If that's all you will be, you'll be a waste of time...

... And so i'm back! With the usual optimism, the usual cheer and the usual gusto for everything that is life. And what better way to make a comeback, than with my '100 things to do before I die' list. Of course, it being December and the resolution-time of the year, makes it all the more apt.

(The list is a little incomplete, so keep 'em suggestions coming!!)

1. Run a marathon
2. Take horseback riding lessons
3. Learn to ski
4. Learn how to ice skate
5. Learn to water ski
6. Learn to sail
7. Become fluent in French
8. Learn conversational Spanish
9. Learn to say "hello" in 50 languages
10. Learn sign language
11. Learn Mandarin / Arabic
12. Learn to play the guitar with some degree of proficiency
13. Enroll in a belly dancing class
14. Compose a song
15. Ride in a hot air balloon
16. Go paragliding
17. Go sky diving
18. Go on a helicopter ride
19. Go scuba diving
20. Ride a mechanical bull
21. Climb Mt. Everest
22. Experience weightlessness
23. Go bungee jumping
24. Go white water rafting
25. Learn to fly a plane
26. Learn to play poker (or bridge)
27. Develop a talent for photography
28. Learn to make pottery
29. Learn to sculpt
30. Do woodworking
31. Learn to brew beer or make wine
32. Take up gourmet cooking
33. Paint - watercolors, oil, acrylics
34. Learn to repair a car
35. Make a difference in at least one person's life
36. Join a Big Brother, Big Sister Program
37. Join the Peace Corps
38. Get my article published in a magazine
39. Write the book I know I have inside me
40. Play a role in a movie or sitcom or a commercial or be an extra
41. Spend a week at a 5-star spa
42. Become a wine Connoisseur
43. Become financially literate and learn how to invest intelligently
44. Create enough passive income so that I don't have to work another day in my life
45. Watch the 100 movies on my "100 movies I want to see list"
46. Get married
47. Buy a home I love and spend time making it into the home I always wanted: with an inviting, joyous, comfortable, loving atmosphere
48. Start my Own Business
49. Adopt a pet from the animal shelter/ Keep a dog
50. Live in New York, atleast for a while
51. Live in a house by the lake or a beach house
52. Have a house with a terrace, a view, a library filled with books and a huge TV room
53. Be a spectator at TED Talks: an annual conference in California which brings together the world's most fascinating thinkers and doers, who are challenged to give the talk of their lives (in 18 minutes)
54. Meet the Dalai Lama
55. Visit Tibet
56. Spend a week at a Silent Retreat
57. Ask for forgiveness from all of the people I've hurt
58. Send my parents on their dream vacation.
59. Trace my ancestry
60. Visit the 100 places on my ‘100 places to visit’ list
61. Read all 100 books on my reading list
62. Learn to fly a plane
63. Have a star named after me
64. Make sure I tell my friends and family how much I love them so that when I DO die... they won't wonder and I'll be at peace
65. Be content with myself
66. Throw a dart onto a map and travel to where it lands
67. Spend six months getting my body into optimum shape
68. Get six-pack-abs
69. Get passionate about a cause and spend time helping it, instead of just thinking about it
70. See a favorite band/artist in concert
71. Drive a convertible with the top down and music blaring
72. Eat everything on BBC's '50 things to eat before you die'
73. Learn to bartend
74. Find a job I love
75. Get a tattoo or a piercing
76. Give up television and the internet for one month
77. Read the major religious texts for various religions
78. Throw a huge party and invite every one of my friends
79. Have my portrait painted
80. Spend a whole day eating junk food without feeling guilty
81. Give my mother a dozen red roses and tell my parents I love them
82. Stay out all night dancing and go to work the next day without having gone home (just once)
83. Shower in a waterfall
84. Teach someone illiterate to read
85. Ask someone I've only just met to go on a date
86. Donate money and put my name on something: a college scholarship, a bench in the park
87. Give a theatre performance publicly
88. Broadcast a show on the Radio
89. Kiss in the rain
90. Make a snow angel
91. Open my own restaurant/café
92. Attend an India-Pakistan cricket matc
93. Spend 3 months travelling around and getting to know India
    

Currently Reading: Bombay Meri jaan- Jerry Pinto, Naresh Fernandes
Currently Listening: Two points for honesty- Guster, Nothing ever hurt like you- James Morrison

Are the details in the fabric?

A depressive state is coming over me. Yes, me of the cheery smiles and the 'life is beautiful' outlook, I am feeling sad. And unsettled. And trapped. And panicky. And a million other things. I don't quite know what I am feeling. I don't think I can give it a name. It's a stranger to me. But a familiar one. It passes me often as I go on my day, my life. Occasionally I look into its eyes and realise truths I would rather not, only to quickly look away. Other times, I feel its presence and pretend to busy myself in mundane inconsequences-that black dress, that movie ticket, that cute guy. Yes I know this stranger. And I know why it lurks, even what it wants to tell me, remind me.

But how do I tell it, that I know! I know everything it wants to remind me. That this life I lead, is not what I signed up for, not what I thought was coming- This life of ducked heads in cubicles, blank stares at bright screens, this life of regimented comings and goings, this life that I still continue to fight for even though it makes me sad and disappointed.

This is the life where I dream of who I might have been, what I might have done and where I might have gone, And then, wake up to get ready for another cubicle day. This is the life where I chase behind things that I am told to care about: the paycheck, the security, the climb up the ladder, while I leave all that I really care about, in a corner neglected, second rated. This is the life where I lose respect for myself with each passing day for not having the courage to stand up to this life, to the world, to parents, to myself and get that life I yearn. This is the life where I don't even know what that ideal life looks life. I just know it's not this.

And knowing all that, this is the life I still continue to live- where I bury a little more of me, where I feel a little more dead with each passing day. I can hear Jason Mraz singing into my ear, telling me to "hold my own, know my name and go on my way". He says 'everything will be fine in no time at all'.

But I don't think so. I really don't.

Currently Listening: Details in the fabric- Jason Mraz, Prettiest friend- Jason Mraz
Currently Reading: Bombay, Meri Jaan- Jerry Pinto, Naresh Fernandes

Where do the children play?

Every thing's as usual. I'm sitting in office freezing and cursing the AC vent, as usual. The Killers are crooning through my headphones as I tap away at my keyboard, very much as usual. When the day is done, I will feel the usual gladness as I shut down my laptop. I will feel my ears popping as I go down 41 floors in the elevator, as usual. I will walk past swanky shoe and dress shops all advertising christmas sales, on my way to the MRT, quite as usual. I will stare blankly at my reflection on the platform doors at the station waiting for the train and then I will fight my way into the train and nod to the music on my headphones as I head on home- All very very usual. My life is going on as usual and nothing seems different. 

Yet something is. Different. I can feel it.

I can feel it every time I call home- In the insecurity in my mom's voice, in everything she tells me and even more in everything that she doesn't. I feel it every time google desktop pops up a news article on Bombay, that it thinks I may be interested in, and it always tells repeatedly of the carnage that happened. I feel it in the way voices become solemn and thoughtful anytime friendly conversation veers towards the B-word. There is something different and in a wrong way. Different about Bombay, different about me.

There is so much I should want to say, so much I should want to shout out, but I can't. Some part of me has stopped feeling, stopped caring. I look at the whole thing with a shrug. I have given up- on Bombay, on India, on any othr part of this world. I am giving up on ever feeling secure anywhere again. I am doing what Bombay-ites have been so praised for doing. I am walking on. And I'm not proud of it.

Super-Quirk Me!

I've always thought myself to be fairly quirk-free. But over a conversation with APSD, I started thinking about quirks and it turns out I have quite a few. For your benefit, here they are-

1) I am a green tea addict. On any typical day I will have atleast 3-4 cups of green tea and on special days (read: freezing in office coz the AC is too effective) the number goes even higher.

2) I am usually excited about everything and will think nothing of breaking into a little dance move to the music only in my head or iPod, in the middle of a crowded MRT. Yes I've gotten some pretty wierd stares.

3) Up till some years back, I used to suck my thumb fairly regulary (read: 3-4 times a week) before going to sleep. Now I do it only when I am sleepy and in need of some comfort (which is rarely). And yet I protest when C-Tan calls me a 'baby'- Go figure!

4) I can write with both hands. And sometimes when I know people are watching me write, I will switch hands, just to be able to see the look of amazement on their faces (mixed with the thought- What a freak!). Ambidexterity rocks!

5) The only thing I will wake up to 'smiling' is music. Try an alarm clock on me and I will either not get up at all or I will get up violent (throwing alarm clock, phone, anything else in hand's reach type) and grumpy, in which case all around need to run for cover. But when it's music I am getting up to, chances are I'll be singing along and shaking a leg much before I even open my eyes. Thank god for radio alarm clocks, I say!

6) I still believe as fervently in the One-for-sorrow-two-for-joy birds as I did as a 7 year old. And I love the ones in Singapore, coz somehow they always predict joy for me.

And I thought I wasn't quirky. Yeah right!

Everything is dust in the wind

I am no good with deaths. Never have been. I never know the right thing to say, the right thing to do, even the right thing to feel. Initial feelings of shock, sadness quickly dissolve into a mask of practicality and optimism, leaving me feeling like a faker. You see, I don't feel the grief, the pain, the loss that usually comes with a death. And yet the tears do flow, with every memory that the mind throws up. I respond to the grief, the loss that I just can't feel. So it was then, a year back, so it is now and, I fear, so it will be the next time. Tears and no feelings.

For whom the tears flow and the mind does not feel, this time, is my uncle. My dad's older brother. A guy who refused to live a half-life for the sake of longevity. He was the guy who would always reach out for the sweets, that extra dollop of butter, that 6th serving of a parantha . He was the guy who was always laughing, always up for a silly idea or adventure. The kind of guy who would think nothing of driving out to a place on a whim and staying a few days.

People keep asking me if I was close to him. And I feel like shouting back, that it doesn't matter. I still feel the cold creeping up on me, the tears seeping out of me and the realisation dawning on me that it all ends. Everything. And you never see it coming.

And yet we all live our lives like we know exactly when it will be time to wrap up. We postpone the things that really matter, the wishes that really count. all for that next job, that new car, that new house. What if the curtain drops much earlier? What if you never get to have your finale?

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?

Happy Birthday to Me...

When I am grown to man's estate, I shall be very proud and great,
And tell the other girls and boys, Not to meddle with my toys.
- R. L. Stevenson

In two days, I turn 23. I guess, it's time to take stock!

The Others

Reading about Raj Thackeray's (& MNS's) issue with north Indians in Bombay, I was saddened and shocked. I was also reminded of a movie I had seen quite some time back called 'The Others'. In the movie, Nicole Kidman, who lives with her two kids, starts to feel the presence of 'others' in her house and gets very irked about it. She frets, she shouts, she expresses her anger, only to realise at the end of the movie that it is she who is the 'other', the spirit that has been living there beyond its time, the spirit that doesn’t have sole right over the house and hence has no right to ask anyone to leave. It’s quite obvious why I was reminded of the story and the parallels I am drawing.

Bombay is a great city. Perhaps even the greatest. And what makes it so, is exactly what makes New York the navel of the world. Bombay is a melting pot, a paradox, a ‘Khichdi’. And it’s always been proud about that.

Or atleast the Bombay I grew up in.

The Bombay I grew up in was about differences, about having a certain attitude. In that Bombay it did not matter who you were, where you came from or what you did, as long as you had a dream and you could keep with the pace. That Bombay was about accepting; about holding out a hand from an overcrowded train to help a running stranger get in, without asking who he was or where he was from. That Bombay was about adjusting; about squeezing into a train seat to fit 7 where 4 were meant to sit. That Bombay took in everyone who came to its stations and airports from near and far, and became the richer for it.

The Bombay I grew up in was where a kid would attend a college run by a Sindhi Trust, eat Indian Chinese food made by a Raju (who was most probably a migrant from UP or Bihar), rush to classes run by an Aggarwal, ride in a taxi driven by a yadav, Cheer at a cricket match played by Tendulkar or Dravid, lap up movies acted in by a Khan and aspire to work in companies owned by an Ambani. That Bombay was Joshi, Patel, Subramaniam, Shah, Bansal, Aggarwal, Yadav, Fernandes, Singh and many others. It was Straight, Gay, bi-sexual, deviant and devout. It was stinking rich, upstart wealthy, nobly middle-class, and roadside-poor. It was desi, urban, and American-confused. The Bombay I grew up in was the Bombay that had a place for everyone.

And that Bombay belongs to no one. Not to me, not to you, not to the Marathis, not to the Gujaratis and definitely not to hooligan Politicians. It belongs to anyone and everyone who has ever lived in it, dreamed in it and carried a piece of it in their hearts. And we all belong to that Bombay. We all make it what it is. We all love it for what it represents. And we all want to keep it the way it is.

So Mr. Thackeray, like it or not, I am a Bombay-ite. And I don’t need to speak any one language, wear any particular clothing, celebrate any specific festivals or have a specific surname to call myself that. I just need to love the city and uphold everything that is great about it.

Perhaps you should ask yourself, how Bombay-ite are you? You might just find, it’s you who are the ‘other’ that doesn’t understand what Bombay is about; the ‘other’ that should stop creating a nuisance!

Currently Reading: Big book of crafts
Currently Listening: Forever- Papa Roach, Disturbia (Acoustic)- Boyce Avenue

PS- Yes- Bombay, not Mumbai!
PS2- See 'The Others' if you haven't already. though I've probably ruined the movie for you, giving away the twist and all. But still.

There are a few perks to sitting on the 41st floor...

...Like looking out of the window in the middle of work on an ordinary thunderous afternoon, seeing only a hazy whiteness and realising that at this very moment I am inside a passing cloud! *Smile*

PS- Now I feel like skipping my way out of office and into the rain to dance. What makes it painful is that I clearly can't- Not if I want the next paycheck to come. So I slog on...

Currently reading: The Big Book of Crafts
Currently listening: Worry about you- Ivy, Rain- Bishop Allen