends up back at my place. Del and Loki are home, Del hurriedly trying to cover his modesty as Pumpy walks in. Fifteen minutes later she’s on her way home. Now finally, for some peace and quiet after a long, hectic day…

Escalators and Other Monsters

So my ‘visit’ to the dentist is finally done with. I’m to meet pumpy for coffe.. apparently she owes me, coz she snapped at me a week back or something like that. I obviously accept. Free coffe.. always a bonus! So we meet at Infinity. Right outside Landmark. Thit is the tough bit - to wait outside the city’s coolest book store, (when one has a fetish for books) and not buy anything because one is too broke. She arrives, and since she’s one of the book reading clan, promptly walks in. Without much choice I follow, and keep my eyes diverted from the racks of books on display. It is a gargantuan effort, worth commending. If you think trekking in the Everest region is challenging, wait till you try this. I make the most feeble attempt at engrossing myself in a conversation - um.. with myself, and for some strange reason it doesn’t seem to be working. I do the next best thing - I start chatting with her so that my attention is diverted from the books. It kinda works. I walk out twenty minutes later having bought only one book, setting me back only Rs 100. It is most definitely an achievement for me. A first. We move to the coffee bar at the foodcourt on the same level. CCD. People seem to love the crap they sell there. For a change, I am pleasantly surprised by what I get to drink - an Iced Caramel, or something along those lines.

We settle down at a table, with Pumpy making fun of the dressing sense of the various ‘characters’ roaming about, or the lack thereof. Mz. S is supposed to meet us there, and we wait it out, arguing over who she loves more, Pumpy or me. As always, we never reach a conclusion with that one.

An hour passes, and Mz S calls, saying that she’s waiting at an eating joint down the road. So we set off, as Pumpy’s supposed to accompany her for a play. Now, owing to this pretty little thing called technology, our trip downstairs becomes dangerous. A matter of life and death, as I am about to find out. Only the strong survive. She dreads the inevitable. I know nothing about it, yet. We take a turn, and find our path blocked by the Monster. It is a sight that terrifies Pumpy. It is active, moving at a steady speed, caged within its boundaries. Unfortunately for us, we need to pass through its territory. Its jaws expand and contract. It is rather intimidating for one unused to such things. This is the moment that will decide all. Will the world turn upside down? Will the Monster devour the lesser mortals approaching it? The suspense it way too much to take. We step on to the escalator. Pumpy promptly crushes my left hand and freezes in the perfectly co-ordinated way that is typical of her. A turtle on stilts trying to moon-walk down the Kanchenjunga would be a fair allusion. Not to mention the state of my left hand. All this while she hasn’t mentioned anything regarding escalators, and so I’m more than a little taken aback with whats happening. The best way to cover my surprise is to laugh. So I do. I poke fun, ” Say, Pumpy, you’re from the states, woman. What’s with the fear of escalators?” And such. Pumpy, as always at a time like this, is not amused. She closes her eyes and prays to the Machine Gods, promising her soul after death, if she would only reach the Ground Floor in one piece. Incidentally if I reach with my left hand detached from my body it’s acceptable. I cannot comprehend how one brought up in the States can be so terrified of machines. Into the Unknown, Episode 435.

I get Ea, and after about fifteen minutes, we reach the rendezvous point. Voila! There’s nobody there. Mz. S has left because its getting late. There we are, figuring out what to do, and I suggest we might as well eat. So we enter Urban Tadka. Its got the atmosphere of a typical ethnic Punjabi dhaba. The waiters are dressed in Pathan suits, with little waist coats to with them. the tables and chairs are made of rough, uneven wood, to give the place a homely feel (or what homely would feel like to people who live in such homes). Suspended from the ceiling are the most interesting lamp shades made of bangles. Good form there. There is however, a stark contrast, as posters of the latest Matrixy movies decorate the walls. And of course, there is my good friend Himesh singing in the background, what would we do without him? All in all, a place to be!

So we get down to work. By the time I wash my hands and get back to the table (otherwise called 2 minutes), I find that appetizers have already been ordered. The name Pumpy hasn’t gone to waste. Five minutes later her eyes light up. I know whats coming. Over Chicken tikka and Seekh kababs, we chat. About the most arbit stuff on the planet. Starting with fights in college days, and how that never seems to happen in the City of Dreams, for some strange reason. I tell her about Stephens, and all the non-studying I did there. I tell her about Lisa, about Surd, about basketball days, and of course, Saasha Singh and his lamp post. That one never seems to grow old for some inexplicable reason. Pumpy seems amused. Whats new?

We start the Jugalbandi - story after story. Each topping the previous one. We discuss the crazy things that people tend to do in the name of seeking adventure. Various locations across the country that would make a person believe in the supernatural. Bodhgaya, Patal Bhuvneshwar, Panchgani, the Aran islands, the works. We talk about sub-terranean caves, and the magic they hold. natural rock formations, Shiv Lings, tunnels connecting various parts of the country, ruins of ancient forts, and the history behind it all. And a couple of beers never did me any harm while talking. So our short meal lasts about three hours. By this time we’ve moved on to stories of frustrated men watching porn in shady theaters and gratifying themselves. The joys of life. And the things people can talk about!

By this time, the Badam Kheer arrives, and Pumpy digs in. I’m obliged to taste, and man - AWESOME would not even begin to describe it! After thats done with, we ask for the bill, as its getting late. I play the role of the chivalrous one and pick the tab and smoothly pass my card over to the waiter, ignoring a violently protesting creature sitting next to me. Then, as with every episode, something flips. He says that the card machine ain’t working. And i’m not carrying enough money to pay for myself, forget others. Typical situation.. it’s a typical..

Thankfully Pumpy has cash on her, and pays up. So here I am, red faced and wondering how I’m going to negate the embarassment. She’s polite enough not to mention it. We pick up the doggy bag and leave. Outside, we share the usual formal goodbye. She leaves, and I head off to pick J up from rehearsals.

Thus another day comes to an end..

Norwegian Wood - Reprise

I, Once knew a girl

Or should I say, she once knew me

She showed me my face..

It definitely ain’t good, Norwegian wood

She asked me to stay but she told me to go change my face

So I looked in a mirror and I noticed there wasn’t a hair

I sat on my butt, biding my time, drinking no wine

We talked until ten, and then she said, its time to head.

She told me she lived far away and started to laugh

I told her I didn’t and crawled off to pee in the bath

And when I awoke, I was alone, this bird (Couldn’t have!!) flown

So, I got high, with chums in the hood, Norwegian Wood

Nov 17, 2006 - One Year : A Lifetime of Memories

A year has passed. So fast. The memories return, as real as life. I think. But cannot come up with a solution. The problem is one that people have been facing forever. And will continue to do so until Japan finds a way to make Technology God. The pain surfaces within - again. I remember the day all too clearly.

November 17th, 2005

I am woken up by a familiar sounding voice calling my name. I open my eyes, groggy as a drunk. My father’s there, saying something to me. My ears aren’t ready for work yet. All I can hear is a jumble of sounds. I look at the clock, it is just past 3am. I ask him to repeat. He says, ‘She’s gone’. Two words. I am instantly awake, and I try to take stock of my feelings. I check for shock, sorrow, and fear. They are nowhere to be seen. I identify the feeling. I am numb. And, to some extent, I feel something that really scares me when I identify it. I am happy.

We go downstairs to their room. My grandfather’s sitting there, looking completely lost. He sees me and bursts into tears. The nurse sitting next to the bed is also weeping slowly and steadily. I fling my arms around Daddy and try to console him. He is in shock, and cannot help his sudden outbursts of emotion, which stop as suddenly as they start. Eventually I pull away, and walk towards the bed. There she is, as beautiful as i’ve ever known her. She’s lying absolutely straight, and has a look of resignation, peace, and satisfaction on her face. It is as peaceful an expression as I’ve seen on her face in months. And she is gone.

It is said that when one faces sudden loss, time slows, and every moment associated with the loss is relived in the person’s mind.

Barima. That’s what we called her. Literally translates into ‘Big Mother’. And she was, and how. She was by far the strongest human being I have ever met. She was hard of hearing from as far back as I can remember. We used to visit her and Daddy every summer or winter break, when we were kids. They used to live in Faridabad. Back in the day, it was the most exciting place my sister and I could think of visiting. The trips would be planned out months in advance. The entire experience was something to .. well.. experience. Starting with the packing, the tiffin of Parathas that we’d demolish in the train en route, the coloring books that were disfigured in a short two days, the brainless banter we’d indulge in, the fear of taking a crap in the Indian style loos, the periodic hourly fights Sumo and I would indulge in - Bliss. And then, the arrival in Delhi. A forty minute journey into Haryana, and the entry into the all too familiar lane.

Lohit Niwas. That’s what Daddy named the house. Needless to say, as an 8 year old, I was more than a little flattered. My most vivid memories of F’dabad are of Winters. Sumo and I would be asleep on Daddy’s bed, between him and Barima. Mom and Dad shared the only other room, at the other end of the house. Daddy would surface bright and early.. ahem.. at 4am, for his bout of fitness, his daily 7 km walk. Which would mean that by 4.30, we’d be offered to join him. The first few times that we declined, he looked rather astonished that we wouldn’t want to admire the joys of winter at that time of morning, followed by hurriedly swallowed disgust, and finally he stopped asking. I still love him for it.

Barima on the other hand, was far more considerate. She was always on our side - never forcing me to eat the vilest of vegetables like karelas and baingan, slyly palming them onto her own plate when Daddy wasn’t looking. She would make us unlimited glasses of Shikanjvi (nimbu paani) and give us lumps of Mishri (unprocessed sugar) to chew on.

That was Barima.

She would ask us what we wanted to eat, insist on us choosing, and then, after we’d put forward our respective requests, with a look of disappointment inform us that she’d already prepared something else for breakfast.

That too, was Barima.

She’d make us ‘Ice Cream’ which would be kulfi frozen in an ice tray, and it had a charm of its own. The joy on my face, as I’d open the freezer and pop out cubes of kulfi - hell yeah! Followed by ‘Ande Vali Pudding’, (egg pudding) a.k.a. Caramel Custard. As may be evident, she wasn’t one for fancy names. As long as the food tasted the way it was supposed to, it was a job well done. And, it definitely always was. The things that lady could do, and get away with - who puts left over cabbage and carrots into a paratha? Not to mention Lauki. I mean, there are some things that sane people just DON’T do! Yet the outcome would always be incredible. Then there would be Habshi Meat (mutton made by tribals) - this one time she taught me how to make it. Unfortunately… hmm.. no comment.

Food. The one thing that I associate with her. Once, she asked me when I was a kid, “So what will you do if I die?”, to which I replied, “You can cook a room full of parathas before dying”. I was around 7. She laughed and promised she would.

That’s the only promise she ever made me which she didn’t keep.

I see her lying on the bed. Half an hour has passed. Phone calls have been made to all concerned. Daddy’s still sitting in the same position, staring into nothing. Mum’s arrived, and is trying to talk to him. I see my father sitting next to the bed. He’s in control of himself. I want to go up to him and talk to him. I want to hug him, comfort him, and be there for him, but I don’t. We’re not like that. We never really were. He loves me, and vice versa, but as far as bonding goes, we have our own peculiar way of doing it. I ask him if he’s ok, and he replies in the affirmative. That’s it. We’ve expected this for a while. I have fervently hoped for it to happen for a long time. I know not if that makes me despicable, but I don’t care. I know that she’s happier. That’s all that counts.

We ask the nurse what exactly happened. She tells us that she had finished monitoring the Oxygen supply a short while ago, and was resting. Suddenly, she heard Barima hiccup and saw her spasm momentarily. And then it was over.

The thin line between the living and the dead.

After a while I go back up to bed. There’s nothing to be done till the morning. Dad’s organising the cremation. I sit in bed and my minds begins to float again.

‘And the Meaning, Gets Left Behind

All the Innocence, Lost at One Time

We’re All Different, Behind the Eyes..’

Her hearing aid. It was a part of her life, more of a hindrance than anything else actually. Probably because she’d wear it, and forget to turn it on most of the time. Every morning, Sumo and I would wake up before sunrise; because she’d be ‘whispering’ (at about 90 decibels) to Daddy that he should let us sleep and not disturb us. That was just the beginning. She was also in the habit of visiting the loo in the middle of the night. And the logic was simple - if she needed to go, so should the others. So she’d wake Sumo up (up until she was about 16) and say, “Maksho, pishab te nahi karna?”, and a rather embarrassed, not to mention indignant teenager spent the next five minutes trying to convince her grandmother that she was old enough to visit the loo when the need arose. But, a dinosaur never could outrun, nor defeat a meteorite speeding towards it, and in that way, Sumo had to deal with Barima’s loo requests for a long, long time.

At the breakfast table, all of us would be seated, and enjoying her hand-cooked food. She would ask Daddy if he wanted another Paratha, and he, though he was a foody (and would have made four of them disappear like an Annual bonus on a shopping spree) would politely decline. Because she was so used to his asking for more, and also because her hearing aid wouldn’t be completely functional, she would at this point yell at him, saying that he’d eaten enough. The poor man didn’t know what hit him. In the next two minutes, she had lam-blasted him for eating like a pig and not trying to control his weight, for hogging on food even though his stomach ought to be full, for stuffing his face silly with anything in sight. All this because the poor old man said that he didn’t want more food. This unfailingly led to a ruckus, where Daddy would scream that he didn’t want more, and Barima would yell back that she would not give him any more to eat. By the time Daddy’s face turned a shade of dangerous pink (and this was not easy for him, considering his entire face was covered with a long mustache and a flowing beard) we’d intervene, and by the time the situation was explained to Barima, she’d walk off in a huff, muttering under her breath, ‘ Khar-Dimag’ (Donkey brain!). After this daily session of entertainment, we’d get down to business - eating salad.

Delhi winters need to be experienced. The weather changes around mid-October, bringing a slight nip with it. A few weeks later, that little nip develops into something bigger, and in November, the temperature is perfect! The air becomes alive, people start feeling happier, more relaxed, and the tension is withdrawn from their lives. That time of year is here again. Only today, the joy is missing, the happiness is gone, there is no relaxation, and the tension has returned. I can picture the others downstairs, sitting with Barima, mourning her going. Each one has an explanation - ‘She was tired, and weak’, ‘She was waiting for her son to some back from the UK, so she could be at peace’, ‘She got sick of the medication’ etc. Then they sit and talk about how their lives are not worth living because she has left them. They cry, not saying that they miss her, but that now life will be very difficult for ’them’. I think I feel sick listening to it. It is not that they didn’t care for her. They probably cared for her as much as I did. But when Barima was around, the mistake that took place, as with everyone else, was that nobody told her often enough. She knew alright, but its one thing to know, and another to hear it from the ones who love you. I go down to the kitchen and open the fridge. I take some stuff out.

Salad. The boon of winters. Fresh white radishes, carrots, lettuce, and cucumbers. Cut into long pieces, or eaten whole. With a slight (or more than) sprinkling of salt, red chili powder, Chaat Masala, and fresh lime. Eaten sitting in the backyard, at noon, under the winter sun, leading to bliss that really cannot be expressed in words. We sat there, munching away. Daddy was busy cleaning and cutting the radishes and carrots. He always did. It was the only work related to the kitchen that he was in charge of, other than shopping. Barima would make a huge kettle of tea and come and serve us. So there we’d be, chilling in the sun, falling into a stupor caused only by a combination of comfortable relaxation, fresh salad, tea, and Delhi winters. Everyone would go quiet after a while, contemplating their lives. I would do the same, dreaming of the future, of being a super hero, of earning lots of money, of winning over beautiful women.

I was 6. That was what Faridabad would do to a person. It was so laid back, in a time zone of its own. People knew each other, and smiled when they met on the streets. They went for a fancy dinner out once a month, or less frequently. This would comprise a trip to a restaurant fit to serve around 30 people. It was all too exciting. The outing would be talked about for weeks after, the quality of the soup, the ambience, the food, and of course, the phenomenal Paan we ate just outside the restaurant.

Somewhere along the line, I think all of us lost something. Not quite sure what, but suddenly everything around us changed. One fine morning, things were not what they were the night before; Change had arrived. And Life was never the same again. I don’t know when this happened, exactly, but happen it did. And like most of the world, I live in the past.

The ambulance arrives, and Barima is carried into the back, and strapped onto a stretcher. My cousin Danny and I decide to accompany her to the crematorium. On the way we talk about her life. About a lot of the stuff I’ve mentioned above. He told me about an incident that took place when he was in college and used to live with Daddy and Barima.

Danny was seeing a girl called Priya, who was the daughter of a family friend. One fine day, after much planning, Priya was to stay over at Daddy’s place for the night. Obviously, expectations were high, as such things were not easy to co-ordinate in those days. The much awaited day arrived, and Priya came over. There was electricity in the air. Someone put the main supply off rather soon, though. The night saw Danny and Priya on the same bed (mother of God!). Of course, Barima was lying between the two of them!

That, too, was Barima.

We arrive. I help to take her body out of the van and strap it onto a wooden stretcher. The family puts shawls and flowers on her. She is secured in place with rope. By this time, a lot of relatives and Dad’s colleagues have arrived to pay their condolences. I deliberately ignore most of them. I don’t feel like spending time making small talk.

She is carried to the area where the cremation will take place. She is placed on the ground, and a Pujari hovers about, muttering unintelligible words in what is probably Sanskrit, not like any of us can tell. Daddy is sitting very close to the pyre; he still cannot believe what is happening. Dad’s the Son; it’s his duty to carry out the last rites. The only part of Barima that’s visible is her face. He is made to pour honey over her eyes and on her lips, as it aids combustion; but I”m sure there’s a religious reason for the same too. Then he sprinkles liberal amounts of some dark brown powder, which also helps in combustion. Now, for the first time since last night, I see tears in his eyes. I am sickened. I keep watching. Now it is time for the wood. I help stack the wood over her body till she is completely hidden. This is goodbye.

The fire is started. The Pujari pours oil over the entire pyre. People start leaving to attend the Kirtan fifty metres away. I stick around. Five minutes later, I’m alone. The fire has become powerful now. It is roaring, and seems to be going all out to devour everything within its reach. I get lost looking at its flames. I see the wood burn along its length, changing color and turning darker by the second. Suddenly, a small section of the pyre gives way, as the wood is completely charred. It is near the top. I step a little closer, not knowing what I hope to see. I’m filled with disgust, and fascination. I cannot take my eyes off the sight in front of me. It has the terrible attraction that watching ’The World’s Most Amazing Videos’ has, or being witness to an accident does.

I can see a white orb. It is smooth, and round, looking out of place among the pieces of burning wood. A light in the midst of the darkness. I move closer, to figure things out. Realisation hits me. It is her skull. Now I truly am transfixed. I stand there for almost thirty minutes and watch. The flames dance around it, registering an enemy that isn’t easy to defeat. They change their tactic. All at once, they pounce on it, trying to crush it with sheer force. It fails miserably. There the orb lies, defiantly challenging the fire all around it. For a long time, the battle wages. Nothing changes. And then it happens - with a sharp noise, the orb cracks. The battle is finally drawing to an end. There are too many of the opposition. It is just a matter of time. In a few minutes more, it splits, and sections of it cave in. I have captured a lot of it on video - my phone.

This is how people in my side of the world bid farewell to someone who’s brought them up, cared for them, and died old and weak-

and Alone..

‘Lightning Crashes,

The Old Mother Dies.

Her Intentions Fall to the Floor

The Angel Closes Her Eyes.’