Yes, by this time it’s up here, I’ll be up flying away from this land which is more than my own. I belong here and the madness and the wisdom I know will pull me back. And yes, M too – the best thing that happened to me here!
Till then please Mumbai, be what you are and yes take care of my baby too! It kills me to leave you, but the irony is you teach me to live everyday!
I have nothing to say as I walk away,
Re-birth they say,
I nod.
I am not leaving, just walking away a bit only to return to live a life, the seeds of which you’ve sown in my eyes! Don’t cry, for there’s a part of me, that’s you and I carry that along in the glint of my smile.
“We miss when we remember, we remember when we forget, habits just live on through breath – you are the habit called LIFE, Mumbai!!!”
Back again soon. Till then, Bhalo Theko* majha** Mumbai
————————————————
* – Stay Well (Bengali)
** – My (Marathi)
Just when I thought the ‘story’ was over, the book tumbled out of my hands. An old pressed flower intact – as if the life I sought to deny was still there in it’s wilted form. I picked it up and stared hard, the printed letters hazed in the background. Where was this picked from? What was it’s color (lavender of course!) ? And why today after so long, when I was just about to wrap the story and push in somewhere against the dark corners of the mind (the heart is long closed)?
Why are you confusing me again today by reminding me of the fragrance that no longer lingers in the air? Why are you luring me to preserve you a bit more, when I know that all that shall remain are bits and pieces of a lovely being that once was? Life cannot be infused in again right? No matter, how much I try to smell, all that fills up the nostrils is dry whiffs of dust!
I don’t want to erase you off, I don’t want to crumple you away – I want wilted memories to stay – securely tucked away within the pages of our unfinished story. I wish I could pick up again the last page sometime, where the pressed flower lay, but somewhere I guess the fear is that a wind might even break the reminiscent of what remains.
Some relationships are best defined in novels – guess I should leave ours too there. It’s better to have a memory with a hope, than to live a life of despair!
Stay good, tucked away within the pages of “Love Stories from Mahabharata”!
There’s an uncanny sense of being around what I call home. Uninhibited speaking of the mother tongue after almost half a year – stranger it feels than it sounds. Maybe if she could speak she would have pointed out that the already strange accent is stranger. But she would also comment that it sounds honey to her ears. She spoke those words today too – through a gentle finger tug as I narrated her our favourite childhood memories.
I have NEVER stayed in this house alone – where was the scope? The babyji was always feared to be lost in her Neverland and then it took 2 ‘mashis’ to cull her out of the ‘box room’ (attic) or from behind the curtains. Today without her eyes hovering over me, I feel lost even in her room. The sense of security came in moving about holding the edge of her white saree and listening to sermons of how ‘little’ girls from good Bengali families should grow up to be ‘fine young ladies’. Definitely, without tea I tell myself, as a freshly brewed Darjeeling cuppa grows cold beside me. Untouched, till Chotoma takes it away.
Curtains – I have always loved them in her room. Pseudo peek-a-boo we used to play as she called me out for long elaborate summer luncheons. I have never really been a foodie. But then again was also never really smart – for despite the figurine being apparent behind the curtain I really thought she couldn’t see me. Pretend Play is soothing still as I shed a tear standing behind the curtain today. Was it then that she stirred for the first time today, after 30 hours of coma – she who can never see me cry!
A tattered Enid Blyton and Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs – my first books, still kept in exact shape and size!!! Why do they emerge today as I crawl under her bed to search for a slipped out ‘pill’ – do they say I need to emerge a winner in Project Childhood today, no matter what?
Why did I dream of the Ghoom Monastry yesterday – maybe because there I had pestered her for the ice cream (with one foot submerged in snow). Or maybe because the hilly terrain was where I promised her an ice cream after I grew up – uphill task that is still, but how can she leave without the ice cream?
An old toffee box – those tinned ones that were shipped in from Britain and won by one of her children in school, still stores her home-made Scrabble letters. In 1950s’ Scrabble was the ‘sahib’ game and we had no relatives who could bring us off shore games. So would her children then remain bereft off it? The cut out letters pasted on cubes of card board speak the rest. My childhood afternoon reminiscences are captured on a few too – mango juice stains of little fingers.
A sitar in the corner, the harmonium I pumped once, the trunk of treasures – the letters we wrote to her in childhood in Bengali, a failed attempt to teach us the language. The smell of Charmis I still feel on her cheek, the Boroline tube that I religiously use on her lips still. A tinge of mustard oil for the winter feet cracks. A spoonful of chocolate milk – her only vice. I do everything to assure her that there’s my childhood still around and hence she can’t be really old!
Wrapped in white shawl lies my childhood, as I sit in vigilance. Sometimes you fear that even cracks in the wall are enough to steal away things. Today I sit with the door open – let’s see how Ms. childhood leaves, when still the last fairy tale is left to be narrated to Calvin.
Project Childhood – 1 left. Pray. Am out here to save the last link from breaking.
——————–
A blog snob post – Please don’t mind the non reply to comments. The Project really needs a successful completion. Nothing else matters now.
My last post made me realise a lot of things – firstly that you guys love me wayyyyy too much to be rude about my whining and that yes “acceptance is the key” – so I need to accept the mess and pick up the broom to clean it. Hmmmmm done .. I selected the broom today (No, ex – law schoolites it’s not PINK in color!) and tomorrow shall be a long drawn brush (I am writing in to the centre head to request for a personal appointment along with the counsellor – shall take it from there. One step at a time!)
So what do you do when you wrap up a pending assignment or home issue – you feel like putting up your feet and watching a nice movie right? – a chick flick, mindless sort of a movie that leaves you either in splits or in mush! What does DQ DW do – nothing she just watches her own life – trust me there’s no bigger soap opera in this part of the world! Ok DI stop going 
When I had landed in Mumbai (that sounds straight out of Once Upon a Time in Mumbai!!!!) I had two major pre-requisites 1. There has to be a library near my house 2. There has to be a dance class which I love attending. Both fulfilled me was leading a happy life – till one day my dance instructor class really happened to me!
Ok so here starts the movie drama – DQ, M (dragged along literally) in a dance class lead by A (guy) and D (girl) and zillion others who don’t matter (baaah extras who are paid 50 bucks for each time they show up!). We dance – with D and with the “extras” but rarely with A (I don’t pay much attention to him though M finds him cute! I warn her yet again about cute guys!).
One day suddenly on the “dance class” day the sun was extra bright and the flowers kissed each other (like in Rajesh Khanna movies) and birds chirped and Julie sang – “Young birds are mating then why am I waiting” (errrr … Ok I forgot the first line! Big deal u guys got the song right?) A decided to lead our class and there I danced danced and danced till he asked me to leave his hand and I discovered that the music had long stopped! What started with a mere appreciation led to my first blush (errr ok fine .. I am a girl!) and stupidly plastered smile.
Yes I was crushed. Each class and I would pray to get paired up with him – practise moves and loved it when he pointed out my errors (he was NOTICING ME people – to heck if I was dancing lousy !!!) And then Dirty Dancing did NOT happen! The twist came – A & D spotted me at Shivaji Park and while they teased me about seeing me with “someone” it hit me that they might be a couple!
So after gulping down shots of “orange juice” I decided to let things be and give up my crush (Ohhhh please crush and lust too have a turn around period OK?) That was till the time the classes resumed again today and when A messaged me reminding me of the class it did not matter that the same was sent to all the “extras” to me it was a personal message!
A took the class today … even D was surprised that he agreed to lead us 
… M was taken in for the first lead session as I watched (by the pillar sighing) – guess the sighing was so loud that for all the next leads he took me (No M it was not because he got it that you are guilty! 
) and I was this ‘bateesi’ girl. All this while D watched .. didn’t watch did not matter – all that mattered was A wanted me to look at him when we danced (to improve eye contact – hell but he did right???) and when he told others that in the “lead” it was only we who would know the next step – I did not read it too much into the lines M!!!!
I was discreet I mean he just made me forget my moves (on the FLOOR guys!) and nothing else! So during the final dance as he spun beyond my capacity and I searched for his hand frantically he sttod there with his arms hands extended to catch me ! When I finally grasped him he burst out into laughter and told me that he was right there where he should be and that I should not grasp him but merely flow into his arms palms! Aaah well siggghhhh if only D wasn’t at Shivaji Park with you A!
And then it happened all of a sudden D screams from across the room – “DW I saw that”! As the room turns to me I go like “WHAT did you see!” (trust me I haven’t even been so defensive ever!). I think she got scared and said – the way you messed up with the hands ! Phewwww … OK! I smiled – yes I messed up I said (Ya right! The heart flipped).
I was skipping on the pavement coz I won the class contest A had planned (it was called the CHASE ) and yes instead of a dairy milk he is now to give me “Bourneville” for I “earned” it! 
I handed over a note to the bus conductor with my bateesi out and forgot to tell him the stop. It was only when M laughed her guts out at the bus conductor too smiling at me with raised eyebrows that I fumbled out the name of my stop. Rest of the way I giggled like a girl … suddenly discovered my love for Jagjit Singh’s “hoshwalon ko khabar kya”… skipped again on the pavement with M screaming behind to the bystanders that she doesn’t know me.. mushed up the neighbourhood Kitty. And aaah well decided to be lady James Bond on the mission to know if D is dating A!
Not that am gonna date A … just for general knowledge you see – it might be asked in the next CAT exam! 
And you guys actually thought this was all about the movie review Mumbai Salsa!!!! Grow up guys … the real Salsa action in Mumbai lies somewhere else!
_____________________________________________________
P.S: This one is for you M – for my attempt at not to feel guilty each time I am happy!
P.P.S: Before I posted thanks M for discovering that A and D are doing birds and bees … I again need to go back to hearing Umrao Jaan tonight! 
I need my socks and hot water bag again tonight! 
… wait a second what if they are just “good friends” … baah I kill whoever cites Shahid Kapoor and Priyanaka Chopra on that comment of mine! 
I thought I had seen it all. I thought the worst was over and that Mumbai had nothing else to make me realise how true Krishna was when he said to Arjun –
“Sanjay in the end, it’s all about you. In the end nothing matters but you. For in the end you are all alone.”
But then, guess that is the greatness about this city. Just when you sit in cosily on a rainy afternoon under the quilt with a piping hot filter coffee cuppa – the smell of freshly brewed coffee filling up your nostrils and senses beyond, the guzzling sound of the sea filling up your heart and the ears. It strikes you – the city patrols in to teach you an untaught lesson. Yet again to leave you in awe that how did it know that this was left to be learnt?
Just when I thought I had enough of Charulata’s guzzles over the latest video; I went for a walk by the sea. I love it when the sea speaks to me at midnight. With my laptop and my coffee mug, sitting on the bricked wall, I must look quite funny a scene, that even the dogs forget to bark. That’s when I thanked you Mumbai, for helping me grow for teaching me so much. Guess, you took my note a bit too seriously and so today you made me do what dad had protected me from all these years –death and funerals.
Yes, I’ve been that protective kid who till today didn’t realise what death actually meant – for I was always kept away by my father – don’t ask me why. To me when people departed it was as if they are living in far off lands, for I haven’t seen them off myself. It was almost like when Y left. And then Mumbai decided that I needed to grow up and face the truth yet again – eye to eye.
Ishaan, was the little boy whom I had seen growing up. The little pair of feet all of 10 years of age, scurrying around with a handycam in his hand, trying to capture all his big sistah’s friends and yes of course with a half slice of pizza hanging from his mouth. He was the baby of our hostel – the one who came to visit his elder sister once every 3 months and ended up being pampered by 17 more. While there was a time we insisted that the little pajayma boy stayed in the hostel (we even snuggled him into the girls hostel for nights together) later when the chubby cheeks gave away to a stubble goti, it was we who put our foot down and booked the ‘guest house’ for him. He was the baccha – he is still the baccha. Just that just as my baby came home; the other big baby chose to depart.
Friends. Party. Exam free birds. Dam. The adrenalin rush. Dares to cross the dam. 3 friends jumping in. Two making it to the shore. One smiling from above and saying “Dude I swam my way to the heaven”!
As I stood there in Lonavla today, surrounded by the mountains, it struck me how badly I wanted to cover this place for my Mumbai Mondays. But not this way. I didn’t think that the cremation ground would be taking away my breaths not because of the way 5 hills seemed to echo my cries, but because I was too breathless crying. The laughter that spelled goofiness, the mind that was so creative – would be now all a fond remembrance. Here lay a brilliant chap for whom even Shantanu Moitra cancelled his recordings and rushed in with us into that Lonavla house – for there lay our baby who seemed too grown up today, sitting there amidst the photographs of his ancestors during the last rite puja ceremony.
Death today stood beside me like the calm cold wave, that leaves you numb, that tires you and soothes you to sleep, that makes you question and then answers them for you.
It made me do one other thing too – it made me guilty. It made me break down before the hills and scream out a sorry to my parents for the night when Y left and I wished I didn’t witness the next morning sunrise. I learnt what parents deserve n what they often get. Yet they bear it all for us kids and live. It made me guilty for each smoke I take and that makes Ma scrunge up her nose and Baba sigh – for my moment of sanity I realised how much insane thoughts I drive in their heads.
That in my quest to know where me and Y belonged I forgot what my parents deserve and what they are getting. It’s the worst thing to see your child suffer and yet not be able to pick up and comfort. It made me rush up and hug his dad, hold hid mom tightly till she cried and make his sister spot a shooting star. There’s nothing worse than handling family in denial about an untimely death.
19 is an age where dreams take wings – its not the age to take on wings and fly to heaven. 20+x years is when you become wise truly – so decided Mumbai today.
Wish the road to Lonavla was not tear stained for all of us.
Yet another fear conquered eye to eye. Just wish it was not this child.
RIP Ishaan. I am sure the angels are already smitten – can visualize you singing to them with your guitar and they all dreamy eyed. You’ll always be the Rockstar. Live on.
A bigger than life Mumbai Monday this – for that is what this city is all about. Learning the unexpected.
——————————————————————————————–
Mumbai Mondays is all about seeing Mumbai and its surroundings through my eyes. It’s my take to introduce you to a city and its surroundings which I love, as I see it – alone and often with friends (we call ourselves the Mumbai Mad Caps). It’s a thread that goes live every Monday. I cover places randomly and welcome suggestions too. You can find more posts about Mumbai Mondays here.
