Existential Crisis

2008-07-23T05:33:00.000-07:00

Ok I was supposed to post this last year... somehow didn't ... but completing it now:

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A friend asked me the other day what happened to JR. Did I meet him for coffee? Well before I reply to that question. Here's part two of the exchange.

Wed 28, May 2008, JR wrote:

Your name evokes pleasant sensations..

Prasad : An offering to the Gods … Potentially delectable?

Ramamurthy: God’s image (Let’s not get into Ram’s existential crisis for the moment)… Simply divine?

Your blog mentioned ‘journalist’, but I don’t remember TV being mentioned. Thanks for telling me. At some point in time, when you feel like it, tell me more about your job.

I don’t watch TV at all, so you’ll have to also tell me where and when to look out for you. Coincidentally, or perhaps, not so coincidentally, I was part of a TV channel years ago, till it went bust . Home TV. Do you remember it? It was fun while it lasted..

So you were born in Shivaji Park. I went to school near there.. Bombay Scottish. Small world, huh?

I haven't heard this one about the year of 'Pungi bajao, lungi hatao' . Is it for real or are you pulling a fast one?
Sounds rather risqué ..
Pungi bajao? As in ‘blow’ your own trumpet.. or shall we say, instrument?
No ambiguity at all about ‘lungi hatao’ ..

So you were born in that year. I shall await the ‘coming’ of the coffee to judge for myself the cosmic implications of this conjunction of events..

And.. you lust after curd rice and pickles..on ‘hot’ afternoons. Does this mean you’re an ultra cool guy (the curd rice) with a hint of spice (the pickle)? Hmmm…

Am I being too simplistic.. or possibly too facetious?

My chosen skill. Hmmmmmmmm...
Now you have hit at the very core of MY existential crisis. The answer is very honestly: I don’t know. I’m still trying to figure it out. Let’s say I’ve had the privilege of taking my time…

I did make a 55 minute documentary last year, and it has been screened a few times. So you could say I’m ‘visual’ too.. like you.

More in my next mail..

Wed 28, May 2008, Visualscribe wrote:

Gosh Home TV ... That was 97-98? An eternity ago... Ok must warn you
at this point I'm a bit of an ageist .... If such a word exists.... So
how old does this make you? Hmm am I cool and spicy? Hell this much of
analysis into dietary habits has never happened. What was the docu
about? Struggling to make a 19 min one... So 55mins...wow...

Wed 28, May 2008, JR wrote:

And.. gosh, that was a fast come back!
If you are an ageist, we can say goodbye to the coffee for this life time.. I'm 53.
Best you save the 'coming' coffee.. . topped with cream?.. for nubile ,existential- crisis- free youths who are hankering to get a piece of the 'prasad.. Pungi bajao,lungi hatao!
No 'hard' feelings from my side..just a little regret..It will pass..
My film is about my father, so 55 minutes was no big deal.Actually it was.. I had to struggle to keep it short. Most people thought it should have been longer.I didn't.
Good luck with your film.Take care of yourself.
And, thanks, it was fun while it lasted...Like Home TV.. which went bust too!

Fri 30, May 2008, Visualscribe wrote:

Hey i said i am an ageist... But that doesn't mean we can't get a
cuppa sometime?

Fri 30, May 2008. JR wrote:

I was delighted to get your letter.

I owe you an apology.

My last mail to you was an embarrassment. You didn’t deserve it.

My big mistake was in looking for a physical connection when I had already found something rare and precious.. a mental connection.

Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me.
I really look forward to that cuppa..

Till then, I wish you love, peace… J

.... Mr J ... coffee still awaits...

2008-05-27T09:08:00.000-07:00

Recently I realised I had not posted in well over a year. This, given that I started this blog only 'cause I had stopped writing in - forever. I of course, blamed the job, the working hours, the constant state of exhaustion for it. But in the past year, all that has tremedously reduced. So why have I not been writing? Well the simple and straight forward answer is: I don't know. But I do know that I want to change that. Rectify it as best as I can. The only way I have realised to improve my writing, is by writing. Writing more. More often. Often as possible. When ideas take root, words take flow, posts happen. Or something like that.While I write out my next post - on my recent Bangalorean soujourn where I was sent to report, manage reporting, essentially keep a track of things, instead pondered on other essentials - here's a recent exchange with someone who read my blog. I'm still getting over the fact that someone still reads my stale blog. But hey there's atleast one person and that person's written to me. I don't know if he would want to the world to know, but that's a risk I'll take. Simply cause the exchange itself brought out some nice writing (I think so, you are welcome to differ). Read on

LETTER 1
On 5/23/08, JR wrote:
Hi.
Are you Visualscribe from the blogspot Existential Crisis?
Best,
J

THE REPLY
On Sun, 5/25/08, Visualscribe wrote:
Yes... Why do u ask?

LETTER TWO
On 5/25/08, JR wrote:
Why do I ask?
Because I liked you blog. I liked your candour and your insight.I identified with your existential crisis.. And last but not the least..I liked your photo! Someone of your age and your appearance shouldn't be having an existential crisis at all! On the contrary, there should be a myriad reasons to 'exist' in the true sense of the word. Your blog spot has not been updated in a while..so I wondered if you really 'exist'..It is a relief to know you do. Maybe we can meet up some time.. that is if you still live in Bombay. I do.And also if you have the time and the inclination...
In the meanwhile please continue to be a scribe.. even if you don't become visual..
Cheers,
J

THE REPLY
On Mon, 5/26/08, Visualscribe wrote:
Well i do exist... Crisis or otherwise... How did you stumble on my blog though.... Having not written in over a year.... shocked it's been seen...much less read.... Well age - and i am of a certain age and not burdened by it - is all a state of mind... I truly believe we all lurch from one existential crisis to the other.... Each "crisis" being greater than the previous one....making us question our path ahead.... But as experience is our teacher... Each crisis is only temporary... Permanent only in that moment in time ... Ok too much pontification.... Perhaps an introduction to start off? A profile to share.... That can then be followed up with a coffee?

LETTER THREE
On 5/26/08, JR wrote:
I exist too.. Crisis or otherwise!
How did I stumble on your blog? It was an interesting progression of searches that led me from looking at bodies to trying to look inside heads (no pun intended), and that led me to Bombay Dost's list of Best Indian Blog sites ..You can guess the rest. Didn't you know you are one of The Chosen Ones?! You are being read.. I am testimony to that. I must say yours is one of the better sites.. yeah, I actually ploughed my way through all, believe it or not. Some of them are kind of smartass, some are wannabe cerebral, some are randy, but very few, like yours, seemed from the heart. That's what touched me.
I wouldn't call it pontification..let's call it a stream of consciousness/awareness about your existential 'angst'..You have a way with words and there is a progression and clarity of your thoughts that make your verbalisation both interesting and thought provoking.
A profile.. hmmm.
I'm a Bombay Bong.. more specifically a Bandra Bong.. I was born here and have lived in this suburb all my life. I mention Bong because somehow my identity has remained distinct from the the Bandra Boy archetype.. our family has retained it's cultural identity despite strong local influences and change all around. No, I don't spout poetry and burst into Tagore songs at the drop of a hat.. and I am not a diehard Marxist. I don't actually know what I am or who I am.. and thereby stems MY existential crisis! I do know however that I am single, I like reading.. not terribly intellectual stuff, but not exactly pulp fiction either.. my current favourite is Murakami. I like music.. I'm not into sports. Basically solitary pursuits. Is that ok for starters?
Coffee sounds perfect.. I'll be ready whenever you are. No rush.
For the moment, I'm enjoying and savouring this exchange..

THE REPLY
Tue, 27 May 2008, Visualscribe wrote:
I have to confess that I am enjoying this exchange of letters as well.
Though digital there's still something tangible to it. I am a
journalist: hence a scribe. The medium's TV: hence visual. Born in Shivaji Park in the year of Poongi bajao lungi hatao. Grew up in Matunga. In the days when the Tams ruled its roost. But my kind has hardly affected me. If anything I'm hardly like them and am happy not being so. That doesn't mean I won't lust for good curd rice and pickle on a hot summer afternoon. I do. What's your chosen skill? Keep the mails going. The coffee will come.

Will I keep posting our further correspondence? Hmm I really don't know. Only the writing will tell. Cheers!

2007-04-03T11:40:00.000-07:00

A FRIEND, 3, AND ANOTHER TALE

I heard last night that a friend of mine... had the hots for number 3... Had made out with him... A short while after I had decided to move on... Even as I cried my guts out elsewhere... Had cut off all contact with 3.... Its funny coz this friend even tried to help me woo 3 back... I of course as we all know miserably failed.... Funnier still since now it somehow doesn't seem to matter that much ... It doesn't matter that 3's kissing other bois... going out on dates with someone... It made me feel sad somewhere inside... but it didn't hurt that bad... Does that mean I didn't love him as much as I thought I had... Doubt it... It once hurt real bad...

I think I've grown, accepted, digested and internalised the truth. That he's only a friend... a friend I shall deeply love... care for ... and be there when he needs me...

Should it have hurt that a friend kissed him... professed his love... to my love... even as I was hurting elsewhere...? Should I have felt betrayed....? I dunno... I'm just too suprised right now with my own reaction in some ways... I know time heals... It has in the past... But never this quickly... Have I grown that distant from my feelings... or has my "Let Go" theory taken such deep root that I am in danger of losing my feelings for somehow almost instantly after my mind takes a decision... That's almost a scary thought I would rather not answer... even to myself....

But then again I can't have grown that distant either.... As I write this ... the sight of that kiss.. that fateful night... comes back to me.... I can't see the face of the guy 3's kissing... I still can't... but I can see the kiss all right... and tears are back.... streaming down my cheeks... just that this time they are mere droplets... The force has dimmed.... The ache has lessened... I have healed...

A little...

2007-04-03T10:17:00.000-07:00

OF LEAKY BREASTS... AND BLEEDING HEARTS....

A friend of mine delivered her second baby a few days ago. A bundle of joy. Well that's I thought. But her description of motherhood.. both moved me ... and made me wonder... Her description of leaky breasts.. bleeding leaky breasts... the suckling of a child... as comforting as sandpaper on a nipple... gave me like this new as yet unknown peep hole in what it takes to be a mother.. I mean we all know of the hours and hours of labour... issues with C-section and all that.. but somehow post that trouble... i guess one's always been told its smooth sailing... well sort of .. .kids can fall ill.. be nursed to health... and all that.. But the act of a mother feeding her child has somehow always been glamourised.. so presented as a pleasurable experience... and reading MMs writings I began to wonder... is it all a myth.. or a Bollywood created ... idea of motherhood that we've all bought into... Specially ppl like me who have little no idea of what it all really means... Maybe this kinda info is all out there... maybe other ppl know about it... maybe its just me who doesn't .... Who knows...

My sister's expecting twins... All I can say Best of Luck ! God Help You ! Atleast you won't have to do it twice.

2007-02-28T08:00:00.001-08:00

three's no lucky number...

Well a few days ago... number 3 had a party ... a pre-valentine's day party.. and I had promised to go.... even though it was in Delhi... even though I was short of money... hell I hardly get to see him... and what are credit cards for ?! So I went... But this time the visit had an edge.. some where in the past couple of months I had made up mind... two years waiting for him was long enough.... Loving him with all I had... loving him more then I had ever loved anyone with the exception of my mother of course... and there was this one conversation that had once again given me some hope... a flickering flame but a flame nonetheless... that he might be mine after all... that we might have a future after all... that we might be a 'we' after all! ... And so I went... bought a couple of things... things to remind him of our four years of togetherness... a t-shirt with shiva on it... something he's always wanted... but never bought himself... just cause he never thought he could carry it off... Then there was that red belt he wanted.... and the white tee... and John Abraham's autograph.... Four things... for four years... the fifth the best I kept for the last... He always wanted to go do dinner at Olive... we just never got around to it while he lived in mumbai... so I decided that would be number 5... the cherry on the top.... the icing on the cake... take whatever cliche you want... I would fly him to Mumbai... for a V-day dinner... The day ... the 10th.... started like any other... we got up... went shopping for the party.... got things set for the party.... It was like it always had been... the chemistry... the ... dunno what to call it... just that sense that we were somehow tied together... like we were somehow just meant to be... and it was just a matter of time... and that time could well be now... then... People came... the drinks flowed... the conversation was great... Played host ... Some one even asked me if the 'host'.. he that is... and me had something going on... the odd comment that we made a good couple... and surprised that he had never mentioned me in that vein before... My heart skipped a couple of beats... My gifts had gone down well.... there was still hope for me... for us... We were dancing having a good time... I was on fire... His friends wanted to dance with me... wanted to know where he had kept me hidden all this time... I was having the time of my life ... And then it spun out of control... I couldn't breathe... like someone had just reached in and ripped my insides out... I didn't quite know what to say or do... All I could do was sit in a corner... just sit... I could not have seen what I just saw... but then I just had... I sat... and his temporary roomate turns up... to tell me that he thinks... 3's in love with me... and I thought to myself really... and I had just seen him kiss someone... someone who he says meant nothing to him... someone who as a result it was easy to kiss... me... I had baggage... the baggage of a relationship gone wrong... that had stagnated... I had stagnated with it... He had moved on... I had just stayed... gone sour...

2006-12-02T23:34:00.000-08:00

The Death of Aspiration

Recently the company decided to give me a car.... and for some reason i had a problem with it... Somehow i felt it wasn't for me... it would be a problem to deal with... A problem to possess and not know how to get rid of.. how to deal with.. Then I realised what the problem was... Having a car... not owning it.... just having it itself meant that somehow i had grown up.... Hell at 30 i had realised i had grown up all right.. there was more to it... I realised i had never aspired to own a car... own a house... own anything... Owning anything solid, concrete would also mean some grounding, rooted to one place. And somehow I had never thought that in my head as possible. Bombay's always been home but not a place I thought I would stay in forever. Just someplace I lived in, probably for now. In a sort of continous directionless existence. The car had somehow triggered off something more then that. The idea that damn I am here for good. Atleast the forseeable good. Now I'll actually have to think of owning a home. Settling in! Settling down!! Emotionally I have been ready to settle with a someone for a while now. But not physically. I don't know they differ but they do. My life's flown from one point to another almost seamlessly. From school to college to engg to journalism to america to cnn to ndtv to here. My change of course has always had to do with something emotional or something that meant more to me in my immediate future. Whether that was moving careers or jobs. Like when I moved cities and jobs to get over a break-up. Or broke-up to return home to my dying mother. It was always led by my heart and an immediate need. Never by my head or my wallet.

In all of this I realised one very important thing. I had never ever aspired. Never aspired to own a car, a home, a life. Everything in my life has just happened. Never with a long term goal in sight. There are people who know where they want to go and what they want to do with their life. I'm not one of them. I never have been. And I've done well for myself. I am 30. Have lived my life on my terms. Came out to my family when I wanted to. Got accepted by my family and my friends. Got accepted at work by people I thought would have a problem with it. I have a great job. Lots of freedom and responsibility. Great pay packet. And now the car. The car that made me realise I had gone through everything without the one thing that often drives life: Aspiration.

Well still don't have it :-) ... But I have to figure it out I guess life ahead depends on it

2006-06-11T09:06:00.000-07:00

INERTIA.... STATUS QUO.... HAPPY....

A pretty normal Sunday. Little to do. Just the way I like it. Went to get myself a haircut. Met my friend Vikstar for a cup of coffee that expanded into two, a brownie and a panini. Our conversations usually revolve around people we know, experiences, relationships that sort of thing. Viks was telling me about a certain list he's made, of all the things he wants in a man. That set me thinking. I had never really thought of what I wanted in a man. Not conciously atleast. My attractions have always started from an instant. An instant of good conversation, good chemistry, good sex. And then grown into something much more. With each relationship I have changed, mutated and grown.

Relationship 1: I so! wanted the sex. The physical mattered 70%... the emotional 30%.

Relationship 2: Sex mattered but only so much. Like 60% - 40%.

Relationship 3: Sex mattered. Still matters. But not that much. Some where along the way between being 25 and 30, sex lost its shimmer. Its heat. It's now something I enjoy. Yes. But, don't need to complete a relationship.

Here, it would be necessary to define sex.

Relationship1: The whole deal. No compromises. Or else its just foreplay. Doesn't count.

Relationship2: The whole deal. Or not. But the whole deal as far as possible. Foreplay counts.

Relationship3: At the begining. The whoooole deal, Please!!! I mean god it was just fantastic. Still is. But almost two years into it, it isn't necessary. Not the be all and end all.

What matters now, is just the being.

The being together.

The small things. The conversations.

The head on my chest when I close my eyes. The eyes tight shut dreaming next to me when I wake up.

The distance between the bodies on the way out. The head on my shoulder on the cab ride home.

The long silences when we don't speak and the long conversations when we do.

The blush of embarrassment. The frowns of worry.

The familiarity of a friendship so dear. That the being alone is bliss.

2006-04-09T23:06:00.000-07:00

Un-loving someone is'nt ever easy.

Specially when you want him to be a part of your life.

Un-loving someone is'nt ever easy.

Specially when he's done nothing to make you hate him.

He's not cheated on you

Made no promises he did not keep

Did nothing that made you weep

Un-loving someone is'nt ever easy.

Specially when you loved him more then he loved you

When you still love him

Un-loving someone is'nt ever easy.

It's more difficult then loving him the first time.

2006-04-09T00:17:00.000-07:00

I've always thought turning 30 would'nt be my expiry date but more my maturity date. The period in my life when I would really start living life. I would have the money, a career and hopefully someone to live it with. 30 wouldn't be the signpost that says going downhill, but instead it would be the opening up of the road ahead.

Now that marker is just a few days away. I have the money, the job I've been wanting to do in the past three years, the confidence that I can so pull it off. No man in sight but what the hell. Men aren't the be all and end all of my life. Atleast that's what I've taught myself to think.

But, one little thing that happened last night has put all that into question.

A measly little thing.

Maybe not so measly after all.

2006-03-23T20:35:00.000-08:00

Day1:
The only reason I wanted to take time off was to meet him. Other than that I was fine. Having a good time actually. Reporting suits me. Atleast right now at the outset it seems to. My boss is happy with my stories. In fact wants me to do more. Help others with theirs. The only reason I wanted to take time off was to meet him.

So what am I doing here? Sitting in a hotel room on beach that's lovely mind you, but hasn't yet captured my attention. I dunno. Somewhere inside me my mind's on something else. Not on him, not on me, not on us, but the lack of us. Is it time to sing the song I ask. In answer my heart sighs, my mind still empty.

Day2:
I decided I wasn't going to allow melancholy to ruin my day. So I got up with a mission: to skinny dip in the arabian sea. Got out my new blue towel. Draped my blue batique sarong. I dunno why the chosen colour was blue but I guess it sort of suited the mood. I walked out onto the beach a bit past nine. I was sure I would have to walk around looking for a spot away from the 'folks' who descend on this piece sand. The 'gharguti jevan' types if you know what I mean. For whom (men) the idea of fun is getting drunk on bottles of beer or old monk rum. For their women the idea of 'maja' would be a movie on the weekend with the husband and the kids or a dinner party at a friend's place where the husband proceeds to get drunk and the wife finds out all the gossip on those there and those who missed it. If you still don't get the idea well hear this: I was getting some breakfast clad in a buddha print sarong and a white tee. The table next to me has this family of five. Father-in-law, mother-in-law, son, daughter-in-law and child gulping down pooha and chaha. I can hear the old lady commenting on what I'm wearing. How these foreigners have no respect for Indian ways. And how Indians when they live abroad get corrupted. How the way dress lends itself to corruption god only knows and I didn't bother asking. Coz even as I was trying to tune her out the waiter slowly approaches me and asks me which country I was from. Coz 'our peoples don't wear this you know. We wear white dhotar (dhoti)' the younger woman tells me. I had half a mind of telling her what I thought about their men and their tastes but decided why waste my breathe anyway I had a mission.

O well. So here I am on piece of virgin white sand, quite unlike me. There I said it before you did! I turn around and look, squint actually it was still early but the sun had decided to look and feel otherwise. Not a soul in sight except outside the temple. There they seemed to spewing out of the temple like termites from rotting wood, swarming all over the sand. Don't get me wrong I have nothing against people having a good time. But if that means leaving pepsi bottles, wafer packets, coconuts and flowers strewn around like garbage then I have a problem with that.

Anyway before my rant took over, I decided to walk as far as I could. Not just coz I wanted to get away from the folks but more because I had something else on my mind.

There is this one spot along the shore where sea goes inland and turns into a river. Except this one's flowing inland. At low tide it turns into a little pool and that's where I was headed for.

The water was clear and still cool from the previous night. I looked around. Not a soul in sight. This was probably better then I asked for. Coz I had decided to put the mostly empty beach to good use and do what I had never done before: skinny-dip The creatures in sight were as tiny as ants. My only witnesses those small white crabs that burrow all the way down the western coast. But you know what? I realised that the act of stripping in public wasn't as easy as Salman made it out to be. But then if I was anywhere close to being Salmanisque or hell even Salma Hayek-isque I probably wouldn't care about being seen. But with my newly acquired pounds of flesh that show no signs of going, I wasn't taking any chances. Any outrage my nudity could cause is so secondary.

So ever so cautiously I take off my shirt, fold them up and put them on my slippers. Didn’t want any sand on them. Have heard too many stories of sand getting into the wrong places. But then I was going commando so...

The rest came off slowly and I just stood there letting the wind whip around me. Somehow felt so liberating. It prodded me on to enter the water. As it took my first step my feet sank into the sand and the sudden coolness of the water just took my breath away. For a second it felt like I had stepped into quicksand. And all those stories of people being sucked into the sand just flashed past me. But only for a second since my feet hit hard soil and I managed to balance myself. Then on I just dived in. The water: my second skin, the surf: acessories that changed shape and form. I floated around staring at the sky for a bit. The crows, ravens actually winging about as though in the wait for something to emerge from the sea. They would land just out of the sea's reach and wait there. Ocassionally hopping around but mostly waiting. Looking out into the sea. Waiting.

I just floated around. Ten minutes in, somehow the restlessness came right back. I got thinking thoughts that I had been hoping to avoid but they washed in anyway. Where was my life headed on the personal front. The big 3-0 is dawning soon and where am I at, where am I headed? I'm not like one those people who freak out thinking they are going to turn 30. OMG! from here on life's all down hill. Hell no! On the contrary I think its the pillar post that marks the real beginging of life. For the first 15 you're still growing up. The next you're trying to find your way in the world. Trying to get an educate, figuring out what it is that you want to do and figuring out how to do it. By about 30 if you're lucky you're ready to enjoy the fruits of that labour. And I am so ready.

I waded out of the water. Used the clearer top half to return the sand off my arms and legs back to sea. Then sat on my slippers still in all my naked glory and watched the sea for a bit. Sometimes not brooding on something brings greater clarity. I decided not to wet the towel and let the wind and the sun do job. Just spreadeagled on the sand with my sarong under me and slept.

I woke up with a clear mind. I decided I needed a life. If the love of my life didn't want me well, I would just have to find another one.

2006-02-21T09:37:00.000-08:00

I had always hoped love would be forever... but then i've loved thrice so far... each time its had its failings... Twice I've picked up the pieces.... moved on.... stiching the bits of my heart I managed to salvage...

Here's a couple of things I've learnt along the way. Opinions, points of view, observations all my own:

1.) Like the men I fall for are all intelligent and good looking. But men with issues. Somehow I realise they have issues yet I fall for them. Yea, not very intelligent am I?

2.) With every relationship I decide I'm never going to let the man be the center of my existence. And then I go do just that. One word to describe me? It's cupid ... stupid.. Oops that's a sentence.. who cares its my blog.

3.) Every time I see a relationship end. In my mind the song "It must have been love but its' over now" plays in repeat mode. Why? Who knows? Some mental closure exercise I guess.

4.) Both of my ex's I tried to be friends with. First one got married to some poor chick and fathered a child. Why? Coz the boyfriend he was doting on after dumping me and the next man in line, cheated on him. That's when I stopped talking to him. Ironically he moved to the city where the 2nd ex lives. He, who I never realised how dependent he was on me till he went into depression and almost killed himself. After I moved back to India that is. I couldnt go back to him. My mother was about to die. She who had borne me, raised me, lived for me, held me back. The 2nd ex stopped talking to me.

5.) I realise that post number 1 I react to anyone attempting to woo me (sexually, emotionally) through a rather predictable curve. First I look past them, then if they persist, lustily indulge them, and finally go head over heels. I think I lost number 3 somewhere in stage one after I withdrew into my shell post a good night's .. how should I put it... passion?.. that's a good word... Now two years on I'm trying desperately to work my way back into a heart where I once was testily considering moving into...

6.) Running out of things to write... guess I wasn't as deep as I thought I was : ) .. and number 3 beckons distractingly...msn here i come

2006-02-02T22:34:00.000-08:00

PLEASE, NO THANKS...

I was in Delhi recently and heard of a school for kids below the age of two... where they'll be taught.. get this.. how to say hello, please, thank you and ask their mothers politely for food! Made me wonder what their parents were doing?.. My parents never needed a school to teach me manners... My mother knew how to keep us in line... First a few words... and then any slip-ups would meet the smack of her hand... Did the job quite well.. thank you!

I mean what sort of parents pay other people to teach their kids how to behave? Parents who obviously didn't learn their manners right. Parents who perhaps were left to their own devices as kids and learnt them the hard way. But nothing wrong learning things the hard way. In fact me thinks you remember those lessons even better.

Like the time my 6th standard teacher told my class not to enter the classroom during lunch hour and disturb her. One of classmates had forgotten his ball in the classroom and was fretting over how to get it out. I, being the naive moron that I was, thought I would play the hero, come to their resuce. After all the teacher would'nt punish me if I apologised and was polite about it. I went in asked the teacher, she said sure go ahead take the ball and then come and kneel next to my desk for the rest of the break.

I learnt two lessons there. a) Listen to what you're told to (b) Being polite and marking your manners does'nt always help.

But coming back to the begining of my ramayan. I heard about it from my friend Smriti who's son is just about beginging to stand. She had taken him for a b'day party where she met all these mothers who were talking about this place 'little gabriel' ... Apparently the place to be if ur 18 months and belong to a certain social set... I asked her what this social set was... The social set she replied of parents who are using their children to acquiant themselves with social mores... that hardly come from a lalaji sitting behind a galla in chandini chowk...

2005-12-17T05:00:00.000-08:00

The Death Of The Unborn Baby

One of my sister's recently had to go through an abortion... as the baby wasn't forming well.... I had never till that instant ever thought twice about abortion ... Probably my being gay and all that, coloured the lens I was seeing the issue through... As the right of another minority, with ref to religious right atleast, as the right of another minority to exercise her right.... Well before you get any ideas... no i'm not changing my mind... it's just that I sort of realised the religious complusions that causes many to be so militant about abortion.

The pregnancy had to be terminated... I can't get myself to say the baby was killed or put down... because that seems too cruel... but that's what it was... The pregnancy was terminated because the baby was growing normally and would have been born with an abnormality... what abnormality can't say... the doctors say my sister's reports one day... viewed the baby on an ultrasound ran a bunch of painful tests and said... the baby was not going to be ok when born... If you've noticed I keep repeating the word 'baby' instead of 'he' or 'she' or 'nephew' or 'niece' that's because we never found out... never wanted to know... the gender didn't really matter to the decision making... either ways it was my sister and my brother-in-law's flesh and blood... no way they could see it go through a life of torture... be born with a physical deformity or a mental disability... It took them just a day to reach that decision... that there was no way they could bring a child into this world... no matter how long they've been trying to conceive .. no matter how much they were looking to this day.. no way were they going to put the child through a daily routine of pain... and goodness only knows in what way....

The family... theirs and ours stayed with my sister and brother-in-law right through the process... The baby came out in the middle of the night... just after my brother-in-law had dropped me home and gone home himself... We stayed up in our respective homes... my other sister watched over the eldest as she went through her labour... The next morning we got there as early as we could... I carried some filter coffee in a flask for the as-yet-not-to-be mother ... She was sound asleep after the rigours of the previous night... The doctor had just come in and examined her...He called my brother-in-law in... my brother-in-law insisted I go with him... We walked in.. and sat down... The doctor told us the aborted feotus had the feared defect... an incomplete last bone in its spine... the spot which ties together many essential nerves... and that it was completely unpredictable on how the baby would have eventually come out..

Then came the bomb... we would have to take the unborn child's body ... and cremate it... You can't just through it in the trash he said... At that instant it hit me... this is not about a simple clinical procedure that helps you tide over a 'situation'... It's not as simple sperm meets eggs... eggs forms embryo.. the chicken hatches the egg... farmer decides what happens to egg... After a point it's about a person ... a person who if left unborn would have to be cremated... Just like he or she would be at the end of their lives...

That's when I realised those against abortion may have their point... but then again I agree to disagree with them.. respectfully...

2005-12-17T03:00:00.000-08:00

I was born in this city, lived most of my life here
Made friends, lost friends
Last night I realised it's the weekend coming up
Wondered what we would do
Then it struck me there is no we anymore
Hopefully not for long though
The we became I when he moved away this week
To another job in another city
It struck me that I was born in this city lived most of my life here
Funny then, that I feel so lost in city once my own

2005-11-25T22:55:00.000-08:00

me in a mangrove (no pun intended)

2005-11-08T09:04:00.000-08:00

The surgence of Star News seems to have done one good thing atleast as far as AajTak's concerned. It made AajTak look like a credible news channel. Not that AajTak has started getting its news right or that its reporters actually know what they are talking about. But Star has allowed news to hit such a low that even AajTak seems measured and responsible.

Case in point road repairs in Mumbai close to Chitra Cinema. I take the road everyday. And if you live in Bombay you'll know what I mean. It's right where the Dadar flyover meets Chitra Cinema at that thoughtlessly located traffic light. The point where the road, badly in need of repair, is being concretised. Traffic on any given day piles up across the flyover and even more so due to the re-surfacing work. But lo-behold when Star finds out about it. It's suddenly a national calamity. The BMC is slowing down traffic with its stupid road project. A reporter pops up on location, multiple windows surface, showing you the same 20 meters from different angles. And it's all the fault of the BMC, which had nothing to do with the work to begin with. It was work being done under the MUTP by the MMRDA.

If the authority had not done its job, you could flog them. But how can you fault them for doing their job just because it causes some delays to commuters. Like they could possibly take the road elsewhere to repair it!

Case in point 2: Kunjilal and his prediction of death. A man in the middle of no where predicts he's going to die. On a particular day and a particular time. Not one, not two but three supposedly responsible national news channels decide to beam out of his village, from the very temple he says he will breathe his last.

Everyone including Kunjilal's neighbour's dog that's lost its bark is interviewed. The Star and AajTak reporters duel on-air as to who will get the first interview with Kunjilal who's sitting in a little hole of a temple dedicated to goodness-knows-who.

Till 3pm the headlines read Kunjilal the saint... or a variation thereof... Suddenly at 4pm... the headline changes.. "dhongi baba ka parda fash"

Jesus!

My constant worry is how does one battle such non-issues. That's when I thank my stars and say thank god I no longer work for a hindi news channel.

2005-11-08T07:37:00.000-08:00

BANGKOK WALK... Just got back from a walk in Bangkok. Ok that's a bit of stretch it was more like 10days and some excursions thrown in. But I think I've sort of understood what makes the city and the country tick. It's pretty simple actually: Food, sex and some more food. Food's everywhere and cheap too, much like the sex. Sold from the sidewalks and off it, again much like sex. In a bizarre bizaare way it almost makes sense. As much sense as Karen Walker does in all her Botox injected, upper induced glory. So in all my non-botox injected, non-upper induced glory a few pearls of wisdom, a few street truths on: how to walk the streets of Bangkok, not to get cruised, solicited and yet find something edible and vegetarian.

If you're a carnivore and better still an omnivore you're in paradise, but if you're not, well it's bad but there's hope. Look around and you'll find by the wayside Thai style banana bhajjiyas except they are often sweet and laced with some yummy white sesame seed. You can actually get just about any vegetable that you can point out fried in the sweet batter. But then yes it’s sweet. My answer: buy yourself salt in one of those shaker kind of packages and sprinkle away. Wash it down with fresh fruit juicies or a cola slurped right out of a plastic bag.

And what is it with the Thai and plastic bags??? The Thai eat and drink just about anything from plastic bags. Vilasrao if you’re listening you could certainly learn a thing or two from these guys. They use plastic bags for just about everything but you don't seem 'em lying around much less clogging their drains. Get a coke and pour it into a plastic bag full of crushed ice, stick in a straw and its all ready for you to carry away. And what's with this nation of straw obessed people?! No one ever drinks straight out of a bottle. Not even beer!

Also unlike in other parts of the world here shrimp paste is considered vegetarian, as is chicken stock and fish stock, hell the water imbibed jucies of any animal for that matter of fact is vegetarian. And when you finally get through to the cook on what you want you're still in danger of half cooked veggies in a watery gravy of goodness-knows-what. You see unlike the "authentic" Thai dishes you get served up in India the Thai themselves prefer their veggies half-done. After many a hit and miss I discovered the magic words from the back side of a Bangkok-by-night map. Tan Jay the two words to use to make most dishes vegetarian. Loosely translated the words mean no animal extracts please or something to that effect.

Then there are the desserts made from milk and coconut. The Thai you see don't have dessert at the end of the meal. Dessert's often a meal by itself. So you can gorge on the sweet stuff (Warning: not for the calorie conscious) and then wash it down with some salty fruit juice.

So while you take all this in, and stop to decide what you want to eat in between a bout of shopping and hear a sudden buzzing in your ear don't turn around! It's just someone trying to ask you "Want sex?" How do I know? Well I turned. Right in the middle of deciding on what that yellow piece of fried batter actually was, I heard someone ask me "Want sex?" I turned around smiled and said no and went back to my pondering. The buzzing continued. "I got sexy lady, she do what you want". The buzzing continued. I turned around and said no but thanks and the track changed like a switch. “I get you lady boy, very reasonable”. I managed to shake off the pimp only to realize they were every where. I jumped into a tuk-tuk, their version of the rickshaw, asked the driver to take me to my hotel. Halfway through the ride, the driver pulled out a catalogue of girls and when I didn’t look remotely interested asked me if I wanted "ladies boys". A catalogue with names, pictures, the works for me to choose from. And the lady boy would be sent to my hotel door step at a bargain price.

Another thing that really struck me were the Huge! number of trolly white men with young, really young, thai boys in tow. Wherever you went, at the Telephone, at the Babylon everywhere old men young boys. Rather sad if you ask me. And the boys are actually looking for the sugah daddies. Sick and sad. Not to pass a judgement call on anyone but then I guess it is one too.

But the one funny thing I realized was that the gay ‘relationships’ somehow seemed more sanitized then the straight ones. The straight ones were all these red-light bars where dozens of women waited hoping to seduce a man, again most often white or south asian foreigners, to go off with and earn a fistful for a fuck.

The one sight that I doubt will ever get out of my mind is the Walking Street in Pattaya. A 200 meter stretch with what seemed like 2000 women in their barest of clothing watching TV, chatting with their friends, playing with their children and yet calling out to the next foreigner who passes by offering their innards. A sad, sick, sad road that leaves in my mind a deeper impression then all of the choreographed neatness of the Thai government; the bizarre lollypop pictures of the king and the queen and the chaperoned visits to their temples and gem factories.

The one thing though that struck me as a gay man is that my sexuality was so very accepted. No rude stares. No funny whispers. Just a casual disregard that’s generally reserved for straight pairings.

2005-10-13T22:30:00.000-07:00

I had read this poem a while ago... and after a bit of googling managed to find it.... think it describes me best.....

Let them be as flowers....
Always watered.... fed.... guarded.... admired.... but harnessed to a pot of dirt.
I would rather be a tall, ugly weed...
Clinging on cliffs, like an eagle....
Wind-wavering above high, jagged rocks....
To have broken through the surface of stone....
To live, to feel exposed to the madness of the vast, eternal sky....
To be swayed by the breezes of an ancient sea, carrying my soul, my seed....
Beyond the mountains of time....
Or into the abyss of the bizarre....
I'd rather be unseen and if then shunned by everyone....
Than to be a pleasant-smelling flower....
Growing in clusters in the fertile valley....
Where they're praised, handled, and plucked by greedy, human hands....
I'd rather smell of musty, green stench than of sweet, fragrant lilac....
If I could stand alone, strong and free, I'd rather be a tall, ugly weed.

"Identity"
by Julio Noboa Polanco