And Here We Go...

In another month, I move to New York, to live and study there. NYU is the university and journalism is the attempt. More specifically, I am going for the 'Cultural Reporting and Criticism' program and I like to believe, this essay is the main reason I got in. :-)

When I was 5, I announced to the family that I was leaving home and promptly walked out; with empty pockets, wide eyes and an animated eagerness about the wonders I was going to see. Needless to say, the quixotic expedition did not last too long. But as I look back to that 10-minute trip, I see the first glimpses of the qualities that have come to define my personality today: a curiosity to explore and experiment, the self confidence to take on the world and the independence of nature to forge my own way. The years and experiences since, have cemented these qualities and more thankfully replaced the childish foolhardiness with a rational prudence.

What the years have also added to the mix is a heightened awareness and sensitivity towards differences, a penchant to seek out and appreciate the unique. Perhaps this fascination with differences has its roots in my upbringing. I am a product of North Indian and East Indian intimacy; an unlikely union of very disparate cultures. While growing up, variety was the norm and its absence was unsettling. I did not find it odd that we spoke not one but three different languages at home; that we followed different customs depending on which side of the family we were interacting with; that we regularly flipped between three to four different cuisines within a week; and that we moved ever so often to live in a new city, state or even country. Very early on, I was taught through example to respect differences, look at them positively and understand their immense value as a source of new learning.

The reason I talk about these inherent and conditioned traits of my personality is because they have been pivotal in alchemizing my potentially mundane life and travel experiences into opportunities for rich cultural learning. A life spent in Bombay, Singapore and Kuwait, with smatterings of other unfamiliar yet exciting countries in Southeast Asia, the Middle East and Europe, has served as breeding ground for the cultural journalist in me. In each of these countries, I played the role of an observer, looking at the differences in traditions, attitudes, ideas and societies. What has intrigued me more however, are the ways in which different cultures interact and evolve under each other’s influence.  And having spent so much of my life outside of India, I find my observation and critical appreciation of these cultures free from any tints of preconception, but not without a sound basis in cultural understanding.

Admittedly, my Indian roots influence my preferences and I most enjoy looking for the Indian story in every new country. Growing up in the urban mosaic of Bombay was an exercise in cultural understanding and adjustment amidst a plethora of pluralities- linguistic, religious, caste-based, and economic. But it helped me grasp that while cultures in a society may manifest in different ways, they usually have similar undercurrents and sensibilities. Between Singapore, Kuwait and India, I have seen multiple personalities of the ‘Indian’. At first glance, the Singapore-Indian dressed in vibrant batik, talking in Singlish and eating vastly different food might seem miles apart from the kurta-saree-donning, Hindi-speaking and butter-chicken eating Indian in India; or completely unlike the adjusting, hard-working, money-motivated migrant Indian in Kuwait accustomed to living a second-citizen life. But upon scrutiny, each of these personalities reveals its uncanny Indian-ness, right down to the obsession with moralities, family-life and saving money.

It is no surprise then that the cultural journalists who inspire me the most write on similar topics and regions. William Dalrymple is one such author whose writings on India display an enviable perceptiveness about the historical influences on modern day India and the reverse impact of this modernity on tradition and historical culture. His writings seek not to judge but rather to reconcile and make sense of the cultural collisions that make up this complex country. Another cultural journalist, whose writing is surprising and inspiring in its insightful observations, is Edward Luce, the author of ‘In spite of the Gods’. Through his account of India’s recent political, economic and social development and its future prospects, Edward Luce demonstrates a rare combination of intimacy and detachment with India. And while doing so, he presents a deeply astute picture of contemporary India, highlighting patterns and connections from within the complexity. As a cultural journalist, it is this kind of insightful and refreshing writing that I aspire to do.

The bulk of my writing so far has explored issues in the same arena. While journalism hasn’t been the focus of my professional efforts before now, writing and reporting have always been an important and satisfying part of my fringe life. Some of my most creatively satisfying times were spent working as the editor of my high-school magazine or writing articles and reviews for the ‘Gourmet’ magazine at college. And even after college, I have pursued this interest through blogging actively about events, travel and food, both Indian and international.

The story of how I got interested in Journalism, though, is a plain- vanilla tale about how I dabbled in this-and-that, before finally realizing that Journalism has always been the elusive answer to the big question, “What do I want to do?” No epiphanies, no ‘Eureka moments’, just a plain simple deliberated choice based on a passion to write. My interest in cultural journalism stems from a love for stories, a flair for writing and an unbridled curiosity about the world, its people and their motivations. I am enamored by the cultural journalist’s role as the documenter of human narrative, the storyteller of our modern times, an explorer within cultures. And I admire the deep understanding required to connect the dots and examine events in the context of cultural, societal and historical currents.

I believe that a person cannot be taught to be a great journalist. The greatness can only come from a true passion for the career and a love for cultural reportage. However, without the method, the madness is just that. And it is this method that I hope to learn through NYU’s Cultural Reporting and Criticism program in journalism. Through the program’s inimitable flavor of thoughtful, insightful criticism and under the tutelage of its exemplary faculty, I hope to learn the art, the finesse and the tools of the trade. I particularly value the program’s focus on amalgamating journalistic skills with an individual writer’s distinctive voice.

My will to pursue cultural journalism is fueled by my belief that I possess a number of raw skills to succeed in this role. My curiosity drives my persistence to get answers. My insight combined with my diligence in research, lets me identify the right questions to ask. And my affable personality and open mind help me make connections with people and develop trusting bonds easily. What ties all these skills together is my ability to engage the reader through the written word.

Perhaps my greatest strength as a cultural journalist lies in my ability to find comfort in the unfamiliar and my willingness to experiment. I notice and embrace the subtle and not-so-subtle differences in cultures, foods, attitudes and thoughts with ease and find myself the richer for it. I am a variegated person, influenced by the many cultures that I have been exposed to. I speak comfortably in 4 different languages besides Hindi but I think mostly in English. I appreciate the colors and beauty of a Hindu Temple as willingly as I take in the serenity of a church or the passionate call-to-prayer of a mosque. I am a lover of different tastes and cuisines and I display as much panache while maneuvering chopsticks as I do while eating with a fork and spoon. At various points in my life I have lived in India, Singapore, Thailand, London and Kuwait and in each of these places I have felt the city’s pulse and assimilated a wealth of cultural insights. Very often I strike up conversations with strangers in unlikely places, to quench my curiosity about lives different from mine and never have I been disappointed.  I revel in the beauty that can come only with multiplicity and I am a connoisseur of the different.

This in turn enriches my narrative as a writer, as a cultural journalist. Inspired by differences, led by curiosity and emboldened by the willingness to experiment, the writer in me finds inspiration at every corner. And the journalist in me sees the exciting possibility of a new narrative, the next story.

Currently reading: Jaya - Devdutt Patnaik

Currently Listening: Big Jet Plane - Angus & Julia Stone, The importance of being idle - Oasis

New York, je t'aime

I spent summer 2010 in New York and wrote this in my journal as I was leaving the city, seated at seat 21D in an Airbus A340, flying from JFK to Singapore. I got round to posting it only now, though.

Two and a half months is a long time. Yet two and a half months can be a really short time. It’s all a matter of perspective.

Two and a half months back, I came to New York City at the break of a dawn- wide eyed, admittedly a little scared and very excited at the idea of living in a city I had heard so much about. And the two and a half months passed by in a blink. And yet, I feel a lifetime of change between then and now.

I try and skim over all my memories in the city and I get lost in their chronology. A lifetime of memories, a lifetime of change, all in a few months- naturally, it’s a blur. I try and recall the morning when I had landed here, intrepidly taken the very notorious New York Taxi and gotten my first glimpse of the city. Did that even count as my first glimpse, for hadn’t I seen this city before? Was it in a movie somewhere? Or had it been on some television show? Or had I perhaps pictured it entirely in my mind, a mosaic of bits and pieces weaned from sightings and readings? I remember the upsurge of feeling I had felt, as I saw Manhattan come into view from the Williamsburg Bridge. I call it feeling, for it sounds too absurd to call it love. But in hindsight, perhaps that is what it had been. And perhaps, I had made up my mind that I would love this crazy place, long before I had even gotten here. And love it, I did. But on that first early morning in New York, I refused to acknowledge the instant love and familiarity I felt for the city, opting instead for a charade of nonchalance and apprehension.

But the city won over, in just a week. Or maybe it was two. In just that short time, I started feeling comfortable in the city, even confident, like I belonged here; and I liked that feeling. Maybe that’s the charm of this city. It makes every visitor feel like they fit in; something for everyone. In my first few weeks, I made lists of places I wanted to see, museums I wanted to visit and must-eats I wanted to savor. But somewhere down the way, I got swept away by the charm of the city and put aside my checklists for a more au naturel approach. I ambled around the city, its parks and cafes and started living my days without any itinerary. I spent hours trying to get to know New York, and the city very willingly twirled and pirouetted as my muse, comfortable in the knowledge that many before me had tried and failed in that pursuit.

I’m in love with a city that I don’t completely understand, and perhaps, because of it too. And try as I might, I can’t pinpoint what it is about New York that I have fallen in love with. Was it the icons? – The view from the Empire State Building, the planned natural ease of Central Park, the garish glamour of Times Square or the imposing grace of Lady liberty. Or was it the sheer collection of intellectual and social stimulation? – Right from museums of all things myriad to infinite clubs paying homage to all kinds of indulgences. Or perhaps the city itself is the greatest spectacle, an effortless orchestration of a daily performance. Whatever it is, I’m besotted: Another casualty of New York’s charm, another fool in love.

Not everyone can understand what I feel for this city and why. And sometimes it’s beyond my comprehension too. For New York is a difficult city to court. The life is difficult, the living is lonely, the streets are dirty, the houses are tiny and the food is expensive. And yet oddly, the city has a certain appeal. Like a raw-edged unconventional- looking man that you can’t take your eyes off, complete with kinks of character and oodles of charm. Yeah, New York is the Javier Bardim of cities!

But here I am now, sitting in a plane that’s pulling out of JFK airport and getting ready to take off any minute. My two and a half months have come to an end and I am leaving my love behind. My thoughts are consumed with this city and I let them flow. I chuckle as I remember my last minute scramble to buy souvenirs at the airport, to try and take a piece of this city back with me. I know, the real souvenirs I carry back are nestled in my heart and mind: the memories of a torrid summer love. But time is abrasive and I know these memories might fade. And so I cling onto a very tangible mug and a t-shirt, both proclaiming ‘I love New York’.

As the plane catches speed and the engine gets louder, the reality of the separation comes crashing down on me and I feel a sense of last minute panic. I close my eyes and calm myself- This isn't where it ends!

Currently Reading: Shalimar the Clown - Salman Rushdie

Currently Listening: High for this- The Weeknd, Even though i'm a woman - Seeker Lover Keeper

The comedy is that it's serious.

When you do what I do for a living, life takes on quite a different flavor. Airports become hangout places and airport-staff become ‘buddies’ that you see regularly. The phrase ‘commute to work’ takes on a different meaning and involves boarding passes, immigration checks and X-ray machines. You start referring to your current hotel as ‘home’ and know all the staff on a first name basis (or the fact that they have a 2 month old baby or that they love ‘3 Doors down’). You get so comfortable in planes that you actually have a ‘favourite’ seat and develop a talent for making the mid-flight-mid-sleep toilet trip with your eyes closed. And yes, you get used to flight turbulence and learn to sleep through it like a baby.

And so when I say that I woke up mid-flight due to turbulence and even felt a little scared, take my word that it was indeed more than just a ‘tremble’. And I will admit (sheepishly) that for the first time ever I feared a little for my life.

Now it’s amazing the kind of perspective u can get from something as stupid as flight-turbulence. But there I was, with the plane (seemingly) completely out of control and I had one of those rare moments of clarity, with my whole life flashing before me (not just the past but what I had thought the rest of it to be like). And then suddenly somehow I reached a moment of panic, where I realized that if my time had indeed come, I would be leaving with a huge bag of regrets. I thought of all my plans-grand and otherwise. The world-travel, all the things I wanted to learn, the book I wanted to write, the experiences I wanted to have, my list of ‘100 things to do before I die’, all the weight I wanted to lose, the tattoo I wanted to get- Everything that I had put off for next year, when I would have ‘enough’ money and the time would be ‘right’. And right then, 30,000 ft above the earth, with the plane swinging wildly and a sinking feeling in my stomach, I realized that the money would never be enough and the time never right. Truly realized. And that was my ‘Eureka!’ moment.

Of course, the turbulence soon stopped, I went back to sleep and eventually landed safely. But something did indeed change in that moment. And just like that, I have a spring in my step, a purpose in my eyes, a grin on my face and a realization that my time here is finite and so I'd better make the most of it.

And so I am glad to report- the gyming is happening regularly, the healthy eating has become de-facto, all the travels are seriously being planned for and an inexplicable good cheer has come over me. Oh and the tattoo, happens in December. Talk about life-changing. Who needs ‘Deepak Chopra’ when you’ve got turbulence, right?

Currently listening- The boy is gone- Jason mraz, Unforgiven II- Metallica
Currently reading- Salmon fishing in Yemen- Paul Torday

Gotta ask yourself the question, Where are you now?

I've been trying to psych myself into feeling something for the New Year, but between fluctuating work, visiting friends and mindless revelry, it hasn't worked. I don't feel anything yet for the New Year. It's just the changing of the date, a flipping of a number, something to rally some change around. Maybe that's why I haven't been able to write the customary 'new year post' (and it's not for the lack of trying). I guess when life itself becomes more eventful, these other events start to mean much less.

But 2008, that's a whole different pot of emotions. I feel heap loads about it. Probably the best year so far! Unexpected, very surprising and totally awesome. And here’s why!

• We shall call 2008 the Travel year of my life (and I hope 2009 outdoes it and steals the record). I globe trotted quite a bit and very unexpectedly so. First to Delhi for Uncleji's wedding in February. Then Bombay, Goa, Durham, Newcastle and London, all in the short stretch of time between leaving my job and joining the new one. The new job brought even more travel with it-Bangkok and KL for projects, Paris for training and Chiang Mai for a team building trip. And finally rounded up the year with a nice little trip to Melaka, Kl and Genting (after months and months of talking about it). Of course, given the travel glutton I am, I still ended the year feeling that there was so much more I hadn’t seen and done.

• 2008 was also the year I started blogging more regularly. And while initially it started off as a medium to channel the love-sickness I felt for Delhi and my life there, it slowly grew to become almost a reflection of me. I wrote about stuff I cared about (very often inane and inconsequential) without worrying if it was interesting enough to get any sort of readership. I was writing for myself and I was thoroughly enjoying it. And so it was even more surprising then when I found people reading my blog, relating to me and coming along willingly for the ride. (And I do say willingly, coz in the early days I did threaten a couple of people to read my blog. And NO, I am not proud of it!). And that’s when it came out with a vengeance. Knowing that there were people who read what u wrote, who cared about what u wrote, fueled me to write more or at least better. And it felt good. Simply to know that someone shared the same feelings, similar thoughts and appreciated it all. And so I’ll admit it, I do write for the readers (and I write for myself, coz the two don’t have to be contrary). So if you are reading this right now and have been a visitor here, then thank you! You are one of the reasons I had a fabulous 2008 and I hope you’ll hang around for the 2009 show. (And leave comments while you are at it, ok? ok! )

• 2008 was also the year I met a lot of new people, most of whom I really liked and a number of whom I got close to. Right at the top of the list are the two crazy people I started living with sometime in June (well technically they were not new people at the time given I had known them even last year but in all fairness it had been a very Hi-Bye thing then) Totally angelic and bitchy at the same time, Shoe-girl and Miss London have become ‘my gals’, the girlfriends I can count on to be game for anything under the sun, to come along for any stupid impractical adventure I think up or just simply to be there for me. And it has been a crazy and wonderful circus ride with them! (Thanks girls!) Some of the others on the list are fellow bloggers. APSD has to be mentioned at this point. He came over (more like invited himself shhhh!) one Sunday for a rajma-rice dinner and stayed on for post dinner conversation filled with Saif Ali Khan impressions and controversial topics. He even washed his own dishes! (very impressive). Every bit as quirky as his blog made him out to be (what with his geeky glasses and funky socks), he’s gotten to be someone I consider a good friend and go to for some worldly advice (Career advice- he’s brilliant at it!). Another such name in the list is Blackfayth. Though usually a resident of Mumbai, he called Singapore ‘home’ for all of December and a bit of January, during which we haunted all the live-music joints, tried all the food that Singapore is known for (I tried to persuade him to eat Durian, but he didn’t bite!), and even got him to pick up some Singlish (no lah, cannot lah, oso can!). A very charming and sweet guy, he has the most brilliant sense of humor I have seen in a while and needless to say, not a single moment with him is boring. (Women out there- Trust me, he’s a catch!). There are lots of others on the list, all of whom I won’t mention. But needless to say that the year wouldn’t have been the same without any of them, good or bad.

That's not to say a lot of shit didn't happen in the year. I had more ups and downs than ever before, felt depressed probably for the first time ever, met more jerks than I would have cared to, had slumps and highs in love, life and work. But in hindsight, you tend to only remember the good bits. So let’s call it a fabulous year and stick to that, aight?

And what do we think we have in store for 2009? I hope pretty wild things. I have some pretty big (some might call foolhardy) plans for this coming year and I just hope I have the ‘balls’ to see ‘em through. But no matter, plans or no plans, this year I’ll continue to laugh as loud, love as hard, dance as wild and live as large. Maybe even more than usual. So hang in there for the ride, coz things are going to get interesting. I promise!

Currently Listening: Broken Strings- James Morisson, Sober- Pink

PS- Given that last year, I wrote the customary ‘looking back at old year’ post all the way in June, I say we are doing fine this time round, no?

Maybe I should tell you about...

...How I chomped down a plate of fried bamboo worms, strung a garland of marigolds, maneuvered a cycle rickshaw around a track and put together a crazy spicy papaya salad.

Or the 4 hour hike in the wet, slippery, beautiful and extremly wormy jungles of Chiang Mai, where the air got thinner as we went up and the clouds surrounded us completely.

Or even about the food. The delicious and crazy spicy Khao Soy noodles that burnt on the way in, burnt on the way out and probably burnt a hole in my stomach too. And the simple and delicious thai fare that was served up to us daily at the pang soon lodge.

Or about the bugs. The giant earthworms, one of which was mistaken by everyone to be a snake and another of which was split into two by my walking stick as I made my way downhill (Yuck!). And even the leeches, that I was so wary against; how everytime I stepped into the shower after a long time in the wild, I would scan myself with trepidation for the blood suckers and the joy I would feel on not finding any.

Or maybe I should tell you about abseiling down a flowing waterfall. About losing my footing, flipping in the funniest way, getting completely dreched in ice-cold water and still thinking how brilliant it all was.

Or maybe, I shouldn't tell you anything really. For what my Chiang Mai trip was, what the weekend was, I can't describe. Not sufficiently. Only thing I can say is that my weekends now have a new standard to live up to!

Currently Reading: Swahili for the broken-hearted- Peter Moore
Currently Listening: Friday- Goldspot, Your ex-lover is dead- Stars

I hate Leeches!!!

...And this year I get to spend halloween with these real bad guys, all the way at Chiang mai.

Must be my year! Sigh!

PS- For a leech-free return, "mujhe dava ki nahin, dua ki zaroorat hai". So pray for me. Please.

Rastaa chaap!

I (Pause, deep breath) am a sucker for birthdays.

There- I've said it! It's out in the open. It’s finally off my chest. And that, after years of trying to keep it a secret; after years of being successfully two-faced about it; after years of falsely nodding my head in agreement anytime someone would say "This birthday thing is a bitch yaar! It comes every year whether you want it to or not". I am the anomaly who actually wants her birthday to come every year, who loves everything that comes with a birthday. Nothing related to a birthday embarrasses me or makes me cringe. Balloons? I’ll burst ‘em, party hats? I’ll wear ‘em, candles? I’ll blow ‘em, Birthday bumps? Yeah, I’ll volunteer for ‘em. I love the shebang that is a birthday- right from the cake, cards, surprises to the friends and the wishes. And truth be told, I have had my fair share of it all. From birthday parties that were spent in pink lacy frocks with ribbons in my hair to birthday celebrations that weren’t even at the right time of the year, forget being on the right date. I’ve had it all, baby! Or so I thought. Until birthday 2008 came by.

Birthday 2008, I am pretty sure, will go down in ‘birthday history’ as the “Rasta Chaap” birthday. It began on a road, was spent pretty much on several roads and ended on a road. It started standing on the road outside “Jade Cinema” after having watching the really horrid ‘Heroes’ (I will not see patriotic Hindi movies anymore, I will not see patriotic Hindi movies anymore, I will not see patriotic…). Gossipking scooted off feigning a toilet emergency and returned with a cake complete with lit candles and birthday singing. And there, that’s how I brought in my birthday at midnight- On the road, with friends, complete strangers and an SMRT bus passing by. Birthday morning and noon saw me travelling on several roads to make my way to Melaka in Malaysia. Birthday afternoon and evening saw me reaching and roaming the streets there in pursuit of sights, tastes and bargains . And finally as the day passed on and a new one started, I was sitting (u guessed it) at a road side food stall chomping down a plate of Ayam Goreng Pedas while guzzling a glass of Teh Tarik, thinking about my next day’s road journey to Genting.

Besides the rasta factor of the birthday, what made it special was also the number of unexpected people who remembered and called up to wish. So all you people, thanks! Even though I may not say it to your face, all of it meant a lot to me.

All in all, it was a lovely day and a lovlier weekend. And here's to more sadak chaap and kurta-phaad birthdays!

PS- On a side note, following last weekend’s trip to Melaka and Genting highlands, I have changed my mind about Malaysia. Malaysia is, in fact, quite pretty and has much to be seen. Cases in point are the two places I went to. Melaka is a quaint pretty little town with wildly red buildings and the mother-of-all-night-markets. The food scene, which I left partially un-explored, seems to be very eclectic and the town itself has the nicest vibe about it. On the other hand is Genting, the next stop on my trip- an amusement park and casino and hotel complex at the top of a mountain. Gossipking and I went crazy on the rides (doing even the crazy 360 degree roller coaster) and the cold weather was pretty awesome too. But the single thing that made my trip totally worth it was the Cable Way connecting Genting to the valley. The longest one in Asia, it took about 20 mins to get all the way to the top and included some pretty good sights (some of which had everything to do with solid white clouds surrounding the cable car).

Ps2- For the non-Hindi-understanding folk out there, Rasta means Road and Chaap means stamp. So loosely translated, it means, erm… Road stamp? Trust me, it’s meant to sound more derogatory than that. It’s just that the English language fails me right now. Anybody, help?

Paris on my mind...

I remember very little of my first visit to Paris. I was 12. I had gone there with my parents on a short weekend trip from London. We lived in a hotel on a road leading out from the Arc de Triomph and we ate mostly at Indian restaurants all through out the visit. We did the customary ride up the Eiffel tower but I don't remember the view from the top. I don't remember if we went to the Louvre or if we visited the Notre Dame Cathedral. But I do remember getting lost around the Arc de Triomph while trying to get back to our hotel and getting lots of unfriendly "No English!" responses when we asked around for directions. I also remember looking out from our hotel window and seeing a grey disorganised dreary city. Yes, I don't remember much but I do remember not liking Paris.

And THAT is ironic, because I’ve fallen in love with Paris now. It’s hard not to. Paris is the kind of place where life comes vividly to bloom, where you walk out the door and fall in love, where you can't believe the exquisite beauty of the buildings, or the clouds, or the sun that shines after the rain. The city has an unassuming and intrinsic kind of beauty. The kind of beauty that comes from the understated little things- the lovely tree lined symmetrical roads, the cobble-stoned streets with quiet cafés at every corner, the smell of freshly baked croissants in the morning, beautiful French-windowed buildings everywhere. It’s almost as if Paris is saying “I know I’m beautiful, get over it!” while still feeling secretly proud and pleased that she has yet another admirer.

But I can hardly claim to know and understand Paris completely. Not in 10 days, perhaps not even in a lifetime. For Paris has a multiplicity of personalities- spiritual in the gothic serenity of Notre Dame, naughty in Pigalle’s red light bars, sophisticated in the unending galleries of the Louvre, bohemian in the art galleries of Marais, relaxed in the orderly flowers and trees of the Tulleries, business-like in the towering buildings of La Defense . For every chic expensive Gallic restaurant lining the Champs Elysees, there’s an affordable and exotic Asian, African, Middle Eastern or Franco-modern restaurant in Les Halles. And for every Jean Paul Gaultier, there’s a fledgling fashion student opening his first boutique. Paris is a melting pot of contradictions and differences and yet it all blends in beautifully.

Of course I did not know all that, as I settled into a cramped little economy class seat late on a Friday night with only a tiny little bag, a rough guide to Paris, the memory of my previous visit and the willingness to give Paris another chance. I was headed to Paris and it would take me 13 long hours. With the clear knowledge that I would not last the 13-hr flight without any conversation, I turned to the cute-looking south-Asian guy sitting next to me. Surprise, Surprise! Plane-boy turned out to be French (well Cambodian but only by ancestry). I spent the next couple of hours chatting with him, polishing my French (Bonjour, Parle vous Anglais?), asking him all the things guide books don’t really tell u (How do you really pronounce Champs Elysees?), watching some ‘House’ and snoozing in fits and starts. By the time my plane landed, I had swapped addresses with plane-boy and made plans to probably catch up in Paris later. As I made my way to the hotel in a cab, my body completely time confused, I had my first glimpses of Paris- barely just waking up. And I knew I would love it.

My formal introduction to Paris was unconventional. My first day there, I took a cycling tour of Paris. (Very highly recommended! The guy who took us around (Steven?) spoke fluent English, had really interesting and quirky bits of info on all the places and of course for me it was the perfect way to stave off the Jet lag while getting introduced to the city). And that’s when I discovered the first thing I like about Paris. It’s a very cycle-able city. In fact, the perfect way to see Paris, is atop a cycle- Just get a cycle from the ‘Velib’ stand, comfortable foot wear, something to help you brave the wind and you are set. The city is lined with cycle tracks and what’s better is that you find lots of fellow cyclists too.

The other thing I loved about paris is how dog-friendly the city is. Owners take their dogs practically everywhere- Shops, cafes, restaurants, gardens. And the dogs are well-behaved too. For someone who has lived in dog-phobic Singapore for so many years, it was refreshing to see that kind of acceptance for the four-legged friend. It’s what convinced me that Paris has a heart unlike any other city. If I ever end up having a dog someday, I will live in Paris.

But the thing I loved doing the most in Paris was simply walking around till I got lost. Of course having an uncannily good sense of direction ensured that I was never really lost and that I always knew which way was home. But still, I played pretend. I wandered the streets of Paris with no destination in mind, taking turns as I fancied and letting Paris surprise me. And it never failed to. A beautiful square, a grand clock tower, a serene church, a quaint little shop- The streets of Paris always held some promise round the corner.

Of course I did more than just walk when I was there. I climbed to the top of the Notre Dame cathedral (400 steps baby! And what a view it was!), Walked through the halls of the Louvre (till my feet were sore), Met Mona Lisa face to face (and found her totally unimpressive), sipped an over-priced cup of coffee on the Champs Elysees, climbed up to the Sacre Ceour, took in the sights and sounds of kitchsy Montmarte, and of course wined and dined like there was no tomorrow (and at times it almost felt like there wasn’t). This was, of course, apart from the usual Museum and tourist trail.

Paris was a treat to the senses and no words could even begin to describe it (And I just realised the futility of trying to). I've only just scratched the surface. But I will go back there. Perhaps even live there. Someday.

PS- So I did end up meeting plane-boy in Paris. He showed me around the St. Micheal area where he had studied. It was all really sweet and nice. But the thing I found the funniest- I am an Indian living in Singapore, he is a Cambodian who is French by birth, and the thing we connected most on, was American drama series. That’s globalization (or Americanization) for you!

Currently Reading: Kitchen Confidential- Anthony Bourdain
Currently Listening: Man who can’t be moved- The Script

Drugged Out...

I'm back. From Paris. Infact I've been back for a whole week now. And yet I haven't written a single post- Most notably one on Paris. I can't explain why, but I just haven't felt like it.

Maybe it's because Paris was so amazing that I have so much and (at the same time) so little to say. I have no idea where to begin. And I have an unfounded fear that somehow the magic of it all will disappear if I talk about it. Silly, I know.

Or maybe it's just because antibiotics are the scourge of the blogger, the harbinger of the blogger's block and I've been gulping them (and some drowsiness-inducing medicines) like candy. But i'm told they are the necessary evil- The good guys to fight all the bad ones inside of me. Afterall, right now, I am sounding like a frog, coughing like an old lady and walking around like a zombie (when I have fever). Bronchitis- That's the verdict (and all the way from France- how's that for 'couture' illness). And if antibiotics will make it all go away, I shall pop them religiously! But that also means that now I can't think very clearly since I am drowsy most of the time and I can't enjoy any food since everything pretty much tastes of rubber. Sigh!

But the 'Paris post' will happen. Soon.

Me. In Parée. Yipeeeeee!

Tonight I leave.

Camera- Check,
Passport- Check,
laptop-Check,
Money- Check,
Wanderlust- Hell yeah, Check!

Leaving on a Jetplane? Yeah more like the jetplane leaving without me!

Last monday I missed a flight for the first time ever. (When I told this to friends, most just ignored the first part and jumped to the second. "Really? For the first time ever? YOU haven't managed to miss a flight before? YOU got through 22 years of flying without ever missing a flight?" Yes, thank you for the show of confidence!)

Anyways, missing a flight was a very confusing experience. Yes, confusing. Because I can't recall feeling consistently the same way throughout the whole thing. Feelings came in waves and phases, and oh, all so different and conflicting. For the benfit of anyone interested, I will chronicle this event in detail. (Warning: The following text may be disturbing to some and may cause a change in your opinion of me. Reader discretion is advised.)

Some background: My flight was at 7:40am on Monday. The previous night I had gone to sleep at 1 am in the night. I also have a new phone on which I set my morning alarm, on the fateful Sunday night.

Monday, 6:35 am: I woke up with a start and lazily reached out for my phone to check the time. I was pretty sure the alarm hadn't rung and hence the 'lazy' stretching. Upon seeing the actual time on the phone, I first went into denial. ("Ah this is bangkok time, so in singapore it's still actually 5:35am. Plenty of time. Oh wait, din I change my phone to Singapore time yesterday? Shit Shit Shit") In a record time of 5 mins, I brushed my teeth, washed my face, wore my clothes, called a cab, grabbed my bags and left home.
Primary Feelings- Disbelief, Tinge of panic

Monday, 6:45 am: I started pacing frantically near the bus stop below my home, dishevelled, sleepy and frantic, waiting for the cab to arrive. I get a call on my phone. It's the cab driver. "Where u ah? I wait long time for you here". When I informed him of my location, he dove into a tirade of complaints and whining. " U know, u give me wrong location ah. I oredi at Bus stop, u not here. Cannot this way lah!" Much against the fact that I had actually given the right location and that he was infact standing in the wrong location (well its my post, so I get to tell the story my way), I apologised and simply begged him to get to me quickly
Primary feelings- Frustration, Desperation

Monday, 7:05am-After 2 more equally-retarded phone conversations with the Taxi driver, (TD: I reach dead end, how to get to your block from here ah? Me: Huh?), checking my watch a million times, and swearing at everything repeatedly (stupid taxi driver, stupid phone, stupid flight times, stupid travelling, stupid me!), the taxi driver finally arrived. But before I could send a silent prayer to god and set off speeding towards the airport, the taxi driver launched into a tirade of complaints in a way that only singaporean taxi drivers can manage- (and I quote the conversation verbatim only coz it is so hilarious)

TD: U tell me wrong place. I got wait for you and you stand here. not right u know. Must tell right place lah!
Me: It's ok. Just take me to the airport
TD: No is not ok. Cannot do this way u know. Ur mistake!
Me: Ok fine, its my mistake, sorry. Can we now please just go to the airport really quick. I am really late for my flight!
TD: PIE very crowded you know. cannot quick. Right now when I come, was jammed. Ur flight, what time ah?
Me: 7:40
TD: U know must reach airport 1 hour before flight. Cannot do like this ah! flight close oredi mah!
Me (in my head) : Oh really? A whole one hour? I did not know that!!!

So yeah, tolerating 1st rate complaining and 3rd rate driving, I made my way to airport, thinking to myself- Shit, I'm not going to make it!
Primary feelings: Irritation, Anger, Impatience

Monday, 7:30 am- I reached the airport finally and walked upto the check-in counter, still hopeful that I could get onto the flight (how retarded can my optimism get). Of course, I ended up checking into the next available flight which was only at 12:20, a whole 4 hours away.
Primary feelings: (Blank)

Monday, 7:45am- The first thing I realised once I was no longer trying to catch a flight, was that my stomach was grumbling. So I sat at a cafe, drank orange juice and sorted the contents of my hand bag (simply coz I was bored and my hand bag was really heavy. It seemed logical at the time). And what a wide array of pointless things. 4 pens- all in working order, 3 pairs of earrings- all too big for me to wear to work, 2 samsonite keys- to god knows which lock, 1 measuring inch tape- Don't ask. What was more glaring were the things I was missing- No iPod, no passport photo, no return itinerary (last two for visa on arrival at bangkok). Anyways, over the next four hours I caught up on personal emails and calls that I had been putting off, I sorted out my personal post that I had been carrying around in a bundle (and most of it was junk), and actually got some productive work done. So by the time I made my way to the boarding gate, I was actually feeling pretty good about myself.
Primary feelings- relief, unexplicable laughter, satisfaction

PS- I realise this post seems a little incomplete. That is only coz recounting the events of monday has gotten me as tired as the events themselves did. And I think I prefer to go sleep or do something equally unproductive. Cherio!

Currently Reading: Sawasdee- Thai Airways inflight magazine
Currently Listening: Hold you in my arms- Ray lamontagne, Volcano- Damien Rice, kabhi kabhi aditi zindagi- Jaane tu ya jaane na

2007- A Eulogy

I know it's a little late in the year to write a eulogy about the year that went by. And yet I am here laboring over this entry, only because I believe there is no wrong time for praise. Best if it comes on time, but good nevertheless even if it comes a little delayed. Just as long as it does. So here goes.

2007 was a year of changes and revelations. Quite possibly even life-changing. A lot happened in this year. No strike that. I let a lot happen in this year.

#1

First came my stint in Delhi. 4 months of tolerating heat, sweat, family relations, crazy traffic. Before I left for Delhi, everyone I knew told me I was crazy to leave the 'pampered-aircon-everywhere-buses-and-trains-on-time-Singapore' life to go spend a few months in 'crazy-unsafe-oogling-men-and-flashy-women-filled-unbearably-hot city of the Delhi-belly fame'. I almost listened to them (Shivers!). And I'm so proud I didn't. 4 months later, 3 close friends richer and 2 ks lighter (though it's a mystery how, given the numerous finger licking meals I pigged on there), I unwillingly left Delhi with a newfound understanding of who I am and an absurd reverence for the city (which eventually transformed into an appreciation and love for the mother country herself).


For the first few months after my return, this reverence took on gargantuan propotions, with me pining for the city, the life, the friends and finding Singapore sorely lacking in every comparison. Over time I stopped comparing (knowing the futility of the exercise), decided to sign off Delhi as a torrid summer affair that I had to get over and busied myself with setting a rythm for my life here. But I often look back at my time in Delhi and have realised over time that I am wiser, richer, possibly even more mature for having been there at that time: Wise in experiences, rich in friends and mature in outlook. And that in itself would have been enough to make the year special- a little extraordinary.

#2

2007 was also the year I graduated. In the days following the graduation ceremony, I remember mulling over what exactly it meant to have 'graduated' and wondering how life would change, if at all. In hindsight, change it did, and in ways I never anticipated! (and therefore did not prepare for). Life as a student, even with all its cramming, sleeplessness, kunj-ing (read as being miserly or money-wise depending on how you see it) and worrying, was still a care-free life. I lived life on my terms and had a countable number of cares (rescuing my GPA, disciplining my yo-yo-ing girth, picking a place to eat dinner). And best of all was feeling that at any point I could choose to say 'Fuck it!' to all of it . Come post-graduation life and nothing changed save one thing. The sleeplessness remained, the kunj-ing remained (coz lets face face it, there is nothing like enough money) and the worrying took on enormous proportions. The only thing that changed was the care-freeness; the loss of the ability to say 'fuck it!'. I guess when you have more, you also have more to lose.

Graduating was also sort of a coming-of-age for me. I started looking back at everything I had done and not done (consciously or sub-conciously) and before I knew it my bag of regrets had grown heavier- 'I should have gone for exchange, I should have travelled around the world, I should have learnt to play the guitar, I should have gone wakeboarding'. And with that realisation came this urge to make good on lost time and opportunity. I got back to practicising playing the guitar, I began travelling more, I started living life to the fullest I possibly could. In a way, the rite-of-graduation turned out to be a sort of reality check for me and made me realise that I only have a finite number of days to live and an infinite number of things to see and do. And so I started playing catch-up!

#3

2007 was also the year the travel-bug bit me. Grappling with a longing for the Delhi in my memory and the hard striking quarter-life crisis post-graduation, I made the first of many trips out of Singapore to simply get away (I am still not sure what I was getting away from). A budget-airline ticket in hand and a backpack on my shoulder, I found myself in Bangkok with two other friends. It was love at first sensation-The sights, the sounds, the smells and even the chaos (quite unlike the prim-ness of Singapore) all reminded me so much of India. I stepped out of the airport, a smug smile on my face- I had come to the right place. What ensued was 3 days of seeing wonderous Wats and palaces, eating 'eyes-and-nose-watering-spicy-but-oh-so-lip-smacking food' and strolling through endless by-lanes full of clothes and imitation bags and whatever else you may fancy, all made easy on the body by a regular dose of traditional Thai massages. I returned from the trip with the realisation that while I love Delhi (and I always will) there are other places to see, there are other fish in the sea!

And so, over the next few months before the end of the year, I went fishing! In Ho Chi Minh City I walked through tiny guerrilla tunnels and fired horribly-recoiling-&-brilliantly-loud AK-47s. In Hanoi, I browsed through the nick-knacks in the by-lanes of the old quarters and dined gourmet-style at Bobby Chin's. In Hue, I visited the numerous tombs of ancient vietnamese kings and enjoyed strong vietnamese coffee along the huong river. In Ha Long Bay, I appreciated the beauty of the limestone mountains dotting the sea lying atop a dinghy and celebrated christmas helping a vietnamese waiter practise his halting english. In Bintan, I experienced swimming in the sea for the first time ever (and it was a bit alarming coz my paranoia kept me mistaking rocks and leaves for snakes and jelly fish) and felt revved up racing a quad bike along the stretch of the beach. Finally once again in Bangkok, I appreciated the place that started it all off and enjoyed some more bone stretching and relaxing massages.

Looking back at all the travelling I did, I realise it has changed me as a person. I am more experimental and so much more understanding of things and ways different from my own. I appreciate the world around me for all its beauty and realise that life with all its ups and downs is really quite something!

To end this post (seeing that it is already reaching epic lengths), the Me-of-the-year-gone-by and the me-of-the-year-that-has-come are really two quite different people. And if I might say so, I quite like the latter me. So Kudos 2007!

Currently Reading: Inspite of the gods- Edward Luce
Currently Listening: To be alone with you- Sufijan Stevens, I will be there when you die- My morning Jacket, Baavra man- Hazaaron Khwaishein Aisi